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amore-memento · 5 days ago

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A SCARY MOVIE | MDNI 18+

one-shot: ghostface! caleb & sylus x fem! reader

you’re not stupid. don’t answer doors with strangers, nor calls. halloween is a few days away, and you needed your self-care time. however, you have the worst of luck— but it’s not your fault. blame your friend.

warnings: mdni/18+, language, dubious consent, childhood bestfriend! caleb + stranger! sylus, mentions of blood, knife play, glove kink, cunnilingus + blowjob, fingering + squirting, vouyerism, dacryphilia, slight dumbification, filming/sex tapes, overstimulation, cum eating, masked! caleb, nicknames, slight somnophilia, threesome

Another scream rang through your enclosed walls, piercing and shrill like that last.

It wasn’t new to you, because the horror cliqué remained the same. You watched the female lead get stabbed by the slasher, screaming and sobbing for mercy.

“Just grab the fucking knife!”

You groaned, slapping your hand across your couch’s perch in anger. If you were attacked like that, you’d definitely kick him in the balls and shove the knife through his ass. It was that simple!

Night had fallen long ago, and the stars were invisible in the gloom. You were home alone for the time being, especially with your grandma out for her bingo camp. (Even you didn’t know that was a thing.)

So, that meant more free time for you.

It meant more face masks without being called Micheal Myers in them— and certainly more walking around without a bra because it was so relaxing. And here you were, draped on your black loveseat with a fluffy night gown cloaking your figure.

Popcorn and skin serums were littered about, and the TV remote was somewhere lost in the coffee table’s mess. As the movie continued to play, you resorted to painting your nails, keeping them a nice onyx color.

“Please don’t! Please! Please! Aaah—“

Another scream with another kill.

You mocked her scream, laughing to yourself. These movies were so unrealistic and awfully—

Thump.

You snap back immediately, eyes wide as you pause.

“Pip!”

Oh my gosh, that stupid Caleb.

You cap the nail polish, muttering incoherent curses. Caleb was your best friend since so many years, but he rarely comes over. Not that you want him to come over, that is, but he’d usually message you before he does.

You grabbed your crow blanket from the side, wrapping it around you like a make-believe dress. Your door kept thumping with impatient knocks, and you swung it open annoyingly.

“What in the world do you want at this hour?”

There, the brunette was holding a gym bag over his shoulder, his knuckles frozen mid-air in another knock. His smile is enlightening, and you immediately forget why you’re upset.

“Oh! I just wanted to make a pit stop at your place before I head to a party— do you mind?” he digs in his pocket, “Aaand here’s my payment for my stay.”

He opens his palms to reveal a ziploc bag of sliced apples, making you raise a brow in utter disbelief.

“Really…?”

You swipe your nose, accidentally wiping some of the face mask off. Cursing you stood aside, motioning him forward,

“Just get in, and keep those damn apples— I’m in the middle of something important.”

“Gee…” his voice trails, and he notices the television replaying an old favorite, “Watching scary movies at night again? Remember how you got—“

Your glare hushed him instantly, and you slammed the door, pushing past the big brute. Sure, he might be tall and almighty, but you had that swiveling control in you to keep him from getting too big of himself.

“I’m not 13 anymore, let me watch my stuff in peace,” you watch him drop his bag on your seat, “That’s my seat you idiot!”

He doesn’t listen, and takes the spot beside it, stretching out his legs. You noticed his black apparel then; a simple pair of dark jeans and his striped crewneck. The necklace you gave him glinted with the TV’s flashing light, making it sparkle a little more.

He was so fucking hot, but you weren’t that bold to say it. Caleb was almost done with aerospace academy, and graduating top in his class. You were confident that some much prettier girls his type were pining after him, so you didn’t bother.

“You sure do know how to make yourself comfortable,” you mumble, leaning behind him on the couch, “What’s the party you’re going to?”

His eyes are locked on the screen, watching the next victim get brutally stabbed. It should be concerning, but you weren’t the least icked by it— and Caleb wasn’t either.

“Some new freshman party, with drinks and stuff,” he sounded disinterested, “I’m going with a friend so it won’t be too bad.”

“Since when do you hang out with freshman?” you laugh, giving his head a light wack, “And since when did you have friends?”

“Hey!” he turns, frowning, “A guy like me can make friends, thank you very much.”

You shrug, and stand behind him for a while more. His shoulders rose slightly with each breath he took, and you’d glance at him and then the screen every so often. Then, you got a whiff of metal.

Quietly, you lean forward, sniffing his hair lightly. It smelled like dirty mahogany, and then…dirt. You grimaced, poking his cheek,

“You smell like shit y’know.”

You only got a hum in reply. But then again, your friend is stupidly stubborn. You make your way forward, collecting all your serums from the coffee table to take upstairs.

Once you show a horror movie to him, he’s never going to look back. You remembered one time when the both of you were playing outside, he wouldn’t move from behind the tree, and simply watched a snake eat a cute little mouse. Creepy, but you weren’t that different either.

You made your way upstairs, the steps below you creaking with your weight. You shoot one final glance at Caleb, but he’s as still as you found him.

Your room was the biggest in the house, and that was because Grandma insisted you have it. Your closet was somewhat spacious, and your bathroom was about 1/4 the size of your room. You entered it, turning on the buzzing light as you dumped the glass vials on the sink’s top.

You carefully placed each serum back to its spot behind the mirror and then some into your mini fridge. You turned on the water, letting it run warm. Lastly, of your most tiring routine to prevent a mess, you slipped on your fluffy bracelets and handband. You looked silly in the mirror, but beauty costs apparently. You then washed the mask off your face.

A few minutes later, and then some moisturizer, you were done. You still had some annoying bumps on your cheek, and no matter what new cream you used, they never came off. You sighed, getting ready to go downstairs.

“I told you to wait for me, didn’t I?”

You stopped, and then squatted.

“No…you’re fucking insane…I said, no.”

Who in the world was he talking to? You wrapped your blanket a little tighter, and then crawled forward a bit. The stairs railings covered your form, and you’re thankful because Caleb was digging through his bag.

It was actually the first time you’ve seen him angry too. His voice was commanding, and he practically yelled at the small device.

“If you dare, then I will not hesitate to…Sylus!”

You heard a loud beep.

The call must have ended because he threw his phone across the living room. Poor thing must’ve seen better days.

He took a deep breath, and his eyes were closed shut. Right now is definitely not the time to go down…so you took that moment to crawl back up quietly.

Then, footsteps started getting near.

He’s coming upstairs.

You sweared under your breath, racing to your room and pretending to look for something in your closet.

“Pipsqueak? Hello?”

He sees you buried half-waist in your closet. You tossed one old shirt after another, humming a tune to keep yourself at bay. Unfortunately at this moment too, you really needed to clean your closet.

“Oh Caleb!” you pop your head out a bit, “Hey! What’re you doing in my room?”

You playfully throw one of your pants, but it was a poor throw and it barely made it two feet before you. The man was leaned on your doorway, his legs cross as he snickered at you.

“Nothin’ I was just checking up on you since you were up here for a while…”

His gaze follows to the open door of your bathroom, and he grins,

“Say, you don’t mind if I hop in your shower really quick?” he raised his hands before you spoke, “I won’t use your shampoo!”

You grimaced, and looked down at your closet. There were so many pants you’ve never bothered wearing, and they were still new with the price tags. With a sigh you replied,

“Fine, but I better not see your pubes in my drain.”

“Alrighty— wait.”

You shared a laugh with him, but it didn’t take long for it to die down. He left you alone to retrieve some of his clothing downstairs, and you let a long held-in breath out. You plopped back forward onto your heap of clothes, hugging them tight.

Something is definitely up with Caleb, and it simply doesn’t feel right. And who was Sylus? As far as your memory could reach, you’ve never heard that name before. Was he a friend of Caleb as well? Or a coworker?

Or were you just jealous?

But then again, he didn’t seem like a friend. Because…friends wouldn’t yell at each other— would they?

You heard his footsteps climb up again and into your room. He chuckled at your crouched form, and commented slyly,

“I can see your underwear, pipsqueak.”

