aethercoreheart

[aethercoreheart]

[logging in workout hours with caleb so i can get his gym outfit]

me: ok caleb im gonna put you in my pocket now while i do the dishes so shhhh 🥰 [tries to turn the volume down but instead turns it all the way up]

caleb, inside my pocket: hooooo 😮‍💨 oooooo 😮‍💨 mmmph 🫦hnnnng UH 😩 MMMMM 😩😩 hoooo

my mother, from the living room: [my entire government birth certificate name] are you seriously watching porn right now

[aethercoreheart]

the girlies on twitter are analyzing feet and legs

[aethercoreheart]

sylus headcanon where he doesnt like swearing around mc but someone cuts him off in traffic and he goes "ugh, asshole! ... sorry you had to hear that sweetheart," and mc goes "babe my favorite swear is 'motherfucker', i don't care, i promise."

[aethercoreheart]

reblog game/bait but your main li is coming over for dinner - what would you cook for him?

[aethercoreheart]

sylus | 4:24 AM

“Sylus?”

You sweep your arm across his side of the bed and discover it to be empty. You squint into the darkness, your eyes scanning the room – he isn’t here. You sit up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You hear classical music faintly playing from somewhere down the hall. 

You gather the fur throw from the bed, wrap it around yourself and head out of the room. You pad down the hallway, your bare feet making little slapping noises on the marble as you do so. You follow the sound of the music and find yourself in one of the house’s drawing rooms. You stop at the edge of the doorway, peeking past the frame. You see Sylus, wearing his bathrobe, standing next to his vintage turntable, his fingers rifling through his collection of records. You watch as he pulls one out, then returns it, going through a few records before walking away, possibly deciding to leave the one he’s currently playing.

He comes around to the leather sofa, and takes a seat, his hand reaching for his gun on the coffee table in front of him. He starts pulling it apart, his hands deftly moving to disassemble it. He takes a small cloth from the table and begins to polish one of the smaller parts of the gun.

“Well, are you just going to hover at the doorway? Or are you going to come join me?”

His voice startles you, deep and still a little croaky – he doesn’t look up at you, his attention still on the work in his hands. You step out from the shadows into the dim light of the drawing room. Sylus glances at you sideways, and then motions at you to join him on the sofa by tilting his head. You comply, wordlessly walking towards the sofa and sitting down next to him, the throw you took from the bed still hanging around your shoulders.

“You should be asleep,” he tells you, continuing in his polishing. 

“So should you,” you counter, leaning against him. You’re not too familiar with the weapon he’s handling, but it looks to be an old-fashioned pistol. He sure does like collecting antiques. You watch him silently, entranced by the way his long, calloused fingers delicately handle the weapon. 

“So why aren’t you in bed?” you yawn, nuzzling into his shoulder. “Bad dream?”

He pauses in his work, pursing his lips before answering. “The inside of my head has been a little… noisy tonight,” he says, eyes still focused on the weapon. “But it’s fine,” he adds quickly. “I just need to… meditate a little.” He waves the gun in his hand. “This is my meditation.”

“I have another idea – this might help,” you pipe up, and he looks at you sideways again.

“Sweetie, we’ve already done that tonight. Four times for you if I recall–”

“Okay, Sylus,” you interject with a roll of your eyes. “I wasn’t talking about that.”

You take away the pieces of the gun in his hand, and lay them back on the table. He lets you take them, the corner of his lips tugging up into a subtle smirk.

You lay down on the sofa, pulling away the throw from your body. You motion at Sylus to lie down in the small space next to you, which he raises an eyebrow at. 

“Come on,” you croon, trying to make more space for him. “Don’t be shy.”

He sighs, then does as you suggest, lying down in between you and the backrest of the sofa. He squeezes in, half of his weight on top of you, his arm draping over your chest in a light embrace.

“I’m not heavy?” he asks in a murmur.

You shake your head, your arm wrapping around his broad shoulders as much as possible, pulling him into you. Your other hand takes the throw and you cover both you and Sylus with it. He nestles into you, his face nudging into the crook of your neck. 

“What now?” he whispers into your skin. His fingers go for a button on your pajamas, and he toys absentmindedly with it as you settle against him.

“Just listen,” you tell him, placing a hand in his hair. “Maybe this will help drown out the noise in your head.”

Your hand starts stroking his hair, your fingers ruffling through his silver locks. He lets out a long sigh, and you feel his body relax into yours. You start humming, a familiar melody you’ve heard from one of his records – one he puts on when he’s had a particularly rough day.

“I know this one,” he mumbles, his eyelids starting to flutter.

You continue humming, your fingers running through his hair, giving it a soft tug every so often. You listen to his breathing start to slow, his body becoming heavier. Soon, you start to hear him snore, and you finish the song with a last few quiet hums. You place a kiss onto the top of his head, into his hair, willing the voices in his head to be silent for the rest of the night.

[aethercoreheart]

girl... that Rafayel smut fic. FAWWWK thank you for the good food 🤤

it wasn't even that long though zhshdhhs it was like...... a canape lmfao but thank you!!!

[aethercoreheart]

rafayel | 11:15 PM

nsfw, 18+ | rafayel x fem-reader

“Rafayel, please,” you whine, your voice breaking. “I-I can’t take it any more, I n-need to–”

Rafayel looks down at you through heavy eyelids, a pink flush dusted across his cheeks, reaching up to his ears. He has your leg draped over his shoulder, his hand holding on to your thigh, the other pushing you down onto the bed by your hip. There’s a sheen of sweat covering his chest, which rises and falls with his heavy pants.

He’s still inside of you, completely hard, but you feel him twitching. He’s driven and pushed both of you so close to orgasm, but has held back every single time you almost get there. You should have known that he was up to no good when he had laid down a towel underneath you – both that and the sheets under it are completely soaked with your slick, but he still has not allowed you to cum.

So here you are, at a stalemate, desperate to finish. You know he’s close too – but he loves hearing you mewl his name, begging for him to just let you unravel. You see a crazed gleam in his eyes, becoming brighter each time he deprives you of finishing, each time you whimper and beg for him to give it to you.

