#a head guard and his guard in training

[mangotelevision]

warrior garroth and his apprentice zenix

[bleachedclownguts]

i find it funny when people are like "if youre gonna be like that you can just leave" expecting you to immediately change your attitude and beg to be allowed to stay. i didnt even want to be here in the first place if you say the words "you can just leave" im outta there so fast i leave a me shaped hole in the wall.

especially if that person has been my employer for 10 whole minutes and has done nothing but rapid fire everything wrong with my outfit when they didnt tell me the dress code besides "black shirt and black pants" and then start getting rude and disrespectful when i start getting overwhelmed and ask if i can come in on thursday instead of wednesday so i can fix everything wrong with my uniform.

"if youre gonna be like that we cant have you here" ok bye! am i supposed to get on my hands and knees and beg you to let me stay? you have already shown enough disrespect for the whole day in 10 minutes when i have made it abundantly clear that this is my first job EVER and i am extremely nervous. you will not disrespect me just because you are my boss. respect is earned and that goes for people in positions of "authority" as well

(i write authority in quotes becasue what the hell are you gonna do? fire me? i just left! you have no real authority in the real world and you take that out on the people who work for you, because youre a weak little man with no control over his own life, who conditioned them into thinking they have no other real option besides working for you and homelessness. but you forget there are still people who have free will and can leave whenever they want, and autistic people who dont give a shit about what you think about them for doing that)

[meanderfall]

decided that the reason why 2003 splinter can be so laid back at times about the adventures his sons get up to is bc he knows he's unleashed hellions upon the world

[mwphisto]

Simple things that turn LnDs men on~

Including: Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus, and Caleb x reader. Reader is implied female but most can be interpreted however you please!

Warning, this post is 18+! Some lighter smut since my brain cannot handle anything else atm (I’m graduating university in 3 weeks)

Shifting banner from @cafekitsune <3

Xavier

Cuddling with you, seeing you sleepy and warm and soft in his embrace, under his blankets, in his bed. He can’t help it, you’re just so perfect, so sweet in this state. His hands can’t help but wander, sliding over your soft tummy, your thighs, eventually landing to cup your chest. His nose nuzzles into the crown of your head, inhaling your shampoo, and the next thing he knows? His hips are swiveling softly into the plush of your ass.

When you get mad. He’s not capable of explaining why his body has the reaction it does. Other than the plain statement of “you’re hot when you’re mad.” Which isn’t a lie, Xavier finds you so hot when you’re angry. Seeing you so passionate about something that it gets your blood boiling? He’s thinking of ways to get you to cool down. How easily he could switch the downward tilt of your brows into something far more… relaxed… pleased… blissed out…

Sitting on his lap is a definite way to get his attention. Xavier can get a bit lost in his hobbies, whether it be reading or scrolling articles on his phone. Sometimes the call of his name doesn’t snap him out of his trance. But you know what does? Settling your pretty self on his muscular legs, a smile on your lips, your hands cupping his cheeks and guiding him up towards your glittery eyes. The weight of you on him, the warmth, the surprise of his train of thought being interrupted, all of it has his heart rate spiking. Until all he can see, hear, and feel is you.

Rafayel

Matching his energy can totally catch the artist off guard — the absolute best way. To be blunt, you’re able to match his freak so well he can’t help but get turned on at how in sync the two of you are. His beautiful bride, perfect in every way. When you two are so effortlessly on the same page, he finds himself struggling to keep his composure. Luckily for him, you always seem to know what he’s thinking without him so much as saying a word.

Willingly being his muse just might send Raf into a coma. Seeing you sprawled over his couch, barely dressed so he can do some anatomy sketches has him shifting uncomfortably on his stool. Your sweet smile, delicate and skilled hands, the way you whisper his name while he scribbles on his paper with a rosy blush on his cheeks. You’re just so effortlessly beautiful it drives him insane.

Noticing the smallest details about him will get his head spinning. Rafayel harbors a lot of mixed emotions regarding his past and he loves you wholeheartedly but sometimes he just can’t… let go. When you take the time to get to know him — or as much as he’s willing to give you — and you actually pick up on things that go unsaid? His head is spinning, his heart pounding, the seal on his chest burning brightly. He wants to devote himself to you, it’s just part of his nature at this point. Eventually, he’ll work through it all and give into what he needs most…

Zayne

Your laughter sends his heart into a nose dive. He’s never been one for jokes, his dry humor often carrying him through. But when he says something that genuinely has you belly laughing, his name a sweet melody on your lips as you try and contain your giggles? He’s shifting his legs to hide the growing tension between his legs. You look at him with such adoration, so sweet and delicate, he has to reign himself in before frost creeps up his neck.

Giving him your full attention when he begins to ramble about nerdy medical things definitely causes the surgeon to lose his train of thought. You may not understand the scientific terms he’s using, and you may feel a bit bad when he has to explain them again with simpler terminology, but your attention is undivided regardless. And Zayne notices, of course he does. His heart is pounding as he rattles off all of his fascinations — such as new research he’s compiled about neonatal heart defects. You’re so engaged with him, nodding along and even asking him some questions. He’s fighting the urge to kiss you senseless. After a long day you’re so willing to listen to him ramble on about his research? He’s going to marry you, and fuck you senseless for being such a good girl.

Taking care of him, such as shaving his face or washing his hair will have Zayne be putty in your hands. He does so much for others, puts so much care and effort into making their lives better. It’s only right that you step up and do the same for Dr. Zayne. Though, bless him, he didn’t expect you to straddle his lap and shave him with a straight razor. Didn’t expect to be engulfed by the sent of your perfume as you settle your weight on his legs and glide the razor over his skin. It’s intimate, the proximity of your bodies is close enough to generate some warmth. He’ll lose it before you’re able finish one side of his unshaven cheek.

Sylus

Skinship with the leader of Onychinus is pretty special. Sylus savors every second of it, given that your hands rarely touch him outside of holding his waist when on his bike. The feeling of your fingers on his cheeks, your legs caging his as you sit together on the couch, your fingers intertwining with his. He’s a goner, so touch starved it’s nearly pitiful. He’s always been a man of composure, but god dammit you’re just so soft compared to him. You’re so warm and smell so good and you’re just so… you’re so sparing with your touches. As if you’re hesitant, not sure if he’d want your hands on him in the first place. Drives him so insane, he craves to hold you close but doesn’t want to push you before you’re ready.

Seeing you wear clothes he picked out for you has Sylus adjusting his collar and inhaling deep through his nose. His mark is on you, even if it’s not on your skin, you’re dressed so beautifully. You match him, compliment him perfectly. You look so breathtaking he has to mentally pat himself on the back for having such damn good taste. Seeing you feel yourself in what he’s picked does wonders for his already big ego. Seeing you twirl and smile as you admire yourself in the dress, the skirt, the pants, the shirt, whatever he’s picked out for you for the occasion. It gives him a sense of pride, like he’s done good, and it’s a genuine plus that you look so goddamn perfect in every outfit.

Kissing his knuckles nearly sends him over the edge one night. You had finished cleaning some wounds while his evol recharged and sealed the deal with a gingerly placed kiss on his battered knuckles. Sylus nearly sees stars because of it, such an overwhelming surge of possessiveness and heat flooding his weary veins that he nearly pops a hard-on then and there on the floor.

Caleb

Stealing his clothing is something you’ve always done. Something about it being comfier, softer, smelling like him. God he doesn’t even care for the reason, he just knows you look so divine in his shirt, his boxers, his hoodie. So cute and small compared to him, marked as his for anyone who has the gracious opportunity to see you in such a state. He guesses it’s only fair you steal his clothes, since he has a small — but growing — collection of your panties—

Relying on him 100% would put Caleb on cloud nine. Giving up your tough guy act and simply putting all of your needs on him would have him struggling to keep his composure long enough to actually see the tasks through. Could be something as simple as asking him to cut up some fruit for you, could be as complicated as giving your bike a tuneup. Regardless, Caleb is blissed out and glossy-eyed as he shows his love for you in his favorite fashion.

Slipping into his bed in the middle of the night has been something you’ve done since childhood. Bad dream, can’t sleep, anxious or stressed, Caleb’s arms have always been your biggest comfort. He waits for it, waits for the creak of his door and your quiet whisper of permission. He craves the dip of his mattress, the weight and warmth of your body next to his under his sheets. He has to be mindful of where his hips land on you, purely out of fear that you might feel something you’re not supposed to just yet.

[energ00n]

[ What is it, little lord? ]

New character!!! And it's cockroach man !!!

Starscream, leader of the High Guard. Due to Megatronous' growing approval of D's capability, it's been expected that D shall become commander of the High Guard one day and thus he gets personally trained by them.

Starscream scoffs at the idea, seeing D-16 who has yet to even receive his cog as still largely naive and powerless. However, after countless attempts to sabotage him, D-16 consistently perseveres and proves his worth. Over time, the two develop a certain mutual respect.

Starscream still pulls tricks on him but only to keep him sharp. If he's going to have this mech as his commander one day he better be a good one

Bonus:

D has a certain reputation so he holds himself tight outside his usual circle. He keeps his manner in check constantly so as not to risk bringing Megatronous unnecessary trouble. Starscream dislikes the idea, since then he's taught Dee to never hold his tongue and lower his head with the High Guard.

That's why D is mostly well-mannered but gave Starscream an attitude here.

[beautifulplaceofyouth]

WERE YOU PLANNING TO JOIN ME?

summary - Driven by curiosity, you impulsively open Caleb's ajar bathroom door and find him, near-naked and captivating, polishing a gun. His intense gaze meets yours in the mirror, creating a moment of charged silence and unspoken questions.

pairing - Caleb!Yandere x Reader (Best friends!au)

(nsfw +18) - He is absolutely insane in this (they both are), inexperienced!reader!first time, male!receiving, female!receiving, vaginal raw shower sex, creampie, a lot of tears, gun play as in...literally, knife throwing, a lot of banter and tension, gravity and resonance evol usage, praise kink, nipple play, neck biting, pet names(sweetheart, baby, princess), a lot of dirty talk, he is very much bossy, possessive and sadistic as always. This is a little bit angst but sweet. He likes it rough.

w-20k - Got carried away with this one because I was too excited. I don't even care that it isn't like the original. I needed this.

Masterlist

The rhythmic drumming of the shower fills the opulent, cloud-kissed apartment. Skyhaven, a marvel of suspended architecture and technological prowess, hums with a quiet energy, a stark contrast to the sudden flutter in your chest. You're here, a visitor in Caleb's extraordinary world, drawn by a longing that has quietly bloomed over years of shared history. A mischievous impulse takes hold – a desire to catch him off guard, to inject a spark of playful surprise into his meticulously ordered life.

Your mind drifts back to the Chronorift Catastrophe of '34, a dark mark on the timeline that had unexpectedly woven your lives together. Orphaned in its wake, you and Caleb found solace and a surrogate family in Gran's warm, welcoming embrace. 

The bond forged in those turbulent years was unlike any other, a tapestry woven with threads of shared sorrow, unwavering loyalty, and a silent understanding that transcended words. Caleb, always the stoic protector, and you, the fiery, independent spirit, found a strange equilibrium within Gran's chaotic, loving home. He was your brother in all but blood, your confidante, your rock.

That was fourteen years ago. Now, standing outside his bathroom door in Skyhaven, in his own domain, the air thick with steam and anticipation, you feel a subtle shift in the familiar dynamic. The playful surprise you intend feels laced with something else, a tremor of nervous excitement that you can't quite explain.

Drawn by an irresistible curiosity, you move closer. The door is slightly ajar, a teasing invitation that your impulsive nature can't resist. A frown furrows your brow. It's unusual for Caleb to leave anything to chance, especially a door. The scent of his sandalwood soap mingles with the humid air, further fueling your burgeoning anticipation.

Against your better judgment, against the silent warnings echoing in your head, you push the door open. The hinges sigh in protest, a sound that seems deafening in the otherwise silent apartment.

The scene that unfolds before you steals the breath from your lungs. Time seems to slow, each detail etching itself onto your memory with vivid clarity.

There he is. Caleb.

Towering and undeniably male, he stands bathed in the diffused light of the futuristic bathroom. Water droplets cling to his skin, catching the light like scattered diamonds, tracing the sculpted lines of his back. The muscles ripple with restrained power, a testament to years of rigorous training and the demanding life he leads as a Fleetspace Colonel. His dark hair, usually impeccably styled, is damp and tousled, falling across his forehead in a manner that is both boyish and utterly captivating.

A simple white towel is slung low around his hips, offering a tantalizing glimpse of the lean, powerful physique beneath. But it's not the near-nudity that truly stops you in your tracks.

Around his neck, nestled against the tanned skin of his throat, gleams a familiar piece of silver. Your silver Chan dog tag. The one you gave him the day he left for DAA, a small token of your affection and unwavering belief in him. He’s always worn it, a constant reminder of your shared past, a silent promise of enduring connection. The sight of it there, against his skin, sends a jolt of unexpected warmth through your veins.

Caleb is standing in front of a large, impeccably clean mirror, his reflection staring back at him with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. He's doing something with his hands, something that makes your heart pound in your chest.

Your gaze drops to his hands, and your breath hitches in your throat. He’s holding a gun. A large, black, undeniably lethal weapon. He is wiping it meticulously with a white towel, his movements precise and practiced.

As a hunter yourself, you’re no stranger to firearms. They are tools, instruments of protecting the city from wanderers, as familiar to you as your own gun you wield with deadly accuracy. You've seen Caleb handle weapons countless times, witnessed firsthand his skill and expertise. But seeing him here, in the sterile intimacy of his bathroom, polishing a gun with such focused intensity, feels… different. Disturbing, even. This isn’t the Caleb you know. Or perhaps it is, just a side of him you haven't been privy to before.

Your eyes travel back up, drawn to his reflection in the mirror. And then, they lock with his.

His eyes, that arresting shade of violet that has always held a strange power over you, are fixed on yours. There's a flicker of surprise, a fleeting shadow of something unreadable, before they settle into an unnervingly calm, assessing gaze.

Shit.

The silence stretches, thick and heavy with unspoken questions and burgeoning awareness. You feel like a deer caught in headlights, paralyzed by the intensity of his stare. Your mind races, desperately trying to formulate an explanation, a plausible excuse for your blatant intrusion.

He lowers the gun, placing it carefully on the pristine countertop. The sound is almost deafening in the otherwise silent room. He doesn't break eye contact.

“Were you planning on joining me?” His voice is low, a rumble that vibrates through the air, sending a fresh wave of heat washing over your skin. 

There's a teasing lilt to his words, a hint of amusement that barely masks the underlying tension.

You swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry. "I... I just wanted to surprise you." The words sound weak, unconvincing even to your own ears.

A slow smile spreads across his face, transforming his features, softening the harsh lines of his jaw. "You succeeded." He takes a step closer, closing the distance between you, his eyes never leaving yours. "Though I must admit, I prefer your surprises to be a little less… intrusive."

You flush, your cheeks burning under his scrutiny. "I didn't mean to… to intrude. I just heard the shower, and..." You trail off, unable to articulate the jumble of thoughts and emotions swirling within you.

"And?" he prompts, his voice a husky whisper.

You take a deep breath, trying to regain your composure. "And I thought I'd catch you off guard."

He chuckles, a low, throaty sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "You always were a noisy person, weren't you?" 

He takes another step, and now you're close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, to smell the lingering scent of sandalwood and something else, something uniquely Caleb.

"Only when necessary," you retort, your voice regaining a touch of its usual fire. "Besides, you leave the door open. What did you expect?"

"Perhaps," he says, his gaze dropping to your lips, "I wanted to be caught."

Your heart leaps into your throat. "Caught doing what, exactly?"

The air crackles with a strange energy, a mixture of tension and something undeniably… charged. Before you can fully process the situation, he uses his gravity manipulation – a casual display of power that still sends shivers down your spine – to slam the door shut behind you with his mind alone. The click of the lock echoes in the suddenly confined space, a definitive sound that seals you both inside.

You jump, startled by the abruptness of it all. The sound reverberates through the apartment, amplifying the awareness of your isolation. Your heart pounds a little faster in your chest, a mixture of apprehension and a thrill you can’t quite explain.

“Just making sure no one else gets any ‘surprising’ ideas.” His eyes twinkle mischievously, the light glinting off the moisture in his now-drying hair. But beneath the playful glint, there’s an unmistakable intensity, a smoldering ember that catches your breath. 

He runs a hand through his damp hair, that simple gesture somehow drawing attention to the sculpted lines of his shoulders and arms, unconsciously giving you a full view of his muscular physique. The water droplets cling to his skin, emphasizing the lean strength that's usually hidden beneath his uniform. 

"You know," he begins, his voice a low drawl that seems to caress the air.

You frown, pulling yourself back from the brink of distraction. "In your apartment? Really?" You scoff, trying to inject a note of normalcy into the increasingly unusual situation. "You're a colonel, you know better than to leave your own home vulnerable. You wouldn’t let just anyone in like that… And besides," you shrug, gesturing vaguely, "you added my fingerprint to your automatic door lock, remember?"

He raises an eyebrow, a slow, deliberate movement that accentuates the sharp angles of his face. A smirk, knowing and undeniably attractive, plays on his lips. 

"True," he concedes, his voice laced with amusement. "But you never know when someone might try to pull a fast one, even with biometric security." He backs away from you, moving with the effortless grace you’ve come to expect, and leans against the counter, his arms crossed casually over his chest. The posture is relaxed, almost nonchalant, but you sense the underlying alertness, the coiled energy that’s always present. "Besides," he adds, his gaze locking with yours, "I didn't expect you to be the one sneaking up on me."

You scowl, your carefully constructed composure starting to fray at the edges. "I didn't… I just wanted to give you a surprise visit. I didn't know you'd be polishing your toys," you nod pointedly at his gun, lying disassembled on the nearby counter. The metal gleams under the lamplight, a stark reminder of the dangerous world he now inhabits since you got together again.

He chuckles, the sound a warm rumble in his chest, and uncrossing his arms to pick up his gun again. He examines a piece with careful precision. "You should see your face when you make that scowl," he teases, his smirk widening. "It's quite... endearing." He polishes the gun absentmindedly, his movements fluid and practiced. "So, no sneaking around to steal my food or snoop through my stuff this time?"

“Excuse you?” You exclaim, indignation flooding your voice. “I’m not… I just…”

He cuts you off, still chuckling. "Relax, I'm just messing with you," he says, his voice softening slightly. He sets the gun down with a soft clink and walks over to you, his movements fluid and predatory, like a panther stalking its prey. The space between you shrinks, the air growing thick with unspoken desires. "You're the only one I let get away with stealing my food, remember? It’s practically a tradition at this point."

“It’s not my fault that you always give me snacks…” you mumble, trying to deflect the intensity of his gaze. It's true, of course. He always has a stash of your favorite treats, and he never seems to mind when you help yourself.

"Because you always end up rummaging through my pantry anyway," he retorts, ruffling your hair playfully, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. He steps back, creating a sliver of distance, and resumes polishing his gun, his expression turning thoughtful. "Speaking of snooping..."

You clear your throat, a nervous tic that betrays your guilt. Your eyes dart around the room, avoiding his piercing stare. “I didn’t do it again. I swear.”

He pauses in his task, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. The playful glint is gone, replaced by a sharp, assessing look. "You promise?" he asks, his tone laced with skepticism. He sets the gun down with a sigh and turns to face you fully, his arms crossed again, his body a wall between you and the door. "You swear on your favorite chocolate bar that you haven't been going through my stuff lately?"

You look at the bathroom ceiling, as if searching for answers in the mundane. "Oh, would you look at that? There’s some dust." You point vaguely upwards, hoping to distract and deflect. 

The attempt is weak, even you know it. The dust is barely visible, and the pathetic maneuver only serves to confirm his suspicions. You’re caught, and you know it. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the telltale sign of your guilt.

He follows your gaze, his expression unreadable. "You're not distracting me that easily," he says, his voice low and even, a subtle rumble that vibrates through the humid air of the bathroom. It’s a statement, but also a dare. A challenge laid bare in the space between you. 

He moves with a quiet grace that belies his muscular build, each step deliberate and measured. The tiles are cool beneath his bare feet as he closes the distance between you. “Look at me,” he commands, the request laced with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken.

You back away, a primal instinct taking over as you try to create distance, a buffer between his raw masculinity and the sudden vulnerability you feel. The cool, smooth surface of the door presses against your spine, the only barrier between you and escape. But escape from what, exactly? The question hangs in the air, thick and unspoken.

He stops in his tracks, respecting the boundary you've unconsciously set. A hint of amusement dances in his eyes, a flicker of knowing that sends a shiver down your spine. "Afraid I'll catch you in a lie?" he asks, his voice a soft challenge, a velvet-wrapped threat. 

The air crackles with unspoken tension. He takes another step, closing the gap, his body almost pressing against yours. You’re trapped, caught between the solid, unyielding door and the magnetic pull of his presence.

