Summary: you get roofied at a party and taken advantage of by someone in your intoxicated state, who you 100% believe to be Satoru, but Suguru doesn't think so. In fact, he's convincing you it isn't him.
Pairings: Suguru geto x f!reader x Satoru gojo
Warnings: MDNI, NONCON, IMPLIED PAST NONCON, intoxication/drugging, gaslighting, manipulation, noncensual filming/sharing of material, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, cheating(?), sato x sugu, mmf, everyone is 21+ in this fic, suguru defending his pos friend satoru, they're genuine pieces of shit so beware like they're absolutely disgusting. If you know some like this irl do not hesitate to slime them out or report to the authorities because wtf, dd:dne + not proofread. Block me if you're uncomfortable.
WC: 2.2k / based off this idea post, idea 3 is going to be a part 2 for this fic most likely.
do not romanticize/normalize dark content irl.
A/N: please read the warnings carefully and do not proceed if you're triggered, Satoru and Suguru are genuinely so disgusting to the point I'm warning you again.
“Suguru— you have to believe me. I swear it was him.” You huff out in frustration.
“No way. I know him more than anyone, why would he ever do that to you? Especially when he knows you're my girlfriend mhm?” Suguru drawled, shaking his head while gently caressing your hair.
“But— it was him! I couldn't take a good look at his face but the white hair? Who else has white hair except for him?” You insist, pushing his hand way.
“Satoru doesn't have any lack for women, why would he seek you out? His bestfriend's girlfriend huh? Not only that but intoxicate you and force himself on you? He has no need for that.” Suguru defends him, brows furrowing in irritation the longer you're continuing this topic. You've been discussing this with him for the past thirty minutes.
“You can truly never know the reason—”
“Listen, I get it. What you went through the previous night was horrible. And I would never blame you for it. In fact, I blame myself because I was the one that left you alone,” His voice cracked slightly with emotion as he grabbed your shoulders, pulling you into a tight hug. “I am truly sorry, that happened to you. I hope you can forgive me. I should've never left your side.” He mutters as he caressed the back of your head.
You melted into his arms, the emotions swirling back in your gut again as you felt his gentle embrace, you felt like crying again, but you held back the tears.
“But one thing that I can't have you do— is blame my close friend. Because I know it wasn't him. He isn't the type to do that. You also could've just been very high to the point you hallucinated the white hair.” He pulls back from the hug, staring at you with much conviction.
“How can you be so sure?” You asked, wondering why he isn't believing you.
“Because he was with me.” Suguru answers shortly which makes you freeze.
What?
“He was with me that night, in fact, he was the reason that night I had to leave, I remember telling you right before I did.” He recounted, grabbing your face so gently.
He was right, Suguru told you that Satoru stirred some trouble up and left urgently that night, he was visibly irritated when leaving you alone at the party.
How could you forget?
Then who was the man on top of you? You only remember the tuft of white hair, never actually his face. You immediately assumed it was Satoru because he is the only one with white hair.
Now your gut churned in anxiety, feeling bad that you were accusing someone innocent of doing something so horrible while the real perpetrator's identity remains unknown. You took in deep breaths.
What made it worse was the fact that earlier to this conversation— you confronted Satoru in the living room cause he was over to hangout with Suguru since they didn't have any classes today, you cursed him out really badly before Suguru pulled you away into your shared bedroom to calm you down and discuss it with you.
Sensing your mood, Suguru's hands trail down your neck and rest on your shoulders. “We'll figure this out together, I'm here for you baby. But you should probably apologize to him first.” He suggests, giving you a squeeze. You bite your lip in hesitation, feeling extremely guilty.
“Yeah, you're right.” You reply, turning back on your foot and leaving the bedroom and back to the living room where Satoru was sitting on the sofa, mouth pouted and lost in his thoughts. He snaps out of them when he sees you return, followed by Suguru from behind.
“I- uh, I'm sorry. Sorry for lashing out. I just had a horrible fucking night. And blamed you because you were the only one with the white hair, but now that I think of it, I think I might've just hallucinated the color too. I don't know anymore.” You sigh, pinching your brows as you apologize, your voice trembled with unsurity.
Satoru gives you a small smile that makes your heart ache even further. “It's alright. You're aren't in the wrong to assume that. I would too.” He reassures you, pulling you into a friendly hug.
You smile back at him, this situation coming to an end, you make a mental note to try and figure out the identity of the person later on, maybe use some help from someone.
“Oh fuck, I'll be late for my afternoon class. I'll go get ready now.” You announce before leaving the room and going back into your bedroom to get ready.
Suguru makes sure you're fully gone before he lightly smacks Satoru in the head.
“It was you, wasn't it?” Suguru asks, raising an eyebrow, Satoru shakes his head innocently. Suguru narrows his eyes shooting a glare at him. Satoru drops the act immediately, groaning as he falls back on the sofa, sprawling over it.
“Ugh fine yeah, it was me. I couldn't help it, your girlfriend is so fucking hot dude.” He admits, rolling his blue eyes. “Besides, we always shared everything you know.” He shrugs.
Suguru let's out a sigh of disappointment before he too sits down on the sofa.
“She's sensitive, if you wanted to fuck her that badly, I could've just prepared another arrangement.” Suguru hissed, smacking Satoru on the head again. “You used a pretense to lure me out just for this? You could've just asked me, I wasted gas over your stupid shenanigans.” Suguru quipped, withdrawing his hand.
“I didn't think you'd agree, cause you know, you love her and shit.” Satoru replied, folding his arms. Suguru just exhaled, shaking his head at Satoru's stupidity.
“You're my bestfriend dude. I was in the bedroom defending your ass even though I knew it was indeed you.” He lectured.
“Bros before hoes?” Satoru asked raising his eyebrows, which earned him another smack in the head.
“She's not a hoe. Be respectful.” Suguru blurted.
Silence fell over the two of them for a bit.
“Did you film it?” Suguru inquired, raising an eyebrow in curiousity.
Satoru let out a knowing grin before he nodded.
“Want it?” He teased Suguru, wiggling his eyebrows that made Suguru chuckle.
“Fuck yeah, obviously.”
Satoru shared the video with Suguru, who wasted no time in opening it and putting it in full screen.
The camera was shaky as Satoru thrusted into your cunt, focusing on the way you're so out of it. He grabbed your chin, caressing your bottom lip before he shoved his finger inside.
“Like my cock baby?” Satoru asked in the video, you nodded desperately, so fucked out, your eyes we're glazed over and blanked out, your hair was disheveled and messy, and spit coated the corner of your lips as you drooled.
“Ngh— Yes— oh fuck!” You moaned arching your back, feeling him hit the right spot. You closed your eyes in pleasure as Satoru continued to ram himself inside you.
He grabbed your one of your tits, squeezing it with his free hand and tugging on the nipple.
“Your tits are so fucking hot baby.”
The camera quickly shifts downwards, giving full HD view at the part you guys were connected, Satoru was splitting you open as he thrusted in and out.
“Say my name darling, tell me who's making you feel this good yeah?” Satoru utters, his voice shaky as he was nearing his high.
“You— you.”
“Who am I?”
“S-Suguru.” You moaned, voice breathy.
Suguru gripped the phone tightly, feeling his cock stir in his pants. He looked over at Satoru who had wide grin on his face.
Satoru in the video tutted in disappointment.
“Mhmm, I'm not Suguru sweetheart. Look at me.” He slurred. “Say Satoru.” He instructed you.
“Satoru?” You questioned, furrowing your brows.
“Yes Satoru, don't think too much. Just say it.”
“Satoru!” You gasped his name when you felt him hit your sweet spot.
“Fuck yeah, baby, I'm right here.” He groaned in pleasure, feeling the way your cunt squelched around him.
“'Toru— right there, awh fuck! I love you Sugu.” You blurted out a bunch of sentences after that, switching their names as your brain melted together. You let out the most nastiest cry when you came, cunt squeezing him so tightly, he camera recorded the way it pulsated around him.
Satoru thrusted into you sloppily before he too finished inside you and pulled out, recording the way your cunt was leaking and fluttering as his semen dripped out of you.
Suguru's cock was aching at the sight, he let out a groan as the video stopped and he kept his phone down, mind occupied with the content of it.
“She was acting like it was something horrible that happened to her, but the video just makes her look like a slut.” Suguru grunted staring at Satoru. “What did you mix in her drink?” He asked him.
“A little bit of hypnotics and sedatives and a lotssssss of aphrodisiacs. Being a chemistry major is useful.” Satoru shrugged while grinning.
“You're disgusting and a danger to society.” Suguru playfully punched Satoru's shoulder.
“Oh ew no, I would never do that to anyone unless it's her. Frankly it wouldn't be needed if she let me fuck her normally, but she's too loyal to you.” Satoru sighs, rubbing the area Suguru punched as if he was actually hurt.
“No, continue doing that.” Suguru suddenly says which makes Satoru snap his head towards him. His mouth opens in disbelief.
“Fuck, are you serious?” Satoru asks, elevated.
“Yes. I want to fuck her once in this state too.” Suguru's gaze darkens before he gives Satoru a smirk.
“Man, you're such a bad boyfriend.” Satoru jokes which causes Suguru to chuckle.
“Anyway, need help with that?” Satoru points at Suguru's crotch before placing his palm over it. Suguru shivers.
“She's still at home.” He mutters breathlessly as he feels Satoru grab his cock.
“So? I was your first so I think I have every right to do this.” Satoru mumbles, “She can join too, if she catches us. Holy fuck that would be a dream.”
Suguru's imagination goes wild at the thought of him and Satoru fucking you at the same time.
“We wouldn't have to hide this or sneak around anymore. We just fuck, grab her too and fuck her. Her cunt is so tight by the way. Do you not stretch her out?” Satoru whispers, slowly stroking Suguru's cock through his pants.
“I do— but— oh fuck— I guess we're just too big.” He moans.
Satoru reflexively withdraws his hands when he hears the bedroom door open and you step out, all dressed up really pretty as you hang your bag over your shoulder. Satoru feels his cock twitch at the sight of you.
Suguru lets out a small cough, getting up from the sofa before trudging towards you and giving you a tight hug before grabbing your face and pulling you into an intense kiss.
You were taken aback because you expect him to only peck you, but his lips moved against yours with hunger as Suguru whined into your mouth. You wanted to pull away, feeling awkward that Satoru is watching— but Suguru keeps a hand pressed to the back of your head, making sure you won't escape.
You land small hits against his chest, and only then does he let go, you look at him all flushed, gloss smeared and lips coated in his saliva with a string that still connected you both. You could feel the heat rise up in your face.
“Fuck,” Suguru groans at the sight, his hard-on getting painful each second “Why can't you just stay? Mhm? Skip the classes baby, I wanna fuck you so bad.” He whispers against your lips before smooching them, and pulling you flush against his body. Your eyes widen when feel his cock press into you.
You slightly push him away, still feeling embarassed cause you can feel the stare of Satoru. But you fail to create much distance between you and Suguru as he stays planted, not budging.
You shake your head.
“Already skipped the morning ones, I can't be tardy. I won't go to the library today, okay? I'll come straight home.” You caress his face as he looks at you. He slowly nods, but quickly pulls you in for another kiss, slowly humping against you as his thoughts wander off to the video.
He pulls away from the kiss before kissing your forehead and stepping back.
“Have a nice day. I love you.” He sends you off, waving at you as you smile and turn to leave.
“Love you.” You quickly reply and exit the house.
Within seconds Satoru is pressed against Suguru, grabbing him and guiding him to the couch as he pushes his lips against Suguru's, tongue dipping into his as he moans.
He hums in satisfaction when he tastes you, feeling delighted.
He pulls back, taking Suguru's top off him.
“Man, I wish you had great tits like her. They're fun to grab onto.” Satoru teases making a squeezing motion in the air, causing Suguru to roll his eyes.
“They're also really fun to fuck.” Suguru flexes, which makes Satoru jealous of him.
“I want to fuck her again today, she's so god damn addicting.” Satoru mutters as he undos Suguru's pants.
“Get the shit ready. I wanna join too.” Suguru smirks.
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the concept of "personal property" is foreign to your roommate. what belongs to him and what belongs to you simply does not exist in the vocabulary of his.
so when you enter your shared apartment after a grueling nine-hour shift, you already recognize the rhythmic buzz echoing down the hallway. it’s the exact same sound you’ve confronted him about three times this month.
you march down the carpeted hallway and throw the bedroom door wide, not even bothered to knock because he certainly didn’t ask permission to breach your space.
and there he is, your thoroughly infuriating, completely shameless roommate, sprawled across your duvet with those absurdly long, pale legs monopolizing the entire mattress. his glasses are askew on his face, the lenses clouded from his own ragged gasps as he rubs your favourite wand's head against his sensitive cockhead—smearing his sticky pre-cum all over.
“gojo!” you snap, your delivery flat and dripping with unadulterated irritation. "you are doing it again?!"
he lacks even the basic decency to look up from his own groin, refusing to acknowledge your presence at the foot of your bed. his chest heaves under an oversized anime t-shirt, hips giving a needy little twitch as the rattle of the motor continues to pleasure his nerve endings. he rolls his head back into your pillows, letting out a shaky, wet moan that sounds nearly pornographic.
“shh… wait a sec,” he pants, his voice thick and raspy; a world apart from his typically fast-talking cadence that usually annoys the shit out of you. “i'm almost there. don’t be mad, it just… it feels so much better than my hands…”
you’ve had the boundary talks. you’ve threatened to lock your door (which he can bypass anyway). you’re tired, your feet hurt, and the audacity of him sitting in your room, treating your personal drawer like his own candy shop without an ounce of shame, makes your blood boil.
you stride over to the bed, and before his overstimulated brain can register the sudden movement, you reach down and wrench his hand away from his grip, sending the toy clattering onto the floorboards.
“hey!” he whines, a petulant, spoiled-brat pout instantly forming on his lips as his eyes finally dart up to yours. “i was literally right there! c’mon, that’s just cruel—”
unable to tolerate his dumb whining a second longer, you drop to your knees beside the mattress and clamp your hand around the bottom of his cock with intentional force. before he can even puff at the sudden restriction of his blood flow, you raise your other hand to land a stinging slap directly across the pink flesh of his tip with a loud smack!
satoru gasps, his spine arching off beautifully as his body spasms from the impact. his vivid blue eyes are now blown wide, blinking rapidly behind his spectacles while a miserable whimper spills from his plush lips. "do you think you can just use my things because you are too lazy to buy your own?"
to penalize his arrogance further, ensuring the lesson sinks into his imbecile brain, you squeeze your thumb and forefinger around the tender skin beneath the swollen mushroom head and pinch, using enough force to guarantee a lasting red mark.
the reaction is instantaneous. the agony of the nip, combined with another slap across his aching dick, pushes his nervous system into overload. satoru releases a startled shriek, his hips thrashing desperately as he tries to wrench his hips away from your horrific grip, thighs jerking against the sheets in a futile attempt to escape the blinding pain.
but your hands are unrelenting, and the torment only accelerates the climax. his cock throbs spastically as if its trying to communicate something using morse code before he erupts.
thick, pearly ropes of cum shoot straight up, splattering across his own flat stomach and the hem of his shirt, dripping down the pale skin of his abs.
“oh god—” he groans, voice cracking as his upper body collapses back into the pillows, the sudden impact knocking his glasses off his nose to land sideways on the mattress. he looks like a total wreck; his mouth hanging open, a thin strand of saliva bridging his lips as he stares up at you with dazed, dilated pupils that consume his baby blue irises.
even as the intense peak subsides, his hips give one final, weak roll against your hand, and he possesses the sheer nerve to smile—a lazy, unrepentant smirk forming on his stupidly handsome face.
“do… do that again,” he whispers, breathless and shameless as ever, cocking his head like an overly enthusiastic bunny. “slap it again for me..?”
when your husband is supposed to be the rational one, you don’t expect to find him standing at the foot of the bed with his cock in his hand.
but that’s where satoru ends up. tank top pushed halfway up his ribs, belt hanging from one loop, pants around his knees. his fist works up and down the fat length of his cock in rough strokes, spit and precum smeared down to his balls. he’s staring at you the whole time, at the curve of your hip under the sheet, the flutter of your lashes against your cheek. pregnant. glowing. carrying his baby.
and he’s rutting into his hand like some desperate virgin.
the panties he stole from the laundry basket are bunched in his other hand, pressed to his face. he inhales it, shuddering so hard that the flimsy fabric trembles against his nose. your scent has him sobbing out a noise that doesn’t sound him at all.
“fuck, baby—” the words rip out of him, pitched high. “smell so good... oh fuck, i can’t stop...”
his cock is obscene. flushed dark, veins raised under the skin, the head slick enough to shine in the faint glow of the bedside lamp. precum drips in heavy strings down his balls, thick enough to coat his knuckles. every stroke drags more slick out of him—schlick, schlick, schlick.
he sucks at the fabric like it could feed him, panting between licks, nose buried deep so he could breathe you in while his tongue works. “god, i'd eat you out for days if i just—mnhm!—if i just had the chance...”
his hips snap forward into his own fist, cock smacking his stomach with each thrust. precum splatters onto his tank top, dripping onto the hardwoods.
disgusting. a husband rutting into his fist because he’s too scared to touch his pregnant wife.
but satoru can’t stop. he’s babbling now, words spilling fast and needy. “want it so bad—fuck, i’d worship you, i'd never stop—”
he chokes on a sob as his balls tighten up, cock jerking violently in his grip. the sound he makes is straight up humiliating, a high and euphoric whine.
cum spurts out in heavy ropes, painting his stomach, his abs, fist, and the floor. lewd, thick jets that won’t stop, spilling like his body is trying to empty years of frustration at once. it drips down the backs of his fingers, strings across his knuckles, sprays his shirt. he gasps, still pumping through it, cock twitching violently.
“ah—mnhg—too much...” more cum leaks out, drooling down his cock, streaking his thighs. his knees buckle and he braces one hand on the nightstand, forehead dropping against the wood with a hollow thud.
when it’s finally over, when the spurts slow to tiny dribbles, he’s still shaking so hard he can barely breathe. his cock still pulses against his stomach, half-hard like it doesn’t know how to stop.
and you’re still asleep, lips parted beautifully while he stands there.
18+ slight angst. meet footballer!gojo & his cheerleader fwb !
1. CHEERLEADERS ARE FOR CHEERING—NOT FONDLING!
“girl… isn’t that your man?”
your first mistake is letting your eyes follow shoko’s gaze to the bleachers. your second mistake is making eye contact with golden boy gojo satoru, still in his jersey & ‘hiding’ behind a skinny pole with a very annoyed geto suguru by his side.
you don’t bother correcting shoko. instead you ignore the grin satoru flashes you, taking out the water bottle between your lips with a pop! “is he supposed to be hiding?”
shoko shrugs, turns on her heel. “dunno, ask him. he’s clearly waiting.”
you roll your eyes with a sigh, but you’re already moving.
shoes clicking against the wood gym floor, skirt swishing between your thighs. gojo satoru has long come out of his hiding spot. he’s slumped against the pole now; hands in his pockets, grin lazy, blue eyes glimmering in the orange sun. beside him geto suguru is there, jaw tight in an expression that says he’d rather be anywhere but here.
you still have your bottle in hand when gojo reaches for your hips. “hi, baby…”
you barely murmur back a hi before he’s tugging you in by your skirt. his head dips to kiss your neck, then your cheek, then somewhere else your brain doesn’t register because his hands glide up to squeeze your ass cheeks underneath your skirt. a soft noise slips past your lips as he sucks on your neck.
“mm,” he murmurs, “missed you.”
geto clears his throat.
you let satoru do as he pleases, threading your hands through his hair as his hand dips between your inner thighs. he hums into your neck when you scratch his scalp. “suguru,” you breathe, “how’d you two even get here? coach toji’s gonna kill you guys.”
“kiss,” satoru interrupts. you tilt your head towards him, eyes still on suguru as gojo presses his lips to yours.
suguru’s face twists in disgust, but he doesn’t comment. “satoru bribed him. paid him a couple hundreds to see you for five minutes.”
“right—” your voice strains when gojo gropes your ass once again. “and you followed him because?”
geto is already looking away. “he bribed me too.”
you snort, but it turns into a shiver as satoru sucks on your earlobe. he hums, pleased, when your fingers tighten in his hair.
“mmh… got an away match,” he kisses your jaw. “wanted to see my girl first.”
you’re not his girl, you know you’ll never be, but you still laugh when he squeezes your waist & presses hurried kisses to your cheek. you shove him away & his grin is cocky.
“gonna score for you,” he tugs you back, dipping his head to your ear. “and then you’ll treat me, yeah?”
you hum when his arms snake around your hips once again.
“only if you score the winning goal.”
2. POST MATCH SEXCAPADES !
satoru comes back too late.
you’re not sure exactly why—maybe overtime, maybe the team stopped somewhere to celebrate their win—but you don’t let the thought plague you. you’re more concerned about the fact that it’s nearly evening & you can hear a ball kicking against the gym walls. you’re still in your cheer uniform, tiny skirt & sheer top, standing at the metal doors as you watch gojo dribble on his own.
he stops dribbling to catch his breath, wiping sweat off his chin. and then he’s off to sit at the bleachers, letting water slide down his neck as he chugs from a bottle.
you take it as your cue.
you have your hands behind your back, padding all slow, steps soft as you make your way to him. gojo keeps his bottle pressed to his lips but he sees it. how your skirt clings to your thighs. how your breasts ripple under the thin material. he lets out a low hum as you sit yourself on his lap.
you loop your hands around his neck. “hi.”
his lip tugs. “hi,”
he squeezes your waist as you press yourself into him. your tits smush against his chest, nipples hardening, and his fingers are already tracing the hem of your skirt & gliding up your thigh.
“how was the match?” you mumble.
“was good,” he mutters, but his thumb has already found your panties underneath your skirt. he rubs a slow circle over the bud. “you miss me?”
“no,” you sass, but he presses his thumb into your clit & your hips stutter. satoru laughs.
“i know what you like now,” he hums, left hand gliding up your side as the other rubs slow circles over your panties. “know it only takes a little.”
his thumb finds your nipple through your thin shirt. he rubs a circle over the pebbled peak, slow, but then he raises a brow. “no bra?”
you can’t respond. your breath hitches as your head falls into his shoulder.
“so cute,” he murmurs softly. he lets you press against him, leaving your panties to grope your heavy tits in his palm. he squeezes and fondles, pressing light kisses to your cheek as you make pretty noises in his ear. your hips buck into him.
“needy,” he scoffs, but his hands come up to guide your hips as you rut against him. he’s already hard and your panties are soaked thin and you let the material cling between your folds as your clit rubs against him. he flips up your skirt to find you drenched & slobbering. he bites his cheek.
“fuck, baby,” he rasps, sliding your panties over your aching cunt. you’re still humping him. “why’s your pussy so fucking wet?”
you only whimper as he presses his thumb to your sticky clit, rubbing hard circles over the bud. his other hand gropes your hip, guiding you faster over him. your breathing shudders as his thumb circles your clit faster and harder, until your hips are stuttering & he’s cupping your pussy so you cum in his palm.
you whimper, tears pricking at your lashes as you come down from your high. satoru kisses your cheek slow. “mmh, good job, baby.”
he’s still rubbing his palm over your pussy, massaging your warmth all slow & lazy. your eyes drop to his bulge, his cock practically twitching in his shorts. you reach a hand to glide over it, palming him so his hips twitch. he inhales sharply, “fuck—”
“not in my uniform,” he steals your hand, kissing your jaw. “gonna be a nightmare to clean.”
you glare at him through your lashes. “it’s already dirty, idiot.”
he laughs at your pretty face glaring up at him. your cheeks are still flushed, lashes wet, and your lips are in a frown but satoru swears you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. he folds his hand over yours and dips his head to kiss you warm & slow. you gasp as his tongue pushes in, a soft moan leaving your lips as his tongue grazes yours.
“another time,” he murmurs against your lips. “no pouting, yeah?”
you pout anyways, and satoru kisses it off.
3. NOT YOUR GIRLFRIEND !
satoru is driving too fast.
his jaw is tight, knuckles white against the steering as you clutch your seatbelt beside him. your heart hammers against your ribs but the engine soon slows, his foot easing down on the breaks as the car comes to a stop at a traffic light.
today’s match went bad, really bad, so bad to the point that afterwards you’d tried to console him and he’d simply walked past. you try not to let it get to you. you know how men are when it comes to losing in sports.
but satoru’s breathing settles beside you, so you try once more.
“you played good today.”
silence.
"i know you're upset," you continue, voice soft. "but it's just one game, and you'll get them next time.”
silence again. his jaw only ticks, face illuminated by the traffic light’s red glow. the seconds seem to stretch into minutes, and you fumble with your skirt.
“you did your best,” you turn to him. “that’s all that matters—“
“can you stop?”
you freeze.
satoru doesn’t look at you. his fingers tap against the steering as he lowers his foot to the gas pedal. he’s not speeding anymore, but the silence stretches & you can feel a lump clawing at your throat.
you bite your lip. and satoru’s mad, yes, but he’s got no right to talk to you like that or take his anger out on you. so you suck in a breath, try to correct him. “i was only trying to help. you don’t have to take it out on me—“
“do you ever get tired of talking?”
“what?”
but satoru continues. “you always have something to say, don’t you? you’re not my fucking girlfriend. and i don’t need your fucking comfort.”
you blink. the words don’t register at first, but soon your throat is closing up, and you’re nodding obediently before you can think any better of it. your skirt bunches in your hands as you try to keep your breathing steady. god forbid you give him a reason to snap at you once again.
“you’re right,” you try for sass but it fails. “and i won’t act like it again.”
but satoru sees you through the rearview mirror. your eyes are on your lap, like you’re still trying to process what just happened, your thumbs fiddling with the hem of your skirt. satoru only swallows, glances away. if he ignores you long enough, you’ll be just fine, right?
your breath hitches beside him and he crumbles immediately.
he’s already pulling over, unbuckling his belt to reach over the console. “no baby, i’m sorry,” he pleads, and maybe he shouldn’t because it only makes tears fall from your eyes. “shh baby don’t cry, i’m sorry, i’m so fucking sorry.”
he smushes your face into his chest, carding his fingers through your hair. you try to push him away but he takes your hand and presses it to his chest.
“didn’t mean to snap at you,” his breathing is ragged as he cups your face. “don’t cry baby, you know i hate it when you cry.”
you sniffle as he swipes a thumb over your wet lashes. “then what are we?”
satoru doesn’t answer. instead he presses his lips to yours, slow and warm, head tilting to deepen the kiss. “you’re my girl,” kiss. “my baby,” kiss. “my everything,” kiss.
he doesn’t say my girlfriend. but he doesn’t need to, right?
footballer!gojo doesn’t do relationships. and cheerleaders like you don’t make good girlfriends anyway. so you swallow the lump growing in your throat & let him part open your thighs.
rating: explicit/nsfw
category: f/m, caleb/reader, reader-insert
tags: childhood friends to lovers, pseudocest, mutual pining, domesticity, playfight, sexual tension, homecoming, suppressed!caleb, yearning!caleb, submissive top!caleb, insecure!caleb, forced proximity, forbidden/risky, “be quiet, granny will hear us”, making out, dryhumping, p in v, mirror sex, backshots, leg hooking, aftercare, i think that's it?
wordcount: 15.9k
PREVIEW : “wait, what the hell?!” you gasped, your hands flying up in a knee-jerk reaction to push him back, but caleb's hands immediately shot forward to pin you back down against the couch. “see?” caleb murmured, leaning down closer, his hot breath fanning across your cheeks, smelling faintly of the mint gum he'd been chewing. “you couldn't even move before i did this. you can't even defend yourself, you silly girl. that means you still need me to protect you.”
SYNOPSIS : what was supposed to be a casual homecoming quickly devolves into a suffocating game of unspoken jealousy and long-awaited confessions where every shared glance and tight space threatens to collapse the boundaries of your childhood friendship. trapped between the ticking clock of his limited sixty-day leave and the terrifyingly possessive reality of how much he’s missed you, will the tension eventually snap?
caleb is coming back this summer.
the heat of early june in the province always carried a specific kind of weight, heavy with the scent of sun-baked asphalt, dry grass, and the faint rot of fallen mangoes in the backyard. it was summer, finally! the kind of summer that felt less like a break and more like a threshold. you had just wrapped up your sophomore year at the state university down the road, a year spent navigating crowded lecture halls, cheap iced coffees, and a revolving door of new faces that you tried very hard to care about.
for the first time in your life ever since, you and caleb hadn't shared a daily routine.
after eighteen years of being so aggressively attached at the hip that your shadows practically bled together, the last four years had seen you both drifted into your own separate worlds. it was a strange, quiet realization: you both had lives of your own now.
caleb had packed his bags for that prestigious aerospace academy up north, his childhood fascination with the sky hardening into a fierce passion for flying. you, on the other hand, had stayed behind anchored to the familiar soil of your hometown just to float between random orgs, shifting friend groups, and the vague pursuit of figuring out who you were when you weren't “caleb and his girl.”
and today, he was coming home....
the question had been humming under your skin all morning, rhythmic and annoying like a cicada’s buzz. did caleb change? would he look different? act different?
the last time you saw him in the flesh, right before his departure, he had already begun to outgrow the lanky, boyish frame you could map with your eyes closed. his shoulders had broadened, his jawline cutting a sharper silhouette against the terminal lights. he had looked less like the boy who used to help you steal guavas from the neighbor's tree and more like a stranger you'd cross the street to look twice at.
”make sure you tell him to eat properly while he's here,” granny had mumbled earlier this morning, her voice thick with sleep as she shuffled around the kitchen, adjusting the mesh food cover over a plate of fried rice. “that boy always forgets to look after himself when he's excited.”
you had laughed, buzzing with a restless, frantic energy, nodding quickly as you practically flew out the screen door. you didn't even bother putting on real shoes—just slipped your feet into a pair of worn-out rubber slippers, the soles thin enough that you could feel the morning grit of the driveway beneath your arches.
gideon’s car was already idling by the gate, the exhaust coughing a pale plume of smoke into the crisp morning air. gideon, caleb's friend and the closest thing you both had to another brother, had come back from the city a few days earlier because of some vague corporate endeavor he refused to elaborate on. his early return was a stroke of luck; it meant you didn't have to brave the crowded public transportation to get to the drop-off terminal.
“look who finally crawled out of bed,” gideon teased as you yanked the backdoor open and threw yourself into the backseat. the leather was cool against the backs of your thighs, a sharp contrast to the mounting humidity outside.
“i've been up since five, actually,” you shot back, leaning forward so your chin was practically resting on the gap between the two front seats. “go, go, go. we're going to be late, gideon!”
“we have forty minutes, calm down,” gideon chuckled, throwing the car into reverse with practiced ease. his hand spun the steering wheel effortlessly as he backed out onto the main road.
the moment the car straightened out, you immediately started. you couldn't help it. the questions poured out of you in a breathless stream, all of them centered around the one person who hadn't been here. because gideon and caleb were in the same university for college, gideon was your only real window into caleb’s new life.
“is he still doing those crazy flight simulator hours? did he actually pass his survival training or did he cry? does he still sleep with three pillows? is he... does he look different, gideon? like, really different?”
gideon navigated the familiar potholes of the provincial highway, answering each query with a patient nod of his head. he was used to this. he had been the buffer between you and caleb ever since.
