bim bim

You were giggling away with your friends, cheeks flushed under the shifting, low lights of the gymnasium as a slow song drifted through the speakers. Looking around the table, your eyes settled on your sweet boyfriend sitting right next to you. He had his chin propped in his palm, his eyes soft and a little sleepy, a content smile playing on his lips as he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

Your smile grew a little wider at the sight of him. Your fingers, already intertwined with his, gave a reassuring squeeze. “Ready to go home?” you asked softly. Caleb leaned in closer, his warmth enveloping you as he pressed a tender kiss against your temple. “Yeah,” he whispered against your skin, a quiet relief settling over his features. 

…

The chaotic energy of the gymnasium finally began to fade as you and Caleb made your escape, stepping out into the cool, quiet night air. The venue was clearing out, the bass of the speakers muffled behind the double doors. As you walked toward the parking lot, one of your friends jogged past, looking back with a bright grin. “Congrats on winning prom king and queen, guys !” they called out. 

A bashful smile immediately tugged at your lips, feeling that familiar warmth creep up your cheeks. When your names had been announced earlier, you were completely starstruck. Never in a million years would you have expected that outcome. Sure, you expected it for Caleb; he was a total heartthrob. Girls practically threw themselves at him. But you? Yeah, you still didn't know how that happened. 

Meanwhile, Caleb looked like he wasn't surprised at all, knowing his special girl was indeed the best thing in the room. Unbeknownst to you at the time, he practically had to stake a claim on you just to get you to be his prom date. You weren't even together yet back then; the whole school just knew you as inseparable childhood friends who did everything together. Only you two knew the breathless tension or the almost-kisses that had been quietly building up over the years. Because you had always been his person, Caleb had foolishly assumed you would obviously go to prom with him. But that comforting little bubble shattered when a guy in your class audaciously asked you to prom first. 

Thankfully, you had said no, secretly having your eyes only for Caleb. But that close call had sent him into a panic. He knew he had to quickly make you his before any other bastard could try to step in between you. So the month before prom, with boyish nervousness and all the courage in the world, Caleb asked you to be his girlfriend. He followed it up with a grand, sweet promposal the very next week, making sure to let everyone know you were officially off the market.

…

Walking over to Caleb's car, he opened the passenger door for you, carefully helping you slide inside before leaning over to buckle the seatbelt himself. You couldn't help but giggle up at him, your heart melting as he quietly whispered– for the millionth time that night– about how beautiful you looked. He wasn't lying. His jaw had practically hit the floor when he first saw you  in that dress. With your hair pinned up into a beautiful bun and a few soft strands perfectly framing your adorable face, you took his breath away. 

Getting into his own seat, he started the car and pulled out of the lot. The ride was mostly quiet, the air thick with a shared, nervous anticipation of what was coming next. You were heading back to his place, a plan you’d both agreed on previously; Knowing that his grandma, the only person he lived with, was out of town for the week. 

Glancing over, you noticed Caleb was biting the inside of his cheek, one finger tapping anxiously against the steering wheel. You reached across the console to rest your hand over his, which was sitting on the gearshift. As if snapping out of a daze, he looked over and smiled softly. He turned his hand over to catch yours, lifting it up to press a gentle kiss to your knuckles before bringing it down to rest on your thigh, and you exhaled a quiet, shaky breath at the touch.

By the time Caleb finally pulled into the driveway, your heart was thrumming wildly in your chest, the pulse vibrating all the way to your ears. He led you out of the car and through the front door. You had been to his house a million times before, but tonight, the space felt different. 

Slipping off your shoes, muscle memory took over as you both headed up the stairs to his room. You sat down on the edge of his mattress, looking up at him as he stood near the door, nervously scratching the back of his neck. “Get comfy, pips,” he murmured, “Let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

Biting your lip slightly, you started to let your hair down, taking down the million bobby pins keeping it secure, all the while completely oblivious to the mental battle Caleb was fighting just a few feet away. 

fuckfuckfuckfuck, what was he supposed to do now? Distracted by his own spiraling thoughts, Caleb tried to undo his tie, only to realize he’d pulled the wrong end and tightened the knot. Now, it was completely stuck. He looked up, flustered, only to see you stifling a laugh at him. Sighing softly, you stood up and walked over to him. “Need help with that, baby?” 

Baby. It rolled off your tongue so naturally that he almost missed it. You stepped into his space to help, your faces now inches apart. He wondered what other sweet sounds names he could get out of your mouth.

Your fingers worked effortlessly, loosening the stubborn knot until the tie slid fluidly off his neck. But as you looked up to meet his eyes, you froze. His gaze had clouded over with something that you couldn't recognize. Your breaths fanned across each others faces, and before you could move–

Caleb leaned over and kissed you. Lips crashing together in a fervent, messy, and unpracticed way. Your fingers automatically tangled in his hair, tugging lightly, while he placed one hand on the back of your head and the other tightly around your waist. He pulled you against him as if no amount of closeness would ever be enough. When you finally broke away for half a second to gasp, Caleb dragged your face right back to him almost immediately. Taking full advantage of your parted lips, his tongue tasted yours, drawing a soft whimper from your throat. 

Eventually, he gave your mouth a break, dragging his lips down to your neck. Tilting your head to the side, you hissed at the sudden feeling of his teeth lightly pinching your skin. You tugged his hair harder in response, making him let out a low groan that rumbled against you, leaving a shiver in its wake. 

Effortlessly, Caleb lifted you by the hold on your waist, moving you with him as he walked toward the bed. He pressed you down onto your back against the mattress, all the while never once taking his mouth off yours. Dropping one last firm kiss onto your lips, he finally pulled back just enough to look at you. 

“I wanna see you, baby”

The both of you were stripped down to your underwear, you straddling Caleb while the headboard braced his back. Holding you against his clothed length, he desperately rolled his hips up into yours, his fingers bruising your skin with their tight grip. “Hah– pips, you feel so good, ngh!” Caleb was barely able to string coherent sentences together, completely drunk off the way you were soaking him through your panties.

“I’ve been so good for so long,” he practically whimpered, pulling you even harder against him as he continued, “I can't hold back anymore.” You were too dazed to even register what he was saying, entirely consumed by how good his warm, pulsating dick felt on your cunt. Not getting a response, Caleb suddenly lifted your hips away from him, making you mewl in protest as his drooling tip was pulled inches from where you wanted it most. 

“I need you to tell me you want this. To let me have you, all of you.” 

Desperate now, tears prickled the corners of your eyes as you nodded, whispering, “Yes! I need you, Caleb. I need you so bad it hurts.” Caleb laid you back onto the mattress, following you down immediately to hover over you. “Where exactly does it hurt, honey?” Moving his hand down to your clit, he rubbed slightly, making you moan. “Here?” 

“Yesyesyesyes please.” Caleb’s ego inflated just a little, looking down at how needy his girlfriend was for him. He moved your panties to the side, letting his fingers circle your folds before dipping a single digit inside, reveling in the noises spilling from your lips. 

He stroked exploratively, trying to recall every piece of advice and research he'd quietly looked up late at night, making sure he was completely ready to please you. His practice didn't betray him; he managed to find the exact spot that made you arch into him, your eyebrows scrunching up as your breath hitched. Bingo.

Grinning, he slipped a second finger in, much more confident with his strokes as he moved lower on your body. Finally reaching eye level with your pink pussy, his eyes visibly dilated. His first instinct was to lean down and suckle on your clit, but the sensation was so violently overstimulating and new that you instinctively reeled your hips upward.

Scrunching his eyebrows, he wasn't about to let his pips run away from him now. Using his free hand, he pinned your hips firmly to the mattress, keeping you trapped in place as he pressed his mouth back down against you. Your squirming only fueled him. He used his mouth and fingers in perfect sync, driving you closer and closer to the edge. 

When you finally finished, your hand tangled desperately in his hair, pulling him closer as you rode out a shattering orgasm, letting him lap up everything that came out of your sweet hole. Releasing from you with a wet pop of his mouth, he brought his slick fingers up to your face, giving you a silent order with a smirk. You obediently sucked them clean. 

Reaching up, he gently brushed the hair away from your forehead. ‘Good girl.’

And like a greedy little thing, still panting for air, you whispered, “More.” Caleb let out a huff before leaning in to bite your cheek, making you yelp softly. “Can't get enough huh, sweetheart? You want this dick now, don'tcha?” 

Your only response was to pull him down by his hair, dragging him back into a kiss, whimpering his name against his lips. His dick throbbed at that.

“Okay you’re getting fucked now,” he almost snarled against you.

When he first slipped into you, Caleb almost bust right then and there. He hadn't anticipated truly how good his little pips would feel wrapped around him. But his determination to make your first time perfect got the better of him, and he summoned every ounce of willpower to hold back. 

So now, there you were, nails digging deep into Caleb's back as he drilled into you. His hips met yours with heavy force, the room filling with wet, squelching noises.  “Ca-caleb,”you managed to choke out, your entire body moving with the force of his thrusts. “Deeper.”

Hearing you say that, you didn't think it was possible for him to get any harder, but he did. Caleb hooked your leg over his shoulder, adjusting your hips. With the new angle, he buried himself to the hilt, driving much deeper than before. 

You swore you could see stars, and your walls involuntarily clenched around him in a tight spasm. His pace faltered, and a sharp whimper left his throat. Catching onto this immediately, you now purposefully clenched around him again.

 “Stop that- fuck.” Caleb was already having a hard time with how deep he was inside you, and with this new game of yours, he wasn't sure he could  keep up any longer.

“Baby, I can't– I can't hold on anymore. I need you to come for me.” He leaned down, his voice cracking. “You can do that, yeah? Come for your boyfriend? For your Caleb? Please.” 

You didn't think you would be into Caleb begging you, but here you were. Hearing him like this irrevocably sent you over the edge. You came harder than you ever had in your life, your cunt tightening like a vice. You convulsing around him was his final straw. Caleb came at the exact same time, pumping you full of his seed as his pace finally slowed down, dick already overstimulated. 

His muscles were too exhausted to hold his weight any longer. He dropped down, careful not to crush you, and rested his forehead against yours as you both came down from the high. 

“I love you,” the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could think. His eyes widened a second later, panic flaring as he scrambled to explain, “Wait, I mea–”

“I love you too, Caleb,” you interrupted, smiling up at him, your breaths intertwining in the small space between your lips.

Caleb let out a massive huff of relief. His hand came up to tenderly caress your cheek, his voice steady and certain now. “I love you so, so much.”

taglist: @meanhamster @feral-espresso-boba @dbglow @hilliserose @violojezel @sickleddreamer @babebleu @calebssummerembrace

the heat of the mid-noon always makes the wrapper stick to the cheap ice candy you’ve both bought from the corner store since you were kids. it’s a stupidly precise ritual—caleb rips the top off with his teeth, unfazed by the plastic cutting into his lip, and hands the half-melted orange block over to you before taking his own.

the walk back from granny’s nursing home is long enough for the initial heaviness of seeing her frail state to wear off, and it left just the familiar hum of the pavement and caleb’s shoulder occasionally brushing against yours.

“you're still wearing my grey hoodie,” caleb says, dropping his head back to blink up at the sun through the trees. “i almost got late to my class just looking for it.”

“wachu mean? it's mine now,” you take a bite of the ice candy, ignoring the brain freeze. “you left it on my bed months ago. soooo statute of limitations has passed.”

he snorts, shoving his free hand into his pocket. his stride is longer now, with a frame broader than it used to be when you first moved into the house, but the irritating tilt of his head is exactly the same. “that's not how the law works, kiddo. and for the record, it fits you like a fucking tent. it looks ridiculous.”

“it's comfortable.”

“it smells like you now, anyway. probably covered in whatever vanilla lotion you're obsessed with.” caleb stops mid-stride, turning his head to look down at you as a teasing smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. “actually, did you shrink it? or did you just borrow it because you ran out of laundry day options again? also, right, i swear to god, if you're wearing my boxers as shorts around the house again, i’m putting a padlock on my dresser.”

you roll your eyes, but your heart does a small trip behind your ribs. “...it was one time. and they were clean! besides, they have a better drawstring than mine.”

“they're men's underwear, you absolute menace,” he laughs, an easy sound that vibrates in the space between you. “what is your future husband even going to say when he finds out you steal your brother's underwear?”

“you aren't my brother.” you make a popping sound on your ice candy.

“hmm, alright, baby sis.”

“and i'll tell my future hubby he has to share his clothes too, if he's half as dramatic as you, i'll just divorce him.”

“nah.” caleb leans in while still walking, his eyes gleaming with that familiar mischief. “whoever you marry is going to have to deal with me first. i’m going to be the worst brother-in-law in human history. i’ll show up at your house at two in the morning just to tell him all the embarrassing stories from when you were nine.”

“you wouldn't dare.”

“try me,” he suddenly reaches out and plants his thumb right against the corner of your lip, wiping away a stray drop of melting orange ice. his skin is warm, rougher than it used to be, and his thumb lingers for just a beat too long against your skin before he pulls it back. “you've got sticky stuff on your face, as usual.”

you blink, your throat suddenly feeling dry despite the ice candy. you look away first, focusing hard on the cracked pavement ahead. 

as you arrive back at home, the heavy front door clicks shut behind you, sealing out the heat and replacing it with the slightly hollow coolness of the house. without granny there, the air feels different—thicker, somehow, and much too big for just the two of you.

caleb dumps his keys on the entryway bowl with a loud clatter, already peeling off his sneakers with his feet without unlacing them. “god, i'm starving,” he walks straight toward the kitchen island, pulling a cutting board from the rack. “i'm making those wraps from the leftover chicken. you want one?”

”yeah,” you mutter, slumping against the kitchen counter, watching his broad back as he reaches into the fridge. he moves with the effortless familiarity of someone who owns every square inch of the space. he’s got his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the muscles in his forearms shifting as he grabs a knife and starts chopping lettuce like a husband material.

“hey, you watered the ferns by the window sill today, right? gran said they need a misting every morning or the leaves start turning yellow.” he says casually, not breaking his pace with the knife. 

silence...

your eyes darted toward the living room window where the row of clay pots sits under the harsh sunlight. the soil looks bone-dry. fuck, you completely forgot! again!

caleb pauses his chopping, “so you didn't.”

“i-i was going to!” you blurt out, immediately spinning on your heel to head toward the sink to grab the watering can. “i'm doing it right now, see? i just got distracted by the—”

“uh-uh. too late.” 

before your fingers can even touch the plastic handle of the watering can, a pair of heavy arms wraps around your waist from behind. caleb instantly lifts you clean off your feet! with a grunt of easy effort, he pivots, hoisting you over his shoulder like a literal sack of rice. the sudden rush of gravity sends your head rushing with your stomach pressing into his shoulder.

“you—?! caleb! put me down, you idiot!” 

“how many times do i have to tell you, pips? gran is literally going to haunt us from the nursing home if her pothos dies,” he grumbles, totally unfazed by your squirming as he marches into the living room. “this is the hundredth time this week. you have such a short-term memory.”

“i just forgot, okay?! let go!”

“nope. punishment.”

he dumps you unceremoniously onto the plush cushions of the couch. and before you can even scramble to sit up and escape, caleb instantly drops his weight over you, pinning your thighs down with his knees and digging his fingers straight into your ribs.

“caleb—no! stop! fuck, caleb, i'm sorry!” you shriek, throwing your head back into the pillows while your entire body convulses into a breathless laughter. you twist and writhe beneath him, but he’s too heavy, his hands finding every single ticklish spot along your waist.

“say you're sorry to the plants,” 

“i'm sorry! i'm sorry to them! i'll water them with my tears, just stop!” you gasp, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from laughing so hard. you try to push his chest, your hands sliding against the thin fabric of his t-shirt. but shit isn't he huge.

caleb just laughs, a breathlessly rough sound, and catches your wrists, pinning them over your head into the cushions. he traps you just to lean down so close you can smell the faint scent of the ice candy on his breath. it turns into a messy grunting wrestling match, your legs flailing against his hips as you try to dislodge him.

“aw, you're so weak,” he taunts, his chest rising and falling heavily against yours. “how are you gonna—”

but out of pure survival instinct, you wrench one leg free and drive your knee straight upward, landing a blunt kick into his stomach.

hiya!

“umf—!” a sharp intake of air cuts his laugh off, and his face contorts in genuine pain for a second, his grip tightening instinctively.

“oh my god, are you okay—?”

“you little brat,” out of sheer retaliation and to neutralize your defense, caleb reaches down and grabs your ankle in a vicelike grip. with a heavy shove of his forearm, he pushes your leg wide across the back cushion, effectively pinning your knees completely apart to lock you down.

what the fuck, wait.

the position is suddenly so intimate. 

you are open beneath him, legs spread wide and hips locked under his, and the sheer weight of his frame is utterly undeniable. it's annoying how your heart thumps violently against your ribs now—no, not from laughter, but it's from a dizzying wave of ...heat. 

but caleb is just blinking down at you, his chest still heaving from the exertion. his hand is still wrapped tightly around your ankle, fingers burning hot against your bare skin. he’s looking at your face with a slightly annoyed puff of air escaping his lips while he nurses his stomach with his other hand.

“you seriously fucking kick like a mule,” he mutters, ignoring—or totally oblivious to—the fact that he is holding you in a position that feels too inappropriate for two people who share a last name on an adoption certificate. but he doesn't let go. he just hovers there. “should i leave you like this till lunch is done?”

you force your voice not to tremble, swallowing down the dry lump of panic in your throat. “get the fuck off me, caleb. seriously. you’re being weird.”

caleb raises a brow, his head tilting to the side as he stares down at you. “weird? what's weird about this? the only thing weird here is that you just broke my ribs with your knee and you haven't even apologized.” he lets out a scolding click of his tongue, his hand tightening around your ankle just enough to remind you that you aren't going anywhere. “matter of fact, you need a punishment for that. you gotta learn your place, you little girl.”

“caleb, don't—”

before you can even finish the sentence, caleb leans down. without a hint of hesitation, he sinks his teeth straight into the soft flesh just below the hem of your shorts. 

your breath hitches sharply, the sudden sting of his teeth sending a jolt straight down your spine. and he bites down even harder! the pressure of his jaw leaving a deep, burning ache against your skin.

“okay! okay, fuck i'm sorry!” you whimper, hands clawing futilely at the couch cushions. “i'm sorry, caleb,”

he finally releases your skin, but the playful retort you're expecting doesn't come. 

he's strangely quiet. 

and for a second, it feels like there is something complicated inside his head. his eyes are unreadable as they track the red imprint of his teeth on your leg.

“caleb...?”

he leans in even closer, his shadow completely engulfing you. your eyes widen as he buries his face right into the crook of your neck while his nose brush against your collarbone.

what the hell is he doing? what is he pulling right now?

how can he be so comfortable doing this? how can he just occupy your space so ruthlessly while you're paralyzed like this beneath him?

you feel the warm puff of his breath against your bare skin as he takes an inhale. his nose slides lower, brushing past your jaw, trailing a path of goosebumps down to the heat of your chest before he takes another long sniff. you can feel the exact weight of his chest pressing into yours, the hard line of his thighs pinning you open.

but the sudden groan coming from him wakes you up. 

“knew it. you used my body wash again,” he finally pulls back, sitting up on his knees but still hovering over you. there's that familiar scowl returning to his face. “i knew i wasn't crazy. ugh you're really annoying, pipsss.”

ah. oh. alright.

that was it.

the suffocating knot in your chest uncoils, a wave of dizzying relief—and a bitter sting of disappointment—washing over you. it was just because of a body wash. not because he was looking at you differently. not because he felt the same pull that you did. it was just caleb being caleb.

“it smells better than mine,” you manage to choke out, forcing your voice back into its usual defensive cadence even as your heart refuses to slow down.

“buy your own.” he finally lets go of your ankle and pulls his weight off you. 

that was your life with caleb.

the house, once bursting at the seams with granny’s presence and the sweet smell of her liniment, suddenly feels too big for just the two of you. it's a stage built for a larger cast, yet only you and caleb remain to play house in the quiet.

every saturday morning is the same. you both pack her favorite soft biscuits into a tin container, ride the bumpy bus down to the bright walls of the nursing home, and sit by her bed. and then caleb would play the part of the dutiful grandson—smiling wide, kissing her paper-thin cheek, laughing at jokes she’s told a hundred times before. but then sunday night rolls around, and the silence settles back into the floorboards like dust.

then come the weekdays when college classes split your schedules into mismatched pieces. there are quiet mornings where you wake up to the smell of burnt toast and find a messy note scribbled on a napkin: leftover rice is mine, touch it and die. there are rainy afternoons where you sit alone in the living room, listening to the water hit the glass and wondering if his lecture ran late or if he’s simply loitering somewhere else.

then, your life with caleb became a collection of tiny petty wars fought in the shadows of granny’s absence. you steal his oversized socks because yours are all lost in the dryer. he retaliation-hides your favorite hair clips in the freezer. you scream at him for leaving his damp towel on the bathroom floor; he barks back at you for leaving the milk carton empty inside the fridge. it's the noisy camouflage you both wear so nobody looks too closely at the spaces where your skins accidentally linger, or the way his eyes track your movements when he thinks you aren't paying attention.

until the afternoon it breaks.

it happens on a tuesday, right in the crowded heat of the university's cafeteria hall. you're sitting across a guy from your major block, sharing a plate of fries and talking about a group project. it's entirely innocent, entirely mundane... but then a shadow falls over the plastic table, and you look up to find caleb standing there.

sliding into the seat right next to you, uninvited, he slung a heavy arm over the back of your chair and grinned a bright smile at your terrified classmate.

