A broken little sound escapes as you circle your clit, slow, teasing, the same way you’ve imagined he would if he ever—God—if he ever let himself unravel like this.

“Mmh… gege, are you worried about me?” The words come out filthy, breathless, wrong in the best way. “Do you… think about me when you’re alone too?”

You press two fingers inside yourself, curling, pumping, thighs shaking. The heel of your palm grinds against your clit and your hips jerk forward like you’re fucking your own hand, like you’re chasing a ghost that wears his face.

You’ve never touched each other. Not once. Not beyond lingering hugs that lasted too long, not beyond his thumb brushing your cheek when you cried after graduation, not beyond falling asleep on his shoulder during long flights home and pretending both of you didn’t notice how neither moved away.

But you know.

You both know.

“C-Caleb—” His name cracks in your throat as you come undone, clenching hard around your fingers, knees nearly buckling. Water pounds over you like it’s trying to wash the sin off your skin, but it can’t reach the stain inside your chest.

You stay there until the water starts to cool, forehead pressed to the tile, panting, ashamed, and still aching for him.

Because even an entire city apart, even with new lives and new rules and the Hunter Academy waiting to swallow you whole tomorrow—Caleb is still the only home you want to go back to.

And you’re terrified he wants to come back to you too.

You step out of the bathroom wrapped in nothing but steam and guilt, skin still tingling, cheeks flaming hotter than the shower ever got. Droplets race down your neck, your spine, between your ass cheeks; every trickle feels like a reprimand. You don’t even bother with clothes. You just belly-flop onto the bed, wet hair fanning across the pillow, and immediately start flailing like a dying shrimp.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” you hiss, kicking the sheets, punching the mattress, rolling side to side until the towel finally gives up and falls open. You lie there spread-eagle, panting at the ceiling like it personally offended you.

You miss your stupid, overprotective, stupidly hot gege this much.

It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic.

You need to do something about it before you lose the last shred of your sanity.

With a groan you drag the laptop Caleb bought you—matte black, way too expensive, has a little fighter-jet sticker he slapped on the lid as a joke— onto your stomach and flip it open. Fingers hover over the keys for half a second before shame loses the fight.

You type: “best sex toys for beginners”.

The screen explodes with color and silicone and words like “thrusting” and “suction” and “10 vibration patterns”. Your eyes go wide.

“Oh WOW…”

You scroll, jaw literally on the floor, until you hit the prices and wheeze. Eight hundred dollars for a rabbit vibrator? Who has that kind of money? Certainly not a broke freshman hunter living off instant noodles and Caleb’s guilt-money transfers.

You slam the laptop shut, fling yourself backward again, and whine at the ceiling.

“Too broke for that… damn, I can’t even get a proper dildo shoved up into my pussy, life is unfair—”

Ding ding.

Your phone lights up on the nightstand. Unknown number. A link.

Normally you’d ignore it. Today you’re desperate and dumb, so you squint, see “70% OFF FLASH SALE!!” in screaming red letters, and click before your brain catches up.

The site that loads is… questionable. Neon pink, flickering banners, probably one virus away from stealing your soul. But front and center is a product that makes your heart stop.

“Feel Like Someone You Love”

100% customizable hyper-realistic silicone sleeve + internal texture mapping

“Upload a photo, choose vein pattern, pick warmth settings; experience the exact cock you’ve always dreamed of.”

Your mouth goes dry.

There’s a little heart icon that says “Most Wishlisted Item of the Year”.

You shouldn’t.

You really, really shouldn’t.

But your finger is already over the “Customize Now” button and your thighs are already squeezing together remembering how your own fingers felt pretending they were his.

Ten minutes later you’ve uploaded the clearest photo you have of Caleb—him leaning against the cockpit of his fighter, flight suit half-zipped, smirk sharp enough to cut glass. You pick the length you’ve definitely never measured in your head while hugging him goodbye, the exact girth your dirty imagination has circled back to for years, the upward curve you’ve caught a glimpse of once through his sweatpants and never recovered from.

Veins: raised, prominent, just like the ones on his forearms when he carries your luggage without breaking a sweat. Warmth setting: “always hot, like he just worked out”. Internal texture: “tight but yielding, the way you bet he’d feel if he ever snapped and pinned you down.

The total, with the sketchy discount, is suspiciously low. Delivery: 3–5 days, discreet packaging.

Your finger hovers over “Place Order”. Morals scream. Pussy throbs harder. You hit the button before you can talk yourself out of it.

Order confirmed. You drop the phone like it’s on fire, roll facedown into the pillow, and muffle a scream that’s half horror, half unbearable anticipation.

In three to five days, you’re going to fuck a perfect replica of the cock belonging to the one person you’re never, ever supposed to want.

And you already know you’re going to call it gege while you do.

Five days of checking the mailbox like a lunatic. Five days of that stupid website 404-ing every time you tried to track the order. Five days of punching training dummies with your entire soul while screaming internally about getting scammed out of your last paycheck for a ghost dick.

“FUCK, IT WAS A SCAM!” you snarl, slamming an uppercut into the dummy’s throat so hard the stuffing starts leaking, “WHAT WAS I THINKING!”. Your squadmates give you a wide berth, whispering. Whatever. Let them think you’re unhinged. You are unhinged.

Then your phone buzzes against your hip. Package delivered.

You don’t even wait for the instructor to dismiss you. You just bolt, boots pounding pavement the whole way back, lungs burning, sweat cooling on your neck in the evening air. The second the apartment door slams behind you, you spot the box.

Plain brown. No labels except your name in printed font. You drop to your knees like a woman possessed, nails clawing at tape, ripping cardboard like it owes you money. The lid flies off. And you stop breathing.

Nestled in black satin is the most obscene, perfect, terrifying cock you’ve ever seen.

It’s huge. Stupidly, ridiculously huge. Thick veins snake up the shaft, only these are flushed dark, pulsing faintly with the built-in warming tech. The head is that deep brownish-pink, flared and glistening from whatever hyper-realistic coating they used. Heavy balls hang low, weighted, shifting slightly when you nudge the box.

You don’t remember setting the length slider this high.

You don’t care. Your mouth actually waters.

“Oh wow…” It comes out strangled. You fall back onto your ass, legs splayed, staring at the thing like it might stand up and walk over to you itself. “Oh my god.”

Your pussy clenches so hard you feel it in your throat.

You haven’t even taken your sweaty training gear off and you’re already dripping down your thighs.

You pick it up with both hands—jesus, it’s warm, heavier than expected and the second your fingers close around the shaft it pulses again, like it knows who it belongs to.

Like it’s been waiting for you just as long as you’ve been waiting for him.

You press the thick head against your cheek without thinking, dragging it down to your lips, breathing in the clean, new-silicone scent mixed with whatever insane tech makes it smell faintly like his cologne.

“Fuck, gege…” you whisper against the tip, voice cracking.

The toy throbs in your grip like it heard you.

You have never sprinted to lock your bedroom door faster in your life.You don’t make it to the bed.

The second the lock clicks you’re already peeling off your sweat-soaked clothes, sports bra flung somewhere, shorts kicked aside, panties dragged down your thighs and left dangling off one ankle. The toy is still in your grip, hot against your palm, veins pulsing faintly with the internal heater like it has a heartbeat.

You drop to your knees on the rug, legs spreading wide without shame, back hitting the edge of the mattress. The thick head nudges your lips and you open instantly, greedy, tongue flattening against the underside as you take the first few inches into your mouth. It’s too big; your jaw aches immediately, drool already spilling down your chin, but you force yourself deeper, gagging softly, eyes watering.

You pull off with a wet pop and a broken moan.

“Need you inside me, gege… please—”

You flip onto all fours, ass in the air, face buried in the sheets that still smell like the detergent he used to buy for both of you back home. One hand reaches back, guiding the fat tip through your soaked folds, coating it, teasing your clit until your thighs shake.

Then you push.

The stretch is obscene. Your pussy flutters, resists, then gives all at once. A strangled cry rips out of you as the first half sinks in, thick veins dragging against your walls, that perfect upward curve kissing spots you’ve never reached with your fingers. You claw at the sheets, hips jerking back on instinct, taking more, more, until your ass meets the heavy silicone balls and you’re stuffed so full you can’t breathe.

“F-fuck—Caleb—”

You pull forward until only the head remains, then slam back. The impact makes you scream into the mattress. Again. Harder. Faster. Your tits bounce with every brutal thrust, nipples dragging against the rug, thighs slapping against silicone like they’re slapping against his hips.

You lose count of how many times you fuck yourself on it. You lose language. All that exists is the wet, filthy sound of your cunt swallowing him, the burn in your thighs, the way your clit throbs every time the base grinds against it.

You flip over, legs thrown wide, knees hooked over your elbows so you can watch. Watch the way your pussy lips stretched thin around his cock, watch it disappear inside you again and again, slick coating everything, dripping down your ass, pooling on the floor.

“Look what you do to me, gege,” you sob, voice wrecked. “Look how wet you make me—how empty I am without you—fuck, I’m such a slut for you—”

Your free hand flies to your clit, rubbing frantic circles, and the orgasm barrels into you like a freight train. You squirt, actually squirt, a gush that soaks the toy and your thighs and the rug beneath you. Your walls clamp down so hard the dildo almost slips out, but you shove it deeper, riding the aftershocks, grinding, crying his name like a prayer.

You don’t stop.

You can’t.

You pull it out only long enough to flip the toy around and shove the slick head against your ass, teasing, not quite brave enough yet, but the thought alone makes you come again, smaller this time, a full-body shudder that leaves you gasping.

When you finally collapse, the dildo is still buried to the hilt, your pussy fluttering around it in lazy pulses. You’re trembling, sweaty, ruined. Tears and drool and cum smeared across your face and chest.

You reach down blindly, fingers brushing the base, and give it one last slow thrust just to hear yourself whimper.

“…come home soon, gege,” you whisper to the empty room, voice hoarse. “I don’t think this is gonna be enough anymore.”

The toy stays inside you the rest of the night. You fall asleep clenching around it, dreaming of the real thing finally splitting you open.

—

—

Skyhaven, DAA parade grounds, 18:47 local.

Caleb is standing at parade rest, flight jacket crisp, medals gleaming, trying to look like the perfect poster boy for the Deepspace Aviation Academy while the brass drones on about honor and vigilance. The formation is dead silent except for the wind whipping the flags.

Then it starts.

A faint tingle at the base of his spine. He shifts his weight, ignores it. Probably just nerves.

Gideon elbows him from the left. “Dude, you good? You’re sweating bullets.”

Caleb forces a laugh, teeth clenched. “Yeah, just hot in this jacket.”

The tingle turns into heat. A slow, syrupy, pooling right behind his balls. His cock twitches once, then again, harder, like someone just wrapped a fist around it and squeezed.

He locks his knees to keep from swaying.

The sensation climbs. Something slick and impossibly tight slides down his shaft, inch by inch, swallowing him whole. His breath stutters. The wet spot blooming at the front of his dress pants is impossible to hide now; he angles his body behind the guy in front of him, praying nobody notices.

Another squeeze. A rhythmic drag. Something soft and spongy kissing the tip over and over and over.

His vision whites out for half a second. He breaks formation without permission, muttering a choked “bathroom” to Gideon’s startled face, and bolts.

He barely makes it to the nearest restroom, slamming the lock, back hitting the door as his trembling fingers rip his belt open. The second his cock springs free it’s flushed angry red, leaking like a faucet, veins bulging exactly the way you spent hours customizing.

He doesn’t even touch himself.

He doesn’t have to.

The feeling slams into him again: tight, wet heat clenching around him, riding him hard, fast, merciless. Invisible hips slam down, grind, pull up, slam down again. His balls draw up so tight it hurts.

“F-fuck—!” The moan tears out of him; he slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes rolling back, hips jerking into empty air like he’s fucking someone bent over the sink in front of him.

Every thrust feels real. Too real. He can feel slick walls fluttering, a cervix nudging the head on every brutal stroke, the phantom slap of skin on skin he’s never actually heard but somehow knows by heart.

His knees buckle. He grips the porcelain with white knuckles, forehead pressed to the cool mirror, panting like he’s running a marathon.

“Ah—shit—stop—please—” he doesn’t even know who he’s begging.

The pace only gets rougher.

He comes without warning, a broken cry muffled against his own arm, thick ropes painting the sink, the mirror, his dress shirt. His cock jerks and jerks like it’s being milked by a throat, a pussy, something greedy and possessive and familiar.

The orgasm doesn’t stop. It rolls straight into another, smaller but sharper, and his legs finally give out. He slides down the door until he’s sitting on the cold tile, cock still half-hard, twitching with aftershocks, cum dripping down his fist even though he never stroked himself once.

Chest heaving, he stares at the mess in dazed horror. “What the fuck was that…?”

Three hundred miles away, you’re still sprawled on your bedroom floor, impaled on the toy, whispering his name like a prayer while it throbs inside you.

Neither of you has any idea the link goes both ways. Yet.

Every night for the past ten days it’s the same ritual.

You stumble through the door still in your sweat-drenched hunter uniform, kick off your boots, and don’t even bother with the lights. The second the bedroom door shuts behind you, clothes hit the floor in a frantic trail. You’re already soaked before you even touch the toy, thighs slick, pussy throbbing like it’s been counting the hours until you get home to it.

You keep the dildo in the top drawer now, wrapped in one of Caleb’s old flight academy T-shirts like a dirty little secret. The moment your fingers close around the warm shaft it pulses, eager, like it missed you just as badly.

And three hundred miles away, Caleb starts sweating through whatever he’s doing.

Day 4

You ride it reverse on the desk chair, feet planted wide, rolling your hips slow and deep just to feel every vein drag inside you.

In Skyhaven, Caleb drops an entire tray of coffee in the cadet mess, doubles over the table with a choked gasp, thighs clamping together while his cock leaks helplessly into his boxers. Gideon has to drag him out by the elbow while Caleb stammers something about food poisoning.

Day 6

You’re on your knees in the shower, toy suction-cupped to the tile, slamming back onto it until your ass is red and the water runs cold.

Caleb’s in the middle of a night-flight simulator run. Mid-loop his whole body locks up; he yanks the stick too hard, fails the exercise, and spends ten minutes curled in the cockpit seat coming untouched while the instructor screams over the headset.

Day 8

You can’t wait anymore the second you get home. You don’t even make it to the bedroom. You drop onto the hallway floor, legs over your head, fucking yourself with both holes now—the replica so slick from your pussy it slides into your ass easy. You scream his name until your voice cracks.

Caleb’s in the barracks laundry room folding clothes. One second he’s fine, the next he’s on the floor, biting his own forearm to stay quiet while his cock jerks and feels violated by invisible forces. He comes so hard his vision blacks out. When he can move again he finds the crotch of his pants soaked front and back and has no explanation.

Day 10

You’re greedy. You strap the toy to a pillow, mount it like you’re riding him for real, hands braced on the headboard, hips snapping down so hard the bedframe slams the wall in rhythm.

“Gege—fuck—harder—please, I need—”

You sob it into the dark, tears streaking your cheeks, pussy gushing all over the silicone balls.

In Skyhaven, Caleb is supposed to be asleep. Instead he jerks awake in his bunk with a wounded sound, sheets twisted around his hips, cock so hard it hurts. The sensation hits like a punch: tight, wet heat swallowing him to the root, grinding, milking. Something inside him —his ass—clenches around nothing and everything at once. He shoves his face into his pillow and comes instantly, whole body convulsing, biting down so hard he tastes blood.

When it finally fades he’s shaking, drenched in sweat, heart hammering like he just ran ten miles.

He drags a trembling hand down his stomach and finds his cock still-hard cock slick with his own release and something else—slicker, warmer, smelling faintly smelling like you.

For the first time, real fear cuts through the haze. Because whatever is doing this to him isn’t random. And it’s getting stronger every night.

Caleb hasn’t slept properly in twelve days. Every night the “ghost” comes back. Every night it rides him harder, tighter, wetter, like it’s learning exactly how to unravel him.

He’s stopped trying to fight it. He just locks his door, shoves his face into his pillow, and lets the phantom cunt milk him dry while his cock leaks and his ass clenches around nothing and his brain short-circuits with the same voice that’s haunted him since puberty.

Your voice.

He’s started jerking off to the memory of it in the showers, biting his own fist so his bunkmates don’t hear him whimpering “pipsqueak” like a prayer.

He’s losing his fucking mind.

So when he’s alone in the dorm common room at 0300, half delirious, cock still half-hard from another unsolicited orgasm, he does the stupidest thing he’s ever done in his life.

He googles the symptoms.

Ends up on the same neon-pink, virus-looking website you found weeks ago.

The banner screams: FEEL LIKE SOMEONE YOU LOVE — NOW WITH REVERSE SYNC!