“he's fine. still a nerd about planes,” gideon said, glancing at you through the rearview mirror with a knowing smirk. “he passed the survival drills with top marks, obviously. you know how he is. he doesn't cry over dirt. and yeah, he's bigger. the academy makes them do a lot of physical training. he looks like a proper pilot now.”
you listened to every word, your head tilting slightly, your eyes fixed on the back of gideon's head. you were listening so attentively it almost hurt, your ears straining for something specific. a name, maybe. a habit. a detail that sounded wrong, or a hint of a girl, or a sign that he had completely outgrown the small-town girl who used to share his umbrella. you were waiting for a phrase that would confirm your deepest, unvoiced fear: that he had left you behind in the dust of the province.
but that piece of information didn't arrive. gideon just kept talking about credit hours, physical exams, and flight logistics.
“anyway,” gideon clears his throat, switching gears as he turned onto the long stretch of road leading to the junction. “enough about the golden boy. how's state uni treating you? your granny said you joined some theater production crew last month. you making friends?”
the spark in your chest caught a sudden, damp chill. your posture slumped just a fraction, the manic energy leaving your shoulders as quickly as it had arrived. the topic was no longer caleb.
“oh. yeah. it's fine,” you murmured, your voice dropping an octave. “the theater stuff was just for a midterm project. it's over now. and friends... yeah, they're okay. we go to the diner near the campus sometimes.” it sounded dull. it sounded incredibly small compared to aerospace academies and survival training and flying through clouds.
sensing your sudden shift in mood but choosing not to press it, gideon just hummed, turning up the radio slightly.
you leaned back against the seat, suddenly feeling the distance between your body and the front of the car. with a slow movement, you pressed the button on the door panel, letting the window roll down all the way.
you were going to see him in less than fifteen minutes. and for the first time in your life, you were terrified of what his smile might look like now.
with a restless groan, you shifted your weight, sliding down the leather until you were lying flat across the length of the backseat. you lifted your legs, balancing your heels against the rim of the lowered window frame, letting the rushing wind blow right over your bare toes. the bright summer sunlight hit your face in a sudden wash, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut as the shadows of roadside acacia trees flickered across your eyelids like a film strip.
gideon glanced back through the rearview mirror, his eyes crinkling at the corners as a quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest. “what exactly is the strategy here? are we airing out your feet, or are you trying to slide out of the car entirely?”
“shh,” you muttered, not opening your eyes, just waving a hand dismissively in his general direction. “don't ruin the vibe, gideon. i'm getting into character. when we get there, i'm going to pretend to be asleep.”
“and why, pray tell, are we faking a coma?”
“because,” you mumbled, your voice dropping into a stubborn drone. “he's been gone for four years acting all professional and pilot-like. i'm not giving him the satisfaction of seeing me standing at the curb like an eager puppy. if i'm asleep, he has to wait for me to wake up.”
gideon let out an amused snort but didn't argue further, slowing the vehicle down as he navigated the chaotic entrance of the terminal. the air became a noisy symphony of sputtering engines, the loud barking of barkers calling out destinations, and the heavy hiss of bus brakes.
then, the car came to a full stop. the engine remained idling, its low vibration humming right through your spine as you lay flat on the seat.
you heard the tinny ring of gideon’s phone bridging the gap over the dashboard, followed by the click of the answer button. gideon didn't even put it to his ear; he just left it on speaker, the sound cutting through the air-conditioned cabin.
“yeah? where are you? i'm near the main exit, by the yellow bakery,”
”oop, i see the car,” a voice replied.
that was caleb!
your breath hitched, catching sharply in your throat. it was him. it was caleb. even through the cheap, compressed audio of a phone speaker, there was no mistaking that specific cadence—that easy, slightly raspy, slow-rolling tone that always sounded like he was hiding a joke behind his teeth. it was exactly the same.
“alright, hurry up. the traffic enforcer is already looking at me sideways,” gideon said, hanging up.
panic, sudden and entirely irrational, flared up under your ribs. you scrambled to pull your legs down from the window, tucking your knees slightly toward your chest, and threw your right arm over your eyes, effectively blocking out the blinding glare of the sun and the view of the front seats. you squeezed your eyelids shut until you saw spots, forcing your breathing to slow down.
just act natural. you're asleep. you've been sleeping the whole ride.
the crunch of boots on gravel outside the car door was your only warning. and then, the front passenger door clicked and swung open. “hey!”
your heart nearly leaped right out of your chest. the sheer force of it hammered against your ribs so violently you were terrified he would actually hear it over the sound of everything else. you closed your eyes even tighter, your arm pressing down hard against your brow line.
“man, you look like you survived a war,” gideon’s voice boomed, followed by the rustle of clothing as the two of them exchanged a brief half-hug across the console.
“more like two years of institutionalized sleep deprivation,” caleb replied, his voice much louder now, much closer, vibrating from the seat right in front of your head. the car door slammed shut with a heavy thud, sealing the three of you inside the quiet space.
there was a brief rustle of a duffel bag being shoved into the footwell, and then a sudden pause. you could feel the exact moment his attention shifted.
”is... she dead?” caleb asked, his tone dropping into that familiar, amused lilt.
“passed out about ten minutes ago,” gideon lied without a single hitch in his voice. god, you owed him a premium coffee for this. “she was buzzing around the house since five in the morning, then collapsed the second we hit the highway.”
a loaded silence descended upon the car as gideon shifted into drive and pulled away from the curb. you lay frozen, every muscle in your body stiff with the effort of remaining limp. you could feel caleb’s weight shifting in the front seat, the leather creaking slightly as he turned his upper body around to look back at you.
even with your arm covering your face, you could feel the weight of his stare burning through the fabric of your sleeve.
then, a low huff of a laugh escaped him.
“silly girl,” caleb murmured, the word dripping with an irritatingly affectionate playfulness. “still a sleepyhead. some things really don't change, do they?”
gideon steered the car back onto the main road, the smooth roll of the tires replacing the chaotic noise of the terminal. “i don't know about that. she’s grown up quite a bit while you were gone, caleb. she’s not the little girl who used to cry when you stole her slippers anymore. she's at state uni now. got her own thing going on.”
there was another pause, a tiny stretch of time where the only sound was the hum of the engine.
“yeah,” caleb said, his voice shifting into a tone that was harder to read, more contemplative. “i can see that. she looks different.”
“don't let the height fool you, though,” gideon chuckled, glancing at the rearview mirror. “she’s still a menace. but yeah, you probably can't carry her around with one arm like you used to.”
“please, i can absolutely still carry her with one arm.” a fleshy slap echoed through the front seat—the sound of caleb smacking his own bicep or forearm or whatever to prove a point. “these muscles aren't just for show, gid. i could lift her and her bags without breaking a sweat.”
god, the urge to open your eyes was so overwhelming it was almost a physical ache in your chest. you wanted to throw your arm off your face, look at him, and tell him to shut his stupid mouth just like old times. you wanted to see exactly how broad his shoulders had gotten, wanted to see if his hair was still cut short and neat, wanted to see if that annoying, arrogant little smirk was plastered across his face. but the weight of your own realization—the sudden consciousness of him not just as caleb, but as a man who could effortlessly lift you—kept you completely pinned to the leather.
“whatever you say, pilot boy.” gideon laughed, shaking his head as he accelerated down the open road.
the comfortable rhythm of their conversation was broken by the sharp click of gideon’s turn signal. the car slowed down, veering off the main highway and pulling up.
“alright, cay, this is me,” gideon unbuckles his seatbelt with a crisp click. “i need to drop by this studio for that project archive i told you about. you take the wheel from here. just park the car back at granny's house when you guys get back.”
“yeah, sure. no problem,”
wait, what?
gideon was leaving?
panic flared up again as you stayed perfectly still, listening intently to the rustle of clothes, the sound of gideon opening the passenger door, and the heavy thud of his boots hitting the gravel outside. there was a brief exchange of instructions—gideon reminding caleb about a loose wire near the stereo dashboard—and then the driver’s side door opened. the car dipped slightly under a new weight as caleb slid effortlessly into the driver's seat.
the door slammed shut. the heavy, reassuring presence of gideon was gone, replaced entirely by caleb’s proximity.
he adjusted the seat, sliding it back a few inches to accommodate his longer legs. then, the car smoothly pulled back onto the road. and god, the silence that followed was deafening. without gideon’s easygoing banter filling the cabin, the only sound was the low hum of the engine and the rush of the wind through your open window.
should you open your eyes now? if you wake up now, it'll look natural. just a casual yawn, and—
a subtle tug pulled at the crown of your head.
it wasn't painful. it was incredibly light. you felt a hand reaching over the center console, two fingers winding carefully around a single stray strand of your hair, giving it a teasing little pull.
your eyes flew open.
through the gap between the front seats, you finally saw him—caleb driving effortlessly with his right hand on the steering wheel, his left hand extended backward over the armrest with his thumb and index finger still lightly holding the end of your hair. he didn't even look back at you; his eyes remained fixed on the road ahead.
but his eyes flicked upward, locking onto yours through the rearview mirror.
the corners of his eyes crinkled instantly, breaking into that utterly familiar expression. that lazy, arrogant, beautiful smile spread across his lips.
“got a good sleep, pips? your gege's back now.”
the nickname—the one he used to demand you call him when you were kids just to annoy you—should have earned him an immediate eye-roll or a sharp kick to the back of his seat. but you couldn't even bring yourself to reply. your tongue felt thick, glued to the roof of your mouth.
you just stared, agape, taking him in for the first time in four whole years.
he looked like a man.
caleb's eyes flicked up to the mirror again, catching the exact moment your gaze drifted from his face down to his shoulders, and then back up. your wide-eyed, breathless silence was loud. too loud.
for a split second, the easy smirk on caleb’s face faltered. his prominent adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, a sudden patch of color rising along his neck. he cleared his throat, a slightly tense sound, and quickly looked back at the road, his fingers letting go of your hair as he pulled his hand back to the steering wheel.
“what's with the face?” he asked, trying hard to force that casual lilt back into his tone. “you look like you've seen a ghost.”
you quickly sat up, pulling your legs inward and smoothing down your shirt, desperately trying to find your footing. “you look different, that's all. the academy must be starving you if you've gone all that just to survive.”
“starving? please. they feed us like racehorses,” caleb scoffed, though the response felt a little rehearsed, a little too quick as he kept his eyes glued strictly on the asphalt ahead. “but thanks for noticing. glad to know my hard work isn't lost on a provincial girl like you.”
you leaned your cheek against your hand, looking out the side window to hide the heat rushing into your own face.
somehow, the conversation didn't go the way you had scripted it in your head over the last four years. you hadn't greeted each other like two people who had spent their entire lives attached at the hip, starved for each other's presence. there were no desperate questions, no breathy laughter, no clumsy, overwhelming hugs that left you smelling like his cologne.
instead, you were simply staring out the side window, watching the green expanse of the provincial rice fields blur into a smear of dusty emerald, and then he was simply driving.
“so, state u,” caleb started, “gran says you're keeping busy. how's the actual college life treating you?”
“it's fine,” you replied, your voice matching his even tone. you kept your eyes fixed on a passing billboard outside. “it's a lot of reading, but my blockmates are nice. i usually hang out with maya and javi after our afternoon lectures. we found this cheap diner near the campus that serves really good sizzling meat.”
“maya and javi,” caleb repeated, testing the names on his tongue as if trying to fit them into the map of your life. he nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving the road. “that's good. it's good that you found your crowd.”
“mm. javi's in the theater crew too, so we usually walk home together when rehearsals run late.” you added, offering the detail up like a shield.
why did it end up like this? why did the air between you feel so thick, so cautious, as if a single wrong word would shatter a boundary neither of you had openly acknowledged yet?
“what about you?” you asked, trying to sound completely nonchalant, keeping your gaze trained on the side mirror. “must be nice up at the academy. you probably have a whole new circle of pilot friends.”
“yeah. the guys in my barracks are solid. we complain about the flight instructors together. it keeps us sane.”
and then, that's where it happened.
“any... girls?” the word slipped out of your mouth a little too smoothly, a little too practiced. “i mean, the uniform probably does half the work for you up there.”
the car went starkly silent.
caleb didn't answer right away. he shifted his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening just a fraction before he relaxed them. it took a long drawn-out pause for him to reply.
finally, a gentle smile spread across his face—but it wasn't his usual mischievous smirk.
“yeah,” caleb said quietly, his eyes softening as he looked out at the highway ahead. “actually, there is. i've got a pretty massive crush on someone from the nursing college nearby. i'm planning on courting her this coming semester.”
oh. okay.
you didn't say anything for a moment, letting the sound of his confession hang in the air between you like heavy smoke.
”that's nice. good luck with that.”
wanting nothing more than to disappear into the upholstery, you leaned further back against the leather of the seat. and you lifted your legs again, resting your ankles on the open window frame just like you had earlier. you stared straight into the blinding, white-hot summer sunlight, letting the glare sting your eyes until they watered, using the heat as an excuse for the burning sensation behind your eyelids.
college really is horrible. it really does change everything and everyone, doesn't it? it takes the boy who used to swear he'd never care about anyone more than you, sends him away for four years, and brings back a stranger who belongs to someone else.
you watched the provincial scenery go into a blurring motion as caleb pressed down on the accelerator, speed being his only response to the quiet.
suddenly, caleb cleared his throat, a nervous cough breaking the quiet. “what about you, pips? you mentioned that javi guy. do you... have a boyfriend now?”
you blinked, your eyes still stinging from the sunlight. you didn't even have to think about it. “no.”
within minutes, caleb steered the car smoothly up the gravel driveway of granny's home, pulling up right under the shade of the large mango tree. the engine died with a final, shuddering purr, leaving only the loud clicking of the cicadas in the backyard to fill the space.
you kept your ankles resting on the window frame, your eyes closed against the light.
then, you heard the rustle of caleb's heavy duffel bag being pulled from the footwell, and the solid thud of his boots hitting the gravel. but instead of walking straight to the house, the sound of his footsteps looped around to your side of the car.
a shadow suddenly fell over your face, blocking out the harsh heat of the sun.
you opened your eyes a fraction, only to see that caleb was leaning his arms against the window frame, his broad shoulders completely framing the opening. he looked down at you, a golden-boy smile playing on his lips.
“we're here, sleepyhead,” his voice still carried that warmth that used to make you feel so safe, but now it just felt like salt on an open wound. “aren't you coming out? granny’s probably already waiting at the door.”
you quickly averted your gaze, looking past his shoulder at the porch of the house, avoiding his eyes entirely.
“you go ahead.”
—
the heavy heat of mid-afternoon had dissolved by the time your eyes fluttered open, replaced by the long-shadowed stillness of late gold.
you groaned, a sharp ache radiating through your lower back and neck from the impossibly cramped angle you’d been knotted into across the backseat. four hours. you had actually managed to pass out for four hours in the belly of a dead car.
you pushed the heavy car door open, your thin slippers slapping against the gravel as you stepped out into the humid yard. stretching your arms over your head until your joints popped, you shook out your numb legs, half-hopping, half-limping your way up the porch steps and pulling the screen door open with a lazy rattle.
the house was strangely quiet.
“granny?” you called out, your voice still thick and raspy from sleep. no answer. you tilted your head, wandering past the dark living room where the old wooden rocking chair sat still, and followed a faint metallic clinking toward the kitchen.
when you stepped over the threshold, the words caught squarely in your throat.
caleb, completely shirtless, bent over the kitchen sink with his back turned to you. a chaotic battlefield of rusty wrenches, tattered rags, and rolls of teflon tape were scattered all over the tiled countertop beside him. he was clearly deep-cleaning the drain and trying to muscle a stubborn leaking pipe back into place, his skin slick with a thin sheen of sweat that caught the amber sunset filtering through the small window.
from this angle, the reality of how much he had changed hit you like a physical blow. but it was when he leaned further down into the cabinet under the sink that your eyes inevitably landed on the silver chain hanging from his neck, the metal dogtag swinging loosely against his collarbone.
you swallowed hard, forcing your gaze upward, and cleared your throat loudly to break the spell. “where's granny?”
the sudden interruption made caleb flinch violently, his entire torso jerking upward in surprise as the back of his head collided with the edge of the upper cabinet.
“ouch!”
”clumsy idiot.” you muttered.
caleb slowly turned around, still wincing, and looked up at you from his crouched position. you caught the distinct, deliberate way his gaze traveled down your frame—taking in your post-nap hair, your dumb shirt, and your bare legs—before flicking back up to settle on your face. the intensity of it lasted only a fraction of a second before his easy golden-boy mask slid right back into place.
“granny went down the road,” he casually leaned his hip against the counter, completely unbothered by his lack of a shirt. “visited mrs. alvarez or someone. said she’d be back before dinner.”
trying to appear completely casual, you walked past him, keeping a careful radius of distance between your shoulder and his bare chest, and opened the refrigerator door. the cool air hit your face as you grabbed the heavy glass pitcher of water.
“look who finally decided to join the land of the living,” caleb watched you pull a glass from the cupboard. “four hours, pipsqueak? i was about to check if you still had a pulse. you sleep like a log.”
you poured the water, keeping your back to him as you scoffed. “i had to make up for the four years of peace and quiet i'm about to lose now that you're back to annoy me.”
behind you, caleb let out a bright, boyish laugh—the kind of chesty sound that filled the entire room and made him look exactly like the sixteen-year-old boy you grew up with.
“yeah, yeah, keep talking...” chuckling, he wipes his sweaty brow with the back of his forearm. he leaned closer to the table, his eyes shining with a sudden eager spark. “hey, are you free tomorrow? they opened that new amusement park by the bypass road while i was gone. i was thinking we could go. just the two of us, like old times.”
you raised the glass to your lips, using the movement to buy yourself time as his words settled heavily in your stomach. like old times. but it wouldn't be like old times. not with him looking like this, and certainly not with a nursing student waiting for him up north.
you set the glass down on the counter with a soft click, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand before looking at him. “can't tomorrow. i already have somewhere to go with a friend.”
“a friend?” his brow furrowed, a deep line cutting between his eyes as he stared at you. “since when did you choose a friend over me?”
the confusion on his face was almost comical, because it was a look you knew intimately—the look caleb gave whenever the universe didn't bend to his precise specifications. it was intensely ironic, a hypocritical double standard that made you want to scream. he could go off to the city, rebuild his entire life, and find a nursing student to court, but the second you had a life outside of this gravel driveway, the rules suddenly changed?
“just a friend from state u.” you said airily, turning on your heel and walking out of the kitchen. “you're not the only one who got a change of scenery, caleb. i’m all grown up now. i actually have a life and people outside of this house.”
you hear the heavy, silent thud of his bare feet following you, the sheer mass of him trailing you into the small living room like a shadow you couldn't shake. you threw yourself onto the worn-out fabric of the sofa, grabbing the dusty remote control to click the television on.
instead of sitting down on the opposite armchair, caleb came to a halt right at the edge of the sofa, looming over you. he crossed his arms over his bare chest, his shadow completely blocking out the remaining amber light of the sunlight.
“i'm serious,” he muttered, carrying that infuriatingly paternal tone he used whenever he wanted to control a situation. “don't go hanging out with people alone just that easily. you're too trusting. the city might be a mess, but the town isn't exactly a sanctuary either. shit is unpredictable, and people have motives.”
you let out an incredulous laugh, snapping your head up to look at him.
“you should know that if you’re a grown up as you claim to be.“ caleb added.
you raised a single eyebrow, your lips curling into a mocking smile. “what are you implying, then? that you still need to protect me? that i can't handle a simple afternoon coffee without my big, strong gege holding my hand?”
caleb’s eyes narrowed, a dark glint flickering in his irises. “should i not? just because we were apart for a couple of years doesn't mean you get to be careless. you've always been too stubborn for your own good.”
“yeah, well, you should not.” you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you turned your attention back to the television screen, where a loud game show was playing to an empty audience. “i'm [age] years old, caleb. i am quite literally not a kid anymore. so stop acting like a hypocrite when you're the one who—”
“let’s test that theory.”
before the breath could even leave your lungs, the cushion beside you sank violently. caleb lunged forward with a terrifying fluidity that you had never seen from him before. your brain didn't even have time to process the movement before the heavy, solid weight of his knees dug brutally into the foam of the sofa, effectively pinning the fabric down on either side of your hips.
in a fraction of a second, you were completely trapped. he had closed the distance so aggressively that you were locked between his thighs, his massive shirtless chest looming inches from your face.
“wait—what the hell!” you gasped, your hands flying up in a knee-jerk reaction to push him back, but caleb's hands shot forward, his fingers wrapping around your wrists with an unyielding grip. he didn't squeeze enough to hurt, but the absolute finality of his hold made it clear you weren't going anywhere. a slow incredibly wicked smirk spread across his lips then.
“see?” caleb murmured, leaning down just an inch closer, his hot breath fanning across your cheeks, smelling faintly of the mint gum he'd been chewing. “you couldn't even move before i did this. you can't even defend yourself, you silly girl. that means you still need me to protect you.”
up close, the heat radiating off his bare skin was intoxicating, a musky warmth that seemed to fill your entire throat. you could see the tiny pulse point fluttering at the base of his neck, right above where his silver dogtags hung, dangling loosely and brushing against your collarbone.
“you're a cheater,” you hissed. “this is a cheap shot!”
“it's a reality check,” his grip on your wrists tightened just a fraction, a wordless challenge. “tell you what. if you manage to dislodge me—if you can actually get out from under me right now—then i'll let myself believe that you aren't a kid anymore. i'll let you go on your little date tomorrow without a single word.”
“it's not a date!” you yelled, the denial tearing out of you with a sudden heat. alright, if a game of strength was what he wanted to play to prove his stupid, masculine dominance, you were going to give it to him. you knew caleb. you knew how he moved, or at least, you thought you did.
”and fine. if that's what you want, you're going to get it.”
with a swift movement, you bucked your hips upward, twisting your wrists sharply against the grain of his thumbs—a self-defense trick he had ironically taught you himself when you were fifteen. the sudden, biting leverage worked; caleb's grip slipped, his hands sliding off your skin with a faint gasp of surprise.
“ha!” you celebrated, a triumphant grin breaking across your face as you immediately reached up, your palms slamming against his broad bare shoulders to shove him off the couch.
but you had vastly underestimated your gege.
before your arms could fully extend to deliver the push, caleb utilized your own momentum against you. leaning his entire weight forward, his chest slammed into yours, knocking the wind right out of your lungs as he drove your back deep into the cushions. in the same breath, his hands caught your forearms mid-air, pinning them flat against the back of the sofa.
a loud, frustrated groan escaped your throat as your knuckles hit the fabric.
“you're cheating!” you wheezed, your legs twisting beneath his thighs, trying to find some purchase, some leverage to kick him off, but his lower body was like an anchor. “caleb, let go! in a game like this, you obviously have the advantage, you giant idiot!”
“i told you,” caleb chuckled, his chest vibrating directly against yours. the sensation of his hard pectoral muscles pressing into your softness was a sudden jolt that made your entire body go completely rigid. “those flight drills aren't just for show. you're slow, pips. you're losing your touch.”
“i am not slow!” you argued as you thrashed beneath him. you tried to wrench your left arm free, but caleb simply slid his fingers down to lace tightly through yours, pinning your hand flat against the sofa pillow.
every time you writhed to escape him, your bodies rubbed together in a way that made your skin feel like it was on fire. the friction of his denim jeans against your bare legs, the heavy slide of his chest against yours, the tight, hot grip of his fingers tangled in yours—it was completely overwhelming. caleb had stopped laughing. his breath was coming in shorter, heavier gasps now, his chest rising and falling in a ragged rhythm that mirrored your own frantic respiration.
“let... me... go,” you panted, but he stayed hovering over you, his broad shoulders completely blocking out the rest of the living room, effectively reducing your entire universe to just him. his gaze dragged slowly down from your eyes, lingering on your parted lips, before rising back up to look into your pupils with a hunger that had absolutely nothing to do with a childhood bond.
“make me.”
his hips shifted just a fraction, a subtle pressure against yours that made your heart completely halt in your chest. “tell me you don't need me anymore. say it like you mean it, and maybe i'll think about letting you up.”
if you couldn't get him off of you with pure physical force, then you might as well use your words. you needed a distraction, something so inherently mundane and unsexy.
you swallowed hard.
“caleb,” you muttered, your voice hesitant. “i... i need to pee.”
caleb blinked.
for a second, he just stared at you, his chest still rising and falling raggedly against yours. then, slowly, he began to relax the iron grip on your wrists, gently pushing his torso back to give you some breathing room.
is it working? a tiny sigh of relief bubbled in your chest. that worked, didn't it?
“hold it in.”
your eyes widened instantly. the sigh of relief died in your throat. what the fuck?!
you gasped inaudibly, your body going completely rigid all over again. instead of getting off the couch like a normal person, caleb simply shifted his weight above you. he let go of your hands entirely, but he just slid his knees slightly to the side, repositioning himself so he was hovering over you at a slight angle.
”do you remember when we were younger? whenever you felt like peeing, what did i make you do?”
your face burned a furious, hot crimson. you knew exactly what he was talking about. back when you were a pre-teen, you had a lot of difficulty with that—a stubborn, painful urinary retention issue that made you miserable during long car rides or summer afternoons. caleb, being the overprotective problem-solving idiot he was, had researched it in some random medical forum and forced a habit on you: he made you press firmly on your lower abdomen, right above the bladder, hold it tightly for ten seconds to stimulate the muscles, and then rush to the bathroom to let it out. it always worked.
but that was when you were kids.
doing that right now, with a shirtless muscular caleb hovering right between your thighs, felt entirely indecent. the innocent childhood routine had suddenly been warped into something thick with a strange intimacy...
“what the fuck?” you cussed under your breath, your voice shaking as you glared at him. “let me up, caleb. i'm serious.”
caleb didn't react to the swearing. his expression remained entirely unbothered, his jaw ticking slightly as he stared down at your flushed face. he was completely serious.
“hold it in,” he repeated. “then press on it with your hand for ten seconds.” he paused, his eyes narrowing as he scanned your face. “unless... you don't have difficulty with it anymore? you can just do it without the routine now?”
to be honest, you still had that exact same problem. the childhood difficulty hadn't magically disappeared, and the trick caleb had drilled into you was a literal physical habit you had been doing ever since. it was a secret piece of your daily life that still belonged to him, even after four years apart.
but you couldn't bring yourself to speak. you remained completely speechless, your lips parted.
caleb studied your silence for a beat longer, the corner of his mouth twitching with a shadow of that knowing smirk.
“nevermind.”
he suddenly slid his legs off the sofa and stood back up to his full height. the sudden rush of cool air where his body had just been made you feel instantly cold, exposed. caleb reached down, casually ruffling your messy hair with a quick hand, before turning on his heel.
“i should go back to fixing the sink back there before granny gets home,” he walked beyond the living room threshold, his bare feet padding softly against the wood. “go pee, pips,” he called out over his shoulder before his voice faded into the kitchen.
now you were left lying there on the cushions, entirely silent.
—
the next morning brought no relief from the heat; if anything, the humidity had thickened overnight, settling over the house like a damp woolen blanket by eight o’clock. you woke up with your skin already tacky, your hair plastered to the nape of your neck, and your mind instantly pivoting to the afternoon ahead. today was the day you were supposed to meet your friend from state u at the town plaza, and the mere thought of sitting in a crowded bus while looking unwashed was enough to make you drag your feet out of bed with a sense of urgency.
grabbing your clean clothes and a towel, you padded barefoot into the indoor bathroom, ready to submerge yourself in the shock of cold water. you twisted the plastic knob of the shower faucet.
nothing.
not even a rusty trickle.
you frowned, turning it all the way until the plastic creaked, but the pipes only answered with a mocking hiss.
ugh, caleb.
he had been elbow-deep in the plumbing just yesterday evening, claiming he was deep-cleaning and repairing the lines, and now the entire bathroom was bone-dry. he had probably shut off the main valve or misaligned the pressure tubes with his supposed logistical training.
with a frustrated huff, you realized your choices were entirely limited. you couldn't wait for granny to get back from the market to fix it, and you certainly weren't going to knock on caleb’s bedroom door to ask him for a favor after the suffocating display on the living room sofa.
there was only one alternative.
you shed your clothes and reached for a thin cotton sarong with a batik pattern that had grown incredibly soft from years of granny running it through the wash. you wrapped the fabric tight around your chest, tucking the edge securely over your breasts, and gathered your shampoo, soap, and a plastic basin.
if the modern plumbing was compromised, you’d have to do it the old-fashioned way.
the backyard was a secluded narrow strip of land shielded from the neighbors by a dense, unruly wall of trees and overgrown leaves. tucked into the furthest corner, sitting on a moss-slick concrete slab, was the old manual pump-well. the heavy iron looked ancient, its dark blue paint peeling away to reveal patches of orange rust, a relic from your childhood that hadn't been fully utilized since granny got the indoor electric pump installed years ago.
you set your basin down on the concrete and approached the pump, wrapping your fingers around the long iron handle.
you pushed down, and the lever didn't even budge.
“hnggggh!” you tried again, putting your entire weight into it, your slippers sliding slightly on the mossy concrete as you forced the iron arm upward to prime the cylinder. a screeching groan echoed from the metal throat of the pump, a sound so loud it felt like it was tearing through the quiet morning. your breath caught, your chest heaving against the tight tuck of the sarong as you pumped frantically, trying to coax the groundwater up through the dry valves. a bead of sweat rolled down from your temple, tracing a hot line down your neck as you struggled, your face flushing with a mix of physical exertion and mounting frustration.
“you're going to break your back doing it like that.”
your hands froze on the lever as you whipped your head around, your heart doing a sudden flip against your ribs that had absolutely nothing to do with the heavy lifting.
woah.
caleb looked like he had just walked straight out of a sports commercial—wearing a gray athletic tank top that clung to the damp contours of his chest and black gym shorts that showed off the lean, powerful definition of his thighs. his skin was flushed a warm pink, covered in a fine glistening sheen of sweat with a white towel slung carelessly around his neck.
he took a slow step into your space, his eyes tracking the frantic rise and fall of your chest beneath the thin cotton fabric of the sarong. his gaze flicked from your flushed cheeks, down to your strained shoulders, and finally settled on the rusted handle of the pump-well.
“just got back from a five-kilometer loop around the bypass road,” he tilted his head, a small smirk beginning to tug at the corner of his lips as he took in your disheveled state. “and i come back to find my pipsqueak fighting a piece of old iron. let me guess—the bathroom pipes aren't cooperating?”
“yeah, because of you.”
you pointed an accusing finger at his chest. “you were the one messing with the plumbing yesterday, caleb. i don't know what kind of aerospace engineering logic you applied to granny’s bathroom, but it's completely dry. so yes, the pipes aren't cooperating because you broke them.”
caleb didn't even have the decency to look guilty.
he just stood there, the corner of his mouth twitching upward into an intensely sarcastic smile that made you want to kick his shins. he listened to your scolding with an amused quiet indulgence, like he was watching a small kitten hiss at him through a window.
how annoying.
he didn't even offer an excuse. instead, he took a sudden step forward into your space. “calm down, let me help you.”
instinctively, your heels slid back against the mossy concrete, your arms crossing tightly over the knot of your sarong to keep it secure against your chest. but caleb wasn't looking at you—not yet. his eyes were on the rusted blue lever. he brushed past you, his sun-warmed shoulder cutting through your personal bubble, and wrapped his large hand around the iron handle right where yours had been just seconds ago.
and within two pumps, a thick gushing stream of crystal-clear groundwater burst from the spout, splashing loudly into the plastic basin below.
it was going alright now, thankfully.
you stood a step back, your tongue tucked behind your teeth as you tried to look anywhere but at him. but you couldn't help it. your eyes inevitably traced the flexion of his bicep every time he pulled the lever.
and then—splat!
caleb pushed the lever down too fast, and a full burst of water caught the edge of the basin, ricocheting straight up and hitting you square in the face.