“What was that, baby?” he grunts, pulling himself out of you slightly. “Do you want me to stop? We can stop right now.”

“No, Rafayel, please!” you plead, your hand grasping at his wrist. The sound of your voice, dripping with desperation and frustration, makes him throb inside of you, and he groans, rocking his hips slightly.

“Please! I’ve been so good. Please, just let me cum.” Your voice and your body tremble as you choke back a sob.

Rafayel pulls out, and you think that he’s teasing you again, but then he rams into you, sending a shockwave throughout your body. You cry out, grasping at the sheets, your nerves feeling like they’re all on fire.

“Say the magic word again,” Rafayel groans, pulling out slowly. “Let me hear you say it again.”

“Please, please, please, please,” you chant, the words coming out in a near-garble. “Please, Rafayel, please…”

His hand reaches out to your face, lightly brushing your hair out of it, tucking it behind your ear. He wipes away the tears at the corner of your eye with his thumb before leaning down close to your face.

“I want you to keep looking at me, okay?” he softly commands. “Eyes on me. Look at me when you cum.”

You nod, unable to say anything at that point. He starts thrusting, slowly, and you rock your hips, meeting his thrusts. He starts going faster, and you feel your core tightening, your orgasm starting to build again.

His breath comes out in hurried, heavy pants, his fingers digging into your skin. Your eyes start to roll back as you feel yourself coming close, but he grabs at your chin, forcing you to maintain eye contact.

“Look at me,” he growls, his eyes starting to glaze over. “I told you to keep looking at me, didn’t I?”

You nod once more, afraid that he’ll stop again, but he keeps going, pumping in and out of you, his thrusts starting to become uneven. Your body starts to tense – you’re almost there. Rafayel continues, his moans growing louder as he feels you tightening around him.

He brings his forehead to yours before whispering out his last command. “Cum for me.”

With that, you unravel on him, shaking violently, calling out his name repeatedly. The orgasm rips right through you – stars cloud your vision and you think you can hear yourself screaming.

Rafayel is not far behind you, and his lips are on yours, his kiss muffling your wailing. He cries out into your mouth, his hips thrusting violently into you. You feel him empty out inside of you with one final cry, his whole body tensing as he chants your name.

You both breathe heavily, foreheads still touching, shaking as you both come down from your orgasms. He kisses you again, gently this time, before pulling out of you. He collapses next to you on the bed, and immediately gathers you in his arms, stroking your skin. He peppers kisses into your neck, holding you as your trembling subsides.

“See, didn’t that feel good?” he mutters against your skin. “It felt so much stronger, didn’t it? All you needed was a little discipline – a little… self-control.”

[aethercoreheart]

zayne | 4:07 PM

“You really need some hand cream.”

Zayne lets out an amused huff as you brush your fingers across his hand. Your fingers trace the lines of his palm, noting how dry and tight the skin is.

He shakes his head, a smile tugging up at the corners of his lips. “I have to wash my hands a lot, in case you forgot.”

“Well, you’re not scrubbing down for surgery now. Here, let’s see if this’ll make a difference.”

You release his hand and reach for the nightstand next to the bed. You pull the drawer out and start digging through its contents. He watches you with an eyebrow raised.

“Hang on, it’s gotta be here somewhere,” you mutter, still combing through the drawer. “Ah, here it is!” You pull out a tube of hand cream and hold it up triumphantly.

Zayne squints at it. The label says it’s jasmine scented.

“Give me your hands.” You reach for his hand again without waiting for a response and squeeze a dollop of cream into it. You start massaging it into his skin, its scent filling your nostrils. You take his other hand and do the same to it. “See, isn’t that better?”

He says nothing as your hands continue to massage his skin, watching you with a quiet fascination. Your fingers start to stray away from his hands, and up his arm. The late afternoon sun filters through the curtains of the room, casting a warm glow on his skin. The sunlight catches the scars on his arms, and your thumbs start swiping at them gently.

“Did these hurt?” you whisper, tracing the shapes of the scars, your touch light and feathery.

Zayne swallows before he answers, a dull ache starting to form in his chest. “I don’t remember,” he murmurs, his voice strained.

He feels a phantom pain radiating from them, cold and stinging, as you touch each of them. He doesn’t know where it comes from or why he feels it. Your lips slowly replace your fingers, kissing at each of his scars carefully, starting from the ones closest to his wrist and going up to his elbow.

The pain dissipates, and is replaced by the feeling of your lips on his skin, warm and comforting. The ache from his chest starts to lift, and he feels like he can breathe again. He releases a long, shaking breath, which he doesn’t realize he’s been holding.

You look up at him, concern tinging your features. You reach up for his face, your thumb wiping at the tears rolling down his cheeks. When did he start crying?

“Do they hurt? Do you want me to stop?”

Zayne shakes his head, his hand and fingers running through your hair. “No,” he breathes, his voice thick with unshed tears. He takes another breath, trembling slightly as he does so. “Please… keep going.”

You place your lips back on his arm, continuing in your kissing. “I’ll keep going as long as I have to,” you murmur against his skin. “Until you forget they’re there.”

[aethercoreheart]

caleb’s necklace

(on boosty you can find full nsfw)

[aethercoreheart]

caleb's necklace dangling in your face while he's on top, hitting you lightly every time he thrusts...

[aethercoreheart]

ok shes officially in the works 🙂‍↕️

[aethercoreheart]

scorpion

fighter!caleb x coach!reader tw: some mildly graphic scenes

“One, one, two, two, one, one–”

Caleb follows your counts, jabbing with his hands, hitting the target mitt with a loud smack each time. You grit your teeth as he hits the combination, feeling the power behind his punches.

“And, scorpion!”

You watch his face contort as he attempts the kick. He pulls you into a grapple, and his leg moves at an incredible speed – if you didn't know it was coming, you would have missed it. His leg goes backwards, behind his body, past above his head, tapping you at the back of the head with the bottom of his foot. He releases you, then looks at you expectantly.

“Good kick!” you encourage him, hitting the target with your open palm. “See, I’d told you you’d get it!”