He doesn’t read the fine print. He’s too tired, too desperate, too turned on.

He uploads the clearest photo he has of you—last summer, you in that sundress, laughing at something he said, hair sticking to your sweaty neck.

He customizes everything with shaking hands,outer lips soft and plump, exactly the way he’s imagined a thousand times when you walked around the house in tiny sleep shorts. Inner walls textured like crushed velvet, tight at the entrance, then fluttering deeper. Clit hood pronounced, sensitive node swollen —because he’s spent years pretending he doesn’t notice how you squirm when he hugs you too long enough. Warmth setting: “always soaked, like she’s been thinking about you all day.” Scent module: the exact peach-and-vanilla body wash you’ve used since you were fifteen.

He pays triple for overnight shipping. The box arrives two days later while the entire barracks is out on a weekend training hike. Caleb locks himself in his room, heart hammering like a jet engine.

He tears the packaging open with his teeth. Inside, nestled in black satin, is the prettiest pocket pussy he’s ever seen.

Soft, dusky outer lips, flushed pink inside, already glistening with the self-lubricating gel. It’s warm to the touch, pulsing faintly like it’s breathing.

He exhales a broken “fuck… so pretty…” and runs two fingers down the seam, parting the lips gently. The toy quivers. A bead of lube rolls out like it’s already wet for him.

He doesn’t make it to the bed.

He drops into his desk chair, sweatpants shoved down to his hips, cock springing out thick and flushed and already dripping. He drags the head through the slick folds once, twice, coating himself, groaning at how realistic it feels.

Then he pushes in.

The sound that rips out of him is inhuman.

Tight, hot, velvet walls clamp down instantly, sucking him deeper like they’ve been waiting years. The inner texture ripples around his shaft exactly the way he’s fantasized your pussy would—fluttering, squeezing, dragging over every vein.

He bottoms out in one brutal thrust and his vision whites out.

“Fuck—pipsqueak—” he chokes, hips jerking helplessly. “Is this how you’re supposed to feel? So good—so fucking real—”

He starts slow, savoring it, pulling out until just the tip kisses the entrance, then sliding back in with a wet squelch that makes his balls draw up tight. The toy makes obscene sounds—soft, wet, exactly like a real cunt taking cock—and every noise goes straight to his spine.

He loses control fast.

Hands gripping the desk, he starts pounding into it like he hates it, like he loves it, hips snapping hard enough to rattle the chair. The pocket pussy sucks him back in on every stroke, walls fluttering wildly, clit hood bumping his pelvis on the downstroke.

“Take it—just like that—fuck, you’re so tight for me—”

He doesn’t notice the way the toy seems to clench harder when he says your nickname. Doesn’t notice the way it gushes fresh slick every time he groans “good girl” under his breath.

Three hundred miles away, you’re in the middle of a lecture at the Hunter Academy when your body suddenly locks up. A phantom cock—thick, burning hot, veiny—slides into you from nowhere. Your pen clatters to the desk. You slap both hands over your mouth to stifle a scream as invisible hips slam forward and bury something huge to the hilt inside you.

Your pussy spasms around empty air. Your clit throbs like someone’s grinding against it. Your chair creaks as your thighs snap together, trying to trap the sensation that isn’t there and is there all at once.

The “ghost” fucks you right there in the lecture hall, in front of thirty other cadets, relentless and deep and merciless.

You cum biting your own wrist so hard you leave teeth marks, tears streaming down your face, soaking through your panties and the seat beneath you while the professor drones on about wanderer migration patterns.

Back in Skyhaven, Caleb’s losing his mind in a different way.

He’s hunched over the desk now, one hand braced, the other brutally fucking the toy up and down his cock, chasing the edge.

“Gonna—fuck—gonna fill you up, pipsqueak—take every drop—”

He comes with a guttural shout, hips stuttering, cock pulsing so hard the toy overflows. Thick ropes of cum spill out around his shaft, dripping down the silicone lips, painting his fist, the desk, his thighs.

The pocket pussy keeps milking him through it, walls fluttering like it’s trying to drain him completely.

He slumps forward, forehead pressed to the cool wood, panting like he’s run a marathon.

The toy gives one last gentle squeeze… almost affectionate.

And somewhere far away, you’re curled in the academy bathroom stall, legs shaking, pussy still twitching with aftershocks, a flood of cum you didn’t make leaking out of you in thick, warm pulses.

You both whisper the same thing at the exact same second, voices hoarse and wrecked and terrified,“What the fuck is happening to me?”

—

—

The entire summer break is a slow-motion torture.

You arrive at Bloomshore first, two hours early because the Academy let out sooner than DAA. Grandma hugs you so hard your ribs creak, pinches your cheeks, stuffs you full of peach cobbler and gossip. The childhood house smells exactly the same: sun-warmed wood, sea-salt breeze, the faint lavender sachets she still keeps in every drawer. Your old bedroom is untouched, posters curling at the corners, the same twin bed you used to share with Caleb when thunderstorms scared you.

You dump your suitcase, unzip it, and there it is: the dildo, wrapped in one of his old flight-school hoodies like contraband. It’s been two days since you last used it and your body is already twitching, thighs pressing together every time you remember how it feels.

You shove it under the mattress and try to be normal. Then the front door opens downstairs and you hear his voice.

“Gran squeals, “Caleb, my handsome boy!”

You freeze halfway down the stairs.

He’s… bigger. Shoulders filling the doorway, hair longer and tousled from the wind, sunglasses hooked in the collar of a white T-shirt that clings to his chest. He’s grinning at Gran, but the same crooked smile that’s been haunting your wet dreams for months.

Then his eyes flick up and find you. “Hey, pipsqueak… and Gran.”

Your stomach flips so violently you almost trip on the last step. You launch yourself at him anyway, because that’s what you’ve always done. He catches you mid-jump like you weigh nothing, arms banding around your waist, laughing low in his chest as you collide.

“Yup, gege’s here. How’s my meimei doing in Linkon, hm?”

The second his palm settles on the back of your head, petting like when you were kids, every filthy memory slams into you at once—the toy stretching you open, the way you sobbed his name into your pillow, the phantom cum that leaked out of you for days afterward.

Your face ignites. You feel the heat of his body through his shirt, the flex of his biceps as he holds you, the faint cedar-and-jet-fuel scent that is just him. You jerk away like you’ve been electrocuted.

“Huh… me? …oh… uh… good! I’m doing… good!!!”

Your voice cracks on every syllable. You practically sprint past him, suitcase banging against your leg, and disappear into your room so fast you almost take out the coat rack.

Caleb stands there frozen, arms still half-raised, cheeks flushed crimson for reasons he refuses to examine.

Gran raises an eyebrow. “You two are acting mighty strange.”

He clears his throat, grabs his own duffel, and mutters something about needing a shower.

That night neither of you comes down for dinner.

You lie in your childhood bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars you stuck on the ceiling together when you were ten, thighs clenched so tight they ache. You can hear him moving around in the room next door, the creak of his old mattress, the low thud of his bag hitting the floor.

You wonder if he brought it too. You wonder if he’s touching it right now. Across the wall, Caleb is wondering the exact same thing about you.

Both toys are hidden under respective mattresses, pulsing faintly like they know they’re finally under the same roof as their match.

The air-conditioner rattles. Crickets hum outside. The house is asleep.

Neither of you sleeps a wink. And somewhere in the dark, two identical warming circuits kick on at the exact same moment, waiting for someone to break first.

The first night back home, the dam breaks at 2:17 AM.

You’ve been tossing in your childhood bed for hours, sheets tangled around your ankles, thighs slick and aching from the constant low thrum of need that started the second you heard his laugh downstairs. The house is silent except for the distant crash of waves on Bloomshore’s cliffs and the faint creak of floorboards in the next room.

He’s right there.

Walls so thin you can hear him breathing if you press your ear to the plaster.

And under your mattress, the toy waits, warm and heavy and calling to you like a siren.

You give in with a muffled curse, fishing it out, fingers trembling as you drag it between your legs. No prep. No teasing. You’re already dripping, have been since that hug, so you just line up the fat head and sink down in one brutal slide.

The stretch is immediate and vicious, your pussy clenching around silicone veins like it’s starving. You bite your pillow to stifle the moan, hips rocking slow at first, savoring the drag, the way it kisses your cervix on every grind.

In the next room, Caleb jolts awake with a strangled gasp.

His cock—already half-hard from dreams of you—suddenly feels like it’s being strangled in velvet. Tighter than ever. Hotter. Wetter. The phantom walls clamp down so hard his vision spots, every ridge and flutter magnified tenfold, like whatever’s fucking him is twice as desperate tonight.

He scrambles for his duffel under the bed, yanking out the pocket pussy with shaking hands. No way he’s enduring this alone. He shoves his boxers down, spits into the toy’s slick entrance, and thrusts in without mercy.

The second he bottoms out, you scream into your sheets.

It’s like a second cock slams into you alongside the first—thicker, hotter, splitting you open from the inside. Your walls flutter wildly, stretched beyond reason, the dual sensations overlapping in a filthy symphony: the toy’s familiar curve grinding one spot while the phantom one drags against another, both pounding in perfect sync.

“F-fuck—gege—what—” you whimper, confused and wrecked, hips jerking up to meet nothing and everything. Your clit throbs like it’s being sucked, your ass clenches around air that feels full. You shove the dildo deeper, faster, chasing the burn, tears leaking down your cheeks as your body tries to process being double-fucked by ghosts.

Caleb’s teeth sink into his own bicep to keep from roaring loud enough to wake Grandma.

The toy is a vice. His cock feels like it’s being crushed in the best way—walls so tight they might snap him in half, rippling and milking with every brutal thrust. It’s wetter than before, slick gushing out around his shaft like the thing is coming alive, and every time he pulls back it sucks him in harder, deeper, the inner texture fluttering like a heartbeat.

“Pipsqueak—shit—too tight—gonna break me—” he growls through clenched teeth, one hand braced on the headboard, the other fucking the toy up and down his length so fast his arm burns. His balls slap against silicone with every snap, heavy and aching, the pressure building so intense he’s terrified he’ll black out.

You both lose track of time, separated by one flimsy wall, fucking your toys in frantic rhythm without knowing you’re fucking each other.

For you, it’s endless—the dildo splitting your pussy while the invisible cock mirrors every move, stretching you to your limits, making you gush so hard the sheets are soaked beneath your ass. You come once with a muffled sob, clenching around both, but it doesn’t stop—the sensations only amp up, phantom veins dragging inside you, a second head nudging spots that make your toes curl.

“More—gege, please—fill me up—” you beg the dark, fingers flying to your clit, rubbing frantic circles while you slam the toy home again and again.

Caleb hears something—a faint, wrecked whine through the wall—and it snaps his last thread.

He flips onto his back, legs spread wide, and fucks into the pocket pussy like a man possessed. The tightness is agonizing now, walls constricting so hard around his cock he swears it’s going to cut off circulation—hot, pulsing, fluttering like it’s alive and greedy and his. Every thrust sends sparks up his spine; his free hand claws at the sheets, hips bucking off the mattress.

“Take it—fuck, just like that—my good girl—” he rasps, voice hoarse, imagining your face, your body, the way you’d look split open on him for real.

The orgasm hits you both at the same instant.

You arch off the bed with a silent scream, pussy spasming around double fullness, squirting in thick arcs that drench your thighs and the toy. The phantom cum floods you—hot, thick, endless—leaking out around the dildo, pooling between your legs, making everything slicker, messier.

Caleb comes with a guttural “fuck—pipsqueak—” bitten off against his fist, cock jerking so hard the toy overflows instantly. Cum spills everywhere—his stomach, the sheets, the silicone lips stretched thin around him—but the walls keep milking, squeezing tighter than humanly possible, wringing every drop until his balls ache and his vision tunnels.

You both collapse in sweaty, trembling heaps, toys still buried deep, aftershocks rippling through you like shared electricity.

The wall between your rooms might as well not exist.

But neither of you moves. Neither knocks. Neither dares whisper the truth.

Instead, you pull the covers over your ruined body, the dildo still twitching faintly inside you, and pretend your heart isn’t pounding loud enough for him to hear.

Next door, Caleb does the exact same, cock softening in the vice-grip of the toy, a single thought looping in his wrecked mind,

Tomorrow night, he’s doing it again.

And so are you.

“choso—fuck, yes,” you cry, legs shaking. he hooks one of your thighs over his shoulder, opening you up wider, hitting deeper. you can feel his cum from before leaking out with every thrust, making everything slippery, obscene. his hand slides down, thumb finding your clit, rubbing circles that have you seeing stars. “you’re dripping,” he mutters, almost to himself, eyes fixed on where he’s sliding in and out of you. “taking me so well.”

you come again fast, too fast, body convulsing, walls fluttering around him. it’s intense, almost painful, but the pleasure overrides it. he doesn’t stop, though. rides you through it, thrusting steady, using that technique to stay rock hard. “good girl,” he praises, voice strained. “but we’re not done.”

he flips you over like you weigh nothing, onto your stomach, ass up. you barely have time to catch your breath before he’s back inside, hands on your waist pulling you onto him. this angle’s brutal, he’s so deep you feel him in your guts. “shit, choso, slow down!" you beg, but it’s half-hearted. you don’t want him to slow down. you want him to break you.

“can’t,” he grunts, pounding harder. “you feel too fucking good.” one hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back so he can kiss your neck, bite down just enough to sting. the other hand smacks your ass, the sharp pain mixing with the pleasure, making you clench tighter. he groans at that, hips snapping forward. “do that again.”

you do, squeezing around him on purpose, and he rewards you with another smack, then rubs the spot soothingly before sliding his fingers down to your clit again. you’re a wreck, moaning incoherently, drool soaking the pillow. another orgasm builds, coiling tight in your belly. “i’m gonna—fuck, again,” you warn, voice breaking.

“do it,” he demands, thrusting erratically now. “come on my cock.” and you do, shattering, body going limp as waves crash over you. he follows this time, spilling inside you with a deep moan, but even as he does, you feel that cursed energy kick in. he doesn’t soften. stays hard, keeps moving, slow rolls of his hips that make you whimper from the sensitivity .“choso, i can’t—” you start, but he shushes you, pulling out gently only to roll you onto your back again. he hovers over you, cock still rigid, glistening with your mixed fluids. “you can,” he says, almost gentle now, but there’s that edge in his eyes. “one more. for me.”

you nod, too far gone to argue. he slides back in easy, your pussy welcoming him despite the ache. this round’s slower, more grinding than thrusting—him rocking into you, bodies pressed close. his mouth finds yours, kiss messy, tongues tangling. “you’re perfect,” he murmurs against your lips. “made for this. for my dick.” his hand dips between you, fingers teasing your slippery clit lightly, building you up teasingly slow. you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, nails raking down his back. he hisses, picking up speed, fucking you with long, deep strokes. the room smells like sex—sweat, cum, that faint cursed tang. it’s intoxicating. “harder,” you beg, chasing that edge again. he obliges, slamming into you, bed creaking under the force. your clit’s throbbing under his fingers, every nerve on fire. “choso! please, i’m close.”

“me too,” he admits, breath ragged. but he holds back, using his technique to edge himself, drawing it out. “want to feel you first.” his thumb presses harder on your clit, circling fast, and you break; orgasm ripping through you, back arching, vision blurring. you scream his name, clenching so tight it pulls him over too. he comes with a curse, flooding your insides again, but this time he lets himself soften a bit, pulling out halfway through.

wait—no. you feel it pulse, that energy, and he’s hard once more. “fuck, choso,” you laugh breathlessly, half-delirious. he smirks, but his eyes are soft. he pushes back in, but slower now, almost lazy. “can’t get enough of you.” this time it’s intimate—him grinding deep, hands roaming your body, pinching your nipples, sucking marks into your neck. you’re oversensitive, every touch electric, but you love it. crave it. he builds you up again, patient, whispering dirty shit in your ear. “love feeling you full of me,” he says. “gonna fuck you till you can’t walk. fill this pussy up again ‘n again.” his words send shivers down your spine, pussy clenching. he notices and thrusts harder. “like that? want me to use you?”

“yes,” you moan, hands in his hair, tugging. “use me. fuck me stupid.”

he growls, pace picking up. slams into you over and over, hand around your throat—not choking, just holding. your eyes roll back, another climax approaching, body teetering on the edge of pain and pleasure once again. “come for me,” he orders, fingers back on your clit. “wanna feel you milk me again.” it hits like a freight train, body seizing, his own cum gushing around him out of you as your muscles tense and you squirt a little, soaking the sheets. he groans, thrusting through it, then pulls out suddenly. “on your knees,” he says, voice commanding.

you obey, shaky, dropping to the floor beside the bed. he stands, cock hard and slick, technique keeping him going. you take him in your mouth, tasting yourself on him, sucking deep. he fists your hair, guiding you, fucking your face gently at first, then harder. “good girl,” he praises. “take it all.”

you do, gagging a bit but loving it. he comes down your throat with a moan, hot and thick, but even then he hardens again almost immediately. pulls you up, bends you over the edge of the bed again. slides back into your pussy from behind, mirror on the opposite side of the room showing your fucked-out face, his intense stare.

