keotograph

[keotograph]

SUPPORT DEPARMENT!READER x KATSUKI BAKUGOU ༄ cw for the story: angst, situationship, enemies to lovers, enemies with benefits, bakugo is a bitch and needs a hug, so does reader, fluff, eventual smut, suggestive, cussing. A/N: this chapter is mainly exposition, sorry! i will get into their dynamic in the next part <3 enjoy!

just like everyone else, you grew up fantasizing to be a hero one day. you watched all might all day and night on tv, admired local heroes in front of you, even joined a couple forums online that were all about heroes.

you dreamed of being one, of going to UA, working alongside teens across the country that have the same goals and aspirations as you was intoxicating to think about.

soon enough, your quirk developed, you had your dads quirk, you could take away heat from the air around you and channel it into the tips of your fingers. it wasn’t flashy, it wasn’t big, but you felt like if you trained hard enough, you could make it to the hero course.

your parents had split when you were young, and you were on good terms with both of them so the summer you had developed your quirk, you visited your dad for 2 months.

he was a mechanic, and he lived out in the outskirts of the city, and he was very.. rugged.

you learned quickly that slacking off was not allowed at your dads house. you weren’t allowed to sleep in, you had to wake up before the sun and help him work on cars but soon you got a taste for it. you had grown a love for cars, engineering, welding, etc.

by the end of summer, you were getting up on your own, enjoying seeing the sunrise as you guys went to the junkyard, coming out covered in grime and sweat, grabbing scraps for your new love of inventions.

of course you still were aspiring to be a hero, but you also really loved inventing new things, so you didn’t know what path to choose and your quirk was perfect for welding.

so you talked to the counselor at your middle school, wondering what career paths you could choose that would involve both saving lives and heroes and engineering.

“have you heard of the support department?”

support department?

you searched it up online,

“Students in this department focus on developing support equipment that help heroes out on the battlefield. With a workspace stocked to the brim with all sorts of special tools, the department provides an unmatched creative environment.”

you smiled at what your screen displayed.

it was perfect, so your new dream was to enroll into UA, join the support department, and open your own agency that’d help heroes build the equipment of their dreams that help them fight crime.

so that’s what you studied. you were in your first year of junior school (7th grade) when you realized this, so the next two summers you went back to your dad’s to work on cars and inventions, but during the school year, you trained. you trained really fucking hard. you did not play about getting into UA and chasing your dreams. if you only lived once, you were gonna live it right.

so you changed your schedule, mirroring the one you had during summer. you’d wake up every morning, go to the nearest junk yard which was a mile away from your house. you brought your wagon, and lugged scrap after scrap into it, dragging it back home.

your mom had made your own personal workshop in the basement, knowing how much it was your passion. you’d spend hours on hours down there, and not to toot your own horn but you were insane at engineering. if you could think it, you could build it.

your creativity was through the roof, you started taking commissions and fixing up cars by yourself, earning a bit of money to buy yourself an at home gym to train even more.

before you knew it, it was time for ‘entrance exams’, except for you, for support department students, you had to submit an invention, an original piece that was unique to you, easy to use, but difficult to make.

you spent months on your invention, your admissions essay, and your recommendations. you were overachieving, but you didn’t care.

when you got the letter in the mail, your heart thumped and thumped, your hands started to shake, barely seeing where the letter was sent from, all you could see was the UA stamp.

“mom! mom! it’s the letter!” you called out, setting it on the dining table as you saw your mom excitedly rush out of the bathroom, half her hair in hair rollers. she knew how hard you worked and she was proud of you if you got in or not.

“what are you doing? open it up!” she said, smiling ear to ear. you could swear she was more excited than you.

you picked up the letter, opening up the envelope and taking it out when a little button looking thing dropped out. you furrowed your brows, moving to pick it up before a hologram flickered on. you and your mom were both stunned, taking a step back before getting met with the face of all might, your childhood hero and inspiration, welcoming you to UA, and to their support department.

once the words reached your ears, you and your mom jumped around, hugging each other, beaming from ear to ear. you got in! you were gonna be the best of the best, and you weren’t going to let anyone get in your way.

you then read the letter in the envelope. you got a full ride scholarship off your inventions and recommendations alone. you felt like you could cry, and you did. happy tears streamed down your face. all this hard work? absolutely worth it, and you weren’t gonna slack off just because you got in.

further down the letter, it said they were going to be enforcing dorms earlier than usual. something about teaching future heroes about responsibility before becoming an adult, blah blah blah.. all you could think about was how you got in all by yourself, you won, and getting into UA will go amazing on your resumes and help you open your own support agency in the future.

this was your first step to your dream.

in the months before moving into the school, you obviously kept up your practice, but allowed yourself to relax a bit, you no longer had the anxiety and weight on your shoulders of trying to enroll, so instead of 5AM, you woke up at 7AM instead. you let yourself hang out with friends more, go out more, and spend some of that cash that had piled up through commissions and a job that you had taken up at a local coffee shop as a barista when you thought you had to pay for UA on your own. doing this, you learned about the world outside of your basement or the junkyard, and grew an appreciation for clothes and shopping.

the day to move in crept closer and closer, you started packing your clothes, using 2 suitcases. i mean you were gonna be there for a year, and obviously you were gonna visit home, but you didn’t wanna travel back and forth for clothes. you packed up everything you could, and used moving trucks to deliver furniture once the day did roll around.

walking up to the dorm building was scary. a chill ran down your spine as you stared at the huge building that was shaped like a U. it was smaller than the school, obviously, but still big. general, hero, support, and management students were all mixed into 2 buildings. the school didn’t want to separate students, it saved money and was under the guise that it’d help you make friends with whoever, despite was class you got into.

what they didn’t state was the hidden hierarchy inside the buildings. after a month, you soon learned that some hero students looked down at the rest, most general students looked down at support department students, and management was a weird mix of egotistical assholes and shy people who knew that they were in the ‘lowest’ class. lowest meaning easiest to get into, which wasn’t really true. you felt like you could’ve easily gotten into the general course, but whatever. you didn’t care about that.

back to the dorms, other people were passing you by when someone bumped into your shoulder. it was a tall guy, muscular, and weird blonde spiky hair.

“watch it, extra.” the stranger growled at you.

you were taken aback, annoyed at the audacity. “you bumped into me, weirdo.” you scoff, rolling your eyes.

you thought this was a well-mannered school, guess not. you brushed it off though, lugging your suitcases into the building. you were met with a big common area, there was even a small kitchen with a cafeteria. you smiled, it was modern, fancy, nothing like anything you’ve seen before.

you rolled into the elevator, going to the second highest level, where your dorm was.

you were nervous. still. you didn’t know who you would meet, if you would make friends, if people would like you.. but all you needed to focus on was unpacking.

ding.

the elevator doors opened, and you walked out, strolling down the long hallway until you got to the end. your room was at the very end, it had more open windows, letting a LOT of natural light in. you knew you had to get curtains though, since the windows were so big. you walked in and gasped. your very own living space. obviously you’d have to decorate and make it home, but all in due time.

you walked in, closing the door behind you, looking at your view. you could see the city from here, which wasn’t a huge drive, 10 minutes, 20 maybe if the traffic is bad, which it usually is.

on your other window was pure forest, you could see beautiful mountains. it was stunning, breath-taking view.

you put on some calm music and unpacked, humming to yourself and you hung your clothes, folded pants, ironed your uniforms, and placed your usual tools and books you brought in the shelves and drawers that the school had provided.

you were exhausted by the end of the day, you watched the sunset dip under the mountains and you closed the curtains you had installed earlier as you changed and got into bed and slept for a couple hours before waking up in the middle of the night.

thump. thump. thump.

were those.. drums? music? who the hell was playing such a loud instrument so late at night?

you needed your sleep. you could not be tired on your first day so you got up and out of your dorm, stepping down the hallway a bit. the noise was coming from your neighbor. seriously? am i gonna have to deal with this for 3 years? you thought as you knocked politely on their door.

no answer.

you knocked louder.

no answer, and you could hear their music getting louder, almost as if they were trying to tune out the knocking.

you started to bang on their door before you heard the music stop and angry stomps to the door before it swung open.

a handsome face met you, but it was tainted with a scowl, a disgusted and annoyed look.

wait a minute.. you recognized that ugly hair. it was the same dude that bumped into you earlier. a flicker of recognition flashed on your face before you furrowed your brows.

“the hell do you want?” he growled down at you.

“mind turning down your music? to 0, maybe?” you scoffed, rolling your eyes at his audacity (again.).

“mind getting some earplugs, bitch?”

you gasped, shocked a bit.

“some people are trying to get their beauty sleep.”

“yeah, you look like you really need it.” he chuckled in your face, his eyes roaming your disheveled form.

you groaned, “if anyone needs it, it’s you.”

“yeah? well go fuck yourself.” he said before slamming the door in your face. you groaned harder, shuffling back to your room and slamming the door shut as well. you got into bed, trying to cover your ears with pillows to block out the obnoxious drums from next door.

you eventually willed yourself to go to sleep.

maybe tomorrow will be better?

[keotograph]

𐔌✧.* SᑕᑌᖴᖴᒪE .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

ೀ⋆ || When trying to make friends goes wrong, the blonde will always defend you, even in a fight ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

. ♬ ݁˖ || listen along : spotify version & yt version ᯓ★ 

ᝰ.ᐟ ||  katsuki bakugo x f!reader, she/her pronouns, pure fluff, acts of service, 1.2k word count •°. *࿐

You didn't know how you got in this position—tangled up in the webs of a grumpy blonde—becoming the fixation of your next door neighbor, who is both recognized and feared by the whole district, his reputation only ever increasing since you were mere children.

And to any newcomer, they would find the two of you to be quite an odd pairing, the personality differences quite palpable. You're not like the loud hot head; you're bubbly, more carefree, often socializing with strangers on your day to day.

The stark differences would be deal-breakers in most dynamics, at least... that's what the onlookers would think, but to anyone else that's seen the two of you grow up, they would immediately know — that you've been his ever since you two met.

"You shouldn't talk to that boy anymore!" Katsuki, age 8, shouted out towards you, accusingly pointing a finger in your direction, acting as if you just committed some sort of crime in public.

And in his mind, you did, because why in the world are you talking to someone else that isn't him?! Again?!

His brows are furrowed, glaring daggers at the way you happily smile back at him, oblivious to how his anger rises at each passing moment, "Don't worry Kacchan! I already told him I had a best friend! You!"

He hates the way his heart jolts at your words, the way you can make his anger disappear with one pretty little smile, the way you could easily read him like a book, I mean... was his jealousy really that obvious?

The boy huffs, crossing his arms and looking away with a stubborn frown, "You're always running away, didn't your mom ever teach you about stranger danger?!"

You're eventually stepping closer to him, taking the opportunity to innocently hold his hand—a small habit you've recently developed—one that makes the little boy flush bright red, halting in place as you tilt your head towards him, big curious eyes staring deep into his crimson gaze.

"She did! But I know i'm safe when you’re around!" you beam, such a bold statement exiting your mouth like it's damn air, merely giggling at the way he freezes, eyes widening, not anticipating such high praise and expectations.

His heart feels like it's gonna explode.

He quickly averts his gaze, though doesn't make a move to push you away, instead pulling you along to follow him, away from every potential distraction—aka the other kids on the swings—clearly intending to hog all your attention for himself, until you inevitably run away yet again.

"Hmph, then you should just stay next to me..." he mumbles, so faintly that it's almost incoherent, but even so, despite the rustling leaves and soft breeze, you seem to hear it — you always seem to hear him.

"Then can I be with you forever, Kacchan?!" you continue, cheerfully skipping at his side, a look of hope clouding your glossy orbs, eagerly awaiting his response.

A moment of silence passes.

"Do whatever you want, like I care!" the boy scoffs, nonetheless, gently squeezes your hand, the earlier pink tint continuing to linger on his cheeks.

Your smile immediately widens at his subtle confirmation, that you squeal in delight, clinging to his side all the way to the monkey bars, unknowingly attaching yourself to the best protector you could've ever asked for.

Because when he finds you a few days later—your tiny form nervously shrinking back from two big fourth graders—he's already acting as your shield, standing in front of you, not giving them time to mutter another single word. His crimson eyes zero in on the two boys, sizing them up and making sure you're out of harm's way.

Katsuki heard the way they were mocking you, seemingly making fun of your talkative demeanor when you approached them, and witnessing such an exchange... only made him see red. It didn't help that he could hear your soft sniffles and hiccups behind him, solely increasing his previous frustrations, after all... you never cry.

"You bastards! You'll pay for that!" he yells out, already running towards them as his palms cackle with mini explosions, not an ounce of fear as he rushes the older duo.

You and the other neighborhood kids could only watch in awe as the blonde throws punches left and right, using his fierce quirk as leverage, immediately overpowering the boys with sheer strength and will power.

And the desire to protect a certain someone.

So it didn't take long for the older duo to run away, tails between their legs, as the blonde stands tall—a bit bruised in the face but nonetheless—the overall victor of the intense beatdown. Katsuki's posse eventually rushes over, their eyes gleaming with admiration at his bravery, all while the blonde wipes away at his bloody nose.

"Wow Kacchan!"

"You fought against two big fourth graders and won!"

Despite the praise that would usually fill his ego, he pays them no mind, instead looking around the park before his gaze lands on you, who's currently being comforted by a few of your friends, some giving you hugs and even tissues for your tears.

His eye twitches at the sight.

The blonde immediately marches over, making everyone scatter away like ants after witnessing the fight, clearly intimidated by Katsuki's aggressive mood and the dangerous glint in his gaze, but much to everyone's shock, he helps you to your feet, gently wiping away at your remaining tears.

"Tch, you idiot... I told ya' to stop approaching random people, not everyone is as damn cheerful as you!" he scolds, in an unfamiliar tone that leaves everyone's jaw on the floor, it's loud but not hostile, softer, something more vulnerable... and only meant for you.

"Ah—! Kacchan, your cheek!" you gasp, looking at his small bruises with dramatic horror, a hint of guilt beginning to form in the pit of your stomach, after all, he only got involved because—

"Hmph! This is nothin'! So don't start cryin' again, ya' hear?!" the blonde scoffs, pulling you along by your wrist to somewhere private, giving you a quick once over when you're finally alone.

He hesitates, "Oi, they didn't.. touch you... right?"

His eyes darken at the mere thought of you getting hurt, giving you the confidence that he would do anything for your assured safety... as much as he'd try denying it.

"Ah— I'm okay!!" you quickly reassure him, knowing he's surviving off his last thread of patience—and not wanting to see him go off the rails of sanity—you smile up at him, already feeling more at ease, "thank you kacchan..."

He flushes bright red, averting his gaze, "don't thank me, stupid... I didn't do it for you! I just— didn't like them is all!"

You knowingly giggle, and feeling a little thankful... you wrap your arms around him, giving the boy an innocent hug in response, making Katsuki awkwardly freeze, unsure of what to do, "H-Hey! People are gonna see, let go!" he exclaims, his cheeks nearly matching the color of his ruby irises.

"It's okay now! I know I'm safe when you're around!" you cheer.

Katsuki pauses.

It's those words again. The everlasting trust you have in him to keep you safe, protected, but most of all, loved... he just can't let you go.

So he'll let you get close, let you chatter to the sea of people that you want to call 'friends'—good or bad—because he'll be here, watching over you, protecting you, loving you.

He stands there, allowing you to hug him for a few moments longer, resigning to awkwardly patting your head.

"Yeah whatever.... just stay next to me, dummy..."

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

a/n ||| hi my beautiful flowers! this was a lighthearted one, lowkey rewrote this like three times but let’s not talk about that lolz, but I finally finished it so here u go hehe... now time for me to go, plus ultra! ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ tags ||| @leleyro @skylermiller1 @aikojwhpa @zaiban2989 @qyuin @sunnyalmighty (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)

[keotograph]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Ten

Summary: In the spotlight, the world calls her Pulchra. A rising celebrity model who's known for her quick, Infinite Beauty. A quirk that alters a persons perception of beauty, causing anyone who sees her to subconsciously view her as the embodiment of their ideal vison- making her universally captivating. 

Everyone either wants to be her, or to be with her. From obsessive fans to controlling agencies, everyone wants to own her. While the world sees her as perfect, behind closed doors she's deeply lonely yet craves the silence. 

He's loud, intense, blunt and more emotionally repressed than an angsty teen alone on Valentines. Everyone sees him for his explosions and strength, but its that short fuse that landed him battling the hardest war yet- public image and the PR team that comes with it. 

Notes: Cross posted on ao3 Writing this is hurting my back so much. I'm downing ibuprofen like skittle's. Rating: 18+

“Seems this man has a quirk that lets him move in the shadows. Probably how he got past the security.” A police officer reported. “We went to his apartment and found months worth of photos. He’s probably been following her for a while.”

Bakugou glanced over your direction, making sure you were too far away to hear. He didn’t want you to know the terrifying truth. You were sitting at your dining room table, wrapped in a blanket and sipping on a steaming mug of chamomile tea. You looked small. Defeated. 

The idea of a predator lurking near you for months coiled in his chest. His blood boiled with rage. A sick, sour weight settles in his gut with anger, but also something sharper, disappointment. 

“Keep that asshole locked up for good.” The officer nods at Bakugou before heading off. 

Bakugou stands in front of you, crouching down so he's at eye level. “This won’t happen again. I promise.”

You looked deeply in his eyes, there was a fire burning brighter than the red of his irises. You completely and utterly believed him. A level of trust that settled so deep inside you felt safe for the first time in a long time. 

“I keep a go-bag in my car, I’m going to grab it and come right back”

Bakugou placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, grounding you. You simple nod in response. By the time he returned, a black and orange duffle bag slung over his shoulder, all the officers and guards had cleared out. The room finally felt quiet again. You watched as Bakugou dropped the bag onto the floor and practically collapsed onto the couch with a heavy sigh, his head falling back against the cushions. 

There was a long pause before you finally spoke, your voice dry and light.

“Who the hell keeps a go-bag in their car?” The question caught him off guard, mostly because of how casual it sounded after everything that just happened. He blinked, then let out a breathy small laugh. 

“Any good hero with any damn sense.”  He had a smuggish smile. “Red Riot learned that real quick when we had a three day mission. He smelt like ass by the second day.” 

You let out a small laugh you didn’t realize you were holding in, then hummed in approval. But your light expression faded again for just a moment, like the weight of the night started to creep back in. Bakugou noticed instantly. 

Before he let you fall deeper into that hole, he slapped his hands on the couch cushions and stood up like a man on a mission. 

“You gotta be starving. Get the feelin’ you haven’t eaten all day.” He headed for the kitchen “C’mon, I’ll make you somethin’” 

You followed behind with curiosity. “You know how to cook?”

“Course I do. What, you don’t?” He swung open the fridge door and immediately his face dropped like he was personally offended, blinking at the near empty shelves. 

“Yeah…course you don’t.”

“What?” you defended “My private chef takes care of all that!” Bakugou pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed about useless rich girls.

He exhaled, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I’ll order us somethin”

“Or…” you stepped closer, eyes wide and pleading “We could go to the store. Make it a little adventure”

Bakugou paused, eyes shooting you a concerned glance. “You seriously wanna go out? After tonight?”

You looked down as your fingers played with the hem of your shirt. “I just…need a little fresh air. Don’t want to feel trapped.”

He hated the idea of you being so exposed in the open. If it were up to him, he'd lock up every door, board up the windows, and keep you inside forever with him guarding the place. But you weren’t his to keep, not meant to be caged in. And that was too selfish of an ask.

There were a few seconds of hesitation until he sighed. 

“Fine, but you’re stickin’ by my side the entire time. Don’t need some creep gawking at you, slowing us down.”

You looked up and smiled with a sharp nod “Deal.”

You walk out of the kitchen and down the hall, stepping into your bedroom. The second the door door clicked shut, your legs buckled under you. You collapsed to the floor, curling into yourself as everything came flooding in. The adrenaline finally subsided and now all thats left was the anxiety. Your chest heaved in tight, shallow gasps. Your mind spiraled with images of the intruder, but not just this one. Of all those that have stalked you in the past. Made you feel unsafe and vulnerable. You bit down on the back of your hand to muffle the sobbing. The pressure left deep crescent shaped marks in your skin, almost enough to draw blood. But you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t let yourself fall apart. For now, you were safe. But what about later, when Bakugou leaves? What happens when the locks, cameras and bodyguards prove useless again?

You craved solitude, a place where you could not be Pulchra. But now the thought of being alone felt like an open wound. 

Your breath hitched as you took in three deep shaky breaths. Slowly your heart came to an even rhythm as you forced it all down. 

Finally, you push yourself of the floor, legs trembling as you stumble towards your dresser. You grabbed the first three things you could find that looked comfortable enough. Leggings, some old band t-shirt, an oversized cardigan, baseball cap and large sunglasses to hide your swollen red-rimmed eyes. You gave yourself a lookover in the mirror. You looked terrible, the image of Pulchra nowhere to be found. All that was left was a scared girl pretending to be okay. 

With a few quick slaps to your cheeks you brought back some color, forced on a smile and pulled back your shoulders. 

When you stepped back into the living room, Bakugou glanced up the moment you appeared. He takes you in, letting his eyes roll down your body. He’s gotten to see so many sides of you today. He wonders how many people get to see you like this, stripped down of your usual polish and left with something real. 

“Ready?” You ask with a forced pep in your voice.

Bakugou nods and puts on his own casual disguise. A black pull over hoodie with the hood up and washed out denim jacket over it. Bakugou grabs his car keys and leads you out the door. 

Outside was a sleek black sporty Porsche that beeped when he unlocked it. To your surprise, he opened the door for you and gave you a knowing smirk when he could tell you were impressed. 

The car ride was quiet. You leaned your head against the glass of the window and watched the neon lights of the city go by. Bakugou kept looking over at you, hands tightening around the steering wheel, wanting to say something. Anything to lighten the mood. 

Should he play music? No, his music would probably scare you. 

The weathers nice, maybe talk about that? No, too lame. 

“What's your favorite dish? Maybe I can make it. ” Good job Bakugou, something simple. 

You pick up your head and tap your cheek a couple times, really thinking of all the things you enjoy. Food being one of your favorite subjects. 

“Mathéo makes an amazing beef wellington with béarnaise sauce”

Bakugou rolled his eyes so far back he nearly saw his skull. He considers turning around now thinking it will be impossible to please a spoiled rich girl. 

“Well I ain’t Mathéo princess, and it's 1am. We’ll have to stick to convenient store ingredients.” 

The engine roared as it came to a stop. The neon “24/7” sign was bright against the night sky. Again, Bakugou opened the door for you. He watched carefully as you stepped out. He followed closely behind like a security dog staying alert of anyone nearby. 

The door of the store chimed as you stepped inside. The fluorescent lights burned too bright for this time of night. Or…morning? 

You tugged on your cardigan sleeve over your hand, fighting a yawn as you wandered the aisles. Bakugou grabbed a basket and pulled on you by the arm into the direction he needed to go. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve been to a convenient store.” You looked over all the brightly colored snacks. 

“I’m sure it’s been a while you’ve been to any store that doesn’t just sell clothes.” 

You shot him a pouty glare that made him crack a small smile. 

“I could probably make something pretty decent if you actually had food in your fridge.”

“I have food!”

“Wine and cheese isn’t a meal, idiot.” You huffed at his comment. 

Bakugou walked down the aisles, grabbing mushrooms, eggs, chicken, green onions and everything else he needed. You followed closely behind, amused how serious he looked picking out groceries. He examined every item looking for the very best. Like making dinner was another mission and he’d be damned if he failed. 

When Bakugou gathered all the ingredients, you added a brightly colorful bag of candy on top and gave a sickly sweet innocent smile. “In case of emergencies.” 

“A candy emergency?” Bakugou raised a brow.

“Exactly.” 

Bakugou put the basket at the register counter where an overly peppy college student eagerly rang up the groceries. Before you could even grab your purse, Bakugou was already swiping his credit card. 

“Wow, making dinner and paying for it?” You said in a teasing sultry tone. 

“Don’t get used to it.” 

You gently shoulder checked him and looked up with a bright genuine smile. His chest got tight and he knew at that moment, he would do anything to keep you smiling.

[keotograph]

Gryffindor Boys Links

These links all contain NSFW content, everything is 18+. All X/Twitter links (you have to be logged in before viewing)

Cw: size difference kink (Ron's), oral (fem!Receiving), assisted masturbation (?), creampie, breeding, implied public sex, car sex, double penetration, rough sex (Oliver's maybe)

A/N: Honestly Twitter p*rn is so ass at this point. I hope the following videos are to your liking! I tried to find videos with no weird tags. Theres one account used below that I'm pretty sure is questionable..but the videos themselves have nothing wrong and the caption is fine too.

Ron Weasley :

Big cock is used for filling

Keeping you in place, does size matter?

A proper munch

Harry Potter :

Having his reward after saving the day, again

Stroking him because he just NEEDS it

Just a little fun before class

Fred Weasley :

Breeding you because he's a family guy

Having breakfast in the burrows, out in the open

Riding in the Backseat of the car

George Weasley :

Rather be taking care of you then watching TV

Riding till you're full

You looked so sweet grinding on his cock in your panties

Twins together :

Two at once?

Jerking them off<3

Two holes for a reason

Oliver Wood :

Tasting you before a match, the sight of you spread out gives him luck

Taking out his frustrations after a loss

Head in the pillows as he realises his tension

[keotograph]

Caleb twt links 🔞 — ! acc must be logged in !

⌗ CALEB

. . . he's definitely the type of guy to fuck you deep and hard, making sure that you feel all inches of his dick inside of you

. . . as much as he hates being away from you, he just can't help but love how clingy and needy you get for him when he returns

. . . you just won't tell him what he wants to hear so he has no choice but to break you:( making use of military grade cuffs he just so happened to have laying around

. . . you're just so greedy! you already have the real thing but still keep the fake one with you... since you can't seem to be satisfied, why not fill both holes?

. . . why not make good use of your toys by stretching you good and open before he actually fucks you with his dick? just have to stand there and take it

. . . you put so much effort for his birthday that he can't help but just take you on the couch! too horny and rilled up from all the waiting he'd done

. . . one of the gifts caleb specifically requested from you was to make a compilation of you fucking so he can have something to jerk off to will he's away! the website just isn't doing it anymore for him after he's had you

. . . he sounds so pretty and lovely <3 all tied up and helpless, at the mercy of your mere hands just as always, letting you have your way knowing he can just break free whenever he wants to

. . . something about seeing you all shaky underneath him as he continues to fuck you slowly knowing damn well how overstimulated you are

. . . sometimes all he needs is a good riding to calm his mind from all the stress he gets, being a colonel isn't easy after all

. . . his favourite food above anything and everything, he needs your weight above him while he indulges your yummy pussy

. . . it's not too bad if it doesn't go in right? maybe if he just takes his dick out.. and maybe if you just put your panties to the side..