Your throat tightens, and you swallow hard, the sound amplified in the confined space. Your gaze involuntarily drops, snagged by the sight of his damp chest, the water droplets clinging to the sculpted planes of his abs like tiny, glittering jewels. He’s fresh from the shower, his skin gleaming, radiating a heat that seems to seep into your own. 

You try to look away, but it’s like staring at the sun – blinding, yet impossible to resist.

He notices your wandering gaze, the subtle widening of your eyes, the almost imperceptible intake of breath. A slow, knowing smirk curls his lips, a predator recognizing its prey. His voice drops to a low purr, a sound that resonates deep within you. "See something you like?" he asks, the words laced with playful arrogance. 

His hand comes up, not to touch, but to stake his claim on the space around you, resting on the door beside your head, caging you in with the casual ease of someone who knows his power. His other hand reaches out, his touch feather-light as he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, to acknowledge the desire that’s simmering beneath the surface.

“Caleb…” you warn, the word a breathless whisper, a plea for him to stop, even though a part of you doesn’t want him to.

"Mhm?" He hums, a sound of pure amusement that vibrates against your skin. His finger remains tilted on your chin, holding you captive, his lips only inches away from yours. The air between you crackles with unspoken promises. His voice drops to a whisper, a seductive murmur that sends shivers down your spine. "You're the one who showed up unannounced in my shower..." He intentionally leans forward just a tiny bit more, testing your boundaries, pushing you to the edge. 

You can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, smell the clean, fresh scent of soap mingled with his intoxicating natural musk.

Panic flares, a desperate need to break free from the intoxicating spell he’s weaving. You turn your head, the movement abrupt and jerky, right as his lips brush your cheek. It’s a near miss, a tantalizing tease that leaves you breathless and yearning.

He pulls back slightly, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he notices your abrupt movement. "Missed by inches," he murmurs, his breath tickling your cheek, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps across your skin. 

He leans away from the door, giving you some space, a sliver of freedom, but keeping his proximity close enough that his damp skin still radiates warmth, a constant reminder of the intimacy you just shared.

You turn to look at him, your heart pounding against your ribs, trying to regain some semblance of control. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, the question barely audible, lost in the chaotic rhythm of your own breathing.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He counters, his eyes searching yours with a mix of curiosity and something else, something that makes your stomach flip. He raises his hand again, this time tracing the curve of your jaw with his thumb, a slow, deliberate caress that ignites a fire within you. "I'm just making sure you're not going to keep avoiding eye contact with me." The statement is a challenge, an invitation to engage, to stop hiding behind your carefully constructed walls.

You blush, the heat rising in your cheeks, betraying your carefully constructed composure. “I’m not…avoiding you…and…can you unlock the door so I can get out?” you stammer, the words tumbling out in a rush, a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation.

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk still playing on his lips, enjoying your flustered state. 

"Afraid of being alone with me?" he asks, the question laced with teasing mockery. But then, he relents, stepping aside and unlocking the door. "Here you go." He gestures towards the open door, a clear path to freedom, but he doesn't move away from it completely, keeping his body angled towards you, a silent promise of more.

You raise an eyebrow, mirroring his earlier expression, a spark of defiance flickering in your eyes. “That easy? I thought I will have to borrow your gun to shoot the lock.” The words are meant to be flippant, a way to deflect the intensity of the moment, but there’s also a grain of truth in them.

A laugh escapes him as he hears your joke, a deep, genuine sound that washes over you, easing the tension in your muscles. A real smile spreads across his face, transforming his features, making him look younger, more approachable. "You'd have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands," he says, still chuckling softly, the sound warm and intimate in the small space. 

His gaze flickers to your lips briefly, a fleeting moment of undeniable desire, before returning to your eyes, his smile lingering, a silent invitation.

This time you smirk, a slow, confident curve of your lips. “In love with it too much?” you challenge, pushing his buttons, daring him to reveal more.

"Damn right," he grins, his shoulders relaxing, the tension finally easing from his body. He unconsciously adjusts the towel lower on his hips, unknowingly giving you a better view of his sculpted abs, the movement casual, yet undeniably provocative. "You almost had me there with the shooting the lock thing." He chuckles again, the sound warm and inviting. If you were desperate enough to, you would probably do it but he knew you were bluffing this time.

Before he can predict your move, you lunge forward, a reckless impulse taking over. You run to take his gun, a daring act of defiance.

But before you can even grasp the gun, Caleb swiftly lunges forward with surprising speed, his wet feet slipping slightly on the bathroom mat. He regains his balance with effortless grace, using his evol to steady himself. 

He grabs your wrist just as your fingers brush against the cool metal of the gun, his grip firm but not painful. "Uh-uh," he chastises playfully, his voice a low rumble, a warning and an invitation all in one.

“I touched it,” you smirk, a triumphant glint in your eyes.

"You barely grazed it," He retorts, pulling his hand back slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He watches your smirk, your unknowingly tempting body language, the way your chest rises and falls with each breath. 

God, you’re killing him. He swallows hard, struggling to maintain control. "You know stealing's wrong, right?" He adds teasingly, the words a lighthearted attempt to break the tension, to mask the desire that's raging within him.

You glance at his gun on the counter beneath the white towel, the cold steel a stark contrast to the domesticity of the setting. Your fingers twitch, yearning to close around the familiar weight, to reclaim a sense of control in this tense dance you've been locked in. You try to reach it again, stretching but he anticipates your move with a speed that borders on preternatural. He shifts his weight, a subtle adjustment that places his body squarely between you and the gun. 

"Nice try," he chuckles, the sound a low rumble that vibrates through the air. His eyes, usually guarded and watchful, are sparkling with amusement, a playful glint dancing in their depths. But beneath the surface, you catch a glimpse of something more intense, a smoldering heat that sends a shiver down your spine.

He keeps your wrist gently but firmly in his grasp, his fingers warm against your skin, preventing any further attempts. His touch is light, almost teasing, but the underlying strength is palpable. "You really want that thing?" he asks, his voice a husky whisper that seems to wrap around you.

You shrug, feigning indifference, though your heart is hammering against your ribs. "You're so protective of it. Might as well be your girlfriend." The words are laced with sarcasm, a desperate attempt to mask the turmoil swirling within you.

His lips twitch with suppressed laughter, the corners of his mouth lifting in a tantalizing curve. "Jealous?" he teases softly, his thumb unconsciously rubbing a slow circle against your wrist. The simple gesture sends a jolt of electricity through your veins, making it difficult to breathe. "Here," he says, surprising you by releasing your wrist and placing the gun within your easy reach. 

"See if you can steal it." He challenges, his eyes dropping to your lips briefly, a fleeting moment that feels like a brand against your skin.

Your eyes glint with challenge, a spark igniting within you. It's not just about the gun; it's about the game, the chase, the intoxicating pull that exists between the two of you. "No cheating," you say, your voice low and husky, mirroring his own. "We can't use our evols."

"Deal," he whispers, a competitive edge creeping into his voice. He purposefully places the gun just slightly out of immediate reach, as if daring you to try. Then, he steps back, giving you space, ready for your move. His posture is relaxed, almost nonchalant, but his eyes are laser-focused on you, tracking every movement, every breath. They spark with excitement, the thrill of competition mixed with something else, something far more dangerous, that's becoming harder and harder to ignore.

With a swiftness that belies your earlier feigned indifference, you sidestep him, your body a blur of motion. You feint to the left, drawing his attention, then pivot sharply to the right, using the momentum to deliver a swift and precise kick with your elbow, sending the gun spinning into the air. You lunge forward, reaching out, your fingers closing around the cold, hard steel just as it begins to fall.

"-Shit," he curses under his breath, impressed despite himself. He moves to block your escape route, reacting purely on instinct, but in his haste, he ends up accidentally catching your waist in his arms. 

The air rushes from your lungs as his hands wrap around you, pulling you against him. For a moment, time seems to stand still. 

You're practically chest to chest, his rough breathing audible in your ear, mingling with your own ragged gasps. His heat radiates through your clothes, a tangible force that threatens to melt away your resolve. "You fucking cheated," he accuses, his voice a low growl against your skin.

“How? I said, no evols. Just our hands.” You fight to keep your voice steady, to project an air of nonchalance that you certainly don't feel.

"...Your foot," he mutters, his gaze flicking down to your feet before returning to your eyes, his expression a mixture of frustration and grudging admiration. His hands remain wrapped around your waist, his thumbs brushing against the curve of your hips. The contact is innocent enough, but the sensation is anything but. 

He swallows hard, his mind suddenly filled with inappropriate images, a dangerous dream landscape of him kissing you like he always wanted to and cross that line for once. "Give it back," he demands, his voice strained, barely a whisper.

You smirk, a slow, deliberate curve of your lips that you know drives him crazy with annoyance and amusement. You reach behind you, intending to stash the gun out of reach, but of course, he anticipates your move. He uses his gravity evol, the familiar force field shimmering almost invisibly around you both.

As you try to place the gun behind you, Caleb's gravity evol kicks in, the subtle pressure intensifying, making it impossible for you to move the gun away from his reach. You're caught in his invisible web, your movements restricted, your will subtly bent to his. He leans in slightly, his breath warm against your temple, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your very core. 

"Not so fast," he murmurs, the words a promise and a threat all rolled into one. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you a fraction closer, eliminating the already minuscule space between you.

“Uh…not fair,” you grit your teeth, the words forced out as you struggle against his evol, your muscles straining against the invisible force. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension coiled tight within him, mirroring the tension that's gripping you.

"All's fair in love and war," he murmurs, his face inches from yours. His eyes, dark and intense, flick down to your lips again, lingering there for a moment too long. The air crackles with unspoken desires, with the weight of years of suppressed longing. He reaches around you slowly, deliberately, his chest pressing against your back as he plucks the gun effortlessly from your hand with his other. 

The contact sends a jolt of electricity through your body, igniting a fire that threatens to consume you both.

He chuckles, the sound a low, throaty rumble that sends shivers down your spine, the gun now back in his possession, safely out of your reach. "You touched it because you cheated with your foot," he argues, his arms still wrapped possessively around your waist, effectively trapping you against him. 

He pulls you a little closer, as if testing the limits, his gravity evol making it increasingly difficult for you to step away, to create any semblance of distance.

“Caleb…stop it,” you hiss, desperately trying to regain control of the situation, of yourself. The proximity is intoxicating, too close, too dangerous.

"Stop what?" he asks innocently, even though his grip on your waist tightens slightly and his breath is warm against your ear, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps across your skin. He knows exactly what he's doing, and the smirk playing on his lips gives him away. "I'm just holding you so you don't try to steal my gun again." The lie hangs in the air between you, a fragile shield against the storm of emotions threatening to erupt.

You glare, fighting to maintain eye contact, but your gaze is drawn, almost against your will, to the silver dog tag chain nestled between his pecs, rising and falling with each breath. Your gift for him. A silent promise of safe return.

He feels your stare silver necklace glinting under the light, a tangible reminder of your connection. His mind wanders back to the day you gave it to him when he left for DAA, engraved with a little red apple and the words "When you come back". A lump forms in his throat, a wave of tenderness washing over him. His hands on your waist flex unconsciously, pulling you closer, as if wanting to erase the distance that has always separated you.

His eyes soften as he glances down at the dog tags, remembering the care and emotion behind your gift. The playful smirk fades from his lips as he realizes how close you are, your bodies almost melding together in the confined space. 

He clears his throat nervously, the sound amplified by the sudden shift in atmosphere. "You giving me that glare because you lost, or..."

"I will get that gun," you hiss, your voice a low, determined rumble. The air crackles with your competitive spirit, a challenge laid bare.

A low laugh escapes him, his chest vibrating against your back, sending shivers down your spine. "Is that so?" He challenges softly, his grip on your waist loosening slightly, but not enough for you to escape easily. His eyes spark with a mix of amusement and something more intense, a hunger that makes your breath hitch in your throat. "You want it that bad? Come and get it."

"Caleb…I swear…" you start, a warning laced with a hint of exasperation. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, a dangerous warmth that threatens to melt your resolve.

"You swear what?" His lips quirk up in a teasing smirk as he senses your growing frustration. With deliberate slowness, he slips the gun behind his back, keeping it just out of your reach, a silent promise of the game to come. "You're welcome to try," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, sending another wave of shivers through you.

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to resonate with his own evol, the unique energy that surrounds him, a key to unlocking his defenses. The air hums with anticipation.

"Smart," he whispers approvingly, feeling your evol activate, a tangible connection forming between you. Normally, this would be a fair competition, a test of skill and power. But with his arms still wrapped around your waist, trapping you against him, he's enjoying this too much to let you win easily. Instead of resisting your gravity pull, he uses it to his advantage, subtly shifting his weight, drawing you even closer. "You feel that?"

"Just a bit," you grit your teeth, focusing on the task at hand. "I will have it." The heat of his body is a distraction, a tantalizing temptation that wars with your determination.

He chuckles softly, his breath warm against your neck, making the hairs stand on end. 

"Is that a promise?" he teases, his grip on you tightening just enough to make it clear he's not going to let you have the gun easily. 

He shifts slightly, using his own evol against you, pulling you even closer until you can feel the hard planes of his chest against your back.

"Caleb!" you exclaim, a mixture of annoyance and something akin to pleasure coloring your tone. You can feel your resolve crumbling under the weight of his nearness.

"Too slow," He laughs, feeling your gravity push against him half-heartedly. He realizes you're trying not to push too hard, afraid of hurting him. His smirk widens, a predatory gleam entering his eyes. "You're not trying hard enough," He taunts, "Here, I'll make it easier."

You bite back a retort, your mind racing, searching for a way to break free from his intoxicating hold.

He shifts his body slightly, giving you a small opening, a sliver of hope in your current predicament. But instead of making it easy for you to grab the gun, he uses the opportunity to lean in even closer, his lips almost brushing against your ear, his breath ghosting over your skin. "Come on," he whispers, his voice low and challenging, husky with desire. "Show me what you've got."

You shiver, despite yourself, and swallow hard. The nearness of him is intoxicating, a potent cocktail of danger and desire. You decide to move, channeling all your energy into a sudden burst of momentum.

"There," He whispers softly as you move, finally putting some real effort into your evol. His smirk widens, a glint of admiration in his eyes. You're fast, he'll give you that. 

He sees an opening at your sudden move and takes it, his reflexes honed from years of training. He whirls around, mirroring your resonance pull, creating a vortex of energy between you.

"Hey!" The gun gets floated in the air above your head, spinning gently in the space between you. Since you were short, you couldn’t get it, your fingers grasping at empty air.

"Gotcha," he laughs triumphantly, watching the gun float effortlessly towards his hand from above. He catches it with ease, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He looks down at you, still floating about a foot off the ground, your arms stretching up to try and reach the gun, your brow furrowed in frustration.

"Caleb! It will not kill you if you give it to me," you plead, your voice tinged with a playful desperation.

He laughs heartily, his chest shaking with mirth. "And miss out on this?" He asks, gesturing to your futile struggle, his eyes sparkling with delight. "No way." He holds the gun just out of your reach, his arm extended high above you, a tantalizing prize. "Say please."

You pull a deep breath, steeling your resolve. You decide to use your other card, the one that always works, the one that exploits his soft spot. He always falls for that. Your eyes get sad, a well-practiced expression of vulnerability, and you pout, your lower lip trembling slightly. "You don't love me anymore," you say, your voice barely a whisper, laced with mock sorrow.

"Damn it," He mutters softly, his expression instantaneously softening, the playful gleam replaced with a flicker of guilt. He lowers the gun slightly, his eyes searching your face, his thumb caressing the cool metal. "You know that's not true," He says softly, his voice losing its competitive edge, replaced with a tender warmth. "Here," He lifts his chin towards the gun, floating it gently within your reach, surrendering to your carefully constructed emotional trap.

You lunge at it, your fingers wrapping tightly around the cool steel.

"Too easy," He laughs, a hint of exasperation in his voice, as you snatch the gun out of the air. He watches your serious expression, your pout gone, replaced with determined eyes, a triumphant glint shining in their depths. 

He swallows tightly, mesmerized by your transformation. "You cheated," He accuses softly, his competitive nature re-igniting slightly. "Using those puppy eyes."

You smirk, a mischievous glint in your eyes, as you look at the big black weapon in your hand, savoring your victory.

He shakes his head in amused disbelief, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "I fall for that every time," he murmurs, watching you proudly display your prize, his gaze lingering on your face, admiring your cunning and determination. Caleb spreads his hands in mock surrender, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "Congrats, you win this round."

You grin, feeling a surge of satisfaction course through you. "Yes."

The playful glint in Caleb's eyes is disarming, even as he playfully mocks, "Don't get too cocky," his voice a low rumble that vibrates against your skin. He takes a step back, a gentlemanly concession of space, yet the air crackles with unresolved tension. "You know I won't go easy on you next time." A pause hangs in the air, the silence amplifying the intimacy of the moment. His expression softens, a flicker of something deeper replacing the teasing. "You know what?"

"Mmm?" you hum, the sound a question and an invitation.

"You've gotten really good," Caleb says, the admiration in his voice a stark contrast to his earlier jesting. It’s an honest, unguarded compliment, a moment of genuine respect that makes your heart flutter. "I swear, in a few years, you'll probably be better than me." He chuckles softly, shaking his head as if marveling at the impossible. "Lucky for me, I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve."

A genuine smile blossoms across your face, warming your cheeks. "Do you think so?" you ask, the words barely a whisper, laced with a mixture of disbelief and hope. You know you were pretty good hunter but be better than him who is taller and stronger than you? That was a big compliment.

"Duh," he grins widely, that competitive spark reigniting in his eyes. He loves that you're humble, your lack of ego only fueling his desire to push you, to see how far you can go. "You're like a sponge. You learn something once, you got it. I swear, you're scary good." He laughs softly, a sound that always manages to send shivers down your spine. "Here," he says suddenly, reaching into a nearby basket. 

Without warning, he throws a small dagger in your direction.

Years of training kick in, instinct taking over. You react without thinking, your hand shooting out, effortlessly catching the dagger mid-air. Simultaneously, you set the gun you had been holding down on the counter.

He whistles appreciatively, his brows raised in genuine surprise. "Damn, you're fast today." The playful teasing returns, but there's an undercurrent of something more, a respect for your skill that he can't quite hide. He moves closer, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. His voice drops lower, becoming a husky murmur that sends a shiver snaking down your spine. "And you caught it perfectly." He reaches out to take the dagger, his fingers purposefully brushing against yours in the handoff, a deliberate act of provocation.

A wave of awareness washes over you. You instinctively hide the dagger behind your back, the cool metal a reassuring weight in your hand. It's then that you realize you're backed against the bathroom counter, the cool tile a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Caleb. 

He notices your realization, the triumphant smirk that spreads across his face a clear indication that he's exactly where he wants to be. 

He takes another step closer, effectively trapping you. His voice drops to a teasing whisper, a low rumble that seems to vibrate through your very bones. "Cornered already?" He leans in slightly, his eyes never leaving yours, a captivating gaze that holds you captive. "You know, for someone who just won a gun off me, you seem pretty vulnerable right now."

"You always do this," you scoff, the word laced with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "Play and tease me."

"And you always fall for it," he retorts, his face just inches from yours. You can feel his warm breath on your skin, the scent of him filling your senses. "It's cute." He reaches behind you, his body pressing against yours, a blatant act of intimacy designed to fluster you. His fingers brush against your back as he reaches for the knife you're holding, the deliberate contact sending a jolt of electricity through you.

You tighten your grip on the dagger, a stubborn refusal to relinquish control. The game is on, and you're not about to back down.

He feels you tightening your grip, a smug smile tugging at his lips. He loves this, the push and pull, the battle of wills that always seems to erupt between you. "Let go of the knife," he whispers, his eyes locked in the knife reflected in the mirror behind you. He can feel your knuckles turning white as you refuse to loosen your grip. "Last chance."

"And if I say no?" you breathe, the words barely audible, laced with a mixture of defiance and apprehension. You can't stop this cat and mouse play, this dangerous dance that always leaves you breathless and wanting more.

He chuckles darkly, a low, predatory sound that sends shivers down your spine. His breath is hot against your ear as he whispers, "Then I'll have to take it from you." His free hand comes up to rest on the counter beside your hips, caging you in, making it impossible to escape. "And trust me, you won't like how I do it."

You shiver involuntarily, a reaction to his words and the heat radiating from his body. Leaning back, his bare chest presses against yours, the solid muscle almost crushing you.

He feels your shiver, his smile widening mischievously. He straightens his arms, locking them beside your hips and pushing you further against the counter, intensifying the feeling of being trapped. "Last warning," he whispers, his voice low and commanding, sending a thrill of fear and excitement through you. "Open your hand."

"No…" you whisper, the single word a testament to your stubbornness.

