At your bedside drawer. They rummage and whisper like school girls that are 6 foot tall and jacked. When the door opens, they peek over their shoulders as if it's their privacy you're invading.

"There you are sweetie" Sylus greets, his frown melts into a warm smile as you freeze like a lost deer in headlights.

His eyes gentle but they shamelessly drag down your body, "We were wondering where you went."

"How do you know where I live..?" You ask, voice trailing off into nothing. The absurdity of fate stuns you to silence.

And Caleb's got something in his hand. Small. Red. Bullet shaped. For fuck's sake.

He looks at you all wide eyed and innocent while playing with it.

"Lucky guess?" He offers with a sheepish smile, and you start to bristle, " Juust kidding pipsqueak, we saw you swipe into the building earlier today. We were in the area and this group of girls let us in soo we walked around until we found your name on the door."

He explains it as if it's normal to sneak in. Break in and go through people’s belongings.

"I like how you decorate by the way." He adds, motioning to your posters, “you’ve got taste.”

"Your choice of favorite character is interesting though" Sylus tacks on with a crooked smile, "Him of all people."

To which Caleb turns to him like they've been down this road already.

"You don’t watch the show what would you know?” He muses shaking his head, "You're asleep by the end of an episode-"

"And who told you that?"

"Your snoring-"

Naturally they fall into a debate about it. The air is light and jovial but wrongfully so and it annoys you. How they can casually take up space when they shouldn't.

So you hang your shower bag aside on its designated hook, and without much thought to it you walk straight towards them.

They turn to you when you approach, both of their faces radiant.

"What's with that look?" Sylus asks and you promptly shove him aside, "Oh? kitten's not happy to see us?"

You're not sure where the sudden burst of confidence comes from. Maybe from the frustration blossoming in your chest.

Or the onset of panic from them suddenly appearing in front of you.

You don't even care you're practically naked.

Well you do, but it slips your mind for a moment.

They laugh together as you lunge for your vibrator. In which Caleb moves your target, pausing to give you a chance to make a grab before he raises it to impossible heights.

"Assholes" Your entire face burns hot as you punch Caleb swiftly in the stomach.

"Ouch." He playfully winces, completely unaffected by your act of violence. He looks down at you with a tiny shit-eating grin.

"Whats the matter pipsqueak?" He coos, " Can't play your toys, but we can play with your pussy right?"

You flinch, "Get. Out."

At that Sylus slots behind you. You can smell him before the heat comes.

That signature scent brushes up like a wall against your back, your ass smoothing along his jeans.

"But we just got here" He says, as if trying to be harmless, "And it's been awhile."

Your body moves away. But his hands, achingly familiar, take your hips and draw you in.

It's been three days since the incident. It's been the running theme of your dreams lately, always lingering in the back of your mind.

Electromagnetism. Utter humiliation. A dripping seat and very sore pussy.

It's both a blessing and a curse you were able to disappear the way you did that day. When class was over and once people started to move, you moved faster.

Quicker than sylus or caleb could react, you gathered your things and left before anyone noticed how strange you were walking. And the obvious erections lining their pants.

"Basically disappeared on us after class." Caleb says disappointedly, approaching with a step.

That's when you realize you're trapped between them. When his chest is all you can see, and you're only inhaling the scent of warm spiced cologne with a hint of outside air.

The tip of your vibrator sits at the dip of your sternum.

Caleb presses it against the throb of your heartbeat.

"You were so cute running away from us scaredy cat" He teases, his bottom lip briefly stuck under his teeth, "Didn't even care to clean up your seat, good thing we did it for you."

With the way they both snicker, you don’t want to think about what he means by that.

You suck in a breath when Sylus's embrace tightens. His arms bunch up your towel like jaws closing in. The hem lifts behind your thighs, cold air sweeping along your drenched slit. That's how you know you're ruined.

So intense you almost whimper again.

"Such a tease.. " The bass in Sylus's voice slithers into your ear at the side of your head, "Ditching us like that."

"I had to change.." You say softly, a weak excuse.

" We would've helped you." Caleb reasons, "We were responsible for the mess you made after all." he adds before chuckling, like it's ridiculous, "But no. You ghost us after we made you cum so many times..such a playboy."

You can feel his breath fan his amusement over your nose. Every word stamped to your lips.

"What should we do with you now pipsqueak?" He ponders, like the possibilities are limitless, "Any ideas?"

At the same time you feel your towel slip, and you reach up quickly to adjust yourself. Caleb scoffs at it, and your vibrator is replaced with his fingers.

Devastatingly familiar, he traces the length of your neck softly. Down to the swell of your tits along the edge of the fabric.

"What's wrong?” He whispers deceptively innocent, “You scared we'll take this off you?"

Sounds like a question, but your body takes it like a warning. A dare.

You shudder, just slightly.

Sylus hums, "Or maybe.." He tries, "You want something along those lines?"

"Why would I want that?" you ask defiant before swallowing as Sylus's embrace loosens when he straightens up.

His hands feel up your sides, committing the fuzzy outline of your body to memory.

"We all enjoyed ourselves the last time we were together." He answers smoothly, "And you had your toy charging, all ready to go for when you touch yourself thinking about it tonight."

You can't help but squirm honesty and denial flooding your brain, "N-no way-"

"Oh yeah? Room all to yourself I'm sure the thought crossed your mind" Caleb leaves in your other ear, "But this won't make you squirt over and over again—unlike us."

They chuckle as you try push away the flashbacks, but you’re failing miserably.

Caleb returns into your field of vision so you can see the satisfied smile on his lips.

He knows. Of course he does. He knows they've got you. That they'll always have you.

Your face is tilted up and you have no choice but to accept his kiss.

It's insistent and messy. Inexperienced but desperate like he knows what he's looking for.

Sweet like apples and burns with a hint of vodka.

Skinny lines of drool ooze past your mouth. He backs away to lick it up and bring back against your tongue.

You feel Sylus inhale into your neck as you exhale shakily,

"We missed you so much kitten" He sighs pleased, "Couldn't get your scent off my mind today…"

His tongue, wet and hot takes a stripe of your skin shy under your ear.

You shiver as his lips close in against your humming pulse. A noisy kiss that ends with a bite.

His mouth travels like his hands that reach to feel your tits through your towel.

You try to speak, try not to melt into his chest, "Mmph-"

But Caleb forces your mouth to do nothing but take him.

Experience him.

"Open up." He murmurs. He demands it so you do exactly that, wearily.

He stares at your murky gaze through half shut eyes. A sound at the back of his throat tremors along your lips,

"Fuck.." He heaves, "Guess you taste good everywhere huh? Knew you would."

Your hands alternate on who to try and push away first.

Useless.

Useless.

They're closing in quick and you're struggling to breathe. Their mouths attaching anywhere, leeches sucking for food.

Bodies like a rock and a hard place, looking for relief.

"Don’t fight. You know you want it kitten" Sylus speaks on your neck as if echoing your inner thoughts. Inner desires.

He leads you along the bulge under your ass, thick and deprived, "Made a mess with just our fingers last time, imagine what you’ll do with this.”

Your writhe at his words and his cock nudging your ass but you say nothing. Sylus chuckles fondly at your hesitation. As if he already knew your answer before he asked and Caleb sighs the same. Annoyed and heavily aroused.

He parts from your lips, with a small frown, "You wanna keep being a little tease? Fine."

If your towel is a dress, he pulls up the skirt. They drag it up your thighs like it's your wedding night. Two husbands that have been waiting all night for this exact moment.

"W-what the fuck?" You whine

"Keep your towel on stubborn girl.." Caleb assures you, kissing your protests. "But we're gonna see how dripping wet you are from this."

The towel rises past your drenched cunt and their hands delve between your naked thighs. They find the inner side damp from water and sweat. Sticky with arousal.

Their amused hum is low and lecherous, it seals your fate as they rub your slit tenderly.

"Hmm? What's all this kitten?" Sylus questions, you feel his delighted smile in the crook of your neck, "You had me fooled for a second. You're so slick here we could just.."

Then two fingers and a familiar stretch slide in you so easy you gasp, thighs spreading,

"Fuck w-wait-"

You're trembling as they ease through, throbbing against them without hesitation. A certain need settling in your stomach as their fingers flex like they're home at last.

"Accept it pips, you want us so bad." Caleb says as your chest presses into him, "Your mouth might lie to us, but your little pussy never will."

"True." Sylus whispers, just before using a hand to turn your head to the side, "But you're cuter when you're both honest."

His kiss is full with his satisfied groans, predatory like he's licking meat off bones. His tongue tastes like whiskey from a dark bar.

You feel it go straight to your head. Hazy like a heatwave.

"Tell us what you want." He bites your bottom lip softly, " If you really want us to leave then we will. Tell us to stay and we'll be here alll night."

Because that's what they do. Push all your buttons, get you riled up.

Constantly testing you for the love of it. You know their game well.

So when you don't speak up, they rescind their touch. Hold it for ransom.

Their fingers pull out leaving you empty, but you can still feel them. Phantom hands pawing your thighs, large fingers massaging your walls.

"What's it gonna be pips?" Caleb asks, you watch him bring his middle finger to his mouth, licking you off like sweet syrup, "You decide how our friday night ends."

They already know your answer. It's warm on their fingers but it's not enough.

"Fine." you confess in the semi quietness of your room, "you can stay."

Soft but staggering, “Please"

It's close to instant the way you're lifted and set on top of your bed.

Mouths vying for your lips. One after the other, chasing your tongue before they mesh into one, and you’re running your fingers through brown and dark silver hair.

At the edge, you're feather light between them. Maneuvered by gentle hands that could snap you in an instant.

They ease you on your back, knees bent, thighs spread to reveal yourself.

Between your legs, their gaze above you is the best worst.

Hands riddled with greed, they undo the tuck that holds your towel together.

They smooth it it out, help the fabric fall to the sides. Open you up like Christmas morning.

In awe as if they wouldn't want to miss a second of it.

"So pretty.."

Hands and mouths grip and kiss. Impatient almost. Hoping to experience every curve that shapes your body.

Leaving behind their heat on your skin like fingerprints.

"You have no idea how long we've waited for this.." Caleb groans like you're a relief to a lingering pain, an answer to his prayers.

All the warmth from their undivided attention goes straight to your cunt, completely drenched as you ache inside. Body moving with their touch, looking for release.

Sylus lowers to his knees, he spreads your pussy wider with a wet sound that follows.

"Good to know the wait was worth it." His last words fan over your folds and you squirm. Too sensitive. Too needy.

Caleb's eyes flicker from the mess you leave on the bed to your face.

"You look like you want something," He says, getting next to you with hazy purple eyes baring into yours, "But I think you need to speak up and ask for it."

"I do too" Sylus adds and this time you feel every word on your pussy as he gets close.

"Please.." You try feebly, grinding your hips towards his face.

Caleb kisses your weak plea and it butterflies up your jaw tipping your head to the side.

"You can do better than that" He murmurs knowingly, "Try again."

You softly hiss when there's teeth nipping your thigh, "I remember you calling me a certain name during class." Sylus says playfully, "Care to remind me what it was kitten?"

Your face burns from Caleb laughing at you against your tits.

"I thought you didn't like that.." You trail off feigning confusion

"Who said that?" Caleb goes, giving you a sly grin as he mouths, "He loves it."

You clench inside and you’re positive sylus sees the way your hole winks at him.

So despite the bashfulness sitting heavy on your face, you give him what he wants.

It comes out like your back curling off the bed, like a cat when he spreads a thumb over your slit.

"Please daddy.."

"Oh that won't cut it this time sweetie." Sylus muses darkly as he licks over the shallow bite mark on your leg. finger circling your clit, "To avoid another misunderstanding, I want you to really beg for it."

His finger moves as thoughtful as his voice, "So how about you say..daddy, please eat my pussy."

"Damn" Caleb exhales, his breath shivering around your nipple. He drags his tongue over the bud, engulfs the peak with his mouth, sucks a timid cry from your lips, "No running away this time pips."

"Or ever again" Sylus adds. "So look at me and say it."

There's an increase in tempo around your clit and he kisses around where you need him the most. On the swell of your lips, at the very edge of where you're desperate to feel something.

"Beg for me.."

You find gleaming red eyes between your legs and they blaze with what you can only call desire in its rawest form.

"Please eat my pussy daddy." You can't help but whine frustrated

They both groan in response and it fills the room as your moans dribble out.

Sylus's mouth opens up to savor you slow and deep. Your body stricken with instant gratification, trying to retreat. You’re far too sensitive but he doesn't care.

His fingers sink into your thighs and keep you pried open. Rooted to your spot you're helpless again, at the mercy of his tongue this time, flattening over your folds. Squirming with the way he spreads the wetness leaking out of your hole to suck and swallow it down his throat.

The air from his nose blows hot air against you, fans out as if he's getting unruly.

The vibrations from his mouth make you cling to Caleb whose teeth teases your hardened nipple. His other hand kneads your other tit like pliant dough.

He raises his head to get close to your lips that tremble trying to bite back your moans,

"You feeling good baby?" Caleb asks lowly and you nod, the gold in his eyes bright, "Yeah? Say it."