“hey!” the freezing groundwater immediately drenched your forehead, eyelashes, and cheeks, running down the front of your neck and soaking the top line of your cotton sarong.
caleb froze instantly. the sarcastic smirk vanished from his face, replaced by a sudden wide-eyed look of genuine panic. “oh—oops, i'm sorry,” he frantically dropped the iron handle and reached out with both hands, his white gym towel already bunching in his fingers. “i didn't mean to torque it that hard. are you okay? did it get in your nose?”
as a payback, you didn't even give him the chance to wipe your face. before he could step closer with the towel, you lunged downward, scooping a palmful of the freezing water straight out of the filled basin and throwing it upward with a vindictive flick of your wrist.
splat!
the water slapped caleb right across the jaw and eyes, head snapping back in surprise before he shook it aggressively from side to side—exactly like a wet golden retriever trying to shake off a bath—sending a spray of droplets flying from the wet strands of his hair.
he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, a boyish grin breaking through his wet features.
“serves you right.”
“alright, fair enough,” he chuckled, his voice dropping back into that rumbling cadence as he looked down at you.
then, his eyes flicked past your shoulder, landing on the small plastic tray sitting on the concrete slab—the bottle of shampoo, the bar of soap, and the clean towel you had neatly laid out.
“so,” caleb leaned one hand against the cool iron body of the pump, his gaze tracking a slow line from the soap back up to your wet face. “are you getting all washed up and pretty for that day out with your friend?”
you lifted your chin, “yup, i am.”
caleb’s grin hardened, freezing into a rigid imitation of a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
the silence of the backyard rushed back in, thick and suffocating, punctuated only by the rhythmic drip... drip... drip of the water from the spout into the overflowing basin.
“right,” his eyes tracked a slow path down to the wet fabric of your sarong. the thin cotton had absorbed the splash, turning translucent where it clung tightly to the curve of your chest and the dip of your waist. “the friend from state u. the one you walk home with?”
“javi,” you reached up, squeezing the excess water out of your hair strands, letting the drops splash onto the concrete between your feet. “we're going to the plaza. he wants to check out this old second-hand bookstore, and then we're getting dinner.”
“dinner?” caleb repeated, the word sounding flat, heavy, like a stone dropped into mud. “sounds like a lot of effort for a casual classmate.”
“he's not just a classmate, caleb. he's my best friend at university,” you stepped forward, intending to pick up your shampoo bottle, but caleb didn't move an inch. his broad shoulder remained firmly in your line of sight. “now, if you're done breaking things and splashing me, can you continue pumping the water so i can actually wash my hair? i'm going to be late.”
caleb looked at you for a long unreadable beat. then, a familiar smirk began to pull at the corner of his lips—but it was different this time. it was the calculating version of his smile, the one he wore right before he flipped a chessboard.
“sure, anything for my pipsqueak.”
he reached down, wrapping his fingers around the iron handle again, and began to pump. but he didn't do it quickly. he did it with a slow, agonizingly steady rhythm.
“you know, it's just a bit funny. four years away, and the first thing you do when i get back is run off to the city with some guy i’ve never met. makes a guy feel a little replaced.”
“you weren't replaced,” you muttered, leaning over the basin to scoop up some water to wet your hair, the movement causing your sarong to stretch tight across your back. “you left. there's a difference. you went to the academy, you got your own life, your own barracks... your own nursing student.”
the words slipped out before you could stop them, bitter and sharp.
“what did you say?”
“i said you have your own life,” you repeated stubbornly, forcing yourself to straighten up and look him in the eye. “so don't act like i'm the one breaking rules here. go save your overprotective routine for the girl from the nursing college. she's... the one you're planning to court, right?”
the iron handle came to a sudden dead stop.
the water ceased its gushing, reducing to a trickling stream that dripped lazily into the basin.
instead of shooting back with a witty remark, caleb simply averted his gaze. his long eyelashes fluttered as he blinked rapidly, his eyes tracking a random crack on the wet concrete slab. for the first time since he stepped out of that terminal, he looked... guilty.
almost... shameful?
“what, lost your tongue?” you straightened up from the basin, squeezing the wet fabric of your sarong tighter over your chest.
“you stand here lecturing me about hanging out with a friend, acting like you’re still my overprotective—ugh, i don't even know, when you’re literally planning to bring a new girl home next semester.” you purse your lips together, but it's too late to stop now. “you're such a hypocrite, caleb. go save your little 'hold it in' routines and your grand muscle displays for your precious nursing student. see if she actually tolerates your stupid, suffocating mind games, because frankly, i am so sick of hearing about how much you're moving on while i'm just supposed to sit here and—”
you cut yourself off, the words freezing in your throat. your heart did a violent terrifying drop into your stomach.
fuck.
you had just said entirely too much. the stinging venom in your voice hadn't sounded like a childhood best friend being annoyed; it had sounded like a deeply bitter jealous girl who was bleeding all over the concrete.
caleb's head snapped back up. the guilt in his eyes vanished, replaced by a sudden wide-eyed look of absolute shock. he swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing sharply as he stared at your face.
“there... is no nursing student,”
you paused. “huh?”
“i-i made her up,” caleb admitted.
”i invented her the exact second i got into the car yesterday. because you were looking at me like i was just a distant cousin.” he takes a deep breath, eyes wandering away while he furrowed his eyebrows. “you were so casual, so polite, talking about your university and your blockmates like my four years away didn't even matter to you. i got... i got terrified. i thought you completely outgrew me.”
and then, his eyes went back to yours. ”i've never even had the thought to get a girlfriend. i haven't looked at another girl that way since the day i left this hometown.”
you stood frozen in utter surprise, your mind completely blanking out. what the hell? your hands numbed against the cotton of your sarong, your mouth opening slightly but no sound coming out. how were you even supposed to react to that? the chess piece you thought he was playing to move on from you was nothing but a sick desperate lie to get a reaction out of you...
caleb let out a ragged sigh, a bitter self-deprecating chuckle rumbled deep in his bare chest. he looked down at his own wet gym shoes, shaking his head. “i'm such an idiot. i spent four actual years up at that academy staring at flight panels, thinking about nothing else other than coming back home to this house, to you... and just holding you in my arms all over again. but gideon's right. college really did a number on us. you have your own world now.”
he looked you straight in the eye then, his irises dark, intense, and swimming with a vulnerability that completely stripped him bare. “and i just... i missed—”
he stopped himself mid-sentence.
his jaw tensed, eyelids blinking rapidly as a sudden crimson blush bloomed furiously across his cheeks and spread down to his neck. he bit his lower lip, tearing his gaze away from your face and looking out toward the dense wall of trees.
your heart was now hammering so violently against your ribs you were certain he could see it lifting the thin fabric of your sarong.
“i was scared too,” you whispered, breaking the quiet before you could lose your nerve.
caleb’s head snapped back toward you, his eyes wide.
and you clenched your own fists against your thighs, keeping your eyes trained firmly on the concrete between your feet, too shy to meet his gaze. “the only reason i was acting like that in the car... was because i thought you came back as a stranger. you got so big, and you looked so different, and then you started talking about that girl... and i just thought you didn't need me anymore.” you swallowed the lump in your throat.
”all this time, caleb... i missed you. so much.”
there it was, laid out in the open.
caleb’s eyes widened in absolute awe, his breath catching so loudly in his throat it sounded like a gasp. he could do nothing else but to stare down at you, his chest heaving silently beneath his gray tank top.
but then—shreek!
the metal screech of the front gates swinging open suddenly cut through the heavy quiet, the sharp sound making the both of you flinch and snap your heads toward the driveway at the exact same time.
that must be granny.
just like that, your confession was left hanging in the damp morning air, completely cut off as you both went inside the house with granny's slow footsteps shuffling into view. she was carrying two heavy plastic bags filled with mangoes and avocadoes from the early market, her small frame leaning slightly to the side from the weight.
“oh, you're both awake,” granny mumbled, her voice carrying its usual sleepy cadence.
without a word, caleb fell back into his dutiful grandson role, though his face was still flushed a light pink.
he stepped away from you, his large frame moving quickly to take the heavy bags from her hands. you swallowed the lump in your throat and followed him into the kitchen, desperately trying to smooth down the edges of your cotton sarong so you didn't look as completely disheveled as you felt.
the two of you stood by the kitchen counter, casually helping her arrange the fruits into the wicker basket. every time your fingers accidentally brushed against his while reaching for a mango, an awkward jolt went straight up your arm.
granny paused, placing a hand on her hip as she looked at you funnily. “why do you have a sarong on this early? and your hair is wet.”
“the bathroom pipes aren't working, granny,” you explained quickly, your voice a little too high. “i was trying to use the pump-well outside.”
“ah, that old thing,” granny sighed, shaking her head and failing to notice the suffocating tension between you and caleb. “caleb, i told you to fix that last night. look what you did to your sister.”
caleb didn't say anything, just let out a small hum, his throat bobbing as he placed the last avocado in the basket.
“well, i'm quite tired from the walk,” granny rubs her lower back as she turned toward the stairs. “i'm going to take a short nap. caleb, come upstairs for a bit and help me find my maintenance meds in the cabinet. my eyes are too blurry today.”
“yes, gran. i'll be right up,” caleb replied without a single second of hesitation.
he finally turned his head to look at you as granny started her slow climb up the wooden steps. his eyes were still heavy with everything you both had just admitted out by the well, but he couldn't stay. he gave you one unreadable look before turning on his heel, his broad back disappearing up the staircase behind her.
and then, you were just standing there alone in the quiet kitchen.
in a wet sarong. without a proper bath.
fuck's sake.
you let out a long breath, your shoulders slumping as the reality of the situation hit you. your skin felt sticky from the groundwater, your hair was damp and tangled, and you were supposed to meet javi at the plaza later. with the bathroom completely dry and caleb occupied upstairs, a real shower was out of the question now.
muttering a curse under your breath, you walked back to your room, peeling the damp translucent cotton off your skin. you were forced to just wipe yourself down with a dry towel and change back into your casual home clothes.
knock. knock.
“you in there?“
caleb’s voice bled through the thin wood of the door, the sudden wrap of knuckles against your bedroom making you jump half a foot in the air. you quickly smoothed down the front of your fresh t-shirt, took a shaky breath to steady the frantic drumming in your chest, and pulled the door open.
caleb had finally put on a new shirt—a slightly faded black tee that somehow made his broad shoulders look even more intimidating in the cramped hallway—but he was standing there completely awkwardly. his hands were shoved deep into his gym shorts pockets, his elbows jutting out slightly, and he was deliberately looking at a framed vintage cross-stitch on the wall instead of looking at you. a faint, lingering trace of that dark crimson blush was still dusting the tips of his ears.
“uh, yeah?“
caleb cleared his throat, his adam's apple bobbing before he finally shifted his gaze down to meet your eyes.
“granny... uh, gran told me to get the bathroom pipes sorted before she wakes up from her nap,” caleb muttered as he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “she said since i was the one who messed them up, i have to fix them right now. but i... i need an extra pair of hands to hold the wrench from the other side of the basin valve.”
he paused, his eyes searching yours with a quiet hesitant look.
“come help me, please?”
—
the bathroom felt smaller than it ever had before.
you stood right over him, bare feet pressed against the cool porcelain of the floorboards, holding a heavy roll of teflon tape and a pair of rusted pliers in your hands. caleb was sitting flat on the floor, his long legs bent awkwardly in the tight space between the toilet bowl and the lower basin cabinetry.
neither of you spoke.
every rustle of his clothing, every heavy breath he exhaled, and every metallic click of his wrench against the pipe joint sounded like a damn gunshot in the cramped room.
your thumb kept sliding over the screen of your phone, lighting up the lock screen to check the digital clock. it was getting closer to the afternoon.
caleb noticed. even though his head was tucked beneath the porcelain basin, his shoulders went completely rigid the third time your phone screen illuminated the dim corner of the room.
then, the scraping sound of the wrench died out. caleb remained perfectly still for a long beat, his forehead resting lightly against the cold underside of the sink as if he were gathering a desperate amount of courage. slowly, he pulled himself back, his broad shoulders clearing the cabinet door as he looked up at you.
“are you...” caleb's voice cracked slightly before he cleared his throat, forcing the gravelly pitch down. “are you still going to the city with your friend?” he reached for the valve handle, his long fingers wrapping around the plastic knob with a hesitation that was entirely uncharacteristic of him.
the question was asked way too softly, way too hesitantly. he sounded small.
you froze, the roll of teflon tape slipping a fraction of an inch between your fingers. the truth was, the second those words had left your mouth by the backyard well—the second you had admitted that you spent four years missing him in the quiet of your bedroom—you had already resolved to cancel the day out. you didn't want to go to the plaza. you didn't want to browse second-hand books or eat dinner across from javi while your skin was still burning from caleb's touch.
but as you looked down at caleb’s upturned face, at the raw vulnerable waiting in his eyes...
“yes, i'm still going.”
why did you say it? you didn't even know. maybe it was a reflex, a desperate attempt to rebuild the walls he had so easily torn down out by the well. maybe you were terrified of what would happen if you stayed here alone with him while granny slept outside.
caleb didn't flare up. he didn't snap or offer a sarcastic remark. he just let out a low quiet hum, nodding his head twice as his eyes dropped back down to the plastic valve.
his reaction wasn't what you expected, and it made the hollow ache in your chest widen into something unbearable. what was supposed to happen now? were you both really going to sit here in the bathroom and pretend like you hadn't just shattered the childhood boundary? were you going to act like you hadn't confessed to missing him until it hurt?
“pips,” caleb said, his tone entirely too polite while he reached his hand upward without looking. “hand me the pliers. and... crawl down here for a second. i need you to hold the main pipe line steady while i tighten this last bolt, or the pressure's going to crack the plastic again.”
“okay,” you murmured instantly, doing exactly as you were told. you dropped the teflon tape onto the lid of the toilet and crouched down beside him.
the space was incredibly cramped.
caleb's position lied flat on his back on the bathroom floor. his head and shoulders are pushed completely inside the dark open cabinet space beneath the sink basin so he can reach the pipes. and because his legs are so long, the lower half of his body is sticking out.
“alright, look,” caleb muttered, his voice echoing hollowly against the underside of the sink. he pointed a long finger at the heavy gray intake pipe. “when i start turning the wrench on this coupling bolt, the whole pipe is gonna want to twist with it. if it twists too much, it’ll snap the plastic threads inside the wall. i need you to take the pliers, clamp them onto the upper collar, and hold it perfectly still. think you can do that?”
and because you have to help him by holding a pipe that is also inside that dark cabinet, you'd have to lean your entire upper body over his chest while you crouched beside his hips and thighs.
“i'm not completely useless, caleb.” you whispered back.
“never said you were,” he murmured, his eyes flickering up to meet yours beneath the sink. for a second, his gaze lingered on your lips, before he blinked and forced his attention back to the metal wrench in his hand. “alright. on three. one... two... three.”
you clamped the pliers onto the collar and squeezed with all your might. you could hear caleb grunting below you, biceps bunching as he threw his strength into turning the stubborn rusted bolt. but the second the wrench caught, your hand slipped on the grease-slicked metal. the pliers clattered loudly against the tiles, and the gray pipe twisted with a nasty screech.
“wait, wait! stop!” you gasped, your fingers scrambling to grab the tool again.
“you're letting it turn!” caleb yelled, though it was more of a breathless panicked laugh than an actual scold. he had to throw his arm over your shoulder, his large hand coming down over yours to help you steady the pliers. “there, hold it tight like that and squeeze!”
“i am squeezing! your hands are too big, you're blocking my grip!”
“okay, okay, teamwork, remember?” caleb chuckled, his breath fanning across your neck. “let me reposition. you hold the handle with both hands, and i’ll just use raw force on the wrench. ready? go."
this time, you locked your fingers around the pliers, planting your heels firmly against the tiled floor and leaning your entire body weight into the tool to keep the line steady. caleb grunted again, a low sound deep in his throat, and with one shove of his arm, the rusted coupling bolt finally gave way, sliding smoothly into place with a satisfying click!
“is that it?” you panted, your knuckles white from gripping the pliers.
“uh, turn the valve. let's see.”
still hovering over him, you reached out and twisted the small plastic knob all the way to the left. for a second, there was a breathless silence—and then, the hollow hiss in the walls was replaced by the rushing water. you both waited, eyes wide, staring at the joint.
not a single drop leaked out. it was perfectly, completely dry.
a breathless laugh then tore out of your chest before you could stop it. “we actually did it!”
“good job, pips.” caleb smiled, his hands coming up to clap against his thighs as he slid himself out from under the sink. ”this is exactly like that summer when we tried to build that stupid treehouse behind the old chapel. remember? you dropped the entire box of nails into the mud and blamed it on a stray dog.“ a nostalgic smile broke across his face as he sat back on his heels.
you wiped the stray pools of water from the floor with an old rag, while caleb casually tossed the teflon tape and pliers back into his plastic toolbox. “because it was a stray dog! it barked at me and i got scared, and need i remind you who tried to use a literal rock because he forgot to bring a hammer?”
“hey, the rock worked for at least three planks,” caleb defended himself, catching the rag you threw at him with a grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that specific, beautiful way they always did when he was genuinely happy. “besides, i was twelve. cut me some slack. at least i didn't cry when the roof fell through.”
“i did not cry because the roof fell, caleb, i cried because a caterpillar fell on my shoulder!”
“same thing, baby. you were a total baby.”
“says the guy who still can't sleep without a fan on because he thinks the darkness makes the room smaller,” you shot back, leaning your shoulder against the bathroom wall.
caleb paused, his grin softening into something incredibly tender, leaving behind the golden-boy warmth you had starved for over the last four years.
“i missed this.” he casually reached out, his long fingers gently tugging at a loose strand of your hair that had dried in a messy curl against your cheek. “i missed you making fun of me. the guys at the academy are too polite. it’s boring.“
“yeah?” your heart did that erratic skip against your ribs again as his thumb lightly brushed against the edge of your jawline. “well... someone has to keep your ego in check.”
“exactly, can't have me flying planes with an oversized head, right?”
you finally stood up, your knees cracking slightly as you broke the spell of the small space.
“i'm gonna... i should probably check the kitchen. granny bought some fish earlier, so i'll start cooking lunch before she wakes up.” you murmured, keeping your voice light as you took a step toward the exit, your hand already reaching for the brass doorknob.
you didn't even get to wrap your fingers around the metal when—
thud.
a large palm slammed flat against the wood of the door right in front of your face, the sudden vibration rattling through the frame. you jumped in surprise, your breath catching sharply in your throat as you instinctively whirled around.
“don't.”
caleb was looming directly over you, but it was the look on his face that made your heart stop. the boyish smile from seconds ago was entirely gone. instead, his features were twisted into a deeply troubled, desperate grimace.
“don't go.”
you frowned. “what do you mean? i'm just going to the kitchen—”
“don't go to the city today,” he interrupted, his tone shifting into something bolder as he stepped even closer, effectively trapping your smaller frame beneath his. “i only have two months here. that's it. sixty days before they drag me back to the barracks and put me back in a cockpit. so...”
caleb hesitates, but he takes a deep breath.
“can you just stay here? can you... spend every single day with me before i have to leave again?"
you stared up at him, your mouth parting slightly. fuck, you were blushing now. it must be so visible.
caleb’s hand—the one planted firmly beside your head—slowly curled into a tight fist against the wood of the door. “it feels like i missed you a hell of a lot more than you missed me.” his voice dropped an octave, turning into a vulnerable murmur. “you have no idea how many nights i spent staring at the ceiling of that concrete bunk, just waiting to see your face this close again.”
speechless, you could only look up at him, your mind completely short-circuiting under his honesty.
desperate to find some sort of anchor, desperate to make sense of the dizzying reality that caleb—your childhood friend that you should see as a brother—was practically begging for your attention, you swallowed hard and blurted out the first defensive defense your brain could manufacture.
“why didn't you get a girlfriend there?” you try, blinking rapidly as you struggled to maintain his gaze. “i mean it, caleb. you're... you're handsome, and you're well-built. it’s completely impossible that you didn't at least have girls trying to talk to you or court you up there.“
“why didn't i get one?” a slow smile broke through his troubled expression, his eyes glittering with a sudden amusement. he tilted his head down, his gaze dropping briefly to your small hands, before snapping back up to lock directly into your eyes.
“because... i prayed every single day. i closed my eyes at night and prayed that you wouldn't have a boyfriend by the time i got back.” you press your head further against the wood of the door, just when caleb nears his face close enough. “the thought of another man touching what belongs to this house... what belongs to me... would really, deeply upset me."
he leaned down a fraction of an inch further, but then he suddenly breaks the proximity by pulling back.
“and... did you just say i'm handsome?” caleb smiled wider, his thumb trailing down the doorframe to lightly graze the very edge of your wet shoulder. “so... is that an admission? am i attractive to you?”
am i attractive to you?
your lips parted, but no sound came out.
the sheer audacity of him—shifting from a desperate aching boy to this dangerously confident creature in the span of a single breath—was enough to make your throat go dry. you wanted to push him away, wanted to snap at him for using that rumbling tone on you, but you couldn't.
“you're an idiot, caleb.”
“that's not an answer, pips.”
he moved his hand from the doorframe, his fingers sliding slowly down the side of your neck. his palm was warm, a stark contrast to the chilled skin of your collarbone where the groundwater had soaked you earlier. his thumb found the frantic pulse point fluttering at the base of your throat, pressing just firmly enough to let you know he could feel exactly how much power he held over you in this room.
just outside, through the wooden slats of these walls, granny was sleeping. the knowledge that she was just at the other side of the room—that a single loud noise, a dropped tool, or a sharp gasp would shatter the quiet of the house...
“caleb, stop,“ you breathed, the protest losing all its teeth as your fingers instinctively curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him slightly closer instead of pushing him back. “granny will...”
“i'm being quiet,” he whispered back, tilting his head until his lips were brushing the sensitive shell of your ear. “but you're driving me crazy.”
a soft whimper caught in your throat, and caleb immediately swallowed it.
“hmgh—!”
you felt his hand sliding from your neck up to your jaw, tilting your face up as his lips came down to meet yours.
it wasn't the sweet, tentative kiss of childhood friends.
it was rather heavy, desperate, and laced with an aching hunger that had been rotting inside his chest for several months.
his lips pressed firm and unyielding against yours, demanding a response you had been starving to give. you let out a muffled gasp against his mouth, and caleb took total advantage of it—his tongue slid past your teeth with a stroke that made your knees buckle.
you would have almost slid straight down the door if caleb’s other arm hadn't instantly locked around your waist.
he hoisted you up, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips through your thin shorts, dragging your lower body flush against his. the solid weight of him was overwhelming; you could feel the hard contours of his thighs and the frantic rising and falling of his chest.
you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, your fingers tangling into the short, damp strands of his hair, pulling him down further. you kissed him back with the same bitterness you’d been hoarding since he left—punishing him for the distance, for the nursing student lie, for the suffocating way he made you feel like you belonged to him even when he was hundreds of miles away.
your hands, tangled in the soft fabric of his black t-shirt, moved themselves to his shoulders, pushing against the stubborn muscle until he was forced to take a blind step backward. his heel caught against the base of the toilet, and with a muffled grunt, caleb sank down.
the plastic lid was securely closed, providing a seat that placed him directly beneath you, his knees spread wide to accommodate the sudden change in height.
you froze for a second, your breath hitching as you stood between his thighs. the sudden drop in his posture left you looking down at him, your hands still resting on his broad shoulders while he looked up at you through his eyelashes. you hesitated, your lower lip stinging from the friction of his mouth, and despite of it all, your mind kept on screaming that you were crossing a line you could never uncross.
but caleb didn't give you the chance to overthink it.
his hands reached up, palms slick with a light sheen of sweat as they wrapped firmly around the sides of your waist. with one heavy pull, he guided your hips forward. and then, your knees slid effortlessly over his thick, denim-clad thighs until you were completely straddling his lap.
“ah—”
shit, this is such an intimate position!
the impact of your lower body hitting his thighs made a gasp slip from your throat, but caleb caught it instantly again. he surged upward, his mouth slamming back over yours to smother the sound before it could echo past the wooden door.
the kiss turned frantic, fueled by the weight of your body resting completely on his. it wasn't gentle anymore. caleb’s tongue pushed deep, demanding and possessive, while his teeth lightly caught the flesh of your bottom lip, biting down just enough to make you whine into his mouth. you bit him back in retaliation, an instinctive nip that made a guttural vibration rumble deep in his chest. his hands moved from your waist, one sliding up to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling roughly into your damp hair to hold your face exactly where he wanted it, while the other pressed flat against your lower back.
and then, without warning, your mind went entirely, terrifyingly blank.
a sudden rolling pressure moved beneath the thin fabric of your shorts. caleb arched his back just to grind his hips upward in a slow tilt that pressed the hard length of his arousal directly against your center.
then, a sharp jolt of pure heat shot straight up your spine, making your eyes flutter shut as your fingers clawed into the fabric of his shirt.
“caleb—” you gasped against his lips, trying to pull back just an inch to breathe.
“shh,” he breathed, his mouth instantly chasing yours, his lips brushing against your cheek, your jawline, before burying his face in the crook of your neck. his breathing was completely ragged, a suffocating thing against your collarbone. he didn't stop. his hand on your lower back moved down, a heavy palm pressing firmly against the base of your spine, and he ground his hips upward again, harder this time, forcing you to feel every single inch of how aroused he's just getting.
“please,” caleb whispered into your skin, his voice cracking. ”don't move away. please... just let me feel you like this. i’m so tired of imagining it.”
“granny will...” you whimpered, your head tilting back as his teeth lightly grazed the sensitive skin right beneath your ear. your hands were shaking against his shoulders, your lower body instinctively tilting into his next roll, a shameless surrender that made him let out a broken sigh. “caleb, if she... if she hears us...”
“she won't,” he muttered against your skin, his thumb digging firmly into your hip bone, locking you flush against him so there wasn't a single millimeter of space left between your bodies. he took a deep breath, his chest expanding hard against yours as he forced his movements to become agonizingly slow. “i’ll be quiet. just stay. please... you’re right here, you’re finally right here...”
“i'm here,” you whispered breathlessly into his ear. “i'm right here.”
your skin was beginning to sting where it pressed against his. the agonizingly slow tilts of his hips couldn't stay slow for long.
without either of you consciously deciding it, the grinding turned into a drag of weight against weight—a quiet breathless dryhumping that sent waves of heat pooling directly between your thighs.
the fabric of your loose shorts and his heavy denim rubbed together with a soft, repetitive whisper—it was the only continuous sound in the small space besides the ragged, broken cadence of your breaths. caleb’s hands were no longer just holding you; they were practically anchoring you to him. his long fingers buried into the flesh of your bum, pulling your pelvis down hard against his with every upward surge of his thighs.
“caleb—”
the name was clipped neatly from your tongue as he hitched his hips higher, a muffled whimper escaping your throat. you slapped a hand over your own mouth, your eyes widening in sheer panic as you stared at the bathroom door. the reminder of granny sleeping just down the hall felt like a wire wrapped tight around your throat.
caleb caught your wrist, gently pulling your hand away from your lips only to replace it with his own shoulder. “bite me,” he choked out a whisper. “bite the shirt. don't... don't make a sound.”
you didn't hesitate. you buried your face into the soft black cotton of his shoulder, your teeth sinking into the fabric as caleb let out a shuddering gasp.
he was a complete mess.
nothing more than a boy who looked thoroughly undone by your weight in his lap. a dark crimson blush had crawled all the way up his neck, blooming across his sharp cheekbones and turning the tips of his ears a burning pink. his long eyelashes were damp, fluttering rapidly as he kept his eyes squeezed shut.
every time your weight humped against his hard bulge, a whine would catch in his throat, a sound he desperately swallowed by burying his face into your hair.
you began to move with him, your hips rolling in a frantic rhythm that matched his pace, chasing the tight, coil of pleasure that was tightening in your stomach. this makes his fingers dig brutally into your hip bones.
“wait—hey, wait,” he wheezed, his hips stuttering against yours as he tried to find his bearings. he was trembling beneath you, the muscles in his thighs and arms locked so tight they were vibrating. he opened his eyes, irises completely blown out, to look up at you. “you're... if you move like that... i won't be able to stay quiet.”
“then don't move,” you breathed against his neck, unable to stop humping him like a starving bunny.
“i can't,” he whispered back, a tear of sheer overstimulation tracing down his flushed temple. a soft, helpless whimper broke from his chest as his hips instinctively arched upward again, completely disregarding his own warning. he ground his lower body against yours in three quick, desperate, and torturously deep strokes, his head falling back against the porcelain tank as he fought a losing battle to keep his ragged groans silent inside.
“how about...” you panted, “how about we do this standing up? would that... would that make less noise?“
caleb's movements immediately stopped, his breath hitching sharply in his throat at the suggestion. he didn't answer with words; his large hands just tightened around your waist, and with a low grunt of exertion, he stood up, lifting you effortlessly off his lap before setting your feet firmly back onto the cool tile floor.
before your knees could buckle from the sudden rush of cold air, caleb's heavy palms guided you forward. you found yourself bending over the bathroom sink, your upper body lowering until your forearms were pressed flat against the cool, smooth porcelain basin...
right in front of the wide mirror.
seconds later, the towering weight of caleb’s chest loomed against your back. he adjusted his stance, his long legs spreading slightly to frame yours, and then he crowded back into you. the thick ridge of his arousal aligned perfectly with your ass from behind, pressing hard against your thin cotton shorts.
he started moving again, but this angle... this angle was entirely different.
it was so much more exposing, so much more intense, because when you look up, your blurred vision collided directly with your reflection in the mirror.
you could see everything. you could see your own flushed breathless face, your lips swollen and wet from his kisses. and right behind you, caleb was a mess. his dark hair was thoroughly mussed, cheeks and neck burning with a furious blush.
with every thrust from him, the force of his hips sent a jolt of heat straight to your throbbing thing, making your hands slick against the porcelain as you gripped the edges of the sink for dear life.
“hngh...! caleb—”
“shh—you have to keep quiet,” caleb scrambled to scold you, but he sounded completely panicked, his breathing so loud and ragged it was a miracle granny couldn't hear it from outside. “gran's room is... it's literally right beside this. if you make a sound, i'm gonna—we're gonna get caught.”
even while trying to play the protective guide, his eyes shifted downward in the reflection. staring at your bent-down position, watching the way your body curved beneath his and how perfectly you took every push of his thighs, was enough to send caleb entirely over the edge. he went visibly harder against you, his long fingers trembling violently where they were clamped over your hip bones.
“god, shit—” caleb choked out, his forehead dropping heavily against your shoulder blade, his chest heaving like he’d just run a marathon. his rhythm turned a little clumsy, a little too eager, his hips grinding up against you with an uncoordinated, desperate hunger that made your mind spin. “i... i don't even know what i'm doing. i almost... i can't believe this is real. you're actually here. you're really letting me do this.”
