#how does this creature exist.......crazy..

vicepresident!geto who doesn't date. Not because he's got a lack of options, but because he doesn't find himself attracted to any of them- a fact that he makes abundantly clear. Sure, he's had a few girlfriends here and there, maybe even a few one-nighters, but those are all casual. No feelings involved.

None that compare to the weird ba-dump! ba-dump! ba-dump! his heart does when you're nearby. A flaw that he chooses not to address to ensure that his relationship with you- if you could even call it that- remains the way it is.

Better for you to hate him than completely avoid him.

vicepresident!geto who, despite all of his annoying characteristics, you begin to miss on the days that he misses class to organize fraternity events.

So much so that you coincidentally attend one of said parties one night- not looking for him, of course, but it just so happened that the single time you decide to pursue fun outside of a textbook is also the night his fraternity hosts something for some obscure fundraiser.

And who were you if not a generous, giving person? It was for the sake of adding some money to the donation pile, obviously.

Definitely nothing else, right?

vicepresident!geto who you accidentally walk in on while he's hiding out in his second-floor dorm room. He's playing an acoustic guitar that's clearly seen better days, dressed in one of the fraternity "need help? ask me!" shirts and a pair of jeans, shoes abandoned by the door in favor of a pair of dark socks.

Immediately you turn back, trying to excuse yourself only to have him offer his space up anyways. Saying that he was just stealing a couple minutes of quiet despite the thrumming vibrations in the floor that were anything but peaceful.

vicepresident!geto who offers a more honest, softer smile than the usual trouble-maker grin he flashes in class when you ultimately shut the door behind you and stand in his room. Watches as you study the details that made his space his— the wide variety of interests spanning from music to various genres of literature, a couple Digimon figurines that looked severely out of place, a box of jewelry stashed on a dresser.

"You often run around parties looking in random rooms?" he asks after a moment. Grins when your head whips to look at him, already knowing where this was heading. "Kinda creepy, if you ask me." "Well, good thing no one was asking you," you retort. Continuing with the first lie that comes to mind. "I thought this was the bathroom, actually, if you really need to know." Not like he needed to know that a specific fraternity president tipped you off to his location. "Do you usually pee in beds?" "What? No-" He cuts you off. "I suppose everyone has to have a flaw— guess yours is bedwetting." "I don't wet the bed," you defend. Trying to turn the spotlight back on him instead of letting it linger on the narrative he was somehow spinning, "I should be asking why you're up here instead of down there supporting the fundraiser. Didn't realize you were a recluse." His eyes lift to yours. That familiar twinkle shines, foreboding his usual intent to rile you up. "Didn't realize I'd be missed." "Who missed you? I didn't miss you," your eyes avert. "I already said I was looking for the bathroom." "You passed like six of them to get here." Well, he kind of caught you there. "Oh." He sets the guitar aside, standing up. Takes two steps forward, just enough that you can smell the faint twinge of booze on his breath that matches yours, cut through with the slight minty freshness of his toothpaste. Up close like this, you can see the red tinge in the whites of his eyes. The way the amethyst of his irises has darkened in the low light to almost match the onyx of his pupils. "You can say that you missed me, you know," he murmurs. Voice dipping into a lower, smokier register. One that sent a thrill down your spine that you swear you didn't feel despite the tingle that lingered. "I won't mind." You swallow. Clinging to the last shred of your righteousness, "I would never miss you." "No?" he hums. "Never?" You double down. "Never." He leans forward. You lean forward. Matching each other without thinking, two sides of a mirror that always reflected one another. "Not even a little bit?" Your lips nearly brush his in the proximity. Echoing his words, you find yourself reaching for his shirt. "Not even a little bit."

vicepresident!geto who kisses you like no one has ever kissed you before. Tongues meeting with such ferocity that your teeth click against his, spit smearing across your lips and onto his thumbs as he cups your face. Parting just long enough to audibly gulp air into your lungs before diving right back into it again.

He walks you backwards towards his bed, one hand leaving your jaw to slip to the back of your thigh and guide you down like you were made of glass. Despite every ferocious instinct to burn through the fire you two created until ash remained, he takes his time.

vicepresident!geto who lets you crash in his dorm afterwards. He leaves after a while to check on the party, just long enough for you to gather your clothes and get dressed, slipping out the building through the side exit, returning to your own dorm across campus.

vicepresident!geto who doesn't chase after you, even though he watches you leave. He understands faintly that you need space, time to register what happened and decide how to feel about it.

Like he hadn't imagined doing exactly that for the past four years.

vicepresident!geto who acts like nothing happened the next day during class. Steals your pencil, pushes his knee into your space. Doesn't address anything, doesn't treat you any differently.

vicepresident!geto who, when you confront him after the last lecture of the day, doesn't bother with words. He pulls you into the closest empty space and kisses you until any thought of yelling at him fizzles away.

vicepresident!geto who lets you treat him like a glorified punching bag because he loves seeing the way your cheeks flush when he pisses you off, and loves it even more that he can kiss you and it'll dispel your anger.

vicepresident!geto who will let you pretend to hate him, study harder than he ever has before just to piss you off with every perfect grade that matches yours, all for the sake of keeping you close.