Caleb grunts, his face somewhere in between a grimace and a grin. He removes his mouthguard, and wipes at his forehead with the back of his hand. “Are you sure about that kick?” he pants as he reaches for his bottle. He takes a long swig from it before continuing. “It’s all showmanship, not really my style.”

You sit cross-legged on the tatami mat, and he joins you with his bottle. He stretches his right leg as he listens for your post-drill breakdown.

“You’ve got no problems with the technicality, and it’ll be the last thing your opponent expects from you,” you tell him, wiping down the mitt with a towel. “It’ll be your secret weapon. You can pull it off – you learned and perfected it in a week!”

Caleb casts his gaze downwards, suddenly looking sheepish. A red flush spreads across his cheeks and to his ears. You can’t help but smile to yourself – he responds well to and improves with verbal encouragement, but he always has trouble accepting it.

“Thanks,” he mutters, his eyes flicking to and from either side of the gym. 

You clap your hands together. “So. Okay. It can be a little faster from the lift. If we can get that down before your match, you’ll be set.”

He stretches his other leg out, and your gaze wanders around his form. He’s wearing a tight compression shirt with his gi pants, his shoulder muscles bulging from underneath it. A sheen of sweat covers his skin, making it glisten under the gym lights. He groans as he bends over to his leg, trying to push his body down for the stretch.

“Can you give me a hand?” he asks, looking at you through his lashes. A bead of sweat rolls down from his temple to his jaw.

You nod, trying to slow your breathing and heart rate. You walk over to come around behind him and place your hands on his back. You feel the muscles underneath, hard and tense, and it takes all your willpower not to squeeze them with your fingers. You push down slowly, listening to him breathe out as the stretch deepens. You count to ten, then release, and he rises again with another groan.

You slap his shoulder with an open palm. “Okay, hit the showers and then the sauna,” you instruct him as you head off the mat. “Your back needs to loosen up. Eat, then get plenty of sleep. I’ll see you at training tomorrow.”

—

You watch as Caleb spars with Gideon, taking note of how his left punch finishes too short. You bite the inside of your lip, suddenly feeling the ache of missing what it feels like to fight. You miss the adrenaline, the excitement, the thrill of dodging your opponent’s attacks, the satisfaction when you’re able to land your techniques and score on them. Your fighting days are well behind you, thanks to a horrendous knee injury you sustained five years ago. You’re able to train lightly and coach, but competing in matches is out of the question. 

You used to compete with Caleb – you’ve been training at the same dojo for several years, ranking up in belts, growing and training alongside each other since you were children. You kept each other on your toes, and the friendly competition helped both of you improve. It was his shoulder you cried on when the physiotherapist told you that you could no longer compete. It was his arms that were wrapped around you when you sobbed about all your years of training going down the drain. And it was him that saved you from going crazy when you felt like you no longer had any purpose and direction – he had asked you to train with him and be his coach. 

At first, you were hesitant – could you really provide Caleb with the support and guidance that he needed? But then he started winning more matches with you by his side. You knew his strengths, his weaknesses, and you saw what other coaches couldn’t. Those years of training weren’t wasted, after all. You were living vicariously through him – his wins were yours. But sometimes, you wished you could switch bodies with him, just so that you could fight again. And his body… well… his body… you admire how he has developed his physique. He has an amazing build. Sometimes, you also wish you could run your hands up and down his arms, and rake your fingers down his back…

You shake your head and inhale sharply, scolding yourself for having wandering thoughts. Of course, you love Caleb. You grew up with him, and almost considered him as a brother. And you hate to admit, over the last few years, your feelings for him had started shifting. You don’t dare ever to say anything to him – you’re afraid of what might happen to your relationship if you do. He trusted you as his coach, and you can’t do anything to jeopardize his performance. So all you can do is watch and cheer him on from the sidelines, hoping that one day, those feelings might die down. 

Caleb finishes his sparring match off with a swift roundhouse kick, which lightly taps Gideon on the cheek. The timer goes off, signalling that the round is over. They bow to each other, before giving each other fist bumps and heading off the mat. 

“Thanks for helping out, Gideon,” you tell him, handing him his towel and bottle. 

Gideon grins at you, his mouthguard still in his mouth. “No problem,” he mumbles through it. He bows to both of you, then walks to another part of the gym, presumably to stretch and cool down.

You hand Caleb his bottle, and he takes it from you wordlessly, taking a long drink from it. 

“Your left hand isn’t finishing all the way,” you mutter as he wipes himself down. “Is it still sore from last week?”

Caleb nods. “I’m seeing my physio tomorrow morning. I’ll talk to him about it then.”

You nod in return as well, glad that he’s acting proactively. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a figure making their way from the other end of the gym to where you and Caleb are standing. You recognize her – a fairly new student, who’s only been at the gym for a few months. She trains with a group of girls who sometimes watch Caleb when he spars. You instantly see where this is going, and start to make a plan to excuse yourself. Caleb sees where your eyes go, then he looks back at you with a knowing glance, his eyes pleading with you to stay. 

You raise an eyebrow at him, then say in a voice loud enough for her to hear, “I’ll go get a mop and clean up the sweat on the mat. Be right back.”

You start to walk away and you and the girl pass each other. You give her a nod, and she gives you a brief smile before she approaches Caleb. You focus on walking away, heading to the supply closet where the cleaning supplies are. You watch the two of them in your peripheral vision – you can’t hear anything they’re saying, but the girl giggles loudly, and you see her twirling a small part of her ponytail. Oh, god. Caleb’s hand goes to the back of his neck, and he rubs at it, looking uncomfortable. They exchange words for a couple of minutes, and you decide that it’s time to head back with your mop.

As you approach them again, the girl smiles at you before nodding to Caleb. 

“See you around, I hope?” she asks, her voice light and sweet.

Caleb grins at her, his eyes narrowing as he gives her a small wave. “See you around.”

She leaves, and you swipe at Caleb with the mop handle.

“Hey, ouch!” he complains, rubbing at his elbow.

“She’s so cute,” you hiss, making sure your voice is low. “Give her a chance!”