. . . all leaky and creamy on him, oh you're like a broken sink, too horny to even fully take your panties off that he just rips it in half

. . . oh he loooovesssss taking you from behind, pinning your waist down so you can take him as deep as possible!

. . . kissing his cheek on his graduation in front of hundreds of people? and getting away with it? absolutely not

[ A/N : feel free to imagine as the other lads boys ;) ]

[keotograph]

busy woman!

actor!satoru gojo x singer!fem!reader [welcome to the introduction!] welcome to Tokyo, Japan: the hotspot for pop culture! you, a singer and songwriter, wrapped up your tour for your last album six months ago. things got... messy, and you needed a break. but now you're back and ready to finish your next album! what will be the inspiration for this one? CONTENT WARNING: fame au, fem!reader, explicit language, suggestive content, alcohol/drugs, jokes about su!c!de & other sensitive subjects. Tokyo is like the Hollywood of this au! most big media events happen there (film awards, galas, parties, etc.). face claim is obviously sabrina carpenter but it's mainly for her song lyrics, descriptions of reader will be vague and only if necessary :)

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meet the cast and crew!

sociopaths anonymous | therapists HATE them!

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is it that sweet? i guess so! ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

tracklist!: track 1 / track 2 / track 3 / track 4 / track 5 / track 6 / track 7 / track 8 / track 9 / track 10 / track 11 / track 12 / track 13 / track 14 / track 15 / track 16 / track 17 / track 18 / track 19 / track 20 / ...

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taglist!: comment to be added!

@chosoly @celloccino @inumakixs @linaaeatsfamilies @harryzcherry @enchantinghonymoon @coffeeluvr96 @cipheress-to-k-pop @poopooindamouf @mentallyunpresent @princesa14 @megumisluciouslashes @kisakunt @muli-wam @ilovemyhusbandnanami @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @lurkerreader @idexmids @kokushibosbestie @nanamirah @twoderanged @minasuniverse @briezy04764 @brixmeeler @timascorner @gaslightbuthot @linny-bloggs @seleyaaaa @gurlhere4fluff @sweetlike-sugarplum @pinksdump @bearchermer @miizuzu @hanamatopoeia @amortsukii @phob1cc @nina-from-317 @matcha-kitty13

[keotograph]

OVERNIGHT HEIGHTS

STARRING: commercial pilot!caleb x flight attendant!reader

synopsis: linkon's best airline has brought in skyhaven's best pilot for an overnight flight. you haven't seen or heard from him in years. you both have your individual duties to serve but with rising altitudes, tension, temptation, and desire will always follow suit.

warnings: porn with plot, light angst and comfort, dry humping, public sex, mile high sex, body worship, dirty talk, hair pulling, handjob, fingering, cunnilingus, inappropriate use of evol, edging, marking, sloppy fuckin sex, creampies, multiple orgasms, you guys are freaks but freaks that love each other <3.

wc: 5,8k

a/n: have some angst! I'm joking, here's another 'leb fic!

MINORS DON'T INTERACT!

"Is that him?" Is the endless question you hear, from the briefing to the trip through the airport, to the preparations for the passengers to enter the aircraft.

Is that him. Is that Caleb.

Caleb, Skyhaven's best pilot. Caleb, the ex-fighter pilot turned commercial pilot for unknown reasons. Caleb, your one and only who you haven't seen in years.

Not since he graduated from the DAA. That was the last time you saw him. From his lack of contact and radio silence increasing from weeks to months, you had brought yourself to assume he was dead.

So, for you to see that he's more than alive and well... it irks you.

That being said, you have a job that you've worked hard for since he disappeared. You are chief flight attendant for Linkon Air, and that position didn't come easy. It took five years of fighting for it to honour Caleb in his alleged disappearance- even in the moments where you were tempted to quit and walk away.

Now that he's back, your world has tipped on its axis.

Leaning on the wall between the crew deck and the business class cabin you watch your subordinates prepare each seat for the incoming passengers, fluffing cushions, cleaning away any excess trash from the previous flight, and ensuring everything is in place.

Caleb and his co-pilot, Gideon (another missing person you knew), are expected to get to the plane at any minute. They're expected to see you again.

Despite the anger, the reminiscing, despite it all, you find your fingers fumbling with jittery nerves. Sharp pangs strike your chest every time you recall his smiles, his eyes, his hands, his touch, the joy you shard with him, and the pain from not hearing from him for years.

You're burning with anger, weeping with the remnants of your pain, and jittery with hope. Hope to restart, or even continue from where you left off.

"Chief," One of your subordinates snap you out of your thoughts. 'Chief' was a title you earned as a joke but your coworkers have made a habit of using it as a term of endearment and respect. What can you say? You do a good job.

"The pilots. They're here." Fuck everything you just told yourself. There's only fear.

You will yourself to walk to the front entrance, watching them ascend the stairs, wind flowing through their blazers like a gentle kiss goodbye from the elements.

You'd recognise him any day. You've studied him to the atom. He's changed.

His hat rests in his hand with a small suitcase. A shaded pair of glasses sits on his face perfectly, protecting his eyes from the cruel blaze of the sun. He's smiling. You hadn't seen that smile in so long.

As he draws closer to you, you force yourself to swallow your nerves and clench and unclench your fists in the hopes of grounding yourself. It's definitely making you notice he's much more muscular. And taller. And more handsome–

His hands remove his glasses as he reaches you and that does it. If not for your need to maintain professionalism you would have burst into tears. Those beautiful sunset eyes are exactly the same. Radiant, shining, and brimming with stories of you and him.

His smile trembles as his eyes dart all over your face, almost like he couldn't believe that you're here. His grip on his hat tightens.

Sharply breathing through your nose, you serenely smile as you would when interacting with passengers. "Welcome to Linkon Air, gentlemen." You step aside to grant them access to the aircraft. "It is a pleasure to work alongside you."

You smooth down your skirt as they walk by giving their thanks. Your eyes dart to the air traffic controllers out of habit, ensuring everything is in order. They have a pattern that you've learned to track since there'd always be a ton of time before prepping for passengers to arrive.

Although it's likely been minutes since you scanned the roadway, you feel a pair of familiar eyes burning right into your back.

The flight (at least for the first few hours) goes relatively smoothly. You got sleep after takeoff, since your previous flight exhausted you. Your team worked diligently, leaving you with light work as you switched shifts for the second half of the flight.

The sun has been setting from what you've seen doing your rounds checking on the passengers in the economy and business cabins. By the time you get back to your deck, the stars begin to speckle the endless horizon.

Carrying your habits from your university days, the first thing you do is make a cup of coffee as strong as it can get over tens of thousands of metres above ground. The cardboard cup in your hand unexpectedly brings back a flood of memories. Memories of your younger days. 

Memories of Caleb.

Tremors build as the aircraft reaches the higher through the clouds as the sky completely darkens, leaving you with the stars and the blinking lights of the wings. Turbulence is about to strike the plane— hopefully there aren’t any screamers on this flight.

You slowly sip your caffeinated paradise considering whether you should wait for the mini turbulence to calm or to ride it out to serve meals to the passengers. Anything to distract you from him for the time being. Just enough to get the job done.

The soft push of the door behind you send your shoulders twitching into tension but you keep your gaze right ahead. Your grip on the counter is tight enough to make your knuckles go pale against your skin.

“You look good as chief.” Your eyes flutter shut, instantly sinking into familiarity and warmth. His voice. His damned voice.

“You look good alive.” Your tone is gruffer than anticipated. You almost feel bad.

You can hear his footsteps get louder as he draws near you. Closer and closer until he’s right behind you, towering over you. “I’m–“

“Sorry?” You huff, chugging down what remains of your coffee. “I would have probably taken that five years ago. Probably. But you've said nothing. Nothing!” Your voice falls into a hushed shriek to avoid catching the attention of the attendants serving the food through the business cabin. 

Caleb’s gloved hand swiftly closes the curtains to separate you both from the cabin, at least in terms of sight. His hand slowly trails down until it’s just a twitch away from your own. “I was assigned to join the Fleet for off-planet missions.” He informs you in a hushed tone, almost too professional and commandeering for your liking. "I didn't have a choice."

“Really now, cadet?” You scoff, almost tempted to roll your eyes just like you used to whenever you didn’t believe the things he’d say. 

“Colonel.”

“That high up in the ranks, huh?” Considering the limit of space you have, you aim to toss the cup into the bin and hit it perfectly inside. “In a span five years too, very realistic.”

“Maybe we should stop dancing around in this pettiness.” You can almost hear the exasperation in his voice. And the smallest sliver of desperation.

“Perhaps you’d find it hard to be familiar with someone you assumed was dead for five years—“ You hiss as you attempt to side step away from him, only for his other hand to slam down on the counter, holding you in place.

A warm draft hits your neck directly from his breath touching your skin for the first time in so, so long. “I didn’t have a choice, pips.”

“I…” Damn him and his warmth for making you start to forget your anger. “I don’t believe you.” 

“How can I get you to believe in me?” He whispers, lips nearing your skin. Hot shivers run straight down your spine. Your head leans towards him out of instinct, so familiar and natural. “Tell you classified information? What the Fleet has been doing outside of public knowledge?”

His hand rests on top of yours, warm to the touch and gentle in grip. “Didn’t you get my letters?” His lips ghost over your ears. You can almost hear the tinge of hurt in his words. “Like the ones we used to send each other back when we were kids?”

Letters? You hadn’t gotten anything. When you visited your grandmother to ask if she received any correspondence she would always say no— oh.

“She got rid of them.” You finish your thought out loud. Even if you looked they’d likely be ashes before you get home.

“Of course.” The plane’s floor rumbles with his brewing agitation. He doesn’t even want to think about what that old woman was doing to prevent the two of you from having contact for all those years. But you’re here with him, and that’s all that matters. He’s more than ready to spend the next five years grovelling for your forgiveness.

“Caleb,” His eyes flutter shut at his name leaving your lips. There’s no anger, no resentment, only that familiar reverence you two used to share. “You sent letters?”

“Every single day.” You feel his head drop into the junction between your shoulders and neck, fitting just right. “Even when I thought I was going to be trapped in Deepspace, I wrote letters in paper, sent transmissions, did everything I thought would reach you. But since she destroyed them all—“

Caleb pauses in his tracks, deeply inhaling your scent through the thick layers of your uniform. Through the perfume foreign to his senses and the familiar smell of fabric softener, there you were. His favourite aroma, the only one keeping him sane (mind you, his only other source was your hoodie and pair of panties which obviously didn’t last him five years worth of sniffing). 

“Doesn’t matter,” He grumbles, voice muffled by your clothes. “You’re here. I’m here. And I’m not gonna disappear on you again. Not if I can do anything about it.”

Trembles strike the plane again before you can respond; this time more violent. Loud cries echo from beyond the curtain separating you and the passengers as the turbulence topples your balance. You both jerk forward, pressed uncomfortably against the counter, holding on for dear life.

“Must’ve been a while since you had air turbulence, huh?” You grin to yourself, feeling how tight his grip on your hand is. His knuckles are practically turning white. “Space didn’t prepare you for that did it?”

Caleb makes no response other that a suppressed choke. “Caleb?”

The aircraft trembles again pushing you closer together, so much so that you can feel something very hard prodding you from behind. Very hard. Familiarly hard.

You hadn't felt it in so long, your body can't help but respond intuitively. You lean into him, arching your back as he's pushed closer to you. It's as if he's constantly orbiting you in an endless gravitational pull.

Neither of you try to pull away. It's all too familiar and you don't want to run away from the very thing you haven't had in years.

His length strains against the confines of his pants, accentuating its girth and the aggressive throbbing on your core. The turbulence brings your hips into a shaky rhythm moving back and forth, grinding on each other and bringing your minds into a complete haze.

"Pips–" Caleb groans into your shoulder in a sore attempt to conceal his noises. The commotion in the passenger cabins rise as your subordinates urge them to remain calm. There is no way any of them would think to come in your direction– hopefully none of them will try.

A moan slips through your lips as his hips grind up against you in that exact delicious way he used to do it back then. Back when you had all the time to yourselves. When you had each other.

Heat pools at your core, turning your legs to jelly. His head is buried in the crook of your neck, subjecting him to your scent that hasn't changed despite the years. Still that enamouring smell that always drove him insane.

You could stay like this forever, in his hold, in this state as dangerous as it may be. For as long as you need to so long as you can live in the knowledge that Caleb will never leave again. You'd do everything to make sure of that.

"Caleb!" Gideon yells through the muffled door of the cockpit, snapping you both out of your trance. "Get back here!"

Caleb sharply inhales before pulling himself away from you, stumbling back with a ramble of apologies.

"I'm sorry, I– I–" He shakes his head and swiftly turned to the cockpit. "Forgive me, I need to attend to my duties."

The door clicks shut, leaving you to stand in the aftershock of your deeds. You don't have the time to ponder and reflect, you need to do your job.

It doesn't take long to calm the passengers down. After handing out snacks, speaking to passengers, and tying the odd few to their seats with their own seatbelts all while trying to ignore the wetness pooling at your core, the turbulence finally calms.

You can't help but feel hot in your uniform. After that, there's no coherent thought apart from Caleb.

Caleb, Caleb, Caleb.

His scent. His touch. The way his lips automatically found your neck but did not kiss your flesh. The way his hips moved with yours– it wasn't just the tremors of the plane, you were both moving together. His cock was so damn hard you thought it would make his pants unzip on its own.

You close your eyes, shuddering at the memory. It's becoming increasingly hard to maintain composure. To stay professional. But you're practically shivering with need.

Every step you take rubs the soaked cotton fabric of your panties against your clit. Every touch on your skin sends hot shivers right down to your core. Merely hearing your colleagues swoon over Caleb makes your walls clench and your gut boil in brewing jealousy.

Such a shame they didn't get to see how he was practically losing himself just moments ago.

The feeling becomes almost unbearable. The need burning deep within you becomes too much to ignore. You have to talk to him. You have to do something.

You close your eyes and straighten your back. There's a few hours left of the flight. Most of your colleagues are sleeping in their cabins. You've completed your shift. Just a few more hours.

Your hand hovers over the door to the cockpit. You just need to knock. Simple as that.

Just as your fist is about to land on the door, it slides open.

"Oh, sorry!" Gideon apologises as he steps out. "Didn't mean to startle you. By the way, do you know where your colleague is? The short, cute one."

You raise your brow in suspicion. "For what reason?"

"Nothing." He quickly responds, shoving his hands into his pockets. From what you can recall, Gideon has always had a habit of hiding his hands whenever he lied.

"Right." You sarcastically nodded. "She's in the back. Alone." You step aside you let him go through the cabin. "Don't make too much noise. Some passengers are still awake."

He simply grinned and scurried off, practically skipping as he moved.

If Gideon isn't in there anymore, that means it's just Caleb. An open opportunity.

You look around you to make sure you're fully alone and without another thought you step inside and swiftly close the door behind you.

"You shouldn't be here." His voice shoots through you like wine engulfing your tastebuds. He's standing behind his chair, hand flipping through papers that you assume are flight directives.

"I have authorisation." You defiantly stand your ground.

"By what grounds?"

"This isn't the Fleet, Caleb." You cross your arms, leaning on the door. The pounding on your chest grows louder and louder the longer his eyes look straight into yours. "Things are different here."

Caleb's eyes flutter shut as he groans. His hands move to cover the growing tent in his pants. "Don't say that."

"Don't say what, Caleb?"

"Don't say my name like that."

You raise a brow in challenge. "Caleb." You step forward. "Caleb." This time you speak in a soft whine. "Caleb." Agression. "Caleb." Need. "Caleb, Caleb, Caleb–"

His hands hold your face and he backs you against the cockpit entrance, breath heavy with a familiar scent. The scent of restricted desire. You used to hate when he held himself back.

"I tried everything, pipsqueak, everything to reach you." Your eyes closed, hands mirroring his own by holding his face and stroking his skin. His freckles are still there. His pores that you used to poke are still there. His eyelashes are still there. The incision scar from his eyebrow piercing he had when you were younger is still there. Everything is still as it was.

"I never wanted to leave," He whispers. "I wanted to stay. I fought to stay."

"I believe you." You stroke his cheeks, staring deep into his eyes. "I forgive you. I..." You hesitate, afraid it's too soon to say. But you have nothing to lose. "I adore you still, desire you still. I want you."

Caleb's hands twitched as he glanced away from your gaze. "It's been years," He whispers, unable to unite his lips with your own. "I don't even know who you've–"

"I haven't." You reach to hold his face, gently stroking his cheeks with your thumbs. "It's always been you. Only you."

Caleb huffs a quiet laugh. "Your hands are still so soft." His fear melts into adoration, soothing his nerves. "So warm."

You lean up, finally pressing your lips on his. It almost feels like the first time. His lips are soft, reminding you of how you teased him into using more lip balm. He must have kept the habit.

His hands wander lower and lower until they reach your waist and the back of your neck, maintaining a gentle grip on you. Gentle becomes needy, and needy becomes intense.

Caleb moans into your mouth as your tongue slips through his lips, tasting him like a delicacy you hadn't had in years (which is true). His hands instantly drip to your ass, palming over your curves as his hips grind against yours to remind you of his needy hard on.

Your clit tingles with desperate need as your tongues move together, not for dominance but in the greatest form of reverence you can possibly muster. Your hand reaches down to his throbbing bulge, almost nervous to feel him once more. His hips jerk to your touch.

"Please, pips," He whimpers against your lips. Your skirt raises above your hips to grant him access to your soaked panties. "I need you."

You waste no time unbuckling his belt, lips still on his, to free his cock from its confines. You almost forgot how big he is. Your hand can barely wrap around him, for one. His sacks feel so heavy in your hands, making you imagine things you wouldn't dare dignify with words. Three veins travel up his length and end before they reach his reddened tip that's leaking drops of warm precum. You thumb his slit, covering your finger in his juices to bring out a string of moans that you've almost forgotten.

"Missed you," Caleb sputters, leaning down to attack your neck with hot kisses. His calloused fingers pull your panties aside to feel your arousal, collecting your juices until it's slick enough to rub your sensitive clit. "Missed this."

Your nails claw at his nape as your grinds turn into dry ruts, unable to coherently think of anything other than satiating your need for each other.

"Caleb," You moan into his ear, tongue slithering around his earlobe as his fingers finally sink into your pussy. "The plane–"

"Autopilot." His voice is slightly muffled from his lips sucking endless marks onto your skin. "Where's Gideon?"

"With a flight attendant," You grin to yourself. "They'll be busy for a while."

His chuckle sends warmth spreading through your body like nostalgic shock before he engulfs you in his embrace again, kissing you deep and hard until all you can think about is him.

His lips are gentle on yours, almost like he can't bring himself to believe that you're here with him. The context doesn't matter. The risk serves no meaning to him. All he wants... is you.

Caleb reluctantly pulls away from your addictive hold to catch his breath. The scent of mint fans your face as he breathes deeply with you. You can't help but lean closer to his lips, desperate to feel him again. And again. And again until you're sick of him.

But you never will be.

"I need you," You mutter using your free hand to free the skin of your neck for him to suckle and mark.

And he responds swiftly, teeth sinking into your flesh unlike all those other times where he'd gently tease and lick you. Now his nibbles have turned into full-on bites, leaving wet trails of his saliva as an additional mark to his ministrations.

"I've missed you so, so much," You choke on your whispers, feeling tears well in your eyes again. "You can't ever leave me like that again."

"I know," Caleb murmured as his lips pressed another loving peck on another lovebite he leaves on your skin. "I'll never leave you again. Never. Not if I can do anything about it."

Your hand rises from his chest to his hair to tug him back. His eyes roll back with a poorly swallowed groan. "Promise me." It's hard to concentrate with how close you two are, how his cock throbs and twitches in your hand, how your bodies respond to each other like clockwork.

"Promise you'll never leave again." You tug his hair harder, hoping it will emphasise your point. "I swear, I'll keep you by my side at all times if I have to–"

Caleb swallows your surprised moan as he latches his lips back onto yours. The last thing he wants you to do is spiral while you're with him. To worry about an impossible event. He will never leave. He'd kill anyone who tries to take him from you. And if he had to show you to prove himself, he'd do it without hesitation.

"I'll never leave you again. Never." He rasps, hips jutting into your hand unable to ignore the pulsating need that makes his cock leak so much. Just for you. "I promise."

Your clothes ruffle and come apart, piece by piece until your shirts are completely unbuttoned, skirt pulled up to the waist and pants pulled down just above the knee. Your nipples are poking out of your bra, hardened and sensitive and needy for his tongue to worship.

"I've missed your taste." His tongue swirls around your pebbles, drawing one into a gentle suckle while his free hand attends to your other nipple to pinch and fondle.

Your eyes flutter shut as your head hits the wall. Oh, how you've missed the feeling of him on you like this. A soft moan flows out of your lips, hips grinding in immediate response to his touch– his love.

Caleb moans into your skin as if he's the one being touched, hands fondling your mounds. His tongue lavers spit all over your cleavage, soaking you completely.

It is inappropriate to be doing this. You should be doing your rotation and checking on passengers. Caleb should be flying the damn plane and not leaving two hundred lives in the hands of autopilot. But you couldn't care less. You wanted him. He wanted you. You needed each other.

And you wouldn't pass it up for the world– aviation laws be damned.

"I've missed how you feel," His lips wander lower as he brings himself to his knees. "How warm you are when you're with me. How you smile in the sun. You tight your pussy is when I'm deep inside you." His fingers, still pumping inside you slowly pull out to your dissatisfaction for him to taste.

"But I think I missed this the most." He closed his eyes, shamelessly moaning at your taste as soon as his fingers land on his tastebuds. "Fuck, pips. You don't know how crazy you make me feel."

He doesn't waste another second to taste you through the slight barrier of your panties– lace and red. Almost like the apples you used to eat together when you were younger. You both moan upon contact, your hands finding home in his hair and his mouth practically drooling.

"Caleb–" You whimper into your hand, worried that you'll make noise. The sun is beginning to rise on the horizon.

His tongue presses flat on your clothed clit, rolling the bundle of nerves around, checking if his old techniques were still valid to use. Your pleasured whimpers turned to soft moans as he eased your nerves with each flick of his tongue.

"You taste so divine." His hand reached down for his aching cock to stroke and tease.

His fingers circle around your entrance slowly and push deep into you in search for your sensitive core. It doesn't take long for the tip of his finger to push just the right spot, bringing your knees to a tremble.

His touch burned your flesh, sent shivers of warmth raging beneath your skin. It is endless, it's infinite, it's perfect.

You moan his name like a broken record, practically shivering with need and desire. You hook one leg over his shoulder, keeping his head in place with both your hands. His moans are muffled deep within your core as he tongues you relentlessly, desperate to give you as much as he can in a short pocket of time.

"Missed your tongue– missed your fucking tongue!" You whine. "Fuck, 'leb, I missed you so much– f-fuck– need you so bad!" Your hips rut up and down his face, lathering his face in your divine juices. You can tell Caleb it relishing in it, from the soft plapping sound coming from his hand working his cock.

"Look at you," You huff with a grin. He glances up with those sunset eyes of his completely glazed over with lust and desire. You brush his sweat-dampened cowlicks away from his forehead to stroke his skin with pure devotion. "Touching yourself for me when you should be flying this plane. Ruining me, devouring me. I want to do the same."

"Mmh," He groans into your pussy and pulls his tongue from you. "Not yet. When we land." He kisses your folds, practically making out with your pussy loud and sloppy. "Wanna take care of you, love you, give you what you've needed all these years."

He presses hot kisses up your body until he reaches your lips once more and slips his tongue right in for you to taste yourself. To relish in what drives him mad.

Your tongues dance a very familiar waltz that turns to a beloved tango, becoming more feverish, more needy, more reckless. His hands guide yours behind your back and turns you to face the door keeping you two separated from everyone outside.

"I want you right now." You both say simultaneously and laugh. For such a moment of debauchery, you would always find ways to laugh together. It's just like it was back then. You're glad, if anything.

Caleb tugs your panties further away from your core being more delicate than you expected. "For someone who used to steal my underwear, I'm surprised you haven't torn this pair."

"I intend on keeping it for myself." He grinned as he pressed another kiss on your neck. "For later use."

His cock rubs up and down and around your dripping pussy, tapping your sensitive clit with his cockhead, bumping it with every thrust as he lathers his length in your juices and his precum. "You're soaked, pips, yet you wrap around me so tightly. Practically squeezing."

"Just for you." You pant against the door. You arch into him, squeezing his girth with your thighs making him moan right into your ear. "Ah, it's all for you."

"And all of this–" He thrusts into your thighs again, securing a tight grip on your waist. "–is for you and you alone, my love."

My love. It is music to your ears.

"My love." He kisses the shell of your ear. "My devotion. My goddess. I vow to serve you. Love you. Protect you. To never leave you alone. I swear it."

He lines his tip with your entrance, shakily inhaling. It's been so damn long. And now you're both here. Finally.

"I'm yours." His cock sweetly slides into you in one swift thrust reducing you both to moaning messes. You fit each other like puzzle pieces designed for each other. You are truly made for each other.

"Fuck." Your hips move in tandem as his cock rocks in and out of you, sweet and slow to savour just how warm you are, how you wrap and squeeze around him so fucking well.

"You feel so good, pips." He whines into your ear, picking up his pace until your slick soaked skin claps loud enough to echo around the cockpit. "Oh my– s-so good. You're so good–"

Your minds become hazy as you lose yourselves in each other, hands scratching, gripping and squeezing what you can reach, his hands on the softness of your ass and your on his to push him as deep as possible. And then even deeper.

"Don't stop." You whine as he pushes his cock deeper and deeper inside until he's completely bottomed out inside you. That delicious squelching noise rings in your ears, driving you into a frenzy of desire and devotion. "Don't ever stop!"

His response is unintelligible, completely reduced to moans and mindless babbles about how perfect you are, how good you feel, everything he wants to do with you right here and now.

“Think about all the people who could be walking past.” Caleb moans into your ear as he pounds his cock into you, dragging his length in and out until your joint slick drips down your legs. “Gideon could walk in at any moment. One of your subordinates could be looking for you. One of the passengers might just hear the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

His hand reaches your neatly secured hair and gently tugs at it, granting himself more access to your exposed neck. He suckles a large bruise right where anyone can see it and sinks his teeth right into you. Your back arches from the pain and your pussy walls flutter from the pleasure, making you come completely undone from the thrill of being caught alone. 

“We both know how much you like the idea of being caught. I like it too.” Caleb muses as he continues to plough you through your orgasm.

“Gets me harder.” His thrusts slow to a cruel yet lewd grind. “Makes me consider risking it all just to feel you squeeze around me. Just to have you milk me dry.” His hand reaching to swirl your clit in circles. Your moans become cries, relentlessly growing louder until he has to stuff his fingers into your mouth.