If only he could work up the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend.

virgin!obito who’s so touch-starved he’s overwhelmed by how much he craves physical touch when you first get together. he’s an adult now, but his traitorous body is like that of a teenager's. you hug him? he’s hard. you’re cuddling? he’s hard. it’s not even intentional; it’s like his body’s instinctive reaction after being deprived of it for so long. he does his best to hide it from you at first, embarrassed as he is. when you hug him, he hugs you back, angling you away from the growing tent in his pants. you’re cuddling—there’s suddenly a pillow between you. for your comfort, he says, all while hiding his throbbing erection.

virgin!obito who is also unprepared for just how sinful his dreams get. he’s used to nightmares of course, so he’s never slept well, but now his dreams are a series debauched fantasies. you panting his name, your breasts bouncing, the cute little pooch in your stomach as you’re on your back, him thrusting into you. more often than not after one of these dreams, he wakes up with his sheets tangled, his undergarments soaked with his seed.

virgin!obito who’s so so sensitive. grunting and rutting against you as you’re making out, clothes on. grip iron-clad on your hips as you rock against him, huffing out a “w-wait!” before throwing his head back and cursing as he comes in his pants.

virgin!obito who has no idea how intimidating the sheer size of him is until you tug his pants off and your jaw drops. he gets self-conscious, wondering if the boulder accident mangled something down there as well, until you say, “…i don’t even know if that’ll fit, ‘bito, what the fuck—”

virgin!obito who, when you do it for the first time and he’s fully buried inside you, has to hold himself still, eyes clenched shut, because holy fuck. his life has been marked by pain and suffering, so much so that he’s used to it—but this? feels heavenly. mind-numbing pleasure that shoots straight up his spine, his balls tight against your ass as pressure builds at the base of his cock. you clench around him once to reassure him that it’s okay to move and—oh fuck, he’s cumming.

virgin!obito who's so so so embarrassed that he came so fast. bottomed out inside you and he was gone. literally hides his face in your neck, won't even respond, just mumbling apologies until you laugh and tell him it was flattering and super sexy and—kami, he's getting hard again.

virgin!obito who finds out that while he's too sensitive and comes too fast, his refractory period is practically non-existent (something something about hashirama's cells and regeneration). he’s not sure. all he knows is that he’s not finished until you come at least twice.

nolongeravirgin!obito who humps pillows when you're gone. so so embarrassing and depraved, but he misses you. and they smell like you, and they're soft, like you, and, and—you wonder why your pillows are always freshly washed every time you get home.

nolongeravirgin!obito who you've opened up to a world of kink. he finds some his favorite to indulge in are: spanking, mutual masturbation (his eyes half-lidded as he watches you touch yourself, stroking his cock and telling you how fucking hard he is, already leaking pre-come, how he can't wait to come inside you, how you drive him crazy—maybe he's a little into dirty talk too; he just gets caught up in the moment and his freaky little fantasies run wild), boob jobs, sloppy makeouts with lots of petting and grinding.

nolongeravirgin!obito who has no experience eating you out, but he's hellbent on making you come. he's not skilled so much as he is intense about it, burying his face in your pussy, shoving his tongue inside you, nuzzling his nose into your folds. he nearly suffocates himself between your thighs. his sharingan capturing your blissful face on mid-orgasm so he can replay it over and over again later on, when it’s just him and his hand.

nolongeravirgin!obito who, when you’re giving him head, is caught between gripping your hair tight, slowly rocking his hips into your mouth, and using you versus being gentle with you, telling you how much he wants you and how good you’re being for him. eventually though the first urge wins out—he’s cursing and groaning your name loud as he unloads in your mouth.

nolongeravirgin!obito who, you can’t exactly call a sex fiend, but you’ve definitely awoken something in him. he can go several times a day, but for your sake, he keeps it to once a day. and he’s always so intense about it; he doesn’t do anything lightly. pounding into you, his mouth on your breast as he mutters how he’s going to fill you up, how you’re going to repopulate his clan. how pretty and cute you’d look swollen with his child. how he’s this hard only for you. how no one else gets him like this.

nolongeravirgin!obito who loves how soft you are, your curves. he’ll zone out in the shower, imagine your body beneath his—stomach pooch, plush thighs, and soft breasts—and his mouth goes dry. the blood pooling to his dick so fast he gets light-headed. has ethical dilemmas when he sees you wearing a loose shirt (on one hand, you’re so cute, the shirt swallowing you up—you look like you need his protection. on the other hand, he’s practically memorized your curves underneath, and his eyes glaze over as heat rolls through him).

You backslid. Protein bars took the place of meals, and that's if you remembered to eat at all. More often than not you’d pull all-nighters for days on end, throwing yourself into a certain type of mania that had those around you approaching with cautious concern. Even showering seemed like a monumental task. Once sought-after independence turned to vacuous loneliness in such a sudden shift that you felt as though you'd never recover.

And then Caleb came back.

Now you exist in this fragile in-between space. How do you reconcile with having a Caleb that both is and isn’t yours to rely on? Your time together is always so fleeting. Too many weeks spent apart when he’s lost to the endless expanse of Deepspace, barely made up for with brief weekends in Skyhaven once he returns. That’s not even considering your own responsibilities, the ones that have grown in all that time you spent alone; at first as a way to fill the hole your brother left behind and that now serve as just one more rift between you and him.

