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These cards side by side looks kinda😏

𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐌'𝐒 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒

With the weather getting colder, you might find yourself cuddled up in blankets and sipping on some hot chocolate. Perhaps you would have an old, rugged looking book right on your coffee table waiting to be picked up. With fairytale season being in full swing, perhaps you would like to indulge in some nostalgic stories of enchanted forests, wicked witches, cursed princesses and bloodhungry beasts?

But oh, were your favorite fairytales always this 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔨?

𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓

GRIMM'S NIGHTMARES is an exclusively dark content collab inspired by the dark fairytales collected and written down by the Grimm brothers.The central theme of the collab are dark fairytales, but you are more than free to enter the collab with mythical figures (werewolves, vampires, ghosts, etc) without any fairytale in mind. Despite being inspired by the Grimm brothers, you are more than free to be inspired by other classic tales from around the world. 

𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒

𓆩𓆪 You have to be over the age of 18 to enter

𓆩𓆪 This collab is strictly a x reader collab

𓆩𓆪 All fandoms are welcome to enter

𓆩𓆪 Aged up characters are allowed, but please don’t age them down 

𓆩𓆪 Your entry has to be a minimum of 500 words long, otherwise the sky’s the limit

𓆩𓆪 Be aware that this is a dark content collab first and foremost. You are allowed to go as crazy as you would like, but make sure to tag all the trigger warnings accordingly

𓆩𓆪 As mentioned previously, you are free to enter with a mythical figure instead of a fairytale

𓆩𓆪 To enter, you need to send me an ask or message with the character(s) and the mythical figure/fairytale you wanna base your fic on

𓆩𓆪 You are allowed to submit up to two entries

𓆩𓆪 You are allowed ro write one fic with up to three characters (character x reader x character x character)

𓆩𓆪 No double entries!Meaning I won’t allow the same character in the same fairytale au (for example, I won’t allow two people to write about vampire Toji). First come, first serve

𓆩𓆪 I take the right of not accepting your entry. To ensure the best possible experience for me as the host, and you as the writer, I will have to make sure you don’t fit my dni criteria 

𓆩𓆪 Make sure to tag me and use the tag 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐌'𝐒 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐁 so I can reblog and add your fic to the masterlist

𓆩𓆪  The soft deadline for the collab is the 1th of April 2025. Please notify me if you need more time or if you would like to opt out of the collab  

𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐒

TOKYO REVENGERS

Werewolf! Baji Keisuke x Fem! Reader (Inspired by The little red riding hood) by @/ljubimaya

Mad hatter! Hanma Shuji x Reader (inspired by Alice in Wonderland) by @6ronze

Demon! Baji Keisuke x Reader by @keisukes-number1

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE

Demon King! Sylus x Reader by @aztecbrujeria

JUJUTSU KAISEN

Vampire! Gojo Satoru x Reader by @avatarofstars

Death! Geto Suguru x Reader by @sugurouge (Inspired by Death's messengers)

ARCANE

Warwick/Vander x Reader by @fortluocha (Inspired by Beauty and the Beast)

MY HERO ACADEMIA

WHO HAVE I REMEMBERED? Dabi x Reader by @amalainse (Inspired by The Frog Prince)

HAIKYUU

Oikawa Tooru x Reader by @amalainse (Inspired by The Little Mermaid)

Yeah no everybody needs to read this. I want to print this out and put it on my walls next to my bed so I can read it every night before going to sleep and every morning after waking up.

Can I travel like Dawnbreaker and just have him for myself?😩

across distant nights | dawnbreaker!zayne

⤜ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ- “You saw me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “At the café?”

His gaze darkened, the weight of years—of searching, of longing—settling into his eyes like a storm barely held at bay. “Just for a moment,” he murmured. “A glimpse.” His thumb traced the curve of your cheek, his touch reverent, almost fragile, as if he feared you might vanish beneath his fingertips. “And that was all I needed.” His voice dipped lower, rough with something raw and unspoken.

“Do you understand now?” His forehead nearly touched yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Why I can’t let you go?”

(Or… in the haze of waking and dreaming, you meet a boy—Dawnbreaker. Over the years, he lingers, growing with you, reaching for you, until the lines between reality and dreams blur beyond return. And when you finally meet Zayne, the man who bears his face but not his memories, you realize the truth: Dawnbreaker is no mere dream, and he is driven by something more than longing—by the fear of being replaced.)

⤜ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ- dawnbreaker!zayne x female reader

⤜ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ- angst & smut

⤜ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ- 19.6k words

⤜ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ (or tags)- nsfw, mdni, no use of y/n, dawnbreaker!zayne, dom!zayne, themes of childhood trauma and violence, angst, possessive behaviour, nipple play, marking (biting), finger sucking, body worship, clit play, oral sex (cunnilingus), fingering, squirting (hinted), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, pinning, grinding, thigh fucking, penetration (p in v), breast play, rough sex, unprotected sex, mentions of ownership, and creampie.

⤜ ɴᴏᴛᴇ- Hello! This took wayyy longer than I originally said it would, and for that, I’m really sorry. University got super busy, and honestly, this story took a lot more thinking and emotional energy than I expected. I had to take a break for a week, and of course, the moment I did, a ton of uni work piled up too. So yeah… it took me a while to finally get around to finishing this.

I really hope the plot translated the way I envisioned it! I wanted to explore the idea that it was MC who started dreaming about Dawnbreaker, not Zayne himself, and that they weren’t childhood friends at all. This was the result of that concept, and I had a lot of fun writing it.

Hope you enjoy reading!!

The café smelled of roasted coffee beans and vanilla, the air thick with the hum of quiet conversations. You barely registered the low chatter, your focus settled on the glowing menu board as you waited in line, eyes tracing the list of drinks out of habit more than necessity. The morning rush had come and gone, leaving only a few lingering customers scattered by the windows, engrossed in their own worlds.

You placed your order, fingers drumming absently against the counter. Just as you stepped aside, the barista called out a name—clear, unmistakable.

“One caramel macchiato, a slice of tiramisu, and a box of assorted macarons for Zayne—to go!”

The tray was claimed before the name had a chance to linger. You turned instinctively, drawn by familiarity before your mind could fully catch up. And there he was.

The man who haunted your nights. The man you had spent years reaching for in dreams, only to wake to an empty room.

He stood just a few feet away, lifting the tray to inspect the order sticker, the faintest furrow between his brows. But something was off. His hair, as dark as you remembered, was slightly neat, framing his sharp features in a way that made him look softer, more at ease. A neatly pressed white button-up covered his frame, the sleeves fastened at his wrists—formal, composed—a white doctor’s coat slung over his arm. And the most jarring difference—thin, rectangular glasses rested on the bridge of his nose.

Your gaze flickered downward instinctively, searching. His forearms, bared just enough where the cuff shifted, were smooth, unmarked. No scars. No evidence of the battles you had seen carved into flesh. 

It was wrong. It was all wrong.

You waited—waited for something, for his gaze to lift, for his mouth to curve into something familiar, something that made sense of the years you had spent with him in the quiet corners of your mind. But when his eyes—hazel green, steady, unreadable—finally met yours, there was no flicker of recognition. No shift in his expression. Nothing that acknowledged the weight pressing against your ribs, the sudden tightness in your chest.

He didn’t know you.

A slow, dull throb settled behind your ribs.

You told yourself to speak—to say something, anything—but the words tangled, caught between disbelief and the raw edge of something else, something you couldn’t yet name. And so you waited. If he knew you, he would say something first.

But he only lingered a second longer before giving you a polite, almost absent nod, as if you were just another stranger in his periphery. Then, with his order in hand, he turned toward the exit, leaving you standing there, heart pounding against the silence he left behind.

You followed him.

It wasn’t a conscious decision, not really—more like a pull, a habit carved from years of dreams where he always walked ahead, and you always reached for him. But now, the distance felt different. Wrong. His steps were measured, unhurried, completely unaware of you until the moment he turned around, and you instinctively moved to follow.

That was when he stopped.

Before you could react, he shifted, turning toward you with quiet precision, cutting off your path with nothing more than presence alone. Up close, he seemed even more unfamiliar—hazel-green eyes sharp behind his glasses, his stance polite but firm.

“…Are you following me?”

His voice was even, not accusatory, but laced with careful curiosity, as if piecing together a puzzle he hadn’t expected to find. And for the first time, you hesitated.

This wasn’t the Zayne you knew.

You had expected him to recognize you first. To say your name, to offer even the slightest flicker of familiarity. Instead, he was watching you with mild wariness, waiting for an answer you weren’t sure how to give.

Your throat tightened. You shook your head, forcing a step back. “I—No, I’m sorry.”

Something in his gaze flickered. He didn’t move, didn’t press, only studied you with quiet scrutiny.

You exhaled, turning on your heel. “Goodbye.”

You walked away before he could respond.

And yet, as the door shut behind you, the world seemed to shift—like slipping into something just slightly misaligned.

The memory came back in full—not in pieces or echoes, but whole and sharp, like stepping barefoot onto broken glass.

It had happened before.

A long time ago.

-

It was 2034. 

You were seven years old then, when the sky split open.

They called it the Chronoshift Catastrophe, but that wasn’t what you remembered. The news reports spoke of rifts and anomalies, of the Deepspace Tunnel appearing above Linkon City like a jagged wound in the sky. They warned of Wanderers—twisted figures that moved like shadows and tore through everything in their path. They reported the casualties, the hostilities.

But none of that stayed with you.

You remembered the sirens, the way they wailed endlessly, their shrill cries bleeding into your dreams. You remembered the distant glow of fire reflecting off the windows, the thunder of helicopters beating through the sky. And you remembered sitting alone on the floor of the orphanage’s common room, knees tucked to your chest as the caretakers whispered behind locked doors. They never told you much, only that Linkon City had fallen. That people had changed.

You were one of them.

The first dream came not long after.

You had been asleep—curled beneath a too-thin blanket in your corner of the oprhanage—when the world shifted.

You woke up standing.

The floor beneath your feet was cold, uneven stone, slick with something dark that clung to your skin. The air was heavy—thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth and rust, sharp enough to sting your nose. You shivered, fingers curling tightly around the hem of your nightshirt.

Then you heard it.

A sound—small, stuttering breaths, like someone was trying to stay quiet.

You turned your head and saw him.

A boy—maybe your age, maybe older—hunched against the wall. His knees were drawn to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around them like he was trying to hold himself together. His clothes hung off him in ragged strips, torn and smeared with grime. His hands…

His hands were dark with something sticky and half-dried. Blood. He kept rubbing his palms against his knees in frantic, jerky motions, like he could scrub it off if he just tried hard enough. But it wouldn’t go away.

He hadn’t seen you yet. His head was bowed, his breath shaky and thin.

You took a step closer, and that’s when he froze. His breath hitched, and slowly—like he wasn’t sure he wanted to—he lifted his head.

His eyes were dark—hazel green—and there was something burning inside them, something that made your chest feel tight. Fear, grief… something more than that, something heavy and endless.

For a moment, he just stared at you, like he couldn’t decide if you were real.

“…Who are you?”

His voice was hoarse, frayed at the edges. Like he had been crying too long and had forgotten how to stop.

The boy didn’t move right away. His gaze stayed locked on you, wide and unblinking, like you might vanish if he looked away. His hands had stilled against his knees, fingers twitching faintly as though they couldn’t forget the blood that clung to them.

“Are you…” His voice wavered, cracking in the middle. “Are you one of them?”

“One of who?” you asked softly.

His eyes narrowed. “The monsters…”

You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “No.”

He stared at you a moment longer, then exhaled—short and sharp like he didn’t believe you. His fingers curled into his sleeves, knuckles turning white.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he muttered. “You shouldn’t be—”

His breath hitched, and suddenly his shoulders were shaking again. He bit down hard on his lower lip, like that might keep the tears at bay, but his face was already crumpling. The weight of whatever he was holding back threatened to crush him right there.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t know they—I didn’t want to—”

You didn’t understand what he meant, not yet, but the words came from somewhere raw and jagged, too tangled with guilt for someone so young.

“It’s okay,” you said quickly, stepping closer. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I did,” he shot back, voice rising. “I—I couldn’t stop them. I tried to—I tried—” His hand shot up and pressed against his face, smearing dirt and blood across his cheek. “I couldn’t save them.”

His voice broke at the end, and that was what did it—the way his shoulders hunched in like he was trying to make himself small, the way his breath kept stuttering like it hurt just to keep going.

You moved before you could think better of it. Crossing the space between you, you knelt beside him, resting a hand against his arm. He flinched—his whole body jerking like he expected a blow—but you didn’t let go.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry you’re alone.”

He shook his head, fast and hard. “I’m not alone,” he insisted, voice thin and strained. “I still have to—I still have to fight. I can’t—I can’t stop yet.”

“Fight?” you asked, your hand tightening slightly.

He looked at you then—really looked at you. His eyes still held that feverish gleam, but there was something else there too. Something tired.

“They keep coming,” he whispered. “The monsters, no, Wanderers.” His voice faltered, turning quiet like he was afraid saying their name would call them closer. “They used to be people. I knew some of them. But when they… change…” His gaze dropped to his hands, to the dried blood crusted beneath his nails.

“I couldn’t save them,” he repeated. His voice shook again, breaking against the words. “I tried, but…”

You swallowed hard, your fingers flexing against his arm. He was so cold beneath your touch, like the warmth had been drained out of him.

“You shouldn’t have to do that alone,” you said.

“I have to,” he muttered. His eyes flicked upward again, colder now. “There’s no one else left.”

The weight of those words hit you hard—too big for a boy his age to carry. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

But then you reached out, fingers brushing against his bloodied hand. His fingers twitched beneath yours—instinctively drawing back—but you held steady.

“You’re not alone right now,” you told him quietly. “Not while I’m here.”

His breath hitched again—not like he was about to cry this time, but like he didn’t know what to do with the way you were looking at him. Like he couldn’t quite believe you meant it.

“…What’s your name?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

You told him.

He hesitated, then answered quietly, “I’m Zayne.”

For a while, you just knelt there, your hand still resting against his arm. The cold pricked at your skin—sharp, almost too sharp—and yet none of it seemed to matter. Not when his breathing kept hitching, not when his fingers kept twitching like they didn’t know whether to fight or flee.

Was this real?

The thought curled through your mind, quiet and uncertain. It had to be a dream—didn’t it? You remembered falling asleep. Remembered curling beneath your blanket, still small enough that your feet barely reached the end of your bed. Dreams were strange like that—always shifting, always showing you things that couldn’t be real.

But the air smelled wrong—sharp and metallic. The chill biting at your skin hurt. And this boy—this crying, trembling boy, he felt real. His breath was warm where it ghosted against your arm. His skin—cold and cracked beneath the streaks of blood, trembled faintly beneath your fingers.

Is he real?

You didn’t know. But you couldn’t just sit there and watch him fall apart.

“How did everything start?” you asked softly.

Zayne’s fingers twitched again beneath yours, curling inwards like he was trying to keep something from slipping away. His shoulders shook, and when he finally spoke, his voice barely scraped above a whisper.

“I don’t…” His words faltered. “I don’t know how it started. I just remember… the sky…”

And then he told you. About the sky splitting open like a wound above the city. About the faces he knew—familiar, warm faces—turning cold and empty, wandering the streets like ghosts in their own skin. About his father’s voice, promising everything would be fine. About his mother’s scream, cut short before he could reach her.

His fingers flexed again—this time curling tighter, like he was holding something invisible in his hand. Frost bloomed beneath his palm, thin veins of ice creeping across the cold stone floor.

He’s scared, you realized. He’s still scared.

“You were just a kid,” you said quickly. “You are just a kid.”

“It doesn’t matter.” His gaze sharpened, colder now—too fierce for someone so small. “I can still fight. I can still keep them away.”

His other hand lifted slightly, and a sharp gust of cold prickled against your skin. Tiny flecks of ice clung to his fingers, spreading like frostbite.

This has to be a dream. The thought pushed forward again—louder this time—but you ignored it.

“Zayne…” you started carefully. His face was tight, his eyes locked on his hand like he couldn’t control what was happening.

“It won’t stop,” he muttered. “I can’t—I can’t control it sometimes. When I get scared or angry…” The ice spiked upward, jagged and wild. “I hurt people.”

“You won’t hurt me,” you said, your voice steadier than you expected. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

His gaze snapped to yours. For a moment, his eyes were wide with panic—like he didn’t believe you, like he was waiting for you to pull away.

But you didn’t.

“I’m here,” you told him again, your hand pressing more firmly against his arm. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The ice began to shrink, slowly pulling back toward his fingertips. His breathing steadied—still shaky, but calmer now.

“…Okay,” he whispered. His fingers slackened in your hand. “Okay.”

And when his head dropped against your shoulder, the weight of him leaning into you like he didn’t have the strength to keep himself upright, you wrapped your arms around him. He was cold, ice still clinging faintly to his sleeves but he was warm too. Warm enough that you let yourself believe, even just for a moment, that this was real.

You remembered waking up the next morning with the cold still clinging to your skin—faint, like a whisper fading with the morning light. For a moment, you had lain there in your bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if it had all been a dream.

But it hadn’t felt like a dream. You still remembered the way his voice had trembled, the way his fingers had twitched like he was trying to hold something too sharp. You remembered the weight of him—cold but solid—when he finally let himself lean against you.

You remembered wanting—aching—for nightfall to come.

That whole day, you had barely spoken. You went through the motions—ate when you were told, followed the orphanage’s routine—but your mind kept straying. Each time the sky darkened, your pulse would quicken, hope unfurling in your chest like a bloom in spring.

But when you closed your eyes that night, there was only darkness.

And the night after that.

And the one after that.

Days stretched into weeks. Weeks bled into months. The memory of him—of Zayne, his bloodied hands, his quiet, fractured voice—lingered at the edges of your mind like a shadow you couldn’t chase away. You wondered if he was okay. If his ice had ever stopped growing wild and sharp. If he had somewhere warm to sleep. If he even knew that you had tried to find him again.

Time kept moving forward.

Somewhere in those months, a family came—a pair of Hunters who had once fought during the Chronoshift Catastrophe. They weren’t the sort of people you had expected. They weren’t cold or distant like the stories had warned—they were warm. Solid. Their presence filled the empty spaces in your life so easily that you wondered how you had gone so long without them.

They taught you how to hold a blade properly, how to move quickly but quietly. They told you about the Wanderers—about the people who had once been human, twisted and lost after the disaster. They never told you to become a Hunter like them, but you knew they would teach you if you asked.

And for a while, you stopped thinking about him.

You didn’t mean to forget. You never wanted to. But Zayne became just another face in the corners of your memory—one you couldn’t quite hold on to no matter how hard you tried.

Then, almost a year later, on a night that seemed no different from any other, you found yourself in that cold, quiet place again.

The air smelled of frost—sharp and stinging, colder than any winter you had ever known. The wind howled through the ruins, biting at your skin, and when you exhaled, your breath curled into mist before vanishing into the dark.

You weren’t sure how you knew, but the moment your bare feet touched the frozen ground, you understood.

You had been here before.

Not just here—but with him.

A sharp crack split through the air, and your gaze snapped toward the sound. At the center of the ruined space, jagged ice carved its way up from the broken concrete, glinting under the pale light. And standing before it, his arm still outstretched, was him.

Zayne.

He was taller than you remembered—still thin, still wary, but stronger now. His posture was different, steadier, and though his clothes were still worn, they fit him differently. Purposefully. He wasn’t the trembling boy you had once held in your arms.

No, he was something else now. Something sharper.

The frost curling from his fingers glowed faintly, flickering like dying embers. He was training. You could see it in the rigid set of his shoulders, in the way his breath came slow and measured. The ice in front of him wasn’t just happening—he was controlling it.

And for a moment, you hesitated.

Would he remember you?

Had he, too, waited for nightfall? Had he searched for you in the dark, only to be met with silence?

Or had he forgotten?

You didn’t realize you had whispered his name until the sound of it carried into the stillness.

Zayne’s head snapped toward you. His whole body went rigid, and the ice in his palm flared wildly before fracturing with a sharp, splintering sound.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Then—his expression twisted, confusion flickering through his dark eyes, wariness settling over his features like a veil.

He took a step closer, slow, measured, like he was approaching something that might shatter at the wrong move.

His gaze swept over you, taking in every detail.

And then, softly, warily, “…You’re here.”

It wasn’t relief.

It wasn’t joy.

It was a realization—one that made his fingers twitch at his sides, as if testing whether this was real.

But you could see the shift in his expression, the faint furrow of his brows, the careful calculation behind his eyes.

He knew.

Zayne’s gaze flickered, his breath unsteady. His fingers curled at his sides, the faintest trace of frost spreading across his knuckles before melting away. He studied you for a long moment, taking in every detail—like he was trying to commit you to memory, afraid you might slip away if he blinked.

Then, finally, he exhaled.

“The last time…” His voice was quiet, as if speaking too loudly might break the moment. “It was a dream. I didn’t realize it until I woke up.”

His eyes darkened, something unreadable shifting beneath the surface.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again.”

You didn’t think twice. The moment his voice wavered—that quiet, uncertain note threading through his words—you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

He tensed at first, his whole body going rigid beneath your touch. The cold that clung to him—sharp and biting, like frost creeping across glass—made you shiver, but you didn’t let go.

“I was worried about you,” you said softly, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “I thought… I thought maybe you didn’t make it.”

For a breathless second, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, his arms lifted—hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold on. But once his fingers found your back, his grip tightened. He clung to you like something fragile—something worn thin by too much grief, too many cold nights spent alone.

“I didn’t know if you were real,” he whispered. His voice shook, the words barely holding together. “I kept thinking… maybe I imagined you.”

You shook your head against him. “I’m real.”

His arms tightened just a little more, like he was afraid to let go.

“You’re warm,” he murmured, almost to himself—as if that alone was proof enough.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your arms still looped loosely around his waist. His face was still pale, his eyes still guarded, but you could see the way his shoulders weren’t quite so stiff anymore—like some of that awful weight had finally let go.

Without thinking, you dug into your pocket and fished out a crinkled little pack of candies—brightly wrapped, half-squished from being forgotten in the pockets of your pajamas.

“I brought these,” you said, holding them out with a proud grin. “I’ve been sleeping with candy in my pockets just in case I saw you again.”

His gaze flicked from your face to the candies, like he wasn’t sure if you were serious.

“I thought… maybe if I had something when I fell asleep, I could bring it here too,” you explained. “I didn’t know if it’d work, but… I guess it kinda did?”

Zayne blinked at the small pack in your hand. Then, to your surprise, the corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close enough that it made your chest feel warm.

“You’re weird,” he mumbled. But his fingers reached out—hesitant at first—and plucked the candies from your hand like they were something rare, something delicate. He turned the pack over, his thumb tracing the edge of the wrapper.

“You don’t have to give them all to me,” he added quietly. “You can keep some.”

“I want you to have them,” you insisted. “You look like you need them more.”

He stared at the candies for a moment longer before slipping them carefully into his pocket—like they were something important. Something safe.

“Thanks,” he said, so softly you barely heard it.

You leaned in a little, curious. “What happened after I last saw you?”

Zayne glanced down at the candy in his hands, fingers idly twisting the wrapper. He hesitated for a moment, like he wasn’t sure how much to say, before letting out a quiet breath.

“Some people found me,” he admitted. “Survivors. They took me in.”

“That’s good, right?” You shifted closer without thinking, knees knocking against his. He didn’t move away—he never did. Even when he wasn’t holding onto you, he was always close, always making sure some part of him was touching you. His elbow rested lightly against yours now, grounding, like he was making sure you were real.

Zayne nodded, but his expression remained unreadable. “They’re training,” he continued. “All of us are.”

You tilted your head. “Training for what?”

“To fight,” he said simply. “To kill Wanderers.”

The words should have sounded harsh coming from an eight-year-old, but the way he said them was flat, like he had long accepted this as normal. It made something twist in your chest, a strange sort of ache you didn’t quite understand yet.

For a mmoment, you didn’t know what to say. So instead, you reached into your pocket again, pulled out another piece of candy, and pressed it into his palm.

Zayne blinked at it, then at you, before carefully peeling away the wrapper and popping it into his mouth.

The change was instant.

His hazel-green eyes, usually guarded and dark, brightened as the sweetness hit his tongue. His lips parted slightly, his brows lifting just a fraction—like he had forgotten what something good could taste like.

You giggled. “It’s good, right?”

He nodded, chewing slowly, savoring it. His knee bumped against yours again, more deliberate this time. “Really good.”

The sight of him like this—lighter, just for a moment—made you feel warm all over.

“I’ll bring more next time,” you promised.

Zayne stilled, looking at you carefully, as if testing whether you really meant it. Then, slowly, he swallowed and murmured, “Okay.”

Zayne sat quietly for a moment, rolling the candy wrapper between his fingers. Then he asked, “What about you?”

You blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah…” His voice dipped lower, almost hesitant. “What happened to you?”

You tucked your knees to your chest, leaning your chin against them. “I got adopted,” you said. “By some Hunters. They’re really nice—they’re strong too! They said they fought during the Chronoshift, but…” You paused, wrinkling your nose. “I guess things are better in my world. The city’s still there, and the Wanderers aren’t everywhere like… like in yours.”

Zayne’s gaze flickered down at his hands. His fingers twitched like they wanted to curl into fists again.

“But they’re still dangerous,” you added quickly. “I mean, the Wanderers. They’re still out there, hurting people sometimes.” You sat up straighter. “That’s why I wanna train too! Like my parents—I wanna be a Hunter when I grow up so I can help.”

Zayne’s head snapped up at that. “You want to fight them?”

“Well… yeah.” You shrugged. “I know I’m not strong yet, but I’ll get there. My parents say I’m getting better with a blade, and I can run pretty fast! I just…” Your fingers twisted into the hem of your sleeve. “I just don’t want people to get hurt anymore.”

He was staring at you—not with his usual wary gaze, but with something softer. Something you couldn’t quite name yet.

“You’re lucky,” Zayne muttered, barely above a whisper. “That your world’s better.”

You reached out without thinking, your hand finding his. His fingers were colder than yours—ice creeping faintly along his knuckles—but they didn’t flinch away. Instead, his hand curled around yours, clinging tightly like he was afraid to let go.

“I’ll train hard,” you promised. “So that if you ever need help… I can be there.”

Zayne didn’t answer right away. He just kept holding your hand, his knee still pressed against yours, his elbow brushing your arm. He stayed close—like he needed you to be near, needed something steady to hold onto.

“…Okay,” he said at last, voice barely louder than a breath. “Okay.”