Immediately, you reach down to cover your ass, your face a furious red. He was lucky to escape your fury and head straight inside the other room.

“Stop staring then!” you growl and bang on the bathroom door, “You pervert!”

From your messy pile, you pick out some pink shorts and slip them on. It was best not to be a temptation anyway, and then made your way downstairs.

You went to play another movie, and was about to reach the remote, but then spotted Caleb’s phone under the couch. You look around for any prying eyes, and then crouch down to grab it.

His phone case was a slick red, and his homescreen was a picture of the both of you during your younger days. Now that left his password to be discovered. Out of curiosity, you put your birthdate— and then nearly grimaced when it unlocked the phone.

“Sylus…?”

You swiped down to see several missed calls, and then some texts. You were tempted to click on the chat, but then last minute, decided otherwise. This was an invasion of privacy—

Ding!

You look down at the screen.

I arrived.

Arrived? Arrived where? Skeptically, you tossed the phone back under the couch, and then focused your gaze on Caleb’s bag. His towel was peeking out, making you sigh. You might as well give it over because there was no way you were letting him borrow yours.

The moment you pulled his towel out, several other articles fell.

“Damn it…”

You kneeled to pick up a black fabric, but you felt plastic attached to it. You turned the item, and saw a ghost-like pattern on its balaclava. Its eyes and mouth looked like they were sunken down, and then painted red.

You grazed the red splotches slightly, still wet and smeared on the white mask. Was that…blood? You reached for the other articles, and saw stains that only furthered your guess.

Whose blood was this?

Swallowing thickly, you placed them all back inside, but your hands still remained soaked in blood. Shit, shit, shit. You sprinted quietly into the kitchen, and ran the water to rinse out the stains.

You felt your heart pound in disbelief. It was like an earthquake happening in your body because you couldn’t even breathe right. Caleb…Caleb is a very nice guy. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, and you knew that.

You literally grew up with him.

You should know that better than anyone.

You raise your gaze up at the window, and saw a pair of sunken black eyes stare back at you.

One blink.

Two blinks.

And then you walk backwards.

Your scream was caught in your throat as you kept your eyes locked on the other. The mask was like the one you saw seconds ago, and it nearly makes you laugh. This must be a sick prank— Halloween is near after all.

The figure raps the window with their knuckles, and you see that his fist holds a long silver knife. His other hand pointed toward the door outside, and you follow the finger, noticing that your door was unlocked.

“No…”

You whisper, and then take off in a sprint. Nearly falling, you scramble to lock the spring door, but it was no use. The figure was already there, one large hand holding it still and the knife cutting the wires agonizingly slow. They were tall, way too tall.

I didn’t watch all those movies for nothing.

You scramble back up and snatch a knife from the countertop, and then run upstairs. Golden light spills from your room, meaning that Caleb must’ve finished showering. You were going to take a step inside, but then stopped yourself.

Caleb is involved in this somehow, you can’t trust him.

So, you make the next best exit.

Your grandma’s room.

You try your best to stay silent, but it’s inevitable in an old house like yours. You quietly close the door behind you, locking it the best you could. Then, you stuck one of her rocking chairs under the knob, being the second step of security you had.

You set your eyes at the window, and you make a sigh of relief. Setting down the knife, you start dismantling the wooden frame. It took several hits before it broke down, and it left the spring frame as the last barrier between you and the outside.

Though, voices from the hallway distracted you. You gaze at the door and then the window— your escape should be easy, so you can just listen in a bit. You crouched down the door, pressing your ear against the thin wood as you eavesdropped into the conversation.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

That was Caleb.

“Oh, I don’t know, perhaps saving you from rats.”

That must be the figure…

“Rats? Okay Sylus, you have gone way too far this week and it’s pissing me the fuck off,” a loud thump was heard, “Leave.”

Several more thumps were heard, and then a crash.

“I was the one to help you with your murder, and you treat me like this? That’s a kind gesture coming from you.”

Sylus was the figure then, but the whole context of the conversation was difficult to understand. Murder? Who murdered who?

“I could care less— we made it clear that we won’t meddle in personal affairs, and yet you come into my life?”

A brief pause.

“Where’s my y/n?”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you began to recede from the door. The conversation was still audible, especially with the way Caleb raised his voice.

“What the fuck did you do to her?”

“I don’t know.” a chuckle, “But do tell, she found your stash— and I think she knows now.”

You bit your lip, hard. The spring barrier would not budge open, making you panic internally. It wouldn’t take long for them to start searching for you, so you needed to leave. Now.

“Sweet thing ran upstairs before I could grab her.”

Another thump, and this time it was a clearly loud punch.

“If you touch even a hair on her head, I will personally kill you.”

You reached for the knife on the bed and started cutting out a large circle on the frame. The chirps of crickets witnessed your escape, and wondered if you’d survive the fall.

“Let’s make a wager. First one to find her gets to do whatever they desire, how’s that?”

You really didn’t like this Sylus guy— and hoped that Caleb wasn’t stupid enough to—

“Fine, but if I find her you leave.”

A deep chuckle makes your bones rattle, and you can feel the goosebumps rise on your dewy flesh as Sylus speaks again.

“I personally think, she’s in there.”

Oh my god.

“No…she must be hiding in another room. Pipsqueak!”

You pushed the cut hole out, and began to squeeze yourself outside. The cold breeze hit your bare skin, and it was enough to make your teeth start shattering. You were careful on the tiles, avoiding the possibility of slipping and falling to an embarrassing death.

The feeling of adrenaline ran through your veins, and heightened at the tip of your brain�� this, this all felt surreal. Your back was pressed against the brick wall of your home, but you kept a grip on the window sill as you scoured your head for ideas. There must be a way to jump or climb down safely…

“Pip!”

Your gaze shoots down, and you see Caleb several feet below you. His hands cupped his mouth as he shouted again,

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you! Stay there! I’ll—“

“No!” you grit your teeth, “You’re a maniac! I’m not going to bother!”

How he managed to get downstairs so quickly was beyond you, so the escape below was quickly ruined. You couldn’t stay up there all night, the both of you knew that. But the fear of not knowing what he does, when you thought you did…was stronger than anything.

And Caleb?

To say he’s worried is an understatement, because he’s worried and angry. How dare you not trust him? He was bound to tell you one day, just simply not today.

Yet, the fear and uncertainty in your eyes told him that it would take years before you could trust him again. You weren’t safe up there, but neither in the house. His partner was pathetic, but way too awfully sadistic.

And to him, it was better that he got you than the other.

“Pip, please,” his eyes scanned the wall for places of leverage, “I will tell you everything— everything you need to know.”

He dodged a tile from you, and your face was as stern and dark as ever. The next words that slipped from your precious lips just set his limit. He’s had up to here to handle you, and if you didn’t want his help. He didn’t care.

“Fuck off! I don’t love you anymore!”

The words felt foreign leaving you, yet at the same time, exhilarating. Your chest heaved with the urge to sob, but you held it back. You weren’t going to cry in front of a man who killed god knows how many people— and you certainly weren’t going to trust anything coming from his mouth.

His chestnut hair blew softly in the cold breeze as he stood silent below. The dark grass almost embraced him and his glare, sharp and steady to the touch. His once familiar feeling with memories and times shared was dissipated. You watched trembling in the wind, and he tilted his head, letting out a pft.

“Oh come on, you’re lying. Just,” his brows furrowed as he forced a hard smile, “Just, stay there. I’ll come up and get you.”

“No!”

You started moving to the right of the sill, nearly slipping on a tile.

“y/n.”

You turn, ready for another retort until it dies down. The man below didn’t look so happy.

“When I catch you, I’ll make sure you love me again,” he makes a brief pause, his voice like dangerously smooth velvet, “I promise you that.”

“Hm, too late.”

The gruff voice was erupted from below your waist, and you see tufts of white hair tickle your bare legs. In an instant, gloved hands grab your hips, pushing them down hard enough to make you lose your balance. The bricks scraped your hands, causing you to release a sharp painful hiss.

And you knew it was Sylus— because no one else looked at you with such sad pity and handled you with such harsh contempt. His fingertips digged on the plush of your hips as you tried scooping up tiles, desperate to escape.

