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These cards side by side looks kinda😏

𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐌'𝐒 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒

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

But oh, were your favorite fairytales always this 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔨?

𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓

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

𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒

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

𓆩𓆪 This collab is strictly a x reader collab

𓆩𓆪 All fandoms are welcome to enter

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

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

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

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

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

𓆩𓆪 You are allowed to submit up to two entries

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

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

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

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

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

𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐒

TOKYO REVENGERS

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

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

Demon! Baji Keisuke x Reader by @keisukes-number1

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE

Demon King! Sylus x Reader by @aztecbrujeria

JUJUTSU KAISEN

Vampire! Gojo Satoru x Reader by @avatarofstars

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

ARCANE

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

MY HERO ACADEMIA

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

HAIKYUU

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

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

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

across distant nights | dawnbreaker!zayne

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

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

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

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

⤜ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ- dawnbreaker!zayne x female reader

⤜ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ- angst & smut

⤜ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ- 19.6k words

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

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

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

Hope you enjoy reading!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was wrong. It was all wrong.

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

He didn’t know you.

A slow, dull throb settled behind your ribs.

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

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

You followed him.

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

That was when he stopped.

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

“…Are you following me?”

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

This wasn’t the Zayne you knew.

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

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

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

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

You walked away before he could respond.

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

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

It had happened before.

A long time ago.

-

It was 2034. 

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

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

But none of that stayed with you.

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

You were one of them.

The first dream came not long after.

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

You woke up standing.

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

Then you heard it.

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

You turned your head and saw him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Who are you?”

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

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

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

“One of who?” you asked softly.

His eyes narrowed. “The monsters…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You told him.

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

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

Was this real?

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

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

Is he real?

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

“How did everything start?” you asked softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You remembered wanting—aching—for nightfall to come.

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

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

And the night after that.

And the one after that.

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

Time kept moving forward.

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

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

And for a while, you stopped thinking about him.

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

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

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

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

You had been here before.

Not just here—but with him.

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

Zayne.

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

No, he was something else now. Something sharper.

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

And for a moment, you hesitated.

Would he remember you?

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

Or had he forgotten?

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

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

For a second, neither of you spoke.

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

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

His gaze swept over you, taking in every detail.

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

It wasn’t relief.

It wasn’t joy.

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

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

He knew.

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

Then, finally, he exhaled.

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

His eyes darkened, something unreadable shifting beneath the surface.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You tilted your head. “Training for what?”

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

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

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

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

The change was instant.

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

You giggled. “It’s good, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “Me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It worked.

You were back.

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

The second you saw him, you took off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Maybe,” he muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have one?”

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

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

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

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

“In case you ever get scared.”

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t say he missed you.

But you could hear it anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Watch this!”

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

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

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

“What’s that mean?”

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

“Like my evol?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to,” he muttered.

“I want to,” you said simply.

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

But you meant it all the same.

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

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

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

His grip only tightened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Oh.”

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

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

So you reached first.

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

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

He shook his head again. “No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You always say that,” you teased.

“Because it’s true,” he mumbled.

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

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

“Just… stay,” he muttered. “Please.”

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

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

-

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

But it couldn’t be him.

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

Dr. Zayne Li, Akso Hospital.

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

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

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

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

Your chest tightened.

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

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

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

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

And his smile…

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

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

This wasn’t.

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

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

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

You closed the laptop, pulse pounding in your ears.

It wasn’t him.

It couldn’t be.

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

You missed him. 

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

But what if… 

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

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

But the dream wouldn’t come. 

It hadn’t been a year yet. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll wait,” you repeated. 

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

Then, finally you saw him. 

Zayne. 

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

God, it was still his face. 

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

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

But then it was gone. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait.” 

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

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

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

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

“Dr. Zayne.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

Zayne wasn’t here.

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

But tonight, he wasn’t.

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

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

You waited.

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

You waited.

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

You waited.

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

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

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

But tonight, you did.

And then, just like that—

The dream slipped away.

-

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

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

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

-

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

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

The first thing you noticed was the blood.

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

His evol was on edge.

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

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

And he didn’t see you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Zayne moved.

Not with hesitation, not with fear. With precision.

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

Zayne didn’t flinch.

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

Then, his blade came down.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

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

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

It was his silence.

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

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

“Zayne.”

He froze.

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

The ice around him cracked.

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

And still, he didn’t move.

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

So you moved.

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

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

You held him.

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

For a moment, he didn’t move.

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

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

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

“What are you doing here?”

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

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

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

“You’re hurt.”