“look at yourself,” he says, hand on your jaw, making you watch. “see how wrecked you are?” thrusts punctuate his words, deep and rough. you’re dripping down your thighs, body trembling. he reaches around, pinches your clit, and you come again, vision almost blacking out, knees buckling. he holds you up, fucking you through it, then finally—finally—lets himself go, coming one last time without the technique boost. you both collapse onto the bed, panting, limbs tangled. “enough?” he asks, voice soft now, fingers tracing your spine.

“for now,” you mumble, smiling into his chest. but you both know—with him—it’s never really enough.

Caleb ruts his hips upward, unable to keep himself from your touch, “I know baby—I know. I’m trying.” 

You giggle breathlessly, kissing his throbbing neck. You knew he was trying his hardest. You’d both agreed to “take things slow.” Not because you were virgins, because you weren’t. Nor was it because you weren’t ready, or he wasn’t ready, you both were. Maybe too ready, with the way you guys were going at it like horny teenagers on your couch.

But, amidst the landscape of your changing relationship, you’d wanted to tread carefully, fearful of what could happen if this all imploded. If maybe you weren’t meant to be more than the relationship you’d held all your lives. 

You didn’t want to let the lust take over and distract you from something you’d wanted nearly all your life. Caleb.

You honestly couldn’t be sure if Caleb had agreed to it because he actually agreed with your reasoning or simply because, for his entire life, he’d had trouble saying no to you.

In any case, he agreed and he’d been a wonderful sport about it. 

But it was fucking painful. It’d been a few weeks since those deeply hidden feelings had come tumbling out of both your lips. You weren’t sure if you were always this way, or if this was the result of years of denial and restraint, but it was nearly impossible for you to keep your hands off him, and him you. 

But that didn’t mean you hadn’t found other ways to indulge in each other. Your cheeks heat as you recall the vivid memories of other things you’d done on this very couch. The days he visited Linkon, or you visited Skyhaven, were filled with lots of making out and heavy petting. But never more than that. 

“W-We should stop,” Caleb pants through clenched teeth, burying his face into your shoulder, “Now. Before things go further.”

“Y-Yeah, we should,” you agree, but you make absolutely no move to climb off his lap. In fact, your hips continue rhythmically rolling against him, making him throw his head back with a strangled moan.

“Fuck—you’re killing me,” he whispers, kissing your temple—not trusting himself to taste your lips right now. 

“We can still do other things, remember?” you murmur, fingers already finding his belt, hesitating before moving further. Caleb curses under his breath. 

“God…The things you do to me,” he mutters lowly, his eyes hooded and swirling darkly as he speaks again.

“Okay, show me what you want to do then, princess.” 

You bite your lip, knowing Caleb has given you full reigns—wanting, needing you to take control, lest he take things too far. He couldn’t trust himself around you and needed your guidance to know what was too much.  

Taking a deep breath, you try to calm your hyperactive nerves. Suddenly, under Caleb’s intense and curious eyes, you felt shy. While you had held him in your hands before, you’d never gone farther than that—than an innocent little handjob or some innocent clit play. 

Caleb hesitates before leaning back, giving you more space between your bodies so that you can do whatever it is you’re planning. 

You try your best not to gawk when you see how thick Caleb is in your fingers. You’d seen it before, but it was impressive every time. Caleb’s head is thrown back, his Adam’s apple bobbing as you give him a few languid pumps.

“C-Christ,” Caleb growls. His entire body trembles, fighting with himself to not thrust his hips into your palm. 

“Just like that, princess,” Caleb gasps for air. He’d experienced your fingers a few times before, and he’d never tire of it. Everything about you was soft, warm, and perfect.

Watching Caleb’s face contort in pleasure, feeling his plentiful pre-cum spilling over your fingers, makes your own core ache with desire, the familiar and uncomfortable feeling of your panties smearing against your wet core making you squirm. 

You wanted to feel good too.  

Caleb’s eyes widen when you wriggle out of your shorts, leaving you in nothing other than your soaked lace underwear. His heart pounds so forcefully that his ears start to ring. 

“W-What are you—”

He’s cut off by his own moan when you give him an unsteady jerk, struggling to do both things at once.

“S-Sorry,” you giggle nervously. Caleb’s fingers itch to each out and touch your sweet spot, like he had several times before. But before he can even open his mouth to ask, you’re releasing him from your fingers and scooting closer. 

Caleb’s mind races a mile a minute, hypnotized by your glistening folds, mere inches away from his own leaking cock. 

“S-Seriously, what are you doing?” he chokes out your name, doing everything he can to not move—to not mold himself against you. He could practically feel the heat radiating off of you and he wanted it. 

“Trying something new,” you whisper, taking the plunge before you lose your courage and pressing right against him. His hardened shaft parts your lips, your body enveloping him without penetrating, 

Caleb lets out a string of expletives that would make their grandmother roll in her grave. He grips your hips, stilling your movements. 

“What—hah—happened to taking it slow?” Caleb demands, unsure how far you’re willing to go right now. If it was up to him he’d lift you and impale you on his cock right then and there. And he could. He really could. 

“We still a-are,” you insist, already fighting against his strong grip on you. At that, Caleb gulps—suddenly understanding what it is you’re trying to do. 

Honestly, he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough. To resist the temptation of what he’s been fantasizing about for years, especially when it was right there. Grinding against him. 

But his hands have a mind of their own and he guides your hips in a slow and tortuous roll against him, his cock sitting between your warm lips, fitting against you like a damn puzzle.  

“C-Caleb…” you choke, your vision going white at the delicious friction between your bodies. You hold onto his shoulders while your back arches, your rhythm growing frantic against him. 

Caleb moans your name, the sound broken and beautiful on his tongue, “J-Jesus—harder. Princess, please.”

You whimper, quite literally bouncing on his lap now. With every movement, you make sure your clit gets to feel the throbbing veins along his thick length. Caleb looks up at you, glassy-eyed and staring at you with a swirl of conflict, adoration, and hunger. 

“F-Feels so good,” you gasp, eyes rolling back as you imagine how he’d feel inside you. 

Caleb’s fingers dig painfully into your hips as he imagines what would happen if he shifted, just slightly, he could slip right into you. Feel your wet warm tight walls around where he needed you most. 

No. He promised you you’d take things slowly. He couldn’t do that.

A fresh wave of guilt washes over him as he tries to push away those desires. The quickly dwindling rational part of his brain speaks for him and he stutters, “M-Maybe we should stop now. Before I—” 

You whine at the thought of stopping, never quite having felt a pleasure like this before, “Caleb—please. N-Not yet.”

You watch Caleb fighting with himself internally, the turmoil written all over his face. Feeling cheeky, you pull out your favorite and most effective weapon. 

“Please, Gege?” you murmur into his ear, still riding against him—effectively giving him his first pussyjob. 

Caleb stiffens under you, his breathing quickening at your words, “Fuck—you’re such a spoiled brat.” You grin and kiss his jaw teasingly. 

Whenever you called him that, it unraveled him. And you knew that. 

He starts to rock you against his lap again. He curses himself for not being able to say no to you, for still being so weak to you, especially when you called him that. But deep down, he doesn’t want to stop. He never wants to stop. 

With every millisecond that passes like this, Caleb’s self-control wavers until it dwindles to the point of no return. 

“Just a little bit mnngh—more then.”

You nod vigorously, agreeing urgently. He watches you, stars in his eyes, one hand reaching to grip the back of your skull and gently tug on your hair, “You’re killing me.”

As your movements grow sloppier and more desperate, the thick head of his cock begins to catch along your movements. The sticky arousal smears against your thighs and abdomen, the lewd sounds making your head spin. 

Caleb is mesmerized, watching you ride his lap. It gets increasingly more intense, the movements becoming more and more dangerous. Every roll comes impossibly close to penetrating, his tip getting caught at your entrance with every thrust. 

He could swear you were torturing him on purpose. He couldn’t take much more of this. Not if he wanted to keep from lifting you and slamming you down onto his cock right then and there. 

Fuck—no. I can’t. We promised. Slow. 

He holds your hips firmly, but is unable to force himself to stop you completely. In fact, it felt like pulling teeth forcing his words out, “No more princess. If we keep going, I can’t guarantee…”

You bite your lip at the clear warning in his words—conflicted with yourself. The idea of stopping now…it physically pained you. 

“We shouldn’t,” you whisper, your words contradicting your actions as you purposely drag his engorged head against your entrance, so close to slipping right in. 

You were the one who wanted to wait. Why couldn’t you stop? 

“We shouldn’t,” he parrots, wrapping his thick arms around your back. His hips are moving against your thighs now, thrusting himself between your dripping lips—acutely aware how close he was to penetrating. He could literally angle one degree…and he’d be right inside you. That thought actively haunted him.

You’d whittled his restraint down until there was none left. And now, the roles were reversed. 

Now, he was begging. 

“I know we shouldn’t,” he murmurs into your shoulder, kissing your collar tenderly, “But fuck baby, I want to so badly.” 

It was doable when you were the one begging and Caleb was the one being level-headed and smart. But now?

This wasn’t good.

“I-I want more,” you admit breathlessly, “But…we said…” You trail off, honestly unsure what to even say. You wanted it and you were counting on Caleb to stop you. 

“Slow,” he finishes your words. But instead of stopping, he thrusts slowly, purposely missing and gliding up against your stomach, causing you to convulse against him. His strong hands guide your movements, muscles bulging as he works your body against his own. 

“Caleeeeb,” you whine, not convincing even yourself. You find yourself losing the fight against desire with every passing second, face contorted in pure pleasure as you both continue to rock into each other. 

“Just a little?” he whispers lowly, his voice quite literally dripping with temptation, “Couldn’t hurt, could it?” 

You hesitate, biting your lip and testing his words on your own tongue, “Just a little…?”

“Just a little, princess,” Caleb reaffirms, nudging you in the direction of pleasure. The guilt gnaws at him, knowing how much you trusted him and still trying to lure you into the wild. 

But he was too far gone. 

“I promise.”

Your reluctance fades and you nod slowly, feeling unbearably safe in his hold—drawn to his reassuring words like a moth to a flame, “O-Okay. Just…just a little. Just—” You nearly cringe as you say the words, but you’re too far gone.

“Just the tip, o-okay?

Caleb’s heart skips with a dark excitement, his cock twitching between your soft thighs at the mere thought of breaching your tight perfect body. 

He gently rolls you over until he’s hovering over you. Holding the base of his erection, he rubs it along your core until he finds your entrance, nearly being sucked in by sheer desire. You glistened beneath his intense gaze, your body practically beckoning him.

God, you were so fucking irresistable.

“Yeah, no more than that, Pips,” he reassures, using his cock head to toy with your entrance. He fully intends on sticking to that. 

But somewhere in the back of his mind…he knows that that might just be wishful thinking. 

A small part of him knows he should feel guilty, ashamed—knowing he should be the bigger person and stop this. But the look of desperation and arousal on your blushing face fuels his dark desires. 

She’s enjoying this. She wants this. 

Maybe he’s just seeing what he wants to see, but that’s all the justification he needs. His hand trembles with excitement as he begins to press into you, his jaw clenched so tight it begins to ache. 

“W-Wait, should we use a c-cond—” you start but whimper abruptly when you feel him starting to stretch you open.

“It’s just the tip, we don’t need it,” he reassures you, stroking your hair soothingly, “I’ll pull right out. Nothing will happen to you.”

He hardens further when you nod, so trusting and willing. 

God, he was going to hell.

“Just a little more…” he chants, almost as if reminding himself—cautioning himself. He watches as he disappears into your perfect glistening folds, your body trembling beautifully for him. 

You bury your face into his shoulder, biting down at the feeling of him slowly pushing in, thicker than you thought you could take. Eyes rolling back, your back arches deeply—like a bowstring being pulled back—when his thick head finally slips into you. 

“O-Oh—god—!” you pant as you struggle to accommodate even just this little of him. 

Caleb presses his lips into your forehead, his own voice low and shaky, “Shhh—just relax okay? Relax for me.”

You nod, your eyes squeezed shut with both overwhelm and bliss. He was stretching you so unbelievably wide, the sting already becoming addicting. 

A wave of primal satisfaction washes over him as it sinks in that he’s finally inside you, even if only partially. How many times has he dreamt about this moment, and every single time paled to reality. 

“Y-You’re so warm—so soft,” he growls, trying to keep himself in check. But you felt so unbelievably tight, gummy walls so damn perfect around just his tip. His mind kept wandering to what it’d feel like if he just…sank all the way in. 

No. He promised. 

You pull away from Caleb’s shoulder to look down between your bodies. His shaft glistens with a combination of your arousals, and sure enough—only the tip is hidden and buried inside you. 

Every muscle in Caleb’s body trembles with effort as he forces himself to stay impossibly still. For a brief moment, you both just gaze at the other’s pleasure clouded faces, everything else fading into the background. The moment feels suspended in time.

“Nnngh…feels so g-good Caleb,” you choke out, hips squirming uncontrollably. Caleb swears, using one hand to keep you in place, grip bruising your hip.

Caleb grits out your name, choked and pained, “Hah—shit. Princess please stop.”

“I-I can’t,” you whine, feeling your back arch all on its own, wanting more of him. Your body ached to feel complete.

Your wriggles cause more of him to slip into you. Caleb’s eyes squeeze shut, expletives spewing from his lips. But he makes absolutely no moves to withdraw.

“Christ please y-you’re—”

But he shuts up when your arching body pushes against him, his cock inadvertently sinking in deeper. 

Yeah, he was not surviving this. 

Though the both of you had initially agreed on “just the tip,” when Caleb looked down he realized that nearly half of his cock had disappeared inside you.

Nearly hypnotized by the sight, he can’t help but want more. Even though you were taking it slow. Even though he was inside you with no protection. 

“It’s…it’s already half way in, princess,” he whispers, his finger rubbing dizzyingly soothing circles into your thighs, “Fuck…please…let me just—”

“Caleb—nnngh…” you gasp when he slides in further, the friction against your sensitive walls making it hard to think straight. 

“Fuck—you’re sucking me in,” he groans, feeling himself inch closer and closer to you, “I can’t—m’sorry—”

He grips your head, fingers massaging the back of your head bringing you in for a kiss that consumes you whole. As you moan into his hungry lips, he sinks another inch into you. And then another. Another. Another. 

You’re unable to protest even if you wanted to, his tongue tangling with yours and occupying you entirely. 

He only pulls away when he’s fully seated in you, his eyes delirious with ecstasy. He fills you so incredibly full that you can hardly breath, never quite having anyone as well endowed as Caleb. He grabs you by your hips, panting raggedly.

“I couldn’t stop—f-fuck…I’m sorry,” he mumbles into your temple. You shake your head, squirming against his pelvis, chasing the friction you’d felt as he sank into you, inch by delicious inch. 

Your mind struggles to reconcile the overwhelming pleasure with your original hesitance, “I—It’s….It’s okay. You feel…s-so good.”

“Yeah? You feel fucking incredible,” he growls, not thrusting but grinding against your own wriggling hips. It makes rational thought nearly impossible. 

“You’re driving me insane, princess,” he says, almost cautioning you as your hips squirm tortuously against him. 

With his cock fully in you now, your mind is an absolute mess of desire and hesitation—and desire was definitely winning. But as you start moving more, Caleb holds you in place—a dangerous warning swirling in his eyes.

As much as he wanted more, he’d already taken things too far. And if you went any further, he wouldn’t be able to stop. And he’d never forgive himself if he hurt you. 

“No. Behave.”

You whine sulkily, trying to rut against him, unable to control yourself. The feeling of his cock sliding into your depths was seared into your brain and you wanted to feel it again. 

Caleb groans with frustration, holding on by a splintering thread, “I’m serious, baby. Any m-more and I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to stop.” 

“That I won’t fuck you, right here and now.”

The dark warning in his filthy warning only makes you want to push more. 

“J-Just one,” you beg, pouting, “Just once.”

“D-Don’t give me that face,” he growls desperately, “Damn it—you know I can’t—”

When he curses, you whisper, “Caleb, please. We don’t have to go all the way. Just one, just once—please.”

Caleb’s dick, buried deep inside you, twitches with excitement at your begging, “You’re killing me.” But from the way his hips tremble you can tell your words are quickly eating through his lingering resolve.

“I-I’m not wearing a condom,” he forces out, using the last bit of his restraint. 

