#and and and his fingers are long and slim

[palevcr]

── ⤷ ゛ LATE NIGHT LOGIC ˎˊ˗

SUMMARY: When Rafe Cameron locks eyes with her over a bootleg Smiths record, he doesn’t expect a full-blown war to erupt in the middle of a dusty record store. She’s sharp-tongued and sharp-dressed—ripped tights, silver rings, and band tees that hang just right—and she plays dirty. He loses the record, but gains her number, and suddenly, the lonely hours are filled with 3AM playlists, chaotic voice notes, and mirror selfies that make his chest feel too tight. They text constantly—about everything and nothing—until everything feels like something. Between shared fanfiction kinks, half-lit confessions, and voice notes that leave him red-faced and breathless, he’s spiraling fast. She's a little bit chaos, a little bit poetry, and entirely impossible. He doesn’t stand a chance. And maybe that’s the point.

genre: modern texting situationship, alt!reader x nerd!rafe, late-night digital intimacy, chaotic romance, slow-burn emotional tension, yearning, slightly deranged girl behavior

paring: nerd!Rafe Cameron x 2007angel!reader

tw: suggestive content, sext-coded mirror selfies, voice note-induced horny spirals, masturbation mention (m), fanfiction obsession, self-worth issues, playlist intimacy, post-nut guilt (m), unspoken emotional vulnerability, praise kink hints, texting as foreplay, “you make me nervous” energy, emotional repression, soft attachment masked as irony

Rafe stood hunched over a battered wooden crate of vinyls, its corners dulled with time, edges fraying like the hem of a well-worn flannel. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered softly, casting a jaundiced glow on the already dust-heavy room. The record store had the air of something sacred, like a church for people who spoke in guitar solos and liner notes. He came here religiously—weekly, if not more. The old man who owned the place, a half-deaf, chain-smoking relic with a beard stained the same amber hue as a long-forgotten scotch, always gave Rafe a discount. Maybe out of pity. Or maybe he assumed Rafe had no real friends, just obscure bands and vintage pressings to keep him company. It wasn’t entirely wrong. Rafe had friends—Topper and Kelce—but they didn’t exactly share his taste for underground bootlegs and the crackling static of analog sound. They tolerated him, the way you tolerate a weirdly intelligent pet.

He took a slow sip from his lukewarm coffee, fingers on his other hand flipping through record sleeves with clinical precision, the practiced motion of a surgeon slicing through muscle memory. He was on the hunt—specifically, for a rare hybrid bootleg of The Smiths’ Hatful of Hollow crossed with a live recording from a 1986 show in Boston. He’d read about it once in the footnotes of a Rolling Stone article from the nineties and had since built the whole thing up in his head like it was the fucking Ark of the Covenant. Three stores down. This was the last shot.

And then—he saw it. The unmistakable spine, black with weathered white text, peeking out between two scratched ELO albums. His fingers darted forward, the thrill of discovery buzzing low in his chest, only to crash headfirst into disappointment when another hand reached for the same record.

Slim fingers, tipped with perfectly manicured navy-blue nails, adorned in silver rings—chunky, loud, and unapologetically over-accessorized. Feminine, definitely. Intentional chaos in jewelry form. He looked up.

And there she was.

She looked like every hormone-fueled fantasy he’d ever had at seventeen, only real and standing within reach. Her face was punctuated by piercings: a delicate eyebrow ring, a stud in her left nostril, a lip ring she toyed with using her tongue—the same tongue he caught a flash of, pierced in the center, when she parted her lips to speak. But nothing felt excessive. It was curated mess, rebellion executed with aesthetic precision.

“I saw it first,” she said, tilting her head just enough to raise the pierced brow. Her voice was low, almost amused, but there was weight behind it. She wasn’t bluffing.

Rafe blinked, momentarily forgetting how to operate language. Then his gaze dropped—just for a second—but long enough to drink in her outfit like he’d forget the details if he didn’t memorize them now. A distressed, off-shoulder Pierce the Veil tee, blackened at the edges with wear, clung loosely to her frame, slipping enough to reveal a sharp collarbone and the strap of a fraying bra. Tiny black denim shorts sat low on her hips, hugged tight with a silver-studded belt that glinted under the dim lights. Torn, patterned tights ran down her legs, framed by tall, knee-high black Converse, laced with chaotic white strings like a punk ballerina.

She was accessorized like she was allergic to minimalism: layered silver necklaces, a mismatched riot of bracelets—some spiked, others beaded, all clashing gloriously. A black shoulder bag hung from her arm like an afterthought. She looked like the kind of girl who skated to therapy and fought her exes in parking lots.

“Saw doesn’t mean owned,” Rafe replied, trying hard not to sound like he was being electrocuted by proximity alone. “And I think you have the wrong section. My Chemical Romance is over there.” He gestured lazily, coffee cup still in hand.

Her laugh was short and sardonic, lips curling around it like a dare. “Okay, nerd. What, are you gonna fight me for it?”

“If I must,” he said, too quickly. Too serious.

And he was. He absolutely would arm wrestle for a record. Especially if it meant her sitting across from him, fire in her eyes, their hands clasped in sweaty, ridiculous combat over a bootleg pressing and mutual stubbornness.

She tugged. So did he. What started as a civil disagreement over a shared interest quickly devolved into a quiet, petty war of stubborn fingers and smug eye contact. The record between them—old, coveted, fragile—was now the unwilling rope in their impromptu tug-of-war match.

“Are you seriously going to fight me over this?” she asked, a dry laugh curling out of her throat. Her voice was airy but edged in disbelief. “I’m a girl.”

Rafe didn’t flinch. “Good for you. You have a uterus. You should throw a party for it.” His tone was flat, almost too casual, like he hadn’t just delivered the snarkiest response of his life while battling a stranger in a record store. His grip on the album tightened. He wasn’t letting go just because she was pretty—or a girl—or both.

She stared at him, mouth parted slightly in exaggerated disbelief, before a slow, dangerous smile began to spread across her face. Her head tilted to the side, piercings glinting under the dim light, and there was a flicker of something mischievous in her eyes, like she’d just discovered a toy she wasn’t quite finished playing with.

“Tell you what,” she said, the words honey-smooth and far too composed for someone halfway through a vinyl skirmish. “I’ll give you the record…”

Rafe’s brows lifted. “Yeah?” His voice cracked on the word, betraying a flicker of hope and a complete lack of preparation for what came next.

“…if you give me your number.”

And just like that, his entire nervous system flatlined.

He blinked. Once. Twice. His hand didn’t move, but it weakened, barely enough for her fingers to slide underneath and hook the bottom edge of the album with practiced ease. He didn’t even notice. He was too busy reeling from the fact that a girl who looked like that just flirted like that.

“What?” he asked, and if his voice was any higher, only dogs would’ve heard it.

“You heard me,” she said, nonchalant as anything, examining her nails as if he weren’t rapidly unraveling in front of her. “Digitally transfer your contact information to my cellular device and maybe I’ll be kind.”

She produced her phone from her back pocket—navy blue, naturally, slightly scuffed at the corners. Of course it was navy. Of course even her electronics matched her aesthetic. Rafe took it with hands that didn’t quite feel like his, thumbs fumbling with the keyboard as he typed his name with excruciating slowness, terrified of making a typo. He could feel her watching him. Not intently—no, it was lazier than that. Detached. Curious. The way a cat watches a fly struggle in a windowsill.

Once he’d finished, he handed the phone back with all the awkward tension of a teenager returning a crush’s pen, except this time the pen was a fucking smartphone and his heart was thudding against his ribs like a riot shield.

She took it with no urgency, slowly typing something before slipping it into her bag with a self-satisfied smile. “Thanks,” she chirped sweetly.

And then—like a magician revealing her final trick—she yanked the record free from his hand and stepped back, triumphant, the album hugged to her chest like a trophy she absolutely deserved.

“Wait—” Rafe sputtered, hands still frozen in midair, as if he could will the vinyl back into his grasp through sheer indignation.

She was already walking backwards toward the register, smirking over her shoulder. “I said I’d give it to you,” she called out, sing-song and unapologetic, “I didn’t say when.”

He stood there, stunned into silence, blinking after her as if his brain was still buffering. The record was gone. So was she, slipping between the aisles like smoke. All that remained was the faint echo of her laughter and the lingering scent of citrus shampoo and cigarette smoke.

He stared down at his empty hands, then muttered to himself, barely audible: “...Jesus Christ.”

Later that night, Rafe was sunk deep into the faded couch in his apartment, limbs sprawled in a restless sprawl and expression twisted into something sour. He’d just lost a brutal game of Fortnite to Topper—who wouldn’t stop gloating over comms—and his mood had been steadily declining ever since. A damp, barely edible sandwich sat beside him on the armrest, its soggy bread congealing into something that looked more like punishment than food. Add to that the fact that the record—the record—had been snatched right out from under his fingertips by the most infuriatingly hot girl he’d ever met, and yeah, he was not having a good night.

Still, there was something comfortable in the way his hoodie clung to his frame, sleeves a little too long, and the way his sweatpants bunched at the ankles. Comfort was rare. He was trying to bask in it—trying being the operative word.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table. He didn’t rush to check it, expecting either Topper or Kelce to be sending a half-assed invite to some house party neither of them would remember attending. Probably with a “bring beer” or a “yo, where you at?” tacked on the end. He reached over lazily, thumb swiping across the screen.

But it wasn’t them.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: the record is great, even better when im thinking about u :))

He blinked. Sat up slightly. His eyes scanned the message again, brain catching up with the implications—particularly the last part, the one that seemed to echo in neon across his mind like graffiti under blacklight.

Another ping.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: y/n btw, from the store :p

Rafe stared at the screen, heart giving a small, startled jolt in his chest. His mouth twitched, involuntarily, into a smile that pulled uneven at one corner—wry, incredulous, a little dazed. He could still see her in his mind, crystal clear: the messy layers of black eyeliner, the constellation of piercings, the wicked smirk she wore like lip gloss. And now she was texting him? About him?

He didn’t even hesitate. His fingers moved quickly, saving the contact—Y/N (Record Thief)—before he tapped out a reply with practiced ease.

RAFE: you’re evil.

And then, because his grin wouldn’t go away and because he could still smell her perfume in the back of his mind like cigarette smoke in a hoodie’s lining, he added another.

RAFE: but i haven’t stopped thinking about you either.

It became a ritual, quiet and unspoken. From that night on, their messages never stopped—constant, crackling back-and-forths that filled the silent hours between classes and late nights. They talked about everything and nothing: obscure albums, cursed childhood memories, weird local folklore, what breed of dog they’d be if reincarnation was real. She sent voice notes more often than she typed, and Rafe never complained. Her voice curled around his brain like smoke—dry and amused, sometimes sleepy, sometimes bright with laughter. It was familiar in a way that unsettled him, made him feel like she was always just a little too close, whispering things into the soft hollow of his ear even when she was miles away.

Not that it meant anything. Not like that, you perv—he’d tell himself, kicking his feet under his desk after she’d say his name just so in the middle of a story about stealing incense from Hot Topic. But there was that one night. The one he tried very hard to pretend hadn’t happened. He’d been high—very high—couchlocked and scrolling aimlessly through their old chats, chasing the dopamine hit of her voice when he found it: a voice note from earlier that week, one he hadn’t really registered the first time around. She was rambling, laughing at herself, probably halfway through a story about a cursed tattoo shop or a man with three ferrets on a leash. But then, mid-sentence, she'd said his name. Soft. Barely a breath. Something in the cadence, the casual intimacy, the lazy way she let it roll off her tongue like she’d known it forever—it fried every single brain cell in his skull.

The earbuds stayed in. His hand drifted south. He came too fast, way too fast, heat curling low and stupid in his belly while her voice filled his head. Afterwards, he lay there in stunned silence, one arm flung over his eyes, the other still curled guiltily over his stomach. “What the fuck, dude,” he whispered to the ceiling. The ceiling, in its infinite wisdom, said nothing back. They never spoke of it. Not then. Not ever.

She made him playlists like it was a love language. No warning, just links sent at inhuman hours—3:47 a.m., 5:12 p.m., 11:11 exactly—captioned with things like “this sounds like ur brain if it had static” or “play this while reading fanfic about morally grey villains.” The songs were weird, disjointed, beautiful. He listened to every single one of them with a reverence he wouldn’t admit out loud.

And the selfies. Jesus Christ, the selfies. Mostly taken in her bedroom mirror, which was rimmed with chipped stickers and lipstick kisses, lit by fairy lights or the harsh blast of a camera flash. Sometimes she wore oversized band tees that hung so loose they slipped off her shoulder, exposing the edge of a strap or a glint of silver jewelry; sometimes she wore those microscopic shorts that barely counted as fabric. Her lips were always parted, like she’d been caught mid-thought or mid-sentence, like maybe she was about to say his name again. Rafe stared at them longer than was healthy. He left them on read because he forgot how to form words, forgot what a keyboard even was. And then, hours later, he’d finally respond with something criminally underwhelming like “cool shirt” or “u look nice.” His hands would shake when he sent them.

She never made him feel stupid about it. In fact, she responded to his selfies—hesitant, grainy little things taken in front of his bathroom mirror or his laptop screen like he was submitting himself for review—with the kind of energy that made his skin heat. Told him his eyelashes were unfair, that his jaw shouldn’t be allowed to look that good at 2 a.m., that his neck was doing things to her. Rafe didn’t know what the fuck to do with that. No one had ever looked at his bad lighting and shitty angles and decided he was hot. But she did. Over and over.

Somewhere in the chaos of voice notes and playlists and desperate selfies, he admitted—under duress, mind you—that he read fanfiction. Not out loud, of course, but in a text sent with enough disclaimers to qualify as a legal document. She’d only laughed, replied “ur adorable” and then immediately started flooding him with her favorite fics. Rafe, like the simpering loser he was, read every single one. Religiously. Annotated in his head. Developed opinions. And learned very quickly that she was a lot less innocent than he thought.

Because her taste in fanfiction? Filthy. Unapologetically filthy. Shit that had him checking the lock on his door twice before opening AO3. Every other kink was something he hadn’t even realized existed, let alone something that would have him shifting on his bed, adjusting his pants and clenching his jaw. One night, over a FaceTime call, he brought it up—jokingly, kind of. Asked her if she had a side hustle writing smut under a pen name. She only shrugged and said, cool as anything, “I’m just expanding your horizons.”

And the thing was? She really was. In more ways than one.

— all rights reserved © PALEVCR all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate nor repost as yours.

[gummygowon]

hands? | jeong yunho

word count: 2.8k

genre: smut sprinkled with crack and a dash of angst and fluff, close friends to ???, friends!yunho x afab reader

warnings: reader has slight body insecurities + bro's fingers just go crazy tbh

author's note: guess who's back. but on a fr note please be nice this is my first oneshot in a fat fucking minute after this godamn cb i needed to write something about someone omfg.

"y'know shigaraki's hand thing would lowkey be kinda hot if he wasn't so crusty." one of your friends, wooyoung comments on the anime's villain.

"what the-"

"you're kinda on something." you agree as you tilt your head watching shigaraki fight deku with one of the hands on his face.

you look back on the couch to see your other friend yunho sitting back looking horrified while wooyoung raised his soda can as a 'thank you' for agreeing with him.

"let me get this straight, you think the tomura shigaraki, the fucking villian in my hero academia is hot? the one with his literal deceased family member's hands all over his body?" yunho asks still horrified at your comments.

"okay, well not when you put it like that." you huff in fake annoyance.

"so what the hell is hot about him?"

"hands! the hands yunho!" wooyoung jumps in and answers as if it's the most obvious thing.

"okay...what about hands?"

"it's like a niche thing some people find hot on others." you explain trying not to out yourself as a hands freak. but lord, jeong fucking yunho had the most beautiful hands out there. they're long and slim and his hands are huge. his hands are just amazing at pc games.

"yeah, haven't you seen y/n checking your hands out when you play val?" wooyoung adds, his eyes not even leaving the tv.

you throw your hands up in defense, "now why am i catching strays?"

"am i not wrong?"

"ok ok, i get it. hands are hot-"

"-thank y-"

"-and y/n finds my hands hot." yunho adds with a devious smirk earning a chuckle from wooyoung.

"alright! time to get the fuck out!" you stand up and throw the pillow you were holding at yunho.

"nooooo, the episode isn't done yet!" wooyoung whines as you shoo him off the couch.

"there's two minutes left! go home!" you argue as you start cleaning up the living room.

"aw man." wooyoung pouts as he collects his jacket and leftovers from the dining table.

"we can finish the rest of the season next week when i don't have work the next morning." you offer trying to compensate.

"deal." your friend says as he slips on his shoes. "thanks for hosting!"

"of course!"

wooyoung was truly the only one who understood the concept of getting the fuck out immediately as you turned around to see yunho lazily collecting his things.

he 100% wants to talk about what wooyoung said.

"sooo, you really like my hands?" yunho carefully asks in case you launch another pillow at him.

"if i answer honestly, will you get out of my apartment?"

"yeah, yeah, definitely."

you give yunho a death stare noticing the fakeness in his voice.

"i swear i will!"

"good." you say unfolding your arms, "then yeah i think they're hot."

"wait really?"

"no more questions!" you quip pushing yunho to the door.

thankfully both wooyoung and yunho had dropped the topic of hands around you after that binge night at your apartment but that doesn't mean that you were still thinking about it. the situation with wooyoung outing your desire for yunho's hand. definitely not yunho's hands...

okay to admit though, you had a little crush on yunho but it's one those things where if he made a move on you, you wouldn't be mad about it. you've been friends with him since your second college after meeting him through wooyoung and even then you thought he was a little cute but it wasn't enough for you to be ballsy with it. wooyoung also definitely had his suspicions of you liking him too but he always had his knack for just knowing who peopled liked.

yunho on the other hand was a little bit of mystery when it came to his dating scene. you didn't really ask about what type of girls he was into or who he was seeing because partially, you didn't wanna feel jealous. you heard from wooyoung and your other friends gossip about yunho's flings with him at parties. the only recent fling he had was a kind of awhile ago but who knows if she's still in the picture. not like you were keeping track or anything.

luckily, yunho also wasn't weird about the whole situation either. things were still normal between the two of you. even the next binge event at your place was normal. you guys were able to finish the season without any mentioning of hands.

wooyoung had to take off a little earlier than usual since san called him about something going wrong in their apartment leaving yunho to help clean your place.

"you wanna play mario kart after we clean? i brought my switch." yunho offered.

"don't have to ask me twice" as you throw yunho the lysol wipes for the table.

after a quick cleaning session, yunho began setting up his switch and connecting it to your tv. you quietly sat next to him watching yunho use the controller to maneuver around the tv. there was something about how long his fingers were and how quickly they were moving the joysticks around. his hands were extra veiny today too.

the pads of his thumbs could definitely fully cover your n-

"are you good?" yunho asks pulling you out of your thoughts, as he offers you one of the controllers.

you shake your head as if it would get rid of the dirty thoughts, "yeah, mhm."

"okay buddy." yunho says as he drops one of the controllers into your hands. he definitely didn't buy it.

there was a moment of silence as yunho goes to open the game and without even looking at you he asks, "you really like my hands huh?"

"excuse me?" your heartbeat that already increased was literally about to burst out of your chest. "i thought i already answered this question."

"i mean, yeah." he shrugs just now looking back at you, "but i wanna hear you say it again."

"absolutely not." you protest.

"okay fine but how about this, if i get the fastest time you have to admit that you looove my hands and if you win, you can ask me any truth or dare question."

"anything?" you bargain with a mischievous raised eyebrow.

"yes."

"deal. you go first."

here's the thing, you were an absolute god at this game and yunho although he is competitive literally has no shot at beating you unless he cheats. so this little race should be a piece of cake. nothing you can't handle.

you guys had decided that the both of you would race on rainbow road and were able to pick what character and car they wanted. deciding to be an honest player, you sat back and watched yunho drive. this time while yunho was playing, you were too busy focusing on how he was doing to even think about his hands. you had to admit though, he was doing really well even though he shelled here and there.

"done!"

"five minutes and thirty seconds." you call out right after. "not bad yunho but we'll see about that."

"okay, sweat."

that nickname earned yunho a middle finger and you sticking out your tongue at him.

as you were selecting your character and tweaking the car, you could sense yunho moving closer to you. not enough to touch you but enough to be all up in your space. out of the corner of your eye you could see him fidgeting with something with his hands. his fingers were twiddling with an object that you couldn't quite make out.

focus. you think as you shake your head and return your full attention to the screen.

after completing your car design, you were ready for the race to begin. while waiting for the race to begin it's countdown, you let your eyes linger back to yunho's fingers to find out what the hell he was playing with. was he shredding a napkin? or playing wth the extra controller?

"y/n?" yunho's voices brings you out of your trance as you realize that you were holding down the gas for too long causing your boost to backfire.

"shit."

"lock in y/n." yunho teases turning his body towards you more, allowing his hands to appear perfectly in the corner of your eye.

"shut up." you growl back at him.

the rest of the race continues somewhat smoothly without any more yunho distractions but fuck that start really fucked up your time. you were closing in on the finish line coming in almost second place until some fuckass throws another red shell at you causing your character to spiral for a few seconds before resuming the track.

"what the fuck!"

"and that's time!" yunho shouts after your outburst. "five minutes and fifty-five seconds."

"that fucking red shell and you!" you turn your anger towards yunho and grab one of the couch pillows and chuck it at him.

"yah! i still won! admit it y/n!" yunho taunts doing a little celebratory dance on the floor.

your lips form into a thin line as you glare at him and shake your head.

"ah, ah, you bet on it."

avoiding the dare, you jabbed your fingers into yunho's side to "tase" him, knowing it was one of his most ticklish spots. you watch in glee as yunho starts to spasm on the floor from being tickled so hard.

"y/n! you little shit!" yunho shouts in between laughs as you kept tickling his sides.

deciding to be nice, you slow your attacks on him to let yunho catch his breath but he takes the opportunity to grab both of your wrists in one swoop. before you knew it, you were leaning over yunho's face with your arms hanging above your head. a blush crept on your face as you realized the position you were in.

"admit it." yunho said with a sick smirk on his face. it's like he took pleasure in making you flustered.

in no position to retaliate, you surrender. "i think your hands are hot jeong yunho."

"thanks pretty." yunho's eyes flicker to your lips for a split second. "wanna see what else they can do?"

too many things just happened. first of all, you losing in mario kart which never fucking happens then you basically getting manhandled by one of your closest friends and lastly, you were enjoying every moment of it. you were too nervous to use your voice so you just nodded along to whatever yunho just said.

you could see the lust fill in yunho's eyes while he talked. "i need words pretty."

"y-yes, i do." you mumble out. "please."

"thank you angel." yunho smiles before swiftly switching positions with you. "that was all i needed."

lying on your back, you stared back up at yunho who had a whole different demeanor ten minutes ago.

"do you know how long i've waited for a moment like this?" yunho asks his face a mere two inches away.

"why keep waiting then?" you tease back.

"you're right."

before you knew it, yunho leans forward and captures your soft lips earning a small gasp from you. his hands slowly traveled down your body as he swiped the bottom of your lip which allowed him access to your tongue. the thirst for each other was so strong after such a long time of waiting. did yunho like you this whole time too?

regardless of what he thought of you, he was devouring your lips. eventually, he traveled down your body leaving wet, open mouth kisses everywhere. he didn't stop until he figured out your sweet spot. yunho's lips came to a stop making you whine.

"can i take this off angel?" he asks softly, motioning to your shirt.

"yes, please."

"fast learner." yunho teases as he slips the shirt off of you.

instinctively, your hands fly to cover your chest when you realize you were almost fully topless in front of him. yunho notices your sudden shyness and stops moving. "what's wrong pretty?"

it was too embarrassing to admit that you were hella fucking nervous to be this exposed in front of yunho but it was too late he already read your mind. "don't be shy angel. we can put your shirt back on or i can take mine off so we're even?"

with a sweaty hand, you tug at his shirt with a pout. "can you take yours off too please?"

"since you asked so nicely." yunho grins as he slips off his shirt revealing his toned body. "now we're even."

a small smile appears on your lips as your arms return to yunho's neck. "thank you."

"of course, anything for you angel." yunho pecks your lips. "are you good to keep going?"

"yes." you breath out looking into his eyes. something about yunho just made you feel good. he just felt so familiar and comforting.

yunho leans back down and goes back to devouring your lips still not satisfied. he was determined to find your sweet spot if that meant kissing you all over your body. now that your shirt was off, he spent a little extra time on your boobs. he would alternate between kissing and sucking them before leaving an experimental hickey here and there.

it wasn't until he went back on your neck that he buried his face in the crook of your neck and shoulder making you gasp. you could feel yunho smirk once he realized he found your sweetspot. this time he mercilessly attacked your neck with open mouthed kisses leaving you moaning.

god, did he take his sweet time with you in this little spot. however, it wasn't enough to satisfy the growing arousal pooling down your legs. "yunho, please" you pant out, "need more."

"oh?" yunho pulls away from your neck making you whine once more.

"please yunho." you beg and tug at one of his wrists, leading them to the waistband of your pants.

he didn't say a word as he went to work on unbuttoning your pants and helping you slide them off. to test the waters, he cupped your clothed cunt and felt how fucking soaked you were. "angel, you're dripping."

"please." you moan out. "yun please."

"'m sorry pretty." yunho gives you a quick kiss as an apology before slipping his hand into your panties.

another moan escapes your puffy lips as yunho slips in one his long fingers. yunho kept his eyes on you as he moved his finger at a maddening slow pace.

fuck, even with just one of his fingers, it's exactly what you fantasized about. but you needed more. now.

"yun, please. i need more."

"okay, angel."

hearing your pleas, yunho slips not just one but two more fingers in you earning another gasp from you.

"fuck!"

again, yunho starts off with his sick, slow pace letting you adjust to the size difference. he loved watching your face contort in pleasure and a sense of pride washed over him as he realized that he was the one making you like this. all needy and fucked out without even needing to take his dick out.

slowly but surely, he quickened his pace without you even asking. multiple moans fell from your lips but they all got buried as soon as yunho captured your lips again. he swallowed every noise that came out your mouth which made him lose his mind. you sounded so fucking hot.

it wasn't too long until yunho's lips fell back into the crook of your neck earning him another loud moan. he would nip and suck on the spot before relieving the pain with a wet kiss. even with his mouth busy on your neck, his fingers never relented it's pace. the combined pleasure was absolutely insane. the warming sensation in cunt grew so intense that you couldn't hold it any longer.

"yunho, mmmh-fuck. 'm close." you moan, "so close nngh."

"come on angel." yunho encouraged, "give it to me pretty."

somehow his fingers sped up even more making you cry out even more. "too much yun!"

"angel, please." yunho moans into your ear, "give it to me. you can do it baby."

"fuck!" you cry out again, before finally letting go all over yunho's fingers.

"just like that angel," yunho praises as he continued to work you through your orgasm.

you were out of breath once you finished, your eyes closing in satisfaction.

"i'll be right back angel." yunho says as he presses a warm kiss to your forehead. the loss of his fingers made you whine.

with heavy eyes, you watched as yunho disappeared into the kitchen. a moment later, he came back with a clean rag and a glass of ice water.

handing you the water, he gently cleaned you up. finally getting to see just how much you came he couldn't help but tease you.

"so you like my hands a lot then."

[twistedreads]

Heatwaves—Nicolandria

Summary- When Nic flies to Houston to reunite with his longtime flame Orlandria, a scorching Texas summer is nothing compared to the heat between them. From playful city adventures to steamy nights behind closed doors, the sparks they’ve carried for months finally ignite into an unforgettable blaze.

Warning-This story contains explicit sexual content, strong language, and adult themes. Intended for mature audiences (18+) only. Reader discretion advised.

A/n: this is for the freaky little freaks on tiktok talking about nicolandria, you know who you are. Enjoy you weirdos🤣

Nic shifted his weight from foot to foot outside Terminal C at Bush Intercontinental Airport, running a nervous hand through his dark curls. The Texas heat beat down on his shoulders, sticky and relentless, making his white linen shirt cling to his tan skin. He wore it unbuttoned low enough to show a hint of the gold chain at his neck. A slim pair of olive-green tailored jeans hugged his long legs, and white sneakers kept things casual.

Despite the stifling heat, he couldn’t stop grinning. His phone buzzed in his hand with another text.

Orlandria: I’m two minutes away. Don’t be scaring me acting like a tourist out here.

Nic typed back quickly.

Nic: Too late. I’m already looking for a cowboy hat.

He was still chuckling at his own message when he spotted a sleek black Tesla pulling up. The tinted window rolled down, revealing Orlandria with her cool, confident posture and a soft, knowing smile that made something flip over in his chest.

She stepped around the front bumper, sunlight catching on her butter-yellow knit dress that hugged her curves and fell mid-thigh. Her dark brown skin glowed in the Texas sun, smooth and radiant, setting off the glossy waves of her hair and the warm tones of her makeup.

Nic dropped his bag where he stood.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he breathed, voice low, chest already tight with how badly he’d missed her.

Orlandria smiles widely as she closed the distance. “Hi, cream.”

Then she was in his arms, wrapping around his waist as he bent to hug her close. Nic squeezed her tighter than he meant to, burying his face in the curve of her neck and inhaling the vanilla scent he’d dreamed about for months.

Orlandria leaned back slightly and tilted her chin up. Nic caught the silent invitation and kissed her—slow and deep, not frantic, but full of heat that curled like steam between them.

When they parted, Orlandria reached up and wiped his mouth with her thumb.

“You got chocolate all over your face,” she teased, a little breathless.

Nic grinned. “Don’t care. I love it.”

Orlandria gave him a look—somewhere between annoyance and amusement—before grabbing his suitcase handle. “Come on. Let’s get you out of this heat.”

In the Tesla, Orlandria pulled away from the curb, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lightly on the console.

Nic turned sideways in his seat, studying her profile as he let out a low hum.

“Mmh. You look good,” he said, voice dropping slightly.

Orlandria shot him a glance blushing. “Thank you baby, so do you.”

He reached over and gently took her free hand, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. “I love your hair like this. It’s different from the braids… but it’s gorgeous.”

Orlandria’s lips twitched, trying not to smile. “You’re just saying that ‘cause it’s new.”

“Nope.” Nic shook his head. “I’d love you bald. But this—” He grazed his fingers along the sleek waves framing her face. “—is beautiful. Makes you look like a movie star.”

Orlandria snorted lightly. “Mm-hm. So now I’m a movie star?”

“Yeah,” Nic said, flashing a grin. “You’re elegant, perfect… and honestly, kinda intimidating.”

Orlandria rolled her eyes, though her cheeks warmed as a reluctant smile tugged at her lips.

They swung by a tiny coffee shop downtown, brick walls and soft jazz playing overhead. Nic insisted on paying, brushing off Orlandria’s protests with a wave of his hand. But as he reached for his wallet, his elbow clipped a towering display of muffins. A few wobbled dangerously.

“Nic…” Orlandria warned, one brow arching high.

“I got it!” Nic yelped, lunging to steady the tray just in time. He turned back to her, puffing out his chest. “See? Smooth. Very smooth.”

Orlandria gave him a long look, and lets out a chuckle.“You’re a mess.”

Nic leaned closer, stage-whispering, “Yeah, but I’m your mess.”

Later, Orlandria drove them to a soul food spot in Third Ward—a bright, bustling place where the smell of fried chicken, collard greens, and sweet cornbread poured out onto the sidewalk.

The second they stepped inside, Nic stopped short, eyes wide.

“Yo,” he murmured, glancing around like he’d stumbled into a sacred temple. “I think I just died and went to heaven.”

“Sit your Florida self down,” Orlandria teased, grabbing his arm and steering him toward a booth. “I’m ordering for you.”

Nic looked half-thrilled, half-terrified. “Please go easy on me.”

Orlandria ordered them plates piled high with smothered pork chops, mac and cheese, greens, and candied yams. Nic took one bite of the mac and groaned so loudly a woman at the next table turned around.

“Oh my God,” he whispered. “Orlandria. Marry me. Right now.”

Orlandria snorted, grabbing a napkin and reaching across the table to dab at his chin. “You got sauce all over your face.”

“I. Don’t. Care,” Nic declared, eyes rolling back a little. “It’s worth it.”

Orlandria shook her head but couldn’t hide her smile. “You’re so goofy.”

They spent the afternoon exploring the city. Nic insisted on stopping at murals for pictures, Orlandria posing with one hand on her hip while he snapped photos like a proud boyfriend. At the Galleria, he tried on a cowboy hat and made her nearly choke laughing.

“Howdy, ma’am,” he drawled. “Wanna ride off into the sunset?”

“Oh my God, please stop,” Orlandria laughs, shoving the hat off his head.

Nic caught her wrist gently, pressing a quick kiss to her fingers.

“Sorry. I’m just… I’m really happy right now,” he said, a softness creeping into his grin.

Orlandria sighed, her eyes softening. “You’re corny.”

“And you’re stunning,” Nic shot back. “Deal with it.”

As the sun dipped lower over the city skyline, the Tesla ride back grew quiet. Nic’s thumb traced light circles over the back of her hand.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Are you sure you’re good with me staying over? We don’t have to… y’know. I’ll sleep on the couch if you want.”

Orlandria glanced over at him, thoughtful.

“I want you to stay,” she said finally, her voice dropping lower. “And I don’t want you on the couch.”

Nic swallowed, trying not to look too eager.

“Good,” he managed, voice a little hoarse.

Orlandria parked and turned off the car.