“caleb, you're moving too fast,” you whimpered, your fingers slipping on the wet porcelain as he gave another firm, deep roll of his pelvis that made your thighs shake.
“i'm sorry, i'm sorry,” pressing a line of apologetic kisses along your shoulder blade, he consciously tried to slow himself down, his large hands squeezing your hips to steady the rhythm, though the intense blush on his face only deepened until his ears were practically purple. “is this better? like this?”
“yeah... yeah..”
suddenly, caleb’s hands moved from your hips, his long fingers sliding beneath the hem of your shorts.
“hey,” he choked out. “i can't... i'm not staying behind these clothes anymore. i need to feel you.”
with a frantic uncoordinated rush of movement that was entirely fueled by a lack of control, he pulled your shorts and underwear down to your knees, managing to free himself from his gym shorts at the exact same time.
the sudden sensation of his bare, burning skin pressing against your uncovered backside made you gasp. “w-wait, caleb, what are y—”
he didn't wait. caleb guided the tip of his manhood to your entrance and pushed forward. with a slow, agonizingly thick surge, he slid completely inside of you.
the size of him filled you so entirely it took your breath away. your fingers clawed at the slick porcelain of the sink, your head dropping as a high broken whimper left your lips. caleb let out a long trembling groan against your shoulder, his chest heaving violently as he buried himself to the hilt.
“fuck, fuck!”
”be quiet, caleb...”
“s-sorry, fuck.” a lazy smirk tugged at his lips in the reflection, his hands tightening on your waist. “see? i told you nobody else could fit you like this. you're shaking.”
he buries his head into your hole much, much deeper. “did you miss me this much?”
the teasing sting of his words, even now, made a surge of stubborn retaliation flare up in your chest. you didn't want him to see how completely undone you were. pulling your hands off the sink, you tried to straighten your spine and pull yourself forward, attempting to slide off his dick to break his rhythm.
it was the wrong move.
the sudden threat of losing you made caleb snap completely. his large hands locked around your hips like iron cuffs, yanked you violently backward, and thrusted into you with a force that was so deep and heavy it made your vision go entirely white.
“don't run from me,” caleb gave another hard, bruising thrust that almost hit your womb, pinning you ruthlessly against the porcelain. his upper body slammed against your back, his face completely flushed a dark, furious crimson as he forced your head up. “look at yourself in the mirror. look at what you're doing to me. look at how much of me is inside you right now.”
you couldn't even form words to respond. you were completely paralyzed by how big, how thick, and how utterly unrelenting he felt stretching you open from the inside. all you could do was grip the edges of the sink for dear life, your knuckles turning white as your body struggled to take his bare thighs slapping against yours.
yet, for all his dominant holding, caleb was a complete, crying mess.
every single time he shoved his hips forward, a pathetic little moan escaped his throat—sounds he tried so desperately to bite back, burying his face in your wet hair or chewing on his own bottom lip until it bled, utterly terrified of waking granny up outside.
“fuck, please,” caleb whimpered against your neck, penetrating you over and over again with each stroke making you cry out into your hand. he was trembling so hard the vibration traveled straight into your body. “can we... can we do this every day? just until i leave again? please. tell me you'll let me do this to you every single day?”
you couldn't even answer him. you were too occupied, and quite literally occupied, by the way he's pounding against your ass.
he was driving into you, his pelvis slamming against your backside with a wet and heavy sound. it was too much. the fullness of him stretching you open was overwhelming, and as he bottomed out completely inside you for the third time in a row, the careful restraint in your throat shattered.
“aaangh~!”
before the sound could even fade, caleb's palm snapped upward to clamp firmly over your mouth. his long fingers wrapped tightly around your jaw, crushing your lips against your teeth and effectively smothering your next desperate gasp into a muffled whimper against his skin.
“i told you to stay quiet,” but even as he scolded you, his lower body didn't slow down for a single second. if anything, your loud reaction only drove him deeper into the edge, his hips pumping into you even faster. “you're gonna wake her up. do you want gran to walk in here and see you like this? see what a bad girl you're being f'me?”
you were completely pathetic beneath him now. you couldn't breathe properly, you couldn't scream, and you couldn't pull away. all you could do was let out small broken whines against his palms, your tears wetting his fingers as your hips shook uncontrollably under the force of his penetration. you were nothing but a trembling, weeping toy for him to use.
“shit... oh god, shit, look at you,”
followed by a groan, his entire body went rigid as he reached his breaking point. needing to get even deeper, to consume every remaining inch of you before he spilled, he reached down with his other hand and hooked it beneath your thigh. with one effortless pull, he lifted your leg up to force you to balance precariously on one foot while your knee was pinned up against his waist. “fuck, i'm so close,”
the new, devastatingly wide angle opened you up completely. it only allowed him to bury his entire length into you with a series of shoving that made your head snap back.
“don't make a sound,” caleb choked out, his voice cracking into a crying whisper while he began to hammer into you with his hand pressing harder against your mouth. “keep it in. take all of me right now. just take it.”
the final push of his hips sent your mind spiraling into absolute oblivion, your body tightening around his thickness in a series of violent, helpless spasms that milked him completely. caleb let out a sharp gasp against the crown of your head, his entire muscular frame going stiff as iron against your back. he knew he was at the absolute point of no return. even through the blinding fog of his climax, that ingrained discipline and the terrifying reality of the consequences cut through his thoughts.
with a sudden, desperate grunt of exertion, caleb grabbed your hip bone with bruising force and violently pulled himself out of you.
the abrupt sensation of emptiness made a choked sob rise in your throat, but before you could even register the loss, caleb’s release hit you. he came in heavy thick spurts across your backside and the small of your lower back.
“oh, god—oh fuck, i'm coming, i'm coming,” caleb cried out, his voice completely fracturing into a loud mess. he couldn't even keep himself quiet anymore. “fuck, i love you, i love you so much. look at what you did to your caleb.”
a crying whimper escaped his lips as the final waves of his orgasm racked his large body. his hand finally slid off your face, fingers trembling as he let go of your jaw, leaving your lips swollen and burning. instead, he dropped both of his heavy palms onto the curves of your hips. “look at this fucking mess...”
meanwhile, your upper body remained slumped over the cool porcelain of the sink. your fingers were weakly splayed against the slick basin, completely devoid of any remaining strength. your knees were wobbling so much beneath your weight that the only thing keeping you from collapsing onto the tiled floor was the unyielding grip of caleb's hands on your waist.
slowly, caleb’s heavy breathing began to level out, turning into shallow, ragged pants against the nape of your neck. he opened his eyes, staring down at the reflection in the wide glass mirror.
he could only stare at the mess in absolute awe. the sight of you bent over the sink, your shorts pushed down to your knees, your skin flushed a beautiful crimson and glistening with his thick, white fluids, looked like something straight out of the sinful dreams he had hoarded in his concrete barracks. it didn't feel real. the fact that he had actually touched you, filled you, and marked you like this inside his grandmother’s house made his heart thump.
with a sigh, caleb leaned his entire weight forward, completely hugging you from behind. his broad chest pressed firmly against your back while his large arms wrapped securely around your waist to support your sagging frame. he buried his face into the side of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply as if he were trying to memorize it all over again.
“pipsqueak,” he whispered, his voice incredibly rough, gravelly. ”hey... look at me. are you okay? did i hurt you?”
you let out a small whimper, your head shifting weakly against his shoulder as you managed to nod. “yes... i'm okay.”
caleb let out a breathy chuckle, and he tilted his head to press a soft kiss against your burning cheek. “do you think we woke gran up?”
you swallowed the dryness in your throat as you stared blankly at the porcelain basin. “i... i don't know, caleb. you were really loud at the end.”
caleb hummed, a lazy, satisfied sound as his thumbs lightly stroked the sensitive skin of your hip bones, soothing the small red marks his fingers had left behind.
“well... if she's awake, she's probably just gonna think i'm clumsy and dropped the wrench again,” he murmured into your hair, his grip tightening just a fraction, pulling you closer into his warmth. “come on. let's get you cleaned up. i'll wash you down, and then... i'll cook you that braised pork you love right now. the one with the sweet soy sauce and the star anise. how would that sound, pips?”
“that sounds great, gege.”
caleb gulped at the nickname. “it's been a while since you used that on me,” his face breaks into a smile, and then he leans down to look at you in the eye instead of through the mirror. “what if you use that while we do it again tonight?”
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2,723 words * ˛ ✦ ･ Caleb spreads his palm across her stomach, feeling the subtle rise and fall of her breathing, the gentle flutter of her pulse beneath his thumb. "You have no idea," he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his voice a low vibration that he hopes drifts into her dreams. "No idea what you do to me. Walking around this house in these little shorts, these little shirts. Do you know how many times I've had to take myself in hand in the shower, thinking about you just like this? Soft and warm and mine?"
WARNINGS: third person pov (fem!reader), alternate universe – pre-canon, canon-typical pseudo-incest, (non-consensual) somnophilia, DAA!caleb, groping, fingering, grinding, heavy dirty talk, cum-eating, pervert!caleb, panty-stealing.
The afternoon light filters through the kitchen windows in thin, golden bars that leave stripes across the worn hardwood floors, and Caleb closes the front door behind him carefully, his DAA flight jacket unzipped and hanging open over a sweat-dampened white t-shirt, the scent of jet fuel and synthetic training cockpit air still clinging to his skin. He drops his keys into the ceramic bowl on the side table—a ritual, always the same—and the sound is muffled, swallowed by the empty house.
"Gran?" he calls softly, though he already knows the answer.
The note on the front door had said it clearly enough:
Visiting Margaret. Back Sunday. Dinner in the fridge. Love, Gran.
Just him and her; just them, alone, together.
He rounds the corner into the living room and stops, his breath catching in his throat with the familiar sharpness that has become his constant companion these past few years, ever since he realized that the protective warmth in his chest had twisted into something darker, hungrier, something that wakes him in the night with his hand wrapped around himself and her name on his lips.
She is sprawled on the couch, one arm dangling off the edge, her fingers brushing the carpet, the other tucked beneath her cheek. She is smaller than him—she always has been, and she always will be—and the oversized sleep shirt she wears has ridden up to expose the soft curve of her stomach, the waistband of her sleep shorts sitting low on her hips. Her breathing is deep and even, lips parted slightly, hair fanned out across the cushion in a mess that makes his fingers twitch with the need to touch, to tangle, to pull.
Caleb stands frozen for a moment, the weight of his bag sliding from his shoulder to thud quietly against the floor, immediately forgotten in the face of this.
The house is silent except for his heart and the soft sound of her breathing.
Gran is gone for three days.
No one is watching, and no one will know.
His heart hammers against his ribs as he crosses the room, each step is deliberate, his boots are silent on the rug. He stands over her, looking down at the face he has known since childhood, the face he has watched transform from a gap-toothed child into this—this woman who haunts his every thought, his every dream, his every dirty fantasy.
She calls him gege, still, even now, even when the word feels like a brand on his skin, marking him as hers even as he marks her as his in the secret corridors of his mind.
"Gege's home," he whispers, so quietly it might be a thought rather than sound.
He cannot help it. He knows he should cover her with a blanket, retreat to his room, shower off the day, be the good brother she believes him to be. But the devil that lives in his chest—that possessive, obsessive creature that whispered to him when he locked her in the attic that one time, that urged him to eliminate anyone who looked at her too long at school—that creature stretches and purrs and demands that he pounce.
Caleb kneels beside the couch. His hand trembles as he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. She doesn't stir. Her skin is warm, flushed with sleep, and the urge to feel more of it, to drown in it, overwhelms his restraint.
An arm slides beneath her knees, the other behind her shoulders, and he lifts her effortlessly. She is light, always so light to him, and she makes a small sound—a whimper that sounds more like a sigh—that goes straight to his groin, making him ache with a sudden, painful hardness that presses against the zipper of his flight suit pants.
He settles himself onto the couch, arranging her carefully on top of him, her back against his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin, her legs draped over his thighs.
The position is perfect. Too perfect, in fact; her ass presses directly against the straining bulge of his cock, and he has to bite his lip to stifle a groan, his eyes falling shut as he rocks upward just slightly, just once, testing the pressure. But she settles deeper against him, trusting and pliant, her breathing unchanged.
"Good girl," he breathes against her ear, his voice barely audible. "Such a good girl for gege. Sleeping so pretty. So peaceful."
His right hand slides beneath the hem of her sleep shirt, and her skin is impossibly soft, softer than anything he has ever touched, softer than clouds or silk or the petals of the flowers he once picked for her.
Caleb spreads his palm across her stomach, feeling the subtle rise and fall of her breathing, the gentle flutter of her pulse beneath his thumb. "You have no idea," he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his voice a low vibration that he hopes drifts into her dreams. "No idea what you do to me. Walking around this house in these little shorts, these little shirts. Do you know how many times I've had to take myself in hand in the shower, thinking about you just like this? Soft and warm and mine?"
His hand drifts upward, slowly, giving her time to wake, to protest, to stop him.
She doesn't.
A sigh escapes from her mouth instead, and she's pressing back against him, her head turning to nestle into the crook of his neck, and he takes it as permission—the only permission he needs in this moment where morality has fled and only want remains.
He finds her breast, fills his hand with the weight of it, and his vision spots at the edges. She is perfect, full and soft, her nipple a hardening peak against his touch as he brushes his thumb over it, circling, teasing. She arches into his touch in her sleep, a silent plea that makes him throb against her.
"That's it," he praises, his voice shaking with restraint. "You like that, don't you? Even in your dreams, you know it's me. You know gege is taking care of you."
Caleb pinches her nipple gently, rolling it between his fingers, and she whimpers, a sound that goes straight to his cock. He is so hard it hurts, trapped against her softness, and he grinds upward again, unable to stop himself, seeking friction even as he knows he should be still, should be careful, should not wake her to find him like this. "Look at you," he whispers, his free hand sliding down her side, tracing the curve of her hip, slipping beneath the loose waistband of her sleep shorts. "So wet already. Even asleep, your body knows. It knows who it belongs to, who has always owned it, even when I pretended to be the good brother. Fuck, baby, I was never good. I was just waiting; waiting for moments like this when I could have you without you looking at me with those eyes and seeing the monster I've become."
His fingers find her heat, slick and swollen and hot, and he has to press his face into her hair to muffle his groan.
She is drenched, absolutely soaked, and the realization that she is this wet in her sleep, that her body responds to him even in an unconscious state, shatters what little control he has left. "Jesus, look at this," he breathes, spreading her folds with two fingers, circling her clit with the lightest touch, watching her face for any sign of waking. She only breathes deeper, her hips shifting slightly, seeking more. "Soaked for me. This pretty little cunt is weeping, isn't it? Crying because it wants gege's cock. Because it knows who it belongs to."
He presses a finger inside her, slow and steady, feeling her walls clench around him, hot and tight and perfect.
She makes a sound and he freezes, his heart pounding, but her eyes remain closed, her face peaceful, lost in whatever dreamscape he has invaded.
"Good girl," he croons, beginning to move his finger, curling it to find the spot that makes her squirm, even unconscious. "Taking gege's finger so well. So tight, and so fucking perfect. You were made for this—made for me. I knew it the first time I saw you looked at me. I knew I would ruin you, ruin us; and I don't care—I don't care as long as I can have this, as long as I can feel you come apart on my hand while you dream of me."
He adds a second finger, stretching her gently, scissoring them inside her tight heat, feeling her grow wetter around his knuckles. His other hand continues to work her breast, pinching and rolling her nipple in time with the thrust of his fingers, building a rhythm that has her hips rocking now, seeking, chasing. "That's it," he encourages, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper, his own hips bucking against her ass, grinding his cock against her through his pants, seeking the friction that will send him over the edge. "Chase that pleasure. Gege's got you. Gege's giving you what you need. This is what you want, isn't it? My fingers deep inside you, fucking you open, preparing you for when I finally take you for real. When I spread you out on my bed and eat this pretty cunt until you scream, until you can't walk, until you forget your own name and only know mine."
Caleb crooks his fingers, pressing against her sweet spot, and her breath hitches, her back arching sharply. He feels her clench, feels the flutter of her walls around his fingers, and he knows she is close, so close, hovering on the edge of orgasm even in her sleep.
"Baby, my pretty baby, cum for me," he commands, his voice shaking, his own pleasure mounting, his cock pulsing with each thrust of his hips against her softness. "Cum for gege. Let me feel it. Let me feel you squeeze my fingers. Milk them like you'll milk my cock one day. Fuck, yes, that's it, good girl, such a good—"
She breaks with a keen, her body going rigid, her back bowing against his chest, her cunt clamping down on his fingers so hard he sees stars. She is beautiful in orgasm, even unconscious—mouth open, brows furrowed in pleasure. He feels her pulse around him, drawing out her peak, and he keeps fucking her through it, gentling his touch but not stopping, dragging out every aftershock until she goes limp against him, boneless and satiated, her breathing deep once more.
"Pretty," he breathes, his voice wrecked. "So fucking pretty. My good girl, my perfect girl."
But he doesn't stop—he can't.
The sight of her coming undone, the feel of her wetness coating his fingers, the pressure of her ass against his throbbing cock—it is too much. He continues to thrust his fingers, shallow and slow, milking her sensitivity, even as his other hand releases her breast and slides down to grip her hip, holding her steady as he grinds upward, seeking his own release.
"Look what you do to me," he pants against her neck, his tongue darting out to taste her skin, salty and sweet. "Look how hard you make me. Just from touching you. Just from feeling you come. Fuck, I'm going to—I'm going to—"
He buries his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo—something floral, something innocent—and lets go. His hips jerk upward, once, twice, three times, and then he is spilling into his pants with a choked groan that he barely manages to muffle, his cock pulsing in waves of pleasure that make his vision go white at the edges. It is messy and shameful, feeling the wet heat spreading in his underwear, but he doesn't care.
When it is over, when he can breathe again, when his heart slows from its frantic hammering, he carefully withdraws his fingers from her.
They are coated in her arousal, glistening in the afternoon light, and without thinking—without the ability to stop himself—he brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean, groaning at the taste of her, sweet and musky and perfect.
He needs more, and he needs to taste her straight from the source.
Caleb shifts carefully, manoeuvring her limp body until she is lying on her back on the couch, her head turned to the side, her legs parted slightly. He kneels between her thighs, his hands trembling as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of her sleep shorts and her underwear—both soaked through, both ruined—and slides them down her legs, lifting her feet one by one to free the fabric completely.
She is exposed to him now, her sex glistening and swollen from her orgasm, pink and perfect and his. He stares for a long moment, memorizing the sight, filing it away in the vault of his obsession where he keeps every stolen moment, every glimpse of skin.
"Gege needs to taste," he whispers, more to himself than to her. "Just once. Just this once."
He leans forward, his hands spreading her thighs wider, and presses his mouth to her. She tastes like heaven, like sin, like everything he has ever wanted and cannot have. He laps at her slowly, licking up her folds, circling her clit with his tongue, cleaning away the evidence of her pleasure and his own transgression. She is sensitive, twitching beneath his mouth, making small sounds that drive him wild, but she does not wake. She is too far gone, too deep in sleep, too trusting that she is safe in her own home.
If only she knew; if only she knew that her brother is currently between her legs, feasting on her like a starving man, his cock already stirring again in his wet pants, desperate for more.
Caleb kisses her there—her glossy cunt, her perfect sex—and whispers against her folds, "Goodnight, my love. Sweet dreams of gege."
He lingers for one more moment, pressing a final kiss to her clit, feeling her shudder, before he forces himself to pull back. He cannot leave her like this, exposed and messy. He retrieves a warm washcloth from the bathroom, returns to clean her gently, thoroughly, wiping away every trace of his touch, his mouth, her own arousal.
She sighs in her sleep, peaceful, sated.
From his room, he retrieves a fresh pair of her panties—not the sexy kind, but the soft cotton ones she wears to bed, the ones he has imagined peeling off her a thousand times—and a clean pair of sleep shorts. He dresses her carefully, lifting her hips, sliding the fabric up her legs, tucking her back into her clothes as if nothing has happened, as if he hasn't just defiled her in the most intimate ways while she slept.
He stands back to survey his work. She looks innocent again, untouched, her breathing steady, her face relaxed. No one would know. No one but him.
And the trophies he has taken.
Caleb picks up her discarded underwear and sleep shorts from where he dropped them on the floor. The cotton is drenched, heavy with her scent, with her arousal, with the evidence of what he has done to her. He brings them to his face, inhaling deeply, his cock twitching one last time, and then he folds them carefully and slips them into the pocket of his flight jacket.
They are his now, his treasure. The first of many, he knows.
He lifts her again, cradling her against his chest, and carries her to her bedroom, laying her down on her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. He stands over her for a long moment, watching her sleep, his hand in his pocket, fingers brushing the damp fabric he has stolen.
"Soon," he promises softly. "Soon you'll wake up. And you'll know. And you'll want it too."
He leans down and presses a kiss to her forehead, then her lips—chaste, but possessive.
"I love you," he whispers. "My little sister. My girl. Mine."
SAINT'S NOTES ! originally uploaded in the server back in the 31st of may, before the entire shitshow and my decision to move past canon content, so don't quote me on this lol—past me was idealistic about this game while present me simply does not give anymore fucks about it.
"wow, you're such a dirty girl, you actually like this shit?" as he scrolls through my tumblr likes with one hand and rubbing circles on my swollen clit with the other.
pervert caleb who purposely puts things up real high so you can't reach them. watches you wobble on the tips of your toes as you try to reach it, only walking over to offer help once you get desperate enough to try and climb up onto the counter. "let me get it, pips," he murmurs while pressing right up against your back, pushing you against the edge of the counter while rubbing his cock against your lower back as he grabs the thing right next to what you really wanted. holding it out for you with a smile, his eyebrows pinch in mock confusion when you shake your head. "not that, the one next to it!" he coos in understanding, repeating the same routine as he reaches for the correct one. "there you go. you should really think about growing a few inches," he teases, ruffling your hair and easily dodging your swipe at his face with a laugh.
pervert caleb who loosens the screws in the bathroom doorknob so the lock won't click into place. walks right in while you're in the shower, biting back a smile when you squeal and peek at him from behind the curtain with the cutest flush on your face. "calebbbb! get out!" he holds his hands up in surrender, eyes trailing over the shadow of your figure against the curtain appreciatively. "hey, it's not my fault you don't know how to work a lock. just let me use the bathroom quick, 'kay? i won't peek," he promises while shielding his eyes. trotting over to the toilet, he lifts the rim and hopes the running water is loud enough that you can't hear he isn't actually using it, standing there for a moment to listen to your flustered grumbles.
pervert caleb who 'accidentally' scrolls onto his saved porn videos while showing you some pictures he took while flying. tugging you into his lap cause 'it's easier than you leaning over me trying to look', he swipes through his camera roll and tells you about every picture, mouth right next to your ear as he mumbles quietly. keeps swiping until the photos end and are replaced with a raunchy video of two people going at it. volume all the way up, his soft voice is replaced with loud moans and the wet sound of skin against skin. the little gasp you let out makes his stomach tighten, and the way you squirm right over his cock has him tightening his arm around your waist as he lets the video play just a few seconds too long. "gross! turn it off," you squeak, slapping your palms over your face, and caleb feigns embarrassment as he swipes the video away and pockets his phone. "ah, sorry pips. gege has needs though.. you understand, right?"
pervert caleb who buys you clothes just a size too small. not enough that they don't fit, but tight enough that the outline of your bra is visible through the thin fabric of the shirt and your shorts ride up into the crease of your thigh. keeps close to your side when you wear your new clothes out in public, arm around your shoulders as he glares at every person who glances in your general direction, expression melting into the sweetest grin when he turns back to you. "hm? you wanna go shopping? didn't i just buy you some new clothes?" you nod in agreement, tugging the hem of your shirt down where it had ridden up your waist. "yeah, but they're a little tight." he looks you up and down, eyes getting caught on your chest longer than necessary before blowing out a sad sigh. "i guess so.. my little meimei is growing up so fast," he mumbles before sweeping you up into his arms dramatically, rubbing his face into your chest and giving your thighs a generous squeeze, "it just breaks my heart!"
“you’re so— you’re so tight. i’m not going to fit, pipsqueak. it’s okay. we can try again another—”
in one ear, out the other. paying caleb's pleading voice no mind, you sink down on him inch by inch, relishing the stretch but quickly growing impatient. beneath you, he throws his head back into the pillows, overwhelmed by the sheer warmth of you.
“please. please. you’re squeezin’ the life outta me.” as if to prove his point, he starts to slur his words. “i dunno if i can take it.”
“you can.” you dig your nails into his hip bones. “you will. how much time did we waste, dancing around our instincts? we’ve both wanted this for so long—it’s only right that we take everything the other has to give.”
“then…can we take a break, at least? what if you hurt yourself? it can’t— it can’t be easy.” his mouth falls open, a whimper escaping as you swivel your hips trying to work your way to his base. “you’re so small. too damn small.”
“maybe you're too big. i like it, though. and once i fit you all the way in, i’ll love it.”
the rapid swell of his length isn’t making this any easier. every time you make progress trying to take him, he only grows even larger inside you.
“you’re the one who begged for this earlier. i want it, too. but you have to help me—i can’t do it on my own, caleb. you've always helped me, haven't you? always been there to look out for me. can’t you do it again?”
swallowing thickly, he admires you through half-lidded eyes. when you push your lips into a pout, he nods slowly. giving in like he always does.
nerves alight, he wills his hips to drive three feeble thrusts into your heat. it’s a rare show of weakness from him, but even his lacking efforts make you slide farther down.
of course, your mixed arousal dribbling down his length does most of the heavy lifting.
“more,” you urge. “more. we’re almost there.”
“i can’t.” he’s almost delirious now. “so, so tight. feel like i can’t breathe.”
“do it. you don’t want to disappoint me, do you? if you do, you might not get the chance to make it up to me.”
“no…no.” ardent as it is, his refusal is soft. he’s crashing quickly, devoting his waning energy to blinking the tears out of his eyes rather than projecting his voice. “never.” tensing for a moment, he gathers all his strength and rolls his hips, slow and deep, into your center. you accept him greedily, hissing through the dull sting until the rest of your weight falls on his throbbing length. once you’re fully seated, the scandalous slap of skin on skin echoes through the room. his desperate moans and a string of curses follow.
finally, finally, you feel so incredibly whole.
you moan, lewd and lascivious, and lean down to kiss the center of his chest.
“was i good?” he asks, rapid pants fanning the crown of your head. “you feel so good. is this good?”
when you raise your head, he sits up on his elbows, eager to kiss your lips in grateful reciprocity.
it doesn’t take much to dodge him. grinning, you splay your hand across his now flushed chest and push him back down, earning a whiny, defeated groan. sinking impossibly deeper, you give his nose a conciliatory peck.
“shhh. just stay like this. you don’t have to do anything,” you murmur into his skin. “that break you wanted earlier? we can take it now. i want to get used to this feeling. don’t you?”
tags/cw: heavy pseudocest (adoptive siblings), use of Caleb's evol, grinding, p in v, use of "gege, meimei, big brother, little sister, baby sister", teasing/mocking, creampie, voyeurism if you squint?
an: I loved writing this request a little too much and got a tadddddd carried away. uhh
wc: 1.5k
Not very proofread
It was finally summer. Summer meant going out every day, buying icecream, and dressing as slutty as you want. But it also meant Caleb was home.
Your adopted brother was as sweet, kind, and caring as any brother could be. Of course, he teased you at times, but what kind of siblings don't argue? Definitely not you two. In fact, tonight he had teased you right out of your pants.
It started innocently enough. Caleb had been home for about 2 weeks now, falling into his normal routine with you. Brushing your teeth together in the mornings, cooking breakfast for you while grandma reads in the living room, braiding your hair at night, eyeing your tips through those thin summer tank tops you love to wear. Yup, Caleb was practically in heaven. It's not often he gets to see his adorable little sister nearly half naked yet still finding a way to complain about the heat wave.
Night fell and it was just your luck that the fan in your room had stopped working this morning, the only reprieve from the heat since the AC broke down last week. Caleb had fixed it, but it broke again soon after from the wear and tear of old age. It seemed like everything in this old box of a house was giving out one way or another, but none of you could seem to let the place go. Too many memories. I guess you can't turn back time with a toolbox.
Click click click click
“Dammit.” You try the power button of the fan over and over again, but even the faint thrumming of a motor you heard the first time has stopped.
You groan loudly as you feel the familiar wave of sweat over your body. This had to be the hottest night of summer. You flop down onto your cool sheets, feeling them warm instantly and stick to the damp skin of your back. You lie there as still as you can since movement only makes things hotter. That is until you hear the strong whirring of a fan from another room. Caleb's room.
You let yourself sit up, feet hitting the slightly creaky floorboards and padding softly across the hall, driven by the need to cool down. You stand outside, concealed by his half open door, staring at the fan like it's water in the middle of the desert.
“Come in, pips”
His voice interrupts your train of thought.
“How did you know I was out here?” Your question earned a small chuckle.
“Well... you weren't exactly the quietest little thing when you were frustrated about that fan of yours. Figured you'd come here for mine.” He says it like you're predictable, but he really just knows every little thing about you down to your smallest habit.
“Oh…” you finally step into the room. He's in nothing but a shirt and boxers. He pats the bed in the spot next to him, but you ignore it, eyes locked onto the fan. Your feet carry you there swiftly and you plop down on the floor right in front of it. Bliss. You groan in relief as the cool air hits your heated skin.
Caleb raises an eyebrow, shifting to lean against his hand as he watches you, eyes falling to your nipples that are slowly pebbling beneath the thin fabric of your top in response to the cold air.
“Ohhhh” Caleb's mockingly understanding voice cuts right into your long awaited reprieve. “So that's how it is? You only want your big brother for his fan? I'm startin' to think you hate me here, pips.” He feigns hurt but his lips quirk into a small smile.
You ignore him, knowing that responding will only get you teased more.
“Oh, woe is me. Gege's sweet baby sister won't even turn to see him dying for her affection. She's fallen in love with my fan.” He wipes a fake tear.
“Ugh” with a sigh of exasperation you finally turn to face him because you want his teasing to end. That and it's getting a little chilly sitting right in front of the fan.
“Really, gege? Fine.” you playfully climb on top of him, legs straddling his own. You're finally going to win this time, or so you think.
“Happy now?” your hands rest against his firm abs.
“Mmmm… nope.” You're suddenly jerked forward by a strong force, making you fall forward with your soft tits pressed right against his chest. Your hips are now directly on top of his, close enough for you to feel the heat there that has nothing to do with the weather.
“Now I'm happy.”
His hands slide down to your hips, making you gasp.
“Gege…” Caleb had used his evol, pinning you down.
He squeezes the soft flesh, sliding down to the back of your thighs.
“Hmm? ‘Gege’ what?” He repeats the title you used in the same desperate tone you said it in. That bastard is teasing you. Still. After he's the one that put you in this position.
He snaps the waistband of your shorts against your flushed skin, making you yelp.
He chuckles at the sound.
“Careful there, baby sis. Don't want grams to wake up and see you “cooling down” on top of your brother, do you?”
He was right. She was in the room directly next to his, and his door was still open just a crack. Even if it was closed fully, sound travels through these thin walls like they're paper.
