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nemo-likesto-read · 2 days ago

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PLEASE, PLEASE, DON’T TOUCH ME WITH YOUR DIRTY HANDS ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; from the corner of a dim-lit host club, you catch the gaze of a handsome monk.

word count; 12k

contents; suguru geto/m!reader, cult leader!geto x host!reader (<- non-sorcerer), reader is described as considerably smaller than geto, the host club culture in this fic is kind of butchered / twisted to suit my own agenda i’m sorry :’3, friends with benefits, bittersweet hurt/comfort (emphasis on hurt), angst, open ended, very suggestive (constant sexual tension; vague dirty talk; very light nipple play; sex is alluded to and briefly shown both in passing and in present, though the descriptions are vague and no explicit terms are used. basically: sexuality and eroticism are present all throughout the fic, but actual smut is evaded.) reader has implied mental health + self-image issues, geto is in denial and repressed and kind of mean, you both refuse to admit what you really want and suffer more for it. heavy satosugu implications + switching povs. unrequited love (but not really.)

a/n; this is the closest any of u are getting to smut. from ari... this fic is not at all typical of me (both with the suggestive /borderline explicit tone, m!reader and a part of geto’s character i don’t often focus on) but still very much up my own alley of tastes and queer longing; i feel like i was born to write this fic …. in a way. and i’m proud of myself for finishing it!! hopefully it’ll make your heart ache in the most pleasant of ways <3 dedicating it to my lonely soulcrushed gays i hope you look at the sea tomorrow without wishing you could wade right in

spit it out, darling /

quietly exposing a double-layered facade /

so, that’s the kind of person you are.

everything you see before you — belongs to you alone.

golden lights, dim flickers of neon, an elysian field of artificial luminescense. music that thrums under your skin, beats along with your heart, crawls up your windpipe with erratic thump, thumps that have the hair on your nape standing on end. there's alcohol in your system, tobacco clouding your mind, a giddy smile on your face. bright lights, loud music, men's voices clouded in deceit. yes, all of this is yours.

every nerve in your skull dances along to the devil's waltz you're in. excitement, lust, pure adrenaline. sweet, so sweet, you could lap it up from the floor.

"why don't you sing us a song, sweetheart?"

you're tipsier than you should be, when you're still on the clock. you can barely recognize the voice, barely tell if it comes from the handsome bartender or your boss or one of the regulars — it doesn't matter, either. your lips grow into a grin.

"sure, sure."

it's a fever dream, a haze, stumbling up to the stage with blood pumping in your chest. your skin feels hot and cold at once, but it's a good feeling, fuzzy, your head stuffed full of cotton. bliss. your hair is tousled, your tie undone, adam's apple bobbing as you grab onto the mic — as your bleary eyes grow focused on the video screen up above. you feel like a beautiful mess, but your vocal cords remain intact.

the music stops, comes to a halt, changes tune. someone shuffled the playlist and now another song is playing. familiar, a heavy baseline, and —

you start to sing. it comes to you naturally, you scarcely need to look at the lyrics.

golden lights, grinning men, your own voice in your frazzled ears. it comes out with a rasp, quickly peeled away, stripped, silky vowels sifting from the base of your throat. you've yet to lose your touch, a sound so beautiful it stops belonging to you the moment it's left your lips. the world looks mesmerizing, when it's confined to a raunchy indoor sunset; your world. center stage, all eyes on you, greedy, lapping at your exposed skin, the smudges of lipstick on your neck. shining under dusty starlight.

everything feels so possible, from here.

this is — vaguely, partially, at the very least in spirit — why you do this. not for the back-alley rendezvous, rough hands pulling at your flesh, the blooming of hydrangeas on your injured skin. not for the alcohol, or the money. actually, you're lying to yourself, it's all of that combined — but this is where your heart lies.

this is where you spit it out for all to see.

their gazes feel good, on your neck, your chest, your waist and your hands. the attention is fuel. you feel like a spectacle, like someone else entirely, shedding skin, just for a couple minutes. you meet their stares, you're sure you're smiling, gleaming through the fog of it all. the chorus melts on your tongue, as your eyes glide through the lounge. all-seeing.

in the corner of the room, a lone shadow flickers.

(and the beating of your heart halts at a pitfall.)

you sing, despite the interruption. meeting the golden, shimmering gaze, catching his eye. the man is seated at a lone table, no host to entertain him. it's hard to see, from here, with the lights and the haze and the whiskey in your veins, but you can make out his figure — wide, clad in heavy garments — just the barest contours of his face. handsome, though, you can tell, can see it in his gaze and the way he's sitting, comfortable and poised. elegant. a beautiful, beautiful jawline.

lowlidded eyes staring deeply into yours.

the song continues, lyrics rolling off your breath, perfectly timed with your overlapping gazes. for just a moment, something sinks its jaws into you.

darling, vague complaints and fridays

this sickness makes me want nothing more than to hurt you.

you think you catch the hint of a smile, on that shadowed face. the lonesome man raises his glass, brings it to his lips. you hope he’s drinking you in just the same, gulping you down, devouring you.

the moment splits in half. another gaze, another man. you're content, to perform for as long as your lungs will allow — until you hear the first clap of hands after a job well done. when it comes, you can only pant into the mic, savour the strain on your throat. the room is spinning. you think you need to sit down, for a while. everything feels like a blur.

"aghh, my shoulder is killing me…"

slim, pretty hands pass you a glass of water, cool against your heated fingertips. you accept it, swirl it around for a moment, just to hear the satisfying clink of ice cubes colliding. slumped against the headrest of a leather sofa, maroon, blinking sluggishly as if to rouse your mind into a working state.

"shouldn't have tuckered yourself out so early. the night is still young."

"i know, i know," you hiss, digging the heel of your palm into the juncture between your neck and shoulder. it stings, like someone pressed the butt of a cigarette against your naked skin. when you tilt your head back, a thank you on your tongue, the host is already gone, off to entertain a guest. you're pretty sure someone just asked for a champagne bottle to pop. ah, the noise is bound to grate you…

a raspy sigh pushes past your lips, as you empty the glass with one big gulp.

"what a beautiful voice you have."

a different voice. not one of the hosts. when you look up, still keeping the rim of the glass against your lips — you see a sliver of gold.

for a moment, you wonder if it's…

— nope. it's a tooth.

a big, bulky man, clad in a sleazy red suit, lips curled into a similar grin. your eyes glide across his features, tallying the damage; blonde hair, fat biceps, chest hair exposed… a big nose, that's not bad. the gold tooth is certainly a choice. you wonder if he's going for dirty rich, or classy poor. you're half tempted to ask what bank he co-owns with his father.

instead, you smile.

"ah, you flatter me." the glass clinks when you put it down, scooting over to make space, not-so-subtly. you tilt your head, angle your body until you feel the fabric of your undone blouse start to slip down your shoulder. his eyes drink it in, a moth to a flame. "are you here to spend time with me, mister…?”

a part of you wants to laugh, at how successful the pure, youthful flower schtick is to men like him. it's how you make money, though — you lie successfully.

and he takes the bait. "i think i just might be, yes,” he plops down next to you, legs comfortably spread — his elbows finding purchase on the headrest.

"i'll have to make it worth your while, then, won't i?"

a rumbling chuckle. the man fishes a cigar from out of his pocket, hands you the lighter and waits. you need no instruction, leaning forward, flicking your fingers against it until the bottom catches ablaze. he puts it in his mouth, fat and thick, the scent almost overpowering. you've built up a resistance, but you still need a moment to exhale, withholding a cough. maybe that would appeal to him, though…

he keeps it between his lips, exhales through his nose before pulling away to speak. "well, i pay good money for your company. i'd say it's only fair."

a breathy chuckle. "that's true…"

there's a hunger to the way he looks at you. a kind of gaze you've learned to associate with filth, desire. he's still smiling, too wide, that golden tooth gleaming in between the yellowish-whites. smells of gin, underneath the tobacco, and something else. vodka? it's hard to tell. his size advantage is stark, when you're thigh to thigh like this — he looks like he could snap you like a twig. looks like he’d want to. one of his hands slithers around your hip, suddenly, squeezes the flesh and lingers just to feel you shudder. his grin widens when you can't withhold it.

(… ough, you lament. one of the brutes.)

with a muttered sigh, underneath your breath, your lips drag themselves up — it's voluntary, takes effort to push back the urge to run from his grip. a perfect smile, sweet and coy, still leaving much to the imagination. a hint of mystery, intrigue —

a glint in your eye.

no room for mistakes. your shoulder still aches, but it's bearable. you’re just about to part your lips, cozy up to him, say a pair of sultry, well-picked words, when —

”may i have him, for a moment?”

a smooth voice cuts in through the fog.

deep, velvety tones, rubbing against your ear drums. sweet and saccharine, honey dripping down your chin; it sends a shiver down your spine, heat to the back of your neck. he blooms in your mind before you even tilt your head to meet his dark gaze, sharp and low-lidded. you can picture him before you even see him. voices carry weight, they always do, but his is special. you haven't heard anything quite like it.

wine and tequila. oil and water.

two voices speaking, all at once.

a tall man is standing just before you, hands tucked into the long sleeves of his haori, gazing down at your touchy customer. it’s the strange, shadowy figure from before. up close, he looks more like a monk; a gojogesa wrapped around his abdomen.

you were right, of course.

he is handsome.

with greed, you etch his features into your mind, lap it up. a sharp jaw, nose, well-defined cheekbones… obsidian eyes, with flecks of tinted gold, though you can hardly see them under these dim lights, with their narrow shape. pretty, pretty monolids, crescent moons. his hair is the real kicker, though, silky locks that flow down his back and shoulders, stop around his waist. looks like it’s been pampered, oiled and brushed, how lovely. one of his hands slip out, to dust off his sleeve, and fuuuck, they're —

— a grumble resounds to your left.

”i have him for the next hour. you can piss off,” spits the wild boar next to you, abandoning your hip to curl possessively around your neck. and uh oh, that doesn’t feel too nice. would he get hissier if you pulled away? ”fuckin’ monk.”

catching tells is a skill that takes honing. observing, attention to detail, a reward for one’s attentiveness. you like to think you’re good, very good —

though you only barely catch the twitch of the monk’s left brow. the way his eyes coil into slits.

a hum buzzes in his throat.

then he’s leaning forward, one big, beautiful hand coming to rest on your customer's shoulder, like he’s using him as a step stool. bending forward to look you in the eye. two abysses, gazing into you.

swirling gleefully.

his lips curl up into a sly smile. ”i’ll pay you double,” he whispers, for only you to hear. ”what do you say?”

for a moment, your breath stills in the back of your throat. that same halting of your heartbeat as before, enraptured by his gaze, hook line and sinker. because he’s close, you can nearly feel his body heat, almost pick up on his scent, warm and rich.

(and, well —)

”… sounds good.”

he rewards you with a smile. crescent-eyed.

”wonderful.”

(you’ve always been weak to a pretty face.)

the man on your left grows silent. stunned, you think, and — oops, he looks pissed. a booming voice spills out, the smoke from his cigar still fattening the air with toxins, making your eyes water. ”hah? that’s not how this works, you gold digging —”

”leave.”

a flick of his wrist. his robes sway, with the motion, like a curtain being drawn shut. the gesture itself is a command; elegant, there's no need for shouting. the way his voice drops says enough, exudes casual dominance, ripe as golden fruit on heavy branches.

a shiver, a phantom hand counting the vertebrae on your spine.

and, naturally — what you expect is a brawl. a very angry customer, one very injured customer, none of them a blessing upon your paycheck this month. casual dominance is sexy, sure, but not much else — it won't save you from a fist kissing your teeth. and, well, just going by the size of their arms alone —

… the man on your left stands up.

and leaves.

you watch, blinking owlishly as he heads for the exit, steps measured — controlled — as if guided by a puppet string. the thought makes your shoulder itch. the bell rings out, across the lounge, a pleasant chime. he's gone, he actually left. just like that.

one moment of silence, and then a breathy exhale.

"i hope you don't mind," comes a tender voice, softening, woven with silk. "but you seemed a little… uncomfortable."

the stranger takes the now empty seat, but keeps his distance, hands still tucked comfortably inside his sleeves. robes fluttering with the movement, spilling across the leather cushions and draping down to the floor. they look expensive, well made, not cheap cosplay or an elaborate joke — is he actually a monk? at a host club? sounds like the headline for a trashy porno. black hair frames his face, a single silky bang, and you can't even really call it odd because everything about him is already so out of place.

your mind spins with questions. but he's handsome, and he chased away what you're sure was the beginning of a really bad night —

a smile slips onto your lips, cheshire-esque. your eyes crinkled at the edges as you breathe out a chuckle. "no, not at all," you purr. "thank you, kind stranger."

smoothly, you cozy up to him, your thigh ghosting his own, hand about to curl around his bicep — just to feel his build, from under all those layers. he doesn't let you. doesn't say a word, but his brow twitches, a silent tell to back off.

so you do.

(maybe he's one of the look, don't touch types? some kind of power fantasy?)

you don't mind. smile still sweet, your expression doesn't falter. it's fine, this distance is tantalizing in its own right. like he's a painting on the wall, or a holy sculpture — something you'd get in trouble just for smudging with your fingerprint.

the handsome monk remains silent. watches as you fix your blouse, absently, it's in your nature to adjust to the whims of whoever you're servicing. a few buttons are undone, the fabric only covers one of your shoulders. exudes anything but elegance. your fingers curl around the fabric, ready to fish it back up.

that's when he speaks.

"do i not strike you as the promiscuous type?"

it's half a question, half a jest. there's a gleam in his eye when you meet it, something like a silverfish in a pool of dark water. an amused smile on his lips. his voice is light, and you can't help but mirror his expression — something slightly devilish.

"oh, are you?" you grin, tongue swiping against the back of your teeth, tasting the faded cocktails, a spark of syrupy flavours. "i'll leave it as is, then."

your fingers part with the soft linen, reaching instead for the empty glass on the table. putting it to your lips, sipping up what little has melted off the ice cubes, excess. then the clink, and you're turning towards him, smiling with a tilt of your head.

"what would you like to order, handsome?"

a quirk of his brow. "saké," comes his answer, flat.

"classy."

"is it, now?" he doesn't seem impressed. gazing at you with something familiar, but you can't pinpoint it. even though it's right at the tip of your tongue.

no matter, no matter. the sensations of this world have already tainted what remains of your common sense. "and can i get a name, with that order?" you ask, instead, raising yourself up into a standing position; ready to go grab his drink.

"geto," is all he says. smiling, but it's surface level; almost mocking. "just geto."

夏油. summer oil.

you think of autumn, bleeding sunsets. bottles of whiskey poured into a boy's waiting mouth.

(suddenly, you feel like weeping.)

"that'll do, that’ll do.” you give him a wink, before heading for the bar. before you know it, you're pouring the saké into his cup, the scent of fermented rice soothing the sting of tobacco still biting at the back of your throat. old and expensive, your nose picking up a roasted fragrance, fruity undertones.

geto didn't seem intimidated, by the price. you suppose he wasn't joking when he said he'd pay you double.

"how is it?" you ask, maintaining a distance while watching him drink. his eyes are closed, in what you hope is contentment, lips cupping the rim as he sips.

"… good," he hums, appreciatively, swirling the cup in a controlled motion, a gentle vortex. "no, not bad at all. i suppose money really does pay for service…"

another sip. your gaze drinks in his hands, practically dwarfing the cup, thick fingers keeping it safe and steady. would he hold your hips, like that? make sure you stay afloat? or would he drop you to the floor and watch you shatter…?

"are you really a monk, geto-kun?"

"san," he corrects, a cut of his tongue. he's smiling, though. it's hard to tell if he's genuinely bothered by the prefix. "and yes, i am. does that surprise you?"

"a little," you admit, pouring the beverage into your own cup. you watch it fill, swirl around and shimmer, letting out a humoured breath. "i mean, it's not often i get to service a holy man…"

a low noise, almost a snort. eyes of burning cedar flit to your face.

"mm, i see. your usual customers are more of the barbarish kind, are they?" he leans back, keeping eye contact, voice like the weights of a scale, judging. he tuts, quietly, a click of his tongue. "that's not good, you know. men like that don't know how to treat what's fragile."

"fragile?" you laugh, can't help it, teeth gleaming under dim lights.

"yes."

teasing words die on your tongue. something like, maybe i can take more than you think? but no, it's gone, sputtered out somewhere between your gums. because geto says it like he's talking about the weather.

like it's not a challenge; like there’s nothing to prove.

like it's fact.

(you're fragile. you'd break under pressure.)

"… if you say so. anyhow…" you lean forward, a pang of heat flashing against your nape when you catch his lips twitching upwards. "what temple?"

geto breathes out a chuckle, sweet saké on his tongue. "why?" he asks, raising a brow, hand coming to rest against your skin. you remain still, as he drags a thumb against the smudge of lipstick right below your throat. the sudden contact does something to you, makes you pliant, like a kitten being lifted by the scruff. "you don’t strike me as the devout kind. could it be you just want to see me hard at work?"

dark eyes crinkle with mirth — your heartbeat sputters like a firefly crushed under a boot. ah, his voice is like a balm to your ears. honeyed vowels, spinning a sticky web in your mind, just the slightest hint of a rasp underneath. it sneaks into his speech, makes him sound like a sexy dad, and you're screwed, you realize — totally and completely.

"maybe," you say, playing coy. "can't i?"

"i'm not sure how my congregation would feel," he hums, gazing down into his cup again. tapping his fingers against his knee, rhythmic, from forefinger to pinkie. "a little thing like you, hanging off my arm during a sermon…"

another hum, as if he's tasting the thought on his tongue, but you get the feeling he's mostly trying to tease you. a perfectly still smile on his lips.

"i suppose you'd make for good eye candy."

"oh, i’d be honoured to."

this time, his smile feels somewhat genuine, the golden glow of the bar lighting his eyes on fire, makes you think of his name and all its flavours. honey, whiskey, bramble berries eaten under summer shades. he grins, just barely, and your shoulder aches again. pangs of pain, sparks of pleasure. makes you want to lean right in.

makes you crave more.

you drink with him, or more like you watch his measured sips, because for once you don't want your mind completely sullied, want to remain at least slightly lucid, enough to hold a conversation without embarrassing yourself. it pays off. geto is intelligent, well-spoken, an intellectual. absolutely morbid. he stays for an hour, take it or leave it, but it feels like dusk has already bled into dawn by the time he’s gone, everything blurring together until he's all you can see. his pretty lips, the cupid's bow above it. silver tongue peeking out with every syrupy word.

when he stands up, you’re expecting him to ask you to accompany him. tempted to ask yourself. but he tells you of business he must attend to, with graceful poise, as if cutting a firm line between himself and this establishment. him and you. you know that tone, it's like a boyfriend telling you to not be clingy while he's working. a sense of overstepping.

another smile, and then he's leaving. you get the feeling that it falls as soon as his back is turned. call it a gut feeling, but liars know each other like the back of their own hand — and so-called perfect men are always wearing one mask or another.

it doesn't matter, either way. your heart still clenches pitifully, when the bell of the store sings its tune. you watch his back until it's no longer visible.

and then you exhale a sigh. left alone, with a half-full bottle of saké and a strange sensation in your bloodstream, something that pulls and tugs restlessly at the nerves of your brain. muddied, but somehow clear, the room not so blurry anymore.

you feel cold.

(the pain in your shoulder is gone, too.)

fingertips trail along plasticized polystyrene.

cup ramen, stacks of surimi sticks, and a can of beer. you eye the products in your arms, silently counting up the price. it's dark out, the lights of passing cars and the city illuminating the world beyond your local konbini; occasionally, the store's bell will ring, but otherwise it's silent. you're spent. you need this, an unhealthy midnight treat, you deserve it after all the drinks you poured last night.

this world, the real world, is different from the host club. less flashy.

depressing, really.

your feet carry you to the freezer, to eye a bundle of honeydew popsicles. you could eat one on the way back, but by then it'll have melted — you could eat it before slurping up the ramen, but that would make you feel even more like a mess. hair a mess, face a mess, bags under your eyes and a hoodie draped around you, sweatpants and sandals. you can't be bothered to perform on a day off. couldn't be bothered to put on makeup, give the cashier anything more than a vague nod on the way in.

there's no one here to see you like this. no one to see you at all. you're allowed a moment's respite.

"my, my."

…

a voice rings in your ears. you stiffen, standing by the freezer, staring at popsicles and tubs of ice cream; a shiver trailing down your spine. a familiar, familiar voice — honeyed, the slightest hint of a rasp.

and when you look up, you see them. eyes of rusted gold.

sharpened into crescents.

"what a pleasant surprise." he tilts his head, bangs gliding along his skin. "out shopping this late?"

fuck, it's him, it's actually him. of all the people —

"sure am," you exhale, smiling wearily. peering up at him through droopy eyes; fatigue clinging to your voicebank. "are you stalking me, geto-san?"

a chuckle bubbles past his lips. he's still wearing the same robes, eyes gleaming, lips curling up and exposing pure white teeth. "ah, you caught me."

you can't even tell if he's joking. but you breathe out a matching chuckle, as he steps to the side, walks towards another aisle, passing you by. your eyes follow his broad back, trailing after him — ice cream can wait for another day — until you're taking up the empty space at his side. his hand slips from out his sleeve and reaches for a wakaba brand pack of cigarettes, cream-coloured, his fingers flexing as they curl around it. a blink, your lashes fluttering, ravens taking flight from a lamppost outside.

"… you’re a smoker?"

an absent hum. "oh, yes. occasionally."

when geto walks up to the counter, you follow. still carrying your hastily chosen snacks, digging up your wallet from the pocket of your sweatpants, ripping it open with your teeth. you give him a glance while the cashier scans your items, one after the other. "isn't that, like… against buddhist values, or whatever?"

"i'm not buddhist."

beep, beep. you swipe your card, still staring at him out of the corner of your eye.

"… huh."

he clicks his tongue. "i dabble in… a religion of my own making," he adds, smiling. "one could say."

the cashier bows. you return it, gathering your products, turning on your heel to scope out the tables by the windows. not one seat occupied, that's good. you walk towards them, a hum on your tongue.

”sooo… you're a cultist?"

just a joke, to lighten the mood. geto only chuckles, doesn't answer — when you turn your head he's looking at you like you just said something funny.

it shouldn't put you ill at ease.

(you’re fascinated.)

the view from where you plop down to stretch your weary legs is soothing, familiar, twinkling stars dimmed by light pollution and cars whooshing by, blinking street lamps, a river running farther ahead; from the old train station to a faraway clearing of woods. the night sky is vast and wide, the moon hidden behind a cluster of blue clouds. a word sits on the back of your tongue and stays there, heavy like lead, you swallow it while tearing the plastic off your ramen — geto takes a seat besides you, rests his elbows on the table and watches you, chin poised against the heel of his palm. robes hanging off the small chair, meeting the floor. a puddle of ink.

a minute passes. you pour hot water into the cup, crack open the can of beer, exhale when your fingertips meet cool condensation. then you take a swig, throat bobbing gently. geto watches. waits.

"did your business go as expected?" you ask, finally, peeling back the lid of your meal as steam wafts into the air. smells of shrimp and tom yum, the noodles swimming in foam. just about done.

"it did, yes," geto responds, closing his eyes. "did i leave you wanting?"

the bell jingles. a glance in the direction of the entrance tells you it's a group of schoolgirls, out past their bedtime. anxiety swirls in your gut, gnaws at your fragile ribs, little fish nipping at strings of seaweed. they shouldn't be here this late, but what can you do? nothing but stifle it, chew at a surimi stick while breaking apart your chopsticks — the moon peeks out, briefly, paints the city blue.

and, well.

he did, but that doesn't mean he has to say it.

"you wish," you breathe in the broth, choke on a grin. "i have other customers. not nearly as handsome as you, but it'll do."

”hm… should i be flattered?"

you bring a mouthful of noodles to your lips, slurp them up with fervour. a series of beeps resound behind you, idle schoolgirl chatter having died down into hushed whispers. you can't see them, your back turned, but you could wager a guess as to what, or who, they're whispering about. it makes you chuckle through the bite, which makes geto stare at you.

a quirk of his brow, his upturned lips. he tilts his head, lazily, a wilting bud.

"it's just —" you swallow, failing to stifle a humoured breath. leaning forward, to sip at the beer can, just to feel the burn at the back of your throat. imagining yourself and him, from an outside perspective — a shady, hooded guy eating cheap ramen with a monk. "this probably looks like an intervention."

geto hums. doesn't laugh along.

"it could be."

a spark of body heat, hints of bergamot and incense. he's leaned closer, close enough that everything else feels like a shadow, you're encapsulated in his gaze, hidden by the curtains of his robes and silky hair. it sticks a pin inside your heartbeat. falls to the floor with a clatter. he's close, and he smells good, and you're sleepy.

and his voice ghosts the nape of your neck.