“Come on, Florida boy,” she murmured, sliding out and smoothing her dress over her hips. “Let’s go.”

Nic nearly tripped over his suitcase as he scrambled to keep up, grinning like an idiot.

Upstairs, Orlandria opened the door to her sleek apartment, warm lights flickering on. Nic took in the soft gold decor, the organized shelves, and the faint vanilla scent that hit him the moment he stepped inside.

“Damn,” he murmured. “This place is so… you.”

Orlandria arched a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means it’s beautiful, elegant… and kinda makes me feel like I gotta step my game up,” Nic said, dropping his bag. “Like you make me wanna be a better man.”

Orlandria blinked, quickly looking away as a shy smile curved her lips. “Get out of here.”

Nic closed the space between them, tilting his forehead to hers.

“I missed you,” he whispered. “So much.”

Orlandria held his gaze for a long moment before leaning in and kissing him—a slow, lingering kiss that tasted faintly sweet, like her gloss.

When they pulled apart, she wiped his lips with her thumb.

“Chocolate. Again,” she teased.

Nic chuckled, pressing a kiss to her palm. “Told you. It’s worth it every time.”

Orlandria gave a small, secretive smile.

“Go get comfortable,” she told him, stepping back toward her bedroom. “I’m gonna change. And stay out of my snack cabinet.”

Nic pouted dramatically. “But that’s the best part!”

Orlandria shot him a look over her shoulder. “Nic.”

“Okay, okay!” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “No snack cabinet. For now.”

He watched her disappear into her room, feeling his pulse thunder in his ears—and knowing tonight might finally be the night he’d dreamed about for months.

Nic dropped onto the soft gray sectional, trying—and failing—to keep still. His knee bounced as he glanced at her bedroom door every few seconds.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, running a hand through his curls.

Breathe, man. Breathe.

He’d pictured this moment so many times. Orlandria’s place. Her scent in the air. The hush of the city outside. And the look in her eyes like maybe she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

He was halfway debating whether to sneak a piece from the snack cabinet when he heard the bedroom door open.

Nic’s head snapped up—and his mouth went dry.

Orlandria stepped out in a soft white crop top and tiny black cotton shorts that barely covered her thighs. Her hair was still sleek and perfect, waves falling around her shoulders. Her curves were incredible—the sweep of her hips, the way the shorts hugged her ass like they were custom-made.

Nic let out a low whistle, leaning back against the couch like he needed the support.

“Woman, you’re killing me over here,” he groaned, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest.

Orlandria let out a light laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”

Nic sat up, eyes sweeping over her. “No, seriously. Damn. I’m trying to behave, but you’re making it real hard.”

Orlandria shifted her weight, folding her arms under her chest. “Well… who said you have to behave?”

Nic froze. Then a slow, wicked smile spread across his face.

“Oh. So that’s how it is?”

Orlandria lifted her chin, trying to look defiant, but he caught the slight tremor in her breath. “Maybe.”

Nic reached out and hooked a finger under her chin, tilting her face up. He brushed his lips over hers, feather-light.

“You sure?” he murmured. “Because… once I start, I’m not stopping until you’re shaking.”

Orlandria let out a soft huff. “Talk is cheap.”

Nic blinked—and then he was kissing her again, slow but deep, tongue sweeping in to taste the sweetness of her lips. Orlandria melted into him, arms winding around his shoulders as he backed her gently toward the couch.

They tumbled onto the cushions, laughter bubbling between kisses. Nic caught himself on his forearms so he wouldn’t crush her, his curls brushing her forehead.

“You good?” he murmured.

“Yeah,” Orlandria breathed, her fingers threading into his hair and giving it a gentle tug that pulled a low groan from his chest.

He kissed down her jaw, lingering where her pulse throbbed beneath her skin.

“You smell so good,” he whispered. “Always smelled good on the island… but this? Vanilla and… something else. Drives me crazy.”

A shiver rolled through her, eyes fluttering shut. “Mm….”

Nic shifted lower, pressing a trail of kisses down her neck, his stubble grazing her warm skin. His hands slipped under the hem of her crop top, thumbs circling lightly over her waist as he felt her tense beneath his touch.

When his fingers brushed higher, he paused and met her gaze. “Can I?” he rasped.

Orlandria nodded, catching her lower lip between her teeth.

Nic slowly pushed her crop top upward, revealing the soft swell of her breasts, nipples already peaked and flushed. His breath hitched, eyes darkening as he took her in.

“Fuck… look at you,” he murmured. “You’re… incredible.”

She squirmed beneath his gaze, heat flooding her cheeks. “Quit looking at me like that.”

“Not a chance,” Nic murmured, lowering his head to trail kisses between her breasts.

He circled his tongue around one nipple before drawing it into his mouth, sucking gently until she let out a shaky gasp, her fingers curling in his hair.

“God…” she breathed.

“God, you’re delicious,” he murmured against her skin, moving to lavish the other side with slow, wet flicks of his tongue. “I could lose myself in you all night.”

Orlandria arched into his mouth, her thighs pressing together as she shifted restlessly. “Need more.”

Nic lifted his head, eyes heavy-lidded and intent. “Say less.”

He trailed one hand down between her thighs, cupping her heat through her shorts. Feeling the warmth and dampness beneath his fingers, he let out a rough groan. “Damn… you’re already so wet for me.”

She sucked in a breath. “Nic please..”

He grinned before sliding her shorts down her legs and tossed them aside, revealing black panties already clinging damply to her skin. He traced one teasing finger along her center, making her hips jolt.

“Don’t tease,” she whispered.

“Easy, gorgeous,” Nic purred. “Let me have my moment.”

He planted open-mouthed kisses along her inner thighs, drawing a series of soft shivers from her. As he reached the edge of her panties, Orlandria’s hand suddenly pressed against his shoulder.

“Wait… start off gentle. I’m sensitive.”

Nic’s features softened instantly. “Of course, baby.”

He hooked his fingers under the sides of her panties and slid them off in one smooth motion, then paused for a beat, eyes flicking up to hers. “Goddamn… you’re beautiful everywhere.”

A shaky laugh slipped from her lips. “Stop making me shy.”

Nic lowered his head and dragged his tongue in a slow, steady stroke from her entrance to her clit. Orlandria jolted, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat.

“Mm… a little softer,” she murmured, fingers weaving gently into his curls.

He immediately adjusted, easing his movements, giving her delicate flicks as his eyes flicked up to watch her reaction. “Like that?”

“Yeah… oh—faster now,” she breathed.

Nic obliged, flicking his tongue more rapidly, his hands firm on her thighs to hold her open. She let out a trembling moan, her hips rocking against his mouth.

“That’s it…” he rasped between licks. “You taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

Encouraged, he parted her folds with two fingers, his tongue tracing tight circles over her clit.

“Fuck… Nic… don’t stop…” Orlandria gasped, voice trembling.

“Never,” he growled, his voice vibrating against her slick flesh. He sucked her clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue while his fingers dipped lower to gently tease her entrance.

“Right there… oh my God…” she moaned, hips jerking toward him. “I’m… I’m so close—”

“Let go for me,” Nic murmured. “I wanna feel you shake.”

Orlandria’s thighs clamped around his head as her orgasm rushed through her. A raw cry ripped from her as her body arched off the couch, trembling with release. Nic kept licking her gently until her shudders eased, then finally pulled back, lips glistening, chest rising and falling in quick breaths.

“ Taste like heaven,” he panted, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Orlandria lay sprawled across the couch, breathless, eyes half-lidded. “Get up here.”

Nic crawled over her, capturing her mouth in a deep, searing kiss. She tasted herself on his tongue and let out a low, helpless moan, pulling him closer until their chests pressed together.

When he tried to draw back for air, Orlandria followed, chasing his mouth until she caught it again, the kiss growing hungrier and more demanding.

When he finally managed to pull away, he rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard.

“Fuck… you know that drives me insane,” he rasped.

A sly grin curved her lips. “I know.”

He kissed her once more, lingering, then leaned back just enough to look into her eyes. “Think we’re gonna need more space for what I’m about to do to you.”

Orlandria blinked, still dazed. “What…?”

Nic slipped an arm beneath her shoulders and another under her knees. With a quick, effortless motion, he scooped her off the couch as if she weighed nothing.

“Nic!” she squealed, her arms flying around his neck.

“Told you,” he murmured, pressing a hot kiss to her temple as he carried her toward the bedroom. “Once I start, I’m not stopping until you’re shaking again.”

Nic nudged Orlandria’s bedroom door open with his foot, still holding her close. Soft lamplight spilled over satin pillows and pale sheets, wrapping around his senses as he stepped inside.

“Damn,” he breathed. “Even your bedroom looks expensive.”

Orlandria squinted at him, still holding onto his shoulders. “Really? I think it looks normal.”

Nic let out a low chuckle, continuing forward. “Baby… you’ve got more throw pillows than my entire apartment has furniture.”

As he spoke, he slowly bent forward, gently lowering her onto the mattress.

“Your bed’s all fancy. Your sheets feel like butter. And your room smells like a damn spa and a bakery had a baby,” he teased, bracing his palms on either side of her hips as he hovered above her.

Orlandria tried—and failed—to hide a grin. “You’re so annoying.”

Nic’s eyes dropped to her bare chest, then back to her flushed face.

“God, you’re unreal,” he murmured. “I can’t believe you’re all mine.”

Orlandria’s eyes darted away, shy heat coloring her cheeks. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

“I mean every word,” he murmured, brushing his knuckles along her cheek. “And you’re gonna hear all of it tonight.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but Nic leaned in and kissed her again, slow and deep. When he pulled back slightly, his breath mingled with hers, his eyes hooded with desire.

Orlandria lay completely naked beneath him, glowing in the lamplight, dark waves spilling over the pillows, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

“Shit Orlandria..,” he breathed, voice raw. “All of this… just for me?”

Orlandria’s gaze shifted away for a moment, a vulnerable softness flickering across her features despite the heat sparking between them. “Yours.”

“Good,” Nic whispered.

He lowered his head, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her chest, lingering as he suckled gently at each nipple until she was shifting beneath him, soft gasps escaping her lips.

Then he trailed lower, dragging his tongue slowly down the center of her stomach.

Orlandria’s breath hitched, but she reached out and gently tugged his curls.

“Hold up.”

Nic blinked, surprised. “Huh?”

Orlandria nudged at his shoulders until he pushed back onto his knees, still positioned between her thighs. She glanced down at the way his jeans strained over the obvious bulge beneath them, then back up with a wicked little smile.

“You’re still wearing too many clothes,” she murmured.

Nic let out a breathless laugh. “I was… y’know… trying to focus on you.”

“I know, and that’s sweet, but…” Orlandria trailed off, already working the button of his pants. “Let me see you.”

Nic lifted his hips a bit, helping her shove his pants and boxer briefs down. The instant his cock sprang free—thick, flushed, already glistening at the tip—Orlandria’s eyes went wide.

“Oh, shit…” she blurted, unconsciously licking her lips. “You’ve been hiding all that from me?”

Even while panting, Nic managed a crooked grin. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

Orlandria gave him a look like she couldn’t decide whether to slap him or praise him. “How the hell do you even walk around with that thing?”

Nic barked out a short laugh. “Very carefully. And with loose-fitting pants.”

Orlandria narrowed her eyes, glancing down again. “It’s… pretty.”

Nic blinked, stunned. “Wait. Did you just call my dick pretty?”

Orlandria lifted her chin, eyes sparkling. “Yeah. I did. It’s… nice to look at.”

Nic stared at her, dazed. “No one’s ever… uh… used that word for it before. I’m… honored?”

Orlandria burst into laughter, the sound warm and musical, then gave him a playful shove in the chest.

“God, you’re ridiculous,” she said, still grinning.

Nic rocked back slightly but steadied himself—and suddenly reached behind his neck, gripping the back of his shirt. In one smooth motion, he pulled it over his head, leaving his curls messier and his chest flushed and heaving.

Orlandria blinked, her eyebrows shooting up as her gaze traveled over him. “Okay… show-off.”

Nic smirked, tossing the shirt aside. “Figured if we’re appreciating pretty things, I should contribute.”

Orlandria rolled her eyes, though her eyes were dark with heat. She pressed her palms to his chest and gave him another firm push until his back hit the headboard, arms splaying out for balance.

Before he could speak, she dipped forward, pressing slow, wet kisses across his chest.

Nic sucked in a sharp breath, watching her with wide eyes as her mouth trailed lower, lips gliding over the flat planes of his abs, lingering in the hollow between his muscles.

“Damn…” he rasped, voice breaking as her tongue flicked lightly across his skin.

Orlandria didn’t answer—she just kept kissing lower, her hair brushing his stomach as she worked her way down.

Nic let out a helpless groan, fingers twisting into the sheets as she moved closer, her warm breath ghosting over his skin. When her hand finally wrapped around him, he jolted, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat.

“Holy Shit… okay… message received…” he panted, his abs tightening as he fought the urge to thrust into her grip.

Orlandria let out a satisfied hum, stroking him again as she settled between his thighs.

Nic tipped his head back against the headboard, panting, eyes glazed. “Jesus… you’re gonna kill me.”

“Oh, hush,” Orlandria murmured, leaning closer. “You’ll survive.”

She flicked her tongue over the tip, tasting the bead of pre-cum there. Nic let out a sharp, ragged moan, one hand flying into her hair.

“Jesus… baby…” he panted, voice trembling.

Orlandria shot him a wicked look from beneath her lashes. “Mmm… pretty and sensitive. I like it.”

Nic huffed out a breathless laugh that turned into a groan as she licked him again, slower this time, tracing the ridge beneath the head.

“Oh my God… baby… you’re…” His voice dissolved into a strangled sound as she took more of him into her mouth, lips sealing around him.

Orlandria sucked gently, easing back and swirling her tongue over the tip before sinking lower again, taking him deeper with each stroke.

Nic clenched his fists in the sheets, jaw dropping open. “Shit… Orlandria… that’s…”

She pulled back slightly, her fist stroking the base as she spoke. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

“It’s perfect,” Nic choked out, voice tight. “Fuck… it’s perfect…”

Orlandria lowered her head again, picking up the pace, bobbing her mouth along his length while her hand twisted and squeezed at the base.

Nic’s chest heaved, sweat beading at his hairline. “I’m gonna… shit… baby, I’m gonna come—”

Orlandria sucked harder, humming around him, and Nic let out a broken cry as he spilled into her mouth, his hips jerking helplessly.

He slumped back against the headboard, trembling, as Orlandria pulled off him and swallowed, wiping her mouth delicately.

Nic stared at her in wide-eyed wonder. “You’re amazing…”

Orlandria smirked, wiping the corner of her lip with her thumb. “That should help you last longer later.”

Nic let out a breathless, shaky laugh. “Yeah… shit… definitely. You’re a menace.”

She smiles, shimmying closer and pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

Nic moans in satisfaction, pulling her into his lap, still panting.

Orlandria arched an eyebrow, eyes drifting down. “Condom.”

“On it,” Nic said, grinning as he reached for the gold foil packet on the nightstand, his cock already twitching back to life under her gaze.

Nic tore open the foil and rolled the condom on, his chest still heaving as he tried to calm the fire burning through his veins.

Orlandria tilted her head, her lips curved in a sultry little smile as she traced her fingers over the ridges of his abs. “Look at you. Already hard again.”

Nic shot her a dark look, half wild with lust. “Baby, that mouth of yours is gonna get you in a lot of trouble.”

Orlandria shimmied closer until she was straddling his thighs, her bare skin pressing hot against his. She leaned in and brushed her lips across his jaw. “Maybe that’s exactly what I want.”

Nic let out a guttural noise, grabbing her hips tight enough to leave fingerprints. “Jesus Christ… I gotta pace myself. Give me a sec.”

Orlandria raised a brow, cocking her head. “You’re nervous again?”

Nic shut his eyes, muttering under his breath. “Penguins. Taxes. Baseball. Grocery lists…”

She laughed, the sound vibrating through her whole body. “You’re such a dork.”

“Yeah, well, you’re about to fuck that right outta me,” Nic shot back, eyes blazing as he opened them again. “Alright. I’m good. Get on it.”

Orlandria blinked, heat flushing her cheeks at the sudden change in his tone. “Yes, sir.”

She reached down, wrapped her hand around him, and guided him to her entrance. Nic’s breath stuttered out, a tremor running through his powerful frame.

“Slow,” he ground out. “Go slow, pretty girl.”

Orlandria nodded and began to sink down on him, inch by inch. Nic’s jaw clenched so tight the muscles popped as he watched himself disappear into her.

“Holy shit… look how perfect you take me,” he groaned, voice ragged.

Orlandria gasped, her brow furrowing as she adjusted. “Shit… you’re… so deep…”

Nic sucked in a shaky breath, fingers flexing on her hips. “Breathe through it. I swear I’ll make it good. You’re perfect…all of you…”

When she finally bottomed out, she rested there a moment, trembling slightly. Nic stared down, utterly entranced by the sight of her wrapped tight around his glistening shaft.

“That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he rasped. “Damn, baby.”

Orlandria rolled her hips experimentally. Nic let out a feral growl, thrusting up to meet her halfway.

“Yeah… just like that,” he gritted out. “Feel how deep I am? You’re takin’ all this dick like it’s yours.”

Orlandria’s eyes fluttered shut, soft whimpers slipping past her lips as she began to move faster.

Nic dropped one hand to her ass, squeezing hard, then delivered a sharp smack that echoed in the room. Orlandria let out a startled cry, hips jerking.

“Fuck!”

Nic smirked, leaning forward to nip at her bottom lip. “Mmm… love that sound. You like getting your ass slapped, pretty girl?”

Orlandria’s lashes fluttered, cheeks blazing. “Maybe…”

Nic slapped her ass again, firmer this time, making the flesh jiggle under his hand. “Say it.”

“Okay… I like it,” she gasped, voice trembling as she rocked against him. “Nic… god… right there…”

“That’s my girl,” he growled, his free hand snaking between them to rub tight circles over her clit.

Orlandria practically sobbed, her thighs quivering as the pleasure built.

“Oh… god… I’m so close…”

“Don’t hold back,” Nic growled, voice thick. “I wanna feel every bit of you.”

Orlandria’s walls clamped down around him as she came with a broken cry, her head thrown back, hair cascading down her spine like black silk.

Nic kept rubbing her clit, coaxing every last pulse from her, his own chest heaving.

“The way you fall apart for me… fuck, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Orlandria slumped forward against his chest, panting, shivering in aftershocks.

Nic tangled his fingers in her hair and gently tugged her head back to look at her. “Don’t think we’re done,” he murmured.

Then he flipped her onto her back in one smooth motion, keeping himself buried inside her. Orlandria squealed, grabbing at his shoulders.

“Nic! Oh my god…”

Nic hovered over her, eyes wild, sweat glistening on his chest. “You look so fuckin’ good laid out like this. I’m not stopping ‘til you come again.”

He pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back into her, deep and hard. Orlandria screamed, her legs flying up to lock around his waist.

“Yeah, baby. You take it. You take all of it,” he panted, hips pistoning into her relentlessly.

He dropped his mouth to her breast, sucking hard at her nipple while his hips never slowed. Orlandria clawed at his back, eyes rolling back.

“Oh shit… Nic… I’m gonna come again…”

Nic lifted his face, eyes burning. “Good. Come for me again. Make me feel it. Let me feel how tight you get when you come.”

Orlandria shattered beneath him, her entire body trembling as she clamped down on him, a long, strangled moan tearing from her throat.

Nic roared as her orgasm dragged him over the edge. He pounded into her one last time, burying himself deep as his own release hit him like a freight train, every muscle locked tight as he emptied himself into the condom.

For several moments, all either of them could do was gasp for air.

Nic finally slumped to the side, pulling her against him. His hair was damp, his chest still heaving as he pressed messy kisses along her shoulder.

“Jesus… I’m moving to Texas,” he muttered hoarsely.

Orlandria let out a breathless laugh, voice shaky. “I thought you said you needed home-field advantage.”

Nic gave her ass one last light smack, grinning. “Nah… I like playing away games.”

Orlandria rolled her eyes, but a soft smile tugged at her lips as she curled into his chest, both of them wrecked, sated, and hopelessly tangled.

[sunishake]

OVERFLOW — lee heeseung ☆ミ 이희승

"You still make too much tea"

synopsis: in which your brother's best friend on whom you had a painful one-sided crush returns home in summer break, and it's safe to say something has changed in the way he looked at you. Or Heeseung just needs to distract his mind from the disastrous break up he had before summer break started and finally noticed the overwhelming amount of tea you made for him.

pairing: heeseung X reader

genre: brother's best friend, angst, fluff, pining for so long you actually notice a grey hair, one sided crush (?), chaos

…and he's here again.

You tapped your fingers frantically, creating almost invisible marks on your notebook. I see him more than my brother. You complained. Or maybe not? Because your feet automatically moved and you found yourself slowly tiptoeing out of your room. The living room was dark, only the blue light from the tv screen was reflecting on the walls, and you noticed the shadows dancing.

His shadow particularly.

Look at that perfect nose ugh. You facepalmed mentally at your own inner monologue. You're so gone y/n.

“man stop acting creepy and join us if you want” you jumped realising Niki caught you in act. Mumbling a “whatever…” under your breath you turned back, ready to go inside until heeseung's voice halted your movement. “My throat is so dry…”

A warmth pooled in your stomach, you knew what that meant. It's tea time omg.

You almost tripped but made your way inside the kitchen successfully. It took 17 minutes to prepare the tea, the one heeseung complimented when he tasted first. It was just a simple “wow…that tastes…interestingly good” but to you it was more than enough.

Oops. Talking about more than enough you still couldn't get the proportions right. It's been half and a year since you started making this tea and every time you end up with five cups extra instead of just two. Almost like your feelings for him. It wasn't supposed to be this down bad. You two practically grew up together, so when you realised heeseung ruffling your hair, asking about your friends, or even looking at you made you feel weak in your knees, you were doomed.

Today wasn't any different.

You poured it in the pastel green dinosaur mug which was actually a gift for you from your brother but it didn't matter, everyone knew that was heeseung's mug. You may or may not have disgustingly tried drinking from the cup right after he drank but come on curiosity gave the cat butterflies after all.

“Where's heeseung?”

You asked, noticing his absence. “Gone” Niki groaned “his throat was feeling dry or something…i don't know”

“That's literally a shit excuse to make out with his girlfriend,” Jake huffed. What? What girlfriend? Well, it's not like you weren't ready for this but not like this. Jay, your brother patted the empty space next to him where heeseung was just sitting

“Y/n you wanna joi—”

“You guys are stupid as shit”

And you stomped your way back towards the kitchen.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Shut up Niki she gonna get your ass”

“He's such a pain in ass…could've told he was horny or stuff…who tf makes excuses about dry throat that is so ridiculously stupid…I hope he choke while making out or something…”

Your movements were clumsy as you began to clean up the kitchen. It hurts. Damn.

It's not like this was heeseung's first relationship. He had three more prior to this. And you've met all of them. You held the edge of the sink and sighed. They were genuinely so beautiful. Tall, slim, long hair which reached their waist almost, big eyes, prominent nose and academically good. He had a type, and you were not in there. Your hair was brown, the texture was rough, and since you had problems managing them, you used to chop them right away once they made past your shoulder. You were average, in everything else, studies, looks, extracurricular activity. Good. But not good enough to make Heeseung notice you. And last, the most unfortunate thing was you being Jay's sister and younger than him. Heeseung doesn't date younger girls. He always had women either his age or older than him as girlfriend.

Your head hurts. Wow. Talk about overthinking.

“what are you thinking shortcake”

You stiffened. Done making out with your gorgeous girlfriend? You wanted to scream but god had another tortuous plan as you felt Heeseung's warmth behind you, announcing his sneaky presence.

“You're balding, oh my god stop thinking so hard,” he laughed as he ruffled your hair. The redness crept on your cheeks as you subtly leaned in his touch. Why does he have to see me as a kid…and that stupid nickname…I want to smash his face.

“Are you drinking that?”

Your thoughts were interrupted when he pointed at the medium-sized kettle filled with tea. You nodded your head already embarrassed as heeseung threw his head back while laughing “shortcake there will be 70% tea in your body, why do you always get the measurements wrong”

You cursed yourself. “I am going to throw this awa—”

“No way” he deadpanned. “I see my share in that”

He said with a stupid boyish smile that left you flustered for the nth time.

How come you noticed the overwhelming amount of tea every time and not my feelings heeseung…

Heeseung had always been someone who moved fast, not in the reckless way, but in that quiet, restless sort of way that made people think he had somewhere better to be.

And maybe he did. Maybe he always believed there was something brighter just beyond the next door, just past the next deadline. That there was no shame in wanting more. He was always chasing the spark, the adventure. He liked the taste of testing his limits. So when you heard his decision to pursue Aerospace engineering from SNU you weren't surprised.

There was a little ache in your heart, but his dreams were bigger than your stupid little puppy crush. You sure were frustrated and pulled your hair, maybe wet your pillow case for weeks, realising Heeseung really was going to be skies apart, and there would be no one to notice your wrong measurements.

It's not like he interacted with you everyday but the growing distance was too loud to ignore.

Heeseung did not mean to pull away, but between college applications, late-night study sessions, and emotionally closing off post-breakup with his girlfriend, you start to feel like an afterthought.

“You didn’t even tell me you got accepted.”

Tea sessions were long forgotten as days became busier, with your upcoming finals and little to no interaction with your brother's best friend you felt hopeless.

Heeseung shrugs. “It’s been… hectic.” eyes on his phone.

So was loving you in silence, but I never missed a moment.

You noticed his smile as he typed something, the excitement did not go unnoticed. You always did. That was the smile he had every time he started talking with someone new. And suddenly you felt stupid, insecure, weird. A what the fuck am I doing hormone grew in your stomach.

“Oh okay, best of luck”

Late afternoon, the living room is quiet but heavy with the hum of departure. Suitcases by the door. Jay was outside helping Heeseung’s dad load the car. It's the last ten minutes before he leaves for the airport.

The kettle whistled once before you turned it off.

You moved like muscle memory—two scoops of the blend he liked, water just off the boil, and the pastel green dinosaur mug he once stole from your possessions years ago and never remembered again. The smell of chamomile and cinnamon drifted through the kitchen, familiar and faintly cruel.

You heard the door open but did not look up.

Heeseung stood there, quiet. No teasing, no loud entrance, no "Shortcake." Just the soft creak of sneakers on tile and the weight of your silence.

“You’re not coming to the airport?” he asked.

You poured the tea steadily, not spilling a drop. “you are going to forget me anyway”

He winced, though he tried to hide it. “That’s not true.”

You finally turned to him. Your eyes weren’t angry. Just… tired. Dimmer than he remembered them being when he first noticed how big and round they were.

You held out the mug. “Here.”

He hesitated, like taking it meant accepting something heavier. “You still made it?”

“I always did,” you said, voice low. “Even when you forgot to ask.”He took it from your fingers gently, like the mug might shatter. And suddenly he had the realization, maybe it wasn’t the ceramic he was afraid of breaking.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a pause. “Things got… overwhelming.”

You offered a smile, thin and polite, the kind people wear at train stations, pretending their chests aren’t caving in.

“I get it,” you replied. “You were busy with everything, I am still immature anyway”

“You were never immature,” he said quietly. “Not to me.” You felt heavy. The burning sensation in your eyes grew stronger.

But before you could respond, Jay’s voice called from outside “Heeseung! We gotta go!”

He looked toward the door, then back at you, like maybe time would pause if he stared long enough. It didn’t.

He reached for the handle, then paused.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back”

You nodded. “I figured.”

He took a breath. “But when I think of home…”

He looked down at the mug.

“…this is what I’ll taste.”

You didn’t reply. Couldn’t. The words were caught somewhere between your throat and your heart, tangled in too many summers of watching him leave rooms before you could say the things that mattered.

He stepped outside.

The door clicked shut.

And in the kitchen, with the kettle still warm and your hands now empty, you whispered to the silence

Why didn’t you ever stay long enough to notice I was always waiting?

It had been nearly two years. And between seasons somewhere you grew up without warning.

The small town hadn’t changed. Same cracked sidewalks. Same loud cicadas buzzing through the July air. It just feels less colorful. Of course, what else did you expect after deciding to stay back in your hometown and study business despite your family constantly nagging you to go outside the small town and explore more.

You were scared, more than meeting new people, building a complete different life, isolation, new places, you were scared of your heart betraying your brain. You'd never admit it but the constant thoughts of Heeseung which you of course tried to ignore came back nearly taking your breath and sometimes the scenery of you bumping on him randomly in the streets of Seoul as unrealistic as it sounds scared the shit out of you.

Heeseung did not return home for almost 2 years, and amidst your boring university life, you forced yourself out of your shell. There was no way he was gonna magically appear one day and say he missed you.

Until it happened.

Same porchlight flickering above the front door that had seen him leave far too many times.

But Heeseung? He had changed.

Or maybe, for the first time, he had finally stopped running long enough to notice what had stayed.

Jay met him at the station with a slap on the back and a lazy grin. “Look at you. Seoul made you ugly.”

Heeseung laughed, the sound dry and automatic. His shoulders ached from the weight of the last semester, from the silence he had left behind.

“Man I just want to crash in your place”

There was a growing ache in his heart.

Jay missed him too much to say the regular ‘yuck go to your own house’ he used to during their last year in high school.

Heeseung wanted a break. These past 2 years had been hectic to him. After turning down 2 summer vacations and locking himself up in his dorm he finally felt the strong sense of homesickness. Tensions in his never ending casual relationships, losing himself in the chaos of the big city, he suddenly lost himself.

“You’re always halfway out the door, Heeseung,” Hana said. Her voice trembled with something between frustration and longing. “Every time I try to reach you, you’re already somewhere else in your head, in your books, chasing some spark that’ll fade before you can even name it.”

He didn’t answer right away. He stared at the skyline, blinking slowly. Planes blinked red in the distance, one after another, cutting through the night like thoughts he couldn’t catch. Hana’s voice sharpened. “You can’t keep romanticizing this need to escape. You make people feel like placeholders.”

That one hit. He winced.

“I’m not asking for fireworks,” she said. “Just show up. Just choose someone. Choose me.” He finally turned to look at her.

“I don’t know how to do that,” he said, voice low. “I’ve never known how.”

“But you’ve been with me for months, Heeseung.”

“I was trying to outrun something.”

Her expression faltered. “What?”

He opened his mouth, but it wasn’t her name on his tongue. It was a memory.

A flicker of sunlight in a dusty kitchen. The smell of chamomile and cinnamon. A girl sitting cross-legged on the porch, holding a mug with dinosaurs on it, laughing softly as the wind tangled in her hair.

y/n.

He felt the ache bloom in his chest, sudden and sharp. God, he missed home. Missed the creaking floorboards. Missed the taste of your tea. Missed the way you looked at him, quiet and constant like the town he always left.

“I think I left something behind,” he whispered.

You huffed. Sometimes, you don't get your professors. Nevermind, it's almost all the time. Pages scattered all across your bed, and some fell from your lap as you stood up, back aching from sitting in the same position for hours.

“God my head hurts…i need rest” you mumbled as you stepped out of your room. The house was usually quiet as everyone was out for work except you, who was stuck inside with projects.

You heard the car outside. Jay is back?? It's too early, though.

With your head full of random thoughts, your hands moved as you prepared yourself for the ultimate dose of caffeine.

You opened the cupboard for your mug but couldn't process yourself as your actions paused again. It's an everyday routine. The half finished tea jar and the stupid dinosaur tea cup sits there collecting dust, almost like it's waiting for someone. Oh you are so doomed. You sighed. You've stopped forcing yourself, somewhere in between you realised accepting your feelings were far easier than gnawing them out even though they hurt you.

You'd gladly let your feelings collect dust rather than throw them away.

The door clicked open, and you yelled out of habit “Jay I'm making coffee. You want some?”

Then you paused. There were footsteps. More than one person. Did he bring friends?

You started preparing for one extra cup but couldn't move yourself as you noticed the similar figure leaning on the kitchen door frame.

“Can I have some too shortcake?”

Did the summer heat finally catch up or its really Lee fucking Heeseung in front of you right now.

You opened your mouth to say something but couldn't realize your throat was dry.

He was just in front of you. So close yet so far. His complexion was a bit pale with faint black circles around his eyes but that failed to hide the charming gaze and his as beautiful as ever smile you fell for.

You winced realising your hand accidentally touched the hot mug.

“Careful” his expression faltered as he walked towards you.

What the fuck. He's real. Why is he back oh my god what, I'm going to kiss his stupid ass so bad—

You covered your mouth. Yep. I've completely lost it.

“Oh? You got the measurements right!” He exclaimed as he helped you to pour the coffee. You were still recovering from the shock. “I—yeah it only happened with the tea…”

The silence after that was more confusing than comfortable. Heeseung was finally looking at you for the first time, properly, no phone in sight long enough and an unfamiliar ache bloomed in your heart.

“You came back?”

“I had too”

The reply was short but the amount of butterflies in your stomach weren't.

You nodded “how long are you planning to stay?”

You facepalmed inside. Why am I interrogating him like a stalker oof. But Heeseung gave a short smile “As long as I find the things i came back for” His voice was firm. There was a certainty that he would find it. He had too.

you opened your mouth for response but couldn't realize how close he was standing. Heeseung seemed to understand your uncomfortableness as he stepped back.

No, don't go please. You missed his warmth too much. God you wanted to hug him and cry so bad but his sudden arrival, him looking at you with the same fondness was genuinely confusing.