He hears the defiance in your whisper, a surge of frustration and determination rising within him. Without another word, he uses his arm to press your hand against the counter, the knife still gripped tightly in your fist. With his other hand, he grabs your wrist, applying firm pressure. "Open. Your. Hand."

"You could easily cheat you know? Why are you adamant to take it directly from my hand?" you ask, your voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and defiance.

"Because I want to see how far you'll push me," he admits, his voice gruff, the honesty unexpected. He applies more pressure to your wrist, his other arm still pressing your hand flat against the counter. "Now open your damn hand before I break your wrist to get the knife out."

You gasp, the threat surprisingly intense.

Seeing your gasp, Caleb pauses, realizing the intensity in his words. He is a colonel in the military, used to commanding, never meaning to threaten you. His grip loosens slightly, but he doesn't release you entirely from the cage of his arms. A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans in closer, his voice lowering to a teasing murmur. "Gotcha."

"Did you just fucking threaten me?" you hiss, the anger bubbling to the surface.

He hears the anger in your hiss and feels a strange mix of amusement and unease. He leans in even closer, his lips barely an inch from yours. "Maybe," he whispers back, a challenge clear in his voice. "What are you gonna do about it?"

You glare, trying to mask the effect he has on you.

He holds your glare, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as he tries to suppress a smile. He can feel the tension radiating off you, making him enjoy this power dynamic a little too much. He flexes his arm, pressing your hand flatter against the counter. "Last chance,"

"Don't use your Colonel voice on me!" you snap, the outburst a testament to his control over you.

He feels a jolt at your snap, the Colonel voice slipping out automatically. He blinks, breaking eye contact for a moment, the memory of his past life a sharp reminder of the man he used to be. When he looks back at you, his expression is softer, almost apologetic. "Fuck, I'm sorry," he murmurs, his grip on your wrist loosening completely, his regret palpable.

You breathe heavily, trying to regain your composure.

He sees the heavy breathing, taking it as a sign that he's getting to you, that the game is still in play. He decides to push his luck, leaning in closer until his forehead rests against yours. "Open your hand," he commands, his voice dropping lower, taking on that authoritative tone again. "Or I'll…"

"What? Restrain me?" you challenge, your voice laced with a mixture of fear and excitement.

"Mm, something like that," he murmurs, his eyes locked with yours. He can feel his hands itching to grab your arm and pin it behind your back, to take control completely. "You leave me no choice but to use force," he whispers, his fingers slowly inching back towards your wrist, as if testing the waters.

"Caleb…" you breathe, the word a warning and a plea.

"Too late," he whispers, his hands moving quickly. He wraps his arm around your wrist and pulls it behind your back, trapping it between your shoulder blades. He steps closer, caging you against the counter with his body, making escape impossible. "Open your hand," he orders, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

"You goober!" you exclaim, the childish insult a desperate attempt to break the tension.

He chuckles at your insult, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Keep talking back and see what happens," he murmurs, his free hand coming up to rest on the counter beside your other arm, effectively trapping you. "One more chance to open your hand before things get... interesting."

“Interesting?” you breathe, the word catching in your throat, a strange heat blooming in your chest. It's a question, but also a confession. Suddenly, this confrontation, this tense standoff, feels…different. You don’t know why you're feeling this way. The adrenaline, maybe? Or the way his eyes are locked on yours, intense and unwavering. Whatever it is, it's undeniably a turn-on.

He notices the subtle shift in your breathing, the almost imperceptible tremor in your hands. He sees the way your eyes dilate, dark pools reflecting the fire that's beginning to flicker within you. He realizes that you’re not just angry or defiant anymore. 

A slow, knowing smile spreads across his face, a predatory curve that sends a shiver down your spine. He leans in even closer, the heat of his body radiating against yours, his lips almost brushing against your ear. 

"Are you enjoying this?" he murmurs, the question a low, seductive rumble.

“No…” you hiss, the denial weak, unconvincing even to your own ears. The fight seems to have drained from you, replaced by a strange, unsettling vulnerability.

He can hear the tremor in your voice, the subtle waver that betrays your true feelings. He feels the way your body is pressing against the cool countertop, trapped between his unyielding arms. He takes advantage of this newfound weakness, his body shifting slightly, a calculated maneuver that tightens his hold. 

His arm around your wrist pulls your arm up higher between your shoulder blades, forcing you to arch your back, accentuating the curve of your breasts against your shirt. The position is undeniably compromising, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. "Last chance," he breathes, the words a promise and a threat.

“Last chance…” you mock, mimicking his deep voice with a forced bravado that doesn't quite reach your eyes. You glare at him, attempting to recapture the anger that fueled you just moments ago. But the heat in his gaze melts your resolve, leaving you feeling exposed and strangely thrilled.

He smirks at your mimicry, enjoying the playful banter, the dangerous game you’re both playing. "You're playing a dangerous game," he murmurs, his voice a silken caress that belies the steel beneath. His hand on the counter, the one not holding your wrist captive, slides closer to yours, inching its way toward your trembling fingers. His thumb brushes against the back of your hand, a light, fleeting touch that’s almost teasing, sending sparks of electricity through your veins. "I could make you open it," he says, the words hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken implications.

“Guess what? With your evol?” you retort, trying to sound confident, but your voice cracks slightly, betraying your inner turmoil.It was a desperate attempt to regain control, to steer the conversation back to safer territory.

"Exactly," he whispers back, his breath warm against your skin. His thumb traces a small circle on the back of your hand, a deliberate, hypnotic motion that draws your attention, stealing your focus. Your hand twitches slightly at the sudden sensation, giving away your vulnerability, the way his touch affects you. He watches your reaction closely, savoring the moment, drawing power from your response. "Then again, I might use something other than my evol..." he adds, the words laced with a suggestive promise that makes your heart leap in your chest.

You gasp, the sound escaping your lips before you can stop it, and your eyes widen in surprise, searching his. Fear and anticipation war within you, a confusing mix of emotions that threatens to overwhelm you. 

"What do you mean?" you ask, the question a breathless whisper, barely audible above the pounding of your heart.

His expression turns intense, a dark, smoldering gaze that holds you captive. It’s dangerous, predatory, and utterly thrilling. 

He leans in closer, invading your personal space, until his lips are nearly touching yours, the heat of his breath a tangible presence against your skin. His voice drops to a husky whisper, a seductive murmur that sends shivers down your spine. "You really want to know?" he asks, intentionally blowing a small, warm breath across your lips, teasing you, testing your limits. "I could just..."

Your breath hitches in your throat, your lungs seizing as your body betrays you. The world around you seems to fade away, the sounds of the bathroom blurring into a distant hum. All that exists is him, the intoxicating scent of his skin, the heat of his gaze, the promise of something forbidden. 

Your eyelashes flutter shut, surrendering to the moment, inviting him in.

He waits for a moment, relishing in the effect he's having on you, the power he holds over you. He feels the tremor that runs through your body, the rapid pulse at your throat. He knows he's won. 

Then, without warning, he closes the distance between you, his lips claiming yours in a searing, electrifying kiss. His hand, the one that was tormenting your hand only moments ago, moves to tangle in your hair, gripping the strands possessively, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss, demanding a response.

A whimper escapes your lips, a small, involuntary sound of surrender, as your fingers loosen their grip on the knife. The metal clatters against the tile floor, the sound echoing in the sudden silence, a symbol of your defeat.

He hears the knife fall, the sound like a starting gun, and a satisfied growl rumbles in his chest, a primal sound of victory. The kiss intensifies, his tongue sliding against yours, tasting, exploring, staking his claim. 

He breaks the kiss only to trail his lips down your neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin, igniting a firestorm of sensation. His arm around your wrist tightens possessively, a steel band that keeps you trapped, at his mercy.

“Caleb…” you gasp, your voice breathy and weak, barely a whisper. The sound of his name on your lips feels like a betrayal, a confession of your desire.

"Shh," he murmurs against your neck, his teeth gently sinking into the flesh, a playful bite that sends shivers down your spine. His other hand slides down from the counter, around your hip, and grips your bottom possessively, pulling you closer, molding your body against his. "No more talking," he commands softly, the words a velvet promise laced with steel, before starting to lift you onto the counter, claiming you.

Your heart pounds in your chest, a frantic drumbeat that threatens to drown out all other sounds. You can feel his strength as he lifts you, the way his muscles flex beneath his skin. You wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, clinging to him for support, surrendering to the moment.

He can feel your heart racing against his chest, mirroring his own frantic rhythm, as he lifts you onto the counter, stepping between your legs to keep you trapped, a willing prisoner in his embrace. His hands roam your body, touching and exploring in a way he's never allowed himself to before, igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume you both. He presses close, his growing erection evident against your core through the thin barrier of the towel, a tangible reminder of his desire.

“Caleb…” you whisper again, his name a plea, a prayer, a promise of what's to come.

He silences you with another kiss, this one more demanding and dominant than the last, a raw expression of his hunger. His tongue pushes into your mouth, claiming you completely, possessing you with every touch. His hands continue to roam, exploring the curves of your body, igniting a fire with every caress. 

One hand slides up to cup your breast, squeezing gently through your shirt, teasing the sensitive nipple, while the other grips your thigh, pulling you even closer, erasing the remaining space between you, preparing you for the storm that's about to break.

You allow yourself to moan, the sweet, vulnerable sound catapulting straight to his core. You feel the immediate result of your surrender as his erection presses harder against your thigh. Instinct takes over, and you find yourself pulling him closer by the nape of his neck, your fingers tangling in the short hairs at his hairline. He's so tall, you have to lift your hips off the counter, practically bending him in half to maintain the fervent connection of your lips.

He groans into the kiss, a deep, guttural sound that vibrates against your own mouth as you pull him closer, bending him down to accommodate your smaller stature. The altered angle presses his hardness even more firmly against your center, igniting a fresh wave of heat that makes you moan again, a low, primal sound escaping your lips. 

His hand, which had been tentatively resting on your waist, slides upwards, seeking the bare skin beneath your shirt. He pushes the fabric upwards, urgency lacing his touch, as his other hand squeezes your thigh, almost desperately.

You pant, your breath coming in ragged gasps, too overwhelmed by this sudden and dramatic turn of events to form a coherent thought. The world has narrowed down to the feel of his mouth on yours, the hard press of his body against yours, and the frantic rhythm of your accelerated heartbeats.

He breaks the kiss briefly, reluctantly, to trail his lips down the sensitive curve of your neck. He nuzzles his face between your breasts, his breath hot and damp against your skin, as he tries to push your shirt up further. 

"Lift your arms," he growls, the command rough and edged with a desperate, unsatisfied desire. He needs to see you, touch you more, now. The burning need is consuming him.

You gulp, your throat suddenly dry, and obediently lift your arms, your movements slightly jerky and uncoordinated.

In one swift, decisive motion, he pulls your shirt over your head, casting it carelessly to the side. You stand exposed in just your bra, the cool air raising goosebumps on your skin, but the chill is quickly replaced by a searing heat as his eyes darken with undisguised desire as he looks you over. His gaze lingers on the curve of your breasts, the swell of your hips, before finally returning to meet your eyes. His hands, as if drawn by an invisible force, immediately go to your waist, his thumbs tracing the delicate line of your hip bones. 

"Fuck," he mutters, the word a raw, reverent sound, as he leans down to place open-mouthed kisses between your breasts, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

You moan again, a longer, more drawn-out sound this time, as you arch your back instinctively, offering him more. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, clinging to him as if he's the only thing anchoring you to reality. 

"What's happening?" you manage to gasp out, the question barely audible.

"Shut up," he snaps, but there's no real heat or anger behind the words. He's too far gone, too lost in the feeling of your body against his lips, the taste of your skin, the intoxicating scent of you filling his senses. 

His fingers, emboldened by his growing passion, hook into the bottom of your bra, and with surprising ease, he unhooks it. He pushes the material aside, revealing your bare breasts to his hungry gaze. He pauses for a moment, just to admire the sight, before his hands cup your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples.

“Caleb…please…” you say, your voice thick with a mixture of arousal and confusion. You reach up, your hands trembling slightly, and cup his face, your thumbs tracing the sharp angles of his cheekbones.

Caleb pauses, his intense gaze softening as you cup his face. He leans into your touch, a visible shudder running through him as he closes his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the feeling of your skin against his. "Please what?" he asks, his voice low and rough, the question laced with a raw vulnerability. 

One hand comes up to cover yours on his cheek, his fingers interlacing with yours as he holds your hand against his skin, while the other gently squeezes your bare breast, thumbing the nipple in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

“Why are we…” you trail off, unable to articulate the jumble of thoughts and feelings swirling within you.

"Because," he answers simply, his voice husky with desire, leaning down to take one of your breasts into his mouth. He suckles gently at first, teasing and tantalizing, before his grip tightens and he begins to suckle more firmly, drawing a sharp intake of breath from you. His hand, the one not holding yours, slides down your side to your waistband, his fingers fumbling with the button of your jeans. "We're always supposed to," he murmurs around your breast, the words muffled but clear, his fingers finally succeeding in unbuttoning your jeans.

“Why?” you ask again, the question a desperate plea for understanding.

He looks up at you, his eyes intense and unwavering, as he unbuttons your jeans, his fingers hooking into the waistband. 

"Because we're always supposed to be more than friends," he explains, his voice muffled against your breast. "Because every time I see you laughing with someone else, I get jealous. Because every time someone looks at you for too long, I want to punch them."

You swallow hard, your throat tightening with emotion. “That's why…you said you will never get a girlfriend?”

He nods against your chest, the movement small and hesitant, before standing up straight and pulling the rest of your clothes off, leaving you sitting bare before him. "I never wanted a girlfriend," he admits, his voice raw and honest, his eyes fixed on yours. "I never wanted anyone but you."

Your heart skips a beat, a wild, erratic rhythm taking over your chest. “Since when…? When we met or…”

He swallows hard, his eyes flickering down your body, lingering on the curve of your breasts and the swell of your hips, before meeting your gaze again. "Since we were kids," he says softly, the words barely audible above the frantic pounding of your heart. 

He steps closer, closing the remaining distance between you, until he's standing between your legs. "Remember when we used to play hide and seek?" he asks, his fingers hooking around your thighs, his touch sending shivers up your spine.

You nod, a small, involuntary movement. “You always somehow found me.”

"Because I always looked for you," he explains, his thumbs rubbing the inside of your thighs, his gaze unwavering. 

"Remember when you scraped your knee on that field trip, and I carried you home?" he asks softly, his eyes searching yours, as if looking for confirmation, or perhaps forgiveness. When you nod again, remembering the incident vividly, he continues, "Remember I told I will always be by your side?”

You nod again, feeling a lump forming in your throat. The memory is sharp and clear, the feeling of his arms around you, the concern etched on his face, as real now as it was then.

Caleb leans in closer, his voice dropping to almost a whisper as he continues, "That wasn't just something friends say. I meant it. Every promise, every joke shared, every bump and bruise I tended to - it was all me saying 'I'm in love with you' without actually saying it."

Your heart actually swells, filling your chest until it feels like it might burst. You struggle to breathe, the air caught in your throat, as the weight of his words settles upon you. This is it. This is the culmination of years of unspoken feelings, of hidden glances and secret longings.

He watched, his gaze intense and unwavering, as a kaleidoscope of emotions played across your face – surprise, disbelief, a hesitant joy that threatened to bloom into something more. He saw the question in your eyes, the silent plea for reassurance, and it fueled the courage that had been simmering within him for what felt like an eternity.

His own heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the years of longing he had so carefully concealed. Each stolen glance, each casual touch, each shared laugh had been etched onto his soul, fueling a secret fire that now threatened to consume him. He had built walls around his heart, fortifying it against the vulnerability of love, but you, with your infectious laughter and unwavering spirit, had chipped away at those defenses, brick by agonizing brick.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached for you, his hands trembling slightly as they spanned your waist. The touch was electric, a jolt that sent shivers down your spine and stole the breath from your lungs. With a strength born of years of suppressed desire, he lifted you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. The heat of your body pressed against him was intoxicating, a promise of connection that he could no longer deny himself.

"I'm in love with you," he said, the words finally free after years of restraint. There was no fanfare, no grand pronouncements, just a simple, honest declaration that resonated with the weight of his unspoken feelings. He watched, his breath suspended, as the words settled between you, waiting for your reaction, for the answer that would either shatter him or set him free.

Your fingers traced the line of his jaw, tilting his chin up so you could meet his gaze. The question hung in the air, unspoken but palpable. "That's why you wrote my name on that graffiti wall by the basketball court? As a wish, when we wrote our wishes?"

He continued to walk you further into the shower's embrace, feeling the slick tile beneath his bare feet. Without breaking eye contact, he used his evol to release the knot of the towel cinched around his hips. It fell to the wet floor, discarded like the pretense he had carried for so long.

The warm water pulsed against your skin, a comforting weight that seemed to ground you as the world tilted on its axis. Caleb cupped your face with his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones. 

He looked at you, really looked at you, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion that left you breathless. Unspoken words swirled within those depths, echoes of old wishes and long-held dreams.

"Yes," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your skin. "I wished for you every time."

He gently lowered you to the shower floor, the cool tile a startling contrast to the heat that radiated from his body. Kneeling before you, he took your hand in his, his touch reverent and tender. He brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against them.

"You don't have to say anything right now," he said quietly, his eyes never leaving yours, searching for a flicker of understanding, a sign of reciprocation. "Just…just let me love you for now, okay?"

You could only nod, the gesture small and uncertain, but enough.

His lips curved into a gentle smile, a smile that reached his eyes and banished the shadows that had haunted them for so long. He knew how rare it was for you to grant silence, how you usually filled every space with your vibrant energy and quick wit. Your quiet acquiescence was a gift, a fragile offering that he would cherish.

"Always wanted to know what your lips tasted like under the shower," he said softly, his voice laced with a playful desire that eased the tension in the air. He slid closer, his hips brushing against yours, tilting your chin with his fingers, his gaze dropping to your mouth. "Mind if I find out?"

A spark of your old self flickered in your eyes, a hint of the playful banter that defined your friendship. "Oh…now are you asking permission after you manhandled me?" You raised an eyebrow, a challenging glint in your gaze.

He laughed, a deep, husky sound that resonated through you. "Too late for that," he pointed out, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. His hands slid down to your behind, his fingers gently kneading the curves of your flesh. "Answer the question, smartass." He nuzzled your neck, the warm breath against your skin sending shivers dancing down your spine. "Can I kiss you under the shower?"

Another nod, this one more decisive, more eager. The anticipation was a tangible thing, a vibrating energy that hummed between you.

And then his lips were on yours, gentle at first, a tentative exploration of familiar territory. But the gentleness quickly gave way to a deeper hunger, a raw need that had been simmering beneath the surface for too long. His lips became demanding, coaxing your mouth open, inviting his tongue to slide in and taste you. 

The warm water rained down on you both, a sensuous curtain that veiled you from the world, mixing with the heat of his kiss. He sighed into your mouth, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure, his hands squeezing your backside possessively, drawing you closer, closer, until there was no space left between you. "Finally," he breathed against your lips.

In that single word, you heard the depth of his longing, the flicker of fear, the sting of jealousy, all woven together with the raw, undeniable thread of love. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, a testament to the years of suppressed desire and unspoken emotions.

He finally broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as he caught his breath, his chest heaving. "I've imagined this so many times," he admitted, his voice rough with emotion, raw and vulnerable. "You, me, under the shower, finally together." He kissed you again, deeper this time, pouring all his pent-up feelings into the kiss, a desperate plea for reciprocation, a silent vow of devotion.

You smiled into the kiss, a genuine, heartfelt smile that radiated through every cell of your being. It was a smile born of relief, of joy, of the burgeoning realization that your own secret feelings were finally being mirrored back at you.

He smiled back, his eyes shining with a happiness that banished the shadows and revealed the man you had always known was hidden beneath the surface. He stood up, pulling you up with him, his hands roaming possessively over your wet body, lingering on the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips.

"Let me wash you," he said, his voice husky with desire, picking up the bottle of body wash and squeezing a generous amount onto a waiting loofah. "All over."

You giggled, the sound light and carefree, a stark contrast to the intensity of the moment. "So now you’re my sweet Caleb and not Colonel Caleb?"

He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine, filling the small space with a comforting intimacy. "Only you get to see this side of me," he said softly, running the loofah gently over your shoulders, his touch careful and tender. "Colonel Caleb is for everyone else." 

He leaned down to kiss your shoulder, his lips lingering against your skin, his hands tracing slow, deliberate circles as he began to wash you.

You sighed and leaned against him, letting the warmth of his body and the gentle caress of the loofah soothe your senses. 

The water continued to pulse around you, washing away the doubts and fears, leaving only the raw, undeniable connection that bound you together.

"You know you're making it really hard for me to just wash you instead of-" He paused, clearing his throat, his voice suddenly thick with desire. "You're killing me here," he murmured, nipping gently at your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin. His hands trailed down your sides, lingering just under your breasts, his fingers tracing the delicate curve. "Should I continue washing?"