“We don’t want to get too much attention, pips.” He whines as your walls clench tight enough to snap his cock in half. It just feels so damn good. But the risk is too high. He would rather having you screaming for him while you’re alone than to let a bunch of strangers hear what he’s been missing for years.

He pulls out of your pussy, leaving your walls clenching with need. "Caleb!"

"Hold on," You feel the ground beneath you disappear as he uses his Evol to turn you around and place you back on his cock while facing him.

His finger moves up and down, directing his Evol to bounce you on his cock as he moves to his seat. The pressure from his cock hitting your sensitive spot in a different angle, and the pressure of his Evol tightening deep inside your core renders you speechless with your eyes crossing from the intense pleasure burning through you.

"Have to be careful when sitting you down," He murmurs as he presses his lips on yours. "Can't mess up the controls or we'll end up risking an emergency landing."

He finally sits and releases his Evol on you, sinking you onto his cock once more. You both sigh into each other's lips in another kiss, tasting each other and drowning in each other's adoration.

Your soaked pussy slurps him in like a vacuum with each bounce on his thick, throbbing length, making Caleb absolutely weak beneath you. His hips jerk up, fucking you so hard that rings of cream form around his base.

"Love your cock, 'leb–" You babble, bordering being completely cockdrunk on him. You had long thrown your responsibilities out the window and you're sure he has too. "F-feel so- fuck me– so damn good! I–"

"Love you, pips," He rambles back, tongue slurping the sweat off your skin like it's water. He's definitely drunk on you and your pussy. How could he not be?

"I love you so much– wanna make you f-feel so–" Thrust. "–damn–" Thrust. "good!" The next heavy thrust his cock pounds into your weeping hole shoots hot, thick cum right up your core, spurting globs and globs of his juices until it leaks out of you.

The heat alone makes you bury your head between his neck and shoulder to mask your cry as your walls flutter around him, bringing you to another powerful orgasm.

You both pant, losing your grip on yourselves as you calm down from your joint finish. Your hands travel to each others' faces to bring yourselves into another doting kiss, this time in a warm embrace.

Just as you're about to speak, once the waves of your joint pleasure subside, Caleb gently grips your chin. "Look behind you."

You tiredly turn to feel the warmth of the dawning sun on your skin. It's rising, slowly but it has been long enough to witness your reunion with Caleb. Almost like it blessed the two of you to another chapter in your story. This time, a chapter that won't end.

"I've always told you the summer sun makes your skin glow," Caleb half-moaned half-hummed, kissing the corner of your lips in worship. "Like gold. Like diamonds."

"I've always told you that you make me shine." You smiled, leaning into his touch.

"No," He turns you to face him once more, his lips inching closer to yours to bring you into a kiss. "It's the other way around. You make me shine. You're the star I orbit, pips. Above the skies and on the ground. You are what I wake up every day for."

You'll deal with your jobs later. What matters is that your pilot is here with you. He's home. And he will stay in your orbit, now and forever.

[keotograph]

birthday indulgences

the kiss we silently swore never to talk about again...

summary: years ago, on your birthday, you & caleb shared a forbidden moment. it isn't until his birthday that all those hidden desires are finally indulged in.

★pairing: caleb x fem!reader ★wc: 3.5k ★content: fluff & smut. drunk first kiss & grinding in the memory, caleb panics, a tiny bit of angst. sloppy makeouts, spit kink, dry humping, coming in pants, desperate & subby caleb, overstimulation. caleb calls reader pipsqueak, baby, honey and love. reader calls caleb baby. ★a/n: I love that theory that the kiss they don't talk about happened when they were younger, and then I thought ooo I could do a parallel with this. it was supposed to be sweet and it turned smutty, but it's still sweet. I'll probably do a more intimate version of their first time once his card is out! ★masterlist ★read on ao3

You couldn't believe you had actually gotten Caleb to go along with your plan.

When you'd told him you needed a break from your college campus, and that you wanted to go out and get drunk in Skyhaven for your birthday, he was already nodding along on the video call.

"Alright, pipsqueak," he agreed with a grin. "I'll tag along and take care of you. Gotta make sure you're staying hydrated."

"No, no, no." You shook your head, grinning wickedly when he cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy. "You're going with me."

He arches an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Uhh, earth to pipsqueak, did you not hear what I just said? I am going—"

"Nooo," you interrupt, wagging your finger. "You're going drinking with me."

He'd sputtered, complained and argued all he wanted, but he had agreed to every one of your terms by the time you hung up the call.

And here you were, tipsy and laying back on the floor of his Aerospace Academy assigned studio apartment, watching the ceiling fan spin while you both giggled over something you can't quite remember.

You glance over at where Caleb's sprawled out beside you, smiling at the happy, hazy look in his eyes that surely matches your own. It was impossible to see him ever completely loosen up, and this was the best birthday gift you could've asked for.

Then your thoughts immediately take a different direction when he licks his lips.

They're too dry. You know because you'd jokingly held him down as you swiped your own chapstick across them countless times.

And you'd caught him running his thumb over his cracked bottom lip, tongue darting out across the lingering taste of you when he thought you weren't looking.

Your whole face feels too hot suddenly, blood rushing so fast through your ears that you can't even hear the idle sounds of Skyhaven late at night that drift up through the cracked window.

You wonder what it would be like to kiss someone.

To have their lips press to yours, all tentative and sweet. To know that liking them wasn't in vain, that hoping they felt the same way wasn't just a daydream you'd kept hidden for years. To see the adoration in their eyes when they pull back and caress your cheek.

Purple eyes with an orange sheen.

You wonder what it would be like to kiss Caleb.

"Caleb," you whine, watching the dopey smile grow on his face at your voice. "Am I too old to have never been kissed?"

Caleb's eyes widen, flashing to yours.

"I—" he blinks rapidly, and you giggle at the rare occasion of having caught him completely off guard. "What?"

"Kiss-ing," you draw out, tapping your lips with each letter you spell out for him, "k-i-s-s-i-n-g."

Caleb watches each tap with rapt attention, so captivated that his own lips slowly part. A bit of drool collects at the corner of them, and your vision goes hazy before he quickly looks away.

"Oh." He sounds breathless, clearing his throat to steady his voice. "Uh, I dunno, pipsqueak. I mean, I'm older than you and I've never kissed anyone. Is that weird?"

He gives a little laugh, but you hear the stiff edge to it, can see the uncertainty haunting the façade of his easy expression.

"Really?" you roll over onto you stomach, propping your chin onto your palms.

Your legs kick behind you, and he glances at you and away again.

After a stretch of awkward silence, he turns onto his side, meeting your gaze.

"I mean, yeah," he mutters, shrugging one shoulder. "Why would I?"

You look down at his never-been-kissed lips, feeling your blood rush to your head when he bites them.

Your eyes dart back down, watching his necklace brush against the floor from the angle he lays at.

"Sooo…you've never wanted to kiss anybody?" you ask, trying to seem casual, even as your fingers fidget with the hem of his shirt when he shifts closer.

"I didn't say that," Caleb mutters, and you go rigid.

"Oh."

You flop back onto your back, glaring up at the ceiling fan before he can notice how your brows have pinched, your mouth pressed into a firm line.

"Pips?" Caleb pokes at your cheek, and you pout, turning on your side away from him. "What's got you all frowny-faced?"

"Nothing," you bite out, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Uh-huuuh."

He pokes at your back, then your side, until his fingers are lightly tickling at your ribs. You giggle, kicking your feet out at him.

"Caleb, stooop," you whine, pushing back at him as he tries to tug you back over to face him.

"C'mon, pips," he teases, pinching your waist, and you squeak. "Why won't you look at me?"

Flipping over to smack him, you accuse with totally justified, totally sober and coherent anger, "I'm mad at you, dummy!"

He blinks, and you try and not melt at how cute he looks like this—drunk and flushed, with those big confused puppy dog eyes.

"Why?"

Instead of answering him directly, you ask, "Was it the girl in your chemistry class?"

"The—" Caleb blinks again, shifting back in surprise. "What?"

"That you wanted to kiss sooo badly." You frown, crossing your arms again. "The one who copied off your homework, and you were too nice to stop her. Or was it the guy who always tried to beat your track record?"

"Pips—"

"Or the cheerleader captain? Or is it somebody at university, huh? Are you sneaking around making googly eyes at the other pilots?"

"Oh, quit it." Caleb rolls his eyes, rubbing a hand over his forehead with an unamused huff. "I didn't want to kiss any of them. I don't want to."

"Then who?" You push yourself up, and he sits up to match your restless energy. He always rises to that familiar challenge in your eyes, pulling when you push. "Who exactly is just so damn special that you're still saving that kiss for them?"

Caleb's eyes flash, and he leans up and over you until his large frame is surrounding you completely.

"Maybe it's someone I like with a bratty mouth," he snaps, gently pinching your lips shut between calloused fingers.

Your wide eyes meet his blazing ones, and you both freeze.

His fingers loosen on your lips, and your lashes flutter.

He watches your eyes dilate, then looks down to where he gingerly brushes his fingers along the seam of your lips, his breath audibly hitching when they part for him.

Caleb's lids fall heavy over his darkening gaze. Your breath speeds up in your chest. He looks from your lips to your eyes, then back down to your lips again.

And when you glance down at his own mouth, you're both crashing into each other.

Your first kiss with your childhood friend, your best friend, was anything but the magical one you had just been daydreaming about.

This was sloppy and needy, all tongue and spit and teeth. Years of emotion you didn't know how to unpack began to unravel at the seams, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into you as you fall back onto the floor.

Neither of you knew what you were doing, only that you were desperate for more. His hands grab at your waist, slipping down to your thighs briefly, and snapping back up when he realized what he was touching.

Then his arms are wrapping around you, corded muscles tightening to hold you close to him as you squirm from all the years of pent up tension.

Your lips meet his again and again, needy sounds filling the air. His own spit dribbles down your chin as Caleb licks into your mouth and moans against your tongue.

Your foot trails up his leg, wrapping around his calf, and he mindlessly grabs at it, hoisting it up until it was wrapping securely around his hip. The fabric of your skirt rides up, and you jolt when you feel the growing bulge in his jeans rub against the thin fabric of your dampening panties.

The sensation is brief, then harder, until you're rolling against each other in a delirious haze of desperation.

He's mumbling something incoherent into your lips, teeth sinking into the soft flesh until you feel it start to break, and you moan his name.

Caleb jerks back, eyes wide and pupils swallowing all the purple except for the thinnest ring around the edge. His chest heaves, kiss-swollen lips forming soundless words.

Lips swollen from your kisses.

You whine, reaching for him as he begins to panic, de-tangling himself from you.

"No," you beg, trying to tug him back as he gently pulls your grabbing hands away. "No no no—"

"Pips, you're—" his voice is ragged, and he sucks in a deep breath.

His eyes are wild, darting around at everything but you, even as he tugs your skirt back down around your waist. His cheeks blaze red when he steals another quick look at the ruined panties underneath, the soaked fabric with a lacy band, before he turns away in shame.

"You're drunk," he breathes, shaking his head sharply.

"I'm not—"

"I'm drunk." Caleb laughs, disbelief coating the sound, long fingers running through his hair until it's sticking up in all directions. "Shit. Fuck. This wasn't—this wasn't supposed to happen—"

Your body begins to defensively curl inwards, and you blink quickly to try and keep the sudden sting of tears at bay.

Caleb finally dares a glance back at you, going from flushed to shockingly pale in seconds.

"No, no, pipsqueak—"

"No, it's fine," you sniff, pushing yourself up and scooting back against the floor. "I get it. You…you didn't want it to be me. I get it."

"No, no no no," he keeps mumbling the word the entire time you're moving away, and suddenly Caleb's on his hands and knees, crawling after you with those big, sad puppy dog eyes. "No, pips, that's not what I meant—"

"It's fine, Caleb."

"It's not fine," he insists, resting the side of his cheek against the top of your knees. His eyes are wide and wet, begging for you to just look at him. "You heard what I said. Who I said. Who I…wanted."

His voice gets impossibly quiet, and Caleb's honest gaze begs for your attention.

But you're too fixated by the dark indentation your teeth had left in his lips, the shine on them that could've been your saliva or his.

"It's just not a good idea, pips," he whispers, and you flinch, followed by his own grimace. "Shit, no, that sounded bad. It's just because—"

He stops, shaking his head, palm covering his face.

"I can't think straight," he mumbles, peeking at you through his fingers. With a sigh, he drops his hand onto your knee, rubbing gentle circles into your skin. His voice is so gentle, so Caleb, but it still grates at your sensitive nerves right now. "I think we both just need to sleep this off. We'll talk about it later, okay?"

You sniff, still not meeting his eyes completely.

"No, we wont," you mumble, even as you let yourself be gently directed towards his bed.

He's silent as he helps you prepare for sleep, even as he moves to sleep on his little couch, opting for his long legs to cramp up on the furniture instead of cuddling with you. The tension radiates off him at your accusation—because he knows you're right.

"We'll never talk about it again."

But here you are, years later, in the same situation as before.

You're both sober this time. You're older, maybe wiser, and scarred from being torn apart before coming back together.

But the way Caleb looks at you has never changed. Like you hung the stars in the sky, like you were the moon the sun chased with every morning.

He doesn't shy away when you look at him just the same. He doesn't pull back now, doesn't keep his longing locked away when your thumb brushes his lips, collecting the residue of the candy you'd fed him.

You wanted today to be a special birthday for him. You wanted to give him everything he'd ever wanted.

"Remember when you kissed me?" you breathe, and his eyes flash in surprise at what you'd silently sworn to never speak of again, beautiful lashes fluttering at your exhale across his lips. "On my birthday?"

He laughs, a little quiet huff of air, and his shock melts to something knowing. Something you'd both always known, deep down.

"You kissed me," he accuses, all low and sultry in his teasing, and you shiver.

You smile, your thumb caressing the corner of his lips.

It didn't matter who had kissed who anymore, who pulled back from who. You'd still ended up where you both belonged.

Caleb gazes up at you, awestruck when your eyes darken.

"Then you knew I wanted it," you whisper, nose bumping against his. "So why did you stop?"

You lean in slowly, giving him a moment to pull away if he still wanted to, if he still needed time. He'd given you all the time in the world, after all. You'd happily wait for him, too.

But then Caleb's lips are on yours, and everything finally feels right.

He tastes like sour lemon candy, and you whine, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth. He moans, fingers digging into your hips.

"Fuck me," he groans under his breath, and you laugh between the kisses that heat up between you.

"If you insist," you murmur, smirking into his mouth when his hips jerk up into yours.

The whimper that leaves his lips is quiet and needy, and you eagerly swallow it down.

"Don't tease me like that, baby," Caleb rasps, and your own hips roll in his lap at that low huskiness to his voice.

His hands tighten on your hips, stilling you. You pause, wondering if you'd taken it too far.

But then he's directing you, pulling your legs around to straddle him completely. He guides you into a deeper roll, and you both moan.

You sink down onto him with slow grinds, the hem of your dress hiding just how quickly your panties were getting wet. In the rosy haze of growing pleasure, you wonder how long it'll take to soak that erection he's been sporting since you walked in the room.

"Didn't even try and hide how hard you were when I came in," you whisper into your languid, sensual kissing. "Did you?"

Caleb's hand slips down, cupping your ass easily in his rough palm and long fingers. You moan when he squeezes it, followed by a squeak of surprise at his gentle, experimental smack to it.

"You can't talk like that, pips," he pants, head tilting back against the couch. His voice is that delicious shade of darkness when he adds, "God, you can't make those sounds either. I won't last long if you do."

His eyes are hazy as he watches you lean down, kissing along the elegant slope of his neck. You stop at the harsh bobbing of his Adam's apple when he gulps, and your teeth graze along it, humming at the moan you feel vibrate there.

"I've thought about that kiss for years," Caleb gasps, hand sliding up your back to keep you pressed to him. His hips lazily roll up into yours, his eyes rolling back into his head when he suddenly bucks up once. "Every time I—"

He cuts himself off, biting at his already swollen lips with a blush.

You smile, devious in your intent, and his mouth falls open when your hidden possessive streak unfolds.

"Every time you—" you leave your question hanging, letting the way you begin to bounce in his lap be the answer.

"You—" Caleb chokes, gripping your hips.

His eyes glue to the motion of your hips flexing under your dress, ass coming up and smacking back down against the strength of his large thighs. You feel him twitch through his jeans, and you moan along with him.

"F-fuck," he groans, mouth hanging open, the tip of his tongue falling out.

You lean forward, collecting the saliva in your mouth. Realizing what you're doing, Caleb tilts his head up and sticks his tongue out, eyes wide and dilated.

You let your spit pool onto his tongue, and he takes it eagerly, swallowing it down with a whine and a thrust of his hips.

"I've thought about it, too," you breathe, and his lidded eyes flicker between your face and where you're shamelessly humping him. "Every single time. Even when I'm not trying to. But when I'm touching myself—"

"Oh fuck—"

"And I'm trying to come, all I can think about is how warm you were and your spit in my mouth—"

"B-baby," Caleb stutters, his head lolling to the side, unfocused eyes fluttering and rolling back in his head with each dry slap and grind of your hips against his. "Please, please—"

"I always think of kissing you when I'm coming—"

"Coming," Caleb gasps, and you think he's just mindlessly repeating you until you notice how rigid he's gotten, completely still and flushed bright red as he moans, "oh, fuck, I'm coming—"

And you can feel it, the sticky warmth flooding into the front of his jeans, seeping into you as you gasp. You grind down against his throbbing cock underneath the stifling fabric, wishing you were taking every drop of his cum instead, not letting a bit of it go to waste.

Caleb whines, crying out softly as you roll your hips, and you swallow every pretty sound with hot kisses until your clothed clit catches on his ruined jeans just right.

"Oh fuck, there—" you gasp, lips messily attached to his. You feel the tears of pleasure and overstimulation streaming down his face as he bucks up into you still. "Caleb, Caleb—"

"Come," he begs, and your eyes meet his. Your hips falter at the unadulterated affection there before you speed up, breath hitching when you feel yourself being to crest over into mind-numbing pleasure. "Come for me, honey, please come for me love please—"

Your eyes pinch shut, and you cry out for him when the orgasm hits you all at once, all your limbs seizing up as you convulse in his lap.

"Oh fuck there, there it is," Caleb grunts, grabbing at your trembling thighs under your dress, moaning when he feels your slick that had dripped down them. "You're coming, you're actually coming—"

Your pussy flutters and tightens in your soaked panties, and you moan, wondering what it would have felt like if you had had the foresight to tug his cock out of his pants, if your precious Caleb had filled you up before you came around him.

Next time, you think in a haze, giggling breathlessly when you realize there was an endless number of next times now.

Caleb's lips meet yours, and you meet each kiss as they slow into something lazy and content. He keeps leaning closer and closer to you, his hand cupping the back of your head, protecting you when you both end up weakly tumbling to the ground, and you laugh.

Your eyes are warm and shining with joy when you look up at him, pulling him down for another kiss, and another, because they were all yours now. Every kiss, every moment.

It was the same messy meeting of tongue and spit and teeth from that unspoken moment years ago, except this time, he wouldn't pull away.

"When do we get to do that again?" you gasp, and he laughs too, bright and happy and maybe, finally at some semblance of peace.

"Whenever you want it," Caleb hums, pulling back to kiss the tip of your nose, then your cheekbone, your eyelashes, all the way up to your temple and back down to your lips again.

"Well," you start, grinning as your loop your arms around his neck. He smiles down at you in befuddled admiration, like he couldn't believe you were really here. "You're the birthday boy."

There's a subtle shift in his eyes, suddenly shining with vulnerability when he asks, "But you want it?"

"Oh," you whisper, brushing at the leftover tears that cling to his long lashes. You kiss them when his eyes shut, your nose nuzzling against his.

Dummy, you think fondly. Worried you didn't want any more when you just had the best orgasm of your life, just from dry humping his lap.

When you'd been dreaming of doing this for years. When you would've been happy if all he wanted was just a kiss.

But his post-nut shyness was sweet, even if coupled with that deep-rooted fear that when he closed his eyes, you'd disappear. And your heart was too full of love not to reassure him.

So you banished the shadows that haunted the corners of his mind with another gentle kiss, pressing all your love for him into it.

"Of course I want it, Caleb," you murmur, smiling up at him. "You're all I've ever wanted."

He sighs, his lips meeting yours in another kiss. This one is unhurried, an intimate promise between you.

"Happy birthday, baby," you whisper, and he smiles.

[keotograph]

obsessed - k! bakugo

masterlist

synopsis - despite knowing you've successfully bagged katsuki bakugou, aka pro hero dynamight, his fans are still shipping him with his ex. so what's a better way to claim him than leaving little trails of your love on him? specifically, his body.

status - ongoing

taglist - open

intro (chapter 1)

HOW TO GET BACK AT HER - to do list

make sure katsuki leaves the house in a questionable state

2. hire someone to 'leak' crude pictures of the two of you on holiday

3. go on an interview show together

4. flaunt your proposal in her face.

5. recreate a moment from their relationship, and i mean the same place, similar outfit and same pose.

6. heated and messy livestream on Instagram

7. do tiktok trend ft obsessed by olivia as the sound

8. even messier podcast

9. soft launch the wedding, in a colour that she claims is hers.

© 2025 wonubby— All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

[keotograph]

in another life, i would make you stay a gojo satoru (fix it) fic

pairing ⸺ reincarnated!gojo x reincarnated!reader

summary ⸺ you are a sorcerer, married to your husband who bears the burden of being the strongest. firsthand, you watch the love of your life fall apart, the world burdening him until, finally, he dies at the hand of sukuna. as you watch him through the broadcast, you blankly volunteer to be next and you die, praying to whatever merciful god out there that, in another life, you and satoru get the happy ending you both deserved— until you wake up from your dream, gasping. why the hell was your dream so vivid? you were some sort of magician? with a smoking HOT husband? and why the fuck does the guy that's ten minutes late to the first day of lectures look EXACTLY like him?

warnings ⸺ eventual smut fluff and angst (the holy trinity of aashi longfics), hurt/comfort, reincarnation fic, basically you and gojo have a miserable life in canon and get reincarnated into a modern au where i fix everything and give you the romcom you deserve, canon typical violence, jjk manga spoilers, mentions of blood and injury, major character death, fem reader implied

a/n i'll see u at the end :3

December 23, 2018.

“How do you feel?”

The both of you lay, side by side on the grass as you stared into the sky. The only sounds that surrounded you were the occasional rustle of leaves, the hum of the late afternoon cicadas, and the soft, almost inaudible rise and fall of your breathing.

The stars were really bright that day.

The sounds of nature were even more tangible in the absence of traffic. After the culling games had roped in both non-sorcerers and sorcerers alike, no one went out, so the roads were all virtually empty.

Satoru frowns thoughtfully, in a way that makes his nose scrunch up. His fingers play through your hair absentmindedly as he comes up with a response. With the way he’s thinking, your heart aches to tell him that you want his honest feelings, his doubts and fears, not some fake image he perpetually paints on for the rest of the world. You temper the urge.

“Fighting Megumi is gonna be…weird,” he says finally, with a sigh. “I’m just glad the real pain in the asses are out of the way.”

You remember the day he had come back from killing the higher ups. There was still blood matting his face and hair, dried and flaking. His eyes had long lost their light, and when you had got him alone in your shared room, grabbed a washcloth to wash his face. While you made sure none of the blood was still there, he had asked: Did I do the right thing?

It had taken three face towels to clean it all. The others had gotten soaked too quickly.

He continues. “I’ve been walking toward changing the system for so long, I forgot how to want anything past it.”

You tilt your head to look at him. His eyes are on the sky, as if trying to memorize every cloud.

“You can still want things,” you murmur. “Even now.”

What is left unsaid from you is, You can run away with me.

It’s a pipe dream at best. He was born with the shackle of the six eyes, born in the prison called The Strongest. Running away from it all was as possible as it was for Sisyphus to escape the burden of rolling the rock forever.

At your words, he huffs out a laugh and turns his head just slightly, eyes meeting yours. The blue of them is softer in this light, dusk and gold turning them the color of worn glass. “I do,” he says. “I want a stupid house with a stupid yard and a dumb dog who only listens to you.”

You laugh, blinking against the sudden sting in your eyes. “The dog would accidentally eat your god-awful heap of chocolates and drop dead.”

“Okay, then maybe not a dog then,” he accedes. “I could do with a cat. Just don’t confiscate my chocolates.”

Your voice is a bit stuffy when you reply with, “I would never.”

“Good,” His smile is crooked now, warm. “If I had all the chocolates and the cakes you bake for the rest of my life, I would die a happy man.” 

“You already have those, Satoru,” you laugh wetly. 

“Yeah, but I want grocery lists and laundry days and boring Tuesday nights. Not endless mission reports. God, I’m definitely not going to miss the paperwork,” he groans, and his tone would sound petulant to anyone else; to you, it’s a reminder of how he’s been worked to the bone.

You roll closer to him, forehead brushing against his temple. “We’ll have all of it.”

There’s a beat of silence. The wind rustles through the trees again. He closes his eyes and breathes it in, like he’s trying to make a home of it. You can’t help but look at his serene face and think,

I love you.

It goes unsaid.

Then, “You’ll wait for me?” he asks, almost like a joke.

You turn to him, gaze softening as it lingers on the line of his jaw, the sweep of his lashes, the eyes you’ve loved in a thousand different lights. He’s so beautiful it aches—like something out of a dream or a poem scribbled by a lonely poet on a dirty street, staring up at a beauty wistfully peering out of a window of a high tower.

“Always.”

December 24, 2018.

He looks like he’s watching the sky again.

You are staring down at the shape of him broadcasted through Mei Mei’s crows. The ground is soaked, and the sky doesn’t seem to know whether to rain or just stay gray. His eyes are open.

But you know better. And still, you wait.

Around you, there’s chaos. Your students, in disbelief, are talking loudly but it’s as if everyone around you is talking underwater, none of their words comprehensible. You feel someone shake you, but you’re still staring.

His eyes aren’t closed, but he looks peaceful.

The air thrums with cursed energy, of people in utter shock, and with fear so thick it could choke.

But all you can think about is a stupid patch of wildflowers blooming in your yard. They would’ve been his favorite color—blue, like his eyes when he was teasing you. Like his eyes when he told you he wanted a dumb dog and boring Tuesday nights.

You were going to plant them for him every spring.

You were going to make him cakes every time he forgot his own birthday.

You were going to grow old together.

Instead, you’ll be the one laying flowers on his grave. Alone.

“I’ll go,” you say.

It’s too quiet. Someone protests. You don’t even hear who.

“I said I’ll go.”

You’re already stepping forward. The fight is miles away but it doesn’t matter—you’ll find it. You’ll find Sukuna. You’ll follow the stench of blood and ruin until it leads you to him. 