Even so, with everything that keeps you apart, the two of you always bound back together. After all that happened when you were first reunited, you thought it impossible to be like this with him again—inseparable even when you’re separated. But you know now, better than you ever have, that you could never truly live without him. That after all this time, you need him to take care of you, just as he always has. That big-brother-looking-out kind of care.

He texts you every day, three times a day, to make sure you’ve eaten. You feign annoyance most of the time, sending a cheeky little dismissal of how overbearing he is. Then, you make food. When you’re finally together, it’s much of the same. He nags, you huff, he teases, you tease back, and then finally, you give in; refusing to admit that he was right all along. Because you need him like that.

In a way, sex between the two of you works much the same. It’s just another need of yours that Caleb fulfills. You think he sees it like that, at least.

That’s why neither of you really talk about it, because it’s just not that important. When you’re cuddling in bed and his thick, roaming fingers find their way inside of you—that’s because he knows, without asking, that you’re starved for touch. Caleb simply satisfies you in the same way he does when he makes you breakfast the morning after. You’re empty, so he fills you.

It’s driving you crazy.

How can it be, that even when you’re having sex, your relationship remains trapped in these same, long-established confines? It’s just not fair. These feelings claw at you through steel bars, a voracious yearning that roars within an enclosure of your own making. You want to be with him in every way that two earthly creatures can be with each other. Brother and sister, parent and child, pet and owner. Twin flames, best friends, lovers.

Every time Caleb looks at you, every time you feel him inside of you, this dam is fit to burst—the one that wants to scream for him to see everything you see in him. That you aren’t just a little sister that needs his doting, that you’re also a woman and he’s also a man and you want for him as badly as you could want for anything at all. Just as you hunger, as you thirst, as your lungs ache for air and your heart wants to beat. It’s your one need that he just won’t fulfill, keeping you stuck in this arm’s length hold that you wish would hurry up and crush you already.

But just as he doesn’t say anything, you don’t either. Instead, like you have all your life, you simply let him take care of you.

Today is like any other. One of those weekends, so few and far between, when he has reprieve from the fleet and you have time off from fighting wanderers. You want nothing more than to spend every second you can with him—arriving in Skyhaven by sunrise, bear-hugged the moment you step off the train. Then, like always, you hand over the reigns.

He has everything planned out. Breakfast at the little cafe with the perfect french toast. A bike ride through the city. Lunch from the street vendor that knows the two of you by name. The whole afternoon left to spend at the retro arcade. Dinner somewhere more upscale, the kind of place boyfriends take girlfriends but of course, Caleb takes his little sister. Then finally, back to his place for a movie and cuddles on the couch.

The sun beats down, unrelenting in its desire to scorch everything it touches. Caleb's fingers are calloused, a familiar roughness that still manages to feel gentle against your skin as he applies sunscreen to your face.

"There's no way it's been two hours yet," you groan, eyes and nose wrinkling as he massages a thick lather into your skin.

"Your sense of time needs some work, little bird. I set an alarm. Two hours, on the dot," Caleb laughs, patting your face all over and then squeezing your cheeks between his fingers. In revenge, you kick him in the shin a little harder than you should.

"Then just tell me when and I'll do it myself," you huff.

Large fingers flick your forehead. "Pfft. No way. Your nose will burn for sure. You never work it in enough."

"Liar. I think you just like embarrassing me." No doubt people have been sparing you those little judgemental glances as they pass by. Here you are, a grown adult, getting your face sunscreened by your older brother in the middle of the street. Either that, or maybe they just assume you're a couple. You two always get mistaken for one when you're together like this. Most of the time you correct the mistake—no way, he's my brother—but then sometimes you don't, waiting to see if Caleb says anything instead. But he doesn't agree, nor does he correct. Rarely does he acknowledge the assumption at all. It's almost as though he prefers to live in that ambiguity, ignorant to the fact that he's leaving you to drown in it. A little twinge of melancholy curls inside of you before you swallow it back down.

"Me? Embarrass you? Never," Caleb jests, drawing out each word in feigned scandal. Then, always an ever-walking contradiction, he pulls out a water bottle from his backpack and tips it to your lips. "Drink."

You purse your mouth closed, and turn your head to the side, arms crossed over your chest. "I'm not thirsty."

"In this heat? We're sweatin' up a storm here." Caleb takes a swig from the bottle himself, and you shift your gaze sideways just to watch a stray drop dribble down his chin, down his neck, intermingling with the wet sheen already coating his skin. He really doesn't know you that well at all, does he? Forget the water, you'd hydrate yourself on his sweat alone if he gave you the chance.

"But I don't feel like I need it." It's easier this way, to be annoyed with his nagging instead of everything else.

"Eight glasses a day, pipsqueak."

You roll your eyes. "Ugh, but I hate doing that. It makes me have to pee constantly. It's so annoying."

An arm slinks around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Then that same hand slides up, over your sweat-soaked back, fingers skimming the bare of your neck, drawing your attention back to his face and bringing you closer and closer until, with little fanfare, he comes to rest that hand on the top of your head. It's that thing he always does. An intimate touch that sends a shiver through you, that leaves you leaning in, ready for more, just for it turn into something painfully innocent, stripped of any semblance of risque. Now, there's a plausible deniability. "Maybe that's just your body doing exactly what it should be doing. Ever thought of that?"

"Well I don't like it."