"You already stripped me naked and dragged me into the shower," you pointed out, a playful challenge in your voice, a subtle invitation in your eyes.

He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through you. "Touché," he said, his hands finally moving to cup your breasts, his thumbs circling your hardening nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. "I guess I can skip the washing part." He pressed his hips against your backside, letting you feel his growing arousal, a tangible expression of the desire that consumed him.

You moaned, the sound muffled against his shoulder, feeling the hard length of him pressed against your ass.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hands tightening on your breasts as you wiggled against him, your movements only fueling the fire that burned between you. "You're driving me crazy." He spun you around, pinning you against the shower wall, his eyes blazing with a raw, primal need. "I need to taste you," he said hoarsely, dropping to his knees.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry, as you looked down at him. He was tall enough that his face was eye level with your tummy, his gaze intense and unwavering.

Caleb pressed a quick kiss to your belly button before trailing his lips lower, his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place. "I've thought about this moment even more than kissing you," he confessed, his breath hot against your core, sending shivers of anticipation through your body. "Want to eat you out until you're screaming my name."

You whimpered, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The anticipation was almost unbearable, the promise of pleasure a tantalizing lure that threatened to shatter your carefully constructed composure.

He smirks up at you, loving the effect he's having. "Brace yourself, sweetheart," he warns playfully before diving in, his mouth covering your clit as his tongue flicks rapidly over the sensitive bud. He moans at your taste, the vibrations sending shockwaves through you.

“Caleb!”

He hums in satisfaction, the sound vibrating against your most sensitive spot. "Mmm, just like I imagined," he murmurs against you, not breaking his rhythm. He slides one hand up to your breast, teasing your nipple while the other grips your thigh, pulling it over his shoulder for better access.

You almost come from the sight. This sweet powerful man who was always with you through the years was actually kneeling in front of you and eating your pussy. It was a fantasy you'd nurtured in secret, a forbidden bloom in the garden of your mind. 

You never tried to imagine it, respecting your friendship and bond with him but you always wondered what if….

Now, here it was, a vibrant, tangible reality. The contrast between the gruff exterior he often projected and the exquisite tenderness of his current ministrations was almost too much to bear.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with lust and something more profound. "You have no idea how many nights I've jerked off thinking about this," he admits, his voice muffled against your thigh. The raw honesty in his confession both shocks and thrills you. 

To know you've occupied his thoughts in such a primal way, to realize the depth of his desire… it ignites a fire within you, hotter than anything you've ever known. He dives back in, his tongue working faster, more insistently.

You moan as you grab his hair. The feel of his thick, dark hair between your fingers is intoxicating. You tug gently, urging him closer, desperate for more. The sensations are building, swirling, threatening to consume you.

He growls possessively, the sound rumbling against your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. He stands up abruptly, lifting you so that your legs wrap around his waist. "Need to be inside you," he declares, his voice firm with need. "Now." The urgency in his tone is electrifying. You feel your own desire mirroring his, a desperate hunger that can only be sated by the joining of your bodies.

You bite your lip. The anticipation is almost unbearable. You've waited so long for this moment, dreamed of it countless times even if it’s wrong. To finally be here, on the precipice of intimacy with Caleb, is both terrifying and exhilarating.

He takes your silence as agreement. 

"Damn," he mutters, positioning himself at your entrance. He looks at you, making sure this is okay. He's big - almost too big - and he doesn't want to hurt you. The genuine concern on his face softens his rugged smooth features, making him look vulnerable and utterly irresistible. He captures your mouth again, pushing just the tip inside you. The sensation is foreign, intense, and undeniably arousing. You gasp softly against his lips.

“Wait…” you push his muscular chest to stop him. The small barrier of your hands against his powerful frame feels almost comical. 

The heat radiating from his body is overwhelming, and the throbbing pressure where he's joined you is making it difficult to think.

He pauses, holding his breath as he waits for you to speak. "What's wrong?" He asks softly, his arms tightening around you. He can feel how tight you are around just the tip, and he's worried it's going to hurt too much. His concern is palpable, a wave of tenderness washing over you.

You swallow and decide to be honest, "It's gonna bleed." The words hang in the air, heavy with the unspoken truth. You watch his expression carefully, bracing yourself for his reaction.

He freezes, his eyes widening slightly as he processes what you've said. "Are you—?" He starts, then stops, his voice barely a whisper. "Are you a virgin?" He asks gently, his brow furrowing with concern and something else—tenderness. The realization washes over him, transforming his gaze from one of pure lust to one of profound respect and awe.

“Yes..” you whisper. The admission feels strangely liberating. It's a vulnerability you've kept hidden for so long, a secret you're now entrusting to him.

Caleb's breath catches as he realizes the enormity of the moment. He leans his forehead against yours, his eyes soft with emotion. "Hey," he murmurs, "we don't have to do this right now. As much as I want you, I don't want it to hurt you." The sincerity in his voice is disarming. He's willing to sacrifice his own desire for your comfort, a testament to the depth of his feelings.

You shake your head. “No. I want you too. We can’t just…stop..” The words tumble out, fueled by a mixture of nerves and longing. 

You don't want to back down now. You've come too far, waited too long. The fear is still there, but it's overshadowed by the overwhelming desire to experience this with him.

He can see the determination in your eyes, mirroring his own desire. He kisses you gently, trying to prepare himself for the pain he knows you might feel. "Alright," he whispers against your lips, "but if it hurts too much, we stop, okay?" The promise is both reassuring and arousing. He's putting your needs first, but his own yearning is still evident in the intensity of his gaze.

You nod. The agreement seals the pact. You're ready.

With extreme care, he slowly pushes in further, feeling you tense around him. "Jesus," he hisses, "you're so tight. Relax, sweetheart." He keeps kissing you, trying to distract you from the invasion of his size. 

The pressure is building, a burning sensation that makes you want to both pull away and lean in closer. "Here comes the part that might sting..."

You tense. Every muscle in your body is coiled tight, bracing for the inevitable pain.

He pauses, giving you a moment to breathe. 

“Just a bit more," he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. With infinite gentleness, he pushes forward, feeling the barrier give way. You inhale sharply, and he freezes, holding himself still inside you. "You okay?" His voice is laced with concern.

“It’s worse than my period,” you wheeze. 

The comparison is clumsy, but it's the closest analogy you can come up with in the moment.

His heart clenches at your words, knowing he's the cause of your pain. He stays perfectly still, letting you get used to his size and the discomfort. "Shh, baby," he whispers, peppering your face with soft kisses. "Just breathe through it." He's a fortress of strength and tenderness, holding you close and offering silent support.

You nod and breathe deeply. You focus on the rhythm of your breath, trying to find a center of calm amidst the storm of sensations.

After what feels like an eternity, he feels your body start to relax slightly. He takes this as his cue to begin moving slowly, careful not to cause you too much discomfort. "Tell me if it's too much," he pants, his forehead dripping with sweat from the effort of holding back. The vulnerability he shows in this moment, the raw emotion etched on his face, is more intoxicating than any physical sensation.

The sight of him struggling, fighting against the raw desire that threatened to consume him, ignited a spark within you. A mischievous glint entered your eyes, a silent dare. You wouldn't cower, wouldn't appear weak or intimidated. Instead, you dug your heels into his, a subtle yet deliberate act, pulling him closer, inch by tantalizing inch. The whisper that escaped your lips was a single word, a plea, a demand: "More."

That single syllable, laced with innocent longing and burgeoning desire, seemed to shatter the last vestiges of his restraint. His grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging possessively into the soft flesh. The controlled movements he had so painstakingly maintained became less precise, more urgent, fueled by a primal need. 

"Fuck," he growled, the sound raw and guttural, a stark contrast to the playful banter you usually shared. "You feel so good... better than I imagined." He paused, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. "But baby, I'm really deep like this... too deep?"

A moan escaped your lips, your body humming with a newfound awareness. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious ache that spread from your core to the tips of your fingers. In that moment, words seemed inadequate, clumsy tools to express the intensity of what you were feeling. All you could manage was a simple, almost childlike description: "Like stick."

The unexpected crudeness, delivered with your characteristic naiveté, drew a smile from him, a genuine curve of his lips that momentarily softened the intensity in his eyes. Even as he fought to control his own spiraling pleasure, he understood. He knew you wanted him buried deep inside you, wanted to feel the fullness of his presence. 

"Too stuck, you mean?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your skin. He began to move, slowly at first, thrusting his hips in a circular motion, deliberately pressing against your sensitive walls, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from you.

"No…" you choked out, a nervous laugh bubbling up from your chest. "You're so hard that it feels like I have a stick in my pussy." The words were clumsy, unrefined, yet perfectly captured the unfamiliar sensation that had taken hold of you.

His head snapped back, and a deep, unrestrained laugh erupted from his chest, a sound you had never heard before. It was a sexy, guttural sound that resonated through your body, sending shivers down your spine. 

Despite your innocence, your blunt phrasing had only served to harden him even more inside you. "Only you," he said, his voice thick with amusement and desire, "could make me laugh while I'm fucking you senseless..." He leaned down, pressing a series of slow, deliberate kisses along the sensitive curve of your neck, each touch sending sparks of pleasure through you.

A smile bloomed on your face, and a soft moan escaped your lips, a testament to the exquisite sensations flooding your senses.

He continued to move, his body finding a rhythm that seemed to please you both. His thrusts grew deeper, more assured, each one pushing you closer to the edge. "God, you're amazing," he murmured, his voice strained with effort. "Your pussy is so tight and wet... it's like a perfect glove." He leaned in, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, his tongue mimicking the motion of his hips, driving you wild.

"Mmm," you hummed, lost in the intoxicating sensation of his mouth on yours, his body pressed against yours.

Seeing you so consumed by pleasure emboldened him, and he quickened his pace slightly, his movements becoming more insistent. He could feel your body beginning to relax, opening up to him, surrendering to the raw, untamed desire that coursed through you both. "You like how I fill you up, don't you?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "Is my big cock hitting that sweet spot?"

Your eyes rolled back in your head, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his voice. It was a voice you had never heard before, seductive and possessive. You had known him for years, talked to him countless times, but this voice, this side of him, was completely new.

He could see the surprise in your eyes, the flicker of recognition as his deep, husky voice washed over you. He knew this voice was reserved only for the intimacy of this moment, a secret language spoken only between lovers. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer as he thrust deeper, pushing you closer to the edge of oblivion. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice laced with a hint of possessiveness.

You slowly obeyed, your eyelids fluttering open, revealing the hazy depths of your desire. You met his gaze, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

He held your gaze, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your heart pound in your chest. "That's it," he whispered, his voice thick with lust. "I love seeing you like this—flushed, breathless, and taking my cock so beautifully." He shifted his angle slightly, finding that elusive spot that made you gasp aloud, a strangled sound of pure pleasure.

"Caleb…" you moaned, his name a breathless plea on your lips. "Please!"

Hearing his name spoken with such raw desire seemed to snap something inside him. In that moment, you were no longer his innocent best friend, the girl he had protected and cherished for years. You were a woman, a sexy, wanton creature beneath him, begging for more. 

"Please what, baby?" he ground out, his hips bucking against yours, hitting that sweet spot again and again. "Do you want it harder?"

You bit your lip, a nervous habit that had always plagued you. Seeing that small, vulnerable gesture seemed to ignite a fire within him.

"...Fuck, don't bite that lip like that. Never hurt yourself," he growled, his voice laced with a protective ferocity. He caught your plump bottom lip between his own teeth, gently tugging before capturing your mouth in a deep, consuming kiss. Without warning, he abandoned all pretense of control and began pounding into you harder, each thrust precise and powerful, driving you closer to the brink. "That what you wanted?" he asked, his voice a low rumble against your lips, knowing full well that it was.

You whimpered, your head lolling down against his shoulder. "Like that. Yes…"

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, his control finally slipping away as your whimpers drove him wild. "You feel so damn good I could come already..." He pinned your hands above your head, changing the angle completely, granting him deeper access. His eyes darkened with unrestrained desire as he slammed into you, finding that perfect spot that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

"Oh fuck, Caleb!" You screamed his name as you came, your body arching off the wall, exposing the delicate curve of your throat.

Seeing your neck bared and hearing his name spill from your lips in a scream of pure ecstasy made his body taut with anticipation. He plunged into you even harder, chasing your orgasm with his own. 

"Damn," he muttered, watching your body writhe beneath him, your muscles clenching and releasing in a symphony of pleasure. 

Your neck was arched back, your breasts thrust out, a vision of pure, unadulterated beauty.

Releasing your wrists, he used the advantage of your exposed neck, curling his hand around your throat, holding his fingers against your jaw.

"Fuck…."

He used his other hand to pull one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up completely, granting him deeper access. He wrapped his fingers around your throat, his touch surprisingly gentle as he tilted your head back further, exposing you to his intense gaze. 

He continued to thrust into you brutally, each stroke a testament to his raw, untamed desire. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice hoarse with passion.

You sobbed as you looked at him, another orgasm building within you, threatening to overwhelm you completely.

Seeing the tears in your eyes, the raw vulnerability etched on your face, pushed him over the edge. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling your scent as he came with a guttural groan, his body convulsing with the force of his release. 

His hot, thick seed filled you up, throbbing inside you as his hips jerked erratically. 

"Fuck...fuck…fuck," he chanted, his fingers tightening slightly around your throat, a primal expression of possession.

As his breathing slowly returned to normal, he inhaled the familiar scent of apples, a fragrance he had come to associate with you, now mixed with the intoxicating aroma of sweat and mingled pleasure. It was a scent that suddenly felt incredibly intimate, comforting, and achingly familiar. 

He nuzzled his face into your neck, gently kissing away the beads of perspiration. 

"Baby... you're crying," he murmured, his voice laced with concern.

You choked out a teary laugh. "Yes."

He wiped the tears away with his thumb, his fingers loosening their hold on your throat. 

"Was it too much?" he asked softly, his purple eyes searching your tear-streaked face, seeking reassurance. He could feel you still trembling beneath him, your body wracked with aftershocks and lingering sobs.

You swallowed, trying to find the words to articulate the complex emotions swirling within you. "You're so intense…."

"Too intense?" he asked carefully, pulling back slightly, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. His gaze dropped to your neck, and he saw the faint marks left by his fingers. He realized his handprint was slightly visible, a stark reminder of the intensity of their encounter. He also remembered your throaty screams, the way your legs had been wrapped tightly around his waist. 

"Answer me," he said hoarsely. "Truthfully."

"I mean…it surprised me…"

He nodded slowly, understanding your shock. "I know I got a bit... carried away," he admitted, his thumb gently rubbing the faint mark on your neck. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" 

His voice was laced with genuine concern, the intense lust from earlier replaced with a tenderness that made your heart flutter.

You shook your head, your eyes meeting his. "I loved it."

He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "You did?" he asks, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Because fuck, baby, you looked so beautiful like that... tears and all." He leans down and kisses you gently, his hand cupping your face. 

The shower roars around you, a steamy cocoon isolating you both from the world. The water sluices over your skin, washing away the remnants of your earlier despair, replaced now by a heady mix of fear and exhilaration.

“So you admit that you’re a sadist?” you laugh, the sound a little breathless, a little shaky. You try to inject some lightness into the moment, to diffuse the raw tension that crackles between you. But the words hang in the humid air, heavy with unspoken desires.

He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates through your chest, his fingers tightening around your face possessively. 

"Guilty as charged," he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot and moist against your skin. "You bring out the worst in me, you know that?" He pulls back slightly, his purple eyes glinting mischievously, reflecting the overhead light. “You like being manhandled?”

You blush, the heat rising in your cheeks, prickling your skin. "What kind of question is that?" you stammer, your mind struggling to keep up with the rapid-fire intensity of his words and actions. The way he looks at you, like you're the only thing in the universe, is both terrifying and intoxicating.

He smirks, clearly enjoying your reaction, the curve of his lips predatory and enticing. 

"It's a simple question, baby. Do you like it when I get rough with you?" He shifts slightly, making sure you can feel him, still hard and throbbing, deep inside you. 

"Because I can do it again if you want." The air crackles with unspoken promises, with the threat of exquisite pain and pleasure intertwined.

“Round two?” Your eyes widen, mirroring a mixture of disbelief and undeniable anticipation. The thought of surrendering to his dominance, of relinquishing control, both scares and excites you in equal measure.

"Or three," he says with a smirk, lifting his hips slightly to remind you of his persistent presence within you. "I can keep going all night, you know. And judging by how your pussy just tightened around me..." He runs his nose along yours teasingly, the scent of soap and arousal filling your senses. "You want more." He knows you. He sees through your carefully constructed facade of defiance straight to the yearning core of your desire.

“Shit…you little-“ you start to retort, but the words die in your throat, overwhelmed by the sheer force of his presence.

"Fucking genius?" He offers, interrupting you, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Yeah, I know." He captures your lips again, swallowing your curses as he starts moving his hips again, slowly, deliberately, drawing out the exquisite torment. "Now shut up and let me manhandle you some more," he growls against your lips, the possessive command igniting a fire deep within you.

You growl in his mouth, a primal sound of frustrated desire. You want to fight him, to resist, but your body betrays you, arching instinctively into his touch.

He grins, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, a delicious threat. "Like that?" he asks, his voice low and husky, vibrating with barely suppressed passion. "You're so fucking adorable when you're trying to be aggressive." He uses his gravity evol to lift you even higher up against the tiled wall, your legs wrapping around his waist, affording him even deeper access. 

By this point, you're both completely drenched under the relentless shower spray, the water plastering your hair to your face and tracing rivulets down your heated skin.

“Hey!” you exclaim, a weak protest.

He laughs, a deep rumbling sound that echoes in the small space. "You're adorable and you know it." He starts thrusting harder, his hips slapping against yours loudly, the rhythm primal and insistent. "Now be a good girl and hold on," he commands, his hands gripping your ass tightly as he fucks you hard against the wall, claiming you with every powerful stroke.

“Shit…shit…shit,” you curse and moan, the words a litany of surrender. You try to bite back the sounds escaping your lips, but the pleasure is too intense, the sensation of him filling you too overwhelming.

He swallows your cries with his mouth, one hand sliding up to cover your breast possessively, his thumb teasing your nipple. 

"Damn right," he hisses, watching your body bounce between the wall and his hips, his eyes dark and intense with lust. "Take my dick like a good girl," he growls out, his purple eyes darkening with desire.

You gasp, your muscles clenching involuntarily around him, a desperate plea for release.

He tosses his head back with a groan, feeling your walls tighten around his cock, the sensation almost unbearable. "Fuck, just like that," he praises breathlessly, squeezing your breast harder, eliciting another gasp from you. The steam from the shower fogs up the air around you, creating a hazy, sensual atmosphere, droplets of water mingling with your sweat, clinging to your skin like tiny jewels.

He leans in your ear, breathing heavily, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. “You know what I would love to see?”

“What?” you manage to whisper, your voice hoarse with passion.

"My gun down your throat. The one you so desperately wanted to take," he whispers, the words a shocking contrast to the sensual intensity that had been building between you.

You choke, your muscles clenching again, this time not from pleasure, but from a sudden, sharp wave of fear and confusion. 

What the fuck? The abrupt shift in tone leaves you reeling, your mind struggling to reconcile the brutal image he paints with the raw intimacy you've been sharing.

He smiles at your reaction, a cruel, knowing curve of his lips, his hips slowing down as he continues speaking into your ear, his voice low and dangerous. "You tried to steal from me and now I want to see your mouth stuffed full of something I own." He bites your earlobe, his tongue piercing digging into your skin, a small stab of pain that sends a jolt through you.

“You wouldn’t…” you hiss, the words a mix of disbelief and challenge.

"Try me," he laughs darkly, the sound sending a shiver of apprehension down your spine. "I might actually enjoy watching you choke on my gun." He pulls back slightly to look at your face, his purple eyes serious, devoid of any trace of the playful amusement from before. "You have such a smart mouth. I bet it'd look perfect wrapped around my gun." He tightens his hips again slowly, deliberately, the movement both a punishment and a promise.

“You’re serious?” You are speechless, the air knocked out of your lungs.

As a hunter, you held a gun everyday but use it for pleasure like this? Was he insane? 

The thought is jarring, disturbing, completely at odds with your understanding of the world.

"Deadly serious," he states firmly, his gaze unwavering. "I own you now, remember? Your mouth is mine to use however I want." 

He leans back and uses his evol to grab the gun from the counter as it floated in his waiting hand, holding it up so you can see it. The metal glints menacingly under the shower spray, reflecting the sharp angles of his face. "Open up."

“Caleb…” you gasp, shocked, the name a plea, a desperate attempt to reach the man you thought you knew.

"Now," he orders, his voice firm and commanding, brooking no argument. He presses the cold metal against your bottom lip, silently urging you to open your mouth, the contact sending a shiver of revulsion and a strange, twisted kind of excitement through you. 