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

“Zayne—!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was looking at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stared, breath caught in your throat.

“Like what?”

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

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

Your heart clenched.

“That’s not—”

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

Your breath caught.

“You—”

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

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

“I protected you.”

You shook your head. “You isolated yourself.”

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

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

You didn’t think. 

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

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

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

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

And then you woke up.

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

-

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

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

But your mind wasn’t here.

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

He didn’t reach for you first.

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

The thought made something inside you twist.

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

The lock clicked. The door creaked open.

And then—

The world shuddered.

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

Then came the sound.

A low, resonant wail.

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

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

You turned—and saw the sky tear open.

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

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

Chronoshift.

Your fingers dug into the doorframe.

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

And now, it was happening again.

Then—

Your Hunter Watch buzzed violently.

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

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

“You need to turn on the news. Now.”

Her voice was tight, urgent—scared.

Your stomach dropped.

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

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

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

The screen shifted, cutting to a video.

Your breath caught.

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

Then—

Something fell.

No—someone.

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

Your stomach lurched.

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

The air caught fire with panic.

People screamed.

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

And then—

Ice.

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

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

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

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

The image lurched, zooming in again.

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

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

Then the screen cut.

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

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

The remote nearly slipped from your grasp.

Akso.

Your knees almost gave out beneath you.

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

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

Her words barely registered.

Because you already knew.

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

And now—he was here.

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

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

You barely registered any of it.

You ran.

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

But none of that mattered.

Not now.

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

Then—you saw it.

The impact site.

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

Ice.

Everywhere.

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

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

Your stomach twisted.

This was real.

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

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

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

You opened your mouth, about to ask—

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

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

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

You turned—and your breath caught.

Dr. Zayne.

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

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

“You knew.”

His voice was low, strained.

You swallowed hard. “What?”

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

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

Your heart pounded.

He knew.

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

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

You didn’t resist.

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

But none of it mattered.

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

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

He was here. 

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

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

But at the same time, he didn’t.

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

But most of all—he looked real.

Not just a dream. Not just a fading memory.

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

The door clicked shut behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were a plea.

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

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

You flinched. 

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

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

The words sent a shiver down your spine.

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

How could you explain?

How could you even begin to put it into words?

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

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

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

“Try me.”

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

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

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

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

“I know,” you whispered.

Another beat of silence.

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

Your breath hitched.

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

“You knew this was coming,” he murmured.

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

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

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

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

Dr. Zayne.

His hold on you tightened.

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

“Stay away from her.”

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

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

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

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

“Stop talking.”

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

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

A stranger. A threat. An intruder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence settled in his absence, thick and heavy.

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

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

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

“No,” he murmured. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath caught.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart pounded in your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then—he pushed.

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

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

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

Then—his lips were on yours again.

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

He wasn’t going to stop.

He couldn’t.

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

Then—he touched.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my-!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Zayne-! T-There-”

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

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

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

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

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

You gasped, “Oh-!” 

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

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

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

“Zayne, there are people outside—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then—the sound of the door clicking open.

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

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

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

Neither of them spoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“but-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shh, let me handle this” you tut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Caleb grunts against your pussy, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmh.. you're soaked, makes me think you are just as nasty as I am” He teases, chuckling when you whine angrily. 

“Not as bad as you are” you huff. 

You rest your hands by your side, spreading your thighs wider to give him the perfect view of your soaked pussy. Caleb’s breath hitches, his fingers peeling your pussy lips apart. 

“Well.. punish me then” you hum, whimpering softly when his hard cock pressed against your lip. 

Caleb hums, chuckling softly, finding humor in your courage and determination. “Open up then, little apple” Caleb encourages, groaning loudly when his dick slides into your eager throat. 

You moan around his length, digging your fingers into the bed sheets below you. Caleb only pushes half of his shaft inside your mouth and you're already having such a hard time, your throat convulsing around his length. Maybe you should have kept your mouth shut, you don’t regret it all though. 

Caleb hums quietly, running a thick finger through your fat folds, your juices smearing onto his fingertips. He peers down at your wet cunny, your tasty arousal oozing from your fluttering hole. He spits onto your cunt, his spit dripping from your swollen clit to your hole. 

You mewl around his cock, his length disappearing into your mouth, buried to the hilt of your throat. You never thought sucking cock would be so.. addictive and pleasurable for you. You feel light headed, so obsessed with the way his cock twitches inside your mouth. 