“Th-then stop-” you start, quickly cut off by a pinch to your thigh, “ah!”
“Nope. Need to hear more of those cute little sounds, pips. Make more for me, yeah? Not too loud though, hm? Just for gege.”
His hands started to give your hips a slow rock against his now stiff cock through his boxers. Your face presses into his chest, muffling a whine.
“I heard that.” He whispers into your ear, fingers starting to rub slow circles against your growing heat through your shorts.
“Cay…” you whimper, trying your best to stay quiet. You can't help but grind down against him, the reason you came in here at all completely forgotten.
He chuckles again, the sound rumbling against your chest. “Cay… Cay…” he mocks, “can't even say my full name now, meimei? You that desperate for gege's cock?”
His hands slide your shorts down and toss them aside carelessly, leaving your dripping cunt on full display.
“Caleb… hurry…” you whine.
He frees his cock from his boxers. “Ooh, you really are desperate.” He taps the fat tip of his cock against your entrance, already dripping a bead of precum. “Why don't you sit on it then, hmm? Show your big brother how much you want this cock stretchin’ you out.”
You try to push down but your legs are too shaky and his cock is too thick. You whimper at the stretch as his tip pops inside.
He groans at the tightness. “Need help, meimei? Need gege to slam it in for you? Hm? Deep in that tight little pussy. Only mine.” His words are breathless, needy.
You nod quickly. “Y-yeah, Cay. Please…”
It doesn't take long for him to slam you down on his girthy cock, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. But before you can cry out, his hand clamps tight over your mouth. You can taste the sweat on his palm as your scream is stifled down to a whine.
He lifts you almost all the way before slamming back down, his thrusts setting a punishing pace. Your moans and whines are muffled by his palm.
“Thought I told you to be quiet, pips. Gonna wake up grandma if you keep gettin’ sooo loud.” he's enjoying your suffering. He lets out a stifled sound himself as he feels your cunt clenching around him in pre-orgasmic bliss.
“Oh? Gettin’ close already?” another groan as you squeeze him. “Shit… that's fast, pips.”
You whine into his palm, thighs already shaking. You weren't sure how much longer you could hold back, but you didn't want to let him win. However, your dreams of winning were quickly crushed when you felt the thumb of his free hand circling your clit. Your nails dug deep into his chest, leaving red scratch marks that grandma would definitely ask about tomorrow.
You fell apart completely, a white ring of your release forming at the base of his cock as you moaned, unable to hold back anymore.
“Theeere it is… that's my sis. Cumming so quick for her gege.” He patted your ass softly like an owner rewarding their pet.
It wasn't long before Caleb was reaching the same peak, thrusts becoming erratic. “Fuck pips, ‘m close. Gonna fill that little pussy. Gonna take it all for me, hm? Gonna be niiice and full of gege's cum, yeah? Shit-! Take it, meimei..”
Hot ropes of cum fill you to the brim, some seeping out around the seal of his cock inside of you.
You both pant heavily, his palm finally leaving your lips as you lie tangled in his bed.
Whirrrr…
That sounds like the noise your fan made before it-
Clunk
“Shit…” Caleb whispers.
There goes the other fan. And right when you needed it most.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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synopsis: maybe you should've given it a second thought before accepting your best friend's offer to be your sperm donor - especially when it's obvious he'd rather be the baby daddy! is your relationship really platonic? or will years of gojo's pining finally get him the girl of his dreams?
pairing: best friend!gojo x f!reader
wc: 9.2k
content: mdni, FLUFF AND SMUT!!!, some light angst, mutual pining, but reader's lowk in denial, childhood friends to lovers, he fell first and harder lmfao, gojo is the best sperm donor and dad, very much planned pregnancy, gojo is so in love, lots of comfort, touchy/clingy-ness, lowk codependence, kissing, confessions, HEAVY LACTATION KINK, nipple play, gojo is THIRSTY ok, unprotected piv sex, creampie, happy ending
a/n: commission for the incredibly lovely @cantarcantar hehe :3 the art is by @1amglow !!
“You want a what?”
“A baby,” you answered, shrugging your shoulders and shoving another piece of cake in your mouth as if you told him you wanted a designer bag for your birthday. Innocently blinking, head tilting to the side as the fuzzy crown he bought for you started to slip from where it was hastily placed on your hair. The 3 and 0 candles still left on the corner of your plate, the burnt ends sitting there and reminding him that you were already moving onto another stage of life without looking back to see if he was chasing you.
But Satoru Gojo had spent so fucking long trying to fit into whatever space was left for him that he wasn’t sure what he’d be without you.
From the first moment he met you, back when your family had been hired at his clan’s estate and you became his built-in playmate, your face scrunched up with indignity at your circumstances before you begrudgingly shoved your hand out to shake his, all he had wanted to hold onto you and never let go.
“Like, um, a real one?” He stupidly asked, throat constricting as he watched you clean the fork with your tongue slowly. Considerately. Taking your time to think about what he was asking, what this conversation actually meant, while his brain was thinking filthy things about your glossy lips, what your eyes might look like glazed over, how good your hair probably would smell if he buried his face in it.
“Mhm,” you eventually hummed, pulling the fork out of your mouth and plopping it down on your plate. Glancing back over your shoulder for a quick second, looking at the birthday decorations he’d spent two hours setting up before you showed up at his penthouse, the banners and the balloons and the glittery streamers that were probably way over-the-top for takeout and cake for just the two of you. Smiling a little to yourself as your head turned to him, tilting a little as your eyes locked onto his. “Do you think I'd be a good mom?”
“The best,” he honestly answered, as if in his fantasies, he wasn't already imagining he was the father.
“I was thinking of getting a sperm donor,” you casually added, clearly something you'd been toying around with for a while.
Two words, and a terrible idea blossomed in the back of his brain – and exited his mouth before he could shut the hell up for once.
“Why not just use mine?”
Your mouth fell open. His did too.
Watching you slowly blink, eyes slowly narrowing into a squint as he panicked and pushed out some frantic explanation, holding his hands up as he tried to make it sound somehow less creepy, “Look, you just never know if the guy you pick already has like, fifty other kids, and what if your baby meets one of them and doesn’t know that they’re siblings and-”
“You don’t want me to use a sperm donor because you think my hypothetical kid might accidentally fuck their sibling?”
Okay, wow, that was worse.
“I’m just saying you wouldn’t have to worry about that sort of stuff with me,” he continued, choking on the lump in his throat before clearing his throat. “You already know I have great genes.”
And like he wasn’t already shooting himself in the foot just by speaking, he flexed his bicep with a stupid grin on his face, t-shirt straining against his muscles just for you to roll your eyes at him.
“You’re twenty-eight,” you bluntly said, as if he had ever given a shit about being younger than you before.
If he was the same age, would you see him differently?
He had asked himself that too many times to count. Enough that the hurt that it came with had seeped into his bones and started to live there. Weighing him down as he wondered how you would treat him if he met you later, when you were both older, somewhere neutral.
Would you want him the way he wanted you?
“And?” He whined, pouting as you resisted the urge to shut him down harder. “Doesn’t that mean I have, like, even better sperm?”
“Satoru, you’re gonna meet some gorgeous girl and get married, and then it’s just going to be weird if-” You started, shaking your head dismissively.
“I’m not,” Satoru cut you off before you could finish coming up with weak excuses, like he’d ever met anyone he thought was half as gorgeous as you.
You made that cute little face you always did when you wanted to argue with him but couldn’t come up with anything that would make him agree with you.
“You don’t know that,” you said after a few short moments, leaning in closer, oblivious that the next whiff of your perfume was enough to make him lose what little reason he had left.
“What if I pinky promise?”
“That you’ll never have kids with anyone else?” You gawked at him, face scrunching up in confusion. “That’s literally ridiculous. You know I’d never ask you to-”
“I was going to get a vasectomy in a couple years anyway,” he lied in a panic, shrugging his shoulders as if he didn’t really care when he had literally never cared more about the simple notion of some stranger’s sperm winning out over his.
“You never mentioned that,” you quietly pouted back, like you were a little upset at the idea he never brought it up. But at least you believed it.
“If I was even ever going to have one,” He paused, dragging his chair closer to the table to stretch over it and wipe some icing stuck to the corner of your mouth, dredging up something he knew without a doubt was the truth to make up for his bullshit. “I’d want it to be with you anyway.”
You stared at him, his fingers still grazing against your mouth before he dropped his hand and reclined back in his chair, as if there was even a scrap of his cool left to recover. Shrugging his shoulders as he scrambled for something to say before you could call him an idiot for even suggesting something like that.
“I could even pay for it,” he grinned like this was some grand gesture instead of him desperately clinging onto this chance. He didn't like to just throw money at problems – but he'd throw his entire dignity in the trash can if it meant when you were waddling around pregnant in six months, that it would be his baby you were carrying. “What else are best friends for?”
Personally, he’d prefer to add father of your child (and future husband) to his resume, but he was used to accepting whatever you offered.
“Satoru,” you said his name slowly, sounding out the syllables so he could hear the hint of scolding in them. But you didn't dismiss him.
He smiled at you, and it was just as easy as it had always been. Comfortable. Cozy.
“It's not a big deal,” Satoru shrugged. “I want what you want.”
Even if it meant pulling down his pants and jerking off in a cup a few weeks later after you admitted that maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible to have the hottest guy you knew contribute his sperm to create the cutest child ever – not that you worded it exactly like that. He guessed his promise of paying all the bills may have also helped sway your decision.
The whole thing was sorta scary, waiting and hoping for updates from there about egg retrieval and embryo viability, feeling like a loser checking his phone two hundred times a day when he wasn’t with you and showing up at your place with meals, trying to pick out foods that were good for someone doing IVF.
You always let him in, even if you hummed and huffed that he didn’t have to do it.
Satoru clung to claiming that he just wanted to be supportive.
Carrying you back to your bed after you crashed on the couch, tucking you under the blankets and cleaning up the dinner, stuffing the styrofoam boxes down in the trash can while he cursed himself for not just coming clean about his feelings fifteen fucking years ago.
Sometimes he wasn’t sure you even saw him as a man. Didn’t realize he wasn’t the awkward, lanky preteen or scrawny kid he used to be despite the fact he’d been taller than you for over half your lives now.
You didn’t even blink when you woke up to him sleeping with no shirt on your couch, the blanket deliberately draped at his hips to show off his sculpted abs, just yawning and walking past him, already showered and fully dressed, applying lip gloss as you scrolled on your phone.
“Just lock the door after you leave,” you hummed, dropping your phone back in your purse and picking up your shoes before returning back to the couch to sit on top of his calves so you could slip them on.
A few years ago, he might have pretended to groan, to tease you for being on him, but now he just felt utterly hopeless at how hard he was savoring the connection, the weight of you on him even when it was totally platonic. Blinking sleepily and staring at your side profile as you bent over to slide your shoes on, preemptively picturing where you both might be in nine months. Would he be helping you get them on then? Putting his hand on your stomach and feeling his baby kick underneath your skin?
“Where are you going?” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes before he propped himself up on his elbows.
“Today’s the day,” you casually said, and after a painfully long pause, it clicked.
“Like, the day?” He gawked, adrenaline overwriting the exhaustion at the thought that you could be coming back home with his babies implanted inside you.
“We don’t know if it will take,” you muttered. The cocky half of him wanted to remind you that the doctors had said that his sperm was high quality, tempted to turn it into a joke and break the tension, make some childish offer. But he held it in, reached out to brush his fingers against your arm.
“How many are they implanting?” He asked, tracing a faint little heart over your skin you didn’t seem to notice.
“Just one,” you answered with a little sigh, biting your lip to hide the hint of a smile curling up and betraying the hint of excitement under the surface you were trying not to feel. “A girl.”
And then you were standing back up, readjusting your purse over your shoulder as you searched it for your keys, despite the fact they were sitting on your kitchen counter instead.
“Can I come?” He asked, wiping his sweaty palms on his slacks as you puckered your lips together, shuffling on your feet. Was it so fucking wrong to want to be in the room at least when he got you pregnant?
“It’s not like-”
“I could drive you,” Satoru offered, hyperaware of how hopelessly desperate his own voice sounded. “I have the day off anyway.”
He didn’t, but he’d call out sick if he had to, fake a coughing fit and convince Ijichi to push back all his meetings or come in at absurd hours to catch up on stuff if he had to.
Satoru didn’t want to miss a single appointment. Didn’t want to let you do it alone – no matter how strong he knew you were. You never needed him. But he needed you.
Craved being the guy you depended on. Trusted to help take care of you.
You glanced back at him, tilting your head to the side with that cute little sigh of yours you always made right before you caved in.
“Fine.”ᘏ⑅ᘏ
“Do you think she’ll like it?”
For a man who was only supposed to be a sperm donor, Satoru Gojo was acting far more like a father.
Your best friend standing outside your front door with shopping bags of baby stuff, stumbling through your threshold with that stupidly charming cheeky smile. And when he realized he was about to be scolded, he started dramatically sniffing the air as he peeked past you to see what you were cooking, eagerly changing the subject before you could comment on what he brought, “Whatcha making?”
“How many different outfits do you think she needs?” You rolled your eyes as you eyed him suspiciously, sighing as you shut the door behind him. Satoru just laughed, already piling up everything on your coffee table as you self-consciously tried to pull down your t-shirt from where it was sticking to the swell of your stomach, threatening to ride up and show off your growing baby bump. Only five months in and barely fitting into any of your old stuff anymore, despite how many prenatal yoga classes you attended or midnight cravings you ignored.
He looked as perfect as he always did. White hair tousled and the sleeves of his button-up rolled up on his forearms, veins sticking out as he glanced up at you with those irritatingly sparkly blue eyes. God, you couldn’t remember a single time you’d seen him look bad.
Even when you were younger, you couldn't escape the effect he seemed to have on everyone else. It didn't help that your family worked for his, that you got a front row seat to watch him get everything he ever wanted. Hyper aware of all the differences in his life than yours, what world he'd been born into that you just happened to occupy. Only able to stare from the sidelines, the bottom row of the bleachers, pointedly aware that he occupied a certain position above everyone else.
You’d grown up glaring as your other friends fawned over him, strangers approaching him in public to shove their numbers at him or shyly flirt while he smiled at the affection he was showered with. It wasn’t his fault. You didn’t even hold it against him, not when over time, you’d found yourself increasingly, um, fond of him.
But you couldn’t just ignore who he was when it trickled down to every aspect of your own life.
All the guys you started seeing never lasted long.
Either assholes who cheated on you or dickheads who dumped you, both always citing how little they could stand Satoru, just insecure, you supposed, unable to tolerate your best friend and his sometimes annoying antics. He had a bad habit of showing up right when you were about to go on dates, swinging by late at night or bringing presents just because.
You tried to explain that it was just how he was. Satoru had spent his entire life being spoiled and sheltered. Spoiling you in return was one of the few ways he knew how to show affection. And when he could drop a few bands a day without noticing so much as a tiny dent in his bank account, it wasn't like money or gifts meant anything to him.
And here you were now, feeling like you were taking advantage of it anyway, single and pregnant while your best friend bought your (his?) baby teething toys and the most expensive car seat stroller combos, helping turn your spare bedroom into a nursery on the weekends while you reminded him (and yourself) over and over again that you didn’t expect him to do any of it.
Satoru didn't just blur the lines.
He buried them.
Took a shovel and tossed so much sand over it that it was impossible to tell where they originally were. And after the first embryo was successfully implanted, once you went to the first scan and saw the tiny little blob that would be your baby, you seemed to be making meals for three instead of two most days when the man who helped make it insisted on coming over after he got off work nearly every evening.
Sometimes, he'd arrive with takeout or groceries, but he never showed up empty handed.
“How's our, um, this little princess doing?” Satoru grinned after he corrected himself, walking over to squat down in front of you, tapping your stomach like he was trying to wake her up.
“She keeps kicking,” you murmured, biting your lip as his palm abruptly pressed flat as if he was hoping to experience it for himself. His hand was warm through your thin shirt, his thumb subtly dragging a small semi-circle as you continued, “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Lay down,” he muttered, just as a faint flutter stirred in your stomach, the sensation of your baby moving around still alien and strange as you watched the slow smile spread up on his face as he felt it too. “I’ll finish cooking.”
“You suck-”
Satoru pressed one long finger against your lips before you could argue with him, shaking his head as he scoffed, “I’ve been taking classes.”
“When?” You pouted, a hand on your hip as you racked your brain for when he’d even have the opportunity when you practically had to shoo him out of your place half the time.
“Every other Tuesday,” he retorted – and then he was gently trying to guide you over to your couch, not stopping until you were sitting down and he was putting the remote in your hand.
Begrudgingly flipping through boring movies, readjusting a pillow behind your back before you gave up and started sorting through the bags of stuff he brought with him.
Blue dresses. Pink bows. Extra diapers and wipes. Swaddles.
A two-pack of onesies featuring the words MOMMY’S ANGEL and DADDY’S PRINCESS embroidered across the chest.
A small voice in your head rationally suggested that you should set some better boundaries. Tell him you weren’t going to put her in that second one when he was supposed to be more like a…rich uncle? Family friend?
Well, something other than daddy.
But some awful part of you sort of liked it.
Liked how much his attention was devoted to you, how you couldn’t exactly ever feel lonely when he was always around, always willing to step into whatever box he thought you needed from him. He didn’t complain. Never groaned or gritted his teeth and acted like you were too much. Always able to make you laugh and smile, holding your hair back when you were nauseous and holding your bags for you in public.
Even if all of it was only platonic.
You weren’t stupid enough to think his interest in you was romantic.
He could pick anyone. Go out and come home with a girlfriend in two hours if he wanted to.
Satoru was simply excited to share this with you, at the idea of a little infant that might have his hair or his eyes, his ego probably ballooning and bigger than ever because you chose him to have it with.
The one thing you could never afford was letting yourself have a crush on him.
Especially when his care right now was temporary.
It would probably fade after your baby was born, once she was crying and crawling and required more than just trinkets and toys to thrive. You didn’t think he’d disappear. But he would move on, focus on his work or his other friends, return to his more spontaneous visits as he resumed his role as your best friend rather than baby daddy.
Which was fine.
Completely, totally, fine.
“Here you go, sweetheart,” Satoru hummed, handing you a warm bowl before clearing off a space on the coffee table for you to put it before rushing back to grab napkins and a drink for you to go with it. You stared at him. Struggling to ignore how sturdy his frame was, how handsome, how steady he’d turned out as he hurried around, casually rummaging through your cabinets to pick out a glass while he acted like he was perfectly at home here when his own place was probably three times bigger, your heart thumping a little too loud for your own comfort as you caught a glimpse of that cute crinkle by his eyes when he turned his head.
You loved him.
As a friend.
You were content to raise your daughter by yourself, made the decision to have her because you knew you could.
But maybe you could enjoy his attention while you had it.
Hold onto how things were before he got bored.
And whatever this fluttering in your stomach was, the one that you couldn’t blame on the baby in there, it would pass.
ᘏ⑅ᘏ
Satoru only realized the depth of his own stupidity when he was realized just how fucking hard it was to stay best friends watching you waddle around swollen and seven months pregnant with his baby. Barefoot with powdered sugar dusting your fingertips, one hand casually resting on your stomach and leaving a print on your loose pajama shirt while you baked your favorite dessert, babbling about how badly you were craving it in between complaining about how much your back was aching.
He’d known his pining was pathetic from an early age.
Forced to acknowledge it post-puberty when you started going on dates and he had to resist the temptation to punch a wall and tell you that no one was good enough for you. Discomfort and anger crawling under his skin at the idea of you giving anyone else who obviously didn’t deserve you any of the time that should be his.
And now, despite the (lack of) wisdom age had added, he was still just stuck staring at you with an open mouth like a moron as you glanced back at him, glowing no matter how much you complained about how awful you thought you looked.
His pants had never been fucking tighter around you.
Boner carefully concealed with one of your throw pillows, long legs stretched out on your couch as he pretended to scroll on his phone.
Every day only seemed to get harder too. More of a struggle to shove down his feelings when you started to rely on him more. Leaning against his shoulder, holding onto his forearm, your fingers skimming over his skin as you started to casually cling to him the same way he always hung onto you. Asking him for massages, laying your head on his lap, playing with his hair when you walked by him. Your stare had started to stick to him more, catching you watching him when you thought he wasn't looking.
Satoru had spent years dreaming of this easy domesticity with you.
Walking through your door to find you already making a meal big enough to share, baking or singing to yourself, peeking out and smiling at him without even being surprised. Expecting to see him there.
And still, he only ever got to sleep on the couch.
Didn't get to hug you or hold your hand or kiss you at the end of the night.
He wanted to invite you back to his place, see if you’d spend it with him if he changed up this new normal, but he was scared that you’d decline. That he’d fuck up this tightrope he was walking before he made it to the other side.
Um, and maybe because he’d turned one of his own extra rooms from storage to a pretty, pink nursery too. Just in case you asked him to babysit, or uh, wanted any extra help with her.
But there was a subtle edge to your behavior, your softness sometimes switching abruptly, going cold or sharp when least expected it, suddenly getting short with him when he got a little too close. Hormones, maybe?
It wasn’t like he could ask without receiving a lecture that he shouldn’t blame your feelings on your hormones just because they didn’t match whatever he thought they should.
“You’re quiet tonight,” you commented with a huff, turning on the timer on the microwave after you shut the stove.
“Jus’ thinking,” he hummed, trying to avoid the urge to spill out his dirty secret.
“About?” You tilted your head to the side, almost bumping into the baby swing he built last weekend as you walked back over to him, starting to bend over to try and lift one of his legs instead of just sitting on him like you used to.
He patted his thighs, as if you would actually take him up on it, just to earn a dramatic hand on your hip, pouting hard.
“You’re really making a pregnant lady stand?” You muttered dryly, jutting your bottom lip out further.
“There’s a perfectly good seat right here,” he teased, grinning as his hand reached out, leaning forward, about to gently graze against your waist when-
You started crying.
Big tears welling up in your eyes before he could so much as blink, your brows knitting together in frustration as your own fingers rushed to wipe them away.
His mouth fell open, words automatically spilling out, “Sorry, I’ll move, I-”
“You’re an asshole,” you hissed, breath hitching as you started to turn away from him, and he was shoving himself up off the couch, hurrying to spin you around by your wrist only for you to yank your arm away from him.
“What did I do?” He gawked, blinking hard and fast, panic seizing in his chest as he desperately tried to search your face for any sign.
“You keep acting like-” You stopped yourself, just vaguely gesturing up-and-down at his body before you scoffed and buried your face in your hands. “I’m such a fucking idiot for thinking that this was a good idea.”
“You’re not an idiot,” he argued, pulling your hand down so he could wipe away your tears himself. Dragging his thumb under your eyes and cupping your cheeks to force you to look at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“We need, like, boundaries, or-”
“Boundaries?”
Okay, sure, boundaries were normal, needed even, in most relationships. But he’d be lying if he said the idea of you putting up walls and pushing him away with new rules didn’t make him want to vomit.
“You keep treating me like I’m your girlfriend,” you said, eyes wide and wavering as you barely managed to meet his stare. “Like, this means something more-”
“Do you want to be my girlfriend?”
He knew he shouldn’t have said it the moment he heard how it sounded out loud. Heard the sharp inhale you sucked in, how shattered it came out. “Stop-”
“You mean everything to me,” he blurted out before you could break his heart, ready to beg, to barter, to do whatever he had to just so you would see it.
“Don't say that,” you whispered, shaking your head as you tried to take a step back. “Not when you don't mean it.”
“I do,” he huffed, holding onto you as he again attempted to stop you from pulling away, from severing this connection. And somewhere in his panic, his body purged all the words his mind had been shoving down for so long. “Fuck, sweetheart, I love you. I've loved you my entire life and I will for the rest of it. I'll be anything you want me to be, shit, just don't shut me out.”
“You love me,” you repeated, like it was ridiculous.
“I love you,” he said it again anyway, his voice dropping low.
“You-” You stopped yourself, starting to breathe fast through your nose, biting your bottom lip before you continued, “If you're just trying to make me feel better-”
“Do you seriously think I'd say it and risk ruining us just because you're crying?” He asked, wiping away another stray tear from your soft cheek, managing to sound appropriately serious for the first time in his life.
You swallowed hard, like you were suffocating on the truth now that it was out there. Fingers balled up by your side, fists shaking as you fought the reality Satoru had dropped on you.
“I don't expect you to tell me that you love me too, just, fuck, just don't walk away from me, okay-”
And before he could finish begging, you were grabbing the collar of his shirt to pull him down, his mouth still open when yours connected with it.
You kissed him, soft, unsure, like you weren't certain or confident that this was the right decision. But you didn't stop even if part of you thought you'd regret it later.
His own hands failed him, his brain freezing the second if processed the fact you were actually kissing him, stuck completely still as you soft lips lightly started to suck on his bottom one, his breath stolen and his heart straining to accept how fucking sweet this felt.
But then your fingers went loose, started to let go of his shirt, and he snapped out of it. Tethering his hands in your hair, deepening the kiss before you could pull away and he'd have to hear that you changed your mind. That he lost his only chance.
Satoru tried to show you with his lips.
Tongue dancing across your bottom lip for entry, dragging over the ridges of your teeth, exploring your mouth and memorizing how it felt. Saved it in case he'd never be able to savor the experience again.
And when a cute little moan slipped out as his chest pressed against yours, as your bodies connected, your baby bump pressed against his stomach and your free hand draped over his shoulder, he knew his boner was back.
“Mmph, Sato-” you murmured when you finally pulled away for air. He was desperately trying to suck in the quickest breath he could just to kiss you again.
The most he managed was a few quick pecks pressed to the corner of your mouth before your palm pressed flat against his chest.
“We should talk about it,” you reasonably said, despite how inclined he was to throw reason out the window and carry you back to your bed.
“Do you want me?” He asked, sucking in a short breath, leaning down so his nose was nuzzling against yours.
“I do,” you answered, your voice strained and tight as you reluctantly looked up at him, studying the shape of his lips. And maybe it was because he’d spent an entire life wrapped around your finger, building and molding himself to be the sort of man you wanted, that you needed, he knew what thoughts were swirling around in your head before you said any of them. “I’m just scared.”
Hearing it out loud still scared the shit out of him though.
Knowing how close he was to having you – and how easy it would be to fuck it all up.
“What can I do to show you just how serious I am?” He murmured, leaning in, lightly grazing his lips against your mouth again.
You closed your eyes, held onto his shirt and let yourself melt into his chest.
This kiss didn't last long though, not when the timer on the microwave suddenly blared out.
“I, um, should check on that,” you muttered, and it was incredibly hard to let you go. To watch you slip from his hold again and walk back into your kitchen, some intangible thread tugging him towards you, unable to stay more than a few steps away from you while you opened the oven and sighed before you added a few more minutes on the timer.
But you didn’t come back, didn’t speak up immediately.
You were staring at your distorted reflection in the microwave, like you were silently attempting to convince yourself of something.
Maybe to turn him down.
Say that you were both always going to be better off as friends.
“Tell me what to do,” Satoru begged.
“I don’t know,” you blanched.
“Anything,” he started. “I swear, I’ll-”
“Shouldn't we take this slow?” You hesitantly asked before he could offer to put up a billboard professing his love or get down on his knees to propose, clinging onto the counter tight enough he could see the clear outline of the bones and tendons in your knuckles.
“You're having my baby,” he pointed out, and you just pouted at him.
“I know,” you muttered, mulling over how you wanted to word your concern. “But what if you're only doing this because of that?”
“Sweetheart,” Satoru started, a fresh pang of panic shooting straight through his chest. “I would want you whether or not the baby was mine or someone else's. I've loved you for so fucking long-”
“It's hard for me to accept that,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. “I don't understand why you would pick me. You could have-”
“You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted. You occupy all my thoughts,” he breathed, his throat constricting as he did his best to confess. “Your glare. Your laugh. The way you defend me even when I'm a dick. How you indulge me even when I don't deserve it. Every morning, every night, every stupid meeting I get stuck in and when I'm in the shower. I've spent my whole life waiting for you to see me standing here and hoping for you.”
Another big tear welled up in your pretty eyes, one you quickly blinked away as your stare shined up at him.
“Can you wait a little longer?” You asked, as if he wouldn't wait another ten, twenty, thirty fucking years holding onto this.
“Of course,” he whispered.
As long as you needed.
He’d just hope it was a sooner rather than later thing.
You wiped your cheeks, recollecting yourself before checking the oven again, pressing your lips together in a thin line as you put some mitts on and opened it to pull out the baking tray before reaching up to shut off the timer.
Satoru ended up where he always did.
Stretched out in the corner of your couch, arm thrown around the back and pretending to pay attention to what was on TV instead of watching you in the corner of his vision. But this time, you snuggled up a little closer after you sat a plate down in front of him.
Curled up enough that your thighs were firmly pressing against each other, and slowly, his hand drifted down to cup your stomach. Just under the skin, feeling the faint flutter of his daughter kicking, or readjusting in there. Growing to hopefully be more like you than him, even if she would get stuck with half his DNA.
“You’re warm,” you softly said, as if that was your excuse to melt into him more.
“Will you still let me spend the night?” He pouted, lips parting only for you to push a warm treat against them to shut him up.
“On the couch?” You asked, watching him chew, chocolate probably smeared across his mouth before you asked something he only ever dreamed about. “Or in bed?”
ᘏ⑅ᘏ
Satoru never stopped staying the night.
And despite the fact he’d technically gotten you pregnant, you still had yet to have sex with him. But instead of him walking in hungry for your cooking, he was starving for you. Thighs hooked over his shoulders while he dragged his tongue up across your pussy, greedily lapping you up like it was his new favorite meal.
You liked the way he kissed you when you woke up, his strong arms slung around your body, his soft mouth dotting your face like it was his favorite thing in the world. You loved the way he looked at you when he left for work, the warmth that seemed to radiate and wrap around you when he leaned down to caress your cheek and tell you that he’d call you at lunch.
Somewhere along the way though, or more precisely around week thirty-eight, you started spending the night at his place instead, getting stretched out on his long fingers in his silk sheets instead of your cotton ones.
You spent almost an hour chewing him out for the nursery he’d already set up there, dismissing his excuses because you both were well aware of the reasons why.
He didn’t want to just be the donor.
He wanted to be your baby’s dad.
And when it came time to actually have your daughter, when your water broke a couple days past your due date and he rushed you to the hospital, you were the one to tell the nurses that was exactly what he was instead of playing pretend and ignoring what was right in front of your face.
Letting him wipe the sweat from your brow and hold the cup of water to your lips, nearly breaking his hand by holding it so hard when it came time to push, hours of labor culminating in a little baby with your favorite set of blue eyes.
She had your hair though, and he tried to say your smile too, peeling off his shirt right there in the room and ready to do skin-to-skin with her the second you said he could.
If you hadn’t figured out you were completely and totally fucking in love with him, you knew the second you saw him cradling her to his chest, the gleam in his stare and the reverence in his trembling fingers brushing across her chubby cheeks.
He had looked up at you with that lopsided smile, pride and adoration present in every line etched in his face.
“I feel like the luckiest guy in the world,” he grinned.
And just a couple months of being with him had made you see how lucky you’d always been to have him.
To have her.
Even though you were pretty sure she inherited her dad’s personality.
Specifically the loud and clingy parts.