“so, who's the friend, (name)?” caleb had asked, and for the rest of the day, and all through the walk home, he had relentlessly poked at you. 

is he your boyfriend? 

does he know you still wet your bed? 

should i invite him over for tea so i can interrogate him?

he laughed and nudged your shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief, but beneath the playful banter, there was... something else?

which brings you to friday night.

the old grandfather clock in the living room ticks with a rhythmic thud that echoes through the empty house. 

11:03 pm.

you're curled up on the edge of the sofa, the screen of your phone casting a blue glow across your face. you’ve already sent seven texts to him. you’ve called three times, each one going straight to voicemail, the robotic operator telling you what you already know: he isn't answering.

where the hell is he?

caleb never stays out this late without a word? he's the dependable one, the good boy who always sends a quick text to let you know if he's grabbing drinks with his friends or staying late at the library. but tonight, there is nothing. just the empty house and the sickeningly dark windows staring back at you. your chest feels tight, a heavy knot of anxiety twisting in your gut. is he with someone? did he finally decide to try his luck with one of the girls who always leave comments on his photos?

screech! 

you almost jumped out of your skin when the front gates sounded with a sudden noise, which means... caleb is finally home. 

seconds later, the main door unlocks with a clumsy, fumbling click. and when it swings open, caleb is standing in the threshold, the cool night air rolling in behind him. he looks like a complete mess with his varsity jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder, uniform shirt half-untucked, wrinkling out from beneath a dark hoodie.

you don’t even give him a chance to step fully inside before you cross the living room, your bare feet slapping angrily against the cold floorboards. “where the hell have you been? why didn't you text me back? i called you several times!”

caleb doesn't shoot back with his usual retort. instead, he just stands there, blinking down at you through slightly unfocused eyes. a slow, crooked smile creeps onto his face, looking incredibly stupid and entirely too relaxed. as he steps closer, the sweet-and-sour sting of alcohol hits your nose.

so he’s drunk.

“hey,” he mumbles, his voice thick and dropping an octave lower than usual. “you're still awake.”

“obviously i'm still awake! i was worried sick, you absolute—”

you couldn't even finish yourself before he suddenly tilts forward, his entire upper body collapsing right against your shoulder. your breath instantly gets knocked out of you as your arms instinctively fly up to catch him, fingers digging into the thick fabric of his hoodie. damn, he is heavy. the broad weight of his chest presses completely into yours, burying his face right into the crook of your neck as he lets out a long, hot sigh against your skin.

“did you drink? caleb, are you fucking serious?” you strain against his weight, your heart doing a panicked dance behind your ribs. “get off me! where did you even go?”

“just... a house party, some guys invited me. didn't check my phone.” he muttered into your shoulder. 

a sharp spike of jealousy and irritation then flares up in your gut. the thought of him surrounded by crowded rooms, flashing lights, and girls trying to get his attention makes you lose your temper. with a frustrated grunt, you plant both hands against his chest and shove him away with all the strength you have left, throwing him straight backward onto the couch cushions.

caleb hits the plush sofa with a heavy thud, his limbs sprawling out awkwardly. “fuck—!” he winces, a sharp groan slipping past his lips as he rubs his shoulder, glaring up at you through his messy hair. “what the hell? that actually hurt.”

“good! you deserve it!” you snap, crossing your arms tightly over your chest to stop your hands from shaking. “just because you’re in college and granny isn't here to monitor you doesn't mean you can just run around doing whatever you want! going to parties, drinking until you can barely walk... did you kiss someone? did you do something stupid? are you trying to get yourself kicked out?”

caleb just stares up at you from the cushions, his irritated expression suddenly melting away into an amused chortle. the sound rumbles deep in his throat, dark and dripping with that infuriatingly lazy charm.

“look at you,” he giggles, a breathlessly drunken sound as he throws his head back against the sofa. “you’re acting exactly like a mother. it’s hilarious.”

“i'm trying to look out for you, you idiot.”

“why do you even care so much?” caleb asks, his laughter suddenly cutting off. he rolls his head to the side, eyes locking onto yours. “it’s not like we're actually blood-related, pipsqueak. you don't have to keep tabs on me like i'm your real brother.”

the living room goes dead silent. 

the grandfather clock ticks loudly in the background, but the sound feels miles away. you freeze in place, your tongue suddenly turning to lead, your eyes wide as you blink down at him. not blood-related. well, it’s the absolute truth, the reality you both dance around every single day, yet hearing him say it out loud feels like a line has been... crossed. 

you swallow down the bitter taste of hurt and confusion, forcing your expression into a blank mask. “fine, do whatever you want. drink yourself to death for all i care.”

without waiting for a response, you spin on your heel and walk away. you march down the hallway, slip into your bedroom, and shut the door firmly behind you, clicking the lock into place before leaning your back against the wood. 

back in the living room, caleb stays exactly where you left him, staring up at the shadow-drenched ceiling.

the stupid smile completely vanishes from his face, replaced by a bitter twist of his lips. “ahah...” he runs a frustrated hand over his face, fingers dragging through his hair as he lets out a sharp exhale into the quiet house.

god, he hates it. he absolutely loathes the sibling label the two of you have used as a shield for the last ten years. he hates that the only way he can get you to look at him with that much intensity, the only way he can pull those reactions out of you, is by pretending to be the very thing he wishes he wasn't.

—

by the following week, the threads holding your carefully constructed reality together begin to fray and knot in ways you can't control. 

the afternoon sun is heavy and suffocating when you finally push the front gate of your house open after a brutal three-hour lecture block. your feet ache and your shoulders are stiff from carrying a backpack loaded with textbooks, and on top of that, your stomach is letting out an aggressive growl. the only thing keeping you moving up the driveway was the thought of caleb’s cooking. for all his agonizing flaws, the boy knew how to handle a kitchen and you were ready to swallow your pride if it meant getting a plate of his garlic rice.

you twist the doorknob, stepping into the familiar coolness of the entryway. “caleb, i'm starving, did you leave any—”

the words die in your throat.

the living room, usually your shared sanctuary of quiet television static and stolen snacks, is suddenly alive with noise. the tv screen flashes with the chaotic colors of a multiplayer racing game with the volume cranked up high. and there, sitting cross-legged right on the carpet across the floor, are two people.

caleb is leaning forward, jaw tight with mock seriousness as his thumbs fly across the controller, and right next to him... is hyeran.

you know exactly who she is. she’s in the same year and department as caleb’s, one of those effortlessly pretty girls who always seem to be at the center of caleb’s university friend group, laughing a little too loudly at his jokes by the campus benches. right now, she’s screaming in frustration, her shoulder bumping solidly into caleb’s as her car spins out on the screen. in response, caleb throws his head back, letting out a boisterous laugh that you rarely hear him share with anyone outside these walls.

the sudden clatter of your keys hitting the entryway bowl cuts through the noise like a knife.

caleb and hyeran pauses mid-game, turning their heads simultaneously to look at you standing there in your wrinkled uniform. 

shit. this is fucking awkward.

“oh! hey, pips!” caleb doesn't scramble up or look guilty; he just offers a lazy wave of his controller. “you're home early. lecture got cut short?”

“uh, yeah,” you force out, your throat feeling suddenly tight as you grip the straps of your backpack. you adjust your expression, plastering on a polite smile that feels completely hollow against your cheeks. “hi, hyeran.”

“hi, (name)! oh my gosh, sorry for the noise,” hyeran chimes in, offering a warm smile that makes your stomach do a bitter flip. she looks so perfectly at home sitting on your living room rug, her canvas bag spilled open near granny’s favorite armchair. “your big bro told me i could borrow his notes, and then trapped me into playing this stupid game.”

you blink.

he isn't my fucking big bro.

“don't lie, you wanted the rematch,” caleb jests, nudging her with his elbow. 

“i'm just going to... grab a snack.” you mutter, desperately needing a barrier between yourself and the display on the floor.

you walk past them, your eyes locked firmly ahead as you retreat behind the kitchen island counter. the kitchen layout is an open-concept, completely overseeing the living room, meaning there is nowhere to hide. you can see everything. to keep your hands busy and stop them from shaking, you pull a bowl of apples and a small paring knife toward you.

you begin peeling the fruit, the sharp blade slicing through the red skin in one continuous ribbon.

“caleb mentioned you're still a freshman, right?” hyeran asks, twisting her torso around to lean against the edge of the sofa, looking up at you over the counter with curiosity. “how is it? 'cause when i was in your shoes, i can baaaarely handle the workload.”

“it's fine. just a lot of memorization,” you cut a slice of the apple, popping it into your mouth and chewing. “you just have to manage your time. which some people in this house clearly don't know how to do.”

“hey, i heard that. (name) loves to pretend she's the responsible one, hyeran. don't let the uniform fool you. she literally forgot to water granny's plants thrice last week.” caleb interjects, not looking back as he unpauses the game.

“it was only once, you liar.” 

“whatever helps you sleep at night, sis.” 

hyeran giggles, turning back to the screen as the countdown for the next round starts. “you two really argue like real siblings, it's so cute. my brothers just ignore me.”

siblings. there it is again. that stupid, suffocating word.

you stand behind the counter, a half-peeled apple in one hand and the paring knife in the other, then you look at caleb. 

he’s doing this on purpose, is he? you know him too well not to see the edge beneath his playful demeanor. he’s showing you what life looks like when he plays by the rules you both set—the rules that say he is just a brother, and that he is perfectly free to bring other girls into the house you share.

caleb and hyeran continue to play the last few rounds of the game, their voices rising in cheerful bursts of laughter that fill the empty space where granny used to be. and you can only stand there, chewing on your tasteless fruit, staring at the back of caleb’s head with a sarcastic scowl.

this little bitch.

if this is the game, then you're going to be a better player.

if caleb wants to play a game of boundaries, you are going to show him exactly how it feels to have the board flipped. two can play the petty game of bringing people into a space where they don’t belong. if he can bring his shiny giggling friend into the living room, then you are going to give a certain someone else the time of day.

the very next morning, you seek out valko.

valko is the kind of blockmate who has spent the last semester treating your existence like a personal challenge. he’s loud, entirely too confident, and has spent months throwing flirty remarks your way—advances you’ve always shot down with a sharp roll of your eyes or a cold shoulder. so when you walk straight up to his desk before the morning lecture, leaning against the wood and offering a small smile, the confusion on his face was almost comical.

“you're... talking to me? no biting remarks? no telling me to get lost?” valko's eyebrows shot up as he stops shuffling through his tablet. 

“maybe i'm just tired of being mean,” you say smoothly, tilting your head in a way you know looks casual, though your pulse is racing for an entirely different reason. “can't a blockmate just be friendly?”

valko isn’t a fool, but he’s certainly not going to complain about a sudden miracle. by the time the final bell rings at four in the afternoon, he’s already dangling his car keys between his fingers, blocking your path out of the lecture hall with a triumphant grin. “hey, since we're being friendly now, (name), let me give you a ride home. the clouds look heavy anyway. don't want you catching a cold.”

you hesitate for a fraction of a second, thinking of the dusty pavement and the walk you usually take, but then you picture caleb’s stupidly smug face from yesterday. “sure!” you say clearly, loud enough for a few surrounding classmates to hear. “thanks, valko.”

the walk to the student parking lot earns you exactly what you wanted: stares. a lot of them. whispers ripple through the department cliques as you slide into the passenger seat of valko’s surprisingly clean sedan. word travels fast on campus, and you know for a fact that caleb’s friends hang around the same smoking area right outside the parking exit.

the drive to your house is filled with the low hum of the air conditioner and valko’s easy chatter. but as the car finally pulls up along the familiar front gates of your house, the atmosphere inside the vehicle turns... awkward. 

valko cuts the engine, his hands lingering on the steering wheel as he looks at the closed facade of the house. “so,” valko clears his throat, his eyes darting toward the front door. “your, uh... your big brother. caleb. is he home?”

you blink, “probably. why?”

valko lets out a short laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “nnnothing, it's just... that guy is terrifyingly annoying. i saw that hunk staring at me in the cafeteria last week like he wanted to fuckin' dissect me. i don’t really fancy getting my head bitten off just because i drove his little sister home.”

you let out a breathless chuckle, the word sister grating against your nerves like sandpaper. you reach for the door handle, turning back to look at valko. “you don't have to worry about him, valko. and for the record... caleb and i aren't real siblings. we're not blood-related at all. his granny just took me in.”

valko’s eyebrows twitch upward, a sudden glint of renewed interest lighting up his eyes. “oh. seriously? huh. i didn't know that.”

“yep! well. thanks for the ride,” you say, pushing the car door open and stepping out into the humid afternoon air.

but valko doesn't just let you leave. he rolls down the passenger side window immediately, leaning over the console to keep the thread of the conversation tightly pulled. “hey, (name), wait—so if he's not your actual brother, does that mean i don't need his permission to take you out for real next time?”

valko cheekily smiles.

you idle right outside his side of the window, your fingers gripping the strap of your bag, keeping your expression light and teasing even as your eyes instinctively drift toward the glass of the living room window. “maybe, haha, you'll just have to ask nicely...”

“pipsqueak!”

the familiar shout cuts through the air. you immediately turn your head toward the source, only to see caleb jogging down the sidewalk toward the driveway with a bright smile splitting his face. before you can even process what he's up to, he closes the distance, throws his heavy arms around your waist, and lifts you clean off the asphalt.

he spins you around in a breathlessly joyful circle, his laughter vibrating hard against your chest.

“caleb! what's up? put me down!” you frown in utter confusion, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance. inside the sedan, valko’s eyebrows knit together, his frown deepening by the second.

“you know what's up?” caleb sets you back down but doesn't let go. his large hands stay clamped firmly onto your upper arms, his eyes wide and gleaming with pure excitement. “we won, pips! our team won the interschool championship game!”

and because of that, the bitterness from the past week evaporates. your eyes light up, a wide smile breaking across your face. “oh my god, seriously? that’s amazing!”

“i know!” he laughs, pulling you back into an another tightly crushing hug. like he's using you as a lightning rod for all his manic energy, burying his face in your hair and all that. 

thwack!

the car door behind caleb suddenly flies open, the heavy edge of the metal panel smacking squarely into his lower back.

“ah—” caleb winces, a sharp groan escaping him as he stumbles forward, forced to break his hold on you. he wheels around, eyes instantly hardening into something cold when valko steps out of the sedan.

“oops, sorry about that, mate,” valko grins, pulling his lips into an awkward one. “i didn't see you standing right in the swing of the door. anyway-uh, i'm valko, (name)'s blockmate.”

caleb straightens up to his full height, his broad shoulders squaring as he looks at the guy. the warm, golden-boy smile he gives valko is entirely rigid. “right, valko. i've heard. what brings you to our driveway?”

“just driving (name) home from campus,” valko replies, matching caleb’s forced courtesy. “and making sure she got back safe. well... you must be the big brother she mentioned.”

“something like that,” 

“uhm, valko was just—” you stepped between them to clear up the mounting friction, but valko cuts you off completely.

he looks caleb straight in the eye, tilting his chin up. “actually, since you're here, i think it's only fair to tell you directly. i've decided i'm going to start courting (name).”

“cough, what?”

what?

both you and caleb widen your eyes, the world going dead silent.

“and honestly, man,” valko adds, crossing his arms and offering a smug tilt of his chin before either of you can even draw breath, “you probably shouldn't be hugging her too easily like that anymore. since, you know, i’m going to start dating her.”

you internally facepalm so hard your brain rattles. oh my god. what did you just get yourself into? valko had completely, catastrophically misread the entire situation. he thought he was playing the part of the chivalrous alpha suitor, oblivious to the fact that he was currently standing in a radioactive strike zone.

but then, a part of your brain clicks into gear. you wanted a reaction out of caleb, didn't you? you wanted to wipe that infuriatingly smug, "i-can-bring-girls-to-the-house" look off his face. maybe this trainwreck of a misunderstanding was exactly what you needed.

you let out a sigh, turning away from caleb to face valko with a perfectly practiced look. “it's fine, valko. caleb is just... a guy i grew up with. really. nothing else. just two kids who happened to live under the same roof.”

valko blinks, processing this, his chest puffing out a little more. “so... like childhood friends?”

“yeah!” you nod quickly, your tone a little too casual and a little too dismissive. “yeah, exactly. childhood friends. that's the perfect way to describe us.”

from the corner of your eye, you feel the exact moment caleb’s gaze burns into the side of your face. you glance up at him, and sure enough, he is staring down at you with a sarcastic scowl—the exact, burning, “this-little-bitch” look you had given him behind the kitchen counter yesterday. the silent, petty warfare is screaming between you two.

valko, blind to the silent daggers being thrown over his head, scoffs and shakes his head. “right. childhood friends. uh, honestly, i don't really buy that whole thing. there’s no way a guy and a girl can just be friends without something else going on. it’s usually just an excuse to keep someone within arm's reach.”

your heart does a nervous, jittery little skip. you quickly scramble to patch up the defense before valko digs too deep into the truth. “no, it's not like that at all! caleb is... he's like a brother to me. we're basically siblings.”

“but we... aren't siblings though.”

caleb’s voice cuts through your sentence like a blunt blade.

you freeze, your tongue going dry as you slowly pause and look up at him.

“i'm not your brother, (name).” 

what the actual hell is he talking about?

your hands go hot and sweaty against your side. this is the exact same guy who, just a few days ago while dead drunk, threw the “not blood-related” card in your face to push you away and tell you to mind your own business. he was the one reinforcing the stupid label, using it as a shield to bring other girls around—and now, right in front of the guy who just announced he wants to court you, he’s arguing the exact opposite?

you stand there completely wordless, the nervous jittery tension tight enough to snap. valko shifts his weight across caleb, looking suddenly confused by the sudden shift in the air, but caleb doesn't even glance back at him.

he keeps his eyes entirely on you.

valko clicks his tongue.

“right,” he blurted out, deliberately stepping sideways to cut off caleb’s line of sight and forcing his way back into your field of vision. “anyway! you look kind of... tight right now, (name), like your shoulders are up to your ears. there's that street-food stall down the block that sells those pork dumplings. why don't we go grab a plate? my treat. it'll help you unwind.”

your brain, currently fried from caleb, scrambles for a normal human response. “oh—uh, dumplings? i mean, i guess i could—i mean, sure, that sounds—”

“‘oh—uh, dumplings? i mean, i guess i could-’” caleb instantly parroted, his voice pitching into a ridiculous falsetto that sounded absolutely nothing like you. he slouched his shoulders, batting his eyelashes in a grotesque mimicry of modesty that made your fist twitch. “‘i guess i could eat a little dumpling, valko!’”

valko raised a brow.

“caleb, shut up!” 

“i'm just saying,” caleb hummed at you, casually sliding his hand into his pocket to pull out his phone. his thumb swiped across the screen with a smirk. “i should probably just dial up gran's unit real quick. let the nursing staff hold the receiver up to her ear so i can tell her that her precious adopted granddaughter is already out here in the driveway, ignoring her chores, just to eat cheap meat down the street with random guys from the university.”

he tilted his head, giving you a look of fabricated pity. 

“man, she’s going to get reeaaally upset, pips. you know how her blood pressure gets when she finds out you're being irresponsible.”

“you wouldn't dare!” you gasped, your lungs seizing up. granny loved you, but she was a traditional woman who would absolutely launch a long-distance lecture about decorum through the phone lines if caleb fed her some twisted version of reality. “give me that!”

you lunged forward, throwing your weight against his side as you reached wildly for the device. but caleb had been anticipating the movement since the moment you took a breath. with a delighted chuckle, he simply straightened his spine, extending his long arm straight up into the air. because he had grown nearly a foot taller than you over the last three years, the phone might as well have been on the roof of the house.

“come on, grab it, pipsqueak,” he was solid as a brick wall! his chest vibrating against your forehead as he laughed down at your frustration. “you’re too short it's embarrassing.”

“caleb, i swear to god, drop your arm right now or i will kick you again!”

“hey, (name).”

you paused, breathless and flushed, looking back over your shoulder. valko had stepped closer, his expression a mix of irritation at being ignored and a tryhard desire to look like the savior of the narrative. before you could scramble away from caleb's side, valko reached out and gently wrapped his fingers around your right wrist.

“don't worry about him,” valko said, giving your wrist a soft, encouraging tug toward the open street. “come on, let's just go get the food. ignore the noise.”

the physical touch sent a strange jolt of awkwardness through you, and you instinctively took a step forward, your shoes clicking against the pavement while valko started walking you down the street.

snap.

a second basket of heat clamped down around your left wrist.

you blinked in utter surprise, your head whipping back around so fast your neck cracked.

caleb had also... wrapped his fingers around your opposite wrist. your right arm was pulled toward valko; your left arm was locked tight by caleb. you were literally being pulled in two different directions like a wishbone.

you stared at caleb, your heart doing a series of unpredictable thuds against your ribs. “what is up with you today, caleb...?”