“Get the fuck away from—

A blade is pressed firmly on your open lips, and it’s all you need to shut up and survive. The cold metal’s tip poked at your nose, ready to pierce the skin and scar you for life. Your throat bobbed slightly as you slowly lifted your gaze at the man, partly from disbelief and the fear of looking any other way.

“Now, that isn’t a very nice mouth you have kitten,” he lifts a brow as he sneers slightly, “I believe we’ll fix that soon enough.”

Your hands throbbed with the scratches of the wall, and it was uncomfortably mixed with the tight pain on your hips. Sylus looked awful. His hair was made of thick white locks parting from the side— which complimented his horrid red orbs.

His tall form wasn’t made believe either. Broad shoulders lifted up with his arms, swinging you over him and humming deeply with the squeak that erupts from your lips. There was something about him now that you were close up, and that “something” convinced you that if you were to even peep another word— you’d be gone from this planet in an instant.

Sylus turned slightly, spotting his partner in the farther distance. He knew that the brunette was upset, but it’s only rational if he lost the game. The corner of his lips turned slightly as he waved at the other,

“Couldn’t win at my own game? That’s just…” he pauses and taps his chin, “Oh yes, sad. In your own home, no less.”

The man below glared daggers above.

You found yourself in a predicament.

Not only with the hateful turmoil and sickening fear, but physically. It took literally your life to be as still as possible from where you were. No begging could get you out of this. And it didn’t matter who you begged to either.

Caleb sat on the other side of the living room, cleaning the stained mask you discovered earlier. His frown was the same as minutes earlier, unrelenting and as dark as ever. He’d spare glances at you every so often, maybe of worry— maybe of promise. For sure, he didn’t like the outcome of this game.

Another horror show played in the background— the infamous Frankenstein in its glorious black and white. It was your favorite, however, it just filled you with dread.

The creep who caught you had you on his lap, his legs spread so that you could sit “comfortably” on his big thigh. What stopped you from moving slightly was the threat of the knife resting in front of your stomach, eager to gut you the moment you made an innocent mistake.

His fingers rapped on the loveseat’s edge, his gaze glued to the television. He didn’t say anything to you after, and you didn’t either. You’ve seen enough tense scenes to know how things usually play out— and you hoped that some protective neighbor was righteous enough to check up on you. But that’s a really far stretch…

“The party starts soon, we should get on the road.”

Your gaze shifts to Caleb, who tosses the mask on the coffee table. He leans forward from his seat, his elbows resting on his knees as he stares at Sylus.

“Leave her and let’s go.”

The thigh below you bounces slightly, making you shift from your center. You hear the man hum again, as if in thought. Yes, leave! Leave!

“I’ve changed my mind.”

You feel his breath tickle your ear, causing the little hairs behind your neck to rise. He’s an expert with how he talks, because it has you fighting internally to fight or flight.

“Excuse me?” Caleb scoffs, his expression in discontent, “We’ve planned this for over a month and you’re going to call it off? Since when do you call the shots?”

“I don’t recall you calling the shots either,” his voice is laced with subtle lust, “Moreover, I’d be rude if I didn’t use my dispensable prize.”

Use?

“She’s not an item,” your ex-friend growled, “And she’s more mine than yours.”

“Ah?” you feel Sylus’s hand trace your legs, his fingertips ghosting your outer thigh, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I do remember her saying— what was it sweetie?”

You didn’t know he was referring to you until you felt the blade get closer to your abdomen, and it makes you reply mumblishly,

“I-I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember?”

He sounds like he has pity, but you knew that was far from the truth. You looked up at Caleb, defiant and reflecting upon him a teary face. God, you loved him but this was not the moment. It sounded like he really wanted to leave you alone, but the fucking killer wasn’t giving him the light of day to do so.

You wanted to run far, far, far away from here and into the embrace of your Grandma. To feel her warm hugs and hear her sweet soothing voice would be utterly divine right now.

“How about we remind him?”

He whispered it so only you would hear it, but Caleb immediately understood your wide-eyed expression. The white-haired had traveled the knife up towards your sternum, reflecting your quivering eyes below.

“Do you know how it feels to be eaten?” he whispers, lips grazing the shell of your hot ear, “Like a sweet cream dessert?”

“No.”

Your voice is meek and it feels like the world has drowned out with how the knife’s blade glinted in a wicked grin.

“Tsk tsk, your best friend never ate you out?” his palm recedes back to your pelvis, palming it, “Poor thing…I can change that. You only have to say please.”

You didn’t have an option anyway. You felt your sweat trickle down your neck, making you feel sick as you whisper;

“Please.”

It only brings you a moment of relief when the blade is retracted and tossed to the side— but the moment you look up at Caleb, you already realize what you have done.

“She’s mine, and you need to fucking respect that.”

He nearly pounces from where he sat, but the dignity he has allows him to resist a while more.

“She said, please.” Sylus roughly pushes you forward, making you flail as you bend to palm the floor, “And I’m respecting that.”

Your hips are moved up, your knees lifted slightly from its kneel. Blood rushes to your head and breathing alone in this position is difficult to say the least.

The slasher squeezes your ass, massaging its mounds as he teases Caleb once more,

“She’s quite the fortune you’ve been hiding partner, it’s very sad that I’ll have the first taste of it.”

“You’re on thin ice, Sylus,” he spat, “I’m going to—“

“Oh but I’m not going to be rash— you can have her after I’m done. Like a dog fed scraps.”

You didn’t have to see to know Caleb wasn’t very pleased with the analogy. He angrily huffed and leaned back on the couch, his leg bouncing impatiently as he stared back at the television.

“Now, where were we?”

The man behind squeezed your ass once more before reaching the hem of your pink shorts, making you twitch slightly from your position. The gloves made his touch cold on your skin as you felt the cloth be pushed down to your knees, pooled along with your panties.

He didn’t say another word and lazily stroked your folds, taking whatever horrid turn-on you had leaked off you as temporary lube. Hell, it was like he was preparing food— difference is, you’re alive on the dish.

His thumb prodded at your hole, making small circular movements to see what reaction he could evoke from you. When you didn’t say much, he traveled his hand down to your clit. Slight pressure was pressed on the tiny bud, and you bit your lip to suppress any noises that’d accidentally escape.

He hummed, “Well, well. I suppose it takes more than light teasing to please a woman like you, hm?”

Yeah. You dead would please me.

As if hearing your thoughts, he dragged your hips forward harshly— evoking a squeak as you found leverage on the man’s thighs. Your front thighs rested on his shoulders, his hot breath fanning your slick pussy. The thought of being ate in front of Caleb was embarrassing, and you hoped that his love for horror would distract him from seeing you unraveled like this.

Before you could feel the rapture, the familiar cold metal was pressed on your skin yet again. It traced your thighs, making your skin raise slightly at the rifts and turns it delicately made.

“Now this is something worth filming,” he chuckled, “Hey partner, get the camera.”

To your surprise, Caleb didn’t retort. He simply stood up, then left for a brief moment, and returned with an old camera. It was one of those old style ones that were considered the 2000’s aesthetic— but considering the situation, it didn’t look quite attractive.

You slowly lifted your head to see him stand before you, your head at the perfect position before his pelvis. He catches your gaze and gives you a sad smile,

“Don’t want to see me, huh pip?”

He reaches for his cleaned mask and plops it on his persona. His eyes became invisible to you, and only that looming ghost face taunted you as it turned slightly down. The rest of the balaclava covered his head and neck, making his reactions discreet to you.

The click of the camera was heard, and then some buttons pushed, and then a gruff reply,

“Make it quick, I don’t want to see her like this.”

The white-haired grins, his finger motioning Caleb forward,

“I’ll let you take her front, but don’t be so pissed. We can attend that long-awaited party sometime later.”

You feel your heart race, and to your content, not a word is heard from your friend. The camera must’ve been recording, because a foreign wet muscle immediately plunged on your cunt. Your hands instinctively fly to your mouth, covering it with all the strength you had left. Your nails dug into your cheek, but it was no less stressful than the knife still tracing your thighs.