"do you need a cleansing, my dear?"

a deep, rumbling purr against your ear. there's the rasp, the baseline, the moment where your mind shatters on the konbini floor. it echoes, thrums under your skin, makes heat gather in your abdomen. for once, he's being serious, you know what people sound like when they want you to be theirs for the night. when you meet his eyes, it's even more clear.

deep pools of desire.

geto stands up. dusts off his robes with steady hands, gives you crescent eyes and a sly smile before turning on his heel. broth clings to your lips, the taste of beer, you've barely touched the surimi. your limbs feel tied up in knots, strung along by a puppeteer.

and you follow.

he could be a murderer, for all you know. a serial killer. maybe he'll take you to some shady love hotel, wrap his hands around your neck, say something about sin before twisting with all his might — you think of all the threats you've heard over the years.

but he’s handsome. beautiful, like this, when you’re a little tired, a little too sloppy to act well. a mess, you must look pitiful, but he wants you. he wants you, he's fascinating, looks like an angel when the light hits just right. if it brings his hands upon you, would sinning be so bad? it's too late, you've already stood up, there's no need for a wager when the loss is just as sweet. you follow; follow him outside, to where the stars barely twinkle and crisp air cups your cheeks, follow him until your heartbeat is racing so fast you can scarcely hear his voice.

messy sheets, steady hands, golden eyes.

that’s the first time you sleep with him.

geto is… an odd guy.

a month has passed since your first meeting. a handful of nights spent under covers, or dim lights, at a host club he's become something of a regular at — though it never takes him long to bring you to a different, emptier bar. he waltzes in with his fancy robes, pays no mind to any of the other hosts — you know they're jealous, too bad for them — and calls you over. doesn't even need to speak, the moment your eyes meet his you're already walking his way. he pays well, buys expensive bottles of saké, brings you with him when he's gotten bored of sneering at the other guests. it’s always just a matter of time.

everything about him spells disaster — spells out something like poisonous berries, or rotten cadavers on an open fire when you’re on the verge of starving.

something a little too good to be true.

he's good in bed, for example. very good. if the monk shtick wasn't already so ridiculously out of place, you're sure it would have shocked you even more — how he knows exactly what to do, where to touch, how to explore the crevices of your body like a lock skillfully broken into, solved, elegant twitches of metal before the door knob loosens. geto is weird, probably a cult leader, but god, is he good at sex.

it's been a while since you felt so truly satiated. every part of your body tended to, filled, ruined and stitched back together again; your mind successfully turned off, painted blank, only blissful clouds and cotton left in your skull by the time he's done. when he steps into the dim-lit lounge, you know you'll be sleeping well into the morning. you know you'll get to see the way his biceps flex and twitch, the tattoos on his back and shoulder, paintings of ink, red flowers and white dragons — that you'll get to feel his weight and see into his brown eyes and paw at his chest, plush and fat, gape at the thick set of scars carving an x inbetween them. the body is a temple. you've never truly understood that, not until now.

not until him.

and it's silly. stupid, naive; it's never good to get a crush on someone who's made what he wants from you abundantly clear. your little arrangement is set in stone — no will he won’t he, no second guessing.

but no one has ever treated your messed up body with that kind of reverence.

so, forgive you for having a bit of a crush on the weird, perverted monk guy. forgive you for being deliriously predictable and easy. for being a little enamored by the way he keeps his distance, how your wants fit together so perfectly — bodies pressed together, minds lodged apart. no strings attached, only sweat and sex and chemicals making a mess of your muddled brain. he wants nothing more, you want nothing less. he pays no mind to the pills on your nightstand, you don't ask about the scar.

it's a silent give and take. he's handsome, takes only a little more than he's given every time. you've found you don't really mind. he's not insatiable, just greedy.

and, well. you've always been eager to excel.

(always the type to get caught up in a backdraft.)

"goddd, that fucking shift…"

a wince twists your throat, spills out when you crane your neck and stretch your limbs above your head — waiting for a crack that never comes. try as you may to get the knots out of your joints, the ache remains — your nerves frazzled, wrists bruised from one too many rough grips, fatigue sticking to your bones. geto sits on a couch in the corner, watches as you slump onto the bed, limbs like dead weights.

"… i need a raise."

a breathy chuckle. "do you, now?" he asks, a glint in his eyes like the cityscape outside. this view isn't bad, your hotel room a few stories high, overlooking the empty streets. ”and here i thought my tips would be more than enough to keep you afloat…"

"well, afloat…" you murmur, shutting your eyes for a moment — voice carried by a sleepy rasp. "i'm afloat. but don't i deserve more than that?"

"do you?"

you can practically hear his smile. he loves that, answering a question with another question. you think it's insufferable, and somehow still enough to have heat twisting in your gut. "i do," you groan. "believe me, i do."

geto hums, absentminded. you can hear the turning of paper-thin pages, a newspaper left for guests to flip through. with a sigh, you raise yourself up on your elbows. "and god, that dick… i swear he tried to throw me under the bus today.”

flip, flip. "who?"

"you've seen him… you know, the tacky guy?" weary limbs move across silken sheets, help you into a sitting position, so you can gaze at him properly. black hair, firm facial lines, big, beautiful hands. that's your geto. "cheap dye, piercings? looks like he's got a rich daddy?"

"what kind?"

his wry response pulls a chuckle out your lips. "both, probably." you mutter. "ungrateful little shit…"

finally, geto lifts his gaze. pools of amber, sloshing summer oil, burns on your hands and neck. he meets your eyes with a calm glint in his own, setting the newspaper back on the table in front of him.

"i don't know who you mean," he smiles, and you think he must be lying, trying to avoid work talk — either that, or he really does only pay attention to you. the thought is sweet, intoxicating, too good to be true. ”but i take it he's giving you a hard time?"

a scoff.

"understatement of the century…"

slowly, he uncrosses his legs; lets his sandals meet the carpented floor, and stands up to his full height, before walking over to your place of rest. you watch him, lazily, eyes never parting from the swooshing of his heavy robes, the way that he moves, like he's following a path carved just for him. you've met men who take up space, who do it like it's easy, like it’s their birth right — this is different. his steps are not heavy, loud, nor flashy. he moves quietly, like a serpent, a mesmerizing slithering across the floor. geto stops in front of you, and tilts his head; slips a smile onto his lips. crescented, a half-moon.

”would you like me to take care of him for you?”

(it lights up his expression.)

”… take care?” you echo, blinking sluggishly. ”what, you gonna kill him?”

”would you like me to?”

…

a hum. you stare off into space, for a moment; feeling his gaze weigh you down and split you apart, he doesn't need his hands for that. it's a tantalizing proposition — you can't tell if he's joking, but you know he likes it best that way. you also know your job would be a whole lot easier without a little brat messing up your monthly quota. ”kind of.” it slips from out your lips, a deadpan reply.

and a chuckle rumbles in his throat.

"he really is bothering you." his smile splits itself further, white teeth showing for a second before he laps over them with his tongue. "i suppose i'd be doing you a favour."

you snort, raising a practiced brow, meeting his gaze head on. "what, did you think i was exaggerating? lying? i'd never."

”of course you wouldn’t.” he exhales, a husk to his breath — amusement buzzing behind closed lips. "there'd be no need. you're easy to read, after all."

(ouch.)

the comment has you wanting to laugh, call him a dick, roll your eyes in a show of discontentment. what a callous thing to say to such a dedicated actor.

then again, you haven't been doing a very good job of it, recently.

to geto, you must be nothing more than a fruit wanting to be peeled. he undoes your layers with ease, and it's humiliating — irritating — has warmth blooming under your bones. grime doesn't dissuade his appetite, after all. there's no real need for acting. not when he looks at you just the same regardless. not when you're fairly sure he wouldn't so much as stir, even if you killed someone in front of him; he'd listen to your reasons, your motives, not saying a thing. he'd look into your eyes without flinching.

geto probably knows how empty you are. you don't think he minds; think he might even prefer it. you think you could tell him anything, but you won't.

(you have some pride, after all.)

”i think you’re the only one who can see through me at all," you admit, words coming out softer than you meant them to. a slip of the tongue.

for a moment, you regret your words. avoiding his gaze, though you feel it searing into your skin, the tip of a cigarette burning tender flesh. the hotel room is quiet, the cityscape glitters and gleams, sways softly in a dark night, a shattered mirror world. geto hums.

”keep it that way.”

his voice drops, an edge to it — a jolt down your heartbeat. there it is, the edge of a kitchen knife making itself known. the words make your throat run dry, a few seconds where you can only feel the air leave your lungs, enter, leave again. but you plaster a smile onto your lips and meet his eyes. perhaps a little too cheery to be convincing. ”… yes, sir."

you're being studied. your flesh is being cut into. soon, he'll dig into it with hands and limbs, more than just his eyes — soon, your ribs will split apart to make room for him. and his gaze carries all of this, it's like he's telling you himself. eye to eye communication. his cornea tells you there's nothing you could hide from its all-seeing gaze. you're inclined to believe that; doesn't make any it less terrifying. exhilarating.

geto seems pleased.

when he leans in, you aren’t ready. a stutter building in your throat. close, close, now you can smell the green tea off his breath, dried leaves and boiling water, like the pools in his eyes, rising steam, his breath ghosting your lips. he's going to kiss you.

how rare.

”easy to read," he repeats, voice a quiet whisper, gravelly against your ear. "and easy to trick."

a gasp. a sharp jolt, a spark of pain burning down your spine, your chest — your mind works overtime to catch up to the sudden sensation, lost in his voice and his gaze and his warmth — he just pinched your fucking nipple. the burn blows your eyes open, parts your lips, his thumb and forefinger applying pressure through your thin shirt. it hurts, not letting up.

and geto smiles. light and easy.

”… and sensitive.”

it's a dull remark, like he's still reading from the newspaper, listing off this weekend's weather patterns. heat blooms in your gut. you feel like something small, molded just to fit his hands, waiting to be exposed and split into halves. it's humiliating, to be seen, you're not sure if you want to flee or stay right here — if just the weight of his palms make up for the sting accompanying them.

”… just for you,” you hear yourself speak. a hitch of your breath, yet you force the words out, mustering a smile — sleazy, flimsy, as long as it looks convincing it’s fine. you won't make it easy for him. not today.

but geto smiles. the corners of his eyes crinkle like ginkgo leaves, melted gold, like he knows something you don't. a slow, delighted exhale. "idle flattery won’t save you, this time.” he tuts, and twists, waiting for a jolt. ”not when it’s so obvious.”

a strangled wince claws at your lips, but you swallow it down — inhale, exhale, try to steady your breathing, try not to shiver or pull away from his cruel grip — geto watches your silent endeavors, your attempts at staying afloat. you expect him to laugh.

instead, he cups your chin. tilts it up, up, up, until you're looking into his abyssal eyes, baring your bobbing adam's apple, your vulnerable throat.

he looks admonishing.

"tsk, tsk. whatever shall i do with you?" he clicks his tongue, a chastising purr to his voice. "so careless with your body, but dishonest about what it wants. are you ashamed just to live, darling?”

an involuntary gulp. the question makes your heart constrict, a guilty twist. sends a pang of pain into your veins, a downward tug at your lips, has you falling silent.

a moment where you cannot fully hide the pain in your expression.

(shah mat.)

geto tilts his head, then, silky bangs across soft skin, a flicker of satisfaction in eyes like golden fruit. ripe for plucking. he graces you with a smile, the branches of his lips curling up, up, blooming like a grotesque flower — like he knows exactly what you're thinking. like he knows you, in and out, like he's already seen every ghost in your skull, tasted them on his tongue and taken them down his throat.

there's no scaring him off.

at last, he lets you go — takes a moment to get seated on the edge of the bed, and pats his lap. a heavy hand, a silent cue. you lick at the back of your teeth, savouring the burn his fingers leave behind.

"come here," he croons, as if taking pity on you. ”let me give you some relief.”

he doesn't have to ask you twice.

so you end up beneath him — you always do — his weight bearing down on you, big hands dwarfing your hips, heated pants and the creaks of a worn out mattress echoing in the empty hotel room. a cacophony of filthy noise, skin on skin, bone on bone, you've done it all too many times before. he's so close you wonder if you've morphed together. so close you don't know where he ends and you begin.

geto inhales, heavy, a dark look in his eyes.

"maybe i should just buy you off," he rasps, breath hot against you, sweat dripping down his brow, "keep you at my temple… always within reach."

any ability to speak has left you, at this point, any coherent method of speech. you can't say anything — not, hey, that’s a pretty fucking strange thing to say, or — you would have me entertain a bunch of monks? seriously? not even yes, yes, please, i don’t want anyone else to ever see me like this again. i don’t want to be ruined by anyone but you.

only a breathy whimper makes it past your lips. it makes him chuckle, into the hollow room.

(and he’s gone again, the morning after.)

geto would not consider himself a fickle man.

every action has a consequence. every choice must be weighed, considered, carefully plucked apart.

there is value in the act alone. weight is synonymous with heart, and geto, despite himself, cannot help but cling to his; worn out as it may be, soiled with fingerprints. there is weight behind his every action, care. choice means being human. choice means weight, which means heart, which is all he needs.

all this to say — geto suguru does not bet on losing dogs.

how he ended up in the corner of a dim-lit, shady host club is honestly beyond him. a grotesque sort of happenstance. the air smells of champagne and cologne, handsome hosts and guests chattering at every table in sight. all of them vermin.

what would his family say, if they knew what he was doing? ask if he's come down with a fever, no doubt. he can practically hear their voices — geto-sama, with a bunch of monkeys? willingly? no way. he could barely take the train to osaka last week! they'd be right, that's what grates him — that he's sitting there, and people-watching, still entirely uninterested in choosing his host for the evening. uninterested in drinking. cheery voices, sultry whispers, the popping of bottles and buzz of a karaoke machine. everything is loud, everything sparkling with the mere illusion of glamour.

disgusting. but he stays, only crinkles his nose and soothes his senses with the scent of his own robes, mellow incense. tries not to picture the walls red.

that's when he sees you.

a stumbling, giggling figure, clad in flimsy clothing, reaching for the mic. you're pretty, he can tell even at this distance. but stained, with lipstick and alcohol, a rotten smile on your face — rotten in the sense that it's so obviously hollow. it's only when you part your lips and sing that he is pulled out of his stupor, that his eyes narrow in an attempt to focus on anything else. your voice rings out, like the chime of a bell, clear and bright — the song doesn't match your vocals, doesn't do it justice. you stand on stage, a spectacle, and he cannot bring himself to look away.

(that's how it starts. the beginning of his fixation.)

geto finds himself thinking that he likes the way you look like this. sparkling, glowing, golden rays surrounding you — it creates a crescendo of light, from where he’s sitting, something like a halo, makes you look almost holy. makes him want to laugh, because that couldn't be further from the truth. you're a bug. a bug that gets paid to be of service.

pitiful, he thinks. you're pitiful. you're swaying like a drunk angel.

but your voice carries a longing he finds impossible not to indulge. to gaze at, silently, until your eyes happen to fall across his own, splatter on his brow — a flicker of light, in the middle of a too-small stage. he captures them. keeps them there.

and he swears your smile grows brighter.

(jaws snap against his ribcage. a spider weaves a web of silk.)

darling, vague complaints and fridays. he tastes the lyrics off your tongue, white noise. has already sicked the curse on you, almost on autopilot, call it morbid curiosity. it curls around your shoulder, and yet you do not falter. do not flinch. can you not feel the sting?

this sickness makes me want nothing more than to hurt you.

a smile splits his lips bloody.

everyone else has their eyes on you, follows your swaying, your shimmering skin. he wants to kill them, itches to. leering leeches. but that would surely make you stop singing, so he allows his fingers to twitch without purpose, makes no move to call on another wretched little puppet. listens to you until the song is over, until he can see the pain in your expression. does it hurt, little one? do you finally feel it?

he wonders. but he doesn't ask, even when he has you seated beside him, tipsy, shirt nearly slipping off your shoulder — he pictures your skin smudged, soiled, bite marks and bruises. it does nothing but add to his growing revulsion. his first night with you is over in the blink of an eye; a failure, on his part.

before he leaves the bar, he swipes his thumb across the back of your neck. watches the curse unclench its jaw, unlatch its decaying gums, a sickly purple against your ruined skin. leaves behind sticky saliva, droplets dribbling down your collarbone. filthy. he can scarcely remember why he came, why he stayed. to satisfy his curiosity, his mind supplies, only part-lie. to fill the gap. to see what it's like — men with men, dim-lit glamour, icecubes swirling in glasses half-empty — a useless endeavor. it's cheap, he feels nothing. no real desire. not the burning kind he used to fantasize about, tangled limbs and spit.

… not until you say that.

"you wish," he watches you breathe in the broth, choke on a grin. "i have other customers. not nearly as handsome as you, but it'll do."

he wonders why that's what makes his patience snap. bug on bug, the thought of something rotten catching you between its teeth. the knowledge that you don't mind — that you want it. filthy, pitiful, he feels sorry for your bones and your skin, at the mercy of your heart, swaying to and fro without a thought. feels sickly at the thought that it exists, that it beats.

that the same bundle of flesh slumbers beneath your ribs as his. heavy, weighty; a bleeding lump of flesh.

so he takes you to bed. out of practice, it’s been a while, but if you notice you're a better actor than he gave you credit for. he feels your heart beat against his own — yes, it's there, right there, squirming around. disgust. exhiliration. a way to pass the time.

that's what you are. what this is. he tells himself, in a soothing voice, that it means nothing; that it's not a betrayal, not if he's just using you.

not if you're just a source of warmth on nights his hands feel cold and need something to tend to.

he’s gentle, the first time you sleep together. not as much the other times, but you need it, don’t you? he can tell. you get this look in your eye. like you enjoy being along for the ride, having all thoughts pushed out of your body. it would not do, for him to leave you unsatisfied — sorcerer or not, ape or human. would not do for his pride, the satisfaction he feels when you bloom in front of him, shatter and curl into yourself like a rhododendron in the precipice of summer.

what you are is a distraction.

(but you're beautiful, when he unmasks you.)

no, geto certainly is not a fickle man. he weighs his options with care; he calculates; he does not bet on losing dogs. your whines are sweet, though, your mind a lid he wants to uncap. it feels good, to be above you. to see you in your entirety, knowing the other men you sleep with don't get the opportunity, don't care to in the first place. wouldn’t want to.

you haven't been loved properly. he can tell.

"please don't go…"

words aren't necessary. your limbs, wrapped around his waist, say enough. the dew at your lashline says enough. you aren't lucid; it's the most primal part of you, clawing its way out. that says enough.

he soothes you before leaving. makes sure you're sound asleep.

you're his, he thinks, watching your poor body seek solace in silky sheets. feels it seek out his touch when he runs a hand over your hip. you're beautiful, and you're his. those other men don't know how to treat you, but he does. he knows what you need. little things like you should be treated like glass, spoiled —

then broken into splinters.

they don't understand. how could they? horny, mindless apes. he should kill them. slaughter them, for having laid a hand on what he owns. what he bought. he should wrangle their corpses for every set of handprints they've left on your delicate wrists.

he should. he will. their time will come.

one last glance, before he leaves for the compound. when you're bathed in moonlight, sick thoughts cloud his mind; when he wraps his gojogesa around heavy robes, and watches you slumber in the king-sized hotel bed. a dangerous indulgence.

it's something in the way you move. maybe he's always sensed it, maybe that's why he wanted you, the thought often eats him alive after you've slept together. something in the way you move, yes — your disposition, the way you carry yourself — like nothing could hurt you, even though it already has, the world has left its mark on you, he can see it in your eyes. try as you may to conceal it. rot knows rot.

even now, he sees it. something in the way you glow under dim lights. when all that surrounds you is gold, blinding white — he can almost delude himself into thinking that your hair is the same. strands of white, like a summer sky — pink lips and a clear voice —

it reminds him of someone.

honestly, suguru… i think you're the only one who understands me at all.

(he crushes the thought before it can shatter him.)

what you are is a distraction. he repeats it, chews it between his teeth until it tastes like nothing at all. a way to spend the time. wish-fulfillment, maybe, at best — there is no room for anything more. no room to think thoughts like if only you weren't what you are, if only you were like him — no room for second guessing or digging himself deeper into the ground.

he's already slipped deeper than he would have liked.

a shake of his head, and the thought is vapour. he scrubs the image of your sleeping body from his mind; reminds himself, dully, of what you are.

he thinks he can go on, like this. just like this.

there is no danger in the web he's weaved you.

”i wanted to be a singer.”

a gentle breeze, clouds covering the sky. you say it so casually, he’d think you were mentioning the weather if it wasn’t for the sadness in your voice.

you fail to keep it out.

bathed in salty air, clouds of smoke, facing the sea with a forlorn gaze — your elbows rest on the railing overlooking it. a cup of bitter coffee stands on the cafe table behind you, abandoned, left to cool. espresso steam blends with roasted nicotine. tobacco stings your eyes, he’s sure; would you blame your glassy eyes on that, were he to point it out?

(oh, how he wonders.)

”is that so.”

geto lights his own cigarette. one, two flicks of his thumb before orange sparks at his fingertips — he delights in the jolt of his nervous system, the way it burns. delights in the rush of dopamine that follows, when he inhales, feels it flood his lungs and sting his windpipe on the way out. a heavy exhale, his trail of smoke mingling with your own, in the crisp and solemn morning air. he can't tell which is which.

the world is quiet, here. like you’re the only ones awake. hidden under a bleak sky, murky blue, nearly gray. he likes it better when it bursts with colour, but this is just fine. you look pretty when your eyes lack light.

geto flicks the butt of his cigarette, ash crumbling on his thumb. his voice comes out with a rasp, laced with thick smoke, but it doesn’t waver, deep and silky even still. the air smells a little like disease, but he finds he doesn’t mind it. finds he likes the contrast. polluting an air that smells too much of summer. ”well, you certainly have the vocals for it.”

you let out something like a scoff. it lingers, in your throat, drags against the walls of flesh.

amused.

when you turn your head to meet his gaze, eyes just slightly red, smile dipped in sardonicism — he thinks you’ve never looked more lovely. not even beneath him, satin sheets spread out like an altar of worship.

or an altar of sacrifice.

sweet as the bite of a ripened peach.

”do i?” you ask, irony tinged on your tongue. wearing a flimsy smile, that seems to fade the longer he looks at it. he watches your cupid’s bow sway, the drag of an arrow. ”you’ve worn them out, you know.”

a breathy exhale. he hides it with his cigarette, takes another drag just to feel the burn at the back of his throat. he smiles, though, can’t help it.

”… you’ll live.” and he exhales, air rushing to flood his lungs, greedy. the salt burns more than the tobacco. ”you still have time. it’s not too late to try again.”

a sudden, eerie silence.

”… i don’t know about that.”

he thinks he could love you, just like this.

"i think i might be out of time."

there's a sad, sad look in your eyes. it makes you look older than you are, more weary, like a pillar of salt left to face the sea. hair swaying in the air, gently, tousled locks and pursed lips, a painting just for him. you look tired. you look exhausted, broken down.

something about it makes him soften.

"do you feel hopeless?" he chuckles, a breathy noise, it scatters into the open air and then disappears. "you haven't seen the world. in that sense, you might as well be a child."

smoke slithers from the butt of his cigarette. everything is silent. no scoff, no click of tongues or scraping of nails against ceramic cups. nothing fake, about this moment. time is all you have, he wants to add. there's no escaping it. but he hesitates, for a moment too long, taken by the suffering in your gaze — geto wonders what you're thinking about, with such a blank expression. wonders what kind of pain you must be feeling. you look like you could shatter where you stand, just a sheet of broken glass, or a fish out of water — a lost soul, flecked with seafoam and cigarette smoke — a pretty little thing, watching the sea like you’d like to wade right in. like there is nowhere you belong, nowhere on this earth.

nowhere to seek solace.

he could love you, when you look this fragile. could allow himself a moment to taste it on his tongue, dip his toes into the first syllable. just to feel the chill.

(even just for a little while.)

you don’t bite back. neither of you speak. only the dull scraping of ocean waves fills the empty air.

”i love you.”

you are the first to step over that boundary.

it’s whispered into his neck. broken, quiet, more of a shallow breath than a sentence. so small, so quiet he thinks he must have heard you wrong. words get lost on both of you, when blood is pumping in your ears, through your veins, when skin meets skin. you’re too tired to speak properly, speak at all. he’s being hard on you tonight — couldn’t think clearly, only saw one of your other regulars try to cop a feel, and, well —

that doesn’t matter, now.

”i love you…”

— there it is, again.

the breathiest, most silent little whimper he’s ever heard.

(geto inhales. curses himself.

a lump forms in his throat.)

you aren’t coherent, you don’t know what you’re saying. he knows that. of course, he knows that. you’re just trying to stay afloat in whatever way you can. just babbling nonsense into his ears like it'll make him go a little easier on you, like you just want his affection —

he thinks he might throw up.

moonlight flits in through the window blinds, illuminates his back, lotus flowers blooming where ink meets skin on his left shoulder. the dragon curls around his back, coils up in anger, disgust. curses crawling in his stomach, hot with irritation.

this was supposed to be a distraction. he was never planning to keep you, you're no human — certainly no partner. the tremors of his heart mean nothing, it's all chemical, all a masquerade. you are nothing.

once the fun has run its course, he'll kill you.

that's what he's been telling himself. he'll slaughter you, etch the sight of red blood against satin sheets into his memory, taste the excess dripping down your waist — he’ll drink it in and throw it up.

but you love him.

(you love him.)

geto wants to hate you.

what he hates most of all is that those words disarm him. peel his skin away, leave only the flesh. he can’t help it, though he tries — a futile endeavor —

”you’re okay.”

a tender, tender, whisper, spilling from his parted lips. when did they part? when did making room for you become as natural as breathing?

”you’ll be okay.”

a weak whimper, nestled against his throat. arms go slack around him, your body peeling itself of guarded skin, allowing him to do as he pleases. so good, so pliant.