Heeseung cleared his throat.

“Your hair… it's longer.” You unconsciously touched your hair. Does it look weird?? He's definitely gonna think I did that to impress him…this is so embarrassing oh my god.

“It suits you”

You swore your heart just knocked at your chest walls.

“How’s Seoul?” you asked flatly.

“Loud. Cold. Fast.”

“And your girlfriend?”

Heeseung paused. His throat tightened.

“Ex.”

You turned slowly “oh….jay missed to deliver this tea”

He laughed bitterly.

“She said I was distant. That I only knew how to leave.”

You didn’t answer. Just looked at him, eyes unreadable. Then your eyes traveled back to the coffee mugs, perfectly filled with the same amount of coffee.

The summer moved differently.

Jay was working full-time, leaving early and returning late. The house became a quiet hum of forgotten routines. And suddenly, Heeseung was in every corner again. On the porch at 4 p.m., sipping watered-down iced tea. In the kitchen, commenting on how the rice tasted different when you made it. Hovering.

But it wasn’t like before.

He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t laughing at your messy hair or calling you Shortcake like it was a punchline.

He listened now. Really listened. And when he asked how your classes were going, he didn’t cut you off midway to scroll through his phone.

Something had changed. And it bothered you so much.

a summer storm had rolled in without warning. Thunder cracked like bones in the sky, loud and vengeful. Rain clattered against the kitchen windows, streaking down in erratic lines, and the trees outside bowed beneath the wind’s howl. The whole house felt suspended in a breath held too long.

Jay had already texted that he was stuck at the office, roads a mess, and wouldn’t be home until the weather cleared.

You moved through the house in silence, barefoot, your steps light as you lit candles one by one along the countertops. Wax pooled slowly. Shadows danced.

The kettle had just started to warm when you heard it, the screen door creaking open, a gust of cold air rushing in with the smell of wet pavement.

Heeseung.

He stood there, dripping wet, shoulders slightly hunched from the rain. He held up his phone as a flashlight, the beam cutting through the dim kitchen.

“You okay?” he asked.

You looked up, startled but not surprised and nodded, hugging your arms over your hoodie.

His lips quivered, but it was soft, tired. “Jay is stuck…I was worried” He stepped in, water puddling beneath his shoes. “Mind if I ?”

You gestured to the stool at the counter.

Both of you sat in flickering silence. The only sound was the storm outside and the low bubbling of water heating up. The candlelight cast soft gold across the angles of your faces, but it couldn’t warm the distance.

“You used to be scared of thunder,” he said after a long moment.

You exhaled a quiet laugh. “You used to hold my hand and tell me the sky was just clearing its throat.”

Heeseung smiled at that. A real one. But his eyes... his eyes looked like they carried too many miles. Too many missed moments.

“I never knew how to stay,” he said, almost to himself.

You looked at him then, fully. Your gaze traveled from the damp fringe clinging to his forehead, to the tired slope of his shoulders. There was a different kind of storm in his eyes. One that didn’t roar, but quietly ached. Something clicked inside you.

“You didn’t have to,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “I would’ve waited either way.”

About damn time.

He looked at you like you were a map he had ignored for too long. Not out of cruelty, but fear. Like home had always been there, marked in the fine print, but he had been too scared to trace the line.

The kettle hissed behind. But neither of you two moved.

He opened his mouth, lips parting like a question finally formed—

And the lights flickered back on.

Reality returned. The fridge hummed. The room brightened.

And the space between you two grew sharp again.

You stood and turned the stove off, your movements slow, almost careful. Heeseung remained seated, watching you with something fragile flickering across his face.

He didn’t say what he wanted to say.

Not yet.

But the storm wasn’t over. Not really.

It had only moved inside.

Heeseung wasn’t sure when it started.

Maybe it was that winter afternoon three years ago, when he came home after a gruelling basketball match. Everyone else was out, and he had wandered into the kitchen looking for food, expecting the fridge to be empty, only to find a warm bowl of tteokguk waiting for him on the stove. A note stuck to the microwave in the familiar handwriting he always pretended not to recognize.

*"wrong measurement of ingredients led to this, Jay had enough, I know you missed your lunch, eat up-y/n"

That was the first time he stared at his phone with your number glowing on the screen and didn’t call.

He couldn’t.

It didn’t feel fair.

You were Jay’s sister. You were the kid he used to hold upside down by the ankles and tease until you cried. The one who followed him around during middle school summer breaks with her awful glittery notebook and bright, too-loud giggles. The one he protected like a younger sibling.

But somewhere in the last year, that version of you disappeared.

He remembered watching you from the hallway one night when you were tutoring some neighbourhood kid. You had your glasses on, hair in a lazy bun, and was scolding the boy with a mix of fondness and fire. He remembered thinking she’s not a kid anymore.

And he hated it.

He hated that he noticed.

He hated that he cared when you laughed at someone else’s joke. Hated that he remembered your favorite brand of tea. That he checked your posts from an anonymous account.

Heeseung was used to control. In his studies. In his life. In his carefully managed relationships that never quite asked him to stay. But y/n? You weren't manageable. You were messy and warm and stayed in his head long after he left you behind.

That winter, he started pulling away.

Because it was easier to be distant than it was to admit that he no longer saw you as someone he was supposed to protect.

He saw you as someone he was afraid to lose.

And for someone like Heeseung, fear like that was the most dangerous kind.

So he left again. And again. Until he convinced himself it wasn’t real.

Until the summer he came back and realized

You had stopped waiting.

Or maybe that's what he forced himself to think in order to find peace.

And it broke something in him.

It happened on a Sunday.

The kind of quiet, golden afternoon that should’ve been harmless. The rain had dried off. The town breathed a little softer. But the storm in you did not die. What the fuck he meant by that that night? You reached out to him after that, texts, calls, every single attempt was ignored. It was killing you.

Seated on the back porch, knees drawn to your chest, the familiar dinosaur mug tucked between your palms you pondered. The scent of cinnamon drifted up, wrapping around you like a memory you couldn’t let go of.

Your phone buzzed. It was Jay.

“Heeseung’s looking for you. Don’t run.”

what.

You stared at the text for a full minute before locking your phone. You hadn’t seen him since that night the power went out. He disappeared again physically, emotionally, mentally. You should’ve been used to it by now.

You didn't realize you were crying until a drop fell into your tea.

Then the screen door creaked. You stiffened.

“Heard you still make it strong,” Heeseung said quietly. You didn’t move. He stepped out slowly. “I’m sorry for showing up without warning.”

“Isn’t that what you do best?” you said, not looking at him.

The words stung, but he deserved them.

He eased himself down on the opposite bench. “I just needed to talk.”

“You always need something. Then you disappear.” you finally looked up, and your eyes were red-rimmed, tired, and yet sharp as glass. “So go ahead. Say whatever you need to, and then go chase your spark again.”

He winced. “It’s not like that—”

“Isn’t it?” your voice was brittle. “You leave. You come back. You’re nice. You laugh. You pretend like nothing’s ever different, and the second I start to believe you might actually care—poof. Gone again. You don’t get to do this anymore, Heeseung.” You tried to control yourself but it was too much. Your head hurt so did your heart.

“I know,” he said. “I know I messed up. But I didn’t come here to pretend anymore. I came to be honest. Finally.”

You scoffed. “Honest? About what?”

“I didn’t know how,” he admitted.

“and why does that even matter?” you cried.

“Because you’re not just anyone!” He stood now, pacing, hands in his hair. “Because you’ve always been more. I just—I couldn’t let myself want you. You’re Jay’s sister. You’re younger. You trusted me. I didn’t want to ruin everything by needing you the way I did.”

Your lips parted. “What are you talking about?”

Heeseung looked at you, chest heaving. “I’ve been in love with you for years. I buried it. I denied it. I covered it up with other people, with school, with cities that weren’t home. But every time I ran, it was your voice in my head. Your tea in my mouth. Your laugh stuck in my chest.”

What the hell. You couldn't tell if it was the overflowing tears or emotions or how frantically stupid you felt right now or the overflowing amount of tea you consumed for years, which made you feel drunk.

Your breath hitched. “You don’t get to say that now.”

“I have to. I can't hold it in anymore. Every time you looked at me and smiled, I wanted to hold you. Every time you poured me a cup of that god-awful tea, I wanted to kiss you. And when I left, it wasn’t because I didn’t feel it. It was because I felt it too much.”

That's it.

You stood up, shaking. “Then why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say anything before? Do you know what that did to me? Watching you date other people? Hearing you talk to your flings while I sat there with a smile plastered on my face like I wasn’t breaking inside?”

Heeseung looked devastated. “I thought I was protecting you.”

“From what?” you walked towards him, eyebrows twitching and eyes searching for answers.

“From me!” he exploded. “From this mess of a person who didn’t know how to stay, who always chose the chase, who was terrified of something real. I thought you deserved better than that.”

You felt the lump in your throat just tightened.

“I didn’t want better,” you said, voice cracking. “I wanted you. I wanted the boy who ruffled my hair. The boy who laughed at my tea. The boy who looked at me like I wasn’t just Jay’s sister. And then you left. Again and again. You left me in the silence you made.”

Tears streamed down your face now. “You made me believe I was unworthy of being chosen.”

Heeseung closed the distance, stopping just in front of you. “You were never unworthy. I was just too much of a coward to believe I deserved you.”

Your fists clenched at her sides. “So why now? Why this Sunday? Why come back now and tell me all this when I’ve finally stopped waiting for you?”

lies.

“Because I couldn’t bear the thought of you thinking you were forgettable. You’re not. You’re unforgettable in every way. I didn’t come back because I wanted to make amends. I came back because I can’t imagine another version of my life where you’re not in it.”

The silence stretched thin in between.

“I don’t trust you,” you said finally. “I don’t trust that you’ll stay.”

“Then let me earn it,” he whispered. “Let me stay this time. No spark chasing. No excuses.”

You looked at him, eyes heavy with doubt and hope all tangled together.

“Say it again.”

He stepped closer. His hand cupped your cheek.

“I love you,” he breathed. “Not in a fleeting way. Not in a ‘what if’ way. In the ‘I’ll ruin my pride just to be near you’ way.”

You didn’t kiss him.

You just leaned your face into his palm. God how much you missed this warmth.

“I love you too, you idiot,” you said, breaking. “And I always did. It broke me to believe I never mattered to you.”

“I’ll spend every day proving you did.” Heeseung whispered, resting his forehead against yours.

And then you kissed him.

It wasn’t pretty.

It was tear-stained and trembling and furious and raw. His lips moved against yours like an apology he couldn’t put into words. You gripped his shirt like you were trying to hold together all the parts he had broken, and you'd fall into a void if he let go. He kissed you back like he’d been starved of you. Because he had been.

And only after breaking apart you realised how ugly both of you were crying.

“You still taste like cinnamon,” he murmured.

“You still taste like heartbreak.” you hugged him, tears staining his shirt now. He couldn't care less.

He laughed, wet and broken. “Then let me heal it.”

Late evening. The living room in Heeseung's house is dim, lit only by the flicker of a muted TV neither of you are watching. It’s been silent for too long. He’s leaving in the morning. Again. You’re curled into him, head on his chest, his hands around your waist, pretending the ache in your throat is from holding back yawns, not tears. He’s beside you, hands rubbing your back gently, jaw clenched like he’s been holding back everything all night.

Then, suddenly softly, so softly you almost miss it

“Shortcake.”

Your chest tightens.

You blink. Slowly. “Don’t.”

He turns, brows drawn. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t call me that.”

His lips part, stunned. “You used to love it.”

“I did,” you admit. “But I got used to it. Started waiting for it, even. Every time the door opened and you walked in with my brother every damn time I’d wait to hear you say it.”

He says nothing.

You look down at your hands, twisting the hem of your sleeve. “It was the only thing that made me feel like maybe… you saw me. Not just as his sister. As me.”

He breathes in sharply. “I did see you.”

You scoff, bitter. “Then why do you always run the moment it gets quiet enough to hear my heart break?”

He shifts toward you, voice low. “Because I was afraid if I didn’t, I’d do something I’m not supposed to.”

“Like what?”

His lips moves, uncertain, resting just inches from yours. “Like call you Shortcake… and mean it.”

You lift your gaze slowly, meeting his.

A beat.

Then another.

His voice cracks when he whispers, “You’re not a kid anymore. And I’m not pretending I don’t love you.”

The silence breaks loud, deafening.

You swallow hard. “Then don’t call me Shortcake like it’s a joke. Not unless you mean it like a promise.”

His fingers lace through yours.

And this time, when he says it, it’s barely a breath

“Shortcake.”

And it sounded more than anything you wanted to hear.

“By the way don't start measuring your ingredients…I like when it's overflowing” he whispered, closing the distance and you smiled into the kiss. And for the first time you did not regret the overwhelming amount of tea you made for him.

Not anymore.

[sinnerinwonderland]

Exhibit A: Us.

› Pairing: Dr. Spencer Reid! Jannik Sinner x Special Agent! Female Reader.

› Summary: He thought he was too much. She thought he was everything.

› Word Count: 2.0k.

› a/n: Criminal Minds AU! I couldn't resist writing, especially after the moodboard (and I was inspired because I'll always miss my favorite character of all time 🥹) I hope you like it! 💗

The wind was biting that afternoon.

Midtown Manhattan was bustling just past the crime scene, the air thick with the smell of damp pavement and the kind of exhaustion only long-haul fieldwork could bring. The January sky sat low, steely and clouded, threatening snow but never delivering — just heavy and grey, like it was holding its breath.

Jannik tugged the woolen sleeves of his FBI-issued coat tighter around his wrists, it was slightly too big for him. Or maybe he was just always too slim, all long fingers and sharp shoulders, the coat somehow making him look even taller than he was.

They were stationed outside a boutique hotel where the unsub had last been sighted — a white-collar offender, organized, calculated, terrifying in how polite he’d been to the staff. Nothing about the man screamed violence, that was what made him dangerous.

She stood beside Jannik, gloved hands flipping through the contact notes on her notepad, wind brushing a few strands of hair loose from her braid. She didn’t notice it, but he did. Of course he did. He always did.

The way she chewed her bottom lip while focusing. The way her mouth tilted into a half-smile when someone made a sarcastic remark. The way she always noticed him too — offering him her coffee without being asked, keeping pace with his facts even when he started talking too fast, too much.

She was the brightest thing in the field. To him, at least.

But he didn’t think he was what she wanted, not really. Not with the way people looked at her — like that consultant was doing now.

The man’s name was Michael Langston, finance-adjacent. Kind, clean-shaven, polite. Mid-30s. Navy cashmere coat, subtle designer scarf, bright eyes behind thin-rimmed glasses.

A witness and occasional consultant who was not a threat. Except he was laughing softly at something she said, tilting his head when she spoke, asking if she was from Quantico or D.C. and if she liked the city.

Jannik pretended to focus on the footage he was reviewing, but his jaw was tight. He watched the man lean ever so slightly closer.

Not inappropriate or even unprofessional, but definetly interested.

And worse? She was smiling. Not in a flirty way, just politely. She was always kind, didn’t know how not to be, and even when the attention wasn’t wanted, she never embarrassed people nor brushed them off cruelly.

The man mentioned coffee, said she looked like she’d been up all night “in a good way” — whatever the hell that meant — and that he knew a great shop around the corner if she wanted a recommendation. He was teasing, respectfully, but clearly testing the waters.

Jannik felt heat rise beneath his collar, but it wasn’t possessive, he knew he had no right to feel that way, knew they weren’t even anything…except they were.

Late nights in hotel hallways, lingering in each other’s doorframes, speaking in low voices about everything but the cases. The way her fingers would trail his shoulder if she passed behind him. The way she stayed behind when the others left, always waiting for him, even if he claimed he’d catch up.

But none of it was spoken. So, again, what right did he have to feel this way?

The moment the man left, after pressing his business card into her hand with a quiet smile, Jannik finally broke the silence.

“You do know he didn't give you that in case you had more questions, don't you?” he asked, keeping his eyes fixed on his tablet.

She blinked. “What?”

“That guy, Langston. The card, it wasn’t about the case.”

She raised an eyebrow, shifting to face him. “You think he was hitting on me?”

“I don’t think,” he said, a little sharper than intended. “It’s statistically evident. Proximity, body language, the way he mirrored your hand gestures—”

“Jannik.” she called softly, cutting him off.

That was the thing about her, she always said his name like it was something delicate, something that mattered, like she could stop his spiraling mid-sentence with just that one sound.

He finally looked at her, throat bobbing.

“I just—” He paused, then laughed under his breath, the sound brittle. “It’s none of my business. You can get coffee with whoever you want.”

She tilted her head. “Is that what you think I want?”

He shrugged. “I just… know how people see you.”

“And how do they see me?”

“Like someone easy to admire.” He looked away again. “Someone who deserves more than… whatever this is.”

“Whatever this is?”

He winced.

“Right,” she said quietly, taking a step back. “So is that what you think? That I’m just killing time with you?”

“No!” he said too quickly. “God, no. I just… I’ve never been…”

She waited.

“I’m not what people usually want.” he finished, voice low. “I’m... awkward, I talk too much, I don’t understand half of what I’m supposed to say in these situations, and I can’t pretend I don’t care when I do. I’ve never known how to be…easy.”

The wind picked up between them as she stepped into his space deliberately until the distance shrank to nothing.

“You think I want easy?” she whispered.

He blinked. “Don’t you?”

She reached up, fingers brushing his jaw, barely there. “I want you.”

His breath caught.

“And I don’t care how many fast facts you spit out at crime scenes, or how you can’t tie your ties right on the first try, or how you flinch when someone brushes past you too fast. I don’t care if you stutter, if you pace, or if your coffee order takes a dissertation to explain.”

A soft, breathy laugh escaped him.

She smiled, warm and sure. “You’re not a placeholder, Jannik. You’re not some fleeting thing I picked up to pass time between cities.”

He didn’t know what to say, so she leaned up and gently kissed his cheek, briefly.

It wasn’t hungry or reckless, but grounding. A punctuation mark, something permanent.

“I don't want any other men, Jannik,” she whispered. “Only you.”

He stood there for a full minute after she walked back towards the hotel, heart thundering in his chest like it couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Because maybe, for once, he was more than statistics. Maybe he was just enough.

─ ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅ ─── ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅ ─── ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅

It was nearly 2 a.m. by the time the BAU debrief wrapped. New York’s skyline glittered beyond the hotel window, all smeared light and midnight traffic.

She was curled up sideways on the little loveseat near the bed in her hotel room, legs tucked beneath her, hair pulled loose from the braid she’d worn all day. Her jacket was tossed across the armrest, replaced by something warmer — a navy knit sweater that definitely didn’t belong to her.

It was Jannik’s. And somehow it managed to look like it was made for her.

He sat cross-legged on the bed in front of her, shoes off, long limbs folded awkwardly beneath him. The glow from the bedside lamp cast soft gold across his cheekbones, making him look almost dreamlike in the hush of the hour.

They had started the night talking about the case, then somehow it shifted into a discussion on forensic linguistics, and then, because she asked — really asked, with that sweet voice of hers — he started explaining how his second PhD intersected with psychological profiling models developed in Germany in the 1980s.

He talked with his hands, animated and precise, eyebrows lifting slightly every time a new thought caught momentum.

And she just…watched, not out of obligation, but because he was fascinating. Because every time his voice picked up pace, her heart did too. And somewhere between graphological stress markers and profiling subconscious sentence construction, her lips parted with a soft smile and she just stared, like he was everything.

He noticed, mid-sentence, his words faltering slightly, gaze flicking to hers.

“What?”

She blinked, still smiling. “Nothing.”

He tilted his head. “You’re looking at me like I’m doing something strange.”

“You’re not.”

“Then why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

He hesitated, then laughed, soft and self-deprecating. “Like I’m a miracle. Or like you're—”

“Awe-struck.” she finished gently.

He swallowed. “I just meant, am I talking too much again?”

The question came out quieter than she expected, like something leftover from years of being told he was too much. From being misunderstood, different.

She shifted forward, knees brushing his, and then, with the gentlest kind of confidence, she leaned in and kissed him. Soft, certain and slow.

The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for permission because it already knew the answer. The kind of kiss that said I see you. I want you. I’m not going anywhere.

His hand came up hesitantly, fingertips brushing the side of her jaw, like he couldn’t believe she was real.

When she pulled back, he was breathless.

“Why did you do that?” he asked softly.

She giggled. “Because you think you talk too much.”

“…and?”

“And I think I could listen to you for the rest of my life.”

She wished she could have taken a picture of that moment. Jannik's face flushing, freckles resembling little constellations in a pink sky, mouth opening and closing, unable to form a response just before a shy smile broke out soon after.

They didn’t say much after that, not because there was nothing left, but because the quiet was comfortable.

He kept talking a little while longer, his voice lower now, softer, as she curled onto her side of the bed, sweater sleeves pulled over her hands. Her cheek rested against the pillow as her eyes began to flutter shut.

And just as he was explaining something about the hippocampus and memory under stress, he heard the tiniest sigh. She was asleep. In his sweater, a faint smile still on her lips.

His sentence trailed off as he watched her, heart aching in the best possible way, because for the first time in forever, he wasn’t afraid of being too much. Not with her.

─ ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅ ─── ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅ ─── ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅

The next morning, no one said a word, not at first.

They all boarded the jet quietly, worn down from the case. She settled into one of the side seats, hair still faintly tousled, Jannik’s navy sweater still hanging loose around her frame like a memory.

She yawned as she buckled in, tucking her knees up slightly. Jannik slid into the seat across from her, arms folded, head ducked low like maybe if he kept it there, no one would see the softness on his face.

They were wrong. JJ clocked it immediately, nudging Emily with her shoulder, who glanced up from her coffee, eyebrows arched in that slow, wicked way that said ‘Oh?’

JJ just chuckled delighted, sipping her drink like she hadn’t just noticed a thing. Across from them, Morgan looked up from his tablet, glanced at the sweater situation, then flicked his eyes between Jannik’s flushed ears and the sleepy little smile tugging at her mouth. He didn’t say anything, but the smirk on his face was lethal.

Even Hotch, from where he sat reviewing case files, paused for just a second too long, gaze flicking to the faint pink blooming on both of their cheeks. He didn’t comment, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

Rossi didn’t even look up, just stirred his espresso and muttered, half under his breath, “Took them long enough.”

Jannik tried not to look at her, she tried not to look at him. They both failed.

And when their knees bumped mid-flight and her smile tipped up just a little brighter, he quietly acknowledged that the whole team knew.

But no one teased them nor interrupted, because in the soft golden morning light of that jet cabin, with the city fading behind and a new kind of warmth building between them, it didn’t need to be said aloud.

Some things were just understood. Some things didn’t need a profile, they simply were.

[preemptivejustice]

Arthur’s heart slipped in rhythm, the moment Kane was kicked. He watched as Kane cried out, entirely unfiltered, the short hoarse sound stabbing directly into his chest. He watched as Kane’s arms pulled in, like something broken trying to protect what was left; the sound that followed was just too much. The wet sound, the sound that didn’t belong here. 

Arthur’s vision narrowed. His thumb pressed so hard into the cane that his nail was bending under the pressure; his jaw was aching from how hard he was clenching it. 

Don’t move, he reminded himself. Don’t show it. Don’t let anyone see. 

But Kane looked up - just once. A soft flick of those kaleidoscope eyes, looking toward the camera. It should have been nothing, just a blink - just a desperate, bleeding glance from someone who was praying that someone as watching. 

Arthur stopped breathing for a few seconds too long. He wondered if Kane was doing that, if he was searching for someone. If he was hoping that Arthur could be that someone. 

“Harrow?” 

Arthur twitched, before turning his head slowly, like waking up from a trance. Weston was behind him, now - Arthur hadn’t even heard him move. 

“There’s been some discussion,” Weston stated, his voice short and factual. “About your role. Given the… incident, and your past methodology-“ 

Arthur’s jaw flexed. 

“- we’ll be fitting you with a biometric monitor. It’ll track your heart rate, stress response, galvanic skin output. It won’t be anything… invasive. Just more data, something we can use to ensure your reactions to the subject are staying within regulation.” 

“Of course.” Arthur’s voice came from him, but he didn’t feel like he was speaking; he felt like he was speaking through someone else. “That’s reasonable.” 

Weston nodded. “You’ll be required to report nightly, submit all subjective notes for transcription, and attend a review session every third day. Compliance is non-negotiable.” 

Arthur didn’t answer. His eyes were still locked to the screen - Kane’s eyes had closed. He hadn’t moved. Had he lost consciousness? Would he wake up? What if he didn’t? What if he woke up and believed what he’d been told, by Six? 

He didn’t belong here. This was cruelty. 

“You understand that this isn’t punitive,” Weston added, one hand moving to rest on Arthur’s shoulder. “We just want to ensure that you’re not entangled. It’s not uncommon in these sorts of cases - especially when the subject is high-risk.” 

Arthur didn’t pull his gaze away from the monitor. He wanted to ask Weston if he cared that someone was trying not to die on a tile floor - but he didn’t want the answer. 

So he just nodded again. Weston nodded in return. 

Cho approached as Arthur moved to undo the sleeve on his cuff, once again finding himself pulling his sleeve up to his elbow. He extended the arm to Cho, the man taking it and tightening a slim plastic cuff around his wrist; it clicked into place with a small hiss, a low beep confirming that it as active. 

Arthur took his arm back, pulling his sleeve back down as Cho synchronized the data on his tablet. 

Device ID: B-0312 Heart Rate: 98 bpm (elevated)  Cortisol: Spiking  GSR: Active  Emotional Regulation: Subthreshold  Suppression Pattern Detected. Class II 

Cho narrowed his eyes lightly. “You’re showing marked sympathetic stress,” he observed, tapping one finger over the screen. “That’s not abnormal, given the context - but the suppression pattern is unusual. Are you pushing down emotions?” 

“I’m working,” Arthur answered, his head hitting the back of the chair, his eyes still glued to the screen. He watched as Six left the room, entirely uncaring to how he was leaving Kane, seemingly satisfied with what he’d done. “That’s what work is.” 

Cho hummed, scrolling a bit further. “You’re not sleeping, either,” he answered. “Eight hours total, since you began observing him. You haven’t eaten in almost two days - this is a pattern.” 

Arthur’s jaw clenched harder. “I’m fine.” 

“We’ve decided on an evaluation,” Cho answered. “Nothing major - just a neuropsych profile, to reassess your load threshold.” He hesitated. “You’ve been assigned Lorazepam.” 

Arthur finally looked away from the screen at that, brows pinched tight, eyes blinking. “That’s a tranquilizer.” 

“It’s a regulator, in low doses,” Cho corrected. “Sublingual. It’ll help smooth your limbic response - if Kane is doing anything to alter your emotions, then this will help you stay in control.” 

Arthur exhaled. It wasn’t him they wanted in control, he knew - it was numbers. Everything was orchestrated - and they wanted to make certain that they were controlling Arthur more than Kane was. 

“You can refuse,” Cho continued, still tapping through the tablet. “But it’ll go on record. A mark of noncompliance.” 

“Yeah, well. I accept.” Arthur didn’t have a choice in it - something they both knew. 

Cho smiled again, nodding. “Good. We’ll deliver the dosage before your review session - and if that goes well, then one more before direct subject interaction. It should keep everything tidy.” 

Arthur didn’t nod, instead just looking back to the screen. His thumb dug once more into the cane, watching silently - praying to anything that Kane would get up, that he would be okay. 

─── ⋆⋅⚖️⋅⋆ ─────────────────

No one else came. 

There was no medic to check Kane’s ribs, no voice over the speakers, no flicker of light from the other room; there was nothing. No guard, no food, nothing but hours passing without any interaction at all. 

It was isolation with a purpose. The man was being watched through the cameras, both by Arthur and a few others, but no one entered the room. Food wasn’t brought, but neither were restraints - whoever was in charge of interactions, now, had decided that none would be allowed. Perhaps it was Six, who had taken the place of Harrow. 

Perhaps Harrow would never be coming back. 

The same as every other day, the buzzing lights overhead eventually dimmed down. They never shut off completely, as doing so would leave the room in an unseeable pitch black, but they dimmed enough to make it dark enough to sleep. 

Six didn’t want the fucker to sleep, though. 

The sound of his boots echoed outside the room, heavy and intentional. The door hissed open, the same as always, but Six walked in differently than Arthur did; his steps were intentional, angered, like he owned something here.

The light from the room next door cut a jagged shape across the floor as he walked in, giving a brief glance into Arthur’s office space. Nothing had been touched. 

The door slid shut with a heavy thunk, ending the view a bit too quickly. 

“Hey, pal,” Six greeted, his voice just a bit too casual. “You think we learned anything, today? Or do you need another lesson?” 

The yank on hair does cause a yelp to be punched free, something close to a surprised, pained shout as Kane's head snaps back so hard that he thinks the other's going to break his neck; He stays alive, however, which means that, with a bit of luck, his vertebrae might've stayed intact.

He'd hoped for this to be the end, for that asshole to finally let him go - to have enough, to be satisfied - but no, of course he isn't. Kane saying fuck you like this had caused a follow-up to happen, and maybe he should've seen that one coming.

---Part of Kane had seen it coming. Had known. Had expected for more pain to be there. Just couldn't think of what exactly would happen; The pull on his hair is unexpected, but effective - causes a new wave of hot tears to rise and slip free, trailing over a reddened cheek, accompanied by bits of spit hitting him with the same force as those hissed words do... one after another, syllable after syllable, drop after drop.

Kane clenches his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut, gasps as his throat is exposed in such a way; Swallowing is almost impossible when being kept in such an unnatural stance, has him cough for a second, followed by another exhale as he tries to shift against the awkward position; His hair is pulled for a second time, strands ripping from his scalp, hot and merciless like little knifes cutting along his skin---

Another yelp, a bit more high-pitched than the other, followed by a grunt and an arm trying to reach up and around his head, to get a hold of that wrist - to no avail.

Non-compliant. Unstable. High-risk.

Another grunt, a second cough, face scrunched up in pain - he's sensitive there, the hair on his head, and each movement forces new tears to rise and a nose to begin to clog up with snot, has him sniffle, gasp, exhale through parted, bloody lips.

Now I get to break you. Now I can say it's protocol.

---All of this despite Kane not having lifted a single finger, didn't try to defend himself. He's not even really touched this man - only once, when that bastard had his arm pressed up to his collarbone - and yet here he is, declared a threat, a something that can be hurt and tortured to one's leisure. No existing rules, no necessity to stop, no need to make sure he isn't fatally injured in the process.

Kane, not-Kane, it, thinks back to how things have been before that guy had stepped into his room - thinks back on him waking up, musing about rose-flavored tea and how nice that shower had felt. Remembers how he'd felt... happy, almost - content in a way he hasn't experienced before.

Just for him to be here now. Just for his hair to be ripped out before he's pushed down, the act of it so violent and rough that there's no time for his hands to react quick enough to catch him, to prevent his face from smacking against those wet, bloody tiles.

The sound he's hearing inside his head - bone colliding with something much harder, something unyielding - is sickening, wet and disgusting; It might've been his nose, his chin perhaps, a full-face-pain spreading and pulsing in sync with heavy boots walking around his lying form. Kane shivers, moans out a weak little noise, his arms flailing as hands try to put themselves flat against the floor now in an attempt to move, to shift a bit...

He manages to lift his head an inch or such, a blurry gaze noticing that those white tiles are tinted in too much red for it to come from his lip injury alone. He thinks he's bitten his tongue again, but he can tell that liquid's spilling from his nostrils as well---

A kick to his ribs, a choked, unfiltered cry echoing through the room; Kane squeezes his eyes back shut as his arms pull in reflexively, trying to protect himself from possible further damage as they curl around his middle; He coughs, one exhale after another, as Kane, not-Kane, it, fights against the sharp heat stretching along his side and the urge to throw up.

He feels dizzy, the room spinning for a second or two, to which Kane rolls onto his side in return. He spits out a mixture of something gross, something that's not bile, not yet, but too much blood and too much saliva as his hand clenches against his ribs, even though it doesn't help. Doesn't make it any better. Doesn't take the pain away.

You were almost something. Almost. You fucked it.

Kick him, punch him, get up and tear his throat apart. Bite him, slap him, defend yourself---

Kane wants to do it so, so badly, wants to fight, wants to hand all of this straight back to this man, the one who's so high on power that he's almost bursting at the seams. He could, yeah - he could try to get up, make a jump for that weapon, rip it free and...

...He won't. He can't. He'll die if he does, and, despite it all, Kane does not want to die.

Not yet. Not like this.

Perhaps he should die. Perhaps he should finally just give in, do something even worse so that he's freed from the torture. He's just a something, a code, a being that took the real Kane's face against his will - gets to carry it while that man, the married one, the one who's made real memories and got to live through his own life, is dead.

Burned to death. Set himself on fire.

If you ever make it outta here, find Lena. I will.

Kane's eyes fall closed, expression still distorted in pain but softening at the edges, filled with exhaustion. They're not going to feed him today, and they'll possibly sedate him as well - restrain him, keep him tied to his bed, perhaps.

A brief blink of wet eyelashes as lids open once again, allowing bright irises to glance up - up toward one of the cameras, a little red light blinking slowly, indicating that it's working, recording, watching him.

He does not know who he's looking for - Harrow, maybe? Yeah, maybe he's looking for him. Perhaps he's watching in the same way as that camera does. Kane holds onto that sliver of hope that Harrow's not a part of this, and that he's... okay, all things considered. That he will be okay, as long as Kane remains somewhat compliant, doesn't put fault onto the Doctor that could get him into additional trouble.