He looks at you, dumbfounded. His bemusement then turns to annoyance, his cheeks turning red again. “Whatever,” he mutters. “I don’t have time to be dating right now.”

Here you were, hoping that if Caleb ever got into a relationship, it would make your feelings for him disappear. He’s making it difficult, but you have to try.

“You know, they say there’s a certain type of cardio that’s good for blood circulation,” you murmur, adding an emphasis to the word ‘cardio’. “It might make you perform better.”

“Ew!” he whines, stepping away from you. “You, out of all people, should not be delving into my sex life.”

“Come on,” you insist, hitting the mop into the mat. “Aren’t you willing to try anything to make yourself a better athlete? You know, it’s not the same when you do it with yourself. Doing it with a partner has a lot more benefits–”

“Please, shut up.” He shoves you away lightly, trying to walk past you. You see that his entire face has gone red. “And who says I’m not getting any?” You swear you see him smirk as he turns away from you.

With that, he strides away from you, leaving you with the mop, gaping as you watch him walk away.

—

“Come on, Coach, please.”

You sigh, accepting the blue sports ade from Gideon. How the hell did he know your favorite flavor?

“Okay, Gideon, but it has to be outside of Caleb’s training schedule. Before or after. And only until your match. I don’t think I have time to take on another student in the long term.”

“Yes!” Gideon pumps his fist up into the air. “I promise, I’ll make you proud.”

You grin as you watch him skip away, his bag of gear in one hand. He and Caleb pass each other as Caleb makes his way towards you. He greets you with a raised eyebrow and a skeptical expression.

“What was that about?” he asks, looking over his shoulder in the direction Gideon was heading.

“Nothing for you to concern yourself about,” you tell him. You didn’t want him thinking that your focus would be divided between him and another fighter, not when it’s so close to his match. You planned to keep your lips sealed until it passes, hoping he wouldn’t be distracted.

He narrows his eyes at you, but says nothing else as he preps his training gear. You watch as his jaw clenches and unclenches, and you can tell he’s slightly annoyed. You shrug it off – you know it’s for his own good. You sigh as you place yourself into your coaching headspace and turn your coach voice on.

“Okay, so for today, I was thinking we can work on that left jab and the scorpion kick…”

—

“See you later, Coach?” 

You nod at Gideon as he waves to you. “Yeah, I’ll see you there. Can you order for me? I might run a little late.”

He gives you a thumbs up before leaving through the gym exit. You’re currently holding the punching bag Caleb is drilling on, trying to keep it steady for him. He has his headphones on, but you’re not sure if music is still playing on them. You’re hoping he didn’t hear the exchange you just shared with Gideon.

Caleb continues to punch, sweat flying off of his gloves and hair. He seems to be in the zone, and you think you’ve gotten away with it when he stops, and takes his headphones off.

“What was that?” he pants as he sets the headphones to the side.

“What?” you ask, trying to act nonchalant. “Oh, Gideon? I’m just meeting with him quickly after training. He just had some questions about his upcoming match. He just needs a little help”

It’s mostly the truth. The truth was that you’d been training with Gideon before and after Caleb’s training sessions the past few days. Tonight, he had promised you dinner at some burger place while you went over videos of his past matches. But Caleb didn’t need to know that.

Caleb stares at you – he gives you that look when he knows you’re not telling the whole truth. But you stay resolute and stare back at him, not wanting to budge.

“Okay, I’m done for tonight,” he says, stripping his gloves off, breaking the stare. He walks off without another word, leaving you holding the punching bag. 

What the hell is his problem?

—

You purse your lips in frustration as you watch Caleb and Gideon spar. Caleb is only landing half of his techniques, and Gideon has the upper hand – something that has never happened in their matches before. 

“Caleb, you’re not scoring!” you yell from the side of the mat. “Focus!”

Caleb grunts loudly as he throws a punch at Gideon, which Gideon promptly parries and counters. You wince as the punch lands on Caleb’s face, granting Gideon another point. 

You pause the timer, and the two of them take a quick break on their respective sides of the mat. You walk over to Caleb and slap him on his bare shoulder.

“You’re distracted,” you hiss at him. Caleb keeps looking at a spot on the mat, not meeting your gaze, not saying anything. You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. “Look, you have a week until your match. If you keep this up, you’re going to lose. Badly.”

Caleb stands from where he’s sitting and pushes past you silently. He takes his spot on the mat again, and Gideon does the same. You would give anything in the world to know what’s going on in Caleb’s mind at that moment. 

You take your place on the side of the mat again, and press on the timer once more. “Go!”

The match restarts, and you see Caleb lock his focus in. He goes for a wide hook, but something’s wrong – he’s putting a lot more power into it than he should be. Gideon manages to dodge it, but if it had connected, he would have gotten hurt. Caleb is out for blood.

Before you can yell for them to stop, Caleb goes for an uppercut to Gideon’s stomach. Gideon is not able to block this one. It makes contact, and you swear you hear the air leave Gideon’s lungs. 

“Gideon!”

He falls to his knees, and you’re on the mat in an instant, by his side. Caleb stands over Gideon, breathing heavily, eyes wide. His eyes flick between you and Gideon, his jaw dropping. He kneels down to join you on the mat, starting to apologize.

“Gideon, man, I’m so sorry–”

“Get off the mat!” you yell at him, your hand on Gideon’s back. He’s currently trying to take deep breaths, but he’s winded, and he’s coughing in between breaths. “Go cool off. Stay off the mat.”

Caleb’s eyes stay wide as he turns around and heads off, leaving you with a wheezing Gideon.

—

“Gideon’s fine,” you tell Caleb, putting on target mitts on both your hands. “He’s just winded. It could have been a lot worse.” You stare at him, and he’s refusing to meet your eyes. “And you’re an asshole.”

Caleb sighs as he takes up a fighting stance, ready to start his drills again. “I said I was sorry,” he mutters.

You ignore him and hold up the mitts. “Okay, for this one, go for Combo Four. We’ll do twenty sets. Jab, jab, kick. Ready?”

He nods, holding his guard up. “And, go!”

