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taking a shower with caleb, but for once, you're the one pampering him.

he's always the one washing your hair, but when you pout at him and threaten to leave the shower, he relents and sits on the shower bench in front of you. he sighs and tells you once more that "baby, you really don't have to, i'm okay," but you're having none of that. tilting his head up to meet your gaze, you press a kiss to his eyelids, and he tenderly places his hands on your hips — rubbing small comforting circles with his thumbs.

shielding his eyes from the water, you make sure his hair is thoroughly soaked through before squeezing some shampoo in your palms and massaging his scalp with it. caleb shudders a bit at first, your smaller hands much warmer than his. your touch is so soft, and for some reason, his chest feels like it's tightening a bit. when you push his hair back and laugh, whispering that "slicked back hair fits you, handsome," caleb looks at you as if you hung the moon and stars in the sky.

the feeling of your warm skin beneath his hands, your nails soothingly scratching his scalp, and your soft hums — this is love, he thinks. you're gazing at him with so much adoration, and you're treating him as if he was fragile. it's all so overwhelming, and caleb can't help the tears in his eyes. he was always content caring for you, never expecting you to do the same — your presence alone was a blessing enough. when he takes his hands off your hips to wipe his eyes, you grow concerned.

“caleb, are you okay? did shampoo get in your eyes?”

in response, he just laughs and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head against your chest. listening carefully to your heartbeat, he exhales deeply. your body heat is so grounding, and he can't help letting out a choked sob when he feels you wrap your own arms around him. you care, you care for him so deeply, and caleb never knew he could allow himself to be selfish in this manner.

oh, how lucky you were to have each other.

“just thinking about how much i love you.”

🍎 pomme's notes — his myth damn near made me kill myself i need to love him so bad.. also inspired by that one reddit guy whose girlfriend washed his hair and he cried.. that's calebcore!!

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My heart ACHES so bad my primal desire for Caleb is EXCEEDING THE LIMITS ARRGHHH

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girltired girlsleepy girlsnoozy

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i cannot be normal about masked men. Do u maybe wanna fuck me or stab me or both

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5:53 PM  .  K. NANAMI

“i like this,” nanami muses quietly, dutifully pushing a grocery cart behind you as you peruse the rows of fresh produce.

“you like picking out vegetables with me?” you smile, glancing over at your husband as the two of you stop near the daikon.

“of course, it’s nice and peaceful. feels like a rare break from everything,” nanami nods. he stands by you, eyeing the various radishes piled together, searching for the perfect ones to bring home.

“yeah, it is,” you agree, fighting the urge to not melt into his side as his hand grazes the small of your back while he places two daikons into the bag you hold out for him.

“how are the second years?” nanami asks, guiding the cart over to the onions, "also yosenabe for dinner tonight? i picked up some fresh hanpen earlier,"

“okay, perfect! and yeah, the second years are doing good, as usual. but ken, no work talk please. i know we have better stuff to talk about,” you groan, picking out a few yellow onions after inspecting them meticulously, “like that new bakery that opened up by the station? i heard gojo san bought you and your new student some today, how was it?”

“so much for no work talk,” nanami chuckles, continuing to trail after you as the two of you make your way over to the green onions, “but i do like that bakery a lot. i’ll bring some next time if i’m working near the area. i think you’ll like their pastries a lot,”

“yeah? what do they have? i’ve only rushed past their windows once and didn’t get a good look,” you hum, handing nanami a few glistening stalks of scallions.