You didn’t know what you meant by it—how could you? The two of you had only ever met in dreams, separated by two different worlds. But somehow, that didn’t matter.

You just knew that you wanted to help him—wanted him to be okay—even if you didn’t quite understand how yet.

Over the years, the dreams came like clockwork—once a year, always on the same day. Each time you drifted into sleep on that night, you found yourself there—in that cold, quiet place where Zayne waited.

He was always there. And each year, things were different—yet somehow the same.

When you were nine years old, the moment you opened your eyes, you jolted up, excitement buzzing in your chest.

It worked.

You were back.

Your head whipped around, scanning the dim surroundings, your breath fogging in the cold air. Then—there. A short distance away, standing with his arms crossed and a guarded expression, was Zayne. His hazel-green eyes flickered with something unreadable as he watched you.

The second you saw him, you took off.

You ran toward him, nearly tripping over yourself in your eagerness, and skidded to a stop just before colliding into him. Before he could react, you shoved a lollipop into his palm with a triumphant grin.

“I brought you more candy!” you announced proudly. “It worked last time, so I kept doing it!”

Zayne stared at the lollipop, then at you, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and amusement. “You really sleep with candy in your pockets, huh?”

You nodded, arms crossed. “Yep! Every night! Just in case I see you again.”

There was a beat of silence where he just stared at you, and for a second, you wondered if you had said something weird.

Then—slowly—his lips twitched, barely a ghost of a smile.

Without a word, he unwrapped the lollipop with careful fingers, almost reverent in the way he peeled away the wrapper like it was something rare. He popped the candy into his mouth and let out a quiet hum, as if savoring the taste.

“You’re weird,” he murmured around the candy.

“You’re mean,” you shot back, grinning.

But Zayne didn’t refute it. He just stood there, sucking on the candy like it was the best thing he’d ever had, his shoulders slightly less tense than before.

You plopped down onto the cold ground, patting the space beside you. Zayne hesitated for a second before sitting, his knee bumping lightly against yours. He didn’t move away.

“Did you miss me?” you asked suddenly, kicking your feet out.

Zayne blinked at you, sucking harder on the candy, and didn’t answer immediately.

“…I wasn’t sure if you’d come back,” he admitted after a moment, his voice quiet.

You huffed. “That’s not a yes or no answer.”

He shot you a side glance, his lips twitching around the lollipop’s stick.

“…Maybe,” he muttered.

Your grin widened, but you didn’t tease him.

Instead, you reached into your other pocket, your fingers closing around something small. “Oh! Look at what I also brought this time!”

Zayne watched curiously as you pulled out a small flashlight, clicking it on with a dramatic flourish. The beam flickered to life, bright and steady.

“Freeze!” you declared, aiming the light at his chest. “You’re under arrest for being a grump!”

Zayne squinted at the beam, blinking rapidly. For a second, he looked confused—then, to your surprise, he let out a small breath of laughter, shoving your arm away.

“That’s stupid,” he said, but his gaze lingered on the light.

“Wanna try?” you offered, holding it out.

He hesitated before taking it, fingers curling carefully around the handle. His thumb hovered over the switch for a moment before pressing down. The beam flickered back on, steady against the stone wall.

“…It’s been a while since I’ve seen one of these,” he murmured, quietly enough that you almost didn’t catch it.

“You don’t have one?”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t last long when you’re… outside a lot.” His voice trailed off, like he didn’t want to finish the sentence.

You didn’t press. Instead, you scooted closer, watching as Zayne wordlessly traced the beam along the wall—outlining shapes, dragging the light across the floor like he was following an invisible path.

“You can keep it,” you said when the batteries started to dim.

Zayne’s fingers tightened slightly around the flashlight. “Why?”

“In case you ever get scared.”

His lips parted like he was about to say something, but he just gave a quiet snort and tucked the flashlight into his pocket.

The dream started to blur at the edges, the cold air growing softer. Zayne’s knee bumped against yours, firmer than before—like he was bracing himself.

“You should come back sooner next time,” he muttered.

“I can’t control it,” you reminded him. “It just… happens.”

“I know.” He shifted, his shoulder knocking into yours. “…I just didn’t know when I’d see you again.”

He didn’t say he missed you.

But you could hear it anyway.

The next time you found yourself in that cold, quiet place, you were used to it.

You woke up in the dream with a jolt—blinking hard, adjusting to the dimness—and immediately looked around for him.

Zayne was there, further away this time, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His gaze flicked up at the sound of your footsteps, and for a split second, you caught the faintest trace of relief on his face.

“I knew you’d come back,” he said—like he’d been convincing himself of it for a while now.

“I brought you something!” you grinned, bouncing on your toes as you dug into your pockets. First came the candy—your usual stash, neatly wrapped. He took it without a word, but his fingers lingered against yours for a moment longer than necessary.

“And…” You reached deeper, pulling out a bundle of soft fabric. “I got this for you, too!”

Zayne’s brow furrowed as you unraveled the black scarf—long, thick, and softer than anything you’d ever owned yourself. “What’s this for?”

“For you!” You stepped closer, looping it around his neck before he could protest. “It’s warm, right?”

“It’s…” Zayne trailed off, reaching up to brush his fingers along the wool. His hand stilled halfway, curling slightly like he didn’t want to let go. “…It’s nice,” he muttered.

“You should wear it all the time,” you said proudly. “That way you won’t get cold.”

Zayne snorted, but the sound was quieter than usual—softer. “You know this is just a dream, right?”

“Yeah, but maybe you’ll still feel warmer when you wake up,” you reasoned. “Dream logic!”

He huffed a laugh under his breath, then stuffed a piece of candy in his mouth to hide his smile.

“Oh!” You straightened suddenly. “I forgot to show you something cool!”

Zayne’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “…What?”

“Watch this!”

You took a deep breath and held out your hand, fingers spread wide. At first, nothing happened—just air and silence—but then you felt it, that faint pull beneath your skin. Energy, quiet and familiar, thrummed to life at your fingertips. Tiny sparks flickered across your palm—faint, pale blue—before fading just as quickly as they came.

“Whoa,” Zayne murmured. “How’d you do that?”

“It’s my evol!” you said proudly. “My parents say it’s called Resonance.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Well…” You chewed your lip, thinking. “It’s like… I can match energy and make it stronger. Like if someone uses fire, I can make their fire burn hotter. Or if they use ice—”

“Like my evol?”

“Exactly!” You beamed. “I haven’t done that part yet, but I’m learning!”

Zayne stared at your hand like he was still processing it. “…That’s kinda cool,” he muttered, but his voice was quieter—thoughtful.

“You have an evol too,” you reminded him. “Your ice is really strong!”

“Yeah,” he said shortly, like that wasn’t something to be proud of.

“Well…” You nudged his arm with your elbow. “If you ever need help controlling it, maybe I can help!”

Zayne didn’t answer right away. His gaze flicked toward your hand again—the faint traces of warmth still lingering on your fingertips—before dropping to his lap.

“You don’t have to,” he muttered.

“I want to,” you said simply.

You didn’t know what you meant by it—not really. After all, the two of you only ever met in dreams, and when you woke up, he would still be there—wherever there was—fighting his own battles.

But you meant it all the same.

The dreams went on, but when you were thirteen, that year, when the cold air of the dream settled around you, you didn’t have time to look for him.

Because the moment you opened your eyes, you felt it—the rush of footsteps, fast and urgent, and before you could turn, arms wrapped tightly around you.

“Zayne?” you gasped, stumbling back a step.

His grip only tightened.

He wasn’t just hugging you—he was clinging to you, like you were the only solid thing in a world that was slipping through his fingers. His face pressed hard against your shoulder, his breath ragged and uneven. You could feel the way his fingers dug into your back—desperate, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

“Hey…” You shifted, trying to look at him, but he wouldn’t let you move. His arms stayed locked around you, his body tense like a drawn wire.

“You’re here,” he muttered under his breath. His voice sounded strange—hoarse, brittle. “You’re really here.”

“I’m here,” you promised, softening your voice. “I’m here.”

You stood there for a while, saying nothing—just feeling the way his heartbeat thrummed against your chest, too fast and too hard. Eventually, his breathing slowed, and he leaned heavier into you, like his legs couldn’t quite hold him up anymore.

“I brought candy,” you murmured after a while, your voice light—a clumsy attempt to ease the weight in the air. “You’ll crush it if you keep squeezing me like this.”

He huffed something that was almost a laugh, but it faded too quickly. Slowly—reluctantly—he loosened his grip enough for you to see him.

His face was pale—paler than usual—and there was a shadow beneath his eyes, like he hadn’t slept in days. His hazel-green gaze flickered down, avoiding yours, and that’s when you noticed it—the faint red stain on his sleeve.

“Zayne…” Your stomach tightened. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head quickly. “It’s not mine.”

“…Oh.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, too heavy to break easily.

“I—” His voice cracked, and he stopped. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he was reaching for you again but couldn’t quite bring himself to.

So you reached first.

You grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers together. He froze for a second, then squeezed back—hard enough that it almost hurt.

“Do you…” You swallowed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head again. “No.”

But he didn’t let go. His fingers stayed locked with yours, holding on like you were the only thing keeping him from drowning.

You didn’t push him. Instead, you dug into your pockets and fished out a handful of candy—more than usual this time, a bright scatter of wrappers in reds and blues and yellows.

“Here.” You pressed some into his free hand. “I brought extras.”

For a moment, he didn’t move—just stared down at the candy like he couldn’t quite process it. Then, finally, his fingers closed around it.

“You’re weird,” he muttered, voice rough, as always.

“You’re mean,” you shot back, just like you always did.

But this time, when he smiled—faint, tired—it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You ended up sitting on the cold ground together, his knee pressed tight against yours, his fingers still tangled with your own. He kept fidgeting with the scarf you’d given him two years ago, winding it tighter around his neck like he was trying to block out the chill.

At one point, he unwrapped one of the candies, popping it into his mouth with little thought. But when the taste hit his tongue, you saw something flicker in his gaze—that brief, flickering light you hadn’t seen in a long time.

“It’s good,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “You always pick the best ones.”

“You always say that,” you teased.

“Because it’s true,” he mumbled.

You felt his hand shift against yours—his fingers slipping from your grip—and you barely had time to miss the warmth before he moved again, wrapping his arm firmly around your waist instead. He leaned into you without hesitation, tucking his head against your shoulder like he belonged there.

“Zayne?” you whispered, surprised by how tightly he held on.

“Just… stay,” he muttered. “Please.”

So you stayed. You sat there in the cold, with his arm locked around you and his breath warm against your neck. His grip never loosened—even when his breathing evened out, even when his fingers twitched slightly against your side, like he was grounding himself with your presence.

And when you finally woke up at the time—warmth still lingering on your skin—you found yourself wishing you could’ve stayed longer.

-

The evening air felt colder than usual when you got home, your thoughts tangled from the encounter at the café. Zayne’sface—no, his face—kept surfacing in your mind, like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

But it couldn’t be him.

You kicked off your shoes, barely noticing the warmth of your apartment. The glow from your laptop screen flickered to life as you sat down, fingers tapping restlessly against the keyboard.

Dr. Zayne Li, Akso Hospital.

The search results filled the screen in an instant. Article after article—crisp headlines stamped with words like brilliant, prodigy, and renowned.

“The Miracle Hands of Akso Hospital: Chief Cardiac Surgeon Zayne Performs Another Groundbreaking Procedure.”

“At Just 27, Dr. Zayne Li Has Achieved What Few Surgeons Could Dream Of.”

“The Man Who Fixes Broken Hearts—An Exclusive Interview with Dr. Zayne Li.”

Your chest tightened.

The photos didn’t help. His face was the same—sharp, symmetrical features framed by dark hair, those unmistakable hazel-green eyes that had always lingered somewhere between cool metal and sunlit glass. But there was something… off.

In the photos, Dr. Zayne looked composed—poised, even. His hair was neatly styled, not tousled like the boy you remembered. His gaze, while intense, was distant—focused in a way that felt clinical, like his thoughts were always a thousand steps ahead.

But what struck you most wasn’t his face—it was his hands.

In one photo, his fingers were curled lightly around a scalpel—precise, sure, steady. The faint scars that littered his knuckles and forearms which you were used to seeing, were nowhere to be seen. His hands, that was roughened from cuts and bruises and too many rushed bandages, now looked immaculate—like they’d never known violence or blood that didn’t belong in an operating room.

And his smile…

You clicked on an interview clip. The camera panned to him—that same face, now sharper with age—answering a question with quiet confidence. His lips curved into a smile, polite and practiced. It was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You remembered your Zayne’s smile—small and crooked, the kind that slipped out when you surprised him with candy or when your teasing pulled him out of his brooding silence. It was never perfect, but it was real.

This wasn’t.

Your Zayne wore his emotions like a second skin—tense shoulders, restless fingers, eyes that always betrayed the storm beneath. The man on the screen was calm, too calm—like he’d buried something deep inside and didn’t dare let it surface.

This man didn’t fidget with his scarf when he was nervous. He didn’t hover just a little too close like your Zayne always did, like he needed to know you were still there.

And this man’s eyes—cold and clinical—didn’t carry the weight of someone who’d spent years fighting to stay human in a world that kept turning people into monsters.

You closed the laptop, pulse pounding in your ears.

It wasn’t him.

It couldn’t be.

Sleep refused to come, you tossed and turned beneath your blankets, twisting them around your legs like vines. Each time you closed your eyes, you thought of him—your Zayne—the one who always greeted you with that tight, breathless hug, like he was scared you’d vanish if he let go. The Zayne who clung to your sleeve when you sat beside him, his knee always bumping yours. The Zayne who smiled crookedly when you teased him, who sucked on candy like it was his last meal, who had grown quieter and sadder with every passing year. 

You missed him. 

The thought hit you with a sharp ache—worse than usual, more desperate. The man you’d seen today wasn’t him. He couldn’t be.

But what if… 

What if something had happened? What if your Zayne had changed—had to change—to survive? What if he’d forgotten you, moved on without you? 

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to dream. To wake up in that cold, quiet place where your Zayne was waiting—where you could press candy into his hand and feel his fingers curl tightly around yours. 

But the dream wouldn’t come. 

It hadn’t been a year yet. 

By the time the first pale hints of morning crept through your window, your mind was already made up. 

You didn’t bother to eat. You barely remembered changing clothes before grabbing your keys and heading out. The city felt colder than usual, the early air biting at your skin, but you barely noticed. Each step felt restless, like your body was moving faster than your thoughts. 

When you finally reached Akso Hospital, you lingered outside longer than you should have. The building stretched high above you, sleek and intimidating with its glass-paneled walls. People streamed in and out of the entrance—nurses in scrubs, patients in wheelchairs, visitors clutching flowers or gift bags. 

For a moment, you wondered if this was a mistake. 

But then you remembered his face—his sharp gaze, his empty smile—and something inside you hardened. 

You stepped through the automatic doors. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled your senses, sharp and clinical. The lobby bustled with quiet energy—footsteps tapping against tiles, murmured conversations drifting through the air. 

You approached the front desk, your fingers curling into your sleeves. “Excuse me,” you said softly. “I’m looking for Dr. Zayne.” 

The receptionist barely looked up from her screen. “Do you have an appointment?” 

“No, but—” You hesitated. What were you even going to say? “I just… I need to see him.” 

“Dr. Zayne’s schedule is extremely busy,” the woman said, her tone polite but firm. “If you’d like to leave a message—” 

“I can wait.” The words left you before you’d even decided to say them. 

The receptionist’s gaze flicked toward you, taking in your stubborn expression. With a sigh, she relented. “Fine. But there’s no guarantee he’ll see you.” 

“I’ll wait,” you repeated. 

And you did. Hours passed—patients came and went, doctors hurried past in white coats, their faces tired and focused. The clock on the wall seemed to drag on endlessly. You kept your eyes on the hallway, scanning every face that passed. 

Then, finally you saw him. 

Zayne. 

His hair was neatly combed, his dark coat swept behind him as he walked with purposeful strides. His expression was calm—distant, but his face… 

God, it was still his face. 

You shot to your feet before you could think better of it. “Zayne!” 

He stopped mid-step, turning at the sound of his name. His gaze landed on you—and for a moment, just a moment, something flickered in his eyes. 

But then it was gone. 

“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice smooth but guarded. 

You blinked, your heart sinking. There was no warmth in his voice—no familiarity, no recognition. 

“I…” Your throat tightened. “I just… wanted to see you.” 

His expression didn’t change. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice clipped. “I’m very busy.” He turned to leave. 

“Wait!” Desperation surged through you. “Please, just… just one minute.” 

He paused, glancing back with a sigh—and that flicker was there again, something almost hesitant. 

“One minute,” he said flatly. “That’s all.” 

He motioned for you to follow and you did. heading towards the hospital’s doors.

The air outside felt colder than before, the faint scent of trimmed grass and hospital disinfectant clinging to the breeze. The hospital’s garden was quiet—tucked away from the usual foot traffic, lined with benches and dull patches of wilted flowers. 

Zayne stood a few feet away from you, his hands tucked into his coat pockets. His gaze lingered somewhere past your shoulder, as if he wasn’t quite willing to meet your eyes. 

“I remember you,” he said at last, his voice low. “From the café yesterday.” 

You stiffened, unsure how to respond. Somehow, knowing he remembered made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t explain. 

“I wasn’t following you,” you muttered, even though you knew how it must have looked. “I just… I thought…” 

“You thought what?” His eyes finally flicked toward you—sharp and unreadable. 

“I thought you were someone I knew,” you admitted. 

Zayne gave a quiet, humorless laugh—barely more than a breath. “Well… sorry to disappoint you.” 

“You didn’t.” The words left you before you could stop them. “I mean… you look like him. But you’re not.” 

His expression didn’t change, but there was something in the way his fingers curled deeper into his pockets—something tense, like he was bracing himself. 

“I’m guessing you realized that when you followed me here,” he said dryly. 

“I didn’t—” You stopped yourself, sighing. “Yeah… I guess I did.” 

Silence stretched between you, awkward and heavy. His gaze drifted again, distant like he was already thinking about walking away. 

“I read about you,” you said quickly, hoping to keep him there just a little longer. “Online. You’re a cardiac surgeon, right?” 

His brow arched slightly. “I didn’t realize you were so interested.” 

“I just…” You struggled for words. “I didn’t think you’d… I mean, he… I didn’t think you’d be a doctor.” 

“That makes two of us.” There was a flicker of something in his tone—bitterness, maybe—but it faded as quickly as it appeared. “Look… if that’s all, I should get back.” 

He turned, already halfway down the path when your voice stopped him. 

“Wait.” 

He paused, shoulders stiff. This time, when he looked back, his face was unreadable—guarded in a way that made your chest ache. 

“Do you…” You hesitated, feeling foolish even asking. “Do you ever have weird dreams?” 

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on you, unreadable, like he was considering something—or maybe deciding what not to say. The silence stretched between you, thick with something unspoken.

But before he could respond, a voice cut through the moment.

“Dr. Zayne.”

A nurse stood at the entrance of the garden, her expression expectant. “They need you in prep. The surgery’s in fifteen minutes.”

Zayne exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck before turning back to you. Whatever had been on the tip of his tongue was gone now, sealed behind a carefully neutral expression.

He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a sleek black card, and held it out to you.

“My contact information,” he said simply. “In case you need anything.”

His fingers brushed yours briefly as you took it. And then, without another word, he turned and walked away, the nurse falling into step beside him, leaving you standing there alone with more questions than answers.

You stared at the card in your hand, the weight of it far heavier than it should have been. The name printed in crisp, professional lettering—Dr. Zayne Li—felt foreign, unfamiliar, even though you had known a boy with that name for most of your life. But that boy had never been this composed, this distant. 

Your Zayne had sharp edges softened only by exhaustion, by the way he always reached for you first, as if grounding himself in your presence. This one? He held himself apart, his touch brief, his gaze careful. There was no desperation in the way he looked at you, no silent relief at your presence. And that, more than anything, told you what you already knew: this wasn’t him.

-

The uncertainty of it all brought you back to when you were sixteen—when, for the first time, he was nowhere to be found, leaving you to wonder if he had ever been real at all. 

The cold was the first thing you noticed. It always was. But this time, something was different.

Zayne wasn’t here.

Your eyes swept over the dream-woven space, expecting, waiting to see him. He was always here first, always standing there with that quiet, unreadable expression, waiting for you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But tonight, he wasn’t.

Your fingers tightened around the candy in your pocket. Maybe… maybe he was just late?

You sat down, resting your chin on your knees, trying to ignore the uneasy weight in your chest. It wasn’t like him to be late. He always came, even when he was tired, even when his hands shook from exhaustion, even when his eyes were heavy with something he never said out loud.

You waited.

Minutes stretched into something longer. You kept your ears open, straining for the familiar sound of his footsteps, for the quiet shift of fabric when he sat beside you. But the silence stayed.

You waited.

The cold bit deeper. Your arms wrapped around yourself, but it didn’t help. The dream space felt bigger tonight, emptier.

You waited.

Your eyelids grew heavy. The edges of the dream blurred, flickering with something distant—something you knew all too well. The slow pull of waking.

Panic clawed at your chest. No, not yet. Not without seeing him.

You clenched your fists, nails pressing into your palms, trying to ground yourself. You had never dreamed alone before. You had never sat in this cold, quiet space without him beside you.

But tonight, you did.

And then, just like that—

The dream slipped away.

-

The year after, you had hoped—desperately—that this time would be different. That you would open your eyes to find him waiting, standing just a few steps away like he always had.

But two years in a row, you woke up in the dream and found nothing but silence, nothing but cold—nothing but the aching absence of him.

It went on like that, for three more years, that you had started to believe you would never see him again. That after five years of empty dreams, of waiting in silence, of waking with the lingering ache of something missing, he was gone.

-

But then, when you were twenty, it was just another ordinary day. You hadn’t expected anything—you hadn’t even remembered what day it was. Sleep came easily, without anticipation, without longing.

And yet, when the dream took hold—he was there.

The first thing you noticed was the blood.

It dripped from the edge of his blade, slow and deliberate, staining the ground beneath his feet. It clung to the fine black wool of his coat, splattered in uneven streaks, soaking into the lines of his hands as if trying to seep into his skin. The scent of it lingered, thick in the cold air, mixing with the sharp bite of ice.

His evol was on edge.

Frost curled from his breath, dissipating into the eerie stillness of the dream space. Ice stretched outward from where he stood, jagged formations creeping across the frozen ground, spreading in uneven cracks beneath him like something alive. It was as if the cold itself had settled into his very presence, weighing down the air around him, pressing against your skin.

He stood there—rigid, unmoving, his grip around the hilt of his blade unrelenting. The sharp lines of his face were harder, more angular, his expression carved from something distant and untouchable. He was wearing black from head to toe—a long, double-breasted coat with sharp lapels, the fabric heavy against his frame. Beneath it, a tailored vest and a dark button-up, the collar neatly pressed, the tie around his neck scattered with tiny, pale specks like distant stars. A silver pin gleamed against the dark fabric, unfamiliar yet intricate, catching the light with every slow rise and fall of his chest.

And he didn’t see you.

His gaze was lowered, fixed on the blade in his hand, on the slow drip of blood pooling at his feet. His breath came steady, measured, but there was something unsteady in the way his fingers curled around the hilt—tight, white-knuckled, as if trying to ground himself. The ice beneath him cracked, settling under its own weight, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, frozen in place, as if he hadn’t yet come back from whatever had happened before you arrived.

You had wondered, countless times, what had happened to him—what had kept him away from the place where you had always met, where he had always been waiting. You had searched for answers in the silence, in the weight of empty dreams, in the absence of the one person who had been a constant since childhood.

But standing here now, hidden in the lingering shadows of the dreamscape, you weren’t sure you wanted the answer anymore.

He was different. Not just older, not just taller. Something had been carved out of him in those lost years, something you weren’t sure could ever return. The boy you once knew had always been serious, always carried a quiet weight in his gaze, but there had been warmth—small, fleeting moments of it, tucked into the way he listened to you, the way he reached for you, the way his presence had never felt cold despite his evol.

You reached forward, to call out to him, but as if on cue, the air shifted, rippling with something wrong, something other.

A crack of ice split through the silence, racing outward like veins of frost spreading over glass. The temperature plummeted, stealing the breath from your lungs, biting at your skin. A Wanderer shifted in the distance—a thing of half-formed limbs, its face a smear of writhing distortion, a nightmare clawing at the edges of the dreamscape. It let out a guttural, warping sound, something between a snarl and a scream.

And Zayne moved.

Not with hesitation, not with fear. With precision.

His blade cut through the air in one fluid motion, faster than you could track, faster than you could even breathe. The ice surged in tandem with him, responding as if it were alive, as if it were nothing more than an extension of his will. Jagged spikes erupted from the ground, impaling the creature mid-step, pinning it like an insect on glass. The Wanderer shrieked, convulsing, its body thrashing against the ice, blackened veins pulsing beneath the skin that wasn’t entirely its own.

Zayne didn’t flinch.

More ice. A crushing weight of frost and jagged edges, a prison forged in an instant. The creature barely had time to resist before its body was swallowed whole, encased in a coffin of shimmering blue. The air itself cracked under the force of it, the frozen husk shifting, creaking, breaking.

Then, his blade came down.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

The sound was sickening. The ice shattered under the weight of his attack, along with whatever remained of the Wanderer inside. Limbs snapped and crumbled, frozen flesh breaking apart like brittle porcelain. He cut through it with the same detached precision—efficient, methodical, merciless.

And yet, there was something worse than the violence itself.

It was his silence.

The boy who once looked at you with quiet understanding, who always held himself back from anything too sharp, too cruel—he was gone. In his place was a man who didn’t hesitate, who didn’t waver, who didn’t even look at what he had done. He simply turned, his breath curling in the freezing air, his blade still dripping red.

Despite it all, despite the ice, the blood, the emptiness in his eyes—you still called for him. Your voice barely broke above a whisper, but in the unbearable silence of the dreamscape, it may as well have been a scream.

“Zayne.”

He froze.

The breath hitched in his throat, sharp enough that you swore you heard it. Slowly—so slowly—it was agonizing, he turned. His face, carved from stone just moments ago, fractured at the sight of you. Shock bled into something raw, something desperate, his hazel green eyes widening as if you were a ghost, something fragile and unreal. The blade in his hand wavered, fingers tightening, loosening—like he couldn’t remember how to hold it anymore, like he couldn’t remember how to breathe.