Caleb sighs, then presses the opening of the bottle to your mouth again, insistent, water welling up against your lips. "Such a little brat. Now drink. Do as your brother says."

As if he's just said a secret codeword, you oblige at last, opening your mouth and drinking down exactly what he offers you. As you curl your lips around the opening, you watch his eyes narrow, unblinking until the moment you swallow the very last drop.

It feels so good to finally return to the cool of Caleb's apartment, to strip yourself of your nearly dampened, sticky clothes and slip into one of his shirts. It sits baggy and long enough that you don't bother putting on any pants, eager to free yourself of as many layers as possible after sweating all day outside. You think for a second that maybe you should toss your dirty clothes into the laundry hamper, but you're tired, lazy, and know that Caleb will happily pick them up off the floor when he goes to wash them tomorrow. So you leave his room in a state of disarray, and curl up next to him for a movie.

You insist on one of your favorites. An old, classic film about a fashionable teenager who plays matchmaker with her teachers and gives a Cinderella makeover to the new girl at school. The kind of movie that's easy to put on as you mindlessly inhale popcorn, finishing the bowl and your eighth glass of water of the day before you're even halfway through.

Caleb's body is warm at your side, strong arm pulling you in tight as you rest your head against his chest. His heartbeat a rhythmic thump against your ear, steady, in sync with your own. He's seen this movie too many times to count when you were growing up, and still, he indulges you with yet another rewatch. The his fingertips scrunch the end of your shirt, just enough so that you feel his knuckles graze the meat of your thigh. You shift in your seat—little, slight adjustments to make it seem an unconscious effort to force his fingers closer to the inside of your legs. All in hopes to goad him, ever so subtly, into doing something more.

It's the game the two of you always play. Where words won't suffice, this push-and-pull takes its place. How far can you go in the realm of the incidental before one of you finally snaps?

To your dismay, Caleb holds firm, eyes locked to the screen ahead. None of your subtle seduction seems to get through that thick skull of his. Or maybe, he doesn't want you like that anymore. Are you just embarrassing yourself, then? Expecting intimacy when it's been rescinded before you've even really had it? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Watching the movie and seeing the main character bicker with her stepbrother only serves to sour your mood further. You know what happens next—that soon enough, she gets her happy ending. And you? What do you get? An eternal situationship with the person you love most? You don't want to be his girlfriend only when the lights are off. You want to be everything to him, all of the time.

Tears well in your eyes, and you quickly brush them away with the back of your hand and pray he doesn't see you getting so worked up over nothing. Better yet, that last glass of water is finally getting to you, so you have an excuse to breathe it out in his washroom.

You wrestle out of his hold and stand from the couch, but a hand snatches your arm before you step away.

"Where are you going?" Caleb asks, voice low, almost stern.

If you turn to look at him, you'll cry for sure. So you answer to the floor instead. "I need to go to the bathroom."

"But the movie's almost over. C'mon, you don't want to miss it." His grip tightens.

Even though he can't see, you roll your eyes. "I've watched it a million times, it's fine. If you're so worried then you can just pause it."

There's the sound of a short huff just before he's tugging you back down to the couch. Except now, he's pulled you to sit on his lap, your back to his chest and his arms coiled tight around your torso, legs swung over his own. Caleb's cheek nuzzles into you, his breath hot and ticklish against your ear. "I want to finish it with you."

You can't help but squirm in his hold, with that slightest pressure on your bladder. "Caleb, I need to pee."

"You can hold it." His voice sinks into that deep, commanding tenor. The one that makes you shiver, both fear and excitement twirling around inside of you until they become just one, unknowable feeling. Hopefully he can see you nod your head, words suddenly caught in your throat.

The main character has a falling out with her friend when it's revealed that they have a crush on her stepbrother. You watch the two characters fight, trying your best to pay attention, but it gets harder with each passing second. At first, the urge to pee was a dull sensation. Easy to ignore, to let yourself sink into Caleb's arms and do just as he says. But the feeling builds, little sparks lighting up your core in waves.

Almost unconsciously, you wriggle, thighs squeezing together. If you can just lean a certain way, alleviate a bit of the pressure on your stomach, it'll be easier to bear.

As if he can read your very thoughts, Caleb's hand drifts lower. His palm flattens against you, and ever so slightly, he presses.

Instantly, a wave of white-hot fire scorches your insides. You gasp, squirm, and go to peel Caleb's hand away from you. But it's impossible, his touch unmoving even as you try to wedge your fingers under his own. If anything, it causes him to push once again against your bladder, like some sort of punishment. "Caleb."

"Hm?" he hums, feigning ignorance. You know he knows exactly what he's doing, that big bully.

"I need to go," you whine.

Caleb laughs, then presses a light kiss just behind your ear. "That's too bad. The movie's not over yet. You're just gonna have to wait."

It's impossible to pay attention to the screen now, your full focus on your near-brimming bladder, on the way you clench your core to stave off the impending doom that Caleb is ever so eager to hurry along. Even with your thighs squeezed as tightly as you can, somehow, he still manages to slink his other hand between them, forcing your legs apart until one hangs over either side of him. Just like that, you lose one point of resistance, and the fullness inside of you sends another thrum of sensation through your body that has your toes curling.

"Caleb, I can't, please, stop— let me go," you beg, almost panting.