Jab, jab, kick – the last move is a roundhouse to your face. You hold up the mitt as his foot slams into it. The kick is strong, but you’re able to withstand it.

Jab, jab, kick.

“So, what kind of beef do you have with Gideon?”

Jab, jab, kick.

“I don’t have beef with him. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jab, jab, kick.

“Really? You’ve been acting weird the past week. Are you sure he didn’t do anything to piss you off?”

Jab, jab, kick.

“Nothing for you to concern yourself about.” He’s using your own words against you.

Jab, jab, kick.

“What the hell is your problem, Caleb?”

Jab, jab, kick.

“Fuck!” He finishes his kick so strongly, the mitt almost comes off. You adjust it, surprised by his sudden outburst. He starts the combination again.

Jab, jab, kick.

“I know it’s none of my business.”

Jab, jab, kick.

“I know it’s stupid that I’m mad about it.”

“But come on! What does he have that I don’t?”

Jab, jab, kick.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Jab, jab, kick.

“You two are dating!”

Jab, jab, kick.

"Fine, I might be a little jealous!"

Jab, jab, kick.

“But I’m more mad about the fact that you couldn’t tell me more than the fact itself!”

Jab, jab, kick.

Caleb continues his drill, but you stay still, stunned. Dating? Gideon? You? Flashes of interactions between you and Gideon run through your mind’s eye. Then you see it through Caleb’s perspective, and it dawns on you. What idiots all three of you have been.

Jab, jab–

You’re still reeling from the fact that Caleb thinks that you and Gideon are dating – you forget to move the mitt for the last technique of the combination. Caleb, too focused on finishing the drill, executes it, realizing too late that the mitt is not in place. Your eyes meet and you see his widen in horror as it dawns on him – his kick is going to make contact with your face. 

Kick.

You’re able to move your head slightly away, and it might have just proven to be your saving grace. The kick still connects, and the impact sends you flying off to the side of the mat. You had clenched your jaw just in time, and you’re thankful that you still have those quick fighting reflexes. 

Next thing you know, you’re on the mat, surrounded by other students and coaches. You can taste blood in your mouth, and there’s a loud ringing in your ears. Caleb looks down at you, his mouth moving, but you’re not hearing anything he’s saying.

You? Gideon? Dating? The thought makes your head spin more than the kick itself did. Wait, did he say he was jealous? You remember mumbling to Caleb that he’s an idiot, and insisting that you and Gideon are not dating before the world around you turns dark.

—

> Please. Come to the match tomorrow. I need to see you there. I’m sorry.

You stare at Caleb’s text, wondering if you should reply to this one. You’ve ignored the last dozen he’s sent you, apologizing numerous times and asking if you’re okay. The last thing you had told him was that you had organized another coach for him, and then he muted his messages. The last thing you needed while recovering was a Caleb-induced headache.

You rub at your jaw, thankful that you had only sustained a busted cheek and a very mild concussion. This was one thing you didn’t miss about fighting. 

Your fingers hover over the keyboard on your phone before typing out a reply.

< Ok. I’ll be there. But you better win.

—

The last match of the day is Caleb’s, and you had made it to the arena just in time for it to start. You spot him getting ready at the side of the mat with his stand-in coach, and you feel a pang of sadness in your chest – you wish you could be the one standing with him on that mat. You stay up in the bleachers with other spectators, all of whom are excited to see the last match.

“Did you hear…?”

“I heard he knocked out his teammate and his coach.”

“Yeah, what a scary guy.”

You wince at the whispers of gossip around you, annoyed that you’re unable to stop them. You focus on Caleb, watching him as he warms up before his match. You’re praying that your training with him is enough, and that he gets out of this match unscathed.

—

“The score is four-three.”

Your heart is hammering in your chest. They’ve taken a short timeout, but the time is down to twenty seconds on the clock and Caleb is a point behind. You don’t realize it but you’ve been squeezing your own hands so tightly that your knuckles have turned white.

“How’s he going?”

A familiar voice snaps you out of your trance of worry. Gideon takes his seat next to you in the bleachers, his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. You release the breath you’ve been holding and you turn to answer him.

“Still down by one point. They’ve been like that for the past minute.”

“Go down there and coach,” Gideon tells you without looking away from the mat. 

You whip your head around to look at him. “Huh?”

“Get down there,” he repeats, turning his head sideways. “If he sees you, it’ll change his game.”

You bite your lip, considering it. You place a hand on Gideon’s shoulder before making your way down the bleachers, towards the barricade.

“Excuse me, coming through, sorry!”

You push past the other spectators, some of whom complain, and some let you through when they recognize you.

“Of course, Coach, come through!”

You nod your thanks, and make it to the barricade, just outside of the sparring mat. You grip at the metal bar, and lean closer to the mat.

“Caleb!”

Yelling makes your jaw hurt, but it works. Caleb’s head whips around and he sees you, his eyes going wide. You swear you see tears well up in them before he blinks them away. You hold four of your fingers up. Combo Four. He nods, and the bell signaling the restart of the match goes off. The referee calls them back to the mat.

“And, fight!” 

Jab, jab, kick. Off the bat, Caleb pulls off the combination, and it scores. He lands a point, and the crowd cheers – it’s down to ten seconds on the clock, and the score is tied. Your stomach feels like it’s turning itself inside out as the two of them reset for the last few seconds of the match. The crowd is now roaring, cheering for their favorite players. A buzzer beater to break the tie would be an exciting way to end the fight.

“Scorpion,” you call out to Caleb, hoping he hears you. His eyes go over to you and he nods, acknowledging what you just said. 

The referee starts the match again, and Caleb’s opponent goes for a quick jab, which he dodges. Caleb then goes for the grapple, and hugs his opponent close, rendering him stunned. Caleb’s leg goes up at lightning speed, and hits his opponent in the back of the head before he releases him.

The referee calls for a stop just as the buzzer goes off, and the crowd stares in stunned silence. 

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. What the hell kind of a kick was that?

The referee awards the point for the kick – it meets all the technicality requirements for a score – and the crowd loses it. The roaring fills your ears and your chest. You had missed this feeling, the feeling of people cheering you on. You’re glad to be able to witness it for Caleb.