The ice around him cracked.

Not from his evol, not from anything external, but from the weight of it all. The blood on his hands, the years that had stretched between you like an abyss, the violence that had become second nature—only now, with you standing there, did it seem to settle on him all at once. He looked at you as if the world had suddenly realigned, as if only now did he realize just how far he had fallen.

And still, he didn’t move.

Rooted in place, trapped in the space between recognition and disbelief, he simply stared.

So you moved.

You didn’t care that you were barefoot in the dream, that the ice cut into your skin, that the ground was still slick with blood. You didn’t care how much darker he had become, how the Zayne before you was nothing like the boy you used to know. None of it mattered.

You ran to him, closing the distance, arms outstretched, and before he could even react—before he could step back, before he could disappear like a ghost slipping through your fingers—you crashed into him.

You held him.

The scent of blood clung to him, iron-thick and suffocating, but beneath it was something else—something familiar. His body was rigid against yours, like he’d forgotten how to be touched, how to be held. You could feel the way his chest rose in a sharp inhale, could feel the way his muscles tensed beneath his coat.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

For a moment, he wasn’t Zayne—he was something distant, something unreachable, something hollow.

And then, slowly, his arms came around you. He murmured your name, barely a breath, barely a sound. But it shattered something inside you.

His arms barely tightened around you before he pulled back, just enough to see your face. His hazel green eyes, blown wide, flickered with something unreadable, his voice quieter than you remembered, rough like he hadn’t spoken in a long time.

“What are you doing here?”

Anger surged through you, raw and unfiltered. You clenched your fists and struck his chest—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him feel it.

“You didn’t show up for five years!” Your voice cracked, the weight of every missed dream, every unanswered call, crashing down on you all at once. “Five, Zayne! Do you even know how long that is? Do you know how much I—”

His breath hitched, but before he could say anything, his gaze dropped—down to your feet, bare and bleeding against the ice-streaked ground. His expression twisted, sharp and exasperated, and before you could step away, his arms tightened around you.

“You’re hurt.”

You barely had time to process the words before he bent down, one arm slipping under your legs, the other steady against your back.

“Zayne—!”

He lifted you as if you weighed nothing, ignoring your protest. His grip was firm but careful, his warmth stark against the cold air, but his eyes were distant, unreadable.

“You ran barefoot across the ice.” It wasn’t a reprimand, just a quiet observation, but his jaw tightened as if the sight of your blood on the frozen ground unsettled him.

“Of course, I ran!” You huffed, your hands gripping his coat. “I saw you, and you think I’d just stand there? What did you expect me to do, Zayne?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t argue, didn’t justify his absence. He just held you, his fingers flexing slightly as if grounding himself in the feeling of you in his arms.

“Five years, Zayne.” Your voice was quieter now, trembling. “Five years, and you just—just left. You never even said why.”

His grip on you tightened. The blood on his hands, his clothes, his blade—it was still there, stark against the dark fabric. But for the first time since you saw him, he wasn’t looking at the aftermath of whatever battle he had fought.

He was looking at you.

Your fingers curled into his coat, gripping the bloodstained fabric like it could somehow ground you, keep you from unraveling. The words tumbled out, unfiltered, raw.

“Every night.” Your voice shook, but you didn’t stop. “I slept with candy in my pockets every night, just in case. I thought maybe—maybe we got it wrong. Maybe it wasn’t that day anymore. Maybe it could be any day.” Your breath hitched, frustration and heartbreak intertwining. “So I kept waiting. And waiting. And waiting.”

Zayne didn’t move, didn’t interrupt. But his hold on you? It shifted—his fingers digging into your skin just enough that you felt the weight of it, the barely restrained desperation bleeding into his grip. He looked calm, composed even, but you knew better.

“You weren’t supposed to wait.” His voice was quiet, but there was something beneath it, something fractured. “You should’ve—”

“Should’ve what?” You snapped, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. His golden eyes burned, dark and unreadable, but his jaw clenched as if he were holding something back. “Moved on? Forgotten about you?” You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Like hell I would.”

His fingers twitched against your back. His grip hadn’t loosened since he picked you up, hadn’t wavered for even a second, as if he was afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear.

“Zayne.” Your voice softened, cracking under the weight of it all. “Why?”

He exhaled sharply, his head lowering just slightly, his forehead nearly brushing against yours. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

You stared, breath caught in your throat.

“Like what?”

He didn’t answer right away. His hand curled tighter around you, his touch no longer just firm—it was desperate, as if holding you was the only thing keeping him from shattering.

“Like this.” His voice was hoarse, almost strained. “Blood on my hands. A blade in my grip. A monster, not a man.”

Your heart clenched.

“That’s not—”

“It is.” His forehead finally touched yours, the barest press of warmth against the cold. He inhaled, slow and deep, like he was memorizing your scent, the shape of you in his arms. “For five years, I stayed awake on this day. Every single time.”

Your breath caught.

“You—”

“I didn’t sleep.” His grip tightened, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Because if I did, you’d be here. You’d see me. And I couldn’t let that happen.”

Your chest ached, your fingers curling against his coat. “You punished yourself.”

“I protected you.”

You shook your head. “You isolated yourself.”

His eyes flickered, something unreadable flashing through them. And for the first time since you arrived in the dream, he wavered. Just for a second.

“I had to.” His voice was so quiet now, barely audible. “Because if you saw me, I wouldn’t have been able to let go.”

You didn’t think. 

Your fingers tightened against his jaw, tilting his face toward you, and before he could stop you—before he could pull away, before he could tell you that he wasn’t the person you once knew—you pressed your lips to his.

The taste of blood lingered between you, sharp and metallic, but you didn’t care. You kissed him through it, through the cold seeping from his skin, through the way his whole body locked up as if he didn’t know how to receive something so gentle, so undeserved.

Zayne made a quiet, almost broken sound, and then—his grip on you tightened, his hands pressing against your back, his breath hitching as he kissed you back. Desperation bled through the way he held you, as if trying to carve the feeling of you into his very bones, as if trying to chase away the years of loneliness in a single moment.

The dream wavered, edges blurring, but you held onto him until the very last second—until everything faded into darkness, until all that remained was the lingering warmth of his lips against yours.

And then you woke up.

You hoped to see him the year after that, but no matter how much you willed it—since then, you never dreamed of him again. 

-

The streets were quiet as you walked home from Akso Hospital.

The late morning sun cast long, pale shadows across the pavement, the sky a cloudless stretch of blue. The scent of fresh rain still clung to the air from the early drizzle, mixing with the faint aroma of baked goods drifting from a nearby café. It was almost peaceful—almost.

But your mind wasn’t here.

Your fingers toyed with the sleek black card in your pocket, tracing the edges absently. Dr. Zayne Li. You had met him, spoken to him, and yet the tightness in your chest refused to fade. He was the same, but not. Not your Zayne. His voice was familiar, but it lacked the weight, the quiet exhaustion—the desperation.

He didn’t reach for you first.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. Thinking like that wouldn’t change anything. This was reality. And your Zaynewas… gone.

The thought made something inside you twist.

The apartment building loomed ahead. You climbed the stairs with slow, steady steps, keys in hand. The hall smelled faintly of old wood and lemon cleaner, a familiar scent, a grounding one. As you reached your door, you exhaled, pressing your palm against the cool surface for just a moment before unlocking it.

The lock clicked. The door creaked open.

And then—

The world shuddered.

A deep, unnatural tremor rippled through the ground, so strong you had to grip the doorframe to keep from stumbling. The lights in the hallway flickered violently, buzzing like a swarm of angry insects.

Then came the sound.

A low, resonant wail.

It wasn’t something heard—it was something felt, something that pressed against your bones, against your skull, something that made your breath catch in your throat. The kind of sound that meant the world was breaking.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

You turned—and saw the sky tear open.

Far beyond the skyline, past the rooftops and the quiet streets, reality itself was splitting apart.

A massive, jagged rupture carved through the sky, edges curling and fraying like torn fabric. The clouds around it distorted, warping into impossible shapes, bending under forces they were never meant to withstand. The air crackled with energy, tendrils of light and shadow pulsing at the edges of the wound.

Chronoshift.

Your fingers dug into the doorframe.

This wasn’t supposed to happen again. The last one had nearly wiped out the city—left streets in ruins, turned people into monsters. You still remembered the screams, the blood, the way the world had trembled beneath your feet.

And now, it was happening again.

Then—

Your Hunter Watch buzzed violently.

The sound snapped you out of your trance. You fumbled with the device, pressing it to your ear as the line connected.

“Tara?” you breathed, your own voice barely above a whisper.

“You need to turn on the news. Now.”

Her voice was tight, urgent—scared.

Your stomach dropped.

You bolted inside, barely kicking the door shut behind you as you grabbed the remote. The holoscreen flickered to life, static buzzing before shifting to a live news broadcast.

The anchor’s voice was strained, struggling to maintain composure.

“—a Chronoshift event currently occurring over Linkon City. Authorities are urging civilians to stay indoors as numerous Wanderers have begun appearing throughout the city. Hunters have been dispatched, but the situation is escalating rapidly.”

The screen shifted, cutting to a video.

Your breath caught.

A shaky, grainy recording—someone’s phone camera, zoomed in toward the sky. The frame trembled, struggling to stay focused on the massive, gaping wound in reality above Linkon City. The rift pulsed, an ugly scar of writhing light and shadow, tendrils of fractured time curling at its jagged edges. The clouds warped unnaturally around it, twisting into unnatural spirals, stretching as if being pulled into the void.

Then—

Something fell.

No—someone.

A dark figure plummeted from the rift, flung into freefall like a discarded fragment of the past. His coat billowed violently against the sheer velocity, fabric snapping in the wind. The camera wobbled as the bystander gasped, jerking the view—but not before you caught it. A glint of silver.

Your stomach lurched.

The figure twisted midair, arms slack, body limp—unconscious. The cityscape below rushed toward him, an unforgiving sea of asphalt and steel.

The air caught fire with panic.

People screamed.

Horns blared as drivers slammed their brakes, tires screeching against pavement. Some pedestrians fled blindly, while others stood frozen, their heads craned skyward, watching in helpless, breathless horror.

And then—

Ice.

It erupted outward in a violent cascade, a deafening crack splitting the air as jagged formations exploded from the ground. Frost raced across the pavement, crystalline veins tearing through asphalt and crawling up nearby streetlights. The very breath of the city seemed to freeze, snatched away in an instant as the temperature plummeted.

The moment his body struck the ice, the impact sent fractures spiderwebbing outward. Shards of frost scattered across the street, catching the weak morning sunlight like shattered glass, sharp and deadly. The unnatural chill bled into the air, seeping into the bones of every onlooker.

The camera shook violently as the person recording stumbled back. Their breathing was audible, harsh and ragged.

“Oh my God,” someone offscreen whispered. “Is he—?”

The image lurched, zooming in again.

For a long moment, the figure lay still, sprawled against the ice. The long, black coat draped over him like a shroud, his limbs slack, unmoving. Then—a twitch. A slow, almost imperceptible stir of fingers against the frozen ground.

A harsh gasp came from behind the camera. The voices in the background grew more frantic, some people shouting for help, others urging someone to run.

Then the screen cut.

The holoscreen snapped back to the news anchor, her face pale, her voice thin.

“Authorities have confirmed the man was recovered alive but unconscious. He is currently being transported to AksoHospital for emergency care.”

The remote nearly slipped from your grasp.

Akso.

Your knees almost gave out beneath you.

Tara’s voice crackled in your ear again, sharp with urgency.

“Get ready. Wanderers are swarming the city, and I don’t think this is just a random event. Something came through that rift.”

Her words barely registered.

Because you already knew.

Your Zayne had clawed his way through the boundaries of time itself.

And now—he was here.

The holoscreen flickered off with a sharp click, but the image burned into your vision didn’t fade. Your feet moved before reason could catch up—out the door, down the steps, and into the chaos of the city.

The streets were in disarray. People flooded the sidewalks, some running, others frozen in groups, their gazes still fixed toward the sky as if expecting another horror to fall through. Horns blared as drivers abandoned their cars in the middle of the road, their vehicles haphazardly blocking intersections. Sirens howled from every direction, their wailing cry blending into the frantic hum of emergency broadcasts spilling from shop windows and billboards.

You barely registered any of it.

You ran.

Not even trying to hail a cab—there was no point. The streets were already jammed, choked with confusion, fear, and the distant echoes of gunfire as Hunters engaged the Wanderers that had slipped through the rift.

But none of that mattered.

Not now.

Your lungs burned as you pushed forward, weaving through the panicked crowds. The closer you got to the avenue, the sharper the chill in the air became, creeping through your skin like a phantom touch.

Then—you saw it.

The impact site.

Your steps faltered as you skidded onto the street, your breath hitching.

Ice.

Everywhere.

Massive, jagged formations had burst from the asphalt, their sharp, uneven edges jutting out like frozen ribs from a broken body. Frost had slithered across the pavement in fractal veins, swallowing entire street signs and lampposts in an unnatural white sheen. The air was still cold—unnaturally so. Even under the midmorning sun, the ice didn’t melt. It clung to the city like a scar, a wound from something that shouldn’t exist.

Emergency responders worked around the site, barricades hastily thrown up, but you could still see the cracks in the street—the crater where he had landed.

Your stomach twisted.

This was real.

He was really here.Your pulse thundered in your ears, your breath ragged as you pushed yourself forward, toward AksoHospital. The city blurred past you, a cacophony of sirens, of frightened voices, of distant Hunter gunfire. But you only had one destination. 

Akso Hospital loomed ahead, its sleek glass exterior reflecting the chaos outside. People were gathered by the entrance—reporters, onlookers, patients trying to get inside despite the heightened security. 

You pushed forward, reaching the reception desk. A nurse barely glanced up before returning to her holopad, her fingers swiping through incoming emergency cases.

You opened your mouth, about to ask—

But before you could utter a word, a hand grabbed your wrist.

Firm. Desperate.“I need—” You barely got the words out before a hand seized your wrist.

The grip was firm—urgent. Not forceful, but desperate.

You turned—and your breath caught.

Dr. Zayne.

But this time, for the first time since you met him—he didn’t look composed.

His face, usually an unreadable mask of cool professionalism, was anything but. His dark eyes burned with something raw—frustration, confusion… something dangerously close to fear.

“You knew.”

His voice was low, strained.

You swallowed hard. “What?”

His grip on your wrist didn’t tighten, but it didn’t loosen either. He exhaled sharply, eyes searching yours, his control fraying at the edges.

“You asked me if I had dreams,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You looked at me like you expected something. And now, today, this happens.”

Your heart pounded.

He knew.

Maybe he didn’t have all the pieces yet, but he knew you weren’t just another curious stranger. He knew you weren’t just here by coincidence earlier, especially not when you had asked him about dreams nor when you had called out to him yesterday in the coffee shop.

His jaw tensed. Then, without another word, he turned sharply, pulling you along.

You didn’t resist.

Through the corridors, past nurses and staff who barely gave you a second glance in the midst of the chaos. The hospital was buzzing with tension, the aftermath of the Chronoshift catastrophe spilling into every department.

But none of it mattered.

Because you already knew where he was taking you. Dr. Zayne stopped in front of a room—a guarded one. Your stomach twisted. He turned the handle, pushing the door open. And there—lying unconscious on the hospital bed, surrounded by the faintest traces of frost still clinging to his skin—was him.

The air in the hospital room was unnaturally cold. Not just from the lingering frost clinging to him, but from the sheer weight of the moment. Your legs locked in place just past the doorway, your pulse roaring in your ears. 

He was here. 

Zayne—your Zayne—was sprawled on the hospital bed, his face pale against the stark white sheets. He was eerily still, but you could see the subtle rise and fall of his chest beneath the thin hospital gown. His lips were parted slightly, a faint trace of frost still melting along the curve of his jaw.

Your stomach twisted. He looked so much like Dr. Zayne.

But at the same time, he didn’t.

Your Zayne was leaner, his body honed by survival rather than long hours in a surgical ward. His jawline was sharper, his skin just a little more worn, his hands rougher. He looked like he had lived through hell.

But most of all—he looked real.

Not just a dream. Not just a fading memory.

Your knees nearly buckled, but before you could take a step closer—

The door clicked shut behind you.

You turned sharply, realizing too late that Dr. Zayne had followed you inside.

He was standing just a few steps away, arms crossed, gaze locked onto your face with unsettling intensity. The warmth of his usual composure was gone.

“I need you to tell me what’s going on.” His voice was calm, but the control in it was fragile, stretched thin over something deeper—something urgent.

“I—” Your breath caught, mind racing to process everything. “I don’t—I don’t know.”

Dr. Zayne exhaled sharply through his nose. “Don’t lie to me.”

His words weren’t cruel, nor were they demanding. They weren’t spoken as an accusation.

They were a plea.

You swallowed, shifting uneasily. “I—Zayne, I swear, I don’t—”

“That’s not my name,” he said quietly. “Not to you.”

You flinched. 

He wasn’t wrong. You had called him Zayne. Without hesitation. Without thought. But Dr. Zayne? Even now, standing in front of him, your tongue felt heavy, like the name didn’t belong to him. Because it didn’t.

Dr. Zayne studied you, his dark eyes sharp with restrained emotion. “Who is he?”

The words sent a shiver down your spine.

You glanced back at the bed—at the unconscious figure resting there, at the silver strands of his hair damp with sweat, at the faint scars hidden beneath the edge of his sleeve.

How could you explain?

How could you even begin to put it into words?

“I… I don’t know what you want me to say.” Your voice wavered.

Dr. Zayne stepped closer, his presence steady, unwavering. “Tell me the truth.”

You clenched your fists. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering. “He’s…” Your voice trembled. “He’s Zayne.”

The silence was deafening, Dr. Zayne’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture stiffened. Slowly, he turned his gaze back to the unconscious man in the bed. His brows furrowed, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

He was a doctor—a scientist. He lived in a world of logic and reason. He knew this wasn’t possible. And yet—the proof was right in front of him.

He let out a slow, unsteady breath. “This—” He hesitated. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“I know,” you whispered.

Another beat of silence.

Dr. Zayne rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling. “I don’t—” He cut himself off, swallowing his words. Then, softer, “You knew, didn’t you?”

Your breath hitched.

He met your gaze again, eyes dark, searching. Desperate.

“You knew this was coming,” he murmured.

Before you could answer, a sharp breath cut through the air. The sound sent a shiver down your spine. You turned just in time to see the man in the hospital bed move—not sluggishly, not groggily, but with the kind of immediate, instinctive awareness that sent your heart pounding. The IV stand rattled, the sheets barely shifted, and then he was already on his feet.

You barely had time to react before his hand caught your wrist. The heat of his palm burned against your skin despite the lingering cold still clinging to him. His grip was firm, possessive, as if anchoring himself to reality—and to you. His breath came uneven, his frame taut with restrained tension. And then, with barely any effort, he pulled you against him.

Your chest met his, the solid strength of his body grounding and overwhelming all at once. His arm came around your waist, securing you against him in a silent declaration. A tremor ran through his fingers where they held you—not from weakness, but from something deeper, something raw. Your heart thundered against your ribs, because this was him. Your Zayne. The one you had dreamed of, the one who had clawed his way through time itself.

But his entire body was rigid. His shoulders drawn tight, his breathing controlled but heavy. Slowly, his head turned, his gaze locking onto the only other person in the room.

Dr. Zayne.

His hold on you tightened.

Dr. Zayne met his stare, unreadable but assessing, a hint of something cautious in the way his hands remained by his sides. He took a step forward, his voice calm, steady. “You shouldn’t be standing. Your body—”

“Stay away from her.”

The warning was quiet but sharp, a quiet snarl beneath the exhaustion. His grip on you flexed, his thumb brushing over your wrist in a silent claim. Dr. Zayne didn’t move, but you saw his gaze flick to where your Zayne was holding you, taking in every detail.

“I’m not here to hurt her,” he said simply. There was no hesitation in his tone, only facts.

Your Zayne didn’t relax. His jaw clenched, his muscles coiled like a wire pulled too tight. He took a slow breath, but there was no mistaking the way he pressed you just a little closer, the way his fingers curled in a silent refusal to let go. His presence wrapped around you like frost creeping across glass—cold, fierce, unyielding.

Dr. Zayne exhaled, his tone edged with something close to patience. “Look—”

“Stop talking.”

The words were low, dangerous, the weight of them laced with unspoken meaning.

Dr. Zayne’s brow furrowed just slightly. His focus was clinical, analytical. You could see the way he was studying your Zayne, assessing his health, his stability, the impossible reality in front of him. But your Zayne saw something else entirely.

A stranger. A threat. An intruder.

Your fingers curled tighter into the thin fabric of his hospital gown. “Zayne,” you murmured, trying to ground him, to ease the palpable tension in the air.

He dipped his head, just enough that his forehead brushed against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. For a moment, the entire world outside of him ceased to exist. And then, quietly, with a finality that sent a shiver through you—

“I’m not letting him take you away from me.”

Dr. Zayne’s gaze lingered on the way your Zayne held you—the way his grip never loosened, the way his body remained positioned between you and the rest of the room, like he was preparing to shield you from something unseen. There was something unreadable in his expression, something sharp and contemplative, but his voice remained level when he spoke.

“I need to run tests,” he said, though it wasn’t an argument. It was a fact, delivered with calm precision. “His body—”

“Later,” you interrupted, your voice firm but not unkind.

Dr. Zayne’s brow furrowed slightly, as if weighing his next words.

You took a slow breath, steadying yourself. “I’ll explain everything to you. Just… not right now.”

For the first time, hesitation flickered across his face. He wasn’t an easy man to read, his emotions always carefully measured, controlled—but you had spent enough time observing him to recognize the conflict in his silence.

“Please,” you added, softer this time. “Just give me time.”

He exhaled, his jaw tightening slightly before he finally gave a slow nod. “Alright,” he said, stepping back. “But I’ll be back soon.”

You nodded, though you barely heard him. Your focus was on the man holding you—the one who, despite everything, still hadn’t let go.

Dr. Zayne hesitated for a fraction of a second longer, his gaze flicking between the two of you. Then, without another word, he turned and exited the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Silence settled in his absence, thick and heavy.

Your Zayne exhaled slowly, his breath ghosting against your temple, but he still didn’t release you. His fingers pressed into the fabric of your clothes, as if reassuring himself that you were real, that this wasn’t just another dream slipping through his grasp.

You shifted slightly in his arms, tilting your head to look up at him. “Zayne… you can let go now.”

His gaze found yours, deep and unreadable. He didn’t move.

“No,” he murmured. 

Your fingers curled slightly against the fabric of his coat, the material still laced with the remnants of cold. He hadn’t let go. Not even for a second. His hand rested against the small of your back, firm and unyielding, while the other cradled the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair as if anchoring himself to you. His breath was warm against your temple, yet his body trembled faintly—not from exhaustion, but from restraint.

Swallowing, you forced yourself to speak. “Why…” Your voice faltered, unsteady beneath the weight of the moment. “Why didn’t I dream of you for years after the last time?”

His grip on you tightened—not painfully, but enough to make your breath catch.

“I tried,” he murmured against your hair. “I spent years trying.”

A shiver crawled down your spine, though you weren’t sure if it was from his closeness or his words.

He exhaled, his lips brushing lightly against the crown of your head before he spoke again. “After the last dream, after the kiss… I couldn’t take it anymore.” His voice was raw, tinged with something deeper—something breaking apart at the seams. “The next year, I shattered the dreamscape. I tore through it, trying to reach you.” His forehead pressed against yours now, the coolness of his skin a stark contrast to the feverish way he held you. “But I broke it completely. That’s why you stopped seeing me.”

Your heart clenched painfully. You had thought he’d left. That maybe, in some cruel way, the dreams had simply ceased because whatever force had connected you two had finally severed. But no. He had been trying all along.

“And now?” you asked, voice barely a whisper.

His arms tightened around you, pulling you flush against him. “I found a way,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. “It took me months, but I found a way to cross through different worlds and timelines. And after so many years, now I’m here.”

Your chest ached with something unspeakable. How much had he suffered, clawing his way through time, through dimensions, just to stand before you?

But before you could ask him more, his fingers brushed against your jaw, tilting your chin up slightly, his gaze searching yours.

“Are you close with him?” His voice was quiet, but the words struck like a forceful wave. “The other me.”

Your lips parted slightly in surprise. “Dr. Zayne?”

His eyes darkened, his thumb tracing absently along the curve of your cheek. “Did you meet him and replace me?” The question wasn’t accusatory, but there was something deeply vulnerable in the way he asked it, something fragile beneath the desperation.

Your breath caught.

His hands never stopped moving—never stopped touching. One of them slid down to rest against your waist, fingers flexing as if testing the reality of you, the other remained cupped at your cheek, his thumb brushing along your skin in slow, lingering strokes. He wasn’t trying to hold you captive—he didn’t need to. You weren’t going anywhere.

You shook your head slightly, your hands lifting to press against his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. “No,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the emotion coiling in your throat. “I didn’t replace you.”

Something in his expression wavered, like a fracture forming in ice. But he didn’t speak. He only pressed closer, his fingers curling against you like a man clinging to the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

His hold on you remained unrelenting, his fingers tracing patterns against your skin as if trying to memorize you all over again. He exhaled, slow and deliberate, his forehead pressing against yours as if grounding himself.

“After I broke the dreamscape,” he murmured, his voice carrying the weight of exhaustion and longing, “I stopped seeing you. But I started dreaming of something else.” His fingers trailed down the length of your spine, his other hand still cupping your cheek, thumb brushing the curve of your jaw. “I dreamt of him. Of his life.”

You stiffened slightly in his arms, the meaning of his words settling in.

He went on, his voice quiet but unshaken. “At first, I thought it was another timeline—just another possibility that had nothing to do with yours. I’ve searched so many, trying to find you.” His grip tightened. “But yesterday… when I saw you, even if it was only a flicker, I knew. It was you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest.

“I’ve spent years,” he whispered, “years searching, looking into every possibility, trying to find you in places where you existed. But I never did. Until now.”

His breath was warm against your lips, his touch desperate, reverent. You could feel the restraint in him, the aching need to pull you even closer, to claim what had been taken from him for far too long.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his coat, your mind spinning.

“You saw me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “At the café?”

His gaze darkened, the weight of years—of searching, of longing—settling into his eyes like a storm barely held at bay. “Just for a moment,” he murmured. “A glimpse.” His thumb traced the curve of your cheek, his touch reverent, almost fragile, as if he feared you might vanish beneath his fingertips. “And that was all I needed.”