Always needing one of you to be carrying her, crying when you tried to leave her in the crib, refusing to be bottlefed half-the-time even when you were just feeding her what you pumped. Her crystalline stare welling up with fat tears if you dared to put her down on a soft mat for tummy time, lazily hitting her tiny feet against the ground instead of trying to roll or crawl.
All that baby proofing Satoru had spent hours on pretty much useless so far when she'd barely been outside of your arms or the baby carrier he proudly walked around with her in. He even started working from home once his paternity leave ran out, taking meetings with her still in the carrier, chatting with people on the phone or on video calls, something about the sound of his voice and the way he bounced her, always seeming to lull her to sleep.
You had unofficially moved in with him, although you let him handle all the packing and unloading, rooms conveniently already set up like he'd always been holding that space for you, closet half-vacant until all your clothes were hung up by his.
Boyfriend, best friend, husband, no title really needed to tag onto whatever it was the two of you shared.
It was bigger than that.
You were his now.
And you didn’t want to deny it anymore.
Besides, you'd done some laundry a couple days ago and found a ring box underneath his boxers in the sock drawer, so you supposed it would have a label soon anyway.
If you were going to spend the rest of your life loving someone, it was always going to be him.
You were an idiot for not seeing it sooner.
But he never made you feel like one.
He kissed you good night like it was the most natural thing in the world, half-draped across your body and skimming his fingers over your face before he curled up next to you in the dim bedroom, blankets tangled around your bodies.
Falling asleep came fast when it was in his arms, but you'd begun to have one, or, uh, two problems when you woke up at four in the morning with a massive ache in your chest.
In his quest to be the best father (and future husband), he'd taken over night feedings to make sure you slept, but despite his sweetness, your body wasn't on the same page. Or rather, schedule.
Missing her night feedings had left you engorged.
Tits swollen and milk stuck in the ducts, the usually soft flesh practically hard under the stretched skin, painful when you sat up and realized you had started to soak through your bra and shirt. You tried to peel both off of you, wincing at the wetness as your finger fumbled for the pump you left by the nightstand in the dark only to knock it off instead.
“Sweetheart?” Satoru groggily spoke up, a big hand reaching out, half-patting your stomach in his sleepy state.
But then he was already shutting his eyes again, yawning and humming as he drifted back to sleep, your lips pressing together in a frustrated line as you swung your legs off the bed and bent over to grab the pump.
Although, it wasn’t really much use when your ducts were too fucking clogged for anything other than a painfully slow drip to come out, the ache just getting worse as you begrudgingly switched on the lamp by your bed and bathed the room in warm yellow light as you put the pump back.
“Satoru,” you whined, rolling over in bed and lightly shaking the pretty man drooling on the pillow next to you. He almost immediately stirred for real this time, sitting up and blinking before wiping the spit from the corner of his mouth, grunting as he got up, the low sound only making your thighs tense and press together.
“Mm, baby?” He yawned as he stretched, running his fingers through his hair as his baby-food-stained sweatshirt rode up to show a sliver of his toned abs.
“When did you feed her?” You half-whispered as his tired eyes shifted to his phone on the other side of him, briefly turning it on with a sigh.
“Like, an hour ago?” He answered, blinking a couple times as his eyes returned to you – and then practically bulged out of his head at the realization your boobs were out.
Mouth falling open in a pretty ‘o’, drool probably pooling inside it as he stared at how heavy they were hanging, tongue uselessly trying to form a coherent follow-up and some strangled sound escaping instead.
“I need you,” you admitted just as another droplet of milk leaked out, starting to roll down your breast – but before it could make it more than an inch, Satoru was there, wrapping his lips around your areola and starting to suck before you could even get another sentence out.
He pulled you closer, an arm slipping around your lower back, pulling you in as his tongue dragged over your hardened nipple, his other hand already reaching up to squeeze your other tit, groaning at how it felt under his palm.
You gasped, a surprising surge of electricity racing down your spine as heat you hadn’t expected bubbled up to simmer in your core. Technically, you’d been cleared for sex, like, six weeks ago, but you’d been a little anxious about him seeing your postpartum body.
Not sure if his feelings would be swayed after you carried his baby, if the stretchmarks or soft plush of your stomach would put him off.
But the ravenous gleam in his eyes, the frenzied way his fingers kept fumbling to make sure you couldn’t slip away, you didn’t think anyone had ever wanted you as badly as he did right now.
And before you could fully process it, your back was hitting the bed, pinned between his heavy body and his firm mattress, the sheets crinkling underneath you as he greedily drank.
He looked delirious.
Okay, probably a little bit sleep deprived from being in night feeding duty half the time, but he was drunk on you, letting out a lewd moan as he sucked hard on the hardened bud, desperately kneading into the other one with those thick fingers of his while something hard and huge dug into your thigh.
Fuck.
Why the hell was he that big?
The size of him was on your mind as he switched breasts, eagerly slurping as he squeezed, trying to break up the clog with his thick fingers, pressing in and working into the skin, forcing more milk out as he tried to drain you.
“Shit, angel,” he moaned, barely pulling away to glance up at you, the blue in his eyes swallowed up by his pupils as milk dribbled down the corner of his mouth. “You’re so sweet.”
“S-Satoru,” you stammered, relief washing over you as he went back to drinking and managed to clear out at least one of the ducts, eyelashes fluttering as his tongue toyed with your still overly sensitive nipple. Your fingers were shaking as you tangled them in his hair, trying to guide him back to the other one, hyperaware of how sticky your skin was, some of the milk definitely leaking down onto the bed and getting on his shirt as he continued without a pause.
“S’not fair,” he whined, fingers digging in again as he practically rutted his cock against your thigh. Hips rolling down to grind against you, his muscled thighs flexing with every rock of them. “How come she gets to drink this all the time and I don’t?”
“You can’t be serious,” you gasped, tugging at his roots to pry him back just to find that fucked-out look on his face, everything relaxed as he jutted out his bottom lips like he was willing to beg for more if he had to.
“This is my new favorite drink,” he insisted, and before you could sputter out another protest, he was latched on again, relieving your other breast with that pretty mouth of his, massaging it until you were both moaning, your head falling back against the pillow as you gave in.
Gave it all up for him.
Finding yourself arching your own back up off the bed, squirming and shuddering as he went to work on it, teeth skimming and scraping until your nipples were sore, swallowing your milk until your breasts almost felt empty – but you knew they’d fill back up sooner or later. Sooner, if he kept sucking on them like that as if he could telepathically communicate to them to make more.
And even when they were nearly drained, he was running his tongue over your chest, cleaning you up like he was a goddamn cat. Taste buds dragging over your skin, running his fingered over your peaked nipples now, a surprised squeak pulled from you that made you both pause for a second, his blue eyes wide when they immediately locked onto your face.
Neither of you said anything.
But his cock twitched, and a funny pulse shot down to your clit, and your mouth was opening to ask him something you’d been craving more than you could confess.
“Do you want to fuck me?” You breathed, awkward, tense.
Terrified he’d say no, no matter how irrational it was.
But Satoru just smiled, climbing completely on top of you and caging you back in to caress your cheek, “God, you have no idea just how long I’ve been waiting for-”
Your mouth crashed against his before he could even finish his sentence, your own impatience catching you by surprise, lips fitting so nicely in between his, and you wondered why it had taken you so long to take what was always yours.
You could taste yourself on him, the faintly sweet milk on his breath, although it was a little weird mixed with the leftover mint from him brushing his teeth. He didn’t seem to mind though, eagerly shoving his tongue in your mouth, the now-damp fabric of his shirt pressed against your chest.
One of you would definitely need to throw a load into the washing machine after this, strip the sheets down and change them after the mess you were making.
But you couldn’t help but slip your hand down, sneaking underneath the band of his sweatpants and inside his boxers to feel his swollen tip, collecting the thick pre-cum already there and sliding it down his dick.
Veins pulsing against your palm, your fingers delicately wrapping around his girth and starting to stroke as he made some guttural groan that made your stomach feel funny. Pure want searing through you, desire you weren’t used to handling or holding back now dealt to you in spades.
Maybe it was because some small voice was trying to suggest that you were about to have sex with Satoru, a sliver of you thrilled at the idea of him needing you too.
“F-fuck,” he whimpered, and it was probably the prettiest sound you ever heard. “M’gonna cum if you keep doing that.”
“You’re not even in me,” you teased him. He growled at that, and before you could even giggle, he was pulling your hand back out of his pants, firm fingers gripping your wrist and pinning it above your head before you could make him snap.
And then his other hand was suddenly helping spread your thighs further apart, easily able to move the thin fabric of your cotton shorts and lacy panties aside so he could shove two fingers inside your pussy to see how soaked you were.
“Baby,” he immediately hummed the second his fingers swirled inside, one corner of his mouth curling up almost condescendingly while you huffed back at him. “I wasn’t even in you.”
Dick.
But it was hard to be hurt by him mocking you back when he was sliding his actual dick inside you barely thirty seconds later, the rest of your clothes and his quickly discarded so he could do what you'd both been dreaming about, his eyes scrunching shut as he slowly took it inch by inch. Savoring the stretch, the way his hands trembled as he touched you, his breathing heavy and uneven as he felt your walls squeeze around him. You might’ve complained at how long it was taking if you weren’t also having a hard time holding yourself together.
Studying all those details of his face you’d fallen for, the shape his soft lips made when his features were all twisted up in pleasure, how his long lashes fluttered as he whispered your name like a prayer.
Sure, you had sex before. Weren’t exactly a virgin by any means.
But nothing was like this.
No one was like him.
Satoru was treating you like some alter he was born to worship at. Every movement deliberate, sucking in a sharp breath as he pushed through, filling you up until his cock was nestled against your womb, the pressure mind-melting as he tried to focus on your own body reacting to him.
“I-is it too much?” He asked, like he wasn’t straining, his voice thin and airy. “Tell me if anything hurts.”
Still concerned for you, still worried he might wound you.
You nodded, heart thrumming wildly as his cock throbbed and all your sore muscles tensed around him. Hesitantly opening your mouth to reassure him, “I’m good. This is good.”
Fantastic, actually, but his ego didn’t need that much of a boost.
Satoru still lit up like you’d told him it was the best you ever had.
“Thank fucking god,” he murmured, his head falling down so he could nuzzle his nose against your neck. Peppering your throat with kisses as he started thrusting, almost delicate at first, but quickly picking up the pace once he was confident he wouldn’t completely break you with his cock.
Driving himself in faster, harder, both hands now holding up your hips, angle himself deep enough you could feel himself re-molding you to him. You were out-of-practice, and you could tell he was too, but his sloppiness was made up for with how eager he was, how earnestly his mouth and his fingers and his cock worked to make you feel good.
“I love you,” he babbled, breathing hard and heavy into your collarbone, your breasts still leaking a little bit of milk onto his chest that he didn’t seem to notice. “I, oh fuck, I love you so much.”
You were nodding, tracing your fingers over his broad back, his defined shoulder blades, holding onto him as your walls tried to squeeze and clamp down on him. The sex felt different, all your nerves suddenly more sensitive, everything burning and starving for more.
“I-I love you too,” you gasped, an invisible weight lifted off your chest hearing the words leave your mouth.
He made a noise that was probably loud enough to wake anyone else in the building, both of you freezing as your heads snapped back towards the door to see if it woke up your daughter down the hall.
But then his thumb darted to your clit, rushing to make rough circles, his chest heaving with fast breaths as he tried to make sure this wouldn’t end without him making you cum.
“My pretty girl, fuck,” he purred, sucking a spot he’d already nipped at above your tendon, the jolt it sent through you dragging you embarrassingly close to climax when it was combined with the patterns he was painting over your needy bud. The friction was intense, feeding something deep in your chest you hadn't realized was hollow before.
Comforted by him coaxing you, crumbling bit by bit into his hand as his cock continued pumping inside you.
“Always been your girl,” you half-whispered back, toes curling hard as your body tensed up again, lips staying parted as he pulled you right to the precipice.
“Forever,” you promised without really thinking, breath itching in your throat as his cock abruptly stalled, still buried deep.
You were pretty sure he came first, but before you could open your eyes or get another word out, his thumb twitched and pressed down mid-motion and you were seeing stars right as he groaned and snapped his hips down. Too occupied with the pleasure rolling through your almost limp limbs, your nails scratching down his back as warm spurts of cum started coating your walls, leaking down your legs.
“Shit, fuck, please tell me you came,” he hissed, his own eyes shut, sweaty strands of hair hanging down and sticking to his forehead as you stared at his glossy lips.
“Mhm,” you murmured, blinking as he finally peeked his eyes open and took in the full sight of you. Breasts still sticky and swollen, his cum dripping down your thighs, bite marks probably staining your throat.
“Will you marry me?” He bluntly asked, and you could only roll your eyes and laugh at him.
“Ask me again later,” you muttered, sighing at the state of yourself and wondering if a late night shower would wake a sleeping baby.
You guessed it didn't matter when her soft cry cut through the brief silence, both of you exhaling at the same time.
“I'll get dressed and go get her,” Satoru preemptively offered, climbing off of you with a small yawn. You watched him pad barefoot over to the dresser, biting your lips as he pulled fresh boxers back on and rummaged through the other drawers for pajamas.
“Um, Satoru?” You hesitantly spoke up as a thought nagged at you.
“Yeah, baby?”
“I'm not on birth control.”
reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated <3
For a man cheating on his wife, Nanami is real gentlemanly when he fucks you.
He always has been — ever since that first time he left his sleeping wife in bed to drive to your apartment and fuck you stupid on your couch, he did so with a certain respect to your body that not many men think twice about nowadays. Made you come twice before filling you up.
Maybe you expected him to be rough. That he'd let his guilt out on you with sharp thrusts and spanks and hateful sex against whatever surface is the coldest and most unforgiving. And sure, he has his heated moments after a long day or a marital spat at home, but for the most part, he's kind.
You'd call him a good man, if not for the obvious.
And you're no better, of course. You saw the ring, caught glimpses of his lock screen when he'd check his phone around you. A lovely photo from his wedding day, looking adoringly at a woman in white who was most definitely not you.
You wonder, if their honeymoon was anything like this, what possibly could have killed the spark.
You grasp at the petal-covered bedcover as Kento rolls his hips into yours, filling you with his weighty cock and accenting it with a kiss to your neck. He groans as you tighten around him, wetting his cock even more. You've long since stopped using condoms together — it feels better, and the risk makes you giddy.
"Can't believe you booked us a honeymoon suite," you gasp, scratching your nails against his scalp as he thrusts into you. He had told his wife that a sudden business trip would steal him away for a few nights in the city; it'd only be smart to book a hotel room and save on travel. "It's a little on the nose, don't you think?"
Another sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to your neck tells you more than words could; he just doesn't care. It took him months to get over the nauseating guilt he felt when he'd come and find his pleasure between your legs rather than his wife's, but he has since learnt to let desire take the wheel. And you have since learnt to leave your shame at the door.
That doesn't mean your mind doesn't wander. The stroking drag of Nanami's cock inside of you is narcotic, but a thought pesters you with each graze of his tip along your g-spot.
"Tell me you love me," you squeeze your eyes shut, holding your breath in embarrassment when his thrusts slow.
His voice is silken. Amused. "What was that?"
He's a tease, which you didn't expect from a man so put-together. He likes watching you burn up as he unravels you. So you meet his gaze and take in the pink dusting across his nose and cheeks, the mess of blond that brushes over his forehead — he's just as needy as you are.
"It doesn't have to be true," you flit your gaze to the tray on the bedside. On it is a champagne bucket, a 'congratulations on your marriage!' placard, and his wedding ring. "I just want to pretend. We're in a honeymoon suite after all, I want to..."
He catches your drift. There's this unspoken language between you that you think might only be born from doing such a heinous thing together. You're partners; whether that's in crime or romance is a moot point. You feel like an old married couple anyway. He knows you; knows why you're suddenly so shy, knows when and how you need to come, knows what you'll order from room service once he's done with you.
"You want to be my wife?" He searches your face. You feel his cock throb inside of you, twitching at the thought of having you in name as well as body. "Hm, Mrs. Nanami?"
Yes. God, yes. You feel naive and heart-eyed looking to be thoroughly owned by an unfaithful man like him, but your cunt is tight and pulsing around him — you couldn't lie to him about your needs even if you wanted to.
"You know," he starts, his voice rough as he pulls out of your just long enough to reach over and take his wedding ring from the bedside table. "I come home some nights and half expect to see you waiting for me in bed."
Kento grabs your left hand and slips his ring onto your finger. It's too big, and he has to close his hand around yours to keep it in place, which pushes the metal into your skin. You feel lightheaded with want.
"I wish it was me," you whisper, skin burning as he lines his cock up once again and pushes home. "That you come home to."
He moans, burying himself inside of you and his face in your neck. "It is. Come on, love, live in it. I love you."
"Fuck," you exhale, lungs on fire. He quickens his pace, fucking into you with a snapping of his hips. You can hear yourself squelching around him. "Love you too. You feel so good."
"Is that why you married me?" He snorts, teasing. He pulls back enough to press a kiss to your lips. "For the time spent between my sheets? I thought we had more going for us, honey."
You reach up with your free hand and stroke the side of his face, revelling in the feel of slight stubble beneath your palm. "I have to keep you interested somehow, hm?"
His eyes blaze with something untelling. Dipping down again, he licks at your lips. You part them, let his tongue venture in and explore your mouth, running over your teeth and drooling spit from his mouth to yours. It's messy and gross and he pulls away to leave a streak of saliva across your chin, but your stomach curls with a pending orgasm regardless.
"You," he smears his spit over your lips, "have nothing to worry about."
"No?" You buck your hips up from the plush mattress and wrap your thighs around his waist, locking them at his ass and using that embrace to pull him deeper. "You'd be okay with just me, for the rest of your long life?"
"Our long life," he corrects, flexing forward until he's so deep inside of you that there's no space left to give. "And yes. 'Til death do us part, my love. I want to sink into this beautiful body of yours until the very end."
You snort. He's poetic, for a businessman.
He fucks you long and slow and deep with thrusts that are more intimate than pleasure-seeking. It doesn't feel like a torrid affair, and you don't feel sick for sleeping with a married man. Because, even if it's just for your time spent beneath him, he's yours.
And maybe he's parroting the same words he told his real wife back to you. He could be a rakehell, depositing his cum inside of you with no care for the heart he holds in his hands.
But at the end of his long days, it's you he sneaks away to see. It's your body in which he finds his comfort. Your tits that he sucks on. Your mouth that he feeds his cock into. Your cunt that he fills again and again with an unspoken hope that maybe something will stick, and he'll have an excuse to come clean and start anew with you.
3.4k, tags: nsfw, caleb x reader, squirting, rough sex, edging, kinda mean caleb, mild gege kink, overstimulation, drunken sex, mentions of somno, crying
"fuck." caleb’s chest heaves as he stares, eyes black and blown wide. voice rough. "you think you need it? baby, you're about to find out exactly how mean i can be."
you search his eyes and can tell he means it. caleb grabs your wrist, pulls your hand away from his cock, and walks you backward. instead of pushing you down, he sits on the edge of the bed himself, and moves you to stand between his thighs.
"here's how this is going to work,” he says, voice commanding even though you’re warming from the want written in his eyes. “i'm going to touch you. play with you. make you feel so fucking good, but you don't get to come until i say so." his hands slide up the backs of your thighs, over your ass as he squeezes. "you come without permission…i stop and you don't get to come at all tonight." he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your underwear. "and when you beg, because you will beg, it better be the prettiest, most desperate begging i’ve ever heard. because every time it's not good enough, i’m starting over. from the beginning.”
you cant help but nod. caleb's eyes flash with dark satisfaction at your obedience. a slow, dangerous smirk spreads across his face as he slides your underwear down and tosses them aside.
"good girl." his hands grip your hips and he guides you onto the bed, positioning you on your back against the pillows. "keep being good for me and maybe i'll let you come eventually."
he stands, pulling his hoodie over his head. his joggers follow, leaving him in his briefs that do nothing to hide how hard he already is. he leans in and steals a kiss.
"spread your legs," he commands softly, climbing onto the bed between your thighs. "wider. i want to see all of you."
once you comply, he settles on his stomach, his face level with your cunt. his breath ghosts over the sensitive flesh, but he doesn't touch. you can’t help but squirm, still somehow a bit shy at being so exposed even though it’s just caleb. your caleb.
"already so wet." his voice is low and teasing. "from the wine? or from knowing what i'm about to do to you?"
his tongue drags through your cunt in one long, slow lick. you gasp and arch against the bed. then he stops, clearly expecting a response to his question if the expectant look he gives you is anything to go by. bordering on impatient, you swallow.
"f-from knowing what you're about to do...and the wine."
caleb steals said wine bottle and takes a long sip. holding it as he stares at your cunt, thumbing at your pretty hole.
you mumble, "w-was drinking it and watching a show and...and was just thinking about you."
caleb's eyes darken further at your confession, his grip tightens on the wine bottle as he takes another slow sip, making you watch as his throat works. he sets the bottle aside on the nightstand, thumb still tracing torturously light patterns around your entrance.
"thinking about me?" he repeats, his voice rough. "look at you…your pussy’s dripping, baby, all over our sheets."
his mouth returns, tongue licking you over with precise movements. it's just enough to make pleasure spark before he switches to long, slow licks that barely register. then he stops completely, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh.
"tell me more." caleb grips your thighs to keep them spread. "what else were you thinking about?" he bites down on your hip, sucking a mark there. "and don't lie to me."
he circles your entrance again, pressing in just barely before retreating, over and over, never giving you enough. "were you thinking about me edging you? making you cry? were you already touching yourself…is that why you're so wet, baby?
"caleb..."
suddenly his hand comes down against your inner thigh in a sharp slap. not hard enough to truly hurt, but enough to make you gasp and focus.
"that's not an answer." his voice drops into something darker. "i asked you a question, baby. what. were. you. thinking. about."
he punctuates each word with a featherlight touch to your clit, just enough to tease. the wine has made him bolder. meaner. it’s what you had asked for, but you think…well, you think you might have bit off more than you can chew.
you manage to choke out, "a-alot of things...i don't—"
"a lot of things isn't good enough."
"drink. and then tell me specifically what made your pussy this fucking wet."
caleb finds the wine bottle and takes another sip before offering it to you.
"was it my cock? my tongue? my fingers? were you remembering how i fucked you against that window the other day?" his voice gets rougher with each question, as he nods towards the window to your left. "or were you thinking about something else? things you want me to do to you now?" caleb leans down, his breath hot against your cunt. "tell me, baby, or i'll keep you right here all night. what does my good girl want that she's being too shy to ask for?"
he watches your face carefully, his thumb on your cunt matching the pulse under his other hand when he moves it to rest against your throat.
"because whatever it is.” his voice drops impossibly lower. "i'll give it to you, but only if you're honest with me. i can only give it to you if you tell me what you want."
caleb's thumb finally slides inside you, just barely, curling against your front wall before pulling out. your pussy wets his thumb as you clench. you nod, trying to think of what had started all of this. what the goal had even been a few hours ago.
"want you to…make me cry. edge me, like-like you said and play with me until i'm crying. w-was thinking about—hah—waking up with your cock in me and going to sleep with it in me too. just miss you so much.”
caleb's entire body goes rigid at your confession. a broken, desperate groan tears from his throat as his cock twitches in his boxers.
"fucking christ, baby. you want to wake up with my cock already inside you? want to fall asleep stuffed full of me?"
"need you now, though," you plead.
caleb’s fingers tighten slightly around your throat, his thumb pushing deeper inside your cunt. it’s still not enough, but more than before.
he seems to ignore your plea, though.
"that's...fuck, that's so hot." he hisses, taking another drink of wine. his movements are getting looser. a bit more desperate. "want me to fuck you to sleep? keep my cock warm inside you all night? wake you up by fucking into you until you're needy?" his other hand slides under your tank top, palming your breast roughly. "but you're so greedy, so you also want me to make you cry first. want me to edge you ‘til you’ve got tears running down this pretty face." he brushes a finger over your cheek.
he leans down, his lips against yours. you beg for a kiss and nod, eager for anything he wants to give you as long as you get to have him.
"i'm going to ruin you, baby. fucking ruin you. and then i'm going to hold you while we sleep with my cock buried so deep you cry again when i pull out in the morning."
his thumb pulls out of you, and you whimper at the loss. caleb slides off the bed, standing as he strips off his boxers, cock hard and flushed.
"on your stomach." he commands, and his voice leaves no room for argument. "ass up, face down. want you spread out for me."
he takes another long drink from the bottle before setting it aside, hands running up the backs of your thighs possessively.
"you look so fucking good like this." he murmurs, palms spreading you open so he can see your holes. "so desperate already and i've hardly touched you."
his to hue fucks into you from behind, but when your breathing picks up, when you start to feel something start to build, he stops.
"you want my cock?" caleb positions himself behind you, the head of his length pressed against your entrance, teasing just the tip. “want me to fill you up?" he pulls out. "too bad. you haven't earned it yet. and remember, baby." he shakes his head. "no coming without permission, and if you beg before i break you properly, it’s not gonna be good enough."
"i-i'll earn it, please...just a bit more."
he lets out a breathless laugh that sends a shiver down your spine. "what did i just say about begging? baby, it hasn't even been twenty minutes and that's nowhere near pretty enough. not desperate enough."
he pulls his fingers out again, leaving you empty and aching. his hands grip your hips, flipping you onto your back so he can see your face, your flushed cheeks, and the way your chest heaves with frustration but want.
"a bit more?" he repeats mockingly, settling between your thighs. "you think you can just ask nicely and i'll give you whatever you want? that's not how this works."
his hand push your tank top up to expose your breasts. his mouth closes around a nipple, sucking hard before biting down just enough to make you gasp.
"you don't get more right now. you’re gonna get exactly what i give you, when i give it to you." three fingers pushing inside you roughly, finally giving you something substantial, but the angle is all wrong, purposefully missing the spot you need. "now be good and take it.
you lay there and take his teasing as he works you up. your breathing growing faster, pussy the slick, slippery mess he's made it. your thighs are wet and spanked pink, too, after an hour passes. maybe more, or maybe less. time becomes meaningless as caleb edges you over and over. the wine bottle is nearly empty now, both of you drunk and sweaty and desperate in different ways. your thighs are trembling, your cunt swollen and sensitive from constant attention without an ounce of release.
finally, he pulls back.
"look at you." caleb slurs slightly, his inhibitions completely gone. his fingers lazily circle your clit. "so fucking wet. making such a mess."
he leans down again, but the second he feels you getting close, he stops, sitting back on his heels to watch you whimper and squirm.
"please—" you gasp, for the millionth time, and he laughs. it’s dark and cruel and so unlike his usual self.
"still not good enough. i want tears, baby."
his fingers slide back inside you, four now, and he finally, finally hits that spot. you find yourself right on the edge...and then he stops. caleb pulls out and pins your hips down when you try to grind against nothing.
"not. yet."
but you can see it’s all affecting him, too. when you meet his eyes through your bleary ones, his jaw clenches. his breathing is ragged, voice rough. caleb watches you hiccup and nod, helpless to what he wants and a mess beneath him.
"you need me to talk you through it? is that what you need? need me to tell you how swollen and red you are? how i can see you clenching around nothing, desperate for my cock? it’s such a pretty sight, baby."
his fingers return, making a mess in the obscene amount of wetness before he pushes them in, pumping slowly. "this pussy was made for me, you know that?"
his other hand wraps around his cock, stroking himself slowly as he watches his fingers disappear. "you're going to come so fucking hard when i finally let you." he promises, his voice filthy. "going to squirt all over my cock. going to soak these sheets. ruin them. don’t worry, though. we’ll toss them. buy new ones. "
you whimper, nearing a wail at this point. "ngh—i-i please—hah—"
"please what? use your words, baby. tell me what you need.” his hand moves up your body, gripping your jaw and forcing you to look at him. his eyes are wild. "you need to beg properly." his thumb brushes over your bottom lip. "want to hear you say, mmm… 'please caleb, please let me come on your cock. please fuck me. please make me yours.''
two fingers push inside you while his palm grinds against your swollen clit.
"say it." he commands. "beg like you mean it."
his fingers curl perfectly, his palm providing a pressure that doesn’t border on too much, it is too much, and this time he doesn't stop. caleb keeps going, watching your face as tears start to spill over.
"that's it." he groans. "fuck, that's so pretty, baby. cry for me. let me see those tears."
you beg, words slurred as you try to remember exactly what he wanted you to say or how to form words in the first place. "p-please 'leb, let me come. fuck me. please, i—"
"close, baby. so close." he murmurs, his fingers stilling inside you just as you're about to come. "but you forgot something. you didn't say make me yours."
"b-but i’m already yours."
caleb smiles. it’s a sudden contrast to how severe he’d been looking. he gives you a kiss. "indulge me baby." but then he’s mean. his eyes darken again. caleb pulls his fingers out slowly. torturously. more tears slide down your cheeks as he denies you endlessly. "and you called me 'leb. i told you, baby, when you're begging to come, you use my full name. say caleb. let me hear it."
“caleb,” you gasp.
"try again." he leans down and licks a tear from your cheek. "beg me properly. say please caleb, please let me come on your cock, please fuck me, please make me yours. say it exactly like that, and i'll finally give you what you need." fingers tease your entrance. "come on, baby. give me the prettiest begging i've ever heard. make me believe it."
you sob, pussy aching with your brain mushed up. it feels chewed up and spit out. still, you try to beg the way he’s asked. "c-c'leb i...i—ngh—p-please, gege. let me come on your cock, please. oh, fuck—fuck me. make m-me yours."
his hand tightens around your throat, holding you firmly in place. his cock is right there, pressing against your entrance, but he doesn't give in.
"wrong." he says, his voice dark. "i told you, when you're begging to come, you say caleb. nothing else, only my name. don’t tell me you're so fucked out that you've forgot whose fucking you? that won’t do." he laughs cruelly. “i have’t even actually fucked you, baby.”
he pulls back, and flips you onto your stomach again. his hand comes down on your ass in a sharp spank that makes you cry out.
"you're so close to getting what you want and you can't even follow some simple instructions? maybe you don't want it badly enough. maybe i should edge you for another hour or two until you learn how to listen."
fingers slide inside you, three of them, pumping hard and fast, hitting that spot perfectly while his other hand reaches around to work your clit.
"try. again." he demands against your ear. "say my full name. beg properly. or i swear to god, baby, i will keep you right here on this edge until the sun comes up."
he works you right back to that precipice, your tears soaking the pillows under you.
"come on, baby. you can do it. just say it right one more time."
"n-no—ngh—oh, g-gonna come…you—" you arch, trying to get away. fearful of coming before he allows because you can hardly cath your breath. it’s too much. "caleb! i-i—caleb. caleb, 'm sorry—ngh—ah!"
his fingers pull out just in time to deny. you're so close to the edge it physically hurts, your cunt clenching around nothing as tears stream down your face. your nose is stuffy and cheeks wet.
"oh, that's a good girl." he breathes, his voice shaking. "you stopped yourself. see? you can listen." his hands tremble as he grips your thighs, spreading them wider. "one more time, please baby." he says, tapping the tip of his cock against your cunt. your hips jump as you whimper. "want to fuck you so bad, you're killing me here. i'll give you everything. i'll fuck you so good, baby. i’ll make you come until you can't take it anymore." his thumb finds your clit. "please, caleb." he coaches. "say it with me: please, caleb, let me come on your cock." he pushes in an inch. "say it, baby." his hips flex, sinking even deeper but holding back still.
you’re beyond delirious with pleasure, unable to focus on anything other than the tip of his cock stretching you out. you whimper, more to yourself than anything, "c-caleb." you inhale sharply, correcting yourself. "caleb…wanna…lemme c-come on your cock."
something in him snaps at your delirious attempt. he's drunk and desperate and he's pushed you past the point of coherence.