You know your death is imminent, but there is nothing left to want anymore. Because a future without Satoru is no future at all.

As you make your way through Shinjuku rapidly, you can’t help but think of Yuji—his eyes wide and boyish, despite everything—as he shoved a flyer into your hand and told you to try that ramen shop with him once this was all over.

You remember Megumi’s ginger candies, the ones you had to keep hidden or Gojo would eat them all in one go. They’re still sitting in a dish by the kitchen window.

You remember Shoko’s voice when she said, “Just come back alive, okay?”

You remember Nanami, and Utahime, and Nobara. You remember every stupid, beautiful person you’ve ever loved.

You love them, but love doesn’t always save you; instead, it makes you walk straight into the fire.

Your life had begun when Satoru had saved you from that lonely, dark prison you were forced into; you remember how you had thought that he was akin to a glowing deity, descended from heaven to be your savior. A discarded animal like you, made to believe you were human again by this savior.

So it feels right, in a terrible, sacred way, that your life should end with him, too.

When you finally spot Sukuna, you put up a good fight, but anyone who watches you knows you are resolved, have accepted your fate and prefer death. You don’t scream or cry when it happens; you stare at his face when your body is cleaved into spilling your blood like an endless dam.

You just think: I kept my promise.

I waited.

Then, as you feel everything growing darker and darker, there’s only one thought left, just a silent prayer to whatever god that might still be out there:

Let us try again.

Please—let us try again.

…

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

You wake up from your dream, gasping.

The noise your alarm makes is an unfriendly wake-up call; in your furious effort to locate your phone—which has found itself nestled in your messy blankets—you notice your roommate, Maki, blearily shifting. You madly search to minimize the yelling you’re going to get from her later in the day (you’re already cooked by this point), until silence blankets the room once more.

It’s only until your phone is silenced that you register how fast your heart is beating. Then, when you trudge over to the personal bathroom you and Maki share and flick the light switch, you see that tears had flowed down your cheeks in your sleep.

What a weird fucking dream.

One to have on your first day of classes for the semester, too. You squint at your reflection, the fluorescent light doing your sleep-addled eyes no favors as you grudgingly get ready, brushing your teeth and washing your face and all that. You don’t know why it was so vivid. 

From the dredges of your mind, you first recall the flashing light beams and carnal violence in the destruction of the city, and then you. Were you some kind of magician? It was kind of like…Winx Club, but you weren’t a cunty fairy in cute clothes. Something about sorcerers, so maybe Harry Potter? Hunter X Hunter?

You spit out the frothy mix of your saliva and the mouth freshener. So ridiculous. You couldn’t even blame stress for the weird fanfiction at this point—classes haven’t even started.

Memories of the dream ebb and flow as you try hard to remember what else had occurred as you wipe your face. Gazing upon the white of the moisturizer you’re dabbing on your skin, a flash of white suddenly resurfaces.

Gojo.

A violent feeling overcomes your chest at the name, and you think you’re having a heart attack with the way it clenches like you’re almost about to weep in longing of a beloved. You gasp, cupping the left side of your chest as you try to lower your heart rate.

What hurts most of all is the searing pain, like a spiral of thinly corded string has branded itself on your ring finger. In your rush to look up in the mirror to see what could be hurting you, you don’t notice the red glow it forms. What you see in the see in your reflection surprises you: you’re crying again.

Tears have fully started streaming down your face with the pain, carving wet valleys on your cheeks as they went. After your heart rate slows down, you frown while looking down at your hands. Why were they shaking?

You repeat the name numerous times in your brain, each time causing you to physically tweak. Gojo, Gojo, Gojo, and then resurfaces Satoru, Satoru, Satoru—

It’s after the tenth time you repeat his name that your body seems to calm itself down and get accustomed to whatever emotional shock that coursed through your name after you mentioned his name. His name originally came up because you remember the main person in your dream: the white-haired man. He was the reason you decided to confront that…three armed man? Or did he have four arms? Regardless, you basically offed yourself after he died because you loved him, or something. With the way your body seems to physically shake at the sheer thought of his name, as if the utter image of longing, love may not have been enough to describe what you felt.

Realizing that you’ve drifted off at reminiscing sleepily, you start, as if suddenly animated. You pat your skin, setting in the final step of your skincare routine. Then, you click on your phone screen to check the time.

And notice immediately that you are going to be late.

Then ensues you scrambling to your room, putting on your clothes, tripping on the floor in the process, getting a sleepy glare from Maki that has doubly certified that you are getting a scolding, and then finally making it out the door. The somewhat cool fall weather hits your face as you walk on the pavement, checking your clock repeatedly to ensure it hasn’t hit 9am yet. 

When you make it into the lecture, you realize that it is packed. There aren’t many seats—it is a gen ed class after all, something on some ancient history, and you notice two empty seats, side-by-side, tucked away in the corner of the lecture room. You have to carefully maneuver yourself down the seats.

Navigating the maze of limbs and backpacks, you mumble a series of "excuse me’s" and "coming through’s" until you squeeze past two guys—a stern-looking blond with glasses that scream "salaryman thirst trap" and a loud brunet beside him. Reaching your target, you slide into the seat that leaves an empty one between you and the blond. You’re very pleased about the extra breathing room.

Maybe today won’t be so bad after all.

You prepare your supplies to take notes on the first (of many) syllabus reviews to come. In the meantime, you’re privy to hearing the mumble and grumble of people around you; it’s only when a throat clears itself at the head of the class do you see a man—probably the professor of this class, Yaga—who has the slides already up. Ancient East Asian History is branded on the big white screen in bolded, black Arial font. Clearly, graphic design was not his passion.

His voice projects through the mic and is fairly deep and resonant, so it’s clear to everyone, despite the number of people in the room, that class is starting. As expected, the next slide is titled “What is Ancient East Asian History?” 

“Let’s delve deeper into what I mean by East Asian. Asia is a subcontinent that’s home to a diverse set of cultures, and even so in East Asia…”

As Yaga speaks, time ebbs and flows around you. The monotonous sounds of papers flipping, pens scratching on paper, and the clicking of keyboards surrounds you. You can’t help but think the fluorescent lights, harsh and white, had to be designed to keep students from falling asleep, because their intensity paints the lecture hall in this weird lighting. The mood created by it is something akin to the filter horror movies perpetually have on—vivid, but cold and dark. Like when you’ve been up for too long to the point that you don’t know if it’s night, or morning, because it’s still dark out. Then, dawn breaks, the sun enveloping the sky in its warmth.

Suddenly, the heavy set of doors that serve as your lecture hall’s entrance open loudly—louder than someone who is sheepishly entering late. Instead of the usual indifference reserved for a fellow student who had slept in, the room ripples with murmurs and giggles, shattering the silence that had settled—save for Yaga’s lecturing.

You don’t look at first. You look at Yaga, who is pinching the bridge of his nose as he mutters, “In Japanese culture, punctuality is a form of respect—something we are clearly still learning.”

You don’t turn. You don’t need to. But, like a current pulling you under, your gaze follows the crowd’s. And you see him.

Gojo.

Suddenly, your heart clenches violently, and you can only help but gasp hoarsely and shut your eyes. If you didn't, streams of tears would flow down your face once more. You couldn’t help but swear internally; you had thought you had conditioned yourself to be stable at the mention of his name. 

But, almost as if it’s subconscious, you wrench your eyes open, desperate to view the boy. You’d assume something apologetic, maybe. Rushed. Someone with their hood up, mumbling an excuse as they shuffle into the shadows of the back row. But this—

This is someone who walks like he knows the sound of his own footsteps matters. His ivory hair is tussled, like he had just rolled out of your dream. He looks a bit younger than he did when you had seen him, but his eyes are the same unmistakable brilliant, cerulean color.

Now, he’s making his way down the stairs, skipping every third one with his long legs. Something leaves his lips, and it’s something humorous—depending on how girls and guys around him laugh, a shared sense of adoration in their eyes. You can only help but watch as he comes closer and closer to you, and you remember belatedly that the seat next to you is the only empty one in the whole lecture hall.

Yaga huffs and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms in barely concealed annoyance. “Nice of you to join us, Gojo.”

Gojo lifts a hand in a lazy wave. “Yaga, you ever tried finding parking on this campus?” The lecture erupts in barely muted half-sleepy giggles. 

It’s only when a particularly loud high five he receives—by the brunet in your row—that you break out of your reverie and turn to your laptop, flustered. Any attempt to act nonchalant would be funny as if the thing that’s wrong with you—that invisible thing—hasn’t been rippling violently inside your gut the moment you laid eyes on him. Like your body has just been handed proof. Like a wound cracking open in slow motion.

He’s approaching, long legs trying to get through the sheer amount of people to where the empty seat next to you was, and when he’s there, right next to you, you shouldn’t look up.

But you do.

When your eyes meet his, something ancient and awful coils in your throat. A shiver, not of fear, but of recognition so buried it aches.

Pearly teeth and bright blue eyes glistening. A breathless, “Hi.”

And the invisible string, that had spiraled and corkscrewed itself into the jumble it was, pulls—until it is straight and wrung tight. You don’t know this boy. You’ve never seen him before.

So why does it feel like your heart just remembered how to break?

Your throat is dry, but you manage out a “Good morning.”

You turn back to your desk, your fingers quivering. By your side, he’s moving and rummaging through the contents of his backpack quite noisily, one that can be heard throughout the lecture hall if one were to tune out Yaga’s droning. In curiosity of seeing what was taking him so damn long to find, you turn your head slightly, and notice the heaps of wrappers—all pastel colored and bright, like candy and dessert wrappers—that his backpack is almost suffocated with. Then, he pulls out his laptop, opens it, and resumes the game of Run 3 he had paused beforehand.

Respectfully, what the fuck.

As if sensing your stare, he turns to you until meeting your eyes; you were caught. Like a deer caught in headlights, you helplessly stare back at him, heat creeping up your neck, and his gaze leaves your eyes to look at your lips, which you were biting.

Then, he leans in slightly—you also inching yourself back because why is he getting so close and why is your heart beating so fast—and whispers, “Do I know you?”

You’ve never seen him outside of the weird dream you had, and it would’ve been weird to admit that you’ve dreamed about him. “No, I don’t think you do,” you whisper back, voice hoarse.

His lips quirk in response, but, to your dismay, he doesn’t retract. His brows furrow while he stares at your face, as if deep in thought, and nods, flirtatiously saying, “Makes sense. I feel like I wouldn’t have forgotten you if I had met you.”

Despite the cheesy line, heat creeps up your neck, and you can’t help but bitterly look down at your desk after giving him a quiet, “No, I don’t we have. I’m sorry.” If he flirted with a stranger like this, dream you must’ve had a really hard time as his wife. Shameless.

And thus the lecture runs its course. Throughout, you’re tense, the heat of his presence never letting you relax. You feel every movement of his fingers, his forearms, as he played his games or typed miscellaneous things that you didn’t see because you were physically forcing yourself to stare at the lecture slides, back ramrod straight.

It’s only until his leg starts shaking that you start feeling…weird. His reaction is completely normal; you don’t blame him, because Yaga’s been going over the syllabus’ section of projects and how you can’t change project partners for over thirty minutes. But it’s the fact that a steady wave of nausea is building up inside you, until a sharp piercing sensation overwhelms your head.

Then, a vision.

It’s hazy, as if projected on cloudy water. A shaking leg, clad in what seems like uniform pants, underneath a small wooden desk. Then, a hand reaches out to yours, grasping it firmly, and you feel a weird sense of nausea once more. However, it’s not the same feeling you’ve been feeling since your dream—instead, it’s a stomach upturning feeling of being teleported somewhere.

A bed.

It’s a small one, in a room that resembles a dorm. The hand grasping yours isn’t simply grabbing your hand; it’s now trailing up your sock-covered ankle, up your calves, and then under your skirt—

The murky vision gets even murkier until you can’t register anything anymore. Then, you suddenly return, the fluorescent lights being the first thing you register after the weird deja-vu-memory thing. The feelings you felt from the vision linger, including overwhelming feelings of euphoria, lust, and sheer happiness that bloom in your heart warmly, like a flower in fresh spring.

You’re so distraught from the complicated jumble of feelings that have thrusted themselves upon you that you don’t hear Yaga say his concluding words. It’s the jarring, obnoxious screech! of the chair next to you—Gojo’s—that you jump to your senses and realize half of the students have left. 

Thus, you hurriedly pack your things and book it the fuck out of there because you would rather die than be the last person to leave class, lest Yaga think you were staying behind to talk to him. You’ve had more than your fill of East Asian Studies today.

Maybe it’s best if you avoid Gojo, lest you slip up. The dream—and the weird reactions your body seems to be having in his presence—are too…peculiar. If something happened, you wouldn’t know how to recover.

In your haste, you don’t realize you’ve left something behind, nor did you hear the “Wait! You forgot….this” that Gojo had called out to you, staring at the object in his hand—and your retreating back—with a complicated expression.

next. the aftermath (soon!)

a/n short chapter, but this series is going to contain a mixture of: a lot of crack and fluff, yearning (as always, yall know me), and debilitating angst ("who did this to you??" oh i loved writing the angst) and crazy reunion sex. comment down below to be added to the taglist!!

to be clear, unless otherwise indicated, reader is getting these moments from the past as "migraines" / flashes / dreams.

TAGLIST P1:

@nithica @rh-tg1 @tbzzluvr @spookytyphoonfire @vsynical

@totallyuniquenut @yamiyas @nishayuro @nariminsstuff @starmapz

@sylusonlylove @purplemint @elliesndg @gggellaa @arabellasolstice

@arrozyfrijoles23 @yeehawbrothers @that-one-lightskin @candyluvsboba @avaults

@iheartkhloe @angelcherrry @madamechrissy @xxemmarldxx @lovenbesos

@liveforkny @nattie-smack @cherryredribbons @introvertatitsfinest @starlightoru-gojo

@hyori2 @gxldencloset @l0v3m3m0re @cuntysaurusrex @nanamineedstherapy

@oikawasxx @littlemisspoets-blog @anuncalledbridge @watermelonmuntchers @zeyno-14

@k-kkiana @nanamiskentos @kviwi @evawts @forest-nymph420

@bontensh0e @viiennie @blossomedfloweroflove @6isek @dreamssfyre

[keotograph]

Endless Summer

Pairings- Yandere! Caleb x F!reader

Summary- You are staying home from summer break before Senior year of college with your Gran, Josephine, when a huge surprise happens, after over a year of being unable to see Caleb, he comes back to stay. You're so happy, but there's just a couple problems - one, you want him in ways you shouldn't, and you're just starting to get over it with the distance. And two, Caleb is pretty fucking pissed that you have a date.

Warnings- eventual smut, light angst, taboo relationships (Caleb basically is MC's stepbro lol, so it's the same dynamic here) longing, mutual pining, JEALOUSY like a mf, yandere Caleb, he's a virgin bc that's canon to meee, him being utterly obsessed bc that's how we love him. This chap - teasing, sexual thoughts, SO MUCH TENSION, mentions of masturbation and jealousy

Third time writing Caleb but this will be my first LADS series!! I'm excited to write something longer. It'll be like 4 parts hehe, lmk if you want a tag in the next!!!

Part One

"Caleb!" You run up to him and he picks you up in his big arms, strong and so tightly wrapping you, you almost can't breathe. He's laughing, the sound you missed so badly in person - over the phone just wasn't the same. His big white grin melting your fucking heart, the arms you feel so safe in squeezing you so tightly.

"Pip squeak!" He's lifted you up in his arms, spinning you now, as Gran smiles at you two, crossing her arms and watching as you peck kisses along his head. "Stop, you're slobbering all over me!"

"You should thank me, you stink you know!"

"Hey!" He glares playfully, you're giggling, heart so full from seeing him again, as he eases you down, and for a moment you feel your cheeks heat up.

God he's gotten even buffer, hasn't he? Are his shoulders broader, what the fuck?

It seems completely unfair, in his black military uniform with ribbons and gold buttons decorating the chest, of the many accolades he's already gotten. His hat sits just so over his head, hiding those dark brown locks that used to tint gold over the summers you spent together, your hands touch that thick, sturdy material over his strong forearms as you smile.

You had a dream of him last night - but it wasn't some prophetic dream, no you wish it was something sweet like that. It was you in his bed, trying to inhale any scent left of him, soaking wet from picturing Caleb's head right between your thighs.

You'd woke up drenched, and cumming, your cunt pulsing without even touching yourself, as you wore one of those sweaters of his that hit right mid thigh, so fucking embarrassing. You refused to touch yourself to him, in his childhood bed, the one he'd hold you in when you had a nightmare, when you got scared.

It started before then, the obsession with Caleb, but you were able over these years to shove it back, to hold it in, to explain it away with this or that. Seeing him again, being in his arms, inhaling that musky scent of his was enough to do you in.

Little do you know, Caleb has no problem jerking his cock to you, in fact he does so every night - as much of a routine as washing his face and brushing his teeth. In that order actually, brush teeth, wash face, jerk off to your photos.

He used to have the scent of you on the panties he stole, but he's been gone far, far too long to have that anymore. Now, it's pictures of you, the selfies you send him, so innocent and sweet too, not knowing the boy you grew up with jerks and cums to them nightly.

The distance made it somewhat bearable, the torture he's been put under with his obsession with you, but now, holding you again?

He damn near forgets Gran is in the fucking room, he'd love to pick you up and press your body against that wall, or take you up to your childhood bed, the one he'd watch you sleep in, and tuck you in back then - but instead, now he would fuck you so hard he breaks the goddamn thing.

He can't stand your sweet scent filling his nostrils, the way your cheeks tint that perfect hue in his presence - He's hopeless for you, and he can't do a fucking thing about it in this proximity.

"Shower time for Caleb!" You tease, dragging him up by your hand now, and Gran laughs as the two of you shove each other playfully back and forth until you help him get settled in his old room.

"You all never change anything, huh?" he teases, running fingers over the photos of both of you lining the cork board on the walls. Over all these years, no matter how many women have tried, he's been unable to be with any of those girls, no matter if he's been as horny as can be, he's still waiting for something he doesn't even show.

He's pretty sure if anyone knew he was a virgin, they wouldn't believe him - including you. You tease him about his fanclub of girls he's always had, not realizing he doesn't even pay attention to a single one, how the fuck could he when you exist?

He has to wonder... it can't be the same for you, can it?

He'd die to lap you up right between your thighs, that are pressing together as you sit up on his dresser, smiling at him and swinging your calves back and forth, he admires the shape of them far more than is normal for any human being. He barely registers that your perfect lips are moving, then focuses.

"Of course Gran changes nothing, I haven't been here since spring for a couple days actually, I feel bad she's alone!"

"How's college going, make any friends?" You nod shyly, looking down, and he watches the lights from outside his window flicker along your skin, washing it in the golden light. He nervously unbuttons his jacket, feeling your eyes on his chest as he does.

"It's good, and I do have some friends. Oh! You still wear this?" You reach over, touching the dog tags you got him so long ago, back when he started training and you were in high school.

"Of course I do." He takes your hand, smiling the way only Caleb does, his hand feels too good, like everything is heightened from your stupid fucking dream now. "And do you, wear yours?"

You nod, and his fingers drift across your neck, eyes lit in a vivid amethyst as he sees a bare neck. "Here," you tug it out from under your shirt, smiling as he traces it with his long fingers, calloused and rough against delicate skin. "I always wear it."

"Even in the shower?" He teases, but the thoughts whirl in his mind, of you naked. He's seen you before of course, he's always averted his eyes, tortured by the memories, but you're entirely grown now, your body so sexy he's dying picturing it. You just get more beautiful every time he sees you.

"Yeah, in the shower, silly. Speaking of- go take one." You shove him off, before darting in your room, taking several breaths, shutting your eyes tightly.

You can't want him.

*****

The next day, you're all dressed up, trying to straighten your hair unsuccessfully, honestly Caleb spoiled you so badly as a teen that he dried and straightened your hair for you. You still kind of suck at it, always missing the back. He also cooked for you and Gran constantly, and you do tend to order out or make ramen, you just never liked food like you liked his.

Caleb walks by, just wearing a sweater, you're mortified as you remember you were wearing it and cumming the other day, but he doesn't seem to notice your expression. He's raised a brow, as you count the new freckles speckled across that straight nose of his, new ones you missed before.

"Need some help, punk? The back of your hair is a mess." You glare playfully, but nod, handing him the black straightening wand and your brush.

"Please."

"So spoiled, still huh?" He teases, and begins to move it slowly, detangling your hair as you sigh in bliss, remembering out it feels. "Why are you all dolled up, girls night?"

You smile a bit, curious if he'd notice your pretty outfit. When he said anything sweet to you it meant more than a compliment from anyone. "No, um... I have a date."

"A date?" Caleb's words come out hoarse, as he runs the burning hot straightener through your hair, his dark violet eyes unreadable as he stands so tall behind you in the reflection.

"Yeah, Caleb you haven't been home in a year and I hadn't really mentioned it because it's not too serious, but I am talking to someone," you murmur, not bearing to meet his reflection. How could you, truly, when the man you want is right here? "Me and gran are glad you visited you know!"

"Are you," his voice is darker than usual, the lilting and sweet way he speaks to you, it's different. Just like the darkness in his usually brilliant eyes, running the hot ceramic over your hair. "It's been so long you forgot about me?"

"What, Caleb!? No! I missed you so bad. I wrote to you constantly, you know," you frown now, and he sighs, moving to another section of your hair. "I miss this."

"Will someone else do this now?" You're blinking in confusion, his hurt tone, so soft yet something dangerous to it, something you can't quite place, as you eye him in the mirror.

"Will someone straighten my hair?"

"Yeah, a boyfriend maybe?"

"I..." you trail off, looking at him in confusion. Though unspoken surely, you've never worded just how you feel, nothing but countless entries in your diaries about the love you surely shouldn't feel, but have since you met him that day as a little kid.

"Your date is here, honey!" Gran says, just for Caleb to accidentally burn your neck then, you gasp in pain and he curses, so furious about the thought of anyone with you, he didn't pay attention. Now he's hurt you, the last thing he ever wants to do.

God he just wants to kiss it better.

"Shit, I'm sorry pip squeak." He's immediately setting the straightener down, turning and touching your neck, you cry out in pain as he observes the burn forming on your skin. "I'm so sorry."

"it's okay, mmm," you try to put on a tough smile, but you see his sweet puppy dog eyes, that little expression that tugs on your heart.

"Let me take care of you, please," he says softly, you shake your head, and his brows lower. "Let me help."

"It's nothing-"

"I'll get some aloe, hold on." You're running cool water on your neck as your gran comes up, she took the two of you in a very long time ago, but Caleb's military training has left her alone, mostly, when you're not in school. She treasures every visit, especially the two of you together.

"Are you all right honey?" She asks, you nod asCaleb frantically runs and grabs it, eyeing the man that walks in calmly now into the kitchen.

He pauses, glaring, dark lashes narrowed as he takes him in - he wants to fucking kill him just knowing he'd get a chance at taking you out, when you're his and always would be. Those memories of being a kid, when you two first met and he said those words -

I'm Caleb, and I'll always be by your side.

Well, Caleb meant it, yes he had to be out of town and missed a lot of time to make sure you all had anything you needed financially, but that doesn't mean he's not just as much a part of you as you are of him.

"And who's this, Gran?" He asks, as she's back down stairs, he can still hear the water running upstairs.

You always do that when you get burnt, when he's told you many times it's not the best solution, but you're stubborn.

Caleb smiles as he grabs the bottle of dark blue aloe, and Gran looks at him with a smile. "It's her date for the night." She introduces a name he barely registers, shaking the young guys hand, a good six inches shorter than Caleb, squeezing the shit out of it with a smirk.

"Oh, hi there. I'm Caleb." He says, and the man clears his throat, shaking his hand out.

"And you are..."

Caleb pauses- just what is he to you? After all these years, you are his everything, all he lives, breathes and dreams, but what do you feel for him now? Grown up, grabbing plates off shelves yourself, living at your dorm and enjoying your own life, your own world, where does he fit in anymore?

A week here, a week there, writing you letters every time he leaves for a mission, knowing he may never see you again. You've never seen them, he's never told you that he wants more, so much more, than just being 'family' or whatever the fuck this was. That he wants to kill anyone that comes near you.

How does Caleb ever explain that?

"He's our family," Gran says with a smile, touching his shoulder. "Did she hurt herself bad?"

No, Caleb hurt her, and it feels horrible knowing he did. The last thing he ever wants is to hurt you.

"She just burned herself with a straightener, so it'll... be a few." He murmurs, Gran nods a bit, and Caleb runs back up, seeing you bent over the sink now, in a skirt that's way too fucking short. He can see the outline of your cunt under panties he'd die to have against his face, filling him with the need to just devour you.

If he could, he'd have his own perfect little fucking world, with just you and him.

"Caleb?" You ask, standing, the water dripping down your top, little droplets that trail down your perfect breasts.

He says nothing, cock throbbing under his jeans, mind in a mix of hatred for this random boy, and desire for you, equal parts fucking his entire brain up now.

"The aloe?"

"Yeah, here..." he shuts the bathroom door, leaving the two of you completely alone, far too close, you have to angle your head up to look at Caleb, as tall as he's gotten. He takes two fingers, pumping the clear gel onto them, brushing your hair back with his other hand, so intimate your breath catches.

There's just one problem lately, and that's the fact that you want Caleb, more than a family should, more than friends should. You want him to touch you in places you touch yourself, thinking of him shirtless and sweaty after a workout, thinking of his long fingers buried inside you so deep.

You hate the thoughts, you hate how lonely you get when he leaves, how badly you want him to come home, but when he does, especially over summer break, when you climb into bed during a storm? It's very clear you're not a little girl anymore, not when his hard body does things to you.

Not when you wake up embarrassingly wet in his arms and pray he doesn't notice.

Now, he's touching your fingers gently with the gel, as he watches your pretty breasts heave up and down, the icy cool gel soothing your burned skin. Your eyes shut, sighing in pleasure, while Caleb bites down on his lip to prevent his own sigh, of how perfect your skin feels for him.

He wants to tear this slutty little outfit off of you. He doesn't want the random guy to see it, he doesn't want him touching you, he doesn't want anyone to touch you, but him. He wants a perfect world where it's the two of you, and no one else, tracing his finger across your collar bone, while your eyes flutter open now, looking at the darkened gaze.

"Feel better, Pip squeak?" He manages hoarsely, you shake your head nervously. "No, need more?"

"Please," you whisper, he takes a little more of it, stepping even closer, your back is against the bathroom sink, as he leans low, so big over you. "Hurts."

"I don't want you to hurt, ever," he touches that spot again, but then his hand slips lower, down your arm, leaving goosebumps in it's wake. "Why are you going out tonight? When I'm here?"

You swallow nervously, feeling his breath against your neck, his huge hand gripping your wrist. "Because I... have to have a life, Caleb, you can't just take me on a date you know. I... need things."