(his poor, poor boy.)

geto tastes iron, bursting hot and heavy on his tongue. sinks his teeth into his lower lip, as far as they can go, until the sting itself fades away. keeps going until you pass out, softly, silently, tenderly. kisses your neck, shushes your cries. keeps a big palm on the back of your neck the entire time. rocks you to sleep, as if it's muscle memory.

tender, he reminds himself. when someone tells you they love you, you treat them tenderly, suguru.

(a burning, rotten memory. his mother’s voice.

he feels like dying.)

once all is said and done, he watches you slumber under blue light. dim, it casts a shadow over your features, but he can still see it clear as day; the creases on your face, the lines of your jaw and cheekbones and the way your chest rises and falls.

for once, he doesn't leave.

instead, geto tucks himself behind you, drags forgotten covers over his frame, pulls you against his warm chest, a mother to her newborn — your sniffle-like breaths safe in the boundary between his throat and sternum. he holds you, and closes his eyes. your heartbeats soften, gradually, in tune with his own, clammy skin sticking together. he wants to clean you. wants to give you a bath, scrub the stains away.

you look so very fragile.

he swallows the bile, and keeps his eyes shut. he can allow himself a moment of pretending.

(but this farce will have to end, soon.)

some days, geto doesn’t miss him at all.

some days, hues of cherry pink and bright-sky blue remind him of nothing more than fruit and summer. on even better days, fruit and summer don’t remind him of boys biting into ripe peaches, or napping in the sun, or tickling his ribs while on the back of his bike until they both tumble to the ground.

some days, geto doesn’t linger in the past.

(most days, it’s all he does.)

you’re lying in bed, on your side, curled up with your knees against your chest. naked and unguarded, a newborn fawn. he thinks of how your legs shake after a particularly rough session. almost cracks a smile, but he's too tired, mind too tangled up in knots; he didn't sleep a wink last night. can only watch you from across the room, in silent contemplation, map your features into his mind. he feels fondness for you, like this, only like this. (especially like this.) when you’re entirely bare. a freshly plowed field, a peeled fruit, ready to be carved into halves, willing to be split. breathing very softly into sheets left dirtied.

the world has yet to wake, outside the window.

in moments like this, he indulges in the thought. not enough to suffocate, just sting. he pretends that your hair is white, like marble flooring, like specks of dust collecting light. pretends you're in another country, another life, with no weight on your shoulders. the thought tastes sweet — tastes like bramberries and sunlight and whiskey, tastes like a breakfast well-served. a life where meaning frames the world.

but that sunlight makes its way through your shut blinds, one way or another. no matter how tightly he closes them. and, in turn, your lashes flutter apart.

geto closes his eyes, and pretends he cannot see their colour. pretends that they’re blue, blue, blue, a blue so staggering it makes the sky look white.

a blue that dyes the whole world monochrome.

(if it was him; would he be like this? sleeping soundly, satiated, nuzzled into his chest instead of a pillow? would he be as good as you? as willing to be ruined?

would he want to ruin anyone but you?)

”… geto…?”

you sound surprised. voice a broken tune, raspy and high, like splintered glass. he's bewildered that he finds it charming. that it makes him feel anything at all. you raise your hand to rub at your eyes, groaning softly, twitching like you're having trouble just to move your limbs. geto stands by the door, rests his back against the wall, and watches you. isn't sure how long he's stood there and contemplated leaving.

"… you're still here?"

hope. he can practically taste it, off your breath.

a low click of his tongue. he takes a step forward, towards your bedside, sunshine gliding across his skin, his robes. he's fully clad, no sight of scarring or tattoos, the barest of marks you left when you nipped his neck in your sleep. he won't let you see it.

and he towers above you like a scarecrow on a hayfield.

doesn't say a word. only reaches out to grasp your jaw, palm flat against your chin, trails his hand down your neck. two fingers, dragged between your fragile ribs. neither rough nor gentle. you're pliant, there's no fight in you, a lamb making itself soft for the blade of a dagger. you let him explore you, while a frown threatens to break through his pursed lips — thick brows furrowed together. you don't jolt, or yelp. you trust your body with him. silly, stupid, naive.

can't you see what he's made you into?

"... maybe i should cut your heart out," he breathes, surprised by how sincere he sounds, the shadows that covet his voice. "save us both the trouble. hm?"

that makes you scrunch your nose. eyelids too droopy, too weighty to keep themselves up, they just flutter shut again. oh, whatever shall he do with you?

"… my heart…?" a soft sigh, a noise in the back of your throat, like a cat awoken from its nap. you're mumbling, he has trouble hearing you, isn't sure if you're fully lucid or if you think this is a dream. a yawn spills past your lips. "y'can have it…"

… bare. unguarded. heart ripe for plucking.

any man could steal it. rob it from its branches. you don't seem to understand your own appeal, your true appeal; it's aggravating. your ribs are so easy to peel apart. when someone speaks softly to the confines of your heart, they just fall open, all on their own.

so very guarded, yet trusting even still. so, so eager to let the right one in.

”… you remind me of a friend.”

the words have already left his lips. it's too late, now.

sundrops splatter against your nose, the corners of your bottom lip. he could picture them crimson, camellia and spider lily, grows sick at the thought, a macabre twist of his guts, like he just swallowed something terrible. sunshine frames your expression, the way it shifts in the light, shadows passing by and painting your teeth when you speak. pink gums, pink tongue, swollen from abuse. a flicker of knowing, of remembering, when your pupils dilate; coil into slits.

"… friend?" you echo, a breathless mutter. "or boyfriend?"

geto twitches, from the tips of his fingers. still resting just where your ribcage ends.

they leave your skin, his thumb brushing gently against your navel before parting. you're sensitive, there; he knows your body like the back of his own hand, sees the shudder that slithers through you before he feels it.

sometimes, he wonders if you know him just as well.

silence. only quiet, quiet breaths. any answer geto could give stays clogged at the base of his throat, full peaches blocking his windpipe, keeping the words from bubbling up and erupting. fuzzy fruitskin against red flesh. he wants to taste the nectar. wants a lot of things he can never have, not in this life.

hey, suguru. peel it for me.

… huh? what's with the attitude?

"it’s complicated, huh."

geto swallows.

"… i suppose it is," he breathes, eyes straying from your own. deep cedar, bright honey, enclosed in globes of amber, finding solace in your sullied bedsheets. will you clean them? would you keep them as is, if you knew you'd never see him again?

what was he hoping for, all this time?

an exhale. you're smiling, you're sleepy, he wonders if your body is still blissed out enough to save you from the heartache. "am i the rebound?" you ask, a hint of humour, stretching your limbs out like a sleepy feline.

a sigh.

"… essentially."

the soft rustling of sheets. your skin is dyed golden, by the silent sun, illuminated against pure white. an altar, marble flooring, specks of dust and sodium light. you let out a little noise, something like a hum. as if struck over the head. a moment passes, and you still, eyelids falling shut. a chuckle breaks your silent death.

"it hurts that you’re so straightforward." sincerity always brings nothing but pain, he wants to tell you. if you'd never opened your heart to me, you wouldn't be feeling this way. if i had never held it in my palms, perhaps i wouldn't be feeling so empty. this is the price humans pay for loving so callously. "you're a pretty cruel guy. has anyone told you that?"

geto smiles. he closes his eyes, and steps away from you; voice a quiet breath of air.

"just once."

there is nothing to be done about a heart of stone.

geto turns on his heel, and does not look behind him.

he will leave. leave, and leave no trace, leave your home untouched, only purple marks smudged across your nape to prove his greed, to prove he ever sunk his claws into your tender flesh. imprints of teeth on your chest. fingerprints on your hips. marks will remain, and fade with time. soon enough, you'll forget about them. he will make his way past the second street, and think of neither you nor satoru.

he will not think of blue eyes, or summer. he will not think of your eyes, bleary with forgotten dreams, lost potential, speckled with what he knows to be love — a word so heavy he wishes he could spit on it. a word he wishes he did not revere.

he will not think of you, even as he crosses the main street with the fountain you like, glittering under a sun just about to break the world into halves. even as he watches a man play the violin by the train station, listens to the thin strings bend and bow just like your vocal chords under the dim lights of a trashy bar he’d never have gone to if it weren’t for you. he will not think of the way you glow, under those lights.

he will think of nothing, and no one.

"… see you, geto."

(he thinks he’ll be okay.)

#tbr list #jjk; s. geto

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nemo-likesto-read · 2 days ago

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Yandere Bully! Satoru

More bully Gojo content here and here

Pairings- Bully Gojo x fem reader- college age

MDNI-drabble, not proofread lol, just was in my head ahhh- Satoru being an asshole, teasing, edging, panty fucking, Satoru cumming a lot, he's being jealous and crazy tbh, torturing reader a lil bit- TY FOR 8k followers btw !! <3

Bully! Satoru is furious that you've decided to flirt right in front of him, so shamelessly too. Your fingers are darting across no other than Nanami Kento's broad shoulder as you giggle in the hallway between classes, his blue eyes narrow and his jaw locks then.

Bully! Satoru drags you in the nearest classroom, and your eyes light up, he chuckles then, you must think it's the usual, he gets mad at you, fingers in your pretty pussy, likely have his cock down your throat, every time you piss him off he loves to gag you, but no he has an entirely different idea.

Bully! Satoru grips you by the hair on the nape of your neck, bending low, as your heart pounds in your chest. 'Ya think flirting with another guy is okay when you're mine!?' you laugh then, shaking your head, even as you bite your lower lip, holding in a whimper as he spreads your thighs, touching you over your little hello kitty panties, smirking as he stares. 'We still don't even date, so I can do what I want- mnh!'

Bully! Satoru begins rubbing you over your panties harder, they're damp and sticky when he pulls his pretty cock out, pink tip already drooling for you, and your cunt clenches around nothing in anticipation. Truly, you love pissing him off. 'You know you're mine, no one else can touch you, fuck you're soaked, pathetic' you scowl up at him, as he now rubs the tip of his cock along the soaked line of your panties, pressing the damp cotton against your clit. 'could cum from just this, so fuckin' slutty lately, huh?'

Bully! Satoru has you at a loss for words now, as he keeps stroking, you try to touch him, so he grips you by your throat, pressing your down, then sliding a finger down your soaked cunt, pressing his cock against the puffy lips of your pussy. 'Gonna make you beg, slutty little brat' he mutters, and you already are, earning his laugh, his taunts 'aw, already gonna cum? from this?' he presses his tip against your clit, covering your mouth before you scream out, yanking away, leaving you in tears. 'so pretty crying f'me, look at you'

Bully! Satoru isn't quite done teaching you a lesson, first off only he can touch you and only he can pick on you, so he figures the middle of the day is the perfect time. He fucks you over your panties, cotton stretching and damn near tearing as you cry out, trying to get more, as he fucks that soppy wet material deeper, while you ache so badly for him. 'got something to say, huh?' he lifts his hands now, sinking his tip back under your panties again, you're so soaked that each stroke echoes in the empty class.

Bully! Satoru smirks when you beg 'p-please, fuck me... I'm s-sorry...' he laughs now, putting your ruined panties over your cunt, holding you down on the wood desk as he keeps stroking his cock between your slick folds, so hot as your hips arch, crumbling the material of your pleated skirt. 'Please, Toru...' the nickname almost gets him, but his icy blue eyes glare now, his lips in a terse line as he continues stroking and stroking, but never entering your soppy, eager hole. 'nah, sweets, teaching you a real lesson, hmm?'

Bully! Satoru busts inside your panties with a moan, leaning over you and almost kissing you, lips hovering as his milky seed squirts all over your clit, your folds, your hole, and you're shivering with need, on edge, feeling him so hot on you. 'Toru please, for a second!?' you plead, he moans then, as he rubs his sensitive tip, leaning back and looking at the mess he made. 'you're so pretty like this, crying, begging, covered in my cum... oh sweetheart...' he clicks his tongue as he wipes the rest of his leaky tip against your trembling thighs, eyeing the mess of all his cum poured on your perfect pussy.

Bully! Satoru puts your ruined panties back on your pussy, chuckling deviously as he presses them firm on his cum, and you're shivering at the cool shock, lips parted when he puts himself up, pulling you back up to sit and adjusting your skirt, before wiping your tears. 'now, you can spend all day with my cum in your panties, all sticky and let it dry right up, so you know who the fuck you belong to, hmm?' you shake your head, trembling hands pulling at his letterman's jacket, he smiles at how adorable you are. 'do it all day, and I'll take care of you later, like a good girl for once, hmm?'

Bully! Satoru can't help but chuckle when he watches you in class, shifting uncomfortably, glaring at him every few seconds, cock already aching to fill you so good later, when you've learned your lesson.

He's a menace tbh- poor reader- lmk if you wanna see his crazy ass again lol -disclaimer- bullying isn't cool IRL only if it's Gojo <3

Perm Tags- @alt--er--love @indiewritesxoxo @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @tojicvmslut @cvixmei @mutsu422 @g00seg1rl @ivyvenus333 @suki91 @strychnynegirl @naomi-main also- @rottmntrulesall (requested hehe)

#completed reads!#jjk; s. gojo

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nemo-likesto-read · 3 days ago

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keep quiet.

mdni. 18+. not for the kids, pls look away.

dry humping. semi-public. fingering (briefly).

sylus gets a taste of his own medicine. let's go back to immobilized, shall we? but let's make it a little more freaky.

Somehow, you and Sylus found yourselves back in this situation: stuck in a small, tight closet that's barely big enough for the two of you. This time, you weren't hiding from your friends to keep your relationship hidden, but rather, to hide from the guards that are roaming around the private building that you've broken into.

This time, staying quiet was much harder.

It was all for business. Sylus needed to retreive a special weapon that was stolen from him, and you needed information that'll help with your investigation on Ever. Once Sylus sent you the invitation to join him for a mission, you didn't hesitate to agree.

While you two could easily take down any guards that get in your way, the whole point in sneaking inside that base was to keep quiet, snoop in the main offices for secret information, find Sylus' weapon, go in and out without getting noticed.

The base resembles a nice, modern business building filled with plenty of offices. It has three floors, and you two managed to get through the first two easily. The third floor is where all the secrets are hidden, which is why it's much more guarded, according to Mephisto's surveillance.

One guard almost spotted you as you made a turn at a hallway, but luckily Sylus was fast enough to pull you into an empty office, and right inside a closet, since it's the only thing that could fully hide your bodies.

You could hear guards walking around outside, all over the hallway, so there's no way you're getting out of there anytime soon. For now, the best thing to do is wait until they're gone, or at least, wait until the number of guards lessen. You will be waiting for Mephisto's signal to let you know when the coast is clear as he is outside watching the guards.

You were peeking through the small slits on the closet's door, guard on high, just in case one of them detects a movement from your direction. You were doing your best to stay quiet.

Sylus.... was not helping.

Teeth nipped the shell of your left ear, lips feverishly pecked on the skin behind it, and tongue gliding down your neck.

He was standing right behind you, left hand snaked around your waist, pulling you back so that your back is touching his chest.

"What are you doing?" you hissed, right hand catching his wandering fingers on your right thigh, creeping at the ends of your shorts.

"Just trying to pass time, sweetie." You could hear the smirk he has on his irksome, beautiful face without even looking at him. "Looks like we'll be here for some time. Since you don't want me to handle them and be out of here within a minute, we'll have to entertain ourselves while we wait for their bedtime."

You scoffed. "We are trying to not get caught so we can reach the main offices and get information along your damn precious weapon. If you fool around and make too much noise, they'll - "

"I'm not making any noise." He cuts you off before his mouth dove back into your neck. You closed your eyes as you felt him sucking your skin to leave a mark. "As for what kind of noise you'll be making.... that's up to you, kitten."

You spun around and tugged on the collars of his black buttoned-up shirt, lowering his face so your lips could align with his. "You are so annoying." You covered his mouth with your own so that he doesn't say anymore things that'll make you feel hotter than you already do in that tiny closet.

You felt him smile against your lips right before a hand supported your back and he deepened the kiss, your body leaning back while he leans forward. You closed your eyes and tangled your fingers through his hair, listening to nothing but the sounds of your heavy breaths and lips colliding against each other tenderly.

A gasp slipped out of you as his teeth caught your bottom lip. Sylus' legs started to drive you backwards, intending to push your back against the back wall of the closet. "Remember, sweetie, try not to make too much noise."

You halted and stood your ground. "Me? And what about you?"

"I told you, I'm not making any noise. All they'll hear is a mewling kitten."

Your eyes twitched and shoved him forward so that you could trap him against the wall instead, though the plan failed instantly as Sylus was surprised by your action and suddenly lost balance, causing him to fall on his ass. Fortunately, no one outside the room caught the noise.

"...pffft..."

Sylus looked up at you with a raised brow as you suppressed your laughter behind one hand. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Not yet."

A grin was displayed on your face as you lowered yourself onto his lap, thighs on the sides of his hips. His breath instantly hitches as you pressed your weight against him and hovered your lips right in front of his, while your hands rested in the back of his neck.

You kissed him hard enough for his head to tilt back, and he instantly melts against your touch, closing his eyes and sighing against your tongue.

Soon enough, Sylus was thrusting his hips upwards, letting you feel how hard he had gotten. You returned the favor by increasing the friction, grinding down on him while kissing him even harder.

There was a low growl before hands gripped your thighs and made their way back to squeeze your ass, while simultaneously pushing you and guiding you into rubbing your core against his cock.

"Fuck... so good..."

You pressed down harder and shifted back and forth faster against the tent in his pants, earning a groan out of him.

"Ssshhh..." you covered his mouth with one hand without stopping your movements. "You need to keep quiet, Sylus."

Both of you were starting to sweat from all the heat emitted by the closet as well as your bodies, yet you couldn't stop.

He could feel your soaked underwear through your shorts, just as you could feel his pre-cum through his pants.

"Sweetie - I need you. Now." His chest was heaving, one hand unable to stop itself from reaching inside your shorts to feel you and easily insert two fingers inside you.

You stopped yourself from squealing and quickly pinned his hands back down to his side. "Sylus.... remember to be quiet, okay?"

You were determined to get pretty noises out of him, first and foremost.

Sylus swallowed his saliva as your hands unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. He raised his hips so you could pull it down and remove them and free his aching cock. But you had other plans, it seemed.

You only unzipped him, but didn't fully remove his pants, and you kept his boxers on, leaving his cock straining and leaking through them.

"What are you - "

"Ssshhh."

Grinding against him with less layers of clothing felt even better than before, and you only stopped yourself from moaning with ecstasy by sinking your teeth against his neck and letting all the noise you let out be muffled by him.

"Faster." Through his grunts, Sylus whispered against your ear, causing your body to burn up even more. Just the sound of his strained voice had you clenching with need.

You increased your pace rutting against him, even when his hands flew to your hips as a warning. Sylus shut his eyes, unable to stop himself from breathing heavily.

"Fuck. I'm..."

A cry of euphoria makes it pass his parted lips as he comes and releases all over his boxers and pants.

It was a sound that you'd heard plenty of times, and a sound that you'd never get tired of. It's a sound that's meant only for you.

But if the guards outside the room heard it..... well.... that's a problem for another time. For tonight, as of now, you've already accomplished one of your missions.

"Sylus." You rested a hand on his chest as he takes a moment to collect himself. "Did you forget to be quiet? Or did you want those guys to hear you?"

Oh, you were so going to get it later. For now, he has to figure out how the hell he was supposed to finish the mission with cum-stained pants and a smug lover who looked like she just won a war.

#completed reads!#lads; sylus #l&ds; sylus

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nemo-likesto-read · 4 days ago

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cw suguru has a breeding kink </3

“oh, god you’re doing so fucking good,” it’s merely a whine as his grasp around your waist tightens, dragging you impossibly closer, fucking himself impossibly deeper. “such a good, perfect girl taking my cock sooo deep in that wet little cunt, huuuh?”

a stupid gasp leaves you as you crane your head, peering behind yourself to leer at the feral animal that looms over your ravaged body. he’s gone, slick bottom lip caught between a row of pearly teeth while his brows knit. something nasty leaves his throat, a noise between a brutish growl and a pretty whimper of pleasure.

thick, inky locks of hair cascade down his neck and shoulders; you want so badly to pull at his raven roots, yank him right against your lips and kiss him sloppy. a sweet lil’ whine falls from your mouth when a big, warm hand is pushing you back down, forcing you into the prettiest, most nastiest arch and it makes his cock twitch.

“i should just breed you, yeah?” suguru leans forward, the warm plane of his chest kissing your backside. sticky beads of sweat tether you as one. “get you fucking pregnant… god, you’d love that wouldn’t you?” the deep, nasty timbre of his whisper is merely lost in the crook of your neck, creeping all the way down your spine in a violent shudder. “would you take it all?”

“yes, fuck… fuck,” you nod dumbly, blathering an incoherent slew of pleas and yeses between gasping gulps of air.

“yeah? you’d let me fuck a baby into you?”

a loud, assenting whine leaves you when the scorching warmth of his lips meet the cusp of your right shoulder blade. suguru can hardly help his tongue as it’s slithering over the sweetness of your damp skin. profanities spill from his mouth, kiss after sloppy kiss trailing down, down, down the expanse of your back as he savors the flavor of you on his tastebuds.

“you’d let me make a mess inside of this pretty pussy?” it’s murmured against your skin between drags of his warm tongue and gasps of fleeting air. “you want that, sweet girl?”

you’re nodding, begging. the cant of your sloppy hips as you desperately throw yourself back onto his weeping cock is pulling the filthiest groan from the depths of his chest. big, greedy hands are sliding up your pretty frame, pulling you upright. instinctively, his fingers are latching around your throat, holding your place in the air as he insists on making a mess of your cunt.

“fuck, you’re gonna take it all then.”

#completed reads!#jjk; s. geto

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nemo-likesto-read · 4 days ago

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love me not! | previous<< picking petals >>next

pairings: baby daddy!Geto x f!reader x coworker!Nanami

content: MDNI, coworker AU, angst, accidental pregnancy, hidden baby trope(sorta), crushes and awkward conversations

"Can I buy you a coffee?"

You swiveled around wide-eyed, your breath catching in your throat before your attention had even settled on the chiseled face beside you, the brows pulled together while his lips tugged up into a small smile you suspected was genuine.

"Nanami," You mumbled a surprised greeting, about to nervously bite your nails before you caught yourself and smoothed out the wrinkles in your skirt instead. "Hi."

He gestured back to the counter in front of you as the person in front of you received their drink and stepped aside.

"Well?" One corner of his lips curled up a higher in a slight smirk, like how flustered being caught off-guard left you was a little funny to him. It'd barely been three weeks since you quit, but it felt like months, the days blurring together and dragging by as you struggled to find some semblance of a new routine. "Same as usual?"

"I, uh, quit drinking coffee," You apologetically shrugged, looking back over to the pastry display. "I'm just grabbing a quick bite for breakfast."

Technically, you could still have caffeine, but you were trying to cut it out anyway. Which was harder than you thought, considering that since your nausea had started to fade now that you were past your first trimester, you were left exhausted and starving pretty much every hour you were awake.

"My treat anyway," He insisted, waiting behind you as you hesitantly placed your order, his hip brushing barely against your side when he stepped closer to repeat his coffee order you had accidentally memorized after working together for so long.

"Do you have a few minutes to catch up?" You asked, letting your hand graze against the side of his while you stole another peek at him.

"I suppose so."

A glance at the clock behind you confirmed he actually didn't, that he would most likely have to stay late to make up for even just a handful of minutes with you, but it was his decision to make.

"You must've missed me," You tried to tease while the cashier handed you a paper bag with your food inside. Your stomach was already grumbling, familiar twinges of nausea stirring from how empty it felt in your rush to get ready early enough to make it here in time to get what you wanted before they ran out.

It'd become an everyday thing, stopping in and briefly chatting with the cashier on your way to work. Who, apparently, didn't seem to recognize you now that you weren't on your own. You guessed you should be grateful considering you'd probably, uh, overshared after getting sick in their bathroom the other week. You tried to turn your face, focusing on Nanami's sharp side profile, how the sun streaming in from the tall windows caught the gold of his hair.

"Yeah," Nanami spoke so seriously, pausing to take a slow sip of his coffee as he tugged his card free from his wallet to pay. Someone was yelling something in the small kitchen past the counter about the next tray of croissants being done while the total flashed on the small machine in front of him. "Your replacement is incompetent."

You couldn't help but giggle at the idea whoever they hired was making your former boss even more miserable than you had.

"You know, they're still hiring in my department, you could always come work with me again instead," You hummed, shrugging your shoulders. It was only half a joke, the hope barely hidden in between your casual grin. "You'd like it there."

"I would?" He echoed, his eyes hanging onto you even as he took the receipt from the distracted cashier and pocketed it. Dark circles were etched under his eyes, more tired lines than you'd ever seen him with before, a few wrinkles to his normally perfectly-pressed suit.

"Yeah," You nodded. "Plus, I mean, we did make a pretty good team."

"Oh?" A thin brown arched up, his curiosity peaked. "Send me the details."

"Really?" You breathed, your chest frozen and waiting to deflate with a shake of his head or an easy dismissal.

"I trust your opinion."

You started to smile, a laugh on its way out before you were struck by the sobering realization working together again would mean he'd inevitably discover why you really resigned.

The sweater you had on might conceal the small bump that had already started to form now, but how long would it be until you couldn't hide it?