That wouldn’t stop him, but it might stop you. 

“It’s jus’ one thrust,” you plead, “We don’t need one.”

Caleb’s pupils dilate in front of your eyes, his breathing growing increasingly erratic. How could you be this stupid—naive? Offering yourself up to him like this? Letting him do this, much less with no protection. Letting him feel you, bare and raw.

Didn’t you know he’d fucking devour you?

“Christ—okay just one. And then we stop.”

You nod eagerly, sitting up on your elbows so you can watch the space between your bodies. Slowly, wanting to savor the “single” thrust you’ve agreed on, Caleb pulls out, only his tip is inside your warmth. The sight is so damn filthy your toes curl. 

Your eyes roll back at the friction, “C-Caleb…please.”

At your strangled plea, Caleb thrusts back into you—a perfect mix of rough but sensual. It knocks the breath out of you, every nerve ending in your body seeming to pop with fireworks.

“Sh-Shit—Y-You’re so tight…” Caleb groans, sweating from the sheer amount of restraint it takes to not repeat that single action—over and over and over.

Forcing yourself to see clearly, your eyes widen when you see Caleb nearly hyperventilating above you. 

“Caleb?” 

Caleb looks straight into your eyes, his irises dark and dangerous. Gone was the soft sunset hues, replaced with a near-black indigo that stared back at you like predators would appraise its prey. Your eyes widen, skin tingling at the unfiltered animalistic energy in his eyes. 

“I-I…”

You gasp when you feel Caleb’s hips moving, withdrawing a torturous inch before thrusting shallowly back into you. 

“Nnnghn—w-wait,” you writhe with pleasure at the small motion, “Caleb, we said—”

“I know what we said,” Caleb groans, cutting you off, “I know we shouldn’t, but God—”

He thrusts shallowly again, actively losing himself to the feeling of your perfect body, dragging you down the abyss with him. 

“Caleb,” you gasp, “W-We shouldn’t…” Your words are unconvincing, even to yourself, as your legs tighten, pulling him closer.

“I-I don’t think I can stop. Please baby,” he begs, hating himself but asking nonetheless. His thumb rubs soothing circles on the inside of your thigh—almost as if trying to coax you into saying yes.

You bite your lip in contemplation. You wanted more of the pleasure he’d just given you, you really did. But you were scared. 

What if he didn’t want you after this?

You knew it was a ridiculous notion. But then again, you could be quite ridiculous. 

Caleb can see the turmoil written across your face, forcing himself to still his hips. 

“You trust me, right pip-squeak?” he whispers, thumb brushing against your lower lip. His gut twists as the words leave his lips, knowing he’s being unfair. Especially when you look up, eyes fluttering at him—wide-eyed and so damn trusting. That look makes Caleb’s consciousness stir with a vicious mix of guilt and desire.

“I-I do. Mmmngh—I…I trust you more than anything,” you gasp when Caleb stirs again, his pelvis brushing against your clit.

The look of ecstasy on your perfect features encourages him, pulling out again—just a few centimeters before thrusting back into you. You moan, toes curling against him, your legs wrapped around his back. 

He was making you feel good. That couldn’t possibly be a bad thing, could it?

“I’ll protect you,” he whispers, gently kissing your lips, “I always do.”

As he dips down to reach you, his hips shift—giving you more friction. He knew he should feel ashamed of himself—that he shouldn’t push you like this.

But how could he not when you felt like this?

“Please…don’t make me stop,” he pleads, eyes hooded with a vulnerability that Caleb never let show, least of all to you.

This wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t just the heat of the moment—lust. He needed this connection with you. 

While you’d been insecure that Caleb might not want you anymore after this, Caleb felt insecure that you’d disappear at any moment—that he’d wake up and find himself trapped in the role of big brother again. 

He wasn’t sure that he deserved this. Deserved you. 

“Caleb…” you trail off, battling with yourself internally. But the white flag is within sight, your resolve absolutely shattered. 

And Caleb can tell. 

“I’ll take care of you,” he forces out, his voice husky and tender—gently giving you one last push, “You know that, right?”

You nod vigorously, getting lost in the moment once more—enchanted by the truth behind his silken words.

“Okay Caleb…I-I want…I want more.”

Caleb’s eyes widen fractionally before he devours you in an explosive kiss. He greedily swallows every beautiful little moan—you’re unable to contain them as Caleb starts to roll his hips. He starts slow, sensual, and intentional.

As he pulls away, he buries his face into your neck, “F-Fuck—thank you, princess.”

And he’s genuinely thankful, trying to ignore the feeling of guilt for—what feels like to him—taking advantage of your trust. But he truly can’t stop himself. His pelvis smacks your inner thighs as he gives you a powerful thrust, making you see stars. He scoops your smaller hands into his, raising them above your head and restraining them against the couch arm. 

“Gege will take care of you.”

You gasp at his filthy promises—using the same word you’d used against him moments ago. Your back arches off the couch as his pace quickens considerably. His charming words make you all but forget your reservations.

He made you feel so safe. How could this be wrong?

“I-It’ll be—ngghh—okay, right?” you babble, watching him with your arms restrained and your lower body pinned under his. You don’t say it, but you’re both thinking it. He hadn’t put on a condom.

Your tummy flutters at the thought. 

Caleb squeezes your thigh reassuringly, his head thrown back with a look of pure bliss, “Hah—of course, princess. I’d never let anything bad happen to you.” 

His hips pound against your legs now, the couch legs scratching against the hardwood floor. Filthy sounds echo around the living room—wet skin against skin, cries of ecstasy, whispered declarations of reassurances and love alike.  

Caleb grows increasingly more emotional as the pleasure and intensity climbs to new heights, unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.

“I’m sorry,” he rambles, “I’m so sorry, baby. I couldn’t stop…I shouldn’t have—C-Christ—!”

“D-Don’t,” you plead, completely forgetting altogether why you’d held this off for weeks, “Mmmngh—please don’t stop.”

“God, and I thought you felt good earlier—” he cuts himself off with a pained growl.

You don’t know if Caleb is naturally gifted or experienced—all you know is he knows exactly what he’s doing. He seems to find all your sweetest spots as if he was following a map. 

But what’s more is the way he speaks to you, the way he caresses your thighs, the way he rubs your wrists as he restrains them. How safe he makes you feel, when just moments ago you were terrified of the consequences. 

Maybe you were naive to just let yourself be ensnared by his velvety words, but you can’t bring yourself to care anymore. 

It felt too good.

“Never letting you go,” he promises darkly, letting go of your wrists so he can hold your face in his fingers, “Not after this.”

You whine with satisfaction, chest heaving as his hips work tirelessly to send you over the edge and straight to heaven. You weren’t sure why you’d ever doubted him.

“Please don’t,” you plead whole-heartedly, holding his face in your hands, forcing him to look into your eyes. Caleb looks surprised for a second, his face softening at your words. 

“Never,” he murmurs, “Need me to prove it?”

As you nod Caleb’s face darkens considerably, the excitement and arousal written all over his perfect features. Your body tingles violently, close to bursting. 

His hips begin to lose their rhythm as he thinks about what he wants to do to you. What he wants to show you. 

“Y-You trust me, right princess?” he asks again, breath short and desperate. When you nod, Caleb buries himself into your neck, breath so warm it makes you shiver.

Caleb groans when your trembles cause you to tighten around him, knowing he can’t hold back his orgasm much longer—not when you feel like heaven and sin wrapped around him. 

At your blind trust, whether he deserved it or not, Caleb is ready to fold. To give you all of him. And to take absolutely all of you. 

“Gonna mark you,” he declares darkly, his words dripping with warning and possession. Though he says it like it’s a choice that he’s making, it really isn’t. In reality, he couldn’t stop. Maybe not even if you asked. That thought terrifies him. 

“Mmmngh—!” you gasp, feeling close to finishing yourself, “I-Inside?”

You knew you shouldn’t let him. It’d already gone way farther than you’d intended. But the thought of it…

It was too fucking tempting to pass up.

Caleb chuckles, apparently able to read your conflict and desires easily, “F-Fuck…yeah. You like the sound of that, huh? You’re squeezing me so tight, princess.” 

The thought of being so wanted by him that he’d do everything he could to possess you. Carnal primal possession in every sense of the word. 

You’d never be able to go back, and he knew that. You knew that. 

And that’s what you wanted. 

You nod, hugging him to your chest—your legs trapping him. Caleb groans at how receptive you are—how willing you are to give yourself to him completely. 

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispers into your ear, voice strained, “If anything happens, I’ll be there.” 

You’re about to speak but Caleb’s hand wriggles its way between your bodies to find your clit, rendering you absolutely speechless. His own moans fill your ear, the sounds of unrestrained pleasure sending you reeling into an earth-shattering orgasm. 

“Caaleb—!” you cry, hiccuping, “C-Cumming, o-oh God—!” 

Caleb curses as you cum, your body tightening like a vice. He wants to hold on—to make it last just a little longer, but you make it impossible for him. Especially as you cry out repeatedly for him, your smaller body trembling under his. 

“You’re mine.” 

That’s the last thing he’s able to say before he lets go, spilling everything he has inside of you—consequences and restraint be damned. 

His muscles quiver as the waves of his orgasm ravage his body, holding you impossibly close to him—not letting even a centimeter of space between you. His hips continue to rock into you, fucking his seed deeper into you, igniting your body from the inside out.

“F-Full,” you gasp with satisfaction, enjoying the feeling of being so completed by him. It was starting to sting, still gently thrusting in and out of you, but you can’t bear the thought of losing this connection. 

“I know, baby” he praises, gripping your thigh as he continues to unload into you—his cock still twitching as it paints your walls, “Y-You’re doing so good. Taking it all for me.” 

You nearly purr with satisfaction, unbelievably happy with the way he praises you as he connects with you in the most intimate and primal way possible.

As the intense tidal waves of pleasure recede back into the current, Caleb comes to his senses. He pulls away so he can look at you, wanting to see you.

“That was…” he trails off—dazed, absolutely lovestruck. He couldn’t even begin to put what he’d just experienced with you into words. 

He rolls onto his side, bringing you to his chest. He’s sure not to sever your connection, still savoring your warmth. Maybe he’d never leave. Maybe he could keep you here forever, well-fed and well—

He shakes himself out of his increasingly feral thoughts, pressing his nose into your hair and breathing in with a shaky breath—your scent always able to ground him. 

“You’ve ruined me.”

You look up at him through your eyelashes, still too breathless and fucked dumb to speak. Caleb chuckles, wiping the drool from the corner of your kiss bitten lips. Your smile makes his chest flutter, but he can’t help the resentment that starts to creep in.

“Are…” he trails off, Adam’s apple bobbing thickly as he continues, “Are you okay?” 

You can see the guilt in his sparkling amethyst eyes—the disbelief. That he’d let himself take things this far. That he hadn’t been able to control himself—like he was some horny deranged teenager and not the revered and disciplined Colonel he was supposed to be.

“No, I'll never be okay again. You’ve created a monster,” you trail your featherlight kisses across his chest to his shoulder. You’d never be able to get enough of this. Of him. 

Caleb chuckles warmly, kissing the top of your head with relief, “You’ve always been a little monster, you can’t blame that on me.”

You clench down on him in warning—eliciting a delicious groan from his puffy lips. It fuels you with confidence, making you want him all the more. 

“You should be scared,” you warn playfully. 

“Should I now, pip-squeak?” Caleb grins, enjoying your attitude. But as much as he adored your brattiness, what he loved more was putting you in your place.

He withdraws from the comfort of your tight walls, smiling smugly when you whine and writhe with dissatisfaction. Your fingers automatically find his shoulders and dig in, trying to stop him from leaving you, not ready to be without him yet. 

“Caleeeb,” you whine unhappily. His smile only widens. There was that look he loved so damn much. 

“What, baby?” he coos, condescending and teasing all at once.

When you don’t speak—just continuing to glare childishly at him, Caleb laughs, “Come on, use your words. You know Gege will give anything you want.”

“Oh I’ll use my words alright…” you grumble, unbelievably petulant, “To hurt you and your stupid feelings.”

Caleb throws his head back with amused laughter before leaning into your ear, “Come on, you can do it. Ask for it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you feign innocence.

Mischief glimmers in Caleb’s eyes, “Oh? But you were so cute earlier when you were begging for just the ti—”

You sit up abruptly and scramble to climb off the couch, your cheeks flushed and warm—absolutely mortified those words had ever come out of your mouth, “Nevermind. I’m good.”

But Caleb’s quicker, immediately wrapping his thick arms around your bare waist. His laugh rings in your ear as he buries his face into your hair and pulls your back flush with his chest. 

“Come on, don’t be like that,” he murmurs warmly into your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss there. You let yourself be pulled to him, feeling his cock pressed against your lower back—hardening again.

“You know I’ll give you much more than that.”

© aeyumicore 2025.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

💋alucard prides himself every day in knowing he has the most insatiable women in all of wallachia. And you are very aware you have one of the most desired men in your grasp.

💋high in the Towers of his palace, alucard has you whining into the mattress as he teases you with his tongue. Making you squirm and writhe as he runs a sharp nail down your tense thigh.

💋alucard, who loves when you ask him to use his fangs on you. Not to bite you or hurt you but to run them along your skin, the sharp tingling feeling...he knows he gets you soaked within seconds.

💋alucard, who whines at you, even if he's railing you into the night. Slender hand around your neck as his cock slams into you, alucard will still whine if you call him adriān. All of a sudden, the degrading and the deliciously unholy words he's been whispering into your hears turn into sweet whines and groans

💋since the incident, alucard refused to experiment with bondage or any kind of restriction again. So when he mentioned he wanted to try it on you, you were shocked. But you allowed him to try at least once. You could tell he hated seeing you tied up, so you stopped, and that was the end of it.

💋alucard rarely sits on his fathers throne. He hates how it feels. But when you told him one drunken night that you've always wanted to have sex on it, he hasn't stopped thinking about it. One night, while he was tending with his court, he saw you in your gleaming black and red attire and knew he had to have you then and there. Alucard shooed everyone away and brought you close where he sat you on his cock til the sun came up. Not even flinching at the idea someone could see.

💋he's not one to be submissive. He may let you take the reins every now and then, but he's always secretly in charge. When you're on top of him, holding his waist as he watches you fuck yourself on his cock. Alucard is so overstimulated and sensitive, but he's still telling you what to do. And moving your hips with his large hands.

AANG

your cries only spurs him on

lost between your thighs </3

taking his v-card and making him cum inside… he’s the sweetest boy ever

treating Aang with a handjob for being a good boy

fucking you real good before having to leave to tend to his duties

turning the avatar into a whimpering mess ~

he doesn’t cum without permission

Aang knows all the right spots!

how he’ll be making love to the most beautiful girl ever

taking a break during a mission together 😗

KATARA

taking care of you

letting you ride her to start the day

you can’t help but touch yourself while Katara is riding your face :(

massaging your sore cunt with her fingers

Katara has been so good to you, now it’s your turn to return the favor!

Watching you ride her cock like a good girl

The boys has been getting on her nerves lately, she has to let it out…

massaging your cunt <3

making you crazy with her praise

helping each other out ~

TOPH (wifey)

toph loooves feeling your ass bounce <3

listening to your cries as Toph fucks you

just a little more, yeah?

letting off some steam

worshipping you on her desk

sharing you with Katara

you couldn’t sleep, so Toph offered you to help

just wants to show you how much she loves you <3

Toph can’t get enough of your sweetness

Bouncing your ass on her face while listening to your moans and cries >>>

SOKKA

you lost count of how many times he’s creampied you… he just can’t help it :(

dryhumping him until he makes a mess of his boxers

sokka can’t help but fuck your velvety throat ~

sokka being a big goof in bed but god does it feel good

he was too excited…

overstimulating your brat

acting all tough until you’re riding him

bouncing you on his cock with mouth full of tit

marking him with your lipstick :3

testing out an idea of his…

ZUKO

he’s trying so hard to keep quiet

Zuko has a thing for panties

playing with your cunt on his throne…

rabbits on the bed

pouring all his love into you just like you deserve <3

his one and only dream is to see you round and swollen with his babies

such a gentleman for letting you use him however you want

he’s big enough to engulf your whole body 😵‍💫

punishing him for being impatient

too much? don’t worry <3

reducing the fire lord to a pathetic mess!

Rolling out of bed, your gaze catches on the photo frame on the desk before anything else. You, Caleb, Grandma. Last year—your eighteenth birthday. His arm slung casually around your shoulders in the picture, grin easy, eyes crinkled at the corners. You reach out, fingertips brushing the glass over his face. For a second the room feels too quiet.

Footsteps. The door flies open without warning.

“Gran’s calling you downstairs.”

You yelp, snatching your hand back as if caught doing something shameful. The thin cami and sleep shorts suddenly feel like nothing at all. You grab the sheet and yank it up to your chest.