His voice dipped lower, rough with something raw and unspoken. “Do you understand now?” His forehead nearly touched yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Why I can’t let you go?”

His fingers curled at the back of your neck, pulling you in before you could answer. The kiss crashed into you—possessive, raw, like he was trying to drown in you, trying to carve this moment into reality with nothing but the press of his lips. He kissed you like a man who had spent years fighting against the impossible, clawing through time itself just for this—just for you.

A tremor ran through him, his other hand splayed against your back, locking you against him. He didn’t stop—he couldn’t. Between each desperate kiss, words spilled from his lips, breathless, reverent. Soft, broken things that barely made sense, except they did—to him.

“—real, you’re real—” A shuddering inhale, his lips ghosting along your jaw before finding your mouth again. “Not a dream, not slipping away—” His fingers tightened against your skin, as if confirming you wouldn’t disappear. “Mine.” A whisper, hoarse with something closer to prayer than possession. “Finally, mine.”

Your breath barely had time to steady before he moved again—guiding, pressing, until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the hospital bed. His grip never wavered, his hands mapping over you like he was memorizing, grounding himself, as if at any moment, you might vanish into nothing.

Then—he pushed.

Your back hit the mattress, the sterile sheets cool against your skin, but all you could feel was him. He loomed over you, bracing his weight on one arm beside your head while the other dragged up your side, slow and deliberate, fingertips pressing into the fabric of your clothes as though he could imprint his touch into your very bones.

His gaze was dark, heavy-lidded with something unrestrained—something raw. His lips parted, breaths shallow, his chest rising and falling too fast. Yet when his fingers traced along the side of your face, they were impossibly gentle, reverent, a worshiper before his altar.

“You don’t know,” he whispered, voice thick, shaking. He leaned in, his nose brushing against yours, his breath warm, tasting of desperation. “How long I’ve waited. How long I’ve searched.”

Then—his lips were on yours again.

Not hesitant. Not careful. This was a claiming, an unrelenting need spilling into every movement, the press of his body against yours leaving no space, no air, nothing but him. His fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss, stealing your breath as though it was the only thing tethering him to this reality.

He wasn’t going to stop.

He couldn’t.

His hands found the hem of your shirt, fingers curling into the fabric, hesitating for only a moment—then he tugged. The cool air kissed your skin as he pulled it over your head, discarding it somewhere forgotten. His breath hitched, his gaze dragging over you, dark and unreadable.

Then—he touched.

His hands skimmed over your bare shoulders, tracing the delicate line of your collarbone before trailing lower, palms mapping the shape of you like he was trying to memorize every inch. His fingertips traced reverent patterns against your skin, his movements slow, almost aching. He wasn’t just touching—he was committing you to memory, branding you into his senses.

“You’re real,” he murmured, his voice raw, as though saying it aloud made it more certain. He bent down, his lips pressing softly against the hollow of your throat, lingering there, breathing you in. Then, another kiss—featherlight, just below your collarbone. And another. Each touch was deliberate, almost devotional, as if he was worshiping every part of you.

His calloused hands splayed over your ribs, thumbs stroking idly along the soft skin beneath your breasts. He exhaled shakily against you, his forehead pressing against your sternum for a moment before his lips found the soft swell of your breast, his touch growing bolder yet still aching with restraint. 

You could feel the desperation radiating off him in waves as his palms mapped out the curve of your breasts, the weight of them filling his hands like a sacred offering. He squeezed gently, almost painfully, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of ever letting you go. His thumbs circled your nipples, the rough pads teasing and tugging until they pebbled under his touch, aching for more. 

Zayne leaned in close, latching his lips on one of your nipples, his mouth engulfing as much as your soft flesh as he could. He sucked hard, his tongue swirling and flicking over the sensitive peak, teasing it into a stiff, aching point. He groaned against your skin, the vibrations sending shock waves of pleasure coursing through you.

His other hand cupped your other breast roughly, kneading and squeezing, as if he couldn’t get enough of the feel of your soft weight in his palm. His fingers dug into your skin, leaving imprint marks of his desperation. He tugged and plucked at your nipple, rolling it between his fingers, the dual sensations of his mouth and hand driving you wild with need.

Then, he pressed open-mouthed kisses against your sternum, latching on just as hungrily over your other breast, just as desperately. He sucked harder this time, his teeth grazing your nipple, his tongue laving over the angry bud. He was consuming you, devouring you, his hunger for your breasts insatiable. He acted like he was a man dying of thirst and your nipples were the only source of water left in the world.

You moaned softly as his mouth worked over your sensitive nipples, your breathy gasps and whimpers filling the air. 

“Oh…” you panted, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him against you.

As he sucked harder, your moans grew louder, more urgent. “Fuck—!” you cried out, arching your back, pushing your chest forward, offering yourself up to his hungry lips. The wet sounds of his suckling filled the room, punctuated by your wanton cries and the creaking of the hospital bed beneath you.

His hands reached up to hold your forearm, his his lips slowly trailing up the soft skin of your wrist, his mouth lingering at your pulse point. He could feel the frantic pounding of your heartbeat against his lips, the evidence of your arousal and desire. He licked over it once, twice, before pressing a open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive spot, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

He brought your hand up to his mouth, his fingers intertwining with yours, squeezing gently. He raised your hand to his lips, his eyes locked onto yours as he pressed a lingering kiss to your palm, his mouth hot and soft against your skin. His tongue snaked out, tracing the lines of your palm, the rough surface dragging over your sensitive flesh.

You protested, your eyes wide with anticipation and surprise, “Zayne, what are you—”

He brought your fingers to his mouth, his lips wrapping around your index finger, sucking gently. He held your gaze as he slowly pulled your finger out of his mouth, his tongue swirling around the tip before releasing it with a wet pop. He moved onto your next finger, and the next, sucking each one slowly, deliberately, as if savoring the taste of your skin.

Your breath hitched and caught in your throat as you watched him, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Leaving a kiss on your palm, he proceeded and continued his journey downward, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the soft skin of your stomach. His tongue licked stripes over your belly button, dipping teasingly into the hollow, before blazing a path lower still. He mapped every inch of your stomach with his mouth, his hands gripping your hips as he worked his way down.

He paused at your hips, nudging your thighs further apart with the hand resting on your hip, while the other gripping the waistband of your pants. He looked up at you from under his lashes, his green eyes dark and hungry, a wicked smirk playing on his lips.

“Lift your hips,” he commanded, his voice low and rough with desire. “I need to taste all of you.” The words sent a shiver down your spine, anticipation coiling tightly in your belly.

You hurried to comply, raising your hips so he could tug your pants and panties down your legs. He helped you shimmy out of them, his hands skimming up your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake, before he tossed them carelessly to the floor. 

He settled himself between your legs, the heat of his breath fanning over your most sensitive place. He looked up at you as he traced a finger teasingly along your slit, a low groan rumbling up from his chest as he found you wet and ready.

“You’re so…” he growled, a finger slipping inside your tight heat, stroking slowly, almost languidly. He curled it upwards, finding that sensitive spot deep inside that made your hips jerk forward, a choked moan falling from your lips.

“Oh my-!”

He pressed a kiss against the skin of your inner thigh, his thumb circling your clit, teasing it, toying with it. He dipped his head lower, his lips brushing against your folds, his breath hot and heavy against your skin.

He licked a slow stripe up your slit, his tongue delving between your folds, tasting your arousal, your desire. He groaned against your skin, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through you. Then, his lips found your clit, and he sucked—hard.

He took his time, savoring every fold and crease, every teasing taste of your essence. He licked at you like you were the most exquisite dessert, a rare delicacy he wanted to linger over, to prolong the pleasure as long as possible. His tongue explored your cunt with a thoroughness that was almost reverent, as if he were worshipping at the altar of your pleasure.

He started slow, his tongue tracing wide, lazy circles around your clit, the bud peeking out shyly to meet his mouth. He licked and lapped at you, his tongue a warm, wet brand against your sensitive flesh. He took his time, just as he used to with those lollipops you gave him before, his tongue swirling and curling around the hard candy, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked on them with single-minded focus.

But now, it was your essence he savored, your honeyed nectar dripping onto his tongue as he pleasured you. He chased every drop, his mouth hot and hungry against you, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as he buried his face between them.

He dipped his tongue inside your tight sheath, delving deep, his nose brushing against your clit as he plunged inside you again and again. He fucked you with his tongue, his muscles flexing and rippling as he thrust into your heat.

His fingers crept up to join his tongue, sliding into your dripping cunt, pumping slowly, matching the rhythm of his licks. He curled them upwards, stroking that secret spot inside you, the one that made your toes curl and your back arch, a sharp cry tearing from your throat.

“Zayne-! T-There-”

You bit your lower lip, reaching up to cover your mouth with your palm, no matter desperate he’d been making you feel, you were still in the hospital, and as far as you can remember, there were guards stationed outside his room. 

Zayne on the other hand, did not care at all.

He seemed to sense how close you were, how much you needed to come, how desperately you craved release. But still, he took his time, his pace never faltering. He sucked your clit into his mouth, his lips sealing tight around the tender bud as he flicked his tongue over it, again and again, the dual sensations pushing you closer to the edge.

His fingers picked up speed, plunging harder, deeper, as his tongue circled and flicked and lapped at your clit. He could feel your thighs starting to tremble, your hips rocking forward against his face, chasing your pleasure, your release. And still, he kept you teetering on the knife’s edge, his touch a maddening tease, a delicious torment.

Until finally, with a few more hard sucks and a thrust of his fingers deep inside you, he sent you careening over the edge, your vision going white as ecstasy exploded through you. Your body convulsed, your cunt clenching tight around his fingers as your orgasm crashed over you in waves, your juices gushing out to coat his chin, his cheeks, dripping down onto the sheets beneath you.

You gasped, “Oh-!” 

To hold your moan, you pressed your palm harder, muffling the sound of your voice. Zayne looked up, noticing your hand muffling your moans, his eyes flashing with a mix of frustration at the sigh, his brows furrowing. He didn’t want you to hold back, didn’t want to be denied the sound of his name falling from your lips, a desperate prayer and plea all in one. He wanted to hear you, to feel your cries of pleasure vibrating through your body, urging him on.

He surged forward and grabbed your wrist, yanking your hand away from your mouth. He pinned your arm above your head, his body covering yours, trapping you beneath him. His eyes flashed with something darker, more primal.

“Don’t you dare muffle yourself,” he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “I want to hear every fucking sound, every moan, every scream. I want to hear what I do to you, what you feel because of me.”

“Zayne, there are people outside—”

“I don’t care.” he murmured as he levered himself up, his knees pushing your thighs apart, making room for him. 

He settled between your legs, the hard, thick line of his cock against his pants pressing against your thigh, hot and insistent. He rocked his hips forward, rubbing himself against you, the friction delicious and maddening all at once.

He dipped his head, his mouth finding your neck, biting down hard on the tender flesh. He sucked and licked, marking you, claiming you, as he rolled his hips in a steady rhythm. He was fucking your thigh, his desperate, aching cock seeking some kind of relief, some friction, no matter where he could find it.

One hand slid down your body, his fingers dipping between your bodies. He groaned as he found your cunt, slick and hot and ready, the proof of your desire and previous orgasm coating his fingers. He circled your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight, rough circles, making your hips jerk and twitch beneath him.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he panted against your neck, his fingers delving deeper, stroking along your slit, teasing your entrance. 

With a low growl, he hastily shoved his pants down his hips. His cock sprang free, hard and thick and leaking, the swollen head an angry red, begging for attention. He kicked his pants away impatiently, leaving him bare and naked, just like you.

He settled back between your thighs, his hands gripping your ass, kneading the soft flesh. He pulled you closer, spreading your legs wider, until your slick, dripping cunt was bared completely to his hungry gaze. He licked his lips at the sight, his eyes dark and wild with lust.

“Fuck, look at you…” he rasped, his thumb delving between your folds, stroking along your slit teasingly. 

He rubbed the thick head of his cock along your slit, coating himself in your arousal. He groaned at the feeling, his hips jerking forward, the tip catching on your entrance. Then he was pulling back, only to rock forward again, rubbing his length along your folds, teasing your clit, your entrance, every sensitive spot he could reach.

He set a steady rhythm, fucking your thigh with his hard, aching cock, the thick shaft sliding against your skin, leaving it slick and wet in his wake. His balls slapped against your ass with each rough thrust, heavy and full and eager for release.

One hand slid up your body, palming your breast roughly, squeezing and kneading, as the other dipped between your legs, two fingers plunging knuckle-deep into your cunt. He pumped them in and out, his thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit, matching the desperate pace of his hips.

Unable to take it anymore, his fingers tangled with yours once again, pinning your hands above your head as he loomed over you, his hips still rocking against your thigh, his cock hard and hot and leaking. He leaned down, his breath hot and heavy against your ear.

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, his voice rough and gravelly with desire. “Please, tell me what you need…. come on.”

He punctuated his words with a particularly rough grind of his hips, his cockhead catching on your entrance, teasing you with the promise of being filled, stretched, fucked. His fingers curled around your wrists, squeezing, his grip tight and unyielding.

His other hand slid possessively over your curves, mapping out the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips. He gripped your hip, pulling you harder against him, the head of his cock nudging insistently at your dripping folds.

“I want to hear you say it,” he growled, his tongue flicking out to trace the shell of your ear.

He rolled his hips in a slow, deliberate circle, his cock sliding along your slit, catching on your clit, making your body jerk and spasm beneath him. He was teasing you, pushing you to the brink, wanting you desperate and aching and mad with the need to be fucked.

You gasped, your voice trembling, “Please, I want you, just you. Just you, Zayne.”

Zayne nodded his head, his gaze piercing through you. “That’s right, just me, not him, just me.”

He notched the swollen head of his cock at your entrance, the thick tip catching on your rim, before he thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful, relentless stroke.

“Fuck!” he moaned, his voice echoing off the walls, as your velvet walls clenched and fluttered around his invading length. He paused for just a moment, his hips flush against yours, his heavy balls pressed tight against your ass, before he started to move.

He pulled out slowly, until just the tip remained inside you, before slamming forward again, burying his cock deep. He set a brutal, punishing pace, the headboard slamming against the wall with each savage thrust. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the hospital room, mingling with his grunts and groans and your own wanton cries.

“Take it,” he snarled, his eyes wild and feral as he stared down at where your bodies were joined.

He angled his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts to hit that perfect spot inside you with each plunge. The head of his cock dragged against the deep spot inside of you that made your toes curl, sending sparks of electric pleasure shooting up your spine. Your cunt clenched down around him, the muscles fluttering and rippling along his length.

One hand released your wrists, sliding down your body to grasp your thigh. He hitched your leg up higher, opening you wider, letting him drive even deeper into your needy hole. His fingers dug into the soft flesh, no doubt leaving bruises in their wake, marks of his passion and desperation.

He leaned down, his teeth finding your nipple, biting down just shy of pain. He suckled greedily, his tongue swirling around the stiff peak, before moving to the other side, lavishing it with the same intense attention. All the while, he never stopped fucking into you, his hips slapping against yours, his heavy balls slamming into your ass, the obscene sound of skin on skin echoing through the room.

Suddenly, Zayne crashed his lips against yours in a bruising, desperate kiss, swallowing your moans and cries of pleasure. His tongue plunged into your mouth, tangling with yours, fucking your mouth in the same relentless rhythm as his cock fucked your cunt. He tasted of lust and desire, of pure, unadulterated need and longing, he fed it to you greedily, making you drunk on him.

“Mmmm…” he groaned against your lips, his hips never faltering, never slowing, driving into you with deep, powerful thrusts that rocked your entire body. “You taste so good, sound so fucking sweet…”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and wild, a sheen of sweat on his brow. He licked his lips, tasting your essence on them, before diving back in, kissing you with a hunger that stole your breath away. He kissed you like a starving man, like he was trying to taste your soul, to consume every part of you until there was nothing left.

Already sensitive from previously reaching your peak, your whole body shuddered, you gasped, “Zayne—I’m close!”

With the telltale signs of your impending orgasm, he doubled his efforts, fucking into you harder, faster, the bed creaking ominously beneath you. He was chasing your pleasure, determined to make you come undone on his cock, to feel you explode around him.

“That’s it, come for me,” he growled against your lips, his hips slamming forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt inside your spasming cunt. “Come for me….”

His words pushed you over the edge, and you came with a scream, you no longer cared about being caught, your body convulsing beneath his, your cunt clamping down around him like a vice. He followed seconds later, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he spilled himself deep inside you, painting your walls white with his seed.

He collapse on top of you, his hips still twitching with the aftershocks of his release, his cock softening inside your messy, well-fucked cunt. He panted harshly, his sweat-slicked skin pressed against yours, his heart racing in tandem with your own.

“Fuck,” he breathed, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering open to meet your gaze. “You’re mine now.” He swallowed hard, his throat clicking, before leaning in to press a surprisingly gentle kiss to your lips, a soft contrast to the brutal love making moments before.

You nodded, too tired to think, you wrapped your arm around him and pulled him closer.

The room was warm—a contrast to the cold temperature when you had arrived earlier—the air heavy with the remnants of what had just transpired. You lay tangled in the sheets, your body pressed against his, still catching your breath. Zayne’s arm was draped over your waist, his grip possessive even in the aftermath, fingers idly tracing patterns against your bare skin. His breathing was uneven, warm against your temple, but he didn’t speak—just held you, as if grounding himself in your presence.

And then—the sound of the door clicking open.

You barely had time to register it before you turned your head, and there, standing frozen in the doorway, was Dr. Zayne.

His cheeks were flushed, his posture stiff—his gaze flickering from you to the man beside you, understanding dawning in an instant. His lips parted, but no words came out at first, as if he was forcing himself to process the reality of what he had just walked into.

Your Zayne, on the other hand, reacted immediately. His body tensed against yours, his arm tightening around you, and his gaze sharpened, ice-cold and unreadable as he locked eyes with his counterpart. The air in the room felt heavier, charged with something unspoken yet dangerous. The exhaustion from before was gone—he was alert, his instincts flaring with possessiveness, as if he saw Dr. Zayne as nothing but an intrusion.

Neither of them spoke.

You swallowed, feeling the weight of their gazes, the tension in the air thick enough to cut through. Slowly, you exhaled, already dreading what came next.

Yep. You don’t know how this will pan out.

likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3 if you want to check out more of my writings, head on to here — masterlist.

⁺‧˚ཐི⋆✧⋆ཋྀ₊M1SS10N 03: 0H EW, HE REALLY 1S A NASTY D0G!! ༻⋆. °⛧

⁺‧˚ཐི⋆✧⋆ཋྀ₊ — SYNOPSIS Going on a jog when it’s so hot outside is such a bad idea, you really want to take a shower! Except, you weren’t expecting your puppy boyfriend to practically jump on you the moment he got a whiff of your scent! (꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) 

⁺‧˚ཐི⋆✧⋆ཋྀ₊ — GENRE smut, porn with little plot ⁺‧˚ཐི⋆✧⋆ཋྀ₊ — PAIRING Puppyboy! Caleb x chubby reader (has chubby reader in mind, anyone can read tho!)

⁺‧˚ཐི⋆✧⋆ཋྀ₊ — WARNING Fem!reader, explicit content, pwlp, established relationship, grammar errors, NO spoilers, not proof read, hybrid AU, begging, a lil fdom, breast play, oral (fem), cunnilingus, scent kink 

A/N this is literally me yapping about puppyboy Caleb being nasty and having a scent kink. If you’re uncomfortable with scent kink just skip this fic babe(¬_¬")‘N’ also, happy late birthday @thalwri, babes<3! (ᵕ—ᴗ—) High key, I’m running out of ideas of what to write so send some suggestions over, I’ll be working on request for a bit <3

Puppy Boy Caleb is nasty, freaky, and just downright disgusting sometimes. It must be the animalistic urge in him. He must admit, he is by far, easily turned on by the littlest things you do.

It’s gotten to the point where he’s hard almost everyday, his ears twitching and his tail wagging vigorously. It’s not Caleb’s fault that he loves his girlfriend so much and finds her irresistible! Cooking him one of his favorite meals while wearing one of his oversized shirts, that somehow can’t even hide the swell of your ass.

Caleb is harder than a rock. Licking your lips slowly, covering your lips with your saliva, watching them pucker up as you press an invisible kiss to the air. He’s got a large bulge in his pants and it’s almost comically laughable from how noticeable he is, especially when he squirms around and whines like a lost dog.

Worst of all, you come back home after such a long jog, a thin layer of sweat clinging onto your exposed skin, wearing little shorts and a shirt that squeezes your body so nicely, and that delicious scent that stays around you. At first, Caleb is pouting sadly, ears resting on his hair, his tail dropping instead of wagging like it normally does. That’s until he sees you.. like that.

Oh, he wouldn’t be surprised if there is a painfully obvious creamy white stain on his boxers. He can feel his cock twitching and straining against the restraints of his pants, throbbing and pulsing. Caleb has to restrain himself, although it really looks like he’s losing the war.

Caleb‘s eyes are dilated, panting and huffing like a thirsty man, tail wagging so quickly. That scent of you, he’s down bad for it. No, not your wonderful smelling floral perfume that you have a habit spraying every morning. 

Your natural scent, the scent that he can smell once you come back from a jog. You bet your ass that your PuppyBoy boyfriend already has his head buried into the coloring of your neck, nuzzling and nuzzling into you while inhaling your addictive scent. Caleb can’t help that way his body reacts when he’s around you, quickly getting hard against your soft ass.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so nasty before, going for a jog when it’s so hot outside was a horrible idea. A thin layer of sweat clings onto your skin, droplets of sweat trickling down your exposed skin. You struggle to catch your breath, short, heavy, and quick huffs of a breath.

Fuck, you weren’t expecting it to be so hot and dumb outside, you really should have checked the weather before you left! You can smell the intense smell of sweat on you. The thought of a shower is enticing.

“Mmh..” you hum softly, setting the water battle in your hands onto the counter.

“You know.. you’ve been staring at me the whole time I’ve been here, Caleb” you point out, briefly glancing over your shoulder to look at your boyfriend, before going back to looking at the counter. 

“-and it’s pretty obvious too, with all the staring you’ve been doing” you add, mumbling the last bit under your breath. 

Caleb has been staring  at you this whole time, staring at you in a certain way. His eyes are hooded and clouded with lust and desire, cheeked flushed bright red, spit coated lips parted dumbly, his tail intensely, he’s panted slightly, it almost seems like he went for a jog instead of you. His eyes glances up and down your body, drinking up the sight of you. 

“You seem a bit distracted, babe. You must have a lot on your mind, Caleb~” you coo, sending him a cheeky knowing look.

This hasn’t been the first time that Caleb has sent you.. that kind of look before, you doubt I’d be the last to. That primal, feral, desperate, hungry look, as if he wanted you all for himself at this exact moment. It’s only a look he’d send you when you came back from a jog. 

You’re about to glance over your shoulder again, that is until a head buries itself into your shoulder. Firmly, a nose presses itself against the sensitive skin of your neck, pressing against your sweet spot. A hot tongue laps and glides across your sweaty skin, a deep groan escapes the man behind you. 

You shiver slightly, letting out a soft sigh at the feeling of his tongue tracing your skin. Letting out a deep groan, Caleb wraps his thick arms around your chest, keeping you firm and close against him. You can feel something pressed against your ass, throbbing and twitching. 

“Aww.. someone’s getting really eager” you hum softly, pushing your ass further against his twitching bulge.

One of his hands glided to your breasts, letting out a whine and a huff of annoyance when he felt your sports bra, unable to fondle and squish your breasts. Was Caleb expecting you to jog with no bra? Not happening. 

Caleb lets out a pathetic whine, kitten licking at your neck, leaving a wet trail of spit behind his touch. “Mmh, you’re so nasty, Caleb” you moan softly, his teeth scratching the sensitive skin of your neck.

“-I like it” you purr, giggling when he whimpers into the column of your neck. 

You moan quietly when Caleb presses open, hot kisses to your sweet spot. He eagerly laps at your sticky skin, his hair sprawled on your shoulder. He still has a strong, tight grip around your chest, one of his hands squeezing and gripping your boob. 

You can feel yourself melting into his touch, soft moans and gasp escaping you. He bites down harshly into your poor neck, sending a delicious shiver through your body. Caleb’s sharp teeth bite into your skin, enough to leave a pretty mark behind. 

“Hng!” You gasp, grabbing his hair tightly in your hands, tugging gently, eliciting a soft groan from the man.

Your jaw goes slack, panting slightly. To soothe over the pain, he laps and sucks gently on the blooming hockey. Caleb presses open kisses to the forming mark, flattening his tongue onto your skin, licking from your shoulder to the top of your neck. 

“Y-you taste absolutely divine, baby..” Caleb whispers, his lips grazing your ears.

His hand eagerly slides under the thin fabric of your shirt, making its way closer and closer to your chest, only to be stopped by you. “Mmph, not so fast, Caleb. It’s not gonna be that easy, baby, you're going to have to beg” you tease, smiling cruelly at hearing the pitiful whine he lets out.

“B-but baby..-“ he protests, his voice low and deep, you could hear how sad and disappointed he is.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Caleb” you coo, pushing past your pouty boyfriend to lay on the sofa.

He follows you rarely, desperate to get what he wants. “All you have to do is beg for me, you can do that, right?” You ask softly, that cruel glint in your eyes.

What a cruel woman you can be. Caleb sends you watering, puppy dog eyes, resting his head against your soft, squishy thighs. He nibbles and laps at your thigh, whimpering a soft protest when you pull away from his touch.

“Sometimes.. you can be so mean to me..” Caleb whispers softly, voice muffled since he keeps chasing after your thighs when you pull away.

“I promise, I’ll be good for you.. can I please eat you out..?” He whines, you can see his tail slowly wagging side to side.

“Mmh..it’s definitely a start, I suppose” you mumble, tapping your fingers in your lips. 

Caleb must have thought you were unsatisfied with his sad plea. The way his ears droop to his head, his bottom lip sticking out as he pouts, his tail going limp. “B-but.. didn’t I beg well enough for you..?” Caleb  whispers, his voice so quiet and soft, it doesn’t seem like Caleb at all, his eyes glistening slightly. 

“Mmh, you did. I didn’t say you weren’t good at begging” you mutter, parting your thighs.

“In fact, you beg a little too good” you tease, tugging off your top.