Sylus’s tongue darted across your pussy, teasing your clit softly in contrast to his heated breaths. You tasted divine and musk, the sweat from running away still lingered— and it excited him more. He’d be lying if he said he could’ve had all the pussy he wanted at the party, but discovering your existence and worth to Caleb…well that was just much better.

He does love a friendly rivalry after all.

Your legs shivered below him, getting untensed as you were deceptive to yourself. His gaze even met his partners, whose cock was rock hard and bulging through his jeans. Sylus gave one last lick on your clit, then gave one large lap on your hole— savoring the iridescent slick that dripped slowly from you. He pressed his knife on your cunt, flat and careful as he watched you twitch at the contrasting temperature.

You were way too cute writhing under. He was slow and taunting with you, giving languid licks as your fold parted each time. His saliva was warm and your mind grew fuzzy as you tried to focus on the rationale you tried to keep.

In front of you, Caleb was already riled up. His breathing could be heard from under his mask as he enviously watched the fucker in front of him devour your cunt. It should’ve been him doing that to you.

To lap up your cunt like a hungry dog and eat you the way you actually deserve— not slow and strict like this. He would’ve had you sat on his face, rocking your hips on his nose as you sang sweet melodies to his ears. He would’ve had you begging to go faster, deeper, and harder— but, it remained as fantasies.

Instead, your face was a blushing mess, and you were struggling to moan. He didn’t want you making a single noise for a man undeserving like Sylus, and it was coincidental that his cock was aching to be part of the action.

You felt your hair be tugged slightly, making you lift your head groggily. Your eyes were watery as you stared at Caleb motion you to his crotch,

“I’ll help you, pip, but help me first.”

You instantly refused, trying to dip your head back into Sylus’ lap— however, it didn’t go as you intended. Caleb kept your hair in a fist, keeping you slightly in place, and then he signaled his partner;

“Hold the camera.”

Sylus lifted his red eyes slightly, then hummed. Your pussy thrummed as he kept making slow licks, teasing your aching hole with the tip of his tongue. He was too content to bother, but considering the sake of ruining you— it should be well worth it. You watched as the camera was exchanged, and your friend unbuckle his jeans.

The mask covered any visible pleasure he had, but you didn’t need it to know. Caleb’s cock stood face to face with you, his tip leaking tiny beads of precum. His hair was kempt below, a happy trail making it if not more attractive to see. That is, if you weren’t scared of fitting that entire bulging thing in your mouth.

“Open up kitten,” Sylus pressed the knife tauntingly over your soaked folds, “Can’t keep the pup waiting.”

He watched as the other forced your wet lips open, your held-in saliva stretch as you took his length inch by inch. Your cheeks began to puff and you nearly gagged trying to breathe.

Caleb rocked his hips slowly, still fisting your hair as he grunted through the mask. Your tongue traced the bottom of his cock, your drool escaping your lips, trickling all the way down your chin. The other moved the camera to your pussy, zooming in with the blade’s light movement on parting your folds.

Sylus then stabbed the knife on the edge of the couch, making you flinch slightly. Noticing your fear, he grins,

“Oh don’t worry sweetie, I wouldn’t impale you— with a knife that is.”

Caleb sped up his thrusts, practically fucking himself in your mouth with sloppy noises resounding along with the television. You felt his cock kiss your throat happily, sliding along your wet cavern with ease. You heard his gruff moans through the mesh of the mask, holding himself back from spilling his seed inside you.

Your jaw ached with pain, your nose meeting his lavender-scented happy trail— but you were too far dumb to recognize his pretty lying. Behind you, Sylus chose to slip a finger in your pussy, the camera witnessing his leather gloves get soaked with your slick.

One push, then another, your sweet pussy made tiny pop nosies every time he took out his finger— and then once more as he slipped it in. He curled his index finger downwards, pressing against your squishy insides.

Your throat gurgled with a suppressed moan, making you vibrate around Caleb’s dick pleasurably. Then, the perpetrator decided to slip two fingers, stretching you wide as he finger-fucked you slowly.

It felt like a big build-up, and your friend was growing sloppy with his thrusts, curses spilling from under his mask. You just looked adorable with tears slipping down your beautiful orbs, and you needed something to adorn it.

In one more thrust, he pulled out, then slapped his cock somewhat gently on your lips. Your cheek fell victim to his release as he spurted himself on you, a long languid groan escaping his heaving chest. Your hand trembled as you reached to touch your cheek, and you could barely analyze the sticky mess before Sylus slipped another finger in you.

A sweet cry erupts from you, making you fall face-forward again on Sylus’s lap. The camera watched as he sped up his pace, his three fingers in a curl as he squished your spongey pussy for that incoming squirt. He wasn’t new to a woman’s body, so he already knew you were ready once your hips started fucking themselves on his palm.

“That’s it, chase it.” his voice is tinged with amusement, and he zooms in to your blushing folds, “Show the camera how you squirt for us.”

On command, your cunt squirts onto his black wear, creating a darker wet patch. You’re practically mewling with your raising hips, overstimulated with his unrelenting fingering, keeping you on another edge as he stroked another release.

Caleb’s cum is smeared on the others lap as you stuff your face between the strong thighs, making your final moan muffled and loud as you tremble. The white-haired finally pulls out, his gloves wet with your sticky fluid and beaded release, making him grunt in disapproval.

“If you don’t appreciate the artwork then don’t keep it,” Caleb frowned as Sylus ripped off his glove, ready to toss it aside.

“Oh? Don’t tell me you’ll keep it?”

“Even better,” he snatches the wet glove, tossing it perfectly inside his gym bag, “It’ll be my snack.”

“Didn’t know you were…special like that.”

Caleb picks you up from your armpits, folding your arms around him as you still spasm with aftershocks. His hand rubs circles on your back soothingly as he glares from under his mask,

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, and it’s best to keep it that way.”

Sylus grimaces, his red eyes narrowed as he thought of a reasonable argument. It was one thing to be surprised, yet another to be threatened. Both men had their fair share of encounters and killings, yet it didn’t matter because it was so difficult to learn about one another.

So seeing each other “bond” over you was more than necessary for their ever-lasting relationship. With a sigh, Sylus lifted himself from the couch, stretching his arms as he prepared himself for the main course.

“Anywhom, let’s get straight to the point. You want to fuck her and I want to film, how’s that?”

“There’s no benefit in your end.”

The other chuckled as he undressed himself, taking off his blazer and other hunting gear.

“Oh how right you are, I forget you still have a brain in that sick head of yours.”

Caleb sat in Sylus’ place, keeping you on his lap as he positioned you slightly over his cock. Your head lolled around your shoulders, your brain fuzzy as you tried to make out the television’s grey pictures. However, it was soon covered with toned abs, pale and leading down to another weeping cock.

Your chin was lifted slightly, and you were met eye to eye with the horrid man again. Beneath you, your panties and shorts were torn off, and another cock rubbed itself on your glistening folds. Its fat tip pushed slightly in your stretched hole, being gentle as it slipped inside with your tight grip.

“I’m glad we meet again, it’s been a while since we saw eye to eye.”

You didn’t have the energy to laugh at his sick joke, and the night’s events were draining you of your energy and awareness. Your hips were gripped tightly as they were pushed down onto the dick below you, fully engulfing it with a breathy moan. Sylus takes advantage of your open lips, and shoves his cock aggressively into your throat.

Your eyes squeeze shut as he grabs a fistful of your locks, keeping himself in control of you. He was balls deep, his girth hard to take in as your lips fully wrapped around his base. You probably looked pathetic like this, his hips snapping ruthlessly as the camera swung over your face.

The sickos will watch the tape for nights on end, and you knew that. Your consciousness was only maintained with the slam of skin beneath you, Caleb’s moans audibly heard as he used you like a fleshlight. Your pussy was sweet to the thrust, making lewd noises as he sunk himself in your warmth. It felt like absolute heaven to be in you, and in his mind, he still had a million positions to try out with you. You could be passed out or sleeping by the time he did all of them, but it wouldn’t matter— your muffled moans and trembles of your body was enough to know that you found pleasure in them as well.