Your toes curl up, you pussy clenching around nothing uncontrollably. You’re abruptly aware how painfully empty you feel, you need something inside your gummy entrance. Fingers, tongue, cock, anything. 

“Not talking so much, are we, pipsqueak?” He asks, grinding his teeth together when your throat tightens around him.

“F-fuck.. hah.. good girl” Caleb moans out.

Hearing him call you a good girl only fuels your desperation, heat pooling to your belly. You whimper, sending delicious vibrations through Caleb’s body. He grunts, his balls pressed against your forehead, so heavy with cum.  

You slide your hand against the bed, inching closer to your clit. You need something, anything to ease that painful, uncomfortable feeling between your thighs. Before you’re able to rub your clit, Caleb snatched your hands, peeling it away from your cunny.

He replaces your hand with his, rubbing yummy circles onto the bud. Your back arches off the bed, pussy clamping around nothing. Your throat constricts around his dick, eliciting a groan of pleasure from Caleb.

Caleb pulled his hips back, until only the tip of his dick was inside your mouth. He snaps his back, stuffing his cock to the hilt of your throat. Your eyes shoot open, tears springing in your eyes. 

He lets go of your thighs, resting his hand beside your side. His hand sneakily moves to your clit again, rubbing steady circles onto your clit. Caleb chokes out a moan, breathlessly chuckling when you attempt to squirm and flinch from the luscious pleasure. 

“Hah- d-don’t squirm away from me..” he groans, giving your clit a soft spank. 

Poor you, do you really think you’ll be able to squirm away from him? Caleb would laugh, if he wasn’t groaning and whimpering from how well you're taking his cock in your throat. He can hear you gagging quietly, the wet slurping sound of you sucking at his cock. 

Caleb keeps a steady yet shaky pace, sliding his cock in and out of your hungry throat, fucking your face as he would with a toy. Your cute gags and whimpers were music to his ears, making his balls tense up. Wet plaping sound fills the room, his balls slapping against your forehead. 

Caleb glides his fingers through your folds, tracing the ring of your gummy entrance. The obscure squelching sound of your pussy gushing around his fingers fills the room, along with the frequent gagging of your throat. He’s so close, his thrust getting more sloppy than coordinated, if it was ever.

His fucking your mouth as if his life depends on it, hitting the back of your throat. Caleb twitches and throbs inside your mouth, so close to finally being able to achieve what he wants. To cum.

You just had to deny him, teasing him and not letting him cum. Now look at you, sucking and licking his cock like a good girl. “F-fuck. Ooh~ your throat feels.. amazing, pipsqueak” Caleb chokes, grinding against your face.

You whine, gripping the sheets tightly, almost to the point you can hear it tear. Caleb lets out a string of moans, his hips twitching. His groans are only getting louder, his thrusts sloppy.

“S-shit.. gonna cum.. oh, baby~” He purrs, burying his cock to the hilt of your throat. 

His cock jolts, hot cum shooting into your throat. Caleb’s cum tastes sweet and yummy, or maybe you’ve gotten addicted to his taste. Your moan is muffled, you eagerly drink up his cum. 

Caleb lazily grinds against your face, groaning and panting. After a couple of seconds of grinding against your face, while rubbing your clit, he pulls his hips back.  

His dick slowly slides from your mouth, absolutely covered in your spit and his cum. Thin strings of spit connect his shaft to your lips. To Caleb, you look ravishing.

Your eyes are hooded, fogged, lips sticky with cum, dried tears in the corner of your eyes. Caleb’s cock jerks, shooting more of his creamy cum onto your cheek. You smile dumbly, scooping up his cum to lick it off your fingers. 

“Ooh~ fuck.. y’know, I think I like you much more when you don’t talk that much, pipsqueak” Caleb taunters, grabbing your thighs to spin you around to where your pussy was facing him now.

“Mmh? Is that so? Sucks to suck then, I plan on talking your ears off” you say between pants.

“And I thought you loved me, so mean..” you pout, licking off extra cum from your lips.

“Oh hush, Y’know I love you, baby” He scoffs, smiling lovingly at the cute pout on your face. 

“Well.. I don’t feel that loved” you mutter, glancing down at your dripping pussy, neglected.

“Why is that?” Caleb asks, not catching the look you send him. 

“A certain someone has been neglecting me..” you mumble, looking him in his eyes.

You keep eye contact with Caleb, slowly looking down your body to direct your gaze to your pussy. He follows your gaze dumbly, finally relaxing what you were implying. “Ooh.. ‘m sorry, I didn’t realize I was neglected you, baby” 

“Need me to clean you up?” He teases softly, running a finger through your slit.