His eyes blaze with possessiveness and triumph as he looks at your shocked expression, the power he wields over you palpable. "Be a good girl and open your mouth for me," he demands softly, the words laced with a dangerous undertone.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to breathe. Slowly, hesitantly, you open your mouth, a silent act of surrender.

He slides the gun into your mouth slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving yours, watching your reaction with an almost clinical detachment. "Good girl," he praises, his voice low and dangerous, sending a shiver down your spine. "Now suck it like you would my cock." He watches as you tentatively wrap your lips around the metal, your eyes wide with shock and arousal, the conflicting emotions warring within you.

You taste the cold metal, the lingering smell of gun powder filling your nostrils as you suck the barrel, a strange, forbidden pleasure tingling on your tongue.

He can feel your warm breath on the gun as you suck on it, his fingers tightening around the handle possessively, the weight of the weapon heavy in his hand. "Deeper," he growls, pushing the gun further into your mouth until it hits the back of your throat, making you gag slightly, the metallic taste intensifying.

You whimper, a small, involuntary sound of distress and submission.

The cool metal of the gun barrel presses against your lips, a stark contrast to the heat that’s been building between you and Caleb for what feels like an eternity. 

He pulls it out slowly, deliberately, the silver glinting in the dim bathroom light. A thin string of saliva stretches from your parted lips to the cold steel, a fragile connection in this moment of raw, untamed desire.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice a low, husky rumble that sends shivers down your spine. His eyes, usually a vibrant, playful purple, are now dark pools of lust, focused solely on you, on the way your body reacts to his every move. He slides the gun back in, a slow, agonizing tease that makes your breath catch in your throat. Each inch is a deliberate act, mimicking the possessive thrusts of his hips from just moments before, etching the memory of his forceful claim onto your very being.

The sensation is shocking, forbidden, and undeniably arousing. You try to fight it, to pull away, but his grip is firm, his control absolute. He dictates the pace, the depth, the intensity of this bizarre, sensual dance. 

Your head spins, the world tilting on its axis as the pleasure and the danger intertwine, creating a potent cocktail that threatens to overwhelm your senses.

Soon, your eyes roll back in your head, the fight draining out of you as you surrender to the intoxicating wave of sensation. You’re lost in the moment, the boundaries between right and wrong blurring beyond recognition.

“Mmh,” he hums, watching your body go lax, your mouth open and accepting around the gun. A possessive triumph flickers in his eyes, a primal satisfaction at your complete submission. “You like getting mouth-fucked by my gun?” he growls softly, his voice rough with barely contained desire. 

He pushes it deeper again, hitting your throat harder this time, a deliberate act that makes you gag slightly, but the discomfort only adds to the intensity of the experience. The sound of wet, sloppy sucking fills the small bathroom, amplifying the intimacy, the transgression.

You can’t help it. You moan, a low, guttural sound that escapes from the back of your throat, a testament to the pleasure he’s inflicting, to the control he wields.

He feels your moan vibrate around the gun, the sound resonating through his body, igniting a fire that threatens to consume him. 

“Fuck,” he groans, the sound ripped from his chest, raw and desperate. He pulls the gun out and sets it aside on the shower bench, the sound of metal against tile echoing in the sudden silence. 

His other hand, calloused and strong, grips your throat tightly, not painfully, but firmly, possessively, reminding you who’s in charge. He slams his mouth against yours, kissing you roughly, desperately, his tongue invading your mouth in a blatant act of ownership. “You’re mine,” he hisses against your lips, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

You sob, a small, involuntary sound of surrender, as the overwhelming rush of sensation finally breaks you. You come, hard and fast, the orgasm tearing through you with a force that leaves you shaking, gasping for breath. Harder than before, more intense, more complete.

He swallows your cries, muffling the sounds of your climax, claiming them as his own. 

Your body convulses, your nails digging into his back as you cling to him, the only anchor in this sea of overwhelming sensation. He feels your release cover his thighs again, hot and slick against his skin, his eyes darkening with a mixture of possessiveness and raw, primal hunger. 

He lifts you up suddenly, wrapping your legs around his waist again, your bodies molding together as one. He pulls out and enters you roughly, a forceful invasion that makes you scream loudly, the sound echoing off the tiled walls.

His fingers dig into your bottom, gripping you tightly as he lifts you up and down on his length, fucking you hard and fast against the shower wall. The sound of slapping skin mingles with your screams, creating a cacophony of pleasure and pain, of dominance and surrender. His eyes, burning with possessiveness and hunger, seem to pierce through you, stripping you bare, exposing your innermost desires. “Who owns this pussy?”

You sob, the words torn from your throat, a desperate plea for release, for validation. “You, Caleb. You.”

He slams into you harder, deeper, rewarding your submission with a low groan that vibrates against your skin. “Goddamn right I do,” he growls, biting your neck possessively, leaving a trail of burning kisses in his wake. 

His hips piston relentlessly, driving you closer and closer to the edge. The shower wall steams up around you both, droplets of water mingling with your sweat and his saliva, marking your skin with the evidence of his claim.

You can’t hold out, the next orgasm building inside you, a tidal wave of sensation threatening to engulf you.

As if sensing your approaching climax, he reaches down and presses his thumb against your clit, circling it mercilessly, increasing the pressure, pushing you closer to the breaking point. “Come for me again, princess,” he demands harshly, his voice rough and possessive. “Show me who this pussy belongs to.”

The sweet pet name, spoken in this moment of intense passion, is a final surrender, a complete and utter relinquishing of control. It makes you come again, almost absurdly, the force of the orgasm even more intense than before.

He groans deeply as he feels your pussy clench around him, milking his cock with each pulse of your orgasm. “Fucking hell,” he growls, his hips moving faster and more erratically, his control slipping as he teeters on the edge of his own release. “That’s it, princess. Come all over my cock.”

“Caleb!”

He hilts himself inside you with a final, brutal thrust, biting down on your shoulder to stifle his own cries as his orgasm crashes through him, a cataclysmic explosion of sensation. 

“Mine,” he snarls possessively, flooding your pussy with his hot, thick release. His cock twitches inside you, prolonging your shared climax, holding you captive in this moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.

“Holy shit!” You wheeze, gasping for breath as the last tremors of your orgasm subside.

Panting heavily, Caleb leans his forehead against yours, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “Holy shit is right,” he chuckles weakly, his cock still buried deep inside you, a tangible reminder of the connection you share. He squeezes your ass playfully, his earlier intensity melting into post-coital affection. “You alright there, princess?”

You are left panting, your mind still reeling from the intensity of what just happened, struggling to process the sheer force of his dominance, the depths of your own surrender.

He can see the dazed expression in your eyes, a testament to the power of the encounter. He nuzzles his face against yours, inhaling your scent deeply, savoring the taste of your skin. “Baby, you okay?” he asks softly, his fingers splaying out on your backside possessively, assuring himself that you’re still there, still his.

You nod weakly, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasms. “I think I broke my sweet Caleb.”

He lets out a low, satisfied laugh, his body still entwined with yours, his cock throbbing inside you. “You didn’t break me, princess. But damn, you wore me out.” He gently kisses your lips, his hands moving to support your weight as he slowly lowers you down, his cock finally slipping out of you, leaving you feeling vulnerable and exposed.

“Oh god…” you gasp and wobble, feeling his cum leaking out of you, a visible reminder of his possession.

Seeing the look on your face, a mixture of shock and arousal, he grins mischievously. 

He reaches down and scoops some of his semen off your inner thighs, bringing his fingers up to your mouth. “Open up, princess,” he commands softly, his eyes locked with yours, daring you to resist. “Taste what you do to me.”

You don’t glare this time, the fight gone out of you, replaced by a strange mixture of exhaustion and a lingering desire. You melt and open your mouth, too weak to fight or argue, surrendering once again to his will.

He gently pushes his fingers between your lips, letting you taste his salty, musky release. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing your bottom lip as he pulls his fingers out, leaving a glistening sheen on your skin. He helps you steady yourself against the shower wall, his hands roaming possessively over your curves, claiming you as his own.

“I can’t believe you fucked my mouth with your gun.”

He chuckles darkly, turning off the shower and wrapping you in a plush towel, his movements gentle despite the raw intensity of the encounter you just shared. “I can’t believe you let me,” he retorts, his voice still laced with amusement and satisfaction. He picks you up bridal style, carrying you out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You were forcing me, you know?” You hiss, trying to regain some semblance of control, to remind him that there are boundaries, even between you.

He lays you down on the bed, a smirk tugging at his lips as he towels you off more aggressively than necessary, his eyes burning with a possessive fire. “Forcing you? Baby, you sucked that gun like it was your favorite fucking lollipop.” He leans in close, his voice low and teasing, his breath ghosting against your skin.

You swallow, not knowing what to say, caught between outrage and a shameful surge of arousal.

He notices your reaction, the flicker of desire in your eyes, and his smirk grows wider. “Did you like it that much?” he asks, his eyes shining with curiosity and something darker, something that both excites and terrifies you. Before you can respond, he gently spreads your legs and crawls between them, his face hovering just above your pussy, his breath hot against your most sensitive flesh. “Let’s find out.”

“How?” You breathe.

He inhales deeply, his eyes fluttering closed as he savors your scent. When he opens them, they lock onto yours with an intent gaze. Slowly, deliberately, he leans down and presses his mouth to your pussy, parting your lips with his tongue and dragging it through your folds.

“Oh shit!” The words are a ragged expulsion of air, a surrender to the intense sensations that are already threatening to overwhelm you.

He grins against you, the vibrations sending a shock of pleasure through you. “That good, huh?” He does it again, this time flicking his tongue over your clit, watching your face contort with pleasure. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open and exposing you fully to his mouth.

“Caleb…” Your voice is a dazed whisper, barely audible above the roaring in your ears. Your eyes, wide and unfocused, lock on his. You search for something, anything, in his gaze – a hint of mercy, perhaps, or maybe just a sign that he’s feeling this as intensely as you are.

"What baby? Want me to stop?" His voice is a rough whisper against your wetness, knowing full well that you don't want him to stop. He circles your clit with his tongue again, maintaining eye contact as he does so. "Does my tongue feel good right here?"

You moan, a low, guttural sound that comes from the depths of your soul. Your hands, trembling, reach up to grip his hair, your fingers tangling in the dark strands, pulling him closer. “Caleb…fuck…”

He chuckles darkly, the vibrations against your sensitive nub making your hips buck up. He sucks your clit into his mouth, applying gentle pressure as he flicks his tongue back and forth. His fingers dig into your thighs, spreading you even wider as he devours you hungrily.

Your eyes roll back in your head, your vision blurring at the edges. You feel yourself losing control, spiraling down into a vortex of pure sensation.

"Fucking hell, you taste amazing," Caleb growls, releasing your clit momentarily. He dives back in, this time plunging his tongue deep inside your pussy, mimicking the motion of a cock. He curls it upwards, seeking that special spot to make you see stars.

You come without warning, a sudden, overwhelming surge of pleasure that shatters your control completely.

You scream out loud as a intense orgasm rips through your body, making your legs shake uncontrollably. Caleb holds onto your hips, keeping you place as he continues to lick and suck on your pussy, prolonging your climax. Your eyes flutter open, finding his intense gaze locked onto yours.

"I love watching you fall apart on my tongue," Caleb says roughly, giving your clit one last lick before standing up and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His pupils are dilated with desire, his breathing heavy.

You lick your lips, still tasting him on them, and your gaze lowers to his body. He is very much naked after the shower you just had, his skin flushed and damp, his muscles tense with barely suppressed energy.

Caleb follows your gaze and smirks, his hand reaching down to wrap around his thick, hard cock. He gives it a slow, languid stroke, his thumb swirling over the sensitive head. "You want this, don't you?" he asks, his voice a deep, seductive rumble.

You whimper, a small, involuntary sound of need that betrays your every thought. You lay in the bed, still with your legs spread and boneless, completely at his mercy.

He watches you, his eyes darkening. The way your legs are spread, the way your body is boneless and sated - it makes his blood boil, fuels the possessive hunger that claws at his insides. He wraps his hand tighter around his length, pumping slowly. "You look like you've been properly fucked," he comments softly, almost to himself, voice laced with dark satisfaction.

You choke a laugh, a weak, breathless sound that still manages to convey a hint of playful defiance. “And who was the one who did that?”

He groans, his eyes fluttering closed briefly as he continues to slow jerk himself off. You’re teasing him, laughing softly even though you’re clearly wrecked from their fucking. "Shut up," he mutters, his voice strained.

You find yourself watching. Each stroke is deliberate, a slow, sensual dance of hand against flesh. You see the flexing of his muscles, the tightening of his jaw, and the way his breath hitches with each movement. It's a raw, uninhibited display, and you find yourself captivated by the sheer intensity of it.

He opens his eyes, finding you watching him with heavy-lidded eyes. The way you're looking at him, like you're enjoying the show - fuck, it's hot. He picks up the pace, his hand moving faster over his length. "You like watching me touch myself?" he asks roughly.

You swallow, the word catching in your throat. "Yes," you whisper, the admission a release, a surrender to the moment.

A low groan escapes his lips as he hears your admission. He strokes himself faster, his grip tightening. "Do you want to watch me come?" he asks, his voice strained with desire. "Or do you want something else?" He looks at you, his eyes filled with lust and a hint of challenge.

"More..." you breathe, the word a plea, a promise.

His breathing grows heavier as he continues to stroke himself, his free hand balling into a fist at his side. "More what?" he growls, his eyes locked onto yours. "You want me to do something else?" He swirls his thumb over the sensitive head, his hand pausing briefly.

A moan escapes your lips, involuntary, a testament to the power he holds over you. You nod, unable to speak, your body trembling with need.

A smirk plays at the corners of his mouth, a predatory curve that sends a thrill of excitement through you. He releases his length, leaving it throbbing, glistening, a beacon of raw desire. He comes closer to the bed, stopping at the edge,” Come here, baby.”

You obey, your body moving without conscious thought. You close your legs, knees digging into the mattress, and crawl towards him, drawn by an irresistible force.

As you crawl closer, Caleb reaches out, his large hands grasping your wrists gently. He pulls you the last bit, until you're kneeling right before him. His cock juts out, a pulsing testament to his desire, inches from your face. “I think you want a taste," he murmurs, stroking his shaft slowly.

You lick your lips, the anticipation building to a fever pitch. You nod, looking up at him with a mixture of lust and adoration. He's offering you a gift, a privilege, and you're ready to receive it.

Caleb's breath hitches as he watches you lick your lips. He guides his thick head to your mouth, painting your lips with his pre-cum. "Open up for me, sweetheart," he orders softly, his voice thick with desire. He wants to feel your warm, wet mouth enveloping him, to lose himself in the sensation of your touch.

You open your lips, a silent invitation, and he doesn't hesitate.

"Fuck," he whispers, the word an expletive and a prayer as you take him in. He pushes himself deeper inch by inch until he hits the back of your throat. Your gag reflex tries to kick in, but he keeps a firm but gentle grasp on the back of your head, holding you steady. "You're such a good girl," he murmurs, his voice laced with praise, the words a reward for your devotion.

Your eyes roll back in your head, lost in the sensation, the praise igniting a fire within you. You want to please him, to give him everything he desires.

Seeing your reaction, Caleb groans deeply, his hips beginning to move slowly. "That's it, baby. Take my cock so well," he praises, his voice husky with lust. He gently thrusts deeper, giving you time to adjust to his size, to the overwhelming sensation of his presence.

You moan, a muffled sound against his flesh, and almost choke, tears welling up in your eyes. You struggle to breathe, forcing air through your nose, trying to maintain control, to continue pleasing him.

Caleb's grip on your head tightens slightly, but he remains gentle, feeling your struggle. "Shh, baby, take a breath," he coos softly, slowly pulling back to give you a moment of respite. He watches as you gasp for air, tears streaming down your cheeks, your face flushed and contorted with effort,” Look at me.” he whispers.

You look up at him, your eyes pleading, vulnerable.

His heart melts at the sight of you looking up at him with those tear-stained cheeks. His pace remains slow and rhythmic, careful not to hurt you. Not this time. "You look so fucking beautiful with my cock in your mouth," he whispers, wiping away a tear with his thumb.

You whimper, a small, involuntary sound of pleasure, loving that he's so tender with you, so aware of your limits.

"My sweet girl..." he breathes out, continuing those careful thrusts. One hand stays on your head while the other gently strokes your cheek, offering comfort and reassurance. “You're doing so good, taking me so deep..." He watches you struggle, feeling both guilt and intense pleasure knowing it's him causing those sweet tears, that look of blissful torment on your face.

You try to open your mouth wider for him, a silent offering, a desperate attempt to give him everything he wants.

"God, yes... just like that," he encourages, his voice growing thicker as he feels himself nearing his limit. "Your mouth is heaven, sweetheart. So warm, so tight... I'm so fucking close." He bites his lip, trying to hold back, wanting to prolong this moment.

You moan around him, a garbled sound of pleasure and desperation, reaching up to cup his balls, your fingers gently stroking, teasing, adding fuel to the fire.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he curses under his breath, a tremor running through his powerful thighs, the muscles bunching and releasing under your touch. "Stop, stop," he warns you gently, the words a breathy plea, yet his hands, those strong hands that could crush bone stay firmly on your head, contradictory to his words. "You'll make me come if you keep doing that..." His breathing grows raspier.

You ignored him, or perhaps, he knew you would. The thrill of control, of pushing him closer and closer to the brink, was a heady aphrodisiac. Deeper, faster, you swallowed, your hand a firm, possessive grip on his heavy sac, the weight of his impending release heavy in your palm.

"Holy shit," he mutters, hips jerking forward slightly. He's trying hard not to face-fuck you, his self-control surprisingly good. "Your mouth..." He swallows hard, watching you take him deep. "Your hand..." He tenses again as you gently massage his balls.

You broke the rhythm, just for a moment, lifting your head, your gaze locking with his. The moan that escaped your lips was a primal sound, born of pure, unadulterated lust.

His face contorts with pleasure when you look up at him, your usual innocent eyes were filled with desire and hunger, and he finally loses control. "Fuck, I'm coming," he grits out, hands gripping your head tightly as he begins to pump his hips, face screwed up in ecstasy.

Your eyes roll back, the world fading away as the first taste of his release flooded your mouth. He was fire, molten and consuming, and you welcomed the burn.

He lets out a guttural groan as he releases into your mouth, his hot seed spilling out as you swallow around him. He holds you there, not allowing you to pull back as he continues to shudder and come, his body trembling above you. "Damn..." The word was a ragged whisper, a testament to the intensity of what had just transpired.

Seeing him undone, vulnerable, weak in the aftermath of his climax, fueled a deep, primal satisfaction within you. He was a god brought to his knees, and you were the force that had felled him.

Caleb's knees nearly buckle as the last waves of his orgasm course through him. Slowly, he pulls back, his cock slipping from your lips with a soft pop. He stares down at you, chest heaving, a look of stunned awe on his flushed face. "Holy shit," he repeated, the words a hushed prayer.

You swallowed, relishing the lingering taste of him, and licked the last remnants from your lips. The act was deliberately provocative, a silent dare. Your voice was hoarse, raw from the intensity of the moment. "How was that? Better than when you made me choke on your gun?" You grinned, a flash of teeth in the dim light, the question laced with a playful defiance.

A low chuckle rumbles in Caleb's chest as he listens to your hoarse voice and teasing words. His eyes light up with amusement and something darker, more primal. He reaches down, gently lifting your chin with his thumb and index finger. "Mmm, definitely better." He murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

Your grin widened, emboldened by his response.

Caleb's gaze drops to your lips, still glistening with his release. Without a word, he leans down, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue delves in, tasting himself on your lips and tongue. He pulls back after a moment, breathing heavily.

The words, the ones you had choked back in the shower, the ones that had been burning in your throat, finally escaped. "I love you..." The declaration hung in the air, fragile and vulnerable.

His heart skips a beat, emotions playing across his features - surprise, fear, love. "Fuck... don't you dare say things like that," he whispers, but there's no venom in his tone. Instead, he pulls you closer, forehead resting against yours, the contact grounding him.

You giggled, the sound light and airy in the otherwise heavy atmosphere. "Well... you told me to take my time."

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, crinkling the skin around his eyes. "You did take your time," he admitted, his voice softer now. He sat back against the headboard, pulling you into his lap, his arms wrapping tightly around you, holding you close. "Too much time." He paused, his heart pounding in his chest, a frantic drumbeat against your back.

You snuggled into his neck, inhaling his scent, the familiar aroma a comfort and a challenge. "You love me, so it's only right to love you back."

Caleb's arms tighten around you, his breath hitching slightly at your words. He presses a soft kiss to your temple, his voice barely above a whisper. "You know I do. More than anything." He pauses, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back, a silent language of affection.

"Mmm," you murmured, content in his embrace.