Only once a few seconds have passed, Kane's eyes fall closed for a second time - and remain this way.

He does not speak up, does not defend himself, does not complain. There's no use in doing any of it; That man, the one who smells of decay, has already gotten what he'd wanted to get, after all - he's in charge, and he can break Kane, if he wants to.

Nothing will change that. It's a fact.

[kayspaceprinceart]

WIP! Adil feat. a wee redesign because I found some refs for his hair! He looks SO much better now (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)♡ much more like how he does in my head

[jakebogarts]

荒木又右衛門 男たちの修羅 (1994)

[screampied]

You know what's hot? Missionary with Geto and he needs to get a better angle so he reaches down and pulls your knee up over his hip!!

☆ cw. fem! reader, unprotected, missionary, praise, size kinks, p spanking, bręeding, manhandling, mdni.

geto’s voice was deep but his strokes was even deeper.

you’re trying your hardest not to choke on each gargled whimper and whine that desperately clogs near the back of your throat. he’s got you underneath him as both naturally polished bodies rutted against each other in sync. “mng- you always know how ‘ta fit me, baby,” he groans, feeling the whetted edges of your nails creating a clawing path down his back. he’s inside you fully, steadying his rickety hips as he’s pounding into your precious, precious cunt. you’re moaning at each fervid hit - slam, after slam, after slam, and geto could already feel your ankles rubbing down his torso. “hah- always such a pretty nice fit, can’t neglect this . . sweet spot, mmh- noope.”

“f- fuck, suguruuu,” your shaky babbles sob away from your lips, flickering your eyes back at each clashing smack of his snapping hips. geto has such ruthless vigor too. his body grinds into yours as the tense muscles that lived in his back sexily flexed at his strenuous thrusts. geto hums, peering as your palms suddenly cover your face.

“mhm- don’t hide, i wanna see my girl,” he huskily prowls, grabbing your wrists while still unapologetically churning through your convulsing insides. geto’s enormous stretch makes itself known to your pussy constantly. “her too- actuallyyy,” and you moaned, feeling geto’s slender fingers snake their way up your thigh. an open hand lifts your jouncing leg, slightly bringing your knee to hook around his hip.

“she’s so wet, think she wants a… hah- different angle. fuuuuck- there we go. atta baby.”

from all sides, geto’s body was crying with sweat, and each of his shoulder blades that flexed continued to accelerate after each powerful hit. geto’s cock was big, forever and always stretching past the gripping tight ring of your entrance that preciously hugged him so tight.

he’s dragging himself in ‘n out, zigzagging his ruby tip through each part of your pussy until it squelched out the syllables of his first and last name. you were just so responsive, and you’re whimpering once he maintains a firm grasp against your bent knee with a single hand.

“fuck- mhm, sugu- ah,” and it only takes a few long seconds before he’s piercing into your sloppy wet core. each time geto’s hips sharply pop forward between your wobbly thighs, you let off cute mewls of the only thing your mind could even register for you to speak out - his name.

he’s just riiiight there, massaging the pearl of your clit with his tip until your brain loses a few screws. “mngh-” you’d whine, your sounds growing a bit muffled.

“keep this pretty knee up for me,” geto whispers, clouds of hitched hot breath falling against your skin. geto’s body sloppily presses itself into you, skipping sleazy fingertips up the slope of your thigh.

the angle gets even deeper… and with just the perfect amount of degree of his hips arching further, geto could hear his weighty base slopping loudly inside after every sticky pap. the crown of your knee remains bent and geto then makes your entire leg wrap around his slim torso.

“mmph-” he’d prevent a guttural grunt from parting way from his raspy lungs. the bed repeatedly roared countless of times with creaks that sounded like it was in utter, distress.

the bed base was poorly aged, nagging the more geto’s rugged hips drove into your famished cunt. your body’s arch was so pretty, and the upturned tip of his nose abruptly buried into your shoulder. as you’re whimpering until your chords grow raw, geto snickers once he felt your weak legs gradually starting to flop down. “hah- ‘m even holding your leg ‘n you’re still sooo damn… lazy.”

“s- suguru,” you’d moan out his name, trying to count each wet thrust in your head. it’s so loud that each slap! of fleshy wet skin rings through each of your twitching ears.

another thing that twitched though, was your cunt.

geto aligns his bulbous tip against the drooling entrance of your clit before smearing it all around with kisses. he’s so precise, rocking into your body while digging his fingertips into your feverish flesh. “ ‘m gonna fuckin’ -ah, cum.”

geto groans, his tone shifting to sound more sonorous with the dangerous pitch, and that’s when he sneaks an open palm between your thighs. miles and miles of your juices tear down the cracked arc of your legs, and he starts to smear it all up before his hand re-locates it’s way back toward your sopping pussy.

oh, you were just leaking like a faucet, and it seemed like after he lifted your leg for a better angle, you were even wetter than you were before.

“haah- me too, ‘m so close, sweet thing. fuck, she’s bein’ a bit mean today.. isn’t that right?” he hoarsely mutters, giving the center part of your entrance a nice, wet whack.

a bit of your slick splatters across his palm and geto hums, bringing his hand up to his mouth to lick the treacly mess. “mhm, she just can’t help but be so damn wet it seems. tryin’ s- so hard to drown me, huh.”

geto’s buried balls deep, six feet under at most, like a coffin.

your eyes were already shamefully bulging out of their enlarged sockets as your jaw hung agape. “u- ugh,” you’d claw a hand down his back, feeling your teeth shatter at the brief hot pangs of skin against skin. he’s making sure to tap his swollen head against that tender nub of yours, rendering you speechless.

you nearly blind yourself with your own eyes, the constant hysterical flapping of each lash making you whimper. soooo deep -

the force of geto’s stuttering hips had such a rhythm that your entire body felt the shock of his thrusts. a dewy tear of sweat dribbles down your curved spine and you’re just wailing for him to keep hitting that same spot.

“f.. fuck,” geto grunts, sliding a hand near your hip. each swallowing second he spends inside you, he could feel you clenching all around him. his tip’s an angry beat red, and he’s taking his cautious time to shower your needy clit with a plethora of kisses. “ ‘m cummin, baby. keep this knee back, let’s give you another . . hah- good fillin.’”

both build of orgasms were just as intense, so much so that it almost felt dreamlike..

he’s pulling his hips back and forth, putting his mouth over yours to playfully suck in your shallow breaths. the dripping tip of geto’s tongue slips into your mouth, and he could feel each muscle in his thighs squeeeeeze with longing anticipation.

“s- sugu!” you’d squeal, whining as your slick tongue ends up tangling with his. your heart’s never raced more quickly, and he’s starting to nibble on your upper, quickening lip while darkened eyes slowly look up at you.

once geto cums, it’s a thick batch - it’s creamy, flooding into you with such quickness that you’re left not only wordless but breathless too.

his cock’s blushing tip was oh-so-tender, reddening each time it batters its way inside of your creaming pussy. every concluding slosh that exited from between your thighs had you gasping for air like a fish out of water, and you were shivering once your release arrived at the same time as his..

as his heavy thighs merely crushed against your hot skin, geto felt your entire body that lay underneath him grow limp. black overgrown tresses glued against his forehead as a bubbly, white ring started to form around his milked-out base.

geto shields a grunt into your neck, feeling his parched seed ooze out of your puffed cunt. it’s so filthy that it even starts trickling its way down the valley of your pried pretty thighs.

“mhm- good girl,” and he’s just casually talking over your inaudible whimpers, bringing a thumb toward your spit-glossed lips. you’re still shaking, gnawing at the bars of your enclosure before he licks the bottom of your poked-out lip. “shhh- atta girl, i know. riiiide it out baby, there we fuckin’ go.”

geto collapses onto your chest, all limp sticking against each other like paste as you’re both covered in such slimy messes before you heave in a single breath. “s- suguru, mng-”

“yeah, sweet girl. my thoughts exactly,” he phews jokingly, trying to get over his orgasmic high as he’s still pumping a never-ending load of cum inside of you. geto kisses the top of your head before his hands leisurely push your knees up toward your chest. “heyy,” he breathlessly coos, watching as you let off a bundle of more sweet, defeated whines. “think you can go a little deeper?”

and you moaned, feeling geto’s chiseled pecs gently slump against your chest. with your knees up toward your jiggling breasts, he gives your runny pussy one final soft spank.

“hah- lets see if these weak legs can handle a good mating press, hm, big girl?”

[oreo-creampies]

‘‘𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐧’ 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬!”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: demon!choso, choso goes into rut, overstimulation, dacryphilia, pain kink, anal/wrong hole (Gojo’s), pussy drunk, mind broken/dumbification, cervix fuckin, light size kink, hair pulling, spanking/some face slapping (mostly toji’s), biting, exhaustion, praise/degradation, begging/teasing, squirting, some thigh fucking, vibrating dildo, light bondage, on the verge of passing out (Choso’s), daddy(toji)/lil mama, gojo and toji are wearing ghostface masks (separate blurbs), ghostface!toji (with a morally gray reader), squirting

𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨

“Please!” Choso digs his black painted nails into your hips. His eyes roll back as he tilts head back showing off his hickey cover neck. His broad shoulders curl in with a tremble as he sloppily rut his hips fucking his hot thick cum deeper.

Your sloppy cunt squelching and your thighs trembling. Digging your nails into his abs, you keep bouncing yourself on Choso’s fat dick. Feeling his thick veins pulse, his cock head lightly twitches and his moans are getting breathier.

Your cunt clenches his throbbing, sensitive cock when a guttural deep groan of “Fuuuuck lil mama!” slips past his lips.

He’s so damn hot with his flush pink cheeks and his messy dark hair. His smoldering dark brown eyes fixate on your beautiful cunt taking his cock.

Choso slides his large hands up your sides, flipping you over onto his dark bedsheets. Your head hits the pillow and he grabs the head board with one hand, hovering over you.

He fuckin’ smirks, it’s a little upturn of Choso’s soft lips that has you clenching his cock. “Just ‘cause I came doesn’t mean we have to stop right?” He grabs your thigh hooking your leg around his slim waist.

His thrusts are sloppy, slow and deep, a shutter runs down his spine making his hips falter. The wood in his hand creaks and his jaw drops with a low groan.

“Can’t think about anything other than how wet n’ warm you are.” Leaning in for a soft kiss, you wrap both legs around his waist and slip your fingers into his hair.

Your body feels so heavy from exhaustion but you don’t want him to stop. It feels too good to have his warm, heavy body pressing you into the mattress. Whilst his heavy cock fills up your sore, sensitive and soaking wet pussy.

Choso mummers, “You can handle a bit more can’t ya?” Picking up his pace, your body jolts, your cunt spams and your eyes water when his hard cock head hits your bruised cervix.

Seeing the tears Choso softens his thrusts, restraining himself. “I’ve been so rough on her haven’t I? You’ve been doing so well, please let me help you cum one more time, we can do this lil mama.” He begs as if you aren’t fucked too stupid to answer him back.

He pushes your leg by your side and leans back to admire how your soft cunt takes his thick, long cock. Your soft lips wrapping around him, so wet, soft, and slightly swollen. Your beautiful pussy is such a pretty color against the paleness of his cock.

There isn’t an aspect of your body, expression and voice Choso isn’t obsessed with.

Steadily stroking your soft clit with his large thumb. “You look so hot cumming on my cock, please cum one more time?” He lets the headboard go, sliding his large hand over your beautiful body, touching you gently whilst wrecking your pussy.

Grabbing his hard, thick bisceps and digging your nails in whilst crying his name. “Nnnn! Choooohh!” Soaking Choso’s thick cock, your warm thick cum soaks the bed.

Choso’s smoldering dark eyes widen, “Fuuck make a mess on my cock lil that. Fuck I wanna!” His body trembles as he fights not to fuck you harder.

It’s all you can muster to plea, “Harder!” Choso flips you over without sliding out, wrapping his arm around your waist whilst holding onto your hip. Choso lifts you off the bed, holding you to his chest and stroking your clit as he gets off the bed.

He gently reminds you, “Remember to use the safe word if it’s too much.” Holding you by your waist he slowly drags his cock out till his fat head is tugging on your soaking wet cunt.

Choso pulls you back to meet his hard thrusts. Your body jolts as you cry out reach back and grabbing his wrist. “I love how soft, beautiful, wet and warm you are. N’ I can't get enough of hearing you moan, seein’ my cock sink into your cunt, stretching her out.” Choso roughly bounces you on his thick, veiny cock.

He groans, “Your sloppy wet cunt is as loud as are, so messy n’ wet after squirting so hard on my cock. Nnn fuck I’ve missed you so much, not seeing you all day is torture.” He reaching so deep, you swear you’re feeling Choso’s long, thick cock underneath your belly button.

You’re fighting to string a full sentence together in between moans. “It was ooonn’nnn! On-ly seven girl’s houuures Nnn fuck you’re so deep! Fuck!” He presses your face and chest against the wall, keeping your back arches with a hand on your lower back.

Choso leans down groaning in your ear, “I love hearing your creamy cunt talk to me. I think she missed me just as much.” He bites your shoulder softly whilst roughly fucking your creamy cum stuffed cunt, Choso slides his large hand along your arched back grabbing a handful of your hair.

Squeezing your hip, “You look like doll, all fucked out and limp.” Clenching Choso’s cock when he most in your ear. “I know she so sore yet she grippin’ me like she wants me to cum in ya again even though you’ve cummed six times so far.” Your cheeks clap, your cunt squelches and your legs give out the wall and his grasp keeping you upright.

Lifting you off the wall, and turning you around with slipping his cock our. Laying you on your back on the soft bed, “One more time for the last grueling hour I spent alone, even then then I don't want to stop.” Choso folds you into a mating press to watch your sloppy wet cunt take his pale, thick, veiny cock.

Your soft lips look so beautiful covered in thick white cream, a mixture of his and your cum. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, hold on just a little more, I know you’re getting tired. I’ll hold you while you sleep after I cum in you.” Choso softly kisses your forehead.

“She’s getting so tight. I wonder could your sweet lil’ cunt can cum while you’re sleeping.” His eyes shift from violet to a glowing pink. “Fuck!” His body shutters with restraint as he fucks you faster but not harder. “I know you can only handle so much, I should stop soon but-“ your soft cunt spams squeezing Choso and wrecking his train of thought.

You slur together, “don’tstopwanna help-nnnn with yourrr rut.” Thick tears drip down your face as Choso whines, two teeth elongating into sharp fangs.

You tilt your head aside and he kisses your tears off your cheeks. “That’s it beautiful, let it out cry from cumming so hard on my cock.” teeth in. Sweet pain laces in with the intoxicating pleasure of his cock filling your sore, soaking wet cunt.

You can’t move on your own, your body is too heavy. Your eyes won’t say open. He quickly pulls away, licking the blood seeping from the bite. You shiver meekly as he slides his large warm hands down along your waist and hips, grabbing your thighs.

He lifts you off the bed without breaking his rough, quirk pace. You feel weightless in his grasp as he wraps his arm around your waist. Softly laying you in the center of the bed, with your head on a pillow.

Sweetly kissing your cheek, Choso groans, “I’m a nasty pervert, obsessed with your soft thighs, pretty tits and wet cunt. I wanna fuck more cum into you.”

The softness of the pillow beneath your head, the coziness of the bed and the exhaustion from taking Choso’s cock is too much. The last thing you feel is his warm cum as you pass out.

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

“Nn! Wrong hole!” It’s too late Satoru is in your ass. It’s a strange but interesting feeling him slip out, tugging on your ass. It’s a mixture of pleasure and pain that you want to explore.

“Wait,” your body burns and you’re grateful you are facing the bed instead of him. “You can fuck my ass.” He roughly smacks your ass, squeezing your sore, jiggly cheek.

“Fuck that sounds so hot, say it again.” He crouches behind you and bites your ass. Slipping two slender fingers into your dripping wet cunt, slowly stroking your g-spot making your legs tremble.

Grabbing his sheets whilst pleading, “I wanna fuck my ass on your cock till I can’t move anymore! You can cum in my ass.” He pumps his fingers faster and groans letting your cheek go.

Satoru licks the imprint his teeth left. “Good lil’ slut.” Slipping his fingers out, you can hear him noisily sucking them clean. Pushing your hips back when he glides his tongue between your lips.

Satoru admits, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about cumming in you since I saw you. I’m not gonna wanna stop with your ass, your cunt is begging for it.” Roughly hitting your sore cheeks with his large palm.

Satoru digs his fingers into your juggling fat. “Hold you wrist behind your back for me to tie together.”

He walks off to get silk ribbon and a vibrator which he holds up to show you. “Something for your clit while I fuck your soft ass into a gapping cum filled mess.” Smirking at you, with his white hair slicked back, a few stands hanging in his blue eyes.

“Let’s get a little kinky.” He looks so beautiful standing there, slim yet muscular build is so well sculpted. You want you run your hands over all of him. But mostly you want his long, pretty cock that stands up eager for attention.

A smile creeps onto your face, “What about some knife play?” He walks over with the silk and toy, setting the latter on the bed. The silence is crushing, making you squirm slightly.

He leans over yo, talking low in your ear, “With the nasty warnings on the smut you read in public told me what type of pervert slut you are.” Tying your wrist behind your back.

“I always wondered if you touch yourself while reading, or if it’s like foreplay before you masturbate?” Biting your shoulderand pinning you still with some of his weight. It feels good to have Satoru’s massive body crushing you into the bed. With his soft warm skin and hard muscules against you.

Taking a moment before you can respond in a steady voice, “Depends on how much the fic makes my pussy throb.” Satoru pulls away to laugh, smacking your pussy, smirking when you jolt.

Satoru goes to get a ghost face mask and knife, “Speaking of fics, one gave me a new kink, I already wear a mask all day so why not switch out what I’m wearing.”

He wiggles the mask, “I remember this one was mentioned in a kinkobter fic. I like having a whole month dedicated to being the biggest whore you can be. That is what it is?” He slips the ghost face mask on.

You decide, “Close enough, please come play with my clit n ass! I wanna be a cock drunk whore, we’re talking too much.” He points the knife at you, wiggling it threateningly then he slips the ghostface mask on.

Grabbing a bottle of lube before walking up behind you. You can hear the bottle open and lube squirt out. Glance over your shoulder to watch Satoru touch himself. He softly ruts his his hips with a soft whine as he swirl his slender fingers over his gorgeous cock.

You didn’t think you could find a cock so damn sexy till you saw Satoru’s. With his soft pink cock head and intimidating length. You know his cock is going to be addicting the l way he could softly stretch and fill you up.

Spreading your legs apart he lines his cock up to give your asshole just the tip. Whilst carefully rubbing your clit with the cool flat of the blade. The scary thrill of the knife near somewhere so sensitive gets your cunt dripping.

He slowly drags the knife along your thigh, grabbing the toy. With a click it springs to life. Satoru glides another inch in as he holds the toy to your clit, swirling it slowly.

Softly rolling his hips giving your sensitive, tight ass more, crooning, “You can handle it, can’t you?” Your jaw drops and your brows furrow as your toes curl.

You unable to answer Satoru, “I-I nnnn! Innnahhh! Satoru!” the strange pleasure of having your ass fucked along with having your clit played with is too much to comprehend.

Crying, “My ass! You’re! Nnn!” Satoru really is fucking your ass! The first time with your long time crush and it’s there! He’s going to be able to cum in you. The second it crosses you’re mind it’s all you can whine.

You’re mindlessly confessing and begging, your eyes stinging. “Please cum in me! I wanna feel your warm cum! I touch myself thinking of what it would be like to feel your cock twitching inside me before you spill. Please!” You sloppy wet cunt is dripping thick creamy slick down to your cock stuffed ass.

Satoru’s low breathy groans are pornagraphic.“I jerked off this morning thinking about seein’ my cum drip out of your pretty cunt.” He swirls the knife around your soft nipple. “The way I want to slut you out, objectify you then treat you like a princess afterwards.”

Rubbing the toy on your clit faster as he goes balls deep. He slides the knife down your stomach, getting off on seeing you squirm. With your breasts pushed in the air by the soft arch in your back.

He groans at the sight of seeing his pale pink cockhead tugging on your asshole. So close to slipping out, rolling his hips, his abs flexing as he drives his cock in deep with a smooth, quick thrust.

Your ass is getting looser taking his cock easier as the tense leaves your body and you melt beneath him. With your eyes watering.

Satoru tosses the knife to the side to stuffs his two slender fingers in. “Keep looking at me like that beautiful n’ find out what happens. Shit, I’ll wash up come back and wreck your soft cunt, fill you up twice.” He curls his fingers, fucking your softly squelching cunt.

Clenching his fingers when he finds that spot that has a overwhelming wave of intense pleasure overcomes you. Making your thighs tremble and your hips jerk back.

Satoru leans down, taking up most of your vision with his ghost face mask and his wide shoulders. “Cum, you can do it, focus on my fingers in your cunt, my cock in your ass and your toy on your clit.” Tears trickle down your face as you squirt on his fingers. Your soft cunt spams, as Satoru keeps his pace and fucks your ass harder.

The way Satoru growls, “Fuck me!” Shouldn’t be so hot in how feral, possessive and needy he sounds. “That it lil mama cry cause I made you squirt too hard, make a fuckin mess and scream my name. Nnnn keep looking at me like that and see what happens.”

𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢

“I thought no one was home, I only meant to crash on your sofa then dip before sunrise.” Leaning over you, with his large gloved hand splayed on the wall next to you. “You’re not my normal type.” Holding the knife to your cheek.

Your voice trembles, “I know your victim type, I’ve been following along. I-I don’t blame you, what came out about everyone’s whose houses and laptops they’ve searched, is horrific.” You’re tense with anticipation. “There is a guest room, and left over food in the fridge, you can use my shower I’ll stay in the living room.”

“Ha, so you see it my way, they deserved it.” He softly drags the knife along your neck, leaning down invading what little personal space you have left. He’s so close, smelling of thick cigarette smoke and copper.

Glancing from his blood splattered ghost mask, to his large chest, his worn black shirt clinging to his pecs and abs. “Is there anything else you need?” A dark happy trail peaking out the bottom of his shirt catches your attention along with what it leads too. He’s shamelessly hard, his black sweats hiding nothing.

He drags the knife up your neck to your chin, tilting your head up to look at his face. “Depends does that offer have anything to do with the way you’ve been looking at me? If it does ...” He steps back to lean against the back of your sofa. He gestures up and down your body with his knife.

Ordering you. “Take your shirt off, your sexy underwear stays on.” Slipping your shirt and underwear off, he points down at the ground with the knife causing you to kneel at his feet.

Nudging your legs around with his boot, “Hands behind your back, use your hands and I’ll smack you across the face.” Softly dragging the knife along your bottom lip. “Such a pretty mouth, that little tremble in your bottom lip when you’re scared is hot.”

He holds the knife to your throat. “Do I scare you still?”He pushes his sweatpants down, letting his heavy cock hang out. He’s so thick, with two puffy veins and a fat cockhead wet with pre-cum.

“Yes, you could change your mind out of worry of getting caught but I’m too horny to think too logically.” His balls are big and look so damn suckable, looking up at his masked face. “I want you to fuck me like I’mma a slut.” He slips his boot in between your legs, and you cave instantly grinding your clothed cunt on his shoe.

Lifting his shoe adding some pressure to your cunt. “Like?! You’re nothing but a slut, grinding on me you’re no different than a bitch in heat. I’ll stuff your needy cunt n’ depending on how well ya take my cock, you might be mine be my new play thing.”

Setting the knife next to himself, and grabbing a fistful of your hair. “Please I’m so wet cause of you, fold me in two, I don’t care if I walk tomorrow.” He groans grabbing his cock with a gloved hand, lining it up with your parting lips. Gliding his cock in your warm with mouth with a husky groan.

“Fuck this is hot, seeing you hump my boot while I'm fuckin your throat.” His balls hit your chin with each quick, gagging thrust. Whilst his firm grasp on your hair keeps you from moving your head. “For being a honest whore for I’ll make sure you cum.”

Cupping his large balls he pulls his cock out and slaps you. Straightening your face out with your hair. “I warned you, but that did feel nice touch my balls again.” Holding his balls while grinding your hips, rubbing your clit along the smooth leather.

You quickly plead, “Slap me again please.” He softly rubs your sore cheek then lands another sharp, stinging hit. You wince and moan, squeezing his shoe with your thighs.

Mocking you, “Slap me again please! You’re killing me.” Tilting his head to the side, the simple action with his mask on shouldn't turn you on so much.

He roughly pulls your hair and orders, “Keep begging me to hurt and fuck you.”

Stroking his cock next to your face whilst you beg, “Smack my ass till it’s too sore for me to lay on. Please daddy fuck me however you need to.” Pulling you onto your feet by your hair, shoving you over the back of the sofa.

Demanding, “You’re thinking with your pussy aren't you? What am I?” He smacks your clothed cunt with the flat of the blade making you jolt. Hitting your cunt harder with his gloved hand. “Tell me before I stop and go jerk off in the shower.” Slowly dragging the knife along your soft lips. You have to fight every urge to move so the knife doesn't slip.

“Daddy!” Crying as he quickly cuts the back of your thighs, so close to your cunt. Smacking your both cheeks before cutting off your underwear.

Moaning out, “Please lemme have your cock daddy.” Wiggling as he drags the knife along your soft cheek, blood seeping from the shallow cut. His covk throbs with the way you cry and writhe, the sofa and his body trapping you.

Smacking your stinging cheek, you can hear the cocky smirk in his voice. “You need me that badly lil’ mama?” Gliding his wet cock in-between your soft thighs.

Yanking your head back by your hair and leaning over you. “Fucking hell you’re a dirty slut wanting to be fucked by a stranger. Am I that hot, or are you that big of a whore?” His cock rubs yours lips and clit taunting you.

You’re clenching nothing in desperate need to have his fat cock filling, stretching and rubbing your cunt till you cum on him. “I can feel her fluttering, squeezing nothin’ when you could be squeezing my cock.”

Your head is against his chest, his so big. You didn't know his name and haven’t see but it doesn't matter. You want him to bounce you on his cock.

Begging him, “Yes please daddy, I’ll call you whatever you want! You can stop by and use my cunt whenever you want. I need to cum on your big cock.” Squeezing your thighs together and whining in fustration

He lets your hair go to smack your cunt till your desperately twisting your hips away. Crying, your body shutters and your cunt is sharply stinging.

You whine, “You’re so mean!” Your eyes are stinging and his hands are so rough when he grasp your hips. He yanks you into place and lines his cock up, nudging his cock past your lips. Roughly slamming his hips forward whilst yanking your body back.

He rasps, “It’s making you wetter isn’t it?” Choking you with a gloved hand and squeezing your hip. Lifting your off your feet, he’s holding you in the air by your throat and hip, effectively ruining any attempts to run away.

Rhythmically bounce you on his cock, using your pussy like a flesh light. Whilst angrily rutting his hips. It’s like he’s mad at you even though he’s the one who broke into your house.

You’re a dirty slut who folded at the first sight of his broad muscular chest and slutty waist in the clingiest black shirt you’ve ever see. Clenching his cock and biting your bottom lip. It feels good to be a mindless whore if this is what it gets you.

Digging your nails into the sofa when he croons, “What this? You were just begging for me to fuck you. Don’t tell me your lil’ sloppy cunt can’t handle my fat cock?” He relaxes his grasp but ruts into you hard, pouring his frustration into each thrust.

“I can! Fuck me however you want! I don’t care how angry it feels!” He lifts you off the sofa, grabbing your thighs, folding your legs and clasping his large hands behind the back of your neck.

“Angry? I suppose I am n’ it’s fun taking it out on your sloppy cunt. I’m reaching so fuckin deep, you can feel that can’t ya?” He rocks his hips harder bruising your cervix and making your pussy spasm from the intensity.

You can’t think with the way he’s fucking you like he hates you, bullying your sloppy cunt. All you can do is cream on his fat cock. He sneers “Really? You’re cumming that fuckin’ easily?” Your cheeks along with your throat burn.

Unclasping his hand from behind your neck, squeezing your thigh and stroking your clit. “Too stupid to answer already? N’ I just started.” Each stroke from his finger is too much, sending off a firework of intense overstimulating pleasure.

Fat tears roll down your cheek as you babble, “Too much! Toooooo much daddys’ cock ‘s too much! My clit I can’t! I wanna! Don’t stop!” It’s like you can’t come down from the incredible high of cumming.

He grunts, “There we fuckin’ go! Don’t want ya to get all shy n’ quiet on me now after you were humping my boot.” Stroking your clit faster, keeping the pressure the same. “Let’s see how many times I can make you cum in one night before you can’t anymore.”

Oreo’s m.list

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

MY LOVE, MY ALIBI | CALEB | XIA YIZHOU (LNDS)

♡ tags ; psuedocest / adoptive incest, afab + fem!reader, minor age-gap (3 years), mentions / non graphic depictions of child abuse (from readers days in the orphanage), childhood crushing, mutual pining, developing relationship, size difference, some religious imagery, loss of virginity, petnames (baby, princess, pipsquak), use of meimei once and gege a few times but very sparing, oral (f!recieving), nipple play, marking, light masochism from reader, mouth-spitting, fingering, bare-backing, 18+

♡ wc ; 23.3k (kill me)

♡ a/n ; hey. this is an incest fic for adoptive siblings. if that makes you uncomfortable, don't read it. block me if you need to. please spare me lecture.

also - i have reader be carried by caleb a couple of times but dude has a bionic arm so he's strong as shit to me. the size difference tag is mostly about his dick. aside from the carrying there is no phyiscal indicators for reader

important to the fic but i play in simplified cn. please go listen to the simplified cn voice actor before you read this. for my sanity. most of my characterization is based on various cn translations from the kind cn fanbase. special thank you to mao @/yinyuedijun and this yt channel.

♡ synopsis ; for as long as you can remember, the sight of caleb's back is whats made you feel safest. it's no surprise that every man that comes after him never quite measures up.

extended authors note. | caleb playlist | ao3 | tipjar

PART ONE: ANYTHING YOU SAY CAN AND WILL BE HELD AGAINST YOU.

At seven, you knock out one of your teeth roughhousing with one of the orphanage boys. 

The good news? You’re winning. You’re at the age where size matters more than gender but the boy you’re fighting is both bigger and older than you. 

Even so, you manage to pull off shoving him back.

You don’t know his name, only his face— buzzed head and red gums, the pristine picture of anger. You roll around with him in the small stretch of yard behind the orphanage - white tanktop stained with grass, all knobby knees and short limbs as you fight and fight and fight with every ounce of your strength. 

You are seven with something to prove and a lot already lost. Your pride refuses to let you lose further. You recieve a hit of adrenaline when you launch the top of your head into the older boys chin and hear his teeth clack from how hard it lands. He collapses in a pile, spits curses he learned from the grown-ups that come in and out as he lays there.

He nearly jumps you when you’re both down. Your head is throbbing where his chin connected and you can tell if he decides to fight you again, your chances of winning have slimmed significantly.

You see it in his eyes. In his face. He’s so angry. Always is. You knew it was a bad idea to provoke him to begin with. 

He nearly, nearly jumps you and almost knocks you out completely. 

So you decide it might be better to prepare for it. You fold up. Put your arms up high and brace for impact when a shadow - long, endless, casts over your head. Eyes half open, a familiar pair of beat-up sneakers stand in front of you in the grass. You hear a familiar voice. It’s colder than you’re used to.

“Bullying a little kid is lame,” Caleb says, sharp. It makes you shrink further even though it’s not directed at you. “Quit fighting or I’ll get one of the grown-ups.” 

You can’t see what's in front of you. You only hear a shock of gasps around you—another confrontation that quickly settles into silence before Caleb turns around. 

His face is soft as he bends down to be eye level. Kind, boyish, gentle - he opens up his arms. He’s not happy about something. You can tell because his smile is a little dimmer than normal. You desperately hope it isn’t because of you. 

Even knowing Caleb is going to scold you a bit, you find yourself welling up in tears from relief even over fear. You wail as you wrap your arms around his neck and Caleb hoists you up and carries you on his hip like you’re still a baby.

He’s silent as he carries you into the house. 

“You shouldn’t get into fights,” He says, soothing. You sniffle as he walks you inside. His shirt smells like summer, hands fisted in it. Holding on for dear life.  Call for me next time.” 

Caleb sits you on the mattress, in the room all the older kids share. Your feet don’t touch the ground as he kneels in front of you and rifles around under his bed. He has bandages and alcohol, cotton swabs and gauze. 

His eyes are kind as he assesses your wounds. Pours alcohol onto a cotton pad and frowns each time you sniffle and sob from the pain of getting them cleaned. “A crybaby like you shouldn’t fight anyone, seriously.” 

“Shut up,” You say first. You hang your head low, instant regret. Your hands close again, blunt nails digging into your palms. Your lower lip trembles. Caleb quickly puts a hand on the top of your head when he notices your distress. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. Just depend on me, alright?” He grins with the same front tooth missing. Like a mirror image of you, you think. “I’ll always help you.” 

__

At ten, you give up celebrating your birthday. 

You’re the age Caleb was when you met and now you’ve both left the orphanage and lived away from it for a few years. You’ve spent nearly three years with a woman you call Grandma and the world feels a lot kinder with her in your life. She takes good care of you. Gives you a warm bed to sleep in, and good food to eat. Doesn’t get angry when you break cups or get up in the middle of the night to go pee.