Would any of that trust still be there once he found out a man you'd bitched to him a million times about got you pregnant? And you decided to keep his baby?

God, you couldn't imagine what he'd think if he knew you decided not to even fucking tell Geto either, already picturing the quiet disappointment and judgement reflected in his eyes and the hard line of his jaw.

It was selfish and stupid and would probably (definitely) blow up in your face, all of which he would not hesitate to remind you. And yeah, okay, you knew it was unrealistic. Unfair. That there would come a day where Geto would find out or your child turned old enough to start asking about a father you'd never given even given a chance.

But you were just protecting him or her and yourself from the inevitable wreck having him around would cause. Kids needed stability. Not whatever implosion awaited you with him.

Nanami noted the way your face fell, frowning himself when his hand went to hover over your back to lead you to a table and you practically flinched.

"Is something wrong?"

But the cashier was speaking at the same time, her eyes lighting up once they glanced your way and she realized it was you.

"Sorry, I almost didn't notice you," She chirped, smiling. Dread coiled in your stomach as her gaze drifted down to your stomach and you knew what was coming next. "How's the baby today?"

"Baby?" Nanami repeated, and you weren't sure what stung the most, the disbelief? The blunt edge to those two sharp syllables? How quickly his warmth had melted into something frozen?

"Um, hungry," You tried to smile back at her, forcing your mouth to turn up. "Thanks. See you tomorrow?"

Even if Nanami wanted nothing to do with you after this, you weren't going to ruin your forming friendship with the girl that sold you breakfast five days of the week.

He at least waited until you sat down to hit you with that frustratingly unreadable face. Waiting for an explanation you knew would just disappoint him more.

"Well, uh," You paused, your brain going blank.

"You're pregnant." It wasn't a question. Just a statement he was hoping you'd refute and knowing you wouldn't. Reading between the lines on your face and the way the bag had crinkled in your hand, probably mentally playing back all the small changes in your behavior before you quit and piecing it all together.

"Yeah, I am," You plainly admitted, rubbing the back of your neck.

"I didn't realize you were seeing someone," He said. His sentence sounded unfinished, more there that he was holding back or couldn't bring himself to say.

"I'm not," You interjected. The answer came easier when it was one you'd practiced in your head before. You'd been through the awkward conversation at the first prenatal appointment already about raising a baby on your own, would probably have to explain the lack of a man in your life far more times in the future.

You could see his next question in the furrow of his brow, the way his lips slowly parted. "What about the baby's father?"

The last word came out uncomfortable. Like he disliked the taste it left in his mouth.

"He's not exactly in the picture."

He couldn't be if he didn't know one was even being taken.

"Do you want him to be?" Nanami asked as if he was trying to ascertain something you couldn't quite figure out, like he was ticking off boxes on a questionnaire he was required to get through.

"No, not really," You freely admitted, the bag still in hand crinkling when you finally set it down on the table. You weren't sure Suguru remembered it. If he even knew it was you. "It was stupid, just supposed to be a one-"

"You don't have to defend yourself," He cut you off before you could dig the hole deep enough to hide in.

"I know, it's just, I don't want you to think that-" You stopped yourself, struggling to find a way to say it that wouldn't make it obvious why you were so concerned what he thought.

"I don't think any less of you, it that's what you're worried about," He reassured. You wished it was easier to believe him. He took another deliberately long drink of his coffee, his focus never straying from your face before he cleared his throat and spoke again. "Still, you shouldn't have to raise a child on your own."

divider by @bronzewasp

#completed reads!

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nemo-likesto-read · 5 days ago

Text

Sylus picked up the phone, his screen flickering to life, initially consumed by the crackling static that echoed eerily through the silence.

"Ah, the mighty leader of Onychinus," The voice started. "What a pretty and docile wife you have, such a delicate thing won't last long." The screen then showed you, bound tightly to a chairs, your body slightly leaning to the side.

"How much do you think she's worth?" The voice was followed by another, dripping with malicious glee.

"Hand us the money or.... your precious wife pays the price."

Their sneerings echoed throughout the call, their confidence blooming in the dark space they believed to be their control as your lover remained silent.

Then, a low chuckle broke the tension, smooth and eerie, coming from Sylus himself.

"You really do underestimate my wife." He said, his tone almost affectionate, as if he found the entire situation amusing.

The screen flickered, a heartbeat of black.

A minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Then, the camera came back to life as the scene shifted, your face filling the frame, soft and radiant as ever, not a single trace of distress. The ropes? Gone. The fear? Vanished. It's as if you found the entire ordeal boring and nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

But nothing escapes Sylus's eyes as in the corner, he could see the way the room was enshrouded with chaotic disarray, bodies sprawled across the floor, blood smearing the walls. The smug captors that once held the upper hand? They were now completely undone by your hands, his wife had shown them exactly who they were dealing with.

With a playful tilt of your head, you winked directly at your husband, sending him a teasing flying kiss, giggling before ending the call.

Sylus stared at the now dark screen when the door to his office swung open, Kieran and Luke rushing in frantically. "Boss, is she alright?!"

Your lover's lips curled into a grin, as he shook his head, letting out a deep, amused laugh.

"She's having fun, for god's sake."

#completed reads!#l&ds; sylus #lads; sylus

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nemo-likesto-read · 5 days ago

Text

love me not! | branching out<< broken twigs >>picking petals

pairings: baby daddy!Geto x f!reader x coworker!Nanami

content: MDNI, coworker AU, angst, accidental pregnancy, semi-public hookup, bullying, rivals-to-coparents, enemies-to-lovers, hidden baby trope(sorta), Suguru is bad at feelings

Loathing was a feeling Suguru Geto was all too familiar with.

An itch on the back of his neck, crawling under his skin whenever he'd catch a glimpse of you at your desk through his blinds, watching your lips curl up in a smile as his fingers hesitated on the string to pull them shut.

You were stuck-up, haughty, disrespectful, and a hundred other hateful things that pricked at his pride with each annoyed pout and frustrated glare you pointed precisely at him every time he had the displeasure of working on a project with you. His least favorite coworker. His least favorite person, probably.

So what the fuck could Nanami Kento be saying for you to smile at him like that?

He knew Nanami. Enough to doubt he said anything so sappy to warrant that kind of stare. Head tilted, eyes crinkling, God, they were even glittering in the bright overhead lighting.

Like you had a crush on him or something.

As if.

And really, why was Suguru still thinking about it hours later?

You know, part of him used to think you were playing hard to get. That the icy colleague act was just that, an act. Especially after you dragged him into the bathroom stall at the company Halloween party and pulled down his pants to put your pretty mouth to use for something other than arguing with him.

Peppering kisses across his smooth skin and peering up at him with wide eyes before licking a clean stripe along the throbbing vein of his admittedly aching cock with your warm tongue. Maybe it was the drinks you both downed, but it was almost cute how you pretended he wouldn't be able to recognize you in that little mask and tight costume you had on.

Even if he didn't like you, he could acknowledge your commitment to whatever task was at hand was, well, commendable. Enough that he'd flipped you around to tug your outfit off and fuck you against the wall like each thrust could scrub away all the petty disagreements you had.

He played along with your act - only pulling up his own mask enough to leave scattered bite marks across your skin, reveling in the way you shivered and squirmed as his teeth scraped over your tendons and sucked wet little spots down to your collarbone.

The idea you'd walk around with him written all over your skin for days was more intoxicating than any of the alcohol in his system. Proof of how pliable you'd been in private.

But when next Monday came?

You pretended it hadn't even happened.

Sitting on the opposite side of the table despite the open seat next to him at the first morning meeting, nitpicking his newest proposal and struggling to maintain an expression that even qualified as neutral when he nipped back with his own rebuttals. But there was makeup on the collar of your shirt, faint hickies you attempted to cover up with concealer.

Like it (and him) was just something you were trying to forget.

And even a few months later - things hadn't changed.

No matter how much pressure or paperwork he put on you, you refused to bend.

He never once considered you might break.

Until now.

"Fuck. Is she still here?" Suguru murmured, chewing on the inside of his cheek and walking back over to the window, replaying how much of his day had been flipped in just a few minutes from the first knock at his office door.

You quit.

Scanning through the crack in the blinds, locking onto the empty spot of your (old) desk, the computer off and the papers neatly stacked, no photos or personal details cluttering your workspace or purse tucked next to your chair.

Nanami was looking up, eyes narrowed to thin slits like he was well-aware Suguru was watching.

"Again, I'm sorry, I didn't realize this would be an issue. Her replacement is supposed to start tomorrow, and Nanami has already agreed to train them," The man in front of him was flustered, sputtering as he glanced towards the door in a panic.

Why was it an issue?

You only ever opposed him. He might've been forgettable, but you were replaceable. A cog in the corporate machine. Sure, a new you wouldn't have the same attention to detail or half the competency but they probably wouldn't bicker with him or roll their eyes when they thought he wasn't looking. Still, he couldn't help the pinpricks of irritation at the thought you orchestrated your exit without him even noticing.

His hand was on the knob, pulling it open and stepping out, the late afternoon office chatter dying once people saw his frown, his usually carefully composed facade down for a few seconds before he could force his polite mask back on. Suguru made an immediate beeline for your blond acquaintance (friend?) and paused next to his desk while the stoic man typed out an email, barely bothering to glance up at him.

"How can I help you?" He coolly asked. Suguru could feel his eyebrow twitch.

"You're training her replacement tomorrow?" He wasn't even why he asked when he already knew. An excuse. A segway to dig for the information he actually wanted to know.

Nanami didn't deign it worthy of a real response, only offering a curt nod while he clicked send.

"Do you know why she left?" The venom in his own voice coated his own tongue, dripped down his throat, made it hard to swallow the lump that had formed there.

"No," Nanami answered, no, lied.

You must have another job lined up.

It was for the best. Or, at least, he tried to tell himself that. A welcome departure.

He just didn't understand why he felt so fucking sick watching you slip away.

divider by @bronzewasp

#lllloooovvveeeee thhiss! omg 😍😍#jjk; s. geto #jjk; k. nanami #completed reads!

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nemo-likesto-read · 5 days ago

Text

love me not!

Suguru Geto is your bully, your boss, and now your...baby daddy?

pairings: baby daddy!Geto x f!reader x coworker!Nanami

content: MDNI, angst and fluff and smut, coworker AU, rivals-to-coparents, toxic relationship dynamics, bullying, Geto and reader HATE each other (for now), unplanned pregnancy, hidden baby trope (sorta), hatefucking, piv sex, oral (m! receiving), reader is incredibly petty, descriptions of pregnancy symptoms, more tags to be added

art creds: @/Bom61487782 on x for suguru + @/Neconi_o0 for nanami I believe !!

chapter index

more to be added <3

comment to be added to taglist :p

#tbr list; mlist #jjk; s. geto #jjk; k. nanami

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nemo-likesto-read · 7 days ago

Note

Bully au with accidental pregnancy? 👀 enemies to lovers??

oh I'm FOAMING at the mouth. I fear I need to make this a full one shot 😭 or format it like snapshots with a bunch of smaller ones like this and a few long ones <3

pairing: coworker!Geto x f!reader content: mdni, coworker au, rivals, unplanned pregnancy, public hookup, bullying, throwing up, angst, hidden baby trope (sorta)

"Do, uh, you know who was wearing that mask at the Halloween party?" You awkwardly asked, cringing as you held out the blurry photo you found scouring through months worth of pictures from all your coworkers' social media accounts for an hour the previous night.

Nanami blinked at your phone, the deep crease between his brows only growing while he focused on it.

Rather than verbally answering, you watched as his gaze flickered to the closed office door behind you and lingered there, the tilt of his chin in that direction just reaffirming the dreaded suspicion creeping in the back of your mind.

"You're joking," You breathed, trying not to groan. Or cry.

You could do that later - in the comfort of your car or maybe in your bathroom while you took yet another test you already knew the results of.

When the father of the child currently growing inside you was still a faceless man in your memories, it was something almost exciting. Sure, he was a stranger, but you could take care of a kid yourself if you had to. It wasn't until you started filtering through your memories of the night he knocked you up, that you started to come to an uncomfortable conclusion.

"Unfortunately not," He curly said, his attention returning to the spreadsheet on his screen. "Is there a reason you're asking me now? If you're looking to make an HR complaint about him, I would've recommended that four months ago."

Yeah, how would that have written up?

Getting back shots in a bathroom stall drunk on wine and whiskey at a company party was probably a fire-able offense. Even if the obnoxious, pretentious asshole you received them from seemed to have everyone else who worked here under his thumb.

Risking your job when you'd have an extra mouth to feed in less than a year would be even stupider than how you'd even got in this situation.

But then again, Suguru Geto had been hellbent on ruining your life for the past two years. You guessed he might've actually succeeded this time.

Upper management worshipped his 'innovative' ideas - of which you did ninety percent of the work and received none of the credit for. Most the women wanted him, and apparently you had to, for thirty fleeting minutes when you hadn't realized it was him and he hadn't realized it was you.

You didn't recall all that much - big hands on your hips and soft lips on your neck, the moans he eventually muffled with his fingers while his cock throbbed and thrusted until you were cumming. Vaguely, you remembered him pulling out too, but uh, you guessed the reality of it had been sloppier, considering you were a few periods late and still had two positive pregnancy tests sitting on your bathroom counter back home.

"You look ill. Do you need to go home early?"

Nanami was staring, concern cutting through his shrewd stare. But something suspicious was also looking in the warm amber irises, in the small squint he did as he assessed your pale face, took silent note of the beads of sweat sticking your hair to your forehead.

"I'm fine." You weren't.

Actually, you were choking back bile, nausea you'd assumed was a stomach bug a few days ago hitting you in full force while you turned in the direction of the same bathroom you'd been dumb enough to lead your bully of a baby daddy in before.

How the fuck were you supposed to tell him you were pregnant?

Your heels clicked against the tile, shoving open the door to a stall before your lunch could find it's way back out.

There was time to think between puking, debating on if he'd tell you to get rid of it, or if he'd just laugh at you. You were leaning towards the latter.

To be entirely fair, you didn't really know him beyond the stupid team building exercises you were forced to attend and the handful of conversations you overheard where he was speaking to someone he actually liked.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he'd grow up and act like a man instead of a disgruntled child for once.

But then again, why would he ever want one with you?

All you'd done in the past few years working together was argue and annoy each other. You opposed one of his projects when you first started, and that was all it'd taken to land yourself on his list of people he'd fuck over at any opportunity. Making sure none of the other coworkers wanted to work with you, piling paperwork onto your desk and accidentally deleting important emails.

Yet, you always ended up framed as the problem, your retaliations met with reprimands he never received.

Any hope you had things would improve withered once he got the promotion you were both vying for.

"We don't pay you to puke," A familiar voice scoffed outside. "If you're sick, just go home before you spread it to the rest of us."

Like he wasn't the reason you were throwing up in the first place.

"I'll be out in a second," You tried to sound snarky, but your throat was too raw, coming out in a weak rasp as you pushed off the porcelain and flushed it.

You stopped to scrub your hands clean and tear off a piece of a paper towel afterwards, running it under the water and rubbing under your eyes in an attempt to fix your smeared mascara before giving up and pushing the bathroom door open.

It smacked into something hard instead.

"Shit, oh, I mean, I'm sorry, I didn't realize-" Your voice died when you realized who you hit.

"You look fucking awful," Suguru calmly said, talking quiet enough you'd be the only one to hear as his dark eyes scanned over your face.

"Thanks," You sarcastically mumbled, folding your arms over your chest and glancing over to your desk.

"Leave."

"What?" You blinked, your attention snapping back up to his face, unflinching, unyielding. His high cheekbones and blunt frown both felt like they were stabbing you, his stare as indecipherable as always.

"I don't like repeating myself," He sighed.

"I'm not contagious," You excused, looking past him again. You could tell him now. Just spit out you were carrying his child and let him handle the fallout of whatever his own feelings about it would be.

But he rolled his eyes.

"I don't care."

Why had you ever thought any differently? Or ever considered for the briefest of milliseconds that having a kid might change something?

No, you would just be opening up the door to the world's worst co-parenting situation.

"Don't show up tomorrow if you're still throwing up," Suguru coldly said, his gaze sharpening to a glare before he turned to leave without letting you get another word in.

You stormed over to your desk to shut everything off and snag your purse before heading for the elevator, ignoring Nanami's curious glance when he wouldn't really ask if you were okay anyway.

If Suguru didn't want you to show up, you wouldn't.

In fact, you guessed you should just do what you should've at the first sign of trouble two years ago. Find a new job and move on.

You already knew from office gossip he didn't have a girlfriend. Didn't have a family so he could focus on his career. So why be the bad guy? Be the villain trying to trap him with one?

It's not like he'd ever want a family with you if he had the choice.

divider by @anitalenia !

#aaaahhhh loved this #jjk; s. geto #completed reads!

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nemo-likesto-read · 8 days ago

Text

take a bite!

he's a (blood)sucker for you

pairing: vampire!Suguru Geto x fem!reader

wc: 4.6k (hear! me!! out!!!)

content: MDNI, multiple povs, semi-public sex, oral (f! receiving), unprotected piv sex, creampie, biting, blood, no use of yn, copious amounts of teasing and tension

"You have pretty eyes."

"Oh?" A pretty voice too, apparently.

You weren't usually the type to speak to strangers, let alone one who looked like him. Some sudden shift in the air had you peeking up from your book and glancing over to the dark-haired man now sitting on the worn couch across from you. Although, you weren't sure you could really blame anything except for your big mouth for the cheesy compliment you just accidentally paid him.

Shutting his own thick book with a soft thud, setting it on his lap while his gaze flickered over to you, the same way a cat assessed a mouse who happened to scamper in front of it. Long, lazy blinks, catching a glint of a sharp canine when he tugged down on his lower lip.

"Um, sorry if I interrupted-”

“Pretty, huh?” He repeated the word, making the two syllables somehow vulgar when it rolled off his tongue. All hushed and honeyed as he raked sturdy fingers through his dark hair, brushing back a few loose strands framing the sharp planes of his face.

“I, uh, wasn't trying to hit on you,” You mumbled, tearing your eyes away from him and struggling to focus back on the words floating across the page.

You were sure he was probably used to girls throwing themselves at them. Maybe you would if you were somewhere else, a club or a bar instead of your cozy corner of the library you frequented every week.

“That's disappointing,” He let out a small sigh, plucking a tiny piece of lint off the sleeve of his cream-colored sweater, leaning forward and propping his chin up in his palm.

“Is it?” You almost laughed, a smile flitting across your face when your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Did he really want you to flirt with him? Or would it just hurt his ego if you weren't?

“Mhm,” His lips were sealed, pressed together in a thin line, the noise coming from his throat.

You did laugh now, barely a giggle escaping while you shook your head and tried to resume reading for the second time tonight.

Suguru had other plans.

"It's a bit late," He coolly pointed out, the fine line of his jaw tilting as he nodded at the clock hanging off-center on the wall.

"Guess you could say I'm a night owl," You turned the page with a soft hum of your own.

His mouth curled up in a crooked smile.

"Me too.”

"I haven't seen you here before," You shrugged a little, your cardigan slipping down your shoulder with the motion, revealing a flimsy little strap of a tank top? A bra?

"Many people come back here?"

He already knew they didn't.

That was why you liked it. The seclusion. Sure, you didn't own it, and it wasn't a secret, but it was still a slice of sanctuary. One you'd accidentally lured him to smelling like that, the hints of plum and jasmine he could pick out in the sweet, intoxicating scent he found himself following through the stacks of books and empty aisles.

"You'd be the first," You answered honestly, absentmindedly running your finger along the edge of the page, just asking for a paper cut.

"I can leave, if you want," He offered, although he wasn't sure if he'd be able to follow through if you took him up on it. He'd like to think he would.

“Stay,” You simply said, accompanied by another little bob of your shoulders, tendons flexing in your throat with the single unsteady word. “If you want.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” You nodded, making a point not to look up from your book. It was cute - your sincerity, your attempts at playing it cool.

“So,” He drawled, waiting for you to spare him a glance before continuing. “What do you like about them?”

“What?” Your voice came out higher than it had before, your eyes wide and glossy when they landed on his.

“My eyes.”

He could hear how hard your heart was pounding, feel it like it might as well been his own.

“Oh, um-” You swallowed, a nervous laugh escaping while you brought your hand up to your face, chewing on the edge of your manicure.

“Hm?”

A single syllable was really all it took for the heat to rise to your cheeks, painting them a pretty shade of pink, the pulse thrumming underneath your tauntingly thin skin picking up.

You hesitated, flustered under your furrowed brows, studying him instead of the book forgotten in your hands, a page still pinched between your fingers. "They're warm. It's, um, nice.”

Warm? Him?

What sort of embers did you see in him? The fire, his drive, that used to smolder underneath the surface had been snuffed out in a previous life - the emptiness of eternity drowning it out.

You were staring openly at him now. Or maybe he had been staring first. The glimmer of your lip gloss catching the light as you tilted your head to the side, crossing your legs a little tighter.

Clearing your throat in the thick silence, one hand falling from your book to pull down the hem of your too-short skirt, offering a polite smile like it'd hide the hunger underneath it. The arousal pooling in-between your thighs, the panties he'd like to tear off so he could get more than just a taste of you.

Could he stop himself there?

He wasn't Satoru.

Suguru had self control, his own rigid rules he resigned himself to subsist by. It would take more than just some girl to loosen the leash he kept tight around his own neck.

There were differences, in the consistency, the warmth when it came from the vein. But the taste of rust, the iron sitting heavy on his tongue was always the same. He doubted you would be the exception. In the miserable years since he'd been condemned to this, it hadn't gotten easier - but was he supposed to starve? Would he even die? Could he?

Humans - you - weren't worth the effort.

Not when he could get what he needed from the blood bags Shoko would smuggle out of whatever hospital she last snagged a job from.

But then, why was he here?

"Are you alright?" You were concerned. For him.

Like you weren't sitting so pretty within his reach, just asking to end up on the headlines of tomorrow's news.

“Fine,” He hm-ed, ignoring the itch under his skin, the dryness in his own throat reminding him of exactly how long it's been since he had his last drink.

You were just a stranger. And once he found the strength in his legs again, he'd get up and get out. Call Shoko and Satoru and find something to stop him from following you home.

He didn't need to know your name. Didn't want to. Couldn't.

There was a faint glimmer of curiosity you didn't conceal in your covert glances, constantly peeking over your book like he wouldn't notice.

"What are you reading?" He asked instead.

"Oh, it's nothing," You blushed again, your grip readjusting so the title was obscured, wilting a little under the weight of his attention.

He tsk-ed, leaning over the coffee table separating you to snag the book from your hands, ignoring your stunned stammers as he flipped through the thin pages, skimming over the words. Leaning back, letting his legs spread comfortably, humming to himself.

Suguru didn't know if you'd take the bait.

If you'd realize you were prey before you were too wrapped up in his web to get out.

You were already on your feet, bridging the divide in a few short strides, holding your hand out expectantly with a huff. Your leg touching his, his slacks rustling against your bare skin when you leaned over him.

Weren't you cold in that excuse of fabric you called a skirt?

It's not like he had much frame of reference anymore - but the leaves scattering the sidewalk outside were orange, the trees barren, most people he passed by were far more bundled up than that. A scarf was tossed haphazardly over your bag by your chair, like that'd help any.

“Come on,” You pouted, jutting out your bottom lip and batting your lashes, your thigh still pressed against his.

It'd be easy to hold you.

To grab your hips and pull you down into his lap, find out what flavor you were for himself. How pliable you would be, what shape you'd let him mold you into.

But he held himself back, patting the cushion next to him. He half-hoped you would leave - but you sat down, taking your book back while you rolled your eyes.

“If you wanted me to sit next to you, you could've asked,” You were teasing him, letting him drag you to hell with a smile on your face.

Not even opening your book, studying his features like something he'd said or done had marked himself as safe in your head.

“And if I asked you to sit on my lap?”

“Why don't you find out for yourself?” You challenged, sliding the thick novel over on the scratched-up coffee table, your coffee growing cold on its coaster on the other side.

He laughed. When was the last time he'd done that?

He knew he was playing a dangerous game here - did you?

Was it a smart idea to sit on a stranger's lap?

No, but, who could blame you when the hottest guy you'd ever seen had been eyefucking and flirting with you since he sat down?

"Are you nervous?" He hummed. Somehow closer even though you could've sworn he hadn't moved, only a thin gap between your chests, the soft fabric of his sweater brushing against the bare strip of your shoulder. He was looking down at you, all pupils now, the welcoming warmth of the amber that first caught your attention swallowed up by something darker.

"N-no," You lied.

He laughed, just a low chuckle that reflected the same bored amusement you found in the rest of his face. His thighs sturdy underneath yours, supporting your weight while one hand slipped under your skirt.

"You worried I might bite?" He mocked - or teased. It felt like the same thing either way.

"Do you?" You asked, your breath caught in your throat at the pretty white glint of his teeth in the small smile he graced you with, part of you wondering how the sharp edges of his canines might feel scraping against the tendons of your throat, what kind of noises he might make if he was on top instead of under you.

"Do you want me to?" He returned the question.

"Maybe," You admitted.

Inhaling a sharp breath, lungs desperate for whatever air you could suck down, chest rising and left anticipating the fall when his fingers skimmed across your cheekbone just to stroke your hair softly. You hadn't meant to - but you were leaning into his touch, tilting your head to meet his hand, melting into the moment.