“You’re doing so good for the camera sweetie.” Sylus gasped, his head tilted back as he felt his release coming in, “Fuck— such a good girl like this.”

Your tits bounced with each slam, roll, and grind of the men, completely disregarding your mewling moans. Another cumshot hit your throat, making you gargle as your hands reached for the waist in front of you. Your strength was simply not enough to push him away, because he kept fucking himself in you, pushing his cum down your throat forcibly.

Your nose burned and your jaw ached with the relentless brutality, but so was your legs. Caleb was like a dog panting over your ear, losing himself as squeezed your breasts and fingers fumbled over your clit.

You felt like you came every second, your legs and mouth adjusted to being wide open to every attempt. You were like a rag doll being manhandled in every position, stuffed and folded to their content. You lost count of the praise they gave you, as well as the subtle threats if you dare let their cum drip out of you.

It was overwhelming.

But. So.

Fucking.

Good.

The sound of television awoke your slumber, and you moved to thrumming aches in your body. It took you awhile before your eyes adjusted to blinking lights, and you turned, seeing the television still on.

It was still playing the slasher movie, making you confused as you stared at your surroundings. Nothing was off— nor was there sight of Caleb.

Your coffee table still had your serums and the slightly-open nail polish. You were enveloped in your crow blanket, nestled on the loveseat of the living room.

“God, I need to stop watching scary movies.” you mumble, slapping yourself on the face with a wince, “Caleb was right, they’re not for me.”

Your brows instantly furrowed as you stared at your hands. The blinking lights made you doubt what you saw for a second, but then it was as clear as day.

Your palms were scratched.

As if you were climbing bricks.

Your eyes widened as you threw the blanket off yourself, your mind running over the not-so-fake dream. It can’t be real, it absolutely can’t. Your thoughts were soon interrupted, and you turn, seeing the vibrating kitchen phone.

Unknown caller ID, receive voicemail? Press 1 to accept. Press 2 to decline.

You sprinted to the kitchen, ignoring the ache in your legs as you frantically pressed 1. The sky was still dark, and you listened to the following beep,

“I never got to ask sweetie, so I’ll leave this message.”

A brief pause.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

work and rights belong to me, laurel.

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amore-memento · 10 days ago

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It is also important for authors who tag "non-mc" although it is clearly not. Really frustrating! I want to read only non-mc fics, not this annoying pick me mc! 🙄

IF YOU WRITE A “LADS X NON MC” FIC! DONT FUCKING TAG IT AS “LADS X MC”! SOME OF US DONT! LIKE! THAT! AND HAVE A FILTER LIST OF 30+ DIFFERENT ITERATIONS!

BUT THAT DOESNT HELP WHEN YOU DONT TAG YOUR SHIT CORRECTLY!

I’m literally just going to start blocking bc it’s so easy to tag correctly.

I don’t like the angst, I don’t like how the guys get (mis)characterized. I don’t like how pathetic the non mc always is.

And I usually walk the walk on “don’t like don’t read” but yall are shoving it in my face and even tagging incorrectly to get your fic more views. Because you HAVE to know by now how to tag and the fact that it’s something others don’t want to read.

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amore-memento · 19 days ago

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He can break us wherever he wants, BUT I want to break him to kneel at least one time! And I could see a flicker of fear and this breaking when non-mc tried to reject him in first chapter. Honestly it would be such a satisfying moment to see him if not crying, then at least really wild and mad (another opposition of breaking haha) at reader. I would wait and beg for it. Again thanks for such a hot story!

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☘︎ CALEB’S GIRL TOY ch. 2

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If you’re new here: check the earlier chapters. I promise it started softer. Sort of.

Details: 5200ish words of unraveling. You bring the dessert. C takes you out in public just to remind you who owns you… in private… in public… doesn’t matter. Fingertips disappear under linen. You smile through dinner. He says “forty minutes.” He means “forever.” This fic explores domination through a man unraveling in slow motion. If control play, emotional manipulation, and intensity kink aren’t your thing—no hard feelings. Turn back now. There’s nothing for you here.

Featuring: 18+ mdni. Sub!fem reader x dom!Caleb (possessive, dangerous, broken, cute(:). Yearning but make it broken. Freak table manners. Choking. Emotional manipulation. Fingering. Control framed as care. Dubcon? At least consent-blurring dynamics. Voyeurism. Psychological domination. Power exchange disguised as dessert. Safeword usage. Violence (not the MC). Non-verbal control. Trauma-coded sweetness. Glass breaks. The spell doesn’t. 60% filthy, 30% filthy angst, 10% romantic comedy of horrors. 100% angst. You know the drill. You’re the treat…? He’s definitely the problem(:

Chapters: Pilot Chapter 1

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Alexandrite | ch. 2

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You thought he was joking when he said it would be public. That he’d take you somewhere that wasn’t shadowed or locked or behind one-way glass. And yet—

Here you are. Walking toward a restaurant. An actual restaurant.

He’d texted earlier in the afternoon. A dress code, he claimed, with the audacity of another kissing emoji.

C: Something black, maybe? Not too tight. Hair up if you want, but I’d like it down…I can always fix that. Silver earrings=non-negotiable :*

It read like flirtation. It was flirtation. But also a command. You’d obeyed. Of course you had. And when he picked you up—he didn’t honk. He didn’t send a text. No. He stood waiting outside his car. A lambo. Slate-black. Gleaming under the streetlight. And him? In a suit that looked like it still had the tag on. Crisp. Charcoal. Slight sheen. He looked—

… Well.

Like a boy pretending to be a man. Or a man who’d once been a boy who tried so hard to dress right for the first real date of his life…. Or maybe: A man still hoping that if he dressed up right, no one would see the blood on his hands.

He kissed your hand before you could open your mouth. “Evening, ma’am,” he said, with a grin that made your stomach flutter. “Heard you might’ve baked for me.” He tapped the box you held in one hand, eyes gleaming. “Offerings? For your favorite sinner? Ooor do I have to earn them?”

You flushed. He didn’t stop smiling the whole drive. He drove slowly. Calmly. Let you pick the music. Tossed soft little jabs, complimented your perfume before the first red light. The windows were down. The city lights made halos out of his hair.

And when you arrived, he got your door, took your hand, and whispered, “Don’t look so scared. It’s not a trap.”

——————————————————————————

The restaurant is one of the most exclusive in the city. Intimate. Quiet. Your heels sound soft against the hardwood floor—tap… tap—like your presence is being announced whether you want it or not. C’s arm is linked through yours.

It’s dim, but not too dark. Candles flicker low on tables. There’s laughter somewhere in the back, but muffled—like every table is its own little world. You pass couples mid-conversation. One touches another’s hand across the table. A man pours his date another glass of wine. All of them are dressed beautifully. Normal. Effortlessly casual.

And you—

You look just like one of them.

C pulls your chair out for you, flicks the napkin into your lap, fills your water glass before the waiter can even approach.

“That’ll cost you,” he tells the waiter lightly, flashing him a little smile. “Gotta earn that tip back.”

The waiter chuckles. “Duly noted, sir.”

To him, C is polite. Charming, even. But when the waiter turns his back, C leans over the table. “Relaaax,” he murmurs. “You’re the only one getting extra tonight.” He winks. You kick him gently under the table.

And there—between the white porcelain plates and the flicker of a candle—rests the little box. The mini pavlova. Still in its packaging. Still waiting to be unwrapped. He nods at the box, eyes flicking to yours. “Can I open it?”

You nod hesitantly. Cause it should be embarrassing. Probably is.

But when C sees it, his whole face lights up. No attempt to mask it. That real, warm-bellied smile. The kind that wrinkles the edges of his eyes and softens the whole world with it.

“You actually made it?” he says, like it’s a gift of 24karat gold. His voice drops, almost shy.

“Shit, that’s adorable.”

And now it sits on the edge of the table like a silent totem. A reminder of your obedience.

——————————————————————————

Dinner passes like a dream.He orders for both of you—asks for your preferences, of course, but doesn’t wait for you to answer before deciding. You eat slowly. He picks at his food. Makes you laugh. Let him foot-flirt you into giggles. Complains about a business call. Jokes about becoming a full-time critic so he can take you out more often and write scathing reviews.