“Ugh- Caleb I swear to fucking god, if I have to ask you again-“ you threaten, growing insanely impatient.

He chuckles, grabbing your soft thighs. Caleb peppers hot kisses on your thighs, teasingly nipping at the fat. He tosses one of your legs over his shoulder, pushing your other leg to your chest.

His hot breath fans onto your swollen cunny, sending delicious shivers through your body. From your fluttering gummy entrance to your swollen, his hot tongue darting between your wet folds. Caleb moans in approval at the tangy yet tasty flavor of you.

Caleb finally is getting a real taste of your tasty pussy, it’s definitely better than him lapping at your panties. You taste better than he could ever have imagined. You whimper softly, burying your fingers into his hair.

You tug, eliciting a pained grunts from the man between your thighs. Caleb slurps at your clit hungrily, sucking the swollen bud of your clit into his mouth. His tongue flicks and massages your clit, making your eyes roll back in pleasure.

Your jaw goes slack, your back arching off the bed. Caleb chases after your cunt, not giving you even a second to squirm away from his starving mouth. “N-no.. don’t squirm away from me, pipsqueak” Caleb tuts.

“Let me.. enjoy you” he mumbles against your clit, his breath blowing onto the flesh. 

He slurps at your clit, moaning loudly. “Fuck.. y-you taste even better than i imagined” Caleb says, his words being interrupted as he can’t resist the urge to lap at your clit.

He’s acting like a starved man who’s finally being able to enjoy a meal after countless years. Caleb trails a thick finger to your gummy entrance, his finger promptly plunging inside your fluttering hole. You squeal melts to a moan of delight, your walls immediately caving around his finger. 

It was only one, only one finger and your toes are already curling up. Caleb doesn’t seem to care, no, he seems to be entranced with sucking at your clit. His fingers easily slip inside your cunny, the slick you made giving him easy access. 

His finger plunges deeper into your cunny, stretching your gooey walls apart. Caleb curls his finger, his fingertips nudging against your g-spot. You yelp, face scrunching up in pleasure as you tighten around his finger. 

You wail, tugging harshly onto his hair. Eliciting a grunt of a mixture of pain and pleasure from Caleb, who slips another thick finger into your gushing pussy. “Ooh~ oh fuck!” You gasp, your thighs trembling. 

Your walls happily accommodate the stretch of his fingers, your arousal coating his digits in sticky juices. Caleb’s lips pulls away from your clit, focusing on finger fucking you. Your cunny is disgustingly loud, the obscure squelching sound filling the room. 

It doesn’t take you that long to get closer, the constant scissoring and curling of his fingers were too much for you to handle. Caleb quickly recognized that you’re getting close, it isn’t hard for him to notice when you're constantly fluttering and clamping around his fingers. He pressed his hand to your plump belly, applying a strong amount of pressure. 

His fingers slam in and out of your gushing pussy, your poor cunny clamping around him uncontrollably. Caleb’s fingers are curled, pushing against your g-spot with every push inside your cunny. Fat tears waters in your eyes, your bottom lip captured between your teeth. 

“Hng! O-oh god! C-Caleb!” You gasp.

“ ‘m gonna cum! Ooh~” you drool, jaw going slack.

“That’s right, cum f’me, little apple” he encourages.

You let out a loud cry, that heat in your belly swelling until it snaps. Your juices sprays from your pussy, the squelching sound of your cum gushing from your cunny. The iridescent soaked his hand and the bed, drenching the fabric. 

“Hng.. hah..” you pant, body trembling.

Caleb hums, a slick pop as his finger slips from your gummy entrance. He gently slaps your clit, summing a flinch from you. He’s a mess; face soaked from your juices, eyes clouded, eyebrows scrunched, and a dumb cheeky grin on his face. 

He keeps eye contact with you, licking your juices from his lips. “Little apple.. you taste so good~” Caleb mutters.

“Want more..” he sighs, sending you puppy eyes.

“N-no! Absolutely not” you huff, grimacing when he brings his soaked fingers to his mouth to lap your nectar clean off the digits. 

He pouts, grabbing your hips tightly, flipping you over again. Caleb guides your head into the pillow gently, eliciting a muffled grumble of protest from you. His hands trails from your head, to your hips, arching your back to where he got the best view of your pussy;  fully exposed fully to his hungry gaze.

And oh fuck, did you look absolutely ravishing. Your folds glistening from your juices, thighs shining from your own arousal. Caleb grabs at your plump hips, groaning, thick fingers sinking into the squishing chub. 