"You need things?" He presses a kiss right over that burn, his lips dry and cool, as his hand brushes the side of your breast, and you gasp at it. "I will give you everything you ever need."

"You can't give me everything, can you?" A thigh comes between yours now, and he whines softly in your ear as he feels your heat. "Can you, Caleb?"

"I'll give you anything-" Knock Knock Knock.

Caleb steps back, as you panic, and he sees how hard your nipples are, infuriated that this guy is going to get to look at you like that. You turn, brushing your hair now. "Is the burn okay hunny?"

"Yes, Gran, Caleb put aloe on it." You smile as you brush past him, seeing the tense look on his face and shoving it back.

You and Caleb can't be more than this, you can't let yourself even think it.

"I'll be down in a minute!" You wave down to the sweet boy from college who asked you out from on top of the stairwell, going to your room to put on a pair of high heels.

Caleb follows you, leaning on your doorway, so broad shouldered he takes over the fucking doorway. "Shouldn't I know about him, to keep you safe?"

"I'll be fine, you trained me well. And look." You pat the gun on your thigh, showing him far too much of those thighs he wants to grip onto. "I know how to use it if I gotta."

"That's my girl," he bends down, helping latch the little buckle on your heel, his breath right against your thigh, making you soaking fucking wet, as he looks up at you like that, making you think the worst things that you cannot think.

God if he inches his lips up a little higher...

He eyes the slick on your inner thigh glistening in the light, he doesn't say anything about it, god he'd never embarrass you, disrespect you, despite thinking of all the ways he'd love to take you. From the back with your ass arched up, mating press so you'd take all his cum, but mostly grip your hands, so small compared to his, and look right in your eyes as he fucks you slow. As he makes love to you.

He just kneels before you for a moment, swiping it off your thigh and hearing your intake of breath, he wants to taste it immediately, but he waits. It's too long of a moment, before standing up and holding one of your hands tightly. He's now the supportive Caleb, the sweet Caleb - But you want more.

"If you need anything, I'll be here, just call me, okay honey?" Honey, the way that rolls off his tongue almost does you in, as sweet as the substance itself. You somehow maintain that composure, when haven't you had to with him since you became a teenager?

You can do it, you can keep it normal, it's just a couple of weeks.

"It's a dinner date, relax." You smile, kissing his cheek, in the sweet and friendly way you always have, reminding yourself - You can't feel this way - you smile at your date, so sweet he's brought you flowers. You resign yourself to go have fun, to have a life - it can't just be waiting around for Caleb forever.

Surely, he's had a life, he's had women - just look at him, the thought alone makes you unreasonably jealous, you hate feeling that way, it's like him coming home brought it all up when you had done such a good job of tucking it away. You feign a giggle and a bright smile as you two walk out the doors, and down the front porch.

You feel it, some eyes on you, you look up to see the curtains close in your room now. Surely he just wants to make sure you're okay, as you step inside the car, the feeling making you just stare up at that window, wondering if he went through anything in his mind even close to you - and not seeing him eagerly sucking your arousal off his fingers.

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[keotograph]

𝐒𝐢𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐭, 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥

[ 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 ]

𝐚 / 𝐧 : to the lovely anon who asked for a sports AU: this one’s for you. I rarely write sports AUs (they’re so hard for me), but your ask stuck with me. this was a challenge, and I hope it lands.

thank you to everyone who supported me through my thesis hellscape—you kept me writing even when my brain was mush and my blood was 90% caffeine. sorry for the wait. I promise I never forgot you.

think of this as an appetizer: slow, tense, messy. just the way I like it. hope you're hungry. 🖤

𝐜𝐰 : explicit sexual content (18+), locker room/supply closet setting, childhood friends to lovers, emotionally charged smut, praise kink, dirty talk, fingerplay (f!receiving), consent emphasized but unspoken history present, Caleb unravels <3, heavy yearning, mild public risk (they could be caught), emotionally repressed men crumbling slowly

𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐎𝐰𝐧 : [ Press Here ! ]

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐃 for her. Not really. Not consciously. Not in a way that anyone could call obvious.

But his body always knew. Reacted before his brain could issue the command—

Not when the gym doors groaned open. Not when the bleachers sighed under new weight. Not even when the ghost of citrus and something softer threaded through the air, fraying the edge of his focus.

No.

It was the silence.

That shiftless, seismic pause inside his head. The one that only happened when she walked in.

He didn’t glance up. Didn’t need to.

He felt her. Like muscle memory. Like instinct. Like the part of him that still belonged to her, even when she wasn’t his.

And it ruined him. Quietly. Entirely. Like she had every fucking right.

The volleyball in his palm was slick with resin and heat, but his grip held. Steady. Unshaken. He rotated it once, twice—automatic, mechanical.

Around him, the court echoed with the rhythm of pre-game rituals: rubber soles squeaking against polished wood, the low thud of balls slapping the floor, lazy banter about finals and Friday night keg parties.

He didn’t hear a word of it.

Because she was here.

And he hadn’t seen her in three days.

Which was too long. Which was pathetic. Which made something behind his ribs twist and settle like an ache he didn’t know how to name.

She sat where she always did. Third row from the bottom. Left side. One leg tucked beneath her like she could disappear into herself. Hoodie sleeves swallowed her hands. Her chin tilted just enough to catch the overhead lights.

Wasn’t watching the game. Not exactly.

She was watching him.

And he knew it.

He didn’t give her the satisfaction of eye contact. That would be reckless. Weak. He’d lose his focus. His grip. His goddamn mind.

But his neck still burned beneath the weight of her gaze.

A spike cracked across the gym. Someone shouted his name.

He blinked.

Reset.

“Yo, Captain! You zoning out already?” Gideon’s voice cut through the noise as he lobbed a ball across the court.

Caleb caught it one-handed, jaw locked. “Focus on your warmup, Gideon.”

“Aw, come on, man, I was just—”

“Now.”

The gym stalled—silent for half a breath too long.

Then: laughter, movement, the return of chaos.

Control. Regain it. Tighten the reins. Breathe.

He rolled his shoulders. Turned back toward the net. Shoved her into the far corner of his mind, where she didn’t belong but always stayed.

But she was still there.

And his hands—

They still fucking shook.

Just a little.

Just enough.

He adjusted his grip. Flexed his fingers once. Twice. As if he could shake the tremor loose from his bones.

It didn’t work.

Because this wasn’t about the game.

He didn’t get nervous here. Not anymore. Not on a court that obeyed logic. Where the net never lied, and the ball did exactly what he asked—as long as he asked the right way.

No, the ache came from somewhere far less predictable.

From her.

From the knowledge that she was sitting there again like it didn’t mean anything. Like her presence wasn’t a blade slid beneath his ribs, sharp and slow and deliberate.

Three days.

He hated that he’d counted.

Hated it more that her absence had left him off-kilter. Unmoored. Like she’d pulled gravity out from under him and forgot to give it back.

She wasn’t his.

He reminded himself of that more often than he liked to admit. Every time she wore a dress that made him think about his hands on her thighs. Every time she leaned into his side like it still meant something.

It didn’t. It couldn’t.

But it felt like it did.

And neither of them had the balls to call the lie what it was.

He was good at letting things live when he should’ve buried them.

Another ball slammed against the hardwood. The echo reverberated through the gym, grounding and hollow all at once. His teammates were still stretching, still shouting. Still moving.

But Caleb wasn’t there with them.

His eyes lifted. Betrayed him. Again.

She’d shifted forward—elbows on her knees, fingers curled beneath her chin, posture casual, calculated chaos. The hem of her hoodie had crept up, revealing a sliver of skin above the waistband of her skirt.

It wasn’t much.

But it was too much.

Too soft. Too exposed. Too hers.

He looked away like it burned.

Because it did.

Because she looked like summer in a room made of concrete.

And Caleb had never been allowed soft things. Not really. Not for long.

He crouched low, palms spread flat against the court. A ritual. A reflex. Years of conditioning engraved into the sinew of his spine. But it felt empty.

Like motion was a poor man’s version of control. Like every breath he took was a debt she didn’t know he owed her.

Then—she tilted her head.

Smiled.

Not wide. Just enough. Enough to crack something open in his chest.

Not pain.

Worse.

Hope.

His gaze snapped back to the floor.

There were things you didn’t let yourself want—not if you planned on surviving them.

And she was at the top of that list.

He exhaled through his nose—short, sharp—trying to bleed it out of his system. The heat pooling low in his gut. The ache in his jaw from grinding down every thought that tasted like her. The need to glance back. To confirm she was still watching.

He already knew. She was.

The whistle pierced the air. Reset. Players shuffled into position.

Caleb didn’t speak. He never did at the start of a match. He didn’t need to. He was the center—quiet, composed, the axis the team revolved around.

He let the rhythm take him.

The bounce of the ball. The ref’s count. The squeal of shoes pivoting on polished wood.

First set.

Serve received.

The ball arced clean over the net, smooth and fast. He tracked it with muscle-deep precision. Hands up. Knees bent. The world narrowed to timing. Form. Reaction.

He jumped.

Blocked.

Landed.

The crowd erupted behind him, but it came muffled—distant, like sound underwater. He didn’t turn to celebrate. Didn’t seek high-fives or praise.

His eyes flicked to the bleachers.

She’d moved.

One leg uncrossed now, foot tapping a slow, steady rhythm against the row beneath her. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her sleeve, tracing it in soft loops—like she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

Like she was soothing herself.

Or worse—like she was toying with him.

And it worked.

He turned back too late.

The next spike flew past the block.

One–one.

He didn’t react. Not visibly.

But inside?

Rage.

Not at the team. Not even at the game.

At himself.

He had rules. Boundaries. Non-negotiables. On the court, she was off-limits. He didn’t think about her. Didn’t let himself.

But she made not-thinking feel like drowning.

He ground his teeth. Planted his heels. The whistle shrieked, and this time he served with brutal intent—fast, vicious, a shot straight through the setter’s arms.

Caleb moved like a weapon.

Precise. Cold. Unforgiving.

But she was still there.

Every time he landed, he wondered if she was watching. Every point he earned, he felt her smile somewhere behind his ribs—Ghostlike. Dangerous.

His breath came faster. Sweat clung beneath his jersey. But it wasn’t exhaustion.

It was her.

She made him slower in all the ways that counted— And sharper in all the ways that hurt.

Then—

She leaned forward.

Fingers curled in her lap. Mouth parted—barely—like she was about to say something.

And he didn’t look away this time.

He rose for the kill shot like it was war.

Struck the ball like it had dared to touch her.

And when it landed— Hard, clean, final—

He swore she flinched.

But then—

She moved.

Her hands shot up, clapping. Her mouth parted on a shout that sliced through the gym and hit him dead center.

“Caleb!”

His name. Her voice.

No hesitation.

Not the hushed, half-laughed sound she used when they passed in crowded hallways. Not the quiet exchange of syllables over lecture notes or the breathless hey she gave him when he waited outside her dorm after dark.

This was different.

This was louder.

This was hers.

Thrown across the court like a gauntlet. A boundary he’d been pretending didn’t exist.

And he—

He stumbled.

Not physically. No one would’ve noticed. He turned, jogged toward the back of the court, nodded at the setter like nothing cracked beneath the surface. Business as usual.

But inside?

He came undone.

Because all the times he’d imagined her cheering his name— He’d never let himself imagine it would feel like this.

Like being chosen. Like being seen.

A current surged under his skin, buzzing through muscle and marrow. His pulse stuttered. His fingers tingled. His chest felt too tight beneath the jersey, like it no longer fit—like it was stitched for someone less full of want.

And God— He was proud.

Of the kill. Of the momentum. Of the match.

But mostly—

Of the fact that she was watching.

No teammate, no coach, no crowd had ever made him feel like this. Like the game wasn’t just his—it was theirs.

She was his center of gravity. His tilt toward madness. His axis of ruin.

And when she looked at him like that— Eyes lit, spine straight, mouth curled like she knew— He played like nothing in the world could break him.

They used to call her his lucky charm.

He’d scoffed. Shrugged it off.

Now? Now he wasn’t so sure it wasn’t true.

Because when she cheered, he didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think.

He struck.

Not to show off. To claim.

The set reset.

He crouched, muscles coiled. The team moved in sync, fluid, efficient. They were up three points. Momentum theirs to lose.

But Caleb didn’t care about the scoreboard.

Not really.

He cared about her.

Whether she’d shout his name again. Whether she’d come down after. Whether she knew what she’d just done to him.

The whistle screamed.

Another serve.

He read the angle before it formed, pivoted, surged, soared.

And slammed it down like it was personal.

The crowd exploded.

But he didn’t hear them.

He only listened for one voice.

And when he heard her again—softer this time, but still his—

He didn’t need the win.

He already had it.

But the game wasn’t done with him.

The first set closed in their favor—barely. A narrow win, sealed by a low dig from Cole and a clean, vicious set from Gideon that dropped into Caleb’s hands like it belonged there. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think.

He rose. Twisted midair. Hammered it down with a kill that punched the court like a full stop.

They didn’t celebrate. Not really. Not with two more sets still looming.

“Keep your heads,” Caleb said as they huddled, voice low, anchored. “They’re reading the left swing faster. We rotate early. Lock that back line.”

Gideon nodded, sweat glinting along the slope of his neck. “We’re good. Just keep feeding you the damn ball and pray you don’t start missing.”

“I don’t miss,” Caleb replied, flat. Certain.

“You don’t breathe either,” Liam muttered beside him, grinning. “Freak.”

But there was pride in the jab. That rare kind of battlefield affection—earned through court burns, cracked joints, and ten thousand hours of grind.

Second set.

Different animal.

The other team came back snarling. Sharper. Their outside hitter—tall, fast, ruthless—found his rhythm, and their defense stopped giving ground.

Caleb felt the shift. It surged beneath the court like an undertow.

Everything turned razor-tight. Every point fought, won, clawed for.

And the gym changed with it.

Louder. Frenzied. The crowd leaned in with every volley. Shouts tore through the air. Sneakers screamed against the floor. The smack of the ball echoed like a gunshot.

And still—

He kept looking for her.

Not constantly. But enough.

A second here. A breath there.

She’d moved closer. A row down, elbows braced on her knees, eyes locked on him like she couldn’t imagine looking anywhere else.

She wasn’t smiling.

She was feeling it.

With them.

And he— He burned for it.

But the second set slipped. Barely. A final block ricocheted off the right side. Point. Set. Reset.

They regrouped.

Coach didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

It was Caleb’s job now.

He pulled them in. Wiped sweat from his brow.

“Forget the last set,” he said. Calm. Steady. Dangerous. “We play the game in front of us. Nothing else.”

Cole exhaled hard. “I’m on fumes, Cap.”

Caleb nodded once. “Then give me what’s left.”

Final set.

Twenty-five points. Winner takes it.

They fought like hell.

Caleb moved on instinct. Lungs dragging air like it cost something. Legs screaming. Shoulders locking. Sweat soaked his jersey, stung down his spine.

Every move precise. Relentless.

Dig. Set. Spike. Repeat.

He tasted metal at the back of his throat. Couldn’t tell if it was blood or adrenaline.

Still—he kept going.

Because she was watching. Because his team needed him. Because his name meant something.

Twenty-Twenty.

Gideon stumbled on the serve.

Caleb saw the gap, moved before anyone else, and slid across the court. Reached too far. Back twisted wrong.

But it landed clean.

Gideon grabbed his shoulders, panting. “You good?”

Caleb nodded. “Yeah.”

A lie.

But he wasn’t done. Not yet.

They pushed forward. Each point a war.

Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-one.

Match point.

Ball in the air.

Time dragged.

Gideon set it high. A perfect arc.

Caleb ran. Launched. Midair—

He didn’t see the ball. Didn’t see the net.

Just her.

And he brought the world down.

The ball hit the floor like thunder.

Twenty-Twenty-five. Game.

The gym erupted.

Screams. Cheers. Bodies colliding. Hands slapping backs. Gideon yelled something about Nationals. Liam tackled him in a half-hug that nearly flattened them both.

Caleb didn’t hear a word.

He felt the ache in his spine, the fire in his lungs— And her voice.

Calling his name.

Again. Sharpened now.

Laced with disbelief. And pride.

He looked up.

She was on her feet.

Clapping. Laughing. Eyes lit like she belonged to that moment—like she had every right to glow for him.

And maybe she did. Maybe she always had.

His teammates whooped, arms thrown over shoulders, dragging him in.

“Captain!” Gideon shouted, breathless and wild. “We’re going to fucking Nationals!”

And for once—

Caleb let himself smile.

Not for the win. Not for the title.

For her.

The applause didn’t stop.

Not right away.

It rolled over the gym like an aftershock—wave after wave of sound crashing against steel beams, polished floors, skin. Caleb couldn’t tell anymore if it was the crowd or just his pulse, still thudding in his ears like war drums.

Around him, his teammates were unraveling. Shouting, laughing, colliding into one another with the kind of joy that blurred exhaustion. Liam tried to climb Gideon’s back. Cole slung an arm around Caleb like it weighed nothing. Someone yelled about jerseys. Another cursed and cried and promised a keg in their honor.

But Caleb didn’t hear any of it.

Not the words. Not clearly.

He was scanning the bleachers.

Row by row. Top to bottom.

Searching.

She wasn’t there.

His gaze swept the third row. The second. The first.

Gone.

Her seat was empty. Her hoodie missing. The space cold.

Something shifted low in his stomach.

Not panic. Not quite. He wouldn’t allow that.

She probably slipped out early. Avoided the crowd. It was her. That’s what she did.

She hated noise. Always had.

Even as kids, she’d cover her ears during fireworks and lean against his shoulder until the sky stopped shaking.

Still—

He kept looking.

The crowd began to spill out. A tide of bodies pressing toward the exits. The gym lights dimmed, court staff already moving in, hauling nets and banners, sweeping chaos back into order.

A cloth banner unfurled from the ceiling. REGIONAL CHAMPIONS.

But Caleb’s eyes had already shifted to the corridor.

“Hey.”

Gideon’s voice cut through the static. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Caleb said, quiet. Stripped raw. “Just… ready to get out of here.”

Gideon didn’t buy it. He never did. He nudged Caleb’s shoulder with a knowing grin. “You sure you’re not just looking for your girl?”

Caleb arched a brow. “She’s not—”

“Yet,” Gideon interrupted, already turning toward the tunnel. “Locker room, Cap. Before Liam starts stripping on the court again.”

Caleb followed. Limbs heavy. Muscles screaming. His knee throbbed with each step, but he didn’t slow down.

He couldn’t.

The hallway was cooler. Quieter.

Brick walls. Gray tile. The hush of breath caught in overworked lungs. The distant clang of someone slamming a locker.

His palm dragged through sweat-damp hair as he walked.

He didn’t know what he was looking for.

A glimpse. A flicker. A sign.

Something.

He reached for the locker room door—

And then—

“Cal!”

His name cracked the air like a clean piano note.

He turned—fast.

She stood at the end of the corridor. Half in shadow.

One hand curled around the strap of her bag. The other lifted—hesitant, halfway to a wave.

Cheeks flushed. Eyes wide. Mouth parted like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Like she hadn’t expected him to hear.

But he did.

He always would.

Caleb’s lips parted—

And for the second time that night—

He smiled.

Not for the team. Not for the championship. Not for the legacy.

For her.

Gideon stepped up beside him, clapped a hand on his shoulder, leaned in close.

“Go,” he murmured. “Before I start writing your vows myself.”

Caleb didn’t hesitate.

He stepped away from Gideon’s grin, away from the noise, the locker room, the victory— And walked toward her.

Like the decision had already been made. Like his body had been waiting all night to move in this direction.

She didn’t move.

Not when he got closer. Not when his eyes locked onto hers like she might disappear if he blinked.

“Pips,” he said, voice low, almost reverent.

Her lips curved—barely. “Don’t call me that.”

“I just did.”

A breath escaped her. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a protest.

Then she looked at him. Really looked. And Caleb—Caleb almost forgot how to hold his own gaze.

Her eyes were brighter up close. Lit with something unreadable. Something sharp. Something dangerous.

He opened his mouth— Didn’t get the chance.

“Yo, Caleb!” someone shouted from down the hall. One of the bench guys, voice slicing through the tension like a blade. “National-bound, baby! Let’s fucking go!”

Caleb didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch.

He just clenched his jaw and nodded once in acknowledgment—eyes still on her.

She stepped back a half-inch. Her hand twitched at her side.

“I was trying to catch you before you went in,” she said softly. “But everyone was—”

“Caleb!” Another slap to his shoulder. Another name in the dark.

Still, he didn’t look away.

She tried again. “I just wanted to—”

“Captain!” Liam, shirt half-off and grinning like a lunatic. “You’re coming to the party, right? Coach said we can use the rec house—”

“Later.” Caleb didn’t even look. Voice clipped.

But it was enough.

By the time he turned back, her smile was already fading. Peeling off her lips like breath from cold glass.

She adjusted her bag higher on her shoulder. Fingers curling tighter around the strap.

“You should go celebrate,” she said, too light. Too casual. “You earned it.”

His stomach dropped. He didn’t know why.

Didn’t know why the thought of her walking away made his chest tighten again, like someone was reaching inside and twisting.

She turned.

One step.

Two.

“Congratulations, Cap,” she called over her shoulder—sharp and soft all at once.

And Caleb— He moved before he could think.

His hand shot out, wrapped around her wrist. Not hard. Just firm. Just certain.

She froze.

So did he.

He didn’t know what he was doing. Didn’t know what he needed to say. Or what she was about to.

He only knew this:

He didn’t want her to leave. Not yet. Not like that.

“Don’t,” he said, quiet. Measured.

She turned back to him. Slowly. Carefully.

He didn’t let go.

There was noise everywhere—voices, footsteps, celebration echoing off tile and brick. But none of it reached him.

He pulled her hand gently. Two steps. Three. Back, toward the nearest door—unmarked, metal, cracked just enough to offer cover.

She blinked. “Caleb—?”

He didn’t answer.

Just tugged her inside.

And shut the door behind them with one sharp, final click.

The supply room swallowed them whole.

Dim overhead light. Dust-thick air. Shelves stacked with cones, towels, unopened crates of water bottles.

Small.

Too small.

She was close.

Too close.

His breath caught. Hers did too.

And still—he didn’t let go.

She pressed her back to the door like it might steady her. Like distance could save her.

Caleb gave her none.

There were maybe six inches between them. Maybe less.

The kind of closeness that turned breath into a shared thing. The kind that made silence feel loud.

He still hadn’t let go of her hand.

It was smaller in his—warm, uncertain, trembling. Though whether it was hers or his, he couldn’t tell.

Palm to palm. Skin to skin. And something primal rooted him there.

His fingers shifted slightly.

She didn’t pull away.

Overhead, the light flickered once— Their shadows danced across steel shelves and stacks of battered volleyball crates, distorted, dreamlike.

The air was thick with chalk dust, heat, and something fainter—citrus and skin.

Her.

She looked up at him slowly. Lashes brushing her cheeks like she was afraid to look too long.

And when she spoke—

“Caleb.”

Just his name.

But it landed deep. Low. Dangerous.

Heavy with all the things she wasn’t saying.

He didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

His throat was dry. His jaw ached from the way he was holding himself back.

So he looked at her mouth instead.

That didn’t help.

Not when she was biting her lip— The way she always did when she was trying not to say too much. Or maybe not enough.

“What is this?” she asked. Barely louder than a breath.

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“This.”

Her free hand lifted. Paused near his chest. Dropped again.

“Dragging me into closets now?”

“Supply room,” he murmured. Because that was easier than saying the truth.

Her brow lifted. Dry. Sharp. “Right.”

Silence settled between them again.

Tight. Tense. Loaded.

His heart wasn’t racing. It was pounding.

Each beat a deliberate, measured threat to his restraint.

“I didn’t want you to leave,” he said, voice low.

She blinked. “Why?”

He should’ve had a line. Something careless. Teasing. Vague.

He had none of it.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

Too honest.

Her gaze dropped to their hands. Her thumb brushed over the edge of his.

A movement so small it could’ve meant nothing.

It didn’t.

It wrecked him. Quietly. Completely.

“You looked different out there,” she said. Her voice steadier now. Clearer.

“Harder,” she added. “Like you weren’t breathing.”

He swallowed. “I wasn’t.”

“Why?”

Because you were watching. Because I play like I want to be good enough for you. Because every time I touch the ball, I wonder if you’ll cheer.

He didn’t say any of it.

Instead—

“You were there.”

A whisper. A confession.

Her breath caught. Her eyes searched his face like she expected to find a lie.

She didn’t.

She said nothing. Neither did he.

And the space between them— What little remained— Crackled.

Like tension strung tight between a match and a fuse.

He should’ve stepped back.

Should’ve given her room. Space to breathe. To think. To choose.

But instead—

He leaned in.

Just barely. A shift of weight. A quiet surrender.

Like his body had been waiting for this exact alignment his entire life.

His free hand lifted—pressed flat against the door beside her head. Not to cage her in. Not quite.

But to steady himself. Anchor. Resist the pull.

The metal bit into his palm, cool and punishing. A reminder not to lose control.

Not to do something reckless.

Like tasting her.

From this close, he saw everything.

The tremble in her lashes—too subtle to be fear. It was anticipation. Barely leashed.

The constellation of freckles scattered across her nose, the kind most people never saw unless they got close enough to memorize them.

The flush rising beneath her skin, painting her neck in shades of rose and heat.

It stopped just beneath her jaw. Exactly where his mouth ached to press.

He could smell her shampoo—something soft, clean, impossibly familiar.

And suddenly, he wanted to bury his face in the curve of her neck and stay there.

His chest rose, slow and tight.

She mirrored it.

Their breathing had synced. Measured. Fragile. Glass under pressure.

He clenched his hand into a fist against the door.

He’d thought about this moment before. A hundred times. More.

In the silence of sleepless nights, when her laugh haunted the space between blinks. When her texts stayed unopened just so he could look at her name a little longer.

But this—

This was now. Immediate. Undeniable.

And one wrong move could tilt the world off its axis.

Or spin it into something irreversible.

The difference between the two?

One inch.

His lips were so close to hers now, he could feel her breath—warm, shallow, sweet.

But he didn’t touch her.

Didn’t dare.

Not yet.

When he finally spoke, his voice cracked the silence like a fault line.

A whisper, low and frayed with restraint.

“Tell me to stop.”

Her mouth parted. No sound came out.

So he tried again. Softer.

A plea now. Not a command.

“Tell me to stop, Pips.”

He wasn’t sure what he meant.

The kiss.

The years of silence.

Everything that would break loose if she said yes.

Because if she kissed him back—if she chose this—it wouldn’t be just a moment.

It would be a shift.

A tearing down of every wall he’d built to survive what she meant to him.

And if she pulled away—

He wasn’t sure he’d recover.

But he needed her to choose.