Maybe you just dozed off.

That this, and him, was all a sleep deprived dream from reading one too many cheap romance novels lately and you'd wake up alone back in the armchair.

But fuck, he felt real.

His skin was freezing - smooth marble under your fingers, nails digging into stone instead of firm muscles as you skimmed over the ridges across his chest.

You were shrugging your cardigan all the way off before he had to ask, glancing back to throw it on top of where you left your scarf and purse when you arrived. He was impatient though, pulling at the thin shirt you had on underneath, fingers tugging it up and over your head, the chill of the air conditioning and his fingers on your waist making you gasp when he easily discarded it too.

One blink and he had you on your back, sinking into the soft cushions of the couch, the springs creaking underneath your combined weight. Undoing the zipper on your skirt in a single fluid motion and pulling it down to leave you in just your underwear beneath his body. A massive hand ghosting up your thigh to hook it over his hip, the cool metal of his zipper and what was barely contained underneath it was pressed against the thin lace of your panties.

You didn't even know his name.

"I, uh, oh," You were stammering in-between broken gasps, his mouth hovering over your neck, his sharp nose grazing against your ear, and you weren't sure if it was your hair or his that was tickling you.

"Call me Suguru," He murmured.

"Suguru," You echoed, testing the sound on your tongue, his name coming out more like a question or a plea when his lips finally met your throat. Softer than you imagined, pressed against the vein like maybe he could hear the pulse racing underneath.

"Mhm," He sighed into your skin, letting his lips linger there.

His kisses were the type of tender that you expected from a lover or a boyfriend, as careful and collected as him. They traced over your breasts, only pausing the graze over your nipples, rolling one between his index and thumb with his teeth scraped against the other, an almost gutteral sound escaping his throat when your hips arched up into him, rolling against the growing bulge in his pants.

You tried to reach down, to pull up his sweater, fingers fiddling with his belt before he paused playing with your tits to pin your hand against the couch, sturdy fingers easily encircling your wrist, his mean grip almost bruising as it held you in place.

“Patience, pretty girl,” He taunted, as if he didn't look like he was ready to devour you. His hungry gaze sweeping over your chest, hanging onto every shuddered breath you took.

“I want you,” You openly admitted, using your free hand to reach up to touch his face. Brushing your thumb over his swollen lower lip, pulling it down to ask for entry, just enough to feel the ridges of his teeth underneath.

“I know,” His laugh was dark, contained, his breath cool against your skin. You barely managed to stifle your whine when he caught your thumb in between his teeth, running them over your nail, applying just enough pressure to keep it there.

Your brows drawn together, begging him with just your eyes while you bit down hard enough on your own lips you were surprised the skin didn't break. He released your thumb and wrist at the same time, moving your hand so it was cupping his cheek.

“I want you too,” He muttered quietly, his voice so low it was almost inaudible.

“You can have m-” You were cut off before you could finish, his lips colliding hard against yours, something harder throbbing into your clit. You gasped, writhing under the weight of him, the friction when he rocked his hips against yours making your head spin. You'd been off-center since he showed up, something about the warm, spicy scent of his cologne, the depth in his dark eyes, the easy confidence in every fluid movement, his charisma disarming, disorienting.

“Careful,” He murmured in one of the stolen breaths between kisses while you stared up at him, glossy-eyed and panting, your oxygen-starved brain barely able to process his words.

“I don't wanna be,” You argued, trying to sneak your hand back to his belt, managing to unzip his pants halfway before he laughed again, a quiet chuckle muffled into your throat when he started painting the skin there purple with starving little sucks, reveling in the gasps and groans he earned every time his incisors scraped against your collarbone.

“You just offer yourself to anyone?” He chided, allowing you to unbuckle his belt, not providing any assistance while you struggled to pull it all the way off.

“Are you anyone?” You huffed, finally managing to pull it though the last loop, the buckle clinking as it hit the table when you went to drop it by the couch. Cringing at the noise, you tried to prop yourself up on your elbow and peek out the small gap between the shelves to see if anyone had noticed.

But he had you by your hips, your back landing flat against the couch again when he tugged you down, breathless as his palms drifted down to spread your thighs for him, his tongue tasting you through the already wet patch of your panties.

“W-what are you-” Your strained whisper dying mid-question when his mouth found your clit, sucking on the swollen bud with heedy kisses, dragging his tongue across it almost desperately. The lace of your underwear was about to give under his pressure, the hardly-there material soaked and slick with saliva, his fingers digging into the clenched muscle of your thighs.

“Fuck,” He groaned, glancing up at you through half-lidded eyes. His lips swollen, glossy as his tongue ran over them, like he was savoring the taste lingering there.

“Suguru?” Your voice was hushed, hesitant when you said his name. Squirming under his hold, uselessly searching for friction, white-hot need pooling in the pit of your stomach the second he pulled away.

“Mm?” He’d almost look drunk if it wasn't for the razor sharp focus in his eyes, how intensely they were focused entirely on you, assessing the silent plea of your pout. “Patience, remember?”

“Please,” You begged.

He tsk-ed, but he slipped two fingers against the side of your panties, tugging them down your thighs excruciatingly slowly, like he had all the time in the world and that the librarian couldn't just walk in and ban you both for life at any given moment.

The protest on your own tongue turned into a whimper when he buried his inside you. Crooking itself flat against your walls, trying to map out every spot for himself, humming with approval every time he elicited a broken gasp or tore a new noise out of your throat.

Pushing your thighs back down, pushing them further apart every time you tried to close them around his head, lapping at you like you were his favorite meal. Your head falling back against the armrest, chest heaving with every strangled breath, hand absentmindedly reaching out to tangle itself in his hair. You hesitated with the realization you might mess it up, but he let go of your leg long enough to take your hand and put it there.

When his tongue slipped out, licking a clean stripe up to your clit, you had to grab his hair, silky strands slipping between your fingertips and pulling him in. You were pretty fucking positive you'd be left picking up the pieces of your sanity after this was over, stuck replaying this night on repeat for maybe forever.

“God, fuck,” You practically spat out the curse, barely aware of whatever words were spilling out when he eased two of those sturdy fingers in, stretching you open as he circled your clit with hungry sucks.

Like some frenzied fever going straight to your head, your whole body burning up at the borderline lewd noise of him pumping his fingers in-and-out, hopefully planning exactly how he was going to fuck you later, your cheeks only flushing harder at the thought of what that might feel like if this was already heaven.

“Oh, oh,” You whined, driving his fingers deeper when you arched your hips up, everything inside pulling tighter and tighter until he nipped at the sensitive bud of your clit and you snapped.

His own moan, his tongue still continuing his steady, practiced motions while you unraveled only made you dizzy, desperate. You had to clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle your cries, a fistful of his hair in your other hand.

You didn't think you'd ever came so hard, all the little neurons firing off like he'd permanently rewired your brain chemistry with just his tongue and a couple fingers, craving every touch he'd offer.

He tore your hand away, capturing your lips with his own and kissing you again like he craved you just as much, if not more. You could taste yourself on him, but you were too distracted by the way he was pulling down his boxers just enough for his cock to spring free, a thick vein bulging along the shaft, the tip pink and dripping already, painfully hard as he dragged it over your still-sensitive bud to ghost across your entrance.

“You can come inside,” You teased, your hand finding its way underneath his sweater, feeling the ridges and divots of his back muscles as you pulled him closer.

“Oh yeah?” He chuckled, this thumb drifting across your brow as he kissed the corner of your mouth.

“I’m on birth control,” You muttered, surprised at how easily his casual affection had you blushing again.

He frowned, those pretty pink lips pressed in a hard line like he was considering for the first time you might not be his.

You started to giggle, barely suppressing your grin at the hints of jealousy you detected. It wasn't like you'd ever actually done anything like this, hooking up with a stranger. Still, he was practically pouting - or as close to it as he could get, the downward curve of his mouth, his eyes narrowed before he pressed the tip tantalizingly hard against the sore bundle of nerves and turned your laugh into a strangle oh.

“You know how hard you're making this for me?” He spoke slowly, his jaw clenched tight as the lump in his throat bobbed.

“You could show me,” You murmured, tracing little hearts on his back while you wrapped your thighs around him, crossing your ankles as he aligned himself.

“You don't know what you're asking,” His voice was strained, eyes fluttering shut as he slowly sunk in, inch-by-inch, your breathing stuttering as you struggled to adjust around him.

“M-maybe I wanna find out, Sugu-” His name turned into a breathy moan when he abruptly bottomed out, burying your face into the sharp edges of his collarbone to muffle the sound. Nails scraping at his shoulder blade, heels digging into the small of his back as he pressed snugly against your cervix, barely giving you the time to process how deep he was before pulling out and plunging back in.

The rasp in his groan only made you throb, your lips pressing against the cool column of his throat, pressing weak, wet kisses up to his jaw, hoping to leave a few marks to prove you'd been here. You were putty for him and he knew it. Imprinting every ridge and groove and vein into you like he was sure no one else would be able to fill the hole he left afterwards.

His next thrust rough enough that you were reflexing scooting up the couch with a whine just for him to pull you back into him, one hand on your hip to hold you down while he found a steady rhythm, the other reaching up to squeeze your breast hard before drifting up to slip behind your neck.

There was something nearly feral in his eyes when you looked up at him, your lips parted for the shattered breaths escaping every time he molded you around him. The chill of his hands and the burn of the stretch were intoxicating.

“Are you trying to, ah, break me?” You tried to tease, like you weren't clenching around him, toes curling with the pleasure wracking through you every time he angled impossibly deeper.

“I might,” He admitted, all hoarse and heavy as his thrusts stalled, throbbing, his tip smashed against your womb.

You couldn't help your whimper, trying to buck your hips up into him just for him to press down on your hips again and pin you back in place. His head dipping down to rest against your collarbone, long lashes fluttering against your skin as he sucked in a ragged breath. The restraint he was clinging onto, the need and the hunger and how close he seemed to be to coming completely undone was maybe the closest you'd ever come to a religious experience.

“God, you're killing me,” You mewled, his fingers pressing into the back of your neck as his lips grazed against the straining tendon of your neck, your chin tilted back automatically to ask for more kisses, more attention, more anything.

“I might,” He repeated in a low growl, his teeth skimming against your skin, pulling out just enough to bully his way back in, his thumb digging into your hip hard enough you were pretty sure he'd leave a fingerprint.

“Fuck, I hope so,” You mumbled in-between moans, lost in the feeling of him, the waves washing over you with the force of every frantic thrust, the once-steady rhythm starting to falter, grow sloppy as his kisses got harsher, longer.

His hand slipped in-between the narrow divide between your bodies, catching your clit between his fingers to massage harsh circles against it, only getting faster at the broken noises he managed to rip straight from your chest.

“You gonna cum for me?” He managed a filthy whisper in your ear, going back down to suck on an already-sore spot in the crook of your collarbone, sounding like he was the one about to cum.

“Mm,” You nodded, head too scrambled to get a coherent sentence from your brain to your mouth, trembling as the waves crested higher and higher until - “Oh fuck.”

Eyes screwing shut so tight little stars were dotting the black when you unraveled, devoted whimpers of his name rolling off your tongue as you clawed at his back, squeezing harder and harder like you were trying to suck him in and keep him there forever.

Some intangible thread tangled between you snapped.

A guttural moan left him, thick and warm ropes of cum filling you up and dripping down onto the inside of your thighs as his hips smacked roughly against your skin, the incisors scraping along your throat sinking in, setting off a new sort of burning when he actually bit down.

You gasped, squirming under his hold when his grip on your neck tightened, the veins of his cock still pulsing as he sucked hard, something sticky coating your skin when you heard him swallow.

“S-Suguru,” You whined, lightheaded, torn somewhere between pleasure and pain when he let out another thick groan, his teeth retracting just for his tongue to press hard and flat against the exposed tendon, licking a clean stripe there.

“Taste so fucking good,” He murmured into your neck, each word broken up by small nibbles, just enough to puncture the first layer of skin, lapping up the small drops of blood that'd pop up.

When he came up for air, all disheveled, your blood on his mouth, the sharp points of his canines, his bangs fallen in his face, an air of fucking contentment just radiating off of him while he just stared at you. Naked and bare and vulnerable and bleeding for him while he was still dressed, even if his dick was still out, still hard. Cum leaking down your thighs, a wet spot spreading to where his boxers were pulled down. He noticed, two fingers dipping down to push the cum back inside with an expression bordering on smug.

“You bit me,” You accused, blinking a few times, eyes flickering from the red ringing his lips to the color that returned to his eyes. There were fresh stains on his sweater, streaks of red by the collar you sincerely doubted would come out in the wash.

“Yeah,” He smirked.

Like he knew you liked it.

“Yeah?” You repeated incredulously.

“Wanna do it again?”

a/n: phew, back to regularly scheduled programming next week <33 hehe this one is for @quinnyundertow n @pnkblueberry and all my Geto girlies mwah ily guys sm!!

#tbr list #jjk; s. geto

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nemo-likesto-read · 9 days ago

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reo x reader x nagi scrap from yesterday. suggestive at best but let's keep it 18+. gender-neutral reader and ur nagi's partner. tw pulling reader does not heal nagi from being a dilapidated sloth

Kissing you might be the one thing in Seishiro's life that he doesn’t categorize as a pain.

Getting out of bed is a pain. Eating is a pain. Deciding what to eat is a pain. Even soccer, the dream he lives for, takes work. Pain.

Kissing you, though, is easy as breathing. Never before has Seishiro had to try so little to keep something in his hands; you simply surround him, soft and light-spun like the memory of an old dream, and without putting a thought to it he dips his head to drink from you once—then again, and again. Again, again, and more; until he feels like he’s floating on air, the world around him faded to nothing but the soft noises that catch in the back of your throat.

You pull back for just a moment, murmur, “Nagi,” which Seishiro acknowledges with a small sound of complaint. It’s halfway to becoming a whine—he hates when you withdraw from him. He’d kiss you forever if he could. Because you have a perfect mouth, pretty no matter what face you’re making, and Seishiro loves looking at it; but just seeing isn’t enough. Seishiro's greedy, he’s learning. He wants to have you under him all the time, coaxing your lips open with his own so he can feel the wet velvet of your tongue. There’s a slow heat that builds in him, something responding to the way your flesh gives under the palm of his hand, how warm you are.

“Hey—“ This time, you turn your head to the side. It’s harder for Seishiro to reach your lips like this, but that’s fine; he likes kissing other parts of your face, too, and your jaw, and the side of your neck.

He registers, dimly, that your grip has tightened on his shoulders. Sometimes your hands hold him tightly when he surprises you, or when something feels really good—he likes when that happens, when your fingers twist into your hair to tug at him, it makes him hungrier for you—but that’s always accompanied with your voice, and you’re silent now as your nails dig in through the thick fabric of his hoodie.

You get quiet when you’re nervous.

Seishiro rises from your neck, presses reassuring kisses in rapid succession to your cheek—a quick one, two. Mumbles, “What is’t?”

A small laugh, more breath than anything else. You turn back to him, but your eyes keep flickering off to the side, like they’re being drawn by a magnet. “Just, um… Your hands.”

“Hm?” His hands sit under the hem of your top, rucking it halfway up your torso. He’d been making pretty good progress at getting it off of you. “Are they cold?”

“No, just—“ Your smile sits wrought with tension, like a rubber band stretched to the brink. “Reo’s—right there.”

“Huh?” Seishiro follows your gaze this time to that head of purple hair, falling to obscure Reo’s face now as he reads over whatever he has in his lap. “Yeah, this is Reo’s room.”

“Yeah,” you echo, “so, um…” You don’t elaborate, just hold Seishiro’s hands to guide them out from under your shirt.

Oh. Seishiro can’t help the way his lower lip pushes out a little. “Reo doesn’t mind.”

You laugh. “You’re so full of shit.”

Ah… Seishiro blinks against the brightness of your grin. They think I’m joking again… “‘M serious,” he mutters, resting his chin on your chest. “Reo doesn’t get mad…”

Not when it comes to you.

“You two talking about me?”

Seishiro feels your whole body jolt. If he pressed his cheek to your skin, he knows he’d find your pulse there, speeding up into a rabbity thrumming. You get so nervous when Reo’s near, eyes going all wide like you’re a little mouse. It’s kind of cute.

“Mm-hmm.” Seishiro tilts his head to find Reo leaning over the edge of the bed, both palms planted as he eyes Seishiro with a fond smile. He feels the corner of his own mouth tick upward. “Does it upset Reo when we kiss?”

You groan, but Reo’s already laughing, the sound fizzy and warm. “Why would it?”

Seishiro looks back to you. See?

But you just roll your eyes, bringing your hands up to either side of his head.

“Nagi,” you say flatly, “we are not having sex in your friend’s bed.”

#tbr list #bllk; s. nagi #bllk; r. mikage

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nemo-likesto-read · 9 days ago

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ᡣ𐭩 I BITE MY TONGUE, IT'S A BAD HABIT

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai doesn't care about stupid holidays, but when he sees everyone but him being gifted chocolates from you, he starts to find himself severely bothered. it's the principle, he tells himself—nothing more, nothing less, just the principle.... right?

(wordcount: 6.9k; fem!reader, sfw, dazai is jealous and silly. unedited.)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: HAPPY LATE VALENTINE'S DAY, take pmreader and dazai being silly teens in love who refuse to tell each other how they feel in words. i had this posted on valentine's day but then turned into a big baby and deleted </3 i am still a big baby but i am a big baby who is going to leave the post up this time HAHAAH

Dazai doesn’t care about stupid holidays.

In fact, Dazai can count the things he cares about on one hand—he cares about Odasaku and Ango because they’re his friends, he cares about crab because he likes eating crab and he can recite every known fun fact about them off the top of his head, he cares about the arcade a few streets over because his favorite video game is there and he beats Chuuya every time and it’s funny watching him get mad, and he cares about you because you’re also his friend and you gave him a room in your apartment even though he could have his own but is just stubborn about not wanting to be in Mori’s building.

So, he’s not sure why his feet are rooted to the ground in Mori’s office as he stares down at the small round box of chocolates sitting on top of his desk. There’s a note on top of it that’s partially blocked from his line of view, but he can very much see your signature at the bottom of it.

You complain about Mori all the time, so it doesn’t take him long to put together that there must be a reason why you went out of your way to get him chocolates even though he knows you’ve been busy with some conflict happening in Russia. It’s not Mori’s birthday, and Dazai’s mind quickly tracks back to the stands of chocolate he saw set up on the same corner that the arcade is on.

Valentine’s Day, he realizes, eyes narrowing down on the chocolate.

“Such a dear she is. She dropped it off for me this morning,” Mori sighs when he realizes what Dazai is looking at. “Elise-chan hasn’t gotten me chocolates yet.”

“That’s because you don’t deserve chocolates, stupid Rintarou,” Elise’s familiar pitched voice comes from Dazai’s left—he hadn’t even noticed her sitting on the ground coloring because his gaze was pinned to the chocolate the moment he stepped into the room. Elise looks up at Dazai with a smile that’s just a bit too sweet, “Aw, she didn’t get you any? That’s too bad, Dazai-kun.”

Dazai’s jaw twitches at the snide comment, and he looks away from Elise back to Mori, who looks oddly intrigued by Dazai’s reaction, which is enough to let him know that he’s over-reacting, so he’s quick to smooth out his expression, even if the irritation in his chest continues to swell. He doesn’t even know why he’s so bothered—he doesn’t care about stupid holidays, and he doesn’t care about chocolate. It’s really not a big deal, but he can’t seem to snuff out the growing annoyance.

“I’m sure she’ll give you one later, Dazai-kun,” Mori says with a placating smile that almost sends Dazai over the edge. “No need to fret.”

“I’m not-” he starts to say, but is cut off quickly by Elise.

“Or, maybe she just doesn’t like him enough to give him any,” Elise says with gleeful giggle. “How did she word it again? Oh, yeah, you forced your way into her life, didn’t you?”

Dazai doesn’t take anything anyone says to him or about him to heart, but he especially knows not to take anything Elise says to heart, considering the girl’s ardent distaste for him. He’s never been sure why she hates him so much, but he figures that it’s because he can make her disappear with his ability, and he’s half-tempted to grab her arm and do just that, but he knows it’ll only make Mori even more interested in why he’s so emotional over this. That’s the last thing he wants considering he doesn’t even know why he’s getting so worked up about it.

But what did Elise even mean? Why would you tell them that he forced his way into your life? If anything, you’re the one who forced yourself into his life when you showed up at his shipping compartment during that winter storm a few months ago. He just… capitalized on it, that’s all. You would’ve kicked him out if you didn't want him hanging around, but you didn’t. And Elise is known for twisting the truth, but then… Why didn’t you give him chocolates? That’s the whole point of the holiday, right? To show appreciation for the people in your life?

It’s not the holiday that’s bothering him, it’s the principle.

Dazai is suddenly ten times more antsy than he was when he first noticed the chocolates. There must be a logical explanation for this—maybe you really are giving him them later, or maybe you’re only giving them to Mori because you have to. Snidely, he notes that the chocolates you gave him looked like they could be bought at a convenience store, so it’s not like you put much effort into it.

“Elise-chan,” Mori chides, although he still sounds terribly amused, violet eyes glittering as he scrutinizes Dazai. “Don’t say such cruel things. I taught our hime to have good manners, Dazai-kun will get chocolates from her, even if they’re just obligatory.”

Obligatory, Dazai has to force himself not to physically blanch at the word. He thinks he would almost prefer not to get chocolates from you. How are you just going to give obligatory chocolates to someone you live with? You guys are friends, aren’t you? He doesn’t know much at all about Valentine’s Day, but he does know that there’s different types of chocolate depending on your relationship with the person, and he thinks he’ll jump off the roof if you give Chuuya nicer chocolates than him.

Chuuya.

“I have to go,” Dazai says abruptly, turning to leave.

“Goodbye, Dazai-kun,” Mori sings, much to Dazai’s surprise. He was half-expecting Mori to tell him to sit back down so they could go over whatever he was called to his office for. He still doesn’t even know why the man called him up here—maybe it was just to flaunt the chocolates he received, Dazai thinks bitterly. “I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“I would!” Elise calls after him as he lets the door slam shut behind him, but Dazai doesn’t pay her any mind.

Surely Chuuya wouldn’t have gotten chocolates if he didn’t, right?

———

“Give me those right now.”

Chuuya pauses from where he’s about to pop a round chocolate into his mouth, eyes cutting to the side in irritation when he realizes that Dazai is standing in the doorframe of his office. Dazai is tense and jittery all at the same time—he’s not even looking at Chuuya, he’s staring at the set of chocolates sitting open on his desk and the familiar handwriting on the note next to it. Chuuya’s set is much nicer than Mori’s; they’re his favorite truffles, imported in from Belgium, and there’s a red wine on his desk to go along with it.

It makes Dazai sick.

“The fuck?” Chuuya asks, sitting up a bit straighter and giving Dazai a weird look before pointedly eating the chocolate in his hand. Dazai’s eye twitches. “What’s your problem this time, you freak?”

“I said give me those right now,” Dazai repeats, inhaling deeply as he takes a few steps closer. “Give me them.”

Chuuya looks a bit concerned now, grabbing the chocolates you gave him and dragging them closer to him. Dazai is undeterred, stalking forward and reaching quickly for them. Chuuya reacts faster, snatching them off the table and holding them close to his chest.

“Fuck off,” Chuuya spits, sounding confused and irritated all at the same time. “What the hell is your problem?”

Dazai could think of an excuse—they’ve been tampered with, poisoned, you accidentally gave him the wrong ones and you sent him here to grab them before Chuuya ate them all—but the only thing that escapes his lips is the same demand.

“Give me the chocolates.”

“What?” Chuuya demands. “No, you fucking psycho, get out of my office.”

Dazai’s hand instinctively twitches in the direction of his gun, and Chuuya catches it from the way his eyes shoot open.

“Yo,” Chuuya says loudly, rising to his feet. “What the fuck, Dazai?”

Logically, Dazai knows that whether he gets the chocolates from Chuuya or not, it won’t change anything. It’s the principle of it that’s the issue. Even if he manages to get his hands on the chocolates, you gave them to Chuuya and you didn’t give them to Dazai, but still, the sight of Chuuya with them is setting Dazai off in ways that he just can’t seem to get under wraps.

“Give me-”

Chuuya’s face twists in irritation and he slams the chocolates down on his desk before walking around it in Dazai’s direction. Instead of making a smart decision and running out of his office before he can get a faceful of Chuuya’s fist, he takes the opportunity to dart forward and grab the chocolates he put down, throwing them onto the ground and driving his heel right into the box.

“You bastard,” Chuuya shouts, grabbing Dazai by the collar of his jacket hard and throwing him hard into the side of his desk. Dazai barely withholds a wince as the corner of Chuuya’s desk drives deep into his side, crumpling to the ground hard. Chuuya kneels down to see if there’s anything left to salvage of the chocolates you gave him, but finds himself sorely disappointed. “What’s your fucking issue, Dazai?”

Stubbornly, Dazai doesn’t respond, raising his chin and meeting Chuuya’s gaze, trying to pretend that there is no issue and like he isn’t acting deranged over chocolates.

Not chocolates, he reminds himself, the principle.