“Learn to knock, damn it!” The words come out sharper than you mean.

He pauses in the doorway. Looks you over—slow, deliberate, one eyebrow lifting in that infuriating way he’s perfected. Then he turns on his heel.

“Stop throwing tantrums in the morning.”

The door clicks shut behind him.

Your eyebrow twitches. Fingers tighten around the frame until your knuckles ache. For one dangerous heartbeat you imagine hurling it—glass shattering against wood, his printed smile cracking apart.

But the doorway is already empty.

You exhale, shaky. Press both palms hard against your face until spots dance behind your eyelids.

Another morning. Another version of Caleb who looks through you like you’re made of fog.

You can’t pinpoint the exact day it changed. There was no single fight, no slammed door, no shouted ultimatum. Just… a slow freeze. The smiles stayed. The jokes stayed. The goofy, loud laugh still echoed down the hallway sometimes—but never for you. Never with you.

One morning you woke up and realized you’d been quietly, carefully removed from his orbit.

You still don’t know what you did.

You still don’t know when loving him most became something you had to do in secret, like pressing your face to a locked door.

You set the frame down gently. Fingers linger a second longer than necessary.

Then you force your legs to move.

Another day.

Another Caleb who doesn’t look back.

You change quickly—loose tee, soft shorts, hair scraped back into a messy knot—and pad downstairs on bare feet. The wooden steps creak under you like they always have, familiar complaints in this house that’s held every version of your life.

Grandma is already at the table, small and silver-haired, her smile soft as morning light. A whole spread waits in front of her— fluffy steamed xiaolongbao glistening in their bamboo basket, golden potstickers crisped just right, congee simmering low with century egg and shredded ginger, a small dish of chili oil bright as fresh blood, and those little shrimp dumplings you’ve always loved—the translucent wrappers showing pink curls inside. Your favorites. The kind of breakfast that used to mean lazy Sunday mornings with Caleb stealing the last dumpling from your plate while Grandma pretended not to notice. You know he's the one who cooked all of these.

“Morning, sweetie,” she says, voice gentle. “Eat up before it gets cold.”

You glance at his usual chair. Empty. Plate untouched. No half-drunk mug of soy milk, no phone propped against the chopstick rest while he scrolls and laughs at something stupid.

“Caleb already—”

“…left,” you finish for her, voice flat. You drag the chair out, the legs scraping loud against the tiles, and drop into it. Chopsticks in hand, you start piling dumplings and spoonfuls of congee onto your plate, movements mechanical. Stuffing your face so you don’t have to speak.

Grandma sighs—a small, tired sound that settles somewhere behind your ribs. She doesn’t know what to say anymore. Neither do you.

Your mind drifts while you chew without tasting.

He’s probably already out with his friends. College has made him lighter somehow—looser laugh, easier grin, shoulders that don’t carry the same weight they used to when he was still dragging you along everywhere. The Caleb who used to glance back every few steps to make sure you were keeping up… that boy doesn’t bother anymore. Somewhere between then and now you lost him, and the map to bring him back is missing pages.

A breeze slips through the open curtains, carrying the faint sweet-sharp scent of blooming Asiatic lilies from the garden. They’re flowering again, stubborn white stars against green. By the end of this summer you’ll graduate high school. Cap, gown, awkward photos with people you barely speak to.

You’ve already decided.

Hunter Academy. Linkon City. Far. Far enough that the distance will finally match the one he’s carved between you. If he wants to keep pushing, you’ll give him space he can’t cross. You’ll disappear so cleanly he won’t even have to pretend you exist in the same world anymore.

You don’t know exactly when the shift happened.

Maybe it was gradual—late teens, hormones and high school and separate orbits pulling you both in different directions. Or maybe it was sharper. One specific night that summer when the air smelled like rain that never came.

You’d woken up slow, still half-dreaming, and rolled toward him like muscle memory. Arms sliding around his waist from behind, face pressing sleepy-warm between his shoulder blades.

“Morning, gege…” A lazy yawn against his shirt.

He went stiff. Not playful stiff. Not teasing. Just… rigid. Then his hands closed around your wrists—firm, careful, but final—and he pulled your arms away like they burned.

You’d laughed at first. Thought it was a joke. Waited for the grin, the hair-ruffle, the “You’re crushing me, pipsqueak.”

It never came.

Every time after that—when you tried to lean against him on the couch, when you reached to fix his collar, when old habit made you slip your hand into his while crossing the street—there was a shove. A push. A muttered “Stop it.” Cold enough to sting.

And piece by piece, touch by touch, your sweet, loud, protective big brother Caleb simply… stopped being yours.

You swallow the last bite of dumpling. The soup inside bursts warm on your tongue, but it sits heavy anyway.

Grandma reaches over, pats your hand once. Her skin is thin, warm.

“You okay, sweetie?”

You nod. Force a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

“Yeah. Just… thinking about college apps.”

She nods back, but the worry stays in the lines around her mouth.

Outside, the lilies sway. The breeze carries their perfume through the house again, wrapping everything in almost-nostalgia.

Almost.

Because the house still smells like him—his shampoo, the faint motor-oil tang from his bike, the cheap body spray he thinks makes him smell grown-up—but the boy who used to fill every corner of it is already gone.

And soon, so will you.

The long vacation stretches like a punishment nobody named.

School’s out, no bells to save you, no hallways to disappear down. Just this house—too quiet, too full of him. Every room still carries the shape of the old Caleb: the dent in the couch where he used to sprawl with you watching cartoons, the scuff marks on the baseboard from when he’d race you to the kitchen for midnight snacks. But the boy who left those marks is gone. The one who lives here now moves through the same spaces like a ghost who forgot he used to belong.

He’s indifferent in ways that cut deeper than anger ever could.

A grunt instead of good morning.

Eyes sliding past you like you’re furniture.

Conversations that end the second you open your mouth.

You catch fragments sometimes—him laughing loud on the phone with friends, voice bright and easy in a way it never is for you. The sound travels up the stairs and lodges in your throat like broken glass. You press your face into the pillow to muffle the sob that rips out anyway. You hate how wet it gets, how childish it feels, how you still can’t stop the tears even though you’re supposed to be too old for this.

Your fist finds the apple plushie on your bed—the stupid red one with the goofy stitched smile he won for you at the summer fair when you were fourteen. He’d carried it the whole way home on his shoulders like a trophy, crowing, “For my bestest meimei! Only the best for my princess.” You’d hugged it every night for months. Now it just sits there, mocking.

You punch it. Hard. Once. Twice. The soft fabric gives under your knuckles but doesn’t fight back. You hit it again, harder, until your arm aches and your eyes burn worse than before.

“Feel that, gege?” you whisper to the empty room, voice cracking. “Feel anything at all?”

Nothing answers.

You curl around the plushie instead, crushing it to your chest like it can absorb the hurt. You’re still his meimei. You’re supposed to be the one he protects, the one he teases but never lets fall, the one he calls princess even when you’re being annoying. He used to say it like a promise: “Nobody messes with my baby sister. No man is worthy of your tears.” And yet—

Lies taste bitter now.

The present Caleb treats you like something he’s embarrassed to own. Like trash left too long in the corner. Like you’re a reminder of a version of himself he wants to outgrow.

You bury your face deeper into the apple’s round belly. It still smells faintly of cotton candy and that one summer night when everything felt safe. Your shoulders shake.

Downstairs, you hear the front door open.

His sneakers squeak on the tile.

Keys tossed onto the counter with a careless clatter.

He’s home.

And still, somehow, you’re the one who feels like the stranger here.

You don’t go down.

You don’t call out.

You just hold the plushie tighter and let the tears soak into its stupid, smiling face—because if he won’t look at you, at least something in this house still remembers how to hold you when you break.

A few days later the air feels different—thicker, charged, like the neighborhood itself is holding its breath.

You step out that morning just to breathe, barefoot on the cool porch tiles, hair still sleep-tangled, oversized hoodie swallowing your frame. The sun is gentle, the street quiet except for the soft scrape of suitcase wheels on concrete.

Then you see him.

Tall now. Shoulders broad under a charcoal full-sleeve shirt rolled to the elbows. Dark hair a little longer, falling into his eyes the way it always did. Thick glasses still perched on his nose, but the boy who used to trip over his own feet has grown into someone solid, steady. Muscles shift under fabric as he sets the suitcase down from his family car.

“Zayne…?”

His head snaps up. Green eyes widen behind the lenses—recognition, surprise, something softer. A small, crooked smile curves his mouth.

You don’t think. You just move.

A gasp tears out of you as your feet slap pavement. You bolt—straight into him—arms wrapping around his neck, body colliding with his like you’re trying to fuse the years back together.

Zayne makes a soft, startled sound. His arms come up instinctively, catching you before you can knock him over. The impact rocks him back a step but he holds steady, one hand splaying across your shoulder blades, the other cradling the back of your head.

“I never thought I’d see you again…” he murmurs into your hair, voice low and warm, fingers threading gently through the strands. He smells like clean laundry and something faintly medicinal—still Zayne, but grown.

You bury your face against his shoulder.

“Tch.”The sharp click of a tongue cuts through the moment.

Zayne lifts his gaze.

Caleb stands on the balcony above, forearms braced on the railing, looking down. His expression is thunder—jaw tight, eyes narrowed, envy and something darker twisting his features. He’s grown too—broader, sharper—but the look he’s wearing is pure, unfiltered piss-off.

“Zayne…” you sniffle, tightening your hold like he might vanish again if you let go. “I missed you so much… why did you leave…”

Zayne exhales softly. He eases you down until your feet touch ground again, but keeps one arm looped around your waist—steady, grounding. His free hand comes up, thumb brushing tears from your cheek with careful strokes.

“But I’m here now,” he says quietly. “It’ll get better. I promise.”

You nod against his chest. The warmth of him seeps through your hoodie, steady and sure. It’s the first real comfort you’ve felt in months—someone holding you without hesitation, without pulling away like your touch is poison.

If Caleb won’t…

Then someone else will.

From the balcony, Caleb watches.

You’re talking now—voice soft, animated, the words tumbling out faster than they have in ages. Zayne listens like he always did, head tilted, small smiles breaking through whenever you say something ridiculous.

Then it happens.

You smile.

Not the tight, forced curve you’ve been wearing around the house. A real one—eyes crinkling, cheeks rounding, lips parting just enough to show teeth. Bright. unguarded. Beautiful.

Caleb forgets how lungs work.

For one stupid, suspended second his chest locks. Air trapped. Heart slamming against ribs.

You’re the prettiest when you smile.

He’s always known it. Always. Even when you were small and gap-toothed and sticky with popsicle juice, that smile could stop the world. He used to chase it—do anything to make it appear. Now it’s blooming right in front of him and—

It’s not for him.

It’s for Zayne.

The dark-haired bastard who just rolled back into town like he never left, catching you in his arms, wiping your tears, promising things Caleb stopped saying a long time ago.

“That damn nerd…” Caleb mutters under his breath, the words bitter enough to taste.

His fingers tighten on the railing until knuckles bleach white.

Then he turns. Sharp. Disappears back through the sliding door without another glance.

The balcony is empty again.

Down below, you don’t notice.

You’re still wrapped in Zayne’s quiet presence, laughing at something he said, the sound floating up like music nobody’s played in this house for too long.

And somewhere inside, behind a closed door, Caleb sits on the edge of his bed, elbows on knees, staring at the floor.

Breathing too hard.

Wondering why the sight of your smile—your real smile—feels like losing something he didn’t even know he was still holding onto.

You start spending more time with Zayne.

Mornings become afternoons that bleed into evenings—quiet walks to his place, textbooks spread across his kitchen table, the soft scratch of pencils and the occasional low murmur of explanations. Zayne’s house smells like old books and faint antiseptic, calm in a way this one hasn’t been in years. He listens when you talk. He doesn’t flinch when your shoulder brushes his. He smiles—small, steady—when you finally understand something that’s been knotting your brain for weeks.

And Caleb watches.

Every single time.

From the balcony railing.

Through the gap in the living-room curtains.

Leaning against the kitchen doorway like he’s just passing through, but never quite leaving.

You feel his eyes like heat on the back of your neck.

One afternoon you’re already at the door—sneakers on, bag slung over one shoulder, phone buzzing with Zayne’s text: Door’s open. Brought extra red bean buns.—when his voice stops you cold.

“Where are you going?”

You freeze mid-step. Fingers tighten around the strap until the canvas bites into your palm.

“Why?” The word comes out flat. Cold. Detached. You don’t even turn around.

His eyebrow twitches. You hear it in the silence before he speaks again.

“Answer me.”

You exhale through your nose. Slowly turn. Meet his eyes—storm-dark, jaw already working.

“Zayne’s place.”

A beat.

“WHAT? For what???”

He’s louder now. Almost yelling. The sound bounces off the walls like something breaking.

“Studies,” you say, voice sharp enough to cut. “Unlike someone, he actually helps me out.”

Caleb’s jaw clenches so hard you see the muscle jump under skin. His hands flex at his sides like he’s fighting not to reach out.

“You won’t go.”

The words land like a slap.

You grit your teeth until they ache. Step closer—close enough that he has to look down at you, close enough that you can see the flicker of something raw behind the anger.

“WHAT???!! WHO THE HELL ARE YOU TO SAY THAT TO ME??”

He gasps—soft, involuntary. His eyes soften for half a second, pupils blowing wide like he’s been struck.

“Your—”

“Brother,” you finish for him. The word drops like a stone between you. You tilt your head, slow and deliberate, letting the sarcasm bleed through every syllable. Then you turn on your heel and walk out.

The door clicks shut behind you with quiet finality.

Outside, the sun is too bright. Your chest hurts like someone punched through it. But you keep walking—straight-backed, steps measured—until the house disappears behind the curve of the street.

Inside, Caleb doesn’t move.

He stands exactly where you left him, staring at the closed door like it might open again if he waits long enough. His hands hang useless at his sides. Breathing comes shallow, ragged.

The ground feels unsteady under him. Like the floorboards are about to give way and swallow him whole.

You’re a big girl now.

You don’t need Caleb anymore.

You don’t need his protection, his teasing, his stupid promises about being your shield forever. You have Zayne—quiet, steady Zayne—who doesn’t push you away. Who doesn’t freeze when you reach for him. Who looks at you like you’re something precious instead of a mistake he’s trying to outrun.

And it’s his fault.

Every shove. Every “stop it.” Every cold shoulder he turned because—because what? Because you grew up? Because touching you started feeling different? Because he woke up one day and realized the little sister who used to cling to him wasn’t so little anymore, and the panic that came with that realization made him build walls faster than he could think?

He pushed you away first.

And now you’re gone.

Not just out the door.

Gone in the way that matters.

He sinks onto the bottom step of the staircase, elbows on knees, face dropping into his hands. Fingers dig into his scalp hard enough to hurt.

The house is too quiet without your footsteps. Without your voice snapping back at him. Without even the angry slam of a door to tell him you’re still here, still fighting him.

He broke it.

And he doesn’t know how to fix something he shattered so completely on purpose.

Outside, you turn the corner toward Zayne’s street. The breeze catches your hair. Your phone buzzes again—another text from him.

You don’t look back.

Not once.

Back at Zayne’s place, the afternoon slips into evening without either of you noticing.

Textbooks lie open like fallen soldiers across the low table. Graph paper scattered, pencil shavings dusting the edges. Zayne’s voice is steady as ever—patient, precise—guiding you through differential equations that have been knotting your brain for days. He leans in sometimes to point at a step you missed, glasses slipping a fraction down his nose, and you catch yourself smiling. Soft. Small. The kind of smile that sneaks out when you’re not paying attention.

He notices.

His explanation trails off mid-sentence. Green eyes lift to meet yours—quiet, searching. You look away fast, heat crawling up your neck, but your fingers are still resting too close on the table. Pinky brushing pinky. The air between you thickens, heavy with something unspoken, something that’s been building since the moment you crashed into his arms on the street.

Then—somehow, in the space of a few heartbeats—his hand cups your cheek. Gentle. Careful. Like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he moves too fast.

His lips find yours.

Slow. Soft. A question more than a demand.

You freeze for one stunned second, breath caught somewhere between lungs and throat. Then your eyes flutter shut and you lean in. Lips part under his, tentative at first, then matching his rhythm. His tongue slips past the seam of your mouth—warm, careful—and you make a small, involuntary sound against him.

Gravity shifts.

Your back meets the floor with a soft thud—carpet muffling the impact. Textbooks slide off the table in a quiet cascade. The room fills with messy, wet sounds: lips sliding, breaths hitching, the faint rustle of clothes as hands find purchase. His fingers skim under the hem of your shirt—cool against heated skin—and you gasp, sharp and sudden.