Caleb tilts his head, watching your smiling face intently. A playful smirk tugs at his lips as he squeezes you gently in his lap. "Was that an'mmm' of agreement or an'mmm' of trouble?" His eyebrow arches teasingly, clear amusement sparkling in his eyes.

You rested your forehead against his, peering up at him through your lashes. "Definitely agreement."

A warmth spreads across his face at your answer, his eyes softening as they lock onto yours. His hand moves to gently rest on your cheek, thumb stroking across your skin. "Smartass," he whispers, but the word comes out fondly.

You nuzzled his hand, pressing a kiss into his palm. You had missed this, these quiet, tender moments, the feeling of being safe and cherished in his arms.

He watches you nuzzle into his palm, his expression unguarded. His other hand comes up to cup your jaw possessively. "God, you're like a damn cat," he murmurs, his voice lower, almost tender again. He missed these small, unguarded moments with you too, the feeling of your warmth against him, the trust that flowed between you.

You giggled, the sound fading into silence as you settled back into his embrace. "What now?" The question hung in the air, a hesitant inquiry about the future, about where this fragile connection would lead.

Caleb's thumb continues to stroke your cheek, his eyes searching yours. "What do you want to do now?" he asks softly, giving you a small smile. He shifts slightly, making sure you're comfortable in his lap. "We could just stay like this for a while, or... we could talk."

"Or...you can bring me some snacks?" You countered, the playful request a deliberate attempt to lighten the mood, to avoid the weight of serious conversation.

Chuckles softly, the vibrations rumbling against your back. "Always so demanding, aren't you?" He kisses your shoulder gently before setting you back on the bed. "Fine, I'll get you some snacks. But only if you promise to stay right there and look pretty for me."

“How pretty?” You teased, batting your eyelashes as you watched him pull his boxers on.

Rolling his eyes playfully, Caleb ran a deliberately slow, appreciative gaze over you, from head to toe, lingering on the curve of your breasts, the swell of your hips.

"Prettier than a sunrise, dummy. Now sit tight before you ruin my carpet with your gorgeous self sprawled out naked."

You laughed, a genuine, uninhibited sound that filled the room. "You think I would lay on the carpet?"

"With your lazy ass?" He teases, shaking his head as he turns towards the kitchen. "Knowing you, you'd probably decide the carpet is more comfortable than this king-sized bed." His voice carries a warm, affectionate tone that betrays his playful joking.

"Bring my favorite! Apple flavored!" You called out after him, the request laced with a sweet anticipation.

His low chuckle was the only response, a soft rumble that faded as he disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you alone with the lingering scent of sex and the quiet hum of contentment.

taglist : @mcdepressed290

[amaranthinespirit]

your strange relationship with butcher!simon riley cw: murder and mention of unintentional cannibalism (not by reader or simon)

simon was scary. a retired soldier now working back in the butcher shop he had when he was a scrawny teenager, taken over the business from the lad who trained him back in the day. you couldn't help but swoon over him, you looked pathetically out of place in his little roadside butcher's shop. a sweet little thing in comparison.

to you, he was all bark, and no bite. snide remarks with no real hint of malice under his tongue, a smirk creeping up under his thick mask as his dark eyes stared you down. it made you queasy, fluttering behind your soaked panties that made your thighs clench.

your relationship with the man was strange, every week or so, you'd pop in for a hunk of meat that, unfortunately, wasn't him. he'd gave you the finest quality there was, and told you, "'s on th'ouse this week," in that gruff voice that was slightly softened when talking to you. except he told you that every week.

he always offered to walk you to your car, especially if you paid him a visit later in the day, claiming in a grunt, "lo'ta bad men ou'ere, pre'ty thin' like ye'self's need'a guard dog." you merely giggled. or he would walk you back to your place of origin if you didn't bring your car, tugging you close to his side and refusing to let you walk on the roadside.

or whenever he 'wasn't around', you swore you felt the hairs on your neck stand and an undescribable feeling of being watched, in a way that spread warmth up into your chest and down to your weeping cunt. somehow you knew it was him.

and you always wondered why the men in your town who hit on you disappeared without a trace, or the low-lives on the street who whistled and hollered had gone without a scream. the male population was slowly dwindling, and those left fled to other nearby areas in fear.

it's not like you complained, less hassle in your life dealing with pathetic excuses of men and feeling safer walking back home on the sidewalk at night after a late shift at the diner, or studying at the library, if simon wasn't at your side.

little did you know, stashed in the back of that bloody butchery, hung about a dozen or so bodies and counting, ready to be prepped and cut to sell out to his customers. not you, of course, he couldn't do that to you.

like clockwork, you appeared on monday, picking up your regular order of your supply for the week. the bell chimed over the door as you stepped in, dressed in pretty colors, a harsh contrast to his all black and white bloodied apron. god, it looked good on him.

"wot'sit f'r today, li'l lady? the usual, yeah?" he cocked his head to the side, burly arms crossed over his broad chest, making him look bigger in appearance in a way that made your pussy clench.

you nodded shallowly, a polite expression on your pretty face, "yes, sir," you replied kindly, a sweet, comfortable smile despite the blood smeared up his arms, dried crimson between his fingernails. if anything, it made him hotter.

"sure thin'," he nodded once, turning into the back, the smell of metallic and carnage blasted his senses, walking over to a special fridge with meat supplied just for you. he'd been so lost in his thought, he hadn't heard the rustle of the plastic overhead the door, but he sure heard the horrified gasp, and he froze.

"simon?" your voice quivered as you eyed the poorly hidden bodies, some hung up, others cut to pieces, limbs strewn about the countertops, ready to be prepped.

fuck, you'd gone and done it now. guess you're his forever.

[cursingtoji]

the cardio machine i want is on the cardio machine

cw: gym rat toji x loser!gf - size kink, sweat kink (?), toji is a big old meanie. loser!gf series: geto gojo nanami.

loser!reader who, like a million other sedentary people on new year’s eve, said “new year new me” and proceeded to enroll at the local gym.

gym rat!toji who knew how things are in the beginning of the year, so the first week he arrives one hour earlier than usual to avoid all the lazy fucks that won’t last two months.

of course he makes a few mental bets on the ones that would quit and how long it would take, you included.

it’s easy to spot the “i don’t want lift weights cause i don’t want look jacked” type of girl.

at the breaks between one set and the other he looked around, not surprised to see you slowing down the treadmill after running not even two whole minutes.

sometimes he caught you staring at him through the mirror, not an uncommon occurrence amonst the women there, though you surprised him one day by tapping his shoulder after he finishing his weighted squats.

“can you… give me a few tips?” he looked so intimidated, from up close his shoulders looked like a wall, he stared at you from above, dark green eyes seemed to be heavily judging you, “never mind this was a bad idea, sorry” you turned around, grabbing you bottle and running off the gym.

by the time you managed to gather the courage to show your face back there two whole weeks had passed.

“consistency is the key you know” you were distracted looking down your phone while slowly walking the treadmill when the handsome man appeared beside you, the sudden presence destabilized you.

before you could become the viral video of the week when inevitably a gym employee decides to post the security footage of your ass rolling off the active treadmill, toji wrapped one big arm around your waist and pulled you to the stable floor.

“you caught me off guard the other day” he said completely unfazed by saving you from a life of embarrassment, “then you disappeared.”

“yeah i didn’t know if i wanted to come back anyways, i haven’t see any results so far” you pulled the hem of your shirt down.

toji snorted, “‘course you ain’t seeing results, sweetheart, you don’t lift.”

“well, it’s hard…” toji rolled his eyes, there was always an excuse.

though he also did a new year’s resolution of being more patient, for his kids primarily but teaching a cute thing like you could be a good exercise too.

soon enough, toji was correcting your form, texting you asking why you haven’t showed up to the gym and ringing your bell incessantly when you complained about muscle pain and said you wouldn't go that day.

“it’ll feel better once you start to move” he explained, resting on your door frame when you opened the door on your pajamas.

“let me alone, just today” you whined.

“you asked for my help now go put on something without cartoons on it” he waited for you to turn around and slapped your butt. it had been only one week he was coaching you but there was already a weird intimacy due to the fact he was pretty much always looking at your body and touching you.

to correct your form. obviously.

"what do i have to do today, coach fushiguro?" you asked from your bedroom through an ajar door which allowed toji to get a peek at your pink underwear and cute ass.

"cardio, bicycle first. get some blood flowing on those sore muscles" he tilted his head and raised his eyebrows watching you bend over to grab a biker shorts at the lowest drawer then holding back a laughter at the grunt of pain coming from you.

"once it gets better i can teach you other types of cardio" he walked around your kitchen examining your cabinets and stuff you kept in your fridge. needless to say it was all junk.

"can't wait" you replied sarcastically, failing to understand the meaning.

it took a few more days till you got used to toji's training, then he decided to focus on your upper body.

"such a simple movement, how do you manage to get that wrong?" he raised from the bench he was sitting behind you watching your form through the mirror. you almost dropped the weights at your feet when he came close. it was almost scary how much bigger than you he was especially seeing it throght the mirror. his right hand wrapped around yours on the dumbell and his bicep touched your arm as he pushed your arm closer to your body, "tuck your elbows in, straight your back" his free hand pushed your shoulders till they were touching his chest.

how come he smelled so good, so... musky and...

"are you even making any force?" he lowered his head, his reflection looking annoyed. so you decided to ignore the sudden heat between your thighs and flex your arm the way he taught you.

and just like he promised, when you were consistent enough and handling a good 5 minute run he decided to show you a more pleasing cardio.

"toji please~" you whined, thighs burning from riding him, you were using his rock hard abdomen as a support, but still.

"one more minute, come on" he looked at the watch on his wrist and slapped your ass, "haven't i prep-ed you good enough?" his thumb rubbed your bottom lip then pushed in meeting your tongue, where you tasted yourself in his digits one hour after he ringed your bell and said he was going to reward your good discipline, but he had to strech you first.

"good girl" you felt his abdomn flex when he raised from his laying position on your bed, "now leave it to daddy" he pecked your lips and quickly changed positions, putting a pillow under your ass and rolling his neck to start his cardio of the day.

[ozzgin]

hear me out...

yandere prison..

runs normally, but the warden hired very specific people

and you just got falsely accused of a heinous crime

Yandere!Prison x Reader

A few years back I actually wanted to make a dating sim with a similar premise! So I might just redraw my old cover and recycle the characters, haha. content: gender neutral reader, violence

You've been accused of a crime you didn't commit. Even worse, you were speedily shipped to a maximum-security prison, despite your horror and your desperate protests. Your lawyers are scrambling to get you out as soon as possible, but it's not a guarantee.

You thought you'd be killed within the first moments after arriving. The three men you're sharing a cell with, however, turned out to be reasonable enough. Unexpectedly so.

The blonde one greeted you with a wide, merry smile. He's the friendliest of the bunch, despite his heavily scarred features. One of them seems to wear a mask at all times, and he doesn't speak much. The last one is polite, though he keeps his distance. His answers are curt and to the point.

You quickly noticed that all other inmates avoid you religiously. The tables empty when you put down your lunch tray, and during breaktime the yard fluctuates with people migrating to whatever corner is farthest away from you.

Today, you finally found out why: one of the prisoners happened to bump into you, and he promptly fell to his knees, begging you to not mention it to your cellmates. You are apparently sleeping next to the leaders of the biggest gang around. Even the guards are terrified to approach them the wrong way; the last one to do so was placed on permanent medical leave.

And yet, they are nice to you. In fact, you'd go as far as to say they're strangely protective of you, always looking out for your safety and hovering in your vicinity like trained dogs.

On your way back, you find the inmate who pleaded for your silence; his head nearly cracked open, held against the bathroom sink by your beloved blonde bunkie.

"Oops! You weren't supposed to see this," he laughs awkwardly. "Why don't you return to our room? I'll join you in a moment."

He flashes you his usual smile, innocent and somewhat silly. This time it appears particularly eerie, given it's stained by fresh splatters of blood.

[More yandere stories]

[grabby-smitten]

Concrete Jungle: King of the beasts

Summary: Buying a hybrid was not what you had in mind when you asked for independence. Sylus didn’t like humans but his owner was the exception.

Subjects: Albino lion Hybrid!Sylus x F!Reader

Word count: 4.1k+

Content Warnings: Hybrid AU, smut, owner reader, kissing, cunnilingus, P in V, breeding, cnc if u squint really hard, biting, textured tongue. Use of words like predator/prey, cunt, pussy, kitten. Not edited and no beta.

A.N: I learned that big cats can’t purr and I was so disappointed. Oh, well….ah! I might do one for each li. k bye 💋

“Are you sure, I need one?” You’ve asked your parents that question for the umpteenth time.

“Yes, a hybrid is a good caretaker and it would make us feel better knowing one is protecting you.” Your father answered with a tired smile, understanding your uneasiness but they weren’t going to change their mind.

Moving out and finally becoming independent was just one step away from happening. Your parents were against it at first. Coming from money means someone will always be after your trail, danger and they had overprotected you, their only daughter since… well, even before you were born. They weren’t able to have natural children so you were conceived through artificial methods. Which, according to your parents, was a whole ordeal and suffering. Details that you rather not know.

It was time, though, to deep your toes into a world of your own. You wanted freedom for once. No dozens of bodyguards, no tracking devices and no fear of the unknown.

The part of convincing your parents was hard. No, after no, after no. Until, the head of security, taking pity on you, suggested buying a hybrid for you. Not just any hybrid; one specially made to protect and serve.

Now it was your turn to profoundly refuse. Everyone had one and those who didn’t, desired one… like some kind of accessory. It sickened you and besides, you didn’t want another responsibility. You wanted your own life! Not taking care of some… dog? Cat? Fish?

In the end, you had no other choice but to agree and here you were, in some facility. Breeding facility? Training? You didn’t care enough to pay attention, honestly.

Walking behind your parents in an all-white hall, smelling like antiseptic and gagging at the chemical sensation in your throat, you started to notice how the white walls began to turn into cages. Placards hung in the walls near the tinted glass and steel bars of the cages with descriptions of the… hybrids?

Looking up from the labels, you finally realized you no longer were alone. Each cell was occupied by humanoid-shaped shadows. The tint of the reinforced glass obstructed your vision but it was clear they were there.

So lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize a couple of strangers had joined your family. Paying a bit more attention to their chatter, you concluded they were doctors or scientists from this facility. They were explaining something about their products and that it was the best the market could offer. You frowned at their words. It was like you were buying a car… they even explained the insurance policy.

“And this specimen, right here, is our finest hybrid!” One of the men talking to your parents loudly explained.

You stepped closer to the placard and read the few words it contained. ‘Albino Lion Hybrid (Panthera leo Hybrid, large cat family Felidae). Apex predator (no natural enemy known). Renowned king of the beasts. More active at night. Preferable habitats: grassland, dense scrub, savanna, and open woodland. Nomadic male.’

Your eyes widened once your brain processed the information. This was no guard dog or house cat. Before you could utter a complaint about how obnoxious this all was, the tinted glass cleared and you were looking straight into a pair of scarlet eyes.

Sylus almost laughed at the face of the female standing outside his cell. The little mouse seemed in shock to see him there. What was she expecting? Where else would he be? If not caged and on display here— absurd, he thought. All humans that came here, came for one thing and one thing only; to purchase a wild species, a unique breed to flaunt to their peers. Sylus continuously thought about how weird these humans behaved in society. Their hierarchy dynamics were messed up and he despised that.

You felt his eyes mocking you, such deep red and the only thing you could feel was irritation. Frowning, you turned your head and left him. See how he likes grouching on his own.

Once you were a few steps away, the scientists or doctors stared at the red-eyed big cat hybrid with wonder and… respect? This place was bonkers, you thought to yourself.

“So this is the one?” Your mother asked and marveled at the sight of the lion hybrid. White-silver hair, large, powerful presence, and sharp features.

“Yes, ma’am. Our best subject. Well trained in all the aspects you requested and fairly knowledgeable which is hard to come by with these beats.”

Hearing all that gave you stomach reflux, the acidity burning your esophagus. Your dam was about to break and all your pent-up feelings would end up costing you your freedom if it wasn’t for the red-eyed hybrid. He knocked on the glass and you jumped, startled. You were surprised, he even beckoned you with a finger and again, surprised now with yourself, you automatically obeyed.

It was like a trance. A hypnotic daze of sorts. Both met face to face once again, only separated by the reinforced glass. For a moment you were distracted, the outburst you were about to have laid dormant in the back of your head.

What is this…? Sylus couldn’t help but feel a sense of familiarity. That’s why he was so close to the glass earlier too. He couldn’t see the other side a while ago but something was pulling him there. The whole day he felt restless and on guard as if something resonated within him.

Could this be—

“Ah! Marvelous! Look! They are already interested in each other! Sylus is not showing any signs of hostility or repulsion…” a different scientist exclaimed with eagerness, interrupting whatever connection you had with Sylus at that moment.

Not many words were needed to convince your parents after that show you and Sylus put up. Papers were signed, money transferred and a very confused Sylus was sedated and prepared for shipment.

The big city. Polluted air, noisy streets twenty-four hours a day, and hybrids everywhere. Most people carried one; a human with some animal characteristics, and now you were one of them too. Sylus was scheduled to arrive in a few minutes. All the things you would need to care for him were already in your apartment and even his paperwork. Name, birth, permits and you; listed as his owner.

The melodic tune of your ring bell announced the dreaded moment. You knew Sylus would be escorted here and that most of the traveling time he would have been sedated, but still the long distance between your new home and the facility he was kept in was almost six hours away. You feared a big grumpy cat.

Oh boy… grumpy was an understatement. He didn’t look happy. The moment he stepped foot in and all the straps holding him were taken off, he waited for the delivery people to disappear and he pounced. Surprisingly not on you. He went through all your stuff. According to the guide you received he was scenting. He went through your whole house; rubbing, scratching and overall making a mess.

“Stop! Hey, hmm… Sylus? You don’t have to scent my clothes.” You tried talking to him but he was not interested in your opinion, apparently. He just glanced at you and kept doing whatever he was doing before, like you were the one, not understanding. You had to snatch your underwear from his closed fist in a panic.

He went nonverbal for a week. A week! You were going insane. Yes, he obeyed. Yes, he was extremely independent and didn’t cause any more commotion besides the panty situation on the first day. But God… he was extremely quiet. It wasn’t until you commanded him to that you realized you should have read the manual until the last page; not only the summary.

“Sylus! Say something!” You demanded; going insane was not in your plans for the foreseeable future. They never told you he was mute or anything of that nature.

“Is there anything you need from me, my lady?” His deep and slow voice had your heart leaping out from your chest.

You just stood there, gaping and looking at him like you couldn’t believe he was able to make a sound. Yeah, not even his steps produced sounds. Sylus examined his human with a gleam of humor in his sapphire eyes. This face was a common one for her and he found it… almost endearing. It reminded him of the first time you two met.

“You can talk…” you whispered low and saw how his fluffy round, and white ears twitched. “You can talk!” Again, you exclaimed, pointing a finger at him in disbelief. “Why haven’t you said anything before?!”

“I wasn’t allowed to,” he calmly explained. That mischievous twinkle in his eyes never left, “my owner never requested me to do so until now.”

And that’s how you spend almost three days reading the darn manuals with a now very talkative feline.

You found that Sylus was more than just a pet. He could cook, clean and even force you to exercise which ended up backfiring. You couldn’t keep up with his supposedly healthy routine. A healthy lifestyle means a happy owner, and you would curse under your breath every time he repeated it.

In general, you were happy, he seemed happy and living with him was easier than you thought. Quickly, you two began to build a bond and it was a matter of time before he began to realize why it had been so easy to adapt to this human. His human which is how he referred to you.

Following the manual, you always made sure to have everything Sylus would need. Even his heats. At first, you tried to get him a heat partner and it was a mess. More like you were a mess. Even Sylus was surprised at how you ended up kicking out the poor rental gazelle hybrid in less than five minutes. You didn’t understand what took over you to be so… overprotective.

Oh, but Sylus was not complaining. Watching you almost declare war in his name gave him a deep satisfaction. So much so that he accepted to take suppressants for the time being.

After that incident, things began to change drastically. Sylus in return became a bit more aggressive towards any living creature that was in less than a mile radius of you. Growling, pushing, and even wrapping you with his tail and pulling you towards his body anytime he felt you were in danger. Yeah, you were in so much danger from the tube man… that air dancing balloon from the car wash a couple of blocks away.

“It can be that bad…” you took hold of his arm around your waist in a reassuring manner.

He’s been walking with you in his hold since you crossed paths with the inflatable dancing man.

“It has erratic movements. You never know what he might do next.”

Yeah, it was a recurring situation.

Yeah, he was prepared for everything and anything. Well, except one morning when his nose woke him up.

A sweet intoxicating scent traveled through his nostrils and shook him awake. He felt his mouth water, his canines aching, and his eyes turning into thin lines. The predator in him had been disturbed and its awakening meant trouble.