“I knew you were weird about her but jeez,” Chuuya scoffs, picking up the mess of chocolates on his floor, brows furrowed in irritation. “You can’t even handle her giving someone else chocolates on Valentine’s Day. You need some serious fucking help, man. It’s the whole point of the goddamn day. You gonna go around and take everyone’s chocolates, you possessive freak?”

Dazai cringes and can’t stop himself as he asks quietly, “How many people has she given them too?”

Instantly, he knows he’s made a mistake—his voice came out all wrong and Chuuya notices it from the way he squints and frowns. He forces his expression to clear of any possible emotions and rises back to his feet, tilting his head to the side as he dares Chuuya to point out that his voice wavered when he asked the question.

“I don’t fucking know,” Chuuya shrugs, side-eyeing him suspiciously but choosing not to point out the weird tone he asked the question in. “She came in with a ton this morning, figured I was the last since she didn’t have any left with her when she came up here before.”

Oh, Dazai thinks, staring at Chuuya absently. Dazai didn’t anticipate that. At once, both of his theories to explain why you didn’t give him chocolates are disproven, and Dazai falters. If you came in with all of them at once and had none left by the time you got to Chuuya, then all signs pointed to that you’re just not giving Dazai chocolate for Valentine’s Day.

But why? Dazai doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong lately—in fact, he’s barely even had time to talk to you lately because you’ve been busy talking with your informants in Eastern Russia. You spent most days in Tokyo, and by the time you got back to your apartment, Dazai was out on his own missions. He hasn’t had the chance to do anything wrong, unless him just being around you is wrong.

How did she word it again? Oh, yeah, you forced your way into her life, didn’t you?

Elise is known for twisting the truth, she doesn’t usually lie about things—why did you tell them that he forced himself into your life? Do you not want him staying at your apartment? Mori did mention that he taught you to have good manners and he never says anything without there being an ulterior motive behind it. Was he trying to imply that you’re just being polite in letting him stay? Dazai doesn’t know; he’s always struggled to read you, but you’ve always made him feel welcome and wanted more than anyone else. It disconcerted him for a while, but he’s grown used to it in a way that he probably shouldn’t have.

Now, he’s doubting it all.

Chuuya’s eyes suddenly widen, his small brain clearly realizing something it wasn’t meant to. Dazai’s gaze hardens as he waits for Chuuya to say whatever it is he wants to say, but instead of speaking, the slug snorts. His hand flies to his mouth to smother the noise, but he just can’t stop himself from bursting into laughter. Dazai bristles.

“What?” he demands.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Chuuya howls, eyes tearing up as he laughs so hard that he wheezes. Dazai stiffens but otherwise doesn’t say anything, and that’s evidently an answer enough for him. “God, shitty Dazai, you’d think you of all people would know better. Get the fuck out of my office.”

Dazai doesn’t want to admit he has no idea what Chuuya’s talking about, but he also isn’t going to let Chuuya order him around, so he stands there stubbornly until Chuuya rises to his feet to grab Dazai by the back of his jacket again. Dazai instinctively drives his elbow hard into Chuuya’s chest, but he’s unbothered by it, shoving Dazai forward through the door of his office.

Chuuya gives him a mocking smile and goads, “How about you go ask her why she didn’t give you chocolates?”

Before Dazai has the chance to shoot back a snide comment, Chuuya slams the door right in his face. It’s not the principle that’s bothering him, Dazai realizes glumly, it’s the implication that maybe he’s been wrong about his friendship with you this whole time.

———

Dazai doesn’t even get out of the main building before he runs into someone else who has chocolates that are definitely gifted by you considering it’s your new partner. Itou Asahi is lounging in the lobby of headquarters with Hirotsu and a few members of the Black Lizards that Dazai doesn’t recognize. Dazai has never particularly liked the man—in fact, Dazai despises him and he despises how you seem to think the world of him—but now, his jaw is tight as he glares at the man from across the lobby.

Itou seems to be able to feel the daggers being shot in his direction. He looks up as he pops a chocolate into his mouth, eyes narrow as he tries to pinpoint who exactly is staring at him so intensely and pauses when he notices Dazai. He nudges Hirotsu, and to Dazai’s horror, he realizes that Hirotsu also has a set of chocolates that he hasn’t opened on the couch next to where he’s sitting with a note that Dazai can’t read from the distance but is the same pale pink parchment that Mori’s and Chuuya’s were written on.

Mori. Chuuya. Itou. Hirotsu. Why not him? What did he do?

Dazai sneers in Itou’s direction when the man lifts his hand and awkwardly waves, turning on his feet to leave the building. He had been planning on going to your apartment to sulk to see if you notice that he’s wildly irritated over the fact that he’s not received chocolates from you, but instead, he’s going to go grab a cheap bottle of whiskey from the nearest liquor store and drown himself in his misery back at his shipping container.

He doesn’t know what he did to you, and he thought if he did something wrong, you would’ve said something to him instead of icing him out. Isn’t that what you preach to him? Communication? Yes, Dazai sucks at it and has made no attempts to be better about it, but since you’re the one preaching it, you should at least have the decency to act as you preach.

You’re such a hypocrite, Dazai thinks bitterly, his throat feels clogged and his chest feels tight and his side hurts a shit ton—he doesn’t like any of this, and with each passing second, he’s becoming increasingly more bothered by this situation.

He’s not irritated anymore, he’s just hurt.

———

Dazai doesn’t end up going right to the shipping container. It’s late afternoon on a Friday, so when he’s halfway to the convenience store, he decides to make a pitstop at Bar Lupin to see if Odasaku and Ango are already hanging there. Luckily, one thing can go right for him today, because the two of them are in fact already sitting in their designated stools drinking their alcohol of choice.

Neither of them have said much of anything to him since he’s arrived besides greeting him. He wonders if he interrupted them—very extremely sour, he thinks that he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case considering he seems to be a burden on just about every single person he thinks is his friend.

“I didn’t think you’d be free today,” Odasaku finally says. “We would’ve texted you.”

“I didn’t have a mission scheduled for today,” Dazai replies flatly, unable to muster the energy to put on an energetic front for the two of them. Usually, he doesn’t need to fake it around them because he does genuinely have a good time with them, but he’s just in such a bad mood because of everything with you and all of the newfound doubts plaguing him that it’s impossible for him to take his mind off of it. “Why would I be busy?”

Odasaku and Ango share a look with one another, Dazai catches the way Ango subtly shakes his head and is instantly suspicious. Odasaku either doesn’t pick up on it or doesn’t care, because he says, “It’s Valentine’s Day. I thought you’d be spending it with…”

Odasaku trails off when Ango’s headshakes become more frequent, but Dazai already knows what he was about to say. Stiffly, he asks, “Why would I spend Valentine’s Day with her?”

Ango’s smile is unsure as he shares another look with Odasaku before turning his attention toward Dazai and prodding, “Did something happen?”

“No.” Neither of them respond to his sharp answer, and after a few moments, Dazai blurts out, “She doesn’t want me living at her apartment anymore.”

“What-” Ango begins before seemingly rethinking his question, letting out a sigh. “Did she tell you that?”

“No,” Dazai says after a second, “but I know.”

“How do you know?” Ango presses. “Did you overhear her talking to someone?”

“Well, no,” Dazai responds awkwardly, “but I know.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she didn’t get me chocolates,” Dazai finally explodes, voicing the words that have been bothering him all day. “She got Mori chocolates. She got the slug chocolates. She got her moron of a partner chocolates. She even got Hirotsu chocolates, but she didn’t get me chocolates. And Elise said that she told her and Mori that I forced my way into her life. Isn’t that rich? She’s the one that forced her way into my life. I don’t need her, I never did. I just liked her stupid apartment. I could get my own if I wanted to, I just didn’t want to put in the work.”

Dazai thought maybe getting all of his complaints out would make him feel better, but he only feels worse, because half of that isn’t even true. He likes being able to bother you at night instead of rotting alone in his shitty shipping container, and he likes when you make him coffee in the morning before heading out to a meeting. He likes Friday night movies and he likes forcing you to play video games just so he could beat you and brag about it. You told him that you were his friend, so shouldn’t you like doing all of that with him too instead of it being a burden?

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” Odasaku asks bluntly, never one to mince his words. Dazai slowly turns his head to look at the older man, barely catching the way Ango briefly shuts his eyes in exasperation. “I mean, you don’t even know if she’s not getting you any yet. You’re just assuming. The day isn’t over.”

Odasaku is usually logical, and he’s one of the few people who Dazai will take the advice of without question, but this time, Dazai shakes his head. He knows that’s not the case, you brought all of your chocolates to headquarters, and you handed them all out and didn’t give any to him. You knew he didn’t have a mission today so it’s not like he was busy, and even if he was, you could’ve given them to him this morning before he left. And either way, it’s not like that explains what Elise said.

“You should head back to her apartment,” Odasaku continues. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

“You know what, you’re right,” Dazai says, becoming increasingly more incensed with each passing second. He knew befriending you was a bad idea—nobody actually wants to be Dazai’s friend once they get to know him, it’s been true his whole life, he’s still half-convinced that Odasaku and Ango only humor him because they think he’ll just kill himself. Once people start to see how odd and fucked in the head he really is, they start to distance themselves from him; you can’t distance yourself from him since he’s living with you, so this is just your way of silently telling him you’ve had enough. He knew things would turn out this way, and he hates the way it still makes his chest hurt. He rises to his feet abruptly, “I am going to head back to her apartment—so I can pack my stuff and leave.”

“Dazai,” Ango calls after him, but Dazai doesn’t respond, storming out of Bar Lupin without another word.

He doesn’t need you, he tells himself again, willing the pain in his chest to turn into something more manageable—anger, resentment, but preferably, he just wants to be indifferent. He doesn’t need you and he knew this was going to happen, so it’s time for him to just take the hint and go on his way, back to how things were before you forced yourself into his life.

———

You’re not there when he gets back to your apartment and you’re not there by the time he gets his things together and leaves. He was especially frustrated when he found himself disappointed by that, because he realized he was unintentionally wasting time packing his things because he was hoping you would show up and stop him.

But you didn’t, so Dazai is now back at his shipping container huddled under a blanket because it’s cold. He’s almost done with his first bottle of whiskey, trying to numb the pain in his side and all of the shitty emotions he just can’t seem to rid himself of. It’s been three hours since he moved his stuff back into his shipping container; you should be back at the apartment by now—it’s thirty minutes off when the two of you watch your Friday night movies, and you’re usually back at your apartment getting snacks together with him by now.

You’ve realized he’s gone by now. Dazai hasn’t checked his phone, mostly because he doesn’t want to know if you cared enough to reach out. If he’s right about all of this, you’ll just take it as a blessing and move on, not wanting to risk an opportunity arising where you’d have to be polite and ask him to come back. As if he would. If Odasaku is right though… No, Dazai isn’t even going to go down that route, the last thing he needs is-

He’s startled when he hears three loud bangs on the metal wall of his shipping container. Instantly, his gaze focuses on the door. He knows it can only be one of two people, because you and Chuuya are the only ones shameless enough to come by without warning. Odasaku and Ango would text first and everyone else is too wary of him to come anywhere near the shipping yard, much less bang right on his door.

“Dazai, open up! What the hell?” He hears you shout from the other side of the thin wall. “It’s cold, come on! What are you even doing out here?”

You came looking for him, Dazai realizes, swallowing thickly. Dazai isn’t often wrong about things, so he doesn’t dare get his hopes up and he doesn’t respond to you. The roll up door rattles as you try to pull it up, but Dazai doesn’t budge to help you. It’s locked, so you won’t be able to open it and Dazai just waits for you to leave so he can go back to sulking in peace.

“Dazai, come on,” you complain. “What’s wrong? I was waiting for you back at the apartment, why didn’t you come home?”

Though Dazai intended on just ignoring you until you went away, he can’t help the snide comment that escapes his lips, “Home? You mean your apartment?”

He immediately takes another swig of whiskey, but the burn of the alcohol does nothing to take away from the bitter taste the words leave on his tongue. From the way you pause, you seem to realize something is wrong—extra snidely, he wonders when you became as slow as Chuuya.

“Yeah, my apartment, the place you’ve been living at for three months?” you say incredulously and Dazai winces. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” Dazai asks coolly. “Maybe you should be answering that instead. You’re a hypocrite.”

He knows that will set you off—he’s always been good at getting under people’s skin—and he’s noticed how you bristle whenever Mori hits you with “Now, dear, let’s not be hypocritical.” He can almost imagine the way you go stiff and the way your face goes cold, but it doesn’t bring him the malicious satisfaction he expects.

Instead, he only feels heavier.

Unfair, he thinks tightly. You’re always so unfair.

“Can you let me in?” you ask after a few moments of silence. Dazai is even more bothered now that he didn’t get the reaction he expected, gaze lowering to the ground. “I’d prefer not to freeze to death out here.”

This time when you ask, Dazai finds himself rising to his feet. He hasn’t drank enough yet to be unsteady, but he can certainly feel the blood rush to his head as soon as he stands up.

He makes his way over to the door, only fumbling once with the lock. He doesn’t slide it open for you just to be petty, but he doesn’t need to anyway—as soon as you hear the lock click open, you’re pulling open the door and Dazai pointedly turns his back to you before you can step in.

“Seriously?” you ask. Much to Dazai’s pleasure, you do sound a bit irritated now. “Dazai, what the hell? Why are you acting so weird?”

“Me?” Dazai demands, voice shrill at the sheer audacity you have coming to his shipping container and insulting him after what you did. Didn’t do. Same thing. He whips around to face you, a barrage of snide comments about to fall from his lips only to hesitate when he sees a fancy box in your hands. “... What is that?”

Your gaze sharpens and your brows furrow. You move the box out of sight behind your back, but Dazai dances around you to try to get a better look at it. The two of you play a game of swivels and twists for a few moments, but Dazai has to call it quits when the pain in his side gets worse and the alcohol goes right to his head.

You give him a concerned look, but don’t press about the way he winces. Instead, you say, “Tell me what your problem is first. Why are you drinking here alone in the dark?”

“... No,” Dazai says after a second. “What’s in the box?”

Dazai really doesn’t want to get his hopes up, so he chews the inside of his cheek and rocks back and forth from his toes to heels, hands clasped behind his back as he tries to distract himself. You roll your eyes, but your lips curl up into a fond smile that almost eases all of the stress Dazai has felt all day. Almost.

After what feels like an eternity, you pass the box over to him and Dazai immediately darts forward to grab it before you can change your mind. Though he knows what it is before he opens it, he can’t control the relief that floods him when he sees the expensive chocolates sitting inside the box—most of them are shaped in the typical Valentine’s Day heart, but some of them are-

“They’re crabs,” Dazai says gleefully, a genuine smile spreading widely across his lips as he reaches down to pluck one out of the box and pop it into his mouth. The chocolate is soft and creamy, it melts in his mouth the moment it touches his tongue and he lets out a delighted hum. He eats another, and then another after that. “How did you get them crab shaped?”

You don’t answer the question; you stare at the chocolates, conflicted, and Dazai isn’t sure why. You seem to be trying to decide whether or not you want to say something, but you let out a sigh, seemingly deciding against it.

Instead of whatever you were debating on saying, you rest your hand on your hip and ask him, “Why did you take all of your stuff out of your room?”

Your room, Dazai swallows the chocolate in his mouth as he tries to figure out how to respond to your question. He doesn’t really want to admit that he had a meltdown triggered by the chocolate that you just handed him, and you do seem genuinely put off by the fact that he left. Maybe he was wrong, he thinks, pressing his lips together as he considers the possibility. He’s hardly ever wrong, but he supposes it wouldn’t be the first time that you’ve managed to surprise him; since the day he met you, he feels like his mind is dulled when you’re around. He hates it.

So, he throws Elise under the bus.

“Elise said that you told her I forced myself into your life,” he says, voice coming out far more bitter than he intended for it to. He raises his chin stubbornly. “I wouldn’t want to keep imposing.”

Your expression flickers momentarily and you look a bit hurt, Dazai immediately swallows another chocolate, hopeful that he’ll swallow the sudden guilt he feels along with it. He doesn’t.

“Mori was trying to get me to convince you to live in the apartment he has set up for you in the main building,” you explain quietly after a few moments, crossing your arms over your chest. “I told him that he was better off trying to convince you himself because it was your decision to stay at mine. I didn’t have much of a say in it.”

Dazai lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and because he has no self control, he starts to ask, “But if you did have a say in it…”

Your expression softens in a way that makes Dazai’s stomach turn in on itself and your eyes flicker down to the box he’s holding before you quickly look back up at him. The box of chocolates in his hands suddenly feels a lot heavier, and his grip instinctively tightens around it.

“I… my apartment is a bit too big to live in alone,” you answer, and then add, “I would prefer you stayed.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, but his gaze does dart down to the three bags of clothes he brought back to the shipping container with him, all still packed. It wasn’t all of his stuff, just enough for it to be noticeable to you when you went to his room looking for him. Maybe he had been hoping you would come bring him back.

“I don’t have a movie picked out for tonight, if you want to pick,” you offer when the silence stretches on.

Dazai glances down at the chocolates you gave him again and then he says, “The Discovery channel has a new documentary on -”

“No.”

“What?” Dazai demands. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I am not watching another crab documentary, Dazai.”

“The last one was good.”

“The last one bored me to tears.”

Dazai rolls his eyes, leaning down to pick up one of his bags and you grab the other two after sending a narrowed look to his left side, slinging them over your shoulder as you step outside of the shipping container. Dazai follows you, rolling the door back down before giving you a mocking look.

“So you just want to watch one of those stupid superhero movies again? The only one actually entertained by them is bird-brained Chuuya, anyone with two brain cells knows how it ends just from the first scene,” he says snidely, enjoying the way you immediately scowl at him.

“Just because you know how it’s going to end doesn’t mean it’s not entertaining,” you argue. “You can be entertained by something predictable.”

“Not me,” Dazai sings as he follows you out of the shipping container yard and to the road. Much to Dazai’s displeasure, he realizes that you did not come here alone—your new partner is sitting in the front seat of the car waiting on the side of the road, scrolling through his phone. Distastefully, he demands, “Why is he here?”

“He drove me,” you say like it’s obvious. “What’s your problem with him anyway?”

“Nothing,” Dazai mutters, making sure to give the older boy a dark look as he slides into the back seat.

He expects you to get into the passenger seat, but instead you move to sit in the back with him. Before you do, he stiffens as he remembers his clothes were not the only thing he stole from your apartment. Your eyes narrow in suspicion and you place your hand on your hip.

“What else did you take before leaving?”

Dazai sulks at how easily you figured out what the issue is and lies when he repeats, “Nothing.”

“If we get back home and immediately have to come back out here, I’m going to waterboard you, Dazai,” you say flatly.

“I’ve been waterboarded before,” he says stubbornly.

“Not by me,” you threaten.

Dazai sighs dramatically, letting his head fall back against the headrest.

“I stole all of the remotes in the apartment,” he admits, shifting to push himself up to walk back over to the shipping container, wincing again when he shifts the wrong way. He pauses when you roll your eyes and hold your hand up to stop him.

“I’ll get them,” you say. “Stay here.”

“Don’t leave me with him,” Dazai complains, but you slam the door in his face.

Instantly, the light and playful expression drops from his face as he turns his attention to the rear view mirror, eyes locking with Itou Asahi. The blonde raises his eyebrows tauntingly, as if he’s daring Dazai to say something to him, and Dazai has half a mind to reach for the gun stuffed in the pocket of his black jacket. He refrains if only because he doesn’t want to piss you off even more.

After a moment, Itou twists in his seat to look at Dazai. Dazai’s eye twitches in irritation, realizing that he’s about to speak to him.

He nods to the box of chocolates. “She spent a month at my place trying to get it right.”

Though Dazai planned on ignoring him, he can’t stop the quiet, “What?” that slips from his mouth.

“The chocolates,” Itou says like Dazai is stupid, which irritates him but he’s still confused so he’s forced to wait for him to explain. “She tried custom ordering the crab shaped ones but had a tantrum because they looked ugly. So she spent a month learning how to make them so she could mold them on her own. She only just finished this batch today—still isn’t satisfied with how they came out, but ran out of time.”

Dazai’s throat swells up as he stares down at the chocolates, an odd warmth spreading through his chest that he can’t snuff out. Scrutinizing them more carefully now, he sees all of the tiny imperfections that wouldn’t be there if you’d store bought them—the hearts aren’t all perfectly even, some of the legs on the crabs are longer than others, there’s an indent on the back of the heart shaped chocolate he’s holding like you’d touched it while it was too soft.

His fingers close around it carefully, lips parting to speak but he can’t find any words. When did you have the time though? You’ve had so many missions lately-

Oh.

“All the missions in Tokyo…”

“Her missions were learning how to fucking make chocolate and they were in my apartment, not Tokyo,” Itou scoffs. “I’m never going to be able to eat chocolate again in my life the amount she’s force fed me. I can hardly stand the smell of it now. I had to send her to Nakahara for him to taste test the last few batches.”

Dazai’s gaze sharpens, obscenely bothered at the thought of Itou Ashi and Nakahara Chuuya being your taste testers and Itou is complaining about it. “You should be grateful you got to try her chocolate,” he snaps immediately.

Itou’s jaw drops and he immediately shakes his head. “You two are so fucking-” he starts to say but cuts himself off when he sees you approaching the car again.

Dazai squints at him, almost wanting to dare him to continue, but his expression lightens when you open the door, remotes in hand and an irritated expression still painted on your face.

He only moves over enough to give you room to sit instead of moving to sit behind the driver’s seat. You squint at him, but Dazai gives you a small smile and says quietly, “My chocolates are much nicer than Chuuya’s.”

Your expression immediately softens and your lashes flutter as you avert your gaze—the telltale sign of you being flustered. Dazai’s lips part to say something else, but no words come out, gaze pinned on the pretty glow the moonlight casts over your face. You look like you want to say something as you look down at the chocolates again, but again, you seem to decide against it.

“How do you even know what Chuuya got?” you ask suddenly, clearing your throat. Dazai freezes. “And what happened to your side? Every time you move you’re wincing.”

“I… stopped by his office and saw them?” he offers, his next smile is too sweet, and you catch it from the way your eyes narrow. Defensively, he says, “The slug didn’t deserve chocolates from you.”

“Oh my god, Dazai,” you complain, burying your face in your hands.

Dazai’s face flames up, and he shoots a dirty look in Itou’s direction when the older boy bursts into laughter.

“Slugs can’t eat chocolate,” Dazai insists. “I was helping him, really.”

“I can’t stand you,” you sigh, but when you shift in your seat, you shift so that you’re sitting a little closer to Dazai, shoulder pressed against his and thighs knocking together.

He glances down at the box of chocolates in his lap again, and the chocolate heart resting in his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, he passes it over to you. You give him a questioning look, but Dazai pointedly looks away as he wills his cheeks not to reflect his flustered thoughts, waiting for you to take it. His breath catches when your fingers brush his hand as you take it from him.

“Thanks,” you say softly.

Instead of directly responding, Dazai prods, “So, about the crab documentary…”

You let out a heavy sigh as you side eye him. “Fine,” you agree, “but you’re doing the garbage this week.”

“What?!” he demands. “It’s not my turn.”

“The price you pay for forcing me to watch nature documentaries for movie night.”

“It’s not just nature, it’s crabs.”

“Deal or no deal?”

“Fine. Deal.”

“Good,” you say with a saccharine smile that Dazai doesn’t like because he knows you’re thinking something bad. “Deal.”

After a few moments, you add, “I would’ve put it on even if you didn’t agree.”

“I’m going back to my shipping container.”

You laugh loudly, and Dazai’s heart skips a beat at the sound of it. He very much ignores the way Itou shoots an amused look back at them, focusing instead on the way your eyes glitter as your laughs fizzle into soft giggles.

“As if,” you say, knocking your shoulder into his. “I’ll just drag you back again. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.”

His lips curl up into a small smile in response to your words, gaze dropping back down to the chocolates sitting in his lap, and then back to you.

“Will you?” he asks quietly, a bit too seriously.

Your smile softens, and Dazai’s heart lodges right in his throat. “Count on it.”

#tbr list #bsd; o. dazai

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nemo-likesto-read · 9 days ago

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CRASH COURSE ﾉ xia caleb x female reader ៹ explicit content, unprotected sex, virginity loss, mentions of cheating (none actually happens), pet names (pipsqueak (sorry but i have to be accurate) gege, good girl), instructional sex, blowjobs, creampie, idk what this is i wrote it in 5 seconds i just needed an excuse to write caleb, not proofread :( ˓˓ WORD COUNT ᨀ 4.9k !

asking the boy you’ve known nearly your entire life to teach you how to have sex isn’t weird, right...? right?

caleb has taught you a lot of things over the years.

he taught you how to drive a car in the shopping mall’s parking lot, how to cheat at card games, how to avoid burning the house down by letting him cook for you instead, how to sneak underneath the turnstiles on the subway to avoid fees.

he’s reliable and sturdy and a little reckless, but also patient and nonjudgmental— creating the idea in your idea that he’s kind of all-knowing, that whenever you don’t know something caleb does, that whenever you need help, you turn to no one else but him. which is precisely why you’re standing outside the door of his bedroom right now, hand lifted to knock on it.

because surely, asking caleb to teach you how to give a blowjob falls somewhere underneath that category too, right?

it’s one of those rare moments when the two of you are off work at the same time. caleb, on annual leave for the next two weeks and you, taking out a handful of unused vacation days to spend time with your favorite person in the world. it’s like old times again, when you can simply walk down the hall and hear his laugh drifting from underneath the door as he plays some stupid video game with college buddies.

thinking of the old days is exactly why you’re hesitating at the door. there’s too much shared history between the two of you, too much to lose if this goes badly, if you’ve been reading him wrong all along and he doesn’t want the same thing. there’s no way you can march in there and ask the boy you were raised with teach you how to—

“door’s open, pipsqueak,” caleb calls, somehow knowing you’re there because of course he does. you used to complain that he must’ve secretly implanted a tracker in your arm because he always knows your whereabouts, which made games like hide and seek with him impossible.

knowing it’s too late to play it off, you walk inside his room, greeted by his devastatingly gorgeous grin. “hey, you. lemme guess— the fridge is empty? no? lightbulb in your room need changing again? huh… or did you just miss me?”