Picking up its pace, Caleb’s tail starts wagging again. He eagerly cups your breasts through your bra, cupping your boobs, squeezing gently. He moans in delight, reaching behind your back to unbuckle your bra off, immediately cupping your breast, watching them pool through the gaps of his fingers. 

Your boobs feel amazing, so soft and warm. Caleb fondles your right breasts, teasingly pinching your nipple, gently tugging and twisting the bud until it was hard from his touch. He leans down to your chest, taking your stiff bud into his hot mouth. 

He sucks, slurps, and little licks at your nipple, whimpering softly when you run your hand through his hair, scratching his ear. Caleb kisses down to your plump belly, pushing you gently to lay back on the sofa. He fondles and squishes the fat in his hand. 

“So soft..” he mumbles under his breath, nuzzling his head against your plump thigh. 

“So warm too..” he whines, pinching the chubby rolls of your stomach.

A delicious wave of heat pools to your pussy, you really can’t lie, you do love seeing Caleb so pouty and begging for a taste of you. You flutter anything, your clit throbbing and aching to be stroked by his thicker fingers or even by his warm tongue. Now that you notice, your thighs feel oddly sticky, not just from sweat but also your own arousal. 

Caleb let’s put a stifled groan, grinding his swollen cock against the couch. Fuck, he’s so hard. So much precum, he really hopes he doesn’t stain your couch. 

“Oh my, are you really that hard from smelling me that you're desperately grinding against the couch” you grin, summoning a soft groan from him. 

“Such a perv, pretty gross of you Caleb~” you tease, lifting your hips from off the couch, tugging off your shorts. 

“Ugh, you're so mean to me sometimes..” Caleb pouts cutely, looking away from your cheeky grin. 

He grips your thighs in his hands,  keeping them wide open. “It’s like you don’t love me anymore..” he murmurs, kissing your thigh softly.  

You scoff, rolling your eyes playfully. Caleb leans down to your pussy, the only thing covering your sex is your drenched pantie. He rests his head between your thighs, pressing his face close to your clothed pussy, his nose pressed deliciously firmly  against your clit.

You shiver slightly, he inhales the scent of you. He laps at your drenched panties, moaning in approval at the tangy yet sweet flavor of you. Caleb kitten licks at the fabric, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. 

Caleb seems really intent on having your tasty flavor on his tongue, hot tongue dipping between where your folds are, searching more for your addictive flavor. You tremble slightly, gripping into the couch. You buck your hips up, pussy your needy pussy closer to his face. 

“Hah.. you really know what you're doing, Caleb..” you mewl, catching your bottom lip between your teeth, nibbling gently. 

Caleb presses an open mouth kiss to your engorged clit, wrapping his fingers around your panties, tugging them to the side to expose your dripping pussy. Hot flesh sticky with juices and arousal, your gummy entrance fluttering around nothing. His mouth waters slightly, drool daring to seep from his parted lips. 

“Huh, you really have a staring problem, Caleb~” you huff, shivering when he sighs against your exposed pussy, hot breath fanning onto your cunt.

Caleb’s grip on your thighs tightens, holding you still. His tongue delves through your fat folds, from your gummy entrance to your throbbing clit, collecting up any of your delicious juices he can get. Greedy.

Your almost silently gasp melts into a moan, lips parted slightly as you push your cunt to his hungry mouth. He moans in approval, his tongue gliding through your folds, back and forth. Caleb does this two more times, mixing up your juices with his spit, creating an even larger mess.

His spit, your juices trickle down the fat of your ass, most likely dripping to the couch. You aren’t even surprised that Caleb is sloppy, only focused on drowning in your pussy to care of how messy the couch wil get after.

“Hng- oh fuck..” You moan, fluttering around nothing. 

He pulls away from your pussy for a breather, thin sheets of arousal and spit connected between his lips and your pussy, only to break within seconds. Caleb lets out heavy breaths, your juice already smeared on his chin and face. 

“Please.. hold still for me, baby” Caleb pleads.

He hooks his thumb around your pussy lips, peeling them apart to expose more of your warm flesh to his hungry mouth. Caleb is so focused on rolling his against your pussy, sucking at anything he can get his mouth on. He shifts his focus on your clit, sealing his lips around the bud, sucking and slurping harshly like his life depends on it. 

You tense up slightly, biting on your lips to stifle a moan that threatens to escape you. “Oh fuck- c-Caleb..” you wail, thighs twitching in his tight grip. 

He groans against you, sending vibrations through your body, making you feel dizzy. Caleb keeps his lips sealed around your clit, shaking his head side to side, your juices flying onto his chin. Through your squinted eyes, you can see his tail swaying vigorously, he’s enjoying this, with all the moaning and whimpering he’s been letting out, it’s obvious. You mewl, toes curling up, arching your back off the couch.

Caleb briefly lets go of your hot clit, pressing a quick kiss, staying close enough to where his lips are grazing your nub. “Oh god.. you taste so amazing, baby.. can’t get enough-“ Caleb murmures softly, dumbly interrupting himself by slurping at your heated flesh like a starved man. 

His hot tongue glides through your slick folds, down to your fluttering gummy entrance. Caleb’s tongue rolls around the ring of your pussy, happily drinking up your oozing juices. Easily, his tongue pushes inside, tongue rubbing against your gooey walls. 

“Hng!” You grunt, your other hand grabbing onto his hair.

Caleb thrusts his tongue in and out of you slick entrance, nose pressed against your clit. The prefect amount to pleasure to make your toes curl up, sending more heat to your belly. That addictive heat in your belly swelling up, the heat unbearable. 

Breathless moans escape you, only fueling his desire to make you moan louder. Caleb doesn’t think he’s ever been so hard before. He feels like he could cum just from eating you out, especially when tugging and pulling his hair like that. 

And you smell so fucking good too, so addicting. Caleb licks back to your aching clit, slotting his lips against the bud. “Holy shit- Hng.. Caleb” you gasp, carelessly tugging on his hair, eliciting a satisfied groan from him. 

Your breath is shaky, ragged, and choppy, hard to breath when you feel like the air was stolen. “O-oh god, Caleb” you stutter, you’re so close to cumming. 

Your eyes are hooded and clouded with lust, nibbling at your spit covered lips. Caleb is nasty, groaning and moaning against your sensitive pussy, he’s so desperate and eager to eat you out. His cock jolts violently in his pants, swelling and straining against the thick fabric, his body trembling slightly.

One of his thumbs pull away from your pussy lips, slowly trailing down his needy dick. In merely only a second, Caleb already tugged off his pants. His cock lewdly slaps onto his abdomen, beads of precum dribbling from his tip.  

He keeps his lips sealed around your clit, tongue flicking and flicking at the swollen bud. That heat in your belly is so close to bursting, once again, your back arching off the back. You can’t hear anything but the constant pounding of your heartbeat.

Caleb’s swollen cock twitches, tip angry red. Creamy white trickling down his thick base. He cups his cock, groaning against your clit as he strokes himself back and forth. 

You can’t hear the obscure slurping, gushing, squelching sound of Caleb hungry lapping at your pussy. Your brows furrows, jaw going slack, a silent scream as you gush around nothing. You harshly tug his hair, eliciting a grunt from him. 

He eagerly dives his tongue between your folds, licking up your delicious cum from your gummy entrance. “Hng- no more, Caleb..” you pant, pushing at his forehead.

He whines, desperate to keep tasting your additive flavor, his grip tightening on your thighs. Reluctantly, Caleb pulls away from your soaked pussy. He lets out breathlessly huffs and pants, along with the occasional groans as he strokes his throbbing dick, his lips and chin glistening from your juices.

“Mmh, you look like you need help with that, babe~” you tease, acknowledging his twitching and throbbing cock.

⁺‧˚ཐི⋆✧⋆ཋྀ₊All work belongs to only ME, jadestone2. Translating, plagiarism, copying, posting on another website, claiming as your work will NOT be tolerated, instant block༻⋆. °⛧

⁺‧˚ཐི⋆✧⋆ཋྀ₊ — TAG-LIST @blueberrisdove-sideblog @rinkomei @hon3yydew @kriscr0ss @Dummiebunny @inkwellscholar @Simphony @goobiescooby @Spookytyrantdeer @sunshimmery @prettypeachhh @nyx2021 @staying4straykids @bijuu-naginata @sillyhahaha @yanderecxre @alexander-arcturus-black-lupin-r @Ame-chan-unofficial @McDepressed290 @malleus-draconias-rose @4k1to @thxtmarvelchick @katiralovely @ninahorikoshifr @priestessrosery @blcknebula @blogsforficslol @velourmobius @thequeenofcurses @bimbohkitty @rockyeatrock @voidofryomen

sitting on caleb’s face (insp by this tiktok audio)

who would’ve known that your boyfriend with big yearning, amethyst eyes would have the most unfiltered mouth? it came to you by surprise when one day in the middle of watching a movie, you caught him fixated on you and lost in thought.

“are you okay caleb? you look like you have something on your mind.”

he gave you a smug smile. “sit on it. i want you to sit on my face.”

you were taken aback, thought he was joking even. he lifted you by the hips and hovered you over his face. this was the first time he has ever ate you like this, so you were anxious and didn’t want to suffocate him or anything. as if he could read your mind, he reassured you with a squeeze.

“cmon pipsqueak. don’t be shy. stop hovering and just fucking sit on it. like a chair.”

“but-“

“don’t ask me if i can breathe, i want your full weight on my tongue now.” using his evol to sit you down fully onto his face and also using it around your wrists so you couldn’t run away from him.

if there was a way he wanted to go out, this was his immediate answer. no hesitation.

⟡ ݁₊ .٠࣪⭑M1SS!0N 01: NASTY D0G!! NASTY D0G!!✧˖°.

—.٠࣪⭑SYNOPSIS Why do all your panties keep disappearing? ‘N’ why does Caleb keep sneaking out of your room when you're gone? ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!

—.٠࣪⭑GENRE smut, porn with little plot —.٠࣪⭑PAIRING Caleb x chubby reader (has chubby reader in mind, anyone can read this tho) —.٠࣪⭑WORD COUNT 5.9k

—.٠࣪⭑WARNING fem!reader, sexual content, pwlp, grammar error, NO spoilers, panty stealing, pet names (pipsqueak idc, little apple, baby), masterbation, switch Caleb, msub to mdom, oral (male & fem), marking, a lil orgasm denial, degrade ‘n’ praise, face fucking, clit spanking, cum drinking, perv! Caleb, fingering, squirting, face down ass up, spanking, breeding, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before ya tap it)

A/N I’m here to finally feed the Caleb whores <3 (me too, babe)‼️‼️Sexy reminder, my request box is open soooo.. drop ‘em off..

It’s already been a whole week since you’ve noticed that a considerable amount of your used panties have suddenly disappeared without an explanation! Every night, once you finally come back from work, you’ve noticed that some of your cutesy panties have vanished. 

And they are all conveniently your favorites, the dark red, lace, flimsy, cute lingerie that constantly rides between your asscheeks. 

Regardless, they were super cute! There could only be one person who could be behind such a nasty and vile crime. Caleb. 

Your childhood best friend, who you definitely do not have the hots for him, who is now your roommate. You rarely see him leaving the house, though, occasionally you have to force him to leave the house to go to the grocery store when you’re too lazy to do it yourself. Especially when you’re called into work, he never leaves, as if Caleb waits for you to leave to sneak into your room, he must be the one stealing your lingeries! 

Yet again, you were called into work. This time, you were there much longer than you expected. You are beyond exhausted, body tired from having to carry yourself in heels. Plus, work has been so stressful and tiring, you desperately need to relax.

Oh, you can not wait to finally yank off your heels! You’ve been stumbling around this whole time! Your poor legs screaming and crying for a break. 

Eventually, you arrive at your home, the sun long gone. When you push open the front door, it’s uncharacteristically quiet. Normally, Caleb would be relaxing on the sofa or cooking your favorite meal in the kitchen to pass the time while he waits patiently for your arrival like a puppy.

Well, except for the frequent grunts and groans. The sounds are muffled, coming from further into the house. The grunts, groans, and huffs were deep, raspy, low, and rather pleasant to your ears. 

You reach down to slide off your heels from your sore foot, inhaling sharply, shivering in delight and moaning in approval. You attempt to ignore the questionable sounds, marking it off as Caleb working out. Many occasions you would accidentally walk into Caleb rooms, catching him during his workout.

But, he usually works out earlier, never this late. Not that you were complaining, far from it. Accidentally walking inside Caleb’s room, seeing him wearing nothing but a black tank top, his body and shirt glistening with his sweat. 

The salty liquid trickles down the curve of his muscular body, making a mess beneath him. His cheeks would be rosy red, sweat dripping down his forehead, lips parted slightly as he breathed heavily, his brows furrowed in concentration. He spends a considerable amount of time working on his biceps and thighs, you must admit, they look absolutely ravishing. 

Caleb’s body is very defined, well built, massive, definitely on the stronger side, and taut. He could definitely manhandle you. He is a beefy guy, there is no way around that fact. You try not to think of your dear roommate like that, how improper of you. 

But fuck, would you do absolutely anything to get your greedy hands on him. You slowly walk through the hallway with shaky legs, stumbling from how sore they are. The sounds only get louder and louder the closer you go.

His room was further down the hallways, yet, you stand directly in front of the room and it sounds like Caleb’s groans are coming from inside. “Oh fuck~ pipsqueak..” Caleb sighs breathlessly, voice muffle from the door being shut.

“M-Miss you so much..need you so badly.. hah-“ he whines, grunting. 

Oh. Oh, Caleb is not working out right now. You slap your hand over your mouth to stifle the gasp threatening to escape your lips, your teeth nibbling onto your bottom lip. You press your ears to the door, trying to hear him better.

You feel awfully hot. Your face flushed pinkish red, heat pooling to your belly. You feel flustered, embarrassed, felt like you were intruding Caleb’s.. self care moment.

“H-hate it when.. ooh~ you leave for work” Caleb groans, voice cracking slightly. 

“You have no f-fucking idea what you do to me..” he huffs, he sounded exhausted yet needy. 

That delightful heat in your belly pools to your cunny, you're painfully aware how turned on you are. You push your plump thighs together, grinding them together in an anguished attempt to ease that addictive throb between your legs. You can feel your poor clit throbbing, aching, buzzing, begging to be toyed with.  

You let out a quiet whimper, glancing down your body. Your nipples are hard as a rock, imprinted on your useless bra. Caleb must have forgotten to shut the door, letting you take a quick peek. You curiously lean closer, your eyes scanning the room in search of Caleb. 

The intense smell of sex knocks you, clouding your senses. Caleb is lying on your bed, sweaty and very much naked. His eyes are hooded, fogged up with lust, desperation, and heat. His cheeks are beaming red, fat sweat droplets dripping down his forehead. 

Caleb’s lips are red, parted slightly as he lets those divine sounds. Your gaze trails further down his body. His chest rises and falls hastily, glistening with his sweat. 

You glance further down, again. His cock is fucking big, thick, long, swollen, and hard. You can see Caleb has thin veins running up his shaft. 

His bulbous tip is angry red, precum leaking from his tip. Caleb’s cock glistens, shining from his own arousal. He strokes his cock up and down at a medium pace, his thighs tensing up when his dick twitches in his hand. 

That sweet heat pools to your cunt, sending strong shivers through your body. Your pussy flutters around nothing, begging to be filled with his fat cock. You swear, you can feel drool dripping from your lips. 

You lift your gaze back up to his handsome face, recognizing an awfully familiar lingerie pressed against his pointy nose. Caleb inhales sharply, goosebumps prickling onto his skin, letting out a soft pathetic whine. He lazily licks at the fabric, groaning in approval at the tangy yet sweet flavor of your pussy juices. 

Was Caleb that desperate that he turned to steal your lingeries to get off? He nuzzles his nose deeper into your pantie, inhaling your pungent and intoxicating scent of your cunny. “Fuck..” Caleb exhales. 

How do you even wear such a skimpy thing as this so comfortably? It’s so tiny, he doubts it’d be able to accommodate your pussy. If you asked, Caleb wouldn’t mind holding your pussy for you, being your own personal lingerie if you’d like. 

Caleb lets out a satisfied, loud groan at the thought of this. He strokes his cock a little faster, his breath shallow and labored. You can’t take this anymore, he’s teasing you without realizing! 

You push open your door quickly, relished by that frightened and ashamed look that crosses Caleb’s face. “Is this what you do when I’m gone? You know~ I was searching for my missing panties” you murmur.

“I didn’t think you were this nasty, Caleb” you tease, smiling wickedly at that nervous expression on his face. 

“So? What do you have to say for yourself?” You question, an brow arching up, inching closer towards him. 

“I-it’s now what it looks like, baby-“ He smiles anxiously, fearfully glancing aware from your piercing gaze.  

You hum in amusement, sitting beside him, watching him silently try to cover his hard cock with your blanket. You lift your hand, your fingers barely grazing against his insanely hot skin. Caleb gulps, his breath caught in his throat.

“If you wanted me that bad.. you could have just asked for my attention, Caleb” you giggle, your lips pressed so closely to his ear.

You push away his sweat soaked hair from his face, kissing his ear. You press a tender kiss to his lips, feeling him instantly melt from your touch. Caleb grabs your hips tightly, holding them like his life depends on it.

You pepper delicate kisses down his chin to his neck, eliciting a sigh of pleasure from the man. You kiss his adam’s apple, feeling it throb under your soft touch. Caleb’s fingers dig into your fat hips, thick fingers digging into the chub. 

You press hot kisses up the middle section of his neck, further up until your lips are barely grazing his lips. “Oh, Caleb~ you really are so nasty, I like that about you” you taunt, teasingly leaning closer as if you were going to kiss him. 

Caleb tries to lean closer to press his lips against yours, only for you to push at his chest. You push at his sweaty chest, his back pressed against the bed. You snatch your lingerie from his hands, tossing it to the corner of your room.  

“Baby-“ Caleb trails, your fingers silencing him. 

“Shh, let me handle this” you tut.

Caleb’s tongue licks at your fingers, his eyes fluttering shut, lapping at your digits. You pull away, pressing warm kisses down his pecs, abdomen, all the way down to his swollen cock. It twitches in the air, begging for your attention only. 

And who are you to deny him such pleasure? You never said you’d let him cum though, he has to learn his lesson somehow. You press a tender kiss to his tip, hearing his breath falter only encourages you to continue. 

You move to sit in a more comfy position for you, your thighs press beside his head. You spit onto your hand, smearing it onto his cock, stroking it up and down in a lazy manner. Caleb groans quietly, both of his hands holding your hips tightly. 

He bites at your thighs, eliciting a squeal of surprise from you. He bites at the fat of your thighs, leaving as many marks as he could. Caleb loves the way you moan in pain, it only feels his arousal. 

He tries to tug you down gently onto his face, huffing in annoyance when you don’t budge. Caleb tries again, still you don’t budge. And again, and again.

You huff, resting your clothed pussy against his eager mouth, shivering when he moans against your cunny. He presses a gentle kiss to your covered pussy, his tongue rubbing against the fabric of your shorts. 

You lick at his tip, rolling your tongue around the poor swollen tip. Caleb bucks his hips upwards, pushing his length into your mouth, summoning a gag from you. Your moan is muffled, sucking his big tip into your mouth. 

You focus on giving him barely any pleasure, boredly lapping at his tip. You know he’s desperate for more, but you won’t give him what he wants. You rest your hands on Caleb’s meaty thighs, nails digging into his skin when he tries to buck upwards. 

You roll your tongue around his poor tip, his precum tasty salty, tangy, yet still yummy. A shiver runs through your body, his tongue running against where your pussy is. Caleb is desperate, you almost feel bad for him, almost. 

You suck more of his shaft into your mouth, feeling him twitch violently in your mouth. A slick pop, his cock slipping out of your mouth, your spit trickling down to his base. From his bass, you lick slowly up, dragging your tongue against his base to his tip again. 

Again, you take his cock into your mouth, this time, sucking more to his length into your mouth. You’re trying your best not to gag around his dick, but it’s too difficult not to though! Caleb’s big, thick, and long, you’re struggling to take him fully into your mouth.  

Caleb grunts against your pussy, 

sending delicious vibrations through your body. You can feel his thighs twitch, tense, and contract around your hands. You bob your hand up and down his length, moaning and whimpering.

Your eyes fluttered shut, concentrating on sucking messigly on Caleb’s dick. His tip nudges at the back of your throat, earning himself a gag and whimper from you. You cup his swollen balls, they are swollen with tons of cum. 

Fuck, poor Caleb, he must haven’t been able to cum for so long. You feel him throb in your mouth, oh he’s so close. You continue to gag on his length, a wet pop, his cock lewdly slipping from your mouth. 

Caleb bucks his hips up, searching for the missing warmth of your perfect mouth. He was so fucking close, and you denied him! Caleb whines against your cunt, his tongue rolling against your covered, fat pussy lips.  

“Sorry, babe. I can’t let you cum, you have to learn your lesson~” you purr cruelly, seeing his dick swell, precum dribbling from his tip.

You tenderly kiss his tip, teasing him again after denying his orgasm. Your saliva drips down his shaft, coating his length in a thin layer of spit. You cup his cock, pumping his dick up and down.

Caleb throbs in your hand, precum spilling his tip. You let go again, giggling when his grip tightens around your plump hips. You press his tip against your lips again, sucking his length into your mouth.

Instead of only sucking half of his length inside your mouth, you take more. Caleb’s length disappears deeper and deeper into your throat, until your nose is pressed against his skin. His shaft is buried deep in your throat, precum dripping into your mouth. 

You gag loudly, shaking your head side to side. Your eyebrows are furrowed, eyes closed shut as you focus on sucking Caleb’s cock. Your tongue rubs against the bottom of his shaft, lapping and rolling your tongue. 

Your nails bite into his skin, surely leaving a crescent mark behind. You let him slowly slide out of your throat with a lewd pop, letting out gasps for breath. Your lips are swollen, red, glistening with a mixture of your spit and his precum. 

“Oh c’mon.. I’ve barely done anything” 

“Don’t cum-“ you josh, only to be interrupted by Caleb.  

Caleb flips the both of you, your back pressed against the bed. You grunt, eyes widening, your lips parted slightly from shock. He keeps a bruising tight grip around your thighs, keeping you pinned against the bed. 

“I think you’re the one who needs a punishment, little apple” He grumbles breathlessly, letting out a quiet chuckle when you squirm.

“You’ve been acting like a brat, nothing similar to the good girl I know” Caleb says with spite, proving your hips up with a pillow.  

He tears off your shorts and panties, tossing them to the corner. Caleb parts your thighs open, your folds spreading apart to expose your wet slit. Your cunny is glistening wet, pussy slick with your own wetness. 

“Mmh.. you're soaked, makes me think you are just as nasty as I am” He teases, chuckling when you whine angrily. 

“Not as bad as you are” you huff. 

You rest your hands by your side, spreading your thighs wider to give him the perfect view of your soaked pussy. Caleb’s breath hitches, his fingers peeling your pussy lips apart. 

“Well.. punish me then” you hum, whimpering softly when his hard cock pressed against your lip. 

Caleb hums, chuckling softly, finding humor in your courage and determination. “Open up then, little apple” Caleb encourages, groaning loudly when his dick slides into your eager throat. 

You moan around his length, digging your fingers into the bed sheets below you. Caleb only pushes half of his shaft inside your mouth and you're already having such a hard time, your throat convulsing around his length. Maybe you should have kept your mouth shut, you don’t regret it all though. 

Caleb hums quietly, running a thick finger through your fat folds, your juices smearing onto his fingertips. He peers down at your wet cunny, your tasty arousal oozing from your fluttering hole. He spits onto your cunt, his spit dripping from your swollen clit to your hole. 

You mewl around his cock, his length disappearing into your mouth, buried to the hilt of your throat. You never thought sucking cock would be so.. addictive and pleasurable for you. You feel light headed, so obsessed with the way his cock twitches inside your mouth. 

Your toes curl up, you pussy clenching around nothing uncontrollably. You’re abruptly aware how painfully empty you feel, you need something inside your gummy entrance. Fingers, tongue, cock, anything. 

“Not talking so much, are we, pipsqueak?” He asks, grinding his teeth together when your throat tightens around him.

“F-fuck.. hah.. good girl” Caleb moans out.

Hearing him call you a good girl only fuels your desperation, heat pooling to your belly. You whimper, sending delicious vibrations through Caleb’s body. He grunts, his balls pressed against your forehead, so heavy with cum.  

You slide your hand against the bed, inching closer to your clit. You need something, anything to ease that painful, uncomfortable feeling between your thighs. Before you’re able to rub your clit, Caleb snatched your hands, peeling it away from your cunny.

He replaces your hand with his, rubbing yummy circles onto the bud. Your back arches off the bed, pussy clamping around nothing. Your throat constricts around his dick, eliciting a groan of pleasure from Caleb.

Caleb pulled his hips back, until only the tip of his dick was inside your mouth. He snaps his back, stuffing his cock to the hilt of your throat. Your eyes shoot open, tears springing in your eyes. 

He lets go of your thighs, resting his hand beside your side. His hand sneakily moves to your clit again, rubbing steady circles onto your clit. Caleb chokes out a moan, breathlessly chuckling when you attempt to squirm and flinch from the luscious pleasure. 

“Hah- d-don’t squirm away from me..” he groans, giving your clit a soft spank. 

Poor you, do you really think you’ll be able to squirm away from him? Caleb would laugh, if he wasn’t groaning and whimpering from how well you're taking his cock in your throat. He can hear you gagging quietly, the wet slurping sound of you sucking at his cock. 

Caleb keeps a steady yet shaky pace, sliding his cock in and out of your hungry throat, fucking your face as he would with a toy. Your cute gags and whimpers were music to his ears, making his balls tense up. Wet plaping sound fills the room, his balls slapping against your forehead. 

Caleb glides his fingers through your folds, tracing the ring of your gummy entrance. The obscure squelching sound of your pussy gushing around his fingers fills the room, along with the frequent gagging of your throat. He’s so close, his thrust getting more sloppy than coordinated, if it was ever.

His fucking your mouth as if his life depends on it, hitting the back of your throat. Caleb twitches and throbs inside your mouth, so close to finally being able to achieve what he wants. To cum.

You just had to deny him, teasing him and not letting him cum. Now look at you, sucking and licking his cock like a good girl. “F-fuck. Ooh~ your throat feels.. amazing, pipsqueak” Caleb chokes, grinding against your face.

You whine, gripping the sheets tightly, almost to the point you can hear it tear. Caleb lets out a string of moans, his hips twitching. His groans are only getting louder, his thrusts sloppy.