You live in a house with only three people and you even get to have your own room—one you don’t have to share, not even with Caleb. It’s nice to sleep where there’s no one else, even if most nights you crawl into Caleb’s bed anyway and sleep next to him because it's more comfortable.

Grandma is nice to you. Sometimes, she looks like she’s somewhere far away but it never lasts for long. You’re thankful to her for taking you in. 

You have a warm bed to sleep in, good food to eat, and Caleb is right next to you. He’s your brother now, so you can be together forever. And none of the adults from the orphanage are here to punish him anymore when he tries to protect you. 

You’re ten and the world seems to be trying its best not to hurt you any further. Somehow, this only makes you feel more uneasy. 

You’re happy. It scares you. You often wonder when someone will punish you for it. If someone will be blamed for allowing it. It makes you feel helpless when you think about it too long. 

But you have Caleb. He makes it easier. You can cling onto his shirt when it gets too hard. And he’s older now, enough to really feel grown up. 

A night, when you clutch the fabric until it stretches wide, trembling after you’re plagued by bad dreams - having nightmares of rusted rain, Caleb is there. 

No matter how deeply asleep, he always wakes up to hold you. 

( You wait for him to tell you that you’re too big to be getting scared over nightmares, but the day still hasn’t come. You hope it never does. You think you’d be so sad you would never stop crying. )

You’re ten, and the world seems kinder - but you know better by now. You try to take precautionary measures against letting it take everything from you again. 

And you start small. With yourself, and your birthday. 

You’ve only ever celebrated a few birthdays. In the orphanage they’d celebrate a lot at once, so it never felt very  special. You can’t really remember the ones you had before then, don’t remember much from then at all.  Since you’ve been adopted, Grandma has celebrated your birthday and made it special. She and Caleb cook your favorite meal together and you sit around and cut-cake afterwards. 

They even decorate the house with balloons and streamers.

Your birthdays now don’t compare to the ones you had then. 

Nothing bad is happening but still. You like celebrating your birthday. But, can you feel okay about getting to celebrate a birthday at all? When you thought for sure your life might end before then?

Before your eleventh birthday, you announce to your family that you don’t want to do anything special this year. When they probe you with questions about why not, you refuse to give up any answers.

Caleb is thirteen and heartbroken when he hears you say this. Asks questions even as you turn your nose up and refuse to answer. You get into a fight about it, one of the very first of your entire relationship. 

It’s that same night you begin to sleep in your own room. 

In the weeks leading up to your birthday, you find your house to be more quiet than usual. Caleb is busy with something but you blame yourself for the distance between you. He always comes back seeming tired. Even though he still pats your head and smiles at you the same way, you notice when he seems a little less there at the dinner time. 

When your birthday finally comes, your grandma still decides to celebrate it in a small way. She makes your favorite food and gets you a cake and candles. Hugs you when you cry about it, too. The only thing they skip is the decoration. 

(You’re brave though, when next year rolls around and tell them you miss it. It makes Caleb happy enough to hug you tight.)  

The warmth that fills your heart seeing your name in iced letters is too big for your body. You wonder if this is what having a family was like. 

At night time, after dinner and before you cut the cake - you open your presents. There’s two for your eleventh birthday. One from grandma and one from Caleb. Usually, they sign their gift to you together but this year they’re separate. 

At first, your heart sinks, but you try not to think about it. Grandma gets you a bike that matches Caleb’s so the two of you can ride together. You’re happy to have it but Caleb insists you can just keep riding on the back of his if you don’t want to learn. 

You open Caleb’s gift second. It’s wrapped in pretty paper with a bow on it so you undo it carefully. Inside of it is a plain looking box.  

“Open it,” 

There’s a pair of earrings and a necklace when you do. It’s not cheap plastic like all the other jewelry you’ve ever had in your life. Little apples covered in gemstones, and a little gold necklace with a pendant and a locket. Your eyes go wide, fingers trembling a little as you touch it. 

You look for Caleb’s face unthinkingly. Kind and warm, eyes crinkled and shoulders slack in relief when he sees your happy reaction. His hand is warm as it rests on your head, rubbing gently. 

“It took a while but I’ve been helping our neighbors for money so I could buy it for you,” Caleb says, looking down at you with an easy grin. “The day you were born is important for me, so don’t say that you won’t celebrate it from now on. Okay?” 

When tears well up in your eyes, you barely have to say a word before Caleb brings you into his waist. You cry to him the same way you always do - with a hand fisted in the back of his shirt like you’re terrified of where you’d end up if you let go.

Even when you ruin his shirt with salty tears, Caleb never voices a word of complaint. His steady heartbeat and warm hands that make you feel like he’s already done it all before, stay exactly where you expect them. 

Your dependable, kind older brother. 

__ 

At thirteen, you take your first field trip overnight. 

It takes a tremendous amount of effort to make it happen. 

Grandma was easy to convince, but it took you fourteen whole days to convince your brother that you could handle going on a school field trip without having your hand held the entire time. 

(You can still hear the amused, taunting lilt in his voice from when you first mentioned it. Sure you’ll be okay pipsqueak? My bed won’t be there for you to take over if you get scared, you know?)

Ugh. He can be so strict. An you swear he was even more stubborn about it than usual. 

You had to use every tactic in the book to get him to say yes. Kissing up to him, acting extra wistful, doing your chores and being super well-behaved. After strategically buttering him up for two weeks prior to you just asking, you also made sure to ask when he had one of his friends over. He’s strict regardless of who's around, but having another person in your corner is good for morale. 

(This method is effective for the record. Just as Caleb goes to turn you down, his friend throws an eraser at him and clicks his teeth. 

“There’s a limit to your siscon behavior. Just let her go.”

You sneak said friend a candy the next time he comes over as thanks.) 

After a lot of persistent begging, Caleb relents and allows Grandma to sign your permission slip. It’s an overnight trip sure—but it’s heavily supervised and rooms are separated by gender anyhow. You really don’t know what he was so worried about.

So far, the trip has been really fun. You went to a butterfly garden conservatory as a part of your science project and one landed on your nose. Your friend even managed to get a good picture. In the afternoon, you did a bit of sightseeing and got to buy some street food. 

When evening rolled around, you and all your friends holed up in the same hotel room sleeping together on one big floor. You stayed up a few hours later than you should’ve—gossiping and discussing the newest chapter of a very popular romance webnovel.  Most of them are out by the time the clock hits midnight. 

And now, you’re the last one awake at 1am. 

Unfortunately, no matter how long you try to sleep—it is hard to sleep away from home, knowing Caleb isn’t right down the hall. No matter how much the thought makes you frown. 

You’ve outgrown the habit of crawling into his bed every night. Still, you think you rest easier knowing that he’s there. You’d never admit it but subconsciously, it comforts you just knowing he is. The few times you get nightmares of the Chronorift these days, your nightmares are especially persistent. You don’t crawl into his bed like you did when you were a little kid as often as you used to. Even when you want it, it’s just a little embarrassing. 

Regardless though, he’ll stay up with you until it passes, and until you go back to to sleep. It’s the only thing that helps it go down easier some nights. That he’d be there no matter what happened. 

By the time the clock strikes one-thirty, you get the feeling you just won’t be able to sleep unless you at least call him. 

So, after carefully sneaking your phone out of your bag - you leave your hotel room to wander the halls and end up in the lobby in your PJs. 

You realize your incidental act of rebellion when you catch some stares from late-night guests. You hesitate on whether or not you should go back before deciding that’d be pointless. Fingers hovering over the call button, it takes a beat before you hit and hear the number dial. He’ll probably scold you but you know he’ll answer. 

He picks up in one ring. His voice is thick with sleep when he speaks. “It’s late. You should be asleep.” 

“Yeah, I know. Sorry, Gege,” You say, crossing slippered feet against the tile of the hotel lobby floor. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

His voice softens instantly. “Somethin’ happen?” 

You shake your head before realizing he can’t see you. “No, I just couldn’t sleep.” A beat. “I thought I would sleep better if…I talked to…someone.” 

It’s too embarrassing to tell him you wanted to talk to him, specifically. Caleb is quiet on the other side of the line before he laughs, just a little. “You were so adamant on wanting to go with your friends, huh? I thought you’d be just fine. Were you being brave for show?.” 

You frown a little, groaning. “I did have fun. A lot of fun. We talked a lot before bed too, and now everyone else is asleep. It’s not like I regret going. And I wasn’t being brave, I was just—” 

“Sure, sure. Still can’t sleep unless you know I’m there, huh?” 

Silence stretches over the line. You feel your face grow hot with embarrassment as you stretch your legs out, chin tucked against your chest.  

“Maybe I should just hang up on you,” 

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Caleb says more gently. “You can call me as much as you want.” 

“You’re being nice like when we were kids.” You observe. 

Caleb scoffs a little. “I’m always nice.” 

You roll your eyes and Caleb laughs like he knows you did it. It’s quiet again before he speaks. In the voice that makes him feel older than he is. “I’m worried about you so I’m being even nicer than usual. Is that okay?”

His tone is light, teasing, but there’s more to it than he lets on. You trace a pattern into the worn, fabric arm of the chair you sit in. “Why?” 

“I get worried when you go somewhere I can’t see you.” He says agreeably.

Your face tugs into a frown, strangely mortified by the sincerity of it. “It’s not like I’m a kid anymore. I’ll be fourteen in a few months.”

Caleb laughs. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ll always be a kid.” 

You huff. “That’s not fair. Does that mean I’ll have to beg you like this to do anything for the rest of my life? You’re too much.” 

“At least until you turn eighteen.” Caleb replies, voice airy and content. “And if you’re still a little weakling then, probably a few more years after that too.” 

You groan. “How terrible. What kind of brother are you? So cruel.” You pause  “You’re more like my dad sometimes.” 

“Since you’re my responsibility, I usually have to act as all three.” Caleb says with ease. “You should get used to it.” 

Despite your grievances, your body relaxes exactly the way you expect as you listen to him talk. You yawn out loud,  sleep making your eyes and limbs heavy. 

“Finally tired?” He asks, voice softened. Doting. It’s so instant, you don’t have the will to fight it. “Go sleep. Make sure you eat tomorrow morning and don’t just wait until noon.” 

“Okay, Gege.” You yawn again. “Goodnight. Love you,” 

A long silence stretches between you. You wonder why he hesitates. “Love you too. Now go to bed. And don’t sneak out without telling your teachers again,” 

“Wait, how did you—” 

“I know everything.” He says dismissively. “Goodnight, okay?” 

You pull back and stare at your phone. He’s a little scary sometimes.

 “Yeah. Okay. Night,” 

__ 

At sixteen, you go experience the first real heartbreak of your life. 

It’s less over the actual relationship and more about the events leading to your break-up. 

Your secret boyfriend of five months kissed one of your closest friends. And you caught them both red-handed. 

It was in the gymnasium after school a few weeks ago. You nearly fist fought them both before getting overwhelmed and simply  running away in tears to a nearby playground. Your two other best friends had to pry you out of a bed of mulch and take you home after wiping your tears. 

You have a list of grievances about the situation. You like (?) the guy but you loved your friend - but now you have neither. And all of it happened for a reason you cannot wrap your mind around at all. 

You’re thankful for your other friends who have taken your side in the matter while still trying to get to the bottom of it. And it’s good having them, but in your time of teenage angst - the one person you’d like to tell absolutely can’t know. 

Not telling your older brother is hard. Keeping the secret makes you feel guilty enough, but it’s made harder when he’s home. And he will be for the next two weeks until he has to go back to the dorms. They’re on some kind of spring break. 

Until then, you make it your mission to keep up appearances. Since the one person you don’t want to find out about your relationship is the person who’d find out the fastest. 

Caleb is strict. Has been for as long as you can remember. Though you’ve never explicitly spoken on dating - he has, more than once, “subtly” warned you about having an interest in the opposite sex. You remember how you made stupid heart-eyes to one of his school friends years back and he still brings it up whenever you ask about him and how he’s doing. As if even wanting to know is some kind of betrayal. 

(And well, maybe you do ask just to see him react like that. It’s…funny. It’s not like Caleb needs to know that.) 

You don’t like keeping secrets from your brother. You’re close. Way closer than most people ever are with their siblings. 

Maybe because Caleb has always taken care of you—he feels less like a sibling you can pointlessly squabble with and more like your guardian at times. 

It’s hard for you to lie to him explicitly so the fact you’ve kept the relationship under wraps for five months is kind of impressive. 

You always told yourself, you’d tell Caleb if it ever got serious. Truthfully though, you didn’t think it was going to last. Didn’t even want to accept until your friends pressured you. 

Your now ex-boyfriend is the one who asked you out, which is what pisses you off the most. He’s one of the popular guys in your grade and he’s…nice. Was nice. You don’t think you’d be sad if he simply broke up with you and went out with your friend. You’d think less of him maybe, but it’s not like you’re in love with him. 

It’s all the other stuff that’s weighing you down. It’s getting into a fight with your friend. It’s getting two-timed by the jackass who asked you out first. One you didn’t even like that much. 

(Maybe not at all.) 

It’s wanting to whine and complain about all of this to your older brother who would take your side but not being able to - because you can’t tell him half truths. You don’t have it in you. You barely have it in you to lie to him.

(Truthfully, you think the only reason you’ve been able to all this time is because you’ve kept said boyfriend at arms length somewhat knowingly. You haven’t had a proper kiss.)

Telling Caleb everything is a long time compulsion you don’t know if you’ll ever unlearn.You don’t know if it’s loyalty or gratitude—only that it makes you feel like a dog whose been leashed to a post for most of your life before it gets unchained. 

Even when you’re no longer shackled to it, you find you can’t go anywhere. Being without it doesn’t free you, not really. You find it goes against what you know to try to escape without hearing the click of metal. 

You stay by the post. You tell Caleb everything. It feels outright wrong to lie about something important. 

(And it’s still hard lying about something unimportant.) 

You’re sure it speaks to the depth of your attachment but you always end up spilling your guts to him. Like a child always wanting to please their parents and behave. You know Caleb will accept you, even if he gets angry. But you don’t actually know how he’ll react and that scares you into not wanting to tell him at all. 

The thought of disappointing him is what makes you most uneasy. 

So, you decide that you’ll take it to the grave. It’s your one half-ass rebellion and these are the natural consequences. As long as you process your friendship grief and wear out your anger - it’ll be smoothed over before you know. 

Meticulously, you time your sessions of grieving and angry debriefing phone calls in the hours Caleb is out of the house. You work hard at keeping up as if nothing is happening in your life at all. You feel an unshakeable feeling of guilt the entire time, one that has you waking up in cold sweat but you ignore it because… well, you don’t really know how to fix it. 

(Truthfully - you’re irrationally worried that he’d leave over something so trivial, and you’d be seven and all alone in the world again. As nonsensical as it is, and as much as you want to pretend otherwise, your attachment to Caleb really matters that much to you.) 

You very nearly make it to the finish line of this plan too. Almost. . 

In the middle of your crying session - you answer a knock on the door and assume it’s Granny (who does, at least partially, know what’s going on). You open it without thinking. 

It’s the last person you want to see in the moment. 

You quickly try to shut the door but Caleb is quicker. Slides his unnecessarily huge body through the small gap and shuts it behind him - trapping you both. You stumble back a little, but he catches you by the wrist to make sure you don’t actually fall. 

You feel like a deer in headlights. Red, water rimmed eyes, runny nose, and face puffy - you try to pull your sleeves over your hands and wipe your face. Even though he’s already seen it. You’re too old to be crying like this in front of him. It’s humiliating. 

Caleb grabs your wrists easily before you can wipe them away. You blink away a few unshed tears to get a better look at his face. You inhale, your chest tight - feet like lead as you look at your older brother. His pinched expression, almost pained but still tender. Still gentle. Just seeing it again makes you want to cry. 

“I knew it,” He says. He drops your hands and instead cups your face with his palm, thumb wiping away tears as he cups your cheek. His expression is firm. “What’s wrong, hm?”

It’s like something in you collapses. 

You give into it without any effort. 

Caleb makes it so easy, after all, to be the weakest version of yourself.

With him, there’s no desire to fight what feels inevitable. So you let yourself fall to nothing in Caleb’s arms and cry. You’re torn up over your first real friendship fight so you let yourself lean on him. Just like you do at seven, and ten, and all the years before. Fist your hand tight in the fabric of his shirt like you’re worried he’ll shake you off, even though he never does.) 

(Later, you’ll remember this conversation and realize that there was never any room for anyone else. It was a kind of teenage naivety to think otherwise. 

You’ll hear the sentiment from everyone you know—friends, colleagues, family: the person you can be weakest with is who you should marry. If only you had known that then, too. Maybe accepting it would’ve been easier. Maybe you would’ve known sooner what feeling you’d spend the rest of your adult life chasing) 

Caleb rests his hand on the back of your head as he tucks your face against his chest. It’s warm and soft. The comforting scent of detergent and cologne, undercut by oil and jetfuel. You wish you could bury yourself in.

You stand and cry like that in silence for a long while. Caleb holds you tight without asking any questions, his chin resting on top of your head, patting your back. 

When you pull away from him, ready to explain - he walks himself over to your bed and sits on it. His expression is unreadable. Concerned but trying not to worry too son. 

With his legs wide, he opens his arms out to you to invite you into his lap the way you did when you were kids. You wonder if he’s joking—trying to make you laugh and cheer you up. 

But in the moment you’re so fragile, you tuck your chin and sit anyway. He stiffens briefly, as if surprised but soon enough, strong arms lay drape your waist as he lets you lean into him.

“Ready to talk about it?” 

You fidget. “Aren’t you busy?” 

He shakes his. “I’m all yours.” 

Your chest feels warm and fluttery when he says it. It soothes you. . 

You sniffle, adjusting in his lap. “I’m sorry.” 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” He asks. “You don’t have to,” 

“No, I—” You shift in his lap. “It feels wrong. Not telling you.”

Caleb hums. “You’re at that age. I already know that much. But no matter what I’m on your side, so don’t hide when you’re feeling sad or upset. Okay?” 

“Nn,” You nod. “Yeah. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s really fine. It’s not like I can really be mad at you, right?” 

You make a small, thoughtful noise. “You say that but you’re unexpectedly good at holding grudges.” 

Caleb laughs. “Hm, that’s true. But not with you.” 

You repeat the words to yourself, half-dizzy with a smile. “Not with me.” 

Caleb smiles at you. He holds you a little tighter. You grab hold of his jacket, white knuckling the fabric until your heartbeat settles. 

“So. Do you want to tell me what happened?” 

__ 

( In the end, you tell Caleb everything from start to finish. 

It’s just as you predicted. Once you start, it’s hard to give him anything but the full truth. Caleb listens to you intently without interjecting. Rests his chin on your shoulders, leaving you with nothing but his body language to pick up on his moods. 

He stiffens when you tell him you had a boyfriend. Calms down when you tell him you didn’t like him very much, that all you did was hold hands and cuddle and you still think it was a waste. 

Caleb listens to it all. Hangs onto your every word until you’ve tuckered yourself out. You think of what they say about how a burden shared is a burden halved and hope that it’s fine to depend on him this much all these years later. 

Caleb is silent and steady for the duration of your talk. Towards the end he tells you: “No boy should ever make you cry. Should I get revenge for you?” 

“Gege,” You say exasperated “And what about boys making me cry? That’s all they do from what I can tell.”

He doesn’t refute that. “ That’s true. It’s better to avoid them, really. If I ever make you cry you though, you can hit me,” He replies. You laugh a little.

“I don’t think you would make me cry without good reason.” 

“If I do, I’ll make sure to repent for my whole life after.” He says, joking. Maybe joking. 

Your cheeks warm  “Your whole life feels like a long time.” 

“Is it? You can’t really get rid of me easily, so I think it makes sense.” 

“I guess that’s true. You can’t get rid of me either, you know.” 

Caleb grins at you. “How lucky.”) 

__

At nineteen, you go to a club in the Linkon entertainment district for the very first time. 

Your friends dragged you here. It’s your first year of the Hunter Academy and your first time living away from home. You’ve spent most of the school year completely focused on training and working towards your goals - trying to  be strong enough to work alongside a certain someone and hold your own. 

You’re not here of your own volition, but honestly? It’s not so bad. Drinking and dancing with your friends proves fun for the first couple of hours at least. 

After that gets old though, really more stressful than anything. 

You aren’t supposed to be here in the first place. That’s the main cause of your current unease. The club is 21+ and it was already an ordeal getting in. The longer you stay, the more restless you feel—the more you want to leave before anyone gets caught up in anything. 

You’ve been knocking back drinks all evening, courtesy of some of your friends - and the night is starting to come to a halt for you internally. All the discomfort and overstimulation go from engaging to overwhelming, and your head is starting to spin.

You’re in the section where you and your friends got invited. Apparently there’s someone tonight who's popular in the nightlife scene - son of some rich business man you think. Your friend has been doing you all the solid of keeping him happy. Your eyes flit over to where they dance on the floor and you feel yourself wince just looking at them. 

Shit, your head is throbbing. 

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sink back in your seat and think about what the best strategy is to get out of here. 

All of you should go home honestly. There won’t be major consequences for simply being intoxicated, but sneaking into an establishment like this really might affect your ability to graduate. Your academy is not known for its leniency. 

Aside from that, you’re tired. You should have more energy than this. You would normally, you think. But it’s a Friday and you had taken up some extra training since you had no plans to be out. The addition of alcohol dehydrating you and the sharp and particular pain from stiletto heels makes you lethargic. Dead on your feet. 

It’s later in the night but not so late people are leaving. A second wave of attendees are shuffling in now. You have half a mind to mix with the crowd and leave by yourself. It feels like a good idea at least. 

But then, more people are brought to your section. You’re only half-paying attention as the guy from earlier, the one paying for you all, happily introduces the new group to people already sitting. 

“...And Caleb, it’s good to see you. You’re usually too busy to come to things like this,” 

A pair of eyes bore into you. You freeze completely, eyes glued to your phone screen as you catch a glimpse of the one person you absolutely do not want to be meeting here. 

“Yeah,” A familiar voice says. His voice is light like he’s not noticed anything.”I’m glad I came. I’ve already seen some interesting things.” 

The dull throb in your head turns the corner to a sharp pain. A feeling of complete misery washes over you. Truly, the worst possible outcome. You wonder what Caleb is doing here in the first place. From what you know, this isn’t usually his kind of establishment either. Maybe someone from his dorms dragged him here too? You think it’d be something like that. 

You make the mistake of looking up as Caleb slides in opposite to you with a few other friends. His expression is completely unreadable as your eyes meet across the table. He flashes you a smile that makes your nerves stand on end. All you can do is look away, eyes flitting back down your phone. 

A text appears at the top of your screen. 

from cpt big bro (1:03am): nice to see you. 

A feeling of unease immediately feels you, but when you look back up at Caleb - he’s pretending like you don’t even exist.

You don’t know why you feel so guilty in the first place. Sure, you snuck in here but it’s not like you did something unheard of. And you’re past the legal drinking age in the first place. And the clothes weren’t your idea. You’ll tell him that when he inevitably asks. 

You’re not doing anything so wrong but you’re worried he’ll get the wrong idea. 

(A voice in your head asks: what idea? You tell yourself it’d be embarrassing if your brother thought you were looking for a hook-up. It’s reasonable enough.

 You decide not to interrogate the reasoning any further, even when the feeling doesn’t go away.)

You find your gaze falling in your lap as you try to dissolve the overwhelming feeling of shame and upset just knowing Caleb’s seen you like this. 

It’s worse though to have him ignoring you. You know he’s probably doing it for your sake. Even knowing he’s not malicious doesn’t make it much better. Your eyes stay glued to your phone screen. 

You don’t know how much time passes before someone else joins you at the table. 

A woman this time. 

“Caleb! You actually came,” She says over the music. You watch her from your peripherals as she slides in next to him without hesitation. “I thought Kenji was lying to get more girls to show up.” 

You hear him laugh a little. You think he sounds a little uncomfortable, but maybe you’re reading too much into it. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Isn’t that always how that goes?” She hums. Your eyes widen slightly seeing the way she presses herself up against his arm. “But I’m glad you're here. Maybe I can convince you to dance.” 

“You can try,” He says. You know he’s just being amiable. Or at least, you think he’s just trying to be amiable. 

You’ve never really seen Caleb flirt with a girl, so you don’t have a real reference for what does and does not count. 

It’s the first time in all of your life you’ve ever seen Caleb get hit on so closely. You’re used to his popularity of course - but back then, Caleb usually made a point to run away. No one ever got near enough. He’s always been nice about it of course, tries to let people down easy. 

You don’t know the girl who's flirting with him now, but you can tell that they know each other. They’re sitting close, but not enough to be obvious. You can hear them too, though. Hear how she talks to him. It’s not hard to tell that she’s hitting on him. And your brother isn’t reciprocating but he’s not quite turning her down. It doesn’t seem to bother him, enough that when he makes jokes playfully rejecting her - the conversation still doesn’t sour.

They get along, is what you mean. Better than you thought they would. 

Your stomach churns. 

You try not to think about whats making you sick.  But it washes over you all at once. More dizzy  than nauseous. You feel like someone is tying your insides into a coil. The more you try to divert your gaze - the harder it is to ignore it. Caleb glances at you from time to time, but it seems accidental at best. 

Your heart is hammering. You think about how long it’s been since you’ve last seen each other. All the things that have happened while you’re apart. 

When you find you can’t sit and handle anymore, your body makes the decision to leave for you. 

It happens quickly. You stand to your feet, nearly stumbling in your heels as you talk to a friend on the dance floor and make-up a nonsense excuse about needing to leave. She offers to call you a taxi, but by then you’re already making a bee-line to the door and out of the club. 

It’s late when you leave. Your whole body feels like it’s trapped in ice as the unforgiving night air whips your skin and leaves you cold. You stumble down the steps in your heels until you finally make it onto the curb with all the other drunk club-goers trying to get home or sober up.

You’ll flag down a taxi, go home, and pretend nothing happened. You repeat the routine to yourself over and over. 

It feels like the only way you can handle it. Your mind can't process it otherwise. Can’t think too hard on what you might’ve been privy too. 

“Where are you runnin’ off to?” 

You freeze when you hear Caleb’s voice. You have half a mind to break into a sprint but you aren’t sure you can without breaking your ankles with your heels. Another part of you is preening over the fact he came immediately to find you. You turn around and try to walk away briskly - only to feel a warm hand on your wrist, pulling you towards him and making you come to a halt. 

“Let me go,” You mumble. 

He holds you a little tighter. 

“Don’t be like that. No matter how much training you have, I know you can’t run in heels so quit it,” Caleb says, with a sigh. “Why’d you run off?” 

“What do you mean why?” You say, words slurring. “Who’d wanna see—hicc—” 

Caleb frowns at you. “Why’re you trying to be tough if you can barely keep yourself standing up straight?” 

He sighs, bending down. You let out a noise as he undoes the strap of your heel. 

“Take them off,” 

You pout. “How am I supposed to walk home like that?” 

“I’ll carry you on my back,” He replies. “Your ankles with have a hard time if you keep wobbling like that,” 

“My feet will get dirty from the pavement.” 

You’re being difficult on purpose. Drunk and upset, arguing with anything he says. Caleb knows this you’re sure but he doesn’t seem to have a reaction to it besides mild exasperation. Despite that though, he still tends to you. 

He makes a face at you before sighing. You watch as he slides his jacket off of his shoulders and drapes it over you. It’s oversized on him, even more so on you.  It fits more like a dress and covers more than your outfit does. 

When you’ve slipped your arms through it, he drops down onto his knees and undoes the other strap of your heel. He turns around after that, signalling for you to get on his back. You want to refuse him but you find you don’t have the words to do so. You comply with his request, putting your arms around his neck as he lifts you with frightening ease. 

He bends down with you on his back to pick your heels up and carry them.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me anything?” You mumble. Caleb sighs. It makes you bite your lip. 

“It can wait a bit.”  

“Hmph.”

You find you have nothing left to argue with him. You give up on trying to refuse and let him carry you, both hands lifting you up as you keep your arms around his neck. Your cheek pressed against his shoulder, worried your makeup will smear on it. 

You don’t know how long you walk. Your eyes are closed for the duration of it and you only open them again when you sense a change of lighting. The noise of an automatic door and a tired greeting alarms you. You feel embarrassed, suddenly, at the idea that someone else has seen you like this. 

Caleb just greets them as normal.

“Aren’t you gonna let me down already?” 

“Are you feeling uncomfortable?” 

“No, but—”

He doesn’t respond to you further. You get the impression there’s not much meaning to continue arguing so you keep quiet. 

You watch from over his shoulder as he roams the aisles until he comes across cheap pairs of slippers and socks - next to other random household items. He picks the correct size without asking you. Seeing it only adds to the strange feeling you’ve had since leaving the club. 

He goes to self check-out, pays for the sandals, then carries you to one of the few seats and table near the window of the 7/11. Carefully, he sets you down on one, your heels on another, then silently opens the packaging. He drops to his knees and looks up at you in silent question. 

“You don’t need to—” 

He doesn’t say anything when you attempt to refuse him. Keeps quiet  and just waits for you, not unkindly. You frown and hold your foot out to him. He rolls each sock carefully onto your feet, pulling them all the way up over your ankle before the slippers follow. 

“Do they fit okay?”

“Mm,” 

You nod. Caleb hums. Holds his hand out. 

“C’mon. Pick out something to eat or drink so you sober up a bit,” 

“While we talk?” You ask, voice suddenly small. He pauses, smiles just barely, and pats your head with the same firm hand he always does. It makes you want to cry. 

“Yeah. While we talk.” 

You nod as Caleb helps you off the seat. “I’ll go get some water.” 

“Okay,” 

You think of what you want to eat. Childhood memories whisper answers to you. Chips and candy - sweet and salty so you have balance. You remember the way Caleb would cut into his own snack budget for you to get what you wanted. He’d pretend to complain, but he’d smile at you while you ate. 

You pick the same things you used to. You wonder if he’ll notice. 

He returns with two bottles of water. “Did you finish choosing?” 

You nod. His eyes drift to your hands. He cracks another smile that makes you happier then it should.

“I see. Let’s check out then, hm?” 

Your heart flutters. You follow him quietly. He goes to the cashier the second time around - amiable, friendly and easing some unspoken tension. Apologizes for the inconvenience and, with familiar diligence, asks if there’s a recycling bin for him to toss trash nearby. The cashier offers to do it for him. 

Afterwards, he holds his hand out to you like it’s only natural for you to want to hold it. You take it. 

Of course, you do. 

He guides you outside, and the two of you sit on the curb. An expectant look appears on his face when he dusts off place beside him where he’s hoping you’ll sit. You do, knees touching -  folding your hands into your lap. He opens the bottle of water and hands it to you. 

“We could’ve just shared one,” You offer.

“I’m not so stingy,” Caleb says.. You purse your lips. You want to tell him that’s not what you mean, but you don’t want to ask yourself what you do mean. 

You take it from him and drink. 

Silence stretches over the seemingly endless night. The streets of Linkon prove to be busy and limitless. Given the district you’re in, you’d expect it to be more packed - but the streets are desolate. Proof of life resides in the lights of buildings and clubs but now, here—it feels like you’re the only two people left in the world. 

It’s quiet for a long while. You sit like that until you break the ice. 

“You still haven’t asked me anything.” 

“Well,” Caleb looks at you from the corner of his eyes and shrugs, taking a drink. “I can kind of guess why you were there in the first place. Don’t have much of a clubbing spirit, you know. Your friends probably told you to go right?” 

You nod.“You’re not upset?” 

“Mm,” Caleb sighs. “Not at you for just going. It’s hard to be mad at you especially when you…” He trails off, an almost imperceptible smile on his. He shakes his head before continuing and you miss the window to ask about what that was all about. He glances at you again. “Your dress is too short, though.” 

You feel heat crawl up your skin. “It’s not that bad. And I’m nineteen,” 

“So? You’re still my baby sister. Naturally I won’t approve, right? You know that much.”

You bend over your knees, pouting. You feel weirdly happy but try not to think about it. “You’re so unreasonable sometimes.” 

He clicks his tongue. “I’m being very reasonable right now,” 

“...Mm.” 

Tension lingers in the air. You open the chips Caleb got you and tilt it his way. A peace offering. He takes one. 

“Why’d you run off?” 

You make a face. Will yourself to not cry as you tuck your chin. 

“...I dunno.” 

He glances at you. You miss the knowing expression on his face. “Even if you were doing a good job of lying, you know that wouldn’t work on me right? Did something happen? Something you can’t tell me?” 

“Nothing happened but you—”

Caleb interjects. “Me? So it’s because of me then.” 

You bite your tongue. Caleb is lost in thought. 

“I didn’t mean to ruin your night showing up. Didn’t know you’d even be there. It’s not like I’m mad or anything.” Caleb starts. 

“It’s not that,” You say quickly. The frustration just thinking about it makes your throat well up. You can feel it. You drink water trying to wash it down. 

“Then?” 

It slips out of you, exasperated as you sit up and turn to look up at him. 

“You were ignoring me,” You say, voice wet and shaky - hands fisted at your knees, shoulders tight. You still haven’t sobered up much. Your lips curl into a frown. Caleb is stunned into silence. “You didn’t even… I thought you were mad at me. And then that girl sitting next to you was—”

You stop yourself. Caleb looks at you wide-eyed. Opens his mouth to say something but closes it again soon after. He processes what you’ve said slowly, though he doesn’t seem surprised by all of it. 

“I wasn’t mad at you. Surprised, but not so mad. Even if I were mad, I wouldn’t ignore you. It’d make more sense for me to drag you out myself, don’t you think?” 