"F-feels so good" You trickle out and he grins

"You don't deserve it after treating us like the plague", He presses a careful kiss to your lips that you can't stop yourself from chasing, "But you're so damn cute we can't help ourselves. You'll make it up to us anyways right?"

"Mhm.."

Another kiss. "Good girl" Caleb whispers, the red in his ears is telling before he climbs into your bed.

He pulls off his sweater and shirt, revealing silver around his neck, deep etches of trained muscle. Brown hairs leading into his sweatpants.

He slips them off like he doesn't want them anymore, fat cock bounces out when the waistline dips, "So you won't mind helping me out?"

You don't answer all at once and Sylus raises his head, "You owe us." He reminds you, licking the words from his lips like your essence, "Time to start paying your debt sweetie. Turn over. Ass up."

You begrudgingly turn over. Caleb putting his leaking cock in your face. He strokes the head in front of you while a hand finds the back of your neck, petting you endearingly.

"Get it wet" He encourages your lips to drop long trails of drool that falls on the head and glides down his shaft. "Y..yeah good girl"

You grab the base and his hand immediately retreats, letting go to give you a chance to stroke him. He exhales a puff of air and you feel the way his cock jump under your fingers.

"Soft little hand feels amazing" He sighs in his bliss, "Don't be shy, give it a tug."

The mix of your spit and the little beads of precum tearing up from the tip makes your hand slippery. He's so swollen, your hand barely makes sense of it. So warm and stiff in your pumping grasp.

There's a gentle tremble through the bed from the shiver racking down his spine. His hand returns, covering yours like a trap.

"Like this" He says. He spits on it, adds to the mess and increases your tempo, twisting from base to the tip, "want you like this-"

Sounds ease from his lips and you can't tell him to be quiet.

Can't bring yourself to even though the walls are thin, unsuspecting conversations creeping in from next door.

His flimsy moans are so filthy they go straight to your pussy, and Sylus is there to satisfy the hunger it brings.

Your lip stuck against your teeth as his hands grip your ass and spread you open.

The heat from his mouth returns with a thumb on your ass, his nose also teasing the tight rim while his tongue laps at your folds.

Devouring rather than tasting, like it's instinct. He pushes you into Caleb, deepening the arch in your back. You whimper loud not meaning to.

"Still worried about the noise aren't ya?" Caleb asks and you admit it with a slow nod, "Put this in your mouth-it'll keep you quiet."

You could've put up a fight, put up some reluctance.

Maybe caleb was expecting you to, but you don't.

Your lips widen and you welcome the thick head of his swollen cock, wrapping your mouth around him.

The taste of salt and caleb travels to the back of your tongue and stays there.

"Holyshit" He heaves, you see his eyes widen before they disappear as his head tilts back, brown hair falling away from his forehead, "Holy fucking shit-yeah swallow it-"

You feel Sylus laugh as caleb shakes under you, like a leaf, making your bed give out a noise.

Your throat doesn't protest as the girth of him sinks in. He's thick but you're too distracted by sylus sliding his tongue in your hole to care.

The rest of his cock you can't fit, the two of you stroke together. Sloppy and quick. It's sopping from the drool that drips from your mouth.

"Look at you pipsqueak-" Caleb shakes his head in pleasant disbelief, waist lifting off the bed that creaks creaks with every drop, "You're really something else-eating my dick like-fuck- who taught you how to use your mouth like this huh?"

"Your talents come out in the strangest of ways don't they kitten?" Sylus says, easing in two fingers like a prize.

You and Caleb both seize up as you moan tenderly around his cock.

Caleb chuckles breathlessly, "That's just a nice way of callin' you a slut."

"What of it?" Sylus questions, his fingers angling, sliding against your sweet spot, "I'm not lying."

He adds another finger and you feel him crowd inside, tongue flattening against your clit. "There's nothing innocent here."

It's then you realize you're fucking yourself back on his fingers, and they're both witnessing it intently.

The way you chase after it, pushing and pulling your hips to feed the soft sensitive spot in your pussy.

Sylus's heavy hand raises off your ass, and you gasp when it comes down quick on the fat that ripples on impact.

It's soft enough to feel praiseworthy rather than punishing. You melt, the pain rendering down and fizzling into pleasure with every flick of his tongue.

Caleb chuckles airily, "Well you know what they say about the quiet ones.."

He holds the back of your head , fucking your mouth, guiding his shaft to ride your tongue towards the slick mess at the back of your throat.

"Closeted s-sluts that just wanna a-ah- get played with." He groans, chestnut pubes tickling your nose as you swallow him, "We know exactly what you are pipsqueak- Just as bad as we are."

And you're so close too, head spinning as you can feel the come up approaching.

Body twitching, pussy working towards release.

Your brain ruined with the thought of it. And it only gets worse the harder they both stuff your holes.

You sob Caleb's name around his cock and it's dragged almost lovingly over his shaft. You brace your impact when he starts rutting past your lips.

Insatiable and desperate, without a care for the way you gag, on the verge of crumbling.

"Yesyes " He babbles , "Like that- yeah-god- I could live in your fucking throat-"

Caleb's got a dent in his jaw trying to keep his mouth tight, but the noises still press through.

You're squealing from Sylus playing around with your clit, fingers working your hole.

You only hope everyone is off to a frat tonight as Caleb gasps loud, wobbly like he's about to cry.

"Gonna cum-shit- 'm fuckin' cumming baby-shit"

Warmth explodes as you break with him, snaps in your belly with a crushing wave and your thighs collapse wider as you're capsized in it.

Euphoria blossoms wet, thick and strange on your tongue as you feel relief trickle out from below when sylus slides his fingers out.

"Did you squirt again pips?" Caleb pants, his hands on his face, wiping a grin, "Course you did—gonna start callin' you pipsquirt now."

He pats your head sweetly as you glare at him, his cock still hard in your mouth as you pull off.

"Tastes how I remember" Sylus says, reminiscently. He turns you over so you can see how the lower half of his face glistens. His eyes are no different. So bright they’d glow in the dark.

"Want some?” He offers with a slow growing smile, “Let’s trade.”

He calls it. An exchange when he takes your lips. The fingers he fucked you with getting in between when it’s not his tongue playing with the cum in your mouth.

“This is so..” You say, changing your mind mid sentence. Sylus raises a brow.

“Gross?” he guesses, reading the way you avoid his gaze,

Caleb sighs almost longingly. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

“What does that even mean..?” you ask, trying not to feel the way your heart flutters like feathered wings

“You really want to know?” Sylus offers,

Caleb slides off your bed like he knows what’s next. Sylus starts to strip, gradually revealing every inch of the tall sturdy muscle you’ve felt against your body so many times,

“Better to show you than to stand here and explain it."

An outfit well over a thousand dollars is strewn over your roommate’s bed, but you’re laser focused between sylus’s thighs to care.

The sheer size of him makes you squirm with both arousal and fear.

There’s some frustration too because everything about their behavior makes complete sense now.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Sylus inquires getting on your bed, his back on the wall where there would’ve been a headboard.

You can’t stop looking at it. The way his cock is heavy in his hand, a perfect match.

He splays his limbs over your tiny bed patient and hungry.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of it” Sylus teases like his hand slowly gliding up length “Come here kitten, I won’t bite this time.”

“What about a condom..?” You ask slowly

In the corner of your eye you see caleb look sideways, scratching his neck.

“We’ll pull out” Sylus assures you though you’re not entirely convinced,

He has you laying on him. Your back on his chest, his head at your shoulder. On display for caleb who’s at the center between your knees, staring at where sylus lays his meaty cock over your lower abdomen.

The heaviness of his cock is a warmth kissed on your pussy all the way to your belly button. You can almost feel it seeping through your skin.

“Too much?” Sylus questions innocent while his hands wickedly feel up your body.

“I-" you start to say, unsure of a real answer, “I don’t know.”

“Only one way to find out.” Caleb says, a hand tugging at his glistening cock

“Rub against me.” sylus instructs you softly, “Feel me first kitten.”

Your hips animated, they rise and fall to smear your folds against his cock.

Starts off hesitant, steadily growing hungrier.

You and sylus lazily sigh over the sound of your cunt slick with drool and cum leaving a mess on him.

A massive arm snakes under your tits and stays there hugging you close against his chest.

“You like that?” Sylus muses in your ear like he can’t wait to sell it to you, “I can feel your little hole twitching on me.”

You nod, your head knocking back after as you raise your hips higher. Mushroom tip lining up to press in, but his arm pulls you away from it.

“Not so fast kitten” He says with a tut, “But I like that you’re eager for me.”

You can’t help but whine pushing against his grip that insists you wait, “Please..” you turn your head to lay your sweet words in his ear.

"Please what?"

He asks just as delicate and dumb, looking into you with playful eyes.

“Fuck me..” you say as if you nuzzle it against his cheek, “please fuck me daddy”

First time you hear him growl and it melts into a dark laugh, one that you feel just like the way his cock throbs on you.

“You really know what you’re doing calling me that.” He says somewhat impressed

“She knows how to get what she wants—I respect it.” Caleb shakes his head the same, “Since you want it so bad pips, l’ll help you out.”

Caleb presses in the tip of sylus’s cock, does it for you slowly so that you can experience the way it slips in.

The way Sylus breeches past your tiny ring of resistance which alone hitches your breath.

A different kind of stretch.

A fullness that spreads inside, traveling quickly and far into foreign places, and still pushes for more inch by inch.

"too big-"you choke, "sylus-"

Sylus hisses with the way you clamp down on him, “breathe kitten you can handle it-there you go."

You lower down until he's all about vanished inside, wrapped snug in your walls where it feels as if he's poking up into your womb.

"Raise your legs" He whispers in your ear, guiding your knees to your chest before you can protest.

His hauls you higher, thighs apart, feet useless in the air, "open you up since you like to hide so much." He says like a deep purr.

You’re folded in half, hid arms iron clad strong, elbows locked behind your knees.

"Wanna let you in on a lil secret pips" Caleb spills, entranced by you stretched out on Sylus, "We have a toy at home too-a little pocket pussy I bought that l'm happy to know isn't completely inaccurate."

"That's s-so weird" You stutter, the revelation makes your lips scrunch and your pussy undeniably does the same thing. You tighten up with arousal as your face gets even warmer. Sylus laughs.

"It's the truth kitten" He assures you, "The past few nights-I've been using it like this."

And his hips sink and thrust upwards.

Quick and insisting that you take the last few inches you're missing out on so he can really feel what's left of you.

It knocks him far each time - too deep- past any point you ever touched. Digging in sensitive spots that zap your brain once he nudges it, dragging the weight of his cock.

"Just like this-every night- thinking about you" He breathes on your neck, biting hard enough to get you to cry out his name,"But that piece of plastic is nothing compared to the real thing."

You can feel his grin curl then a quiet groan, ""s not as tight right here -"

He fucks into you like he's making a home along your walls that clings to the shape of him.

"M..more"you exhale, completely out of it but you hear the two of them swoon.

"I like how greedy you are,” Sylus hums, his thrusts gradually so powerful his grip is the only reason you don't topple over, "How about that-hm?-is that better for you sweetie-?" he asks sickly sweet with every sharp thrust, "Is this what you need?"

your head bobbles. You're so trapped all you can do is hold on meekly and take the onslaught of his hips ruining your creaky bed.

Your vision of the ceiling tiles is fuzzy with raw pleasure, with tears creeping in because it's utterly insane how full you feel right now.

A sudden touch to your clit makes you suddenly choke, eyes blowing open and almost rolling.

Sylus bucks into the squeeze of your cunt when it's Caleb tracing your pearl softly. Not with a finger but close.

"Forgot all about this didn't you?" He goes, "See what happens when you let us help you pipsquirt? Don't need to rely on dumb little toys."

He says that as he rubs the length of your vibrator against you. Scoffs at the way it makes you flinch.

And yet he still flicks it on without a warning.

You scream with utter bliss- killing it halfway out of your mouth but the damage is already done.

"Wait wait-!" you plead, far past the limit you can take, "’m too loud -!"

"Actually I don’t think you're loud enough." Caleb chuckles like its matter of fact, "But your pussy is though-think it's getting even louder-what do you say Sylus?"

"Let me see.." Sylus says thoughtful to slowly to stroke himself tender and deep inside you, emphasizing the sound of your cum and his pre moving with him over the drone of your toy, "I agree-feels like she’s melting around me-I'm completely soaked."

The lowest buzz rolls slowly against your clit and you try to simmer the sounds falling out of your mouth, but it's almost impossible.

"Pleease-Caleb!" you whine, "n-no more!"

"Please caleb" He mocks you with a messy girl tone dripping in sweet poison, "Keep saying my name like that 'n I'll stuff your throat again."

All his words do is add fuel to the growing fire setting off in your belly.

Every thought in your brain is scrambled with colors, poor pussy nothing but a mess trying not to completely fall apart.

"Clenching so tight.." Sylus spits out, a gasp as he surges to bury inside you, "gonna cum already sweetie?"

"Yes-Y-Yes- Yess!" you chant with every thrust

"Oh.." He coos as if he's gently disappointed "So soon? Daddy's not even close yet."

Caleb and him laugh at that.

You don't even want to cum just yet but the vibrating pulse is pressed perfect on your sensitive bud. It's dragging you by your hair toward up the peak.