To break the spell.

Or seal it.

Because he couldn’t move forward—not without her.

Not with this much at stake.

Her eyes didn’t waver.

Not from his. Not from the storm of truth swelling between them.

She could’ve stepped back. Could’ve said his name in that careful, practiced tone—the one that always meant we’re only friends, Caleb.

But she didn’t.

Instead, her fingers—still tangled in his—tightened.

Not much. Just enough.

Just enough to keep him there. Just enough to answer.

And that was all it took.

He dipped his head—slow, uncertain, like he expected her to vanish in the space between one breath and the next.

And then—

He brushed his mouth against hers.

Not a kiss. A test. A question. A prayer.

Her breath caught. Her lips parted.

And Caleb— Caleb caved.

The second contact wasn’t soft.

It was need.

She met him halfway, rising onto the balls of her feet, pressing into him with a sound that stole every last thread of air from his lungs.

He didn’t realize he’d made a noise in return until her hand curled into the front of his jersey, pulling him closer.

And then—

There was no room for logic. No room for fear. No room at all.

Just heat. Just her.

The aching slide of her mouth against his. The dizzying realization that nothing—not even hours of imagined versions—had prepared him for the real thing.

It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t careful.

Her lips moved like they’d been waiting.

And his restraint?

It shattered.

He kissed her deeper. Pulled her in tighter.

One hand slid to cradle the side of her neck, thumb brushing over her pulse. The other stayed braced above her shoulder, gripping the door like if he let go, the room would tilt off its axis.

She tilted her head, sighed into his mouth—

And he nearly lost his grip on reality entirely.

Because this— This was everything.

The kind of kiss that cracked open every sealed-off place inside him and whispered: Look what you’ve been missing.

She tasted like breathless laughter and three years of unsaid things.

He broke the kiss only to press his forehead to hers. Just for a second. Just to breathe her in. To memorize the warmth of her skin against his.

Her lashes brushed his cheek as she whispered, “You waited too long.”

His throat tightened. Burned.

“I know.”

And before she could say anything else—

He kissed her again.

Slower this time. Deeper. Less desperation. More devotion.

His thumb traced the edge of her jaw.

Her hands slid up his chest, over the slope of his collarbone, coming to rest right over the place where his pulse was crashing beneath skin.

Like she could feel it.

Like she knew.

Like maybe—she always had.

Caleb kissed her again— Deeper this time. Slower.

Not searching. Claiming.

Not because he could— But because she let him.

Because she kissed him back with the kind of softness that made his knees ache.

He could’ve stayed like that forever— Mouth to mouth, suspended in the hush between heartbeats— But the pressure building beneath his skin was impossible to ignore.

Not when she sighed into him. Not when her fists curled into his jersey like she didn’t trust him to stay.

Her back met the door again as he leaned in, chest to chest, thigh slotted between hers.

Then—

She shifted.

Barely. A breath against his lower lip.

But it was permission.

So he moved.

One hand found her hip, steady. The other slid lower—slowly, deliberately—until his fingers brushed beneath the hem of her skirt.

He paused there. Just under the fabric. Not rushing.

Not with her.

His touch curved against the line of her thigh, gentle. Reverent. A single inch higher, and he’d feel her heat. Her want.

But he waited.

She arched into him, a quiet gasp snagging in her throat. Her forehead pressed to his.

He exhaled like it cost him.

“You sure?” he whispered.

Her answer wasn’t verbal.

She tugged at his jersey, fingers slipping underneath, palms flattening against his stomach like she needed to feel him—needed to prove he was real.

She touched him like he might vanish. Like if she blinked, it might all dissolve.

Caleb lifted her.

It wasn’t rough. Wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t anything except careful.

His hands bracketed her thighs, thumbs grazing bare skin as he raised her. Her knees locked around his hips without hesitation, like her body had been waiting. Like some secret part of them had always known it would come to this.

Her breath faltered as he adjusted her higher.

“Don’t drop me,” she whispered, breathless.

He let out a sound—half-laugh, half-shattered—and pressed his forehead to hers.

“Never,” he said.

Then softer, almost to himself—

“I’d never let you fall.”

Her head tipped back against the door, exposing her neck. That stretch of pale skin he’d dreamed of.

His mouth found it. Open. Slow. Dragging heat into every inch of her.

She tasted like salt and skin and everything he’d ever denied himself.

She squirmed in his hold—restless, shaking—and his grip tightened instinctively, anchoring her in place.

His fingers slid higher beneath her skirt, along the back of her thigh.

She made a sound—tiny, bitten off—and it wrecked him.

“I’ve wanted this,” he murmured against her pulse. “So fucking long.”

She didn’t ask how long.

Maybe—

She already knew.

His fingers traced the curve of her thigh—light, lingering.

Not hesitant.

Just savoring.

She was trembling now.

Breath shallow, chest rising against his with every pull of air. But her eyes never left his.

Wide. Searching. Open.

Like she wanted him to see everything she wasn’t saying.

He slid higher—slow, unhurried—until his fingertips met silk.

His breath left him in a sharp exhale. Chest heaving. Head spinning.

The fabric was warm. Damp. Clinging to her like it belonged there. Like it had waited for him.

She shifted her hips—just slightly. Just enough.

The pressure of her grinding against his hand unraveled the last thread of his control.

A sound escaped him—low, strained, broken at the edges. Almost involuntary.

He stilled. For a second.

All he could feel was the heat of her. The soft press of her body. The way her thighs trembled beneath his palms like she was coming apart for him—only him.

His forehead dropped to her shoulder.

“You’re wet,” he breathed.

The words rasped out of him—half shock, half prayer.

She didn’t answer. Didn’t have to.

Her fingers fisted tighter in his shirt, dragging the fabric across his back like she couldn’t stand the distance anymore.

Then— She moved again.

Her hips rolled—deliberate now—pressing harder into his palm.

He groaned. A quiet, guttural sound against her skin.

“I haven’t even touched you properly,” he whispered, his voice rough with disbelief, reverence, want. “And you’re already—”

“Caleb.”

His name. Spoken like a plea. Like a promise.

He looked up.

Her eyes were darker now.

Glass-slick with want. Lips swollen, parted.

She looked undone. And gorgeous.

But more than that—

She looked certain.

No fear. No doubt. No hesitation.

Just her. All of her.

For him.

Something fractured inside him.

He slid his fingers lower—over the soaked center of her panties—and the sound she made in return nearly buckled his knees.

A sharp gasp, half-moan, pure instinct.

His hand shook as he pressed against her, slow and sure, moving in a circle that had her biting her lip hard to keep quiet.

“Tell me what you need,” he said, voice wrecked. Ragged. Worshipful.

Her answer was breath and motion and him.

“You,” she whispered.

Just that.

And he lost it.

He kissed her again—deep, consuming, as if it were the first time all over again.

His fingers moved gently, teasing her through the fabric, coaxing breathless sounds from her mouth. Whimpers. Gasps. Little broken things that made his blood burn and his restraint falter.

And the entire time, one thought circled, relentless—

She wants me.

Here. Now. Like this.

After all the waiting. After every silence, every missed moment—

She was in his arms, gasping, trembling, his.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, then the edge of her jaw.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered. “Fuck. You’re perfect.”

Her nails dug into his shoulders.

And God— He hoped she never stopped.

The fabric of her panties stretched under his fingers—then gave.

He slipped beneath.

And touched her.

Fingertips met soaked heat.

Her breath hitched. Then broke.

He stilled.

Just for a second. Just to feel her.

She was slick and warm—velvet-soft and trembling around nothing.

It short-circuited something in his brain.

His fingers glided through her folds—gentle, reverent, as though if he moved too fast, he might miss it.

Miss her.

She whimpered. Soft. Desperate.

His head dropped to her shoulder, mouth brushing the column of her throat.

“Shhh,” he whispered, voice a thread pulled tight. “You’ll get us caught.”

She nodded. Quickly.

But her hips didn’t stop.

They rocked against his hand in small, helpless pulses—like her body didn’t care about rules. About risk. About the hallway full of voices just beyond the door.

Her heartbeat fluttered beneath his palm. Fast. Frantic.

Just like his.

He dragged his fingers higher. Found her clit.

Circled once—barely any pressure. Just enough.

Her thighs clenched tighter around his waist.

A broken sound escaped her—quiet this time. Shaken.

“Good girl,” he breathed against her jaw. “Just like that.”

Her breath stuttered. Her lips parted—

And then—

She bit him.

Right below his ear.

Where skin was thin. Where it burned.

It wasn’t hard. But it was enough.

Enough to make him jolt. Enough to tear a sound from deep in his chest—a groan that cracked on the edges, raw and wrecked.

A sound he’d never made before. Not even in the dark, alone, thinking of her.

“Jesus,” he rasped. “You’re gonna kill me.”

She didn’t answer.

Just kissed the place she’d bitten. Soft now.

Like apology. Like she hadn’t meant to break him.

But she had.

And he didn’t want her to stop.

His fingers slipped lower again.

He slid one inside—slow, careful, deliberate.

She gasped. Muffled it against his shoulder.

He swore, voice guttural.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he whispered, disbelief catching on every syllable.

She shivered.

Her hands fumbled upward, fists curling into the fabric of his jersey. Holding on.

Needing to.

He started to move— Steady, shallow thrusts.

Easing her open. Coaxing her toward something they hadn’t dared to name.

“Just breathe,” he murmured into her hair.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he breathed, anchoring her with his hand, his body, his voice. “You can. I’ve got you.”

And he did.

God, he did.

He rocked his hand faster, kissed her temple, every muscle in his body drawn taut with restraint.

Every breath a prayer not to fall apart— Not yet.

Not until she was ready to fall with him.

Her breathing stuttered— Sharp. Uneven.

She was trembling in his arms now, forehead pressed to his shoulder like she could muffle the sounds spilling from her lips. Every stroke of his fingers made her body tense— Then melt.

Like she didn’t know how to hold herself together.

And still, she moved with him.

Chasing it.

Every flick. Every curl. Every shift of pressure.

Addicted to the way he touched her.

Caleb felt drunk on her.

On the slick glide of heat against his hand. On the twitch of her thighs pressed to his ribs. On the gasps she tried—and failed—to swallow.

He adjusted his grip beneath her, kissed the crown of her head, then—slowly, reverently—slid in a second finger.

Her whole body jolted.

A soft, wrecked sound caught in her throat.

Her hands fisted in his jersey, dragging him closer like she needed more. More friction. More depth. More him.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice cracked and hoarse. “Just let go.”

She shook her head. But not like no. Like she didn’t trust herself to fall apart yet.

He understood.

Because this— This wasn’t casual. Wasn’t meaningless.

This was everything they’d never said.

Years of tension stretched thin. Nights of silence he’d filled with the sound of her laugh in his head. Mornings where her absence felt like a bruise. Moments where he looked at her and didn’t dare admit what it meant.

She clenched around his fingers, tight, desperate, and his jaw locked.

A bead of sweat slid down his neck. He kissed beneath her ear, curled his fingers, found that place that made her legs tremble.

And then— Because he couldn’t hold it back any longer—

He whispered, “It’s always been you.”

She froze.

Stiffened in his arms.

But he kept going, low and raw, words torn straight from his chest.

“I should’ve said something,” he breathed. “After graduation. After I followed you here. But I was too fucked up to figure out how not to ruin it.”

She turned her face toward his. Close. Breath brushing his cheek.

“And this isn’t ruining it?” she whispered. Shaky. Sharp. Still her.

His mouth twitched—barely. A smile stretched thin with everything he couldn’t say.

“No,” he said. “This is the first thing that’s felt right.”

Her eyes fluttered closed as he thrust into her again, slow and deep. Fingers dragging over silken heat.

Her lips parted, but the only sound was a breath— A broken exhale that melted into his mouth when he kissed her.

He swallowed every noise she gave him. Every gasp. Every moan.

But her body was telling him everything.

The way she clenched around him with every curl of his fingers. The way her hips chased him, restless, unconscious. The way she bit her lip until it was red, trying to stay quiet, even as her whole body begged him not to stop.

She was unraveling. Right there in his arms. And it undid him.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispered, dragging his lips along her jaw. “So fucking beautiful like this.”

Her hands trembled. Fingers clinging to his back like she couldn’t hold herself up. Her head dropped to his shoulder.

“I c-can’t—” she breathed. Voice splintering.

“Yes, you can.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. His hand never stopped. His voice stayed steady. “I’ve got you. Let me see you. I want to watch you fall.”

She moaned. Quiet. Fractured.

And then her walls fluttered around him. Her thighs trembled.

She buried her face against his neck—body taut, coming undone.

His name spilled from her lips like a confession. Half-sobbed. Half-prayed.

And that—

That broke him.

His restraint snapped, breath crashing into hers. Forehead pressed to hers. Fingers still coaxing. Still circling. Still worshipping.

Touching the place no one else ever had.

And with every soft grind of her hips— Every stuttering breath—

He knew.

She was almost there.

For him.

Only him.

And he would never be the same again.

— © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 𝐛𝐲 𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰

[keotograph]

I've finished binge reading you Caleb fics, and oh my god. My faves are definitely the camboy!caleb series, MAKES ME THINK THAT what if their next content is that his wife made him consume aphrodisiac chocolates? I'M SO SORRY IF IT IS FILTHY but yk, what if 👀

Note: Babe….you’re a genius. I’ve been thinking about how I should do this and there was only one correct answer: SUBBY CALEB!!!! I feel like I go to a different place when I write Camboy!Caleb, too LOLL And please, nothing is too filthy around here. I LOVE IT!!! I hope you enjoy, luv. 🫶🏽

Creds to @/anitalenia for the divider!!

Rating: Explicit - !!Minors DO NOT Interact!!

Word Count: 2,800

Warnings: Smut, Caleb is so needy, he unknowingly consumes the aphrodisiac (but he’s okay with it because it’s from you duhhh), you’re kinda dominating him, HE’S EATING THAT 🐱, the sex is being LIVE-STREAMED!!!

NeedyCamboy!Caleb/Reader

You sat down at your desk, getting the camera and your monitors ready to start live-streaming a game your audience has been enjoying watching you play. Even though where you and Caleb post your content is a site meant for everything related to sex, you were graced with a collective of people who loved you and your husband as people, just as much as they loved to see you two fuck.

The grin on your face was hard to contain as you clicked the bright red start button, and the number of viewers spiked rapidly. Dozens turned to hundreds and hundreds became a few thousand. The comments were flying as the people greeted you.

iluv2cum: OMG YES YOU’RE PLAYING TODAY

deepspacegirlie4Life: where’s caleb??

ima$lutandi0wnit: you look so gooddd

“Hey, guys,” you waved before adjusting your headphones. You bit your bottom lip, seeing the number of questions increase as everyone became curious about what has you smiling so hard.

“So, I did a little something…” The chat raved with anticipation. You leaned in to whisper, your mouth close to the microphone. “I gave Caleb an aphrodisiac.”

Covering your mouth with your hands, the giddiness that coursed through you was so hard to contain. They demanded the story and it was only because he was in the shower that you could deliver.

“He came home from the gym—Caleb loves chocolate, by the way. But, he came home, and I showed him the box of cute little chocolates. Immediately, he popped one in his mouth.” You threw your hands up in the air dramatically, making yourself laugh as you thought about how you were mid explanation and he plucked one in between in his lips. “I didn’t even have the chance to tell him anything about it. Most I got to say was a lie and that was that it’s supposed to help him focus. His ass is greedy.”

You let them know that you warned him to only have the one for reasons so stupid you couldn’t say without laughing at yourself. Then, you took the time to see what people were saying. Many were asking if it worked or if you two planned on recording a video for it.

“I’m not sure, honestly,” you shrug. “He ate it, went to get cleaned up, and has been in the bathroom for like twenty minutes now. It takes thirty for it to kick in, I think. As for a video, I didn’t even think about it. But it’s a whole box, so maybe we can use it in the future,” you wiggle your eyebrows mischievously.

“But enough chit-chat. Let’s get into it!”

While you were interacting with fans and enjoying yourself, Caleb was having an experience that for him, has come out of absolutely nowhere. Now, he’s used to being horny and desperate. Because of the job he does and the person he gets to do it with, those feelings weren’t foreign. Honestly, they didn’t even need to be provoked. If he thought about or is around you, his cock is just as ready as he is.

But that’s the thing. He wasn’t around you and he wasn’t thinking about you in this moment. What he was thinking as he dried himself off and got dressed, was the new aircraft he was going to put together once he finished. He couldn’t understand why his cock was hard and aching, but it wasn’t like it threw him off or anything. As a man, there were times where his dick had a mind of its own, so he figured this was one of those instances.

Caleb tried to shake it off, not wanting to interrupt your streaming because he knew how important your game was to you and felt that he could wait until you finished if the urge to come was still there.

She said those chocolates help with focusing. Maybe I could eat another one, he thought to himself as he opened the box once he walked into the kitchen. What was supposed to be one became two and two became three. Your poor husband didn’t know it yet, but he was fucked.

The throbbing in his dick only grew when he sat at the dining table. He couldn’t focus. It was impossible to when all he craved was to fuck your brains out. He’s been there for almost forty minutes, yet he’s barely touched the small blocks that were scattered across the wooden surface.

“I can’t fucking do this,” he grumbled to himself, a soft groan falling past his lips when he palmed his cock through his sweats. His sensitivity had even increased. He didn’t know what the fuck was causing this, but he couldn’t wait anymore.

He walked to your shared bedroom where your setup was, opening the door to see your pretty face laughing with everyone. You must be taking a break since the game is minimized and the only thing on the screen is you.

“Oh, hey babe,” you beamed. “Come, come, they wanna see you.” You gestured for him to get closer. One thing about your man—he doesn’t beat around the bush and he wasn’t about to do it now. While he didn’t want to pull you away from what you were doing, he needed something—anything.

Caleb walked toward you and the bulge in his pants was something impossible to miss. You pressed your lips together to suppress your amusement, but it was swiped off immediately because your husband spun your chair to face him, sunk to his knees before you, and threw your legs over his shoulders. You yelped, eyes wide as you looked between him and your screen to your left.

“Caleb!” you giggle in surprise. “Wait! I’m live—oh, fuck..” His pressed a kiss onto your panty clad pussy, pressing his nose deep between your lips and inhaling your scent like it would calm the raging desire in his chest. It only fueled it.

He was so hard that it was hurting and the fact that he instinctively knew he could get off if he ate you out, was blowing his mind. His tongue licked a long stripe up your clothed slit, using your whimpers as his indicator that you wanted more. All that teasing shit was off the table for him. He needed to come and only you were able to help him do that.

You being live only became his driving force.

The camera captured how your chest rose and fell with bated breath while your hand nestled itself into Caleb’s hair as his mouth made itself at home between your thighs. Your large diamond ring shined in the frame, showing everyone who you belong to. Impatiently, he pulled back just enough to slide the thin material down your legs, throwing them to land somewhere unimportant while he indulged himself in his saving grace.

All while he feasted on you for thousands to see, he felt how his leaking cock was only dirtying his once fresh clothes. He uttered not one word as he took your clit into his mouth, as he stuck his tongue inside your tight hole—not even when he spit on your pussy and smeared it across his canvas as he painted the perfect picture.

You moaned prettily for him, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as the wet sounds of your slick and his saliva came together to curate something so beautifully erotic.

“Baby,” you whined, bucking your hips. “I’m gonna come…Hold on—”

He wasn’t waiting. Not only because he needed you to come but by some miracle, he was close himself. Caleb was a man who needed stimulation in order to finish, but he was so close as all he did was cater to your wet cunt. Whatever was going on with him, eating you out was what was about to make him come in his pants.

The chat was flying. But you nor him knew that because you were so focused on each other. You hadn’t even noticed that the 3,000 views you had jumped to almost 10,000. What made it even more crazy? People had to pay to be able to view anything on your page and being able to participate in livestreams was an extra fee. What was happening was being shared and people were so eager to see that they were paying you two for it.

At the same time that you tensed, your orgasm crashing into you and making your grip tighten in his fluffy locks, his hips stuttered as they humped against nothing but the material of his underwear for friction. You cried out, chanting his name over and over as he hummed into your sensitive flesh from contentment after having some kind of relief. Cum now made his cock sticky and yours made his face wet.

But he was still hard.

When he looked up at you, his face was soaked and lips were flushed. You smiled lazily at him as he stood, your core clenching when you saw the wet spot that formed at the front of his pants.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he panted, pulling his shirt off and tugging his pants down next. He made you stand, pulling your shirt off and got you both naked to all the people watching. “But I need you to fuck me, baby.”

It’s a different type of buzz for him to ask you to be the one to fuck him. Of course you’ll do it. But, you’re shocked that one piece of chocolate did this to him.

“It was the chocolate,” you grinned as he kissed you neck. He froze.

“The chocolate?” he questioned again and you nodded. “I ate like three more!”

“What! Why?!” you exclaimed in laughter, but his hard dick that was still needing some help, found this everything but funny. It was angry and only your sweet pussy could calm it.

“I can’t even talk,” he shook his head, curious about what was in that small treat but not enough to wait any longer. “If I don’t fuck you in the next few seconds, my dick is gonna fall off.”

You huff out a laugh. “Get on the bed,” you cooed, kissing his hard chest.

“I guess you guys are getting your video,” you teased, turning to grab your small camcorder off its holder. “I’m not posting it either, so I hope you’re recording it, you freaks.”

You tsked as you approached him and climbed into the bed to get on top of your husband. The camera catches his tall and hard body splayed out so perfectly in the bed, making you feel nothing but lust and pride that all of this was yours. Your thighs rest on either side of his hips as his cockhead brushed against your slit, making your body titter with delight.

“My naughty husband ate more than he was supposed to,” you mockingly frowned. “Now he needs me to make it all better, doesn’t he?”

He nodded, gripping your hips tightly as if you ground him—and you do. His hips jerks with the desire to be inside you already.

“Please…I wanna come, I need to..” he begs. You hold the camera in one hand, using your other to swipe a thumb across his wet lip. Slowly, you slide it inside his mouth and your pussy squeezes around nothing when he gently sucks on the digit.

“You’re so good,” you praise, your voice low and raspy. “Pretty boy…” He looks up at you with so much love, appreciation, and need.

You gently rock your hips, sliding your puffy lips back and forth around his length. “Put your dick inside me, Caleb,” you demand breathlessly, your body overwhelmed with need. While you haven’t eaten the chocolate, with the way you’re feeling, you wouldn’t be surprised if this is exactly what he’s experiencing.

You raise yourself to help him and angle the camera so that it captures the view and the sound of how he slides inside your walls like a hot knife going through butter—With ease. Already familiar with the territory, you don’t need to take a minute to become familiarized when his thick cock takes up all the space inside your velvet walls

“That’s it…” he breathes, his hand snaking up your body to grab your tits. “You’re so fucking tight…I need you to move…” he pleads.

“Yeah?” you taunt, unable to mask your own bliss despite how much you’re poking fun at him. “I can feel you twitching, baby. Let me feel how desperate you are, hm?”

Your hips rise and fall just enough, and you grind your hips to give your clit the attention she craves. Behind you on the computer, your views have doubled and the amount of love, adoration, and money you’re getting is something that could be put in a fucking history book.

“Use me,” you pant, unable to hold the camera anymore. You haphazardly position it on a nearby pillow, and you don’t even care if it’s perfect. All it needs to do is let everyone see how good you make each other feel.

Caleb doesn’t need to be told twice. He holds you in his hands as he slams into you from below, your nipples grazing against his firm chest as you take his cock with the intensity he’s delivering. As your gummy walls suffocate his dick, all that matters in this moment is the needy man beneath you.

His face shows nothing but undeniable satisfaction—All the way from his hooded gaze as he watches his cock be lathered in your juices, to his lips that he can’t stop licking and gnawing on, and the glorious sounds that he makes.

Tears prickle in your husband’s eyes from how intoxicating everything feels and you lean down to kiss them away before they can fall. You don’t care for chocolate much, but on his lips, it becomes a delicacy. He accepts the kiss like it’s his lifeline, eager to feel your soft lips move with his.

“You feel so good,” he whimpers against your mouth, his cheeks burning with love and bliss. Your walls suck him in, holding him so snuggly like you were made to keep him safe. “Just a little more, baby.. Please don’t stop…”

Your back arches when he holds you close, his strong hand pressing your head down and close to him as your foreheads press together. Yours and his breath push and pull as he ruts into you, the intimacy so mind-numbing.

Neither of you can alert the other when both of you come so hard that it makes you cry out each other’s name. Your pussy wraps around him like it never wants to let go, squeezing him with everything you have as his thick ropes of sticky cum paint your insides.

He groans deliciously, putting so much pressure on your hips to keep you close that you know it’ll bruise. Yours thighs twitch as he stays seated inside you.

You keep grinding to ride out the high, only adding to the overstimulation. Once you can’t take it anymore, you stop your movements entirely.

“You okay?” you ask him breathlessly, swiping his damp hair away from his forehead.

He nods. “Thanks to you.” He takes a moment. “Or maybe not. You gave me an aphrodisiac?”

You smile, resting yourself on top of him as he wraps his arms around you. It brings you peace as you hear his heartbeat with your ear to his chest. “You were only supposed to take one, in my defense.”

“You said they helped you focus!” he chuckled.

“I didn’t want to give it away!”

A brief moment passes before you announce the camera. “You know we’re still on live, right?”

“I do.”

“You gonna turn it off?”

“We should.”

Silence.

“But you might want to go again.”

“But I might want to go again,” you say your sentences at the same time.

“You’re doing the work this time.” You turn your head to look into his eyes, love glistening in your irises.

“Not so commanding now, huh?” he raises an eyebrow in challenge.

“Not at all. Your horny ass wore me out.”

You feel him stir to life again inside of you, making you turn to the camera. “I might just end it. You guys shouldn’t get all the good stuff.”

You can’t read the chat, but they’re begging you to keep it on.

bang4bang: PLEASE DON’T END IT

cumminroundthemountain: did anyone else just have the most intense orgasm of their life..?

itsfreaknation: i’ll literally pay double. triple.

polywoly: is your wife looking for a relationship?

c0ckluva: i volunteer to join next time..

No matter what’s being said, none of it is important when Caleb flips you like you’re as light as a feather, his cock still nestled in your cunt when he puts you on your back.

All you know is that the chocolate has now become your partner-in-crime and your worst enemy, but you couldn’t be more excited.

Tags 🏷️: @honeymoonfleur @obeythebutler

[keotograph]

push n' fracture ! — caleb 夏以昼 (f1 rider! au)

— ! lexical count : 5.7k words

— ! affinity : caleb (xia yizhou) x fem!reader

— ! essence : caleb doesn’t do rivals. especially not when they’re plastered across your skin. jealousy twists into something sharp and dangerous as possession takes over, and the line between love and obsession blurs. tangled, messy, and burning with tension—this is about claiming what’s his, no matter the cost.