“The score is five-four to Caleb Xia!”

The referee holds Caleb’s arm up, signaling his victory, and the crowd becomes even louder. Your hands stay glued to the barricade, your eyes never leaving Caleb. Your chest aches with pride and love. 

He bows off from the match, and makes his way towards the barricade as people continue to clap for him. Other players clap him on the shoulder, congratulating him, but his focus stays on you. He strips off his gloves and removes his mouthguard as he continues to approach you. He takes a swig from his bottle then sets it down before meeting you at the barricade.

His hands, still sweaty, cup your face, and his thumbs swipe at your cheeks, wiping your tears away. You hadn’t even realized that you were crying. His gaze is soft as he stares into your eyes, and in that moment, it feels as if you’re the only two people who exist in the entire world. 

“Why are you crying?” he murmurs, continuing to wipe your tears. “I won, didn’t I?”

“You’re such an idiot,” you sniffle, trying to stop yourself from crying. “What the fuck was that? A buzzer beater? Seriously?”

Caleb huffs, amused. He gives you a sly grin. “Showmanship. It made everything a little more exciting, didn’t it?”

Part of you wants to scoff and push him away for being cocky, but part of you wants to pull him in closer. The latter part wins. Your hands go for the back of his neck, which is also covered in sweat, and you pull him towards you, your lips landing on his. 

He flinches at first, a little surprised, but kisses you back, deep and longing. You hear a few gasps and “ooooh”s from the people surrounding you and you swear you can hear Gideon whooping from somewhere up in the stands.

“See, I was right about that kick, wasn’t I?” you whisper as you break the kiss.

Caleb smiles against your lips. “Yes, Coach, you were.”

[aethercoreheart]

My darling, I'll hold your hand, make sure you're wearing comfortable shoes and carry you when you're tired. I'll walk with you so please write that fic

why is this the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me my goodness ok gimme some time

[aethercoreheart]

thinking about a coach!reader x fighter!caleb scenario where they've been training together for years and they both want each other but neither of them have any idea how the other feels.... both of them keep trying to push their feelings down to respect their boundaries and honestly they're both just dumb and yearning

[aethercoreheart]

sylus | 3:38 AM

The door to your apartment shuts behind you with a quiet click, and you release the breath you’ve been holding, slowly and as quietly as you can. The lights are still on, and you hear the television softly playing in the living room.

“Sylus?” You call out to him, and strain your ears to listen for his reply. You don’t hear anything but the sounds of an infomercial coming from the television. You tiptoe through to the living room, wondering if he’s going to catch you sneaking in.

You got home an hour later than you had originally promised him – a night out with your friends ended up with you being the sober driver and taking some of your less than sober friends home. You had sent Sylus a message to update him, but he hadn’t replied – you could see that he had read it, though. You were so sure that you were going to be greeted with a scolding when you got home.

You enter the living room and head for the couch facing the television. You see Sylus, facing the screen, sitting upright. It seems like he hasn’t heard you come in. You make your way to the front of the couch, and you’re about to greet him when you see that his eyes are closed, and his arms are crossed over his chest. A deep rumble erupts from his throat. Has… has he fallen asleep while sitting up?

You lean in, careful to not make any noise that might wake him. He looks so peaceful, his eyelids fluttering gently, snores escaping through his lips. You spot a small sliver of drool coming out of the corner of his mouth, and you hurriedly pull your phone out from your back pocket, almost falling over in excitement as you do so. You take several pictures of him from different angles, and not once does he stir. 

You’re almost tempted to leave him as he is and just stare at him the whole night, but you put your phone back in your pocket, and reach for the remote next to him on the couch. You turn the television off, and Sylus sits up so fast, it almost startles you.

“Hey,” he says, blinking rapidly. “I was watching that.”

It’s your turn to blink at him. “You… you were wanting to buy a head massager?” You turn the television back on, and it continues to play the infomercial. “The… ‘Massage Extra Pro Plus’?”

He sighs as he rises from the couch, his hand going for the back of your head. He pulls you in, and plants a kiss on your forehead. “You’re home late,” he murmurs against your skin.

“I know,” you tell him, arms wrapping around his waist. “Sorry. I did text you, though.”

“Mm,” he hums, taking the remote from your hand. He switches the television back off, and starts ushering you to the bathroom. “Let’s just get ready for bed.”

—

You watch as Sylus brushes his teeth, his hand moving almost mechanically, his eyelids drooping heavily. He looks like he’s going to fall asleep while standing up. You see that the whites of his eyes are tinged with red. A pang of guilt makes your chest ache. You can’t believe he stayed up waiting for you to come home.

“I’m sorry I made you wait,” you mumble through your toothbrush. “You must be so tired.”

He spits into the sink and wipes at his mouth with a wash cloth. “Don’t be silly,” he chides, rinsing his toothbrush out. “I’ll wait as long as I have to. You can even call if you ever need me to come pick you up. In fact, that’s preferable.”

He heads to the bathroom door, and waits for you to finish at the sink before turning the lights off.

“Time for bed,” he yawns, draping an arm over your shoulders, leading you to the bedroom.

—

“Ugh, Sweetheart, your phone,” Sylus groans, swiping at your hand.

“Sorry, sorry,” you mutter, trying to turn the brightness down. “I’ll make it darker.”

“No.” His voice is croaky, but firm. He takes the phone from your hand and turns the screen off. He places it on the nightstand, far out of your reach. “Go to sleep.”

You look at your empty hands through the darkness and sigh. You suppose he’s right. You get under the blankets and sheets, and wrap your arm around him. He stays turned away from you, but shifts slightly so that he’s better positioned in your embrace. You nuzzle your face into the space between his neck and shoulder, and you feel him relax against you. 

“Are you really thinking about buying that head massager? It’s only four payments of sixteen ninenty-nine.”

You hear him chuckle into the darkness, his laugh reverberating through his back and into your chest. You tighten your embrace around him and whisper into his ear. “Well, you have me, and I give massages for free – think of me as your personal massager.”