"That's alright, she's not tapping out any time soon" Caleb says, "Takes a lot to make her happy."

You shake your head quickly, the knot pulls as tight as it can go before snapping.

Body going rigid, mouth gaping as you cum.

You hear them ease you through it as you try writhing away the overstimulation of sylus fucking you through your climax,

"Stop that.." He warns lightly but it's more than enough to make you pause, "Stay still kitten-let me feel how you cum on my cock."

you go pliant in his arms again, shaking as your vibrator milks every drop of your orgasm. The friction of him much more slippery.

"Can't wait to fuck this leaky little cunt" Caleb breathes as if he waits for the gates of heaven to open up to him, "look how your messing up your vibrator and his cock..."

"I bet it’s quite the sight" sylus says and you miss the exchange of eyes, the way red finds purple.

The way caleb leans away for his phone. How he captures your eyes fluttering back in a few flicks. Your brain mush as it tries to comprehend the the desperation to break on sylus's cock again.

Sylus hold you so close as if you'll truly become one if he keeps you this stuck on his front.

"Too bad I can't fill you up kitten" He breathes ragged, "Your body is begging for it."

"T-then do it" you find yourself saying, find yourself squeezing and letting go for it as the slam of his skin on yours gets rougher.

Rational completely out of the window with his cock kissing your delicate spots over and over. It immediately makes sylus's body shake underneath you.

"But you were so worried about protection before" Caleb chuckles, "Oh well, you heard the girl Daddy-she wants her slutty pussy filled."

sylus huffs out a fleeting laugh, "do I indulge you kitten? Even though you're wasted on my cock?"

You nod like your head is coming loose, leaning all the way back into sylus as caleb shifts your vibrator just slightly, your belly collapsing as you feel yourself start to ascend yet again.

"'m so close -!" you falter out,

"me too-" sylus grits his teeth, "you first kitten-do it for me."

"Bet you're gonna squirt again" caleb groans like he's there with you on the edge, "squirt on it pips- yeah that it-"

"Fuck-" sylus curses deep in your ear with your name entangled as you feel a warm flood burst inside from him and you both.

A sudden rush that becomes slow and generous.

You can almost taste it on your tongue as sylus pushes his cum back in subtly. He releases your limbs and slowly pulls out before you snap at him.

But when his tip slides out with a wet pop it brings an emptiness that seeps out of you like his seed.

It makes you squirm, still wanting a more. just a little more.

Caleb turns your vibrator off.

"Do you get why we're so crazy about you now?" he questions, flipping you over.

Caleb has your front squished on sylus and there's an exchange of your toy.

Now in Sylus’s possession, he doesn't leave it against your clit. It comes to his lips instead, red stained with gooey off white.

He stares up at you with half crescent eyes blown out with veneration as he takes slow licks. It makes you tingle, immediately pressing your thighs together.

You feel Caleb above you like a shadow on your back, "Daddy fucked you stupid but you still want more” he says, “trying to rub it away with your thighs as if I'm not right here."

Stern hands takes the meat of your thighs from the back and you try to fight it but he forcibly pries them open with so much ease you gasp.

"So you wanna be a brat for me now?" Caleb muses acidic, "Is it ‘cause I played with your stupid little clit?"

The sharpness of his voice makes you look over your shoulder defiantly. Nothing but a pout as you stare at his stormy gaze through your lashes, then at silver dog tag which sways like it’s dangerous from his neck.

You see his throat bob as he swallows staring into your eyes, dipping to your lips.

"Say you want Caleb's cock in your needy pussy,”Caleb goes lowly, “Tell him how badly you need it inside you.”

Like some incentive, he guides his cock along your squished wet pussy, spreading your lips to kiss your sloppy hole. "Be good and look at me when you speak please."

Your eyes immediately lock into his. You're breath hitches when he presses in slightly. You try to push back, but his hand on your lower back pins you down.

You say with a a bit of attitude, "I want Caleb's cock in my needy-ah!"

Caleb immediately shoves his cock through your hole before you finish, sliding into the mess of you and sylus.

You take him to the base, balls deep kissing your clit, ass flushed on his pelvis.

"Fucking finally" Caleb groans before he's reeling back and pushing, his fat cock stretching you out with the same desperation, "my bad pipsqueak- can't wait anymore"

"t-tooo deep" you mewl

"No it's not" Caleb's voices comes out like drool as he grinds the heavy weight of his cock into you, "s not deep enough-notdeep-"

"He's been pent up for days kitten .." sylus murmurs, like an entertained apology, hushed like caleb's got some kind of medical condition that's causing him to fuck you like this.

You turn to sylus and he taps your vibrator against your lips. It's licked clean, wet from the traces of his tongue. Goes out of focus when he leans in, holding your cheeks with a kiss that's slow with a tongue that tastes like a twang,

"He made a twitter account the other day-" He whispers, pulling back

"Stop talking-"

You hear caleb's words cut in but it's futile.

Sylus keeps going, his thumb latched with a thick silver ring finds its way through your agreeable lips , "it already has so many bookmarks-"

"Shut the fuck up sylus-" Caleb growls

"So many girls getting pounded by a bigger man. And they all look like you, especially now. Down to the glossy eyes" Sylus finishes, smiling wickedly at you dumbfounded, and Caleb glaring behind your head,

"Y-yeah so what..?" Caleb replies lowly, " We airin' our dirty laundry now?"

Frustrated snaps of his hips make you crumble, pushes any remnants of sense out of your head.

Your face falls into sylus's chest and you feel his chin on your head and a hand pet your hair.

"By the way pipsqueak-he writes smut about you so don't think he's innocent," He accuses through tight teeth, "How did your poem go again.? When can I hope to bury the full weight of my soul-deep in your tight embrace?"

"And give you every drop of my love," Sylus finishes without an inch of shame, "Must've liked it a lot since you bothered to remember it."

"Yeah Shakespeare, I do", Caleb drawls as playful as the arm he snakes around your neck and pulls. Your head tilted back, throat at his mercy, " I wanna to bury every inch of my soul right here too-"

You can tell by the way he breeches you. His name barely crawls out of your mouth as he takes you like he wants to remember every inch of your puffy walls sucking him in.

The way he barely pulls out, punching your guts like a drum, humping your walls like a dog out of it.

"what do you think about that pipsqueak?" Caleb asks you, voice a pitch deeper, slurring "that sound good?"

You try to speak but you trip over your words. Moaning loud instead, caleb echoing as he undeniable feels you get even wetter, another layer on top of the mess you flutter around him trying to cling to the veiny shape of him.

"a-ah-mm-!" you babble and caleb sucks his teeth and the space between his thick hardened bicep and your tiny neck gets smaller as he curls his arm tighter. Toeing the line.

"Not what I asked silly girl" He murmurs against the side of your gaping mouth, "Should I stop and let you catch your breath?"

"Nuh-uh" You shake your head profusely or attempt to as pressure, sweet and thick builds up in your brain. You feel his smile.

"Don't..stop" you slur, the only two words your mouth can say, "Don'tstopdon'tstop-"

"That's better" he grips tighter. His arm hugging your neck, you're almost wheezing. The sight of sylus is blurry, meshing into the lights,

"For a soft looking guy you're pretty rough" Sylus observes like a low whisper, "But the view is enjoyable I'll admit."

"Completely fucked out" caleb bites, you feel their iron hot gaze on your euphoric face "so much better than porn."

"I agree" Sylus goes, "If you flunk out of school kitten we'd be happy to start your adult film career."

"Fuck-" caleb growls hips lagging for a moment, "Let them watch you get ruined by us, over and over again."

He pokes incessantly on your cervix like a reminder. Your body tries to run but if it's not caleb's chokehold it's sylus gripping your ass tight, spreading your cheek enough to pull on your pussy.

"c-caaleb-!"

"Yeahyeah i know" He says like a wave of a hand, "you're gonna cum again aren't you?"

"m cumming-l-leb -!"

"Oh fuck—"

You can feel his resolve start to crumble, drags deep in your stomach as you shatter around him. He shudders, load spilling deep to where you feel as if he’s left a piece of himself inside you. He pulls out but it's short lived as his hands grabs your sides, insisting you move.

"come on turn over turn over-not done with you yet" he says scattered, immediately burying himself inside you again like a mad man.

You don't remember falling asleep but when your eyes open you're in your bed. in different sheets as if someone made your bed, pajamas on your body as if someone took the time to clean you up.

To your side, light peeks through behind the window curtain instead of the night sky.

“Morning” the sound of Caleb's voice startles you,

Partially sitting up, you find Caleb perched on the edge of your desk. Sylus leaning back on the suicide chair. Phones in hand, they have a bag that wafts the scent of food.

Just the image of them alone brings you back to what appears to be last night's activities. Flashbacks hit you one after the other, like a forgotten dream.

"Why are you still here?" You say, not happy to hear your frayed voice

"I didn't know we were supposed to leave after you fell asleep" Sylus raising a brow with a subtle smirk, "That sounds pretty heartless considering the state you were in-"

"..Shut your face" You snap, only because he's partially right.

You didn’t know what to expect but you sure didn't think you'd be watching them make you a plate. Arranging food from different containers.

"After everything, you still think we hate you." Caleb says softly, hardly surprised. He approaches your bedside with meal that makes your stomach yowl as he sets it in front of you. Napkin on your lap, then the plate. He hands you utensils.

"I'm sore because of you.." You mutter, taking them, mouth on the verge of watering

"So am I from sleeping in your tiny bed" Sylus says, coming up from behind Caleb to offer you a cup of juice, a straw through the middle. You take a few sips before handing it back to him which he sets on your bedside table. Not before taking a sip himself.

"No regrets though right?" Caleb questions, less teasing. There's a familiar yet strange expression of his face, like doubt nagging him.

Avoiding his gaze you take a bite of food and shake your head. Despite the dull throb between your legs, there are no regrets even if you don't want to admit it.

Caleb pats your head, "Guess we're all on the same page."

"Does that mean you'll spend the night at ours this time?" Sylus pops the question leaning on your bed, against your legs, "It’s far less crowded."

Jumin looks at you over the rim of his wine glass, the purple-red liquid inside sloshing a bit as he adjusts his wrist and sets his gaze on your own. His dark irises almost feel intimidating in the moment, but the quirk of his brows gives way to a curious undertone.

"Too weird?" You question, backing off a bit just in case.

If Jumin doesn't fancy becoming a human canvas for your artwork, that's completely and totally okay, and it's his choice to make, of course. Still, you'd really like it if he could say yes. . .

"A bit strange," he acknowledges, "but I see the appeal."

He adjusts his wrist again, bringing the glass to his lips. Jumin takes a slow sip of wine as you process his reply.

"You. . . You do?" Comes your slightly confused response.

Jumin has never particularly struck you as someone who would enjoy more outlandish art forms. Of course, with a photographer as a best friend, he's long been accustomed to some displays of artistic prowess; but you imagine painting on someone's skin and taking pictures of a sunset are two completely different things that evoke entirely different responses.

"Yes," he nods, "you've mentioned before on a few occasions that seeing open space as an artist often fills you with inspiration. I imagine that, although I'm a living person, my skin may not seem so different to canvas or paper. . . Just an open space to take advantage of."

Albeit very literal in his analysis, Jumin roughly hits the nail on the head. His bare skin does inspire you, very much so. It fills you with ideas and inspiration, and to actually have the opportunity to paint on him would be a dream come true. You're almost bristling with excitement before he confirms or denies his participation in the matter.

"Do you have any ideas for the piece?" Jumin asks.

"Ah, well, —roughly," you nod. "The design will depend mostly on what body part you lend me for a while. But, I'd like to do something floral, if that's alright with you."

"I'm a businessman, not a painter," Jumin replies, lips curving up at the sides a bit in amusement. "Designs should be left to the artist."

"Alright," you smile, "something floral then."

He appreciates your confidence the second time around.

"Lovely," Jumin comments, placing his glass of wine down on the counter.

He reaches up to loosen his tie, pulls it halfway off, then pauses to look over at you once more. His handsome features stand out in this position, —a few loose strands of hair falling over his forehead, sophisticated aura cracking just a bit to welcome the warmth of your presence, nimble fingers grasping at the material of his necktie. This scene might as well be art itself. . .

"Will an arm suffice?" Jumin asks.

"Perfectly," you nod.

He strips his upper half, and says nothing about the way your eyes rake over him like you've never seen him this way before. Your fingers, lips, and palms have smoothed over the exact skin you're subtly gawking at a million times; but each time feels like the first.

Jumin folds his clothes neatly and sets them aside before following you to your makeshift art studio, —the one he set up for you in a room he'd previously had no use for. Now, it's utilized often, and he thinks it was well worth the time, effort, and money. He loves coming in here, though he hasn't had the chance recently with work piling up so high. Canvases lean against one of the walls, some blank, some with half finished paintings littering the fronts. If it were anyone else, you'd be awkwardly scrambling to explain that "it's really not like that, —painting is a process!" but Jumin, he already knows as much. You don't feel the need to justify your talents to him of all people.

"I enjoy coming in here," he smiles softly.

It makes him feel closer to you, like he's staring into pieces of your soul. Ones that he just isn't privy to in any other way.