“hm, they seem to be like a french boulangerie, so much more croissant type pastries. i’ll get you one of their almond croissants or kouign amanns next time,” nanami replies, a small smile creeping onto his face when you whip your head around excitedly, “gojo san really liked those two. i would’ve snuck some back for you if he hadn’t eaten them all himself like a glutton,”

“it’s okay ken,” you smile, “we can just go together when we finally have a morning to ourselves,”

“yeah,” nanami no longer fights the widening of his smile as his eyes crinkle around the corners, “i’ll make sure we can do that soon,”

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thinking about caleb crying when he cums…

like he’s wanted you for so long. he’s been aching for you for fucking yearsssss. he just can’t hold it all in when the time comes. he’s holding onto you as tight as he can, like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t. his face is buried in your neck. maybe the scent of your skin can help ground him. maybe it can muffle any embarrassing sounds.

but neither work. you’re just so soft and you feel so good and he loves you so much. every little moan you let out is so pretty. every clench of your walls around his cock has him whimpering. you’re so fucking perfect. better than he ever imagined. it’s just too much.

before he knows it, he’s letting out a sob. just one at first then another. his teeth dig into his lip and his eyes screw shut, but it’s not enough. he cries against your skin, warm tears dribbling down his cheeks onto your throat.

you shush him, cooing in his ear that you’ve got him, that you’re right here. but the tenderness only makes it worse.

he’s out right weeping as he clings to you, pumping his hips erratically while mumbling “i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. fuck it’s so good. so fucking perfect.”

it’s less than a minute later that his high creeps up on him. his breath hitches while his hips stutter. he lets out another strangled sob into your neck as he shoots hot ropes of cum inside you.

when the two of you are done, you hold him on top of you for a few minutes, rubbing his back and stroking his hair. you’d never seen him so emotional before.

he finally pulls back to give you a proper kiss and look into your eyes. you stroke his cheeks, wiping any leftover tears away. and when you ask if he’s ok, he just sniffles and nods. he looks at you with those deceivingly innocent eyes, glossy lashes shimmering as he asks:

“can we go again?”

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Caleb was undoubtedly the type of childhood friend who would boldly declare, with unwavering confidence, that he would marry you one day. He wouldn’t hesitate, wouldn’t second-guess it—just a certainty in his bright, boyish grin, as if the idea had been written into the very fabric of his existence. And, of course, he would promise it in the only way a child could—with a ring pop, plucked straight from his pocket, its wrapper hastily torn off, the sticky, jewel-toned candy glistening under the afternoon sun.

He’d slip it onto your finger with all the solemnity of a knight pledging his sword, as if the cheap, sugar-coated band meant something unbreakable. “There,” he’d say, his little chest puffed out in pride, hands planted firmly on his hips. “Now you have to marry me.”

And back then—when love was simple, when forever was just a word you threw around like a game—you might have laughed, rolling your eyes but still letting him lace his fingers through yours, sticky palms and all. Maybe you’d tease him, tell him he was ridiculous, that you were far too young to be making such grand promises. But Caleb, stubborn as ever, would just shrug, entirely unfazed.

“Doesn’t matter. I already decided,” he’d say, so sure of himself, so sure of you.

Years passed, but Caleb never took back that promise. He never forgot the weight of that cheap little candy ring on your finger, never let go of the certainty that you were his.

Even now, when he looked at you—no longer that reckless boy, but a man who had waited, who had wanted—his gaze still held the quiet, unshakable possession of someone who had already made his choice. You could pretend time had dulled the meaning of that childhood vow...

but Caleb never did.

In his mind, in his heart, you had always been his. And someday, he’d make sure the promise he made all those years ago wasn’t just a memory—it was a reality.

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can’t rid the horrible thought of sitting on nanami’s lap, your backside pressed to his bare chest while that pretty, aching pussy just drools down the entire length of his cock. one big hand keeps your trembling thighs pried while the other is everywhere else—tracing delicious shapes onto your clit, greedily trailing up your writhing body, groping your bouncing tits, pinching your hardening nipples, choking you.

studiedly, he’s following the depraved arch of your back as you gasp out his beautiful name like it’s the only prayer you’ve ever known, gone with brimming pleasure and overstimulation. god, how he can hardly help the sinful drag of his palms as he feels you all the way up; nothing but thorough, ensuring not a seraphic inch of your body is left untouched.