“S-shit.. gonna cum.. oh, baby~” He purrs, burying his cock to the hilt of your throat. 

His cock jolts, hot cum shooting into your throat. Caleb’s cum tastes sweet and yummy, or maybe you’ve gotten addicted to his taste. Your moan is muffled, you eagerly drink up his cum. 

Caleb lazily grinds against your face, groaning and panting. After a couple of seconds of grinding against your face, while rubbing your clit, he pulls his hips back.  

His dick slowly slides from your mouth, absolutely covered in your spit and his cum. Thin strings of spit connect his shaft to your lips. To Caleb, you look ravishing.

Your eyes are hooded, fogged, lips sticky with cum, dried tears in the corner of your eyes. Caleb’s cock jerks, shooting more of his creamy cum onto your cheek. You smile dumbly, scooping up his cum to lick it off your fingers. 

“Ooh~ fuck.. y’know, I think I like you much more when you don’t talk that much, pipsqueak” Caleb taunters, grabbing your thighs to spin you around to where your pussy was facing him now.

“Mmh? Is that so? Sucks to suck then, I plan on talking your ears off” you say between pants.

“And I thought you loved me, so mean..” you pout, licking off extra cum from your lips.

“Oh hush, Y’know I love you, baby” He scoffs, smiling lovingly at the cute pout on your face. 

“Well.. I don’t feel that loved” you mutter, glancing down at your dripping pussy, neglected.

“Why is that?” Caleb asks, not catching the look you send him. 

“A certain someone has been neglecting me..” you mumble, looking him in his eyes.

You keep eye contact with Caleb, slowly looking down your body to direct your gaze to your pussy. He follows your gaze dumbly, finally relaxing what you were implying. “Ooh.. ‘m sorry, I didn’t realize I was neglected you, baby” 

“Need me to clean you up?” He teases softly, running a finger through your slit.

“Ugh- Caleb I swear to fucking god, if I have to ask you again-“ you threaten, growing insanely impatient.

He chuckles, grabbing your soft thighs. Caleb peppers hot kisses on your thighs, teasingly nipping at the fat. He tosses one of your legs over his shoulder, pushing your other leg to your chest.

His hot breath fans onto your swollen cunny, sending delicious shivers through your body. From your fluttering gummy entrance to your swollen, his hot tongue darting between your wet folds. Caleb moans in approval at the tangy yet tasty flavor of you.

Caleb finally is getting a real taste of your tasty pussy, it’s definitely better than him lapping at your panties. You taste better than he could ever have imagined. You whimper softly, burying your fingers into his hair.

You tug, eliciting a pained grunts from the man between your thighs. Caleb slurps at your clit hungrily, sucking the swollen bud of your clit into his mouth. His tongue flicks and massages your clit, making your eyes roll back in pleasure.

Your jaw goes slack, your back arching off the bed. Caleb chases after your cunt, not giving you even a second to squirm away from his starving mouth. “N-no.. don’t squirm away from me, pipsqueak” Caleb tuts.

“Let me.. enjoy you” he mumbles against your clit, his breath blowing onto the flesh. 

He slurps at your clit, moaning loudly. “Fuck.. y-you taste even better than i imagined” Caleb says, his words being interrupted as he can’t resist the urge to lap at your clit.

He’s acting like a starved man who’s finally being able to enjoy a meal after countless years. Caleb trails a thick finger to your gummy entrance, his finger promptly plunging inside your fluttering hole. You squeal melts to a moan of delight, your walls immediately caving around his finger. 

It was only one, only one finger and your toes are already curling up. Caleb doesn’t seem to care, no, he seems to be entranced with sucking at your clit. His fingers easily slip inside your cunny, the slick you made giving him easy access. 

His finger plunges deeper into your cunny, stretching your gooey walls apart. Caleb curls his finger, his fingertips nudging against your g-spot. You yelp, face scrunching up in pleasure as you tighten around his finger. 

You wail, tugging harshly onto his hair. Eliciting a grunt of a mixture of pain and pleasure from Caleb, who slips another thick finger into your gushing pussy. “Ooh~ oh fuck!” You gasp, your thighs trembling. 

Your walls happily accommodate the stretch of his fingers, your arousal coating his digits in sticky juices. Caleb’s lips pulls away from your clit, focusing on finger fucking you. Your cunny is disgustingly loud, the obscure squelching sound filling the room. 

It doesn’t take you that long to get closer, the constant scissoring and curling of his fingers were too much for you to handle. Caleb quickly recognized that you’re getting close, it isn’t hard for him to notice when you're constantly fluttering and clamping around his fingers. He pressed his hand to your plump belly, applying a strong amount of pressure. 

His fingers slam in and out of your gushing pussy, your poor cunny clamping around him uncontrollably. Caleb’s fingers are curled, pushing against your g-spot with every push inside your cunny. Fat tears waters in your eyes, your bottom lip captured between your teeth. 

“Hng! O-oh god! C-Caleb!” You gasp.

“ ‘m gonna cum! Ooh~” you drool, jaw going slack.

“That’s right, cum f’me, little apple” he encourages.

You let out a loud cry, that heat in your belly swelling until it snaps. Your juices sprays from your pussy, the squelching sound of your cum gushing from your cunny. The iridescent soaked his hand and the bed, drenching the fabric. 

“Hng.. hah..” you pant, body trembling.

Caleb hums, a slick pop as his finger slips from your gummy entrance. He gently slaps your clit, summing a flinch from you. He’s a mess; face soaked from your juices, eyes clouded, eyebrows scrunched, and a dumb cheeky grin on his face. 

He keeps eye contact with you, licking your juices from his lips. “Little apple.. you taste so good~” Caleb mutters.

“Want more..” he sighs, sending you puppy eyes.

“N-no! Absolutely not” you huff, grimacing when he brings his soaked fingers to his mouth to lap your nectar clean off the digits. 

He pouts, grabbing your hips tightly, flipping you over again. Caleb guides your head into the pillow gently, eliciting a muffled grumble of protest from you. His hands trails from your head, to your hips, arching your back to where he got the best view of your pussy;  fully exposed fully to his hungry gaze.

And oh fuck, did you look absolutely ravishing. Your folds glistening from your juices, thighs shining from your own arousal. Caleb grabs at your plump hips, groaning, thick fingers sinking into the squishing chub. 

“Fuck.. I’m leaking so much precum everywhere..” Caleb murmurs to himself, pressing his bulbous tip against your slick folds. 

“And it’s all your f-fault, pipsqueak” 

“Y-you’re going to take care of me.. right? Take care of what you created” Caleb mutters, his voice softening.  

You whimper in response, nails biting into the pillow. He lets out a loud groan, his tip slipping into your cunny. You wail into the pillow, fat tears trickling from your eyes from the stretch. It was painful, yes, but it was still so fucking pleasurable. 

The way your gooey walls split apart, trying to accommodate his fat cock, felt so fucking good. You shiver helplessly, goosebumps prickling everywhere on your skin. You cave and clamp around his dick, eliciting a hiss of pleasure from Caleb. 

It was as if your walls were eagerly trying to milk him dry, sucking him deeper and deeper into your cunny. More to his shaft disappears into your hungry cunt, the squelching sound of your messy pussy reaching your ears. You sob, chewing the fabric of the pillow between your teeth. 

His grip tightens on your hips, to the point it would leave an obvious bruise behind. You’ll definitely be sore in the morning, but it’s worth it. Caleb’s hand grazes down your back, your spine, fingertips barely touching your skin yet it sets goosebumps everywhere. 

He trails further down your body, until his hands are by your asscheek. Caleb grabs at the fat, gripping, fondling, and gripping the fat as if he was toying with it like a stress toy. More and more of his length sinks into your cunny, leaving an aching feeling in your belly. 

Caleb is so big and thick, you love it. You can feel him twitch and jerk inside your cunny, plunging the rest of his cock to the hilt of your pussy. “Oh f-fuck! L-little apple, y-you’re so tight-“ he stutters, breath hitching. 

His hips are flushed against your ass, hot and sweaty skin pressed up against each other. His bulbous tip is pressed so snuggly against your cervix, his shaft massaging your g-spots. Caleb pulls his hips back, until only his tip was inside, slamming his back to yours, plunging his back inside your wet pussy with a loud wet plap. 

With every thrust, his balls would knock and slap at your aching clit. It sends violent shivers through your body. Caleb’s balls are heavy and full, begging to coat your walls in creamy white. “Hmp! Mmhp!” You moan into the pillow, walls tightening around his length. 

“Hah- t-take it. Take it, pipsqueak” Caleb babbles dumbly, letting out a raspy groan. 

His thrust is erotic and lewd, his abdomen slapping against your ass. Your ass jiggles, bounces, and ripples with every thrust, it’s hypnotic. You wail loudly into the pillow, bucking your hips towards him, pushing your pussy closer to Caleb. 

Your toes curl up, the heat in your belly getting stronger and hotter by each rough pump. Caleb’s cock glides and massages your walls, eliciting such delicious muffled moans from you. If only he could hear you. 

He tosses his head back, exposing his adam’s apple. One of Caleb’s hands let go of your hips, pushing on your back, keeping your back arched. “A-arch.. oh god- your back.. m-more” he choked out a moan, your pussy unexpectedly clenching around him.

You can feel him twitch and throb inside your cunny, he’s just as close as you are. Your eyes roll back so far, you swear you can see stars explode in your eyes. “Hng! Y-your all mine! M-mine, mine, baby” Caleb babbles, the pleasure and blood must have gotten to his head. 

Caleb lets go of your ass, quickly slapping his hand onto the fat. You squeal, a pleasurable sting blooming on your poor ass. “Y-you’re all fucking mine, baby” he pants. 

His bulbous tip bangs against your cervix, his shaft twitching and throbbing inside your pussy. “Hng! C-Caleb..” you scream it or wh pillow.

Caleb drags you back onto and off his length, you’re unable to escape the mind numbing pleasure. “Oh fuck! Y-you feel so amazing..” Caleb gulps, spanking your ass again. 

You yelp, that heat in your belly is unbearably strong. Your toes curl up, eyes rolling back. Another spank, sending shivers through your body. 

“O-oh god! L-look at how -fuck, red your ass is” He groans, another rough spank on your poor ass.

He can feel you getting tighter and tighter, your pussy clenching around him so tightly. “Oh fuck-“ Caleb grunts, entranced of the way your pussy take him in and out. 

His cock is drenched with your juices, shining with your juices. Another spank, sending you reeling forward. Your body tenses, pussy fluttering uncontrollably around Caleb’s cock. 

You cum, hard. Those tears pour from your eyes, trickling down your cheek to the pillow. Caleb lets out a choked groan, your cum making a thin layer on his shaft. 

It’s sticky, sticking onto his abdomen. “Hng! L-little Apple.. you’re gonna make me.. cum” he moans, whimpering quietly. 

You can feel him twitch frequently in your deepest parts, his cock begging to cum. The obscure squelching and gushing sound of your pussy fills the room, it’s embarrassingly loud. The wet plaping and fwoping sound fills the room, his abdomen and thighs meeting your ass. 

“G-gonna breed you- you’re all mine!” Caleb says between gasps and groans, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips. 

One, two, three thrusts were enough to throw Caleb over the edge. He groans, body trembling against yours as his hot cum shoots deep into your overstimulated pussy. You mewl, clamping around him tightly as if to try to make sure his cum doesn’t spill out. 

Caleb grinds against you, keeping his cock plunging deep in your pussy. His cock slowly slides out of your pussy, his creamy cum slowly trickling out of your cunny. He rolls you over again, laying you onto your back.  

You’re finally getting to see him, and oh fuck, does he look like a mess just like you. Caleb’s eyes are hooded, filled with desperation and need. His cheeks are rosy pink, sweat dripping down his forehead. 

He leans down, licking your breasts, teasing the bud. Caleb places wet kisses to the valley between your breasts. He presses hot kisses down to your belly, trailing further down to your sloppy pussy.

“Hng- what are you doing?” You hiccup, wailing loudly when his tongue dives between your folds. 

Fat tears roll down your cheek, body twitching from overstimulation. “C-Caleb! S’too much!” You protest, wailing. 

The pleasure must have made him dumb or he’s ignoring your whimsy complaints. Caleb laps hungrily at your pussy, targeting your gummy entrance. He slurps up  your cum, seemingly unbothered that he’s drinking up the sticky mixture of his cum too.

“Hng.. we taste so good..” be purrs, diving between your pussy lips. 

You sob, squirming around. Caleb grunts against your pussy, his tongue rolling up and down through your fat folds.

“Hah- I’m not down with you yet, pipsqueak..” Caleb huffs, his tongue dipping into your gummy entrance. 

“Hng! N-no!” You squeal, drool dripping from your lips. 

You’re already so sensitive, that heat in your belly builds up quickly. Caleb’s tongue swirls and wiggles, rubbing and massaging your walls. You buck your hips up, tipping your cunny closer to him. He hums, grabbing your ass.

Caleb holds you still, messily slurping at your cunt. You wail, clenching around his tongue. You gush around his tongue, making an ever larger mess. 

Caleb moans in approval, instantly drinking up your delicious nectar. “You taste so.. good, pipsqueak” he gasps, lips parted as he gasps for air. 

He hovers over your body, leaning closer to you. “Ngh! N-no!” You huff. “You’re so nasty!” You huff. 

“So you don’t love me anymore, little Apple?” Caleb pouts, sending you puppy dog eyes. 

You can’t take him seriously, not with a mixture of yours and his cum is dripping down his lower chin.

“I do love you..” you mumble, pretending to gag when he kisses your cheek.

“And no more stealing my panties!” You huff, attempting not to smile at the genuine shocked and offended look on his face. 

“Mmh, no promises, pipsqueak” he hums, resting his head on your sweaty chest.

⋆˚࿔٠࣪⭑All work belongs to ME, translating and copying is not allowed✶⋆.˚

—.٠࣪⭑TAG-LIST @blueberrisdove-sideblog @rinkomei @hon3yydew @kriscr0ss @Dummiebunny @inkwellscholar @Simphony @goobiescooby @Spookytyrantdeer @sunshimmery @prettypeachhh @nyx2021 @staying4straykids @bijuu-naginata @sillyhahaha @yanderecxre @alexander-arcturus-black-lupin-r @Ame-chan-unofficial @McDepressed290 @malleus-draconias-rose @4k1to @thxtmarvelchick @katiralovely @ninahorikoshifr @priestessrosery @blcknebula @blogsforficslol @velourmobius @thequeenofcurses @bimbohkitty @screampied (hope you don’t mind, sexy mamas)

I don't make the rules, Sylus and Caleb smile when they cum :/

Sylus gets this super sharp and fucked out grin on his face, he tries his best to keep his gaze locked with yours but you make him feel too good for his eyes not to just roll into the back of his skull. He'll bite his lip hard enough to nearly break skin and let out a breathless chuckle that'll either be even deeper than his usual tone or just a tad bit higher. And if you wrap your fingers around his throat right before he finishes, it'll never fail to get a slutty laugh that fades into an even sluttier moan. It's a smile that's just for you and you alone and he loves it that way.

Caleb is an absolute mess. His hair is all in his eyes and he's flushed completely down to his chest and he's holding onto you just tightly enough that he'll definitely leave bruises but not hard enough that you'll break. He's got this soft and absolutely stunning smile that just screams "I've been waiting for this for so long"- you can see the relief and absolute ecstasy in his face. He's borderline giddy. And he won't shut up about how good you're making him feel and how good you're doing or about how much he's wanted to do this- how much he's fantasized about you. He'll 100% let you snap a quick pic of him so you have a little reminder of "how happy you make him".

Perfect Worship | Caleb x fem!MC

This blurb is told from Caleb's pov :) (unedited also I don't play the game but I get lots of info from my bestie and obviously...tiktok)

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, kissing, obsession, heavy petting, fingers in mouth, glove play (?), dirty talk, childhood best friends are going to FUCK?, pussy rubbing, fingering (slightly), talks of raw vaginal penetration, teasing, edging wc: 1.6k a/n: O///o I need a stiff drink after that... and by a stiff drink I mean *** from Caleb's stiff **** ... I would be ashamed but let's be honest... I'm too far gone at this point

You’re staring at me with that look in your eye. It’s one I can’t ignore. “How could you…” those whispered words brought me out of my thoughts. How could I? What exactly did you think I did? I want to scoff, throttle you for believing any nonsense spewed about me. Though… the way you clench your fists in remembrance of our childhood is very endearing. It sends a stinging wave of happiness through my empty chest. 

“Haa…always so naive pipsqueak.” I breathe out, bringing my gloved hand to my lips. I gauge your reaction, watching your skin bristle at my words. That’s it. “When are you going to grow up?” Break for me. Your eyes narrow into slits, glowing with beautiful anger. Anything you felt for me was glorious as long as it was something. Your hatred for me was going to bring me to my knees. What I don’t expect is your hand to make a loud thwack against my right cheek. The action pushes my head to the left, the breath whooshing from my lungs. My fingertips caress the stinging sensation of my cheek, my eyes wide. Okay, so maybe you were stronger than I remembered. So then why? I want to groan with the flooding arousal to my groin. Fuck. Then I get a glimpse of you raising your other hand, ready to strike. 

This time, I stop your assault, catching your wrist in my hand. For a moment we just stare at each other, too caught in the moment to continue. I decide to break the stare off, slipping my hand further down your arm, then yanking you into my own body. You fall onto your knees, in turn, straddling me. I leave the choice up to you. Submit or drive me to insanity. 

Your lips close around mine in a desperate attempt to convince me you still had control. I let go of your arm, spotting my handprint outlined in red against your skin. A primal need pulses through my body, driving me to move my hand to the nape of your neck. More, I had to have all of you. 

A whimper falls from your mouth as I slot my mouth against yours, slipping my tongue to lap at your lips. Let me in. You oblige, allowing my tongue to swirl against yours in a dance of passion and yearning, built up over years. Even when I could see you everyday, it was never enough. 

I slide my knees apart so that you sink further into my lap, the apex of your thighs flush against my stiff cock. You moan into my mouth, pressing yourself deeper into the kiss. “Please,” you mewl, lips swollen from my aggression. Ah, begging me are we? 

“You’re grown, use your words.” I want to hear it from your lips. Hear your voice beg me to fuck you. The pitch and timbre give into moans. Let me worship you. Your brows furrow, frustration building on your face. Resistance. Something I know how to deal with all too well. “Fine then,” I coo, tracing the line of your neck with my leather covered fingers. “Be that way.” My evol surges, forcing you further downward until it feels like I’m in you. Your eyes widen and your hands immediately grip my shoulders. I can see it on your face, you feel it too. “How about now? Feel like talkin’?” I tilt my head, watching a shudder course through you. I lean back against the cushioned sofa, taking in the sight before me. 

Your face is a deep red as your trembling arm tries to hide your beautiful face from me. Damn if I was fucking you right now I could see everything. I blow out a breath, meeting your heated gaze from over your arm. “Ca…Caleb.” 

Oh. Did you think you could say my name like that and not have to deal with the consequences? I grab your hips, sinking my fingertips into the meaty flesh. “C’mon pretty girl, tell me exactly what you desire.” I’m begging you now. I can’t handle it. I’m going to go fucking insane. 

You slowly drop your arm, blinking at me through those thick lashes. You grind your hips down, eliciting a growling hiss from behind my clenched teeth. “Ruin me.” Your voice is low, almost too low. I want to hear you say it again, but my body moves on its own. I shift my hips to create an unbearable friction between us. “Please Caleb, I’ve missed you so much,” You’re ramblings couldn’t be a finer melody to my ears. 

There’s a part of me that wants to fuck you right here on the sofa, splay my cum all over your face like I’m some horny teenager again. But you deserve better than having my cock slam into you until dawn erupts through the windows. My first time should be making love with you, but I’d grown too accustomed to the art of war. “On your knees darlin’.” I command, observing the way you slip off my lap – disappointed by the briskness of the air around my legs since your warmth had left. You sink to the floor, using my thigh as stability, defiantly maintaining eye contact with me. “So brave,” I reach for your cheek, running my thumb over your plump lower lip. “If you do a good job I might go easy on you.” I warn, tightening my grip to where your cheeks squish inward. Your brows knit together and I can tell you want to fight back. There’s nothing you can do on any inch of your body that I don’t already know about. 

Your mouth parts, allowing my gloved-hand to sink into your warm and wet mouth. I hum, fascinated by the way your tongue glides around my digits. You close your lips around the length of my fingers, mimicking a sucking motion until my cock grows harder. You release me, saliva connecting the tips of my fingers to your mouth. “Did I pass?” You inquire, brushing a strand of your hair behind those lovely ears. How down bad did I have to be to call your ears ‘lovely’? 

I shrug my shoulders, leaning back once more. “I’m unsure, I think you might need something a little bigger to test your capabilities.” It makes your eyes perk up and your mouth quirk into a grin. My legs surround you as sturdy pillars as you move between them. Your eyes watch me like a hawk as you undo my belt, pulling it off with tantalizing slowness. It’s tossed to the side, the zipper of my trousers next. My cock immediately feels less stifled, but there was a part of me that misses that overwhelming pressure. The surrounding air was too empty, I needed something. Lucky for me, you can read me like a book. 

You pull my boxers down exposing my erection, which you stare at for an insufferable amount of time. I’m at my breaking point and there’s nothing you can do to save me. Your wet mouth wraps around the length of my cock, pressing your tongue under the head. Okay, maybe I was wrong. I’m obsessed with the way you push my length further into your throat until tears stream down your face. You hum against my shaft, eliciting a low growl from me. Your eyes glow with lust, keeping me on the edge. This was your way of punishing me, reclaiming control. Usually I’d be more than eager to allow your little rebellion, but unfortunately I’ve run out of patience. I click my tongue, wrapping my hand around your hair, then pulling taunt. Your eyes shutter as I pull you off my cock. 

“Hmm,” I like how pliable you are in my hands. Your eyes dart around my face, searching for an explanation only found in my words. “Shall I show you what happens when you're insubordinate?” The slight movement of your head is all it takes for me to yank you to your feet, tossing you toward the sofa yet again. You place your hands on the back, sticking your ass toward me. “You get punished.” I use my teeth to pull off one of my gloves, using the other to loosen your pants. They fall around your ankles, exposing a simple pair of black panties. Doesn’t matter, they’re going to be staying on my floor for most of this visit. 

I use my ungloved hand to rub your clit through the fabric, growing high off the soft moans escaping your mouth. “I’ve barely touched you down here yet you’re already so wet.” I comment, leaning over your back to hold you steady. I kiss on your shoulder blades and down until I reach bare skin. “Who knew you were so filthy?” I mutter against your back, slipping my fingers into your folds until I tease the entrance to your warm sex. “You gonna cum for me?” I inquire, not really caring if you answer with words because your body will be doing most of the talking here in a moment. “Haa, I bet I could just fuck you raw right now right?” I muse, drawing my hand from your throbbing pussy and to the hem of your underwear. “You want me to shove my cock in you huh? You’re practically serving me your wet cunt.” I’m hungry and you were going to feed me. “Don’t tell me you were waiting to see me again just so you could jump my bones?” I laugh, running a hand through my hair as you hang your head. “Well I’d hate to disappoint you, so I’ll show you everything I learned while I was gone. Come on, let me make it up to you.”

Caleb giving backshots

18+ audio

guys… i think my vagina is gonna collapse and fall out if i’m not sitting on his dick 24/7

Your headcanons are so delicious🤌

Can you imagine taking Caleb’s virginity? All those years of pining and teasing and cold, cold showers….

Thank you for this omg I love virgin Caleb

Surely Caleb must have realized how thin the walls are by now. Even with his shirt in his mouth to muffle his whines it was obvious what he was doing every night.. and morning.. and sometimes in the middle of the day. Did he not realize how obvious he was being when he suddenly excused himself to go take a cold shower after your cuddling on the couch got a little more touchy than usual?

This time was no different. It was late- you both should’ve been asleep by now. Instead you lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling while trying to block out the sound of your adopted brother thrusting into his hand on the other side of the wall. You normally wouldn’t mind- sometimes you’d even press your ear against the wall and close your eyes, trying to imagine how he looks as he whimpers against his sheets. Tonight, however, you needed to sleep and his pathetic little noises weren’t helping.

Caleb never locked his door; he’d always reminded you that he would always be there for you whenever you needed him. He’d never thought you’d need him at 11:30 PM though.

Dressed in one of the shirts you’d stolen from him and nothing else, you swing open his door right as your name escapes his lips.

He scrambles to cover himself, but the friction of his sheets against his painfully hard cock sends a shiver through his body and a quiet yelp slips out.

“Having trouble sleeping?” He finally manages to stutter as if he’d not been moaning your name moments prior. Then his eyes slide down your body, seeing nothing but bare skin under his shirt. The fabric barely conceals you, covering just enough to hide the wetness between your thighs.

“You’re being too loud.”

You wouldn’t normally be this bold, but those years of secretly sneaking lustful glances at each other, of hands wandering just a little too far for siblings, and ensuring that no one came between the two of you had led you to this moment. He doesn’t stop you when you pull back his sheets; he just gives you those pathetic puppy eyes as the cold air hits his sensitive skin.

“I’m sorry”

Ignoring his words, you climb on top of him, legs straddling his as you cover his mouth with your palm.

“Be quiet.”

He’s never felt himself ache like this before. His eyes widen as your other hand slips downwards, wrapping itself around his cock. Caleb shakes his head as his eyes beg you to stop. You shouldn’t be doing this. But you know he needs it. You’ve heard him mumbling fantasies just like this countless times from the other side of the wall. He needs it.

His eyes roll back as he feels you press him against your drenched core. It takes everything in him not to climax right then and there, but he manages to hold out. You slip his length inside with ease as if you were made for each other. His whole body trembles beneath you as you feel him panting beneath your palm. His whines only get louder as you move- not even riding him, just readjusting your position. It’s clear he can’t take much more. His eyes meet yours once more and he silently pleads for it to stop- he can’t take it, it’s too much. You nod, the gesture giving him enough confirmation that he had permission.

You take your palm away from his lips as he cums, his whole body shaking from pleasure as he whimpers and moans before your lips crash against his. Caleb’s hands move to your hair, wrapping themselves around you just to hold you closer. Your lips against his are the only thing stopping him from waking the whole neighborhood with his desperate whines.