“what?” he murmured, giving your arm a tiny, playful yank back toward his chest. “i want to eat dumplings too.”

—

and then, there you were. 

the plastic stool beneath you wobbles every time someone passes the cramped table, but that's the least of your concerns. the air inside the tiny stall feels thick with the steam of boiling pork broth and the sting of chili oil. meanwhile, you're squeezed into the center of a very narrow wooden bench, a literal buffer zone between two opposite poles.

to your right is valko, leaning his elbow on the table and entirely absorbed in trying to keep your attention locked on him. then, to your left is caleb. he hasn't uttered a single syllable since you all sat down, choosing instead to stare ahead like a brooding gargoyle while a single plate of steaming dumplings sits between the three of you.

“no, seriously, (name),” valko shakes his head with a wide grin while he dips a dumpling into a small saucer of soy sauce. “professor actually looked me dead in the eye during the anatomy practical. i swear the man has a personal vendetta against me.”

you let out a breathless laugh. “maybe if you didn't sketch caricatures of him, he’d give you some grace.”

valko chuckles back, his shoulder nudging yours beneath the cramped table space. “hey, that was art. it showed appreciation for his eyebrows.”

slurrrrrp. smack. clack.

the sudden loud sound of chopsticks scraping against a plastic bowl cuts right through your shared laughter.

you blink, your head snapping toward the left side of the bench. caleb has his face nearly buried in his bowl as he takes a dripping piece of garlic-chili cabbage, shoves it into his mouth, and smacks his lips together with an obnoxious noise.

valko's grin falters slightly, his eyes darting over your head toward caleb. but caleb doesn't even look back. he just reaches across the small table, his long arm deliberately cutting off valko's view of you, and stabs another dumpling with such unnecessary force that the wrapper splits open with a wet pop.

“anyway,” you say quickly, your cheeks turning a frantic shade of pink as you try to steer the conversation back before caleb derails the establishment. “so... did you fail the practical or what?”

“uh, no, i managed a passing grade," valko says, clearing his throat and trying to ignore the absolute menace sitting next to you. “but after that, i had to spend two hours in the library just trying to—”

crunch. crunch. crunch.

caleb has now unearthed a bag of fried pork rinds from his pocket, snapping them between his teeth with a crunch. he leans back against the wooden bench, long legs splayed wide under the tiny table—his knee bumping solidly against yours with an insistence that makes you grind your teeth.

you glare at him, this little bitch is doing this on purpose.

caleb finally rolls his head over to look down at you. he takes another obnoxious bite of a pork rind, chewing it open-mouthed while raising a mocking eyebrow at you, like he was daring you to say something about it in front of your new suitor.

valko clears his throat, determined to plow through caleb's warfare like a true soldier of romance. he leans in a little closer, voice dropping into what he clearly thinks is an intimate tone. “so, anyway... since the weather's supposed to be nice this weekend, i was thinking maybe we could head down to that new cafe by the harbor? the one with the outdoor seating? we could—”

shrrrrrk!

caleb hooks his shoe around the bottom rung of your stool and, with one casual yank of his leg, slides your entire body a whole foot to the left. you instantly collide with his side, your shoulder smacking right against his solid bicep.

“what the...” you gasp, your hands flying out to grip the edge of the greasy table so you don't tip over.

but caleb doesn't even look up from his plate. he casually scoops up the last dumpling, pops it into his mouth, and speaks around it with unbothered calm. “hurry up and finish eating. we have to get back. we still have to feed our pet.“

you blink, your eyebrows nearly disappearing into your hairline. “since when do you care about the turtle?”

“i've always cared about him,” caleb turns his head to look down at you. “he's a vital member of the household.”

“i'm the only one who ever feeds him? you haven't touched his pellet container since 2024.”

“people change, sis. i've formed a bond with him over the last twenty-four hours,” caleb hums, a tiny smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as his knee bumps against yours under the table again. “and right now, he's starving. we're being bad parents. so eat.”

meanwhile, valko sits on the right side of the table, his mouth slightly open. he looks at your stool, which is now physically closer to caleb than it is to him, and lets out a long defeated breath through his nose. he clearly wants to argue, but trying to debate the nutritional schedule of a reptile with a guy who looks like he could bench-press the entire dumpling stall seems like a losing battle.

so the poor guy chooses to remain quiet. 

—

the very second the lock of the house clicked shut, your polite “public” face melted completely away, and you turned into a breathing volcano. “you are an actual child, caleb!” you started prattling instantly, tossing your heavy backpack onto the floor with a loud thud. your words tumbled out in a rush as you kicked off your shoes. “seriously, what was that? pulling my stool? making those obnoxious caveman noises? you were being a weirdo and an annoying prick for absolutely no reason. i feel so bad for...”

you spun around to give him a piece of your mind, but you paused.

there caleb was, leaning lazily against the doorway with his big arms crossed over his chest. he was staring down at you with a massive sarcastic scowl. ugh! he even had the nerve to look at you like youwere the one who had just ruined a perfectly good dumpling date over the turtle! 

you mirrored his posture, locking your arms tight and tilting your chin up. “don't look at me like that. what is your actual problem today?”

instead of snapping back, a slow little smirk began to crawl onto caleb's face. oh, he was loving this. this was his absolute favorite game in the world, and you had just walked right into his trap. wordlessly, he unclipped himself from the doorframe and took a deliberate step toward you. and then another.

you instinctively took a step back, but clack—your hips hit the hard edge of the open kitchen counter. 

you were cornered.

“my problem?“ now, caleb loomed over you, placing one palm on the counter right next to your waist to trap you in his shadow. “i don’t have a problem, pipsqueak. i was just being a protective big bro to you. isn’t that the label we chose?”

“protective? you looked like a lunatic!” you fired back, your face turning a furious shade of pink. “you were intentionally trying to ruin my conversation! for your information, you don't own me, caleb. if i want to go out and get dumplings with valko, i am allowed to.”

“with him?” caleb let out a chuckle, leaning down an inch closer until you could feel the warmth of his body. he was utterly enjoying how flustered and mad he was making you. “come on, the guy looks like he struggles with basic math. his hair looks like a bird nested in it. you seriously have zero taste.”

“huh, at least he doesn't bring random girls into our living room to scream at video games all afternoon! you had hyeran over here yesterday behaving like she owns the couch. if you can do stuff like that, why can't i?”

caleb’s smirk grew even wider, a quiet triumph gleaming in his eyes. ah, his face seemed to say, so that’s what this is really about.

“oh, so you were watching us from behind the counter,” he nudged his knee playfully against yours, anchoring you against the wood. “were you jealous, pips? is that why you let the car guy drive you home? because if you wanted to play video games with me that badly, all you had to do was ask nicely, you know?”

ah.

you had reached your absolute limit with caleb’s bottomless well of confidence. you were sick and tired of always being the one pressed against the woodwork, left all breathless and flushed while he got to stand there looking like the smartest boy in the whole wide world. you wanted the tables to turn so desperately that you could taste it, even if it meant playing a very dangerous game with your own silly little heart.

so, with a sudden narrowing of your eyes, you did something unpredictable.

yank!

your fingers reached out like little lightning bolts, wrapping tight around the fabric of caleb’s collar and pulling him downward with all your might.

oh, you should have seen his face. the teasing fool was caught off guard. his grand smirk evaporated into thin air, and a ragged little breath hitched right in the back of his throat. for the first time in a while, his polished exterior cracked into a million tiny pieces. 

you didn't dare break eye contact. you leaned in just a millimeter closer, your voice dropping into a mocking whisper. “what's the matter, caleb? not so talkative now? where did all that big, brave mouth go?”

poor caleb’s brain had gone into emergency mode. inside his broad chest, his heart was drumming a frantic—thump-thump, thump-thump—so loud and violent that you could practically feel the vibration through his shirt. his large hand, still planted on the kitchen counter beside your waist, gripped the polished wood so tightly that his knuckles turned so white, as if he were holding onto the edge of a cliff to stop himself from falling over—or worse, from reaching out and grabbing you back.

seeing your victory, you decided to push your luck just a little bit further. your hand slowly traveled up from his collar, your fingertips tracing an agonizing path up the side of his warm neck, before your thumb gently tapped the very edge of his earlobe.

“look at that. for someone who acts so cool, your ears are so bright red.”

caleb swallowed hard, his throat bobbing up and down as he gulped down the dry air. 

“you're such a hypocrite,” you mocked him one last time, giving his collar a playful shake. “always talking so much shit, but the second someone plays back, you freeze right up.”

and just as quickly as you had caught him, you planted both of your hands squarely against his hard chest and gave him a mighty shove.

whoosh!

caleb actually stumbled backward a couple of steps, his long legs flailing for a second before his feet caught the floorboards. he quickly cleared his throat—ahem, ahem—and rubbed the back of his neck.

“uh—wow,” he tries to forcefully laugh it off and turn the tension back into a silly joke. “okay, crazy lady. i- you nearly bit my nose off—”

“shut up and go jerk off to your notes, caleb.” you shot back over your shoulder.

caleb instantly went wide-eyed, letting out a dramatic cough—gack!—as he choked on his own saliva at the sheer obscenity of your remark.

you spun on your heel and marched happily down the hallway, slipping into your bedroom and clicking the lock shut with a very satisfied smile on your face, leaving the poor boy all alone in the quiet kitchen to figure out exactly what the hell had just happened to him.

serves him right.

—

and so, the great war officially began.

if you were going to be shameless about using valko as your personal human shield against your own confusing feelings, then caleb was going to be a thousand times more shameless about turning your life into a living cartoon. he became an absolute ghost in the machine, a walking disaster zone that magically appeared whenever valko so much as breathed in your direction.

on wednesday, you and valko were sitting on the low stone wall by the university quad, sharing a bag of salty chips. valko was leaning in close, his voice dropping into that tryhard smooth register again while he reached for a chip. thwack! out of absolutely nowhere, a round and suspiciously aerodynamic pebble shot through the leaves of the old oak tree, striking valko squarely in the middle of his forehead.

“ow! what the—” valko hissed, rubbing his brow as he looked around wildly.

far across the grass, standing by the sports locker rooms, caleb was casually tossing a basketball up and down in the air. he wasn't even looking at you. he was whistling a cheerful little tune, entirely innocent, though his vertical aim had been precise enough to deserve a gold medal.

on thursday, valko tried to walk you to your lab, proudly carrying your heavy medical dictionary like a true knight in shining armor. but as you rounded the corner of the science building, caleb suddenly materialized from the shadow of the vending machines. he didn't say a word to valko though. he just walked straight between the two of you like a giant solid wall, his broad shoulder subtly but violently checking valko to the side.

“oh, sorry, mate,” caleb hummed, reached down, and snagged the heavy book right out of valko’s hands before the guy could even blink. “my (name)'s got a weak spine, you know. family history. i always carry her books. thanks for holding it, though!” and just like that, he marched off, flipping through the pages of your textbook without a single care in the world.

it was a relentlessly ridiculous game of tag, a noisy circus meant to keep the terrifying gravity of that kitchen counter argument from swallowing you both whole. as long as caleb was throwing rocks and stealing books, he didn't have to think about his bright red ears, and you didn't have to think about his racing heartbeat.

until friday afternoon arrived, and the playful music finally... stopped.

the sky was the color of bruised slate when valko’s sedan pulled up along the front gates of your house. the engine let out an idling purr against the quiet pavement. you stepped out of the passenger side, but you didn't immediately walk toward the door. instead, you lingered by the open window, your shoulders slouched and your bottom lip tucked between your teeth in a rare display of genuine defeat.

today, you had failed the major quiz. 

you had studied until three in the morning, your eyes burning under the harsh blue light of your phone, only to see an ugly red circle at the top of your paper. the exhaustion and the disappointment were sitting heavy on your chest, and it felt so fucking awful. 

“hey,” valko seemed to catch on it, pushing his car door open and stepping out onto the asphalt beside you. he looked at your downcast face, his usual arrogant confidence softening into something genuinely concerned. “come on, (name). don't look like that. it's just one quiz. prof is a sadist anyway, everyone struggled.”

“i didn't just struggle, valko. i choked,” you muttered, staring down at the tips of your dirty shoes. “i'm supposed to be the responsible one. granny’s paying for these blocks, and i can’t even remember the difference between cellular necrosis and apoptosis when the timer's ticking.” 

saying that now, it kind of makes you laugh a bit.

but little did you know, behind the glass of the living room window, a pair of eyes was watching.

caleb stood in the shadows of the house, his arms hanging loose at his sides as he looked through the pane. he had been waiting for you. he had already cleared the kitchen counter, ready to cook whatever ridiculous comfort food you wanted to cheer yourself up after a long week. but now, he was frozen. he watched the way your lower lip trembled, the way your fingers nervously twisted the strap of your bag. he knew that exact look on your face. he knew the precise flavor of your sadness because he had been the one to hold your hand through every failed exam and scraped knee since you were seven years old. every protective instinct in his body screamed at him to open the front door, to run down the driveway, to scoop you up and carry you inside where it was safe.

but he didn't move, because he didn't have the right to.

“hey,” valko murmured again, stepping closer. “hey, look at me.”

and you looked up, your eyes wide and vulnerable. before your brain could even process the movement, valko reached out. his arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling your smaller frame firmly against his chest in a sudden hug meant to chase the cold away.

your body went stiff as a board against his jacket, hands dangling awkwardly at your sides. you hadn't expected it, maybe because... you hadn't wanted him to do it.

inside the house, behind the glass, caleb saw it. of course he did.

the sight of another man's arms holding you—the sight of you standing perfectly still in the driveway while someone else tried to soothe your tears—rubbed bitterly against him.

it was one of those moments again, those moments when caleb couldn't summon a single sarcastic remark. couldn't pull out a smirk. couldn't even pretend to be angry. it was just a thick and suffocating wave of unadulterated possessiveness and grief washing over him.

his jaw tightened, throat bobbing heavily as he gulped down a painful breath. his hand, which had been resting lightly against the edge of the curtain, suddenly convulsed, his fingers tearing into the fabric. he couldn't look at it. he physically and mentally could not bear to see another second of you belonging to someone else, even for a fleeting moment of comfort.

with a jerk of his arm, caleb yanked the heavy curtains shut, sealing out the afternoon light and plunging the living room into darkness.

caleb blinked several times, trying to catch his breath, trying to keep himself calm, trying to stay where he's at and remove the ugly thoughts of doing something to that red-haired guy. 

the living room was supposed to be a hiding place, but the walls inside granny's house had grown far too narrow to hold himself. his chest heaved, and his feet simply refused to stay glued to the floorboards. and the rationality he always wore like a freshly ironed uniform eventually disintegrated, leaving nothing but an itch that dragged him back toward the door.

it swung open with a bang that cut right through the hum of valko’s idling engine.

immediately, your head whipped around at the noise, your eyes still wide and startled from the sudden weight of valko's arms around you. but before you could even draw enough breath to call his name, caleb was already down the concrete steps. 

with a sudden jerk of his forearm, caleb reached out and grabbed the shoulder of valko’s jacket, yanking the guy backward with enough force to break his hold on you. 

“did she say yes to you?” caleb asked, “are the two of you officially dating right now?”

valko blinked, thoroughly bewildered and rattled by this guy's audacity. “no, we aren't, but i'm—”

“then you don't have any right to touch her like that,” caleb cut him off, his voice flat and freezing cold. “you don’t get to wrap your arms around her if she hasn't given you permission to be there. it's rude. it’s completely out of line.”

valko let out an incredulous scoff, the sheer persistence of caleb’s interference finally pushing past him. he took a step forward, tilting his chin up until he was staring directly into caleb’s face. he finally found the courage to say what he’d been thinking for weeks. “are you serious right now? what is your actual problem, caleb? what are you even to her?”

you blinked and looked up at valko. 

“you’re always... hovering. you’re always throwing things, always splitting us up, always acting like you own the ground she walks on. you said you aren't her brother. she said you aren't siblings. so what exactly is your deal? what are you to her?” 

caleb’s mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. 

so valko saw the break in the armor, and he drove the blade right through the crack. “do you like her?” 

at that, your heart did a leap behind your ribs, the blood rushing to your ears so loudly it drowned out the noise of everything else. you desperately and subconsciously wanted to hear the syllables leave his lips, to know if the pull you’d been drowning in was something he was drowning in too. 

what is he going to say? why isn't he saying anything?

but caleb couldn't answer.

he knew you were staring at him. he could probably feel the exact weight of your eyes tracking the rigid line of his jaw and the frantic rise and fall of his chest. but for the first time in his life, he couldn't meet your gaze back. his eyes darted nervously across valko, his throat bobbing in a gulp as he tried to find a lie big enough to save him.

until finally, slowly, caleb’s head tilted downward. his hair fell forward over his brow, before he hesitantly rolled his gaze down until his eyes locked directly onto yours.

gulp.

that look in his eyes...

it was something you had always disliked since you were kids. everytime the either of you brought up the subject of parents, of having a mother and a father, he did that face. except now it isn't because of that.

now... 

“i'm her guardian.” 

caleb answered.

“what?” your head tilted to the side, that familiar sarcastic scowl crawling right back onto your face.

“i am her legal guardian,” caleb repeated, nodding with a completely straight face. “since  our gran is currently being held back at the nursing home facility for medical observation, the responsibility of maintaining the household and ensuring the safety of it falls entirely on me. i am the primary caretaker of this residence.”

this little bitch.

valko just stood there, his mouth hanging open so wide a family of birds could have moved in. “what?” 

before you or valko could even open your mouths to scream at him for being an absolute fool, caleb’s heavy hand snapped down around your wrist.

“anyway, it's getting very close to six o'clock, which is the official cutoff time for driveway visitations,” caleb said, his voice dripping with an agonizingly tryhard politeness as he began walking backward, dragging you along like a sack of potatoes. he offered valko a little wave with his free hand. “thank you so much for the transportation, valko! drive home safely! watch out for the speed bumps on the main avenue, they’re quite treacherous this season!”

“caleb, you fucking—” you lunged backward, but caleb’s grip was absolute. you were forced to do a clumsy little sideways shuffle up the concrete steps, your free arm flailing in the air as you tried to offer valko at least a goodbye. “bye, valko! sorry! i’ll text you about the anatomy slides!”

but valko didn't even wave back. he just stood by his open car door, probably wondering if this whole situation was secretly a psychological experiment.

slam! click-clack!

the wooden door finally shut.

the very second the threshold was secure, caleb dropped your wrist like it was a hot potato. the authoritative guardian persona vanished into thin air, and he turned into a quiet giant. without saying a single word, without even looking at you, he spun on his heel and marched straight toward the safety of the open-concept kitchen.

you stood alone in the center of the living room.

this little brat is seriously getting on my nerves!

one second he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing left in the world, and the next second he’s inventing fake household rules just to avoid answering a simple question!

but you were not going to let him see how much he had rattled you. oh, absolutely not. you needed to get the upper hand back, even if you had to fake it.

you let out a dramatic cough to clear your throat, smoothing down the front of your wrinkled shirt before you marched over to the kitchen island. instead of hiding in your room like a coward, you hopped right onto one of the tall barstools, planting your elbows on the counter so you could watch him like a hawk.

“you are insane, you know that? a guardian? seriously? that is the dumbest thing that has ever come out of your mouth.”

caleb didn't answer you. he was currently busy staring down at the kitchen counter with an expression of concentration. for a guy who was usually a wizard with a skillet, he looked lost. he had a carton of heavy cream in one hand, a bottle of soy sauce in the other, and a tub of margarine sitting between them like a puzzle he couldn't solve.

“you were being so aggressive out there! valko was just trying to be nice because i was having a bad day—hey i'm speaking to you!” you huffed, your eyes narrowing as you watched him confusedly pick up a bulb of garlic, stare at it like it was an alien spacecraft, and then drop it back onto the wood. “are you even listening to me, you brat?”

“what am i to you, then?” caleb finally spoke.

oh, now, do you feel that? the air in granny’s kitchen just became so thick you could probably slice it with the very paring knife you used for those apples last week. you thought you were safe sitting on that high barstool, tucked neatly behind the counter like a judge delivering a very righteous verdict. 

but you forgot one very important rule when it comes to your big bro: he always knows when you’re hiding behind a loud mouth.

you should have just gone to your room. you should have just locked the door, eaten a stale cracker, and minded your own business instead of sitting out here pretending to be brave.

but it was already too late to run.

caleb finally abandoned his study of the soy sauce bottle and turned around. and then, he took a few strides over to your side of the counter. before your brain could even coordinate a retreat—shrrrrk!—caleb reached down to hook his hands around the metal legs of your stool, and pulled you a whole foot closer to him.

the proximity was so sudden your cheeks erupted into a furiously bright blush, while he just stood towering right over you. 

“tell me, pipsqueak,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips for a second before lifting back to your eyes. “what is valko to you?”

“he's my... suitor?”

“and what am i to you?” 

“y-you're just—i mean, we've always been—”

with a slow lean, he brought his entire upper body down, planting his palms firmly on the seat of your stool right on either side of your thighs. 

“do you want me to stop playing the sibling part then? do you want me to become something else?” caleb tilted his head, his voice dropping into a soft whisper.