You huff. “It felt like you were mad at me. And—”

You want to ask. Who was she? Why was she so close to you? Why didn’t you push her away? Do you like her? 

Nothing comes out right. You bite your lip. “That girl… was she your friend?” 

Caleb stops. He looks awkward all of a sudden. “Huh? No, no. She’s my senior. She has someone else she likes,” 

“She was hitting on you,” You say bluntly, sticking your feet out. “And you didn’t stop her.” 

For a brief moment, you swear he looks amused. His expression settles again quickly. “I know she’s not being serious so I didn’t feel like there was any point causing a rift.” 

“She’ll get the wrong idea. If you don’t turn her down properly and just let her—” Be all over you. Touch you so close. Get in your space. “...flirt with you.” 

A beat. “You think I should turn her down properly then?” 

It hangs in the air. You want me to turn her down?

You bite the inside of your lip. “Yeah.” 

“Will it make you feel better?” 

Your eyes meet. For a brief second you feel like someone has stolen all the air from your lungs in one go. You look down. 

“Yeah,” 

Caleb’s breath hitches just a touch before he speaks. “Okay.” 

He opens his arm up to invite you closer and slot into his side the way you used to. Blinking wetly, you scoot across the concrete and tuck yourself under the safety of his arm. Your face is close to his chest. He smells like cologne and iit makes your heart beat feel erratic. His hand comes up to stroke your head and you let him soothe you like you have so many times before. 

“No matter what happens, there’s nothing you could do or say that’d make me angry enough to ignore you. I’d never ignore you if I didn’t think you wanted me to,” 

“I never want you to ignore me, ever.” You say immediately. “Never ever.” 

He chuckles. The way it reverbs in your body makes you dizzy. “Okay, princess. Noted. Do you wanna sit a little longer or should I call a car for you?” 

You tuck into his side. It’d be nice if you never had to leave him ever again. Pressing into him, your words muffle in the fabric of his shirt. You tug at the hem. 

“Wanna stay here. Just for a bit.” 

He hesitates above you. But a while later, you feel his lips at the crown of your head - right at your hairline. His voice is gentle. “Sure. As long as you want,” 

__

At twenty-two, you often dream of your older brother. 

At first, it’s grief. Caleb dies not long after your birthday and in the months that pass - the warm memories of your childhood seem to follow you into sleep. Some nights, it feels kind to see him. In your dream, you run into his arms and he holds you tight when you tell him you missed him.

Grief holds the rest of you hostage. You want for nothing and think of nothing except your brother. You miss Grandma too, of course you do. 

But there’s nothing in the entire world like a brother. Like your brother—who you could ask anything of. It’s hard to unpack the loneliness you feel. Hard to explain it to other people. 

In the months you correct yourself from saying have to had—and watch peoples eyes change into one of sorrow and pity. At the worst of it, you can’t even pretend to think of that as a kindness. Can’t even thank them for being nice. At the worst of your grief, you find yourself especially angry at being pitied. You look at people and want to say they don’t understand. They don’t know what you lost. There are no words that make it digestible. You bite your tongue, give a tight-lipped smile. 

What you wanted to say was this: How dare you act like you understand what I lost? How dare you feel sorry when you don’t know the half of it? My brother is dead. A piece of me is missing.

You never say any of it. You bury the words in the black vast of your grief and throw yourself at finding answers. 

Your feelings about the incident change the more you find out. About Grandma and the abomination in your heart—and you cycle from anger to sorrow to unease.

They never change about Caleb though. The apparition of him, warm and broad, cycles through your dreams every now and again. Some nights, you wake up expecting to be seven years old again—clinging to your older brother, the only thing you know in the world that’s made you lose everything. 

Most nights, you wake up from dreamless sleep and feel yourself wanting to cry. 

(You don’t cry often when he’s gone, even when you should. 

Who would be there to hold you now when you do?) 

When you finally see Caleb again, see him alive—your emotions become just as complicated as your mind has been in the months of his absence. 

You’re ecstatic, you’re angry, you’re terrified, you’re so so sad. You are all of these things at the same time. 

And then, you realize that the death of Caleb did not only change you. Your older brother comes back to you. He’s warm, kind, and gentle sometimes. But it’s not the same. There’s something about him, inexplicable, that is changed forever. 

Caleb dies and comes back wrong—but this only strengthens your resolve. To do what, exactly? You aren’t sure. You don’t know what you want and you still know nothing about the Aether Cores. Or about what Caleb does. 

All you do  know is that your older brother has come back to you, and you are empty without him. You’d rather have him wrong than not have him at all. You’ll fix him or become wrong with him before you ever let go of him again.

(Even the way he is now, sometimes, he seems worried about ruining you. You want to say sometimes—then ruin me. You know what he’d say if you did. He knows he’d tell you to watch your tongue and not to say what you don’t mean.

You’ve thought about it, though. You’d rather that then he disappear again. You’d rather you know what's going on then not. ) 

Things have changed. Caleb has changed.

You have changed, most of all. 

When you hear from Caleb for the first time he no longer wants to be your brother - that he’s tired from playing house with you, your first reaction is devastation. The memory of that dread is so strong, you still feel it when you replay it all in your mind. Caleb above you, caging you in, unreadable—no longer what you know. 

You don’t think about anything. You can’t. It destroys you completely to hear him say it. Makes you want to cling to him and beg. Cry loudly enough to wake the version of him that did want to be your brother. That loved you unconditionally. 

When you have to go the next morning and find a memory of your childhood tucked away - you realize not all of him is lost to you. That the parts of him you loved so dearly have not entirely disappeared. 

So you stay, and try to mend the broken pieces of your relationship back together.

At twenty-two, you often dream of your brother. 

When he comes back to you, you think you’ll be given one more dream before he disappears. You figure the real thing is back in your hands. It’ll go back to the way it was before, where your sleep is long and dreamless but that’s fine. As long as you can wake-up and see the sun, without feeling like yours was stolen from you—anything is fine. 

At twenty-two, even after you learn he’s alive, you often dream of your brother. 

The first time you ever have a wet dream of Caleb is just after he comes back to Linkon. 

After you sit in the garden with Caleb and blow the hydrangea petals away from his face, and his hand comes up to touch you. After he promises to take good care of the flower he takes back to SkyHaven. After he tells you there was no way he’d be able to stay away from you. 

When you sleep the night after he returns home, you dream of Caleb again. 

This time you’re in your bedroom—the one from your childhood home, that Caleb spent so many years taking up space in. You dream of your brother on top of you and you both look a little younger. His face contorted with pleasure, and your hand being the one to give it to him. The image missing from the waist down, all you can see is the clear view of him over you. Making it so obvious what you’re doing. Doing together.  

You wake up from your dream with a feeling like something’s crushing your chest. A wheezing breath as you struggle to calm down. A distinct feeling of wetness between your legs that cling to your PJs when you stumble into your bathroom - trying to relieve yourself and being confronted with the reality of what just happened. 

The first time you have a wet dream about Caleb—you only feel shame. You tell yourself that it’s a fluke, and that dreams are meaningless anyway. It makes you violated to think of him like that. You can’t control what you do in your sleep. You decide not to dwell. 

Weeks pass and you see Caleb again. You share fruit and more conversation, and the following night - you have another wet dream. This one, more vivid than the last. Different. You dream of Caleb with a baton to your neck and the tension in the room when he caged you in his arms. In your dreams he’s cruel as he drags the metal end down your body, pushes it against your—

You wake up the next morning almost inconsolable. 

The cycle repeats for as long as you see him. Every time Caleb appears in your life, you dream of him the next night. You wake up in shock, wet down your legs and spend all morning trying to suppress it down as far as you can. 

You tell yourself all sorts of things when it happens. You reason with yourself. Dreams are nonsense. You can’t control them. It’s your brother. You don’t think of him like that.

(You think of all the times you’ve seen him since he’s returned. All the ways his eyes soften for you, all the ways his hands linger—how ever since he’s denied being your brother at all, you think of what that might make you now. 

It breaks your heart to not have him as your brother. Your precious family. An unbreakable bond. The one you love most. He touches you the way brothers aren’t supposed to, and you remind yourself of what you can’t have. You remind yourself of what loss you would feel first.

He always looks pained when he touches you like that, though. And, for some strange reason, sometimes you want to tell him: Did you know I dreamt of you touching me? So you don’t need to make that face. Like you’re wrong. My dreams couldn’t make you this gentle.)

The harder you try to force it down, the harder it is to pretend it’s nothing. You push and push and push—but each time you see him, the cycle repeats.

Eventually, it’s too hard to pretend. You refuse to name it, or think about it—but when you let your mind stop forcing it so deep into your subconscious, it’s easier to reconcile. 

It doesn’t go away. But your skin prickles with embarrassment, and you sigh, and you move on from it. Even if the dreams don’t stop, you can go on about your day when you leave it all alone.

You think maybe, if you and Caleb never saw each other again, it might even work to rid you of the dreams completely.

But he’s your brother—your precious family, the one you love most. You see him all the time. Whenever your schedule allows it, he’s the first person you check with to see if you can come spend time with him. Even if he can’t be with you, you stay over at his place to eat his food and watch TV on his expensive flatscreen. 

It makes you feel like you live together again. 

(You try not to reel at the thought. It’s normal for siblings to stay together from time to time. It’s like a sleep over. That’s all.) 

So it’s not unusual for you anymore to drop by his place. You even have a key. 

(Your key, you think. Caleb put a stupid green apple cover on the top part of it. It’s for you, and only you.) 

Even when you do come over, sometimes you only see him at night. You have little conversations before you need to go to sleep (or rather, when he makes you go to sleep.) But it still feels better than only seeing him sometimes. 

So it’s not unusual for you to be here in your PJs and watching something stupid while draped on Caleb’s couch. 

It is unusual, however, to have him come home so soon.

PART TWO: SO ONLY SAY MY NAME, IT WILL BE HELD AGAINST YOU.

You pick your head up as soon as you hear the security system for Caleb’s apartment announce someone at the door. The time reads 6:56pm.

Heavy footfall makes you pick yourself up, crawling to the edge of the couch and standing on your knees to catch sight of him. You lean forward. 

“You’re home early.”

It takes him a second to register who's talking, but he smiles slightly when he does. Turnt towards the doors, he’s leaned against a wall as he undoes the laces of his steel-toed boots. 

“So are you,”

You give him a melodic hum. “I got off since we have a holiday. I have Monday off too.” 

“Yeah? That’s good. You should try to rest up some,” 

“I will. Gotta catch up on my shows first though,” You reply thoughtfully. “I’m like half-way through ‘em.” 

“Workin’ hard I see. Try not to over-exert yourself.” He adds, playfully sarcastic. You nod. 

You answer him in silly earnest. “Of course. I’m more relaxed here so don’t worry.” 

He pauses as he finally stands back up. You see him at the other side of the room with a smile. 

“Yeah?” 

You feel something in your stomach that you choose to ignore. “Yeah. Plus I don’t have to eat my own groceries.” 

“It’s better you eat mine than me wasting them,” He says with a shrug. 

“How generous of you.” 

“Right?” 

You lean forward, resting more of your weight on the couch. “Did they just send you home early too? Or is it some special Colonel privilege?” 

You see him shake his head as he slides off his coat and walks over to the fridge, grabbing a plastic bottle of water out of it before taking a few long drinks. 

“Mm, kinda the first.” He says thoughtfully. “I got injured in the field today, had to go to the infirmary. It’s a minor injury but I checked in with my commanding officer and he told me I might as well go home.” 

You frown. “What kind of injury?” 

“It’s really fine,”

“Caleb.” 

He sighs, turning towards you. The open fridge door illuminates him. “Just got a bruise along my thigh from how I fell. Nothing broken.” He says. You’re still frowning at him. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“How can you be fine if they sent you home?” 

“It’s not like that,” 

“I don’t believe you,” You say petulantly. Caleb shuts the fridge door with his hip as he laughs. 

“What, you want me to show it to you?” 

“Yeah.” 

“It’s on my thigh. I’d have to take off my pants,” He says, laughing. He joins you on the couch - sitting where you were laying—eyeing you while he waits for you to come join him. You narrow your eyes suspiciously but crawl over to him anyway, sitting beside him with your legs up. “Unless you’re really just wanting me to strip, promise it’s fine. I’ve had it worse,”

“That’s not a good thing. If it were me you’d be freaking out already and fussing over me.” 

“It’s different,” 

“Is not,” 

“Is too. My little sisters still a bit of weakling, see—if I don’t take good care of her she’ll end up hurting herself even worse,” Caleb says, voice high. 

“I’m not even weak. Maybe not as strong as you but not weak.” 

“When you get stronger than me, we can talk about who gets to worry about who,”  He says, flicking your forehead lightly. You pretend to flinch at the injury. 

“You let me do whatever I want except worry about you.” 

“You got it. Glad you’re getting up to speed.” 

You elbow him. Caleb laughs. 

You sit back with your knees to your chest, frowning. Caleb leans back, arm stretched on the back of the couch. Inching closer to him subconsciously, your brow furrows as you think about his injury. 

It’s like he reads your mind.

“You’re really worried about it.” He murmurs.

You purse your lips. “No shit.” 

“Don’t cuss,” 

“I’m twenty-two!” 

“So?” He raises his eyebrow. 

“You make me want to strangle you sometimes.” 

“If you succeed I’ll be impressed.”

You glare at him. “I’ll make sure to wait until you’re fully recovered so it counts,” 

He relaxes into the couch, eyes filled with mirth. “Smart move.” 

“You’re still in your outside clothes. Don’t you want to wash up first?” 

“Do I smell bad?” 

“No, that’s not it. But if you get too comfortable, you might not want to get up to do it, you know?” 

“I’m not like a certain someone, so I’m not worried about that.” Caleb says. You huff as he continues on. “I just wanted to sit with you for a bit first. Is that not okay?” 

“I didn’t say all of that. Don’t put words in my mouth, jeez.” 

He hums. “Just checking,” 

Comfortable quiet  settles between you as Caleb sits and watches your drama with you intently.

You relax further into the couch as you settle back in, once again engrossed in your show. It’s a period and fantasy drama about a once noble woman getting married against her will to a supposedly cruel emperor. Crude description aside, it has high political stakes, violence, and good writing. 

The romance aspect of the show was what drew you in more-or-less, but it’s a slowburn between the main couple. You’ve mostly been watching for the high-tension plot. It captures both your attention and seemingly Caleb’s too. 

“Wait,” Caleb interrupts half-way through an episode. “I want to watch the rest with you but I need to shower,” 

You smile at him. “It’s good right? It’s not a lot of romance but there’s other stuff. We can watch it together after you wash-up and maybe…we can have a drink together.” 

“You’re so interested in that,” 

“I want to know what kind of drunk you are. It’s not fair you’ve seen me drunk and I haven’t,” 

“Pfft,” He rubs your head with hand, amused. “What kind of reason is that? But you know what? Sure. Order whatever you want with my card while I go shower.” 

“Yay!” 

You pause the TV as Caleb stands up and stretches, fishing for his wallet and passing you his card. Snatching it from between his fingers, you give him a mischievous look that makes him laugh. 

“Go shower,” 

“I am, I am,” He holds his hands up. “I’ll be quick,” 

__

You watch your drama late into the evening. 

You drink casually with Caleb as you binge watch the final few episodes of the season you started on. You take a break later in the night to have dinner delivered to you, but afterwards - you decide to keep watching. 

Caleb wasn’t lying when he told you he holds his drink well. You’ve both been knocking them back since eight pm. Even with the time to sober up in between, he seems like he hasn’t had a single thing to drink the entire time. 

You feel far from wasted, a warm meal in your stomach settling some of inebriation - but you still feel somewhat tipsy. At least enough to have that pleasant, warm, loose-limbed buzzed. You’re sober enough that Caleb doesn’t get on your case about drinking enough water - though you sure it’ll be a different story in another hour or two if it keeps going. 

Half-past midnight - you’re two episodes deep into the third season of your drama. 

Relaxed, you’re half-way draped on Caleb - legs in hips lap and nursing another cheap can of beer. After several episodes of action and violence - the story is starting to get back to the romance aspect for the main couple. 

Maybe it’s your fault for not thinking it through, but you’re really not expecting a graphic sex scene to play so soon after so much high plot. 

In the first place, it doesn’t start out like a sex scene. The main character went to go visit her injured husband after he returned from battle. Sweet, you thought. Maybe you’d get to see them have some intense, longing eye-contact like they’ve been having for a while now. 

You aren’t sure when exactly it takes a left turn. You’re tipsy and comfortable and warm. On your phone looking things up on social media. 

They kiss once, then twice before a breathy moan cuts through the comfortable.  

Before you can scramble to find the remote and scrub through it, the scene changes instantly in temperature. A few tepid kisses rapidly go from chaste to deep, all tongue and teeth. 

Near full blown nudity flashes across your T.V. screen as a strange heat creeps up your neck. You feel like you’ve had enough mental torment when you see the male lead kiss his way down the female leads neck. It’s more uncensored then you thought. 

Your voice is trembling a little. “We should uhm,” You swallow thickly. “Where’s the remote..?” 

Caleb feels a little… different. He seems startled hearing you speak, looking at you with lidded eyes. “Not sure. Think you had it last,”

“Oh, right. I don’t,” Another moan rips through the tension between you. It takes your full body effort not to jump. “....really remember where I put it,” 

“You want me to help you look?” 

You blink at him. “I mean… we should, probably look for it. Since, uhm… you know.” 

“Are you uncomfortable?” Caleb interrogates. You stare at him. 

“You aren’t?” 

Caleb is quiet for a long time, like he’s thinking hard about the answer. 

“I feel fine,” Is what he says after what feels like forever. 

“You feel… fine.” 

He nods without looking at you. “We can skip it if you want. Probably have to get up to find the remote, though.”

You sink back in the couch, your face feeling warm. “It’s fine, then.” 

You’re a little startled as the couple on T.V starts to really have sex - at least more than foreplay. It’s not full frontal, but the sounds and angles are enough to get the point across. Caleb just… watches. Relaxed.

“You sure?” He offers, glancing at you again. “It’s fine if it’s too much for you,” 

Frowning, you sit up slightly. “What do you mean too much for me?” 

“Hm?” 

“You’re saying it like you’re used to it,” 

Caleb gives you another glance. Assess you once or twice before looking back at the T.V. 

“Does it matter if I am or I’m not?” 

You find yourself at a loss for words. Is he used to this? That can’t be the case, right? 

“You never dated anyone when we were growing up.” 

Caleb nods. “You don’t really need to date someone for something like that, though it’s better that way.” 

You find yourself shocked by his answer. He’s changed a lot, you know that but—

But it feels wrong. You can’t imagine him just hooking up with someone and having a one-night stand. He’d only ever do it with a girlfriend. So if he has any experience, it’d have to be with someone like that. 

He smiles at you. “You’re making a scary face.” 

You look up at him, unsure of what face you should be making. The question slips out before you can stop to think about whether or not you should even ask it. 

“So are you… used to it?” 

He pauses before leaning in. “This is the second time you’ve asked,” 

“That’s…” 

“I don’t think it’s the kind of thing someone’s little sister should ask their older brother right?” 

You snap your mouth shut. Caleb leans a little closer. “Right?” 

“You’re not answering,” You whisper. Your foreheads touch.

“Is there a specific answer you’re looking for?” Caleb says. 

Your eyes widen, teeth pressing against your lip as you tear your gaze away from his face. . “No,” 

“Is that what my answer should be or are you answering what I just asked?” 

You don’t give him a reply. 

Caleb lets out a soft breath of laughter before he finally seems to decide he’s teased you enough. He gets like this more and more lately. Most times you cool off from it quickly but… 

You aren’t sure what drives you to make a move. What makes you tug him back to you by the front of his shirt when he tries to pull away. If it’s the alcohol, or the jealousy that makes you do it. It’s hard to say what the source of your heart pumping so hard is—only that it’s all Caleb’s doing. 

Your hands fist in the front of his shirt as you drag him forward and kiss him as hard as you possibly can, only barely avoiding biting down with your teeth. Chaste but harsh, you press your lips together with nothing but pure desperation, air pushing hard through your lungs as you do. For a minute or two, longer than a kiss should last. 

And then, you pull away. Out of breath like you just ran a marathon, cheeks hot and flushed. Your first kiss that you initiated.  It’s almost mundane. 

Embarrassed, your first instinct is to jump off the couch and lock yourself in the bathroom. But Caleb knows you. Even better than you know yourself. 

He catches your wrist as he leans towards you. His expression is unreadable. 

“You kissed me,”  He says, completely entranced. “You did right? I didn’t just dream that?” 

“It’s your imagination. You must be drunk,” 

He laughs good naturedly. “Maybe I am.” 

Your frown deepens. How do you refuse him when he acts like that? 

Your heart feels like a jackhammer against your ribcage. You can’t. You really can’t. You shouldn’t have—

“I didn’t mean to k-kiss you,” 

Blatant heartache fills his eyes. It feels like something is crushing your chest. “Is that so?” 

You squeeze your eyes, relenting only a little. Your voice is barely above a whisper. “We can’t.”

Caleb scoffs “Why? Because you see me as your brother?” 

“You are my brother.  You are and you always will be, and I don’t want to lose that. I can’t, I can’t. You’re—” 

“Why can’t you?” His voice is raw, almost desperate. Trying so hard to understand you. It makes you hurt seeing him like that. “What can I do to become more to you?” 

“You’re already`—” Everything to me. “You’ll always be the most important person to me.” 

His hands grip tighter, devastation darkening the familiar aura of warmth you’ve come to love. Like he’s at the precipice of something considering what he should do. It takes him a while to come upon answers. Staring at you so desperately before closing his eyes, loosening his grip like he’s ready to let you go.

He looks like he makes a choice then. Really makes one. You can already predict what’ll do. What smile he’ll give you but it feels different from other times.

You hold onto him before he can, hand fisted in his shirt. He startles again, softens, not agitated despite how wishy-washy you’re being.

“It’s not that I don’t want you,” You say, so quietly it almost evades you both. “But I don’t want to lose you as my brother if we become more than that.” 

Silence falls between you. 

“You won’t lose me,” He replies, gently and easily. Your eyes meet. It’s nice. “I want to be everything to you, remember? All of it. I want you to only think of me for the rest of our life. For us to only need each other. You don’t need to give anything up. When have I ever said no to you?” 

You turn away from him, shaking your head. “You said that you never saw me as family, that you wouldn’t be—” 

Caleb stops you. “I want to be everything to you. Everything. I want us to only need each other. I had to make you understand. From the start, I never intended to give anything up for anyone else.”

“But that’s…” 

“I don’t care if it’s wrong,” He says, reading your mind. “I’m asking what you want. Tell me who you want me to be. I’ll do all of it for you. 

You glance down, away from him - guilt, remorse, fear. You’re resolve is wavering, but you’re too afraid to say it out loud. 

His voice softens. A hand, big and warm and kind, cups your cheek. You know. Know every scar, every touch. 

“Tell your big brother what you want and he’ll give it to you.” 

Something in you shatters. The weak resistance you’ve been trying to hold onto so desperately, denying yourself of what you’ve wanted deep down all this time. Having it offered to you, handed to you—proves to be too much. It all comes tumbling down. 

Your voice comes out like a whine. Your dependency more than shows. 

“Touch me,” You gasp, voice wet with tears. Caleb cracks a slight smile. “Touch me, please—want you so bad. Don’t want anyone else to have you.” 

Caleb looks elated. Adoring. Madly and terribly in love. 

“What a crybaby, hm?” He pulls away from you, standing up before scooping you in his arms “Here. Hold onto me. I’ll carry you,” 

“Caleb, I’m too—” 

He stops you. “I have a bionic arm. Don’t say you’re too heavy. It could carry ten of you.” 

He keeps good on his promise. You wrap your arms around Caleb’s neck as he picks you up. Wrapping your legs around his waist, a gasp leaves your mouth as his hands rest under your thighs - lifting you as he walks you to his room. It reminds you of when you were little though a lot has changed since then. 

The realization makes you nervous. 

“The TV is still playing.” You mumble..

“You won’t be able to hear it from my room,” 

“This is embarrassing,” 

“You’ll live.”  Caleb hums. 

“I hate you,” 

Caleb opens his bedroom door with his hip and closes it the same way, walking you to the end of his bed and dropping you on to his mattress. He leans over you, hands on either side of your thighs to keep himself up - inches away from your face. 

“Don’t say things you don’t mean. It’ll make me sad.” He says sweetly.

You pout. “Sorry,” 

He laughs a little. “It’s okay,” 

This close to you, you feel a strange warmth glow your whole body. You crane your neck up to kiss him chastely, pulling away and feeling shy again. 

“You taste like beer,” 

Caleb stares at you for a long time, smiling slightly. Dazed. “Should I go brush my teeth?” 

You look down, away from his face, your hands fiddling with the ends of his shirt. “No…” 

He presses his forehead to yours, noses brushing. “How can you be so cute, hm?” 

“Quit that,” You whine.

“If you get this embarrassed just hearing you’re cute, you’ll have a hard time later on.” 

You blink up at him owlishly. He laughs, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“I’m barely holding it together, you know?” 

You look up at him. 

“What do you wanna do to me?” 

His eyes seem to dilate.  “Don’t ask me that,” 

“Tell me. I want to know,” 

He laughs breathlessly. “That’s unfair,” 

“I don’t have to be fair with you,” You say petulantly. “Tell me,” 

“I’ve spoiled you too much.” Caleb says, faux regret. “Even if you get scared, you can’t run away.” 

“I won’t get scared,” 

“Really?” Caleb hums. He moves to the side, his mouth next to your ear - voice barely audible. He puts his hands over yours as he towers over you. “You sound confident, but you know—I’ve wanted to touch you for so long. So badly that it scares me just thinking about it. Can you handle that?” 

It’s a confession you think, as much as it’s dirty talk. He pulls back and you’re face to face again. 

“I’m not scared of you. Even if you can’t control yourself I won’t be scared.” You tell him, headstrong as always.

His smile falters. “I don’t want to hurt you,” 

“I know you like to call me a weakling but you know I’m not really made of my glass,” You stare at him, eyes tracing over his features. “It’ll be hard for you to break me in one go. Might’ve be fun,” 

He tsks. “Don’t talk like that. I’d prefer to treasure you.” 

You look at him for a long time quietly. 

“I dreamt of you.” 

“Hm?” 

You feel your face flush, but for some strange reason - you have an urge to tell him. The words come easy. Maybe you’ve just been waiting for a reason to confess. 

“Of you touching me,” Caleb’s eyes go wide. You smile a little. “Used to dream of you when you were, you know… but it wasn’t the way I dream of you now.” 

“How do you dream of me now?” His voice is strained. 

“They’re dirty dreams,” You say, fidgeting. “Sometimes I’m touching you and making you feel good. But most of the time, it’s you doing whatever you want to me.” 

His voice is hoarse. “Yeah?” 

“Mm,” You lock eyes. You can see it in him. It almost feels cruel, but you’re not saying it to tease him. “I had a wet dream about when you were interrogating me. You were being mean in that one. Really mean,” 

“I already said sorry about that,” 

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” 

He swallows. “Oh,” 

“Yeah, oh.” You slide your hand up his arms, squeezing the back of his biceps as he leans over you. Look up at him with mutual love. “I’ll only say it once so please listen carefully: I’m fine with anything if it’s you.” 

It’s unexpected when Caleb tackles you to the bed. Not to kiss you, rather—but to hug you. You squeal as you both drop onto the mattress with your legs hanging off the edge. Caleb’s full weight crushes you, trapping you in his arms. You find yourself laughing a little, giggly as you feel him squeeze you tight enough to crush you.

“You’re squishing me, Caleb.” 

He laughs breathlessly, rolling you both to the side. Pulling away with your face inches apart, he beams. 

“Do you know that I’m crazy about you? Or do you say things like that not even knowing?” 

“I don’t know,” You say, burying your face against his chest. “I just know you take good care of me. I want to take good care of you too,” 

A spectrum of emotions pass through Caleb’s features at once at the admission. It’s the most vulnerability he’s ever shown you.

His body stiffens. He takes a deep breath before pulling away from you. You watch him innocently as he pushes himself up closer to the headboard. Rolling onto your stomach, you stare at him as he rolls onto his side. 

“More comfortable this way, right?” 

Consider without trying, your face warms. Caleb’s voice is whisper soft. “C’mere.” 

You push yourself up until you’re closer to him, legs no longer hanging off the edge.

Within his reach, Caleb’s hand find your waist. He’s strong, you forget it all too easily—until he’s manhandling you to be in his grasp. Careful but demanding. Rolling on his back, he pulls you onto his lap until you’re straddling him. 

The view proves too much for you both. His face is pink. A sheepish smile on his face. 

“Regretting it?” 

You shake your head quickly, careful not to rest your weight on his lap. He rests one of his hands on your thigh, closer to your knee and steals a glance at you. 

Like this, you become aware of him for the first time. Consciously, as if he’s become a completely different person. All the things you’d never allow yourself to consider, slowly draw into focus. Like seeing him with a new set of eyes.

You notice every detail. Sparking arousal and curiosity, you put your hand on his chest and just stare. Unconsciously, your fingers reach for the dog-tag necklace you gifted him - straightening it. Metal warmed underneath your fingertips, you center it on his shirt. At the dip of his muscles where his chest is. 

Fitted tank-top shows off enough to give you an idea of what’s underneath. Smooth, alabaster skin. Muscles bulking underneath the ribbed cotton - soft and supple from lack of tension, rising and falling with each breath. Your thumb smooths over the silly apple-shaped pendant, the raised letter of the dogtags. The brief skin to skin makes the air feel electric. 

You do it unthinkingly, really. Following your instinct, you rest your hand on his chest before sliding them up closer to his neck. Defined clavicles, the long  column of his throat and how it leads to the angled curve of his jaw. Eventually, your hand finds his face. His boyish features—handsome but youthful. Caleb leans into the touch. His usual, playful teasing nowhere to be found. It makes you jolt in surprise. His expression is painted by desire, a rosy flush to what's an otherwise perfect face. 

His voice grows thick. An octave deeper than you’re used to. “Having fun?” 

“Nn,” You shift under the weight of his gaze. “Sorry,” 

“S’fine,” He says, pressing his cheek to your palm. “You can touch me however you want.” 

Hearing it embarasses you. But your reply comes quickly. “You too,” 

Caleb smiles shakily. His hand slides up your thigh. It’s slight, barely there. His hands are trembling. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

“We’ve kissed before,” 

He shakes his head. “It won't be like before.” 

“I don’t have any experience,”

Caleb laughs breathlessly. “I don’t care.” 

You frown, but let yourself fall forward. Suddenly inches apart, your eyes widen. Caleb is staring at you this time. His eyes soaking in your expression, gaze falling onto your lips and staying there. They flicker back to yours for silent permission. 

You meet his eyes completely assured. He swallows and cranes his neck, his hand coming up to your face to cradle it. His thumb traces your lips, inching himself closer and closer. You can hear his breath. Feel it on your face from how close you are. 

Cupping your nape, he presses his lips to yours with unfathomable tenderness—undercut with the hottest flames of desires you’ve ever felt. It’s hard to describe it. All of the kisses you’ve ever had in your life have been Caleb’s, but this one really is different.

An unfamiliar desperation fills it despite being a gentle press of lips. He pulls away and you miss him. Try to chase it as he speaks against your mouth. 

“Open your mouth, baby. Breathe through your nose,” 

You listen to your older brother obediently, mouth parting as he leans in to kiss you again. Soft at first before pulling you down deeper into him by your. A moan escapes you subconsciously and you feel Caleb shiver. Eyes closed, you let him guide you through it. He controls the depth, the pace. You kiss deeply like that, holding each other before he pulls away again. 

Every time you part, you feel a strange pang of sadness. Caleb never leaves you like that for too long 

Your mind is hazy with desire as you fall into a pace with him. He breathes hard each time he pulls away from you, seems overwhelmed each time he kisses you again. Switching between deep kisses to chaste one, your lips throb from the overwhelming intensity of it. His mouth perfectly warm, lips soft and full. Wet as the kiss deepens but not unpleasantly. A tingly sensation that makes your skin prick. 

You make a noise of surprise when Caleb slips his tongue against your mouth. But you don’t dislike it. Rather, out of curiosity, you copy him. 

(A habit of your childhood—to copy your older brother and keep what you like from him as your own. )

Caleb inhales when you mirror him. Your eyes flicker open briefly to see his face, pleased by the draw of his eyebrows, before letting them close again. 

There’s nothing intimidating about kissing Caleb. Every fear you harbor about how you should do it is washed away by the sheer force of your lust for one another. Like a gap of communication has finally been bridged—with your soft tongues sliding against each other, brushing against his palate, open mouth panting, subconsciously rocking your hips. Each second of doubt is brushed away by the overwhelming feeling of mutual, lovesick desire. It flows through your veins with more naturality than even your blood. Nothing more righteous, more sure. 

You kiss like you’re telling him every secret you’ve ever kept—lips incapable of anything but honest confession. Holding onto each other in desperate, desperate necessity. A lifeline. A lifetime of holding it in, unraveling like the seconds couldn’t pass quickly enough to answer for it. 

It feels like the beginning of devouring. You’ve never felt so hungry for something in your life. It gnaws at your conscious thoughts. 

Desire simmers as you subconsciously settle your weight on Caleb’s lap, rocking your hips against the pleasant hardness meeting it. Not entirely sure of what it is your even touching. Caleb moans softly each time you do. 