"fuck it." his control finally breaks. "that's good enough. you're so fucking gone for me, baby. so good for me. so perfect."
he slams into you in one brutal thrust, bottoming out. the sound that tears from both your throats is desperate. fingers dig into your hips as he sets a punishing pace with hard, mean thrusts that have you seeing stars.
"come." he commands. "come right now, baby. come on my cock. you earned it. fuck, you were so good. so good for me."
his thumb finds your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles that send you hurtling over the edge you've been denied for hours. his other hand wraps around your throat, holding you as he fucks you.
"that's it." he groans, feeling you clench around him. "fuck, that's it. come for me. soak my cock. show me how good you feel, baby." his movements turning messier and more desperate. "g-gonna come so deep. then i’m gonna keeping my cock inside you all night like you wanted. that's what you wanted right, baby?"
you sob as he fucks you through your orgasm, holding you down as your greedy cunt accepts every thrust. you try to nod, but can only feel how deep he is, how close he is, and how big he is. his entire body locks up as he feels you squirt around his cock, soaking his thighs and the sheets. your cunt clenches so tight it almost hurts. the sight of you shaking and falling apart on his cock after hours of edging, destroys him.
"fuck, fuck, fuck—" he chants, his rhythm faltering as his own orgasm slams into him. "sweetheart. baby, oh my god-"
he buries himself as deep as he can, grinding into you as he comes. caleb fills you with hot spurts of come, and his hand tightens on your throat as he rides it out, hips jerking and twitching with the aftershocks.
"so perfect." he gasps, his voice broken and wine-drunk. "so fucking perfect. you did so good, baby. so…s-so good for me." his hips flex involuntarily, pushing deeper, making both of you gasp. the combination of his come and yours is making everything slick and perfect. "you feel so good." he moans against your neck, his hands sliding up to your breasts when things start to slow down. "so warm and tight around me. so full of me…and you wanted to sleep with my cock inside you." his lips brushing your shoulder, but you can feel him grin. "so that's what we're gonna do.”
[xxx let me know if u want a part 2 with the somno xxx ty for reading!]
synopsis: you never asked to trade sleeping in your bed for sleeping on a cold cot in a spaceship. never imagined you'd become an alien's favorite species to study - or his favorite to fuck either. he might not want to cage you like the rest of them, but then again, keeping you captive wouldn't be so bad, would it? for science, of course.
pairing: alien!gojo x f!reader
content: mdni. smut. porn with plot. slight dubcon. yandere!alien gojo, abduction, probing, examination kink, being strapped down to a table, lube, everyone loves true form sukuna but have we considered gojo with four arms and two dicks?, dumbification, gojo is basically an alien with a porn addiction and a human fetish but he's got cute antennas too, yearning, he's OBSESSED, nipple sucking, fingering, double stuffed, penetration in both holes, unprotected anal and piv sex, creampies
Gojo wanted you the second he saw you.
Technically, he shouldn't have even been in the lab. Technically, he wasn't even a researcher. Technically, he had stolen the security card once he saw that they abducted someone new to conduct their standard blood tests on.
Humans were a hot commodity.
A resource to utilize, something to use like, ah, how did they say it? Lab rats? Something less sentient, more animalistic. A lesser version of them, but with biology similar enough to study.
His kind had never cared about human history. Couldn't be bothered to learn about their culture. Flat-out disregarded the notion an inferior species like that could even really have any.
Satoru simply disagreed.
They didn't care to hear him out either. Kept up the archaic practices under the bland excuse of conducting studies for boring stuff like medicine and science.
It was supposed to be cut and dry. Abduct. Drug. Test. Drop back off.
Humans never noticed.
Waking up the morning after back in their own bed, completely clueless, chalking any memories up to nothing more than a weird dream and moving on with their little lives.
But Gojo had been fascinated by the funny creatures for as long as he could remember. Collected trinkets and snuck their stuff back to his room when they were brought on board. Managed to sneak in and ask a few about what Earth was like while they were still dazed.
He'd only been on the planet once. It was meant to be a brief expedition, to stake out some potential subjects before returning to their spaceship, but he couldn't help himself.
That was where he obtained his prized possession.
Something you humans called porn.
He had permanently borrowed an odd-looking rectangle, purely because it was shiny and fit underneath his shirt when he got beamed back up, using their far more advanced technology to sift through the files to find something that failed to satiate his curiosity. Instead, it sparked an entirely new kind, staring rapt at the screen in his room as video after video of humans mating played out in positions he hadn't thought possible.
Using different holes and sticking body parts in places he was pretty sure they weren't supposed to be, panting and moaning and sweating on camera while they came. And they seemed to do that a lot.
Gojo studied their creativity. Their commitment to pleasure - the rituals they'd perform, the exchange of sex as a form of currency, the fabled pizza guy and the females proclivity to get stuck in dryers.
He even stitched together his own lingerie, even if his fingers ends up bloody by the end of it.
Sex up on the spaceship was boring. Solely for procreation purposes. He'd been rejecting potential mates for years, people who just wanted his position as the future heir to their conglomeration for power.
And yeah, maybe they weren't so civilized, but he was starting to think humans had something right.
After all, their genitalia was sorta like theirs. They could be having this much fun too!
If everyone wasn't so stuffy about everything and insisted on following 'protocols' all the time.
But they'd see just how right he was soon - especially now that he had a test subject of his own.
This was not a nightmare.
You thought it was, at first. Convinced this had to be a strange dream, something your brain concocted after a couple bad horror movies.
Strapped down to a table? Without a single fucking memory of how you got there?
What else could it be?
But you could feel the cool air brushing over your peaked nipples, touch the smooth surface under your palms, blink and squint at the too-bright lights lining the spherical ceiling. Legs held up, fastened in stirrups.
Still, your first conclusion wasn't extraterrestrial. No, you were sure you'd been abducted by some serial killer, kidnapped and taken back to a makeshift dungeon designed to drive you crazy.
Straining against cool metal, squirming and splayed out like a science experiment for anyone to see.
"Hello?" You called out, only getting the faint echo of your own voice back to keep you company.
No one answered. But you couldn't crane your neck to check and see if you were being ignored.
You felt like you were being watched.
Small bumps trailing over your skin when you shivered, an annoying little itch grating at your nerves and insisting you weren't alone.
Still, you wouldn't have guessed what - or technically, who - was with you.
Not until the footsteps.
They were wrong. The pace was just off, some imperceptible thing making your heart race that you couldn't quite place. Were they too close together? Too far apart? Too heavy? They were accompanied by more odd noises, your brain struggling to process it, like listening to a foreign language on the radio, picking apart bits and pieces and trying to make sense out of them.
"Who's there?"
It felt like a cheesy horror movie. You could hear yourself half an octave too high, all pitchy and petrified, but you couldn't control it. Couldn't stop yourself from shivering as you were surrounded by shadows.
Your chest heaved. Your wrists strained. But before you could scream or shout, something sharp pricked your neck, and you were almost instantly paralyzed.
Not fully, but your muscles went from fighting to faintly twitching, but they didn't respond to your brain's demands to move. You could still look around, still could twist and turn your head as much as the collar around your neck allowed.
You were terrified for the worst.
Of being touched, your skin splayed or torn while you could do nothing but stare at the blank walls.
But instead, they just watched.
Something cold grazed against your skin, but it was little more than a faint trail along your leg. A few more pricks in your arm, like they were taking blood samples.
Then they left.
Whatever they were.
The silence was somehow worse. Waiting for them to return. Waiting for some horrible fate to befall you.
Just when you were on the brink of hyperventilating, a few tears pricking at your lash line you couldn't wipe away, you heard them again.
One of the creatures whined, the cold contraptions keeping your thighs spread only pushing them further apart when you tried to move again, muscles still burning through whatever was numbing your body and keeping you mostly frozen from the neck down.
The other one replied in that strange language, and you couldn't comprehend what the fuck they were saying, but it sounded cold. All clinical and curt.
A door shut. And those strange steps came back. These were lighter though, quicker.
A pair of blue eyes were suddenly above yours, bright and intelligent, deep enough to drown in. Unnatural white lashes fluttering, narrowing as he studied your reactions. But it was hard to focus on him when the world felt all foggy, only able to process everything in broken pieces. You tried to recount what was in front of you.
Fading footsteps. Faint beeping. Cold restraints on your wrists. White walls.
And him.
You figured you were really fucked when you had the distant thought some cute guy had to pulling some cruel prank on you. Even though you could only see him from the shoulders up, it almost looked like he was wearing a Halloween costume. His skin practically shimmered, like some strange movie-style special effect, a soft shade that didn't make sense to your addled brain, antennas sticking up in his tousled white hair.
But then something warm brushed against your cheek, moving your hair to the side and sliding something inside your ear, readjusting for a moment.
"Can you understand me now?"
You nodded, as much as you could given the cold collar around your throat keeping your head down on the table.
"Good," he beamed at you, flashing teeth that were mostly human - even if his canines were too sharp for your liking. "I made that myself."
"W-who are you?" You managed to speak, still breathing too fast, trying to glance around again. "Where am I?"
"You can call me Satoru," he earnestly answered, but he paused, blinking as if he hadn't expected you to ask that. "We're on a spaceship."
"Uh-huh," you dryly replied, throat constricting as you tried to consider the chance he was telling the truth and that you weren't on a reality tv show one of your friends signed you up for.
"I'm being serious," he pouted, leaning down to look even closer at you.
His eyes were starry, speckled and swirling, magnetic, pulling you into his heated stare. His breath was cold against your skin, making you shiver and retreat back. But the metal slab you were on was even chillier, stealing all the oxygen from your lungs.
He looked less human up close. All his features were just slightly wrong, the kind of pretty and perfect that people would have to get plastic surgery and pay years worth of their salary to weakly replicate.
But he looked at you like you were the most captivating thing he'd ever seen.
"A-are you going to probe me?" You didn't realize you actually believed him until you heard the question leave your lips.
You were kinda hoping he'd laugh, assuage your fears. But he just tilted his head to the side considerately.
"Would you like me to?" Like he was your fucking gracious host, happy to oblige his guest's whims and wants.
"Um, what?" You stared. He smiled.
"I could use my fingers, or one of those, how do you call them, dil-" He began offering, and your head was spinning at the concept that aliens knew what sex toys were.
"You don't have to," you interrupted before he could finish, and you were pretty sure he was disappointed.
His little antennas drooped, his bottom lip twitching into a down-turned frown.
"Why am I here?" You changed the subject, unable to break eye contact with your new...acquaintance?
Were you about to be alien livestock? Spliced apart? Stuck in this stasis on this freezing slab forever?
"Research," he grinned again, those sharp blue eyes trailing south, his stare dragging over your exposed body. Antennas shooting straight up, subtly twitching with what you were starting to think was arousal.
"Research?" You echoed, holding your breath, heat coiling inside your stomach at his intensity. At how transfixed he was, tracing your outline and mapping it out just with his greedy gaze.
"I'd like to study your pleasure," he murmured, a not-very-subtle emphasis on the last word, his voice low.
Your brain was buzzing. Nerves electrified at the prospect of how your definition of pleasure might differ from his.
But the fear had dissipated, or maybe just coiled into something more dangerous. Desire.
"Can I touch you?" He hesitated, and you had to stop yourself from gawking. Mouth parting as you tried to figure out if he was actually asking for consent in this situation.
"D-do you want to?" You felt like you were just returning his question, a weak attempt to discern his intentions.
Part of you had started to reconsider the possibility you were dreaming before he chuckled, and your pulse pounding in your ears convinced you once again this was real.
Spread open in stirrups in front of your strange alien abductor.
But it wasn't apprehension or anxiety pumping through you anymore. It was anticipation, staring down a cliff and preparing to fling yourself off of it after his mouth curled up in a cute smirk.
"More than anything."
God, he made it sound like foreplay.
You bit your lip, tasted the hint of blood and iron on it, before making what was probably the stupidest decision of your life. You nodded.
His antennas were vibrating when he reached down to press his palm against your cheek, cupping your face. Soft, like a boyfriend would. Humming and exhaling as he smiled. His eyes didn't crinkle, no little lines etched by his lips, tiny details that stood out and made you shiver.
"I'm going to examine you first," he murmured, and you didn't know exactly how his lungs worked, or if he even had any, but it sounded like his breath hitched. His chest straining to hold it in, hold himself together as his hand traced over the cool metal of the collar down to your chest.
He used both hands.
Grabbing both your tits, not exactly groping, but squeezing hard enough to feel your skin and tissue underneath squish and shift, pure delight dancing across his face.
It was the weirdest breast exam you ever had.
Soft fingers, free of callouses, free of prints, danced over your nipples, making small stars over them.
You assumed he didn't know what he was doing. That maybe this was his first time touching a human. Or maybe a woman at all.
But then he pinched, ripping a raw gasp from your throat as you blinked up at him in surprise.
Satoru hadn't stopped though. Only emboldened by the sound he pulled from you, twisting and tweaking just enough to send sparks down your spine, heat simmering inside your stomach, unable to even squirm when he leaned down, deciding that touching wasn't enough.
He wanted a taste of you.
His tongue was rougher than you imagined, dragging over your nipple with even more fervor. You tried to crane your neck, but it didn't offer enough space for you to see his face, just those pretty blue antennas bobbing above the sea of white while he licked and lapped.
Straight-up sucking on your tits, teeth grazing against your sensitive nipples as he continued to knead into your chest.
You wished you had panties on, anything to hide how wet he was making you, thighs damp and unable to even close them to hide how hot you unfortunately found it.
Satoru pulled off with a filthy pop! before turning his attention back to you, pretty pink lips shiny with saliva as he pouted. "How come there's no milk?"
"Milk?" You gaped, the question coming out shaky, still catching your breath as you stared at his piercing blue eyes.
"Am I not doing it right?" He quizzed, running a finger back over your nipple before pinching again, only stoking the flames he'd set.
You hadn't realized how horny you were until you had to put together enough brain cells to form a coherent sentence, stumbling over your thoughts as you tried to get the words out, "T-that only happens when a girl is like, pregnant."
His brows scrunched together, processing this new interesting bit of information.
"I see," he nodded, as if it was now obvious to him. But he still applied more pressure, like he had to double check. As if he was doing some mental calculation to figure out how to induce it.
One of his fingers trailed down, past your mid-riff and over your belly button - although he did pause to press on that too, just to see if it'd do anything. When it didn't, he kept moving south. He walked around the bed, out of your sight again, both hands settling on your splayed-out thighs.
They were bigger than anyone else's you'd ever been with before. Soft and massive, sinking into your pliable muscles, humming with approval as he just stared.
You were self-conscious, trying to get your weakened muscles to shift when you heard a faint clutter. Your brain tried to do the math.
There were two hands on your thighs - so what the fuck was grabbing stuff?
It wasn't until the third hand slipped between your folds, spreading them even further apart so a fourth could spread something slick over it, that you figured out what was happening.
He had four arms.
And he was more than happy to put all of them to use.
You were already stuck. Already exposed. But he seemed intent on exploring every inch of you for himself, taking his time to drag his palms over the expanse of your body while that frustratingly gentle fourth hand slowly rubbed his palm over your entrance. Massaging in what you guessed was lube, although it made your brain feel even fuzzier. Your senses heightened, tuned into some new frequency, each subtle swirl threatening to make you shiver.
"You're pretty," he complimented, and all the warmth in your chest flooded your face, flushed as you strained to keep yourself from squeaking.
Not being able to see him was a special kind of torture. You wanted to see his face. Study what kind of face he was making when he was drawing such delicate patterns over your skin, murmuring at the little blemishes and marks on them with interest.
One of his fingers moved up, poking at your clit with just enough force to make you jolt. Well, as much as you could given how tight the restraints were, and how little your muscles would let you move with whatever his fellow aliens had put in your system.
"How did that feel?" Satoru curiously asked, circling around it, careful not to touch it again, but obviously amused by your reaction.
"G-good," you murmured. Your voice broke though, cracked when a stray thumb suddenly slipped between your slick folds, fresh goosebumps running down your flesh as he dipped in your wet warmth.
One word - and he was pulling his thumb out to push a full finger in.
It was longer than it should've been, thicker. Swirling lazily around, pressing against your walls like he was testing how much it could stretch.
If that was a finger, you didn't know how you'd fit his cock.
"I-I-" You started, struggling to breathe, struggling to think when you felt something else trying to slot in next to the first.
"Mhm?" He drawled, daring you to tell him more, hanging off every little sound he tore out. You might've managed to murmur that you didn't know how much more you could handle, but then you were being speared open, mean fingers digging into your thighs to pin them down against the freezing table.
The next noise he dragged out of you was feral. Some filthy moan, one that echoed off the walls and came from the back of your throat.
It felt like he was trying to stuff his fucking fist in there.
"S'too-" You whined, but you couldn't even finish. Trying to crane up again, desperate to see what he was doing.
"That's only two fingers," he murmured, experimenting out what it'd take to make you split, scissoring with steady strokes, like he was counting the seconds between each one in his head. "You can take it."
Confident, cocky, slowly increasing the pace, fingering you fast, eventually finding that sweet little spot at the back, crooking them cruelly and chuckling at the lewd squelches of your cunt.
"Look at you," he purred, and you didn't think you'd ever heard anyone sound so pleased. "Every part of you is perfect."
"Mm, S'toru," you slurred his name, eyes rolling back, thighs starting to tremble before he pulled his fingers back out, and you heard the distinct sound of him sucking them clean, moaning himself at the taste of you on his tongue.
You felt empty. Hot. Your skin burning, your body begging for him to keep going, all your thoughts drifting incoherently as you tried to drag out some sensibility from the recesses of your mind. But everything was too cloudy, barely clinging onto what was left of your rationality as one of his hands pressed down on your clit, rolling his palm over it, applying just enough pressure to make you croon.
Whining, all pitchy and weak, fingers forming a fist as you squirmed.
"You need more?" He teased, and you were already nodding, hips trying to move to entice him.
When it came down to it, you supposed you were just another animal, devolving down to your most basic instinct when the right stimulation came along. Depraved.
You felt him shuffle before you saw him, heard the creak of the table as his broad body climbed on top of you.
His hands shifting, one on your hip, one grabbing one of your tits, fully groping you now before he reached up with another to brush your hair back.
You were a little scared to think what he might be doing with the fourth one.
But his eyes were on you, and you were lost in them. Immediately sucked into the shimmer of them, even when the blue was almost swallowed by his blown-out pupils.
"Both my cocks are much bigger than the average penis size on your planet," he proudly proclaimed, something thick and wet nudging back between your thighs.
"Both?"
Too late.
The stretch burned. Each ridge practically engraving itself, leaving an imprint inside you as he slowly dragged along your walls. Pushing past the first ring of resistance with a throaty groan of his own, embarrassingly loud, his sharp jaw locked as he forced the last few inches in.
"That's my girl," he moaned, leaning down to kiss you to swallow your squeak, your guts being rearranged before he had even pulled back out to start fucking you properly.
Where the hell had he even learned to talk like that? Know how to make the butterflies in your stomach somersault?
And really, how on Earth (or in orbit) were you somehow nodding along to the idea of being an alien's girl?
"Told ya you can take it," he murmured between breaths, sucking on your bottom lip messily, biting hard enough you were pretty sure it might be bleeding. But you were too far gone to care, mindlessly agreeing in whimpers.
"Mm, mm," you tried to speak, but nothing more would come out, eyes rolling back when you felt a new pressure pushing against your puckered hole.
He paused though, pulling back enough to wink at you, white lashes fluttering as one of his hands let go of you to reach out and fumble for something on the other table you couldn't see. "Almost forgot."
You didn't get a chance to ask what before he was rubbing more of that lube there, shuddering at the almost slimy feeling on your skin.
Apprehensively, you tensed, but then he started fucking you, and you forgot to even breathe.
Only able to take and take and take, when he started stretching your ass out with a finger while he pumped your cunt full. It didn't feel like a normal cock - and not just because of its size. It was almost ribbed.
It didn't hurt, but it was the kind of intense that was impossible to ignore. Grinding deep against your womb, coaxing you into crying his name when his cock rubbed against all those spots he mapped out earlier.
Your mouth was watering, but he kept kissing you, testing how it felt to press his lips against the corner of your mouth, across your cheek, even down your jaw.
And when he started pushing his other cock in?
Your mind melted. Reason dissolving until the only thing left inside you was him.
You had never even done anal before.
But here you were, letting an alien stuff both your holes past the brim, his cocks big enough you could feel the pressure building and building, only separated by the thin wall of your anatomy.
Satoru was toying with your tits again, like stress toys made specially for him, all the overstimulating sensations mixing together and mounting, heightening each other until all you knew was his hands and his mouth and his cocks. Rewired by how good it felt to be played with, how right it felt to be stretched and split open.
You didn't even sound human anymore, Satoru devouring every single one of your devastated whimpers, encouraging more with delicious whispers that left you arching your back as much as you could off the table.
He bottomed both cocks out, and you thought you might die. Pain? Pleasure? Both?
And then he was back to rubbing more of that lube over your clit, thighs trembling and body quivering as he soothed you through it.
"You wanna cum for me, sweetheart?" He purred, and you could've climaxed from the cute smirk curling up on his lips, his perfectly sculpted face and those pretty patterns he was busy pressing against your swollen bud.
He pulled his fingers back right as you were about to crest over it, chuckling when you let out a huff.
"Say my name again."
"Toru, p-please," you were begging. Unable to move your wrists, to tether your fingers in his hair or claw at his shoulders, giving him your best set of puppy dog eyes.
He seemed to already see you as his pet.
"Well," he hummed, thumb returning to rubbing you again. "When you say it like that."
With one mean circle, Satoru dragged you over the edge - and dropped you into the ocean of him. White (and blue) blurred your vision, your body shuddering as you desperately cried his name, his thrusts somehow lazy and rushed, burying both his cocks in you and moaning at how hard you clenched down on them.
"S'fucking tight," he hissed, but he was right there with you, cumming hard and fast inside you too, hot spurts of it coating your insides as he throbbed inside you.
Your skin was still warm when he pulled out, your muscles sore and tense, body exhausted as you blinked up at him.
"That was fun," he grinned. "Ready for round two?"
Gojo couldn't have created a better specimen himself.
You fulfilled his every fantasy - and then some.
The research department found him two hours later, grumbling about getting locked out of the lab just to find the culprit readjusting a homemade vibrator with clinical precision to your clit.
His new favorite subject not quite passed out yet, cumming for the twelfth time, weak whimpers rolling out, a mess between your thighs and covering the clinic table.
You were drunk on him, delirious since orgasm six, nodding along to all his suggestions, pressing kisses to his skin every time he was close enough, not even straining against the cuffs or collar anymore. Just accepting all that he threw at you.
He checked off twenty items from his bucket list so far already - but he still had about a thousand more to go. Tying you up, fucking your mouth, pressing your thighs up to your chest, bending you over on the desk so he could role play as your boss. Walk you around on all fours around the spaceship and show his newest prize.
"This is unacceptable."
Blah blah blah.
He wasn't listening to whatever they were complaining about. All he was thinking about was new ways to explore your body, how much more research he was dying to do.
He hadn't stopped touching you, refusing to budge, your eyes rolled back and pretty little gasps panting from your lips as he turned up the setting on the vibrator.
"You cannot have sexual intercourse with our test subjects," snapped one of the higher-ups, scoffing at him with that annoying little chitter.
Gojo resented that he said subjects.
It wasn't plural. He only wanted you.
"Why not?" He retorted, shrugging his shoulders.
"It's unethical," Suguru chimed in, leaning against the wall, like he wasn't watching your cute disoriented face scrunching up mid-climax.
"You kidnap them without their consent," Gojo pointed out. They didn't get to say no to him. It was his family's funding that supported their expeditions - covered the fuel costs to beam their unsuspecting test subjects up. "At least she consented to this."
One of the directors of the lab grimaced, all of them exchanging looks while Suguru snorted behind them.
What did humans say?
Checkmate.
"Sweetheart."
Someone was nudging you, a weak noise leaving your mouth, a keen whine as you blinked up at the bright lights. Waking up from a wet dream into a weirder reality, squinting up at Satoru's familiar face.
You felt the clamps unlock, thick fingers grazing against your throat before the collar was finally off.
He helped you sit up, your limp body moving like jello, thighs sore, no strength left to stand as you fell into his chest.
"They said I could keep you," he excitedly murmured, cradling you against him. He ruffled your hair, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead before nuzzling your nose.
Keep you?
It took a few seconds to set in, your body sluggish as he already started rambling off plans, promising you pretty toys and a soft bed to sleep in, saying that you how cute you'd look all dressed up, how fun life together would be when you got to have sex all the time.
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The taste of Caleb becomes an addiction faster than you care to admit.
It’s been days since he fucked you in the kitchen, and you’ve been a fucking fiend about it ever since.
You corner him in hallways, climb onto his lap during movies, press your ass against his crotch while he’s doing dishes just to hear him hiss.
You’ve memorized every sound he makes, every twitch, every time his breath catches and his cock gets so hard you can feel it through his jeans.
And he indulges you. God, does he indulge you.
His fingers work you open until you’re begging, his tongue drags along your slit until your thighs shake. He fucks your ass with that perfect cock of his while his fingers pump in and out of your cunt, curling just right to make you scream. He lets you ride his face until you’re drooling on yourself, lets you suck him off until your jaw aches.
But he will not fuck your pussy.
“You’re not ready,” he says, voice strained, sweat beading on his forehead as he holds himself back.
“You’re full of shit,” you tell him, grinding your slick cunt against his cock, the head of him nestled perfectly against your entrance but never pushing in. “I’m so wet it’s dripping down my thighs. How much more ready do I need to be?”
“It’s your first time,” he insists, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. “I’m not taking that from you on a kitchen counter after you’ve had two orgasms.”
“So what, then? When?”
“Patience, Pips.”
You fucking hate that word.
Patience.
Like you’re a child. Like the way you rock your hips against his isn’t driving him as insane as it’s driving you.
It becomes a game. A stupid, infuriating game where you try everything and he gives you everything except the one thing you actually want.
You wake him up with your mouth around his cock. You bend over the coffee table with your ass in the air and your cunt dripping. You suck his fingers clean after he’s had them buried inside you and look him dead in the eye while you do it.
And Caleb, the fucking bastard, just smiles. That smug, condescending smile that says he knows exactly what you’re doing and he’s not falling for it.
“I can see your pussy, you know,” he says one night, his voice low as you ride his thigh, your panties shoved to the side. “All slick and pink and desperate.” His thumb circles your clit, and you whimper, your hips stuttering. “You want my cock that badly?”
“Please,” you gasp, because dignity is a luxury you can’t afford right now. “Please, Caleb, I need it.”
“Mm.” His thumb presses harder, and your vision blurs. “I think you need to come first. Look at you, you’re fucking trembling.”
You hate that he’s right. You hate that he can make you cum with one finger, one word, one look, and still leave you wanting more. He watches you fall apart on his thigh, his hand between your legs, and then pulls you into his lap and kisses you like you haven’t just been begging him to ruin you.
“You’re a tease,” you accuse, your voice raw.
“I’m keeping you from doing something you’ll regret,” he says, and there’s something in his eyes, something serious under all that smugness that makes your chest ache.
“But I won’t regret it. I want you.”
“I know.” He brushes your hair back, tucks it behind your ear. “But there’s a difference between wanting something and being ready for it.”
You call bullshit. You call it a lot, actually, usually while you’re rubbing your cunt against his cock through his boxers and he’s groaning into your neck like he’s the one being tortured.
Just yesterday, you thought you had him.
You’d gotten him worked up enough that his control was fraying, his kisses turning desperate, his hands rough as they dragged your panties down. He had you bent over the arm of the couch, his cock nudging against your ass, and you reached back and grabbed his cock and dragged it down, down, until the head was pressing against your pussy instead.
He froze. You felt him twitch against your entrance, hot and hard and so fucking close.
“Pips,” he warned, his voice breaking.
“Please,” you whispered, and you meant it. You meant it with every cell in your body. “I want you. I want all of you.”
For one beautiful, terrible second, you thought he’d give in. His hips shifted forward, just a fraction, and you felt the blunt pressure of him starting to push in—
And then he pulled away. Pulled his cock out of your hand, flipped you over, and fucked your ass so hard you couldn’t think straight, his fingers working your clit until you came so violently you saw stars.
Afterward, you lay boneless on the couch, his cum leaking out of your ass, and you wanted to cry. Not because it wasn’t good. It was, it’s always good with Caleb, but because it wasn’t enough. Not anymore.
“I hate you,” you mumbled into the cushion.
He laughed, low and warm, and pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “No, you don’t.”
You don’t. That’s the problem.
It’s two in the morning, and you’re lying in bed with your hand between your legs, thinking about his cock and how badly you want it inside you.
Not in your mouth, not in your ass. In your pussy, where you were built to take him. You’re so wet your fingers slide easily, and you fuck yourself thinking about him, about how it would feel to have him filling you completely, stretching you open, making you his in every possible way.
You cum with his name on your lips, and it’s not enough. It’s never enough.
That’s when the idea hits you. It’s stupid and petty and exactly the kind of thing that would make Caleb’s eye twitch, which is how you know it’s perfect.
Tomorrow, you’re going grocery shopping with him. And you’re going to buy every single condom in the store.
Grocery shopping with Caleb is usually boring as shit.
He has a list. He follows the list. He compares unit prices. You trail behind him rolling your eyes and sneaking candy bars into the cart when he’s not looking.
Today is different. Today, you have a mission.
“Can you grab the eggs?” Caleb asks, already halfway down the dairy aisle, not bothering to look back because he knows you’re following him. He always knows.
“On it,” you chirp, and wait exactly three seconds after he turns the corner before beelining for the family planning section.
The condom display is glorious. Row after row of colorful boxes, each one promising something new and exciting.
Extra thin. Ribbed for her pleasure. Studded. Glow-in-the-dark, which is objectively hilarious.
You grab one of each. Then you grab two of some, because why the fuck not. Your arms are full of condoms, and you’re grinning like a maniac.
Back to the cart. Caleb is still in dairy, probably agonizing over the difference between 2% and whole milk. You dump the condoms into the cart, burying them under a bag of apples and the box of cereal he always buys. Perfect.
You meet him at the end of the aisle, all innocence. “Got the eggs,” you say, holding up the carton.
“Thanks.” He doesn’t even glance at the cart. You could have put a live chicken in there and he wouldn’t notice.
Three more aisles. Three more chances to add to your collection.
Flavored condoms. Magnum XL, which makes you snort because Caleb is big but he’s not that big. (Maybe if he was a wolf, then maybe…) Ultra-sensitive. The dotted ones that make you bite your lip just thinking about them.
It’s not until you’re in the frozen food section that Caleb finally looks down.
“What the fuck,” he says, very quietly.
You follow his gaze. The condoms are no longer hidden. They’ve shifted, risen to the surface like the world’s most embarrassing iceberg. A rainbow of prophylactics, at least fifteen different varieties, sitting proudly among the broccoli and bread.