— ! precautionary : fem!reader, use of ‘y/n’ and feminine pronouns, f1 rider!caleb, sexual content, jealousy, possessiveness, intense physicality, car crash (non-fatal), semi-public setting, slight degradation, overstimulation, roughness, dom!caleb, rivalry-based tension, angry sex

— ! writer’s foreword : just crash-landed home from, brain leaking out my ears, and what did i do? rest? recover? touch grass? no. i opened my laptop and immediately started writing this unholy, feral filthfest. if this fic makes no sense or feels like a fever dream, blame the caffeine overdose and my sleep deprivation. also, send help (and snacks). preferably both.

— ! soundtrack in play : ohmami by chase atlantic

this is my only account. any similarities between this work and others—published or unpublished—are entirely coincidental. i pour a great deal of time, care, and emotion into what i create. it is against both my principles and my moral compass to plagiarize or steal from the work of others. i hold deep respect for the creators who came before me, and i would never knowingly compromise the integrity of their work or mine. furthermore, i do not condone the use of AI in the creation or replication of fanworks. everything here is original and made with clean intentions.

minors dni. this work contains dark, mature themes and is intended for adult audiences only. accounts that do not clearly indicate age in their bio or blog will be blocked without warning. this is for my safety and yours—respect boundaries, respect creators.

you weren’t even wearing his team hoodie.

no red bull colors. no little sticker of his number on your cheek like you wore in monaco. no subtle sign that you were his—not even a glance in his direction. instead, your shirt clung to your skin in the dry desert heat, speckled with sun and cropped enough to bare your ribs when the desert wind blew. that tight mclaren crop tee clung to your skin, the bright tarocco tone screaming his rival’s colors as you stood too close—way too close—to rafayel.

it all started with a laugh. just a laugh. nothing more.

you’d meant nothing by it—just a shared joke with rafayel in the hospitality lounge before qualifying. rafayel leaned toward you with that signature half-grin, elbow on the counter of the lounge, head tilted just enough to make it intimate. charming. relaxed. fucking smug. his hand had brushed your arm when you’d thrown your head back, the soft trill of your giggle carried into the desert air. head tipped back, fingers brushing his arm as you caught his eye and giggled at something he said. a soft, unconscious motion. a friendly exchange. nothing malicious, nothing overt.

you should’ve known. you should’ve seen it in the way caleb’s jaw locked during the driver briefing—helmet held by its chin bar, fzipped up to his collarbone, gloves hooked around two fingers—and for the first time in his career, he wasn’t thinking about tire temps or DRS zones. his jaw flexed tight enough to cramp as he watched rafayel lean in closer, and watched you—his girl, the girl who should never let anyone that close—giggle and tuck your hair behind your ear like it wasn’t a fucking dagger straight through his sternum.

“caleb,” his engineer’s voice crackled through the headset. “you alright, mate? you seem out of it—everythin’ okay?”

he didn’t answer right away. swallowed hard, blinked once. his grip clenched tighter around his helmet, the carbon fiber started to dent. “…peachy.”

he didn’t look at rafayel again. didn’t need to.

he’d already decided.

i’ll deal with you later.

P2 on the grid.

of course it was P2.

rafayel sat in his mclaren like he already had the win wrapped around his fingers, one gloved hand drumming rhythmically on the top of his wheel, the other giving a little mock salute to the crowd through the visor cam. caleb didn’t look at him. his gloves were already tugged tight, helmet sealed, eyes locked forward—but all he saw behind the visor was the orange shirt stuck to your back in the heat with the stupid bold mclaren settled on the fabric right over your heart. his number and name nowhere in sight.

“radio check,” his engineer called.

he didn’t respond.

“caleb? radio check, mate?”

his voice finally came through, taut and venomous. “loud and fucking clear.”

there was a beat of silence. a pause on the line, “you good, man?”

he forced a breath through his nose. “let’s just get this over with,” over the loud hum of the engine, all he could hear was the echoes of your laugh with that shithead rafayel.

“five lights on,” the race director counted. “and it’s lights out and away we go—!” rafayel’s launch was clean—but caleb was rabid. the red bull fired forward like a predator loosed from the leash, barely missing P3 as he launched straight into turn 1 side-by-side with the mclaren. rafayel closed him off with a hard brake, forcing caleb out wide on the dirty part of the track, but caleb didn’t lift — not even when his front wing came within centimeters of rafayel’s rear.

“he’s driving like he wants to fuckin’ kill me,” rafayel spat over comms, his voice crackling. caleb didn’t respond on his own. he was too busy chasing. he spent the first dozen laps locked inside DRS range, not even trying to overtake clean—no, every move was calculated pressure. he drove like he wanted rafayel to feel him breathing down his neck. every brake was late. every corner exit was close enough to make the mclaren engineer panic.

“back off, caleb!” his own team barked at one point. “you’re risking a collision!” but caleb didn’t care. he wanted him to feel cornered. to know that he was prey. because he was. you don’t put your hands on her, he thought darkly as he tailgated out of turn 10, and walk away unscathed.

you were on the pit wall by then—wearing orange, still—and caleb saw you glance up at the timing tower. every time his number lit up right behind rafayel’s, you tensed. he saw it.

good, he thought. watch me. watch what i do to the man who touches what’s mine.

it built slowly—tire wear creeping in, temps rising, his rear losing grip in sector 3. still he stayed out, defying every team call to box. lap 26, rafayel’s tires began to fail. the tires wore down. rear traction faded. lap times dropped. still, he didn’t box. ignored every pit call.

“caleb, come in, we’re losing compound.”

“negative.” his voice came back hoarse. “i’ve got him.”

lap 28, rafayel’s grip was breaking—caleb could see it in the rear twitch. turn fourteen, he closed in so tight the slipstream pulled bits of rubber into his halo. he could’ve tapped the diffuser with his nose cone if he wanted. could’ve unstitched the seams of that mclaren.

“final lap,” came the call. “no funny shit, caleb.” but it was too late for that. he already knew where he’d do it. turn 13. fast. blind. unforgiving. he waited for the right moment, nudged inside, and turned in early.

the contact was immediate.

carbon fiber shredded. both cars locked up in a scream of tire smoke and screeching brakes. rafayel’s mclaren spun violently off the racing line, back end slammed against the barriers, dust pluming into the air. caleb’s red bull skidded into the gravel with a thunderous jolt.

yellow flags. double waved.

red flag. the race was over.

rafayel was out. caleb’s engine stalled in the gravel. static choked the radio. “what the fuck was that?!” screamed race control. he didn’t answer. not until he saw the red flag and the dust settle. not until he saw your face on the edge of the pit wall go white.

he didn’t attend the press conference. didn’t even unbuckle until a marshal banged on his cockpit. his PR rep trailed after him with panicked eyes and a clipboard full of damage control bullet points, but caleb walked right past him, suit still half-zipped, jaw clenched hard enough he could swear his teeth would crush with the pressure. they tried to stop him. camera caught his shoulder. reporters called his name—he didn’t even turn his head.

no interviews. no apologies. no explanations.

let them speculate. let them talk.

he didn’t give a single damn.

because rafayel wouldn’t touch you again.

not after this.

you didn’t speak the entire drive back.

he’d refused the medical tent. ignored the swarm of reporters like they weren’t even there, brushed past the PR team screaming his name with a pace so brutal you’d had to jog to keep up. he didn’t speak. didn’t even look at you. just reached back once—wrist tight, fingers wrapping around yours—and yanked you with him through the mess of the paddock and straight into the red bull private lot.

the silence was suffocating. not tense in the way people usually meant it—not awkward, not uncomfortable. it was a pressure chamber. the kind that made your ears ring and your chest hurt. you could hear every turn signal click, every swipe of the wiper across the windshield, even the way caleb’s grip on the wheel creaked under his gloves. he hadn’t taken them off. still in his fireproofs, zipper low on his chest, collarbone glistening with sweat and dust, jaw locked so tight it looked like it might snap.

the door slammed shut behind you with a vicious bang!—a sound that echoed like a gunshot off the walls—and it made your shoulders jerk involuntarily. he didn’t say a word. didn’t glance back. just stalked across the living room like the adrenaline was still burning through his blood, ripping open the fridge like something in it might anchor him, steady the fury in his bones. but even from where you stood, you could see the tremor in his hand. the way his fingers gripped the handle too hard. the tension still coiled in his shoulders like a spring wound to the point of rupture.

he wasn’t calming down. not even close.

the silence throbbed around you, thick and charged. you shifted on your feet, breath shallow, heart hammering like it wanted to crawl out of your throat.

“caleb—” you started, voice small.

“take it off.” his voice was low, sliced through the air like a whip.

you froze. your mouth parted, a breath catching in your throat. “w-what?”

he closed the fridge slowly. deliberately. then turned.

his eyes were black beneath the heavy shadow of his brow, dark and molten like they hadn’t cooled since the second his front wing clipped rafayel’s tire in that brutal turn. he took a step toward you, slow and controlled, like a predator choosing exactly how to pounce. “the fucking shirt,” he said, voice low and thick with venom. another step. “take it off before i rip it off ‘ya.”

your stomach dropped. you looked down instinctively. that stupid, traitorous mclaren tee still clung to your sweat-damp skin, streaked with grime and faint splashes of champagne from a podium that wasn’t his. that bright orange logo burned against your chest like a brand, and suddenly it felt radioactive.

you didn’t move. you hesitated.

and that was all it took.

two strides, and he was on you.

your back hit the wall so fast the impact knocked the breath from your lungs. the world narrowed—your heartbeat screamed in your ears, adrenaline flared under your skin, and caleb was there, crowding you in, body a furnace, heat rolling off him in waves. his fingers hooked the hem and yanked—not teasing, not even urgent. violent. the fabric caught against your arms, dragged over your skin so fast it left a burn, your hair tangled and pulled, nipples tightening into stiff peaks in the sudden rush of cold air.

caleb tossed the shirt onto the floor like it disgusted him.

“you wanna wear his colors?” he muttered, voice low and curling with fury. his breath hit your collarbone, his words too close, too hot. “wanna sit there in his fucking garage and giggle at his jokes while he stares at your tits through my windshield?”

tone wasn’t raised. he didn’t have to shout. it was the quietness that made it worse—quiet like a threat wrapped in velvet. quiet like a knife at your ribs.

you breath stuttered, your voice coming out weaker than you wanted it to. “c-caleb, i wasn’t—he didn’t—”

“shut it,” he snarled it, close enough for your lips to brush, and the force of it made your breath stutter. his hands came up—hard—gripping your waist, rough fingers digging into your hips like he meant to leave marks, like he wanted to brand you into him, carve out any memory of someone else’s eyes on your skin. caleb dragged you forward, chest to chest, his heart thudding against yours like war drums.

“i don’t want your pathetic excuses,” he ground out. “you don’t wear his name. you don’t smile at him.”

the silence after was suffocating.

his fingers curled tighter around your sides. his mouth hovered near your jaw, breath ragged and warm, chest heaving with every inhale like he couldn’t catch it. rage coiled off him in waves, not loud anymore—just molten, buried deep, a kind of fury that didn’t explode. it consumed. slow. controlled. and it was deadly.

and it was all aimed at the thought of him touching you.

of you letting him.

caleb’s thumb ghosted over your ribs, rough and possessive, tracing the bare skin now exposed in the absence of that damned shirt.

his mouth crushed against yours before you could speak—hot, brutal, punishing. all teeth and fury, like he wanted to bite the silence from your tongue, like tasting you was the only thing anchoring him to the present. he didn’t kiss you so much as devour you, lips bruising, jaw tense with barely-contained rage, breathing you in like you were air after drowning.

his hands were everywhere—frantic, careless. they slid down the arch of your spine, fingers pressing into every vertebra like he meant to memorize the shape of you, then sank lower, palms gripping your ass with bruising force. he hauled you against him so hard your breath fled, pelvis grinding to his through the fireproofs still clinging to his hips. he was already half-hard. already throbbing through the thin barrier between you. the press of it against your lower stomach made your knees tremble.

and then his gaze dropped.

his eyes caught on the denim. the sound that tore from his throat was less a breath and more a mocking scoff.

the low-rise shorts clung to your hips like sin, skin peeking out from under the frayed hem, teasing with that reckless kind of innocence that only made his fury burn hotter. they sat just high enough to hint at modesty but dipped scandalously low, hugging the softness of your waist like a taunt.

slowly, he reached down—deliberate, fingers flexing—and let his hand splay flat over your stomach. his palm was hot against your skin. the heel of it rested against the waistband, and then—without breaking eye contact—he slipped his thumb beneath it. just the barest intrusion. a single brush of rough skin over the delicate swell of your mound, not enough to touch you properly, but enough to make your whole body jerk with a whimper.

“these,” he sneered. “you wore these to the paddock? while he was watching?” his voice dropped into a guttural rasp. you opened your mouth to protest, but his voice cut you off—deeper now, dipped into something feral.

“he was probably fucking imagining what you looked like bent over the pit wall in ‘em,” caleb rasped, and the way he said it—like it sickened him, like it possessed him—made your stomach twist.

his eyes darkened—and in one swift, brutal motion, he popped the button on the shorts with a flick of his thumb. the metallic click echoed in the room like a shot. then his fingers gripped the zipper and yanked it down so roughly you gasped, fabric jerking against your hips before it slid down to your thighs, pooling at your feet in a useless, tangled heap.

he didn’t stop. his hand moved fast, unforgiving—already pulling your panties to the side before you had time to react. the elastic scraped the crease of your thigh, baring you to the chill of the room and the heat of him, and still, he didn’t look away. didn’t blink. just stared down at your cunt like it had betrayed him, like it belonged to him and had wandered somewhere it shouldn’t have.

“c-caleb,” you stammered, your voice catching, high and desperate, “you’re being—,” but the words dissolved on your tongue.

because his fingers were there, already brushing against slick heat, already groaning under his breath like it physically hurt him that you were wet for this—wet for him, even now, even after everything.

you could hardly breathe.

your head lolled against the wall as his fingers fucked you open—deep, firm, unrelenting. You were soaked, the wet sounds of it obscene in the charged silence, broken only by the staggered hitch of your breath and the rough rasp of his. your thighs were trembling, barely holding you upright, and caleb didn’t let up. he wouldn’t let up.

his voice curled against your ear, low and smug and absolutely feral. “you’re not even trying to stop me.” your mouth opened but nothing came out—just a soft, cracked moan. “yeah,” he hissed. “that’s what i thought.”

he drove his fingers in deeper, curling them just right—pulling a strangled sound from your throat. your hips jerked helplessly, and he groaned as your pussy clenched, dripping all over his knuckles.

“f-fuck,” you gasped, arms scrambling for purchase across his chest, clutching at the fabric of his fireproofs like he was your anchor. “c-caleb, i—nnh, please—”

you whimpered, broken and breathless, voice catching on each gasp. “i-i didn’t mean—nnh ahhh—d-didn’t mean to—”

“you wore that fucking shirt. wore his team, his number, his name. you meant it.” his teeth dragged over your neck, biting down hard enough to make your legs quake. “don’t act like you don’t like this. like you don’t love being fucked dumb right after i almost took him off the track.”

you sobbed out a noise that barely resembled his name—“p-please, i—oh, god—”

his fingers hit that spot again, and your body jolted, hips rocking into his palm like you couldn’t help it. the muscles in your stomach tensed, fluttering around the edge of your climax. he felt it, saw it, and laughed—low and delighted.

“oh, baby… gonna cum, aren’t ya’?” he mocked, breath hot against your jaw, eyes glittering. “you’re so easy. just a couple fingers and you’re already soaking me. dripping like a goddamn whore.”

“p-please—ah—please, i can’t—” your words broke apart, swallowed by the sounds of your own whimpers as your orgasm built sharp and unbearable. “i-i c-can’t hold it, caleb, i—fuck—”

“then don’t.” his hand gripped your jaw, forcing your eyes to his. “let me hear how mine you are.” and you shattered. a sobbing, shaking mess.y our body locked up, thighs clenching around his wrist as you came with a choked cry—wet and slick and pulsing so hard around his fingers you felt your knees threaten to give out. caleb held you upright through it, murmuring dark praise between your panting breaths.

“that’s it. that’s my girl.” he pressed a kiss to your temple—mockingly tender, wicked and warm. “so good when you’re ruined.” his fingers slipped free with a wet noise, glistening in the low light. he brought them to your lips, eyes still sharp and burning. “suck f’ me, will ya’?”

you blinked, dazed, mind swimming in the haze of pleasure and want. slowly, obediently, you parted your lips, tongue flicking out to wet them just before his fingers slid into your mouth. the taste was warm, messy—you, tangled with him—and the sound that escaped you was soft, shameless, utterly desperate.

caleb’s groan rumbled low in his throat, eyes darkening as he watched every motion, every subtle shift of your tongue curling around his fingers. “god, you look so pretty like this,” he rasped, dragging those soaked fingers out with a sharp pop that echoed in the quiet room. “dumb little mouth wrapped around what’s mine.”

you whimpered, the sound raw and fragile, knees trembling as they brushed his in the cramped space. your body sagged into his, burning and unsteady, craving his touch like air. then that smirk—slow, sharp, slicing through the tension like a knife dragged through silk. his voice dropped even lower, slow and deliberate, thick with dark amusement. “think we’re done?”

your breath hitched, caught in your throat as his eyes bore into yours, unblinking and heavy with promise. the room seemed to pulse around you, heat swelling in your skin, every nerve ending screaming alive. you tried to shake your head, but your voice was barely a whisper, broken and trembling: “n-no—please…”

his fingers curled in a slow, possessive grip against your jaw, tilting your face up so your lips hovered just inches from his. “behave,” he murmured, voice rough like gravel. “because i’m nowhere near finished with you.”

his mouth claimed yours again, teeth grazing your lower lip as his hands gripped your hips, holding you so tightly it was almost painful—but you didn’t care. you were already melting into him, breath shallow and fast, heart hammering against your ribs like a warning bell.

without hesitation, he ripped open his fireproofs, pulling out his thick, heavy cock, already leaking thick beads of precum, flushed red from holding back for too long. he shifted, pressing the full length of himself inside you, inch by agonizing inch, his body a hot, solid weight that filled every space. your breath hitched sharply, a stuttered moan slipping free as your walls stretched and clenched around him, tight and trembling.

your body jolted—smack!—as he bottomed out in one punishing motion. he didn’t stop to let you adjust. he just started fucking you. hard.

“is this what you needed?” he snarled, teeth at your throat again, biting down—hard. “some real fucking? not the attention of some weak little paddock rat.”

you sobbed, arms flying to his shoulders, clawing for purchase. he drove into you over and over, hips snapping up—wet noises echoing through the room. your slick ran down your thighs, onto his, then pooling onto the floor.

“fuck, you’re mine,” he growled into your hair, voice thick with need and possession. His hips slammed harder, faster, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. “say it. say it or i’ll fill you up and walk out without another word.”

“i—i’m yours!” you sobbed, legs trembling. “caleb, please—i’m yours, i’m yours! a-always yours!” another slap to your ass—sharp, loud. then his hand gripped your hair, yanked your head back, and his teeth sank into your shoulder—deep, a bite so hard it made stars dance behind your eyes.

“you wear my number. my colors. my fucking name on your back. not that mclaren shit or anything else. never fucking again.” caleb’s hips slammed harder, faster, each thrust a brutal claim that sent your body shuddering beneath him. his teeth grazed your collarbone, sinking in deeply with a savage bite that left a bruised crescent burning hot against your skin. You gasped, head thrown back, breath shattering into sharp sobs that mixed pain and pleasure so fiercely your whole body trembled uncontrollably.

“fucking feel that, yeah?” he growled against your skin, voice thick with venomous hunger. your hands ripped down his sides, nails clawing cruel lines along his ribs as caleb dragged his teeth lower—trail of sharp bites blooming bruises along the curve of your tits, marking you with brutal possessiveness. “you think that idiot could ever fuck you like this? make you cry out, beg, lose your goddamn mind? no chance.”

you whimpered, caught between sobs and desperate moans, hips jerking instinctively with every ruthless stroke. “n-no—! only you, caleb! please—fuck, please mmm—!” your voice broke, breath hitching in a ragged stutter as your muscles clenched around him tighter, convulsing in waves of scorching overstimulation that stole your ability to think straight.

“bark f’me, sweet girl,” his teeth sank deep into your hip, biting down hard enough to draw a gasp, pleasure twisting with pain in a raw knot of sensation that made you cry out and claw at his back. “say you’re mine. my filthy little wreck, mine.”

“’m yours! yours, caleb!” you sobbed, body trembling, tears stinging your eyes as relentless orgasms crashed over you, folding you in a violent, layered tangle of ecstasy. your voice came out breathless and shattered, “please, don’t stop! i—i’m gonna—f-fuck, i’m gonna—please, i’m c-cummin’!”

“tell me,” he snarled against your neck, voice low, dark, teeth grazing skin like a threat, “tell me who you’re cummin’ for. me or that pretty little fucker?”

his hips snapped up cruelly, deep and fast, dragging a sob from your lips. his hand stayed locked tight around your throat—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who owned every gasp, every tremble.

“you!” you cried out, voice cracking on the edge of desperation. your nails dug into the fireproofs still half-wrapped around his waist. “you, sir—only you, ah, fuckkk—!”

he grinned, vicious and possessive, like your surrender was his prize. “yeah?” he hissed, slamming into you again. “say it louder. make sure even that bastard hears it next race.” caleb didn’t slow. if anything, he fucked you harder, rough and relentless, like he was trying to erase any trace of rafayel from your body—if there’d ever been any. one hand gripped your hip bruisingly tight, the other still curved under your jaw, forcing your teary eyes to hold his.

“damn right,” he growled, sweat-slick and flushed, but no less in control. “say my name. not ‘sir.’ not ‘please.’ mine.”

your whole body jerked with each thrust, barely able to keep upright, tears streaking your cheeks. “caleb—! caleb, i’m—i’m yours, i swear—”

“louder,” he barked, voice edged in a snarl. “c’mon, sweetheart. want you hoarse for me. want that voice ruined so you can’t say shit to anyone else.”

you shattered then—crying his name, choking on your moan as your body seized, shaking, breaking apart in his hands like it always did. and he didn’t let up. not when you came, not when your body tried to squirm away from the overstimulation.

“too much?” he murmured mockingly, breath hot against your temple. “too bad. i haven’t had enough yet. not till i’m sure he knows you walk funny tomorrow ‘cause of me.”

he crushed his mouth to yours, swallowing your desperate sounds with a hungry roar, his fingers digging deep into your hips as he drove you harder over the edge. your walls fluttered around him, clenching and pulsing uncontrollably as you teetered on the brink—then tipped.

your body convulsed violently, a flood of sensation so fierce it wracked every nerve ending. you cried out, a broken, trembling sound filled with pure, overwhelming need. his thrusts became more savage, relentless, “mine,” he rasped between clenched teeth, voice thick and harsh as he chased his own climax, “only mine. gonna fill you up so fucking deep you’ll be leaking my cum for days.”

the force of him stole your breath again as another orgasm ripped through you, your body arching wildly. you trembled, clinging to him, sobbing his name like a prayer. he chased you over the edge, one hand tangled possessively in your hair, the other bruising your waist as he came with a shuddering, broken groan—low, guttural, right against your skin—his teeth sinking into your neck as he spilled hot and thick inside you, every pulse of him a claim you’d never shake.

he stayed still a moment, breathing hard, chest rising and falling, panting like he’d survived a battle. then—slowly—he pulled out. you whimpered at the sudden empty ache, your slick and his own, trailing down your inner thighs.

your body was still quaking when caleb carried you, trembling and ruined, to the couch—his grip bruising, but reverent. his jaw was tight, his breath still shallow from the exertion, and the whole room still reeked of sex and heat and rage. your thighs stuck to his fireproofs, slick and smeared, and your chest rose in ragged, shallow pants as he laid you down like you were something precious—but barely.

"look at you," he muttered, his voice hoarse with raw satisfaction. "still shakin’. you don't even know your own name, do you?"

your only answer was a weak, broken sound—something between a whimper and a plea. he chucked, low and dangerous, fingers brushing your jaw as his other hand gripped your thigh, spreading you open again just to look. but then—he stilled.

his thumb stopped where it had been tracing, reverent in its own brutal way. his gaze, once burning with hunger, flickered—hesitating. you blinked through the haze clouding your vision, and there he was again: caleb, not the fire-eyed predator but the boy who used to hold your hand under the covers during thunderstorms, the boy who always laced your shoelaces when your fingers were too cold to do it yourself.

“…fuck,” he murmured, and something in his tone cracked open. he exhaled hard and let your thigh fall gently against the couch cushion, his body sinking beside yours, no longer looming—folding. a different kind of tension took its place, quieter, older. his hand cupped your cheek again, softer now, trembling faintly.

"you okay?" he asked, and his voice was lower. wrought with guilt, with fear, with love. "talk to me, love. tell me you’re okay."

you nodded, just barely, then leaned into his palm with a broken little sound. “o-okay…’m okay,” you breathed, voice ragged but true.

he closed his eyes.

for a moment, caleb didn’t say anything. just let his forehead press to yours. his thumb traced the line of your cheekbone like you might vanish if he didn’t keep anchoring you to him. then, with careful arms, he pulled you into his lap—blanketing you in the throw he’d once haphazardly tossed on the couch. your legs curled over his, trembling.

“you’re shaking,” caleb murmured again, his voice low and rough, like gravel coated in velvet. the heat radiating from his body pressed against your back was a fierce, solid warmth that somehow grounded you, but you could still feel the tremors racing through your limbs—shaky, fragile, like you were made of glass. his arms tightened around you, not crushing, but possessive, protective—as if he wanted to keep you from breaking apart entirely.

his lips brushed your skin like a feather in slow, feather-light kisses. first your bare shoulder, where the soft warmth of his mouth left a trail that sent a delicious shiver down your spine. then along the hollow of your collarbone, his breath hot and steady, carrying the faint scent of smoke and sweat from the race—intoxicating and unmistakably him. when his mouth ghosted to the corner of your lips, he paused, lingering like he was memorizing your shape, tasting the faint salt of your skin, the quickening pulse beneath.

“you scare the shit out of me sometimes,” he breathed, voice husky and trembling with emotion, the raw vulnerability undercut by the fire of his obsession. “the way i feel about you... it’s not normal. maybe i love you more than you realize.”

his hands roamed slowly now, tracing the lines of your body with a possessive tenderness that set your nerves alight. one palm slid down the curve of your side, fingers pressing into your hip bone, grounding you in the heat between you. the other curled in your hair, thumb brushing your temple softly, coaxing the tension out of your clenched muscles.