And then, after a sip of water, he nods toward the pavlova. “You really brought me dessert,” he says, smiling. “Like I wasn’t clear enough about you being dessert.”

You roll your eyes, reaching for your glass. “I couldn’t risk it,” you murmur. “You’ve been a little… unclear, lately.”

He chuckles low in his throat, leans back in his chair like he’s about to say something devastating—

But then he rises.

Slow. Casual.

Still smiling.

He smooths a hand down the front of his shirt, straightens his cuffs, and looks down at you like he’s remembering something important.

“You’re allowed to keep looking at me like that,” he teases. “But don’t go falling in love at the dinner table.”

And just like that, the air shifts as he leaves.

Not heavy.

Not dangerous.

Just… waiting while your pulse skips like a coin across still water. He comes back and presents you with a box.

Small. Velvet. Pale grey, like storm clouds pressed into something expensive. C lifts an eyebrow, grinning. “Well,” he murmurs, fingers brushing the edge of the box, “since we’re doing offerings now…”

He leans closer, voice low and dangerous, eyes flicking to your lips. “I might not have meringue—but I am bringing something stiff to the table.”

A beat.

Then that smile—shit-eating and smug, all teeth. “Want to unwrap mine too?”

But before you can respond, he moves. Smooth. Pulls his chair around with all the confidence of a man who already owns the night. He slides in beside you. Close. Casual. Legs spread, one thigh pressed against yours. One hand resting on the table. His voice softens. Just a little. “Open it,” he says, nodding toward the box. “Go on. I wanna see your face.”

You do.

“… D—Do you like it?” he asks, watching as you opening the lid.

It’s… beautiful. A choker. Silver, delicate. Laced with blush-pink crystals. The centerpiece shifts when you move it—violet, soft green, blue like ocean water pulled into dusk. And when the light hits just right—it flashes red—like the soft part of the lip just before it bleeds… Like an apple left too long in the sun. And it matches your earrings exactly. The silver ones he asked for. The ones you picked with trembling fingers.

“Alexandrite,” he says casually, as if it isn’t the rarest stone you’ve ever seen in your life. “Aaand white gold.”

You hesitate, breath caught. Your fingers hover.

“You’re allowed to touch it,” C says, and his smile is gentle. Teasing.

So you do. The chain is cool against your skin, impossibly smooth. It feels too pretty to belong to you.

“May I?” he asks, lifting the choker delicately between his fingers.

You nod. And he leans over you—romantic, entirely presentable to anyone looking in from another table—and fastens it around your neck.

It clicks.

Not a delicate clasp. A click.

The sound of something locking.

He kisses your neck as if it’s nothing, boyfriend playing prince in candlelight. And then, from the other side of your ear, he lifts a key. Small. Silver. Barely larger than a charm, barely there at all. But he lets you see it. Dangling between two fingers—a secret only you get to know.

“A collar,” he whispers. “Just… prettier.”

Then, without a word, he tucks the key back into his innner pocket. He leans in again, fingers brushing the newly clasped collar at your throat. His voice drops—so soft it barely reaches past your skin.

“Are you starting to realize what it feels like to be owned?”

You nod—just once. Small. Controlled.

Violet eyes darken, but the smile doesn’t fade.

“Good toy,” he says softly. His hand moves—slow, intentional. One hands slides beneath the fall of your hair, brushing along the back of your neck, then curls under the collar. The other hand moves up, and his index taps the stone.

The metal is cool against your pulse.

“Now. Be a good girl and smile for them,” he whispers. “But remember who you kneel for.”

No one around you notices a thing. To them, it’s just a gift. A romantic gesture. To you, it’s materialized ownership.

The hand that once tapped the stone disappears. Fingers brush under the edge of the tablecloth, slow and aimless like he’s simply adjusting something.

But you know better. You try to focus. You keep your posture. Chin up. Shoulders back.

His fingers find your thigh. Slips up your dress. Then gently tugs your underwear.

“… Can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t notice how wet you are,” he murmurs, lips grazing your ear.

You gasp. Your legs shift. He sighs, low and fond as he plays with the edges of your painfully soaked panties.

“Hmm…? Flooding the chair already? We’re gonna have to work on your table manners.”

The waiter returns.

“Still deciding on dessert?” he asks politely.

C beams at him. “We’ll actually have the dessert she brought,” he says, voice smooth. “Would you mind bringing two forks? And—…extra napkins, if it’s no trouble.”

The waiter nods, pen poised. “Anything for the lady?”

C’s eyes never leave yours. And beneath the table—he slides a finger in. Deep.

You stiffen, breath caught, barely holding the moan inside. “N—no thank you,” you whisper. A gasp cuts through the words. “I’m—fine.”

The waiter bows slightly. “Very good.”

He turns.

The moment his back is fully to you, C sinks a second finger in beside the first. Presses deep. You fold forward, breath catching in your throat, shoulders curling as you struggle to keep the moan from tearing out of your chest.

“Posture,” he murmurs. His voice is low. Even. Chiding. His other hand hooks beneath the collar behind your hair. “You’re wearing me now. Try to act like it.”

The fingers inside you hold still.

“Say thank you,” he says, “when the waiter refills your water.”

You nod, barely able to think.

“And please when you want to come.”

You could scream.

“And… Say nothing,” he adds, “about the mess you’re making on this chair.”

The moment the waiter returns, C’s hand slides further. The two fingers curl inside. You whimper, teeth clenched behind your smile.

“Thank you,” you manage to say, breath barely even.

The waiter smiles and nods as he refills the water.

“Actually,” C adds brightly, without even a twitch in his expression, “we’d prefer not to be disturbed again. Not for… let’s say, at least forty minutes?” He glances toward you, still smiling. His fingers move—just slightly—and you nearly choke on air.

“Wouldn’t you agree, dear?”

You nod, lips parted and he kisses your temple sweetly—the kind of thing any man does at the end of a meal with the woman he adores. As the waiter walks away, one arm drapes around your shoulder. The other stays exactly where it is—buried between your thighs, fingers curling slow.

Your voice cracks. “Please?”

“Hah— No.”

He doesn’t even look at you when he says it. His fingers don’t stop moving—just enough to make your legs tremble beneath the table.

“Cut it,” he murmurs again. “Neatly. Then share.”

You try. God, you try. Hand trembling slightly, you slice the pavlova in two. The meringue gives under the pressure of your fork, cream oozing over the edge. C watches every motion with quiet amusement.

Then you lift the first piece to his lips. Just as his fingers curl, thick and wet inside you, making something slosh between your thighs.

You bite the inside of your cheek—barely suppressing a gasp. And he?

He just smiles. Parts his lips and takes the bite, slow—violet eyes locked on yours the whole time. He licks the fork clean. His eyes say what his mouth doesn’t.

“Mmm,” he hums, lips curving. “Lemon zest. Just a touch. And…” He tilts his head, mock-serious. “Vanilla bean?”

You blink.

He grins—proud of himself. “Knew it. You’re great at desserts, dear.”

His tongue darts out to chase a bit of cream from the corner of his mouth—so casual it almost disarms you. Then he nods toward the fork.

“Weell? Don’t be shy.” A slow smile. “Help yourself. I’m a little… occupied right now.”

You barely register your own hand lifting. Pavlova melts on your tongue but you can’t taste a thing—too focused on the heat building below, on the smug glint in his eye, on how utterly helpless you are to the rhythm he sets.

When a dot of cream stains the corner of your mouth, he brushes it away with his free hand. He presses a kiss just above your lip, soft as breath.

You try not to cry.

“P—please,” you whisper, voice barely there.

He smiles.

Shakes his head.

Not cruel.

Not kind.

Just sure.

C shifts in his seat—still the picture of calm, still smiling for the room—and presses a his thumb against your clit.

It flicks and pushes. Just right. Just exactly where you needed it. And exactly where you couldn’t take it. Your whole body tightens, heat coiling low and fast. Your breath catches behind your teeth, your smile locked in place. The napkin you’ve been white-knuckling slips from your lap. flutters to the floor—soft, weightless. You barely register the man at the next table leaning to retrieve it.