Eventually, he comes down from his high and you manage to peel yourself away from him, allowing him to catch his breath. He can’t meet your eyes, ashamed of reaching his peak within seconds of being inside of you. You slowly move away, releasing him from the softness and warmth of your pussy. Just that act alone causes him to choke and you can see a tiny dribble of cum escape his tip. While he’s still catching his breath, you lean down and kiss it, licking up the tiny droplets that slip down the side. Then you simply hop up and give him a teasing grin before giving him a quick peck on the lips, letting him taste himself.

He’s still in a daze as you slip out of his room and back into your own, but a few minutes later you hear the sound water running. It seems like another cold shower is needed.

Idk if you do asks/requests but given your bc of Caleb as whiny and desperate, can we get your thoughts on MC finally letting him creampie/rawdog? Pretty pretty please with a cherry on top

Oh boy I think it would be similar to Zayne’s recent drunk card; I want to imagine Caleb would get intoxicated and just lose all control.

The thought of putting on a condom doesn’t even cross his mind, all he needs is to be inside of her. He can’t get his clothes off fast enough, barely taking the time to push her panties to the side. It all happens so fast that MC isn’t able to get her words out fast enough before he’s already pushing his aching cock inside. Any semblance of restraint is gone, he’s like an animal while he ruts into her, whimpering that he’s sorry- he can’t help it. He’s held himself back for so long, now he needs her.

Caleb would be panting desperately by her ear, longing to hold out for longer, but he can feel himself growing closer with each thrust. Everything feels so sensitive, he feels like he’s choking, his eyes growing wet with tears from the sheer stimulation.

It’s takes less than a minute before he coats her insides, his whole body trembling as he releases himself into her. He’d whine, both from the sensation and from his inability to hold out for longer, whispering “I’m sorry” over and over in her ear as his thrusts grow shallower.

MC should really have told him that she isn’t on the pill, but he doesn’t need to know that now. Not yet.

Xavier is a thigh biter/squeezer during sex. Especially when he is eating you out.

I’m so cooked for this Caleb 🙂🔥 (im cooked for any Caleb, I’m obsessed, but damn this Fallen Angel!Caleb!!)

Fallen - Prologue

❤︎  tags and content: fallen angel, m!recieving self pleasure, yearning, slow burn ❤︎  author note: check out all my fics by searching #moongirlcleo or on AO3

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @/cafekitsune Fic: @moongirlcleo  

He was your guardian angel. Nothing more. For years, he watched you grow and learn until he realized there was something there. HE no longer just wanted to save you.

He wanted you

Caleb had always known his purpose. From the moment his name had been bound to yours, tethered by divine command, he had accepted it without question. To be a guardian was to serve, to watch from the edges of existence, never seen, never known, ensuring that your life flowed as it should. His presence was meant to be a whisper in the wind, a guiding force that you would never feel, never acknowledge, a silent protector in the vastness of an unknowing world.

At first, it had been nothing more than duty. You were another soul to safeguard, another fragile being in need of unseen intervention. He followed you through your days and nights, ever-present, though you never realized it. When you stepped into the street without looking, he nudged the passing car just slightly off course. When a stranger’s hand lingered too long on your wrist, he shifted the air between you, sending a sudden chill down their spine. When you lost your footing on ice, your balance always found you just in time, the fall never quite reaching you. Every movement was precise, calculated, a seamless adjustment of reality so minor that you would never think twice about it.

That was what he was meant to do. Nothing else.

Yet the longer he remained by your side, the more something within him began to shift.

At first, it was no more than a lingering presence, a quiet reluctance to leave when night fell and your breathing grew slow with sleep. He would remain at your bedside longer than necessary, watching the way the soft glow of your bedside lamp kissed your skin, how your lashes fluttered against your cheek, how your fingers twitched ever so slightly in dreams you would never remember. He told himself it was simply caution, an extra moment to ensure your safety before returning to his place beyond the veil of sight, but each night, that moment stretched longer.

The discomfort settled in his chest first, an unfamiliar weight pressing against something he did not have the language to name. It curled beneath his ribs whenever he saw you smile at another, a fleeting tension that was gone before he could acknowledge it. It burned in his throat when he listened to the way you laughed, the sound curling through the air with an ease that did not belong to him. It tightened around his spine when your hand brushed against someone else’s, casual, thoughtless, as though it was nothing.

But worst of all was the ache that had begun to take root in the deepest parts of him, something neither duty nor grace had prepared him for.

It settled low, buried beneath the surface, growing heavier each time he watched you stretch in the early light of morning, arms lifting above your head, a soft sigh leaving your lips as sleep faded from your body. It unfurled in the spaces between, in the way your fingers traced over your collarbone absentmindedly, in the way your breath hitched when you stepped beneath the warmth of a shower, in the way you murmured to yourself as you pulled soft fabrics over your skin, never knowing the weight of the eyes that lingered, watching, wanting.

He was supposed to guard you.

He was not supposed to crave you.

Yet every day, every night, every moment that passed between you, the lines blurred further, the distance between what was and what could be growing impossibly thin.

Divinity had never taught him what to do with longing.

***

Caleb had always told himself that watching was enough.

It was what he had been created to do, what he had been assigned to you for—to protect, to intervene where necessary, to remain unseen. It was a law as ancient as the heavens themselves, a rule woven into his very being, a boundary that had never been crossed.

Until the dreams.

At first, they had been nothing more than a fleeting indulgence, a moment of stillness in the vast weight of his duty. A guardian could not be seen, could not be known, but in the quiet of the unconscious mind, in the space between waking and sleep, he could linger without consequence. He told himself it was for your protection. That there was no harm in observing when your defenses were lowered, when your dreams played across the canvas of your mind, untouched by the dangers of the waking world.

But it was never just protection.

Not really.

The first time had been a mistake. He had stepped too close, let his presence sink too deeply into the atoms of your dream, let himself be there instead of just watching from a distance. You had not seen him, had not noticed the way he stood at the edges of your world, silent, motionless, barely a speck in the depths of your thoughts. It had been safe then, easy, just another way to fulfill his purpose.

But then it became a habit.

Caleb found himself returning night after night, standing in the background of your mind as dreams unfolded around him. Sometimes they were simple, mundane things—the memory of a conversation, the distant hum of voices from your waking life, the quiet warmth of sunlight filtering through a window that did not exist. Other times, they were more vivid, more intimate—the way your lips parted when you sighed, the way your fingers ghosted over your own skin, the way your body shifted beneath silken sheets, restless, unaware of the presence that watched you from the shadows.

He should have stopped then. He should have left. But he didn’t.

It wasn’t just your dreams that changed. It was the way he changed within them. The way he began to move closer, inching forward with each passing night, lingering at the edges of your consciousness with a hunger he refused to name. He never touched you, never spoke, never gave you reason to suspect that something more existed in the liminal space between dreaming and waking.

But he wanted to. And that was when he knew he was losing control.

The first time you stirred at the weight of his presence, he had frozen, waiting, watching, breathless in a way he had never been before. You shifted beneath the covers, brows knitting together, lips parting slightly as though searching for words that never came. His chest ached at the sight, something deep and wrong coiling in his ribs, something not meant for angels, something human.

But you had not woken. Not yet. He told himself it was nothing, that you had felt nothing, that it was coincidence, that he could still turn away.

But the longer he lingered, the more your body reacted—a twitch of your fingers, a slow inhale, the way your lips parted slightly as though you could sense something in the air, something unseen. He knew he should pull away, retreat before it was too late, before you began to realize.

But divinity had never prepared him for what it meant to want. And so, he stayed.

Caleb had spent lifetimes watching from the shadows of the world, his presence woven so seamlessly into the very essence of your existence that you never thought to question it. He had been a quiet observer, a guardian bound by celestial law, a whisper of divinity meant only to ensure that you were safe, that your path remained steady, that fate unfolded as it was always intended to.

He had never meant to be seen.

At first, stepping into your dreams had been an act of duty rather than indulgence, a means of keeping watch in the only place he could exist without restraint. You couldn’t feel that he was there, never felt the weight of his presence lingering at the edges of your unconscious mind, just beyond the reach of recognition. He had told himself that it was harmless, that as long as he remained a distant figure in the background of your thoughts, there was no risk, no reason to fear what it might mean.

But then, one night, something changed.

The dream was different, a nightmare growing as darkness began twisting at the seams with a force that did not belong to your mind alone. He felt it before he saw it, a shift in the air, something unnatural pressing in at the edges, something malicious. He had seen you dream before, had stood at the fringes of your memories as they replayed like distant echoes, but this was not a memory.

This was something else.

You were caught in it, your body tense, your breath coming short and sharp as shadows coiled around you, shifting like sentient things, murmuring in voices that did not belong to the waking world. Your hands trembled where they curled against your chest, fingers pressing over your ears as if trying to block out something only you could hear. Your lips parted, but no words escaped, only the soft, uneven gasps of someone trapped in their own fear.

Caleb had always known the rules.

He was not to interfere.

He was to watch, to protect, but never to touch, never to step too far beyond the limits of his purpose.

But as he stood there, watching the way you shuddered beneath the weight of something you could not fight, he felt something inside him break.

Before he had time to second-guess the choice, before he could remind himself of what he was not meant to do, his body moved on instinct, stepping forward, crossing a line that had never been meant to be crossed. His presence rippled through the dream, the darkness recoiling at the force of something greater, something divine. The whispers fell silent, the pressure in the air easing as if the very world had recognized what he was and had yielded beneath it.

And then you saw him.

Your breath caught, eyes widening as they locked onto his, recognition flickering beneath the remnants of fear. You should not have known him. You should not have been able to see him. Yet there he stood, solid, real, undeniable, no longer a faceless figure in the background but a being standing before you, something that had been there for so long but had never been given shape, never been acknowledged.

Your body shifted, the tension in your limbs uncoiling just enough for confusion to settle in its place. A flicker of awareness passed through your expression, your brow furrowing as if your mind was already working through the pieces of a puzzle you hadn’t known existed.

“Who…?” The question came unsteady, still raw from whatever fear had gripped you, but your voice was clear, and it made something deep inside him go still.

Caleb said nothing.

He could feel the weight of your gaze, the careful unraveling of realization in your features, the sharp intake of breath as your fingers twitched at your sides, as if debating whether to reach for him, to test the reality of his presence.

And then your voice came again, steadier this time, edged with something dangerous.

“You’ve been in my dreams before.”

It wasn’t a question. He could hear the certainty behind it, the way it settled into place like a memory finally uncovered, an answer that had been waiting just beneath the surface. He had been careful, had told himself that he was nothing more than a passing figure in your unconscious thoughts, that you would never notice, never remember.

But you had. And now, you were questioning it.

His first instinct was to reach for you, to steady you, to explain, but there was no explanation that could erase what had already been done. The air between you felt too heavy, charged with something fragile and breaking, something dangerously real.

A flicker of something unreadable crossed your face, your lips parting just slightly, and Caleb knew if you spoke again, if you asked him the question that was forming on your tongue, it would be over.

He turned before you could. The dreamscape shuddered as he pulled away, the world unraveling at the edges, dissolving into the empty space between waking and sleep. He could still feel the weight of your gaze, the lingering heat of recognition pressing against his skin like a brand, but he did not stop. He did not look back.

He ran.

And when you woke, breath unsteady, fingers curling into the sheets as you tried to piece together what had just happened, you remembered him. Not a passing shadow. Not a figment of imagination lost to sleep.

But something more. And now, you would begin to look for him.

***

For days, Caleb forced himself into silence.

He did his duty, watching from the edges of your life as he always had, but he kept his distance, never letting his presence linger too long, never letting himself step too close. The shame coiled tight in his chest, an unbearable weight pressing against ribs that had never known the sting of guilt before, but now carried it like a mark burned into the very core of him.

He had exposed himself.

For the first time in centuries, he had acted on impulse, had reached for something that was never meant to be his. You had seen him, had recognized him, had spoken his presence into existence—and now, the fragile boundary between his world and yours had begun to crumble.

Divinity had never prepared Caleb for the feeling of shame.

He had tried to convince himself that it would fade, that you would push it aside as nothing more than a strange dream, that your mind would bury it the way it did fleeting memories lost in sleep. But deep down, he knew better.

Because now, you were looking for him.

It started small, almost imperceptible at first. The way you would pause in the middle of the street, your gaze flickering across a crowd, your lips pressed together as if waiting for something—someone—that wasn’t there. The way your eyes lingered a little too long on a passing stranger, as if trying to place something just out of reach, some familiarity you couldn’t quite grasp.

Then, it became more.

Your routine had changed. You stayed out longer, lingering in places where you had never stopped before, your fingers tracing the edges of books you never intended to read, your gaze wandering through coffee shop windows as if expecting to find someone staring back. You would turn your head sharply at the feeling of being watched, eyes searching, breath catching—only to find nothing, only to find no one.

But he was there.

Always there.

And it was torture.

Caleb had spent lifetimes standing just beyond mortal reach, existing as nothing more than a presence, a force of protection that had never once faltered. But now, every breath you took, every time your fingers twitched at your sides, every slow, thoughtful glance you cast into the unknown—it unraveled him.

Because he knew who you were searching for.

And he knew you would never find him.

Not the way you wanted.

Not the way he ached to be found.

He could not risk another mistake.

Not when his hands still burned with the memory of your dream, not when he could still feel the echo of your gaze locked onto his as the world between you shattered. He told himself he had been reckless, that he had let himself slip too close, that the shame in his chest was enough to pull him back to duty.

But duty had never felt this heavy before.

And the longer he watched you search for something you could not name, the more he felt himself losing the battle against the inevitable.

Because despite everything—despite the silence, the distance, the weight of his own denial—he could not stop watching you.

And worse still?

You had started to feel it.

You could not see him, could not hear him, could not know the way his presence curled around your every step, but something had changed in you, something subtle, something dangerous. Your fingers would brush the nape of your neck as though warding off a phantom sensation, a lingering warmth that should not have been there. Your breath would catch in empty rooms, your skin prickling with awareness, your pulse unsteady in a way that had nothing to do with fear—only anticipation.

Somewhere, somehow, you knew he was there.

And no matter how hard Caleb tried to run, he knew, with absolute certainty, that eventually—

You would find him.

Caleb had spent weeks forcing himself to remain distant, retreating into the safety of silence, burying himself beneath the weight of duty, convincing himself that what had happened was nothing more than a fleeting moment of weakness, a single error that could still be undone. He told himself that as long as he avoided you, as long as he did not linger in places where temptation could take hold, he could still fulfill his role without the unbearable ache pressing against his ribs. He could still be the guardian he was meant to be, a silent, unseen force, nothing more than a whisper of presence in the vastness of your world.

But no matter how far he withdrew, no matter how carefully he tried to erase the fragile thread of connection between you, he could not stop the way you searched for him.

You didn’t know what you were looking for, didn’t understand the pull that had begun to take root inside you, but he could feel it in the way your gaze lingered too long in empty spaces, in the way your breath would hitch as though expecting to see something—someone—just beyond your reach. You turned your head quickly at the feeling of being watched, only to find nothing but empty air. You were drawn to something you could not name, haunted by a presence you could not see, and every time your body tensed with the suspicion that someone was there, Caleb was forced to hold himself back, fighting the impossible pull that urged him to step forward, to let himself be found.

It was torment.

But nothing compared to the night when it all fell apart.

He had not meant to step into your dream, not this time.

Lately, he had forced himself to remain at the edges, to simply observe rather than exist within them, to stay hidden among the shifting shadows of your subconscious rather than risk the temptation of feeling too present. He had told himself that watching was still within his right, that as long as he did not intervene, as long as he did not allow you to see him, he was not breaking the fragile balance that had already begun to fray.

But the moment he felt the shift, the change in the air that signaled something different, something more dangerous, he knew that distance was no longer a luxury he could afford.

The dream was steeped in warmth, the air thick with something heavier than illusion, something that wrapped around your skin in the way silk clings to bare flesh. The golden light stretched long across the floor, painting soft shadows against the sheets tangled around your body, the slow rise and fall of your breath visible in the dim glow. There was no movement, no spoken words, only the steady pull of heat settling into every inch of the dream, soaking into the space where desire hummed just beneath the surface.

Caleb knew he should have left the moment he realized what this was.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he stood at the edge of the dream, unmoving, his gaze tracing over the delicate arch of your spine, the way your lips parted just slightly as if in anticipation, the way your fingers ghosted over your own skin in a slow, idle motion, not intentional, not aware—only feeling. The air in the room was thick, heavy with the weight of something you didn’t yet understand, but Caleb did. He saw it in the subtle shift of your thighs pressing together beneath the sheets, in the way your body tensed for a moment before relaxing again, caught in the slow unraveling of your own longing, unaware that you were not alone.

He had never known what it meant to crave, never felt the slow, burning ache of hunger the way mortals did, but standing there, watching you like this, his body locked in place as if tethered by something stronger than duty, he understood.

And the moment you let out a quiet sigh, breathless and wanting, he lost control.

The dream shifted around him in an instant, the warmth flickering as the air thickened, as the space between reality and illusion bent to accommodate his presence. No longer an unseen force lingering in the shadows, no longer a distant presence watching from afar, he was there, fully formed, fully real, standing at the edge of the bed, unable to hide the weight of his own desperation.

Your body stilled.

Caleb did not move, his breath uneven despite the fact that he did not need breath at all, his amethyst eyes locked onto you with something raw, something unforgivable.

And then you saw him.

The flicker of awareness crossed your face almost instantly, your breath catching as your eyes fluttered open, widening the moment they found him standing there. The world around you did not dissolve, the dream did not end, but something shifted in the way your body tensed beneath the sheets, the way your fingers curled into the fabric, the way your lips parted as if you could sense the weight of his presence even before understanding what it meant.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

You only watched him.

And God help him, Caleb watched you back.

His body felt too tight, the space between you too small, the dream itself pressing inward like it was forcing him to act, demanding that he either step forward or leave before the moment turned into something that could never be undone.

But the way you looked at him—not with fear, not with confusion, but with something new, something that sent heat curling low in his stomach, something that made his wings twitch behind him, restless, uncertain—was too much.

His lips parted, but no sound came.

For the first time in his existence, he did not know what to do.

The dream was already slipping, the golden light flickering at the edges, the space between you humming with an unspoken energy that neither of you had the strength to name. Your fingers twitched against the sheets, as if considering reaching for him, as if wondering if he was something real or if this was only a dream meant to leave you wanting.

He should have stepped back.

He should have left before the moment could cement itself into something more than an illusion, before you could remember him, before you could want him in the way he already wanted you.

But he hesitated. And in that hesitation, he sealed his fate.

The dream collapsed in an instant, torn apart by his own fear, by the shame curling hot in his chest, by the realization that he had let himself go too far. He ripped himself from the moment, retreating before you could reach him, before he could see exactly what would have happened if he had stayed.

But it was too late. Because when you woke, your breath uneven, your skin warm with the ghost of something unseen, you did not shake the dream away as you had done before. You remembered him. You wanted to find him again.

And now, for the first time in his existence, Caleb wasn’t just avoiding you out of duty. He was running—not because he had to, but because he didn’t trust himself to stay away.

***

Caleb’s chambers stood vast and unmoving, wrapped in the unearthly hush of eternal stillness, where not even time dared to intrude. The air shimmered faintly with the pale, cold gleam of heaven’s undying light—a radiance too pure to warm, too divine to invite. It was a sanctum forged for solitude, for reverence, a place meant to be untouched by mortal hands, unswayed by desire, and deaf to the restless ache of human longing that clawed so desperately at the borders of divinity.

But tonight, it felt like a prison.

Caleb sat at the edge of his bed, head bowed, hands gripping the fabric of his robes so tightly that the material creased beneath his fingers. His breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling in slow, controlled movements that did nothing to ease the fire burning beneath his skin, the insatiable ache that refused to be silenced. His wings flexed behind him, feathers shifting, restless, betraying the battle raging inside of him.

He should not be thinking about you.

But he was.

He had tried to push the dream from his mind, had tried to bury it beneath duty, beneath the discipline that had once been as natural as prayer. He had paced the marble halls of the celestial plane, let the quiet hum of heaven’s harmony wash over him, whispered prayers in languages older than time itself—but nothing helped.

Because the moment his mind faltered, the moment his guard slipped, he was there again.

In the golden light of your dream.

Standing at the edge of your bed.

Watching the way your body shifted beneath the sheets, the way your lips parted ever so slightly, the way your fingers ghosted over your own skin, unaware, so blissfully unaware that he was there, aching for you, wanting something he had no name for, something he had no right to claim.

Caleb exhaled sharply, hands clenched into fists, his jaw tightening as heat coiled low in his stomach, a slow, unforgiving burn that refused to be ignored.

His thighs tensed, his body betraying him in ways it never had before. He should stop this now, should pray, should force himself into the cold solace of divine purpose, but his fingers twitched at his sides, and when he closed his eyes, all he could see was you.

The way your breath had hitched when your eyes met his.

The way you had looked at him—not in fear, not in confusion, but in something else, something that made his body tighten, something that made his wings tremble.

A low, shuddering breath escaped his lips, and before he could stop himself, his hand moved lower, hesitating at first, hovering over the place where his arousal had already betrayed him, pulsing, throbbing with the weight of his own self-destruction.

He had never done this before.

Never felt the need to.

But he was starving—for something he could not have, for something that should not exist, and yet it did, it was, and no matter how many times he told himself to turn away, he couldn’t.

His palm pressed over the heat straining against his robes, his breath catching as sensation flooded through him, sharp and unbearable, his mind unraveling at the first, tentative touch. His wings twitched again, his body responding too quickly, too eagerly, as though it had been waiting for this, as though some part of him had always been waiting for you.

The shame came instantly, curling in his ribs, making his throat tighten, but it did nothing to lessen the pleasure pulsing through him, the slow, torturous friction making his hips shift, seeking more before he could stop himself.

His teeth clenched, his breath turning unsteady, his free hand gripping at the sheets beside him as he tried to find something real, something to hold onto, something to anchor himself—but nothing existed beyond the heat consuming him, beyond the memory of your skin bathed in candlelight, the way you had looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes, lips parted like a silent invitation.

The way you had sighed.

The way he had wanted to touch you.

A quiet, broken sound left him, his resolve crumbling as his fingers wrapped around himself fully, stroking once, just to feel, just to understand what this was, why his body reacted this way, why he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Pleasure ripped through him, electric and unforgiving, his hips jerking into his own grasp, breath stuttering as he tried to control it, tried to pace himself, tried to make sense of it—but there was nothing but hunger, nothing but the unbearable need to chase the fire building in his core, nothing but the shameful relief of finally, finally touching himself while thinking of you.

His lips parted, a strangled groan barely muffled as he tried to keep himself quiet, but it was impossible now, his body trembling, his movements growing desperate, chasing something he did not yet understand, something that tasted like ruin, something that had already damned him.

Your name slipped past his lips before he could stop it.

The moment it did, the pleasure doubled, a shiver rolling through him, his grip tightening, his pace increasing, his thighs tensing beneath the weight of release as his wings flared wide, the force of his own downfall hitting him all at once.

Heat spilled over his fingers, his chest heaving, his body wrecked, trembling, barely able to process the mess he had just made of himself.

And the shame—the shame—hit harder than anything before.

Caleb’s hand fell away from his spent length, fingers twitching uselessly as he stared at the evidence of his own weakness, breath still ragged, his heart still pounding despite knowing that this had changed everything.

His head dropped forward, his wings folding inward, trying to shield himself from the unbearable truth of what he had done.

This was not just hunger. This was not just desire. This was something else entirely.

Something dangerous. Something that could no longer be ignored.

Behind Locked Doors

Tags: College Academy AU, Seven Minutes in Heaven, Closet Sex, Aftercare, Mutual Pining, Childhood friends to lovers, Betting Pool, Happy Ending, Crack, Fluff and Smut AN: Check out all of my works on AO3! -> | link

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @cafekitsune Fic: @moongirlcleo

A college academy party. A few too many drinks. And one very bold game of Truth or Dare.

You and Caleb have always been close—friends since childhood, growing up together, and maybe, just maybe, something more. At least, that’s what Patrick seems to think when he shoves the two of you into a closet for Seven Minutes in Heaven. It’s all fun and games… until you both realize just how much you’ve been holding back.

Seven minutes? Not nearly enough.

The common room buzzed with an easygoing energy, full of laughter from old friends who'd weathered storms together. It was a rare celebration at Deepspace Aviation Academy, thrown by the graduating class where no one worried about schedules or debriefs. Caleb had invited you and Tara to this weekend party in Skyhaven, and you couldn't resist the chance to see him again.

You stood near the bar, idly running a finger along the rim of your glass, letting your eyes flick over the scene. Patrick was deep in conversation with another pilot, hands animated as he explained something undoubtedly flight-related. Timothy was engaged in a betting game with a few mechanics, exchanging cocky smirks and easy credits. And then there was Caleb—

His laugh rang out over the room, easy and uninhibited as he slung an arm around one of his squadmates, shaking his head at whatever nonsense had just been said. He was still the same Caleb you had known since your childhood—steadfast, warm, effortlessly charismatic.

And yet, something about him felt different tonight. Or maybe that was just you.

It wasn’t that you’d never noticed him before—of course you had. He’d been one of your closest friends, your anchor in more ways than one. But lately, there had been moments, small and fleeting, where the air between you felt charged. A glance held a second too long. The brush of his fingers when he handed you something. The way his smile softened just a little more when it was directed at you.

You hadn’t allowed yourself to think too much about it. Because if you did—if you acknowledged that maybe, just maybe, there was something there—you might not be able to ignore it anymore.

You’d known Caleb since scraped knees and stolen sweets, since racing each other across sun-drenched fields and climbing too-high fences just because he dared you to. He was always a step ahead—faster, bolder, never afraid to leap before looking. And you? You were right behind him, following his reckless lead, because that’s just how it had always been.

Growing up together meant knowing him better than most people ever would. You knew the way his grin tilted when he was up to something, the way his brows furrowed when he was deep in thought, the way he always—always—kept an eye on you, even when you pretended not to notice.

But there were things you hadn’t seen back then.

Like the way his gaze lingered when you weren’t looking. The way his teasing always felt just a little too careful, as if he was trying to keep from saying something he couldn’t take back. The way, over the years, his hand always found the small of your back, guiding you through crowds, protective without ever needing to say it.

You had always been his person. And maybe, just maybe, he had always been yours.

But neither of you ever said it.

"Alright, listen up, people!" Patrick clapped his hands together, standing on the edge of the lounge area with the kind of mischievous energy that made you instinctively wary. "We need to spice up the night."

A chorus of groans and amused sighs rippled through the group, but nobody actually stopped him.