“Oops,” you say, not sorry at all.
Caleb’s face does something complicated. His eyebrows try to climb off his forehead. His mouth opens, closes, opens again. “Pips,” he manages. “What the actual fuck.”
“I’m being proactive,” you inform him. “Birth control is important, Caleb. Gran would be proud of my responsible choices.”
“Gran would have a stroke.”
“Then it’s good she’s not here.” You pat his arm. “Don’t worry, I got the glow-in-the-dark ones. For special occasions.”
He looks like he wants to strangle you. Also like he wants to laugh, which is worse, because if he laughs you’ve won and he knows it. So he doesn’t laugh. He just reaches into the cart and starts grabbing condom boxes, presumably to put them back.
You grab his wrist. “Nope.”
“Pips—“
“Nope.” You hold his gaze, your fingers tight around his wrist. “I want them. We’re buying them.”
“We don’t need fifteen different kinds of—“
“We might.” You lean closer. “I want to try them all. On you. With you. In me.” Your voice drops. “I want to know what every single one of these feels like when you’re fucking me, Caleb. So we’re buying them.”
His breath catches. You see it. The flash in his eyes, the way his jaw tightens.
He wants it too.
He wants it so badly it’s eating him alive, and the fact that he won’t give in just makes you want to break him more.
“Fine,” he says through gritted teeth. “Fine. But you’re carrying the bag.”
You beam. “Deal.”
The checkout line is where things get truly beautiful. The cashier is a college-aged kid with a nose ring and the tired expression of someone who’s rung up too many awkward purchases today. Caleb stands behind you, radiating discomfort, while you unload the cart.
First the normal stuff. Eggs, milk, cereal. The cashier scans them mechanically.
Then the condoms start.
The first box gets a raised eyebrow. The second gets a flick of the eyes toward Caleb, then back to you. By the fifth box, the cashier’s face has settled into a mask of professional neutrality that doesn’t quite hide the fact that they are absolutely judging you.
Caleb has gone very still behind you. You can feel the heat of his embarrassment like a physical thing.
“Having a party?” the cashier asks, their voice carefully neutral.
“Something like that,” you reply cheerfully.
The glow-in-the-dark condoms are what break them. The cashier holds the box for a beat too long, their mouth twitching.
“That’ll be one-forty-two,” they say finally, and you hand over Caleb’s card because of course you brought his wallet.
While the cashier is bagging, you turn to Caleb. His face is a masterpiece of controlled humiliation, his ears bright red, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere above your head.
You can’t resist. You really, really can’t.
You grab his face with both hands, pull him down, and kiss him square on the mouth. It’s not a chaste kiss. It’s wet and open and you make sure the cashier gets a full view of your tongue. Then you pull back, beaming, and announce loud enough for the elderly couple in the next lane to hear.
“You’re the best big brother ever!”
The cashier drops your receipt.
Caleb makes a sound like a wounded animal. His hand finds your waist, fingers digging in hard enough that you’ll have bruises tomorrow, and he steers you toward the exit without another word.
The walk to the car is conducted in a silence so thick you could swim in it. Caleb loads the groceries, each bag placed in the trunk with deliberate care. You bounce on your toes beside the passenger door, buzzing with the high of successful chaos.
He doesn’t look at you. Not once.
The drive home is eleven minutes of pure, exquisite tension. Caleb’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel. His jaw is clenched so tight you can see the muscle jumping. The radio is off. The windows are up. The only sound is the hum of the engine and your own heartbeat, loud in your ears.
You drum your fingers on your thigh and wait.
He pulls into the driveway, cuts the engine, and sits there for a long moment. You can practically see the thoughts moving behind his eyes, calculations and restraint and something darker, something that makes your stomach flip.
“Get inside,” he says finally, his voice quiet. “Now.”
You get inside. You’re already running.
The plastic bags hit the kitchen floor with a wet thud. Eggs, probably. You hope they’re eggs. You hope they’re all eggs, and the milk, and everything fragile, because the sound of Caleb’s rage manifesting as grocery destruction is the most beautiful thing you’ve heard all day.
You’re already in your room, door half-closed, heart hammering with the specific thrill of knowing you’re about to get exactly what you want and it’s going to hurt.
He finds you in three strides. The door swings open and Caleb fills the frame, his chest heaving, his eyes that specific shade of dark purple that means you’ve pushed him past the point of pretending.
The plastic bag dangles from his fist. The condom bag, because of course he separated them.
“Having fun?” he asks. His voice is dangerously soft.
You’re sitting cross-legged on your bed, trying and failing to look innocent. “Immensely.”
He upends the bag over your head.
Condoms rain down on you. Boxes and foil packets, a colorful avalanche of protection that bounce off your shoulders and scatter across your comforter. You throw your head back and laugh, loud and genuine, because it’s hilarious and you’re high on the power of having finally, finally cracked him.
Caleb is notlaughing.
He stands at the foot of your bed, arms crossed, watching you with an expression that should scare you but just makes your cunt clench.
His jaw is set. His eyes are narrowed. He looks like he wants to devour you, and the thought makes your mouth go dry.
“You humiliated me,” he says.
“Yep.” You pop the ‘p,’ grinning.
“In public.”
“Very public. There were witnesses.”
“You called me your brother while you fucking tongue-kissed me in front of a cashier.”
“I did.” You pick up a box of ribbed condoms, turning it over in your hands. “And you know what? I’d do it again. I’ll do it tomorrow. I’ll do it every day until you stop being a coward and fuck me like you mean it.”
Something shifts in his face. His expression doesn’t change, not exactly, but the air between you gets thicker.
“You think this is funny,” he says. Not a question.
“I think you’re funny.” You toss the condom box at him. It bounces off his chest. “All that big talk about keeping me safe, and you’re scared of a little pussy.”
That does it. That’s the line.
Caleb moves so fast you don’t have time to react. One second he’s at the foot of the bed, the next his hands are on your waistband, yanking your pants down your legs with a single brutal pull. Your underwear goes with them, caught in the fabric, leaving you bare from the waist down. Cool air hits your cunt and your nipples harden instantly.
“Caleb—“
“Shut up.” His voice is clipped. “You don’t get to talk right now.”
He grabs your ankles. Not gently. His fingers dig into the soft skin above your Achilles tendon as he pushes your legs up, back, until your knees are by your ears and your pussy is on obscene display.
You’re already wet because of course you are. You’ve been wet since the grocery store, and the position stretches you open, your inner lips parting to reveal the slick pink inside.
You try to lower your legs. You really do. You strain against his grip, because that’s what you do, you push and you test and you see how far you can go.
Caleb’s eyes flash. “I told you to stay.”
The gravity in the room shifts. Your legs feel suddenly, impossibly heavy, locked in place by an invisible force that you can’t fight. His evol.
“Fuck you,” you gasp, because you have to say something, and those are the only words your brain can produce when your cunt is exposed and Caleb is looking at you like he’s deciding how to break you.
“Maybe later.” His hand comes down on your inner thigh and a sharp, stinging slap makes you yelp. Then another, on the other thigh, his palm connecting with a crack that echoes in your bedroom.
He works methodically, alternating sides, each slap landing a little higher until his hand is cupping your pussy and the next slap lands directly on your clit.
You scream. The pain is bright and immediate, a white-hot flash that melts instantly into a throbbing heat that radiates through your entire pelvis.
He does it again, and again, his hand coming down on your exposed cunt until you’re writhing against the gravity hold, your thighs flushed red, your pussy swollen and sensitive and so fucking wet it’s dripping down to your ass.
“Still think this is funny?” Caleb asks. His voice is calm now. Controlled. The anger has burned down to something hotter and more focused. This must be what Colonel Caleb’s men experience everyday on the fleet.
You shake your head, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Your pussy throbs with each heartbeat, the sting of his palm lingering on your oversensitized flesh.
“Good.” He reaches for one of the condom boxes on the bed, the normal ones, the plain blue package. He tears it open with his teeth, the foil ripping, and pulls out a single condom. The latex is pale and almost translucent in the dim light of your bedroom.
“Open your mouth.”
You do. Your lips part, and Caleb places the condom on your tongue. It tastes like nothing, a faint rubbery bitterness, and you keep your mouth open as he works his cock free from his jeans.
He’s hard. Fully, achingly hard, his cock jutting up from a thatch of dark hair, the head flushed and leaking.
He strokes himself once, twice, his eyes never leaving yours, and then he’s pushing forward, the tip of his cock pressing against the condom on your lips.
“Keep it there,” he instructs, and then he’s pushing into your mouth, the latex sheathing his cock as he feeds himself between your lips.
The condom tastes strange, slick with the lubricant, and you suck instinctively, your tongue working along the underside as he pushes deeper.
He bottoms out, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat, and you gag slightly. Caleb holds there, his hand fisted in your hair, and you can feel every vein, every ridge of him through the thin latex. He pulls back slowly, the condom catching on your lower lip, and then pushes in again, establishing a rhythm that has your jaw aching and your pussy clenching around nothing.
“Such a good mouth,” he murmurs, and the condescension in his voice pissing you off but it makes you wetter, too. “You take it so well. Always so eager.”
He pulls out completely, the condom glistening with your saliva, and then he’s moving down. His cock, still sheathed, drags along your inner thigh, leaving a wet trail, and then the head of him is pressing against your pussy.
You whimper. The latex is cool against your overheated flesh, the contrast making you shiver. Caleb rubs the tip of his condom-covered cock along your slit, gathering your wetness, teasing your entrance without pushing in.
“Look at you,” he says, his voice low and rough. “So fucking desperate. This what you wanted? All those condoms? This what you had in mind when you made that cashier want to die?”
You nod frantically, beyond words, your hips trying to chase his cock. The gravity hold keeps your legs pinned, but your lower body can still move, and you rock against him, seeking friction, seeking more.
Caleb smiles. It’s not a nice smile. It’s the Colonel’s smile.
“Beg,” he says.
“Please,” you gasp, the word tearing out of you without thought or dignity. “Please, Caleb, please fuck me, I need it, I’ve needed it for so long, please—“
He shoves his cock into your cunt without warning.
The stretch is immediate and blinding. Your body, which has been begging for this for weeks, still isn’t prepared for the reality of him. The thick, insistent pressure of Caleb’s cock pushing into you, stretching you open in a way that’s nothing like his fingers, nothing like anything you’ve felt before. The condom is there, a thin barrier that somehow makes everything more intense, the latex catching on your inner walls as he pushes deeper.
“Fuck,” Caleb groans, his head dropping forward. His hands are shaking where they grip your thighs. “Fuck, Pips, you’re so tight—“
You can’t speak. Your mouth is open but no sound comes out, just a ragged breath that might be a sob or might be the most intense pleasure of your life.
He’s so big, so fucking big, and your cunt is clenching around him in pulses, your body trying to adjust to the invasion. You regret even thinking he wouldn’t fit the XL Magnums.
“Breathe,” Caleb says, his voice strained. “Breathe through it. You’re doing so well.”
You breathe. You focus on the sensation of him inside you, the fullness, the stretch, the way your body is slowly, reluctantly accepting him. He rocks his hips, pushing another inch deeper, and you whimper.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and the praise goes straight to your clit. “That’s it. Take it.”
His hand slides up your stomach, pressing flat against your lower abdomen. The pressure is firm and deliberate, and when he pushes down you feel his cock shift inside you, the head rubbing against a spot that makes your vision go white.
“There,” he says, watching your face. “Right there. You feel that?”
You nod frantically, beyond words.
He keeps his hand there, pressing down, and starts to move. Short, careful strokes at first, just enough to make you gasp, and then deeper, each thrust pushing his cock against that spot from the inside while his hand presses from the outside. Your orgasm builds faster than you thought possible, a tight coil of pleasure winding from your cunt up through your belly.
“Caleb,” you gasp. “I’m going to—“
“Cum,” he says, and it’s not a suggestion.
Your orgasm hits like a freight train. Your cunt clenches around his cock in rhythmic pulses, each one squeezing him tighter, and you’re crying out, your back arching off the bed as pleasure tears through you. The gravity hold on your legs falters for a second. Caleb’s control is slipping and your thighs drop toward his shoulders, changing the angle so his cock drives even deeper.
That’s all it takes for him. You feel him stiffen, his hips jerking forward as he buries himself to the hilt, and then he’s cumming, his release pulsing into the condom deep inside you. You can’t feel the wet heat of it since the latex contains everything. But you can feel the throb of his cock, each pulse matched by the clench of your own orgasm, and it’s enough to drag a second climax from you, smaller but no less intense.
For a long moment, neither of you move. Your legs are trembling. Your cunt is throbbing around his still-hard cock. Caleb’s forehead is pressed to yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps that warm your skin.
Then he pulls out carefully, and the emptiness is immediate and aching. The condom is bulging with his cum, and you watch, fascinated, as he ties it off.
“Open,” he says, holding the tied condom in front of your mouth.
You open. He places it on your tongue, warm, heavy, the latex slick with his release. And your mouth fills with the bitter-rubber taste. “Hold it,” he instructs. “Don’t swallow. Don’t spit it out.”
You nod, the condom a strange, weighted presence in your mouth.
Caleb reaches for another box.
The ribbed ones. He tears it open with his teeth again, his eyes never leaving yours as he rolls the new condom down his cock. The ribs are visible through the latex, raised ridges that circle the shaft, and your cunt clenches at the sight.
“Turn over,” he says. “On your hands and knees.”
You scramble to comply, the condom still in your mouth, your body humming with aftershocks. The mattress dips as Caleb kneels behind you, his hands on your hips, and then you feel it again. The weightlessness as your arms are suddenly impossibly heavy. The gravity evol again, locking your hands behind your back, forcing your chest down toward the mattress.
“Arch your back,” Caleb says, and his hand slides down your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades until your ass is up and your face is nearly in the pillow. “Better.”
The head of his cock presses against your entrance, still slick from your first round, and then he’s pushing in.
The ribbed condom changes everything. Each ridge catches on your inner walls, dragging against your g-spot with every thrust, creating a sensation that’s so intense it borders on painful. You moan around the condom in your mouth, the sound muffled and desperate.
“Fuck,” Caleb hisses, his grip on your hips tightening. “Your pussy was made for this. Made for my cock.”
He pulls out almost completely, then slams back in, the ribs creating a friction that makes you see stars. “Look at you. Taking it like you were born for it. Should have fucked you sooner—would have saved us both a lot of trouble.”
His hand finds your hair, yanking your head back. “Spit it out.”
You let the condom fall from your mouth onto the bed, a wet, pathetic little packet, and Caleb shoves two fingers between your lips.
“Suck,” he orders, and you do, your tongue working between his digits, coating them with saliva. He pulls them out dripping, and you watch, dazed, as he brings them to your clit.
The wet fingers circle your oversensitized bud, and you jerk, a broken sound tearing from your throat.
“Messy girl,” Caleb murmurs, and the condescension is thick in his voice. “Drooling all over yourself. Can’t even keep your mouth closed.”
He fucks you harder, each thrust driving the ribbed condom against your g-spot, his fingers working your clit in tight circles. Your arms are still locked behind you by his gravity, your body completely at his mercy, and the helplessness of it pushes you toward another peak.
“Caleb,” you gasp. “I’m close, I’m so close—“
“Then cum,” he says, and his voice has that edge, that possessiveness that turns your brain to static. “Cum on my cock. Show me what this pretty pussy can do.”
He reaches deeper than before, deeper than should be possible, and the head of his cock rams against your cervix. Your body seizes, your cunt clamping down hard, and then you’re cumming harder than before. Your inner walls are spasming around his cock as something hot and uncontrollable gushes from you.
You’re squirting.
Actually fucking squirting again, the fluid soaking the sheets beneath you, your thighs, Caleb’s hand where it’s pressed against your clit. Your face pressed into the pillow as your body empties itself around Caleb’s pounding cock.
He groans above you, his rhythm faltering as your cunt milks him through his second orgasm. You can feel the pulse of him through the condom, the ribs catching on your sensitive walls with each throb, and it drags another smaller climax from you, your body trembling with the effort.
“Fuck,” Caleb breathes, his hips still working gently against your ass. “Look what you did. Soaked the fucking bed.”
You can’t respond. You can’t do anything except lie there, wrecked, as your heartbeat slowly returns to something resembling normal.
Caleb pulls out, and the emptiness is even more acute this time. You hear the soft snap of the condom being removed, tied, discarded. Then his hand is on your hip, turning you.
“On your side,” he says. “Catch your breath.”
You roll onto your side, your legs shaking, your cunt throbbing, and watch as Caleb goes back to the pile of condoms.
He’s not done. Not even close.
Your lungs feel like they’ve been through a war. Each breath comes ragged and shallow, your chest rising and falling against the rumpled sheets. Your cunt is so sensitive that the air against it feels like a touch, and you’re aware, distantly, of the wet spot beneath you.
Caleb stands at the foot of the bed, naked and magnificent, surveying the remaining condoms. His cock is still hard. The bastard could probably go all night. But there’s a thin sheen of sweat on his chest that catches the low light from your bedroom lamp.
He picks up the ultra-thin box. The packaging is sleek, black, promising sensation so close to skin you won’t know the difference.
“We’ll see about that,” Caleb murmurs, and you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or to the condom.
He tears it open, rolls it down his length with one smooth motion, and then he’s on the bed beside you. His hand finds your hip, turning you fully onto your side, and then he’s lifting your top leg, draping it over his shoulder with a gentleness that feels obscene after the way he just fucked you.
His hand grips your thigh, fingers splaying across the sensitive inner skin, and he leans forward. The head of his cock presses against your entrance. Slick, swollen, still dripping from your previous rounds.
And he pushes in. Slowly. So fucking slowly you want to scream.
The ultra-thin condom lives up to its name. You can feel everything. Every ridge, every vein, the subtle flare of his cockhead as it parts your folds.
Your inner walls grip him like they’re trying to memorize the shape of him, and Caleb watches your face with dark, hungry eyes as he works himself deeper.
“Feel that?” he asks, his voice rough. “Every vein? Every fucking pulse?”
You nod, unable to speak, because he’s right. You can feel his heartbeat through the condom, the steady throb of his cock inside you transmitting sensation so vividly it might as well be skin on skin.
He’s three-quarters of the way in when he pauses. His hand reaches for your face, fingers brushing your lips. “The condom,” he says. “From earlier. Where is it?”
You glance down. The tied condom from your first round is lying on the bed beside your head, a sad, deflated thing. Caleb picks it up, holding it in front of your mouth.
“Open.”
You open. He rips the condom on your tongue, pouring the cum onto your tongue. It’s cold now, and your stomach turns. Before you can react, Caleb spits. Directly into your mouth, a warm glob of saliva landing on the cum and your tongue.
“Swallow it,” he says.
You gag. You try. Your throat works convulsively, and the coagulated cum goes down. Not easily, not gracefully, but it goes, dragging a trail of bitterness down your esophagus. You cough, eyes watering, and Caleb watches with that same infuriating smile.
“Good girl.”
Then he pulls out. Completely.
His cock slides free of your cunt with a wet sound that makes you whine, high and desperate, because the emptiness is unbearable. Your body clenches around nothing, your cunt pulsing with the loss of him.
“No,” you gasp. “Caleb, please—“
“Count,” he interrupts. His voice leaves no room for argument. “Each inch. Starting from one.”
The head of his cock presses against your entrance again. You feel it breach you, that first glorious stretch, and your voice comes out shaky. “One.”
He pushes deeper. Another inch, the condom catching on your inner walls. “Two.”
Your breath hitches. Your cunt is so sensitive that each new inch sends sparks racing up your spine. “Three.”
Caleb’s hand tightens on your thigh. His other hand braces against the headboard, giving him leverage as he works himself deeper. “Four.”
You’re whimpering now, your leg trembling where it’s hooked over his shoulder. The position opens you up completely, and you can feel every millimeter of his cock as it fills you. “Five.”
He’s more than halfway now, the thickest part of him stretching you in a way that borders on too much. Your inner walls flutter around him, trying to accommodate his size. “Six.”
Your voice breaks on “seven,” because that’s when the head of his cock hits your cervix, the pressure so intense your vision blurs.
Caleb holds there, his hips flush against your ass, and you can feel all of him, eight thick inches buried inside you, the condom stretched tight over his cock.
“Eight,” you whisper, and it comes out as a sob.
He rocks forward, just a fraction. The ultra-thin condom creates an illusion. It feels like he’s breaching you, like he’s pushing past your cervix into somewhere deeper. Your body responds as if it’s real, your cunt clenching in rhythmic pulses, your inner walls grasping at his cock like they’re trying to pull him deeper still.
“Fuck,” Caleb groans, his control clearly fraying. “You feel that? Feel how deep I am?”
You nod frantically, beyond words, your hips rolling against his in tiny, desperate movements. It’s the way he’s in you. Like he’s shoving past where he’s even supposed to fit, like that condom’s nothing but a fucking joke.
Your body doesn’t give a shit about rules. It only knows how full you are, how he’s splitting you open, how your cunt’s gripping him like it’s never letting go. The pleasure twists tight in your gut.
Caleb feels it. He always feels it. His hand slides down to your clit, circling once, twice, and that’s all it takes. You cum with a broken cry, your cunt clamping down hard around his cock, and the pulsing of your orgasm drags his release from him.
You can almost feel him cum. The ultra-thin condom transmits the throb of his cock, the way it swells and pulses as he empties himself, but there’s no warmth, no wet flood. Just his orgasm contained behind a barrier that’s thinner than a hair but might as well be a wall.
It’s maddening. It’s perfect.
You’re both panting, sweat-slick and trembling, and Caleb’s forehead drops to rest against your calf where it’s draped over his shoulder.
The only sound is your shared breathing, gradually slowing, and the soft rustle of the condom as Caleb carefully pulls out.
Your cunt feels used, stretched, wonderfully sore, and when you clench experimentally you can feel the residual ache of taking all eight inches of him.
You hope there’s a bruise. You hope you feel this tomorrow.
Caleb discards the condom somewhere off the side of the bed and collapses beside you, his arm thrown across your waist. His skin is hot against yours, his breath warming the back of your neck.
“That’s three,” he murmurs.
You turn your head to look at him. “Three what?”
“Three condoms.” His smile is lazy, satisfied, the anger from earlier completely burned away. “We’ve got what, a dozen left? Plus the glow-in-the-dark.”
He reaches over, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Think you can handle it?”
A/N: There is slight tension and fruitiness between Caleb and Sylus in honor of Pride Month, so if you aren't comfy with that, its totally okay, but this work isn't for you! 𐙚
Caleb and Sylus both agreed on one thing, they had spoiled you rotten.
You knew exactly how to get your way with a stomp of your foot and a bit of incessant whining. They both had a massive soft spot for you, and you absolutely abused it. On the rare occasion that one of them actually stood his ground and denied you something, you simply went running to the other. Without fail, you always ended up getting what you wanted.
So there you were, flopped unceremoniously across Sylus’s bed, dramatically huffing and taking your frustrations out on his pillows. You made sure your tantrum was obvious to the white-haired man sitting at his desk, casually flipping through documents. He looked up at your theatrics, a hint of amusement playing on his face.
Seeing that your efforts were going to waste, you decided to kick it up a notch. You paused all your dramatic thrashing and sat up on the bed, going dead silent. The sudden lack of noise instantly caught Sylus’s attention. That's when you brought out the big guns. With a perfectly timed sniffle, crocodile tears began streaming down your cheeks. Sylus, defeated by your dirty tactics, tossed his documents onto the desk. He sighed, making his way over to the bed before pulling your body against his chest, enveloping you in a warm hug.
"Alright, alright," he murmured, his deep voice vibrating against your ear as he stroked your hair. "We’ll get you your pet wolf. Don't cry now, kitten."
The next of your schemes involved sneaking to the kitchen at 3 am in the morning, staying as quiet as possible as you tiptoed across the cold floors. You opened the fridge and retrieved the goods, and right as you thought you had gotten away with it, you heard someone behind you. Goddammit.
You turned around guiltily to find Caleb standing there, leaning against the wall, shirtless and looking like he had just woken up. Ice cream in hand, you flashed him a nervous smile. "Pips, you know you can't have that so late at night," he scolded gently. Your instincts kicked in immediately. You pouted, hugging the tub close to your chest as you gave him your signature puppy eyes. "But Caleb, pleaseee... I've been craving it." Giving in, Caleb walked over and ruffled your hair with a sigh. "Fine, but not too much, okay?"
And just like that, victory was yours. Half the time, you made ridiculous requests just to test their limits, to see exactly how far they would bend to keep you happy. they were well aware of this fact too. But unbeknownst to you, Caleb and Sylus had recently made a plan. Deciding they officially had enough of your shit with the way your asks became more absurd by the day, they knew they needed to teach their bratty little girl a lesson.
It was a day like any other, you woke up with a slow, heavy stretch, yawning your way out of bed and heading downstairs. In the kitchen, your two boyfriends were already occupying their usual spots. Caleb was making breakfast, while Sylus leaned against the counter, mindlessly popping cherries into his mouth and scrolling through his phone. Scurrying over to Caleb, you leaned over his shoulder, trying to peer into the pan. "I'm almost done, pips. Go sit down," he murmured, not looking up. You blinked down at the eggs sizzling in the pan, and like second nature, felt defiance bubbling up. You looked up at him with a sparkle in your eyes. "But Caleb, I'm craving pancakes today." Right as you expected to watch him immediately pivot to indulge your craving, he did the exact opposite. Caleb glanced down at you, held your gaze for a flat second, and deadpanned, "Nope."
That caught you completely off guard. "Wha-?" It wasn't the kind of "no" that felt negotiable. It wasn't a "maybe" with extra steps. This "no" felt definitive. As you stood there, jaw slightly slack and confused, Caleb simply reached out, picked you up by the waist like a doll, and set you down next to the kitchen island. "Sit down," he ordered softly.
For once, you actually obeyed, slipping into the seat next to Sylus as if in a trance. Caleb caught your expression and let out a smug smirk.
A few moments later, Caleb began setting the plates down on the island. Still reeling from the pancake rejection, your eyes drifted over to the bowl of juicy cherries Sylus was snacking on.
"Can I have som-"
"No."
Before the sentence could even clear your throat, Sylus cut you off. He didn't even look your way as he answered, instead, he popped another cherry between his lips, holding it between his teeth as he leaned back, his gaze locking directly onto Caleb.
Wordlessly, Caleb moved across the space, leaning over the counter to meet him. He closed the distance and took the cherry right from Sylus's mouth, their teeth clashing in a quiet click. They both tried not to laugh at the sight of you looking like a kicked puppy.
The rest of the day went on just like that, a rebellion was what it was. By evening, you were left thoroughly frustrated by the mountain of rejections that had accumulated all day. You could tell something was up, but you knew they couldn't keep this up forever. So, you decided to stage your own overthrow.
When nighttime finally arrived, you got into bed a little earlier than usual. You could hear the steady rush of water from the shower Caleb was running in the bathroom, while Sylus was finishing up some work in his office. Smirking to yourself, you slowly stripped down to just your underwear, a lacy pair you knew that they were weak for. Settling back against the pillows, you slowly spread your thighs and gave a few exploratory flicks to your clit. Mmm. As you started to play with yourself, your fingers spread your folds, rubbing gently before plunging two fingers shallowly inside.
Despite always catering to your every wish and whim, Sylus and Caleb had one strict rule for you, hands off yourself. You knew not to cross this– you never had a reason to anyway, not with two utterly devoted men ready to give you more pleasure than you could ever give yourself. But after a day of them teasing and denying you, you didn't see why you couldn't play their game as well.
Soft moans spilled from your lips, juices leaking through as you could feel yourself getting hotter. Right then, you heard heavy footsteps moving through the hallway outside. Grinning, you worked yourself even harder now. Sylus, on the other hand, reached the outside of the room and knew immediately something was up; he felt your sweet scent filling the air, your faint gasps barely heard. Seems kitten is playing dirty.
Walking inside, he locked eyes with you, only for you to scrunch your eyebrows and put on even more of a show, cunt in full display. And right on cue, Caleb walked out of the bathroom, skin glistening and a towel hanging off his waist. The moment he caught on to the events occurring in the room, he flashed Sylus an unhinged smile.
Your mind had dissolved into absolute mush. Overstimulated as you were kept on your hands and knees, your back arched deeply as Sylus relentlessly drove into you from behind.
You had lost track of how many times you'd finished already, yet there were no signs of stopping. Caleb, meanwhile, was in front of you, admiring the glisten on your face and lips from the previous load he shot up that he was still recovering from, panting with his abs clenching.
You felt another intense orgasm coursing through you, cum and juice spilling out further as your pussy spasmed around Sylus, but this only prompted him to go faster. Tears streaming uncontrollably now, your knuckles turned white with how hard you were gripping the sheets, and you looked up at Caleb, almost pleading with him to reason with Sylus. Almost like Sylus figured out your ploy, he snapped your hips back against him harshly. “Oh no no no, he’s not gonna help you, sweetheart.” Caleb could only grin, giving you a mock pity look. “Aw, is pips tired? Should’ve thought of that before you decided to break the rules, no?” He looked over to Sylus. “Sy, my turn now.” Panting, Sylus plunged balls deep all the way into your cervix one last time before he pulled out completely, manhandling you to switch positions.
Now you were sitting upright, your back leaning against Sylus with your legs being held up and apart by his veiny arms. Caleb took his position immediately, feeding you his cock from the front, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, a tad overstimulated from his earlier release. Sylus, looking at the vulnerable puppy boy, couldn't help but reach out and caress the side of his face, his fingers running through his slightly damp hair. Caleb only subconsciously leaned into his touch all the while plunging completely inside of you, moving in shallow, ragged thrusts.
Then Sylus had an idea. Nipping at your shoulder, his fingers still tangled in Caleb's hair, he gripped a bit tighter, grabbing his attention. “You think she's ready for it?”
“Huh? fuck– yeahyeaheyeah,” Caleb mumbled incoherently, looking absolutely pussydrunk by the way you clenched around him. You were confused. “Sy? Wha- what do you mean ready? Ready for what?” you panted, and right then, you felt something poke at your virgin back entrance. Fuck me, you thought.
Gathering all the slick from your combined releases and giving you a spit of his own, Sylus made sure you were well-lubricated before he attempted the intrusion. It felt weird in the start– an unfamiliar feeling– but you knew better than to oppose it. You were completely at their mercy.
Soon enough, Caleb and Sylus found a shared rhythm, breaching your holes at the same time and building up an insane amount of pressure, slick sounds and moans filling the room. Even Sylus, who wasn't normally vocal in bed, was groaning and whimpering, and in no time, another orgasm ripped through you. “Fuck— yes baby, give it all to me. Come on, I know you can give me more,” you weren't even sure who was talking to you at that point.
Hours dissolved into an exhaustive blur as positions were shifted and forced upon you. You were floating in and out of consciousness. You all looked like a litter of bunnies going at it for so long. You were tired, and just let them move you around for their own pleasure; their combined stamina was ungodly. You could feel your womb bulging with all the semen pumped into you, and finally, with bruising thrusts, they came at the same time, collapsing back against the bed.
God, Smiling in your fucked out state, all you could think was, you still got what you wanted.
♡ Bunny's Note: I'm a tad bit late with this one, thank you for being patient with me! I had to get out of my comfort zone for this one because I explored tropes and dynamics I wouldn't normally, but I hope you enjoyed this! Any suggestions are always appreciated! ₍ ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎
