#gideon x reader

“You’re menstruating.”

Yelping in pure surprise as you drop the box of tampons you had been subtly attempting to borrow from one of the more well-stocked nurses’ stations which litter the Rhodes Hill care facility you were now seemingly forever bound to; you whirl in place to find Dr. Victor Gideon standing at a polite distance from your surprised frame. His visor-less gaze is cool and clinical, gently sweeping between the box which now lies in a messy disjointed pile on the floor and the deer-in-the-headlights expression which is no doubt holding on your features.

Mortified at the discovery, your voice stutters as you speak, “Victor! I didn’t know you wer-”

“Sweet thing, why did you not tell me?” Having the gall to almost look put out at the lack of afforded information, Victor stands as still as a statue with his hands clasping across his stomach – something tight in his shoulders making you pause as your eyes dart around his familiar outfit to avoid his gaze.

His body language is off; coiled and restrained in a way which isn’t like his usual casualness and the strangeness of it puts you on edge immediately.

“Hey, why are you- are you okay?” You ask, anxiety igniting within your thoughts.

The question sparks life within him, his feet heavy against the floor as he strides the few steps which lay between you until his presence is all you can feel. At this close proximity, the scent of antiseptic and embalming chemicals which follow him like a second skin burns acrid in your nose and you push past it to gaze up into the face of Victor as he stares down at you with an expression which is laced with a frankly terrifying hunger.

“I can smell it.” Victor groans and the desperation in his voice sends a shudder through your skin as his hands wrap around your waist to pull you close until your stomach is flush with his own. “The blood. So fresh. It’s like a siren call, my love. How could you not tell me?”

You gasp as you feel his cock, already wickedly hard within his pants, pressing into your body and there is no denying that his reaction to your natural cycle is one which stems from a genuine need. Disgust rises in your throat but with it comes a pride which is somehow worse, your hormonal state making your emotional regulation haywire even without his interference.

Wracking your brain as he subtly grinds his arousal into your skin, seemingly unable to stop himself, you realise with some surprise that this was the first period you have taken since your time trapped within the walls of Dr. Gideon’s private facility and your ongoing dalliances with its monstrous owner. No good thing could last forever apparently.

“Victor, I don’t think-”

He interrupts you quickly, his voice soft and dangerously tempting as he uses his low tones to lull you into a gentle agreement, “Arousal alleviates symptoms.” He croons with a hypnotic murmur. “I am in a position to help you. A very unique position.”

“By helping yourself?” You can’t help the slight accusation in your tone, the toughened skin of his thumbs delving up to tease the hem of your shirt as he strokes the exposed slivers of your skin like the finest china.

“You vex me. You would deny an old man his pleasures?”

His hand drops, brazenly pushing up your skirt until two of his fingers are able to stroke along the fabric of your panties with a teasing swirl. The sensation makes you gasp, immediately pushing into his hand as your need eclipse your shame in a blink. Victor continues to gently massage at your cunt, the firm pressure making you squirm as arousal floods your gut but the slow pace is frustrating, hormones making your patience short.

“Victor!” You keen his name out and the single word is enough to spur him fully into action, the barrier snapping as Victor snatches you from your feet and plants your ass on the closest gurney. He pushes your skirt up into your hands, wordlessly demanding you hold it high and keep it out of the way of his prize as he drops to his knees by the side of the gurney – the position putting him on easy eyeline with your cunt.

His fingers are wickedly deft as they don’t seek any permission before hooking within your panties, pulling away the now blood-slicked fabric with a look of such hunger that something in your chest tightens as you watch his forked tongue flick out against his lips, clearly desperate to run along the material as he grunts and drops them carelessly to the floor.

Without hesitation, Victor returns his hands to your knees, opening them easily as he slides his cool hands up to the skin of your inner thighs

“You enjoyed what little my fingers gave,” Victor croons, his excitement palatable as his thumbs spread your folds wide to leave every inch of you exposed, “now enjoy my tongue without shame.”

And, with that, Victor presses his head between your thighs and a high, pitching noise breaks free of your chest as his tongue immediately licks a long stripe along your slit – gathering the accumulated arousal and blood which his earlier ministrations had already sparked. You skin feels heated, the ovulation making the sensitivity of certain areas unbearable and Victor, seeming to have a sixth sense for them, treats every inch of you to his undivided attention as he sets about devouring you.

Golden teeth kept carefully tamed, Victor is content to allow his tongue and lips to drive you to madness as he alternates between voraciously swallowing down everything you have to offer while also affording your clit enough attention to ensure that all you can do is whine and plead for more with every unstable breath.

Eventually he has to pull away and bright golden eyes glances up at you as your fingers curl into your skirt so tightly that you’re surprised you haven’t ripped through the fabric yet. The slickness which coats his mouth and chin is stained with red, the graphic sight enough to cause a fresh flush of shame to burn through your face and chest. The shame passes quickly though as Victor only flashes you a wolfishly silent, bloodied grin before delving back into his prize, his tongue pressing so deep into your hole that, for a moment, you swear he can adjust its size at will.

“Dr. Gideon!” You scream his title as your fingers scramble at the thick skin of his skull, your nails catching some of the silver strands of his hair as the arousal snaps and you come around his tongue. The tension of your hands on his head pulls a grunt from his mouth, his lips never ceasing in their greed as he continues to eat you through your orgasm; licking and suckling at your clit as he delights in the fresh, tainted arousal which every spasm of your walls delivers to his insatiable need for you.

So lost in the aftershocks of your own release, you almost miss it when Victor pulls his mouth fully free of your cunt and instead rises from his knees to stand between your shuddering legs. The coppery scent of blood fills the space when Victor’s breath bares down on you as he curls his massive body across your own and lines his cock up with your still-twitching hole.

“You are my destruction and my salvation.” Victor whines, the final word punctuated by a sharp shove of his hips as he drives the thick, bulbous end of his cock within your cunt. A grossly wet sound resonates from the thrust as you cry out and throw your head back at the sudden onslaught of sensation.

Unprepared for the stretch, the pain mixing with the sudden fullness pushes you into another orgasm and you dig your nails into the exposed skin of Victor’s chest as you fight to find some purchase against the overwhelming pressure which he is subjecting your shattered nerves to.

Already worked up from his impromptu meal, the sensation of your soaked walls clenching around him pairing with the discomfort of your nails ripping through his hardened skin, is enough to push Victor over the edge. You barely have time to adjust to the terrible sensation of his cock before the heat of his release is burning deep within you, only adding to the delirious mess which draws another low scream from your chest.

Victor’s mouth finds your own and you discover that you don’t even have enough wits about you to truly care about the disgustingly metallic taste which fills your senses as he forces you to taste the mixed arousal and blood which had unravelled him so completely.

You would deny an old man his pleasures?

something was missing.

xavier had felt it recently- like something was slowly slipping through his fingers before he realized he should try to grasp at it to no avail.

it was like a stray thought circling through the back of his mind, orbiting to the forefront every so often when he was by his lonesome, but quickly being shoved to the side in favor of other things (or, people), notably aiding his partner in whatever she might have needed.

that "something missing" would be placed on the backburner, neglected with the intention of returning to it later in order to find out what exactly was nagging at him.

but hours turned to days, and days into weeks before he finally realized what it was.

it happened in one of the training rooms.

xavier and his partner had just finished up for the day, getting ready to change with the lively idea of hotpot with the others floating around. she said she wouldn't take long, scurrying off towards the showers for a quick rinse and change of clothes.

xavier had finished before her, mind wandering as he waited for her to finish when he caught a glimpse of something.

out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a familiar star charm dangling off of a shoulder bag.

snapping out of his little daze, he saw you from a tall window, zipping your bag closed, taking slow steps down the sidewalk. he watched as you glanced at your phone, smiled, and continued on your way, eyes trailing your form as you disappeared further into a small crowd.

something clicked for him at the sight of you.

when was the last time he'd spoken to you?

suddenly curious, he pulled out his phone, finger tapping the messenger app and your contact.

it had been over two months since you'd last messaged him.

that's strange.

he wonders how he didn't notice it sooner.

after all, he had grown somewhat used to your messages, either checking in, telling him to eat well at various meal times, or just sharing something interesting or notable that happened during your day.

looking back at the messages now, he notices something.

you were the one who always initiated the conversations, the one that kept them going. most of his replies were simply sticker reactions or short apologies for seeing the message late.

he hadn't ever replied to the last message you had sent to him.

"have a great day today xavier! maybe if you're free after work, we could get some hotpot together? itll be my treat since you've been working so hard recently!"

his mind starts racing, staring at the message and wondering if he should say something now, anything, when his thoughts are interrupted by a voice.

"hey partner, are you ready to go?"

he feels himself lightly nudged, clicking the power button of his phone off in response before tucking it into his pocket.

"huh?"

"sorry for taking awhile, i was trying to find out how many of us were going!"

"how about inviting y/n?"

the words slip from his lips before he even thinks.

the girl infront of him doesn't flinch.

"actually, its funny you mention them! i caught them as i left the showers, and did mention it, but they told me they had plans already, and said maybe next time."

"when was the last time they accepted one of your invites?"

she takes a moment to think, humming as she tries to recall.

"actually, it feels like its been forever. maybe a month or two? i wonder if they're alright..."

something is wrong.

before he can mull it over too deeply, her voice sounds again as she checks her phone.

"oh, lets get going! we're going to be late for our reservation!"

despite the light laughs and enthusiastic chatter from his partner, xavier is a million miles away that evening.

. . .

xavier decides the best course of action is to trail after you.

its been a couple of days, and he can't quite shake the thought that something must be wrong, something must have happened, and he steels his resolve to find out what it may be.

he couldn't quite place why the thought of you handling something alone bothered him so much, but he felt a sense of duty to be there for you, whatever the case may be.

he finishes his work early as usual, lounging at his desk to send his partner a message to not wait up for him before shutting off his phone and shifting his eyes towards you.

he catches you just leaving, allowing a good distance between the two of you before leaving himself to follow you.

xavier is especially alert down the path that you take to wherever you're headed, focused on any energy fluctuations as he keeps his eye on you, though surprisingly, he finds nothing out of the ordinary.

its only then that he begins to recognize this particular path, but continues after you.

. . .

imagine xavier's surprise as he watches your steps pick up, right towards the entrance to philo. he hears the little bell jingle as you slip through the door.

since when have you been into flowers? were you just picking up a gift for someone? perhaps....

the thought seizes once he sees jeremiah enter his view from the back. he watches as the florist smiles at the sight of you, stepping closer to you and taking your hand in his before pulling it towards him, bending down slightly to plant a soft kiss on the back of it.

xavier feels something dark twist inside of him at the scene, heart suddenly so heavy he fears his chest might burst, especially at the sight of your flustered smile from the gesture.

why were you so lively with jeremiah? were you close? he wonders how you met him in the first place.

he doesn't know why the way you smile at jeremiah irks him, why the pink carnation he offers you makes him scoff, why your pleased reaction makes his heart feel like its being squeezed till it might burst, or why he wishes he could stop jeremiah when he moves to fix a lock of your hair behind your ear.

as much as he would like to barge in and interrupt the two of you, whisking you away to who knows where, the look in your eyes stops him, if just barely.

he hasn't seen your eyes that bright in so long, and he's frustrated at himself for not missing the sight sooner.

too pent up with emotions to think straight and not wanting to watch the scene for another second, he finds himself teleporting to a no-hunt zone.

surely, taking care of some wanderers will help him blow off some steam.

and when he was done, he would come up with a way to approach you properly the next time he saw you.

doctor zayne li is known for being observant. other than being part of his job, its simply something he picked up from an early age, and a habit he could never shake. naturally, he can tell when something new occurs, or somethings changed.

change especially since, as a man of routine, anything that disrupts that is immediately noticeable to him.

so when you stopped visiting him for lunch, and your overall drop-ins almost suddenly stopping out of nowhere, he noticed.

he noticed, and yet, he didn't say anything.

he didn't message you, he didn't seek you out, he didn't think much of it overall.

but maybe he should have.

perhaps you've grown busier, he reasoned. your job did keep you occupied, and though you messaged him less and less, you usually gave a rundown of your schedule and how work was treating you.

aside from this, a certain miss hunter had seemed to fill in that gap you'd left from the lack of your visits, so he decided to brush it off, to not pay it much mind. he was sure you'd fall back into your normal routine sometime, so he didn't worry.

though, no one could truly fill the gap you'd unknowingly left behind.

you and her were not one in the same, after all.

he recognizes this, and yet...

"zayne?"

he blinks back to the present, eyeing his white rice.

"you spaced out. everything alright up there, doctor?" she teased, a tinge of concern laced between her words.

"everything is fine," zayne answer simply, plucking a clump of rice with his chopsticks before raising it to his lips.

"where were we?"

he munches on the rice, allowing her to rattle on about work, a recent mission, any issues she'd encountered, and he sits there, content with her presence.

and yet, you remain in the crevices of his mind.

. . .

a couple of days later, he receives a message.

"sorry doctor, i wont be able to make it to lunch today T_T dont miss me too much, okay~"

he responds as soon as he sees it.

"dont worry about it. there's always another lunch."

his phone pings again.

"omg... you miss me already, i can tell!"

"dont get ahead of yourself, miss."

he sends a snowman sticker and turns off his phone, returning it to his pocket. since he'll be eating alone, he decides to pick up a few boards from the front to look over in the meantime.

but when he opens the door to his office about to make his way down, he sees an familiar face chatting with yvonne.

you.

his heart skips a beat at the sight, unexpected yet pleasant all the same. your hair is done in a hairstyle he hasn't seen before, and he takes note of a small container wrapped in a cloth within your hold.

had you really come to see him today? maybe he could ask you where you've been, what's been taking up your time...

the thought is interrupted by a cheery voice, causing both you and yvonne's heads to turn towards the source.

"ah, there you are!"

doctor greyson.

zayne's brows furrow at the scene, watching his fellow doctor makes his way towards you, casual, friendly, and the way a smile stretches across your face at the sight of him.

he watches the way you offer the wrapped box to the doctor and feels his heart clench.

what was he meant to be doing again?

whatever it was could wait. right now, zayne wanted to trap himself in his office and occupy his time with checking his patient charts.

. . .

he's just passing by, zayne reasons with himself.

today was a nice day, and given that miss hunter was out on a mission, he decided to get a bit of fresh air before busying himself with more work.

despite this being the idea, he still finds himself reading a research article on protocore syndrome on what's supposed to be a short break.

he would argue it wasn't technically work when you'd jested once about him being a workaholic that even read research on his breaks. you would laugh, telling him how admirable it was the way he spent his time.

the thought of you makes him momentarily pause his reading.

his mind often drifted back towards you these days, it seemed.

he picks up where he left off, just about to round a corner when he hears that familiar laughter.

that airy laughter of yours that would float through the air when he used any of his dry humor lines around you, or made an expression you found particularly amusing as a result of something you had said.

he almost instinctually follows that sound when he hears another familiar voice.

"hey, don't laugh at me!"

"i'm not, its just—"

"you are! it totally wasn't my fault, you know," the male voice huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

"i mean... you were holding food. did you expect the raccoon to ask before taking?"

he groans, burying his face into his hands. your giggles ring out once more.

zayne watches the exchange, taking note of the closeness in which you two are sitting on the bench, the two pairs of chopsticks sticking out from one container settled between the two of you. he notes the way greyson looks at you, his attention completely captured by you, animated and lively, drawing out your amusement easily.

moreover, he notices the way you lean into him slightly, the way your eyes are bright and centered on him like he's the only one in existence, the way your fingers twitch when his hand gets just a little too close to yours, the way your expression is something joyous, open, honest and oh-so lively.

zayne can't recall a time where you wore that same expression when you were with him.

something swirls inside of him, something unpleasant and cold. his chest feels heavy, he feels out of place, and he feels like he's intruding on something sacred.

is this how you felt before?

he can't fathom the thought.

in hopes to escape these feelings, he turns back the way that he came, article rolled up and clutched tightly in one hand, your laughs fading with every step that he takes, the weight on his chest growing heavier and heavier the further he gets from you.

he doesn't know why he feels the way that he does, he only knows that he doesn't like it.

he doesn't like seeing you with greyson.

and as he makes it to his office, clicking open the door before disappearing behind it, only one thought clouds his mind:

perhaps he should have reached out to you first.

you were avoiding him.

it was the only thing caleb had managed to come up with, and yet, he couldn't find a reason, not really.

he liked to pride himself on his intelligence, on reading people (or maybe it was just his pipsqueak that he was so accustomed to reading, used to every micro expression and microaggression that was thrown at him and pinpointing the cause easily). he'd wracked his brain, going through every possible scenario, and couldn't come up with one possible reason that would warrant you avoiding him.

normally, you would send little texts throughout the day, simple goodmorning's to sleep well's, little pictures from any outings or maybe a new recipe you'd decided to try out.

he'd always make sure to respond, often seeing the images a little later but always at least reacting with his familiar apple stickers.

though, thinking about it now, you messaged less and less these days. he actually wasn't sure off the top of his head when the last time was that you sent him a photo of anything.

huh.

now that he thinks about it, hasn't it been awhile since he's seen you? the last time he can remember wasn't anything too recent, maybe a couple of months ago, but its a haze in his head, distinctly remembering his pipsqueak that night.

wasn't someone else there too?

he shakes his head, deciding not to think to hard.

maybe he would invite you out to eat with him sometime. he knows you like his cooking, and since you're close with them both, surely you'd accept, reconnect, and everything would be better.

. . .

you'd left his message on read.

you never left messages on read.

he remembers once when you offhandedly mentioned that when you do, you feel bad, always at least reacting to the message to make sure the recipient knows you're not deliberately ignoring them and that you did, indeed, see the message.

he reasons that this is what happened.

so instead, he decides to give you a call. that should be simple enough, right?

it rings once.

twice.

three times.

...

voicemail.

he groans.

seriously, what did he do?

maybe you were just busy.

...or maybe something happened to you?

he doesn't want to entertain the thought. hes sure you're fine, you can handle yourself.

...but—

he shakes the thought from his head.

surely, you would've reached out to him.

a pause.

he decides he'll give it till the end of the day.

. . .

later, he's scrolling on moments, having received a notification that his meimei posted something. he comments something teasing, smiling to himself and scrolling to the next post only to freeze.

it was from you.

from just two hours ago.

the same time he tried to call you.

...

caleb would have to take drastic measures.

if you were avoiding him for whatever reason, maybe he would have to pay a visit in order to find out just what it was that he did.

. . .

you're startled from your seat on the sofa by a knock on your door.

you raise a brow, thinking over the possibilities.

you weren't expecting a package for another couple of weeks, you hadn't invited anyone over, and you hadn't placed any delivery orders today (at least not yet, though you had been mulling it over, craving something from that one restaurant that you just didn't quite feel like venturing out to yourself).

you sit up, thinking of any possible person that would be at your door.

when another set of knocks ring out again, you begrudgingly rise from your spot, muttering a "coming," as you walk towards the door.

you neglect peeking through the peephole, figuring whoever it was, you would deal with them relatively quickly.

you swing the door open to reveal the last person you thought might drop by your apartment.

"hey hey, little apple," he all-too casually greets, leaning against the doorframe, a boyish grin taking over his features.

your shock at seeing caleb at your door renders you speechless, and before you can find any words to respond with, he's already pushing his way into your apartment as if he owns the place.

"hmm, not intrudin' on anything, am i?" he asks, walking around the living space before he's peeking around other nearby rooms, almost inspecting them as if he's searching for something.

you shut the door, turning around and trailing towards him, tilting your head at his puppy-like grin.

"caleb wha— why—"

"thought you were in trouble," he shrugs, lifting his hands up and stretching them behind his head, eyes locking on you.

"why else would you not answer my texts?" his voice comes out nonchalant, but his eyes take on a dark look.

shit.

surely he wasn't upset at you for that, was he?

you thought he wouldn't even notice you not texting him anymore, with his attention always elsewhere. as a matter of fact, you figured he'd be grateful your daily messages gradually died out into nothing.

its not like he seemed all that interested in what you had to say, anyway, if his responses were anything to go by.

"i—"

"didn't answer my call either," he says, hands falling to his sides as he takes a step towards you.

"your phone isn't busted, is it, little apple?"

his voice takes on a lower tone, and he takes another step towards you. you instinctively take one back.

"n-no, its just—"

"just what?" another step.

"because if i didn't know any better..."

he's right before you, arms outstretching and hands hitting the wall behind you. he's so close you can feel his warm breath tickling your ear.

"i'd say you were avoidin' me."

you can feel his eyes on you, and you can't help but avert your gaze from his intense stare.

"caleb..."

"so, what is it? what's the problem?"

you huff out a breath.

"you're impossible," you pout.

he chuckles, almost sounding amused.

"yeah? go on."

you sigh.

"i didn't even think you'd notice when i stopped texting" and it seemed like you didn't until just recently you want to add, but bite your tongue. you're honestly surprised he noticed at all.

his brow furrows.

"why wouldn't i?"

"really, caleb?"

his eyes suddenly take on that kicked-puppy look, and you tear your gaze away.

"'m not avoiding you," you mumble, ears hot.

"liar."

"well—!"

your heads both turn at the sound of your phone dinging in your hand.

"so you do receive messages," he teases, eyes trailing towards the lit screen.

"whos it from?"

"does it matter?"

"yeah, it does," he says, tone underlying with finality, his hand moving to pin your wrist to the wall.

"caleb—"

he grasps your other wrist easily when you try to wriggle free, clutching onto your phone tighter.

"let me go—"

"nuh-uh~" he sing-songs. you don't know how he manages to have that look in his eye when his voice holds such a teasing lilt to it.

"caleb, i'm not kidding—"

"yeah? neither am i."

despite his tone, you keep fighting to escape his grasp. you seriously can't think of any reasonable explanation for the way he's acting right now. was he just messing with you? surely he couldn't be that bored. and where was his precious meimei? why would he waste his time here with you when she was likely waiting for him?

your thought is cutoff by another ping from your phone.

caleb's hold tightens as he leans in to peek at the contact.

"hey, still up for tonight? i dont mind picking you up, like usual! /._./"

caleb feels his heart drop at the name he reads.

"ow, caleb, let go—"

in a fruitless effort to keep your privacy, you wriggle your hands again, dropping your phone to the floor and letting it clatter to the carpet below.

caleb's grip loosens but he doesn't completely let go.

"gideon? when did you meet?"

"that little banquet night a couple of months ago, remember?"

something clicks at your words. that hazy night where he was doting on her as per usual...

and you and gideon in the background.

something in him cracks, and he doesn't know why.

"since when were you two close?"

"it doesn't matter."

"it does."

you scoff lightly, looking away from him.

"i dont think it matters who i talk to or make friends with, why are you so concerned?"

"because, you—"

caleb stops himself.

why does he care so much? sure, he was hurt you were avoiding him, but this felt like a stab in the back and he couldn't quite place why.

"because...?"

caleb sighs.

"why were you avoiding me?" he tries again, softer this time, avoiding your eyes.

your eyes widen at the sudden change of attitude.

"its not your fault."

a half-truth.

'its not your fault that i let myself fall for you' was the actual truth, but to hell if you were actually going to tell him that.

you were starting to feel a little bad.

"i really didn't think you'd notice," you add.

something flickers in his eyes for a moment, but you barely catch it. instead, he meets your gaze, sunset eyes all puppy-like.

"i did. i do."

your heart clenches.

curse this man.

"i..." his gaze wavers for a moment before meeting you again.

"don't do that again." he decides on that, hands slipping from yours and pulling back, arms falling to his sides as he finally puts some distance between you two.

he looks like he wants to say something else. you look up at him expectantly, but when he finally opens his mouth, his own phone goes off.

he jumps at the sound but quickly fishes his phone from his pocket and answers.

you only catch half of the conversation.

"hm? oh, nothing much. don't worry about it."

"uh-huh, be there in time for dinner."

"trust your gege, yeah? ill be home soon."

your heart wilts with every word.

he's talking like you're not even here, like you're the one intruding in his space.

by the time he hangs up the phone, your heart is on the floor.

"i've gotta go," he says, making his way towards the door.

"okay," you reply simply.

he reaches for the doorknob, pausing before opening it.

"be safe tonight."

a pause.

"ill kick gideon's ass if somethin' goes wrong."

you breathe out a laugh.

"okay." he can hear the ghost of a grin painting your lips.

"ill see you," he says, opening the door before disappearing behind it.

you take a deep breath, finally feeling like you can breathe properly. you then reach over to retrieve your phone from its place on the carpet, typing out a message.

"actually, do you wanna come over before we go out?"

. . .

caleb has half a mind to turn right around, to demand more answers, to stay with you in your apartment, in your space, surrounded by you.

especially when the thought of gideon and you leaves a bitter taste on his tongue and even worse feeling in his chest.

he wants to, but the familiar call of his pipsqueak comes first. always.

that night at dinner, if she's able to tell that something seems off with him, she decides not to comment on it.

caleb's mind is on another planet, one where he's with you, figuring out what his feelings mean when it comes to the thought of you with his friend.

You do not remember the first hit.

Not clearly, only fragments of it.

Your coworker’s face too close, too loud.

Then your hands were moving before your thoughts could catch up.

And then...

Impact.

Shouting.

Someone was grabbing you, pulling you back as your vision blurred at the edges.

And then everything was quiet.

The police were called, and they arrived quickly.

They asked a lot of questions. Questions you did not want to answer. Questions you could not answer.

Reports written about you as if you were not even there.

An evaluation where no one actually listened to what you had to say.

They spoke over you. Around you. About you.

Decisions were made quickly.

And labels were attached even more quickly. A psychotic breakdown. Crazy. Dangerous. Shouldn't be let back into society.

And where do these people go?

Rhodes Hill.

The first time you met Dr Gideon, you expected the same thing.

Judgment without listening to a word you have to say.

That look people gave you when they had already decided what you were.

Instead, he looked at you like you were interesting.

You sat across from him, arms folded tightly, your posture closed off, defensive.

“They told me you attacked someone, a coworker of yours.” he said as he read from the file before returning his attention to you.

“She provoked me.”

“That is not justification.”

You let out a scoff as you looked everywhere but him. Your eyes landed on the stack of paper behind him.

“I didn’t kill her.”

“No,” he agreed. “You did not.”

Silence filled the room.

You expected him to say something rehearsed. Something clinical and textbook. Something fake and manufactured. But instead,

“But you wanted to.”

Your eyes snapped and met his. You didn't reply to him, but he looked at you with more intensity. 

“Did you?”

“…yes.” 

The word felt heavier than it should have, even if you knew that was the truth.

“Tell me, did it feel good?”

You hesitated, you knew you should lie, make up some fake apology if you ever wanted to get out of here. But something about the way he was looking at you made lying feel pointless. You felt as if he could see right through you.

“Yes… for a second,” you admitted.

“Don't lie. Be honest.”

“You’re not even going to pretend that’s alarming?”

“It is expected.”

“What?”

“Most people experience the impulse. Very few admit it. You do not filter yourself the way others do. Others would have made up a fake apology in hopes of getting out of here. But not you.”

You stared at him, you were sure he could read minds.

“And that’s… what? A good thing?”

“It is a useful thing.”

That was the exact moment everything changed.

Because for the first time, someone was not trying to fix you, but rather trying to understand you.

You offered him a smile before the nurse took you back to your room. 

And after that, your evaluations became more frequent and a lot more personal.

Victor requested your file. No one else was allowed to question you. 

He took full control of it.

The other doctors stopped interfering, they were even scared to look at you. They rather ignored you that face Dr Gideon.

And your life at Rhodes Hill started to improve significantly. 

It started in small steps. First, your meals improved. You started to receive food you actually liked. And the quality of it also got better.

You were moved further away from the more volatile patients. You got a new room, bigger, cleaner and it no longer looked like a patient room.

Then the bigger things.

Privileges.

You were allowed extra time outside your room. You were allowed to roam free without anyone asking questions. You were not allowed to leave, but you were free. Well, as free as someone here can be. 

Your conversations with Victor were longer than they should have been. Most of the time, he just allowed you to speak, and he actually listened. 

And then, your release and court dates disappeared.

One day they were there and then the next, just… gone.

When you asked, him about it, he had no shame.

“You are not ready.”

You should have demanded a better explanation, but your mind was blank at the time, so all you could mutter was, “Why not?”

“Because the world will not understand you.”

“And you do?”

“Yes.”

“Of course you do.” you smiled. 

---

“You are not unstable,” Victor told you one evening.

You were sitting across from him again.

“Then why am I here?”

“Because no one else knows what to do with you.”

“And you do?”

“Yes.”

You watched him for a long moment. The control he carried with himself. The way he chose every word carefully when he spoke.

“You don’t react to things,” you said suddenly, which made him raise an eyebrow slightly.

“Elaborate.”

“People say things. Do things. And you just…” you gestured vaguely, “observe.”

“That is correct.”

“So do I.” you leaned forward and whispered. 

He went still.

And for the first time, you saw something behind his eyes.

“You do,” he said quietly.

“I noticed that before you said anything. The way you listen. The way you look at people like you’re… mapping them.”

“And you do the same.”

“…I don’t feel things the way other people do.”

“Neither do I,” he replied.

And that was the moment you realised something that unsettled you more than anything else had.

You were not just someone he found interesting. You two were similar. You wonder why it took you so long to realise this. Was it obvious to him? When he first met you?

You became his favourite. No one said it out loud, but everyone knew.

The nurses avoided interrupting when you were with him.

The guards gave you even more leeway.

Other patients watched you with a mix of curiosity and resentment.

They saw it.

And you did not mind, not even a little. Because you were here for him from that point on, not for them. 

Then Patricia arrived.

Patricia Vale.

You knew something was wrong with her in a way you had not seen before. She was very different from everyone else.

She was not loud.

Not aggressive.

She did not cause scenes.

But there was something… off about her.

Her eyes lingered too long. Her smiles came at the wrong moments.

And when Victor entered a room, she changed.

You noticed it instantly.

The change in her posture. The way her attention snapped to him. The way she watched him. It made your stomach turn. Because you recognised it. You had seen that look before.

In mirrors.

“She watches you,” you said one afternoon, leaning against his desk.

“I am aware.”

“She doesn’t blink when you walk past.”

“That is an exaggeration.”

“It’s not.”

He continued writing, but he didn't ignore you.

“She’s obsessed, Victor.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re just ignoring it?”

“She is not my concern.”

“That’s cold.”

“No,” he said, finally looking at you. “I'm just selective.”

“And what am I?"

“My favourite.”

Patricia noticed you, too.

At first, it was subtle. She stared at you for a long period of time, then she started to smile. But her smiling felt more like a warning than anything friendly.

Then she started approaching you, asking you questions. Questions that felt more like accusations. 

“You spend a lot of time with Dr Gideon,” she said one day, sitting across from you without being invited.

“I suppose.”

“He doesn’t talk to anyone else like that.”

You shrugged.

“Maybe he just likes me.”

Her jaw tightened.

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

You could see the anger in her eyes. 

“You think you’re special.”

“No,” you said calmly. “I think you’re obvious.”

“You don’t deserve his attention.”

“And you do?”

She stood abruptly, her chair scraping loudly before falling backwards.

“You don’t understand him.”

“I understand him better than you do.”

She slammed the table making you flinch, before a guard took her away and back to her room.

That was when you knew, this was not going to end well.

You tried to warn Victor about it during your next session.

“She’s escalating.”

Victor barely looked up at you.

“She is insignificant.”

“She cornered me today.”

That made him pause and look up.

“And?”

“She asked what you see in me.”

Victor’s gaze flicked to you.

“And what did you say?”

“That she wouldn’t understand.”

“She will not act.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

You stared at him. For the first time, frustration crept into your voice.

“You’re wrong.”

“I never am.”

The conversation ended there.

But something in your chest didn't settle.

The next day, everything proved you right.

Lunch was quiet, you sat in your usual spot, alone. 

The way people were watching without looking like they were watching.

Your instincts sharpened.

A chill ran down your spine. Something was wrong.

You had just picked up your fork when a hand tangled in your hair.

Hard.

Your head slammed into the table.

Pain exploded behind your eyes as you felt like your head was about to blow up.

The room erupted.

You reacted instantly, twisting, shoving back, but Patricia was already on you.

Wild and uncontrolled.

“You think you’re special?” she screamed, her voice breaking. “He looks at you like you matter!” Her grip tightened. “You don’t deserve that!”

You shoved her back with as much force as you could.

“Get off me!”

But she was relentless as she lunged again.

Something sharp pressed into your side.

Hands were suddenly everywhere, pulling her away, voices shouting, alarms blaring.

Your vision blurred.

The last thing you saw was her still trying to reach you.

Still screaming.

A guard barged into his office, completely ignoring the calls from the nurses. 

"Sir! It's Patricia, she attacked another patient."

“She attacked who?” his voice cut through the room.

“Y-you need to-”

“Answer me.”

"...”

Victor was already moving.

Then he saw you.

Blood.

Too much blood.

Something inside him snapped.

“Out of my way.”

The staff scattered immediately.

He reached you in seconds, hands already working, precise but urgent.

“You are conscious,” he said, though it sounded more like a command than an observation.

Your eyes fluttered open.

“…hi.”

His jaw tightened.

“You are injured.”

“Yeah.”

Even now, you tried to smile.

It made something twist in his chest as if someone was twisting a knife.

“She attacked you,” he said, voice lower now. Dangerous.

“Yeah.”

His hands stilled for just a second.

“How dare she touch what is mine?”

The words came out before he could stop them.

You barely registered them before everything went black.

When you woke up, everything was different.

You blinked slowly, taking in the unfamiliar room.

Then you saw him sitting beside you.

“You are awake.”

“Where am I?”

“My quarters.”

“I thought I wasn’t allowed in here.”

“You were not. You are now.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I will not make the same mistake twice.”

“You didn’t listen to me.”

“I did not.”

“You dismissed me.”

“I did.”

“And I got hurt.”

“Yes.”

That seemed to hurt him. Not that he had to admit he was wrong, but more so the fact that you go hurt because he couldn't admit it.

“You don’t like being wrong.”

“No.”

“Neither do I.”

“You are no longer a patient,” he said.

“Then, what am I?”

“Mine.”

You let out a faint, breathless laugh.

“That sounds… a little unhinged.”

“It is accurate.”

You shifted slightly, wincing at the pain.

His hands were immediately there, steadying you.

“You need rest.”

“Yes, doctor.”

Something softened in his expression.

“You will stay here. Where can I ensure your safety.”

You looked around the room, then back at him.

“You’re not doing this because I’m valuable,” you said.

“No.”

“Then why?”

“Because you are the only one who understands me.”

Your heart faltered.

Then, realisation hit you like a truck, you understood him, and he understood you.

And maybe…

That was worse than anything else.

~Masterlist~

Purple eyes track the sway of her hips, the way the cotton clings to the small of her back when she reaches up to twist a loose bulb. His tongue slides across a canine, slow, tasting the phantom copper of a mouth he hasn’t claimed yet.

Behind him, Gideon’s boots scuff against the kitchen tile. Caleb can smell the motor oil in the man’s pores, the same grease that used to coat Gideon’s hands back when they were twenty and stupid and trading stories about women they’d never deserved. Gideon wipes his freshly washed palms on a dish-towel, over and over, gaze fixed on the same swinging hem. 

Neither speaks. They don’t have to. 

The silence has its own tongue: Caleb’s dialect of hunger, Gideon’s of possession.

She pauses at the entrance to the living room. A ribbon has come undone; she lifts one foot to the couch arm, re-tying the strip of satin around her ankle. The posture tilts her skirt up another precious inch. Smooth skin flashes, the underside of her thigh tender and untouched. 

Caleb’s breath stalls somewhere beneath his sternum, and Gideon’s towel stops moving.

“Daddy,” she calls softly, eyes still on the bow, “the movie’s cued. You promised.”

Gideon clears his throat like a man stepping off a ledge. “Coming, baby.”

Baby. Not his word to use. But he follows anyway, unable to resist the gravitational pull. The living room is a cave of lamplight and sofa blankets that smell faintly of her shampoo. 

She's already curled into the corner of the couch, knees tucked, remote balanced on one thigh. The television flickers blue across her face. She looks ephemeral, like if you touched her she’d bruise in the shape of your fingerprints and stay that way forever.

Gideon drops into the middle cushion, thigh muscles flexing under denim. He lifts one arm along the backrest like he’s claiming territory older than maps. “Sit,” he murmurs—at Caleb or at his kid, the pronoun is ambiguous. Caleb chooses the armchair diagonal to them, close enough to see her pulse under the thin skin of her throat, but far enough to pretend indifference. 

His ankle monitor blinks a steady red against the chair leg, heartbeat of the state reminding him: you are never not caged, not even when you're in the place you claimed as home.

She hits play, and some animated thing begins, all bright colours and moral absolutes she never had the luxury to believe in. Neither man watches. Their eyes keep snagging on the way her lips part when she laughs at a joke she’s already heard before, the small sound wet and innocent and lethal. Gideon’s fingers drum the upholstery.

Fifteen minutes in, she shifts, knees sliding across the couch until her calves drape over Gideon’s lap. She doesn’t ask, because she never has to; it’s ritual, bones slotting into joints they were always meant to fill. Gideon’s palm lands naturally on her shins, thumb stroking the delicate ridge of bone through baby-soft skin. Caleb watches the calloused knuckle glide upward, past her ankle ribbon, over the slope of calf, stopping just beneath the hem. 

The cotton trembles, and so does Caleb’s jaw.

This is normal, he lies to himself. Families touch. But families don’t sound like Gideon’s rough exhalation—almost a growl—when her thighs part a fraction, accommodating the weight of that hand. 

Caleb forces his gaze back to the screen, colours bleeding into meaningless shapes. Sweat gathers low along his spine; he can feel the ghost of her shampoo drifting across the cushions, mixing with the faint scent of motor oil and the acrid tang of his unlit cigarettes.

On-screen, cartoon heroes battle pixelated villains. In the room, the war is quieter. Her breath hitches when Gideon’s fingertips skate higher, pushing fabric until yellow bunches at the top of her thighs. She doesn’t stop him. Her gaze stays fixed on the television, but her eyes seem to glow brighter, twin embers under LED lights.

Caleb’s fingers dig into the chair arms. Leather creaks; he hopes the sound is masked by movie explosions. 

Say something, his conscience begs. Be the decent uncle. Be the guardrail.

Instead he imagines his mouth replacing Gideon’s hand, tongue tracing over plush skin. Uncle—the word tastes like rusted bars.

Gideon senses the tension, angles his body so Caleb’s view narrows to a sliver of thigh, of cotton panty the colour of Easter eggs. Teasing or protecting, Caleb can’t decide. Gideon leans in to her, and his other hand slips beneath her hair, cradling the nape, thumb stroking the hollow behind her ear the way he used to steady her during thunderstorms. 

A possessive-kind of tenderness—my daughter, my best friend’s torment, my house, my rules.

She sighs, and leans in until her spine is nestled against Gideon’s chest. The remote drops to the carpet, forgotten. She turns her face into her father’s neck, baring her throat at the same time her lips brushing stubble flecked with premature grey. “Daddy,” she whispers, so soft Caleb almost misses it, “Uncle Caleb looks hungry.”

He meets Gideon’s eyes across the lamp-lit space—purple clashing with hazel. 

No clarification offered; hungry could mean coffee, could mean blood, could mean the salt-slick folds both men are pretending they don’t smell thickening the air. 

Gideon’s jaw flexes, decision and consent passed without syllables. 

“Come here, brother,” he says, voice gravel poured over honey. “Family shares.”

Caleb stands. The ankle monitor flashes crimson, but the tether is internal tonight—chain forged of yes and please and don’t let me break her. He crosses the three-strides’ chasm, sinking to his knees on the carpet because gravity invents new rules in her atmosphere. Up close, her pupils are blown wide, the colour of her irises swallowed by black desire. 

A ribbon has slipped free entirely; her hair spills over Gideon’s forearm like liquid silk.

Gideon’s hand repositions, sliding fully beneath the bunched skirt now, cupping the warm cotton between her legs. She whimpers—a tiny, kitten sound—and rolls her hips instinctively. The motion grinds her ass against Gideon’s denim-covered erection; he hisses, teeth clamping her shoulder through the dress strap. 

“Sweet girl,” he praises, voice vibrating through skin to bone. “So good for Daddy.”

Caleb’s palms settle on her knees, pushing them wider until the skirt rides to her hips. Matching pastel yellow panties are darker at the centre, sucked thin by arousal, clinging to swollen lips he can almost taste. His throat closes. 

This is where penance ends, he thinks, and worship begins.

He lowers his head, presses lips to the inside of her thigh—soft, reverent, a pilgrim kissing relics. She tremble, and Gideon’s hand moves under fabric, fingers clearly stroking folds that Caleb’s mouth waters to share. 

The room shrinks to heat and breath and the slick friction of cotton dragging across sensitive skin.

Her head lolls back onto Gideon’s shoulder, eyes slitting toward Caleb, and smiles. She lifts one small hand, threads it through Caleb’s growing-out regulation hair, nails scratching scalp until he groans against her leg. Gideon chuckles, approving; his other hand cups her breast over the bodice, thumb circling a nipple already peaked and visible through thin cotton.

“Tell him what you need, baby,” Gideon coaxes, voice velvet over steel.

Her lips part, breath stuttering as two sets of hands map territories neither man has earned. Her voice, when it comes, is syrup poured over broken glass: “I need … both my daddies.”

Caleb’s control shatters. He surges up, mouth claiming hers mid-gasp, tasting the lemonade she drank earlier, tasting the future neither of them is promised. Behind her, Gideon works the panties aside, fingers slipping through slick heat, spreading her so Caleb can feel every tremor when he mirrors the motion with his tongue inside her mouth. 

She cries out—the sound swallowed by Caleb—hips bucking between them, pinned safely by family, by lust, by love twisted into something fierce and unapologetic.

The cartoon credits roll unnoticed. 

Somewhere down the block, a dog barks once, then thinks better of it.

Caleb drops to his knees, his lips hovering a fraction above her panties—cotton already translucent with need in those few seconds of kissing—breath humid and deliberate, each exhale a slow torment against hypersensitive skin. Gideon’s arm anchors her waist, his forearm is a steel bar keeping her from writhing off the couch while his fingers pet the sticky seam of her cunt.

“Look at her, brother,” Gideon murmurs, voice barely audible. “Little girl soaked through. You’d think we’d already split her open.”

Caleb growls in agreement, the vibration travelling through her pelvic bone until she clutches fistfuls of his hair. Uncle—the word tastes illicit now, forbidden frosting on an already dangerous cake. He presses his mouth flat to the fabric, tonguing the outline of her entrance, lapping the syrupy sweetness that seeps straight through. 

Every lap makes her jerk, and every single one makes Gideon’s grip tighten with pride.

“Daddy,” her plea is laced with tears, coming off as a sob. Her head thrashes against Gideon’s shoulder, hair spilling over his grey T-shirt. “Please—”

“Please what, baby?” Gideon nips her earlobe, punctuating the question with a slow circle of his thumb directly above her clit, but never quite on it, just keeping her teetering. “Tell Uncle Caleb what you need. Use your big-girl words.”

She tries, but what leaves her lips is a whimper: “I-I need more. Need … i-inside.”

Caleb’s eyes snap up, purple irises glowing feral in the lamplight. He meets Gideon’s over her shoulder; something wordless passes—permission, hunger, challenge. Slowly, deliberately, Caleb hooks two fingers into the waistband of her panties and tugs. The soaked cotton peels away with a slick sound that makes all three exhale in unison. Cool air hits soaked labia, and she keens, knees snapping wider in instinctive invitation.

Gideon spreads her first, middle and ring finger gliding through silken folds, parting her so Caleb can see every shivering detail—how inner lips flush darker pink, how virgin-tight entrance spasms around nothing, begging to be popped. 

“Look how small my kid is,” he praises, voice worshipful. “Poor baby’s never been opened before. We’ll wreck this perfect little hole, won’t we?”

Caleb answers by leaning in, flattening his tongue against her slit in one long, languid stripe. Salty-sweet bursts across his taste buds, mixing with his own pulse thundering in his ears. He keeps the stroke slow, refusing to give her friction where she needs it, gathering her wetness until his chin glitters with it. 

When he circles her entrance—just with the tip of his tongue, teasing—she jerks hard enough that Gideon has to clamp an arm across her chest, free hand cupping a breast.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Gideon croons, fingers still holding her open like an offering. “Uncle Caleb’s gonna taste every inch before we tear you apart. Gonna make you take us both—first this tight cunny for tonight, then that pretty ass soon. You’ll scream for us, and we’ll still be hungry.”

She whines, hips bucking. 

Caleb slides one finger in to the first knuckle, stops. Inner walls clamp around him, furnace-hot, impossibly snug; the pressure drags a groan from his chest that vibrates against her clit. He pulls out just as slowly, adds a second finger, scissoring gently—stretching, testing, promising future violence that will feel like salvation.

“So fucking small,” Caleb rasps, voice shredded. “Gonna split you on my cock, baby. Gonna hold you down while Daddy fucks this little pussy too. You think you can handle family, hm?” 

He thrusts shallowly, fingers curling to graze the spongy spot that makes her gasp, thighs quivering on either side of his face.

Gideon rolls her nipple through the cotton, watching Caleb stretch her. Possessiveness flares in his gaze—my daughter, my best friend, both mine to share. He shifts, grinding his own trapped length against her lower back, letting her feel what waits. 

“She’ll take it,” he promises, rocking so her head lolls on his shoulder. “Because she’s a good girl. Aren’t you, baby?”

She nods frantically, tears glimmering in her eyes. “Yes—yes, Daddy, please—”

“Beg Uncle Caleb,” Gideon orders, fingers tightening on her breast, thumb strumming the stiff peak. “Tell him how you want us to wreck you.”

She obeys, voice breathy, shattered: “Please, Uncle—p-please put your fingers i-in me. Please … f-fuck me open for both of you. I need it. Need you b-both.”

He sinks both fingers to the hilt, twisting until her back bows off the couch. 

Then he adds a third—a slow burn, a deliberate stretch—curling them to stroke her sweet spot over and over. His mouth latches onto her clit, suction soft at first, then harder, tongue flicking rapid figure-eights that make her thighs clamp around his ears that he can barely hear her moan.

Above him, Gideon keeps her spread so Caleb can feast, free hand sliding up to close loosely around her throat—enough to feel every whimper vibrate through her larynx. 

“There’s my sweet girl,” he praises, rocking his hips so denim rasps sensitive skin. “Take Uncle’s fingers. Milk them. That’s good enough practice for the real thing.”

She shudders, inner walls rippling around the intrusion. She’s dripping now, arousal coating Caleb’s knuckles, running down to stain the couch cushion. Every thrust of his fingers squelches filthy music into the room. He pulls out suddenly, watches her entrance flutter, clenching on air; then he delivers a light slap to her pussy that yanks a startled cry from her throat.

“Not yet,” Caleb growls, licking the sting away with broad sweeps. “You don’t get to come until both your daddies are buried inside you. You understand, little princess?”

She sobs, nodding, hips chasing his mouth. Gideon chuckles darkly, easing her back to lie fully against his chest, legs draped over Caleb’s shoulders now. “Patience, baby. Uncle Caleb’s just getting you pretty and open. When we take this virgin cunt together, you’ll feel us for days. Every step, every laugh with that kid next door, you’ll remember who owns you.”

Caleb returns his fingers, and adds a fourth—barely fitting, stretching her until her breath hitches on the edge of pain-pleasure. He scissors them, eyes locked on Gideon’s, the two of them sharing silent conversation: how much more before the main event, how much stretch will let them both cram inside without ripping their girl in half. The mental image has Caleb groaning, hips rutting involuntarily against the couch edge, cock straining against sweatpants that suddenly feel suffocating.

“Think she can take two cocks here?” Caleb asks, voice gravel. “Think this tiny hole can swallow Daddy and Uncle at the same time?”

Gideon’s answer is to let his middle finger join Caleb’s inside her. Both men groan—four from Uncle, one for Daddy, and already stretching her cunt wide open. She whines, head thrashing, overwhelmed by the dual intrusion. They don’t thrust, just hold, letting her feel the impossible girth soon to replace flesh with far thicker heat.

“Oh, she'll take it,” Gideon repeats, leaning to kiss her temple while their knuckles pulse side-by-side inside his daughter. “Because we’ll make her. Because she wants to be stuffed so full that she forgets her own name. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

She can’t speak anymore, only nod with tears slipping down temples into her hair. Caleb captures one salty drop with his tongue, then returns to her clit, sucking gentle now, a rhythm that matches the slow scissor of their combined fingers. 

In, out, twist, spread—her pussy gapes, shiny, breathing around their fingers, begging to be filled.

Caleb eases his fingers free first, Gideon following with a slow drag that leaves her entrance fluttering, pink and glistening, a tiny mouth desperate to be fed. A thin sheen of arousal coats both men’s knuckles; Caleb licks his clean, eyes rolling at the salt-sweet bloom, while Gideon wipes his on the inside of her skirt like marking territory nobody else will ever see.

She sags between them, legs limp over Caleb’s shoulders, chest heaving in frantic little gasps. Her sundress is twisted high around her waist now, ribbon sash undone, bodice tugged low enough that one nipple peeks—stiff and pearled with sweat. Gideon palms it absently, rolling the bud while he studies the space they’re about to ruin from overhead.. 

Virgin territory, he thinks, and the primal satisfaction that unfurls is almost violent.

Caleb stands first, shoving sweatpants down. His cock springs free. The ankle monitor blinks crimson against his skin, state-issued jewellery clinking like distant shackles while he fists himself once, twice, smearing precum along the shaft. “You ready, baby?” The question is hoarse, but the undertone is command—you’d better be, because we’re not stopping even if you're not.

She nods, teeth sunk into her lower lip, hair a halo against Gideon’s collarbone. “U-Uh huh, m'r-ready, Uncle.” The title makes him groan, bending to kiss her—hard, messy, tongue sweeping the taste of her own arousal back into her throat. 

She whimpers into it, hips canting upward, seeking.

Gideon shifts them forward so he can yank his jeans open one-handed. His cock juts out, shorter than Caleb’s but broader, the head flushed an angry purple, a vein throbbing along the underside. He slicks himself with the meagre wetness still coating his fingers, then lines up beneath her. 

“Daddy’s got you,” he rasps, voice scraped raw. “Let us in, sweetheart.”

They move like men practised at dangerous landings—Caleb grips the base of both their lengths, squeezing them together so the heads kiss, so veins pulse against each other. The sensation alone drags a guttural sound from Gideon’s chest. 

She feels the blunt heads nudge her folds and jerks, eyes flying wide.

“Breathe,” Caleb orders, releasing them to brace one hand beside Gideon’s shoulder, boxing her in. His other arm snakes under her knee, lifting, opening her wider. “Bear down, baby. Let your daddies own this cunt.”

Gideon’s hands settle on her hips, guiding as he and Caleb push. The first breach is resistance—tight ring clamping, flesh protesting intrusion it was never built to accept. She gasps, fingernails clawing at Caleb’s forearms, but she obeys: inhales, exhales, relaxes, lets. 

The heads pop past her entrance with slick, filthy suction, both men freezing at the scorching grip that feels like molten silk.

“Fuck.” Caleb’s spine locks. He’s felt a lot of things in fifty years; nothing has prepared him for the moment his best friend’s cock pulses alongside his inside the girl they’ve loved into ruin. 

Family bonding, some hysterical part of him laughs, but then she moans—pain bleeding into stunned pleasure—and the humour evaporates into raw heat.

They give her seconds—nothing more than mere heartbeats—to adjust. Gideon’s fingers splay over her lower belly, pressing down so she feels the ridge of both shafts stretching her walls thin. “Look, baby,” he whispers, voice reverent and cruel. “Stuffed so full you can see the outline of your daddies. Nobody else will ever fill you like this.”

Caleb experimentally rocks. Friction drags electric—his tip sliding along Gideon’s, her inner walls rippling and fluttering around the double girth. Her head falls back on Gideon’s shoulder, mouth open in silent scream, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes not from hurt but from overload: too much, too full, too perfectly claimed.

“Move,” Gideon growls, and they do—careful at first, finding a rhythm like tandem pistons. 

In, out, slow drag that forces her rim to stretch and clasp over and over. 

Each stroke squelches, a wet testimony to how her body lubricates greed for them. Sweat beads at Caleb’s temples, dripping onto her collarbone, and he licks it away, follows the salt trail up to her ear.

“Feel that, little princess?” he husks, thrust deeper but measured. “That’s your cherry popped. That’s two men who’d kill for you owning the hole you saved. You walk tomorrow, you walk different—understood?”

She can only nod, sobs catching as they pick up pace. Gideon pins her hips, meeting Caleb’s thrusts so their shafts glide along each other inside her, ridges rubbing, cockheads bumping that soft, spongy spot that makes her jerk like live wire. 

The couch protests beneath them, springs squealing in time with the wet slaps of flesh against flesh.

Caleb’s hand finds Gideon’s on her belly, fingers intertwining, both pressing to feel themselves moving under her skin, a claiming done in tandem. The intimacy of it crawls into the space behind his ribs: best friend, daughter, home, sin, salvation—all in one slippery, scorching tunnel that neither intends to abandon.

Her whimpers are constant now, words gone. 

Every outward drag stretches her rim pale, every inward push blooms her cunt around their thickness. They fill her so completely that there’s no room for doubt, for futures where she belongs to anyone else. The visual is obscene—two cocks disappearing into impossibly tight virgin flesh, her clit engorged and twitching untouched, shiny with combined arousal.

“Hold her open,” Caleb pants. 

Gideon obeys, sliding hands to spread her labia, exposing where their shafts plunge in and out—thick, angry, glistening. The sight punches Caleb’s gut; he nearly falters, pleasure coiling already at the base of his spine, but orgasm isn’t allowed yet. He snarls, slows, twists hips so the drag rubs Gideon’s underside too, and both men groan in bliss.

Her thighs quiver violently, cunt pulsing around them in rhythmic flutters, on the verge of cumming. Caleb slips a hand between bodies, pinches her clit—not hard, just enough to be a warning.

“No. Not till we say. You come when we’ve seeded you so deep it’ll leak out tomorrow in front of the whole fucking world.”

She cries out, frustrated, but the clench eases; obedience beaten into her by lust, by love. 

Above her head, Gideon kisses her temple, murmuring praise, “good girl. Take us. All of it. Every inch.”

They pick up speed; hips rolling, thrusting, grinding. Breath becomes a ragged chorus, sweat pooling where torsos meet. Minutes stretch until the room smells only of arousal, salt, and devotion. 

Caleb feels Gideon’s pulse through their cocks pressed together, feels her heart kick against his palm where he braces it on her sternum. 

This is church, he realizes, and we are praying in flesh.

He leans forward, catches Gideon’s mouth over her shoulder—best friends kissing sloppy, desperate, sharing breath around the girl they’re mutually ruining. Tongues clash, teeth bump, and the angle drives them both deeper, that she wails; cunt convulsing once, twice, but they hold her on the cliff, denying the fall.

When they finally break the kiss, foreheads rest against each other, caging her between their bodies. Sweat drips off Caleb’s nose onto her breast; he licks it clean, eyes never leaving Gideon’s. 

“Together,” he rasps, “we own her. Nobody else gets this.”

“Never,” Gideon vows, and they surge harder—deep, bruising strokes that promise tomorrow’s ache, promise she’ll feel them with every step, every shift in class, every breath until the next time they decide to open her again.

Her pussy makes obscene noises around them—squelch, slap, suction—tiny ripples signalling endurance fraying close to snapping. Still, they hold back, riding the razor edge where pleasure verges on punishment, filling her over and over again until her body adapts to the sensation of being fucked full of them and their seed.

When their rhythm finally falters, it's only then that they slow, staying buried, cocks throbbing in mutual cadence. 

Caleb rests his brow between her breasts, feeling Gideon’s pulse through shared flesh, feeling her sobs settle into shaky acceptance of the new mold they’ve carved inside her.

Above, Gideon strokes her hair, kisses damp cheek. “You’re ours now, baby. Forever marked.” His hand slides to where their bodies meet, thumb gentle over abused flesh—claiming, soothing, promising round two when they decide she can come.

Caleb pulls out first, a slow drag that leaves her gaping, pearly ropes of their combined spend trailing from her rim to soaked couch cushion. Gideon follows, cock slipping free with wet suction, his cum mingling with his best friend’s inside their girl—marking, mixing, bonding in a way no parole officer or judgmental townie could ever understand.

She lies limp between them, thighs trembling, breath hitching in tiny aftershocks. 

Her sundress is bunched around her ribs like discarded wings; yellow cotton so stained it’ll never be innocent again. Good, Caleb thinks, satisfaction a low thrum under his bruised ribs. Let the fabric remember who owns her.

Gideon smooths a hand down her flank, palm lingering over the faint imprint of his fingers—evidence he’d held on too tight, one that he’ll never apologize for. “Easy, baby,” he murmurs, voice gravel softened by spent adrenaline. “Daddy’s got you now.” He glances at Caleb, eyes glittering under half-lidded satisfaction. “Uncle earned a breather. Let me have some daddy-daughter time, yeah?”

Caleb’s jaw flexes, possessive growl rising, but the flicker in Gideon’s gaze isn’t dismissal—it’s invitation to watch, to witness what they’ve created together. He nods once, slow, sinking back into the armchair opposite. Sweat cools on his chest; ankle monitor blinks a steady red, heartbeat of the state reminding him he’s still caged even when balls-deep inside heaven. 

He spreads thighs wide, cock half-hard again just from the visual alone. “Take her,” he rumbles, voice scraped raw. “But remember who taught her to beg.”

Gideon’s grin is all teeth. He hooks arms under her knees, manhandling her easily—spent girl weightless in possessive hands—and flips her onto her back along the couch. The motion drags fresh spend across upholstery that makes her whimper, pussy still fluttering, rim swollen and red from the double stretch. Gideon settles between her legs, kneeling on cushions that will forever smell of this night. He palms her thighs, pushes them wide, groaning at the wrecked sight of their combined release seeping out in slow, pearlescent beads.

“Look at that,” he croons, thumb rubbing through the mess, painting her inner lips with it. “Daddy and Uncle marked you good, baby. You’re dripping family.” 

He leans down, licks a broad stripe up her slit, growling in approval when she jerks, oversensitive. “Gonna give you more. Gonna make sure every inch remembers who you belong to.”

Her hands flutter, find his hair, tug weakly. “Daddy … s't-too much—” The protest is breathy, contradicted by hips tilting up, begging for more.

Caleb leans forward, elbows on knees, gaze locked on where Gideon’s tongue circles her clit—a slow and deliberate kind torment. “She can take it,” he murmurs, voice low velvet. “Little princess took two cocks like a champ. She can take her daddy showing her how much he loves her.” His fist wraps around his own shaft, stroking lazy, drinking every twitch of her body.

Gideon doesn’t answer with words, he answers with action. 

Knees shove cushions wider, shoulders wedging under her thighs until her hips tilt off the couch. His cock is already hard again, insatiable for his little girl, lines up, thick head nudging through their combined spend. 

One slow roll of hips and he’s inside—slick, scorching, no resistance left after the stretch they gave her. The glide is obscene, coated in cream that squelches around him, dripping to stain more upholstery.

She sobs, head tossing, hair fanning across throw pillows. “Daddy—”

“Right here,” Gideon breathes, buried to the root. He leans over her, forearms bracing on either side of her head, nose brushing hers. “Feel that? Feel Daddy refilling what we already claimed?” 

He rolls his hips, grinding deep, pubic bone pressing her clit until she whimpers, legs wrapping his waist on instinct.

Caleb’s hand tightens on his cock, watching the slide—how Gideon’s thickness drags their spend out, how her rim clings and flutters. “That’s it, brother,” he husks, voice gravel. “Fuck our girl slow. Let her feel every ridge reminding her she’s got daddy's cock warming her little cunny.”

Gideon obeys in a languid pace, almost reverent. Each thrust pulls out nearly to the crown, shows Caleb the messy cream coating Gideon’s shaft, then sinks back in on a wet glide. Sweat beads his spine, droplets rolling to join the filth beneath them. 

He drops his head, kisses her—soft at first, then deeper, tongue sweeping in time with hips, claiming mouth the way he’s claiming cunt.

She responds helplessly, arms twining around his neck, ankles locking at his lower back. Between them, breasts bounce with each rock, nipples dragging across his chest hair. Caleb watches the choreography—father and daughter, best friend witness—and feels something savage settle in his chest. 

This is the only altar I’ll ever kneel at, he realizes.

“Tell Daddy how much you love him,” Caleb coaches, voice soft poison. 

She breaks the kiss, breath hitching as Gideon’s hips snap sharper. “Love y-you, Daddy,” she whimpers, eyes glassy. “Love you i-inside me—love you both—”

Gideon growls in approval, pace increasing—still slow, but deeper, grinding cruel circles against her clit until her nails score his back. The couch creaks, springs protesting steady rhythm. “Good girl,” he praises, voice velvet over gravel. “Take Daddy’s cum again. Gonna flood you with my spunk, baby, gonna make sure you’re dripping for a week.”

Caleb’s breathing hitches, hand stroking faster, matching the tempo. 

He leans closer, close enough to see the cream froth at Gideon’s base, close enough to smell sweat and sex and devotion. “That’s it, princess,” he murmurs, lips brushing her temple when Gideon shifts angle. “Milk him. Show Daddy how grateful you are for his cock.”

She keens, inner walls fluttering, but Gideon pulls back just enough to deny her edge—same cruelty they’d shown before. His hand slides between them, thumb replacing pubic pressure on her clit, to rub slow, teasing circles. 

“Not yet,” he warns, though his own jaw clenches with the strain. “Daddy wants to enjoy his baby girl a little longer.”

Minutes stretch for both torture and worship. 

Sweat drips from Gideon’s brow onto her breast; he laps it away, tongue swirling a nipple until she arches. Caleb watches every detail—how her spine curves, how her hips cant to meet thrusts, how cream pools beneath them like an offering. His cock pearls precum; he smears it along her calf, claiming new skin.

Eventually, Gideon’s rhythm stutters, balls drawing tight. He buries deep again, grinding, thumb still strumming her clit. “Here it comes, baby,” he groans, voice reverent. “Take Daddy’s seed. Take every drop like a good daughter.”

He comes with a guttural snarl—pulse after pulse flooding her, mixing with their earlier load until excess spills, creamy rivulets tracking down to stain cushions. She whimpers at the warmth, walls rippling, but again, he denies her climax—thumb pulling away the instant she nears. 

She collapses, spent, as Gideon collapses half on top, cock still twitching inside, breathing hard against her neck.

Caleb sits back slowly, chest heaving, hand sticky around his own shaft. He studies Gideon draped over their girl, both shining with effort, pussy overflowing evidence of mutual claim—and feels something settle in his marrow. 

Ours, he thinks, satisfaction predatory and protective. Forever.

Gideon rolls aside with the languid reluctance of a man who’d like to stay buried forever, cock slipping free on a tide of mixed spend that splashes warm across her inner thigh. 

The room smells like sin—salt-sweat, tears, and the raw musk of two men's seed flooding one perfect girl-cunt. 

Caleb’s pupils blow wide at the visual: her labia is swollen, folds glistening and parted, pearl trails weaving down to stain the couch in Rorschach blots of ownership. 

Gideon settles on his knees, large hand cupping her breast through drooping cotton. Thumb rasps over the stiff nipple he exposed earlier, and he hums approval. “Look at these gorgeous tits,” he murmurs, reverent as prayer. “Daddy’s girl grew up delicious.” 

He bends, mouth closing over the bud, sucking slow and hard until she arches, a thin cry escaping.

Caleb palms his shaft, stroking once, twice—slick with his own spend and the memory of shared heat. “Our pretty, dirty girl,” he croons, voice gravel poured over honey. “Stuffed so full she’s leaking our cream.” He kneels between her legs, nose skimming her mound. A gentle puff of breath fans across oversensitive nerves that makes her jerk, thighs attempting to close, but his broad shoulders block the way. 

“Still want Uncle’s cock, baby? Want me to stir Daddy’s load deeper?”

Her answer is a whimper, hands reaching; one finds Caleb’s hair, tugging weakly, and the other grips Gideon’s forearm where he suckles, anchoring herself between twin storms. 

Consent crystal, Caleb notes, satisfied. 

He licks a broad stripe up her slit, tasting the cocktail of fluids—his, Gideon’s, her own salt-sweet glaze. The flavour has him groaning against her clit. “That’s yes, isn’t it?” he teases, circling the swollen nub with the flat of his tongue—soft, then firmer, never quite staying long enough to tip her. “Tell Uncle aloud, princess. Say ‘ruin me again.’”

“Ruin m-me—” her voice cracks, head tossing against damp cushion. “Again, Uncle, p-please—”

Gideon releases her nipple with a wet pop, hand sliding to squeeze both breasts together, thumbs flicking damp peaks. “Listen to that polite begging,” he praises, voice rough. “Baby knows who owns her holes.” He shifts, lifting her slightly so breasts pillow higher, access easier. “Fuck her pretty, Caleb. Paint my daughter’s cunt with your cum until nobody’s scent lives but ours.”

Caleb doesn’t need encouragement; he needs restraint. He lines up, crown nudging through creamy mess, sliding in on the first slow push because she’s slick as sin and twice as hot. Her walls part reluctantly—still tender—but give way, moulding around his girth with filthy suction that milks a groan from both man and girl. 

“Feel that?” Caleb rasps once hilt-deep, hips grinding slow circles. “Feel Uncle reopening you, stirring Daddy’s load into froth?” 

He pulls back, watches cream coat his shaft, then snaps forward. The slap of skin on spend-slick skin echoes, her cry rising.

Gideon’s mouth returns to her breasts, alternating—left nipple sucked dark, right nipple rolled between calloused fingers. He mouths across the upper slope, teeth grazing delicate skin. “These tits bounce so pretty for your Uncle's cock,” he murmurs, voice vibrating against her skin. “Gonna suck marks here next—let you wear Daddy’s mouth under for tomorrow's mass.”

She whimpers, back bowing, trapped between suction at breast and stretch at cunt. She’s hypersensitive, but still chases, ankles hooking at Caleb’s waist. He rewards her by gripping her thighs, pushing them toward shoulders, folding her until knees nearly touch the couch cushions on either side of her ears. 

The angle drives him deeper, crown kissing cervix; she sobs, pleasure teetering on pain’s sweetest edge.

Caleb watches his cock vanish and reappear, mesmerized. “Look at this mess,” he husks, thumb swiping through excess spend to paint her clit. “Our baby’s cunt eating Uncle whole, swallowing every drop we give.” He slaps her clit lightly—once, twice—feels the answering spasm around his shaft. “You gonna keep it? Keep both our loads inside while you sip your morning coffee?”

“Yes,” she gasps, words dissolving into moan as Gideon bites gently at the underside of her breast, leaving a faint crescent that will turn purple by dawn.

Gideon lifts his head, meets Caleb’s eyes. “Harder,” he mouths, approval shining wickedly. 

He palms her jaw, turning her face so he can kiss her—deep, filthy, sharing the taste of her own skin while his best friend pounds into her. His free hand slides to her throat, not squeezing, just resting. 

She shudders, inner walls rippling, and Caleb feels the flutter like velvet electricity.

He increases his pace—hips snapping, couch groaning, sweat dripping from his jaw onto her belly. Each thrust squelches, mixture of semen and fresh arousal frothing at her entrance, drooling down to stain more of the already sodden upholstery.

Gideon releases her mouth, trails lips to her ear. “You’re doing so well, baby. Taking Uncle like a big girl while Daddy watches.” He pinches both nipples, tug-roll-tug, timing with Caleb’s deeper hits. “Imagine ten years from now—still crawling into our bed, still begging for family cock. These tits’ll be fuller with milk, and this cunt’ll still remember every ridge of us.”

She sobs, head tossing. The imagery must've had her walls clamping viciously around Caleb, who laughs in approval.

“Greedy girl,” Caleb praises, hips pistoning. “Already dreaming of next time? Don’t worry—Uncle’s nowhere near done.” He shifts angles, dragging the head along her front wall, nailing that spongy spot that makes her squeal. His balls slap wetly, heavy and tightening, but he holds his release at bay—wants her desperate, wants her sobbing for it.

Sweat mats her hair to cheeks; breasts bouncing in Gideon’s grip, skin glossy with combined cum and tears and sweat and drool. 

Caleb’s rhythm eventually turns savage, couch scraping across the floor with each thrust, but still he denies her the edge, pulling back whenever her walls start rhythmic flutter.

Finally he slows, buried to root, grinding slow and deep. Breath ragged, he meets Gideon’s gaze. “Switch?” he mouths.

Gideon shakes head, smile lazy feral. “Not yet. Wanna watch you paint her first. Then maybe I'll fuck your load deeper while she cries for me to stop.” Caleb returns to her face, forehead dropping to hers. “Hear that, baby? Daddy wants a fresh coat. You ready to take Uncle’s seed like a good girl?”

“Please,” her answer is immediate, broken, thighs tightening around his waist. “Fill m-me, Uncle, please—”

He starts final driving pace, hips slapping loud in the quiet room, every thrust shoving her upward along the cushion. Pressure coils at the base of his spine, balls drawing tight; he chases, keeps on chasing, until his vision tunnels. With a guttural snarl ,he buries deep, grinding hard, and releases—pulse after hot pulse flooding her already sloppy channel, mixing with Gideon’s earlier claim until she gushes out around his shaft, creamy rivulets tracking to the cushion.

The moment his cock slides free—spent shaft dripping their combined release onto her belly—he doesn’t retreat. Instead, he shifts upward, knees planting on either side of her ribs, purple crown nudging her lower lip. 

His hand cups the back of her skull, fingers threading soft hair now plastered to her temples with sweat.

“Open, princess,” he murmurs, voice low velvet soaked in command. “Clean Uncle like a good girl.”

Her eyes—pupils blown wide—flinch at the taste awaiting, but obedience is a reflex. Her lips part; the head slips inside, salt-bitter flood of spend coating her tongue before she can prepare. She gags once, delicate throat working, the sound is wet and raw. 

Caleb groans, hips giving a shallow rock that paints her palate further. “That’s it … taste what we made inside you.”

Below, Gideon chuckles dark feral, palms sliding under her thighs to lift them over his shoulders. He settles between spread folds, breath ghosting over hypersensitive skin still fluttering from climax. 

“So messy already,” he praises, thumbs peeling her labia wider. “Let Daddy kiss it better—before we make it hurt again.”

She whimpers around Caleb’s cock, the vibration zipping down his spine, pooling fresh heat behind his balls. He’s oversensitive, shaft twitching, but her surrender keeps him half-hard. 

“Suck,” he orders gently, grip tightening until she hollows her cheeks, tears slipping from the corners of eyes. Each pull of her mouth makes her chest hitch—gag, sob, moan—a trinity of sound echoing through the room.

Her torso tries to twist away from the dual assault, but there’s no mercy in the choreography: Caleb cages her head, Gideon cements her hips. When she jerks left, Gideon’s forearm bands across her pelvis; when she squirms right, Caleb’s knees clamp ribs.

They laugh, sharing amusement at her useless struggles.

“Feel that?” Caleb husks, guiding her deeper until nose meets steel-toe boot scent of his skin. “That’s you soaked into Uncle’s cock. Suck it down, baby.”

Gideon leans in, tongue flattening through the sloppy mess dripping from her entrance. The taste draws a growl; he laps upward in long strokes that avoid her clit on purpose, building a slow burn under her oversensitive nerves. Every lick squelches, decadent sound mixing with the wet chokes above. He circles her rim, presses just inside, gathering evidence of their shared ruin to paint across her inner thighs. 

“You hear how sloppy Daddy’s girl is?” he murmurs, breath hot against soaked flesh. “Sounds like dessert. Uncle fed you after Daddy had a taste, and now Daddy gets the bowl.”

Her hips buck involuntarily, and Gideon answers with a broad swipe over her clit—once—then retreats, blowing cool air. She spasms, walls clenching empty air, crying out around cock. The sound vibrates Caleb again; he hisses, pulls out enough to let her breathe, sees spit-spend string break across her lips. 

“Pretty little sob,” he praises, wiping mess across her cheek with his crown. “Keep singing for us.”

Oversensitivity climbs like fire ants under her skin. Her thighs tremble, knees drawing up in a reflex to close, but Gideon’s shoulders block them, opening her wider. He feathers licks along outer labia, avoids direct contact to her clit until she’s babbling—half-words around Caleb, half-pleas for mercy or more, she can’t exactly decide which.

Caleb watches, entranced. “Look at Daddy eating his dessert,” he whispers, hand stroking her hair, other hand guiding his shaft to smear release across her chin like war paint. “Bet you feel every nerve screaming. Guess what?” He tilts her face so eyes meet his.

“We’re nowhere near done.”

Gideon chooses that moment to seal his lips over her clit, a gentle suction that yanks a scream from her throat—the sound strangled by cock filling it again. He pulses, two fingers sliding into her pussy, scissoring slowly, stirring mixed spend into froth. When she tries to scoot hips upward, his free forearm slams across pelvis, pinning harder. 

Laughter rumbles through her flesh from his his mouth; and Gideon just hums, vibrations zapping sensitive nerves, tears flowing faster.

“Hold still,” Caleb croons, though his hips rock shallow, feeding her inch by inch, letting her feel every ridge smeared with shared release. “Daddy’s cleaning his baby out so we can soil her again. Be good.”

Wet sucks below, wet gags above, creak of couch springs under struggling bodies. Caleb’s cock stiffens fully again, pleasure-pain sparking with each tongue flutter along underside. He pulls free long enough to let her gulp air, strings of saliva-spend hanging, then guides her to lick balls, perineum—anywhere evidence leaked. She obeys, sobs vibrating against his skin. 

Below, Gideon adds a third finger, stretch burn mixing with his suction on clit clit. Her walls clench, chasing an orgasm he keeps just out of reach. He pulls off her clit, blows again, watching her twist. “You need to come, baby?” he asks softly, cruelly. “Ask pretty.”

She rips mouth from Caleb, gasping. “Please—p-please Daddy—Uncle—”

“Not yet,” they answer together—laughter rumbles, dark and fond.

Caleb guides her back to his cock, pushes deeper this time, holding steady while she adjusts. 

Gideon returns to lapping—long leisurely drives like savouring melting ice cream, collecting every drop of mixed spend to feed back to her skin. Occasionally, he nips her inner thigh, tiny stings that bloom fresh heat, keeping her off balance.

When her struggles weaken, Caleb cups her face, strokes thumbs across tear-tracks. “That’s our girl,” he praises. “Taking everything we give.” He looks at Gideon, nods once.

The moment Gideon’s tongue retreats, leaving her pussy clenching on emptiness, clit pulsing in the cool air, Caleb is already moving. He slips from her mouth with a wet pop, trails last stripe of mixed spend across her cheek like a benediction, then rises to full height. Purple eyes glitter down at the wreck they’ve made: hair plastered to tear-stained skin, sundress nothing but a rag around her waist, legs trembling wide to show swollen, dripping folds still fluttering for more even as she sobs for mercy.

“Up,” he murmurs, voice gentle steel. Arms slide beneath her—one under shoulders, one under knees—and he lifts her easily, cradling against his chest. Sweat-slick skin meets sweat-slick skin; she tries to curl into him, but he shifts, turns, settles himself on the couch cushion they’ve already ruined. His back rests against the frame, thighs sprawled, and he arranges her spine to his chest so every ragged breath she takes vibrates through his own ribs. Ankle monitor clinks softly. while he spreads her thighs open over his, exposing her dripping centre to the lamp’s glow and to Gideon’s waiting gaze.

She whimpers, hands fluttering down to cover herself, but Caleb captures both wrists, guides them to hook behind his neck—leaves her breasts lifted, torso arched, cunt entirely vulnerable. 

“Hush, princess,” he soothes, lips brushing her temple, tasting salt of tears and spend. “One more, remember? Just one more with both your daddies stirring your pretty cunny, then you can sleep with all that warm cum in your tummy.”

Below, Gideon kneels forward, palms sliding up her calves to cup behind her knees, spreading her further until tendons protest. His cock—already hard again, tip glossy—nudges the wet mess coating her folds, smearing it like paint. 

“Look at our baby,” he croons, eyes dark with awe. “So sloppy. So perfectly used.” He leans in, licks a broad stripe up her inner thigh, collecting a rivulet of mixed spend, and humming in approval. “You’ve got one more round left, sweetheart. Then bedtime. Promise.”

She shudders, weak thrash of hips trying to close, but the position makes it impossible—thighs draped over Caleb’s, Gideon’s shoulders wedged between. 

Oversensitivity sparks nerve-endings alight that every brush of air feels like sandpaper. 

Tears slip faster. “T-Too much—”

Caleb’s hands slide from her wrists down to cup her breasts, fingers rolling nipples gently. “We know, baby,” he murmurs against her ear, breath hot. “We know you’re shaking. But you want us happy, don’t you? Want Daddy and Uncle to tuck you in filled and satisfied?” He rolls his hips upward, crown sliding through mess to notch at entrance, not penetrating yet—just pressure, promise. “Take a breath. Let us in one last time. Then kisses and blankets.”

Gideon guides his shaft alongside Caleb’s, shaft kissing shaft, both crowns nudging inside her slit. The visual alone draws a growl from both men: two cocks glazed in previous releases, sliding through frothy evidence of shared ruin. 

“One more, really,” Gideon echoes, leaning forward to kiss her knee, then higher—lip brushing Caleb’s knuckles where he cups her breast. “We’ll stir nice and slow, baby. Make you feel how loved you are.”

She draws a shaky breath, sobs tapering to hiccups. Hands behind Caleb’s neck tighten in a surrendering grip. Caleb takes the cue: hips lift just enough to pop his crown past her rim, groaning at the furnace heat still pulsing. Gideon follows, sliding in beside him—still tight—and they still, buried to hilt, letting her feel the stretch burn all over.

“Good girl,” Caleb praises, voice ragged. He kisses her temple again, softer now, while his palms drift to grip beneath her knees, helping Gideon hold spread. 

“Feel that? Both your daddies filling you together. Last time tonight, promise.”

They begin slow with no savage snap, just languid rocking: out until crowns kiss air, in until pelvises grind the bases against each other. Each glide pushes mixed spend outward, floods back inward, frothing white foam that dribbles down Caleb’s balls to stain the cushion further. 

Gideon’s hands roam, sliding up to cup her breasts alongside Caleb’s, thumbs flicking nipples, then down to feel where their shafts disappear—fingers splaying over stretched rim, tracing the way her body accepts impossible girth. 

“So beautiful,” he whispers, reverent. “Our baby taking family like she was made for it.” 

He leans forward, kisses her—soft, deep, sharing taste of tears and shared release—then kisses Caleb’s jaw in passing, brotherhood sealed in sweat.

She quivers, walls clenching sporadically around them, but the slow pace keeps her from tipping over. Pleasure builds like tide behind sandbags—pressure mounting, nowhere to release yet. She drops one hand from Caleb’s neck, fingers finding Gideon’s hair, tugging weakly.

Caleb mouths along her throat, finding her pulse point, sucking gentle mark that will bloom tomorrow. “That’s it,” he husks, hips rolling. “Milk us slow. Show Daddy and Uncle you want our last load.” 

His hand slips between bodies, two fingers resting atop her clit—not rubbing, just pressure—letting her grind against them when instinct takes.

Sweat beads all three bodies, mixing with spend until skin gleams. 

Gideon’s pace stutters first, and he groans, forehead dropping to her shoulder. “Close,” he admits, voice wrecked. “Gonna flood her again, brother.”

Caleb’s own orgasm coils—balls tightening, shaft pulsing alongside Gideon’s inside the velvet grip. “Together,” he agrees, fingers on clit starting light circles, accelerating. “Fill our baby one last time, then let her sleep in it.”

She senses intention, and her hips buck involuntarily, walls rippling. 

Both men groan in unison.

“Now,” Caleb commands gently, pressure on clit steady, hips snapping just enough to drive both crowns to press against spongy spot inside.

They bury deep, grinding hard, and release—pulse after pulse flooding her, mixing fresh with old until creamy excess gushes out around sealed shafts, dripping to the couch, to Caleb’s balls, to Gideon’s thighs. The heat, the shared throbbing, drags a sob from her, a pleasure so intense it borders on pain.

When pulses fade, they stay locked, breathing synchronizing, sweat finally being allowed to cool. Gideon kisses her soft, then kisses Caleb’s jaw again, silent thanks. 

Slowly, carefully, they slip free—combined spend following in slow, thick wave.

Caleb eases her legs down, lifts her gently to cradle sideways against his chest. Gideon reaches for the throw blanket draped over a nearby chair, tucks it around all three as best he can. The lamp stays on—warm glow highlighting glistening skin, ruined couch, evidence of a family covenant.

“Sleep now, princess,” Caleb murmurs into her hair, rocking slight. “Daddy and Uncle got you.”

Gideon curls behind her, front to back, hand splayed over belly to feel their combined cum shift inside. “One more tomorrow night,” he whispers, kissing her shoulder. “But for now, dream of us.”

SAINT'S NOTES ! nothing but pure filth that makes me really happy; this is my redemption arc, if you will, because i didn't much like the red riding hood piece i wrote lmao — it was an old draft, and i tried to make it better but ehhhhh, its flow was off to me (i am my worst critic lawl) — and i like this one a lot. anyway, if you think there's plot, think again. this one is a fic that has been a long-time coming and i've been working on this on-and-off for months for my depraved satisfaction, so if this isn't to your tastes, don't read it ♡ just realised that writing threesomes is difficult because i keep losing track of which he i'm talking about, so i keep using their names instead.

Gideon glanced up from where he was seated in Caleb's chair, his uniform shirt unbuttoned and pants shoved down just enough to free his erection, half-naked and unashamed. A smirk curled his lips as he met Caleb's gaze. 

“Welcome back, Colonel. Thought you'd like a little gift to unwind with.” His thumb flicks the remote, ramping up the vibrator's intensity, and you gasped, your hips twitching involuntarily around his shaft.

Caleb paused in the doorway, his sharp eyes taking in the scene—your exposed body, the way Gideon's cock disappeared into your tight ass, the tag glinting against your skin. Heat flared in his expression, a mix of possession and arousal. 

He didn't speak at first, just crossed the room slowly, his hand already drifting to the front of his pants. The zipper rasped down, and he pulled out his hardening cock, stroking it with firm pumps as he leaned against his desk, watching.