In all his years in captivity, he had never felt such hunger. Something was clawing in his chest, desperate to come out, each intake of air was pulling his sanity deeper and deeper while the monster surfaced.

Like any good hunter, he let his nose guide him through the house. Following such an intoxicating aroma took him to your door. There he stood—elaborated breathing, sharp fingers encrusted on his palms searching for restrain. You were inside; sleeping soundly in the early hours of the morning. He could hear your soft breathing mixing with his wildly beating heart. Knowing you weren’t aware of the predator outside your door sent a jolt of excitement through his body. Easy prey.

Was it you? Were you the one producing such… inebriant aroma? Why?

He took the handle with a death grip, his rational side fighting against instinct. He felt the urge to hunt, pursue, chase… this… this aroma and make it his own. With an internal battle raging inside him, Sylus felt the door weighed heavy on his palm, the handle burned, but he still stepped in.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room, it made no difference to him that you slept in complete darkness; his ruby-red eyes could see just fine. Then, his gaze focused on your sleeping form, little movement from your steady breathing and you had no idea that a hungry predator stood at the foot of your bed.

But Sylus didn’t move, didn’t pounce on you like he wanted. Torn between instinct and duty, he was frozen in place, sweating and overwhelmed with indecision. Your scent was clouding his every sense, making it even more difficult to do the right thing. It was like time had stopped and the only thing on his mind was the palpitations in his groin for even letting his skin touch the hair surrounding you.

What was the right thing? He asked himself. Neck—cracking as his body suddenly shuddered in pain, Sylus was holding himself back by a fine thread.

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. You were not like his kind who would accept mating just because of a sudden heat. You were human and he had that fact ingrained into his mind. With a whimper of pain and trepidation, Sylus walked over to the side of your bed; every step was excruciating for the hybrid. Once he reached the edge, he did like every other night shared with you. Sylus, silently whining, laid beside you and wrapped his arms tightly, but this time he kept a generous distance between his hips and your back.

He was not a mindless beast. Not to you.

“Sylus… I can’t breathe…” you don’t know when, you don’t know how, but Sylus always ended up sleeping on top of you like a weighted blanket. “Sylus!”

“You don’t wanna know what I did to the last person who woke me up.” Each word came with a little slur at the end, he was barely waking up. No a second goes by and you felt his spiked tongue grooming the nape of your neck and soft growls shaking your whole body.

“Someone’s happy today, hmmm?” You asked in a short breath, reaching for his round and fluffy ear. As you scratched, you heard the deep grumbles of satisfaction increasing.

“Smells good…”

You felt him sniffing all over your chest, deeply inhaling, moving his head downwards. Sylus pulled your covers in a hasty manner and kept descending. Your eyes widened as you realized where he was going and your feet quickly stopped him; placing them on his shoulder and chest.

“Sy-Sylus! S-stop!” Your hands joined your legs and feet, placing your palms on his mouth and the rest of his face. “What do you—“

You stopped mid question as you felt a bit of moisture in between your legs. In a panic, your mind counted the weeks since you moved in and you have forgotten to make an appointment for your birth control replacement… which meant you must be ovulating. How could you forget? It’s been weeks! With everything happening after moving, getting Sylus and adapting to the new city. You had completely forgotten…

A muffled sound came from behind your palm and then a rough tongue pushed against your skin. You slowly retracted your arm, looking at him with apologetic eyes. It was your fault, after all.

“I was saying that you seem to be in need of assistance,” he uttered, arching an eyebrow at your saddened face.

His heavy body was pressing against the sole of your feet, your legs kept him at bay and it surprised you how… physically insistent he was being.

“What do you mean?” You quickly replied, feigning ignorance and he seemed to know your every trick because his first reaction was to give you one of those salacious smiles of his.

“You can’t exactly lie to my nose, kitten.” He almost growled every word, sending shivers through your body. “You’re fertile.”

Before you could even utter a word to contradict his truth, his hands brushed the back of your raised legs for then his fingers gently tapped your skin. You let out a squeak of surprise and swiftly moved your legs, thus giving him an opportunity to nestle in between your thighs.

“If you’re making fun of me, it’s not funny,” you rebuked, but even as you said that the pressure and sudden ache in your lower regions began to increase with the proximity and weight of Sylus.

“I’m not.” He chuckled and it reverberated down your tummy, sending deep palpitations through your core, “you didn’t read the whole manual yet, now did you?” His finger gently tugged your chin, making you stare right into his crimson orbs.

“No…” you sheepishly mumbled, embarrassed of being found again and your lack of knowledge about some stuff still in the encyclopedia-like book you were given.

“Give me the order and I will deliver, Kitten.” He whispered, eyes calling for your surrender. Sylus was pushing the right buttons by being so close, touching you, and having you cornered right where he wanted you.

“You mean…” voicing your hesitation didn’t deter him from destroying your inhibitions, brick by brick. His eyes were hypnotizing, he would give you anything you wanted and you knew you would be safe, right?

He had you caged between his body and the bed, your mind going a mile per second and your heart racing just as fast. No, he wasn’t moving an inch more and you knew he wouldn’t unless you said so.

“Okay…” you sighed finally removing a burden from your shoulders, “h-help me.” You wanted him to alleviate your aching.

“As you wish, Kitten.”

Not soon had those words left his lips, he was on you. You felt the heaviness of the impact of his lips on you. He had seemed calm while talking but his actions spoke differently. Sylus’ kiss was demanding, fiery even. His tongue took no time to slip in between your abused lips, delivering tentative licks to yours; as if tasting and enjoying you.

He kept his low throaty snarls flowing over your body, crushing you against the sheets. You could taste him too, wild, intense, so Sylus. Two bodies lay in the bed, limbs intertwined. Sylus hands traveled up your body, fingers gripping at anything he could find, your moans being greedily swallowed.

His tail kept a steady thumping behind him, lulling you deeper into his embrace. You would let him do anything, be anything if it meant this fire ignited in your chest would never cease to exist.

Sylus grasped the back of your head, fisting strands of your hair for him to pull back and expose your neck to his aching teeth. He felt euphoria ran through his veins as soon as his pearl whites connected with your tender skin. A growl and the stinging stab on your neck made you gasp, hands gripping his collar to bring him even closer as if that was possible.

In a hurry, his other hand began to tear away your pajamas as his teeth continued to gnaw almost painfully at your throat.

In a blink of an eye, you were lifted and bent. Your face harshly met the warmth of pillows. Gone were your clothes. In what moment exactly? You don’t recall and you didn’t really care at that moment.

“I knew it– fuck– the moment I saw you, I knew it.” Sylus rasped out, breath suddenly hitting your nude backside. “This was mine before you even knew it.”

He suddenly lifted your hips, exposing your dripping core to his crimson gaze. You whimpered as the cold hair hit you, hands gripping the bedsheets, and that’s all you could see. Your own fist and abundant white.

“Sy-Sylus!” You shrieked.

Your exposed pussy was invaded by his mouth, and a low vibrating sound joined. His bumpy tongue lapped eagerly, the texture making you mewl and tremble as you unconsciously tried to pull away. Now the chuffing sound changed to a growl of displeasure, his hands quickly moved to your lower tummy and pressed you back against his awaiting lips.

A mess, a wet and sloppy mess. That’s what Sylus was, still holding your body against his face. He couldn’t care less about anything other than your flavor and sounds overtaking his entire being. He slurped, nipped and spit back in just to repeat it all over again.

It took no time to have you trashing and shaking on his grip, cuming on his face, the chuffing sounds intensifying with your moaning.

Skin on skin, no clothes separating him from you, you didn’t register when he freed his body of them. Too lost to care, too much at once to have a sense of anything other than Sylus.

“You take me so well… My kitten—made for me…” he growled as he slipped every inch of him. Your warm walls protested at the intrusion as he mounted you.

Pinning you down, chest pressed against your back and your face shoved into your drool-stained pillows.

“If you keep struggling, kitten… I– fuck, fuck– you’re making it really hard to hold back” he groaned as his eyes zoomed in on your head trashing and shaking. The predator in him just looming around the corner, his female ready for the taking.

“It’s too big!” Your scream was muffled by the pillow. As your wailing reached his ears, his cock throbbed and released a few ropes of white.

“You’re being so good, kitten. Just a… bit longer…” Sylus sighed with pleasure as the creaminess made it easier to thrust into you. Incessantly, hitting that spongy spot, making you cry out as you felt more burning cum filling you up. Both breathless, both panting and an arrange of noises filled the room.

“I feel so full! Sylus! I can’t!” Tears streamed down your face at how bloated you felt, but he kept pushing and bursting inside you. One after the other; face down you had no other option but to take it.

“Not full enough— you need more…” hips slamming into you, the squelching sound of your insides consuming the silence— him bottoming out again and again. “My cunt… will only have my cubs…”

You’re not sure how long it was, you were in and out. Lost a daze, being shoved, pressed and pounded mercilessly… Sylus voice swirled through your mushy brain— satisfaction, and ecstasy running wild through both of your bodies.

Blinking once, twice. You felt heavy and your foggy vision wasn’t helping. You still felt the aftermath of it all. Legs sporadically spamming, lower tummy so heavy and sore.

“You… came so much…” you whispered in between breaths. His cum was dripping from your tender hole, rapidly pooling on the bed. “Why?”

He shrugged, as he caressed your cheek.

“A lion’s thing,” he mumbled softly, pulling you closer and gently holding you.

The rest of the day you were spent. Too exhausted to do anything else. Sylus bathed you, changed the bedding, brought you drinks and food, and gave you the darn manual to finish it for once.

“Sylus!” You slapped his naked chest with indignation. “Here,” you pointed to an article you highlighted, “it says that lion hybrids can copulate for two to three days? Two hundred times in succession? Are you insane?” That explains a lot.

“I am just waiting for you to rest, humans are more delicate than I thought. We’re not moving from this room.” He deadpanned.

Your expression fell as his eyes seemed to show how serious he was being.

“I read that lionesses bite the male’s ballsack when they are upset or something,” you grinned wickedly. “I will do that if you don’t behave!”

“I wouldn’t oppose, sweetie.” He goaded. Your smile slowly faded as your threat was not working as planned. “So… I see you are feeling more… energetic.”

You threw a pillow at him before he pounced on you.

Ah, yes… a gentle protector a trusted guardian, but a beast on the sheets.

[solrabi]

Play fighting with Boxer!Sukuna

Note: Reader is referred to as girlfriend at one point.

Masterlist

“Babe.”

“Not right now.”

“Babe.”

“Sukuna, I promise I’ll be done with this book soon.”

He huffed and fell back onto the couch. He had been trying to get your attention for the past 30 minutes but you were adamant on finishing your book. This is all the fault of that damn community book club your coworker recommended you join. Now whenever, you’re off work and Sukuna doesn’t have to train, you’re reading. Usually the two of you spent almost all your spare time together but now you spent half of it reading your newest book for your weekly discussion. You always did your best to spoil him with kisses and cuddles but it was never enough.

Book club be damned, he needed you to be superglued to his side every single second.

“My girlfriend has a side man and he’s made of paper,” he huffed to himself as he watched you intently read. What was so great about your book anyway? Was it worth ignoring your gorgeous (and shirtless) boyfriend? He even had a tattoo of your name on his left pec and you were still choosing to smother a book with your attention.

Sukuna’s wallowing turned him creative- he stood in front of you, trying to make sure your guard was down. You didn’t look up which meant that you were still engrossed in your book. His hand swooped in and swiftly snatched the book from you. “Sukuna,” you groaned. “Give it back, I was at a good part.” You got up to grab it from him but he raised it above his head. “Kiss me.” You glared at him and gave him a quick peck on his lips. “Done, now give it.”

“No,” he nonchalantly replied. “But I kissed you.” You wondered why he was being particularly irritating today.

“That was me begging for a morsel of your attention. Now cuddle me if you want it,” he said and cheekily smirked.

You ignored him and hopped trying to get your book. Sukuna simply dodged your sad attempts and laughed every time you missed. “I don’t even know why you’re trying.” You gave him a pointed look at his comment.

“Okay, fine, you can have your book if you beat me in a fight.”

“What? That makes no sense.” You couldn’t believe this man. “It seems like a fair challenge to me,” he said as he walked to a particularly high shelf and placed your book on top of it. “You know I can just use my stepping stool for that, right?” you said before scoffing at him.

“Then it’s a good thing I hid it.” His sarcastic smile was now pissing you off. “But you literally fight for a living. You have the upper hand.”

“I’m in love with you. Use that as a distraction. Come on, let’s go to the ring.” You were speechless as he dragged you to the fighting “ring” (also known as your bedroom).

Since you had a smaller frame than him, he agreed to let you have the first hit. You sighed and braced yourself. You didn’t have much of a strategy except for charging at him with such a high speed that he’d fall on the bed and would accept defeat.

But as soon as you were in close distance, he caught both your arms, turned you around and threw you on the bed. He didn’t give you a second to get up before he straddled you. “Haha!” he exclaimed. Seeing you all riled up underneath him was a sight he was used to but it never failed to awe him.

“Feels familiar, doesn’t it?” he asked as he began to lower himself to face you. “This is so unfair! You’re like 200 pounds, I can’t even move you,” you said as you tried to push him off. Sukuna grabbed your hands that were fighting him and he playfully wrestled them. Who knows what would’ve happened if he used his real strength.

Thank goodness for your quick thinking because you remembered that Sukuna was extremely ticklish so you pulled your hand out of his grasp with all the strength you could muster up and started poking his sides. “Babe!” he yelled before toppling over to his side.

It was your turn to straddle him and before you could pin his arms beside his head, he caught yours and pulled you down to him. He wrapped his muscular arms around you and tucked your head under his chin. Your cheeks were mushed against the very tattoo of your name.

You were literally stuck in one position. The more you tried to move the tighter he’d hold you. “Sukuna, you cheater. Why do I always do this to myself?” You sighed, accepting defeat.

Sukuna kissed your forehead and laid you both on your sides, still not letting you go. “Sweet, sweet victory,” he whispered to himself.

-•-

I need to be (lovingly) smothered by a beefy nerd. Someone like Clark Kent.

[motorsportbarbie13]

The Yapping Hour is Upon Us

In which Max decides that maybe doing interviews isn't such a bad thing.

Warnings: jos verstappen mention ew Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 2.5k plus social media posts

Series Master List Main Master List

TheYappingHour posted:

349,219 likes liked by redbullracing, charlesleclerc, and others TheYappingHour Back at it this week with a very super top secret special guest. I simply can't wait to reveal who's on this weeks pod, you guys! You're going to DIE. (peep the clue in the second picture!) user928 her podcast set up is so aesthetic i can't user0928 RED BULL??? what does this meeeeeean??? >>>user1211 she hasn't done a ton of athletes in the past, maybe she got one of the Red Bull athletes!! user00291 DU DU DU DU MAX VERSTAPPEN. (shhh let me be delulu for a minute) >>>user221 as much as i'd love that, we all know how much Max hates interviews.

There was absolutely no reason why having Max Verstappen on your podcast should be making you this nervous. You’ve interviewed actual heads of state, a former president, and royalty for crying out loud and you’re losing your mind over Max fucking Verstappen? You supposed it came from the fact that you had spent most of your childhood traveling from track to track to watch your dad race in NASCAR, racing was in your blood and you knew how revered and idolized Max was. And how rabid his fans could get. You wanted to get this interview right. Needed to get this interview right. Motorsport were still a huge part of your life, even if you weren’t really outwardly an active fan. You never missed a NASCAR or F1 race and while you considered yourself a Ferrari girlie, Red Bull was most certainly your second team. 

“Everything ready?” Your assistant Shannon pokes her head in as you fluff the last throw pillow on the cream colored lounge chair. Scanning the room, everything looks to be in order. The two overstuffed chairs dominate the center of the small recording studio, each with a microphone set up on a small side table next to each chair. Instrumental versions of Taylor Swift songs floated out of small speakers tucked away and a few candles burned in the low light of the studio, creating the exact ambiance you were famous for. 

You’d been doing your podcast, The Yapping Hour, for nearly five years now and it was now one of the most popular podcasts being produced. You specialized in relaxed interviews of people that the general public don’t get to see relaxed very often. Your big break had come about 3 years ago when you had somehow managed to land an interview with Michelle Obama, her episode was still the most streamed episode of yours to date. Everyone had fallen in love with your interview style, how you got these normally highly media trained individuals to drop their guard down a little and be real for even just an hour. It gave people such a unique glimpse behind the curtain of fame and your fans ate up every bit of it. 

“I think so!” You nod, smoothing down the front of your boyfriend cut jeans even though the denim is perfectly ironed without a single wrinkle. 

“Good, because he just pulled in the parking lot.” Shannon smirks. She knows how nervous you are for this interview and is insisting it’s because you have a crush on the driver. Which would utterly unprofessional if it were true. But it wasn’t true. At all. “And he’s driving this matte black Aston Martin.” She closes her eyes as she bites her lip, smirk growing even wider. 

“Okay, let’s cool it on the hero worship.” You warn, following Shannon out into the lobby of the building. 

 Outside, it’s a dreary late April morning in the heart of downtown London. You had traveled from your home base in New York City just for this interview but had been surprised at how much you liked the ambiance and energy in the city. So much so that you had extended your stay a few extra weeks. The good thing about being your own boss of a podcast was that you could literally work from anywhere you had your laptop. 

Peering out into the parking lot, you’re surprised to see a lone figure in jeans and what looked to be a Red Bull windbreaker, hustling across the pavement towards the door. When he approaches the door, Shannons steps forward to open the door, a gust of wind whipping at your hair when Max comes bustling in through the doors. 

“Hello!” Max’s voice sends involuntary shivers down your spine, a feeling you fight hard to shove down. This is not the time to be a fan girl, you remind yourself. 

“Hi Max, thank you so much for joining us today! Can I get you some water or maybe some tea?” Shannons steps forward first, extending her hand. 

Max takes it and gives her a wide smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Water is fine, thanks.” 

“Max, it’s such a pleasure to meet you.” You step forward then, the heels of your black Louboutain’s clicking on the hardwood floor as you approach him. It takes every ounce of focus you have not to react at what feels like a white hot spark flickering over your skin when his hand touches yours for the first time. 

“Pleasure is mine.” He murmurs, cat like smirk replacing the warm smile that had greeted Shannon. Your social media did you absolutely no justice and Max was finding it hard to keep his composure you were so pretty. 

“Are we waiting on anyone else or is it just you today?” You ask, eyes darting above his shoulder to see if there was anyone still in the parking lot. 

“Why? Will I be needing my body guard today?” He quips as he follows you towards the recording studio.  

You pray the dim lights in the studio hide the way you’ve gone pink. “Of course not! It’s just that normally the people I have on the show travel with an…entourage.” 

“I don’t like people.” He says, as if it’s the most obvious fact in the universe. “I prefer to travel solo. Besides, I’m no Queen of the Netherlands or Justin Trudeau, I don’t really need an entourage.” 

He casually drops two of your biggest interviews like it’s nothing and you feel the pink tinge of your cheeks heat to a crimson red. “You’ve listened to the show then?” 

He nods, taking the seat you offer him as Shannon and your AV guy Steve bustle around getting things set up. A bottle of water appears for each of you and you take out the pages of notes you’ve made even though you’ve got all the questions memorized. You like to be prepared and prefer your interviews to be more conversational, less question and answer. 

“I like to know what I’m getting myself into.” His eyes hold this glint of mischief that if you were less of a professional, would have you biting your lip and kicking your feet. Truth was, Max had spent an ungodly amount of time on your socials and wikipedia page, obsessing over you and your career. 

“And yet you still came.” You tease.

“I did.” He says simply and you can’t help but notice how his gaze briefly drops from your eyes down to your lips and quickly back up. It’s so quick that if you weren’t in the business of watching and observing people, you probably would have missed it. But those baby blue eyes of Max’s are so easy to read, all you can do is grin back at him. 

“Well, thank you for making the trek into London today. I do appreciate it.” 

You briefly explain how the interview is going to work, how Steve is going to make sure everything is set up and recording, how you’ll post audio and video versions and that he can have final say in anything that goes in or stays out of the interview. You’ve found that a lot of your guests appreciate that little clause and in the five years you’ve been doing the show only a handful of bits have been kept out. You like to think it’s because you’re good at what you do and get people to open up on a level that they feel comfortable with. 

Steve finally gives you the okay and you settle into the cozy lounge chair, Max sitting comfortably in the one opposite you. 

“Thank you again for joining me today, Max. I’ve got to admit, I was a little surprised when your manager said you’d agreed to come on the show. You don’t do a lot of lengthy interviews and I could only find a handful of podcast appearances over the years. So, why The Yapping Hour? Why now?” 

Max takes a sip of water before placing it on the table beside him. His shoulders are relaxed, his ankle sitting on his knee is a causal pose. You’ve become a veritable body language expert since starting the show and you can already tell this is going to be a good interview. 