“Fuck,” Caleb pulls away finally. You whine and he laughs at you. Kisses you again, just once. “Shh, baby.” 

“Nn, you don’t wanna kiss?” Your words come out slurred, even to your own ears. 

“Not that I don’t want to, but you’re—” His laugh comes out higher, breathier. “Doing a little more than kissing,” 

“Mm?”

He looks up at you. Amusement mixed with arousal. “You don’t even know what you’re doing, do you?” 

“Feels good,” 

“You’re this weak to a little pleasure,” Caleb says. His hands are hot as they squeeze your hips. “Can’t you feel what you’re sitting on?” 

The question sobers you. Caleb hold you steady to stop you before changing the pace. Uses his strength to hold your hips down as he grinds you over the full length of his…

“Oh,” You’re startled. You’re grinding against—

“You’ve been grinding against my dick like that without thinking about it at all. Isn’t that dangerous?” 

A shiver wracks through you. Caleb’s voice is husky, low when he says. It’s crass and to the point—something you could never imagine hearing him say. But now that you have heard it, it makes it feel like your whole body is melting. Sticky arousal climbs through your limbs, leaves your mind muddled as you moan. Shivering, you fall forward in his arms. He closes them around your back, grinding his hard-on against your clothed cunt. The way it catches on your clit so indirectly feels so good you could cum from it. 

His lips find your face, your jaw. His kisses affectionate. “Feels good, huh?” 

“Mmm,” You press your face to his neck. “Caleb,” 

“Do you want to cum like this? Or do you want me to make you feel even better?”

“Better?” 

“Yeah,” Caleb says, a promise. “Better. Promise. Do you want that?” 

You nod. “I want it,” 

“Gonna lay you on your back, okay?” 

You make an affirmative noise as Caleb flips you on your spine with ease. Surprised by his strength again, you gasp a little as he turns you over until he’s over you. He kisses you sweetly. 

Your head feels full. Too heavy on your shoulders. You want to put your tongue in his mouth again and you don’t feel all the way there. Caleb looms over you. 

“You’re beautiful,” Caleb says, breathless. Your eyes go wide. “Really fucking beautiful,”’

“That’s…” 

“I think it all the time. Want to say it to you all the time, but I never wanna scare you.” Caleb hums, a hand on your thigh. 

“Why would that scare me?” 

Caleb chuckles like it’s obvious. “You get skittish easily, you know? When I act less like your brother and more like…” 

You finish the sentence for him with a pout. “My boyfriend?” 

He hums like just hearing it feels good, eyes lidded. “Yeah. Like your boyfriend.” 

“Well that’s….” 

“Do I make you nervous?” 

His expression is playful. Makes your stomach flip. Your hand finds the hem of his shirt. 

“So what if you do?”

“It’d make me happy,” 

“You want me to be nervous? How mean,” 

He leans into your space. You kiss again and feel disappointed when it’s over. Were you always so desperate? 

“Don’t put words in my mouth. It just feels good to know you think of me that way, yeah?”

Something about it, about him like this makes your stomach tie in knots. You make a face, head tilted trying to tempt him into doing what you want. Caleb knows without you speaking a word, always does. Dips his head down to appease, lips firm and steady. Soft and full enough to make you melt. Your arms around his neck, a little breathless, mewling at the way it makes it feel like there’s electricity in your skin. 

“You really like kissing, huh,”  Caleb says. He pulls away again. Casts a brief glance your way before he peppers kisses all across your face. Draws his lips down your jawline, hot and wet as he noses against your skin. He finds your pulse and darts his tongue across the sensitive skin of your neck. 

You keen. It’s a sudden sound, sensitive. Your body shivers. Caleb makes an affirmative noise and does it again. Scrapes the same spot gently with teeth.

Another pitchy moan escapes your lips. Caleb breathes from his nose like laughter. Places more experimental bites and licks all along your neck. Your voice slips before you can catch it. 

“Harder,” 

He appeases you. Just like always. Feeling his teeth in your neck makes your mouth fall open and you moan his name like a small prayer.

His teeth leaves marks along your neck at your request, hands at your waist to hold you in place as you learn more about your body. You can feel your shorts dampen as he does it. It overwhelms you, makes you tremble with every light breath and every sordid bite. You don’t have any experience, have nothing tangible to compare it to except the things you did alone in your bedroom. 

It doesn’t compare at all, though. No amount of relieving your sexual urges as a desperate teenager or fumbling against a stranger in a club even kind of helps your mind make sense of it. Caleb kissing and biting down your neck, his hands touching your skin—it’s the first time in your life you’ve ever felt it. First time you’ve known touch like this. 

First time your mind has been rendered so useless to think. 

He rests his mouth as his hands slide up your sides. You gasp slightly as they go underneath your shirt  but you don’t make any move to stop it. Further and further they go until the reach for your back. Searching for something.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” He whispers.. 

“I don’t at home,” 

He lets out a breath like the winds have been knocked out of him. “Right,”

“Are you into that?” You ask before you can stop yourself, surprised by the sound of your own voice. Caleb just laughs like he’s in disbelief. 

“Take a guess,” 

“I just don’t get it,” 

Caleb doesn’t say anything to that. But his hands maneuver. Stopped just underneath the swell of your tits, his eyes look up at yours and ask for silent permission. His shoulders sag with relief when he receives it. 

The way your chest fits in Caleb’s hands makes your breath hitch. Squeezing the fat of them, relishing how they feel between his palms. He’s quick after that, pulling your shirt up until it’s gathered underneath your neck. There’s an impatience to it that surprises you, something uncharacteristically lacking composure as he halfway undresses you. 

His eyes linger like that for a long time. So long it makes your face burn. 

“Stop staring,” 

“...I don’t know if I can.” 

There’s something like awe in his gaze. Your spine tingles, goosebumps appearing on his skin. The way his hands hold onto your waist. He presses his cheek just below your sternum with an loving sigh, kissing it as he picks his head back up. It’s sweet to the point it almost nauseates you. It might if it were anyone other than Caleb. 

His thumbs draw over your nipples, hardened from arousal. Your chest rises and falls in anticipation, in ache. Thighs squeezing together in a silent admittance. His touch is experimental, careful in observing what elicits the most reaction out of you. 

Chest tender, takes one of your nipples into his mouth without warning. You gasp, hand covering your mouth as you feel him smile against your chest. 

The air shifts again. Hotter, heavier—there’s a sudden carnality to the way he’s touching you. Mouth latched onto your nipples tenderly, grazing them lightly with the blunt end of his incisors like he can guess everything you like. His mouth on your chest is overwhelming. It baffles you that something can feel that good. Each time you think you can’t be surprised any more, Caleb makes good on making you feel better and you’re forced to eat your words. 

Between your legs is throbbing hard. Whatever Caleb can’t fit in his mouth, he teases with the rough pads of his fingers - brushing and squeezing and twisting. Alternating as to make sure nothing goes neglected. Your hips cant against air, frustrated by lack of friction. Caleb is relentless, but does not make any move to sate your growing desires. 

“Caleb,” 

His eyes are washed over as he looks up. A look on his face you don’t know, have never seen until now. His voice is low in the back of his throat, strong hands cupping your chest and squeezing. 

“‘Mm?” 

A sibling bond like this, you think, is to blame for understanding so quickly what Caleb wants. Something you know innately, deep in your subconscious that makes your cheeks grow hot. A hot, prickly feeling goes down your back and all your clothes suddenly feel restrictive. He sits and remains steadfast, but you can sense it too. 

It feels good but something is missing. Something is off. 

Despite his restless desire, he’s taunting you. Goading you. You groan and Caleb laughs.

“Don’t—Caleb. Please,” 

“Did you want something?” 

Another groan leaves your lips as his smile remains unfaltering. 

“You promised you were gonna make it feel better,” You say, so petulant and childish to your own ears you wince. 

Somewhat predictably, this works on Caleb right away. Overwhelming lust tucked carefully behind a thoughtful smile. “I did, huh?” 

“Don’t be a jerk,” You reply. He laughs but not for long.

He has something flash on his face at your reply. You just kind of know. “Sorry, sorry,” 

“Stop holding back.”

He looks surprised. “I’m not—” 

You nudge him with your knee. “You are. You think I don’t know you? Didn’t you say you wanted me to see you differently? Stop acting like a cool older brother. It’s annoying,” 

His expression is one of awe and amusement. It’s not quite that he’s irritated, but you can sense that you just barely get under his skin with the implication. 

 “Weren’t you the one who was crying about not wanting anything to change? Now you’re chiding me? You were acting so spoiled just a minute ago to get your way and now you’re saying you don’t want me acting like your big brother, hm?” 

Your eyes widen at the change in character. It still feels like Caleb, but it’s so intense. Too sincere to be completely playful. A strange mix of lust, nerves and fear wash over you. “Just—” 

He pushes himself back up to hover over you, swift as a hand cups your jaw, forcing your gaze up. Pure arousal shoots through your veins, almost unwittingly, as you catch sight of Caleb’s gaze. An vengeful quality to it. 

“Meimei,” He says, and your breath hitches. Your head is clouded with the immoral lust of hearing it this way. “Your older brother didn’t teach you how to lie, right? If you want something, say it with your mouth. Say it clearly,” 

A flush crawls onto your face, eyes darting away. Caleb allows you this much mercy. To let you look away feels kind. 

It’s an uncomfortable sort of feeling. To acknowledge what desire, what reaction you’re seeking. It’s unfair, and childish - since Caleb has done nothing but love you from the very moment you met him. Kind, gentle, considerate—you love him so deeply that it hurts to breathe just thinking about all you’ve experienced. 

Something about what you’re asking of him is ugly. Born of selfishness, the desire to have all of him, too. 

“Ugh, just—stop saying you want me and show me,” You say, full of distress. 

You see it in his eyes when something clicks. 

And then, with a sudden force, he kisses you. It’s rougher than the ones previous, deeper, greedier. What you want. You moan into his mouth as Caleb licks at your lips, pulling away to kiss your cheek. Sweet as always. 

“Don’t regret it,” 

The change is immediate. In a way, he’s still just answering to your desires - but you don’t dislike this part of him. Your heart rate kicks up as Caleb strips you of your shirt completely before settling himself back down to where he started.

From just beneath your breasts, all the way down the place of your belly and navel - Caleb places hot, wet kisses to your skin. No longer languid but hurried, long fingers curling into the very edge of your waistband as he drops down further and further before settling between your thighs. He glances up at you when he begins to pull down your shorts but doesn’t ask you for permission and it makes you feel a strange thrill when he doesn’t. 

Caleb tugs your shorts off and helps you wriggle out of them in one go - an audible groan escaping his mouth. Plain, tattered cotton panties hug your hips as you lay with your legs up. He nudges your thighs open as you place your feet flat on the bed. With your legs spread, your clothed cunt is readily visible.

He lets out a soft breath. When you look down, your eyes meeting—there’s something almost animalistic to him. A completely and utterly ruined expression, blush dusting across his nose and cheekbones. 

“I want to make you feel as good as you can, okay?” Caleb says breathlessly. 

He brings his mouth to your inner thigh, closer to your knee and places a sweet kiss on the skin. Both of his hands are gripping hard onto your hips, as he breathes in the scent over and over. It sets your body alight to see it in glimpses. His brow is furrowed as he sucks and bites sloppy hickies into the soft fat of your thighs - working his way up slowly. When he finds you properly marked on one leg, he repeats it on the other. 

You can feel the ache of fresh bruises. A sensation that coaxes a completely new wave of arousal straight from the deepest depths of your body. An impossible wetness soaking the paper-thin cotton, sliding down the curve of your ass from how keyed up the touch makes you. 

It’s less that he’s satisfied in his markings with you, more that his desire for you grows too heavy. Caleb stares at your pussy with eyes of pure, unmistakable reverence.

You have never been able to picture another human being looking at you the way he does. 

So much ardor. So much bone-deep, blood-red voracity in a single gaze. The shakiness of his breathing, the harsh grip of his hands, that unsteady look in his eyes as his nose and mouth hover over the soaked panties over your pussy. As if you can see the words repeating in his mind: want, want, want. Nothing more certain. 

Your whole body wracks with a shiver. You whimper with your hands fisted at your sides in anticipation. 

A startled gasp escapes you as Caleb doesn’t do anything but press his nose firm to your pussy and breathe. Deep and unrepentant like he’s trying to memorize the scent of you, use it to track you like a bloodhound. Embarrassed warmth floods your system and you squirm in protest of his actions. 

But you’re trapped there. Completely and utterly, rendered helpless by his gri. His eyes flicker up unfocused but quickly go back to being closed. It’s all the communication you need to know he intends to do exactly as you’ve begged him to do. To expose the extent of his unsavory appetite. Inhaling the scent of sweat and skin, of a day of lounging and leaving your pussy completely confined.

He looks so madly-in-love in the moment you find it hard to breathe even a word of protest. Your clit throbs unhelpfully in response. 

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream when Caleb finally, finally drags his tongue over the seam of your panties. He doesn’t pull them off—instead sucking the wetness from the material. Puffy clit helplessly pulled into the force of it while trapped under your panties, you buck your hip up against his tongue. Caleb obliges you. He points the tip of his tongue and slides it over the small bud through the cotton - completely stiffened from arousal. You shake at the touch, the wet promise of pleasure. How the drenched fabric of your panties gives the most gratifying, mind-numbing friction. You moan loud. You can’t help the sound that leaves you when he licks your pussy. 

You’ve never felt anything like it before. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt this way, but you’re under the impression that most people will never know a pleasure like this in their life. 

When your underwear is completely saturated with spit - only then does Caleb let off from you. Without a single word of warning, he tugs away the material. Exposing your pussy, bare and throbbing - he blows warm air onto your clit and watches as you squirm. 

Another beat of admiring before his mouth latches onto your pussy again. Panties tugged away haphazardly, his tongue sliding from wet hole all through the seam, the soft folds of your pussy - settling at your clit. He licks experimentally, wading through your moans. When his tongue tastes your clit just the right way, you practically scream. 

With newfound dedication, he commits to worshipping your pussy with his mouth. 

It’s humiliating. Purely euphoric and undeniably stimulating, boneless as Caleb’s tongue laps desperately at your clit. His eyes shut, completely blissful - brows furrowed and moaning into you. He eats you out like it’s what he’s wanted to do his entire life and this is the last opportunity he’ll have to make good on his dreams. 

The corrupted thought lights fire under your body anew. To think of Caleb lusting for you when he shouldn’t be. Like a forbidden fruit, ripe and sweet and nearly his—nearly within his grasp but always just barely slipping between his fingers. Your kind, sweet, considerate older brother thinking of ruining your mind and body. The idea he’d been torturing himself over it makes you sad but more than that it incites impossible longing. You want him to want you even more than he does now. 

You can feel your body ache for it for the first time. Like a reply to his feelings, you think of how good it will feel when Caleb finally fucks you. Takes you, plucks you from vine  and claims you all for himself. 

But the act of him tasting you like this is more than good. The tender bundle of nerves is throbbing hard against the wet flick of his tongue - hips rutting to meet the perfect motion of his mouth. Something in your belly warms. Sweetens your senses and melts you from the inside like crystalized honey coming to liquid sugar over a flame. Your mind has melted away so utterly you can’t do anything but reach your fingers through his hair and chant his name. 

“Caleb,” Your voice is unfamiliar to you. Worked up beyond any rational understanding.. “Caleb, Caleb, Caleb.” 

Closer and closer, Caleb remains completely persistent in his efforts. Licks your clit and laps up all the arousal that spills - silky fluid like ambrosia to the unending heat of his mouth.

The knot tangled inside of your body unravels with an alarming speed. Makes your eyes go wide before you shut them again hard, your spine arching off the bed - every muscle in your body going unbearably tense as Caleb’s tongue toys with your clit. The filthy sound of licking making your ears ring. 

Your body goes taut. It feels like a calamity. A pure rapture, like God himself is bringing pleasure. The kind that can only be derived from being your maker. Caleb has that in common with him, you think. 

Your voice rings loud, hands fisted in his hair. You’re cumming hard, and fast, and there’s white behind your eye-lids. Smatterings of bright stars as you press them shut. 

You cum so hard you can’t breathe. For a brief moment you’re weightless before it all comes crashing down in one swift go. Caleb eats you out through it relentlessly and your voice breaks on the syllables of his name - asking for mercy and receiving none. It feels so good it terrifies you. Your body is trembling, cunt spasming around his tongue as Caleb continues his assault. 

You feel something wet rush out of you but Caleb is undeterred. He drinks it all down, every last drop until he’s satiated at least some of his endless, terrifying thirst. 

When he pulls away from your pussy, his mouth is soaked in saliva and your cum. He looked the most satisfied you’ve ever seen him in your life. You’ve never been so scared of someone while being so unbearably aroused in the same breath. 

“You taste so fucking good. Better than I dreamed in my entire life. Need to taste it again. I almost don’t want to do anything else.” He laughs breathlessly. “Almost.”

“Caleb,” You whimper. completely helpless as you try to catch your breath. “Fuck, ‘m still cumming,” 

“Gonna make you cum over and over and over.” Caleb says cheery. “Promise,” 

After cumming the first time, your body's sensitivity increases tenfold. Where you think it’ll cool off the glaring heat, melting you down to your core - all it does is turn it higher, make the feeling more tangible. Caleb’s offer to make you cum again excites you more than it scares you. You stare at him when he comes up for air.

“Kiss?” 

“Even after all that?” 

You nod sheepishly. 

“Jeez. How cute can someone be?” 

He comes up for a kiss, surprised when you lick into his mouth. You like tasting yourself on him, tongue dipping in for more. Caleb smiles at your enthusiasm, eyes lidded when he pulls away. 

“Open your mouth,” 

You give him a blank stare but do as he says. He puts a hand on your throat, tipping your head back before you feel something warm hit your tongue. Your eyes meet Caleb’s in surprise, instinctively swallowing the spit as it slides down your throat. Caleb meets you with an eager kiss, a gentle affection in his voice. “Good girl.” 

Something washes over you hearing the praise. A soft moan into his mouth that leaves Caleb with raised brows. “You like hearin’ you’re my good girl, huh?” 

Your face feels hot. “...Maybe,” 

“Still so bad at lying, pipsqueak. Some things never change,” 

The affection in his voice makes you forgive him. You know the tone, the sound—the lilting coo of your older brother's voice when he’s teasing you. It’s a way of speaking you could recognize in a heartbeat, the kind of voice that you’re anxious without. It shouldn’t soothe you in this context, shouldn’t make your pussy feel so achy when you know exactly how he’s addressing you. 

Caleb kisses down the length of your body again. Neck to navel until he settles down between your thighs. You can’t mask your surprise. Caleb looks up at you from between your legs. 

“What? You thought one time would be enough for me?” 

Truthfully, yes. You’re a little startled at the thought he’s going to do it again. Make you feel all of that again. An anticipatory shiver makes you squirm but Caleb holds you in place. He presses another kiss to your clit. “One time doesn’t even come close to being enough.” 

True to his word, Caleb starts the process all over again. 

The second time around, he doesn’t let himself up to breathe. You’re locked in place as his increased familiarity with your body has him driving you over the edge even faster. Firm grip on your thighs, face buried between your legs - he laps at your clit for what feels like an endless amount of time. The pleasant warmth of his mouth paired with the focused, precise licks on your sweet spot make your body wrack with an impossible pleasure. It’s gentle enough to not be completely overstimluating - but his endurance, his persistence in doing it makes your experience a new high. A trembling mess of limbs and quiet, desperate pleas. Too much, too fast - toes curled as he hoists your legs over his shoulders to give him full access. Clit pulsating, stiff under his tongue with his nose bumping occasionally. 

It feels so good you’re almost content to let him stay there. Let your mind wash away and succumb to the gluttony tying you to the bed. You cum twice again from the pressure - your body experiencing each one longer. Unable to withstand it, your hands clenched tight trying to level yourself with the feeling. A pleasure you’ve never experienced, the kind you doubt you’d be able to feel with someone else. 

Caleb has always been like this in that respect. Your older brother who set the standard for every other man you ever came across. You were always using him as the gold standard, comparing every man you’ve ever met to him. Especially ones who claimed to like you. What would your brother do, how would he act, how would he treat you. He’d never tell you if you were too much. Never call you spoiled even when you act it, embody it so why settle for less? Why want for something else? For someone else?

It’s not surprising that Caleb touches you with the same level of care he’s always given you. Even less surprising that your body longs for it so desperately. 

Caleb is your big brother after all. He takes care of you like this. No one else gets to have it. It makes you entitled, moody, and emotional just to think of him acting this way with someone who isn’t you. 

Yearning and deep affection well up inside of you as these things cross your mind. Whisper to your longing as a deep, endless need overwhelms your mind. Your third orgasm steals the breath out of your lungs. A shockwave of emotions washes over you, as you tug at his hair. You let out a throaty whine. 

“Caleb,” You whimper, pulling him off. “Caleb,” 

Attuned to your emotions, Caleb is quick to pull away when he hears the audible distress. He pulls away from you, worried. “Shhh, hey. It’s okay, I’m here. Did you want to stop?”

You shake your head rapidly. Caleb gives you a small smile. “Just being a crybaby, then?” 

The truth is, yes, just a little. You can’t voice this to Caleb so you instead give him some unknowable, unreadable look. He reads it almost instantly, shifting himself to hug you tight. Without any words at all, like he knows every single thought that passes through your mind. You wrap your arms around him and nudge your nose against his neck. He smells familiar. 

“This what you wanted?” 

You nod against him. Caleb’s heartbeat is steady in a way that brings you bone deep comfort. 

“Be more pampered with me. More selfish, more demanding, more spoiled. Gege will do anything for you, so don’t hesitate.” 

Hearing him refer to himself that  way makes your stomach flip. You nuzzle yourself deeper into him, aroused by the sound of his laughter - playful but smug. You speak against his chest, words muffled. 

“Want it inside right now,” 

His breath hitches immediately. “Yeah?” 

Another nod. You pull away to look him in the eyes when you ask. You know how to beg Caleb for something. You’ve been doing it your whole life, and right now is the most sincere you’ve ever been. Doe-eyed and full lips, all covetous and coy the word falls from your mouth with ease. 

“Please,” 

It has the exact impact on him you want it to have. Groaning, the outline of his cock twitching with a shameful lust, almost blanking out at the thought. He scrubs a hand over his face. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” 

“Please,” You repeat. Caleb kisses you as if to stop you from saying it again. 

“I have to stretch you out on my fingers. It’ll hurt otherwise,” You open your mouth but Caleb cuts you off. “Don’t say it’s fine.” 

“Caleb,” You whine and he laughs sympathetically. 

“Be a good girl,” He placates, and it works on you just as maddeningly as your begging does on him. “Hm? For me?” 

You melt. How embarrassing.”...Fine,” 

He coos at you lovingly and you make no effort to deflect. You can’t. Your usual fire and wit, your banter is dissipated. Brain thoroughly undone from so many orgasms and the deep, aching want in your cunt - so apparent it makes you want to sob. A desperation to be full that you didn’t fathom existing in such a bodily way, something you thought only existed in porn. 

Sensing how strung out you are, Caleb changes positions again. Instead of laying between your legs, he curls up besides you. He turns on his side, sliding an arm underneath and hugs your body close to him. Like he’s cradling you. Your legs slot together, one of yours between both of his - your other leg on the outside. Caleb hikes your thigh up - high enough to have your legs spread. The arm not supporting your back is supporting you, his forearm underneath your thigh.

At this angle, you’re face to face. Caleb can see you clearly as he cradles you in his arms. A large hand squeezes your ass before reaching around - teasing your clit with long fingers.

You feel…small like this. It’s the way you’re being held. The feeling of Caleb’s arm under your back, sliding up to hold your neck. 

His fingers are exceptionally long. Slender and thin, with thick veins from wrist to pinky, more appearing less visibly to the rest. His palms are big- making up the bulk of their size. You feel yourself fixating on them in their movements. 

On the calluses on them from handling guns, to the few thin scars from your childhood that have remained on his body into adulthood - now scarred. The way his fingers caress you, stroke your clit slowly. He kisses you again with a silent question like: you like this, right?

The eagerness of your tongue into his mouth answers it for him, a puppy keen on greeting it’s owner. Caleb laughs sweet into your mouth, encouraging you with all the kindness he has in him. His fingers slides through your slick folds impressed until he reaches low enough to be at your hole. 

You’ve put your own fingers in there before. You think you can handle someone elses. 

You find out fast that you can’t. 

Caleb’s fingers are long. They’re thicker than yours, and longer than yours - and just the first one gives you a stretch you're not expecting. You shudder, a noisy breath. It’s an intrusion, a noticeable one. Caleb is careful, though. It’s easy for him to push the digit it when you’re so wet inside. A soft squelching noise makes your skin burn hot but Caleb goes on undisturbed. 

His finger reaches deep. He fucks it in so slowly and so carefully but it feels like it never ends. All the down to the knuckle with just the one, you find yourself shuddering. Caleb is quiet, but you can hear the labor in his breaths. Feel his cock pressed against your inner thigh and twitch. 

You moan his name instinctually - not for any particular reason and he says nothing. Just thrusts his finger in and out. How can something feel so different on the basis it’s someone else? You can’t hold still, rocking your hips against the sensation. Caleb groans unabashed. 

���You want it so bad, huh?” He says, half-delirious and so pleasantly smug. You nod  immediately. 

“A little more. Hang in there, okay?” 

Okay, you think. You’d do whatever it takes in the moment for Caleb to fuck you more quickly so you bite in the side of your cheek and try not beg stupidly each time he repeats the process. Another finger, longer than the last - stretching out, reaching deeper than anything has ever gone in your life, thrusting until your pussy takes it. It surprises you to know just how much you can take when you take three and you really feel  it. How soft it is inside.

“Enough,” You whisper hoarsely. 

Caleb doesn’t heed your request. Another finger goes in. It takes four for him to finally feel like it’s enough. Four fingers stroking from the inside out, an almost brutal precision curling against your g-spot. Not enough to cum, just enough to get so wet he can’t pull his fingers out without the filthiest noise you’ve ever had to follow it.

Completely out of your mind, you grab onto him weakly. Every ounce of shame and sense gone. 

“Caleb,” Your voice is a pant. “Fuck me. Please, please—just do it,” 

His own voice is no better than yours. “Gotta grab a condom from my—” 

Your voice is vicious. Like you’re lashing out at him. “No. Fuck me.” 

Caleb is quieted by it. Unsure of how to react. “Don’t be like that, baby.” 

A reprimand. Soft as ever. Tears well up in your eyes immediately. “Please hurry,” 

“We have to use a condom next time, okay?” 

You hear nothing that comes out of his mouth except the words next time, and nod. 

He gives in. You’re thankful he always does. You’re at your wits end and you don’t know if your body can handle any more waiting. Not getting what you want with Caleb unsettles and upsets you. Especially this strung out. 

Caleb rolls onto your back again after he pulls his fingers out. You whine at the loss, unwittingly falling onto your back with both legs open. Presenting yourself in some impossibly obedient way that you can’t catch quick enough to stop, knees bent and up in the air. Waiting impatiently for Caleb to follow. 

He follows suit moments later. His hand resting on your knees to spread your legs for him, taking in an eyeful of you as he stands on his own. 

At the angle you’re laying and with nothing to distract your senses - you can see Caleb in full shape. Your body responds in kind for you, throbbing between your legs as you cut his figure. Tall and strong and broad, visible muscles and deltas. There are veins above the lowcut of his waistband, thick and tempting. A little lower than that - a patch of dark hair that leads to…

Your throat feels dry seeing Caleb’s cock standing to attention, just underneath his sweatpants. Eyes blinking rapidly trying to make sense of it. How it strains, a wet patch where it ends. Your breathing slows significantly. Your mouth watering, mind fizzling like a bottle of champagne. The ache in you urges deeper, hand going between your legs to soothe it. Or maybe welcome what's coming. 

Caleb is breathless. Amusement undercut by lasciviousness. “Enjoying the view?” 

You nod stupidly. Caleb grins a little. Makes a show of hooking his thumb into the top of his sweats and tugging all the way down. A thick trail of hair and the smooth, uncut outline of his cock has you gasping. When he tugs his pants all the way pas his thigh, you feel completely speechless. 

He’s huge. Utterly. Too heavy to stand on its own, uncut, veiny. You blink in disbelief, like everything in the room has paused. It’s burly. Ridiculous. Thick enough to look like someone’s forearm. Pearls of pre-cum dribble of out of the tip, pulled back to be revealed. A ruddy reddish brown and angry. It’s darker then the rest, throbbing in a way that looks almost painful. It’s not the first time you’ve seen it but that was on accident in a bath before it was—

You stop your train of thought and just stare for an unknown amount of time.

He looks sheepish. The tips of his ears crimson red, all the way down to his chest. You make an unintelligible noise at the sudden change in attitude and also at everything else. 

A sensible person would feel fear. Not your strong suit. You don’t know if it’s bravery or lust that inspires the reaction in your body. You just know you want him to fuck you so bad you might jump  on him to get it. 

“We don’t have to get in today, princess. We’ve got time to—” 

“If you try to deter me one more time I’m going to run away from home,” 

Caleb closes his mouth. He just mumbles something, but obliges you right after. 

In what can only be considered a miracle, Caleb finally settles between your legs. His hands are on top of your thighs as he taps his tip against your clit, rubbing the pre-cum into the mess, The feeling of skin on skin elicits a gasp out of you both. His voice is shaky. 

“Might not last,” He says hoarsely

“S’fine.” You put a hand between your legs and spread your pussy open for him a little wider. A move from porn that works on him instantly. He swears hard under his breath, not giving himself a chance to indulge in the feeling long. 

Tip nudging through slick folds—Caleb finally, finally slides in. 

Another synchronised moan, sweat breaks out onto your skin as you feel the thick tip of Caleb’s cock finally come through. You feel full. It’s completely different from four fingers, more invasive on your body than ever. . 

It elicits a chain reaction. You watch Caleb above you, death grip on your hips trying to keep his composure and not fuck a hole through you. A horrible part of you almost wants him too, even knowing you absolutely wouldn’t be able to take it. 

You’re trembling. It feels ridiculous but you’re so worked up that - 

“Gonna c-cum,” 

Caleb’s eyes blow wide. “From—fuck. That ain’t fair, you can’t,” 

You buck your hips up and groan. He’s stretching you out so fucking good. One more time and it’ll hit that spot and it’ll feel so perfect, so right. You need it. Caleb shakes over you. 

“Mercy,” He says, not sober enough to laugh. You’re going to lose your mind soon. Maybe you already have. 

“I-s it all in?” 

“Half,” Caleb grunts. You moan at the thought. 

“Fuck me. Shit, please,” Your voice breaks high on the last syllable. Caleb looks like he wants to protest, wants to tell you to take it slow. But you can see it in his face that he’s reached his limits. Or maybe he reached them a long time ago and he’s already far gone. 

But he listens. Your jaw goes slack and he pushes in. Inch by tortuous inch until you feel him bottom out. Feel his hips on the back of your thighs. His cock is throbbing inside of you, silken walls clinging onto the shape like you’re being pried open. It doesn’t take anything. He shifts as he bottoms out and your voice comes out in garbled, unintelligible noise. 

“O-oh, ‘m cumming, cumming, ngh,”  Your back arches up that leaves your mind blank. Completely white out, nothing but static as you cum again. Cum around the hard, intrusive length of your older brothers cock - bullying into your cervix until it’s wet and pliable and fuckable for him. Stretching out like it’s his to shape and mould. You can feel it in your body, each vein and each curve. Caleb lets out a whistle. Sharp and so fucking dark, it exicites you helplessly. 

“She’s clingy just like you,” He says, fond but sneering. 

Your head spins when it dawns on you on what he’s saying. 

“Caleb—” 

“I feel conflicted. Are you naturally this gifted?” He laughs, folding over you. Overtaken by something. Bending you under his weight. “Or is it because it’s mine that you’re making it so easy?” 

“I was worried, you know,” He pulls out. The disappointment and gaping emptiness are brief. You hear the way your body refuses him pulling out. “Worried about how such a tight hole would fit something so big. Worried about your body, but you’re taking me in so fucking well. So perfect,” 

You’re panting. It feels so good. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, limp under the weight of it as Caleb gives you a slow few thrusts to get you used to the size. But you’re so stretched and sensitive it just feels fucking incredible from the jump. 

“Be a good girl and let me in.” You clench down on him. He grins to himself. “That’s it,” 

He bottoms out again. Slams hips and fucks you in one swift, unforgiving motion. Groaning, he puts his hands up under your knees, driving his dick into you with animalistic need. 

“Your pussy feels so fucking good. Too good. I’m never gonna be able to think about anything else. It’s not like I was before but you’re-” Out, back in. You haven’t made a single coherent sound. “You’re just too good. It’s warm and wet and still so tight, how are you still so tight, huh? It’s like you don’t want me to leave.” 

For a brief moment, the two of you make eye contact. The vivid color of his eyes burns bright, pins you underneath the weight of his gaze. It goes straight to your stomach, making it flip in one smooth go. 

“Tell me it’s okay,”  Caleb says, barely restraining himself. 

You look up at him confused. He suddenly looks like he’s at his wits end. 

“Tell me it’s okay to fuck you hard,” 

Like a woman possessed, you reach your arms around to squeeze his back and biceps. You put your mouth close to his ear as you bring him down towards you. 