Sylus turns to face you in bed, and drapes his arm around you. He presses his lips into your forehead, murmuring against your hair. “Yeah, but the Massage Extra Pro Plus won’t make me wait until almost sunrise for it to come home, will it?”

[aethercoreheart]

neighborly love

neighbor!xavier x fem-reader | 18+, nsfw

“And that's why you should always look out for cyclists on the sidewalk,” Xavier concludes his story as he enters his code into the panel of his front door.

You grimace as you heave the last of his groceries to his doorstep. You place your hands on your hips as you stick your bottom lip out in a show of sympathy. 

His left arm is in a sling, and there are dark circles under his blue eyes. He had spent most of the night in the emergency room after a stray cyclist had collided with him while he was walking home from work. He had fractured his arm in two places. You were surprised that he had listed you as his emergency contact – the poor guy didn't have anyone else but his neighbour to put down. So you drove out to pick him up at the crack of dawn and took him to get groceries. 

“I owe you big time,” he sighs as he opens the door. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

He starts to bend down to pick the bags up with his one free hand but you stop him and reach for them before he can.

“No way,” you tell him, swooping the bags up in both arms. “Don't lift a finger. Let me do it.”

“You really don't have to,” Xavier pleads, trying to block the entrance to his apartment. “You've done enough already, please.”

“Nonsense,” you say, pushing past him carefully. “I'll just get these to your kitchen. You can do the rest from there.”

He sighs again as he lets you through, closing the door behind him. It locks with a click and a beep. You make a beeline for his kitchen, your eyes flicking around his apartment as you do so. It has a similar layout to yours. His furnishings are simple and comfortable, as expected from a guy his age. 

You set the bags down on his kitchen counter with a grunt. A hand reaches from behind you and digs into one of the bags, fishing a can of soda out.

“Stay for a drink,” Xavier says, waving the can.”The least I can do.”

“Sure,” you nod, going through the bag for another can.

“Uh-uh,” he pushes you away from the kitchen towards the living room. “You go sit. I'll get us something to drink.”

You laugh, conceding. “Okay, okay, I'll go.” You make your way to the plush grey sofa and take a seat. You hear him open two cans of soda and pour them into glasses. He brings your glass to you, and places it on the coffee table in front of you before heading back to the kitchen for his.

“Nice place,” you remark, taking a sip from your glass. “Looks just like mine.”

You hear Xavier chuckle before he takes a seat next to you. “I've always wondered what the other apartments look like.”

“It looks like a mirrored version of mine,” you admit, your eyes still scanning the room.

He downs his drink before placing his glass onto the coffee table. You watch as he leans back onto the sofa with a heavy sigh, his uninjured arm draping over his head.

“They give you painkillers at the hospital?” you ask, placing your own glass down. 

He nods, and looks at you sideways from underneath his arm. “Yeah. They're all right. But I'm not used to wearing a sling. My neck is killing me.”

“You want a massage? I give pretty good massages.” You stand from the couch and make your way around it to behind where Xavier is sitting.

“I–uh–hang on–,” he stammers, his head whipping side to side, trying to see where you're heading.

“You're going to make it worse,” you scold him, placing your hands on his shoulders. “Just relax. You let me know if you want me to stop, okay?”

He pauses for a few moments before replying. “Okay, but you really don't have to. Like I said, you’ve already done more than enough.”

He leans back into the sofa and your hands grip his shoulders. They are incredibly tense and stiff. Your hands start to work on the muscles, gripping and kneading them gently. He tosses his head back, eyes closed, letting out a drawn out groan. You smirk to yourself – you’ve still got the magic touch. You continue in your kneading, feeling Xavier’s tight muscles start to loosen. You watch as his chest heaves up and down with each breath, and then you notice… hm?

Xavier’s bulge strains against his grey sweatpants, the sweatpants becoming increasingly tighter around it. Holy shit. Your hands continue in their work, and you’re contemplating on whether to mention it to him or not. You decide to break it to him gently.

“Uh… Xavier? Do you want me to stop? It looks like you’re a little, well, excited.”

His eyes immediately snap open, and he looks down at himself. “Oh, shit.” His hand goes for one of the throw cushions on his couch and he covers himself with it.

“Shit, sorry, sorry,” he sputters, trying to straighten himself up. “I–uh, don’t know how that happened. Sorry. Fuck…” His voice starts to trail off as he comes to a loss for words. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you chuckle, placing your hands on the back of the sofa. “Look, if you’re more comfortable with me going, I’ll leave. Thanks for the drink.”

You’re about to head off, when Xavier speaks up again. “Sorry,” he repeats, his head still hanging down. “It’s… it’s been a long time since someone’s touched me.” His hand grips at the cushion. “And since I’ve taken care of myself as well, actually,” he adds, with an awkward cough.

“Do you want me to help?” The question leaves your own lips before you can think about it. Your hands are on his shoulders again, waiting for him to answer.

He leans back again onto the couch, looking up at you through his lashes, his pupils dilated. He takes several deep breaths before responding to you. “Please,” he whispers through his slightly parted lips. 

With that, your hands glide down to his chest, one of them going for the zipper on his hoodie. You slide it down, and feel his skin – he’s not wearing anything underneath it. You carefully slip your hand underneath his injured arm and soon, your fingers are flicking at his nipples, both of which have become hard at your touch.

“Relax,” you breathe into his ear as he squirms underneath your hands. “I’ll take care of you.”

Xavier is now biting his bottom lip, his moans muffled as you continue to play with his nipples. Your lips find his neck, and you nibble at his skin, down to his shoulder and up to his ear. 

“Fuck,” he hisses as your fingers pinch. You give him a slight twist, and his whole body jerks. “Hah… fuck…”

Your mouth is at his ear again. “So sensitive,” you croon, giving him a small kiss. “So fun to play with.”

You pull back so suddenly that he whimpers loudly, his head twisting around to try and find you. You’re already at the front of the couch again, facing him. He's already cast the cushion aside. He looks up at you again with those stunning blue eyes – all you want to do is hold his face and get lost in them. You kneel down in the space between him and the coffee table, your hands sliding up his thighs. 