“uh,” you mumble, shifting your toes in the soft carpet of the rug in the middle of his room. “not exactly. i was just wondering if you had time to talk and— … you’re not wearing a shirt.”

you realize how dumb you sound as you point it out, it’s just that your brain short-circuits, turning into a syrupy mess at the sight of caleb without a shirt on, his dog tags resting against bare skin. you’ve seen him like this before, of course— but not since he up and left, gallivanting off into the world to become a hotshot military pilot.

he’s always been nice to look at when you think he isn’t paying attention, but god he’s pretty. your eyes blink almost in disbelief as you take in his broad, muscular form that did not exist while he was a cadet in basic training. your gaze can’t help but snag on the ripple of his abs, or the thatch of brown hair trailing from his navel to disappear beneath his gray sweats. he swivels in his stupid gaming chair, smiling at you with his stupid face—

“uh, yeah?” caleb laughs, forehead creasing in confusion like you shouldn’t be surprised and really, you shouldn’t. caleb is like a furnace, blood running hot even in the middle of winter. “gran’s got the heat turned up to max again. it’s like she wants to kill me.”

“yeah, right,” you shake your head, laughing skittishly. “sorry. i’ve got a fan you can borrow, if you want.”

“thanks,” he says, magenta eyes dragging over your form suspiciously, taking in the way you’re standing in the middle of his room fidgeting like a leaf in the wind, hands white-knuckling the hem of the oversized shirt you’re wearing, knees knocking together all nervous and cute. he frowns, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to give you his full attention in that heart-stuttering way he often does.

“what’s with you? not that i’m not glad to see you, but… did something happen? did someone do something to you?”

“no, no— nothing like that,” you hurry to reassure, voice cracking on the last word as your cheeks begin to burn in embarrassment, trying to find the words to say what you need to without crashing and burning. swallowing around a lump in your throat, you glance at the paused screen of caleb’s game before blurting out—

“can you teach me how to give a blowjob?”

caleb immediately chokes.

a lesson on what not to do.

the overclocked fans on caleb’s gaming rig whirs in a soft hum, the neon lights in his room flickering crimson streaks over his handsome face in the dark. he wonders if it’s post traumatic stress or prolonged exposure to cosmic radiation in the sky forcing him to hallucinate. obviously, he’s got too many marbles in one jar and not enough in the other because there is no way he’s heard you correctly.

slowly, he removes his headset. “come again?”

“i’m awful at it, ge,” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in exasperation. in fact, you don’t know if you’re awful at it or not because you’ve never tried. you’ve been too busy waiting on the man in front of you to stop torturing you both, but caleb doesn’t need to know that. “you see, i’m dating this guy, right? and we’ve been hitting it off well. i can tell he wants to take it to the next level, but i’ve never… and you— you’re good at everything, so i just thought…”

“thought i would give you lessons,” he finishes for you, his voice deepening to a rougher edge that makes you shiver. “so you can suck your boyfriend better. do i have it right?”

“y-yeah…”

“since when do you even have a boyfriend? you didn’t tell me anything,” he says, doing nothing to mask the disappointment in his voice.

“uh, we’ve… been seeing each other for a couple of weeks?” you fumble, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. “i didn’t want to say anything yet. in case it didn’t work out.”

“so you want to learn how to suck dick for a guy you’ve known for a couple of weeks?” he counters, a muscle in his jaw twitching. he’s got no right to feel jealousy, not when he’s wasted so much time attempting to be one thing in your life when you clearly wanted something else. he’s got no right, but the thought of you on your knees for someone else, someone that isn’t him, makes his blood boil enough that he already knows what his answer will be.

however, you’re already backing up towards the door, about to make a quick retreat. your plan was horrible, shame burning your skin like a brand. “what am i saying? oh my god, you’re right it’s stupid and wrong and gross. can we please just forget i even came in here—”

he lets you ramble for an excruciatingly long time, then he pushes out of his gaming chair and grins down at you like you just asked him to make a quick run to the convenience store. he stretches his arms above his head. “let’s do it.”

“w-what?”

you didn’t expect to get this far, honestly. you expected caleb to laugh at you, ruffle your hair, and call you ridiculous. but instead, he’s already striding to his door, thumb flicking the lock with a decisive click. when he turns, his expression makes your breath hitch— those unusual purple eyes molten, staring straight through you.

“first thing’s first, we need to lay down some ground rules, soldier,” caleb tells you playfully, stepping closer until your breasts brush against his midsection. his hand lifts, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “if you need to back out at any moment, you say so. no guy’s pleasure is worth your discomfort. and if i hear his name, whatever it is…” he pauses, eyes narrowing. “this stops. understood?”

you nod eagerly, fighting your smile as his scent envelopes you. he smells like spearmint gum, your shampoo that he’s been stealing since the two of you have been back at the house, and a hint of swear from the stifling air in the room.

“use your words, pipsqueak.”

“y-yeah, i get it.”

his smirk is all teeth. “good girl.”

caleb guides you over to his bed, sitting down on the edge. his big hands reach for you, circling your hips and pulling you towards him until you’re standing in between his spread thighs.

“alright, my little student,” he jokes. “you wanna get him all riled up before the main event so start with something small like… a kiss,” he murmurs, eyes lifting to glance at your mouth as his finger traces the hinge of your jaw. “you do know how to kiss, don’t you?”

“of course i know how to kiss,” you grumble.

caleb nods and then curls his hand around the nape of your neck, pulling you down to his level. you lean with the pressure, slotting your hands in the junction between his neck and shoulder, sliding them up until you cup the underside of his jaw. then, you’re kissing him— kissing caleb, the boy who used to patch up your scraped knees with cute band-aids, who let you crawl into his bed after nightmares, who pretends he hasn’t thought about kissing you, about making you his, for years.

the kiss is messy, desperate and hungry, decades of pent up feelings behind it. a string of saliva keeps your mouths linked together whenever you pull back for air and when caleb’s tongue swipes across your bottom lip, you whimper and part your lips to let him in, body melting against his front until your weight’s toppling him back onto his elbows, hitching your leg over his waist to crawl on top of him.

his grip on your waist tightens, gently pushing you to stand once more. “this is feeling less like a lesson, and more like you just wanting to do this with me,” he teases, making heat flare across your cheeks.

caleb guides your hand to the waistband of his sweatpants, the heat radiating through the fabric searing your palm. breath hitching, you begin to sink to the floor in front of him but his hand shoots out to stop your descent with a breathy laugh. “no no no, c’mere. you’re gonna hurt your knees down there.”

backing up, he moves until he’s lounging against the headboard, impossibly long legs stretched out on either side of your sweet figure.

“still wanna do this?” he asks, lifting a brow. when you nod, he continues to speak, voice gravelly, “take it out then.”

your fingers fumble with the drawstring a bit, struggling to undo the military knot caleb’s tied there, but you manage eventually. peeling back the waistband of his sweatpants to free his cock.

you should’ve known it would be just as pretty as the rest of him— it’s the biggest one (the only one) you’ve seen in person. he’s thicker than he is long, flushed dusky pink with veins that make your cunt clench with the desperate need to feel them dragging along your inner walls. his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, watching you reach for it, nearly sobbing when your hand wraps around him.

“fuck—!” his hips jerk and stutter in shock, hand shoving yours away with a quickness. you frown and bite your lip, retracting your grip as if you’ve been burned.

“oh no,” you rush out, moving back to sit on top of your hands like a scolded kindergartener. “did i do something bad? did i hurt you, cal?”

caleb’s chest heaves, breath punching out of his lungs rapidly, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to slow the speed of his heart down. he’s dreamt about you touching him like this for ages, and the image of your dainty hand nervously wrapping around his cock will be seared into his brain for the rest of his life. you crawl back towards him slowly, seriously worried. “caleb?”

“i’m fine, pip,” he sucks in another breath, then opens his eyes to look at you. “didn’t mean to scare you. you didn’t do anything bad, you just surprised me. go ahead, touch me again.”

“if you’re sure,” you mumble, then hesitantly circle your fingers around caleb’s shaft again. he’s ready for it this time, hot against your palm when you give him an experimental squeeze, making caleb hiss through clenched teeth. “how’s that?”

“a bit tighter,” he instructs, palm closing over yours to adjust your grip. you squeeze him tight, and the hitch of his breath makes you squirm, stickiness gathering between your thighs at the sound. “don’t just squeeze, guys like it when you stroke. base to tip— no, don’t yank it like a fucking joystick, pip. god.”

his protest makes you burst out in giggles before caleb is shushing you with a severe look, his purple eyes narrowed. sucking your plump lower lip in between your teeth to keep from smiling, you nod at him with an exaggeratedly focused look.

“wet your palm,” he tells you, rolling his eyes at your wrinkled nose. “getting a handjob from a dry hand hurts, it’s like sandpaper.”

“are you saying i have dry hands, caleb? i moisturize daily, unlike you,” you whine out, but you listen to him anyway— you’re a good student, after all, and you don’t want to do anything that’ll make caleb want to stop. you lick your palm a few times, eyes on caleb the entire time.

the next time you touch him is with a spit-slicked grip, dragging your hand up and down his cock in an unexperienced, sloppy rub that should feel uncomfortable, but caleb eats it up— hips jerking involuntarily, pearls of watery precum already beginning to leak from the slit of his cock. your gaze is transfixed on it, a little greedy too, watching it stain your knuckles with each stroke.

it’s that same greediness that makes you lean down and brush your lips against the head of his cock, cherry tongue lolling out to tentatively taste the salt-bitter precum beading there. caleb’s hips immediately kick upward in a desperate twitch, but he forces them still, knuckles ashen where they reach down to grip the sheets.

“easy,” he rasps, voice fraying at the edges. his thumb strokes your cheek briefly. “just the tip first, okay? don’t go trying to swallow me down or anything.”

you do what he’s taught you so far; flatten your tongue, swirl it around the head— like that, fuck— press it hard against the thick, sensitive vein running along caleb’s underside, then repeat. every time, you’re rewarded with caleb brushing your hair back, murmuring soft praises, or your personal favorite— his deep, almost nasal groan, the hard planes of his abdomen flexing underneath the heady heat of your tongue.

it’s intoxicating, watching him fall apart like this— exactly what you wanted when you walked into his room. you want to pass his class with honors, please him even more, so you drop your mouth open a little more and suck him in deeper.

too deep.

the thick ridge of his head nudges against your uvula, tears springing to your eyes almost immediately. little startled chokes cough from your throat as you pull off caleb’s cock, bands of saliva stringing from his tip to your mouth in a way that should be gross, but you don’t care one bit, too busy trying to catch your breath.

“shh, shh— breathe,” caleb soothes, eyes darkening with something perilously close to reverence and pride. “through your nose, slowly. you can’t force it, that’s why you keep choking. when you’re ready, try again.”

you let caleb thumb away your tears like he’s done countless times before and when you’re ready, when you’ve had enough air to breathe, you let him guide you back onto his damp cock. eager, swollen lips bringing him in against your cheeks in a hot, branding suction that twists his insides up.

he’s supposed to be teaching you, showing you the ropes so you can please your stupid boyfriend, but you barely even need it— god, you’re so good at this without even trying. how can he focus on teaching when he’s got all of his focus pointed towards trying not to shoot his load down the back of your throat like some inconsiderate asshole?

he can barely look down at you because every time he does, your teary eyes glance up at him through thick lashes with an expression that begs for praise. he knows if you didn’t have a mouth stuffed full of his cock, you’d be asked am i doing it right, ge?

his thighs tremble, eyes lidded as you finally find a steady pace— mouth bobbing up and down, spit bubbling at the base of his cock where you’re starting to make a mess on him.

and when your hands dip down into his sweatpants, cupping his balls in your soft hand, caleb’s vision whites out, his climax rushing to the front at a rapid pace. before he can cum, though, he takes two fingers and pushes at your forehead, hauling you off his cock with a wet slurp. his chest heaves, dripping beads of sweat that glow azure in the haze of the neon lighting in his room.

he looks wrecked, and you fight your triumphant smile, schooling it into something unsure and pliant, batting your eyelashes. “did i… did i do it wrong?”

“fuck, no,” his chuckle is hoarse and ruined, calloused thumbs swiping spit from your chin as he gazes up at you meaningfully with those hooded eyes. “just don’t wanna cum down your throat.”

“o-oh.”

the implication makes arousal bubble low in your belly, thighs squeezing together in need. caleb tracks the movement, nostrils flaring as he grins knowingly. “yeah, you don’t want that either, do you, pipsqueak?”

for a while, the two of you just stare at each other in disbelief. you don’t know how to tell caleb that you’d take him in any form he’s offering himself in, pining after him long enough that it’s painful. nothing you ever did got his attention, not in the way you truly wanted. he’s protective and possessive in all the right ways, but he’d never make the first move.

he’ll never come out and admit that he wants to spread you out on his bed and fuck you dumb, mark you as his so nobody else can have you. it took you coming to him to even get this far, so you might as well take matters into your own hands once more.

“teach me the rest, ge?”

the rest.

caleb releases a pained groan at your words and you think he’s going to refuse you, but then he’s flipping your positions, pushing you down onto the mattress with ease. he makes quick work of his sweatpants, shoving them down the rest of the way. then, he wrestles your panties off your hips and tosses them somewhere across the room.

“look at you,” he whispers, pushing your shirt up— his cock leaking a bead of precum at the sight of your pretty tits. he reaches forward, toying with your puffy nipples, grinning at the sound of your soft whimper.

“c-caleb.”

“you drive me fuckin’ crazy, you get that?” the confession comes out sounding suspiciously like a whine. he gazes down at you like you’re water and he’s a man lost deep in the desert, dying of thirst. “you’re the prettiest girl in the whole wide world. look at these cute tits, just begging for me to touch them. and—”

his big hands sink into the fleshy part of your upper thighs, opening them to get his first exclusive look at your pussy. his thumb parts your folds, spreading one side apart to watch the way your entrance twitches. caleb dips one finger into your cunt and could fucking cry at how warm and tight you feel. “fuck, you’re so wet. is this all ’cause of me?”

“d-don’t look at it so shamelessly, you pervert,” you scold him, squirming back and forth in his hold as you try to snap your thighs shut. “stop teasing me or i’ll hit you. this is embarrassing!”

“why not?” he tilts his head, giving you that boyish grin that makes your heart stop. “after i’m done with you, it’ll be mine anyway. my pretty pussy. my girl.”

you huff and drive your fist into his shoulder before folding your arms over your breasts, lower lip stuck out in an unhappy pout. caleb winces, though mirth still shines amongst the nebulas in his eyes. he leans down to kiss your pout away, chuckling in amusement. “okay, okay, don’t hurt me. i’ll give you what you want.”

and then, he’s wrapping a hand around the base of himself, kissing your clit with the leaking tip of his cock before rubbing it up and down your slit. he coats himself in your wetness before he finally notches against your entrance and slowly pushes.

the pressure makes air stutter out of your chest, blunt and unyielding. he immediately notices your struggle and drops forward on his elbows, caging you safely in his embrace. he kisses the corners of your eyelids, licking away stray tears.

“i hate hurting you like this,” he whispers in your ear, hips drawing back and crawling forward again. you gasp, eyes falling shut, and he shushes you once more. slides a hand down to play with your clit to distract you, which only makes you clench up around him. his jaw is clenched tight enough to shatter the bone, hand fisted in the sheets next to your head. “shh— relax and let me in. it’ll feel good in a second.”

“i-i don’t know if i can,” you say, trying to force your body to accept him, but when he sinks in those first few inches, you whimper and dig your nails into his biceps. “y-you’re so big, ge.”

“f-fuck, don’t—” caleb grunts and his fingers grip the soft sides of your belly, holding your body to his like a lifeline. “don’t call me that right now. i might cum. i’m gonna put the rest in, okay? be a good girl for me and take it. i-i can’t wait any longer.”

he draws out and presses forward all the way in, burying himself to the hilt inside your sweet pussy. his gaze drops to where you’re split obscenely around him, cunt fluttering in protest at the stretch and a ragged groan tears from his throat. it takes every ounce of willpower the military beat into him not to cream himself right then and there.

“c-caleb!”

you whine as caleb retreats slightly, only to surge back in, fucking a little deeper this time. the weight of his cock stretching you out borders on cruel, but you would die before you ask him to stop, your walls squeezing him in a vice grip. it takes a few trials and errors (“keep your hips down, pipsqueak” and “i don't know, maybe a little to the l— fuck, right there oh my god”) but eventually, caleb builds up a good rhythm, the cool metal of his dog tags pooling in the valley of your breasts as he fucks you with deep, steady strokes; bottoming out each time with a guttural groan.

“fuck— stop clenching so much i’m gonna lose my mind,” his breath scalds your neck, teeth grazing your pulse as he fucks a little faster. “so fucking good. that’s it, baby. you’re doing so good. taking every inch of me like this.”

he’s right, it is so fucking good— no, it’s better. your nails scrape against caleb’s back. shivering at the hot pleasure singeing your nerve endings each time he fucks into you. it doesn’t take long for pressure to gather in your lower belly, a band waiting to snap.

you can’t help but wriggle a hand between the two of your bodies and circle a trembling middle finger around your swollen clit. “nngh, you feel so fucking good, cal.”

“a-are you- god, that’s so hot,” he grunts, glancing down at the way you’re toying with your clit and it turns him on so much he’s speeding up, cock pistoning in and out of you, his thrusts deepening until he’s nearly kissing your cervix, he’s in so deep, your thighs slamming against his hips as you try to close your legs when the head of his cock brushes right up against your sweet spot, creating starbursts behind your eyelids.

“oh god, cal— i-i can’t!”

caleb’s grin is feral, grinding deep to press into that swollen spot inside you relentlessly. “knew i’d find it,” then his fingers joining yours and it’s so much better than your own, two digits rubbing quick circles into your sensitive clit. you’re a babbling mess at this point, the pleasure too much to keep up with. “can you cum for me? can you let me feel it? please? i’ll never ask you for another thing if you give me one right here, right now.”

what are you supposed to do, deny him? you couldn’t even if you tried, not with the heat in your belly full to bursting, needing an escape.

“’m gonna c-cum for you, ge, just for you,” you sob.

caleb has seen many versions of you over the years— grumpy and pillow-marked in the morning with syrup stains on your shirt at the breakfast table, covered in sand and sun-kissed at the beach, screaming at him to do something about the jellyfish sting on your leg, in sleek black dresses at the military balls you attended as his plus one that made all his comrades stop and stare. but you’ve never looked prettier than you do right now. his dog tags between your breasts, your creamy pussy fluttering around his cock, and your pretty face twisted in pleasure as you’re about to cum for him.

he hopes that when he dies, he’ll go out with this image in his brain.

those big doe eyes of yours roll back into your head, hands frantically pushing at his abdomen as if he’s trying to escape the overwhelming friction of his cock. you cum hard, thighs trembling, vision winking out. wet droplets of tears stream down your cheeks as white heat washes over your body, the pleasure bleeding through your limbs like wildfire.

seeing you like this, what is caleb supposed to do? not follow you? he’s been holding his own orgasm back since you barged into his room in one of his shirts, begging to be taught how to suck a cock. there’s no way he can last through seeing— through feeling— you cum around him. his rhythm fractures almost immediately and he knows he’s on thin ice, fraying at the edges.

“gonna cum,” he grits out, voice mangled. “fuck, i’m gonna cum. where do you want it?”

you don’t waste a second, babbling out the answer desperately, “i-inside, ge, cum inside me. give it to me please i want it so bad i’ll do anything!”

that’s all it takes.

one more sloppy thrust and he cums right after you, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you still. he breathes choppy, ruined moans into your neck as he pumps his release deep inside your cunt before he collapses against you, damp chest heaving against yours, giving a few more weak thrusts of his hips as his climax ebbs.

you don’t know how long the two of you lay there, struggling to catch your breaths. you’re satisfied and pliant as putty underneath caleb, unable to move from his heavy embrace. he’s a wall of solid muscle, one that is pressing you into the mattress. “caleb, you’re heavy.”

“gimme a minute here, pipsqueak,” caleb chuckles breathlessly against your sweaty skin, pressing a wet kiss to your neck. “i just had the best sex of my life and can’t catch my breath.”

you begin to smile in pride, but then your eyes narrow as his words register through the fucked out haze clouding your brain. “wait, you were having sex before this?” you ask, jealousy bubbling up in your chest. “was it that one sergeant? the one who kept giving you lovey dovey eyes at the DAA gala?”

“mmm, nope,” he answers almost immediately, kissing your lips quickly to placate you, making your heart swell big and bright for the boy on top of you. “chill. saved myself all this time for you.”

your heart begins racing stupidly fast at that. “sap,” you tease, before an idea pops in your head and you reach for your phone tossed haphazardly on caleb’s bedside table.

caleb’s grip on you tightens as he notices you reach for it, a dark cloud shuttering his loving expression. “what are you doing?” he demands, the venom in his tone startling you a bit. “texting him already? that eager to try out what i just taught you?”

you frown in confusion until you remember the excuse you used upon coming into caleb’s room. wow, the boy you’re in love with is an idiot. giggling, you lean up and press a sweet kiss to his cheek before opening the camera on your phone and snapping a quick selfie of the two of you.

“no, you big dummy, i’m taking a pic of us losing our virginities together so i can add it to our photo album,” you explain simply, grinning. “and there was never any boyfriend, i made him up.”

#tbr list #l&ds; caleb

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nemo-likesto-read · 10 days ago

Text

captive bird - caleb 夏以昼

tension boils over during the thunderstorm in caleb’s living room—things get heated. what really happens in captive bird when caleb and mc are finally honest with how they feel about each other.

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: caleb x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with plot, porn with feelings/angst, fluff, canon story continuation

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 13.4k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, SPOILERS TO CAPTIVE BIRD (main story), more compliant with original chinese script, pseudo-incest (it’s very clear they are not related and do not feel related), unprotected sex, oral (male and female receiving), fingering, virginity loss (male and female), panty sniffing/licking (while on female mc), panty stealing, multiple orgasms, light choking, improper use of Evol, lots and lots of dirty talking (caleb is a vocal man), lots of pet names (princess, brat, baby, babygirl, and the occasional pip-squeak), cumming on stomach, cum…licking?, use of gege, size difference, use of Y/N, lots and lots of main story/lore/anecdote references, lots of feelings and angst, references to caleb’s right arm, bratty mc/brat tamer caleb

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: ao3 | captive bird video (also has entire ch2)

━ ✧.˖ A/N: vomits everywhere DON’T LOOK AT ME,,,,,idk how this got out of hand….i was hoping it would be MAX 9-10k…it’s 13k….anyways i hope you enjoy <3 first of many love letters to caleb, my babyyy.

if you cannot tell yes caleb is my favorite….far far behind is sylus and then behind him is zayne. but i fear it is not even close.

this is the first installment of my “””planned””” caleb series - essentially it’ll be smutty moments throughout the canon content: main story, five star mems, bonds, etc. no schedule, no promises. i will write when i feel inspired <3

lore and plot build up is probably 4k words and the smut is like 9k. It goes lore → smut so you can skip the plot and go straight to the smut if youd like LOL

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

“Our reporters out in the field confirmed the lockdown will be lifted after being in effect for weeks. The Farspace Fleet assures everyone that the explosion in the Cascade District will not happen again–”

The newscaster is cut off when Caleb shuts off the television, coming up behind you. True to his word, three days had passed and it seemed the situation in Skyhaven was on the cusp of “resolving.” You’d finally be able to return home soon.

Home–to Linkon. It used to be Caleb’s home too.

On the other hand, your prickly relationship with Caleb had only tensed further in the past few days. You’d exchanged maybe a handful of words, not for lack of trying on his part.

After he had clasped the monitoring bracelet onto your wrist, he may as well have locked away the last bit of hope you had that the Caleb you once knew was still under that prim and poised Colonel’s uniform.

In your time at Skyhaven, he’d proven time and time again that the Caleb you grew up with, the gege you once loved, was gone. And what remained was someone you did not recognize, and didn’t know if you cared to.

And yet, in the three days you locked yourself in the hollow room of his suffocating home, he’d still cook every meal for you, despite being gone much of the day. Three times a day, without fail, a tray of your favorite Caleb specials would show up at the foot of your door, accompanied by small and ridiculous sticky notes that pulled relentlessly at your heartstrings.

Caleb always loved notes. He used to say it was your guys’ thing.

But now, you weren’t so sure there was a you and him anymore.

“After all this is over, the Fleet will return to the Deepspace Tunnel. You’ll be safe. For now,” Caleb’s words cut through your thoughts. You nearly jump at the sound of his voice, this being the most you’d allowed him to say to you lately.