Your brother's cock twitches underneath you, fingers drifting across your thigh, under your shirt, cupping your cunt over the fabric of your panties. It's then, as he presses a finger through your folds, that you realize just how wet you are.

"Stop? When you like it this much? You tell me one thing, but she says another. Which one of you am I supposed to believe?" He pulls your panties to the side, exposing your cunt to the open air before he returns to drag his fingers through the slick mess of your entrance once again. When he brushes against your clit, you involuntarily cant your hips up into the pleasure of it—a dangerous move that forces his hand hard against your bladder.

"You're being mean," you gasp, feeling his cock twitch against your hips.

"Says the one who was mad at me all day," he says just as he bites your earlobe.

So you were obvious after all. "That was— I wasn't—"

Caleb scoffs, and holds you tighter. "Don't try and lie, little bird. Are you going to tell me what I did this time?"

"It's n-nothing." You shudder with the pressure, with the embarrassment, squeezing your eyes closed.

"So you were just being a brat for no good reason then? And I'm the mean one?" It's then that his fingers circle your entrance, giving you just enough warning before two plunge inside of you.

The feel of Caleb's fingers curling against your walls with your bladder full to burst is indescribable. Two distinct forces, one inside and one out, meet in the middle to wedge against your nerves in such a way that you can't tell if you're going to piss all over yourself or come harder than you ever have. Too soon, the delineation between those feelings seems to disappear entirely, terrifying you. The sensation so good that it's unbearable, yet not enough. You can't stop yourself from writhing even as it forces that delicious, horrible pressure against you even more.

"Caleb," you moan, frantic. "Caleb, it hurts, I'm going to—"

"You have to hold it, baby. Can you do that? Just a little longer?" His touch against your stomach turns from a firm hold, to a soothing rub, as if in a mimicry of gentleness. But he must know that this is worse, the massaging against your core, the steady press and release that has tears welling in your eyes again. One spills out, over your cheek, and you feel his head hook over your shoulder to lick at it, his hard cock grinding into your ass.

It's all too much, and you don't think you'll be able to hold it any longer, can feel the oncoming crescendo of either coming or pissing and you don't know which one it is, only that you're so, so close to some kind of release, that any second now you're going to—

Caleb halts his movements entirely, easing his hold on your core, fingers drawing out from your cunt and leaving you both so full and so empty and right on the edge of whatever finality you expected. For some reason, it makes you cry even harder.

But then you're lifted, if only slightly, off of Caleb's thighs. You hear the pull of his zipper, feel his pants drag down his hips just enough to free his cock. His lips latch onto your neck, sending the vibration of his moan through you as his length slides against your folds, rutting through the mess of fluids that have leaked out of you.

With one hand, he hoists you up, positioning himself at your entrance.

Usually, you're prepped far more than this before you take him, two fingers never enough to open you up for his girth. And now, with the added fullness of your bladder, you fear there's no room for him at all. Already the stretch is overwhelming as he begins to enter, the tip barely breaching you before you cry out. "Caleb, I can't, you're too big, I—"

"Shh, you can handle it. Be a good sister and take what your brother gives you," he growls. His hand comes to cover your mouth, and you bite hard into the soft flesh of his palm as his cock pierces inside of you, your body sinking down, stretched to your limits, until he's fully seated within your cunt.

God, it's so much, it's too much, the feeling of being wholly filled by Caleb's thick cock as it ruts against your bladder from the inside. Any pain is soon dulled completely, your entire body tingling into numbness from your gut through to the very tips of your fingers; every part of you alight with raw, carnal pleasure. You need to pee. You need to come. You need Caleb to fuck you until you can no longer think about which one you want more.

His hand unlatches from your mouth, returning to your stomach, and even without any pressure, you writhe. "Who would have thought my sweet little sister was so dirty? Getting so wet like this all because you want to piss on my cock. You like it, right? Say it."

"I—" It takes you a second to string the words together in your mind, your brain swimming in fog. "I like it. I like it s-so much."

"Good girl," he praises, then both hands move to grip your hips. "Now, tell me why you're mad."

"Caleb," you whine. No, no, you don't want to talk about any of that. You almost forgot about those silly little feelings, wound so tight in the pleasure of his cock inside of you to care about your own melancholy. Why does he have to bring it up now? Can't he forget about it, too? "It's fine, I'm not—"

"Nuh-uh. I'm not moving until you tell me."

"I'm sorry." You don't know what to say, would rather skirt the subject forever than confess now, in this moment.

"I don't want to hear you apologize. Tell me the truth." His grip tightens, bruising.

"I— I just—" It takes everything in you to force the words out. "I don't know what I am to you."

Caleb pauses. Oh God, there you've gone and done it. Ruined everything between you two all because you wanted something more. Should have kept your mouth shut and stayed content with just your brother-fuckbuddy. You've managed this far, surely you would have been just fine in your infinite limbo. Stupid. Idiot. And to make it worse, you still feel like you're going to pee. Your hands clench at your sides, and you go to hoist yourself off of his cock before his arms wrap around your shoulders and pull you tightly into his chest.

"Everything. You're everything to me. My whole world," he says so seriously you should have no choice to believe him.

And yet, doubt claws at you regardless. "In a sister way? Or a girlfriend way?"