"Truth or Dare," he announced, a grin creeping onto his face. "Classic, right? A little nostalgia never hurt anyone."

Timothy was the first to cheer in agreement, already eager to cause chaos. Others followed, some reluctantly, some with amusement, but nobody outright refused.

You took a slow sip of your drink. This is going to be a mess.

At first, the dares were all in good fun—Timothy had to send a ridiculous voice message to a superior officer, Patrick had to recite the Academy Code while doing a handstand, and even the normally-reserved Gideon got roped into taking a shot without making a face (he failed, naturally).

It was just a game. A silly, familiar game.

Until Patrick turned to you.

His eyes sparkled with something unreadable. “Alright, you. Truth or dare?”

You opened your mouth, instinctively ready to pick the safer option—truth, obviously—but before you could, a voice chimed in.

"Dare," Caleb said.

Your head snapped toward him.

There was nothing particularly suggestive about the way he said it, no teasing lilt to his tone, but there was a quiet certainty in his voice that made your pulse stutter.

Patrick beamed.

"Perfect," he hummed, barely missing a beat. "You and Caleb—Seven Minutes in Heaven."

The room reacted. Whistles, laughter, someone (probably Tara) dramatically gasping. Caleb merely huffed a quiet chuckle, shaking his head, but he wasn’t protesting.

Your stomach did something strange. “That’s a little childish, don’t you think?”

Patrick shrugged, all innocence. “Nostalgia night, remember? You gotta follow the rules.”

You glanced at Caleb, expecting at least some resistance, but he just smiled—casual, relaxed, as if this was just another dare, no different from any other.

Except it was different. You felt it.

"Well?" Patrick raised a brow. "You gonna back out?"

Backing out meant drawing more attention to it. Backing out meant making it a thing. And if Caleb wasn’t overthinking it, why should you?

You sighed, setting your drink down. "Fine."

The group cheered as you and Caleb were herded toward a nearby supply closet, Patrick pushing the door open with way too much enthusiasm. It wasn’t large, but it was enough—enough for two people, enough to be alone.

"You guys be good in there," Patrick teased, winking before shutting the door behind you.

The lock clicked.

And then—silence.

You exhaled slowly, pressing your back against the wall, trying to steady your heartbeat. Seven minutes. That’s all this was.

Across from you, Caleb shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. His expression was unreadable, a far cry from the usual easy grins.

Seven minutes.

You swallowed.

Seven minutes had never felt so long.

The closet was just small enough that every shift, every breath, every slight movement was noticeable. Your back pressed against the metal paneling, the faint scent of aviation fuel and old flight manuals filling the space. The air between you and Caleb was warm, thick—not from lack of oxygen, but from something much, much heavier.

You cleared your throat, forcing a casual tone. “So, uh... what exactly are we supposed to be doing in here?”

Caleb huffed a quiet laugh, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The movement made the fabric of his shirt pull just enough to highlight the muscle underneath. Unfair.

“Well,” he drawled, eyes glinting with amusement, “traditionally, I think we’re supposed to make out.”

You scoffed, but your stomach flipped hard. “Traditionally? That’s a childish thing.”

“Yeah, but the game’s called Seven Minutes in Heaven,” he countered, shifting slightly. The space was tight enough that when he moved, he got closer, just a fraction. “Not Seven Minutes of Staring at Each Other Awkwardly.”

You bit your lip, pretending to consider. “You make a compelling argument.”

“Right?” His grin was easy, teasing. But there was something else lurking beneath it—something softer, something more cautious. As if he was waiting for you to set the pace.

It was classic Caleb. He might have been bold in battle, charging headfirst on flight paths, but when it came to you, he was always careful. Like he’d rather die than risk making you uncomfortable.

That thought made something warm curl low in your stomach.

You tapped a finger against your chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “We could just sit here and talk. Catch up.”

Caleb smirked. “Yeah? You wanna talk inches away from my face in a dark closet while my friends wait for us to come out looking disheveled?”

Your lips twitched. “You got a better idea?”

“Oh, plenty,” he murmured, and suddenly, suddenly, you were hyper-aware of how close he really was.

He wasn’t touching you—not yet—but you could feel him. His warmth, his presence, the way his voice dipped just a little lower, turning the game into something a little less playful.

And you? You didn’t want to laugh it off.

You let out a slow breath, tilting your head. “Alright, big shot,” you teased, voice softer now. “If we’re playing by the rules… why don’t you make a move?”

Caleb was done hesitating.

His grip on your thighs tightened as he pressed you harder against the wall of the closet, his hips slotting perfectly against yours. You could feel him—solid, hot, unmistakably interested—and the realization sent a pulse of heat straight through you.

You let out a quiet, shuddering breath. "Caleb—"

The moment his name left your lips, something in him snapped.

His mouth crashed against yours, no second-guessing, just pure, pent-up want. He kissed you like he was starving, like he’d been holding back for years, and now that he had you here, pressed up against him, wrapped around him, he wasn’t wasting a single second.

His tongue slid against yours, slow but firm, coaxing a desperate little moan from your throat before you could stop it. The sound made his grip tremble—like he was using every ounce of willpower to keep himself in check.

You, on the other hand? You had no such restraint.

Your hands fisted in his uniform shirt, yanking him closer, pressing your hips forward just enough to get the friction you needed. The sharp inhale he took was rewarding—so much so that you did it again, rolling against him just slightly, testing.

Caleb growled.

His fingers dug into your thighs, dragging you down against him properly, making sure you felt him. "You play dirty," he murmured against your lips, but there was no real complaint, just a teasing sort of approval.

You smirked, breathless. "You like it."

His response was a sharp nip to your bottom lip, followed by a deep, rolling grind of his hips against yours. You gasped, hands tightening in his hair as sparks shot through your veins.

"I love it," he corrected.

His mouth moved down, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down the column of your throat. He savored the way you squirmed, how your fingers curled against the back of his neck, how your thighs clenched tighter around his waist with every teasing graze of his teeth against your skin.

"Caleb—"

He shushed you with another slow grind, making you whimper. "Shh, pipsqueak," he murmured, voice rough, hot against your pulse. "You wouldn’t wanna let Patrick and the others hear you, would you?"

It was cruel, the way he asked—low, teasing, edged with something dark and thrilled at the idea of getting away with this while half the academy was just beyond his door.

You swallowed thickly, chest heaving. "You’re awful."

Caleb chuckled against your skin, warm and wicked. "Nah," he countered, giving your thigh a playful squeeze. "I’m just makin’ sure we play by the rules."

He let out a low, rough chuckle, dragging his lips down your throat, your collarbone, as his hands slid further up your thighs, thumbs brushing the edge of your underwear. His grip was firm, his fingers pressing possessively into the soft skin of your legs as he lifted you higher, positioning you exactly where he wanted.

The friction was torturous, enough to make your thighs squeeze around his waist, enough to pull a sharp, wanting gasp from your lips.

He groaned at the sound, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he rolled his hips again, slow, deliberate, making you feel just how much he wanted you.

"Fuck," he rasped, barely keeping himself together. "You feel so damn good."

You whimpered, fingers threading tighter into his hair, tugging just to hear that desperate little growl again.

Then, with a smirk, you tilted your head, lips brushing against his ear. "So, Caleb..." you purred, voice dripping with challenge. "Are you gonna do something about it?"

His breath hitched, grip tightening—and just like that, the last thread of restraint snapped.

Caleb crashed his lips against yours again, hungrier, needier, pressing you so hard against the wall that you swore you could feel it vibrate. His hands roamed, dragging up your thighs, gripping the fabric of your underwear like he was seconds from tearing them clean off—

And then, just as his fingers hooked into the waistband—

A loud, teasing knock on the door shattered the moment.

"Times up, lovebirds!" Patrick’s sing-song voice rang out, full of mischief. "Hope you two had fun in there~!"

Caleb froze, forehead dropping against your shoulder as he let out a long, deep groan—this one purely of frustration.

You let out a breathless, wrecked little laugh, hands still tangled in his hair, still aching for him. "You have to be kidding me."

Caleb exhaled, then lifted his head, eyes dark, lips swollen, body still pressed hard against yours, as his hand fell to your thigh.

He smirked, but it was dangerous.

Caleb didn’t move. Didn’t even acknowledge Patrick’s taunting voice on the other side of the door.

Neither did you.

Because in the heat of it all, in the way his breath ghosted over your lips, the way his hands still gripped your thighs like he wasn’t ready to let go—there was no way in hell either of you were stopping now.

Patrick could wait.

You arched against him, fingers tightening in his hair, dragging his mouth back down to yours in a searing kiss—one that made it perfectly clear you had no intention of leaving this room any time soon.

Caleb groaned into it, deep and rough, pressing you harder into the wall as his hands roamed—gripping, pulling, claiming like he was making up for every second you’d spent dancing around this, for every moment wasted not doing this sooner.

Patrick knocked again, louder this time. "Helloooo? Are you guys alive in there? Or just— are you actually—?!"

"Busy," Caleb growled, voice low, gravelly as he tore his lips from yours just long enough to shout back. "Go away."

You bit back a breathless laugh, but it turned into a sharp gasp when he rolled his hips against yours, the slow, teasing drag of his hard length making your head spin.

Patrick snorted. "Busy, huh? Ohhh, I knew it." His voice was full of mischief, but he didn’t knock again.

Didn’t matter.

Because you weren’t listening.

You were too lost in the feeling of Caleb’s hands slipping beneath the hem of your dress, fingers grazing against the sensitive skin of your thighs.

"You sure?" he murmured, voice thick with restraint, with the barely held-back need burning in his eyes.

You didn’t hesitate. "I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life."

That was all he needed.

Caleb smirked, tilting his head slightly. “You in a rush to get out of here?”

You swallowed, your fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt. “Not exactly.”

His grip on you flexed slightly before he moved, backing you against the wooden panels of the closet, pressing just enough of his weight against you to make your breath hitch. His knee slid between your thighs, parting them just slightly, not enough to satisfy, but enough to make your skin prickle with heat.

“Good,” he murmured, his lips ghosting along the corner of your mouth. “Because I don’t think I’m done with you.”

The kiss was slow, deliberate—Caleb taking his time as if savoring something he’d been waiting for too damn long to have. His lips were soft but insistent, drawing a quiet gasp from you when he deepened it, pressing you further against the wall with an almost lazy kind of dominance.

His hands wandered, one slipping beneath the hem of your top, fingertips ghosting up your spine in a way that had your stomach tightening. The other drifted lower, teasing over your hip, fingers grazing just below your waistband before retreating yet again, as if daring you to ask for more.

You arched into him, impatience curling in your gut. “Tease,” you breathed against his mouth.

Caleb chuckled, low and full of promise. “I like watching you get all worked up, pipsqueak.” His lips trailed lower, down the curve of your jaw, to the sensitive spot just below your ear, where he nipped lightly before soothing it with his tongue. “Besides,” he murmured against your skin, voice thick, “we’ve got seven minutes, right?”

You barely bit back a laugh, but it turned into a sharp inhale when his hand finally moved lower, palming over the heat between your thighs.

“We’re already over time, and you know it,” you managed, trying to keep some semblance of control despite the way your knees nearly buckled.

With one sharp tug, your panties were gone, slipped down your thighs and tossed somewhere behind him. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him, the press of his clothed length against your bare core making you moan into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Caleb breathed, dragging his lips down your throat, sucking lightly at your pulse point as he worked his pants open with one hand. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, needing more. “Then stop waiting, Caleb.”

His breath hitched.

Caleb groaned, deep and needy, the sound vibrating against your throat as he finally freed himself from his pants. His cock, thick and aching, pressed hot against your bare core, teasing, tempting—making you feel just how much he wanted this.

Wanted you.

His fingers dug into your hips, restraining himself even as he rocked against you, letting you feel the heavy, solid weight of him. “Fuck, you’re so warm,” he rasped, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath fanning over your lips. “Been dreamin’ about this for years.”

Your nails raked down his arms, feeling the ripple of muscle beneath his skin, the tension he was barely holding back. It sent heat coiling low in your belly, made you throb for him.

“Then don’t make me wait any longer,” you murmured, reaching between you, wrapping your fingers around him, feeling the silky heat of his cock as you guided him to where you needed him most.

Caleb shuddered, his grip tightening, and then—

He pushed in.

A sharp gasp tore from your lips as he stretched you, slow and deliberate, giving you just enough time to adjust to the size of him, the sheer, delicious burn of him sinking deeper.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his forehead pressing into your shoulder as he bottomed out, your walls squeezing around him. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

You clenched around him, making him curse under his breath, his fingers tightening their grip. “So do you,” you whispered, tilting his chin up so his gaze met yours, lidded, hungry. “So move.”

That snapped something in him.

With a low growl, Caleb snapped his hips forward, setting a slow, deep rhythm, making sure you felt every thick, delicious inch of him with every thrust.

You gasped, nails raking down his back, thighs tightening around his waist.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, letting your head fall back against the door as he moved inside you, hitting spots that made your toes curl. “Caleb—”

His teeth sank into your neck, his breath hot, shaky. “Say my name like that again,” he rasped, rolling his hips, dragging another helpless moan from you. “Say it just like that, baby.”

You did.

Over and over.

Caleb's pace turned ruthless, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, anchoring you to him as he slammed into you. The air in the tiny closet was thick, sweltering, filled with the obscene sounds of skin meeting skin, of your breathless moans and his deep, needy groans.

“Fuck, baby,” he gritted, his forehead pressing against yours, sweat dripping down his temple. “You’re squeezin’ me so damn tight—gonna make me lose my mind.”

You were already losing yours.

The way he stretched you, filled you completely, the way every roll of his hips hit that devastating spot inside you—it was overwhelming, intoxicating. Your nails raked down his back, desperate, pleading, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

And maybe he was.

“Caleb—fuck—I’m so close,” you gasped, your body tightening, trembling, your toes curling as pleasure coiled low in your stomach, tightening, building.

His jaw clenched, his thrusts turning erratic, more desperate, more needy. “I got you, baby,” he rasped, slipping a hand between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight, perfect circles. “Come for me—wanna feel you come all over my cock.”

That was all it took.

Pleasure exploded through you, hot and blinding, crashing over you in waves so powerful you swore you saw stars. Your walls clenched around him, hard and tight, and Caleb snapped, his groan raw, wrecked, as he thrust deep one last time, filling you with everything he had.

His body trembled against yours, his breath coming out in heavy, shaky pants as he slumped forward, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your throat, anywhere he could reach.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, laughing, dazed, pressing his forehead to yours. “That was—”

“Yeah,” you whispered, equally breathless, equally wrecked. “It was.”

The knock on the closet door came again, louder, impatient.

“Seriously?!” Patrick’s voice practically groaned through the wood. “I know you guys just fucked, but we are literally at the academy! Open the damn door already!”

Caleb groaned, burying his face in your shoulder. “We are never livin’ this down.”

You giggled, pressing a soft kiss to his temple, still buzzing from the high. “Nope,” you agreed, smiling against his skin. “But hey… at least we finally stopped dancing around this, huh?”

He lifted his head, looking at you with something warm, something fond, something dangerous brewing behind those stormy violet eyes.

“Yeah,” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours in a slow, teasing kiss.

“We definitely did.”

The charged air between you and Caleb had finally settled, leaving nothing but the soft echoes of your breaths and the lingering heat of what had just happened. The space around you was still dark, still cramped, the scent of him—woodsy, clean, with a faint trace of jet fuel—filling the tiny closet.

Your legs still trembled slightly where they straddled his lap, your forehead resting against his as you both tried to catch your breath. Caleb's hands, once gripping you like he couldn’t get enough, now traced slow, soothing circles along your hips, grounding you.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice rougher than usual, but laced with something softer.

You exhaled a slow, satisfied sigh, letting your fingers trail along the back of his neck. “Yeah. Just… wow.”

That cocky smirk of his made a reappearance, but it was gentler this time, more fond than teasing. “Yeah?” His nose brushed against yours as he leaned in, pressing the faintest kiss to your cheek, then another to your jaw. “Didn’t push too much, did I?”

You shook your head, letting your weight sink against him, completely content in the way he held you. “No, you were perfect.”

Caleb hummed, running a hand down your back before reaching for something behind you. In his hands was a discarded jacket that must’ve fallen from one of the coathangers when you’d gotten pushed inside. With careful movements, he slipped it over your shoulders, tucking you into the worn fabric as if the walls of the closet weren’t already pressing you both together. “Here. Can’t have you going out there looking too wrecked, now can I.”

You snorted, nuzzling into his chest. “Oh, please. They’re going to be insufferable either way by the sound of Patrick’s voice.”

He chuckled, fingers threading lazily through your hair. “Yeah, but at least I can pretend I left you with some dignity.”

You smirked against his shirt. “How thoughtful of you.”

A few moments passed in comfortable silence, the distant chatter from the party still going strong just beyond the closet door. Caleb’s fingers idly trailed along your arm, his touch light, reassuring. “You wanna go out there yet, or…?”

You tilted your head up, meeting his gaze, eyes gleaming with mischief despite the spent, satisfied haze in them. “What, you want round two in here, flyboy?”

His grin turned downright wolfish. “Tempting.” He leaned in, brushing his lips over yours again, slow, savoring. “But I think I’d rather take my time when we don’t have half our friends waiting outside, ears pressed to the door.”

You sighed dramatically. “So considerate.”

He gave your thigh a playful squeeze before shifting beneath you, sighing. “Alright, pipsqueak, you ready to face the wolves?”

You let out a groan, already dreading the inevitable teasing, but gave a nod as you took your panties from his outstretched arm.

“Let’s get this over with.”

The moment you and Caleb stepped out of the closet, the common area of the academy dorm erupted.

A chorus of whistles, cheers, and over-the-top applause filled the air, drowning out the hum of music still playing in the background. Drinks sloshed over the rims of glasses as your so-called friends—traitorous and utterly entertained—howled with laughter at what they had just witnessed. Well, heard, really.

Patrick was the first to greet you, grinning like he had just won the jackpot. “Damn, Wings, that was some first-class fucking in there,” he teased, elbowing Caleb hard in the ribs. “The whole common room heard you two trying to ‘navigate the landing.’”

Your stomach dropped, face burning instantly. “Oh my god—”

Caleb, the menace, didn’t even flinch. He just chuckled, rolling his shoulders back as if he hadn’t just been thoroughly railing you in a closet like some reckless cadet. His lavender eyes gleamed with mischief. “What can I say? I’m a hands-on kind of pilot.”

The crowd groaned at his shameless delivery, but it only made him smirk wider.

“You weren’t even trying to be quiet,” another voice—Oliver—piped up from the couch, sprawled out like he owned the place. “I mean, come on. We gave you seven minutes, and you give us the entire x-rated flick?”

“I should’ve recorded it,” Thomas added, sighing. “A missed opportunity for paypack.”

You smacked your hands over your face, wishing the ground would just swallow you whole. Caleb, however, was still far too relaxed, one hand casually resting on his hip while the other brushed against your lower back, fingers barely grazing your skin—a quiet, private reminder that he was still right there.

Across the room, Tara, ever the voice of reason, simply shook her head as she swirled her drink. “You two have been dancing around each other for years. You do realize that, right?”

Silence fell over the group.

Everyone’s eyes snapped toward you and Caleb.

The air between you thickened, the weight of the moment pressing down. Caleb’s smirk hadn’t faded, but his expression had shifted slightly—softer now, more deliberate. His fingers at your back pressed just a little firmer as he tilted his head, stormy eyes watching you with quiet amusement.

“Well?” he mused, voice low, teasing. “Think we should make it official, pipsqueak?”

Your stomach flipped.

You wanted to say yes. You wanted to tell everyone that this wasn’t just some heat-of-the-moment game, that Caleb wasn’t just some reckless decision you’d regret in the morning. But before you could speak, Patrick suddenly gasped, dramatic as ever.

“WAIT.” He turned toward the others, his face lighting up. “That means I won the bet!”

A collective groan rose from the group as he threw his hands in the air triumphantly.

“Oh, fuck off, Patrick,” Oliver grumbled.

Thomas threw actual money at him. “I hate you.”

Tara just sighed. “I should’ve known.”

Patrick turned back toward you and Caleb, grinning like the troublemaker he was. “So, for real—are you dating now, or am I just gonna have to keep orchestrating ridiculous excuses for you two to make out in small spaces?”

Caleb chuckled, shifting closer, his voice warm and teasing. “You got a problem with that, pipsqueak?” His fingers squeezed gently at your waist, daring. “Because I was kinda hoping this wasn’t just a one-time thing.”

Your breath hitched, heat curling in your chest.

This man.

This reckless, insufferable, wonderful man.

You exhaled, finally leaning into his hold, letting yourself smirk up at him. “Well,” you murmured, eyes gleaming, “if I say no, you do have a way of convincing me.”

The room erupted again—cheers, jeers, and exaggerated groans—but none of it mattered.

Because in that moment, with Caleb’s arm wrapped around you and that knowing, all-consuming look in his eyes, you knew.

Life was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

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.. are they a munch ..

nsfw eating out headcanons lol

if you don’t think they’re all munches, kindly, you’re WRONG <3

this took me days and I’m not satisfied with it sigh

enjoy<3

featuring: xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, caleb

[fem!mc + NSFW minors DNI or Santa won’t come to ur house this christmas]

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xavier

Xav definitely takes his time with you.

He’s slow and teasing the entire time, first pressing teasing kisses to your thighs, his lips brushing lazily over your skin before nibbling gently

His hands wander, sliding from your ankles to your thighs as he lowers himself towards you, once again slow, his touch as light as a feather

This man worships you before he’d let himself have a taste, his entire focus on pleasing you

Once he has you squirming under him, practically begging for him to just dive in, will he let himself absolutely devour you

He tries to be gentle, he tries so hard to take his time but once he gets a taste he can’t control himself and lets loose, eating you out like a man starved, which he was, he waited for this for centuries after all.

He would use his fingers too, his ultimate goal is to get you satisfied rather than himself, and would do so as many times as he could.

And by every god out there does he look absolutely gorgeous as he works you like that.

He’d definitely be humming and making quiet noises as he eats you out, you just taste so good he can’t help himself..

He enjoys having you ride his face, even if you’re shy about it at first especially if you tell him you don’t want to suffocate him, he would die happy.

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zayne

zayne knows his way around your body by the first time he’d eat you out, perhaps it wasn’t his favorite thing, he’d prefer to be on the receiving end, but he could never deny you.

This man is grasping at every part of you, all your sensitive areas he’s aware of, all while looking you in the eyes

“Eyes on me, darling.”

He knew you tasted good, he’d tasted you before when he’d work you with his fingers, but he’d never tasted you like this.

His tongue has a kind of its own, lapping up every bit he could, easily growing addicted to eating you out

He loves the sounds you make, knowing he’s the one making them.

There’s a few occasions where he gets so lost in your cunt that he accidentally uses his evol, it’s never to the point where it hurts you but

Temperature play, you know;)

The first time it happened he was genuinely so terrified he’d hurt you, but once you reassured him he quickly went back to his feast.

He would eat you out all day if he could, and theres been many times he’d come home from work, prop you on the kitchen counter, the sofa, even the damn floor and just take his frustrations out on your cunt

Who’s complaining? Not you.

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rafayel

raf definitely wouldn’t eat you out very often, usually if he’s jealous or in the mood to, he prefers to receive more than give imo

In the scenario of him being jealous, I feel like he might be a little rough, though not enough to hurt you of course. He just wants to remind you that you’re his, that he’s yours.

He would be whiny about it if you ask him to eat you out, but he wouldn’t refuse by any means, he could never refuse you anything

Rafayel would be sloppy, his hands holding your thighs at first before they would move to your hips to keep you in place. His face would end up covered in your wetness, a dazed look in his pretty eyes

He’d get very into it, especially if he’s drunk, worshipping you like the goddess he believes you are. He’s much more loving when he’s drunk, giving you sweet praises and telling you how well you’re doing

“Such a good girl” “you’re doing so well, baby..”

He would grip your skin, leaving his handprints on them all while marking up your thighs, a sly grin on his face when you complain about them hurting in the morning

He would definitely be whining and moaning into your cunt, the vibrations of his sounds only fuelling your orgasms

He’d definitely make you cum a few times, whether that be with his tongue or fingers, he knows how to work them both

He’d eat you wherever you want him to, on the bed, in the kitchen, the bathroom at the restaurant you’re at for a date. His favorite place is on the beach at night, the sound of the ocean mixed with your moans and mewls is his favorite

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sylus

Is it unrealistic for me to say he’d be the most gentle when eating you out?

He’s a loverboy through and through, your comfort and pleasure is what’s most important to him

That’s not to say he won’t absolutely lose his cool when he gets the chance to eat your pussy

He likes when you tug on his hair, the grunts and groans he makes into your cunt are just too delicious

Sylus wouldn’t care where he got to eat you out, in the bedroom, his office, the kitchen, even in a public setting - but he’d never let anyone actually see you exposed like that, he’s the only one allowed to, right?

He’d grip your thighs to keep you in place, his fingers leaving bruised marks with how tightly he’d hold onto you, he just makes you feel so good it’s hard not to squirm

Would definitely use his fingers, sucking on your clit as he looks up at you, taking in every expression and noise you give him

He would be understanding if you were shy about him eating you out, but he’d still encourage you to let him (though he’d never push it, he’s a gentleman after all)

He’s not too loud, mostly grunts and soft groans

I feel he would enjoy using a vibrator on you while he eats you out, it only gives you that much pleasure so why wouldn’t he?

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caleb

I love a pantie fiend Caleb so

He would 100% suck on your panties before he even thinks about anything else, he needs to get any bit of his appetiser he can before his real meal

He loves the smell of you, maybe even more than the taste, but either way he’s fucking going at you like a menace

He’s noisy, have y’all heard his workout in quality time? The Caleb girlies won, for sure.

Anyways, back in topic

He’s a fiend, loves loves loves when you sit on his face, he wants to be crushed by you and your gorgeous thighs

He could eat you out for days if you’d let him and definitely needs to make you cum a couple times with his mouth before you get his cock.

He loves snacking on you in his colonel office, the thrill of someone potentially walking in makes him even hornier and hungrier for you

He will put his colonel hat on you, he loves the way it shows you’re his <3

He honestly gets off to just the thought of you, so don’t worry about the wetness of his pants when he’s eating you out, he’s just too excited

It’s common for him to fuck you first, tasting the mix of the two of you, of what you could create together on his tongue, it always filled his head with so much dopamine that he felt like he was on cloud 9

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