“you don’t have to say anything,” he whispered, voice rough but gentle. “just be here with me.”

your eyelids fluttered open, meeting his gaze—dark, intense, burning with a hunger that softened only when it landed on you. the sight made your heart squeeze painfully, a sweet ache that spread through your limbs like wildfire.

your fingers twined tightly in the thick fabric of his fireproof suit, heart hammering against your ribs like it was trying to break free. you curled into him, the solid beat of his heart against your palm a grounding anchor amid the storm of emotion crashing through you. no words came—only the soft press of your lips against his jaw, the whisper of a kiss that said everything you couldn’t say aloud.

caleb’s breath hitched sharply, eyes darkening with a fierce tenderness as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. his thumb brushed away a tear that had slipped silently down your cheek, his touch so gentle it made your breath catch. his smile was fragile, barely there—but real. like he was offering you a piece of his soul wrapped in vulnerability.

“you’re everything to me,” he confessed, voice thick and laden with something bittersweet, a promise and a curse intertwined. “every lap, every breath, every fucking heartbeat. you ruined me, and i don’t ever want to be put back together.”

his arms squeezed you tighter, possessive and fierce, a silent vow to keep you safe and claim you utterly. the heat from his body seeped deep into your bones, steady and relentless, chasing away the shadows that lingered inside you.

your hand rose to cup his cheek, fingertips tracing the sharp angles of his jaw, memorizing the rough scrape of stubble beneath your touch. “l-love you..i’m yours,” you whispered, voice trembling but resolute. a soft, possessive smile curved his lips. “yeah,” he said, voice low and thick with pride, “only mine.”

when he kissed you this time, it was different—slow and tender, a deep press of lips that spoke of ownership and devotion, not just need. his mouth was warm and soft, roughened by days on the track and sleepless nights, and the taste of him—smoky, faintly metallic, and utterly intoxicating—settled deep inside your senses. his hands cradled your waist, fingers digging in just enough to remind you that you were his, that you belonged here, to him, in this moment.

“sleep,” he murmured against your lips, voice husky but gentle, a soothing promise that wrapped around you like a blanket. “i’ll be here when you wake up.”

your eyelids fluttered closed, sinking fully into the fierce, steady warmth of his arms. his heartbeat thrummed against your back, a wild, unyielding fire that burned only for you—and you let yourself be consumed by it.

caleb didn’t sleep. not for a second.

he stood bare-chested in front of the fire, the room thick with heat and shadows that flickered like ghosts on the walls. the dry crackle of the flames filled the silence, but inside him, a storm still raged—cold, sharp, relentless—but not for you, no, never.

his knuckles bore the faintest traces of dried blood where he'd gripped the wall to steady you, but the ache there was nothing compared to the sharp edge of his hatred for rafayel. the mclaren tee lay crumpled at his feet—a stubborn reminder that wouldn’t fade.

he bent down and picked it up slowly, fingers tightening around the fabric, a silent vow burning hotter than the fire before him. with slow, deliberate movements, his fingers curled around the fabric, pulling it close. he traced the soft cotton absently, the smell faint but familiar, and it stabbed at him like a fresh wound. the color—too bright, too loud—reminded him of everything he hated to admit. he fed the shirt to the flames, watching the orange cotton curl, blacken, and twist in on itself. the smell of scorched cloth filled the room, but it couldn’t burn away the rancor that still coiled tight inside.

he didn’t blink until the last ember faded to ash, eyes cold and unyielding, mind still racing with bitter thoughts.

rafayel had crossed a line.

and caleb’s fire wasn’t ready to die down—not yet, not ever.

# do not repost, translate, or upload my work to any other platforms. tumblr reblogs are welcome and appreciated, but reposting outside of this blog is not permitted !

— ✦ © @ x1asirene, tumblr 2025 ✧

[keotograph]

HIIIII!!! I absolutely LOVEEEEEE what you know!! Best series I’ve read in SOOOOOOO long and with sukuna😫😫😫😫 I wanted to know if u have any recs for other slow-burns series with sukuna or jjk characters?

hiii nonnie, thank you so much <33 i'm so glad you're enjoying it, that series means the world to me 🥹

i actually can't think of many slow burns that i've personally read for sukuna specifically aside from this one:

silent love [sukuna x f!reader, college au] by @/StrbyMacaroon on ao3 - complete series - reader moves in with a classmate and doesn't realize she's actually got two roommates. i adore the way sukuna is written in this one <33

for other characters, aashi, ellie, and kash have some phenomenal slow burn gojo and toji series and nici has some gorgeous slow burn oneshots for gojo!

kickoff [gojo x f!reader, college au] by @celestie0 - ongoing series - gojo and reader end up working together through a deal they make with one another and my god they have such fun chemistry. gojo here is such a huge sweetheart, i adore him <33

in holy matriphony [gojo x f!reader, fake marriage au] by @celestie0 - ongoing series - in order to slip through the cracks of the healthcare system, reader and gojo get married even though they've always had issues with one another. i love their dynamic and ihm gojo is so hot it should be studied how much i think about him. the angst in this is so heart wrenching as well 🥲

the season of thorned roses [gojo x f!reader, bridgerton au] by @fushitoru - ongoing series - reader is crowned the diamond of the season and pretty much everyone expects her to end up with gojo but he fumbles HARD. i'm a huge sucker for enemies to lovers and this fic absolutely nails it!! i'm so invested in the world aashi has created and i adore how reader won't take gojo's dumbassery at all 💀 she's so real

once more to see you [toji x f!reader, parenthood au] by @cuntyji - complete series - literally nothing makes me happier than putting toji in a domestic setting. i absolutely eat it up, he deserves a good and happy life and the hurt/comfort in this is PERFECT

three words i could not say [gojo x gn!reader] by @lostfracturess - oneshot - childhood best friends to lovers, following the couple over the course of their lives together. such a feel-good fic, i love to reread this whenever i'm looking for something sweet, it makes me endlessly happy <33

love & other variables [gojo x f!reader, college au] by @lostfracturess - oneshot - nerdjo!! gojo is cheerleader!reader's tutor and they're seriously so cute and sweet. i love nici's nerdjo so much and the way he gets so shy with reader has me giggling and kicking my legs. they're cuties fr

as always, please make sure to check out each author's rules before interacting!! i'm sure i missed a bunch of amazing fics, but these are the only ones i know off the top of my head.

[keotograph]

🍎 ᯓ ✈︎ ⊹ 🍃 ࣪ ˖

Note: We’re all adults here, but I just want to emphasize that the behavior Caleb will show in this is only acceptable in FICTION! We all love a little crazy, so long as it’s fake LOL ♡

Rating: Explicit - !!Minors DO NOT interact!!

Warning: Smut, possessive actions and language

Word Count: 3,141

Summary: Caleb doesn’t appreciate another man thinking he can have what’s his and hates that you act like you don’t belong to him.

Possessive!Caleb/Reader

Caleb has done and will always continue to do any and everything that will make you happy. It’s why even though these two weeks of him visiting was supposed to just be time for you two to catch up and hang out, he didn’t hesitate to tell you that it’s okay to have some friends come by to celebrate your birthday.

It’s rare for him to have this much time off and he’s nothing if not a selfish man, so being able to have breakfast, lunch, and dinner every single day, finding things to do around the city, and laying in the house watching movies for hours alone with you, was time well spent in his book. But, he knew you were someone who loved, someone who likes to create memories, so he encouraged you to invite as many friends as you’d like so that you wouldn’t feel bad about it. He’s spent every single birthday of your life with you since you both were kids, some alone and some with others, but this was the first time it would be with people he’s never met before.

After you had moved and gotten a new job, you had to make new friends and while you’ve known them for only a year and a half, they were pretty cool.

“It’s your birthday, pipsqueak. Whatever you want to do, I’m all for it,” he told you with the most endearing smile.

And he truly meant that. Caleb would die for you, he’d kill for you. And that’s not an exaggeration.

Need him to kill a man for touching you? He’ll do it.

Need him to make something look like an accident just because someone got on your nerves? Consider it done.

He’d never tell you he’d go that far. You’re too sweet, it would scare his pretty girl. But it was always a part of him he had ready, just and only for you.

He watches you with a warmth in his chest as you fly back and forth through your townhouse, making sure all the snacks are ready and decorations are set. He takes the time to admire your pretty sky blue dress that rests right above your knees. It hugs your body just right, but not too much. It’s perfect, particularly because you’re wearing it, but even more so because the square neckline gives your breasts just enough wiggle room to bounce with each step you take. Every subtle jiggle makes him want to bend you over the counter and defile you in the most filthy way possible.

Caleb has had… a hard time during several moments while he’s been here. His hand and cock have never been so acquainted in his life. He’d make sure you were sleeping before he went back to the guest room and stroked his length with a pair of your panties that you threw in your hamper. Breathless and embarrassingly desperate, he moaned your name under his breath as his cum shot out of his body. He’s ruined about three pairs— pairs that he has no intention of giving back.

He imagined you sucking his cock that time you went out for ice cream, imagined how pretty your pussy would look filled and covered in his cum when he saw how it strained against your shorts because of how you were laying on the couch one night. It even went as far as imagining how you’d look with his baby in your stomach.

Twins— you two would have twins if he ever got that lucky, he was sure.

But he’s kept himself in line, at least in front of you. Caleb knows you’re a smart girl, he knows that you’re not oblivious to his flirting and subtle actions, but he wasn’t too sure if you felt the same way. It’s why he’s never made a move, too scared that you’d try and reject him. He couldn’t have that, he wouldn’t accept it. The dynamic you two had was safe and he’d keep it that way for as long as he has to. He’d remain the Caleb that you say “plays too much” if you let him continue to do what he’s been doing.

“Caleb, is the grill good to go?” you ask him as you slide your flip flops on. Your voice is like hypnosis in the way he loses himself in your words. It’s a simple question, but the way you say it, the way you speak period, enthralls this man.

“Yup,” he confirms. “I already got some steaks on it like you wanted, remember? They’re almost done.”

You admire your bestest friend in the world as he walks from behind your kitchen counter in his sleeveless white shirt and black jeans. You’re just so thankful for him and everything he’s done for you today and over the years in general.

“You’re the best,” you groan and that makes Caleb’s jaw tense. Down, boy, he scolds himself.

“I know, I know, he gloats. “Your friends almost here?” He steps closer to you and plucks a piece of confetti from all that you’ve sprawled all through the kitchen.

Before you can answer, the bell rings. “That answers my question,” he chuckles. “Let me get it for you.”

You nod and thank him, shaking your nerves out. This is the first time your new friends are seeing where you live too, so you just want everything to be perfect and hope they like it all.

Caleb steps to the side to let them in and you smile. He nods to the three women and two men that enter with ease before shutting the door. He lets you greet and thank them all for coming, but it’s the guy with his hair tied in a bun that gives your best friend pause. When he kisses your cheek, Caleb damn near sets the whole place on fire.

Standing in the living room, you introduce Caleb to them and them to Caleb. His face is friendly, calm, and even. But then he gets his name.

Kendall.

The one with the fucking nerves to put his lips on your precious skin. And you welcomed it. You leaned into the son of a bitch without hesitation and that… that’s something Caleb doesn’t like at all.

You don’t like being touched by people, even more so when it comes to a man. But you let him touch you, let him kiss you, and smiled about it.

He needed to calm down before he lost himself in your home on your birthday.

It’s as the hours went by though, that Caleb started to be physically unable to play nice. Kendall kept touching you, kept getting close, whispering shit in your ear that could not be that fucking funny. It was a natural reaction for Caleb to get between you both and to call you over when Kendall got too close that made him legitimately contemplate shooting him.

He wanted to ask you what all of this was about. You told him everything and he would remember some man named Kendall if you mentioned him. Why hadn’t you? Were you hiding something?

The things that Caleb was really thinking had him fuming inside, but he can’t ruin your birthday. He’d never dream of it. It’s why he has to figure out how to separate you for a moment because he needs answers and waiting until all these people leave wasn’t going to happen. He needed answers now.

So he decided to use your caring nature to lure you upstairs by acting like he wasn’t feeling too great. It took no more than five minutes of him being absent for him to hear you tell everyone to wait on the small deck outside while you checked on him.

“Caleb?” he heard two soft knocks on his door. “You okay? Can I come in?”

After granting you permission, you shut the door behind you. Admittedly, you were confused to not him seem so bothered by the headache he claimed to have when you saw him sitting on the bed.

“How are you feeling?” you still asked. Maybe he didn’t want to worry me, you thought.

“What’s the deal with Kendall?” he asks flatly, his elbows resting on his knees. His eyes look up to meet yours and his gaze is every bit of intimidating.

“What do you mean?” Now you’re going to upset him. He hates when people play dumb, even more so when he knows who he’s talking to is one of the smartest people he’s ever met.

You can sense his irritation, but why he’s like that? You don’t know. “He’s…” you hesitate. “He’s just a guy I went out with for a few dates, but we’re not official or anything.”

Ah. So Kendall is a problem, Caleb thinks. “And why didn’t you tell me?” Caleb interrogates.

“I didn’t think it was necessary. You don’t tell me about every woman you’re with,” you challenge. “Besides, it’s nothing serious.”

You’re right. He doesn’t tell you. Because he hasn’t looked at another woman since his senior year of high school.

“It’s serious enough for him to keep putting his hands and lips on you.” Caleb’s voice raises ever so slightly, but not enough to startle you.

“Okay, what the hell is your problem?” you snap. “I know you want me to be safe and whatever, but I’m grown Caleb. Grown as hell. You don’t get to try and… and be this protector over things that are naturally bound to happen.”

Caleb’s head tilts and your words feel like ice down his back. “I do get to,” he stands up, towering over you. “I’m always going to protect you. Have you not understood that by now?”

His steps are measured and calculated as he gets closer to you. You’re not intimated enough to back up, though. Yet.

“But this isn’t just about protection, pipsqueak.” His voice lowers and the way his tone flattens makes him sound… tired. And he is. He’s tired of acting like your every thought, action, idea, and movement, doesn’t dictate what he’s going to do. Tired of acting like he’s not supposed to be the only one to know what your skin feels like against his lips and the only one to know every inch of your mind, body, and soul inside and out.

“I have to get back downstairs. I don’t have time—”

“I don’t give a fuck about those people.”

Your eyes widen. You don’t even know what to say. So you don’t say a word as you turn around and try to leave, but he’s quicker than you are, bracing his palm flat against the door. The loud thud makes you jump and the heat of his body behind you is more noticeable than ever.

“Do you know how long I’ve kept my mouth shut?” he mumbles. “How long I’ve tried to let you… come to me, naturally?”

He leans down, his lips dangerously close to your skin. “I never wanted to be too forward. I didn’t want you to feel overwhelmed.” His lips graze your skin. “Cornering you is what I didn’t want to do. But it seems like it’s necessary in order for it to get through that pretty little head of yours that you have always been mine… That you have always belonged to me.”

“Caleb—”

“Do you know how many times your smell alone makes me want to touch myself?” he admits and your breath hitches. “How many times I’ve imagined what you’d feel like wrapped around me for the first time?”

You can barely register everything he’s saying. Your legs feel gelatinous and you can never seem to gather enough breath.

“I’ve been so patient, so accommodating for years. And you give that son of a bitch downstairs what I’ve been deserving of?”

Your hands press against the door as he pushes himself closer to you.

“I didn’t… I never knew—”

“Bullshit,” he cuts you off. “You’ve always known. I know you did. It’s why you wore less around me as time went on, why you kept teasing me, hinting at my feelings for you.”

He’s right. You know he’s right. You’ve had a thing for your best friend for longer than you can admit. But going further than friendship with Caleb felt dangerous. If it didn’t work out, in the end you’d lose the only person who meant the most to you in the world. It was easier to try and get over him—unsuccessfully—for all these years than risk it.

His cock presses against you and the fact that you can feel him through all these layers of clothing makes you throb. “Tell me you don’t want me…” he dares. “I’d tell you that I’d walk away and never bother you again, but I’m done lying to you, pipsqueak.”

He grinds against you, making you ball your flat hands into fists as you whimper. “You want my cock just as much as I want you. Your body is telling me everything your mouth won’t.”

His hand grazes over your thigh as it snakes down. He other grabs hold of your thigh, hiking it up and pressing you against the door and you let him. His hand slips in between your legs and his fingers trail down your panty clad pussy. “Tell me yes, baby,” he whispers as he nips your ear. “Let me give you what you’ve denied us both for too long.”

You nod. Of course you do. Your body shudders as his strong hand creeps inside the fabric. Your mouth falls open and nothing but breath comes out as he gathers your wetness and brings it to your clit. Gently, he circles the tight bud against two fingers, kissing your neck as you press into him.

He’s breathing heavily behind you as you rub against his cock and his ragged sounds make you quiver.

“Oh, hah— Caleb.. That feels..” you moan.

“You’re so responsive,” he praises. His fingers don’t falter, never lose their rhythm, no matter how much he craves some stimulation of his own. Fortunately for him, your hot pussy against his hand and your sounds are just enough for now.

He almost cums in his pants when your hand reaches behind you to grab onto his hair. He grinds against you more, just enough to feel but not enough to finish as you whine as your first orgasm approaches. It’s not long until he’s holding you closer as you start to shake in his grasp. You bite your lip, knowing that even if your friends are outside, you still don’t want to be too loud.

Your head falls back on his shoulder as you finally start to come undone, chasing your high with eagerness. Spent and breathless, Caleb kisses your jaw while you try to come back down to Earth.

His hand slides out of your panties and you watch them trail upwards as he brings them higher and turn your head to see him pop them in his mouth, licking you clean off his fingers.

“I always dreamed that I’d take my time the first time you gave me the privilege to be inside of you,” he says against your neck. “But if you let me fuck you right now, I’m not gonna last and I’m not gonna be gentle. Is that okay, pipsqueak?”

“Yes…” you utter what feels like your first word in hours. Caleb wastes no more time. He’s waited long enough. He spins you around, laying you down on the bed with your hips at the edge.

His pants come down to give him just enough freedom and the sight of his cock makes your already wet and sensitive cunt clench. His tip is flushed with a tinge of red and you gawk at the creamy bead of white that runs down his length. He flips your dress up and he can’t even fathom trying to pull your panties off right now.

He pulls them to the side, looking between your eyes and what he calls safe haven. Guiding himself, he looks to you for approval one more time before he slides into you, your slick making his entry absolutely mouth watering.

His cock grinds against your panties as he starts slow, just to get you used to him. He can’t even form a coherent sentence or thought. Between how good you feel and the way the fabric strokes him roughly, he feels like he’s on another planet.

His pace increases as he feels you relax and the way he fucks you isn’t loving, it isn’t gentle. It’s powerful and it’s every bit of consuming. He’s showing you that you’re his, that you will always belong to him. His hips are merciless as he slams into you and his hands are no different as they roughly grab at your hips.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he pants. “Tell me you belong to me. I need to hear you say it.”

“I-I’m yours..” Not only do you tell him what he wants to hear, but you believe it. You believe him. “Oh god, Caleb, please don’t stop,” you beg him. If he wasn’t so determined to make you come again, he would’ve buckled right then and there because of how sweet you sound.

“I own you just as much as you own me. Do you understand?” He spreads you wider, bracing his forearms beneath your knees. Your breasts jump quicker at the way he’s nearly fucking you through the mattress. He just wishes he had you fully naked to get the whole experience.

“Fuck.. Yes, yes I hear you…” Your eyes roll back as you grip the cover beneath you.

“Allow another man to touch you…” he starts, licking his lips. “…and his blood will be on my hands,” he warns through hooded eyes.

That should terrify you. It should make you scream at him to pull out and to get away from you. Instead, it has your pussy shamelessly sucking him in deeper and he’s so deep that you almost struggle to breathe. The erotic sound of skin slapping together and his balls against your ass is enough to have you falling apart for him for the second time.

“Maybe my girl isn’t as innocent as I thought,” he teases. You want to retort, but it’s impossible right now.

“Shit, I’m gonna.. where do you want me?” he chokes out.

“Inside,” you whisper. “It’s okay.”

That’s all he needs for a few more thrusts to have him spilling his seed into you. He fucks his cum deeper, rubbing your overstimulated clit as he watches the look on your pretty face. Once he stills, he takes a small amount of time to admire the sight before him of his fucked out girl.

He wants to stay inside of you longer, but you two have already been absent long enough and he doesn’t want you stressing.

Gently, he hisses as he pulls out and puts your panties back into place with his cum seeping though the fabric, making an absolute mess that makes him feel primal.

After he pulls your dress back down, he fixes his own clothes and pulls you up.

He doesn’t hesitate to kiss your lips, licking at your mouth. He smiles against you and that make you do the same.

“We’ll talk more tonight,” he promises as he kisses your nose.

“Caleb, there’s cum in my panties. I can’t go downstairs like this,” you say is disbelief. Secretly you love it, but you’re not telling him that.

“And it’s going to stay there,” he wraps his arm around your waist. “C’mon, it’ll make me feel better.” His smile is mischievous and you roll your eyes.

“Don’t be like that, pipsqueak. It’s your birthday.”

You punch his chest. “Oh, go to hell.”

He laughs. “I love you, too.”

[keotograph]

don’t save him he don’t wanna be saved

college student caleb x college slut reader/smut-slight angst?

We’ve all heard the old saying: men love hoes. And Caleb is no exception.

Everyone thinks he’s a sweet boy. He’s super friendly, so thoughtful and generous. He’s the kind of guy parents want their kids to be friends with, such a well-mannered young man with a spotless GPA. He gets along with practically everyone-he’s the best guy to go party with, never got too drunk to be useless and never too sober to be a buzzkill. Girls always gravitate towards him and if they weren’t drunk caleb would spend the night playing wingman.

Thus to everyone, sweet and kind boys like Caleb deserved a good girl, a kind of girl he could take back home to his granny. The kind of girl a guy like caleb could marry. And to everyone, you’re definitely not that girl.

You were a different kind of trouble. Unbelievably attractive, and so incredibly easy.

The guys he hangs out with occasionally are so quick to pull up your track history as if Caleb wasn’t already ignoring the group chat they put him in.

-yk the basketball team ran a train on her in their hotel room right after nationals?

-I think my plug is smashing her too dude i see them riding around and shit

-weed been extra good tho i won’t lie

-lmaoo cal bro u kiss her ur kissing a 1000 dicks

-ong dude hit and quit that immediately

-frr get your piece and let her goooo she’s not the one for u trust me

But caleb doesn’t want to let you go :(

Much to the disappointment of everyone around him, he likes you..a lot, and he feels almost too old to be having a crush, but it sums up what he’s been feeling. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get close to you when he sees you're in the same physics lab. Every Thursday from 5-8pm, he's pushing his chair closer to yours, enough to drown in the sweetness of your perfume. Burning up from your smile when you laugh at his dumb jokes. Trying not to stare too long at your ass when go up and ask the TA a question. Finally locking in and getting the work done when he starts bricking up in his sweats imagining what the lip you bite on tastes like as you crunch numbers on his calculator.

Truth is, he quite enjoys the fact that you're highly experienced. Virgins just don’t do it for him, a self realization he comes to learn when he finally does get a taste of you. Why find somebody so amateur when he has you? A pretty girl with a cute smile that knows exactly what to do with his dick.

How could he let you go when you suck his cock sooo good? You love that it’s fat, love the struggle of getting it down your throat, immediately choking, eyes getting glossy with tears. It really inflates his ego when your throat lets out violent gurgles, filling up his room. "a-ah-damn baby keep goin'” You’re slurping up your drool oozing down his cock all over the short hairs at the base, and caleb loves the sound of it, sopping with your spit and his pre decorating your tongue. Slick pink muscle lapping at his cockhead as you look at him all cute, teasing the blunt end, coaxing for his nut that’s he’s shaking on his elbows. Right when he’s close, you suck his balls fisting him quickly, suckling on them as they tighten up against your lips and ducking your tongue down on the little patch of skin above his ass. “yeahyeah-get me there gorgeous o-oh-fuckk babe ‘m cummin’ -” You’re quick to envelop your mouth around him and he sees white, shooting quick and thick ropes, twitching on your tongue sending load after load and he watches your throat bob, swallowing him. Caleb shamelessly kissing you hard after, nice and sloppy with his tongue tasting the semibitterness of his seed on your lips. Who cares? it’s his dick in your mouth now.

So what if others got a taste before he did? It’s not like your body remembers them anyway. Pretty pussy all warm and tight. Struggling to take him as if you’ve never been fucked before. “fuuckk caleb-‘s too much” you whine on his dick as you bounce on it, the fat ass plastered all over your instagram jiggling on his lap as you come down. He can’t get enough of it, his large hands meeting your skin in slow and loud smacks. So damn soft and supple, he’s grabbing handfuls to spread and watch your stretched out hole devour him. “alll for you baby-‘n you’re takin’ it -nice and-ngh deep h-ah you like that?” Pussy fluttering each time you sink down, gushing cream that forms a wet ring at the base of his cock. You begged to take him raw and that’s why you're the best, so eager to feel him. Letting his bare tip rub the gooey spot deep in your guts. Letting him kiss your cervix and feel your sticky walls spasm. You’re so fucking wet-wetter than your throat and he feels like he’s drowning, losing his cock in your little water park that can’t help the noise.

His name drags out of your mouth like a wail and it only makes him raise his hips up to meet you, “o-oh-fuck me caleb-harder- yesss ‘s so deep-” He gets you louder, let his stupid friends hear that he’s got you now and you're not going anywhere. Those guys were never his friends though, that much is clear.

Whatever. Caleb reckons your previous hook-ups never made you finish. Decides to take you in missionary just so he can see what they haven’t, toying with your clit under his fingers and watching you play with your tits as he drills your hole, “wanna feel you cum beautiful-fuckk yeah baby- cum on your dick- mhmm-‘s yours” It takes everything in him not to bust first, the way you writhe under him , spreading your legs wider to take more drives him crazy. You sound so fucking sexy when your build up peaks that it’ll play in his head for weeks. God your greedy little pussy latches onto him like a vice, like it’s desperate for his load. Your pretty mouth gets to begging for it too, begging for him to make this pussy his. Fuck he wants to-so so bad. He has no choice but to cum deep inside you, letting you feel his cock twitch, his heartbeat rubbing up on your walls as he empties into you. Yeah he’ll gladly make this pussy his, for life, and nobody can change his mind.

The only thing he wish he could change was what happens after you fuck. You let him wipe you down and get you water. You let him spoon you in bed and watch Tiktoks on your phone. But everytime caleb wants to make plans for a date- to take a step towards something permanent with you, you're sliding out of bed putting your clothes on, telling him you have plans with friends or you're going home for the weekend. It’s like you're here with him, but just a touch away and he can’t get close.

It keeps him up late sometimes, staring absentmindedly through his window lost in his thoughts about you and him. But then it clicks one night when he realizes he’s watching you in a tiny jean skirt hop on the back of some guy’s obnoxiously loud motorcycle, zooming out of the parking lot. It makes him blink several times just to make sure he’s not imagining it. Huh? There’s someone else..?

But who?