"Why do I have to choose? I love you as my sister, I love you as my girlfriend, I love you in every way you'll have me." A hand draws down to your front, fingers tracing lightly right where his cock meets your entrance, and you shiver. "If it were possible, I would sew our bodies together just like this, so we could be one conjoined being with no labels at all. I'd be my happiest if I could live inside of you forever, if we could share the same lungs and the same heart. I want all of you. I want to be all of you. Do you get it now?"

All you can do is nod, because you're crying so much that you're suddenly glad you drank all that water today or else you think you would shrivel up completely. You want that too, to share everything with him. Your organs, your soul, all of it. That's how it feels when he takes care of you, when he fucks you. Like you're just an extension of himself. That he's an extension of you. If only you really were, and you could simply think these thoughts and have him know exactly what you always want to say.

But your body gives you such little grace for your emotions, and you feel yourself clench on Caleb's cock once again, because any second now you know you're going to burst. Even without his insistence, you're moments away from losing what little hold you have.

"Caleb, I need to—"

"I know, little bird. I always know what you need," he assures, before he finally fucks into you.

The pleasure is immediate, that sickening jolt as he thrusts against your bladder from the inside. All sensation blurs together, and you feel for a moment like you really are just one being—like he has total control over your body as he fills you, as he fucks you, as he presses down on your stomach with one hand and rubs at your clit with the other, your most sensitive spots assaulted from every possible angle.

You try to hold it, you try so hard because it's just so gross and you know you shouldn't, know you should be good and wait until he finishes so you can go to the bathroom but you're so close and you can't tell if that means you're about to come or piss because it feels like both at once and you want it to be both. You want to give in.

"Be a good girl and let go. Your big brother's got you," he rasps, commands, and so you do.

Release hits you so forcefully it threatens to rip you from your very consciousness. A coiled hose is suddenly unwound, the finger on your clit like a thumb over the opening, forcing a wild spray that coats everything around you. It hurts almost as much as it pleases. You always wondered if rapture was a violent act, and now you're certain; feeling yourself torn apart by your very atoms as you're transported to heaven, or at least somewhere close to it.

Caleb fucks you through it, every pass of his cock inside of you only serves to extend your orgasm, as if squeezing out every bit of you that he can. Then, just as you're finally empty, like a good brother he fills you once again—his hot come coating your insides as he whimpers with his own climax.

You release a long-held breath, and relax against his chest, your entire body limp with all the energy that's been wrung out of you. You smile as you wiggle on his cock, comfortable here, in your blissful, conjoined state.

Caleb takes your face in his hand and angles you up towards him, and finally, after so long, he kisses you. Now, you're complete.

After a moment, you find the lucidity to take in the full scope of the aftermath. Oh, God. You feel it soaked into your clothes—his shirt on your body, his pants on his. It must be in the couch too. Droplets coat the TV, and you squeal.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I made such a mess I—"

"Don't be." Caleb nuzzles his face against yours, his arms holding you tight. "Now everything I own is covered in you. I couldn't be happier."

"Ew, that's disgusting. Please tell me you're going to replace the couch," you groan, scrunching your face to avoid the sudden onslaught of kisses to your face.

"Maybe…" he says all sing-song, just so you know that he definitely will not.

"Caleb!" you shriek, pinching his cheek while he giggles. You squirm to get away, wriggling in his hold, and feel his cock twitch inside of you as you try to escape. Soon enough, you're fucking again.

After, he carries you to the bath, washing you intently of all bodily fluids, admiring the marks he's left on your skin and making more when he deems it not enough. He washes your hair, he dries you off, he dresses you, carries you to bed, and holds you close as you drift off to sleep.

Commander Spoon and Engineer 4 ("Garpu" which means Fork in Indonesian; also They/Them) are essentially Spork's parents since he is a result of their DNAs combined + Spoon's PAK "reprogrammed" for Spork. Commander Spoon deviated from the Irken Empire after killing Tallest Cyanide when it was discovered he sent a hit on Garpu, leading to Garpu's horns being sawed off. Enraged, Spoon wiped out half of Tallest Cyanide's soldiers and commanders and then him...

Both Garpu and Spoon ran away before dying fighting a strange weapon that Garpu discovered- Spoon's body was destroyed but her PAK was intact, immediately latching onto Garpu who was dying. The PAK actually kept them alive even more than 10 minutes, most likely Spoon's love for Garpu was so ingrained into her that it followed to heer PAK's systems to try its best to keep Garpu alive.

When Garpu's body was retrieved, their father (lead Scientist of the private Science team + Rarl Kove) wanted to preserve both Garpu and Spoon so he (with Rarl Kove's support) started an experiment- creating a hybrid. Spork looks a lot like Garpu, and he also inherited a lot of Spoon's physical strengths (even though Spoon was still much stronger than him).

TALLEST KAT was more of a businesswoman and maintained positive intergalactic relations through her natural charisma and sharp tongue. When Rarl Kove was working with her, the two had good back-and-forth banter since they worked well with a fixed schedule (and Kat says;

"Rarl, you are possibly the only competent Irken I've ever worked with. You don't see competence around here nowadays unless it starts with an "in-"... You're a lifesaver to me and my ever-growing headache, Rarl...")