“Gege,” He twitches inside of you. “Fuck me as hard as you can,” 

You underestimate just what effect it’ll have on you. On him. As quick as he possibly can, he pushes his hands under your knees and folds you into a mating press so deep it makes you scream. He’s pistoning you instantly, pounding into your pussy like he owns. Your nails dig into the muscles of his shoulders without realizing. 

“I love you,” are the only words that come out of his mouth. It has you clenching down even harder. “Gege loves you more than anyone else in the world, okay? More than anyone.” 

Just like that, Caleb fucks you. Given up on being gentle but still trying to make you feel good, trying to touch somewhere no one ever will again - he folds you up under the weight of his body and fucks you with relentless stamina. Your mind is gone. His cock is fat and heavy inside of you, splits your pussy open as the tip knocks against your g-spot with each thrust. His balls smack against your ass on each go. 

It’s too much. For your brain, for your body, for your insides - getting permanently rearranged like he’s crushing your womb. A feeling like it should be painful, but it isn’t because he’s got you so good and open. This a reward for you both. For his patience. Every thought wrung from your head, impressed by your body’s own avarice for cock. Addicted to the feeling of getting strethed, gaped completely open. It feels like you’re cumming without a clear end. 

Wanting Caleb to cum inside of you is a distant thought. Pleasant like a lullaby as your body yearns for it. Another sharp orgasm builds. It builds and builds and builds - and you know’re going to be fucked through it again. 

But this time Caleb is close. Right alongside you. Sweating and panting in your ear as he pounds into your frenzied. 

His voice comes out like a whine and it turns you on even more. You say it before he can think of pulling out, tightening your legs around his waist. 

“Cum in me,” 

Caleb grinds himself deeper. “Gonna cum in you, baby. I love you, I love you—fuck!” 

Pure euphoria floods your entire nervous system as Caleb bottoms out one last time. His cum fills your pussy in thick, long spurts. It feels hot as it takes, makes you shiver with how it feels. Disappointed at the idea it’ll flood back out. 

Caleb, still balls deep - continues suddenly. Where you think he’s gonna pull out, he doesn’t. Instead he fucks you again, this time more clear-headed as he rubs your clit - a hand between your bodies. His voice is shot. 

“Sorry. Don’t wanna be selfish. One more nice and easy, then we’ll clean up?” 

You have no room to protest. After all, Caleb is nothing but relentless when  it comes to spoiling you. You let him fuck another orgasm out of you until you’ve got nothing left to give. 

He collapses on top of you after your pussy milks what's left of him

You kiss when he does, sweaty and tired. You look at his blissed out face and kiss his nose with affection. 

“I love you too, Gege.” 

He pauses then laughs. Brightly. Hopelessly. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” 

__ 

You aren’t sure when exactly you pass out. 

You remember lingering with Caleb in his bed before limping into the bathroom. And a bath too, if your memory serves you right. You must’ve fallen asleep in the tub with Caleb, the broad warmth of his chest lulling you right to sleep. You’ve got good endurance from being a hunter, but you’re tuckered out just thinking about earlier. 

Also a little embarrassed. 

You wake on the couch of the living room. Cleaned, changed, and tucked into with a blanket over you. There’s a scent and the quiet sizzle of a pan. Your limbs feel heavy as you pick your head up. It’s still dark out but it seems like morning. 

You rub your eyes as you swing your legs over and place them on the floor.

Standing to your feet, you find slippers at the end of the couch and feel your heart swell ten sizes. You put them on before padding into the kitchen. 

Caleb is at the stove like you thought he’d be. You flush seeing his back covered in scratches and a bite or two - none you remember leaving. You know your body is in the same state if not worse.

You walk up to him and wrap your arms around his middle, pressing your face against his broad back. Your voice is small, embarrassed. Everything feels brand-new. 

“G’morning,” 

Caleb turns the heat down and puts the spatula on the counter top, turning to face you. He looks down at you with a boyish grin. Unfairly handsome, making you pout. 

“Morning, sleepyhead. Feel okay?” 

You tuck your face into his chest and nod. “Just a little tired. I don’t hurt or anything.” 

“That’s good, then,” 

You make a little mm sound and stay there for a while. Caleb is content to hug you until you pull away. 

“Caleb?” 

“Hm?” 

Your face feels warm. “...Kiss?” 

He stops, then beams. Dips his head down to catch your lips in a kiss that feels romantic and practiced, but doesn’t make you feel strange in a bad way. You’ve never had a boyfriend, not a real one. Does everyone feel butterflies like this? 

Maybe there’s something wrong with you. He pulls away and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“You’re less moody than you usually are when you wake up,” Caleb teases. “Good to know. An effective way to deal with your attitude is always welcome.” 

You frown at him, feeling furious for more reason than embarrassment. It’s really unfair how flirtatious he is. “Shut up,” 

Subconsciously, your hands are fisted as you cling to Caleb’s chest. With no shirt to hold onto you, your muscle memory finds it the most steady. They’re clenched hard from embarrassment and a flood of other feelings you need soothed. 

Caleb grabs your hand and unfurls them for you. Strong, warm, big hands grasp yours in their palm and open them both softly - fingers interlocking until you’re no longer so tense. Just melted away. 

“I’m right here,” He says. A wave of emotions passes over you. 

You hold his hand and squeeze it. Once, twice - it has a steadiness the grip of fabric doesn’t. 

You smile to yourself. Helplessly happy. Overwhelmed with pure, unrelenting love. 

“Yeah,” You say, more to yourself than anyone else. “You are,” 

[feketeribizli]

ficsúrs hands 💜 my favourite model this diva...

you know what fuck it. making an ocs hand compilation post i love hands i love drawing hands

[sunofnebulah]

simon who smokes strictly camels or pall malls.

you always smell it on him, even after he takes a long shower. mint, leather, earth, and tobacco. you think its so funny when he genuinely gets offended at johnny when he tries to pass him a marlboro, grimacing.

“tha’ shits nasty. ‘d rather eat fuckin’ dirt.”

so you’re surprised when he asks to try your cute little virginia slims that you keep in a dainty decorated container.

you raise your eyebrows and stifle a giggle. “you hit your head or something?” he clicks his tongue and snatches your container pulling one out. he places it in his mouth and leans back into the couch, spreading his legs. he nods to the table at the lighter next to his ashtray.

“light.”

you squint at him dramatically and scratch at your head. “never thought i’d see the day you’d cheat on ms. pall ma-“

“light.” he says sternly, but with a small chuckle under his breath.

you grab the lighter and turn to light it for him. after you do, you sit back and watch as he smokes from the little thing grasped between two of his large fingers.

he exhales slowly and looks at you

“now i know why y’so cranky all the time. shits ass.”

but you know he doesn’t mean it because he guides you onto his lap and smokes the whole thing, occasionally shotgunning you. :)

[yujibooty]

࿐ Before your bratty remark spills out of your mouth you feel something wide shoved down your tongue.

Your drool coating Megumi’s long slim fingers as he forces you to suck.

“Do you ever-…shut the fuck up?” He says through soft grunts, his dark messy hair sticking to his forehead.

Your eyes lose focus as his hips slam into you, your choked whines making him let out small whimpers. He laughs shakily as he glances at your state.

“Are you seriously squeezing? S-stop.”

He mumbles your name as he rests his face into your neck, picking up his merciless pace, nearly forgetting he was making you gag on his fingers.

The sticky fwops of the mess between your legs driving him mad.

He could never get tired of hearing it unlike your annoying fucking mouth.

Reluctantly removing his fingers from your lips, but slowly and happily into his own, he lifts himself from your neck, looking down at your, oh so horrible state.

Your swollen lips and your mess of a hair, the drool dripping down your chin. ;( Not that he feels bad anyway.

He can’t even remember what pissed him off this time.

Trying to catch your breath, your eyes watery as you frown preparing your next complaint. And surprisingly he’s waiting on it.

“Megu-”

You’re then cut off by his lips crashing down on yours and quickly his tongue came after.

[ybklix]

𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫

summary: your swimming instructor is hot.

─ pairing: christopher bahng x fem reader ᛝ warnings: smut, pwp i guess, oral sex, cum eating, praise, boob play, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected sex, pet names, semi-public sex, chris has a big heart (dick), fuckboy!chris (a little) ゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ word count: 4.8k

masterlist ⭒ taglist

wen’s note: i’m ovulating (insert the freaky silver sonic gif) and him at the pool mmm, i had to pause my elaborated wips for a tiny commercial break and say this:

“For God’s sake, you’re pushing 30 and you don’t know how to swim!”

Your best friend teased you. You rolled your eyes. Only one part of what she said was true—you didn’t know how to swim.

“So? It’s not like I’m going to swim in the ocean,” you replied casually.

“Then why the hell are we going on this trip? There will be lots of pools, too.”

“Well, a lot of people can’t swim, Devon.”

“I’m just helping you out. It would be better if you knew how, don’t you think?”

“Well, what’s your solution? I can learn there. I’m sure there will be lots of instructors and safety measures.”

You licked your ice cream, feigning annoyance at being called out so suddenly. You and your best friend had been planning the perfect summer on this beautiful beach for a long time. You had worked hard to pay for your respective relaxation getaways... everything was well planned, but now it seemed that the only problem was that you didn’t know how to swim.

“Hmm, you know, my cousin Hyunjin knows the guy who works as a lifeguard at the country club pools. I don’t know if it’s his place, but I think so. I’ll ask him to teach you. I’ll go with you.”

He was hot. Incredibly hot.

They both were. Hyunjin, Devon’s cousin, and that guy whose name you still didn’t know. You felt your cheeks burn as soon as you saw the two men. You weren’t expecting any of this... two really attractive men, shirtless, looking like models.

You were relaxed, sure that you would learn to swim in no time, just in time for your trip. But with them as your instructors, you felt hotter than the strong summer sun itself. Luckily, you would soon be wet, with water, of course, to cool you down.

The two guys were standing in front of you. You were embarrassed to be wearing a one-piece swimsuit and not a bikini like Devon was wearing so freely. Both guys were a dream. You knew very little about Hyunjin, you had never seen him in person, but you always found him attractive. But right now, standing in front of you, he was a thousand times better than any random photo of Devon’s family you saw around. Slim but muscular body, short dark hair, thick eyebrows, and a truly unique and attractive face, the kind that took your breath away. His lips and eyes must be your favorite part of Hyunjin.

But all your attention and eyes were on the man to his left. Slightly paler than Hyunjin, longer, darker hair, thinner eyebrows, and an unforgettable face, not to mention his well-sculpted, muscular body. Big pecs and broader, stronger shoulders compared to the other guy. There was something about him... that made you nervous.

And the feeling, on that hot summer afternoon, was incredibly mutual. The intensity of his gaze on you was so... indiscreet, but you liked it.

“I’m Chris, nice to meet you... I’ll teach you how to swim...”

Chris. Now you knew his name.

“To Y/N!” Devon was quick to respond, pointing at you enthusiastically.

Chris knew. He knew from the moment Hyunjin suggested it, but at first he didn’t want to, especially since the country club belonged to their best friend, Seungmin, and his family. Chris was only there for a couple of weeks in the summer, helping out and watching over the exclusive—and wealthy—members of that club, most of whom were children swimming or unhappy wives who wanted to see him shirtless in the afternoons from time to time. But when he thought about it, two pretty girls, whom he would help learn to swim, wasn’t so bad. A little distraction. Girls in bikinis? Why not? He even accepted with joy and asked Seungmin to borrow the pool area after his work hours.

He knew it was you because Devon greeted his cousin enthusiastically. Chris looked at Devon for a second, licked his lips as he turned his eyes to you. Piercing you with his gaze again. He didn’t know what to expect either and was fascinated, especially by you, the shy girl next to her friend. You had that look. It was inevitable for Chris not to desire you, even if only a little. He blamed the heat wave.

“Alright, let’s get started,” Chris clapped his hands, encouraging everyone.

“Ah, not me. I’m going to get a little tan,” Devon interrupted, walking casually toward the chairs.

It was an indoor pool with large windows, perfectly sized for the sun’s rays to shine through.

You bit your lip nervously, approaching Chris, who was slowly walking toward the enormous pool, which looked terrifyingly deep, but the beautiful water and tiles made it appear a lovely blue.

“Hyunjin!” Devon called out to him. “Come here, you have to tell me what happened with Saetbyul.”

Hyunjin looked at you and Chris, confused, unsure if you needed more help and if he should get in the pool, until his cousin called him over for some gossip.

And so it became the perfect excuse, the moment you let him touch you, gently, almost uncertainly, teaching you how to swim. Touching your thighs discreetly, your arms, and your waist. It was magical. It felt so good, just you and Chris... and Devon not bothering you at all.

But it didn’t last long. According to your friend, you’d be ready in a week. You’d learn to swim, at least the basics. But it wasn’t enough, yet it was the only time you had left before your trip.

After the first session, feeling incredibly attracted to Chris and slightly and disturbingly aroused by his closeness, by his voice, by how good he looked wet, by how he gave you gentle instructions... Devon said, “He’s really hot.” But she never tried anything with him. You knew she wasn’t interested, and that put you in a very good mood. But still... You didn’t dare to ask her if maybe you could start going to the classes completely alone. You didn’t even know why—you knew exactly why, because all of him— you wanted to, it wasn’t like you were taking the first step, but alone, maybe, just maybe, you could let yourself go more...

Of course, you started wearing your bikinis right after the first class, hoping he would get the message.

And of course, he got it. You wanted it as much as he wanted you, even though you tried to hide it behind that shy look that drove him crazy.

So, you were ready. Apparently. At least you knew something decent. Like floating, losing your fear a little, moving in the water. But to really learn, it took more time, or at least that’s what Chris told you... And you became more shy, yet you dared to ask him flirtatiously if he could teach you better once you both had time, with a clear connotation of another meaning. You needed him, badly. The whole week was delicious torture, for both of you, in fact.

It was too short a time. You learned very little about each other. Like how professional and good Chris was at swimming. That he was a sweet 27 years old—which excited and thrilled you so much, it was such a beautiful age, just enough to teach you many things in another area... a dirtier one that didn’t let your thoughts rest. You knew he was good, at mostly... everything.

And just when it was the last day, when between sighs you had to say goodbye and modestly thank him for his help, head down and sad that you might never see him again and that you would miss having him around so much, he suddenly blurted out:

“We can meet tonight, alone... just to practice better.”

Your eyes widened with excitement as you nodded. Your heart raced, yes, of course, to practice. Both of you knew exactly what that meant.

And you were a nervous wreck.

He would be lying if he said he never did something like that. But he gets what he wants and who he wants. You were no exception. From the moment you both exchanged that look that spoke volumes, from the moment you trembled at his touch, he knew.

He wanted to destroy you. He wanted to rip that little bikini in two and devour you whole. And you were about to leave, to have more fun with a foreigner who didn’t deserve you. He wanted you for himself first.

And yet you… it was definitely not something you did. But your impulses to try won out. Leading you to the point of getting into his car, to take you to the well-known pool, which was faintly and almost romantically lit at night through the windows and the dim lights of the pool. It didn’t look dark or scary, but magical.

“So, c’mon, let’s get in the water.”

You blinked in disbelief at how quickly he began to act. Taking off his shoes, socks, shirt… and practically undressing himself.

You looked away, embarrassed and scandalized, when his attractive hand reached for his shorts to take them off. You had barely appreciated him in a full outfit, with a nice shirt covering his incredible abs and chest, his shorts… he looked just as good out of the ordinary as you knew him, shirtless and soaked. Also, you had barely enjoyed a pleasant chat in his car, and now… everything happened so fast.

Chris chuckled at your shy reaction. As if you hadn’t seen him like that before, in shorts and no shirt. Only this time it was slightly different, wearing his boxers.

“Come on, I’ll teach you better.”

You were blushing. You would have died to see how attractively he took off his clothes, one by one. But you didn’t. You turned slowly, uncertainly, to look at him, doing your best to meet his eyes. But you almost sighed when you saw his sculpted body in just boxers.

Fuck. It was happening. And it was turning you on too much.

“Mmm, sure, I’ll get chang-”

“No need for that, you can… just take your clothes off. There’s no one else here.”

He spoke to you, soft, slow, seductively, raising his eyebrows, almost alluring, challenging you.

You giggled nervously. But you obeyed him, just for the adrenaline rush of being spontaneous for once in your life. Chris’ smile widened as he watched you take off your clothes and realized how easily he had persuaded you…

Oh, he knew you were going to be delicious.

He admired you, as if he hadn’t already seen you like that before, half-naked, covering only your breasts and private parts... but this time you were more vulnerable, in a way, and he could see it in you.

He stepped forward, jumping into the pool unexpectedly, to break the tension between you at that moment. From your shy but penetrating gaze exploring his body, his abs, his delicious and subtly outlined cock in the fabric of his underwear... and for him it was exactly the same feeling—the curve of your breasts, your sweet mons pubis...

Chris got into the water, perhaps to calm down a little from how incredibly aroused and hot he was just from seeing you, having you close, and imagining a lot of not-so-nice things.

“Isn’t the water freezing?” you asked him.

He got out after submerging himself, looking so handsome, his hair slicked back, his manly face looking certainly so soft.

“Mmm... no, you have to get in.”

You bit your lip, hesitating to trust him. You stood with your arms crossed. You felt uncomfortable in your underwear, even though you knew it was absurd. And you slowly got in, letting out a squeal when your body floated on the cold water. You closed your eyes and shivered as every part of you bristled.

“You said it wouldn’t be cold!”

“Mmm, it’s not for me,” he said amused.

You laughed and submerged yourself completely to wet your head. Then you started swimming a little, gently, away from him.

“See? You’re doing great!” he exclaimed, losing track of how long he had been smiling just looking at you.

You turned to look at him, happy. You were at the deepest point of the pool, so you decided to play with him a little. As soon as you turned around, you pretended to sink, flapping your arms desperately and fearfully, alerting him instantly.

“Y/n? Oh, shit!”

Chris’ smile completely disappeared, and he swam quickly to you, grabbing your arms tightly and pulling you up to the surface so you could breathe. He looked at you with concern, scared, his eyes wide open.

“Are you okay?”

You looked at his expression and smiled amusedly. As soon as he saw your mocking look, he didn’t relax his face, but continued to frown, this time in annoyance.

“Fuck! Y/n, that wasn’t funny!”

You laughed in his face.

“Sorry, Chris. You should have seen your face! You owed me one for making me get into the cold water.”

Chris wasn’t entirely upset. Within seconds, your sweet laughter was contagious to him. He let go of you and swam out of the pool.

“What are you doing?” you asked, confused.

You almost drooled at the sight of his muscular body emerging from the water, then standing at the edge of the pool as the water dripped off his body and his boxers clung to his skin. You gulped. He certainly had a good bulge.

“I’m going to leave you there for being a bad girl with your instructor,” he joked.

“Come on, you can’t leave me here...”

“Why not? It seems you’ve learned so much that you’re even joking around.”

“I’m sorry, Chris.”

You both knew he was just playing around. But the truth was that you were still afraid to move on your own at the deepest point of the pool. Looking down still made you dizzy, especially at night when the tiles played tricks on your mind and made it look dark and endless. You needed him to guide you.

“Mmm, I’ll consider your apology. Now get out of there on your own.”

He looked at you, expectantly. His gaze made you tremble. You were somewhere between scared, amused, and turned on.

“Please,” you almost whined, “you know I can’t swim here.”

“Then why did you go there in the first place?”

“Chris, please...”

The way you asked tickled a very specific part of him. From the moment he invited you, he knew he was going to fuck you. You both knew it, and he couldn’t put it off any longer. He needed you.

“Mmm, say it again.”

“What?”

“Beg some more, and maybe I’ll rescue you.”

This time he spoke more seriously, more deeply. Now you were so curious about what might happen if he approached you again.

“Chris...” you spoke more slowly, giving him almost bedroom eyes, “Please. Come here. Help me. Isn’t-not helping me against your lifesaving rules?”

You were like a helpless little whore—you had to confess, looking boldly at his cock, and asking for something else entirely...

Chris sighed and discreetly adjusted his growing erection. He was beginning to feel overwhelmed by desire and eroticism, so he quickly entered the water, gently took you by the arm, and placed you right in the middle of the large pool, at a depth where you felt comfortable.

You noticed how he avoided eye contact with you and suddenly became abrupt. He got out of the pool again, sitting on the edge and dipping his feet in the water. He was beginning to wonder... should he really start something sexual with you? Wouldn’t it be too soon? You were so sweet that he almost didn’t want to corrupt you.

“Is something wrong?” you asked softly.

You positioned yourself directly in front of his legs, in a strategic spot, right between his thighs. You tilted your head, waiting for an answer.

He got nervous. You, on the other hand, thought he would really do it. That he would kiss you as soon as he got close to you. But nothing, you got nothing but strange behavior all of a sudden, so you decided to act on your own... giving him those subtle signals of how much you needed and wanted him. Right now.

“Mmm, nothing, keep swimming. I’ll supervise you from here,” he cleared his throat. Your gaze was killing him.

As soon as you put your hands on his knees, he almost lost control.

“Why did you act like that all of a sudden?” you pouted.

Chris sighed again, thinking of all the things he could do to that pretty little face of yours. Right now. Fill you with his cum, make you cry, rub his cock on your lips, fuck, he was so hard. And his growing erection didn’t help; it was more than obvious, it was there, right in front of you.

“Like what?”

“Something... distant... cold...”

You didn’t know what you were talking about. Your gaze drifted away, slowly lowering, making the sweet journey from his eyes, his lips, his wet abs... to his noticeable cock. Was he hard? Or why did it look even bigger than before? Your mouth salivated. You confirmed it as soon as you saw his cock throbbing. All because Chris reacted to your intense gaze.

“Babygirl, my eyes are up here,” he said, with a cocky grin.

He felt flattered. If only you could see your expression right now... your bright eyes, the impression on your face.

You looked him in the eyes, quickly, your cheeks red. “I’m sor...”

Chris leaned in, leaving you speechless and placing his fingers gently on your chin. Now that he knew how badly you wanted him too, there was no turning back. You looked into each other’s eyes, and he whispered in a slightly hoarse, demanding voice:

“Go ahead, taste me. See how fucking hard you got me, princess.”

You swallowed nervously. Your heart raced faster, and without wasting any more time, you settled yourself better between his legs once he opened them wider for you. You looked at him and then at his large erection. You had never experienced being aroused underwater before, the wetness of your pussy lost in the pool water, throbbing hard in an almost weightless, relaxed sensation.

You never thought that the first thing your lips would taste and touch would be his cock, but there you were, trembling with excitement and pulling down his underwear to reveal something even bigger that he had kept well hidden.

You appreciated his fully erect cock for a moment, its slight curve, its intimidating presence on its own, and its prominent vein running along its entire length. His cock was big. And if he fucked you, you could fantasize about how much it would overwhelm you and make you whimper. The visual image filled you with even more desire. You were so lost, almost drooling at the thought of having him.

You made a small effort to raise your body higher, to position your mouth at just the right height, gently resting your arms on his thighs, and you began to caress him. His cock throbbed in your hand, and at your touch, Chris let out an exquisite moan from his lips. He was so needy. You could see it, his cock so pink and aroused, and just of thinking about everything that could happen. Everything that is happening right now, filling every one of his senses.

You licked his pink glans, continuing to stroke and gently pull his rigid length, which aroused him even more, to the point of making him bite his lip and pant in desperation. He responded very well to every little thing you did to him.

You circled his tip with your tongue, savoring the taste of his flesh as you took more and more into your mouth while looking him in the eyes. Your mouth opened wider and wider, trying to accommodate the thickness of his cock. Chris whimpered, suddenly feeling the warmth of your mouth. He admired with some difficulty, as he was letting himself be carried away by the pleasure, your wet eyelashes, your body under the water... your sweet expression distorting into something obscene, taking his cock in your mouth, your eyes wanting to cry little by little, your lips surrounding his rigid manhood.

Chris held on tightly, letting his body fall onto his hands pressed against the floor, marking his veiny arms, letting you do almost all the work, allowing you to please him at your own pace.

You began to suck him, to manipulate his cock to your liking, leaving him whimpering, breathless, and so close to orgasm. You sucked and licked consistently until you tasted his precum, until you took his big cock to the back of your mouth, teasing your throat. His throbbing, large sex filled your cavity and drove you crazy in many ways—making you extremely aroused, making your poor pussy restless, begging for more and more, and, as you choked and drooled on his hard dick, it was messy and hot. The sound of your heart beating intensely echoed in your ears, the obscene sounds of your mouth satisfying his sexual desire and stimulating his genitals, but above all, Chris’s sweet whimpers filled the room.

“Fuck, it feels so, so good.”

You continued, taking breaths from time to time, staining your hand with your saliva and his sticky fluids every time you pulled away and pretended to be brave again, giving him oral sex once more. There was something so exquisite about Chris, besides his gasps and his hot, throbbing cock stimulating your mouth. You were being used so badly, your legs moving desperately under the water, but you couldn’t stop, not until you achieved exactly what you both wanted. Chris came in your mouth, whimpering loudly, breathing deeply as his well-satisfied cock spilled its hot, exquisite semen. It filled your mouth as his penis and him continued to collapse in orgasm inside your cavity, going straight to your throat, making a mess and dripping from the corner of your lips.

You took his cock out of your mouth and drank as much semen as you could. He took his cock and rubbed his large manhood, still covered in his white cum, over your lips, gently slapping your face. You smiled, licking every last bit of him around your mouth. This was exactly what you wanted from the moment you met him... But you were still so turned on.

“Good girl, you drank all my cum? Look at you. Now it’s my turn. Come here, get out of the water, please.”

His words excited you, and you obeyed him. The summer fun was still going strong. So, you sat down on the edge of the pool too, and Chris adjusted his cock again and came closer to you, gently wiping your mouth and erotically inserting his thumb into your mouth, making him moan at the sensation of your warm tongue touching his finger. Then he pulled it away from you and finally kissed you, slowly but desperately, with an intensity that left you wanting more. His tongue made its presence felt, playing with yours, making the act dirty enough to then move his lips to your neck, while one of his hands quickly unhooked your bra and tossed it aside.

His mouth played and reveled mercilessly in your breasts, in your wet skin, while one hand squeezed your other breast, pinching your nipples... and the other sucked hard, making you whimper. It was slightly painful pleasure, the kind that only stimulated you to the limit, but the action softened once his fingers pulled aside the fabric of your panties to caress and attend to your clit. You squealed in response, almost wanting to close your legs as a reflex. You were so wet that Chris had to slide his fingers over your entire pussy just to differentiate between the soft, slightly sticky moisture of your arousal and the simple water from the pool.

And suddenly, he slid inside two of his fingers, working harder and harder on you, thrusting into you and overwhelming you with the sensation of his mischievous tongue using and stimulating your nipples, to the point of leaving them sensitive.

His fingers were long, moving, and working exquisitely on you, and if he continued at that pace, you could come for him. But he had other plans, sweet plans to eat you out completely.

His lips moved down your abdomen. He smiled when he saw you shudder and when he reached your navel, he moved away from you a little, removing his fingers from you, which he was only using to stimulate your entrance, and slowly slid your panties down to leave you completely naked.

Chris moaned and his cock throbbed again in desperation—even though he was still so sensitive there—at the sight of your mons pubis looking tenderly soft and appetizing to his libido and insatiable desire for you.

He got back into the pool, controlled your body to position himself in the same way you were, with his face in front of your intimacy, placing your legs on his broad shoulders, and finally began to satisfy you.

He first gave a warm and sizzling lick all over your vulva, raising his gaze lasciviously, inviting you to witness and pay close attention to how crazy he was to turn you on with his skills.

Then Chris finally sucked your clit, licked it, gently pushing it with his strong tongue just to tease you, and then sucked it hard, pressing his swollen lips against your pussy. And that’s how your wildness unfolded. At first, he licked you all over, patiently teasing you while his hands squeezed your thighs and he panted over your pussy, reveling in your taste and soft sensation:

“Mmm, fuck, yessss.”

Then he began to suck you with a voracious hunger, leaving you on the edge, stimulated, trembling, so overwhelmed by the new sensations—his tongue licked and stimulated the right places, his lips and nose pushed into your pussy right on the softest of spots, and even his teeth gently nibbling you were paradise. He knew exactly what he was doing. You had never experienced anything like it, making your pussy throb almost his name alone, so wonderful that you even rolled your eyes gently.

Chris didn’t hesitate to delight in you, he wanted to do it ever since he put his hand on your abdomen and guided you to teach you how to float. He knew that your little pussy was going to be a delight, so he didn’t waste an inch of you. He sucked your clit, tangled his tongue in your labia, pushed your entrance with it; he made you tremble, whimper, stimulating you as your moans of pleasure were a soft melody to him, until he finally tasted your sweet orgasm. You were as sweet as a warm summer evenning, he could have you every damn day.

“Mmm, fuck, I need to fuck you, now. Okay, babygirl?”

You nodded, breathless, still trembling and processing the intense sensation of orgasm.

Chris quickly got out of the pool, sat down, took out his cock, and guided your body to position yourself on top of him, holding you by the waist. You bit your lip, understanding perfectly that you were going to ride him. You sighed, preparing to take his cock.

“Take all the time you need, baby,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“It’s okay. It’s just—that you’re so big,” you replied breathlessly.

Chris smiled, and you finally gathered the courage to position his cock at your entrance and slowly slide down onto it. You both gasped. You had taken in just over half of his length and were already whimpering, feeling it push against your insides, but you wanted to be braver and let yourself fall onto it, letting out an almost hot cry. His cock throbbed inside you, hitting right against your cervix. And Chris wasn’t far behind; the feeling of his cock feeling practically crushed and compacted in such a tight, warm pussy made him see stars.

You were about to move, completely ready. Both of you could taste the sweetest, panting, hot sex. But the sudden lighting of the entire place interrupted and scared you.

Shit. Chris could already guess what it was, but he didn’t even have time to hide you. His cock was buried deep inside you.

“Chris... are you...? What the fuck?!”

Yes. The owner and his friend, Seungmin, had just entered the room, backing away and closing his eyes in terror at the sudden pornographic image.

“Are you fucking in my pool?!!”

You saw the unknown guy in terror and surprise, and then at Chris... but you had to admit that it was kind of funny, thinking that at least you both tasted each other deliciously.

𐙚 general taglist: @rylea08 @hann1bee @iovecb97 @armystay89 @lolareadsimagines @ayyonoona @do-you-remember-summer-127 @wildtokay @korthbum @hyune-sssne @oddracha @choso4u @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @bokkiesluv @thvsuga @myrkhive

⊹ chris taglist: @cherricola-star @biscuitthefirst @vernorica124

[aeyumicore]

caleb body worshipping you—a short drabble.

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: caleb x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, body-worshipping, some female descriptors but tried to keep it as gender neutral as possible, stretch marks/thigh/tummy/etc worshipping, unprotected sex, petnames, no use of y/n, NOT proofread

━ ✧.˖ A/N: different from my usual plot-fic style. just a little smutty blurb. not proofread, i churned this out in like an hour. had a sudden hit of wanting to write :) enjoy! let's all have fun with the 4.0 update soon or tmw depending on what server you are!

good luck with your pulls guys. love you.

caleb body worships like no other.

caleb will use the rough pad of his thumb to trace the delicate lines of your stretch marks and scars. he commits each one to memory, mapping them like different flight paths—each one he was determined to explore and revere. why? for no other reason than that they mesmerize him and he finds them beautiful against your skin—especially when he’s buried balls deep inside of you.

“never seen anyone or anything so damn beautiful. i’ll never get used to it. never want to. never will.”

caleb sucks at your nipples quite literally like he’s hoping he might find some of your unbearably sweet essence. his tongue strokes at every pebbled groove of your hardened skin, reveling in how something could taste so perfectly sweet, salty, and perfectly you. 

“addicted to you baby, fuck. can’t live without you anymore, without tasting these perfect tits, every morning, every night. every goddamn day. you’ll let me, right?”

caleb has your ass and hips in the air, your feet dangling over his shoulders, and kisses your ankles so tenderly, even as he quite literally jackhammers into you so desperately it’s almost pathetic. his breath is hot and heated against them as he groans, his fingers firm as they massage into your calves

“god, you’re perfect. every fucking inch of you. fucking made for me.”

caleb uses his own hands to clench your thighs tighter around his head when he’s in between them. thick, slim, soft, rough, it doesn’t matter. they’re fucking perfect and he needs to suffocate in them. that’s how he wants to go. smothered by your heavenly, arousal-slicked, trembling thighs.

“tighter princess. juuust like that. good girl. don’t be ridiculous, they’re perfect. give them to me.”

caleb grabs the plush loose skin around your abdomen when he’s close, and it only turns him on more. sometimes, he squeezes a little too hard and leaves behind pretty little bruises in the shape of his fingers, the color of his eyes. and when he does, his lips will always find them pressing gentle reverent kisses into the achy skin, apologizing sincerely.

“fuck, sorry princess. you’re just so soft—feel so good—got carried away. let me make it up to you, let me make you feel good.”

caleb cums explosively inside of you. not because he wants to, which he absolutely did, but because you begged for it. because he knew you needed to feel him inside of you—hot, thick, and deep—in order to really feel how desperately he needs you. feel how precious your body was to him. 

“fuuuck—feel that, sweets? feel how dry you milk me? going to live inside of this perfect fucking body. taking me so damn well, princess.”

caleb has dedicated his entire life to you. everything he’s ever done, every decision he’s ever made, has been with you in the forefront of his mind. he’d worship you, mind, body, and soul, for as long as you’d let him. as long as the heavens would allow him. and even then. 

your body truly is a temple. his temple.

© aeyumicore 2025.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.