"I'm thankful to have it," you reply, "it's given me a space completely to be creative, and I've never really had that before. I'd always been used to painting in my bedroom growing up, and when I lived alone, there were never any extra rooms to turn into a studio like this."

And perhaps the best part of all is that you never even asked for it. Jumin simply did it of his own volition because he saw your passion and wanted nothing more than to be supportive of it. That's why he hangs your art pieces throughout the other rooms as well.

"It was V's idea, technically," Jumin says. "I simply paid for it to be done."

"Well, whatever the case, I'm grateful," you assure him.

He takes a seat on the sofa in the corner of the room, —the one you crash on sometimes when deadlines get tight and you need a quick power nap before getting back into the swing of things. You're sure to place a towel under his arm, not wanting to stain it.

You gather up the needed materials and set off to work. Jumin tells you that he likes the way the brushes feel against his skin, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you can’t help but hope that that leaves room for this to happen again sometime in the future. Maybe you could even have Jihyun come and photograph the final pieces, —maybe present them at one of your galleries in the future. But, you sober yourself enough to realize that you’re getting far too ahead of yourself. After all, this could turn out like hell.

That doesn’t seem particularly likely, though. Paint takes to Jumin’s skin surprisingly well, and when you joke to him that it seems to you that it was always meant to come to this on account of that fact, he gives you a low chuckle in reply. One that makes your fragile little heart skip a beat: just for him.

“It’d be quite the honor for that to be the true meaning of my existence,” he says.

It’s only a half-joke that he responds with. Even after all this time, Jumin has a particular way of crawling under your skin, sending shivers to your core and lighting you up inside.

He watches you work with curious eyes, much unlike the gaze you often see him wear when he’s sitting at a desk littered with paperwork and various contracts. This look of his is much softer, —sweeter, even. He’s not evaluating anything. . . He’s simply admiring.

“Honestly,” you say, “I was surprised you agreed to this so easily. I was kind of prepared to pull out the puppy dog eyes and lay some affection on pretty thick to sweeten the deal.”

“Well, I suppose there’s no need for the puppy dog eyes,” Jumin answers, an amused smile playing on his lips, “but I certainly wouldn’t mind the affection.”

“Noted,” you comment, giggling just a bit, “—but I’ll save that for later. With my luck, I’d lean in to kiss you and these white dittanies would end up looking like globs of nothingness.”

“Later then, but I’ll hold you to that.”

You know he will.

“Still, I think you captured the dittany flowers perfectly. I saw them in person once at a wedding, —the bride’s bouquet had both those and baby’s breath. At the time, I thought it was a strange decision,” he admits, “but looking at them like this. . . I suppose I understand quite well now.”

“They’re commonly associated with passion and love,” you add. “That’s actually why I chose them for this. . . I thought they suited you.”

“I’m not quite sure what standard you’ve used to measure that, but you’re the artist here, and they look lovely. So, in the end, I suppose you were right.”

“Still,” Jumin speaks up again quickly, “—aren’t these plants aphrodisiacs as well?”

“A-Ah,” you stutter, having been caught off guard by the suddenness (and bluntness) of his statement, “could be, yeah. . .”

He has to admit that you look incredibly cute when you’re flustered, the way you stumble over your words and turn your gaze away, pretending to focus intensely on the task at hand. If you were ever to work at his office, he’s certain he’d never get a single thing done ever again.

“Anyway, this should do it,” you say, adding a few final strokes of green to the stems.

Placing the paintbrush into one of the small containers filled with water, you pull away from Jumin’s arm and allow him the freedom of moving it around. You tried to work relatively quickly so as to not make him sit around in a single position for too long, but art is, above all else, a process. And it’s one that often takes a great deal of both time and effort.

Jumin admires your artwork like he’s staring at something priceless.

The best part of it is that, to him, he really is. He feels beyond honored to have this stunning painting of beautifully full, white-hued flowers flowing along the expanse of his forearm. Though you can see innumerous flaws in it now that you’ve stepped back, it’s almost impossible to dislike it when Jumin looks at it like that. . . Like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, simply because you created it.

“I wish. . . That I could keep it here forever,” Jumin whispers, tone achingly sincere.

“Sorry,” you apologize, “but it’s better to leave the permanent stuff to the tattoo artists. Which I certainly am not.”

Though he yearns to keep your piece there on his flesh forever, the logical side of him knows that you’re correct. Even so, he won’t be washing it off for quite a while. At least not before he’s taken fifty and then some pictures, all of which will inevitably end up blurry, before coming to you and asking for your help with it. Maybe he wants to be self-sufficient, even when it comes to areas he’s unfamiliar with (like proper photography skills and otherwise technologically related issues.) Or, maybe he’s just stalling for time, wanting to prolong the inevitable washing of his forearm for as long as he can.

The world may never know.

preboom!caleb who studies any of your hobbies. knitting? baking? games? when you aren't looking, he studies up on all of these, in hopes of impressing you later on. to you, it seems effortless, but to him, it's countless nights staring at random blogs online that frustrate him to no end. he rather enjoys it, though, because most of the time he ends up liking it too.

preboom!caleb who warms up the house whenever he knows you're coming home. he prefers it colder. but since you told him you were cold once when you were children, he hasn't let the temperature drop below whatever you like when you're around.

preboom!caleb who lets you slip your cold feet onto his skin to warm them up. he yelps at first as you giggle devilishly, but doesn't move to push you off.

preboom!caleb who knows exactly what to do when you're sick. he ties back your hair gingerly so it doesn't stick to the side of your face. he brings you soup, blowing on the spoon as you complain about how exhausted you are. he laughs when you insist he leaves in case you get him sick, and tells you that given your tendency to use his mugs instead of yours, it's inevitable.

preboom!caleb who always apologizes first whenever the two of you fight. he cooks up a feast to lure you out of your room, and when it works, he apologizes and asks to eat together.

preboom!caleb who lets you slump onto the couch after a particularly bad day. you don't say anything, brows furrowed, and he motions to the space next to him. after he turns your favorite show on (one he's not particularly fond of himself), he massages your shoulders quietly, letting your anger simmer away. when you wince as he hits a knot, he snickers and ruffles your hair.

preboom!caleb who knows how to paint your nails perfectly.

preboom!caleb who buys matching sets of everything instinctively, even when he's off at college. none of his roommates know why he has one orange and one pink toothbrush he never uses.

preboom!caleb who buys hair ties or other accessories only you use, just in case you run out.

preboom!caleb who watches you have your first crush, your first boyfriend, your first heartbreak from your side. he wipes the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs, teasing about how they'd never been good for you while you nod vigorously in agreement through your sobs. he shit talks the guy in a way that'll make you laugh while ignoring the dryness in his throat. the hurt bubbling in his stomach. he might be in hell, he thinks, having to watch you be with other people. but when you smile at him sheepishly, wiping at your own tears now, the thoughts vanish as if they were never there. no, this was always where he belonged---even if it hurts. he ensures you that you'll find someone who'll treat you the way you deserve. it makes you smile wider, and it's all worth it.

he just wishes he could be that person.

Caleb lifts his head just enough to rasp, low and rough against your slick skin, “It’s okay, pips… don’t run from me.” his thumb strokes lazy circles at the inside of your thigh, coaxing you open again, even as his Evol keeps you there. “I’ve got you. Let me have all of it.”

Then his mouth seals back over your clit, tongue flicking with practiced cruelty, and his fingers curl just right. The world tilts, unbearable, and all you can do is choke on the scream that tears out of you as he drags you under again, his Evol holding your body still when instinct begs you to run.

Through it all, Caleb doesn’t stop—his voice steady, threaded with heat but laced with something softer that cuts through the haze, anchoring you to him, “That’s it, baby. Give it to me. Every last bit.”

Your thighs are shaking, slick dripping down to soak the sheets, but Caleb doesn’t let you go. His Evol pins you flat when you try to twist away, the weight of it invisible but crushing, locking you in place even as your body jerks with aftershocks.

“C-Caleb—ahh—please, I can’t—” your voice is hoarse, broken.

“Yes, you can,” he mutters into you, the words muffled by the way his mouth is buried between your thighs. His tongue drags over your clit, hot and merciless, and his fingers don’t stop moving inside you, curling and pumping until slick gushes around them again. He groans low in his throat at the mess you’re making, hungry for more.

When your hips try to buck away again, his Evol pulls you right back into his mouth, grinding you against the flat of his tongue. He lifts his head just long enough to rasp, breath hot against your swollen pussy, “C’mon baby, take it all. I know you can.” his voice is rough, commanding, but the tenderness in it makes your chest squeeze even as your body screams from overstimulation.

Then he’s back at it, sucking your clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue until your back bows off the mattress. His grip on your thigh is bruising, holding you wide open while his Evol keeps you from writhing free. You feel your climax tear through you, raw and violent, soaking his hand, his mouth, everything.

Caleb groans again, sucking harder, lapping up every drop. He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even give you a chance to come down before his fingers quicken inside you, relentless.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growls, lips shiny with your slick when he pulls back to glance at your face. His purple eyes burn, dark and wild. “So messy for me. Sheets ruined, thighs shaking, and you’re still trying to tell me you can’t?”

You sob his name, trembling, but it only makes him smirk before he goes down on you again, tongue pressing deep this time, fucking into you until you’re gasping for air.

Your body convulses, the pleasure unbearable, and Caleb pins you tighter with his Evol when you thrash against it. His voice is a low rumble against your skin as he growls into your pussy, “Take it, baby. Let me taste it all, don't hold back.”

And when another wave crashes over you, harder than the last, your scream fills the room—raw, desperate, ruined—while Caleb devours you like he’ll never let you go.

You’re trembling, chest heaving, body wrecked from the way he’s already torn orgasm after orgasm out of you. Your thighs are spread wide, pinned to the sheets with the heavy force of his Evol. You can’t move even if you try.

Caleb finally pulls back from your dripping pussy, mouth glistening, fingers soaked. He drags his tongue across his lips, smirking at the wreck he’s made of you. Then his hand goes to his shorts, shoving them down impatiently. His cock is already hard, flushed red and dripping, veins standing out along the thick length.

You shake your head weakly, words spilling broken from your throat. “C-Caleb, I can’t—no more, I can’t—”

But your eyes give you away, glassy and pleading, locked on the way he fists himself, stroking slow and deliberate as if he has all the time in the world. He catches it immediately, the little tremor of want underneath your hoarse begging, and it makes his grin deepen.

“Yeah, you can, pips.” his voice is rough, threaded with hunger. He strokes himself harder, precum glistening at the head, dripping down his hand. “Don’t think I don’t know that look. You’re begging me without saying a word.”

He crawls up over you, the invisible pull of his Evol keeping you spread, pinned beneath him as his cock drags heavy and hot against your ruined slit. The slide is filthy, slick with all the mess he’s already pulled out of you, the wet sound obscene in the quiet room.

“Fuck, listen to you,” he growls, nudging against your entrance before pushing in slow, thick inch by inch until your walls stretch tight around him. Your body jolts at the intrusion, your cry breaking out as he bottoms out with one hard thrust, hips flush to yours. “So wet for me it sounds like you’re sucking me in.”

You sob, nails digging into the sheets, back arching as overstimulation crashes into you all over again. Caleb leans down, his mouth at your ear, breath hot and filthy as his hips snap forward, driving himself deep with a brutal rhythm. “That’s it, baby. Take it, take all of me. You’re so fucking good like this—clenching, screaming my name like you were made for my cock.”

The pace is ruthless, his thrusts heavy and hard, every slap of his hips echoing with slick heat. The bed creaks under the force, your body pinned beneath his Evol with no escape, every nerve aflame as he pounds into your oversensitive pussy.

“You feel that?” Caleb pants, dragging his cock all the way out before slamming it back in to the hilt, making you scream. “That’s mine. This—” his hand finds your jaw, not squeezing but holding, grounding, his purple eyes burning down into yours— “all of this is mine.”

He fucks you harder, merciless, and through the haze of overstimulation, all you can do is sob his name again and again, the sound of it breaking, ruined. Caleb groans, eyes locked on the way your body clenches tight around him, milking him with every thrust.

“That’s it, pips. Good fucking girl. Keep screaming for me. I’ve got you, always.”

Your voice is wrecked, broken from screaming his name, begging in ragged sobs that you can’t anymore. “C-Caleb, I can’t…please, please, oh f-fuck—”

But he only laughs low, a dark sound that rumbles against your throat as he mouths over it, biting down just enough to make you gasp. “Yeah, you can. Don’t bullshit me, pips. You love it too much.”

His grip tightens at your hips, dragging you down onto every thrust, the fat length of his cock splitting you open again and again. The slick squelch of your overstimulated pussy is obscene, every slam of his hips into yours soaking the sheets further. He doesn’t let up, his Evol pressing you into the mattress so you can’t squirm away, every nerve locked in place while he pounds you into the bed.

Your body convulses around him, clenching tight with every brutal stroke, and his groan shudders hot at your jaw, his mouth roaming your skin, wet and hungry. He licks along your throat, teeth scraping before he whispers filth into your ear, voice rough, desperate, “My messy girl, crying and still taking every inch of me. You feel how deep I am? Riiiight where you need me.”