Reality crashes back.

You pull away, palms flat on his chest, pushing just enough to create space. Chest heaving. Cheeks burning. Eyes wide like you’ve woken up in someone else’s life.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I’m… I’m not ready.”

Zayne blinks—dazed, pupils blown, lips still parted and glistening. He looks as startled as you feel. Then understanding floods his face. He sits back immediately, hands raised in surrender, expression soft with regret.

“No,” he says quietly, voice rough around the edges. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked—I shouldn’t have—”

You don’t wait for the rest.

You scramble up, knees shaky, grabbing your bag, your phone, your half-finished notebook in a frantic sweep. Papers crinkle. Your sneakers squeak against the floor as you bolt for the door.

“I—I have to go.”

The door slams behind you.

Outside, the evening air hits like ice water—sharp, piercing straight through your thin shirt, straight through skin, straight through whatever fragile thing is still beating in your chest. You stumble down the sidewalk, arms wrapped tight around yourself, breath fogging in quick, uneven bursts.

What the hell were you thinking?

What did you want from Zayne?

His hands were steady. His mouth was gentle. His eyes—those calm, forest-green eyes—had looked at you like you were something worth being careful with.

For one stupid, dizzy second, had they flickered purple in your mind? Have you seen Caleb’s face behind them? The same crooked smile? The same protective tilt of the head? Or had you just been so desperate for warmth—any warmth—that you let yourself pretend?

You stop under a streetlamp. Bend at the waist. Hands on knees. Trying to drag air into lungs that feel too small.

Tears prick hot behind your eyes.

You don’t even know why they’re there.

For Caleb—who pushed you away so hard you still feel the bruises?

For Zayne—who finally gave you the softness you’ve been starving for, only for you to run like it burned?

For yourself—who still can’t decide what she wants, only that whatever it is, it hurts?

A sob cracks out—quiet, choked. You press the heels of your palms to your eyes until stars burst behind the lids.

The street is empty. Just you, the cold, and the slow drip of tears you can’t stop.

Somewhere behind you, Zayne’s house glows warm in the dark.

Somewhere ahead, your own waits—silent, shadowed, full of the brother who won’t look at you anymore.

And you’re still caught exactly in the middle, crying on a sidewalk because love—whatever shape it’s trying to take—won’t let you go.

You push the front door open long after the streetlights have flickered on, the cool night air still clinging to your clothes like guilt. The house is dim, only the hallway light left burning. And there he is.

Caleb.

Arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting for hours. The sleeveless black shirt stretches tight across his shoulders, biceps flexing every time his jaw ticks. Those thick, beautiful eyebrows are knitted together in a deep scowl, casting shadows over eyes that burn even in the low light.

You gulp, throat suddenly dry. Without a word you try to slip past him, eyes fixed on the stairs.

His voice stops you like a chain around your ankle.

“Why’re you so late?”

You don’t answer. Just keep walking.

He pushes off the wall. Steps closer.

“Why… you’re so… late.” The words come slower this time. Steady. Dead serious. The kind of tone that used to make neighborhood kids scatter when he was protecting you.

You press your lips together until they hurt, then let out a shaky breath.

“Doesn’t matter.”

Silence stretches, thick and suffocating.

“Where’s Gran?”

“Out of town.”

“Again?”

More silence.

Your fingers twist tight around the strap of your bag. You force your legs to move, desperate to escape the heavy air pressing down on your chest.

But then—

“Wait.”

His footsteps follow right behind you. So close you can feel the heat of his tall frame looming at your back, the faint shift of fabric as he breathes. His voice drops, strained—like he’s physically holding back an explosion.

“Why’re you smelling like men’s cologne?”

Before you can even form an answer, his hand snaps out. Fingers wrap around your wrist—iron tight—and he spins you around. You gasp as your back hits the wall with a dull thud, trapped between cold plaster and the burning line of his body.

“None of your business!” you scream, twisting, trying to yank free.

Caleb snaps.

“YES IT IS MY BUSINESS!”

The roar cracks through the hallway. You flinch hard, eyes flying wide. You’ve never heard him yell at you like that—never. Not even when you were little and broke his favorite toy.

His grip tightens on your wrist until you yelp in pain. His face is inches from yours, warm breath fanning over your nose, those purple eyes raging like storm clouds ready to break.

“You think you can come home with another man’s perfume after whoring yourself out?”

The word hits like a slap.

You gasp, sharp and wounded.

Then rage boils over.

You rip your hand free with every ounce of strength you have left.

CRACK.

Your palm connects hard with his right cheek. The sound echoes sharp and final. Caleb’s head snaps to the side. For a few terrifying seconds he stays perfectly still—like a statue carved from fury—your handprint blooming bright red across his skin.

Tears flood your eyes instantly. Your chest heaves.

“I hate you…” The words come out small at first, cracking. Then louder. “I hate you. I hate you. I HATE YOUUU!!”

You’re sobbing now, ugly and raw, sniffling like the little girl who used to run to him after nightmares.

Caleb finally turns his face back to you. For one heartbeat you think he might soften—might pull you in, apologize, fix it like he always used to.

But he doesn’t.

He’s a bastard tonight.

His hands shoot out, gripping your upper arms so hard you yelp again. In one brutal motion he lifts you clean off the ground and slams your back against the wall of his bedroom door—hard enough to rattle the frame.

“You hate me?” His voice is low now. Dangerous. Like he’s trying to convince himself more than you. “You hate me so much, huh?”

You’re still crying, tears streaming hot down your cheeks, but he doesn’t budge. His breath ghosts over your trembling lips.

Before you can choke out another word, his mouth crashes down on yours.

It’s not soft. Not gentle. It’s claiming—rough, desperate, all teeth and hunger. His tongue forces its way past your gasp, licking into your mouth like he owns every inch. You kick your legs uselessly in the air, fists pounding his shoulders, but he just presses you harder into the wall, devouring you.

You should feel disgusted.

You should shove him away.

But you don’t.

It fits. Like two jagged puzzle pieces finally slamming together after years of being kept apart. Heat floods your veins. Your body melts against his without permission. The kicking slows… then stops. Your hands fist in his shirt instead, pulling him closer even as tears keep falling.

When he finally pulls back, a thin string of saliva connects your swollen lips. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with raw hunger and lust.

“For someone who hates me this much…” His voice is raspy, wrecked. “…you liked it, didn’t you?”

Your cheeks burn hotter than the slap you gave him. You look away, mortified.

That only makes him chuckle—low, dark, vibrating against your chest.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, dragging a hot, wet stripe of his tongue up your skin. You shiver violently.

“Stupid meimei,” he hums against your pulse, lips brushing with every word. “You really thought that nerd could please you? Please the body that craves me?”

His hands move without warning. In one swift motion he throws you onto his bed. You bounce once, gasping, before his weight is on you—caging you in, knees bracketing your hips.

Caleb’s palms slide unapologetically under your shirt, rough fingertips mapping warm skin like he’s memorizing every inch he once pushed away. His mouth hovers by your ear, breath scorching.

“No matter what I do… you crave me, meimei.” His voice drops to a possessive growl. “My pretty little sister is all mine.”

The words sink into you like teeth.

Your head is a storm—anger, shame, longing, and something darker and sweeter all crashing together until you can’t tell where one ends and the next begins.

You’re still crying, still shaking, but the words keep spilling out between gritted teeth.

“Asshole… you… you fucking dipshit—”

Your leg jerks up, aiming a sharp kick at his face.

Caleb catches your ankle mid-air with terrifying ease. His big hand wraps around it, yanking it down and pressing your foot firmly between his thighs. The moment your sole meets the thick, rigid line of his cock straining against his shorts, your lungs forget how to work.

He’s hard.

So fucking hard.

And huge.

You feel every inch of him—hot, pulsing, impossibly thick—throbbing against the arch of your foot. Every nerve in your body screams at you to pull away, to run, to slap him again.

But you don’t.

Because this is Caleb.

Your Caleb.

The closest you’ve been to his warmth in years. The solid heat of him, the familiar scent of his skin, the way his chest rises and falls against yours—it all floods you with a terrifying kind of comfort you can’t bring yourself to reject.

He yanks your shirt up and off in one rough motion, tossing it somewhere behind him. His hands are on you instantly—wide palms cupping your breasts, thumbs dragging over already-pebbled nipples as he pushes you flat onto the mattress.

“Didn’t big brother teach you not to say bad words?” The mockery drips from his voice, low and taunting, but his eyes are burning.

You huff, glaring up at him with everything you have left—hate, hurt, hunger—all mixed together. You don’t push him away.

His cock twitches harder against your foot.

Caleb rips your bra off next, the fabric tearing with a sharp sound. His long, beautiful fingers sink into soft flesh, kneading, squeezing, thumbs rolling your nipples until they ache. You bite down hard on your lower lip, eyes locked on the way those fingers move—shameless, possessive—playing with you like he’s wanted to for far too long.

“Coming big from someone who’s… ah… touching his sister…” you manage to bite back, voice breathy and broken.

Caleb smirks—dark, dangerous, devastating. He leans down, mouth closing hot and wet around one nipple. He sucks hard, tongue flicking, teeth grazing just enough to make your back arch clean off the bed with a helpless moan.

He releases it with a lewd, wet pop, strings of saliva connecting his lips to your glistening skin, before moving to the other breast.

“Fair enough…” he murmurs, mouth full of you, voice vibrating through your chest. “But since you already called me an asshole, I don’t think it matters anymore.”

He sucks again—deeper, hungrier—before pulling back just enough to speak, lips brushing wetly over your nipple.

“Besides… you wanted to know why your Caleb changed, hmm?”

His mouth latches on once more, sucking and licking while his free hand continues tormenting the other breast. You can only moan low in your throat, hips twitching, back arching shamelessly into his mouth like your body has already surrendered.

Caleb hums against your skin, the sound filthy and satisfied.

“Caleb will tell you all about it,” he promises, voice rough, teeth grazing sensitive flesh. “All of it.”

You’re trembling beneath him, tears still drying on your cheeks, but your hands have found their way into his messy brown hair—fingers tightening, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.

For the first time in forever, the brother who used to protect you is the one breaking you open… and you’re letting him.

Caleb shoves your thighs wide apart with his knees, settling between them in one rough motion. The head of his cock—thick, flushed, leaking—nudges against your soaked folds, sliding up and down your slit with a wet, obscene sound that makes your stomach clench.

“You still hate me?” he rasps, voice cracking as he pushes in—slow at first, stretching you open inch by burning inch. “Say it. Tell me you fucking hate me while I’m inside you.”

You bite your lip hard enough to taste blood, eyes fixed on the ceiling instead of his face. The stretch is brutal, perfect, filling that hollow ache you’ve carried for months. You don’t answer. Just breathe through it, letting your body take him because it feels good. Because he’s warm. Because right now he’s the only thing that feels real.

Caleb bottoms out with a broken groan, hips flush against yours. His forehead drops to your shoulder for a second, whole body trembling.

“Fuck… meimei… you’re so tight. So fucking wet for your big brother even when you say you hate me…” His voice is already fraying. “I missed this. Missed you. Missed feeling you close to me—God, I’m sorry—”

You stay silent, legs locked loosely around his waist, letting him move. He starts thrusting—deep, steady strokes that punch the air out of your lungs. The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room.

“I pushed you away because I wanted this,” he confesses between thrusts, voice thick with shame and lust. “Every time you hugged me… every time you called me gege… I got so fucking hard I couldn’t breathe. You were growing up and I—I couldn’t stop thinking about burying myself inside my little sister. I hated myself for it. So I hurt you instead. I’m sorry… I’m so fucking sorry—”

His pace stutters. Tears are already gathering in his lashes.

You feel every desperate snap of his hips, every twitch of his cock dragging against your walls, but your face stays blank. Detached. You reach up, fingers threading into his messy brown hair—not gentle, just holding on—because his warmth is sinking into your bones and you need it. You don’t forgive him. You just take what he’s giving.

Caleb’s tears spill over. Hot drops land on your chest as he fucks you harder, hips slamming into yours with wet, filthy sounds.

“I’m pathetic, aren’t I?” he chokes out, voice breaking like a little boy’s. “Big strong brother who swore to protect you… now crying while he fucks his meimei raw. Look at me—please look at me. I’m sorry I made you cry. I’m sorry I called you a whore. You’re not—you’re perfect. My perfect little sister. So tight and wet and mine—”

He angles his hips, grinding against that spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyes. A soft, involuntary moan slips out of you before you can swallow it.

Caleb sobs openly now, face buried in your neck, hips still pistoning desperately.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you too much. That’s why I pushed you away. But I can’t anymore… can’t pretend. Please—let me make it up to you. Let me stay inside you forever. I’ll be good. I’ll be whatever you want. Just don’t leave me. Don’t go to Zayne. Don’t smile at anyone else like that—”

His thrusts turn sloppy, frantic, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks and dripping onto your skin. He’s crying like the little boy who once beat up bullies for you, except now he’s the one breaking.

You keep your eyes half-lidded, breathing steady even as pleasure coils tighter in your belly. Your hands stay in his hair, holding him close because his body is warm and heavy and familiar, but your voice stays cold, detached.

“Shut up and fuck me harder, Caleb.”

He whimpers—actually whimpers—at your words. A fresh wave of tears spills as he obeys, slamming into you with everything he has, cock dragging perfectly against every sensitive spot.

“Yes—yes, meimei. Anything. I’m yours. I’m so sorry… I’m your pathetic big brother who can’t stop crying while he ruins you. But you feel so good—so fucking good around me. Gonna cum inside you. Gonna fill my little sister up until you’re dripping with me. Please… please don’t hate me forever—”

His sobs mix with the wet sounds of your bodies slamming together. He’s falling apart completely—hips stuttering, tears soaking your neck, voice raw and broken—while you stay quiet beneath him, taking every thrust, every apology, every filthy confession.

Because it feels good.

Because you’ve been starving for his warmth.

And right now, that’s enough. You don’t forgive him.

You just let him cry and fuck you deeper, chasing the only thing he can still give you.

Your brain is melting.

Every brutal thrust punches the thoughts right out of your skull until all that’s left is the wet, filthy slap of skin, the obscene squelch of his cock dragging through your soaked pussy, and the overwhelming heat of Caleb on top of you—inside you—everywhere.

He’s a complete mess.

Tears stream down his flushed cheeks, dripping onto your breasts as he fucks you harder, faster, hips snapping with desperate, punishing force. His voice cracks into pathetic, babbling whimpers between sobs.

“I’m giving myself to you—fuck—everything, meimei… I held back for so long… every time you smiled at me, every time you hugged me from behind… I wanted to bend you over and ruin you right there… but you were my innocent little sister… my cute, sweet girl… and then you grew up… God, you turned into this—this drop-dead gorgeous woman and I couldn’t stand it… I couldn’t look at you without getting hard… without wanting to claim you… I’m sorry… I’m so fucking sorry I hurt you—”

He’s crying openly now, ugly, broken sobs tearing out of his chest while his cock pistons deep into your clenching heat, grinding against that spot that makes your toes curl and your vision white out.

You can’t think.

It feels too good—too full—his thick length stretching you wide, dragging against every sensitive nerve, the wet heat of his tears mixing with sweat on your skin. Your bodies fit like they were made for this. Like every year of distance was just foreplay for this exact moment.

But even though your pussy is stuffed full of him, leaking around his cock with every thrust, your chest stays hollow. Empty.

Your lips part on a broken, hazy moan.

“No matter… hah… how hard you fuck me… I can never forget it…”

The words slip out small and cracked, barely louder than a whisper, but they hit him like a knife.

Caleb’s hips stutter. His eyes blow wide, fresh tears spilling as a wrecked sob rips from his throat.

“I know… I know, I’m sorry—fuck—I’m so sorry, meimei…” His voice fractures completely. “I’ll never forgive myself either… but please—let me stay inside you… let me fill you up… let me drown in you…”

He slams in one last time—deep, brutal, grinding his pelvis against your clit—and cums with a shattered cry.

Hot, thick ropes of cum flood your insides, pulse after pulse, filling you until you feel bloated with his shame, his guilt, his sins. He keeps rocking into you through it, whimpering your name like a prayer, hips twitching as he empties himself completely.

You lie boneless beneath him, legs spread wide, chest heaving. His weight presses you into the mattress, cock still buried to the hilt, twitching with aftershocks. Warmth leaks out around where you’re joined, sticky and obscene.

Caleb buries his face in your neck, sobbing quietly now—shoulders shaking, arms wrapped around you like he’s terrified you’ll disappear the second he lets go.

You stare at the ceiling, fingers loose in his messy brown hair.

It felt good.

So fucking good.

But the ache in your chest hasn’t gone anywhere.

You’re still empty.

Confused.

But you have no idea what comes after this.