“yeaaah, arch that back for me, pretty girl.” his lips settle just below your ear, kissing over the warm, thudding pulse that beats like a drum. “you like my hands all over you, huh?”

you’re delirious as you nod to him, sinking further into his embrace while he fucks you onto his big, fat cock no differently than a measly little toy. a breathless laugh escapes him when your head woozily lolls back, resting within the muscular divot of his shoulder. a warm hand is pulling at your face, deft fingers brushing your cheeks as he brings you close, kissing you deep.

the prettiest whine leaves your lips and he swallows it, along with every other moan and wince and gasp and cry. and it’s just so fucking sloppy—teeth clashing, tongues lapping, breaths heaving. nanami lets off a thick groan, his big fingers hot and steady, rubbing at your poor, twitching clit with intention.

“more,” it’s greedy, mumbled into your honeyed mouth while his lips remain pressed to yours. he’s spreading you wider, hooking an indulgent hand beneath the crook of one your wobbly knees, forcing you to slump further against his searing body. “give me more, sweetheart… wanna feel that cumming pussy, yeah?”

“n— nanami,”

“i know,” he coos, shutting you up with a dizzying kiss. “i know how close you are… can feel you tightening up like you want it.” the soft pads of his fingers are slapping against your aching clit thrice, encouraging your looming orgasm. “cum for me,” a warm, openmouthed kiss to the shell of your ear. “cum on my cock like i know you’re about to.”

and god, do you. your pretty mouth stupidly gaped as you meet the desperate buck of his hips with shallow movements, chasing that cock like the prettiest whore. he watches as your face screws up, brows knitting in nothing but overwhelming pleasure as you choke on your own breath, sobbing. those wide eyes welling with tears as you whimper and whine and curse, all while creaming down the entirety of his shaft like you’re life depends on it.

“thaaat’s it, always cum so pretty for me,” he plants a sweet, loving kiss to your racing temple, allowing you to ride out your orgasm for as long as you need. “but i think you can give me more than that.”

oh.

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CALEB | Fallen Cosmos

then it’s a promise. in life and in death, we will never be apart.

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I ALWAYS KNEW CALEB'S KISS WOULD BE OUT OF THIS WORLD

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I want to take a pic..with cardi b…inside…my cardigan…

i want to take a pic-👄👄👄

U WANNA BUY A BOX OF THIN MINTS ???

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I REFUSEEE TO BELIEVE THIS IS THE SAME MAAAANN WE MARRIEDDDD

Looking all doe eyed and sweet like he ain't the one with the thoughts of keeping us locked up

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the big brick frat house that you always pass on your walks to class, seemingly silent during the day time. mainly because your class is at 8 am sharp. but the loud party music and sound of drunk college kids buzzing in your ear after 10 pm every night never goes unnoticed.

you've been inside a few times, always during a party, and while you were on the verge of blackout drunk. your memory is very faint on the boys in the frat, only knowing of the most notorious, satoru gojo. he's the apparently typical whore, the rumors of him fucking everything in sight swirling around. you never took the time to listen, it wasn't any of your business.

until you met him at one of his parties. you got a vibe from him, and it didn't scream slut. although his attempt of it was painfully obvious. the subtle attempts to talk about how rich he was, how he's always partying with girls, how everyone is dying to hang out with him, how "experienced" he was..if this was his way of attracting women, they must all be fucking idiots. and you mayy be one of 'em.

it wasn't until you were in his obnoxiously large bedroom, straddling his muscular thighs in an intense make out session that you realized.. "he's anything but a whore, he's a little virgin..” what made it obvious? his nervousness when you entered his bedroom, his inability to figure out where on your body to keep his hands, and the wet patch forming at the front of his jeans. he came in his pants, just from kissing you.