You whimper, eyes rolling back, and he grins against your skin, driving himself deeper with sharp, punishing thrusts that make your vision go white.

“Don’t hold back, baby. Cum for me again, ruin me. You know you can.” his voice cracks with heat, almost pleading, even as his hips snap harder, faster.

Your hands claw at his arms, his shoulders, his back, nails dragging red lines as your voice spills out frantic. “Caleb, inside—ahh please, I need it, want your cum, please…”

The way you squeeze around him at the words makes him snarl against your throat, hips stuttering. His cock throbs deep inside you, and his control snaps.

“Fuck, fuck, say it again. Beg me for it, baby.” his tone is sharp, commanding, though his voice trembles with the edge of his own orgasm.

“I want it inside me, Caleb, fill me up…please—”

That’s all it takes. He curses loud, broken, his pace turning frantic as he slams into you harder, burying himself to the hilt with every thrust. His mouth is everywhere—your jaw, your throat, your collarbone—filthy praises spilling between ragged groans, “Good fucking girl, knew you’d take me so well—fuck, I’m gonna fill you up so deep, you’ll feel me for days…”

Your whole body is twitching, wrung out, the sheets soaked beneath you, but Caleb doesn’t stop. He’s shaking himself now, voice rasping against your ear as he fucks you hard into the mattress. Your whole body feels raw, every nerve set on fire, slick dripping down your thighs and pooling into the ruined sheets. You’re shaking, throat hoarse from screaming, every muscle begging for reprieve.

Caleb isn’t slowing down. If anything, he looks strung out himself, purple eyes blown wide, chest heaving as he fists your wrists and pins them above your head, the heavy pull of his Evol keeping you trapped flat against the bed. His cock drags out of you with a filthy sound, glistening, only to slam back in deep, making your spine arch.

“C’mon, pips, one more.” His breath is ragged, needy. “I know you can take it, baby. Gotta mark you again, fill you up ‘till you’re dripping with my cum.”

You sob under him, broken pleas spilling out. “C-Caleb, no, I can’t—it’s too much…”

But he doesn’t buy it. He knows you too well. His smirk presses hot against the side of your throat as he slams his hips down harder, the weight of his cock dragging through your soaked, oversensitive pussy, making you convulse beneath him.

“Don’t lie to me, baby. You’re sucking me in so tight it’s like your pussy’s begging me to stay. Too wet, too hot, too perfect for me to stop now.”

“Can’t take it, Caleb…please—” you beg, voice rough.

His laugh is low, breathless, more a groan than a tease as his mouth drags over your ear. “Sure you can, pips. You always can. One more—fuck, I need one more outta you.” his hips slam harder, rougher, driving you down into the mattress, his cock splitting you open over and over until your vision spots. “Gotta mark you again, fill you up till you’re overflowing. You’ll take it for me, won’t you?”

He grinds deeper, groaning low in his throat when your walls flutter desperately around him. You cry out, arching, but he just drags you back down with the pull of his Evol, forcing you to take him again and again. You shake your head weakly, but your body betrays you—the way you squeeze him, the way your pussy clenches down so tight he hisses through his teeth. His groan breaks into a curse as he drags you back onto his cock, fucking you through your own shaking.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, sucking me in like that.” his voice is hoarse, desperate, every word vibrating against your skin as he licks and bites along your shoulder. “You missed me that much, huh? Walking around my house in nothing but lingerie and my shirt, teasing me like a little brat. You wanted this. Wanted me to fuck you dumb the second I laid eyes on you again.”

You scream his name, throat already raw, vision swimming with white stars. Your body shakes violently, unable to fight the pleasure crashing over you, tearing another orgasm out of you when you swore you had nothing left.

“That’s my girl—fuck, I love it. Love how desperate you are, how you take me ‘til you can’t even breathe.” his words are hot and filthy against your skin, his cock pounding harder, deeper, until your scream cuts off into silence, your body seizing under him, blackness edging at your vision.

Your whole body feels raw, every nerve set on fire, slick dripping down your thighs and pooling into the ruined sheets. You’re shaking, throat hoarse from screaming, every muscle begging for reprieve.

But Caleb isn’t slowing down at all.  His cock drags out of you with a filthy sound, glistening, only to slam back in deep, making your spine arch. Caleb growls your name as his hips slam flush one last time, cock throbbing, spilling hot inside you until you’re stuffed full, the messy slide between you proof of how he’s ruined you. He keeps thrusting through it, riding out his orgasm, chest pressed to your back as he buries you deeper into the mattress.

Even when you go slack beneath him, trembling, wrecked and spent, he doesn’t stop murmuring against your ear—filthy, breathless, a mix of cocky praise and raw desperation.

“My good girl… took me so perfectly… filled you just like you wanted. All mine, baby. Every last drop.”

The world drifts back to you slow, like surfacing from deep water. Your body still twitches with the echoes of release, every muscle spent, sheets clinging damp to your skin. Caleb is right there, hovering above you, his breath uneven, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His Evol eases, the heavy weight pinning you lifting until you can finally move your arms again.

“Hey…” his voice is softer now, coaxing, his thumb brushing your cheek as he tilts your face toward him. “With me, pips?”

You manage a weak huff, your voice scratchy when you murmur, “Y-you went too rough…”

Caleb chuckles under his breath, low and warm, and presses a kiss to your temple, then another to the corner of your mouth. “Yeah, maybe I did.” his grin is lopsided, but there’s guilt threaded under it. “Can’t help myself when you’re looking that fucked-out and begging for me to fill you up again.”

You pout at him, cheeks flushed, but your hands betray you, clinging to his shoulders, holding him close as if letting go isn’t an option. He notices instantly, that cocky smile softening into something gentler.

“Don’t give me that look,” he teases, kissing you again, deeper this time until your protest dissolves against his mouth. When he pulls back, his eyes are bright, tender, as if you’re the only thing that exists for him. “You’re beautiful like this, you know that? Completely wrecked, clinging to me like I’m the only one who can hold you together.”

You twitch when he shifts, your body still trembling from oversensitivity, and he laughs quietly, kissing the corner of your jaw as he reaches for a towel. “Easy, baby. Let me clean you up.”

The cloth is warm when he runs it gently between your thighs, his hand steady, soothing. You wince at the sensitivity, huffing at him again, but he only murmurs soft praise. “I know, I know. Too much. But you did so damn good for me.”

When he’s done, he tosses the towel aside and pulls you against his chest, wrapping you up in the heat of his body. His lips keep finding you—your hairline, your forehead, your swollen mouth—scattering kisses like he can’t stop.

You whisper against his collarbone, weak but sincere, “Missed you…”

His chest rumbles with another soft laugh, and his arms tighten around you. “Yeah? Missed you too, pips. Guess I made that pretty obvious.” he smirks, nuzzling your cheek. “Next time, though, maybe try not walking around my place in nothing but lingerie and my shirt, unless you want a repeat of this.”

“I’ve waited,” kiss. “So long,” kiss. “To do this.” kiss. Caleb’s kisses scorch your skin, burning your flesh from off your bones as he trails kisses down your neck. His wandering hands are insatiable, siding lower and lower down your hip until he reaches your bare thigh, where he grabs you and wraps your leg around his ass.

A grunt escapes him as he thrusts forward at the same time he pulls your thigh into him. His arousal, so evident in his slacks, presses right against your through the sorry excuse of undershorts you're wearing.

You know you should stop before you get any further, separate from his love-drunk kisses before he pulls you down into the depths with him and devours you whole, but you can’t stop. It’s impossible to pull away when he kisses you as if he needs the air in your very lungs to stay afloat in the middle of the roughest waves in the unforgiving ocean.

“Do you want me too?” he whispers against your lips, pulling away just long enough to utter those words before he dives back in and kisses your lips again. “Do you want this as bad as I do?” His hand, that still hasn’t ceased its exploring, trails around your outer thigh, forcing itself between your bodies. The backs of his fingers brush your inner thigh, way too close to a place that’s so sensitive—a spot he’s never been before. A spot no one has been before.

“Caleb—” you gasp, fingers grappling at the fabric covering his broad back.

He groans, the sound debauched and raw. His fingers brush closer. “Don’t make me stop,” he whispers, pulling back to hold your eyes as he caresses you in a spot that makes you burn. His lips part ever so slightly alongside his hooded eyes that lower with his furrowed eyebrows. His expression is so honest, so full of need and withheld desire, he’s burning from it, seconds from being devoured.

“We don’t have time…” you whisper, a hand curling into the short strands of hair at the base of his neck. Despite your words, you still don't pull away. You know they’re logical, but that doesn’t have to mean you want logic.

Caleb nods, still holding your gaze. “I’ll be quick.”

His fingers brush your clothed cunt.

You gasp.

He sucks in a sharp breath. “Please.” His fingers turn over until the pads of his fingers are pressing against your cunt over your shorts, touching that wet spot that formed the moment you saw him in his outfit. “Please.” he moans again, moaning at the same time your eyes roll back in your head.

Your head tips back, exposing your neck, and Caleb leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the center of your throat. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he slides down slowly, kissing the dip of your neck. “Please.” across your clavicle. “Please.”

He slides his hand up your stomach, teasing the sensitive flesh above the hem of your shorts before he’s slipping his fingers beneath the band, reaching past the barrier of your panties and wasting no time in touching you bare.

The moments before he touches you are agonizing. Your face and neck are scorching in a heat that crawls up your throat and chokes you with it. You can’t breath, can’t think, can’t—

His fingers reach your clit, and you gasp, fingers gripping his hair. “Caleb—”

“Ohh…” he moans, gasp after gasp, groan after groan falling from his lips as he slowly rubs your clit, never once taking his eyes off yours. “F– ohh. You’re so soft. So warm,” he marvels, throat suddenly feeling tight.

His hands are shaking, every atom in his body bouncing off one another so quickly he has to make a concentrated effort to keep his body still or he’ll lose control of it entirely. It’s so much, everything is so much. You’re so much warmer than he thought, so much wetter. God, it’s so wet.

“You’re so ready for me, you don’t want me to stop either,” he teases in an effort to seem like he possesses even a modicum of control right now, pressing kisses down your body until he reaches your stomach. Your fingers stay holding him in any way you can manage, caressing his massive arms, his shoulders, his hair, his hand that stays exploring your sides. “You want this just as much as me, huh?”

When he reaches your thighs, he slides your shorts down, never taking his eyes off your face. He doesn’t even look away once your pussy is exposed to him. So many nights spent with his hand wrapped around his own fist, fantasizing about bringing you the pleasure he gets to give to you now, and yet, your expression to his pleasure is more enjoyable than anything he could’ve ever anticipated, and he finds himself entranced.

His head dips, lips pressing against your bare pelvis, just above your cunt. “Say it,” he growls, nipping at your flesh before replacing the kiss with a soft lick. His fingers resume rubbing at your hard little clit, slowly, tentatively—mostly because his hands are so shaky, he’s worried he’ll do a bad job if he goes any faster.

Caleb had heard firsthand from girls he rejected at parties telling them how guys could never find the clit, how no one could ever make them cum. Caleb was confident though, he knew without a doubt he could find the clit, the only problem was, you were the only one for him. You were always the one for him. Even though it was forbidden. So he laughed the girl off, smiling politely while telling her she’ll find someone perfect for her eventually, just as he had found someone perfect for him. You.

“I–” you gasp, back arching in response to his long, surprisingly skilled fingers rubbing circles against your clit with so much precision it almost made you upset. Has he done this with other girls before? Just the thought made you nauseous.

“Say it, baby.” He groans, fingers moving from your clit to tease the opening of your entrance.

Your head shoots up on a gasp, eyes locking on his love-filled ones, staring straight through your soul, ever anticipating your stare that belongs to him and him alone. It’s so intense, it’s almost hard to hold his gaze. “I want it,” you moan. “I’ve always wanted you Caleb. It’s only been you, it’s only ever been—”

He thrusts a finger inside, and you scream, squeezing around the intrusion.

“I would’ve waited lifetimes to give myself to you,” he groans, nuzzling your thigh as your fingers pull at his hair so roughly, he won't be shocked if he finds a bald spot when you’re done.

Your heart nearly skips at the confession. The confession of his virginity.

“But I am so grateful,” he continues, lowering his head until his mouth is hovering right over your cunt. “So grateful that you’re letting me give everything I have to you. So take it.”

His lips wrap around your clit, and stars explode behind your eyelids. “Caleb! O-oh my-”

He groans, the sound tickling your clit and making your toes curl. His massive arms wrap around your thighs, and you can feel him tremble. It’s not a slight movement either—he’s shaking, it feels like he’s seconds from exploding from the thing he’s been suppressing inside him.

“Mmmm,” he moans, eyes finally leaving your face for the first time to stare down at the mount of your cunt. He sucks your cunt into his mouth, feeling every part of you he can, before he pops off you and stares down at your pussy. He shakes his head, curling the finger he has inside you forward each time he thrusts inside. “You taste so good,” he groans through his teeth, eyebrows furrowing when you tighten around his finger. “So. Good.”

He dives back in, shaking his head side to side with his tongue flat against your pussy. He’s licking you everywhere with no real rhyme or reason, like he’s trying to remember every indent, every line and mark of your cunt, but it feels so fucking good. He’s so fucking good.