You don’t know how long you stay like that—limbs tangled, his weight heavy and warm, his cock still softening inside you while his tears cool on your skin. Minutes? Hours? Time has melted somewhere between the wet slap of bodies and the broken sound of his sobs.

Eventually, strength trickles back into your muscles.

You shove at his chest, hard.

“Move.”

Caleb’s eyes fly open, wide and panicked, messy brown hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. “Baby sister—”

You’re already pushing him off, rolling out from under him before he can finish the word. His spent cock slips free with a wet, filthy sound, cum leaking down your thighs in thick, obscene trails. You stand on shaky legs, kicking aside the clothes he’d torn off you earlier.

“Disgusting.”

The single word drops like ice.

You don’t look back, but you hear the way his breath hitches—sharp, wounded, like you just punched him in the gut.

The mattress dips as he sits up. “Plz pipsqueak, listen, I—”

“I should’ve punched you, you know that?” Your voice is steady even though your legs still tremble. You turn just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. “You selfish little prick. You think this means I forgive you?”

Caleb flinches. His lips part, but nothing comes out.

You keep going, each word colder than the last, sharp enough to cut straight through bone.

“No. This means nothing to me, Caleb. I’m still going away from you. I don’t want you in my life. And if you even regret it to your heart then…”

You walk out of his room without another glance, completely bare, skin still flushed and marked with his fingerprints, his saliva, his cum. You refuse to put those clothes back on. Refuse to wear anything he touched tonight.

Your footsteps echo down the hallway—soft, deliberate, fading.

Only your voice lingers behind you, quiet and final.

“Blame it on your love.”

Silence swallows the house.

Caleb stays frozen on the edge of his bed, naked, cum-smeared, tears still wet on his cheeks. The sheets are cold beneath him now that your warmth is gone. His chest heaves once, twice—then a broken sound claws its way out of his throat.

He curls forward, elbows on knees, face buried in his hands as fresh sobs shake his broad shoulder, crying in fetal position.

Because he knows, “I blame it on my love.”

LEON S. KENNEDY. ♡

you don't know how long you both have been indulging in each other—all you know is that your cunt's jus' so sensitive. but you want more. you need more. thinkin' about being empty and not being stretched full by your boyfriend's makin' your waterline glimmer with tears.

"leoooon, please—,"

leon stared at you, in awe that you were still conscious. aware. clearly, he's not fucking you properly. "please what, angel?" "fuck me—fuck me, please. need your cock. just put it in," his fingertips tease your clit, and you whine, shaking your head. "nooo—nooooo . . need your cock. please, leon,"

today, leon finds out his ovulating girlfriend can turn into a literal succubus.

"but you said your cunt's all sore, sweet girl. you were crawling away," open-mouthed kisses are bestowed on your cheek. "just the tip. just put the tip in," leon could feel his cock stir, quickly growing erect with your neediness.

"okay, baby. whatever you say," he kisses your teary eyes before hovering over you and grabbing ahold of your legs. just the tip. just the tip. just the tip. leon has to repeat to himself, lathering the leaking crown with his creampie mixed with your slick.

just the tip. just . . the tip.

your creampied pussy makes a lewd squelch as leon slowly pushes the head in. but you're both in cloud nine, eyes rolling like it's the first time you've fucked each other. "y, yes, like that!" you whimper, reaching over to your hypersensitive clit and making aimless circles.

leon begins to move, only giving your cunt shallow, slow thrusts. "fuck, angel—," he lets his head fall back, pleasure enveloping his tip. your cunt's so fucking wet and warm. your fingers pick up their pace, cunt throbbing with intense pleasure. who knew you could jus' get off from just the tip?

"faster,"

faster?

how can leon do that without shoving himself balls deep into you? "faster—pleaseplease, leon," you sobbed. "y/n—i," he bucked his hips, trying to go faster without splittin' you open with his cock. whimpers are spilling from leon's mouth, growing needier by the second, his vision continuing to blur as he eased just the tip in, as per your request.

the way you were clenching around him, creaming around his cock—it drove him crazy. how could he not fuck you? leon has to reminded himself that you want just the tip. but he's relying solely on instinct. and before he could even realize it, he's plunged himself deep by accident, and you're wide-eyed, an unanticipated orgasm taking you both by surprise.

"leon—♡!"

"y/n—i'm sorry, sorry—,"

he can't stop. he won't stop, pounding you into the mattress and making sure you feel every length of him with every ferocious thrust. he's drooling, watching you squirm. something about seeing your pussy spurt out clear fluid with every push in makes him feral, potentially unlocked a new turn on and fantasy to jerk off to.

"t, told you just the tip," you whimper, sniffling, and leon cradles your head, essentially smushing your face into his chest. "sorry. 'm sorry, sorry—i l, love your cunt." leon sobbed, his hips doing all the work for him, pummeling into you without mercy.

spit's shining on leon's built chest as you automatically kiss and lick at the area. marks in the shape of your canines are left, and leon hisses when you bite him again.

"gonna cum, y, y/n—gonna cum—cumming. 'm cumming, oh god,"

he vigorously rams his cock in your leaking pussy, hard yet hurried; it's sloppy, and leon's just desperate to fill you again. your moans are muffled by his flesh, and leon has yet to notice that he's crushing you with his chest. not that you minded, either.

with a few more unrhythmic slams of his hips, he's spilling himself in you, all of his cum just overspilling as he kept rutting into you. "hah— h, haah . . so good—so good," he babbles, spit dripping on his chin as his eyes rolled back. "leooohn—," you grunt from beneath your boyfriend.

it's only when his orgasm finally comes down that he stops moving, clarity slowly seeping into his fucked out mind. he retires from you almost immediately, now-concerned eyes soaking in the sight of you. did you pass out? "y/n," a hand caresses your rosy cheek.

"y/n, please come back to me,"

"mhh . . "

oh thank god. he knows you're just fine, but he was still worried. "are you okay?" he whispers, brushing away the stray strings of your hair. "i'm sorry, i was . . too into it," you chuckle when you feel him pepper your face with kisses.

"i'm fine. still in one piece, baby."

you both groan when he slowly pulls out, the rest of his creampies spilling out of your gaping cunt. "i love you, leon." you mutter, weakly wrapping your arms around him. "i love you too, angel."

LUIS SERRA. ♡

"luis . . just the tip,"

you both really shouldn't have fooled around with these aphrodisiacs. it's been hours and his cock's yet to come down. luis isn't even sure if he can cum anym—

wait. did he hear that right?

"what'd you say, mami?"

it's harder to hear you when you're bent over, and especially when you're mumbling and barely coherent. "the tip—jus' the tip," you whine. "is my bebé sensitive?" he drags a finger over your slit, and you squeak, body jerking in response. your knees almost gave out. "luiiis . . jus' the tip, p, por favor . . "

you poor thing. he affectionately runs a hand over your spine, down to your ass where he kneads your curvaceous flesh. "por supuesto, amor. we can go slow. and . . just the tip," [ of course, love. ] he thought he could do it. luis can control himself, can go slow if requested—usually—but the drug that ran through his veins made that fucking impossible. swallowing a nervous lump, he prods the tip against your slit. fuck, you're so fucking wet. this wasn't fair.

with a slow push of his hips, your warmth embraces his sensitive cocktip. "oh, fuck. oh my fucking god. dios mio," luis's grip on your ass tightens, his own way of restricting himself. "sólo quiero follarte," [ i just wanna fuck you, ] he confesses, but only thrusts the tip in and nothing else.

"me estás matando aquí, bebé," [ you're killin' me here, baby. ] luis babbled on, a shiver running down spine. "are you sure you're sensitive? y, you've been—you've been always able to take it," turns out, he didn't have it in him to fulfill your request. luis could hear the obscene squelches your creamy pussy made, and his brows narrowed as he winced, almost as if he was pained from your instruction. yet, his restrained thrusts—it was more like gentle rocking, to be honest—continued, the tip pulling out with an obscene pop with every withdrawal of his hips.

he enjoyed it, of course. more than anything. but luis was a greedy, hungry man. yearning more. needing more. your pussy was just so fucking inviting, creaming all over for him with just the tip—fuck, you can't ask this from him.

"bebé—y/n, i can't—can't take it anymore. i have to. t, tengo que follarte," [ i have to fuck you. ] your eyes widened when luis slowly slides in an experimental inch. you squeal, reaching behind you with one arm, but luis just pins it on your back.

the moment he's stuffing himself completely fucking full into you, you're just sobbing, legs shaking from the mind-numbing pleasure. luis was, too, not even realizing he had just cum in you. his hips moved like clockwork, "luis! luiissss—fuck!" was all you could cry out. you squirmed, writhed, tried to crawl away from the addicting pain of pleasure, but he's tugging you right back and slamming himself into you to the hilt.

"lo siento—lo siento bebé. feels good, h, haah . . " [ i'm sorry—i'm sorry, baby. ]

all that cum pouring out of you made it much, much easier to pound that cunt. "h, haaah—fuck! luiiss—," you sobbed, unable to stop your legs from giving out. his chest rests warmly on your back, and you feel a loving kiss pressed on your temple.

"te amo, te amo . . . " he murmured as he pummeled that pussy, making sure that the tip thwacked against your perky cervix and hitting all the right spots. your head rests nicely on the pillow, and you're so fucked out, you think you're about to pass out from all the pleasure.

the bed creaks as luis kept ramming his cock deep into you, and you squeal as another orgasm washes over your body. the nth orgasm made your eyes cross, made you see fucking stars as your legs quivered and you clutched the sheets helplessly. luis didn't see it, but he sure as hell fucking felt it as you squirt all over him and his legs. "dios—dios mio, you're making a fu, fucking mess,"

his thrusts begin to slow down, hard-on still intact, but the aphrodisiac wasn’t as strong as it was from the beginning. blinking, luis realizes he was crushing you by resting his whole weight on you. "shit, shit—y/n, i'm sorry," he shuddered when he slips out of your creampied pussy. "mierda, hace frío," [ shit, it's cold. ] is whispered to himself whilst he gently lays you on your back.

"luiiis . . " you huffed. "that's not the tip," "i know, i know. i'm sorry. but, in my defense, eso es imposible," [ that's impossible to do. ] an affectionate hand caressed your hair. "still sensitive, prinsesa?" you groggily nuzzle your face in his arms.

you only hummed. the next minute is spent in silence, as luis kept you warm and held you firmly. "next time, no more aphrodisiacs," you stir as he spoke, letting out a scoff. "what? booooo."

"wha—excuse you, señorita, why are you booing me?"

"oh, c'mon. don't lie. that was fun,"

"jesus, you are such a freak. me asustas. you need to read the bible or something,"

"wow. like it wasn't you who bought those pills!"

"oh. ehehe. right."

ALBERT WESKER. ♡

bro this gif im going to start s/creaming

you're already fucked out. already trembling from the orgasms wesker's given you, and it's all thanks to the new toys he had bought from his trip. a clit sucker and a vibrating, ridged, girthy dildo. you sobbed as wesker kept thrusting the toy in and out of you, making sure you take all of its length.

"f, fuck—! s, sir, cumming—, 'm cumming,"

there wasn't much you could do, not when a silk ribbon tied your wrists and ankles to the headboard. ( he bought those, too, by the way. ) "again? look at the mess you just made." you look over at the silicone, the base was coated in your creaminess—and it was already smearing to his already-soaked fingertips.

it was so easy for him to break you, and he hasn't even undressed himself yet.

your hips buck against the air, and the unintentional reflex just makes you grind your clit against the toy that lavished its attention on you. "fuuck—! fuckfuckfuck—, a, albert—!" you clutched onto the ribbons, eyes rolling as you felt your cunt throb with need. you were close, you could feel it in the pits of your stomach. "what was that?"

wesker clicked his tongue, clearly displeased. "you call me sir, brat. or are these toys getting into that head of yours?" you hear a few clicks, and your eyes widened when you realized that the clit sucker's set to its highest setting. "s, sir—i'm sorry! i'm sorry!"

the dildo could never compare to your sir's cock—never—but the extra sensations of the pulsations and the ridges quickly sent you to the edge, never missing where you were most sensitive, always grazing that spongy nub that made your mouth fall agape. "don't w, wanna cum anymore—too much," you whimpered.

"aw," he cooed, a small smile appearing on his lips; barely noticeable. "that's really too bad, pup." he taunts, giving you a slow, but hard thrust. you squealed, clutching on to your ribbons.

"you're not in charge here,"

your cries are music to his ears, and his eyes gaze over to your squirting cunt in amusement. even though you're trembling and drooling, he's yet to withdraw the toys from you.

"are you?" "n, no, sir!" he's tight-lipped and has yet to move an inch. "n, no, sir! i'm n, not in chaaaarge—y, you are!" "hm," good enough. much to your relief, both are turned off, and you're granted a few seconds of relief.

your body relaxes on the soft bed, chest rising as you pant. “colour?” wesker asks, a rough palm caressing your shaking thighs. “g, green,” you mutter. “good. ‘m not done yet,”

wesker retires from the bed, taking his sweet time in undressing himself. it was quite the sight, though; seeing him undo his tie, unbuckle his pants. his boxers had a wet spot from his leaking tip. “you’ve been a good pup, darling.”

the bed sinks with his added weight, and you watch him leave kisses on your inner thighs, stroking his cock with a spare hand as he lathered his pre all over his monstrous girth. fuck . . could you take that? you don’t think y’have it in you. but you didn’t want to stop. y’wanted him . .

“s, sir,”

you call, and wesker’s eyes tilt up. now that he was much closer, y’could see how blown out his pupils were. “yes, my love?” he asked as he positions himself, grabbing ahold of your thighs as he slaps his fat cock atop your mons.

“c, can you put just the tip i, in—?”

wesker acts as if he didn’t hear a word you just said, rubbing his length all over your slit—continuing to lubricate his shaft with your juices. you gasped when the tip slowly sinks in, and you finally get your answer when he slammed the rest of his girth into you. you screamed, back arching as your eyes crossed.

“why should i?”

he begins to rut into you, pummeling your sensitive cunt with mean thrusts. “tell me, pet. why should i?” you couldn’t utter out a proper response, not when your brain was turning to fucking mush as he pounded you. “speak up, slut.” the added nickname’s making you clench around him, and wesker only scoffed at your lack of coherence.

“gone stupid? from me just putting—hnngg—it in?”

with the position he had you in, it was impossible for the tip to not kiss your cervix, impossible for you to not scream for him as he mercilessly plowed that cunt. "s, sir—h, haaah . . ! fuck—!" your overstimulated pussy's fucking throbbing. a squeal's torn from you as his palm collides with your puffy clit with a smack! the sting's makin' your eyes fucking water, and you could feel your legs tremble again.

"will you tell me what to do again, pet?"

"n, no, sir!"

wesker grinned, rewarding your sore clit with a kind caress of his thumb. "good pet. that's—," he groaned. fuuuck, wesker shudders at the feeling of your cunt spasming around his girth. "—more like it. gonna—gonna fuck you how i want to," his words are emphasized with harsh thrusts, to drill that idea in your pretty fucking head.

"where i want to,"

"u, uh-huh!"

"when i want to,"

"u-uhnnn—y, yes s, siiiir . . ♡ !"

seeing how disheveled and how much of a drooling mess you were, were you even remembering what he was saying? probably not. but don't worry, he's more than willing to remind you where you belonged. he could no longer hold back his noises, but he wasn't even interested in trying, anyway.

the way he sounded—feral, almost beast-like, even—you'd be lying if you said it didn't incite more arousal from you. wesker ensured you felt all of him, hips moving without thought as he mercilessly slammed into that tight fit. unfortunately for you, he was more monster than he was human.

you were fucking tightening up around him—still adjusting from the sudden switch from silicone to flesh—and how could wesker ever resist ramming and bullying that pussy with his fat cock? the way he could see how he split you open, shuddering when his tip's right against your cervix—oh, you were such a sweet, sweet pet.

his cock throbbed with the ache of a release. you made it difficult for him to control himself. "fuck—'m gonna fill you up," he hissed. "think y'deserve a creampie from me, sweet girl?" smack! the collision of his palm on your cunt brings you back to reality for a brief moment. "i'm—i'm talking to you," he snarled, an you nod mindlessly. "s, sorrryyyy . . . y, yes sir! yesyesyesyes—please!"

you continue to beg him, plead for his cum whilst he busied himself with rearranging your fucking insides. it's all you could do amidst your fucked out state. don't you worry. wesker was more than satisfied with your expressions.

burying himself to the hilt, you let out a scream as an orgasm is forced from you again, fingertips affectionately rubbing on your clit. wesker can't decide where to look—if he should watch that pussy quiver as you squirted or your face that's contorting as your irises disappear behind your lids.