“Fuck.. I’m leaking so much precum everywhere..” Caleb murmurs to himself, pressing his bulbous tip against your slick folds. 

“And it’s all your f-fault, pipsqueak” 

“Y-you’re going to take care of me.. right? Take care of what you created” Caleb mutters, his voice softening.  

You whimper in response, nails biting into the pillow. He lets out a loud groan, his tip slipping into your cunny. You wail into the pillow, fat tears trickling from your eyes from the stretch. It was painful, yes, but it was still so fucking pleasurable. 

The way your gooey walls split apart, trying to accommodate his fat cock, felt so fucking good. You shiver helplessly, goosebumps prickling everywhere on your skin. You cave and clamp around his dick, eliciting a hiss of pleasure from Caleb. 

It was as if your walls were eagerly trying to milk him dry, sucking him deeper and deeper into your cunny. More to his shaft disappears into your hungry cunt, the squelching sound of your messy pussy reaching your ears. You sob, chewing the fabric of the pillow between your teeth. 

His grip tightens on your hips, to the point it would leave an obvious bruise behind. You’ll definitely be sore in the morning, but it’s worth it. Caleb’s hand grazes down your back, your spine, fingertips barely touching your skin yet it sets goosebumps everywhere. 

He trails further down your body, until his hands are by your asscheek. Caleb grabs at the fat, gripping, fondling, and gripping the fat as if he was toying with it like a stress toy. More and more of his length sinks into your cunny, leaving an aching feeling in your belly. 

Caleb is so big and thick, you love it. You can feel him twitch and jerk inside your cunny, plunging the rest of his cock to the hilt of your pussy. “Oh f-fuck! L-little apple, y-you’re so tight-“ he stutters, breath hitching. 

His hips are flushed against your ass, hot and sweaty skin pressed up against each other. His bulbous tip is pressed so snuggly against your cervix, his shaft massaging your g-spots. Caleb pulls his hips back, until only his tip was inside, slamming his back to yours, plunging his back inside your wet pussy with a loud wet plap. 

With every thrust, his balls would knock and slap at your aching clit. It sends violent shivers through your body. Caleb’s balls are heavy and full, begging to coat your walls in creamy white. “Hmp! Mmhp!” You moan into the pillow, walls tightening around his length. 

“Hah- t-take it. Take it, pipsqueak” Caleb babbles dumbly, letting out a raspy groan. 

His thrust is erotic and lewd, his abdomen slapping against your ass. Your ass jiggles, bounces, and ripples with every thrust, it’s hypnotic. You wail loudly into the pillow, bucking your hips towards him, pushing your pussy closer to Caleb. 

Your toes curl up, the heat in your belly getting stronger and hotter by each rough pump. Caleb’s cock glides and massages your walls, eliciting such delicious muffled moans from you. If only he could hear you. 

He tosses his head back, exposing his adam’s apple. One of Caleb’s hands let go of your hips, pushing on your back, keeping your back arched. “A-arch.. oh god- your back.. m-more” he choked out a moan, your pussy unexpectedly clenching around him.

You can feel him twitch and throb inside your cunny, he’s just as close as you are. Your eyes roll back so far, you swear you can see stars explode in your eyes. “Hng! Y-your all mine! M-mine, mine, baby” Caleb babbles, the pleasure and blood must have gotten to his head. 

Caleb lets go of your ass, quickly slapping his hand onto the fat. You squeal, a pleasurable sting blooming on your poor ass. “Y-you’re all fucking mine, baby” he pants. 

His bulbous tip bangs against your cervix, his shaft twitching and throbbing inside your pussy. “Hng! C-Caleb..” you scream it or wh pillow.

Caleb drags you back onto and off his length, you’re unable to escape the mind numbing pleasure. “Oh fuck! Y-you feel so amazing..” Caleb gulps, spanking your ass again. 

You yelp, that heat in your belly is unbearably strong. Your toes curl up, eyes rolling back. Another spank, sending shivers through your body. 

“O-oh god! L-look at how -fuck, red your ass is” He groans, another rough spank on your poor ass.

He can feel you getting tighter and tighter, your pussy clenching around him so tightly. “Oh fuck-“ Caleb grunts, entranced of the way your pussy take him in and out. 

His cock is drenched with your juices, shining with your juices. Another spank, sending you reeling forward. Your body tenses, pussy fluttering uncontrollably around Caleb’s cock. 