"o-okay.. i may have exaggerated.. but i can figure it out! i'm a fast learner! just s-show me what to do.." he stammers out, the space between his brows creasing as he stares up at your expression. you giggle at his flustered reaction, i mean.. it was obvious to anyone who paid enough attention past the facade.

"it's okay... for now, just sit there and look pretty. k?" you say, your fingers at the hem of his shirt, lifting it off his upper body. he obediently nods while watching his t-shirt quickly be thrown somewhere in his room. fuck, you were gonna have fun with him.

and that you did. his loud incoherent moans and whimpers about how good your pussy feels. satoru lays under you, his eyes glazed over as he stares into yours as you ride him. he keeps his hands on your hips to guide you up and down his length, seeing how it was a struggle to get his thick cock inside you. it's always the virgins, isn't it?

“n-nghh, so good..fuck I cantt—be gentle..” satoru whines, his toes curling at the newfound pleasure he’s experiencing. his fingers dig into your skin as he babbles on, his mind foggy and only focused on the feeling of you wrapped around him. his white lashes fluttering as he struggles to keep his eyes open.

his delirious words of encouragement trail into soft moans as his grip slips from your hips to your thighs, using his big hands to guide you along his dick again. his abs flex as he feels your cunt clenching around him, causing his lips to part in pure desire and arousal.

satoru’s moans get louder at every roll and bounce of your hips. his brain is genuinely fried, reduced to base instinct. he whimpers as you slow your movements, feeling every inch of his cock while it throbs inside you. “shit.. j-just like t-that. i’m gonna c-cum baby—don’t stop..” his voice gets higher as his eyes get low and glossy.

“fuckfuckfuckfuck—” is the last thing you hear before you feel his cum fill you, his cock twitching inside you and his hips bucking up to chase the feeling. such weak pullout game. satoru lies there, his chest heaving as he comes down from his high.

“i think i love you-“

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kissing the duct tape that’s over her mouth so she knows i still care about her

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★ — creep!nerd!jo can't help that he gets a raging boner every time you so much as glance his way. the way your glossy lips pull into a pout, just when you don't quite understand something, has him throbbing. you're always so pretty, too, all dolled up.

so, yeah, it really isn't his fault. if anything, it's yours. always parading around in that lacy skirt, teasing not just him, but everyone, he's sure. oh, and innocent little you doesn't even notice, do you?

no, you didn't notice. not how his cock strained against his pants, when he was tutoring you. how he leaned in a little closer, under the premise of helping you see what your mistake was. how his hand brushed against the soft flesh of your thigh, and your sickly sweet perfume never helped his case, either.

naively, you'd twirl your hair, and all he could think about was tugging it as he took you from behind. he's sure you would make such lovely noises, he has no doubt. god, the way your pink, charmed acrylics would leave marks on his back, too. or, how your bright lipstick would coat his pale skin.

and, really, it's funny how perverted his thoughts get — especially since he's a raging virgin.

that doesn't stop him, though. when he's stroking his leaky dick at night, submitting into his fantasies of shoving your head into a pillow and dragging his sensitive tip across your slit, getting to release his load into your soaked walls.

he comes over to tutor you, often, in your room. the two of you work through things you struggle with, and he stammers out answers to aid. sometimes, you'd leave to get snacks, trusting he wouldn't do anything. he seems like such a good guy, yeah?

for him, that's when the real fun began. he'd go through your drawers, collecting memorabilia for himself. from panties, to dusty old polaroids, he was never disappointed.

if he was feeling risky, he'd bury his face into your pillow, inhaling your scent, and pathetically humping the mattress. grinding his hips down, desperate for any friction. he'd never get to cum, though, you'd always walk in before.

he'd sit up, quickly, and throw a smile at you, pillow in lap. you'd return it, tossing him a bag of chips, and get back to work. and thus, you remained blissfully ignorant.

when you finally started to notice your things go missing, you'd told him, and he'd nodded in sympathy. as if he didn't use them to get off every night.

creep.