TALLEST PEACH was a hyper individual and was titled "QUEEN OF SNACKS" because not only does she love to host parties (on Irk and/or Intergalactic events) but she was a master in developing new snack flavors and also does grand gestures to people "she adores" (a bit of a people pleaser). Rarl Kove admits she's a bit immature here and there but she has her moments since she is a genius in snack making... plus, her events seem to strengthen the existing intergalactic relations that KAT had established. Tallest Peach did take in a servant drone named "Cyanide" and she kinda saw him as a son- showered him with gifts and everything, but it was mostly Rarl Kove who became his teacher since Tallest Peach was always away from Irk.

"Kovey, baby! The party's going crazy over here- even the Planet Jackers stopped mid-planet jacking to join in! Say, how's my little Cyan doing? Did he like the new batch of gifts I sent?! Sorry if I'm yelling!! The music is getting louder, haha!!"

Tallest Peach was assassinated via poison in both her physical body and her PAK. She died publicly mid-party when she felt herself losing grip with reality. Rarl Kove would learn too late that Cyanide was responsible for it right after Cyanide was chosen to be the next Tallest.

TALLEST CYANIDE truly was despicable after what he did to Tallest Peach. He planned for galactic conquest and undid many intergalactic relations that his predecessors had established- he had a loyal army too. Rarl Kove hated everything about him and it got worse when Tallest Cyanide figured out that Rarl Kove and the Control Brains were keeping secrets from him- a Tallest.

"...Rarl Kove. You know I like to read old records, yes? This empire has survived for so long that I couldn't help but indulge a little in our past. Did you know we had a writing system with ink and the teeth of some extinct creature as our pen? It piqued my curiosity that I spent hours and hours trying to find any physical record that wasn't some sort of digitized transcript... well, thanks to my special privileges as Tallest, I got my hands on a handful of them.

I noticed each Irken has such a unique handwriting- our lettering system was more dynamic, and you notice the little quirks in how they write. Truly marvelous what history teaches you... I remember when you, with that excited look on your face, handed me a transcript you had on your person regarding your experiences as an advisor. handwritten.

...you looked so proud when I understood the material. Like you'd burst into tears. But... I noticed. I noticed your writing. How you end sentences, how you format your paragraphs, as if you were having a direct conversation with the subject. The two dots at every final page you put at the bottom corner of a page once you're ready to move on.

It was exactly like the old records. Before this, before Tallest Peach, before the entire construction of this Irken Empire. You were there. You wrote those records because you were present during those times, and yet, why do Irkens not question seeing your mug for so long?

You and the Brains are keeping something from me. I am the rightful ruler of this Empire, and I do not tolerate secrets kept by inferiors. So answer me this, Ancient One, how old are you truly?"

Rarl Kove's physical body died 8 times under Tallest Cyanide's reign. It wasn't until Commander Spoon killed his physical body that Rarl Kove personally destroyed Tallest Cyanide's PAK, ending him. The Brains did not punish Rarl Kove- it was never clear if they knew, but one thing's for sure, the Brains were "partially" Inspired by Tallest Cyanide's plan of galactic conquest.

“...I keep telling you, it’s weird,” a girl mumbles, scratching her neck impatiently. “I can’t get rid of it. There’s this chill that follows me around no matter where I go, and my shoulders feel weirdly heavy lately. I even went to a chiropractor to see if it would help. I feel so gross these days.” 

The fly-like creature is hovering closely above the girl, a disturbing smile plastered across its already unattractive face. It’s literally right next to her, and not only her, but the other girls that are gathered around. They’re all just talking like nothing’s even going on. Completely blind to the abnormal presence that lurks nearby. 

You’re the only one who can see that yucky-looking thing. How does that make any sense? How is it even possible for something like that to exist in real life? 

Actually… where are you right now? 

Once again, you blink. Something utterly strange is happening. The last thing you remember is going to bed, in your perfectly ordinary bedroom, so how in the world did you wake up in the middle of what appears to be a field? 

You’re at a school, by the looks of things. But certainly not the school you’re used to attending. It seems like you’re even wearing some unfamiliar uniform, and it would make sense for this to be a dream, but by all accounts, it’s way too realistic. 

Pinching your cheek doesn’t help. The scenery refuses to change, and sure enough, the creature is still hanging above that girl. It even lets out a shrill, high-pitched laugh (which she of course doesn’t hear), almost as if it’s taunting her.

You’re not sure what you should be doing right now. This is all one hell of a mindfuck, if you’re being honest. But that creature can’t be good news, and even though you’re admittedly pretty scared, it seems like you’re the only one who can see it. You’re the only one who even realizes it’s here. 

Swallowing your apprehension, you take a deep breath and approach. 

“Excuse me…?”

You call out to the group of girls. There’s no easy way to break this to them. How do you bring up the fact that there’s some weird creature in the vicinity? If they can’t see it, there’s no reason they’ll even believe you. They’ll probably just think you’re crazy or something. 

As it so happens, though, you aren’t required to recount some absurd, seemingly nonsensical tale. 

You’ve barely taken two steps forward when all of a sudden, the creature sharply turns its head in your direction. 

And then it screams. 

Just like its laugh, the sound is high-pitched and wholly unpleasant. You’re not even sure what prompted that kind of reaction, since it seemed pretty chill up until this point, but now, it’s trembling like a leaf in the wind. 

You’re worried that you might have triggered it somehow, and that it’s going to attack you, but that doesn’t happen either. It turns out that the scream it just let out wasn’t one of aggression, but rather, fear. 