Until you do.

You look down.

Eyes meet. Just a glance. A stranger trying to be helpful. But his gaze flicks over your face like he’s seen something he shouldn’t—without even knowing it. And that’s when it hits you.

Your orgasm crashes down in complete silence. Violent. Shattering. A flood that robs you of breath, of thought—

C freezes. His fingers drenched, held perfectly in place. Your eyes flick to C, then down again—just in time to meet the gaze of the man now holding your napkin.

He smiles politely. Starts to walk toward you.

And C moves. With his free hand, he grabs the tall water glass—still full—and dumps it.

Right into your lap. It splashes across your thighs, his own, the floor. A convincing accident. Nearby tables gasp. “Oh fuck—” C mutters, leaping to his feet. “Shit, baby, I’m so sorry—waiter?”

The man beside you approches, napkin still in hand. “H—Hey, do you need—”

C’s there before the man can take another step. He plants himself between you like a wall. A long second passes. C stares him down—cold, expressionless, lethal.

“I got it,” he says—flat, dark, final. “Sit. The fuck. Down.”

Everything stills. The man hesitates. Then—backs off. No argument. No eye contact. Just retreat.

C doesn’t look at you. He throws a wad of cash on the table, grabs your wrist with that still-damp hand—and drags you out into the night.

——————————————————————————

In the car, he doesn’t speak.

Just slams the seat back. Yanks you onto his lap. Water-slicked thighs straddling him, dress twisted up, skin sticking to leather. His hands on your hips, gripping—desperately trying to reclaim you.

“Do it again,” he growls, breath hot against your jaw. “Now. On me. For me.”

But before you can move—before his fingers even dip under your soaked underwear—he stops. His whole body tenses beneath you like a wire ready to snap.

Then—

“Why,” he spits, “the fuck did you do that?”His voice is low, cracked, shaking with the weight of everything he’s trying not to feel.

“You didn’t listen.” A snarl. “You weren’t obedient. You didn’t take my orders. You looked at him. You gave him what’s mine.”

You try to speak—but his next words cut through the air: “Second lesson,” he snarls, “you don’t fucking cum for anyone else as long as you’re wearing that collar.” His grip tightens. On your waist. Your collar. His eyes are wild, glassy, fury biting at the edges of something deeper—hurt. Fear. Ruin.

“I told you to wait,” he growls, “and you cum for him? I swear, if he’d touched you—if he’d even fucking breathed too close—”

He cuts off. Jaw clenched. Like he doesn’t trust what might come out next. Then, quieter—broken: “That… That ruined everything.”

His hands fall away. He blinks once. Breathes deep.

“No—that’s.” The words tumble out of you, raw, too fast. “It wasn’t him. The tension—you—you built it up so much I just—” You trail off, breath catching, shame pooling low.

“You—” His voice falters. Shakes his head once, scolding himself more than you. “I—I know. You didn’t mean to. But you still did.”

His jaw flexes.

“…Shit,” he mutters. “Forgot the pavlova.” He shoves you into the passenger seat—just firm enough to leave your heart racing. Then pauses. Door half-open. Looks down at you.

Violet eyes still burning. But his voice? Deceptively soft. “I don’t need to tell you not to go anywhere, do I?”

Click. Lock. Smile. He waves. Walks inside. Casual. Calm. Rolls up his sleeves like nothing happened. Like you’re not sitting there dripping with want and shame and his scent all over you.

And then—he’s back. Pavlova in one hand. The guy from the other table at his side, stops to casually chat. Laughs at something he says. You watch the smile fall off C’s face in real time.

With zero warning, C grabs him by the collar with one hand. Then—bam. He slams the guy down onto the hood of the car.

“Enjoyed looking at her?” he snarls. “Then fuckin’ look.”

The man chokes out a sound. C’s eyes ignite. “You see this?” he hisses. “You see what you ruined? You think I won’t end you right here, right now?”

You see the guy try to look away—C grabs his jaw. “No. You watch. You’re lucky I didn’t gouge your e—eyes out. Pop ‘em. Like grapes.”

His voice cracks on eyes. Just barely. Like something caught in his throat mid-threat. Then, voice low and lethal: “Now go back inside. And wish you were never born with eyes and a dick.”

He watches the guy stumble back inside—muttering apologies, half-sobbing, ruined.

The door shuts behind him. Somewhere in the restaurant, a glass breaks. The crack carries farther than it should—sharp, clean. C doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even breathe.

Outside, the streetlamp turns the pavement red. You can’t tell if it’s rain from earlier or something else. But it looks like blood.

And C doesn’t move. Just stands there. Chest rising and falling like he’s run a marathon. Fingers clenched tight around the stupid pavlova box as if it’s the only thing holding him to this planet. Then—slowly—he turns to you.

Walks back.

Opens the car door.

His pupils are blown. His tie’s loose. His hands tremble, still mid-adrenaline crash. He sets the pavlova in the backseat. Doesn’t speak.

Then his eyes snap to yours.

He looks at you like he doesn’t recognize you. Or maybe like he sees you too clearly—and somehow that’s worse. His jaw works, like he wants to speak. But no words come out. Just a low sound. Something between a breath and a beg.

And then you see it.

That storm in him. Wild. Unfathomable. Still flickering with rage, but so tangled up in guilt and desperation that it hits like a tsunami. He exhales. Shaky. Like he might laugh. Or cry. Or both.

“I—I don’t know,” he says hoarsely, “if I should beg for your forgiveness… or bend you over the hood and make you forget this evening ever happened.”

A pause. His hand twitches at his thigh like it wants to reach for you but doesn’t trust itself.

“You broke me in there,” he says, quieter now. “You really did. I thought I was gonna burn the whole fucking place down.”

He rubs a hand over his mouth, fingers trembling, like if he doesn’t hold his own face together, it’ll shatter. His hands slide over the steering wheel, slow and tight, knuckles whitening. He exhales. “I—I didn’t mean to scare you. I—I’d never hurt you… y’know that.”

You shake your head fast. “I wasn’t scared for me,” you murmur. “I was scared for you. For what you might do... I—if it… got worse.”

He glances at you—sharp, startled—then huffs a small breath, almost a laugh. It’s tired. A little wrecked. “That’s cute,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You’re worried about me after you just saw that?”

You nod. “Yes.”

And he looks at you for a long second—like you’ve undone him all over again. He swallows. Laughs—bitter and breathless—and looks you dead in the eye.

You open your mouth. Try to explain, but the words stutter, catch in your throat.

“It wasn’t…” you start, voice shaking. “It wasn’t him. It was you. You—… the tension.”

His expression flickers. But he says nothing.

“I didn’t mean to—” Your breath hitches. “I didn’t mean to disobey. I just… I got caught in it. I swear I’ll never do it again. I’ll be good. I promise. Please don’t…”

He exhales, long and slow. Like the confession costs him something. Like this—the not touching you—is the real punishment. Then, quieter: “I don’t even wanna fuck,” he mutters. “Not right now.”

You nod quickly, swallowing the sting behind your eyes. “Okay. I’ll be quiet.”

He doesn’t respond. Just starts the car. The engine hums low, his hand steady on the wheel… barely. No music. No words. Only silence and your heartbeat kicking loud in your chest.

“… I—I just wanna sleep,” he says at last. “Just… lay down and forget tonight ever happened.”

He doesn’t even look at you when you pull into the hotel parking lot. Just sits there, engine ticking, eyes fixed on nothing. Then, softly—as if it hurts to say:

“Let’s just go to bed.”

——————————————————————————

He doesn’t speak as he carries you up to the suite—just holds you close, arms steady, like his body knows what to do even if his mind’s still too fried to process anything. He undresses you carefully. Not a strip. Not a tease. Just… gentle. Peeling you out of damp clothes. As if you’ll bruise if he moves too fast.

The shower’s quiet. No steam-slick kisses. No gasps. Just the water rinsing everything away. His fingers run shampoo through your hair; your hands drag slow lines down his back. But there’s something still tight in his shoulders—some knot that hasn’t loosened.