You rut your hips up into his mouth, making him grunt. “So good, Caleb. You’re making me feel s-so good. God. You’re tongue—”

“Do you like my tongue? Hmm?” he cuts you off, pulling back his finger. “Look at me.”

You do, and at that moment, he slides a second finger alongside the first.

Your eyes roll back, and he smiles. “Yeah, that feels good, huh? You like how much bigger my fingers are than yours?” he’s trying so hard to keep the tremble out of his voice, some deep, scared part of him riddled with apprehension that this might all be a dream.

You nod, face flushing as you gasp, feeling yourself get wound up tighter and tighter.

Caleb smiles, that insecure part of him receding deeper into the darkness in the face of your honesty, leaning back down to your pussy while watching your blissed out expression. “Yeah, I know you do. You love it,” he growls, and then his lips are around you again, and he's sucking. His tongue is lashing at your very core, drawing out the most debauched noises from you as he groans alongside you, humping the table beneath him.

“Right there!” you scream, arching your back to bring your core as close to his face as you can. “Caleb! D-don't stop, please, please don’t stop.”

He nods, eyebrows furrowing in anticipation. He feels you tighten around his fingers, and he knows what that means. You’re about to cum. He’s about to make you cum.

Please. Please. I want it. I want it so bad, please let me feel it. Let me make you cum. Use me. Use my tongue, use my fingers. Oh god.

“Caleb! C-cumming—“ You cry for one final time as your orgasm crashes over you, shattering your mind. Your body trembles with violent waves as your body is wracked with tremors following the most intense orgasm you’ve ever experienced.

Caleb is borderline sobbing against you, whimpering like a damn puppy as he fucks his shaky fingers into you, drawing out your orgasm while swallowing every drop of your arousal like the eagar man he is. And god is it everything. His imagination paled in comparison to how it would feel having you cum for him.

It’s so intense, his own back arches as his cock kicks, spurting spray after spray of his own orgasm inside his boxers, ruining his pants right before the biggest show of his career. But he can’t find himself to care at all, because he’s cumming with you. That thought alone is more than enough to drain his balls dry, until his cock is throbbing but nothing more is coming out of the pretty hole.

When your body stops shaking, Caleb pops off your cunt with a gasp, and immediately crawls up your body. He stares down at you, panting and face flushed, a look of pure awe dominating his expression.

You open your eyes and look up at him, gaping.

Neither of you say anything. You don’t need to. Not as his lips crash upon yours, and you speak the words with your bodies, with your tongues, that wrap around one another like you can’t get close enough.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Through the years he became every role you were denied, loved you the way a brother would, by granting you pockets of happiness wherever he could find. Playing with you until the sun was setting, pulling pranks on you every now and then. Feeding you the bigger bite of the dessert.

He loved you the way a father would, by secretly hiding inside the big study your grandma no longer used, the one his father and your mother let dust claim, there he made sure he smuggled you knowledge—letters, numbers, the quiet rebellion of thought. Making sure you knew as much as him if not more.

And when thunder found you trembling, he held you close, tightly, easing you back into slumber with lullabies like a mother would.

He told himself it was duty. But time erodes all noble lies.

He knew he couldn't stop time. The inevitable passing of days, your body and his changing with the seasons, time, unforgiving in it's speed, making their innocent youth a flickering light, easy laughter but a memory.

When he looks at you now, months before the arrangement is announced to you both, his devotion curdles. You sit by the window brushing your hair, light catching on your skin, and he feels his throat close, his pulse trip. Your beauty is no longer a blessing—it is a sentence.

"Anything you wanna say dear brother?" You ask, smile growing in your lips. Mirth in your eyes.

"Mmm no, not really. Just that no amount of brushing will tame that head of yours." He quips. Tone playful, your amswering gasp makes him laugh as he takes the brush from your hand and proceeds to brush your hair.

You're humming a song as he takes in your beauty, the delicate slope of your nose, the curve of your lashes, lips soft, neckline delicate, all of you unmarred. His eyes stop at your bosom, heating his cheeks. Your body, the curves he pretends don't make his heart race, his pants tight and palms damp. The one he has touched before, every time innocently, never with lust.

Only with devotion. With love. With obsession.

"The uniform suits you well. You look scary" your eyes look up at him, hand brushing down his arm, touching the fabric. Caleb breathes in, his restraint frays and he prays, not that your touch stops, but that his longing for more does.

"Scary is sure a unique way of describing it. Buuut from your smile I can only assume it's a compliment, right?" He smiles back at you, fingertips feather-light as he caresses your cheek, tilting his head the way he's grown accustomed to with his looming height.

As you hum your song, his thoughts stray.

He should have ruined it long ago. Your beauty. A fall from a tree, a knife’s mercy across the cheek, breaking you so walking is a dream not a privilege, anything to make you less desirable to the hungry men who count their wealth in women. He would have done it, he tells himself, if only it didn’t mean harming you.

So he chooses another cruelty—sabotage. The world will call him unhinged, lunacy disguised as care. But he will call it love.

He doesn't know about the way your eyes follow him as he walks away, or how you notice his pupils break like night, devouring the sunsets you love whenever you're close. With Caleb you feel safe, loved, and seen.

But you also feel the smothering darkness of that gaze. A shame, that he doesn't know it's a love you reciprocate.

⋆.˚✧────🍎────✧˚.⋆

He arrives at dusk, the hour where everything gold turns gray. The man, your intended, (the customer he thinks begrudgingly) steps from his carriage like someone accustomed to being watched. His coat is immaculate, lined with sable, his smile rehearsed to the exact degree of warmth that inspires trust but not intimacy.

He looks at you and inclines his head, not too low, not too perfunctory, just enough to imply you are a gift he intends to unwrap with patience and paperwork. He is older, that much is immediate. Not old in body, but old in certainty. The kind of man who believes the world bends because he reads its angles correctly.

"Allow me to introduce myself, my name is—"

Caleb doesn't care to learn it. Much less say it.

His father beams. Your mother whispers of providence.

Caleb says nothing. Standing beside you as he takes in the man that is to be your husband.

He studies him the way a man of faith dissects a heresy, politely, meticulously, and with mounting disdain. The shoes too polished, as if he has never walked in mud. The voice too smooth, the kind that talks about virtue while calculating dowry margins. His eyes linger too long when you speak, or not long enough, he can’t decide which is worse.

"Educated" your father says proudly. "Well-traveled. Speaks three languages, invests wisely. You’ll be safe with him.

"Safe. The word makes Caleb’s jaw twitch.

During dinner, the nuisance (groom) discusses treaties, trade routes, and the necessity of alliances in unstable times. His every sentence sounds like a ledger, balanced, soulless. You nod dutifully, smile when appropriate, but Caleb sees the small tremor in your hand as you reach for your glass.

When the man compliments your obedience, Caleb’s grip on his knife whitens. He thinks, absurdly, that the blade deserves better company. Like his neck.

By dessert, he has a list of reasons, each one rational, measured, defensible: The man is a decade older than you. He speaks to you as one does to property, or small animals. His laughter contains no warmth, only vanity. His hands are too clean—no ink stains, no scars, no proof of work. His smile is a mirror, reflecting nothing real.

Beneath those reasons, in a quiet corner of his mind, sits the real truth. No man alive could deserve you, and if one ever did, Caleb would make sure he didn’t stay alive long enough to prove it.

⋆.˚✧────🍎────✧˚.⋆

Later that night, he lies awake, the sound of the rain bleeding through the shutters. He tries to pray, but every word tastes like blasphemy. He tells himself it’s justice. Righteous indignation.

"You'll be safe with him." He scoffs, shaking his head as he remembers his father's words.

What burns inside him isn’t holy, it isn’t safe either, he is aware of it, that it’s hunger dressed in morality’s clothes. Yet somewhere between the creak of the window and the thunder, Caleb decides he will make sure the union is revoked.

The floorboards groan beneath your feet, each step betraying your hesitation. The doorknob turns slowly, metal sighing under your trembling grip. You slip inside his room—silent, but not unseen. Caleb’s eyes find yours in the half-light, and for a moment neither of you breathe. The moon spills cold silver across the floor, leading you to him.

He inhales sharply, glancing once toward the window. Thunder rumbles beyond the glass. He curses himself for not hearing the storm sooner, for not sensing your fear the way he always does. His arms open before his mind can object, instinct overriding from all the years he's done so.

You stumble into him, tears hanging from your lashes like beads of glass. He gathers you beneath the covers, pulling the fabric up to your shoulders, holding you as though the act itself could barricade the world outside.

When your sobs soften into tremors, guilt slips through his voice like a confession. "I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner" he murmurs. "I didn't, I was just — I was lost in my head." His heart stutters when your lips brush against his collarbone. You shake your head, burying yourself deeper into his chest, fingers fisting the back of his shirt as if to attach yourself there.

"It’s fine" you whisper, voice cracking. "I can look for you too. I’m just—scared. Scared to leave, scared of the storm, scared of…" The words collapse into sobs, harsh and uneven. "I’m so scared, Caleb. Who will hold me when it rains? Who will brush my hair? Who will—"

Caleb swallows hard, throat burning. Your grief claws at something deep in him, something that both aches and hungers. He can only clutch you tighter, lips brushing your hairline, whispering promises that sound like oaths.

"It’s all right" he breathes, eyes closing. "I’ll fix it."Another pause, quieter. "Don’t worry anymore baby. I’ll fix everything."

"You won't leave with him." He says low and deep, your sobbing gradually eases until it's just your sniffling. Caleb keeps caressing your back, up and down. Mind reeling with plans, ideas, stopping only when your breath hitches audibly.

"What's wrong?" He looks down at your teary face, flushed and vulnerable. He smiles, rubbing his nose with yours, "What is it, shy now that you notice the mess you made of my shirt? Hm?" But you're still not replying, eyes glazed over, staring at his lips.

And Caleb freezes, he recognizes desire when he sees it, he stares at it every morning in mirrors. Hunger claws at his insides, twisting him for a way out. Just a touch, just a brush of lips. Yet the guilt restrains him with chains, soiling you would ruin him. You're his perfect apple, gleaming over the shadows of his rotten state.

You have never given the slight hint of wanting him the same way he aches for you. But your resolve as you lean closer to kiss him stumps him, tilting his world upside down, without giving him a second to recover you pull at his shirt, nails dragging into his skin, kissing him with so much need he mourns, for not noticing, for making you wait and forcing you to do the first move.

So Caleb makes a choice. If heaven means that he should push you away, let a stranger take you as his bride and watch you have a new life, that was never your choice, never under your consent. Then he can burn in hell for taking a bite of his paradise.

You breathe his name and it trembles against his lips. The kiss unfolds slowly—his mouth fitting over yours. His hand ghosts down your back, slips beneath the thin fabric, and your lips part on instinct. Caleb tilts his head, deepening the kiss, tasting you as though he means to memorize what it feels like to live.

The wet sound of your mouths meeting fills the quiet, your pulse thrumming against his fingers as they trace the small of your back. You can’t keep still; your legs shift restlessly, the ache of wanting him turning your body traitorous.

"Caleb" you whisper, the words ragged. "Please. Be my first. I can’t have anyone else take that away. Let this—at least this—be mine to choose."

He looks at you as though the confession wounds him. Devotion pools in his eyes so deep it borders on despair. Your skin prickles beneath his gaze; your chest tightens with the unbearable gravity of being wanted like this—by him. He moves over you, the scent of him filling your lungs, and when his lips find yours again, it feels like surrender disguised.

"I’ve always wanted you" he breathes, the words breaking as his hands find the edge of your nightgown. He draws it upward, kissing the skin he unveils—gentle, reverent, grieving. "You’re everything to me." His lips brush over your breasts, belly, thighs, against every corner of your body.

It makes you tremble, ache even more for him, between your legs it's already wet enough it drips down.

You meet his eyes, the weight of his sorrow mirrored in your own. "I’ve wanted you too." you murmur, steady, as if saying the sin could somehow make it less damaging.

"God, I want to feel your warmth" he says against your throat, voice fraying, "your heartbeat—everything. Stay with me. Don’t ever leave." His hands move lower, always gentle, and every brush of his fingers feels like a confession. "Forever."

Your body arches as his touch finds you, slick and trembling, his fingers pressing inward slow and careful, his thumb circling where you burn for him. The pleasure cuts through you like light through a storm cloud—sharp, consuming, devastating.

When your voice breaks into gasps, he catches your mouth again, swallowing the sound, kissing you until the world dissolves into nothing but breath, heat, and pleasure.

The stretch of his touch burns sweetly—pain turned into indulgence, into ruin—and somewhere between his whispered apologies and your cries, love turns into something neither of you can ever name again.

The weight of him presses close, steady and trembling, the air between you feverish and thin. Caleb moves as if careful not to break you, though something sacred is already shattering.

When the touch of his fingers soaked with your fluids find your hip, holding tight as he sheaths himself inside you, slowly, carefully, your eyebrows knit as you feel his size cross through you, burning, all consuming, so good your eyes roll back.