So, it flies off before you can get any closer, and the girl who was complaining until just a few moments ago suddenly blinks, expression brightening.

“Whoa, wait,” she mumbles in disbelief. “It’s… it’s gone. I think I feel better now. No way. It’s actually gone! I thought it would never end!”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just all in your head?” one of the other girls frowns, visibly unconvinced. She then turns towards you. “Oh. Sorry, were you talking to us just now? I didn’t really hear what you said.” 

“Uh.” 

You’re not sure what to say. The whole reason you came over was so you could warn them about that weird creature, but it disappeared in the blink of an eye. It screamed right as it saw your face—which is kind of offensive, honestly—and then it flew off like no one’s business. 

A bit hesitant, you try asking, “Sorry if this sounds weird, but where are we right now?” 

Now it’s their turn to look dumbfounded. You can only imagine how visceral their reaction would have been if you’d actually brought up the weird fly creature. 

“What do you mean where are we? We’re… at school, where else?” 

The girl gestures all around her, as if it should be obvious. Granted, you deduced as much, but that wasn’t really what you were asking. All of this is just so ridiculous. How in the world does a person manage to go to sleep in their own room and wake up someplace they’ve never been before?

The group decides to walk away, probably because you weirded them out with your stupid question, and you can even hear them whispering amongst themselves. 

“Why’d she even ask that all of a sudden…?” 

“I don’t know. She transferred here just recently, right? Maybe she’s still getting used to things. It was kind of weird, though.” 

They keep talking about it as they leave, probably not realizing you can still hear them. Whatever. You’ve got bigger fish to fry right now. As things stand, you woke up god-knows-where, and you just saw some freakish creature a second ago, so you’re starting to worry that you might be going insane. 

The only explanation is that this has to be some kind of dream. A lucid dream, perhaps? That’s what they call these kinds of things, right?

This is way too freaky, though. Can I make myself wake up? I really don’t like this. It gives me the creeps. 

You desperately try to force yourself awake, but regretfully, it doesn’t work. And you’re not even given much time to speculate on the issue any further. 

A soccer ball comes flying at you and hits you right in the face.

It hurts. It hurts like fucking hell. In fact, it hurts so much that you’re knocked flat onto your back, groaning as you cradle your poor nose, which feels like it’s just been split open. 

“...holy shit, are you okay?!” 

You can hear a student running towards you, but since you’re lying on your back convinced you’re about to die, you don’t pay it much mind. The immense amount of pain you’re feeling is absurd. Even for a lucid dream, isn’t this too much?

However, things are only about to get weirder. 

Like way, way weirder. 

“I’m so sorry!” the same student apologizes. It’s a boy, by the sounds of it, and you hear him drop to his knees beside you. “I swear I wasn’t even trying to kick the ball that hard! I barely even used any force!”

From afar, another student chimes in. “Even when you hold back, you’re way too strong, Itadori! Is she dead? You killed her, didn’t you?”

Did he just say… Itadori? 

For just a moment, the pain subsides, and clarity overtakes your features. You manage to squint your eyes open and find a boy staring down at you. A boy with bright brown eyes, and spiky pink hair styled in an undercut. 

A boy that you’ve most definitely seen before. 

Your jaw drops open. There’s just no way. This is… Itadori Yuji? The protagonist of Jujutsu Kaisen? A fictional series, which, by definition, means he doesn’t actually exist? 

Yet here he is, fussing over you and looking immeasurably guilty for having just kicked a soccer ball in your face. And even though you keep trying to tell yourself that this is a dream, it’s getting harder and harder to deny. The sensations you feel—the pain, the confusion, and the excited fluttering in your chest—are impossible to ignore.

It all makes sense now. That weird creature you saw earlier was a cursed spirit. That explains why those girls didn’t even notice it. Ordinary humans normally can’t perceive curses. Most of the time, they’re completely unaware of their existence.

You realize how utterly absurd this is. People don’t just wake up and find themselves sucked into their favorite anime. No matter how badly some fans might wish for it, this kind of thing just doesn’t happen.

Or at least, it’s not supposed to.

“Wait, your—your nose is bleeding!” Itadori exclaims. “I need to get you to the infirmary! Can you walk? Or should I carry you?” 

He appears frantic, which of course he is, since he’s a good guy. He’s the kind of guy who always cares about others. A guy with a big heart, a friendly demeanor, and a penchant for justice. Truly, the perfect protagonist. 

…so, is this seriously happening right now?

“I-I’m fine,” you try to insist. “I just… need a moment. And then I’ll be okay.” 

Itadori seems entirely unconvinced, so you suspect your nose is probably bleeding even more than you fear. Right now, you honestly couldn’t care less, though. Your heart is pounding relentlessly. The excitement and awe you feel can’t even be put into words.

“I’ll take you to the infirmary,” Itadori says again. He resists the urge to outright pick you up into his arms, and after a moment’s pause, he offers you his hand instead. “Here. Try standing up. If not, I’ll carry you there, okay?” 

It’s difficult just to form a response. You’re overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of his presence. The fact that you’re face to face with someone you never thought you’d be able to see in person, let alone speak to. 

But even if it seems hard to believe, even if it makes you want to question your sanity, this is real. This is actually happening. 

And so, you take his hand—changing the course of your life as you know it. 

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