“what do you mean... something else?”

a faint little smile touched the corner of caleb’s lips. “you know, like... a guy. a guy to you.”

thump. thump. thump.

your heart was no longer just beating; it was a damn throbbing thing inside your chest. your hands went completely numb against the stool, your eyes wide and your mouth slightly ajar in a look of such ridiculous shock.

caleb tracked every single ounce of your panic. he saw the terror, the blush, the absolute deer-in-the-headlights look paralyzing your face.

and then, just as the tension reached the absolute breaking point... caleb suddenly let out a boisterous laugh.

phew!

he pulled his upper body back, releasing your stool from his cage. before you could even register the sudden rush of cool air between you, caleb reached out and playfully pinched the tip of your bright red nose, shaking your head gently from side to side.

“gotcha,” he chuckled and turned back to the kitchen counter. “man, you should see your face right now, you look like a terrified little bird. i'm obviously just teasing you.”

you couldn't even bring yourself to manufacture a witty comeback. you just sat there on that stool, staring blankly into the empty space between the salt shaker and the soy sauce bottle.

caleb, however, appeared to have moved on, back to being the domestic king of the kitchen, the heavy iron skillet letting out a cheerful sizzle-hiss while he tossed the chopped garlic into the oil.

“we need to head out early tomorrow to visit gran, by the way,” caleb hummed casually over the sound of the spitting grease. “like, seven in the morning early. so don't stay up late scrolling through your phone.”

the mention of your grandmother finally poked a hole through your daze. you blinked, shaking your head slightly to clear the cobwebs as you focused on the back of his neck. “...why so early? the nursing home visiting hours don't even get busy until noon.”

“i have to be back on campus by ten. coach called a basketball practice for the championship preparations, and i can't miss it.”

“ah.” you nodded to the back of his head.

you managed to survive the rest of the evening by acting like a very polite, very quiet ghost, eventually slipping into your bedroom to endure a night of toss-and-turn sleep where caleb's whispering voice kept echoing in your dreams.

until the next morning arrived and caleb decided that the boy from yesterday was officially dead and buried.

bang! bang! bang!

“wake up, monkey! rise and shine!”

your bedroom door then flew back against the wall with a violent clack as caleb marched inside like a fucking drill sergeant. before your sleep-deprived eyes could even adjust to the morning light, caleb reached the edge of your mattress.

whoosh!

with one yank of his hand, he ripped your cozy duvet clean off your body, leaving you curled up in a shivering little ball on your sheets.

“fuck, why are you so damn loud early in the fucking morning?” you shrieked.

“ten minutes, and if you're not in up, i'm leaving you behind and telling gran you love sleeping more than you love her!” 

minutes later, you successfully managed to wash the sleep from your eyes and throw on a decent pair of clothes, though the inner grump was still very much awake.

you stood at the kitchen island, furiously snapping the plastic lids onto a neat little tower of tupperware containers. caleb had actually outdone himself this time—the savory aroma of freshly stewed chicken broth and garlic rice was already locked tight inside the plastic, ready to be delivered to granny's bedside.

the downstairs bathroom door swung open, and out stepped the grand tormentor himself.

you instinctively lifted your head, only for your brain to immediately scream abort mission! abort mission! because caleb had a fluffy white towel draped lazily over his damp hair, but that was the only thing he was wearing from the waist up. his broad shoulders, the sharp line of his collarbones, and the ridiculous expanse of his chest were completely on display, glistening faintly with a few stray droplets of water.

you whipped your head back toward the tupperware so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash, your cheeks instantly sparking with a familiar warmth. 

“hey,” he stopped right on the other side of the counter, smelling faintly of mint and soap. “did we run out of the extra toothpaste? i can’t find the tubes under the sink.”

“cabinet. it's behind the extra bars of soap on the top shelf. go look there.”

“right. thanks,” he mumbled, turning on his heel and thankfully retreating back into the bathroom.

you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. honestly, the nerve of this guy.

not long after, caleb finally emerged looking like a civilized human being again, with his heavy sports duffel bag slung carelessly over one arm. 

“you ready to go?”

“yep,” you quickly gathered the paper bag full of food and stepped toward the front door. 

but as caleb walked past the living room window sill, his eyes narrowed at the row of small terracotta pots sitting in the morning sun. he stopped, casually extending one long finger and poking it straight into the dark soil.

he paused. 

he wiggled his finger, then, he turned his head to look at you, a knowing eyebrow crawling up his forehead. “brat. did you water the ferns today?”

you froze right with your hand on the doorknob, your lips twitching, and you turned around to offer him the most innocent cheeky smile you could possibly muster. 

caleb let out a roll of his eyes. 

“come here,” he pointed a finger at the floor in front of him.

“no.” you shook your head violently. “we have to leave early, remember? for gran, and your super important basketball practice!”

with a delighted laugh, caleb let his heavy sports duffel bag slide right off his shoulder, letting it hit the floorboards with a loud thud. and before you could even turn the doorknob to escape, he closed the distance between you in two strides.

“caleb, wait—ah!”

you shrieked when his large hands clamped firmly around your waist. with zero effort, he lifted your feet clean off the ground, turning you around while you flailed uselessly in the air. he marched two steps back into the living room and dropped you right against the plush cushions of the sofa.

“punishment time!” caleb laughed, instantly hovering over you and planting his knees on either side of your hips so you couldn't wiggle away.

“no, stop! caleb, i swear—!”

but your threats were instantly drowned out by your own hysterical laughter as his long fingers began mercilessly digging into your ribs. you squirmed and twisted beneath him, hands frantically trying to swat his wrists away, but he was too big, too heavy, and entirely too good at finding your most ticklish spots!

eventually, what started as a simple tickle punishment quickly spiraled into a full-blown war of the cushions.

the moment caleb’s fingers paused to let you catch your breath, your inner competitive spirit woke up. you weren't just going to sit there and take the defeat! with a heave, you planted your socks against the back of the sofa and launched your entire body forward, aiming a messy tackle straight at his broad chest.

“oh, so we're wrestling now?” caleb laughed, his deep voice booming right against your ear before he effortlessly caught you by the waist.

the rules of the house were completely thrown out the window as the two of you flipped, twisted, and rolled across the plush cushions, trying every single fake martial arts move you had ever seen on television. heck, you were pulling out all the stops—trying to hook your arm around his neck, aiming sharp elbows at his ribs, and trying to pull off a dramatic headlock.

you were starting to sweat, and you were putting 110% of your soul into making this giant human being tap out.

caleb, on the other hand? he was putting in absolutely zero effort. he was literally lying back against the pillows, letting out a loud, breathless laugh at every single one of your frantic maneuvers. to him, you probably felt like an angry flailing puppy. every time you thought you had a solid grip on his arm, he would casually just flex his bicep and pop right out of it. 

“come on, pipsqueak!” he taunted, easily batting your hands away as you tried to pin his shoulders. “is that all you got? my teammates hit harder than this during warmups!”

“shut up and die, caleb!” 

you threw your weight into one final grapple. but alas, pride can be a very dangerous thing when you're fighting a varsity athlete.

caleb decided the game had gone on long enough. and in one quick motion, he caught both of your wrists in a single hand, threw his heavy leg over your torso, and completely flipped you over.

oomph!

suddenly, you were now slammed chest-first against the back cushions of the sofa. caleb slid right up behind you, his body pressing heavily against your back to completely pin you down. he wrapped one massive arm securely around your upper chest like a seatbelt, while his other hand kept your wrists locked together near your chin.

you were utterly trapped in a textbook rear-naked choke hold.

“all right, game over,” he gave you a playful squeeze, anchoring you even tighter against him. “tap out and acknowledge me as your supreme ruler, and i'll let you go.”

“never! i will literally bite you before i tap out!”

“stubborn little girl.” caleb chuckled softly, his chest rumbling right against your back. “you can't move. just tap the couch and save your dignity.”

oh, he thought he had won because he was bigger and stronger? he forgot that you were smaller, faster, and willing to play dirty.

the competitive fog in your brain is a blinding thing, so heavy that your survival instincts completely take the wheel before your common sense can even map out anything else. you don't even know what possessed you. you aren't thinking about the dangerous lines you almost crossed together over the past few days; only thinking about the iron band of his arm across your chest, and the humiliating prospect of defeat.

so, you use the only lever you have left.

with a subtle shift of your weight, you arch your spine slightly and press back, slowly grinding your bum right against the heat of his crotch.

!

behind your back, caleb’s entire frame goes stiff as a stone wall. the boisterous laughter bubbling in his chest dies mid-breath, cutting off into nothing but a ragged hitch. it takes him three agonizing seconds to realize what tactic you’ve just deployed, and when it finally clicks...

“(name),” he groans, his voice no longer the cocky older brother but something rough, uncovered, and deeply rattled. “what... what are you doing?”

but instead of releasing you, his massive arm tightens around your upper torso, locking you so hard against his chest that you can feel the frantic hammering of his heart against your back. he tries to laugh it off, tries to maintain the upper hand, but the words come out strained and frayed at the edges. “nice try, though, pips. dirty tactics don't work on... nh... varsity players.”

the tiny stifled sound that slips from his throat was all the fuel you needed. it’s working. he sounds so tense, his breath coming in shallow puffs against the sensitive nape of your neck.

your own face is a burning mess of a tomato, but the taste of victory is too close. you want to remind him that he doesn't hold a monopoly on audacity in this house. you have it too.

you move again, harder this time, abandoning any pretense of subtlety. you press your ass firmly into his crotch, rolling your hips back against him in such an explicit way. 

“hey, stop, seriously—” caleb chokes out, a helpless moan breaking past his lips before he can catch it. his fingers, still holding your wrists, lose their grip, beginning to tremble against your skin.

subconsciously, his own hips begin to tilt forward, meeting your shameless grinding with a press of his own. “this... this isn't working, you should try something else. or just tap out. because i'm still not... ah... letting you go.” he swallows hard, his thumb twitching against your wrist, his long legs tangling with yours on the cushions as he tries to find an exit from the trap you both built. “so just... tap out and stop, yeah?”

“s-shouldn't you... shouldn't you be the one tapping out, huh?” your heart is doing frantic and erratic loops behind your ribs, but you push through the panic. “isn't it... isn't it weird that someone you see as a sister is doing such a thing to you? you're the older one, caleb... you should tap out. be the responsible one.”

to prove that you aren't the one who is going to break first under the weight of this, you roll your hips back against him again harder, dragging your bum across the expanse of his crotch. 

caleb doesn't answer you with words. he can't. all that leaves his throat is a series of thick, breathless moans—nh... ah—each one a helpless sound that shatters the last remaining illusion of the “sibling” shield you both spent years constructing. 

and then, slowly, you feel a very hard thing pressing solidly through the fabric of his bottoms. it felt heavy and hot enough to burn through your clothes. your movements instantly slow down, your entire body going rigid as a fresh wave of red flushes from your chest all the way to the tips of your ears. is that his...? no, no, no. you don't want to point it out. you don't want to say a single word. if you say it out loud, the universe will split wide open and there will be absolutely no going back to the way things were before.

but while you are trapped inside the spinning dizzyness of your own thoughts, you were too slow to realize that caleb's palms had snapped down around your wrists, separating them from your chin. with a surge of his upper body, he pins both of your arms flush against the cushions on either side of your head. 

and then, without a single shred of his usual teasing hesitation, caleb pulls his hips back—and drives them forward, dryhumping you roughly from behind.

“ah—!”

“don't move,” caleb humps you again, a rhythmic thrust that slides his heat perfectly between your thighs. “tap out now, (name).”

no, there is no way you're going to easily tap out like this. if you do, that's just going to show him how easily he can just go to his way with you. so without much of a choice, you bite your lip. 

“fuck, nh...” 

why is he moaning? does this feel good for him?

“just... tap out, pips,” he pants heavily, hips rolling into you in another rough stride that makes your toes curl inside your socks. “tap the couch and tell me to stop... otherwise, i'm just gonna keep going.”

“i-i hate you,” you tighten your fingers against the cushions beneath his palms, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “caleb, ngh—i swear to god, i...”

caleb lets out a chuckle, “yeah? how much?”

he doesn't let you answer and instead slides his hands down from your wrists to grip the very edges of your hip bones. with one forceful heave of his strong arms, he hoists your hips up high off the sofa cushions, tilting your pelvis back and locking you into a perfectly angled incline—before slamming his hips forward again, driving his hard erection deep into the curve of your ass. 

“not tapping out yet?” 

“i-i'm not tapping—!”

you cut yourself off when caleb's hips against your bum suddenly stutters. he drives into you one last time—hard and entirely too desperate—and then his entire body goes completely rigid.

“(name)—ah, fuck—!”

caleb lets out an unvarnished moan, his voice breaking into a breathless whine as his chest shudders violently against your back. he freezes, fingers digging bruisingly hard into your hip bones before a wave of heat blooms right through his shorts, dampening the fabric of your pants. 

your brain, despite having zero knowledge about how men's bodies work or what exactly happens when they hit their limit, registers the sudden wet warmth and his sudden loss of strength.

oh. he messed up.

“a-are you kidding me? did you just—”

“shut up,” caleb wheezes, his head dropping onto your shoulder. “don't... don't say it.”

“oh, i am absolutely saying it!”

being an opportunistic woman, you take advantage of his jelly-like limbs and twist your torso. caleb is usually a solid brick wall, but right now, his body is too sensitive. you wrench your hips out of his slack grip, plant your hands on his broad shoulders, and shove him backward with all your might.

thud!

caleb falls flat onto his back against the sofa cushions, and before he can even think about recovering, you launch yourself over his lap, straddling his thighs and planting your hands squarely on either side of his neck, pinning his arms down.

strangely, he doesn't even fight you. caleb is easily strong enough to bench-press you off him with one hand, but instead of resisting, he just lets out a pathetic grunt and lets his arms go limp beneath your palms. 

“look at the so-called supreme ruler now,” you mock him instantly, a breathless smirk breaking across your face. “what happened, caleb? you were talking so much shit about tapping out, and you couldn't even last three minutes? you came too fast that was pathetic!”

“(name), please,” caleb groans, his face turning a shade of pink as he tries to turn his head away from your gaze. “you don't even know what you're saying.”

“well, i know you're a loser.”

“you... you started it!” caleb defends himself weakly, his voice was an embarrassed whisper while his fingers nervously twitch against the couch cushion. he finally rolls his eyes back to meet yours. “what is wrong with your head? you were the one grinding your ass against me like a p-pervert... what did you think was going to happen?”

“i was trying to make you tap out!” you argue back, your face heating up again but your grip on his arms tightening.

“by making me cum...?“ caleb whines, his jaw clenching when he lets out a shaky breath. “that's a pretty lame strategy don't you think?”

“you're just making excuses because you lost,” you say, your voice trembling slightly despite the thick layer of bravado you're pouring over it. you look down at the front of his joggers where a distinct darkening patch of wetness is spreading against the fabric. “look at that. the great caleb, taken down by a simple strategy. i should take a picture and send it to your coach.”

“y-you brat, i swear to god, shut up,” caleb groans with a laugh. “you don't know what you're doing. just get off me.”

“no, i think this needs a proper inspection.” 

your brain is screaming at you to stop, telling you that you are sprinting across a line you can never cross back over, but the sheer adrenaline of having caleb completely at your mercy prevents you from backing down. if you stop now, if you get off him and let him look at you with that smug smirk again, the awkwardness will literally suffocate you. you have to finish this. you have to prove he's the loser.

with a suddenly decisive movement, you reach down and grab the waistband of his joggers.

“wait—(name), hold on—” caleb gasps, his eyes going wide with panic as you pull the fabric down. 

even through the cotton fabric of his dark grey boxers, his dick is thick, massive, and still remarkably heavy and hard despite having just come. it stretches the front of his underwear to its limit, a rigid outline that looks terrifying up close. holy shit. he's... he's huge.

your face is burning so hot you're pretty sure you're going to spontaneously combust. your hands are shaking, your ears ringing, but you force your fingers to move forward. you place your palm flat against the center of his boxers, wrapping your fingers directly around the pulsing length of his dick.

“ah—nh!” caleb's head flies back against the sofa cushions, fingers clawing into your waist so hard it almost hurts. “fuck, stop... i told you i'm too sensitive—”

“what's the matter?” you stammer, your voice cracking as you squeeze him slightly through the cotton, your thumb tracing the hard ridge of his shaft. “thought you said it didn't work? you're twitching so much under my hand, caleb. who's the weak one now?”

“you're... you're a psycho,” caleb pants, a strained chuckle breaking through his ruined voice. he looks up at you through his long eyelashes, jaw clenched and sweat beading at his hairline. “what about you? you're blushing like a tomato and your hands are shaking. you're terrified right now, aren't you?”

“i'm not terrified of a loser,” you lie through your teeth, sliding your hand up and down his length, the friction through his boxers causing another wet drop of pre-cum to seep through the fabric against your palm.

“fuck... ah, please,” he looks so devastatingly undone beneath you it's funny, his chest heaving while he whines against the cushions. “you're... you're cheating. this is a foul. i'm gonna tell gran you're being so...”

“granny would just laugh at you for being so weak,” 

the boy who used to help you look for snails in the backyard after a heavy rain—the same boy who once gave you a piggyback ride for three blocks because you scraped your knee on the pavement—was currently pinned beneath you on granny’s floral-print sofa, stripped down to his underwear and trembling like a leaf.

it was a sacrilegious image, because for ten whole years, caleb had been the towering fixture of your childhood, the annoying older-brother figure who stole your food and made fun of your haircuts. but now, the fabric of his boxers was the only thing standing between you and a completely different world.

“you’re still shaking.” your voice was a little breathy, though you kept your eyes locked on his face to hide how fast your own heart was knocking against your ribs. 

caleb let out a ragged laugh, his head tilting back against the cushions. “you aren't going to make me tap out if that's what you're planning, you silly.”

“oh, you think you're so smart?”

before he could even muster another cocky comeback, your fingers hooked directly into the elastic waistband of his boxers and dragged the fabric down past his hips.

and just like that, the angry length of caleb's dick sprang free, twitching madly in the warm morning light.

oh my god. 

he was fucking huge. the thick, veins-veined shaft was throbbing with a pulse, the heavy weight of it slapping against his lower belly when the fabric set it free. 

caleb’s eyes went wide as the cool air hit his bare skin, a genuine spike of panic breaking through his composure. “hey, wait, hold on, what are you planning to do?” 

you stared down at the very tip of him, where a shiny drop of clear pre-cum was slowly leaking out, glistening against the skin. the sight of it made a strange spark right in the pit of your stomach.

“i'm finishing the wrestling match,” you whispered, your hand moving forward until your fingers wrapped completely around his thick shaft.

“fuck—nnggh!“ caleb gasped out loud, his entire upper body arching off the sofa as your palm made direct contact with his heat. his knuckles turned white as he grabbed the edge of the armrest. “(name)... seriously, you don't know what you're doing, stop it.”

“shut up and take your punishment.”

“you don't know shit about—oh, fuck—please... i'm gonna come again, i swear to god...”

but you weren't done pushing his limits, you wanted to erase every single ounce of that cocky exterior until there was nothing left but the vulnerable boy beneath you.

leaning down until your chest was nearly brushing his lap, you let your hand slide away from his tip—and replaced it with your tongue.

you swiped your warm and wet tongue directly over the crown of his dick, licking up the excess pre-cum and the sticky remnants of his earlier climax from the sensitive skin.

“ah-!”

at that, caleb lets out an undignified shriek that was instantly swallowed by a deep groan. his hands flew to the sides of your head, fingers tangling frantically into your hair as his dick twitched against your lips, throbbing so hard it felt like a living thing. he was whining openly now, his chest heaving as he stared up at the ceiling with blown-out eyes.

you wrapped your lips around the very top of his shaft, sucking him gently. “(name)... i hate you... i hate you so much...”

“how much, caleb?” you mumbled against his hard skin, looking up at him through your eyelashes, your hand gripping the base of his giant length to keep him locked right where you wanted him.

“i'm not gonna last, (name). seriously, i'm gonna come in your mouth if you don't stop,”

but you don't stop. your tongue swipes over the sensitive ridge again, determined to drive the final nail into his coffin. truth be told, you have absolutely no idea what you're doing. your teeth graze his skin awkwardly, your suction is uneven, and your movements are incredibly clumsy, lacking any real rhythm. but caleb is just as clueless and inexperienced as you are, and to a boy whose body is already primed and hyper-sensitive from a first climax, the messy, wet warmth of your mouth feels like absolute heaven.

you keep going, your hand stroking his base while you lick the sticky tip. you just want to make him blow his top again. you need to see him completely break, just so you can hold it over his head for the rest of his life. 

...or is that really all it is? because your heart is hammering so loud it's practically echoing in your throat, and a strange heat is pooling deep in your stomach as you taste him.

“fuck... i'm coming, i'm literally—ah, nh...” caleb whines out loud, his head thrashing against the cushions, his entire lower body trembling while his hips lift off the sofa, twitching directly into your mouth.

you tighten your grip, getting ready for the final victory—and then, the world violently flips upside down.

whoosh!

caleb’s hands leave your hair and snap down around your armpits. your mouth slips off his dick with a wet pop when he completely sat up before he hoists your entire body into the air like you weigh absolutely nothing.