"Caleb! Caleb!! More" begging him to move, to do anything to make the throbbing ease, his lips wrap around your breast, sucking gently caressing the other as he does, all to appease you. Pleasure engulfs your body, tingling from the tip of your fingers to your toes as he starts moving.Your voice catches—his name, a prayer, a plea. The sound unravels him. He buries his face in your shoulder, the words he once swore echoing in his throat.

"I love you", "You're mine", "I will fix it" ,"Brother will fix it"

His words repeat inside your head as he buries himself inside more. You stare at the ceiling, gaze unfocused and mouth slack as he takes and takes, hips slotting against yours in an unforgiving pace, soaking the bed.

The rhythm between you blurs into something desperate—half comfort, half punishment. The walls seem to close in around your sighs, the room heavy with the scent of rain.

Caleb meets your eyes when you gasp and whimper, pulling at his hair "Close?" He keeps thrusting into you deeply and fast, your insides twisting, a heat down low growing more. "It's fine baby, let go, I've got you" he kisses your cheek and lip corner as you rock against him, breath stuttering.

"Come for me pretty" Your eyes clench as your climax takes over, your hips shaking, thighs tight around him, his hand strokes at your throbbing heat, flicking fast, making pleasure last longer, but as he keeps, you feel another wave shake you, stronger than before, and it's when he gasps with you, pulling out to rub himself. Silver streaks paint your belly and crotch.

You think as you stare at him, that his face is pretty when grief and pleasure paint his features. When your trembling quiets, Caleb still clings to you, as though letting go would mean admitting to the ruin he’s made. You meet his gaze, and in it there’s no triumph.

Your own is no better, once dawn breaks, the reality of your situation will come back, tugging at your arms, pushing him away from your life. Even if blood doesn't tie your soul to his, deep in your bones you know he is for you.

"I love you Caleb." You murmur against his lips, feeling how his breath hitches, he stares back into your eyes, kissing you again. Pressing his forehead against yours he says, low and urgent "I love you too. So much"

The room smells faintly of rain and skin now. The candle on the nightstand has burned itself low, its light trembling against the walls like a secret refusing to die.

Caleb lies still beside you, chest rising unevenly, his hand still curved around your hip, afraid you might dissolve if he lets go. The quiet between you both hums like a wound that refuses to close, it's unbearable.

For a moment, you think he’s asleep—until you hear it. A laugh, almost inaudible, the kind of sound someone makes when they’ve lost the right to weep."I’ve damned you, us." he murmurs, voice hoarse, half-swallowed by the storm outside. "All of this… it isn’t love, it’s a curse with pretty edges. I can't accept you leaving my side."

You turn to him, eyes searching his face in the flicker of dying light. His lashes are wet. You don’t know if it’s from pain, joy or guilt.

"Then let it curse us both" you whisper, your thumb brushing a tear from his cheek before it falls. "At least the choice is ours." He exhales sharply — a sound between a sob and a scoff — and again presses his forehead to yours. His lips tremble when he speaks again.

"You say that now" he murmurs, "but tomorrow you’ll wake up and see me for what I am. A coward pretending to be your savior."

You shake your head, too tired to argue, too raw to lie. "Things might get a little messy I'm sure. But nothing you do will push me away. I know you, and you’ll still hold me when the thunder comes."

Caleb’s hand tightens once more around you, and for a fleeting second, he almost believes it, that love could absolve, that the storm outside could cleanse instead of condemn.

But when you finally drift to sleep, curled against him, skin warm, it feels like a secret too fragile to name, he keeps his eyes open. Watching how the candle dies, and how the shadow of your body on the wall is proof of his own undoing.

Quietly, under his breath, he says a vow, or maybe a confession "I’ll fix it" he whispers it again. "Even if it kills me."

⋆.˚✧────🍎────✧˚.⋆

Caleb had risen through the ranks with a precision and talent that bordered on divine intervention.Colonel. The title suited him—sharp, disciplined, and unforgiving. His subordinates respected him, a fear coiled within them when they whispered about him, unignorable. "Cold and ruthless" were words repeated often alongside his name. The higher officers called him "Impulsive, dangerous". Both were correct.

He’d earned enough medals to secure not just his comfort but an entire generation’s, each one gleaming proof of a life lived in service to empire and order. Despite being young, comfort was not his pursuit—it was his consequence.

No, your marriage was not for lack of wealth. Caleb could have bought your freedom twice over if coin were the measure. But the arrangement had never been about that. It was about lineage—ancient promises, nonsensical names scrawled in old, brittle archives. It was about politics disguised as piety, a transaction where power dressed itself in the illusion of love.

Ridiculous.

He had tried to reason with them, once. Tried to suggest that a Colonel of standing could provide better protection, better care, better anything. His words fell quiet against the laughter of his father who saw you not as a person but as a dowry made flesh.

He had even tried with his wife, your mother. But she just shook her head, submitting to his father's decision. Even if she had carried you in her womb, she saw futility in fighting for your fate.

Her own had been the same after all.

So he learned to play the long game. He smiled at luncheons, signed registers, drank with the fathers who bartered your name. His composure was admirable at this point, his gaze unflinching when he replied courtly. Only when he returned home, hat off, medals stripped from his chest and gloves off his hands, did the stillness break. His knuckles would ache from where they had pressed too hard against walls.

He told himself it was restraint. That he was saving his temper for something worth burning for, and when he looked at you—smiling, docile, draped in silks—he decided he had already found it.

When he sees you walk away with the man stealing you from him. Dressed in fabrics that don't fit you, too rigid, colors you dislike, fashion too old and smile small. His initial plan starts.It begins quietly.

Horses and prized cattle wander off mysteriously, only to be found days later near a swamp, muddy and terrified, prompting whispers that the estate of your fiancé is cursed or poorly managed.

The hens the groom brought as a gesture of prosperity began to betray him. Their eggs cracked in their nests, yolk leaking, or else they ceased laying altogether, a quiet rebellion of nature itself.

Hearsay about his past reached many ears, revoked unions, false promises, illegitimate children, everything that could sully his pride, his reputation, they said.

By morning, the servants whispered of his curses of the rumors they heard. By noon, the gossip had reached every hall. Incompetence, they said. A bad omen in feathers and silence.And Caleb, ever the dutiful observer, only folded his hands and murmured, "How unfortunate." Knitted brows adorned his face. Everyone acknowledges the worry he has about your destiny to filial worrying.

He keeps, by ensuring labels are swapped on feed or medicine, so animals develop strange, inconvenient illnesses, all mild enough to avoid legal trouble but enough to spark panic. Enough to imply a reputation over an innocent man.

But he doesn't only damage his prestige. Caleb makes sure to fix whatever your fiancé has 'ruined'. He brings home the horses that ran off, makes sure the cattle has recovered, convinces your fiancé the hearsay and rumors are natural given how many suitors you had. He's so good at the role, it's making everyone believe he is akin to an angel, that his blood is indeed divinely protected. So he moved to his next plan.

Carefully timed kitchen "accidents". The main course is undercooked, sauces curdled, desserts burnt. All traces suggest negligence, but he orchestrates them with methodical precision.

Wine bottles mysteriously broken, tables overturned when they walk back from a stroll, even food garnished with herbs that induce mild, embarrassing stomach reactions.

Now the rumors have multiplied like flies on fruit, first among the servants, then the staff, and soon among the guests themselves. A subtle chaos had begun to take root.

Caleb even innocently manipulated servants to provide conflicting instructions, so the fiancé seemed forgetful or unprepared. He's cultivating mishap as though it were an art form. He knew exactly which strings to pull too. If your mother’s nerves stretched thin, his father’s temper kindled the moment her composure began to crack.

However, you are no fool to his meddling. Each time calamity strikes— your gaze finds him. He never returns it, yet you know he feels it, the faint crimson blooming at the tips of his ears betrays him.

It unsettles you, this quiet certainty he does things with. You rush to soothe your fiancé, not for sentiment, but rather Caleb's safety, weaving excuses with trembling grace. Surely it is the work of some scorned suitor you dismissed, not your brother. Never Caleb. And yet, every denial, every redirected thought tastes like guilt on your tongue.

⋆.˚✧────🍎────✧˚.⋆

Caleb wasn’t going to stain his hands. No. He told himself that often enough it almost sounded like truth. He hadn’t even entertained the image of blood slicking through his fingers, hadn’t imagined the groom’s head mounted on a wall like a trophy, grotesque and triumphant. No, not at all. He had plans—clean ones, clever ones, designed to keep him righteous. He couldn’t reach there. Not yet. Not ever. Not if he still wanted your love to remain something pure and untainted by horror.

He’d made a rule of avoidance for himself: never be alone with the man. Never allow temptation to bloom into impulse. Caleb trusted himself with everything except you.But fate, or some cruel hand pretending to be divine, had other designs. His careful order shattered one gray evening, three weeks before the wedding, when circumstance, as if mocking him, finally left them alone.

The parlor smells faintly of tobacco and rain-soaked wood. The groom sits across from Caleb with the posture of a man who mistakes arrogance for dignity. A polished smile tearing his face. It sickens him to the point he has to swallow bile down his throat. No amount of tea erasing the aftertaste of his horrid presence.

But ever the gentleman, Caleb allows him inside, even offers him tea, though the gesture is more a test of nerves than hospitality. The man accepts with a murmured thanks, his fingers trembling slightly as they meet the porcelain.

"I understand" Caleb begins, voice even, "that you have an interest in my sister.

"The man’s answering smile is rehearsed, nervous, almost courtly. "A union between our houses benefits both families. Your father and mine see the sagacity in it."

"Sagacity.." Caleb repeats, savoring the word like poison on his tongue. "A term frequently misused to excuse another.

"The groom blinks, uncertain whether to laugh. "You... disapprove?"

"I disapprove." Caleb says lightly "Of men who build futures on the bodies of others. But disapproval is not disobedience. I am, after all, a man of discipline."

The air tightens. A log cracks in the hearth, a sharp, frail sound that startles the groom but makes Caleb's lips twitch in something that might be amusement.

"She is young" Caleb continues, leaning back, eyes fixed on the fire. "Soft-hearted. Prone to storms. I hope you understand what that means."

"I will treat her well," the man says quickly.

"Oh, I’m sure" Caleb murmurs. "You’ll cherish her like fine glassware, delicate, ornamental, hollow. And when she begins to dream of air, you’ll remind her how breakable she is." He turns his head, finally meeting the man’s eyes.

"Tell me, do you even find yourself capable of eventually loving her?"

The groom hesitates. "Affection grows with time."

Caleb smiles faintly. He stands up slowly and deliberately, crossing the room towards him. The firelight carves shadows along his face. "Understand something" he says softly. "If she so much as flinches in your presence, I will remove from you the privilege of hands. Sight. And even word."

The man pales. Staring up at him "Is that a threat Colonel?"

Caleb’s smile sharpens. "No. A forecast."

He pours himself another cup of tea, calm as ever. The groom excuses himself soon after, muttering something about business engagements. Caleb watches the door close behind him, the silence swelling thick with satisfaction and despair.

He had, at least for the moment, ensured the man’s unease. But as the thunder rolls outside, Caleb wonders how much longer he can contain the storm building inside himself.

⋆.˚✧────🍎────✧˚.⋆

The rain has not stopped. It drums ceaselessly against the windowpanes, the sort of downpour that rots foundations and softens gravesites.

Even the weather is against the ridiculous union his father wants, it has been horrible for weeks.

Caleb sits before the fire, coat still damp, eyes hollowed by thought. The taste of his earlier confrontation lingers bitter, triumph mixed with the iron tang of futility.

Then, a knock—sharp, deliberate. Only one man in the world knocks like that, not to ask for entry but to announce it.

"Come in" Caleb says, voice even, restrained, despite it.His father enters as if he owns the very air. Shoulders squared, posture impeccable, a statue carved from arrogance and war medals. His uniform still fits him, though time has wrinkled both cloth and conscience.

"I heard you met with him" his father says, removing his gloves slowly.Caleb doesn’t look up. "He came to present himself. Like livestock."

A humorless exhale, almost a laugh. "You’ve always had a cruel tongue. Still—" he pours himself a measure of a brandy he himself brought, ignoring the tea that has gone cold, the liquid catching the light like amber blood "—the marriage will proceed."

Caleb’s jaw flexes. "Even if he’s unfit? Everyone already thinks the man is cursed, some kind of bad omen that will bring ruin."

"Especially if" his father replies. "His luck or lack of is worth his surname weight in gold, and their influence still buys peace. You know what peace costs, don’t you?"

Caleb finally turns, eyes sharp as glass. "You’d sell her to a man who reeks of rot. You’ve seen him. You’ve heard what people say. What her mother says, your wife."

"I’ve heard plenty. And that's your mother as well now." his father replies, unbothered, taking a slow sip. Caleb looks away clicking his tongue. "Men like that make empires, son. Men like you destroy them."

Caleb laughs once, a dry, broken sound. "So this is your plan huh? Trade her for a ledger’s balance. For your own comfort."

"I’ll secure her future" his father corrects, tone almost gentle. "Caleb, you mistake freedom for safety. She’ll have a roof, servants, silks, a family name. The world doesn’t trade in virtue son. It trades in utility."