You cum, hard. Those tears pour from your eyes, trickling down your cheek to the pillow. Caleb lets out a choked groan, your cum making a thin layer on his shaft. 

It’s sticky, sticking onto his abdomen. “Hng! L-little Apple.. you’re gonna make me.. cum” he moans, whimpering quietly. 

You can feel him twitch frequently in your deepest parts, his cock begging to cum. The obscure squelching and gushing sound of your pussy fills the room, it’s embarrassingly loud. The wet plaping and fwoping sound fills the room, his abdomen and thighs meeting your ass. 

“G-gonna breed you- you’re all mine!” Caleb says between gasps and groans, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips. 

One, two, three thrusts were enough to throw Caleb over the edge. He groans, body trembling against yours as his hot cum shoots deep into your overstimulated pussy. You mewl, clamping around him tightly as if to try to make sure his cum doesn’t spill out. 

Caleb grinds against you, keeping his cock plunging deep in your pussy. His cock slowly slides out of your pussy, his creamy cum slowly trickling out of your cunny. He rolls you over again, laying you onto your back.  

You’re finally getting to see him, and oh fuck, does he look like a mess just like you. Caleb’s eyes are hooded, filled with desperation and need. His cheeks are rosy pink, sweat dripping down his forehead. 

He leans down, licking your breasts, teasing the bud. Caleb places wet kisses to the valley between your breasts. He presses hot kisses down to your belly, trailing further down to your sloppy pussy.

“Hng- what are you doing?” You hiccup, wailing loudly when his tongue dives between your folds. 

Fat tears roll down your cheek, body twitching from overstimulation. “C-Caleb! S’too much!” You protest, wailing. 

The pleasure must have made him dumb or he’s ignoring your whimsy complaints. Caleb laps hungrily at your pussy, targeting your gummy entrance. He slurps up  your cum, seemingly unbothered that he’s drinking up the sticky mixture of his cum too.

“Hng.. we taste so good..” be purrs, diving between your pussy lips. 

You sob, squirming around. Caleb grunts against your pussy, his tongue rolling up and down through your fat folds.

“Hah- I’m not down with you yet, pipsqueak..” Caleb huffs, his tongue dipping into your gummy entrance. 

“Hng! N-no!” You squeal, drool dripping from your lips. 

You’re already so sensitive, that heat in your belly builds up quickly. Caleb’s tongue swirls and wiggles, rubbing and massaging your walls. You buck your hips up, tipping your cunny closer to him. He hums, grabbing your ass.

Caleb holds you still, messily slurping at your cunt. You wail, clenching around his tongue. You gush around his tongue, making an ever larger mess. 

Caleb moans in approval, instantly drinking up your delicious nectar. “You taste so.. good, pipsqueak” he gasps, lips parted as he gasps for air. 

He hovers over your body, leaning closer to you. “Ngh! N-no!” You huff. “You’re so nasty!” You huff. 

“So you don’t love me anymore, little Apple?” Caleb pouts, sending you puppy dog eyes. 

You can’t take him seriously, not with a mixture of yours and his cum is dripping down his lower chin.

“I do love you..” you mumble, pretending to gag when he kisses your cheek.

“And no more stealing my panties!” You huff, attempting not to smile at the genuine shocked and offended look on his face. 

“Mmh, no promises, pipsqueak” he hums, resting his head on your sweaty chest.

⋆˚࿔٠࣪⭑All work belongs to ME, translating and copying is not allowed✶⋆.˚

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I don't make the rules, Sylus and Caleb smile when they cum :/

Sylus gets this super sharp and fucked out grin on his face, he tries his best to keep his gaze locked with yours but you make him feel too good for his eyes not to just roll into the back of his skull. He'll bite his lip hard enough to nearly break skin and let out a breathless chuckle that'll either be even deeper than his usual tone or just a tad bit higher. And if you wrap your fingers around his throat right before he finishes, it'll never fail to get a slutty laugh that fades into an even sluttier moan. It's a smile that's just for you and you alone and he loves it that way.

Caleb is an absolute mess. His hair is all in his eyes and he's flushed completely down to his chest and he's holding onto you just tightly enough that he'll definitely leave bruises but not hard enough that you'll break. He's got this soft and absolutely stunning smile that just screams "I've been waiting for this for so long"- you can see the relief and absolute ecstasy in his face. He's borderline giddy. And he won't shut up about how good you're making him feel and how good you're doing or about how much he's wanted to do this- how much he's fantasized about you. He'll 100% let you snap a quick pic of him so you have a little reminder of "how happy you make him".