“Please…” he gasps, still squirming. You feel his thighs tense up under your hands, the bulge underneath his sweatpants continuing to grow. “En–enough teasing.”

You pull yourself up, still gripping his legs. You bring your face close to him, your foreheads just touching. You offer your lips to him, hovering just over his, and he closes the distance, his mouth crashing into yours, his whimpers mingling with his kisses. His free hand has found its way to your ass, squeezing it, trying to pull you into his lap.

You break the kiss and pull back again, and he huffs in frustration, his lips still reaching out for yours. 

“Patience,” you assert, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand. “Don’t strain yourself.”

You bring yourself down to a kneeling position again, and this time, you work slowly to take his sweatpants off. Xavier eagerly tries to help you, his hand working to slide them off. He’s not wearing any underwear underneath, and his erection springs up from beneath the waistband. You slide the pants down to his ankles, making sure they’re completely out of the way. 

“You okay? No pain?” you check with him.

Xavier shakes his head. “No. Do whatever you want to me.”

With that, you reach for his cock, and it twitches at your touch. He moans again, and you can tell it won’t take much to make him cum – he really must have gone without for a long time.

You lick your palm, once, twice, then grip at his shaft, your hand sliding up and down it gently. His back is arched, his hips thrusting himself into your hand. You push him back down, with a firm but light hand.

“What did I say?” you ask him, your tongue going from his base up to the tip. It’s already pink and swollen, and his pre-cum is dribbling out. “Don’t strain yourself. I’ll do all the work.”

With that, your hand starts pumping, up and down, stopping once in a while so you can lick at his tip. He fights to stop himself from thrusting into your hand again, his thigh flexing beneath your hand. His groans grow louder, filling the room, your name repeatedly escaping his lips. You decide to take him into your mouth, taking him in as deep as you can. He gasps, his hand finding its way into your hair, gripping at it and pulling it away from your face.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, no longer able to control himself as he thrusts into your mouth. You let him do so, feeling him hit the back of your throat. “Hngh… hah…”

Your head bobs up and down, and you can’t help but moan against his cock as you feel yourself becoming wet in between your legs. You continue, and soon his hips start stuttering, his thrusts becoming more erratic. He’s close.

To your surprise, he stops suddenly, and pulls you back by your hair. Your mouth releases him with a small pop, and you look up at him expectantly as you both breathe heavily.

He releases his grip on your hair, and adjusts himself on the couch. He stares down at you, a dazed glaze over his eyes. 

“I don’t want to finish yet,” he admits, lowering his gaze. “I want it to last a little longer. I don’t want this to end.”

You nod, and stand from where you’re kneeling. You strip out of your shirt, jeans, and panties, slowly and deliberately, watching how Xavier reacts. He fights to keep his expression neutral, but there’s a lustful desire behind his gaze. He continues to watch as you lower yourself down onto him, gripping his shaft and guiding him inside of you. You both release a long breath as he fills you up, him grunting another “fuck” as you take him all the way in. You both stay still for several moments, listening to each other breathe, and you feel him twitch inside of you. 

“God, you’re so tight,” he groans. “You feel so good. If only my other arm wasn’t broken…”

His hand is gripping your waist, pulling you close so that his face is in between your breasts. His hand makes its way up to the clasp of your bra, and undoes it in one swift movement. He flings it off to the side while his tongue finds your nipple, nibbling and sucking at it. You grip the hair at the back of his head, your breath coming out in short, shallow pants. 

“Are you sure your arm is okay?” you pant, suddenly aware of his arm, in the sling, sandwiched between your bodies.

He nods, his mouth never leaving your breast. Then he stops again, pulling away suddenly, leaving you wondering what he’s going to say this time. 

“Can I make a confession?” he asks, somewhat sheepish.

“You’re already inside of me,” you laugh, meeting his eyes. “What else can you possibly say?”

He shuffles slightly underneath you, adjusting himself. “Well… our rooms share a wall. A pretty thin wall. Sometimes, I can hear you… playing with yourself. And sometimes, well… I like to join in.”

You lean in to kiss him again, and you smile against his lips. “I wanna make a confession too. I know. I wait for you to come home and go into your room before I start. I can hear you too.”

He looks at you, stunned for a few moments, then that desire takes over again. His hand goes from your waist to your pussy, his thumbing finding your clit, stroking at it, sending shocks of electricity throughout your body. “You’re such a fucking tease,” he grunts, his eyes darkening. “Wait until this arm gets better. You’ll get your payback.”

He continues to play with your clit as your breath hitches in your throat. “I want you to cum with me.” He starts to rock his hips back and forth. “Please. You don’t know how long I’ve been thinking about this moment.”

All you can do is nod, and all you can say is his name, and you chant it repeatedly as you bounce on him. He continues to thrust into you, his thumb rubbing circles into your clit. The room is filled with the sound of your skin slapping against each other’s, your moans mingling in with his ragged breathing. You feel your orgasm building in your core, and Xavier’s thrusts have started to take on an uneven tempo again. You wonder who’s going to get there first.

“Are you close?” he breathes, gritting his teeth. “Please tell me you’re close.”

You nod again, bringing your lips down to his, kissing him deeply. “Be a good boy. Keep going. You can cum for me,” you tell him, speaking in a murmur.

“I–I’m cum–cumming,” he moans into your mouth. He releases into you with a strong thrust, and that sends you over the edge, your walls clenching in around him. He continues rocking his hips as he empties himself into you. Your thighs are trembling, your pussy squeezing around his cock, drawing out his cum. 

The rocking eventually slows, but you stay straddling his hips, your foreheads touching, both of you panting heavily. You feel him start to go limp inside of you, but you don’t pull him out just yet. He peppers your collarbone with kisses, his hand now trailing up and down your back.

“Best neighbor ever,” Xavier breathes, his hand gently caressing your skin. “Don’t let it get to your head though. And I’m serious about that payback when my arm is better.”

“I don’t doubt it,” you tell him, your arms draping around his shoulders. “But until then, I guess you’ll have to sit still and let me be in charge.”