The silence that follows is corrosive. The fire cracks. Heavy drops keep their rythm against the windows and rooftop.

Caleb stands, stepping closer until his shadow swallows his father’s reflection in the firelight. "If this union goes through" he says quietly, "the price you’ll pay will be higher than hers."

His father’s lips curve in something that might resemble amusement. "You always did confuse defiance with purpose didnt you..." He places the glass down, the sound of crystal against marble sharp, a punctuation. "The wedding is in three weeks. You’ll stand beside me. And you’ll smile watching her in the altar."

He turns and leaves, door closing with the finality of a threat carried out.

Caleb remains still, staring at the half-empty glass left behind. The brandy gleams. He reaches for it, his fingers trembling only once, then steadily he proceeds to break it.

The liquid spills on the floorboards, some shards have cut his fingers, but he barely feels it. His reflection in the window is a ghost, blurred by raindrops and firelight.

"If I must stand beside her, Father…" he murmurs, quietly, cruel as prophecy "…then it won’t be as you imagine."

Outside, thunder rolls — soft, approving, like a presage disguised as applause.

⋆.˚✧────🍎────✧˚.⋆

The house sleeps fitfully tonight, as though even its beams sense something turning within it's walls. Caleb is awake, seated at his desk, the untouched bottle of brandy of his father long since forgotten beside him. The fire has died to embers, their light painting his hands in feverish gold.

He starts with small things. Small things are harder to trace.

The first letter he burns is an apology, from the groom to his father, for some "indiscretion" at the docks. Caleb watches the wax seal melt, the script curl into ash, and thinks, there one truth erased.

The second he forges. A courier, paid to deliver news of the engagement to the groom’s estate, suddenly loses his way; the letter that replaces it is brief, written in Caleb’s careful imitation of his father’s hand. A postponement. Indefinite. A polite insult wrapped in propriety.

Then comes the stock. A ledger entry altered here, a shipment misdirected there. Numbers rearranged like chess pieces until the groom’s estate bleeds quietly, slowly, and without him realizing it, it's dying.

Caleb justifies every act as an offering, small sacrifices to the god of delay. Perhaps if he slows the world long enough, something divine will intervene. Perhaps sin can stall time. But the guilt arrives anyway, like rot beneath fresh paint.

He hears your laughter through the hall and freezes mid-inkstroke, fingers twitching. What would you think if you knew? Would you thank him, or recoil? Does it even matter, when both outcomes promise ruin. He looks down, and his hand moves on its own.

His own father receives a letter as well, of postponement, indefinite as well, its offense disguised as care, how his fiancé finds his daughter is too young, too naive. He writes like the man talks. Caleb's penmanship is immaculate as he copies his handwriting.

An easy thing to do because even there the groom lacks talent.

At dawn he walks the grounds with you, boots sinking into damp earth, and tells himself this is devotion. That saints have burned entire cities for less as you tell him about everything you did while smiling.

He only watches, waiting for providence to finish what he has started. But providence is slow.

And guilt, as ever, is not.

One morning, after too little sleep, he stares into the washbasin at his reflection, the face of a man losing composure. He laughs softly, hollow as church bells tolling for the dead.

"So this is love" he murmurs.

⋆.˚✧────🍎────✧˚.⋆

The rain starts before dawn, as if the sky itself decides to wash the estate clean before the next deceit begins. Caleb is in the study when the butler enters, rushing and stammering.

"The groom sir. He has arrived unannounced."

Caleb’s pen stills mid-line. Ink beads, then bleeds into the page like a spreading wound. "Of course he has" he says, tone flat. "Show him in."

By the time your fiancé steps through the threshold, Caleb has already cleaned his desk. The man is neatly dressed despite the clear stress marring his features, coat framing him, hat in hand, eyes sharp in that way men have when they’ve begun to doubt the world is as simple as they were once told.

"Colonel" he says, inclining his head in greeting that’s more flair than courtesy. "I trust I’m not intruding."

"On the contrary" Caleb replies smoothly, rising from his chair. "It’s rare to see you before midday. After the letter you sent I gathered we wouldn't be seeing you so soon. Something pressing?" He says as he fixes his sleeves.

The groom falters confused, then smiles, but it’s thin, like a crack in porcelain. "The world, Colonel, is rarely polite enough to send invitations before it falls apart. My letters, for instance—several gone missing, you received one, but it's nothing that should make you assume I won't visit. And my shipments…" He pauses, letting the implication bloom between them like mold. "…delayed. Unfortunate pattern, don’t you think?"

Caleb tilts his head, feigning thoughtfulness. "Coincidences tend to arrive in threes. You’ve only listed two."

The tension fractures faintly when footsteps echo down the hall, his father’s, heavy and deliberate. The old man enters without knocking, again, wearing authority like armor.

"Greetings, gentlemen." he says, voice a blend of irritation and feigned warmth. "I was told you’d come storming in. Have we forgotten etiquette along with punctuality? Isn't your postponement enough insult?"

The groom straightens. "I’m here because I smell sabotage, sir. Someone’s meddling with my affairs....even with the wedding itself. I thought it best to confirm where loyalties lie."

Caleb’s father’s eyes flick briefly to his son, not suspicion yet, but that sharp paternal calculation that’s half love, half politics. "Loyalties…" he repeats, voice low. "My family’s loyalty is beyond question. My son wouldn’t risk what we’ve built."

Caleb nods obediently, almost reverently, not too much or else his father will doubt, but enough to be the perfect echo of filial virtue. "If someone has interfered" he says softly "I'll assist you in finding them. Whoever they are."

Your fiancé studies him, the stillness, the calm, the practiced gentility that conceals the quiet pulse of something colder. "Yes, sure…" he says after a moment, "I imagine you would."

For a heartbeat too long, their gazes lock. Caleb smiles—a faint, civilized gesture that hides rot behind ivory. "Of course I would."

When the groom finally leaves, Caleb’s father rounds on him. "Hm, I don’t like how that man looks at you." he mutters. "You’ve been discreet right? With your distaste."

"Father" Caleb says, tone almost amused. "If I were any more discreet, I’d cease to exist."

His father grunts, mollified enough. But Caleb can feel the sweat at the base of his spine, the thrum of his pulse like a warning bell. The mask holds but barely.

When he’s alone again, he looks to the dying embers in the hearth and thinks, sooner or later, someone will notice the smoke, not just the groom and his eerily accurate instinct. Then, with a small, humorless laugh, he murmurs to himself

"Let them choke on it first."

Three days later, your fiancé returns. He brings flowers this time, white lilies, too funereal to be romantic, too deliberate to be innocent. The household staff whisper that he’s trying to "make amends" though for what, no one quite says aloud. Caleb watches from the far end of the corridor, posture impeccable, expression unreadable.

The drawing room glows in afternoon light when the groom enters. You rise politely, hands clasped before you, and he smiles, that same thin, ornamental smile that means nothing good.

"My dear" he says, voice low enough to sound like intimacy. "I thought it best we speak alone. A husband should know his bride, after all."

The word husband makes your head throb. But your answering smile doesn't show it.He circles you like a man evaluating a prized purchase. "You’re quieter than I expected" he remarks. "I suppose that’s a virtue. My mother always said women should be seen only when necessary."

You force a small, practiced smile again, the kind drilled into you by your mother. Yet defiance lies beneath "I’ll keep that in mind, sir."

"Not sir, darling." he corrects. "Soon enough, you’ll call me husband, better start now."

Something lurches behind your ribs. "If the day comes" you say softly, "I will."

He reaches forward not gently, not violently, just enough to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger too long, touch rough. The silence between you grows viscous. Slowly he slides his hand down your neck, fingers slip over your bosom and stay there.

Your gaze is blurry with fury, hands tucked together so hard the skin breaks. The word unfair seems to echo a lot these days in your head.

It's unfair that you can't choose. Unfair that he can touch you as if he has ownership. Unfair your hands can't go around his neck to suffocate the life and greed out of him.

Caleb is too far to interfere, too far to know what he's saying to you. Pacing inside his study as he waits for him to leave.

The pen he's holding snaps clean in two as he thinks of you alone with him. By the time the groom leaves and Caleb moves, the air in the drawing room feels wrong, like something soured in it. You sit there too still, eyes unfocused, palms cold. Caleb finds you like that.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just stands there, the smell of ink and smoke clinging to him. Then — quietly "What did he do?"

You blink, startled by the steadiness in his tone. "Nothing" you say, too quickly. "He didn’t— it was only—"

He’s beside you before you finish, crouched down, eyes searching your face. "Don’t lie to me."

You shake your head, a tremor in your jaw. "He touched me." The words are thin, nearly breaking. "Just my hair at first. Said I should practice being quiet. That I’ll make a fine wife if I learn to, then his hand slid down to my ches—"

He doesn’t let you finish that either.Caleb stands, too fast, too rigid. His hat topples. For a long, brutal heartbeat, he looks like he might go after the groom right then, fists first, reason later. But then the mask returns faintly, like cracked porcelain pressed back into shape.

"Alright" he says at last, voice calm to the point of violence. "Alright. You’ll never be alone with him again. I’ll make sure of it."

"Caleb, he's going to be my husband I have to get used to—to whatever that was…"

You swallow hard, trying to read the expression in his eyes. There’s no softness there, only resolve, cold and trembling.

"Caleb, please don’t—"

He cuts you off, tone stripped of emotion. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes" you whisper.

"Then don’t worry, you don't need to worry." He leaves before you can protest, and you sit in the echo of his absence, the faint scent of ink and fire lingering in the air.

⋆.˚✧────🍎────✧˚.⋆

That night, the storm returns, relentless, unrepentant. Rain lashes the windows like an animal demanding entry. Caleb doesn't think of sleep as he goes up the stairs. The thought of his hand near your face, near your chest, his anger is no longer burning, it's cold. A bone deep chill that unsettles him, he knows how to handle the flames. This cold is unknown to him.

His footsteps are deliberate as he walks down the hall, the house groaning around him. He doesn’t bother with a candle, he knows the path by heart. When he reaches your door, his hand doesn't falter as the knob turns, the clicking sound soft.

Inside, the room is cloaked in shadows. You’re curled beneath the covers, a small shape in the dark. The curtains are drawn tight. He approaches you slowly, and when his fingers find your ankle, you flinch.

"Caleb?" Your voice trembles, faint.

"It’s me," he murmurs. "Make room baby…."

His tone is warm, almost teasing, but the warmth feels misplaced somehow. He joins you beneath the sheets, the mattress dipping with his weight. You don’t hesitate; your body finds his arms and legs wrapping around him as though you could pull him back to earth.

That’s when you smell it, faint, metallic, unmistakable. Blood. It clings to him like a confession. You could ask, but you don’t. Asking would make him lie. Or worse—leave. So you press your face to his chest and pretend not to notice.

"Are you all right?" Caleb asks, voice low, his eyes on you. They’re soft, yet strangely hollow — the warmth of a candle just before it gutters out.

You look up at him, scared by your own thoughts. But something about him feels wrong. His body is rigid, wound tight as a bowstring. And his gaze — it lands on you, but doesn’t see you. It’s distant, unfocused, as though he’s looking at someone who isn’t there.

"Caleb… what’s wrong?" You whisper, your hand finding his cheek, tracing the dark crescents beneath his eyes.

He doesn’t answer right away. The thunder fills the silence for him. For a long moment, he doesn’t speak. His breath comes uneven, caught somewhere between a sigh and a prayer. The storm outside grows heavier, as if straining to listen.

Then, softly, almost absently, Caleb says, "Some things… once done, can’t be undone. You know that, don’t you?"

Your brow furrows. "What are you talking about?"

He gives a hollow little laugh, not unkind, just empty, the sound of a man standing at the edge of something vast. "I tried to fix it. I thought if I rearranged enough—moved the right pieces, said the right words…it would stop it."

"Stop what? The wedding?" you whisper.

He looks at you then. Really looks. His eyes glint in the dimness, haunted and bright all at once. "The inevitable" he says. "The problem was that... no matter what I subtracted, the sum didn't change."

"But now, I think it will. It couldn't be solved logically. So I did something different."

Your pulse stumbles. He’s speaking in riddles again, the kind he used to toy with when you were children, when you thought he was just being clever. But there’s something different now — there’s weight behind every word, something feverish, deliberate.

"Caleb" you press, "what did you do?"

He flinches, the question slicing through him. Then he shakes his head, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. "Nothing you’d believe. Nothing that matters now."

Lightning fractures the sky behind the curtains, throwing his face into brief, ghastly relief, the glint of moisture on his cheek could be sweat or tears.

When the light fades, he’s still looking at you, still smiling. "Go to sleep," he murmurs. "You’ll need it."

You want to argue, but his voice has that finality again, the tone of someone who’s already said what he wanted and is finished.

So you close your eyes, even as your stomach twists, and let the sound of the patter of the rain, the faint scent of blood and his heartbeat swallow the silence between you.

✦

A/N: This one’s more ghostly melancholy than pure horror, so adjust expectations accordingly. And before anyone mentions any time period inaccuracies or suspiciously modern dialogue — no you didn’t. Be nice. I too deserve the Bridgerton Immunity™ for historically inaccurate slang and 18th-century girls with gel manicures and iphone face. ρ(・・、)