“I like your style.” His blunt answer throws you off for a moment and your cheeks heat. Again. You make a mental note to make sure they edit your complexion in post production to take the blush out. “GP sent me the one you did with Dale Earnhardt Jr a few months ago and I was impressed at how authentic you were. Dale is a character but you got a lot of depth out of him. Your questions went beyond the typical ‘what’s your favorite race track.’” 

“Well, thank you. That is quite the compliment coming from you.” For the third time in a short time, you blush at the compliments this man is handing out left and right. 

Your eyes flicker above Max’s shoulder to where Shannon and Steve sit, their smug faces tell you that you’re not imagining him flirting with you. 

“I have to tell you, I went karting with a few friends in prep for this interview and oh my God, I’ve been sore ever since! I can't imagine how hard an F1 car is on your body. Talk to me a little bit about your training sch-…”

“You went karting as research?” He interrupts you, face a mask of disbelief. 

Now it’s your turn to smirk, “Of course, I like to know what I’m getting myself into.” You toss him a wink and enjoy the way your stomach flips when his ears go a bit pink. “My dad beat me by almost 20 seconds and I don’t think I’ll ever hear the end of it, but it was worth it. I can see why so many people get hooked, it was so fun.” 

“Karting with a NASCAR legend had to make it a little better though, yeah?” 

“You know my dad?” Your brows nearly hit your hairline, you’re so surprised at this. Your dad had been long retired before Max had come onto the racing scene and there wasn’t a huge overlap in fan bases between F1 and NASCAR. 

Max nods, “He was racing around the time Jos was in F1. I still remember that one Daytona 500 where he stole the win from Earnhardt Jr on the last lap after he’d led for the entire race.” 

You tilt your head back laughing and Max thinks it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever heard, fully entranced by the long column of your neck that’s suddenly exposed. “Oh God, dad is going to die when he hears you know about that race.” 

“Have either of you been to an F1 race yet?” A plan begins to form in Max’s head. 

“No!" You lean forward to swat at his arm playfullt. I’ve tried a few times but it’s always fallen through. I do watch most of the races though, as long as my schedule permits. Sometimes it’s easier when you guys are in Europe because the races are so early in New York, it’s easy to watch them from bed on Sunday mornings.”

The image of you wrapped up in a fluffy duvet wearing nothing but his t-shirt as you watch him race nearly sends Max into orbit. He blinks furiously, trying to get that vision out of his mind so he can pay attention to you. 

“Tell me this then, if you could pick any garage to watch the race which one would it be and why would it be Red Bull?" 

You can’t help that laugh that explodes from you then and Max preens under your attention, smile stretching wide across his handsome face. “You know, I could have sworn it was my name on the podcast Instagram page.” You tease, giving him a wink. “You keep asking me questions, I’m going to be out of a job, Verstappen.” 

“I can’t help it when the interviewer is much more interesting than I am.” He murmurs, taking another sip of water without taking his eyes off of you.

The rest of the interview continues on for the next two hours and you get so much content you feel a little dizzy at the thought of having to cut over half of the episode. For the first time in the podcast’s history, you may have to split this into two episodes. Max doesn’t mind one bit, finding that he’s not as nervous as he thought he’d be with how easy he finds it talking to you. 

You wrap up the interview over an hour past the time you had told Max’s press officer it would last but neither of you make any movement to get up, despite both Shannon and Steve beginning to wrap things up. 

“I’m so sorry I kept you this long, Max. I know you’re not a huge fan of lengthy interviews.” 

Max just shrugs, “If all interviews were like this, I probably would say yes to a lot more of them.” 

You grin over at him as you rise, realizing the sun is setting outside and your stomach is aching for food. Max follows suit, although he feels a clench in his stomach realizing that his time with you is coming to an end. 

“Can I ask you something?” He says when Shannon and Steve walk out of the studio, leaving the two of you alone. 

You look up at him and nod earnestly, “Of course!” 

“Why didn’t you ask me about my childhood? Usually it’s one of the first things people ask me, especially in these kinds of interviews.” 

You shrug, face heating at being found out. “Like you, I do my research and I figured you might not want to talk about that part of your life. I want my guests to feel comfortable when they come on the show, not immediately put on the defensive. I guess I thought there were other more important topics…” 

Your words hang in the air, heavy between you two. Something in Max’s chest aches at the simple kindness you’ve extended him. It’s true, he doesn’t like revisiting his childhood very often, especially when it’s recorded and will be put on the internet. His dad was very much still in his life, obviously, and while he had done a lot of work to move past his childhood, it was still painful to talk about.  

“Thats…wow. Thank you.” Is all he can manage, voice thick with emotion. 

“Of course.” You murmur, reaching out to touch his elbow in what you hope comes across as a comforting gesture. 

Max’s eyes drop to where your slender fingers rest on his bare arm before a smile stretches back across his face. “I know it’s kind of last minute but you were saying earlier you’d never been to a race. We’re in Miami next weekend and I’d love it if you were my guest…” 

You can’t help the flutter in your chest at how nervous he appears standing before you. Your eyes dart over to Shannon, the official keeper of your schedule and are delighted when she nods vigorously, phone in hand with your calendar already pulled up. You made a mental note to give that girl a raise ASAP. “I would love to, Max.” 

“Yeah?” He sounds almost shocked that you had agreed so quickly. 

“Yeah.” You say, a hint of a giggle at the edge of your voice. 

“How about I take you out to dinner tonight and we can work out the details.” 

“Why Max Verstappen, I had no idea you were this smooth.” 

TheYappingHour posted

987,392 likes liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, susiewolff, and others TheYappingHour SURPRISE! Part one of my interview with none other than 3 time F1 world champion Max Verstappen is live on all socials RIGHT NOW. (yeah, I said part 1! We both yapped so much you're getting a part two next week!) user9382 the chemistry between these two was OFF THE CHARTS >>>user111 ikr? i felt like i was interrupting something the entire hour. MaxVerstappen1 it was a pleasure meeting you! can't wait to see you in Miami this weekend! >>>user2999 MAX WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T WAIT TO SEE HER IN MIAMI. >>>user999 stfu she is so coming to the Miami race?? MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN. user3210 has she ever done a two parter before??? not even the Queen of the Netherlands got a two parter!! user9928 i don't think i've ever seen Max this relaxed during an interview EVER. >>>user222 seriously! He was like a little boy with a crush then entire time.

yourpersonalinsta posted

234,100 likes liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, michelle obama, and others yourpersonalinsta we yapped some more and stuffed our faces. til next time, maxie! (tagged: maxverstappen1) user999 not michelle obama herself in the likes maxverstappen1 you're going to be trouble in miami, aren't you? >>>yourpersonalinsta what do you think? ;) >>>user9932 oh my godddddd user028 this is the couple i didn't know i needed

tag list (some of you only requested to be on a series tag list but i am not organized enough for that. lmk if you want to be removed!! also fingers crossed this tag list works this time ffs. sorry!)

@anilovessadbooks, @shelbyteller, @formulaal, @martygraciesversion381, @longhairkoo, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @chlmtfilms , @inarabee @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @sltwins @linnygirl09 @powerfulmess @technicallypleasanttree @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @strawberryy-kiwii @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @unknownmystery22 @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream

[yukioos]

being on katsuki’s back while he’s doing push-ups

when you received a text from katsuki telling you to come over, you sat up in your bed without hesitation. you texted a quick reply and walked to his dorm, then knocked. he quickly opened it with a small grin, then placed his large, rough hand on the back of your head, and kissed your forehead. you closed the door with your foot and placed your lips against his, then pulled away with warm cheeks.

he walked to the center of his room, only wearing a black tank top and sweatpants, then crossed his arms. you asked, “why did you text me katsuki? you made me think there was an emergency, but there’s not.”

he huffed and averted his gaze, “i need to work out. lay down on my back and tell me about your day or whatever. wrap your arms around my torso if you need to.”

you tilted your head at the sudden command but didn’t think much of it. he probably just needed some extra pressure during training. the truth was, he just wanted more time with you.

so once he lay on the ground and propped his hands up, you lay down with him and kissed his neck, emitting a hum from the blonde. he began to go up and down, lifting you with him when he did push-ups. you began to giggle, loving how he felt a little odd on your body.

“did you do anything fun today, katsuki?” you asked, laying your cheek against his muscular back, arms comfortably against your sides.

he did many push-ups without difficulty, not even breaking a sweat until you began to talk to him. he replied with another question, “didn’t i tell you to tell me about your day?”

you grinned and nodded, “yeah, but i wanna see how long you can last while doing three things. push-ups, carrying me, and replying to my questions. if you can’t do that then it’s fine, it may just be too hard for you.” you teased him at the end, and he felt your lip twitch.

katsuki frowned and mumbled, “damn brat,” before going off about how he beat shoto when they were training together. you knew he saw him as a threat to his climb to be the number-one hero, so you applauded him.

you praised, “good job, katsuki. i’m really proud of you, you know?”

his focus faltered and he staggered with his movements. the tips of his ears turned pink and he mumbled something under his breath, almost too inaudible. you always knew how to catch him off guard, and he loved that about you. the blonde tried to keep the smile from forming on his face but failed, and let out a nervous chuckle.

he tried to flaunt his talent and rolled his eyes, “icy-hot’s real good but i beat him. took a while though, you know?”

you nodded, “is that why i heard screaming and crashing for around an hour?”

he nodded and tried to muffle his groans and pants, wanting to not make any noise besides words. you smiled and decided to tease him more, “you’re doing great, katsuki, just a little more.”

“s-shut up,” he groaned, making you blush at the sounds.

after you giggled once more, he gently slid you off his back. he claimed that was the one and only time he would let you lay on his back during training due to your reaction. of course, that was a total lie. you became part of his daily routine.

sorry if this wasn’t as fluffy or anything i js had this idea idk! i’m trying so hard to make this not too suggestive

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Recount Your Kids, Batman

[A loose continuation to this post]

Talia doesn't visit the Wayne manor. At least not regularly nor officially. All the batkids and Batman know she comes sometimes, just to check up on Damian and maybe bother Bruce from time to time, but this is the first time she has ever shown up to a dinner.

And, as they all take their seats, she gives Damian a long curios glance. Then, she looks to Bruce.

"Is that everyone?" She asks, easy and lighthearted. One might think she is simply not acquainted with the number of Wayne children or that she is teasing Bruce on the sheer amount of them. But Damian is looking down to his plate, and Tim knows for sure Talia keeps up with Wayne's head count, and Dick is fairly certain Talia would never tease Bruce, at least not so subtly.

It could have been some sort of a hint at Jason. If he was not here, that is. But he is, for once, so this is really all the family at one table.

"Yes?" Dick tries, looking around the table just to make sure. Steph and Babs are not here today, but that's definitely not what Talia could have meant. Bruce also looks just a little confused, which is a nice change of pace since he looked guarded and on edge from the very moment Talia showed up.

The woman hums, her eyes studying Damian. The youngest bat keeps his gaze down on his empty plate. No one really understands what's going on, but they all feel like there's something important and heavy hanging in the air.

Then, Talia stands up and turns to Alfred, "We will be dining later. It has come to my attention that kids are a lot more secretive than I thought," she explains cryptically and smiles at Bruce, "Beloved, will you come with me to the training grounds? I have something to show you."

Bruce doesn't move for a long moment, and Talia's smile becomes almost gentle, "It's about your son."

At least that makes the man move.

When they get down to the Cave - since Talia insisted this was not a matter that could be resolved in the manor's training room - it's not only her, Bruce, and the little bat there, of course. The whole family was way too intrigued, and some were even alarmed.

The most alarming part, though, was the fact that Damian had been uncharacteristically quiet on their way down. Yet, when Dick looked to Cass, she just shook her head slightly. The boy was not worried. To Cass, he looked almost resigned, if a bit displeased.

"Your sword, Damian," Talia commands, and the boy presses his lips into a thin line.

"This is not necessary, Mother."

"It is," the woman looks amused, but there's an underlying layer of concern to her tone.

"...Yes, Mother," Damian nods his head on what feels like surrender and takes his katana. Not the training one, the real blade. Bruce makes a soft, alarmed grunt, but Talia waves him off.

"Not to worry, Beloved. I will not harm our brethren."

She doesn't take a stance, nor does she pick out a weapon, simply lunges for Damian as soon as they are both on the mats. Two daggers seem to appear in her hands out of nothing, and, contrary to her words, her aim is towards Damian's neck. The boy blocks, jumps away, and blocks another attack.

Tim steps closer, "You can't just-"

"Step away, Drake," It's the first time Damian has spoken to them since they've sat down for dinner. His voice is tense, but not derisive. If anything, it sounds a bit tired.

Talia lunges for him again, faster, meaner. Metal clings against metal.

"You understand this can not keep going, my child," she tells the boy, startlingly gentle on the contrary to her definitely dangerous strikes.

Damian doesn't answer.

The rest of Batfam are forced to simply watch the encounter: Damian is mostly on defense as Talia goes for him, harder and harder with every hit. Until, without any warning, the woman strikes for Damian's arm, making him drop his katana, and-

A few things happen at once.

Talia lunges for Damian's throat. Bruce jumps onto the mats so fast that he almost trips. Tim yelps.

But Talia's blade doesn't strike.

A figure of another child, eerily similar to Damian and wearing the League of Assassins uniform, is standing in front of the littlest bat, two crystal clear blades in his hands, blocking the dagger.

Bruce halts midstep. The rest of the family holds their breath.

But Talia simply smiles and drops her daggers, backing away and looking at the boy between her and Damian with a fond gaze.

"Danyal," she greets, and the boy huffs, lowering his weapons. He doesn't drop them - they simply dissipate in the air, turning into tiny snowflakes.

"Mother," he greets back begrudgingly, and his voice is the exact replica of Damian's. A clone? No, because Damian reacts to him nothing like he had to the clones, simply clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes.

"You could have simply asked, Mother," he comments, taking a step forward and stading near the other boy. Danyal. When standing side by side, they look nearly identical - same facial features, same posture, same hair, even if Damian's is a little more tame.

But Danyal's eyes are just a few hues off. Still green but lighter than Damian's.

"I assumed if you have spent years living here and never bothered to mention your brother, I would need a little more than asking, my love," Talia doesn't laugh, but it sounds like she wants to. Both boys roll their eyes, perfectly in sync.

Hold the fuck up, brother?

"Huh. I thought you died," Jason mentions offhandedly, and the whole family whips their heads to him. Yet, before any of them speak, it's Danyal who answers.

"I mean, I did? Kinda?" He waves his hand in the air and shrugs, and he acts so unlike Damian while also simultaneously having his face, that it makes Tim shiver a little.

"You-" Bruce starts, seeming to finally find his voice, but the boy cuts him off.

"I'm not actually yours," he snorts at Bruce's facial expression, "Yeah, I know I look like I am. Blame the ghost sewers, Chronos, and my stupid ass for making decisions while not being fully awake."

There is so much to unpack in that sentence that no one has the barest of ideas on where to start.

Damian curves his lips down in a sneer.

"The longer you stay there staring, the colder the dinner will be when we return," he reminds them, and Danyal suddenly perks up.

"Dinner? Can I join? It's been ages since I've had anything home cooked," he smiles, like there's some kind of an inside joke in that sentence. Damian rolls his eyes.

"The food doesn't come alive in this household, Danyal."

"Bummer," the boy looks a bit disappointed, but not too much. "And it's Danny, for the thousandth time."

Talia picks up her daggers, hiding them somewhere in her clothes in an unnoticeable motion. Then, she gives Bruce a small, if a bit sly, smile.

"You can not call it 'family dinner' if not all your family is there."

[asce-of-hearts]

Ex Husband!Toji and Milf!Reader hehe hohohohoho

part 1

Ex Husband!Toji who you left because he was... bad. Submerged in debt, addicted to gambling and alcohol, and who disappeared one day right after your youngest son, Megumi, turned five.

Ex Husband!Toji who comes back one day. A big bouquet in hand, a job as a security guard in the bag, and the promise that he has changed. Who has acquired a scar over the lip.

Ex Husband!Toji who promises, swears and gives proof that he has never been with another woman ever since you two divorced. Who claims that the only woman he could ever dream of being in bed with is you.

Ex Husband!Toji who fucks you so hard in the bed you once shared, the bed you will share again. Who manhandles you in the meanest mating press, full nelsons, anything you could imagine.

Ex Husband!Toji who hasn't changed a bit since you two last saw each other. Muscles still chiseled, arms as big as your head, firm chest and fat cock. Although you could swear that he has grown down there ever since you last saw him, or not, you could be hallucinating at the belly bulge that pokes from your insides whenever his cock is buried deep inside.

Ex Husband!Toji who is a thousand times more possessive than you remember, practically barking at whatever man that isn't him or Megumi gets too close to you.

Ex Husband!Toji who can only grin when a lanky looking nineteen year old knocks on his door claiming he is going to kick his ass. Who goes outside and kicks him on the ground, not escaping a busted lip and a bruise on the cheekbone. And who gives you the nastiest french kiss right as the white haired menace is carried away by his friends.

Ex Husband!Toji who promises to fuck another baby into you. Just for good measure, for the bad time he made you spend while watching that little boy get beat up. Who gropes at your breasts, suckling at the nipple and saying the nastiest shit you've ever heard. "Can't wait for this to gimme milk, our lil' baby will have to share with papa." Absolutely foul.

Ex Husband!Toji who snores like a fucking train and sleeps like a bear. Who clings to your body, completely engulfing you. A blessing in the winters, a curse in the summers. Who you can't wake up no matter you much you squirm and thrash in his embrace, and who may or may not have been woken up with a cold glass of water thrown to his face... with Megumi's assistance, of course.

Ex Husband!Toji who gets a boner at how your body has changed. At how you have new curves, new edges, new stretch marks and pretty sun kiss marks all over your skin. Who traces them with rough, calloused fingers while you sleep.

Ex Husband!Toji who can't get enough of your cooking. And who loves to circle your waist with his arms and lean his chin over your shoulder as you cook. Who may or may not also grind himself all over the curve of your ass while doing all that.

Goodbye barely legal Gojo, you'll do better in heaven... I guess.

Toji M.List

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@mrstraffy

[bunny-jpeg]

i got a fever and the only cure is more john price!!

he fucks nasty, you thought that age would slow him down. but, no. you are worn out before he even breaks a sweat. years of training to his body has given him stamina like a bull. and he had the breeding balls to prove it!

you didn't mean to sleep with your captain, but now that he had you in his grasp. he wasn't loosening his grip, not until that belly got round and those tits got fat.

"was a big baby." he said, his voice tense as he pressing his cock down into you. he had you pinned under his hefty, hairy wait as his impressive (huge) cock battered your insides. prepping you to accept his thick cum. he had his bicep around your head and kept you pinned.

it wasn't even a full doggy style anymore, he just laid on top of you with his cock plugging your sweet pussy. your moans were pathetic, you were powerless to him.

"price's are grown quite big, big head and wide shoulders. but don't worry, i'll be there the whole time. makin' sure my woman is taken care of. carry them at your hip while i got ya pregnant with another." his licked his lips like a hungry dog at the thought of it all.

you thought it was just sick dirty talk by the way it made you pussy slicker. but price was laying it out as it was. he was going to breed you, you were going to have his children.

he is egged on by your moans. he had convinced himself that you were his wife, even though you had never even gone on a date before. you thought this was simple, on-base, casual sex. meanwhile price was trying to very blatantly baby trap you.

he chalked up your ignorance to you having better maternal instincts than actual smarts. but, that was alright, you were meant to be a mother anyway! don't worry, price will make it all better for his precious wife.

price wanted to see and document all the changes to your pregnant body, he wanted to see his child grow inside of you. proof that he had laid claim to him. then he'll set you up in a sleepy town in northern england and you can be his little wife.

you, him and the kids. maybe a guard dog or two to protect the property. gotta keep the family safe!

the sick, pervert thoughts overcame him like a wave as he drilled his cock into you. a promise that he was going to finish very soon. even if you wanted to escape, the weight on top of you and the blissed out mess in your mind prevented you from getting too far.

not until he got you pregnant.

when he creams inside of you. it's game over (sorry)! you thought that due to age and his lifestyle that his swimmers were next to nothing. but he'd been saving up. a long time without a hole to fuck had made his biology desperate to pass his genes along.

so when he got you in a headlock while he rocked up into you, spearing your pretty pussy open, get ready for motherhood (yay)! because even trying to sneak off to get plan b will do nothing. you waited too long or the pills were ineffective.

as he rubbed your swollen middle on the couch of the sweet little home you (he) owned, his face brushed up against your side. his facial hair tickled your bare arms. he'd tell you that it was a miracle before he kissed your swollen mound.

"you are a better mother than you ever were a private." he cooed at you as he invaded your space once more, "good mothers make strong babies and i'm aimin' for the 99th percentile" <3