Afterward, when you’ve both dried off—towels wrapped, skin still warm—he reaches for something on the counter. A chain. The key. He fastens the clasp at the back, and lets it fall against his chest.

C lowers you onto the bed. Kisses you from your feet upward—one at a time. Ankles. Calves. The soft skin inside your thighs. Then a long, slow lick over your birthmark. He pauses there, mouth warm, and sucks it gently. By the time he’s face to face with you, there’s heat everywhere—his breath, his chest, the heaviness of him surrounding you.

He props himself up on his forearms, body bracketing yours, and one thigh slides between your legs—settling against your cunt.

But he’s not taking. His fingers ghost up your chest. Find your choker. Tap it once. “This means I own you, right?” he murmurs. “Means youre mine. Anytime I want, I could wrap my hand around your throat and feel that metal press into my palm.”

You nod, breath shallow.

“… But right now,” he says, voice low, “I need something else.” He lifts your hand. Kisses the inside of your wrist. Then traces it, until your palm is against his throat.

You tense. “C—”

“I want to sleep,” he says quietly. “That’s all. I just… I can’t unless I feel something. Unless it’s… you.”

You hesitate. He leans in, forehead brushing yours.

“Do you trust me?”

Your mouth opens. “Of course I do.”

“Then let me trust you back.”

He shifts beneath you. Not sudden. Not sharp. Just a quiet turn—like the gravity between you tilts—and then you’re straddling him. Skin to skin. But there’s no fire this time. No hunger.

Just need. Something older. Something aching and heavy and nameless. His hands settle on your hips first. Then drift. Guiding. Slow. He draws your hands up, fingers sliding over the shape of him—ribs first, where you can feel how tightly he holds himself together. Then higher, over his chest, where his heartbeat kicks. Higher still. Until he brings your palms to rest against his throat. There. His pulse. Steady. Vulnerable.

“Don’t take them away.”

You struggle. “What if I hurt you?”

He breathes deep. Eyes flutter as he shakes his head. “You won’t.” And then, barely above a whisper—

“Just let me go. Help me let myself go. Let me fall. Just for a little while… Please.”

His hands find yours again—guiding, not forcing. Positioning them just so over his throat like you’re the weight he’s been craving all this time. His voice softens to smoke.

“If you asked me to stop breathing, I think I would.” A breath. Barely a pause. “Just to hear you say when.”

You don’t answer. And that—that is the cruelest thing you do to him all night. You press your hands down. Not hard. Just enough for him to sigh. His muscles go soft beneath you, body melting into the sheets. You can feel the thrum of his pulse against your palm.

And for the first time ever… he looks like he might actually rest. His breath hitches beneath your hands.

“Yeah…” he breathes, eyes slipping shut. “Like that. Good girl.”

He exhales slow—it costs him something, and still… He gives it. His lashes flutter. His chest rises and falls beneath you, steady but shallow, finally relaxing after holding himself too tight.

“Just a bit… longer,” he murmurs. “Let me fall… apart.”

You don’t say anything. You just stay. Let your thumbs brush his jaw. Let your palms cradle the sharp cut of his throat. And when he slides his hands over yours again, curling them tighter—just a little—you let him guide the pace.

“You’re not… hurting me,” he whispers, sensing your hesitation. “You’re… helping.”

Time slows. You feel him give in. Body slack under your thighs, his hips shifting like he wants to grind but doesn’t dare. His neck presses into your hands, quiet moans leaving his lips like he’s half-dreaming.

You lean in. “I’m here.”

Trembling hands find your ribs. He holds you there—bracing for impact, or maybe just trying to memorize the shape of you above him. Thumbs brush slow over skin, then still—right over your birthmark. He lingers. Traces it once, gentle.

“You know what… I hate about it?” he murmurs, still tracing the birthmark with one finger. “It’s real. No matter how hard I try to forget… or pretend…. it’s still you.” He doesn’t sound cruel. He sounds wrecked. Like something in him hates how much he loves it. Like this mark, this proof of your body’s imperfection, unmakes everything perfect he tries to build around it.

“But I think…” he breathes, “maybe I need that. Something true. Something that doesn’t break when I touch it.”

His hand shakes slightly as he cups your ribs—holding the mark. Then, softer still, almost like he’s afraid to ask: “Say my name.”

You swallow. Try. “I don’t…”

His fingers press, just a little firmer. Still soft..

“Caleb,” he says for you. Voice low. Certain. A vow and a plea at once. Then again—fingers right against your skin, fingers brushing your birthmark.

“It’s Caleb,” he breathes.

Your grip tightens just slightly. Your pulse matches his. Your voice barely makes it out, broken but sure:

“Caleb.”

And then—

His breath stutters. A choked sound. The kind that usually means he’s about to let go. But he’s not chasing that. He just lets go. Of tension. Of shame. Of the noise in his head. Of whatever’s been clawing at him from behind his eyes.

And then, barely audible: “Apple.”

Your grip loosens instantly. He blinks up at you, dazed. Boneless. Every last shard of tension drained from his body like blood from a wound.

“…thank you,” he whispers. Not teasing. Not smug. Just raw and quiet and honest.

Cupping his cheek you offer him a faint smile.

“Still want to sleep?”

He nods, eyes fluttering shut again. But not before he pulls you down to him—limbs wrapping around your back, legs tangled with yours, his head tucked into your throat like a man clinging to a life raft.

“Just stay,” he mutters. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He hums. Barely conscious now. His fingers drift to your choker—as if remembering it was ever meant to restrain. Then, with his lips pressed to your collarbone: “I wish I could stay here forever,” he whispers. “I’d build a whole life right here. Between your hands. Like you were made to hold me.”

The key rests between you now—cool metal pressed to the hollow of his chest. Even now, with his breath evening out and your hands still trembling slightly from holding him, it stays there. Silent. Weighty. And yet… he’s the one carrying the lock now.

A beat. His breath catches. And then, softer:

“Flawed. Still—… warm. Still strong… strong enough to scrape me open. Bleed on.”

Your breath hitches as you watch the way he softens. The way his mouth parts. The way his whole body lets go. The room is silent. The night presses in around you. Like it knows thst this won’t last. But right now? In this hush, where his pulse slows, where sleep drapes over him—

In this space your silence was made for the space between his heartbeats.

“… Don’t fall in love with me,” he murmurs against your hair.

You laugh. But he doesn’t. He just kisses the your necklace.

Then he turns away.

You stay like that.

Listening.

To the quiet.

To his quiet.

To the way he sleeps like this. As if, for one night, you’re gravity itself.

And maybe you are. Just for now.

Just for the night.

——————————————————————————

The night comes down like heaven

…

The whites of your eyes

Turns black in the low light

In turning divine

We tangle endlessly

Like lovers entwined

I know for the last time

You will not be mine

So give me the night

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: Since chapter one was a draft that I just had to flesh out (after more CGT was so kindly asked for) I just followed the dom/sub spirits and the bones of something I’d been chewing on… But for this chapter? Yea. I had to start summoning the angst gods (aka sleep token). I named it Alexandrite. You see why, right? I can’t believe I’m this deep in writing angst again. I really, really hope it lands. It’s still not full porn. It never was supposed to be. It’s more about what happens around the sex. Inside it. Beneath it. The power, the ache, the silence. I just hope someone’s enjoying this, because… I really like tuning into this register of mine. It feels like home (Caleb pun not intended but also intended). Anyway. I just wanted to say thank you for all the love on ch one. It honestly meant so much. Your comments and support gave me the final little push to lock myself indoors and write this… it had already been living in my head, but your kindness helped me let it out in a way that felt unrushed and natural. I always get a little nervous writing angst. It asks something more personal from me—pulls from real feelings, old echoes, that kind of thing. So when it’s met with warmth… it means more than I can say. Thanks for reading. Truly 🫶🏻

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amore-memento · 21 days ago

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It is so HOT! Why is it so hot?! And angst! Oh my god, I would like non-MC rejected Caleb just to see how he would break and cry! I really want Caleb to suffer! I am so hurt by his attitude but I like it at the same time. Please make him plead and cry!