“ah! what do you think you're—!” 

and with one ruthless motion, caleb pivots your torso and bends you straight over the widely padded backrest of the sofa. your chest is pressed flat against the top cushion, your head dangling over the back of the couch toward the floor, while your hips are lifted high and trapped beneath his massive weight as he slides up behind you.

and then, you hear it. a breathless and absolutely insufferable chuckle bouncing right against your ears.

“you are such a gullible girl,” caleb pants heavily, his chest heaving against your shoulder blades as he lets out a triumphant laugh. he isn't coming at all. “did you really think i was gonna let you win that easily? you thought you could just suck me off and make me cry?”

“you literal piece of trash!” you yell, trying to push yourself up off the backrest and kicking your legs blindly behind you. “let me go, caleb, i swear to god—”

caleb's hips slide right back against your ass, his hard length pressing explicitly into your lower back to remind you who has the upper hand. he grips your waist with both hands, locking your pelvis into place so you can't wiggle an inch. “save all the shouting, okay?” he gives your hip a playful, firm squeeze. “we're right back where we started. you're pinned, you're cornered, and you're out of moves. so what's it gonna be, huh? are you finally gonna tap out or do i have to keep you bent over here all morning? 'cause i don't mind being late, you know.”

“shut up,” you choke out, your forehead digging hard into the plush fabric of the backrest. “i'm not... i'm not listening to a liar who fakes a climax just to cheat his way out of his loss.“

“it's called strategy, sweetheart. you should look it up sometime,” he chuckles, an arrogant little sound that rubs directly against your neck. “but you know... since you were so incredibly bold with me just now... since you decided you could just put your hands wherever you wanted... i think it's only fair that it's my turn now, right? that's how the game works.”

for all his cocky bravado, you feel a sudden tremor pass through his palms. his fingers twitch against your skin. he’s hesitating, isn't he? the heavy reality of what you've both done sinks into the quiet spaces of the room, but he doesn't pull back.

slowly, his fingertips hook into the waistband of your shorts. you let out a quiet whimper when he slides the fabric down over your thighs, exposing the bare expanse of your bum to the morning air.

and then, the teasing stops.

the living room goes dead silent, save for the uneven rhythm of caleb's breathing. he stares down at you, his throat bobbing in a gulp. even without turning around, you know exactly what he’s looking at. the thin fabric of your panties is kind of ruined and darkened, clinging, and utterly soaked through with a wetness from your own mounting frustration. 

“...you're wet, (name). what am i supposed to do with you like this?” caleb whispers, his voice suddenly stripped of its malice.

“don't look at it, you brat.” you whimper, trying to hide your face in the sofa. “caleb, don't—just let me up, please—”

“no way, you started this. you don't get to run away just because you're embarrassed?” caleb chuckled.

then wordlessly, his fingers hook the side of your underwear, pulling the fabric upward to stretch it tight against your skin, using the soaked material to press firmly up into your sensitive folds.

“ah—” 

“look at how you're reacting,” caleb murmurs, leaning his weight harder into you. “but you've been a really bad girl today, breaking all the rules... so i think you need to wait a little.”

he slowly lets go of the fabric, but his hand doesn't leave. instead, his long fingers begin to lightly trace the very edge of your soaked panties, feeling the slick heat of your wetness seeping through the cloth onto his fingertips. he hovers right over your center, brushing against you but not quite, giving you just enough phantom friction to make your toes curl, but entirely denying you the actual release you're starting to crave.

your body was now squirming helplessly beneath his palms as you try to force yourself against his hand to get more pressure, but he ruthlessly keeps his fingers just a millimeter away. “fuck you, either touch me or let me go, don't be a jerk—”

“oh i'm not being a jerk yet, (name).” caleb pants, another rough chuckle breaking through his serious expression while he watches you twist and writhe under his touch. his own erection is throbbing madly against your back, but he keeps his hips still. “will you admit defeat and tap out if i be a jerk to you, then?” he punctuates that sentence with a tentative press of his index finger into your hole through the panty. 

your fingers are practically tearing into the fabric of the sofa cushion already, the adrenaline from earlier turning into a suffocating dread that makes your throat dry. 

with a quiet tug, caleb’s fingers hook into the edge of your damp underwear, sliding the cotton fabric to the side.

“caleb...” your voice is a tiny squeak against the dark velvet of the couch. your hips instinctively try to lift, a sudden panic flaring in your chest. “what... what are you doing?”

but he doesn't stop. the cool air hits your bare folds for a fraction of a second before the tip of his finger presses directly against your entrance. you let out a ragged hitch of air as he slowly pushes past the tight ring of your muscles and sinking into your slick warmth.

“this... this doesn't count as anything, right?”

caleb’s broad chest is heaving violently against your shoulder blades, his entire frame shuddering as he buries his finger deeper inside you. “it’s just... it’s just a finger, (name). we're just playing the game. all of this... it's just about making each other tap out. it's not... whatever else it could be?”

you can feel the desperate lie he's spinning, his own mind scrambling to build a bridge back to sanity even while he’s stretching you open.

“it doesn't count,” he pants, his thumb pressing hard against your hypersensitive clit, making your toes curl inside your socks. “it doesn't count as long as i'm... as long as i'm not using my cock, right? we're still just us. we haven't crossed anything.”

you gulp, because a part of your brain screams at you to twist around and slap him, to scream what the actual fuck is wrong with you? but the guilt is a leaden weight sitting right on your chest. you were the one who started it. you were the one who put his dick in your mouth just to prove a point. you are just as dirty, just as guilty as he is.

“yeah,” you whisper, your voice thick with a dirty shame as you shut your eyes tight. “yeah... that makes sense. it's just... it's just a game.”

caleb then slides a second finger right alongside the first, the sudden invasion stretching your tight walls as he begins to slowly and deeply thrust inside you.

squelch. squelch.

the wet sounds of his fingers sliding through your excess moisture fills the quiet living room, explicit and loud enough to make your face burn a shade of red. 

“(name)...” caleb murmurs, and it's the exact same tone he uses when he's giving you advice on your chores or asking about your classes, but his fingers are currently buried inside your vagina, driving you insane. “have you ever put your own finger in it?”

your lips press together so hard they turn white. you want to lie, you want to bite your tongue, but the mind-numbing pleasure of his thrusts is making your defenses completely crumble. “y-yeah, a... a few times only. when you weren't home.”

caleb picks up the pace slightly, the wet squelching sound getting faster, deeper, his knuckles rubbing against your bare skin.

“did it... did it feel like this?” he asks quietly, his voice shy, almost innocent, like a boy asking for help with his homework, even as his hips heavy-press against your backside. “does it feel better when i do it?”

the duality of this guy is completely ridiculous. it’s terrifying. one second he's caging you like a predator, and the next he’s whispering sweet clumsy questions like he's still the boy from your childhood. you can't even answer him anymore; you're just a flushed panting mess.

pop.

but caleb hooks his fingers out of your heat, making an involuntary whine escape your throat before you can even think to choke it down. your hips instinctively jerk backward, chasing the feeling of his fingers, but your hands only find the empty velvet of the backrest. why the hell did he stop? 

behind you, the rustle of heavy fabric is loud. the weight on your lower back vanishes as caleb steps backward onto the wooden floorboards. “no need to tap out anymore, 'cause oh my goodness i'm going to be late,”

by the time you manage to push yourself up on your trembling elbows, your limbs feeling like melted wax, caleb is already completely upright. his joggers are pulled back up, the dark grey waistband of his boxers now neatly hidden away. 

he looks down at you, and an infuriatingly soft smile touches his lips—the exact look he gives you when he’s being the responsible one.

“we should really get going, pipsqueak,” caleb says softly, as if his fingers hadn't just been swirling over your pussy. he reaches down, casually picking up his heavy sports duffel bag from the floor and slinging it over his broad shoulder. “i'm going to be horribly late for practice if we don't move right now. go adjust your clothes.”

you just stare up at him from the sofa, your mouth slightly open. you looked dumbfounded, your brain becoming incapable of processing how a guy can go from driving two thick fingers into your soaking womanhood to checking his watch like a middle-aged accountant. 

—

the afternoon does not care about your identity crisis. 

you had ended up having to visit granny all by yourself in the halls of the nursing home. the very second the two of you had stepped out to the car, caleb’s phone had erupted into a series of vibrations—his coach's caller id flashing like a warning flare. the muffled shouting through the receiver about missing the championship preparations had left caleb looking genuinely stressed, his fingers tapping nervously against the steering wheel. he had dropped you off at the facility with an apologetic squeeze of your shoulder, leaving you to sit by granny’s bedside alone, nodding blankly while the old woman prattled on about the hospital soup and how caleb was such a good, responsible boy for taking care of you.

if only you knew, granny. if only you knew.

by the time you finally drag your feet onto the university campus for your late-day lectures, your mind is a useless swamp of static. you sit in the rows of the amphitheater, the professor's voice about cellular pathology washing right over your head like white noise. 

every time the professor speaks, all your brain can register is the memory of caleb's deep and ruined moans echoing against the walls of your shared home. your fingers keep absentmindedly tracing the edge of your desk, your lower body still feeling a ghostly throb from the wet squelch of caleb's fingers stretching you open. 

and by the time six o'clock arrives, the heavy tropical heat of the campus grounds is finally beginning to cool down.

usually, this is the hour where caleb’s long shadow appears beside yours at the main gates, his heavy arm slinging over your shoulder to drag you toward the terminal while he complains about how hungry he is. the habit of him is a deeply rooted thing in your bones. instead of turning right toward the exit to head straight home to an empty house, your feet lazily, almost sub-consciously, steer you left toward the concrete structure of the university gymnasium.

as you slip inside, taking a quiet seat on the very edge of the lowest wooden bleacher, the vast space is alive with a scattering of echoing noises. on the far brightly lit side of the court, a bunch of cheerleaders are practicing their stunts, and a few stray students are still lingering on the higher bleachers. 

but your eyes immediately drift to the opposite free side of the court.

there, sitting in a circle directly on the polished wood, is the university's basketball team. their coach is standing over them with a clipboard, his sharp whistle tucked between his lips as he gestures aggressively toward a diagram. and right in the center of the huddle, his long legs splayed out in front of him, is caleb. he’s wearing his dark blue practice jersey, broad shoulders glistening with a fresh coat of sweat, a giant water bottle gripped in his large hand as he listens intently to the lecture.

he looks so regular like that, so athletic. so completely like the golden boy the entire school admires. you pull your knees up to your chest, wondering how on earth you're supposed to walk home with him after what he did to you this morning.

caleb is nodding along, his hand idly spinning the basketball between his palms on the floor, looking every bit the disciplined athlete. then, his eyes wander. he’s just scanning the empty spaces of the court, a subconscious habit of checking his surroundings, when his gaze drifts up toward the lower bleachers.

and lands squarely on you.

for a long second, neither of you knew how to react. the teasing grin he usually flashes when he spots you in a crowd doesn't happen. he just takes you in, his fingers freezing against the leather of the basketball. you just stare at each other, the secret weight of the morning—the wet sounds, the moaning, the taste of his dick—crashing into the space between you like a physical wall.

caleb looks away quickly, his throat bobbing as he downs a huge gulp from his water bottle, his broad shoulders tensing up as he tries to focus back on the clipboard. 

five minutes later, the coach blows his whistle twice. “all right, pack it up! managers, get the training cones back in the locker. caleb, you're on equipment duty tonight since you were late this morning. secure the loose balls and the extra jerseys from the bench.”

“got it, coach,” caleb grunts, pushing himself up from the floor.

the team starts dispersing, heading toward the showers in an echoing wave of laughter and low chatter. caleb begins gathering the stray basketballs into a mesh sack, and as he nears the bleachers where you're sitting, he just stops a few feet away, slinging the heavy sack over his shoulder.

“hey,” caleb's shadow falls over your sneakers. “(name). stop being lazy and help me carry these jerseys to the storage room. coach wants a head count before the after-party tomorrow, and i'm not doing it alone.”

you blink. “can't your co-captain do it?”

“he's already in the showers,” caleb says, finally cutting his eyes toward you, a subtle, desperate intensity flickering in his gaze that makes your stomach flip. “come on. the quicker we finish, the quicker we go home. go grab the bin.”

you purse your lips, but you slide off the bleacher anyway. you grab the plastic bin filled with damp jerseys, your heart already starting to throb a frantic rhythm against your ribs as you follow his massive back toward the dark hallway at the rear of the gym.

the storage room door is heavy iron, creaking loudly as caleb pushes it open. the inside smells like old rubber, canvas bags, and dust, lit only by the faint orange glow of the twilight filtering through a barred window. you step inside, the plastic bin heavy in your arms.

“where do you want these—”

slam!

the door cuts your voice off completely as caleb shoves it shut behind you. within a snap, his large hands snap around your waist and lifts you off your feet, pinning your back directly against the solid wood of the door.

“caleb, what the—”

and your mouth is instantly smothered.

caleb drives his lips against yours with an aggressive hunger, his head tilting sharply to lock his mouth over yours. it’s a messy, bruising kiss, completely devoid of the hesitation he had this morning. he lets out a desperate whine against your lips—nhhh—his fingers digging like iron claws into your hips, pulling your lower body flush against his jersey.

“fuck,” caleb groans directly into your mouth, his tongue forcing its way past your lips. he tastes like the cool mint from earlier and the salty heat of his sweat, his jaw working against yours as if he's been starving for this for the last seven hours. “i couldn't... i couldn't even think during our practice, you know. coach wouldn't stop screaming at me but all i could see was you bent over the couch.”

“caleb—stop, someone's gonna—mmph—” you try to speak, your hands frantically coming up to push against his broad chest, but the sheer mass of him traps you. 

“let them hear,” his hips slam forward instinctively, driving his hard erection—already straining madly through his gym shorts—directly into your thigh. “i don't care. i don't care about it. you can't just... nh... fuck, you were all i could think about today—”

“you were the one who stopped,” you gasp out, your fingers subconsciously tangling into the damp hair at the back of his neck. “you acted like... like nothing happened, and then you left me alone... you idiot.”

“i was scared...” caleb cries out softly, his voice a ruined whisper before he brings his mouth back up to cover yours, thumbs tracing the bare skin of your waist beneath your shirt “i'm supposed to protect you, but all i want to do is rip these clothes off you right now and pound inside you until you can't even stand up.“ a guilty laugh slips past his lips. “shit, am i allowed to say that?...”

your heart is a wild thing, hammering so hard against your ribs it feels like it might burst through your skin. “caleb—”

the rest of your breath is completely stolen when his calloused hands hook into the waistband of your underwear. there is no gentle hesitation this time, no restraint left to save either of you. with one downward tug, the fabric is stripped away, bundling around your sneakers along with your shorts. 

he doesn't even take his jersey off. his dark blue varsity uniform is damp with sweat, the rough material scraping against your bare chest as he uses his body weight to pin you flat against the wood. with a trembling hand, caleb reaches down between your laps, his long fingers finding your soaking, swollen entrance. he doesn't need to prep you; you are already dripping, ruined from hours of thinking about his touch.

he aligns the angry head of his cock right against your opening. he is so incredibly huge—a terrifyingly solid length that makes your stomach drop in a mixture of fear and desperate longing.

“(name)... look at me. just look at me,” caleb whimpers, his voice completely cracked and ruined. “i can't... i can't hold back anymore. i'm going to cross this line now.”

before you can even utter a sound, caleb grips your hips like iron vices and drives his hips forward.

“ahhh!”

a high-pitched gasp is ripped from your lungs as the stretching length of his dick forces its way inside you in one thrust. it's a tight, bruising fit, your walls screaming at the sudden fullness of him while he buries himself all the way to his hilt, his lower belly slamming hard against your pelvis. 

caleb lets out a shattering groan that sounds like a sob, his head instantly dropping forward into the crook of your neck. his hot breath scalds your skin, and you can feel the wet smudge of tears mixing with the sweat on his face. he is crying into your shoulder, panting like a dying man, his entire broad frame shuddering violently against you.

“ffckk... nhhh... you're so tight, it's so hot,” caleb opens your thighs wider just so he can pound into you much, much faster. “i've... i've thought about this every single night.... every time you smiled at me... every time you fell asleep.... i've wanted to do this so fucking bad...”

caleb grips your thighs, hoisting your leg up until it was wrapped tightly around his broad waist, and begins to fuck you desperately against the iron door.

thud. thud. thud.

the heavy wood rattles on its hinges with every brutal stride of his lower body. caleb drives into you as if he is angry—furious at you for making him wait this long, furious at himself for breaking the rules, and desperate to mark every single inch of your inside. he doesn't give you time to adjust to his size; he just plunges deep, his thick shaft sliding through your tight squelching wetness.

“caleb—ah!—stop, it's too deep—nhhh!” you moan out loud, your head thrashing against the door behind you. your hands leave his shoulders and wrap around his damp hair, trying to pull him closer, trying to find some anchor as his massive cock relentlessly reorganizes your insides. you can't even think straight anymore, his dick is leaving you with nothing but the raw urge to take his size and beg for more.

“not stopping,” caleb grunts against your ear, it makes your thigh squeeze tighter around his waist. he tilts his head upward, jaw clenched so hard the tendons in his neck look like wires under his skin. his eyelashes flutter, his eyes half-closed and ghost-blinking as he loses himself entirely to the pleasure. “fuck, why didn't we d-do this sooner?”

he thrusts into you even deeper, his hips rolling with a newfound precision that hits a sensitive spot deep within your womb. 

“hnggh, caleb, deeper, deeper...!” 

“what was that, huh?” caleb suddenly pulls out, bringing your legs down. 

“what are you... a-are you going to leave me again?” 

he smirks, pressing a kiss against your forehead while you felt the wamrth of his hands grabbing your right leg to hoist it up high - up, up, and up - until you're now sideways, leg stretched open and high enough that your ankle was an inch away from caleb's face. “deeper, right?” in a second, he drives his cock back into your hole, this time making sure that every thrust he gave you was a slap on the womb. 

“ahngh, caleb!—”

the orange twilight through the barred window slowly deepens into a thick midnight blue, but the desperate rhythm inside the storage room doesn't stop.

for the next few hours, the university gymnasium becomes completely empty, the lights on the court turning off one by one until the only sound left in the entire concrete structure is the repetitive rattle of the iron storage door. caleb completely loses his composure, his body moving on pure instinct while he continues to drive his length into your soaking heat over and over again.

the dynamic between you never truly changes, even as the skin of your hips turns a deep, flushed pink from the iron grip of his palms. every time he tries to pull that annoying tone to tell you to take his size, his voice shatters into a pathetically high-pitched whine the second your tight walls squeeze him. you don't let him have the satisfaction of total victory either; even when your legs are trembling so hard you can barely keep them still, you still find the breath to mock his stuttering moans, driving your fingers into his damp hair to yank him down into bruising, messy kisses.

you tell that to yourself while walking the streets of downtown los angeles on a sunday afternoon. it's been five days since you last saw nikki, so why do you still care enough thinking about her?

her and her stupidly gorgeous smile, and that little—almost unnoticeable—beneath her right eye. and that sickeningly sweet smile and laugh of hers that made you cheese every time you heard it. you're unable to get her out of your head, and it's honestly a little embarrassing. but whatever, you're out and about to get her out of your head, so you'll try your hardest today.

as you wander the streets of downtown los angeles, you let the wind take you wherever it wants.

and, surprisingly, it takes you to a music store.

cassell's, it reads in bold red, cursive lettering on the sigh in the front. it looks decently sized, pretty clean, and not at all as sketchy as some of the storefronts down in this part of los angeles seem. you're not letting that fool you, though, so you guess you'll have to look for yourself. after all, this is where the wind took you.

the tiny bell above the door jingles as you push the door open and step inside, immediately greeted by drum kits, pianos, guitars lining the walls, and enough "taylor swift easy guitar chord" books to make your head spin with a symphony of her millions of songs.

you almost turn around.

because this was a terrible idea.

picking up a new hobby to get over a girl probably wasn't the best thing to do. and worst of all? the wind took you to a music store, where tortured poets come to make up chord progressions and put it all into a song that's the most vile, sad, and interesting thing you've ever heard. and you are not trying to do that.

maybe learning an instrument at your age would be embarrassing anyway. most people learn things way earlier on in life, but you? you wouldn't know how to name each string on a guitar even if your life depended on it... which says a lot.

so hey, maybe you should just leave.

you'll grab a cook book on your way back to your apartment for good measure, just to say you got something on your outing. even if you might let it collect dust in one of your bookshelves and never pay it any sort of attention again after tonight.

yeah. pretty solid plan.

"looking for anything in particular?"

no, i was actually just—

wait. you recognize that voice. and maybe you're starting to recognize it a little too well.

glancing up, you immediately forget what your original train of thought was. because the employee behind the counter is smiling at you, and the employee behind the counter is none other than nikki from the bar.

your nikki from the bar.

just to clarify.

for a moment, she just stares. then, like some small part of her brain remembered who you were, her entire face lights up with an even wider smile.

"what the hell?" she laughs, standing up straight from her earlier position slightly bent over the counter.

you immediately start smiling.

which is more annoying than anything in the world.

because her smile triggered one of your own and now you look like some loser who traveled the seven seas just to track her down and get her number. maybe. wait—wait, no, that's not even the reason you're here! goodness, you need to straighten up.

it's too late to that, however, as you step closer, murmuring a quiet, "hey, nikki."

her voice is higher in pitch, like she's both confused and happy that you're here. "hi, stranger."

without a second thought, nikki abandons the counter where she was pretending to work and walks over. her smile's still the same, and so is that cute little beauty mark beneath her eye, and so is her energetic aura and even brighter personality. she's just so attractive, like someone you'd want to be best friends with.

she prances over until she realizes she's maybe a step too close, and yet she doesn't move an inch. maybe it's because the nerves of your first meeting already worn off at the bar, probably because the fiery rivalry you'd both held. or maybe it's because she's comfortable with you, even if it's just a little.

you smile the moment she looks up, noticing the height difference. she has to be at least five foot, maybe five foot and an inch.

"did you follow me here, you weirdo?" she accuses playfully, jabbing a finger over your chest in the little space between you two.

weirdo.

it's funny that she's still calling you that.

but then the fear settles in, nerves all reacting at once. you don't want to be seen as a literal weirdo, so you immediately throw your hands up in a defensive manner.

"no, no!" you stammer, heat rushing to your cheeks. "i was just... i don't know, i just picked a random place and walked into it."

nikki hums, narrowing her eyes in a faux-suspicious manner, eyeing you up and down slowly like she's examining your body language. it makes you tense up, more than it did during trivia night, because she wasn't this bold back then. she's much more persistent without an audience to see her get under your skin.

her eyes drift back to you. "yeah, right."

you roll your eyes despite the nerves, feeling them fade away as the seconds pass.

a laugh erupts from the back of your throat then, face flushed and hands shaking lightly at your sides. every one of her facial features are so much clear up this close and personal, and you have to remind yourself that you're nothing more than acquaintances to each other and not anything beyond that.

you'd be lying if you said that fact didn't suck. even just a little bit. because she's everything anyone could ever want in a person.

nikki joins in on the laughter, finding yours more contagious than her friends'. it's a little odd to her, but hell, who really cares right now? everybody's on break except for her, so she'll use this alone time to flirt and spend the most time she can with you now that you've suddenly popped back into her life.

and, god.

it's somehow even worse outside of the bar. somehow doing worse things to your heart and soul than it did that one wednesday night.

at trivia, you could at least blame the adrenaline and your deep-rooted love for the game.

now she's just naturally like this, genuinely taking interest in the pieces of yourself that you have to offer.

"so," she sings, dragging the vowel. "what brings you into cassell's... the most amazing music store in los angeles, california."

she says the last part in a more monotone manner, throwing her hands up to exaggerate the words. it doesn't work, not really, and you definitely wouldn't be very enthusiastic or interested in buying something from this place if you were just some ordinary customer. it's clearly a bit, a slogan possibly.

you hold back a laugh anyway. "is that some kind of bit? it's... kind of horrible."

"for reasons that concern my position here at cassell's, no. it's something i have—something i personally stand by as an employee here," she explains, though the look on her face says the opposite. "now tell me, what brought you here? a secret calling?"

glancing around, you tap your fingers against the side of leg, trying to come up with a sentence in your head that doesn't make you sound lame.

but you doubt she doesn't already know.

so simply, you softly reply with, "honestly?"

"it's the best policy," she smirks, biting back a goofy smile.

exhaling slowly, you shove your hands into your pockets and stare down at her. you probably look like a loser trying to be mysterious or nonchalant. however, she knows you're anything but.

"okay," you murmur. "i need a hobby."

half lie, half truth.

you only needed a hobby to get someone out of your head. although, it's kinda hard seeing as that same person is standing less than two feet away from you. so now you're both lying to yourself and to the girl you're talking to, that's just great!

she cocks a brow, head tilting. "a hobby?"

"yup," you sigh. "i know."

"in this economy?" she asks, feigning bewilderment and dramatically pressing a hand over her mouth.

that pulls a out a laugh that's been sitting on the edge of your tongue since the second she walked up to you. her humor is a nice breath of fresh air from your friends' outdated, dry sense. you love them still, but they need to get over jokes from prehistoric times.

with her free hand, nikki presses it against her chest. wow, she's really taking this whole act to another level.

she nods. "that's incredibly brave, you know."

"thank you," you chuckle.

"no, seriously," she says immediately after, dropping her hands and getting closer as if anyone's around to really hear what she's saying. "most people just doomscroll and lay in their bed all day. i'm mentally applauding you for not doing the same."

you shrug in understanding, chill on the outside and absolutely giddy out of your mind mentally.

a few people wander the aisles in the back, some teenagers testing out riffs near the rows of guitars in the front. quiet melodies from pianos and keyboards come from the back and slowly drift into the main room of cassell's, giving the space a chill vibe. one that takes the weight of your nervousness off your shoulders just as quickly as it was thrown on when you walked in.

the smell of old polished wood adds onto that feeling, calming in an oddly weird sense.

and before you know it, nikki's reaching to grab your hand... and pulling away immediately after upon realizing that maybe, just maybe, you're not to that level of friendship yet.

either way, she makes a point to grab your attention somehow, and if that means nudging you a little harder than necessary, then so be it.

you wander deeper into the store together, the shorter girl guiding you through aisles of instruments and tools you've never seen before in your life.

that, however, quickly turns into nikki giving the least professional store tour ever.

every instrument comes with different sets of commentary.

every single instrument.

half of it is useful, but the other half? you're not even sure she's as qualified as she needs to be to maintain the position she's working. despite that, you're pretty glad she's working here and you bumped into her in the most unexpected way. plus, she looks really cute in the store uniform. the short sleeves almost swallow both of her arms entirely, and you have to fight back a smile every time she tries rolling them up only to realize she tried the same thing a minute ago and it didn't work.

as you approach the back of the store, you're met with another array of string instruments all hung up dangerously close to each other. you're almost scared to move, afraid even the smallest gust of wind from a tiny movement would push one instrument into another and send all of them crashing to the ground.

nikki doesn't miss the chance to blab her own explanation on the first instrument she lays her eyes on.

"this one's a banjo," she announces, her hand hovering over the weirdly shaped instrument. "if you couldn't already tell."

you hum, feigning amazement. "wow. thank you, nikki."

she cocks a brow.

then, in the same monotone voice, "i'm here to educate, stop being an ass."

a laugh escapes your throat despite your efforts to swallow it back down, and you throw your hands up in defense as if you weren't just so obviously being sarcastic. she can't bite back the smile that creeps onto her face, turning back to banjo to hide.

"no, i'm not trying to be," you murmur, "but i think everyone knows what a banjo is."

nikki audibly laughs.

"oh, you'd be surprised at the number of people who don't."

"...right."

she moves on before you're able to say anything else that's sarcastic enough to make her roll her eyes. though she's almost one hundred percent sure she'll be rolling her a eyes at you a lot later. to her, you're still a little annoying and a bit of a pest, but... she's slowly starting to come to terms with the fact that you're gentle, and kind... and a little too attractive for your own good.

okay. maybe you're not annoying or a pest in her eyes, but you don't have to know that. not verbally, at least. you can dream about her tripping over her own feet for you, because she sure as hell won't be doing that in real life any time soon.

eventually you make it even into a room stacked with orchestral instruments. more strings, of course, because what would music be without string instruments? or any instruments, for that matter.

none of the instruments here get even the shortest look.

well, except for the violins.

she physically recoils as her eyes pass over the tiny, delicate instrument.

"hard pass," she grimaces.

you glance over, curious. "what's so bad about the violin?"

nikki stares at you wide-eyed immediately, almost as if she'd seen something she'd never be able to unsee.

"i tried it once..." her voice trails off.

gesturing vaguely in the air with your hands, you encourage her to elaborate. "...and?"

she exhales, slow and sad in a way.

then she looks up through her lashes, blush creeping onto her face as if she's embarrassed about what she's about to say. "my instructor asked if i'd ever considered a different passion..."

her story triggers a laugh so deep in your chest you have to lean against a shelf to stabilize yourself. it's nice to hear her opening up so soon, even if it's a more embarrassing story on her part.

you won't judge.

but you might tease her about it from time to time.

nikki beams at your reaction, trying her best to hide the obvious light in her eyes. she's already making you laugh crazy and you're not even officially friends yet—no numbers exchanged, no real scheduled hangouts, nothing. and she's already got you hooked!

she looks entirely too proud of herself, but she doesn't have to know that you've been staring at her the entire time she's been twirling her fingers at her sides.

you stop by the front and check out a row of acoustic guitars next, and although you don't know much about them, every one on the wall catches your attention almost instantly.

scratch that.

you know absolutely nothing about them, but they look cool, and they sound cool more than half of the time.

there's one in particular that catches your eye—a pretty, dark acoustic on the bottom row. it's basic, sure, but it's beautiful in your eyes. the wood is perfectly polished, not to the point where it's shiny, but it catches the light every time you move in certain directions. by the look of the instrument, it looks like it'd be comfortable to hold... in the way you hold a guitar. oh, you're not very sure how to hold one either, so there's that.

nikki notices immediately, always attentive.

her expression softens a little, for just a moment, before that smug smirk of hers is spreading across her face once more. she's not missing out on the chance to tease you about this, even if just a little bit.

"oh," she hums, interested.

turning your head, you glance over. "what?"

she shrugs, like she has no idea either. "i don't know, you just seem pretty interested in those guitars."

stubborn as ever, you shake your head, standing your ground despite the shorter girl reading you so effortlessly.

"well... i'm not."

her eyes widen in faux-disbelief, a snarky comment bouncing on the tip of her tongue and waiting impatiently to jump out and attack you. she takes a step back, giving you a moment to really hear yourself.

she laughs out loud. "you absolutely are, don't lie."

you hate this girl and her observant tendencies.

but at least you don't have to awkwardly gesture toward the instrument and ask her how much it is and how to play it properly. thank you, nikki!

"...okay," you murmur, sheepish. "maybe a little."

nikki nods, grin bright.

without another word, she grabs the one you've been eyeing for the past five minutes and plucks it off the row of stands displaying the instruments.

your eyes catch a glimpse of the tag, and you realize that it's not as expensive as you thought.

and it's not too flashy, perfect for you. simple and seemingly beginner-level...

hopefully.

"try it," she says, grabbing your attention again, holding it out to you.

you hesitate, expression full of doubt.

"i... don't know how," you confess quietly, face flushed.

her expression goes flat. "well, duh. nobody knows how to play at first. that's the art of learning an instrument. or anything, for that matter."

and, like she realizes you're a little nervous, she softens her tone again. "here, i'll show you."

you take the guitar before she resorts to shoving it against your chest and pushing you onto one of the nearby stools scattered around the area. awkwardly, you stand there, unsure of what to do with the item in your hands. it's much lighter than you expected, the wood smooth and firm beneath your fingertips. you let them dance along the neck, feeling the strings slide across your skin as your left hand holds the neck.

nikki grabs the one of the stools you mentioned before, pulling it over and patting the seat. "sit. it'll be easier for you since it's your first time."

obeying, you take a seat, awaiting further instructions as you stare up at her like a lost dog.

before you realize what's happening, she's bending down beside you, showing you how to hold it. upon seeing the positions your hands are in, she carefully adjusts your grip and places them in the correct spots—one around the backside of the neck and the other resting lazily over the body.

her shoulder brushes yours repeatedly as she reaches over your body, comfortable enough to be this close and yet be as respectful as she can.

"like this," she murmurs, focus directly entirely on you.

you glance down at the strings, trying to even out your breathing and focus on anything else but how close she is.

inhaling, you press your fingers down on the strings she'd instructed you to place them on. then, hesitantly, you strum the strings over the sound hole. the chord buzzes, and you instantly look over your shoulder for her reaction—approval is something you're hoping for the most, but it didn't sound nearly as good as the songs you've heard. probably because you're not playing real songs yet, but still!

"okay," you hum, a small smile curling onto your lips. "i'm pretty sure i got it.

"you definitely don't got it," she answers without missing a beat.

you nod immediately, not even bothering to argue—even playfully—with her because you know it's true. "yeah. not even a little."

"nope."

she shakes her head with a quiet chuckle, stepping away a little and admiring her work. the warmth you felt earlier fades a little—not much, but it's noticeable enough that you shift in your seat from the sudden change.

"hey, honesty is important," she explains.

"the best policy, huh?"

"always."

you nudge her foot with yours.

she jumps away, startled. both of you laugh at her reaction, feeding off of each other as you sit there in the middle of the music store. she should definitely be helping a different customer, one that wouldn't take up her entire day and steal her away from people that really need her help and have questions, but she's quite enjoying the time spent with you in the back corner.

the sound of quiet laughter and soft chatter between you two is calming, bright, and completely unfair to both of you in different ways. in yours, her laugh and smile is absolutely unfair to you and your well-being. in hers, your gentleness and kindness is entirely too much for her to bear at such an ungodly hour of the day. it's sunday, too, the day before the week officially starts and people start flooding in like a tsunami. whatever. it's not like you're being disruptive, or rude, or like a normal customer. you're distracting, in a good way.

and when you finally manage to play something that resembles an actual chord, nikki throws both hands in the air and cheers out loud.

"hey, there she is!"

you laugh, half embarrassed, half proud. "that sounded awful. more than awful!"

"that sounded like progress to me," she dismisses, and you find yourself breaking out into a cheesy smile.

it sneaks up on you, so much so that you're unable to even catch yourself and potentially reel it back in. nikki's eyes gravitate toward you again, because there hasn't been a moment she you walked in where she wasn't paying her utmost attention.

she steps a little closer, eyes locked on your mouth. you convince yourself she's looking at your teeth and not your lips. but both would be great.

"nice to see that," she mumbles.

"what?" you ask, face flushing despite yourself. the heat on your face is embarrassingly noticeable.

"your smile."

you immediately look away, no hesitation in your movements. you even try hiding behind the guitar and end up almost falling out your chair. it only makes her own grin even wider.

"you know, you're pretty shy for someone who was literally wishing death on my teammates and i at trivia night the other day," she comments. "it's cute."

you sigh. "oh my god."

"i'm being serious. dead."

"nikki."

"what? i'm being completely honest."

"no, you're flirting," you correct, finally standing up.

she looks genuinely confused for a moment, because why can't she be doing both? she's flirting, yes, but everything that's coming out her mouth is honest. and she's always been true to her words.

"same thing," she ends up replying.

and now your heart is doing somersaults, backflips, and aerials all over the place. you've never been this weird and... interested in someone.

nikki is going to kill you.

with kindness.

eventually another employee pokes their head around a shelf nearby, catching the two of you.

nikki in particular.

you recognize the guy from trivia night, the one who stole an answer from you and embarrassed you in front of the entire bar. wellington guy, you've been calling him to your friends the entire week, but now he's wearing a store uniform. his name tag reads baron, and it's very fitting for a guy as scruffy as him.

"nikki," he calls.

she turns around, demeanor switching. "what's up?"

"...are you working today?"

the dark-haired girl blinks, suddenly remembering that she is, in fact, working today. she just got so caught up in you... teaching you the guitar, she means.

"oh."

without looking at you, baron leans closer and whispers something into her ear. he gives you an interesting look a second into whatever he's telling her, and something tells you that he's mosr definitely talking about you. bad, most likely.

nikki doesn't humor him. instead, she waves him off and tells him she's helping you.

she walks back over to you after making sure he's out of the room, offering an apologetic look. "sorry. don't worry about him, he's... weird."

"who is he to you?" you ask, softening your tone. you don't want to come as jealous.

the girl shrugs. "a friend. he's like a younger brother to me, but like, more annoying than i imagine having a sibling would be."

you giggle.

eventually you buy the guitar—mostly because you like it, partly because nikki spent more than half an hour convincing you that you could learn. and maybe a tiny bit because you'd like an excuse to come back and get free guitar lessons from her. nobody has to know about that, though.

when she walks you to the register and finishes ringing you up, she snags the receipt from the printer and grabs a pen from somewhere on the counter.

you watch her flip over the tiny piece of paper and scribble something messily onto the back.

"what's that?" you ask quietly, leaning over the counter a little to get a better look.

she slides it over the counter, smooth.

and at the bottom of the receipt, written in red ink, is a phone number etched into the paper.

it's her phone number.

"our customer support line," she chirps with a smile.

you blush.

nikki does too.

she can't help it. "if your guitar ever explodes, or you have questions on how to play different chords. or songs. or anything, really."

"i don't think guitars explode."

humming, she shrugs. "well, most don't, but there's a still a very slim chance of that happening."

you nod slowly, narrowing your eyes at her playfully as you take the receipt and fold it into your back pocket.

"...right."

she leans against the counter then, looking entirely too pleased with herself as she rests her chin in her palm. her eyes catch the light.

"so."

you tilt your head. "and if i can't make it here?"

the smile she gives you this time is softer this time, a little lighter than before.

she's enjoying this more than she'd like to admit.

but fuck it.

"then i guess i'll just have to come over and help you learn more," she hums. "and, in return, you'll grab me that drink you owe me."

"it's a date."

"or maybe it's a loser giving the winner the treatment she deserves."

John Price

“Trying to kill me?” huffs John, chest heaving.

Sweat-slick and naked, John runs his palm over his face, fisting the hair at the top of his head. The man is exhausted, but you said over text that you wanted to breed him, and you’re not finished now that you’re home.

Head bobbing, you bring John back to aching hardness, relentless in your pursuit of having it off. There isn’t nearly enough of John’s cum in you. Fullness is the goal. To leave him empty and you stuffed to the brim.

With a wet pop, the head of his cock bounces from between your lips, pointing toward the ceiling. “John,” you sigh, dream-drenched and heavy. “You don’t need to do anything.”

Hands slide up his hairy chest. Come back down. Fingers running over thick muscles. You take your time, curling those fingers to lightly drag your nails over his skin. He inhales sharply, and you grin.

“Bloody hell,” he groans, hips lifting as you tease him with your tongue. “You’re insatiable.”

With a mischievous smile, you shift, giving John your back. Lifting your ass, you provide him with a clear of you sliding down on him before you start to bounce.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

The room smells of sweat and sex.

“I need a moment,” says Kyle, his breathing deep. “Shit. Give me a moment.”

Kyle holds you in his arms, face nuzzling the top of your head, his eyes closed as he attempts to steady himself. You, on the other hand, are perfectly fine. As Kyle contemplates life and his sanity, you play with his dick.

“If I recall,” you begin.

“Hush, you,” mutters Kyle.

“You said you could keep up with me.”

Kyle grunts, a sliver of annoyed defeat in it. “I did.”

Hand roaming down to cup his balls, you gently squeeze them. “Are you sure now?”

A long pause, and then Kyle finally speaks. “Don’t know if I can come again that fast.”

You shrug, snuggling closer. “Sure about that?” You bring your hand back to his dick. “Feels hard to me.”

Kyle snorts and gently grasps your wrist. You cease stroking him. “I’m serious, love. Might be done.”

Drawing your hand away, you bring it to rest on his chest, placing a soft kiss on Kyle’s cheekbone. “Tomorrow?”

Kyle’s arm tightens, bringing you in until you’re smushed. “Telling Price you’re putting me on the path to an early retirement.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

Fisting the base of Johnny’s cock, you give it a loving squeeze. A dribble of cum emerges from the tip, you suck it up greedily. And yet, you’re not finished. Hardly even started. Already you’re stroking him, teasing up that build until Johnny is rock-hard and throbbing.

“Oh, aye.” Johnny chuckles at your eagerness. “Want another round?”

You arch an eyebrow but don’t cease. “That a problem?”

Johnny shakes his head. Bringing his arms up, he tucks them under his head, a pleased smile forming on his lips. “No. Surprised is all.”

“Surprised?” you question, almost mocking. “Didn’t think I could fuck like this?”

Johnny snorts, clearly amused by the exchange. He’s trying to turn this around, to bring you to heel. Funny how he thinks you’ll take orders from him. A quick swirl of your tongue and the man is chocking.

“Talking about the stamina,” he manages, eyelids fluttering as you take more of him.

You head slowly ascends, lips suctioning until his eyes briefly roll back into his head. When the head of his cock pops out, you speak. “Is my stamina too much for you?”

Johnny’s gaze returns to your face. “Maybe. Won’t know unless we try.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Beneath you, the sofa shifts, imperceptibly moving with each hard thrust.

At your ear, is Simon’s voice, gruff and thick like he’s smoked too many cigarettes. “Think I can’t keep up?”

You know that tone. Simon uses it when you’re in trouble, or you’ve pushed him a bit too far and he drawn up a punishment. You hold your tongue. While you want to brat over this, to continuously poke at him, that’ll only take you further than you can go.

Simon doubles his efforts at your silence, fucking you harder. His fingers are in your mouth, cutting off your words anyway, though you could use your teeth. Simon’s brute strength severs your ability to do anything except take his cock.

“Always think you can out pace me, bird.”

He’s the one poking now, shifting the power to his hands, leaving you helpless. It’s always where you want to be with him, but the thrill is not knowing how much he’ll deal out.

Saliva pools around Simon’s fingers, dripping onto your lips and chin. Deep enough to stifle but not choke.

You shift in his lap and look around his room while he catches his breath, taking in the full picture now that the post-orgasm haze has cleared.

His bed looks like it hasn't been made in weeks and the pillow has its own ecosystem forming beside it, with crumbs and particles of god-knows-what all over. As for the yellow stains on the mattress? Could be food, could be bodily fluids. Honestly, you don't want to know.

At least you’d managed to get him into the shower beforehand. That alone had taken a small miracle of coaxing, but looking at the state of this place? you’re proud to have pulled it off.

The entire space looks like a landfill with piles of shirts everywhere, socks, empty Monster cans and tissues— so many tissues next to his laptop which is still open on some gooner website.

And then… right across the room, behind the overloaded drying rack he tried to nudge in front of something earlier, you spot it.

A shelf.

Not just any shelf, but a shrine. Row after row of anime girls, tits spilling out of half-buttoned school uniforms, skirts flipped up, nipples perfectly sculpted and shaded.

"No way," you gasp dramatically, full-on giggling as you climb off his lap, tugging the hem of his shirt down over your thighs. "You’ve got an entire collection of those?"

Gyutaro stiffens. "Wha-? No, hey, don’t—" he tries to grab your wrist but you’re already out of reach, stepping over the mess to pluck an anime girl off the shelf. He groans, rubbing his hands over his face. “Fuck. They're collectibles, okay? I-I don’t even jack off to them anymore.” he stutters, "Like, they’re not just for that. I mean some of ‘em came from limited runs and— hey, don’t laugh!"

"Oh my god, Gyutaro. What the hell?" You hold the figure up, some busty bunny girl with her ass in the air and... some kind of plug in it. He makes a strangled noise behind you, wanting to sink through the floor.

"This one's from a very niche arc, alright! You said you wouldn’t make fun of me!"

"I said I wouldn’t judge," you say, turning to face him with a smirk, your bush peeking from underneath his shirt. "But I am gonna make fun of you. I mean, have you seen your room?"

You pick up another one, some demon girl with her tits out and tongue sticking between her fingers, and hold it beside your head.

"This one kinda looks like me..." you say with a smirk. "No wonder you’re obsessed."

Gyutaro’s ears go bright red.

"Don't... don't touch that one. She was expensive."

You laugh, carefully setting the anime girl back on her shelf before walking back to him and plopping into his lap with a little bounce, the chair creaking under both of your weight. Gyutaro flinches and hisses through his teeth, his hips giving the tiniest jerk beneath you as his cock twitches back to life.

His pale skin is still flushed pink in places, cock marked up with thick veins and those unmistakable splotches of darker pigmentation. You start stroking him lazily, fingers wrapping around his length and coaxing him back to full hardness.

"I think it’s hilarious that you’re such a gross little freak." you whisper, mouth brushing his cheek as you kiss him there, soft and sweet and smug.

He groans, low and muffled, face burying into the side of your neck like he’s trying to disappear. "S-Shut up, i'm not…"

"You like that I saw them, don't you?" you whisper, dragging your fingers up the nape of his neck. "You like that I know what kind of weird shit you're into and I still touch you like that."

His breath catches.

You feel him twitch in your hand again, thicker now, getting harder by the second.

You smirk, squeezing him at the base. "You wanna tell me which one’s your favorite?"

"Stop..." he moans, embarrassed.

“This is so fucking stupid,” you grit, fingers gripping his shoulders as you bounce on his cock, your thighs burning from the effort. “I don’t even like you.”

𝐆𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎 snorts, eyes half closed in pleasure as he watches you move. His hands tighten on your hips, guiding you down harder. “Yeah? Must be why you’re bouncing on my dick right now, hm?”

Your nails dig into his skin in retaliation but it only makes him groan, his head tipping back against the locker with a smirk. Cocky bastard.

“Shut up,” you hiss, cheeks burning. “If anyone finds out about this, I swear to god i'll—”

"Yeah, yeah. You'll make my life a living hell." he interrupts, lips quirking up in amusement. "´Don’t tell anyone, don’t talk to me in the hall, don’t even fucking look at me', I got it." he pulls you down in one swift, forceful motion, burying himself to the hilt inside you.

"Fuck!" the word punches out of your chest before you can swallow it down, louder than you mean to. Your eyes squeeze shut, hand flying up to cover your mouth but the sound still echoes off the locker room walls, your face heating up. Your breath stutters as he holds you there, locked in place with a bruising grip, his cock buried so deep it knocks the wind out of you.

He keeps you like this for a solid minute, watching you squirm and struggle as he prevents you from moving. Then he lets up, just barely enough to let you move again, his hands guiding the motion and forcing your hips into a slow, grinding roll. His eyes never leave your face as he does, that lazy smirk tugging at his lips as you gradually start to bounce in his lap again. You glare down at him, but it’s hard to look intimidating when his dick stretches you out so good.

“I hate you,” you whisper, but it’s shaky, weak, and he knows it means nothing.

Gyutaro chuckles, one of his hands running up your back to fist in your hair and pull you down again until your lips nearly brush. “Hate me so much you’ve let me split you open on this shitty bench three times this week? Shit. I wish other bitches hated me like you do."

You’re trembling at this point, your thighs burning as you keep a steady pace, lifting yourself up, down, up, down, that familiar coil in your stomach winding tight, and Gyutaro feels it—he knows you’re close. His free hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit and rubbing messy circles that make your head spin.

"You're so full of shit," he laughs. "Look at you. You love this." Gyutaro grins in satisfaction when you don't even bother responding, his free hand dragging down to your thighs, gripping hard before he snaps his hips up and takes over fully. You slap a hand over your mouth to muffle a moan, your body damn near collapsing, the feeling too much, too good.

“Fuck, you’re clenchin' so hard,” he groans, gaze locked onto yours. “C’mon. Be a good girl and come on my cock. I know you want to."

You wish you weren't so damn putty in his hands, because those words are all it takes. Gyutaro drives into you once, twice, three more times and the knot in your stomach finally unravels. You bite back a cry as your body locks up, pleasure crashing over you like a wave— a hot, overwhelming rush that makes your eyes roll back into your skull. Gyutaro buries his face in your neck at the feeling of your walls clenching around him, his thrusts growing erratic, no longer following any kind of rhythm before he buries himself to the hilt, filling you up with a strangled groan.

His hand remains on your hip the whole time, caressing up and down, the other that's been rubbing you clit slowing to a stop, his grip on you loosening as you both come down.

After a moment, you finally catch your breath enough to lift your eyes to his... and there’s that look again. His lips curl up at the corners, forming that smug smirk that always makes you want to punch him and kiss him in the same breath. You watch as he lifts a hand to your face, the tips of his fingers brushing over your damp skin, your hair stuck to your forehead in messy strands.

“So,” he murmurs. “Same time tomorrow?”

You don’t respond right away. He knows the answer, there's no need for you to say it out loud. You roll your eyes at the stupid question and shift weakly in his lap, your limbs still shaky and weak from the effort. “Maybe. Now go and get me a Plan B.”

Gyutaro blinks up at you, then laughs. “Seriously?”

“Do I look like I’m joking? You came in me.”

“You never said I couldn't.”

You scoff and push off of him, hissing softly as his cock slips out of you. You clench instinctively, trying to keep from leaking all over the floor but it’s pointless. You reach for the nearest piece of clothing and wipe your inner thighs, disgusted and stupidly turned on all at once.

Behind you, Gyutaro reclines against the lockers with a long, satisfied exhale, watching shamelessly as you clean up the mess he made. “All that attitude but I never hear a single complaint." he smirks. "Admit it. You want it raw."

You shoot him a glare as you slide your panties back up, your movements sharp and irritated. "Fuck you. This wouldn't have to happen if you actually bothered carrying a condom with you."

Gyutaro scoffs, unbothered, already tucking himself back into his jeans with lazy fingers. “You never said anythin' about condoms. I figured you were on the pill."

You huff as if you’re not just as much to blame, turning away again as you tuck your hair behind your ears and adjust your skirt, cheeks still flushed. You know you should be ashamed yourself, but instead of shame your chest feels tight, fluttering with those stupid butterflies that only he gives you.

“I’m not fucking around, Gyutaro,” you say, a little less aggressive now. “You’re going to the pharmacy.”

Gyutaro groans, zipping the last bit of his jeans. “Right now? Fuck, I just got milked like a fucking cow, give me a break.”

“Do you want to be a dad?! Cause I sure as hell don't want anything to do with motherhood right now.”

Gyutaro pauses, runs a hand across his face.

“…Ngh. Fuck no.”

“Then get moving.”

He swears under his breath, clearly annoyed at having to stand but he does it anyway, dragging himself upright with exaggerated effort. His hair is a mess and his shirt is still hanging open, exposing the skin of his chest and the scatter of hickeys you left behind. He buttons it lazily, half-assed, like there’s no point when he knows he's going to see you again in a moment.

Then, just as he’s about to pass by, he leans down— his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“You gonna suck my dick in the parking lot if I bring you a Slurpee…?”

Your face instantly flushes as you shoot him a glare over your shoulder, cheeks burning up all over again. But you're too far gone now, too deep into whatever this is to actually be mad at him, and you can’t even help the deadpan reply that slips out, automatic.

“...Strawberry. Medium-sized.”

It started with Jason. Damian had just rolled out of bed, headed for the kitchen, when Jason piped up from the breakfast table. 

 “Baby Bat.” He greeted. Already irritating, as Damian had made it incredibly clear he hated that nickname. Damian grunted, turning to face Jason. Jason turned his tablet around, showing an incredibly enlarged picture of Robin. Robin holding a woman tightly against him. If Damian didn’t experience it himself, he might think Robin was into this woman. She was staring up at him with wide eyes and holding on tightly to his upper arms. Damian furrowed his brows. That picture was out of context. Jason raised a brow. 

 “Is this true?” Jason asked. Damian reeled back. How dare he assume Damian would ever do that to you? Damian glared at him. 

 “Obviously not,” Damian stated. Jason nodded, flipping the tablet back towards himself. 

 “Just had to check,” Jason grumbled. Damian didn’t appreciate that. He shouldn’t have to check; he should know. Damian would never ever in a million lifetimes cheat. And especially not on you. The fact Jason was even insinuating he’d do such a thing, and had to check just to make sure it wasn’t true, made him sick to his stomach. 

 As the day went on, all he could think of was how that paparazzi purposely made him look like some scoundrel. And now his face was plastered all over Gotham as a freak who picked up victims of street crime. Foul. Then his dumbass brother dared to believe it? Was his character that questionable? The cheating itself was disgusting as it was, but to think Damian would hit on someone moments after a horrific, traumatizing event for them. He could hardly stomach it. He was starting to feel guilty over something he didn’t do because clearly some part of him seemed capable of it. Which part of him? 

 Then after his morning workout, he headed for his bedroom to get his extra clothes for his shower. In the process, he walked in on Tim going through his sketchbook while lounging across his bed. Tim looked up when he entered the room, giving him a knowing grin. 

 “Do you draw anything other than your partner?” Tim mocked. Damian lunged forward, yanking it from his hold. 

“Give me that,” Damian grumbled. He closed the book, pressing it to his stomach so Tim couldn’t take it from him. Tim hummed. He pressed his hands under his head, kicking back on Damian’s clean sheets. Damian glared at him. He moved towards his dresser, pausing when he saw Tim’s disgusting boots on his bed. Damian froze, feeling his heart stall. 

“Get out,” Damian muttered under his breath. Tim snorted. 

“Jeez, Damian, you’re a bit touchy over the drawings. They’re good. I just thought it was silly that was all you drew. Page after page, it's a bit pathetic.” Tim scoffed like Damian was the most dramatic person on the planet. Damian felt his anger seethe. He clenched his jaw, begging for the strength to keep himself moderately calm. 

“Get out,” Damian repeated, his tone harder and louder. Tim paused, looking up at Damian. He nodded, pulling himself off Damian’s bed. Tim ducked out into the hall. Damian took a deep breath, closing his eyes to try and focus. He felt his anger receding. He reached out and wiped away the dirt Tim caused on his sheets. He was able to get most of it off; if it had been mud, Damian would’ve had to hide himself from his weapons. For the sake of Tim. 

Damian settled onto the edge of his bed, peeling open his sketchbook. Your face stared at him as he swept through the pages, making sure Tim didn’t vandalize any of them. He froze when he saw a ripped page. The tear only went up halfway. The fuzzy edge of the paper slashed through your eye and down your cheek. It split through your smile. Your face was cut in a wavy line. It must’ve torn when he yanked it from Tim. He must’ve torn it. If he had been just a little more gentle when he took it from Tim, you would still be smiling at him perfectly. He felt tears clogging his throat and warming the back of his eyes. Damian frowned, sliding down onto his side. He pressed the sketch to his chest. He burrowed his face in his sheets as he cried. He hoped somehow when he looked back down at the sketch, your tear would be healed. 

His shower was slow, like his hands were weighed down by his bad attitude. Damian really just needed everyone to not speak to him all day. He scrubbed his hair with a towel once he was done. He pulled his clean clothes on and looked up into the mirror. His eyes were still puffy, but his cheeks were dry now. He really didn’t like that he’d have to walk around all day with the evidence that he had cried. He wondered how Jon wore eyeliner during those two odd years. Especially since he was such a crybaby. 

Damian swung open the bathroom door, carrying his wet towel. The second he stepped out of the bathroom, sweaty arms wrapped around his head. Damian was startled, coughing at the disgusting smell of Dick immediately after his run. Dick laughed as he pressed his armpit towards Damian’s face. Damian shot his hand out, knocking Dick in the stomach. Dick jumped back, clutching his stomach. 

“Dude, I was just playing,” Dick complained, looking Damian up and down. Damian glared at him. Of course Dick would do this. Just when he got out of the shower. He just washed his hair. And he was a disgusting pervert according to the news; Tim put his nasty shoes on his feet, and your face was torn. Dick stared at Damian in shocked confusion, his mouth hanging open. 

“You’re almost 40; stop acting like you’re fucking 14!” Damian shouted. Dick reeled back. 

“I’m 33. I was just joking around, jeez you’re sensitive today.” Sensitive? Like when Tim invaded his personal space and went through his private drawings? That’s sensitive? Jason walked up behind Dick, interested in the fight. If he had to restrain someone, he might. 

“You’re fucking disgusting.”  Damian snapped. Jason furrowed his brows. 

“Didn’t realize you knew those words,” Jason mumbled. Damian could throw Jason off a building. 

“I’m not a baby. Quit treating me like one.” Damian glared at Jason. Dick stared at Damian’s face, finally placing what looked different. 

“Whoa, everyone, settle. Have you been crying?” Dick asked, tilting his head in concern. Dick reached out, trying to pull Damian into a hug by his shoulders. Damian smacked Dick's hands away, storming down the stairs. He flung his wet towel at the nearest piece of furniture. He ignored Dick as he called out to him. He pulled his shoes on, snatched his keys, and left the house. As he reached his car’s handle, Bruce’s voice came from behind him. 

“Where are you going?” He asked. Damian didn’t bother looking behind him. 

“Out.” He grumbled before settling into the driver’s seat. He pulled out of the driveway and headed straight for your apartment. All he wanted to do was settle into your arms and pretend the day started with him wrapped in your bedsheets. 

It had started when you found your coffee empty. Which only starts your day on a bad foot. 

Then just as you were finally getting through your work, your coworker sent you an email. 

Robin is flirting with girls. I think he’s getting a girlfriend soon??? 

You opened the article they sent you, raising a brow. You stared at the picture they had plastered over the top of the article. Robin’s hands were pressing into this woman’s back as she clung onto him. They were staring into each other’s eyes, her mouth parted. It looked like love. Lust if you were being an ass about it. But the problem was you knew who was under the mask. 

 Despite you knowing there was no way Damian was cheating on you, the image of his hands pressing into her flashed in your mind. Every time you tried to calm yourself down, you thought about the woman’s eyes staring wide into his. It was growing into a severe case of jealousy. Why was he all over her last night, but today he hadn’t even messaged you? You didn’t want to think about it. You tried to push it away and focus on your work. Every time you thought you were safe, someone else had to bring it up. It was all people could think about talking about. Every mutter of Robin had you pushing down your anger and clenching your teeth. 

You finally settled down as you dropped into your car. The closer you got to your home, the less anger you felt. Just as you finally felt like you were in an okay mood, some douchebag in a raised truck pulled out right in front of you. You slammed on your brakes, making the car behind you honk. He blared his horn as he sped past you. What a fucking dick! What the hell is his problem? Just loud and wrong for what reason? It was your right of way. And that alone sent you straight back into your bad mood. 

The final straw was that as you were opening your front door, your sweater snagged on the handle. You didn’t notice until you were a step past it and heard a loud rip. You gasped, carefully pulling the fabric from the handle. You cradled it in your hands like a wounded bird, looking at the tear. It was totally ruined. It was a knit, which meant it was dead. That thread holding it together was ripped. The hole had doubled by the time you pulled it off. You flung it at the wall, feeling your anger burn harder. 

It’s ridiculous. Your coffee is empty, and it was probably Damian who used it last. He was all over some girl last night. He doesn’t message you at all. 

That asshole truck pulls out in front of you, and then your favorite sweater is ruined. You flopped backwards onto the couch, resting your hands against your stomach and staring at the ceiling. 

The door to your apartment opened, Damian stepping in. He glanced around the room for your face. You sat up on your elbow, looking at him over the edge of the couch. 

“Did you drink all my coffee?” You asked, irritation clear. Damian scoffed. 

“What?” 

“Well, this morning I went to drink coffee, and it was empty. And I’m thinking you used it last and put the empty box back like a dick.” You explained, your mouth curling into a snarl. Damian glared at you. 

“You’re just assuming it was me? What is your problem?” Damian snapped, slamming the door shut. You stood from the couch. 

“What’s your fucking problem? You're all over girls on your patrol? You’re plastered all over the news with you pressing her all up against you! What’s that about?” You hissed. Damian snarled. 

“I would never cheat! What makes you think that? Why is everyone accusing me of cheating?” He barked. You stormed past him, scoffing at his face. Damian followed after you. 

“I didn’t say you cheated. I’m saying you’re a bit all over her. And if everyone is accusing you of cheating, what do you think that says about you?” You pointed your finger at his chest. Damian pulled back from you, looking you up and down. 

“I’m not a cheater,” He seethed. “I bet the media didn’t tell you she leaned over and vomited all over my shoes right after that. Why are you assuming the worst about me? First this stupid coffee and now all of a sudden I’m a cheater!”  Damian gestured in the direction of your coffee cabinet. You dropped your head back, rolling your eyes. 

“Oh please! I didn’t call you a cheater. You’re being so-” You cut yourself off, throwing your hands up. Damian snapped his head at you. 

“I’m being what? What am I being? Sensitive? Is that what you’re going to say?” Damian demanded. You scoffed, jerking your chin towards him. 

“If the fucking shoe fits, Damian. You’re being a pain in the ass.” You threw your arms out to your sides. Damian pressed his lips tightly together, frowning deeply at you. You bent down, yanking your sweater from the floor. You swerved around Damian, harshly throwing the sweater into the trashcan. 

“I’m being a pain in the ass? Me? Are you kidding? I just came home; you’re tearing into me about your goddamn coffee. You’re being ridiculous.” Damian said, spinning around to face you. His eyes caught on your sweater. He raised a brow, pointing at it. 

“What are you doing? I bought you that.” You threw your arms up, turning your back on him. 

“Who gives a shit? It’s none of your business what I do!” You yelled, storming towards the bedroom. Damian yanked the sweater from the trash can. 

“Don’t throw my gifts away. It is absolutely my business what you do!” Damian fumed, chasing after you. You spun around, grabbing hold of the bedroom door. 

“Go fuck yourself, Damian. I can’t fucking stand your emotionally stunted ass. You’re not a fucking baby, quit acting like one.” You hissed, slamming the door. Damian took a startled step back. He huffed. 

“Fine! I’m not fucking talking to you if you’re going to be an ass!” Damian yelled. He stared at the door, waiting. Open the door. Beg for his forgiveness. Kiss his cheeks and tell him you’re so sorry and you won’t let it happen again. 

“Fine! Go!” You yelled back. Damian groaned loudly, storming straight out of your apartment. 

He sat in the driveway to the manor for twenty minutes. He stared at the sweater bundled up in his lap. Damian wanted to drive back to your apartment and curl in your lap. He really just wanted you to pull your fingers through his hair and tell him you love him. He sighed. He couldn’t even smell your sweater and pretend he was with you. It smelled like your trash can. And what made everything worse was that now that he was thinking back on it, he absolutely used the last of your coffee and forgot to toss it. He had made such a big stink about it with you, and it was genuinely his fault. Damian wanted to turn back time, and once you ask him, ‘Was it you?’ he can say, ‘I’m so sorry’. Instead he’s sat alone in his car, staring at the fabric of your sweater. 

He thought it would be best to let you both settle down and apologize in the morning. So he tried to focus on everything else. He found the hole in your sweater. He handed it off to Alfred with many pleas that he try to fix it. Alfred promised to have it done by tonight. He was sent on patrol with Dick. The first part was tolerable. Dick tried to crack jokes, which only earned him grunts from Damian. They had to take down a whole group of muggers, which was entertaining. About halfway through, rain started pouring, soaking them both down to the bone. But it was tolerable; it at least gave him puddles to entertain himself with. Then just as Damian decided he was going to make it through this night, they hit a lull. The city went quiet; no criminal activity was found. There wasn’t even a lost kid to find the parents of. They were just going roof by roof, looking over the streets. And of course Nightwing couldn’t stand a second of silence. 

“So what happened today?” He asked, flipping over onto his hands. He stood in a handstand on the edge of the rooftop. Damian glared at him, though he didn’t see it. 

“Nothing.” Damian mumbled. Dick groaned. 

“Don’t tell me you’re slipping back into your ‘nonchalant’ facade.” Dick pulled an arm back, balancing on just one hand. 

“Do you have to do that?” Damian snapped. Dick set both his hands down, flipping back onto his feet. 

“I’m entertaining myself. It’s incredibly boring tonight.” Dick grumbled. He crossed his arms over his chest, pouting like a petulant child. Damian felt an eye twitch starting to spark. 

“I had a bad day,” Damian answered. Dick furrowed his brows. 

“That much was obvious. What actually happened?” Dick glared at Damian. Damian really wished he didn’t like Dick as much as he did. He would’ve taken a finger by now. He wouldn’t kill him. But maiming was okay. 

“Jason was a dick. Tim went through my sketchbook. You put your armpit on me. I got into a huge fight with my partner. Now I’m on patrol with you, which is how I imagine hell to look like.” Damian ranted. Dick sighed through his nose. He kicked his leg out, pointing his toes to stretch it. 

“What was the fight about?” Dick asked, rolling his ankle. Damien groaned, sitting down on the edge of the roof. He stared at the cars driving down the roads. 

“Everything and nothing,” Damian answered. Dick dropped his head back, letting out a loud, annoying groan. 

“I can’t help you if you’re going to be vague,” Dick complained. 

“Maybe I don’t want your help!” Damian snapped. He scoffed, pressing his lips into a tight line. 

“Sorry.” He muttered under his breath. He wasn’t repeating it, even if Dick asked. 

“Well, it helps to talk it out, you know,” Dick grumbled. Damian sighed loudly, amping up his annoyance just to irate Dick a little more. 

“I drank the last of their coffee. They didn’t like that picture the media has thrown up everywhere. I said I didn’t like them calling me a cheater. They said they weren’t, but if everyone is calling me a cheater, what does that say about me? They said I was overreacting. And they threw the sweater I bought them last year in the trash. In front of me. And they said I was emotionally stunted and acting like a baby.” Damian sighed as he ranted, feeling more and more like an asshole the more he talked. Dick grimaced. He settled down next to Damian on the roof. His hand started to gently rub Damian’s back. It was tentative, like he thought Damian might swing back and bite him. The more Dick comforted him, the closer he felt to tears.

“And I accidentally tore a sketch I made of them,” Damian mumbled. His voice broke, his resolve cracking into a pathetic mess. 

“And I think I messed us up as much as I messed that up.” Damian pushed out his words in a broken voice. His confession fell into sobs, his tears swarming his face. Damian fell into Dick’s arms. Dick wrapped Damian in a hug, gently rocking him back and forth. Damian held onto Dick’s back, letting himself be cradled. Damian didn’t stop the tears from flowing, just letting himself wallow in his self-pity. He let himself rock with the crashes of his sobs. 

When he finally caught his breath again, Dick pulled him back. Dick cradled his face, holding onto his cheeks. He wiped at the tears trailing over the edge of his mask. He shook his head. 

“Fights happen. It’s okay; it doesn’t mean it’s over. Me and Kori fight-” 

“Really?” Damian whimpered. He felt embarrassment creep up behind him at his tone. He frowned and hid in Dick’s arms again. 

“Oh yeah. We fight. It’s okay though, all you have to do is apologize and work to change. Especially since it’s over something small. You just have to talk, that’s all.” Dick whispered, rubbing at Damian’s shoulder. Damian paused, his eyes opening. He could get to the manor in ten. He could get to your apartment from the manor in fifteen. He could get to your window. He could beg for your forgiveness before dawn even broke. He really wasn’t sure how long he could let this fester; he needed you to be happy now. Damian pulled from Dick, wiping at his face. 

“Can you manage on your own?” Damian asked, standing up. Dick scoffed at him. 

“I’m friggin Nightwing, dude.” Dick raised his arms, flexing. Damian rolled his eyes, pulling at the grappling hook on his belt. 

“Great. I have to take care of something tonight.” Damian took a running start off the building, swinging over the street to the next rooftop. 

“You’ve got this, Baby Bat!” Dick screamed in encouragement. Damian ignored him, focusing on his way towards the manor. 

Once he finally got there, he started whipping through the rooms. He yelled for Alfred every chance he got. Bruce appeared next to him. Damian jumped as he turned around. 

“Hello, father.” Damian greeted, squeezing past him. Bruce followed him as Damian searched. 

“You are assigned to patrol. What has happened?” Bruce asked, clearly worried at the frazzled state his son was in. Damian glanced back, giving him hardly any attention. 

“I have to take care of something. I called Todd on the way over. He’s covering me.” Damian explained. He poked his head through the dining room door. Alfred stood in the dark, staring at Damian. Damian’s shoulders slumped in relief. 

“Alfred. I wanted to know if the sweater was ready?” Damian asked. Alfred opened his mouth to answer. 

“What sweater?” Bruce cut off. Damian stared at Alfred, begging silently that he would just answer. Alfred pulled his hands from behind his back. He was holding your sweater out towards him. 

“All fixed, Master Wayne,” Alfred stated. Damian surged forward, taking the sweater from his hands. 

“Thank you, Alfred. Sorry about tracking in the rain.” Damian muttered, spinning around and rushing for the front door. Bruce chased after him. 

“Where are you going?” He asked, watching him in concern. Damian waved him off. 

“To take care of business,” Damian grumbled as he sprinted out of the house and towards you. 

Your bedroom window was attached to a fire escape. Which was something Damian was incredibly grateful for. The rain had seemed to double, making the painted metal more slippery than he liked. Your lights were off, and your curtains were closed. He hoped you weren’t asleep. He didn’t want to wake you. He shook his head, letting water droplets fly from his hair. Your sweater was soaked. He did try to cover it with his cape, but that didn’t seem to help. 

Damian reached forward, knocking against the glass. He waited a minute, his heart pounding against his chest. Your light did not turn on. Damian knocked again, this time harder. No movement at all. Damian huffed, pressing his forehead to the cold glass. Please. Please. He knocked again, still pressing his head to the glass. Light flickered behind his eyelids. Damian snapped his eyes open, finding your light on. He started up, pressing his hand to your window. You pulled the curtains open, jumping at the sight of him. Your mouth fell open. You mouthed his name, making a sad smile spread on his face. You threw open the window, staring at him in shock. 

“Hey,” he breathed. It was nice to see you with something on your face that wasn’t anger. You sputtered. 

“What are you doing? It’s raining!” You yelled over the rush of the water droplets. Damian nodded. He brought his hand to his mouth, wiping at the rain there. 

“Did you mean it?” Damian asked. His eyes were peeking out from under the mask. The green was surrounded by red. You sighed, your body slumping. You shook your head, reaching out the window for him. You held onto his cheek. 

“Not a word.” You whispered. Damian sighed, leaning into your hand. 

“I am so sorry. I just had a terrible day, and I blew up. You shouldn’t have to take that from me.” Damian rambled. His eyes shot around the fire escape. “ I should’ve said something. I should’ve just apologized. I started a fight, and I didn’t mean-” Your mouth against his cut him off. You were leaning out the window, holding his face against yours. Damian sighed, tossing his arm over your back. He held onto you as your pajamas started to soak through. This is what he needed. He could feel his shitty day slipping away as you moved your lips against his. He cradled you against him as he turned you, pulling you further out the window. Your legs, knee down, were in your apartment. Your back was held in Damian’s lap, his shoulders shielding you from the rain. Your thighs were getting wet, but you didn’t care. You ran your hand across his cheek, holding onto the back of his neck. 

You pulled away. You didn’t slip back into your apartment; you just stared at him. You pulled at the small hairs at the base of his neck. 

“I’m sorry.” You said, your eyes shining in the rain. Damian shook his head, licking his lips. He couldn’t imagine a day going by when he didn’t kiss you. 

“Don’t be,” Damian stated, gazing down at you. You were stunning even against the material of his suit. He had to die before you. He wouldn’t be able to live if you weren’t there to look at him like this. 

“A towel would be nice,” Damian added. You laughed, pulling yourself off his lap. You slipped into your apartment, Damian following after you. 

Damian hated that he was dripping onto your floor. You grinned at him over your shoulder as you pulled a towel from your bathroom. He felt his worries fly away. He couldn’t care less about your floor; you were looking at him like he was the only person in the universe. He took the towel from your hands, rubbing it through his hair. He held out your sweater. 

“Alfred fixed it,” Damian said. You looked down at it, your mouth parting. You gently took it from him, holding it in your arms as if it were pure gold. You held it up, water dripping off the bottom edge. Damian felt an embarrassed frown pull at his mouth. 

“It’s wet.” You muttered. Damian nodded, spinning around towards the curtains. He yanked them closed. He turned back to you, pulling at his soaked suit. 

“It’s raining.” He answered. You lifted a glare at him, running your hand over the patch where the hole used to be. 

“You can’t even tell.” You whispered. Damian set his mask on your dresser, dropping his pile of a suit on the floor. He stared at you while he stood in front of you, down to just his underwear. Your hair was sticking to your face. Your pajamas were glued to your skin, but you didn’t seem to care. 

“Alfred is talented,” Damian said. You pressed the sweater to your chest, looking up at him. Your face fell into a smile, your eyes watering. 

“You hate it.” Damian sighed, his shoulders dropping. You shook your head, holding an arm at him. Damian tipped forward, falling into your hug. You pushed your head over his shoulder, kissing his bare skin. He wrapped his arms around your back. He tried his hardest not to cringe at the feeling of your soaked sweater pressing against him. He pressed his nose against your shoulder, so glad he was finally home. 

“I love it.” You whispered. 

Bruce was a little startled when Jason settled down next to him in the morning. They both had their own coffee. Bruce was reading his newspaper. Jason was scrolling through the news on his tablet. Bruce looked up when Jason gasped. 

“What is it?” Bruce asked. Jason started to let out a little evil giggle. 

“I’ve got to send this to Damian.” He tapped at his tablet loudly. Bruce tried to peer over his shoulder. 

“What is it?”Bruce repeated. 

“You’re getting FOMO, old man,” Jason grumbled, flipping the screen around. Bruce glared at him before dropping his eyes to the tablet.  A picture of Robin was blasted across the screen. He was kissing someone, sitting on a fire escape as they hung out their window. The picture was horrible quality, and Robin’s hand was pressed to their face so it wasn’t possible to identify the person. Jason swiped at the screen, showing off a new picture. The back of Robin was facing the camera now, his head hung as he stared down at his lap. Two legs were hanging from the window. It was clear as day that whoever he was kissing before was now cradled in his lap. Next to Robin was a bundled ball of fabric. One Bruce recognized. 

“Is this the business he had to take care of last night?” Bruce asked. Jason shrugged, flipping his tablet back to him. 

“No clue. He only told me I had to cover because he had to handle something.” Jason grumbled. Bruce pulled at his phone, opening the contacts immediately. The phone only rang twice before he picked up. 

“Dick.” Bruce started. Dick sighed on the other side. 

“I see you’ve read the news today,” Dick mumbled. 

You rolled over in your empty bed, groaning at the absence of Damian. You stumbled out of the room, finding him in the kitchen. He was leaning against the counter, with a coffee mug next to him. 

“I bought you more coffee,” Damian stated, pushing the mug closer to you. You gratefully took it. You pressed it to your lips, taking a sip. He turned his phone around, showing you a picture that was definitely you kissing him in his Robin suit. 

“Quality is too poor to make out your face. I’m definitely going to be seen a certain way by Gotham.” Damian grumbled. Your eyes shot to the top of the screen. A small box holding ‘Father’ and ‘Incoming Call’ popped up. Your brows shot up, making Damian flip the phone around. He answered it, pressing it to his ear. 

“Hello, Father,” Damian answered. He pulled the phone from his ear, covering the speaker with his palm. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours. You hummed, kissing him back. Damian pulled back, rolling his lips together to taste your coffee. He pressed the phone back to his ear. 

“Of course, I’m listening, Father.” Damian scoffed. 

“…yes,” you whimper.

“Then fucking arch it.”

You sniffle. “Okay.”

He breaks character and huffs out a laugh as he watches you continue to helplessly stretch and squelch around him, making a creamy mess all along his shaft. He straightens his back, big hands now firmly grabbing your hips as he picks up the pace.

“Yeahh—stay right there,” his chest rumbles as he lets out a low, drawn-out groan. The smack of his hips growing louder, driving himself right into that little spot that won’t stop screaming for his attention.

It has his attention now.

The new angle had you whining into the pillow, absolutely reeling from how good he was at this, despite his complaints. He knows how to be rough. Nearly lifting you off the bed once he starts pulling your hips back, heavy balls smacking against your sensitive clit as he makes you meet each and every rough thrust he delivers.

“F-fuckk!” you choke out, barely able to form a coherent sentence as you start babbling out a bunch of words.

“So fuckin’ spoiled.” He complains, but just barely. “C’mon brat—you’ve been working me like a fuckin’ dog, give it to me already.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t believe you. You sound like you’re in heaven right now. “Mmhh—I love you so much.” His scowl deepens. “So, so much—you’re so fucking big.“

“Tch.” He grabs a handful of your hair, then yanks you back until you’re up against his chest, lips grazing your ear while muttering in it. “I don’t want an apology. What I want is for you to cum on my fuckin’ cock already. Or should I just stop?”

“No, no don’t! Please! I’m trying, I swear,” you begin to plead with the man.

“Try harder.” Then he smiled, because he felt you squeeze around him. “Jesus Christ—you need to me talk you through it too? The chocolates supposed to make you horny, sweetheart. Not useless.”

“It’s not my fault,” you whimper, and squeeze around him again, pulling a condescending huff out of him.

“You poor thing,” he hums. “Probably spent the whole day waiting for me to come home so I could make you feel better, huh?”

His breath tickles your ear and you nearly moan. “Mhm—I thought about it all day.”

“Well aren’t you sweet,” he mutters, tone as condescending as ever. “You got what you wanted, too. I’ve been taking care of you for a while now. How many times have I cum in you now?”

“I… I don’t know—“

“Of course you fuckin’ don’t.” He cuts you off, unamused by your answer. “Want me to do it again? Fill you up, make you feel all nice and warm?”

“Please.”

“Give me what I want then. If these sheets aren’t soaked by the time I’m about to cum again, I’m pulling out and finishing on your face,” he lets go of your hair and begins to laugh. You don’t get much of a chance to react before you feel the pads of his fingers on your clit, pulling a gasp out of you once he starts rubbing little circles on top of already fucking you. “Heh—let’s see if playing with this cute little clit saves you.”

And he knows you don’t deserve it—any of it, honestly. Unfortunately, he can’t help himself, not with the reactions he gets out of you. He married you for many reasons—getting to spend the rest of his life with a squirter was one of them. The moment your breathing grows labored and you sound like you’re gonna start to cry, his lids grow heavy and he starts saying all the things he told himself he wouldn’t say today.

"Yeahhh, that’s it, baby—fuuuuck—takin’ it so good.” He is fucking gone. Voice thick, filled with nothing but lust and awe as he presses against your lower belly. “C’mon, you want it here, right? Yeah, you know what to do—don’t let some fuckin’ asshole finish on your sweet little face.”

Yes. Your husband just degraded himself. And you just egg him on without meaning to. You were already whining about how it was too much, the incoherent “want it inside,” just made it better worse.

“I will, I’ll give you so fuckin’ much if you just give me one—just one. Easy. Shit—I’ll fill you up as much as you want afterwards.” He doesn’t know what he’s saying, but that doesn’t matter when it’s what has you crying and trembling and finally gushing around his cock.“Yeah, that’s it. That’s it, that’s—fuuuuck yeah. Good job, sweetheart—good fuckin’ job. Fuck.”

Funny enough, he came right after you, which was a relief because that meant his job was done and he was finally able to give his dick a fucking break after hours of feeling like he was working for free, when he had already worked a regular eight hour shift prior. The biggest relief of all was seeing you lie limp in bed, after slightly worrying if you ever actually would.

He leans over you with a smug smile, already having forgotten how much you pissed him off earlier as he moved some hair away from your face. Checking to see if you’re actually asleep or not, then feeling a deep sense of peace when seeing that you are. He presses a kiss against your cheekbone, and in the most loving way hopes you stay that way because he cannot do that again. Then finally, he gets up to use the bathroom.

The peace is only lasts four steps until it’s completely shattered again when he hears your weak voice.

“Are you ready to go again?”

a small snort escaped from the other side of the door, “yea ryo ive been shitting for two hours.” 

his crimson eyes fluttered into a roll before he twisted the knob again, “okay brat then why is the door locked, let me in.” 

needy bastard. “kuna you can wait for like two minutes, im almost done.” you added the final touches to your face before adjusting your dress again. kinda short. eh its fine. 

he leaned against the door frame, arms crossed “almost done what? I can smell your body wash, did you wanna go on a date ton-” 

the door swung open, revealing your finished look. hair done and neat, makeup on point, gold jewelry layered all over your body, and your new brown mini dress that hugged your body perfectly. 

sukuna paused, looked you up and down, eyes immediately turning hungry. 

“black shoes or brown shoes?” you cocked a brow at him. 

“fuck, you look gorgeous baby.” he answered completely ignoring your question, “where we goin’?” 

you puckered your lips and smiled back at him, “thank you. okay so black or brown?” 

“brown. and give me like fifteen minutes, I'll be ready.” he bee-lined straight to the bathroom before your manicured hand pressed against his chest, stopping him right in his tracks. 

“ryo you can’t come to girls night. I've told you this like a thousand times.” 

girls night? It was like someone shot him in the chest right then and there. not only were you looking absolutely beautiful on a night the both of you had off, you were going out with your friends. instead of sukuna. not to mention how much they hated sukuna. the burly mans shoulders tensed,

 “nonono, the hell you mean girls night? I thought WE were going out tonight.” it was almost pathetic how whiney his voice sounded. to anyone else it would've been a once in a blue moon sight, unfortunately for you it wasn’t. 

“ryo I told you last night that I was going out with them.” 

“did not.” 

“did too.” 

“did not.” 

“ryomen i literally told you before we went to bed and you said ‘okay ill drive you.” you pushed past him and slipped on your brown kitten heels, before admiring your full look in the mirror. 

“There's no way I said that, I was out cold before you even shut off the light.” he followed your trail like a sulking puppy`. a large six foot something sulking puppy.

“sukuna i promise you i’m not lying.” you paused with your purse and keys in hand.  

“fine. but if i get handsy in the car, you cannot blame me. you look so hot.” he grabbed the keys from your hands and opened the front door. 

you tsked, “mhm mhm no touching while my girls are in the car.” 

“what.” 

“we’re picking them up, remember?” 

“you’re shittin’ me.”

-

after thirty minutes of being interrogated, looped into gossip, and asked the ‘you’re a guy what do you think?’ question approximately fifteen times,  sukuna finally got to the restaurant. 

your girls murmured a bunch of rushed thank yous before quickly hopping out of the car and heading into the restaurant. sukunas hand still gripped the wheel, 

“thank you for dropping us off kuna.” you leaned over the center console and gave him a peck on the cheek, causing him to turn his head. 

“call me if anything.” he responded in a low mumble. 

“i know i know.” you smiled before turning to open your door. 

“wait.” you paused and turned to look back at your boyfriend who was already outside of the car, he made his way around to your side and opened your door. He held your hand in his large gruff one before pulling you into another kiss, he pulled away just an inch from your mouth, his breath still on yours,

“i’m fucking the shit out of you when you get home.” 

you felt the warmth pooling in your cheeks, you bit back a smile and mumbled back 

“promise?” 

sukunas hands gripped at your waist, before dropping to his sides, a slow huff escaped his nose, “pinky.” 

you snorted before walking off, feeling the sting of sukunas hand slapping your ass as you did so. 

-

sukuna knew as soon as you called three hours later, slurring every other word, that he would be eating his words that night.

 after dropping off your equally drunk friends, he carried you into bed, taking his time removing your make up because he knew you would yell at him if he didn’t, then taking off your heels and dress, changing you into one of his shirts.

“ryo.” 

“hm.” 

“my friendsss saidd they loveeyou.” 

“really?” shocking. considering they mean mugged him all night. didn’t even bother to say his name properly.

you nodded slowly under the sheets. 

“why’s that?” 

a hiccup escaped your lips, eyes fluttering shut “they said… youmake mee glow.” 

“they’re idiots.” 

you snorted, “loveeyouu.” 

“i love you too brat.” 

he couldn’t even be mad at you for blue balling him all night.

theres always tomorrow.

posting schedule rivals coryxkenshin atp