"yeaaaaah, just like that. look at you—fuck, you're such a slut,"

his hips stutter as spurts of thick, warm semen floods your womb and walls. wesker groaned, shivers pricking his skin. your cunt milked him so good; and not like he'll tell you, but he's fucking obsessed. obsessed with how you're so obedient fo him, how your cunt clenched around him as you quivered from overstimulation.

"tsk, you're leaking. tighten up, slut. don't spill any more," you only oblige him—it's all you could do in your fucked-out state. a groan echoes in the room as he slowly slips out from you. from where wesker knelt, he had the perfect fucking view of your gaping cunt, trying her absolute best to keep it all in as he asked. you squeaked when he caresses your puffy clit affectionately. "shh, shh . . i know," he cooed, the other hand undoing your restraints. you didn't have the strength to keep your eyes open.

the tension slowly rolls off your muscles as he sets your legs down slowly. "you did well, my love," you could feel him bestow kisses on your face. eyes, nose, lips—they were all showered in loving kisses. your wrists are set free as he undid the ribbons on your sore wrists, his lips ghosting over the red marks over your skin, too. "missed you, albert," you mumbled, eyes slowly opening. "i missed you too, my love," there's a faint smile on his face—meant to be witnessed by you only.

"you know we're not yet done, right?"

JACK KRAUSER. ♡

krauser really has lots of pent-up frustration and sexual frustration. blessed with inhumane stamina, it's really no surprise that he can last multiple rounds. 'specially when all of it just piles up on him, mmmm—god, he loves nothing more than taking it out on you and using you for fucking hours.

but krauser is mean. cruel. you want just the tip? that's really—

"too fucking bad, baby,"

that request is fucking impossible, because he's got you folded and locked in a full nelson hold. did you expect that he'd just not bury himself deep in your pretty cunt? your eyes widened as you watched his cock slowly stretched you out again. your cunt was too sensitive.

"n, no—krauser! don't! d, don't—pleasepleaseplease—,"

his balls only throbbed, eyes rolling as your pleas fall to deafened ears. your groans echo in the room as he pushes another inch or two into you. fuck, you need to breathe—

krauser laughed breathily in your ear. "what was that?" you couldn't muster a single word—it was all just pathetic squeaks. "just the tip, you say?" he'd purr, pushing in as slow as he can so your pulsating walls can feel every single inch stretching you. ruining you.

"c, can't—,"

"can't what? can't speak?"

he completely slams into you with a loud plap! you're speechless and fucking stupefied—but, frankly, what else is there to say? "urgg—feel that?" this fucking asshole just had to start gyrating his hips. you could feel the tip poke 'nd prod against that cervix, and fuck, you're trembling.

"c'moooon, sweets. y'better be awake,"

sticky drool's drippin' from those pretty lips as he began to pound you like he hated you. him doing all the work was not a problem, not at all. krauser could easily manhandle you, and he made sure that you knew. he was bouncing you on his cock like you weighed nothing and fuck—you couldn't even think of anything to say aside from his name and ah's! and oh's!

it didn't help his cock was a mix of both veiny and fucking gargantuan—you're convinced your cervix's all bruised because his tip kept hitting 'nd hitting all of your spots. "love your cunt—fuck, you like this? huh? bet you do. look at your cunt's reflection. messy fucking slut," he groaned, ramming into you vigorously. it's like he hasn't even broken a sweat.

"k, krauseeeer—," you sobbed, absolutely broken and cockdrunk. "yeah? 'm here," he pants, eyes threatening to roll back. but he had to watch you in the mirror, had to watch you crumble and go fucking stupid just from his cock. "what does my baby want, h, huh? want me to go faster?" before you had the chance to respond, he's fucking pummeling into you faster than you could even blink; you're fucking dizzy and barely lucid, but that's okay. no need to think, krauser's got you. ♡

"'m c, cummingggggg—cumming. j, jaaaaack—♡!"

"my fucking goooood—fuuuuuuck . . look at this squirting cunt,"

clear liquid's spurtin' out of that stretched pussy, coating him and yourself as he forces an orgasm outta you. you're so fucking hot, fuck. krauser's never ever ever letting you go. "you love my cock, babe?" if it wasn't for how both his large hands held your head, you would have nodded. "u, uh-huh! love—l, love your cock—♡!" "attaaa girl. i love your cunt so, so fucking much—♡,"

krauser doesn't even realize he's drooling himself—completely immersed in the pleasure. he could stay buried in you for fucking eternity. "fuck—wanna breed you. lemme breed—lemme breed you. need to knock you up," he babbled on, focused on jus' chasing his release. and with the pace of how he fucked you—it wouldn't take long.

and you?

you're fucking spritzing all over him everytime his tip grazes against that spongy nub in your dripping pussy. why'd you even ask him to not put it all in? clearly, you loved this. but don't worry. for once, he'll humour you. "y'wanted just the tip, right?" "h, hnnngg—♡," good enough of an answer for him. you're brought back to reality briefly when his movements halt. confused, you only watched your obscene reflections whilst he shifted his hips. "j, jack, what're you—?!" your eyes widened when you feel his tip slowly bury into the tight barrier of flesh in your cervix.

krauser whimpered. fuuuuuuck, you were sucking him in so good. he can't even pull out. "baby—baby, oh god. fuck, fuck. i'm fucking—cumming. 'm cumming—oh my gooooood," it didn't take any more thrusts for him to start filling your womb up with fertile, sticky cum.

you whined as your cunt's flooded with his seed, and you couldn't do anythin' except for clawing on his built forearms as he held you in place. "urgg—yeah . . . just like that . . fuuuck, i love your pussy baby," you couldn't utter a word. you felt so fucking full. krauser finally releases your head, but still held your body close as he settles on the edge of the bed. you practically collapse on his muscular frame when he finally sits, and that's okay. ♡ krauser made sure he held you tight, wrapping large arms around your body and leaning into you so he could kiss your face.

"tongue out, babe. lemme . . "

you oblige mindlessly, sticking your pretty tongue out for him. krauser's scarred lips wrap around your wet muscle, groaning as he sucked on it. didn't take long 'til he was devouring your spit-stained mouth as you cockwarmed him.

"mmmm. ♡."

CHRIS REDFIELD. ♡

this gif is so? um.

chris usually loves to prep you. loves to spend his time devouring your pussy and having his lips wrapped around that sensitive clit.

but you've got work in an hour, and time isn't a luxury you both have. "chris, j, just the tip, okay?" you say, raisin' your hips as you bent over the dining table; weight propped up on your soft palms. of course you can't say no to him, especially when the outline of his erected cock on his grey boxers is all you've been seeing this morning. but you're just a girl. you have needs and wants.

"just the tip?"

chris asks, pressing his clothed chest against your back. you feel his stubble against your cheek as he pressed open-mouthed kisses on your skin. "i don't . . i don't think i can do it, princess," he whined as his hips push forward. you couldn't utter another word as the leaking head stretches your cunt out.

you shuddered, lips quivering as you clutched on to whatever surface you were bent over on. "y, you caaaan—a, aaah, fuck—you have to . . ” you whined. but chris was greedy. hungry.

he’s not sure where he gets the courage to pull out, but he does. the tip slides out from you with a lewd, almost muted, pop! and you’re both unsatisfied, left yearning with feeling the other completely; but it makes do. it has to. tonight, he can have you for as long as he wanted.

“y/n, p, please—,” he pleads, still fuckin’ you with just the tip. chris can feel just how wet you are, hear how that cunt squelched as bucked his hips. “n, nooo—chris, i’ll—i’ll be late,” “don’t go,” his canines graze your skin, and you squealed when he pushes an inch in. your cunt’s pulsating—trying to accommodate his fat cock without prep. “don’t go—y’don’t h, have to go. please stay,” “ch, chris, i—hnnn!” the rest is completely slammed into you, and your eyes cross. chris takes advantage of your agape mouth, kissing you and letting his tongue glissade over yours.

chris starts to pound that cunt, and muffled cries were swallowed by his lips. you can’t really lie, this felt waaaay better than just the tip. the way the tip bulges out from your lower tummy, the way the pink crown keeps kissing that sensitive cervix, it can’t compare. ever.

“mhhhf,” you groan against his lips, and chris playfully bites down on your lower brim. it was hard to take in air when every thrust into you knocked the air outta your lungs. chris parts from you as he held your hips with those big hands of his.

his pace quickens, ramming into you mercilessly. you're both whimpering, voices blending together in melodious sin; whatever thoughts you had before—gone. not when chris had the skill to turn your brain to mush. "goddd—fuck, y/n. y, y'feel so goooood . . " chris sobbed. if only you could see his face. brows scrunched as he struggled to keep his eyes open; only you could bring these facial expressions to this big, beefy man's face.

you squealed when a hand snakes under your skirt, fingertips rubbing against your neglected clit. "oh fuck!" you mewled, unable to keep your cries to a low. "feel good, princess?" chris purred whilst fucking you into oblivion. "u, uh-huh—♡!" fuuuuck, his balls are fucking throbbing.

"d, don't go . . jus' stay. be my pretty little wife. i can t, take care of you,"

he babbled on, rutting into you, stuffing you full with that veiny cock. chris wants nothing more than to fucking breed you, fill your womb with his cum. "'m g, gonna fucking cum," he pants, chest heaving. but he doesn't stop pummeling that cunt—goes faster, actually. chasing his release and eager to give you yours. the table's creaking, and everything on it shook with every thrust. upstairs neighbour behaviour.

you screamed when he lightly pinches that sensitive bud, and you're seeing stars; mouth agape and back completely arched as he coaxes an orgasm from you. your legs trembled, and chris bit on his lip. "fuuuuck, baby. you're so hot—love you, i love you," "chriiiis, fuckfuckfuckfuuuuck. love youuuuuu . . ♡,"

your lips crash together again, sloppily kissing each other as chris fucks you through your high. he grunts, wrapping his lips 'round your tongue, tasting you. with another slam of his hips, you moan against his mouth when he's completely buried deep in you; thick ropes of cum flooding your creamy, spasming cunt. he can't move any more, can't think anymore. he pulls away from you, because he's sure he'll forget how to breathe.

"oooooh, fuuuck—♡,"

spit's trickling down his stubbled chin, and chris is quiet for a moment; sent to cloud nine and completely fucked out. it takes a minute or two for him to recover, and he tilts your head to the side so he could briefly kiss you while he slid out of your cunt. you both groan, and chris kneads your ass, watching his cum slowly leak from your gaping pussy.

"heheh . . gonna call in sick?"

well, you couldn't feel your legs, so. yes.

CARLOS OLIVEIRA. ♡

carlos watched you writhe whilst you came undone from his tongue. your fingers were tugging on his already disheveled, raven tresses. it's your fifth orgasm—he thinks, if he's counting right; and he'd gladly give you more. his wet kisses trail up your tummy, chest, lips, and you liked how your taste lingered on his tongue.

"carlooos,"

"yes, meu bebê?"

carlos gets a realization tonight.

"want more. 'jus wanna feel you,"

he spoils you a little too much.

your cunt was still twitching with need. you'd do anything to satiate your hunger, anything to relieve that arousal pooling in your tummy. even though he's spent the last few minutes coaxing orgasm after orgasm from you.

but he loved seeing you like this. desperate. needy. like he was the only person you needed. you knew just how to get his gears going without trying. "hmm? but you just came, meu bebê. my beard's still wet," he teased, lips latching on your neck and tracing your skin with sharp canines. you held on to his built biceps, and carlos brings your knuckles to his lips. "j, jus' the tip. please. i want more," "i know, i know, bebê. shh . . "

he can never resist you. especially when you were begging him so prettily. didn't take long for him to prod his tip against your needy hole. you both gasp when the tip slowly sinks in, slowly stretches that wet pussy apart. your nails dig into his skin, and carlos bit his lip. "fuuuck, y/n. your pussy—," fucking warm 'nd tight. clenching on him like you needed him.

carlos didn't mind being bossed around by you, especially by you. he'd do anything you'd ask before you could even blink, but he just has to remind you who's in charge.

you gasped when he slowly sheathes an inch or two into your tight cunt. "carlos, w, what're you—?!" he makes sure to slide in nice and slow, so you'll feel every inch of him splitting him open. and also so he can savour that surprised look in your face.

especially when he harshly shoves the rest of his cock in your leaking pussy, god. you'll kill him. "y, you're so unfair, princesa. so cruel t'me," he cooed, not even giving you the time to process a thought as he began to pound you with ungodly stamina.

"you think i don't have needs too? think i don't need to fuck this cunt and to fuck you 'til you're cockdrunk and overstimulated?" nasty mouth, nastier thrusts. your eyes crossed, body jouncing with every slam forward of his hips.

"c, carlos—h,hnnngg!"

he grins. "yeaaaah, that's right, baby. scream my name." you were so sensitive already, flesh walls spasming around his veiny girth, but fuck, you were oozing so much milky essence, it smeared all over his balls. he leans in so your lips could crash together, and carlos grunts against your mouth as you instinctively wrap you legs around him. of course he had to pick up his pace. why wouldn't he? he was such a good boyfriend to you, paying attention to all your needs.

you whine when he parts from you, but he has to, or else he'd lose his balance. he needed to focus on fucking you, tire his pretty bebê out. he bites his lip when you run your palms all over his built chest and abdomen.

"fuckfuckfuck—carlos—♡!"

a hand wraps around your breast, kneading your tits and running his fingers over your erect nipple. whatever thought you had, he quickly fucked it out from that pretty mind of yours. whatever. not like you needed to think when he could do that for you. well, try.

"y/n—♡ godddd, minha linda garota," [ my pretty girl, ] he babbles on, absolutely hypnotized. god, what were you doing to him? carlos kept pummeling that cunt, bed creaking obnoxiously in the process but it seemed that neither of you cared.

more marks littered his skin, ranging from bites to scratches, and they were definitely going to be sore later, but that's okay, a little pain didn't hurt no one. spit trickles down on carlos's stubbled chin, and you lift yourself up a little jus' so you could lick it up.

"y/n—♡! f, fuck! você é tão porra de suja, m, merda!" [ you're so fucking filthy, shit! ] hooking his arms around your thighs and lifting it up to his shoulders, you squealed when he begins to fuck you faster. harder. sounds of skin slapping growing louder as he rammed you without mercy.

a spare thumb began to trace aimless circles on your clit, and you screamed as an orgasm was ripped from your poor oversensitive cunt. "c, carlos—♡! oh fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuuuuck!" you clutched onto the pillows, sheets, fucking anything. you sobbed, and carlos gently flicks his middle finger against that puffy clit—you squealed as you squirt in small fountains.

"you're sensitive, aren't you, bebê? eu te quebrei, princesa?" [ did i break you, princess? ]

and oh, the way you only responded in fucked out mewls, how fucking precious. now that you've coated his girth in your squirt, it was much easier for him to move in 'n out. you could hear jus' how wet he made you, how that soaking cunt squelched with every thrust. you were such a slut for your boyfriend, and rightfully so.

he stops being cocky when his orgasm nears, grunts turning into high-pitched whimpers as he fucked you into the mattress. carlos tried to keep his monstrous, merciless pace, but fuck, he was so close. the closer he was to filling your cunt up and flooding your walls, the sloppier his hips got, probably from fatigue.

but you were such an angel, his god-sent angel, movin' your hips as you tried to meet his thrusts halfway. carlos could cum at the fucking sight of you trying to fuck yourself against him.

"oh god—♡! oh god, fuck, fuuuuck. vou gozar. vou te engravidar. ai meu deus." [ gonna cum. 'm gonna get you pregnant, oh my god. ] carlos sobbed, and after a few more push of his hips, he's crying out as ribbons of thick cum filled that cunt.

he rides his high out with a few more mindless thrusts, combing a spare hand through his hair. he's in fucking heaven, jesus christ. it's you that brings him back to reality, rubbing his forearm and eventually interlacing your fingers with his.

"oh my god, baby. are you okay?" he caressed your face, and you tiredly smile at him. "never better," you kissed his palm, and carlos tucks away the stray hairs on your face. "you sure? you okay? does anything hurt?" "no, i'm fine. well, a little sore and sensitive, but it's okay. i like it," a grin tugged on his lips, and he shook his head. "you're such a freak, baby. it's okay, i love you," a kiss is pressed on your forehead, nose, and then lips.

you shuddered when he pulls out, and his cum slowly leaks from your used, gaping hole. "i love you . . " you mutter, scooting over to the side so carlos can have the space beside you. he sighs in relief when he finally lays down, absolutely spent. "c'mere," carlos sleepily grunts, pulling you to his arms. you took it upon yourself to cover both your bare, sweaty bodies with the blanket.

"did i tire you out yet?" "hmm . . no, not really," you jeered, and carlos chuckled. "well, i certainly tired myself out," you both laugh, and it didn't take long 'til you both dozed off.

end.