“Keep going, Gideon,” Caleb commanded, voice low and gravelly. “Tease her clit slower…circle it with the toy, don't let her grind too hard.”

Gideon obeyed instantly, adjusting the remote to a teasing thrum. He pressed the vibrator's head in lazy circles against your swollen clit, the vibrations sending sparks up your spine. 

His free hand squeezed your breast harder, thumb flicking the nipple in time with the toy. You whimpered, clenching around his cock, the fullness in your ass making every pulse feel amplified.

“Like this, sir?” Gideon asked, eyes locked on Caleb's fist moving over his own length. “She loves it when you make her wait. Gets her dripping.” He twisted the remote again, edging the speed just enough to make your thighs quiver.

Caleb nodded, his strokes quickening as he watched your body arch. “Pinch her nipples harder now. Roll them between your fingers—she bucks like that when you do.” His voice was commanding, laced with hunger, and Gideon complied, gripping your tits roughly, tugging the sensitive buds until you cried out, your ass tightening around him.

“Fuck, Colonel, look at her,” Gideon groaned, his hips shifting slightly to grind deeper into you. “I got her pussy all prep for you, sir. Soaked and ready just waiting for your cock.” He spread your legs wider with his knees, exposing your glistening folds to Caleb's gaze, the vibrator still buzzing insistently.

You moaned, the dual sensations were overwhelming with Gideon's girth stretching your ass, the toy tormenting your clit, his hands mauling your chest. 

Caleb's eyes darkened, his hand flying faster over his cock, pre-cum beading at the tip. “Slide two fingers into her pussy, Gideon. Curl them up, hit that spot she goes wild for.”

Gideon's hand left your tits, slick fingers dipping between your thighs. He pushed two thick digits into your wet cunt, curling them just right, stroking that inner wall while the vibrator kept your clit on edge. 

“She loves it when you finger-fuck her like this, Colonel. Clenches so tight, begs for more.” His thrusts into your ass were subtle, shallow rocks that paired with his pumping fingers, building the pressure until your vision blurred.

“Good. Now suck on her neck—mark her while you work her over.” Caleb's command came breathier now, his cock throbbing in his grip as he edged closer.

Gideon leaned in, lips latching onto the curve of your throat, sucking hard enough to bruise. His teeth grazed your skin, and you shattered a little, a small orgasm rippling through you, but he didn't stop—fingers thrusting, vibrator pulsing, cock filling your ass. Caleb watched every twitch, every gasp, his free hand reaching out to trace the dog tag nestled between your breasts.

“Enough teasing,” Caleb finally growled, shedding his uniform pants and stepping forward. His cock stood rigid, veins pulsing. He gripped your chin, tilting your face up for a searing kiss, tongue claiming your mouth before pulling back. 

Then, to your surprise, he turned to Gideon, fisting the back of his neck and crashing their lips together in a rough, heated kiss—tongues tangling, a low rumble in Caleb's throat as he tasted the other man.

Gideon broke the kiss with a chuckle, eyes gleaming. “She's all yours now, sir.”

Caleb positioned himself between your spread legs, the head of his cock nudging your soaked entrance. “Hold her steady,” he ordered, and Gideon wrapped his arms around your waist, keeping you pinned on his lap. 

With one powerful thrust, Caleb sank into your pussy, filling you completely. The sensation was exquisite, his thick length stretching your walls while Gideon's cock pressed against him through the thin barrier, double-stuffing you.

You screamed, the fullness overwhelming, pleasure bordering on pain. They started moving in tandem—Caleb pounding into your pussy with deep, punishing strokes, Gideon matching from below, slamming up into your ass. 

Hands were everywhere, Caleb's on your hips, bruising, and Gideon's groping your tits again, pinching your nipples. The vibrator still trapped between you and Caleb's body, buzzing wildly against your clit.

“Fuck, she's tight,” Caleb grunted, leaning in to kiss Gideon again, their mouths sloppy and urgent amid the rhythm of their thrusts.

“Feels even better with you inside her too,” Gideon replied, nipping Caleb's lip before they both focused on you, driving harder.

Their cocks plunged relentlessly, Caleb's shaft slamming into your pussy with wet slaps, Gideon's grinding up from below to bury himself deeper in your ass. The vibrator, pressed firm between your clit and Caleb's thrusting body, sent relentless shocks through your core, your squirted release still slicking their skin. You writhed between them, overstimulated and gasping, every nerve alight as they chased their rhythms.

Caleb pulled back suddenly, his cock slipping free from your clenching pussy with a lewd pop, strings of your arousal connecting you. “On your knees,” he ordered, voice rough with need. “Both of you—get her on the desk.”

Gideon eased you off his lap, his thick length dragging out of your ass inch by inch, leaving you empty and aching. He stood, pants still around his thighs, and helped maneuver you onto the desk. 

You scrambled into position on all fours, ass up and presented, the cool metal surface pressing against your elbows and knees. Caleb's dog tag swung forward, brushing your chin as you arched your back, pussy and ass exposed and dripping.

Gideon stepped behind you first, gripping your hips to steady you. He lined up his cock with your stretched hole and thrust back in, filling your ass in one smooth motion. 

You cried out, pushing back against him, the burn reigniting as he bottomed out. His hands roamed your sides, one sliding up to cup your swinging breast, thumbing the nipple while he started a steady pace, fucking into you with controlled power.

Caleb watched for a beat, stroking his slick cock, eyes fixed on where Gideon's shaft disappeared into you. Then he moved to your front, boots planted wide. “Open your mouth, pretty girl,” he demanded, and you did, tongue out eagerly. 

He fed his length past your lips, the taste of your own juices coating him as he gripped your hair and started fucking your face—shallow at first, then deeper, hitting the back of your throat.

Gideon leaned over you, his chest pressing to your back as he pounded harder, the desk creaking under the force. “She's taking us so well, Colonel—ass gripping me like a virgin.” His free hand reached around to flick the vibrator's remote, cranking it higher against your clit, the buzz making your thighs shake.

Caleb groaned around the sight, his hips snapping forward to bury his cock in your mouth. “Deeper, Gideon. Make her feel it. She loves when you stretch her like this.” Saliva dripped down your chin as you sucked him greedily, hollowing your cheeks, while Gideon's thrusts jolted you forward onto Caleb's length.

The dual assault built fast—Gideon's cock pistoning in your ass, the toy tormenting your clit, Caleb's shaft throbbing against your tongue.

Your body tensed, another climax coiling tight. Gideon sensed it, slapping your ass cheek lightly to spur you on. “C’mon, bunny, squeeze me while you choke on the Colonel.”

Caleb pulled out briefly, smearing pre-cum across your lips before diving back in. He glanced at Gideon over your head, heat flashing in his eyes. “Switch with me soon. Want that tight ass next.” 

The promise sent a thrill through you, and as Gideon's fingers dug into your hips, you shattered again, pussy clenching around nothing but the vibe, a fresh wave of slickness coating your thighs.

Your cries muffled around Caleb's cock as the orgasm ripped through you, your body convulsing on the desk. Gideon didn't stop, his hips snapping forward to drive his length deep into your ass, the vibrations from the toy amplifying every spasm.

He growled low, feeling your walls flutter against him. “That's it. Milk me, bunny. You're soaking everything.”

Caleb thrust steadily into your mouth, his grip tightening in your hair as he watched your face contort in bliss. Saliva and pre-cum mixed, dripping onto the desk below. He pulled free with a wet gasp, strings connecting your swollen lips to his throbbing tip. 

“Enough of that for now. Gideon—out. I need her ass wrapped around me.”

Gideon chuckled, giving one last hard pump before withdrawing, his cock slick and glistening from your release. The sudden emptiness made you whimper, clenching around nothing, but he soothed you with a hand on your lower back. 

“Easy, we'll fill you right up.” He stepped aside, stroking himself lazily as Caleb took his place behind you.

Caleb's hands were rough, spreading your cheeks wide to expose your puckered hole, still loose and ready from Gideon's earlier pounding. He rubbed the head of his cock against it, teasing the rim before pushing in slow, inch by thick inch. 

You moaned, pushing back to take him deeper, the stretch burning deliciously as he seated himself fully, balls pressed to your skin. “Shit, so fucking tight even after him,” he muttered, voice strained.

Gideon moved to your front, kicking his pants off completely now, his muscular frame towering as he positioned himself between your arms. He lifted your chin with two fingers. “My turn to feel that pretty mouth.” But instead of just your mouth, he eyed your dripping pussy, the vibe still buzzing against it. “No—let's make it count. Spread wider for me.”

You adjusted on the desk, knees parting as much as the surface allowed, ass high for Caleb. Gideon slid beneath you partially, aligning his cock with your soaked entrance. With Caleb buried in your ass, Gideon thrust up into your pussy in one fluid motion, the dual penetration stretching you to your limits once more. Both men groaned in unison, their lengths separated only by the thin wall inside you, rubbing against each other through your body.

They found their rhythm quickly—Caleb pulling back as Gideon drove in, then reversing, cocks pistoning in tandem to fuck both your holes relentlessly. The desk shook with each impact, papers scattering to the floor. 

The vibrator, trapped against your clit by Gideon's body, hummed mercilessly, pushing you toward the edge again. Your breasts bounced with every thrust, nipples grazing the cold surface, sending sparks through you.

“Goddamn, Colonel—she's gripping us both so hard,” Gideon panted, his hands on your thighs to hold you steady, fingers bruising your skin. Sweat slicked their bodies, muscles flexing as they pounded into you, the wet sounds of flesh meeting flesh filling the office.

Caleb leaned over you, one hand reaching around to pinch your nipple sharply, twisting it until you arched. “You love this, don't you? Stuffed full, taking us like the perfect little slut.” His other hand joined Gideon's on your hip, their fingers interlacing as they drove harder, faster, chasing their peaks.

The pressure built unbearably, your core tightening around their invading shafts. Every slide of their cocks hit deep, the friction overwhelming, the vibe's buzz turning your clit into a live wire. You sobbed with pleasure, tears pricking your eyes as the coil snapped—your third orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. 

Your pussy and ass clamped down, pulsing wildly, and you squirted hard, clear fluid gushing out around Gideon's cock, soaking his abs and the desk beneath.

The sensation tipped them over. Gideon cursed, hips jerking erratically as he flooded your pussy with hot spurts of cum, filling you to overflowing. 

“Fuck! yes, take it all.” Caleb followed seconds later, burying himself to the hilt in your ass and unloading deep, his release pulsing against your walls, mixing with the mess already there. He ground against you, prolonging the waves, until they were both spent, cocks twitching inside your quivering body.

They stayed lodged in you for a moment, breathing ragged, bodies pressed close. Gideon killed the vibrator with the remote, the sudden silence amplifying your heavy pants. 

Caleb eased out first, a trickle of his cum leaking from your ass, followed by Gideon from your pussy, more of their mixed seed dripping down your thighs. You collapsed onto the desk, boneless, your body shuddering with aftershocks that refused to fade. 

The overstimulation hit like a freight train—your vision blurred, limbs heavy and unresponsive, the world tilting as darkness crept in at the edges. A faint whimper escaped your lips before everything went black, your consciousness slipping away under the weight of it all.

Gideon glanced at Caleb, wiping sweat from his brow. “Damn, too much for her, huh?”

Caleb nodded, his hand still gently stroking your back, concern flickering in his eyes as he checked your pulse. “Yeah, she pushed hard. Let her rest. She'll come around.” He then pushed out and started putting his clothes back on.

Gideon, now fully dressed, leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. “She's tough, but that was intense.”

Caleb grinned faintly, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a caress before he wiped away the stray smear of cum from your skin. “Atta’ girl, we trained you well.”

Gideon pushed off from the doorframe, a playful glint in his eye. "And now, Colonel, I believe it's your turn to clean up the mess we made." He winked toward your limp form before turning to leave. "Enjoy your evening, you two. Try not to make too much noise. Some of us have work to do."