What’s more jarring is the idea that the Farspace Fleet is leaving Skyhaven. You’d forgotten that they hardly ever stationed here–spending most, if not all, their time patrolling the Deepspace Tunnel.

“So you’re just going to leave again? Without saying anything?” you bite out, overwhelmed by a bitterness you hadn’t quite processed since reuniting with him.

Caleb smiles, a ghostlike smirk that doesn’t meet his eyes. It’s riddled in self deprecation and pity, “You won’t have to see me anymore. Shouldn’t you be happy?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he chuckles and grabs your wrist, “I’m about to leave. Let’s have dinner together.”

Between the idea that Caleb is leaving you yet again, and him making yet another demand of you, you violently rip your arm away from him. Your words are venomous as you spit them out, “So I have to listen to the Colonel even when it comes to eating and drinking now?”

You storm away from him, sitting on the couch in the living room, hands clenched in your lap. Your gaze is fixed on your angrily quaking fists, and in the corners of your vision you see Caleb seating himself on the ottoman in front of you.

“You can be mad, but don’t let it affect your health,” he holds out an apple in front of you, a silent offering. It's perfectly red opulent skin only makes you bristle with more annoyance.

“I’m not mad.”

Caleb chuckles knowingly, “Growing up, I knew you better than anyone.”

His voice doesn’t change but there’s an undercurrent of emptiness that makes you look up at him. He doesn’t meet your eyes, his cheek resting on his fist as he turns the apple in his fingers, the ruby skin glinting under the lights.

“I could see through your lies before you could blink. Bite your lip, and I could instantly tell you were upset.”

He speaks as if remembering something precious he’d lost, violet eyes briefly flickering to yours before they cast downward again, focussing on the apple like it might solve your problems.

“Then tell me, since you know me so well, what am I thinking right now?”

Before he can respond, you continue, “I’m thinking…how did you turn into someone I can’t even recognize?”

Part of you regrets the words as soon they come out. But the other part, the larger part, wants him to see what you see. To feel what you feel. You think that part of you wants to hurt him like he’s been hurting you.

Caleb chuckles darkly, putting the apple back into the fruit bowl on the coffee table with the other perfect and untouched apples, “I know. You’re thinking a chip got put into my brain and it changed who I am, right?”

His shadowed gaze meets yours, unfathomable emotions shining through the eyes you once found immeasurable comfort in. He reaches out to hold your cheek, his fingers grazing your jaw. The look in his stormy eyes makes your skin crawl, and yet his touch is so unbearably familiar that you can’t help but lean into him.

“What if I told you…I was always this person?”

Your breath catches at the inexplicable hope that clashes with the sinister darkness shadowing his face. His deceptively simple words have you unconsciously inching away from him, your mind reeling as you struggle to accept them. Refuse to accept them.

Could he really always have been this person?

Could you really have been so deluded that you’d fallen in love with a complete stranger?

No, not a stranger–but someone who never even existed to begin with.

You recoil, not from his touch–but from his words, your spine hitting the back of the couch. There’s a split second where Caleb’s face falls, a flash of the sweet innocent boy you were yearning for finding its way to the surface. But then his face hardens, his Colonel’s mask slipping back on.

He stands before you, between your parted knees, his height looming over you like the impending storm that brews just outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the glass cage that was his home.

Caleb’s voice is so rough you almost don’t recognize it. His fist grasps the back of the couch beside your head, trapping you between it and him. You can’t bring yourself to push him away, your chest pounding at his proximity, eyes instinctively drawn into the curves of his lips as he speaks.

“It’s you who’s still living in a fantasy, Y/N.”

Those hauntingly beautiful amethyst irises search yours for even a glimmer of understanding. You’re nearly consumed by the stark contrast of the frenzy and despair in them.

“The people who want your power–who’d hurt you. They should all just…disappear.”

Caleb speaks with such a sinister conviction, as if he’s swearing a solemn oath to you. One that paints your skin with goosebumps at just how serious you can tell he is. How much of his humanity he’s willing to throw away–for you.

“You’re only safe when you’re by my side.”

He smiles at you, a deceptively warm smile that reminds you of the gege who always bandaged your knees and shielded you from the thunderstorms that reminded you of the roar of Wanderers. The Caleb your heart found itself inexplicably yearning for, no matter how much you told yourself you shouldn't.

But the flickering darkness–the frantic despair in his deep purple eyes pulls you back into reality, like a blackhole swallowing all the light around it.

“I’d rather be in danger than live like this, Caleb!” the sheer anger you’d held onto from the last three days boils over, tears of frustration pooling in the corner of your eyes.

Your next words come tumbling out before you can stop them, knowing just how much they’ll hurt him. You’re not even sure they’re true–but once the floodgates open, you can’t shut them.

“I don’t need you!”

Caleb’s gentle smile transforms into one of disbelief as your palm rests on his chest, finally finding the strength to push him away. When he glances away from you, his eyes darting around frantically, he looks hopelessly lost. A plane adrift.

“Don’t need me?”

His voice is incredulous as he grabs your wrist, holding it above your head. His grip is firm and unyielding, but not enough to hurt you in the slightest. Caleb always knew just how much you could take, after all.

It doesn’t take much for him to pin you firmly against the couch, leaning in closer to cage you into the furniture. In the back of your mind, you know you should shove him off–slap him even.

But all you could focus on is the way his long eyelashes are so close you could count them. How you can feel his heated breath fan across your parted lips, practically able to taste him on your tongue.

You can’t find it in yourself to put up a fight, unable to even tear your eyes away from him as the dark expanding universe in his irises searches yours. All you can do is weakly, pathetically, hit his arm.

“Then tell me, what do you need? I can give you anything.”

Did you want him to leave?

Your heart pounds at his words, the raw honesty and vulnerability dripping off of them, so serious it was nearly a threat. The desperate glint in his eyes was unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

You didn’t recognize him in the slightest.

“You want to return to Linkon? Then we can go back to Linkon.”

Could you return to Linkon with him? To the place where you’d held Caleb’s hand for the first time and inevitably fallen in love with the gege who’d protected you all your life? A man who was now no more than a ghost of who he once was.

“If you want to return to the past, then we can rebuild our old house and live together again.”

House. Not home. Because that’d been destroyed in the same explosion that’d killed your Caleb.

“And if one house isn’t enough, I’ll build you an entire maze.”

A maze. Designed with the illusion of a way out, but in reality you knew it’d just be another way to keep you caged in like a little helpless bird all over again. Flying around aimlessly–lost.

“I’ll decorate it with everything you could ever want. It will be the most beautiful, stunning garden you’ve ever seen.”

Caleb holds your face possessively as he speaks, as if you might disappear at any moment. His thumb catches stray tears as they descend your cheek. The devotion in his yearning eyes is boundless, a void threatening to swallow you whole.

A dream world just for the two of you.

“No one will ever be able to find you ever again. I’ll protect you forever.”

The dream shatters into a million glass fragments, the shards embedding into your heart that had bled and scabbed over so many times these past few weeks in Skyhaven that it was unrecognizable.

You press your free palm into his chest, pushing back gently. There’s no frustration or urgency this time, just a heartfelt plea that you can’t quite place.

“Caleb…you shouldn’t do this.”

The words feel foreign as they leave the tip of your tongue.

“You’re my…” the term feels like acid but you force it out, needing to get through to him. Your open hand on his chest closes into a tightly clenched fist.

“My…brother. You mean more to me than anything.”

For a long time you hadn’t felt like Caleb was your brother. You don’t really know if you’d ever felt like he was. The only thing you were certain of was that Caleb had become the most precious person in your life.

And you loved him. Was in love with him.

But it was too late to tell him that now.

For now, you needed him to see reason. That the world he envisioned for the two of you was nothing more than a faraway dream, and dreams existed only in the whispers of the night.

Caleb freezes, before biting out a bitter chuckle–halfway between a scoff and a sneer. The Colonel’s mask slips off, fluttering to the floor entirely. The wild look in his eyes is reminiscent of a caged beast that’d been whipped one too many times.

“Hah–brother?”

You struggle as Caleb pries your hand off his chest, not really knowing why you’re fighting him. It’s hard to think, with him so close to you, your resolve fading with each moment that passes.

You vaguely hear the bowl of apples on the coffee table being knocked over, unceremoniously tumbling to the ground. Caleb hovers above you, his face darker than the torrent of storm clouds just outside the glass windows.

“Y/N, your biggest mistake was believing that I could play the part of your perfect brother forever.”

You can’t tell if it’s the terrifying roar of thunder or his shocking confession that makes your heart pound so violently it hurts. Your fist quivers as you pull back, but Caleb only holds you tighter, unwilling to let you go.

The weight of his words crushes you–stealing your breath away, until there’s nothing left but the wreckage of your resolve.

“Day after day, I’ve endured. I’ve held myself back. But now…”

His voice is so low that you can barely hear him over the clap of thunder, gravelly with a hungry desperation that makes your toes curl against the carpet.

“I’m done playing pretend.”

The lightning outside flashes, illuminating his shadowed eyes revealing the depth of his turmoil. Without the carefully knit Farspace Colonel’s mask he always wore, Caleb was an open book, wearing his heart so openly on his sleeve that you could see every twisted thought.

Temptation, desperation, yearning, guilt, sin. All that he had shouldered and endured alone, donning the role of the supposed “older brother” like a shield, unwilling to risk losing the most precious thing in the world to him.

You.

And after weeks of seeing nothing but the cold, faraway, unforgiving Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, you were drawn to this Caleb like a moth to a flame.

Illogically, irrevocably, and so deeply that it hurts you.

Caleb swears under his breath, shaking his head as if trying to snap out of a daze. His grip on your wrists loosens, but he doesn’t let go. His words come out in a forced choke, almost as pained as his anguished stare.

“Don’t. Don’t look at me like that unless you’re willing to admit you’re done playing this game too.”

You can hear the blood pounding in your ears, your face no doubt as red as the apples that had tumbled to the ground. Your thoughts race a mile a minute, trying to reconcile what you’d always felt for him, telling yourself you shouldn’t, with what he was confessing to you now.

What if you were never part of the game to begin with?

“Like what?! I’m not doing anything!” is all you can find yourself saying, almost petulantly, deflecting from what’s threatening to spill over. His skin felt impossibly hot against yours, his fingers nearly branding your wrists, reminding you just how much you’d come to feel for him.

Reminding you of exactly who your heart was so violently pounding for in this exact moment.

Caleb shakes his head, a dark breathy chuckle escaping his lips as he releases your hands from above your head, instead gripping the couch behind you, boxing you in again. The storm outside fades away, until it’s only him, looking at you with an entire universe’s worth of longing reflected in those lavender halos.

His hand lifts to your cheek, hesitating before he uses the knuckles of his fingers to wipe your tears away, stroking along your jaw. It’s impossibly innocent, and yet you find your thighs clenching against him.

“Tell me I’m insane.”

You blink up at him trying to process what he was asking of you, the same exact things you had been telling yourself for…years.

“Tell me…it’s all in my head.”

Caleb’s voice is nothing more than a desperate whisper, pleading with you to tell him what he needs to hear. Yes…or no. Whatever it is, he just can’t play this game anymore.

“Tell me you don’t feel…this.”

His long fingers slowly, tentatively, thread into your hair, his thumb stroking your jaw as he gently grasps your face, tilting you closer to him. Your eyes flicker to his parted lips that are so close you could just inch forward and taste them.

You definitely felt it.

“I-I don’t. Caleb…we can’t do this.”

You lie through your teeth, still holding onto the last fray of restraint you had left. The last, dying, part of you that wanted to keep the memory of you and Caleb exactly how it was. In a beautiful crystal box, that you could cherish and protect forever.

Unchanging, undamaged, untouched.

Perhaps…that’s what Caleb thought he was doing when he kept you here in his glass home. Keeping you alive.

“Didn’t I say I could always tell when you’re lying, pip-squeak?”

His amethyst eyes are hooded with a deep swirling caution, warning you. That he can see right through you–he’s always been able to. And he’s never taken well to you keeping things from him.

You try to bite back the visceral shiver at that sweet little pet name he so effortlessly called you, even when he was looking at you like a lion would a sheep.

Caleb lowers himself so he’s kneeling before you, his knees pressing into the edge of the couch between your legs.

“You’re trying to preserve a fantasy–a dream. But I’m right here, in front of you,” he urges, his voice broken and raw. Taking your hand, he presses your palm to his chest–his heart. Even through his shirt, you can feel the ridges of his muscles heaving with the weight of his heavy heart beats.

“Caleb…” you murmur, halfway between a warning and a plea. The feeling of his heart beneath your palm blurs the line between reason and desire.

Caleb shuts his eyes, drawing a deep and shaky breath.

“Don’t say my name like that,” he growls, his fingers digging into the expensive leather of the couch, so forcefully that it threatens to rip.

“Don’t say my name like I’m already gone. I’m right here.”

The vulnerable plea in his voice is so thick that you choke, tears welling in your eyes as you stare up at him, his eyes reflecting the same Caleb who used to point out planes as they flew by in the sky, promising you the world.

Maybe you were the one who’d imprisoned him.

Trying desperately to hold onto the Caleb you knew. Blind to the fact that he was right in front of you, even if he’d shed the feathers you once knew. Forcing him into the tiny suffocating cage of what you wanted.

He was right here. The Caleb who wore your hair ties on his wrist, the same one who dried your wet hair, who always looked for your face in every crowd.

The same Caleb who always did anything and everything to protect you, ever since he held your hand for the first time.

And you’d punished him for it.

Your hands come up to hold his face in your palms, holding his gaze with unyielding regret. Caleb’s breath audibly catches at your touch, his face instinctively nuzzling into your palms, eyes shutting in a brief second of respite.

“I…” you start, trying to find the words. But they escape you, stuck in your throat, where your heart clenches with repentance. Caleb is incredibly patient, stroking circles into the back of your head, not pushing you.

You try again, “I’m…” You curse yourself inwardly, eyes prickling.

Why couldn’t you just fucking say it?

You were the coward, after all.

Caleb’s thumb brushes against the corner of your mouth, careful not to stroke your bottom lip like he so desperately wanted to. His other hand clenches into a tight fist that trembles with the weight of his restraint.

He gives you that half smile that’s so effortlessly Caleb that what’s left of your resolve snaps.

“You don’t have to say it,” he reassures, almost dejectedly, his beautiful bright violet eyes falling, dimming like a burnt out bulb, “It’s okay.”

Even when he’s falling apart at the seams, his first instinct is to protect you.

His breathing is heavy, lips parted, as his eyes flicker to your lips. The longing is so evident in those amethyst irises, but the light fades with every second that passes. Fighting with every instinct in his body, his thumb brushes along your jaw one last time before he releases your face, getting onto his feet.

“Just…have dinner with me before I go–please.”

Your eyes widen, heart pounding painfully as you watch him back away from you.

No.

You were done living in this fantasy you’d built. The dreamland you’d woven for Caleb and yourself. It was just as much of a prison as the one he’d put you in.

Before you know what you’re doing, you reach out to grab his wrist and yank him back. Taken utterly by surprise, Caleb falls back toward you with little resistance. Almost falling into your lap, his hands shoot out to the couch behind your head to steady himself, his forehead nearly pressed into yours.

“What are you–”

Before your courage fades, you thread your fingers on either side of his face into his soft hair. You lean in the rest of the way, resting your forehead on his, his bangs prickling your skin. Your breaths mingle, his lips so close you could almost feel them–how soft they’d feel against your own.

Do. Don’t think.

You push your lips to his, swallowing his subtle gasp of surprise, pulling him as close as he can possibly get with his knees pressed up against the seat of the couch.

Caleb hesitates, his hands remaining respectfully by your head, his lips still.

But that lasts for less than a fraction of a second before his hands are gripping the back of your head, fingers tangled aggressively in your hair, teeth nipping at your bottom lip, groaning unabashedly into you.

Caleb’s lips are soft, slotting perfectly against yours like two broken pieces of glass. His teeth gently graze against your lip, begging for more. He’s the perfect balance of hungry and tender, demanding and delicate.

You can tell he’s holding back, adorably so–not wanting to cross any boundaries unless you haul him over those lines. Despite that, he can’t help but cup the back of your head possessively, pulling you impossibly closer against his torrid lips.

Finally giving into what you’ve dreamt of for years possesses you with a boldness you’ve never experienced. It isn’t long before you’re teasing the seam of his lips with the tip of your tongue, wanting in.

Caleb groans, one hand cautiously shifting to your hips. He hesitates, and you use your own palm to press him into your waist, begging him to hold you tighter.

In one swift motion, he has your legs swung over his thighs, not going so far as to seat you on his lap. You sit on the cushion beside him, his arm cupped behind your back, the other holding your jaw. Your own hands are looped around his neck, inhaling his breath as your own, your tongue desperately tangled with his.

To your dismay, Caleb pulls away, his fingers gently holding your chin. He pants, broad chest heaving with desire, tilting your face so that your eyes level with his.

“Tell me you want this.”

He fights with every instinct in his body that tells him to take your lips in his again. The way your beautiful eyes flutter at him, your lips perfectly parted so that he can feel your warmTH fan against him.

He’d spent his entire life forcing himself to look the other way–convincing himself that he should be the brother figure he thought you needed. Resolved his heart to still every time he saw those very fluttering eyes and intoxicating lips.

But now you were unraveling that very carefully crafted resolve, imploding it like a collapsing star.

“I need to hear you say it, Y/N.”

You were a coward, but Caleb always made you brave.

Swinging your thigh over his lap, you straddle him, pressing him deeper into the couch. Caleb swears under his breath, his hands instinctively resting on your waist, locking your body against his. Holding his face in your hands, you bring him in so close his long eyelashes tickle your cheek.

“I want this. I want you.”

Caleb’s swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the intensity of his need, “God, you have no idea how many times I’ve imagined you saying that.”

He weaves his hand into the back of your head, pulling you to him, consuming your moans once more. His tongue claims every inch of you, causing your mind to go blank, throwing all prior restraint and reason out the window.

Your body rolls instinctively against his lap, gasping when you feel something solid and thick right where your undoubtedly soaked panties press against Caleb’s lap.

His fingers tighten against your hips, threatening to leave fingertip shaped bruises, ripping his lips away with every ounce of self-control he has left.

“Y/N…this is your last chance to tell me to stop,” he rasps, eyes clouded over with a dark animalistic gleam. A desire that could only be born from years of pent up yearning and restraint.

“Once we start…I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop,” he murmurs, holding your cheek so adoringly. It’s clear that, while he’s giving you an out, he prays to the Gods that you won’t tell him to stop.

With a pointed roll of your hips, earning you a delicious breathy moan from him, you grip the back of Caleb’s head, tugging on his hair. You pull his head against your chest, cradling him affectionately.

Caleb inhales a sharp breath at the sound of your pounding heart against his ear. How many times he’d stayed up, fraught with haunting nightmares, listening to this very sound, to your steady breathing, grounding him to this reality.

“I’m done playing pretend, Caleb.”

You can feel his entire body go rigid beneath you, his thick muscles tensing with heated desire. He lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours, his thumb swiping against your bottom lip with reverence.

“Then…let me show you what’s real.”

With very little effort, Caleb picks you up, gripping your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist. You squeal, looping your arms around his neck, hanging on for dear life.

“A little warning next time would be nice,” you grumble as he walks you, presumably, to the bedroom he had given you. His bedroom.

Caleb chuckles, his frustratingly infectious laugh, pressing a wet kiss into your jaw, “You used to beg me to carry you like this all the time. Suddenly you don’t like it?”

Your cheeks heat up at the memories of all the times he’d carried you around when you feigned being too exhausted to move, “It’s different now.”

You find your back being pushed against the cold and hard surface of the bedroom door.

“You’re definitely right about that. Back then…I couldn’t do this.”

He presses his lips into the curve of your neck, biting down with just enough force to make you clench against his solid body, crying out in surprise. Your reaction elicits a deep and warm chuckle from him. He kicks open the room of the bedroom and sets you down gently on the plush of the mattress.

He keeps his fingers pressed firmly into your thigh, keeping it hooked against his waist. Your chest heaves with desire, looking up at him expectantly. He hovers just an inch above you, kneeling between your legs, elbow pressed into the bed beside your face, caging you in.

“You’re…” he rasps, fingers digging into the plush of your thigh. He trails off, at a loss for words as his eyes rake down your lips, to your wonderfully exposed neck, to the defined curves of your collar. He clenches his fist, trying to calm down and stop himself from absolutely devouring you.

Breathtakingly beautiful.

“I’m what?” you tease, biting your lip at the way his eyes travel down your body, like it was his first time seeing the sky. Your hand travels from his jaw to trickle down his pulse, fingers teasing the bare skin where his silver necklace normally sat, the dogtag forgotten somewhere on the living room couch.

He groans, knees buckling under your touch. You gasp when you feel his excitement against you, your body instinctively arching up to grind against him. The sensation feels so mind numbingly intense that you can’t help but let out a soft moan, your eyes squeezing shut in embarrassment.

Caleb hisses, his fingers digging in, almost painfully, to your thigh. His hips chase the feeling, bucking against you again, making both of you groan. He holds your jaw tenderly in one hand, forcing you to look at him, his voice rough with lust.

“You’re a brat,” he murmurs, sinking down to your neck, “Gonna be the death of me.”

He trails a kiss of heated kisses down your pulse point, using his tongue to draw the most beautiful moans from your kiss-bitten lips. When he reaches your collar, he laughs into your burning skin.

“Nothing else to say, princess?”

You whine at his condescending tone, never a fan of losing to him. Mustering up your courage, you trail your hand lower until they tease the waistband of his pants. You don’t give him a chance to protest before you slip your fingers in, gasping when they meet the hot leaking tip of his cock. It’d hardened to the point that it could practically sit at his belly button, so you didn’t have to reach very deep for what you wanted.

You revel in Caleb’s string of choked expletives, biting back the moan that threatens to escape your own lips when he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, desperately trying to stave off the orgasm you’re already building in him.

Years of yearning, restraint, and being completely and utterly uninterested in anyone that wasn’t you had truly eaten his stamina.

It only encourages you to wrap your fingers snugly around him, giving him just one single languid stroke.

Caleb’s fingers find your wrist, closing tightly enough to stop your ministrations, a dangerous warning reflected in his eyes. You can see his pulse pound in his neck, his breath coming out heavy and forced.

“Let’s not forget who’s in charge here, hm?” he grits hoarsely, deceptively calm, trying his best to hide how completely unraveled you have him with your pretty little fingers wrapped around him. When he has you panting so divinely beneath him, like he’d dreamt of for years.

With your hand caught in his, your eyebrows furrow in challenge. Your free hand weaves into the back of his head, pulling him back down so you can press a teasing kiss into his neck. When he stiffens above you, you sink your teeth in, marking him as yours, which he’d always been. At his hiss of ecstasy, your hips buck up to drag against his bare erection, nearly able to feel how wet you’d gotten through your panties and through your jeans.

“Such a tease,” he grounds out, his purple eyes burning with a dangerous desire, “Who taught you to be such a brat? Cause I know it wasn’t me.”

Your eyes flare with indignation, despite how badly your body literally quivers for him

“Not a brat. You’ve just always been a sore loser,” you taunt, pressing another heated kiss into his pounding jugular, this time letting your tongue tease him.

With a feral growl, you find both of your hands pinned above your head with just one of Caleb’s bigger hands, his grip punishing and addicting. He pushes his cock right into your inner thighs, giving you a taste of what’s to come.

“You’re going to regret that, baby.”

With his free hand, he undoes the buttons on your blouse, yanking it open. Your coat had long been forgotten, probably somewhere on the couch, leaving you completely naked before him. You hadn’t worn a bra since you’d been stuck inside for the last three days, and with Caleb being at the base most of the time, you didn’t see the point.

You yelp as the cool air-conditioned breeze hits your bare nipples, not noticing the way Caleb’s eyes widen, his pupils dilating like he’d been concussed.

“Why aren’t you…” he trails off, his eyes doing their damn best to stare into your eyes and not at the soft plush of your breasts. The way your beautiful skin leads up to your hardened nipples that are just begging to be tasted. He doesn’t finish his thought, swearing like a sailor.

Caleb’s violet eyes search yours, pleading with you.

“Tell me one more time.”

You trace his jaw with your fingertips, trying to ignore how painfully exposed you feel. His eyes flutter shut, his cheek nuzzling into your hand. Like a puppy.

But when his eyes open again, there’s a ravenous fire that reminds you more of a rabid wolf than a sweet little house pet.

“Tell me you want this. Because...” he pauses, his fingers tracing down your collar, stopping right before the swell of your chest.

“I can’t go back to playing house. I can’t go back to pretending to be your big brother. Not when I’ve tasted you.”

Your heart flutters, core tightening, at his simultaneously sweet and filthy words. Gently wriggling one hand free, you grab his finger that rests on your collar, guiding his hand down. Caleb’s breathing grows incredibly heavy and off-beat as he watches you lead his hand to cup your breast.

You bring his face to yours, whispering, “Caleb…”

“Please. I can’t wait anymore.”

Caleb’s eyes widen noticeably, cursing, “God you–you’re so fucking beautiful. Especially when you say my name like that. You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

With one hand still pinned above you, the other holding his hand to your chest, you crane your neck up, pressing your forehead to his.

“Show me, Caleb.”

At the sound of his name rolling off your perfect tongue yet again, Caleb snaps. Gone was the chivalrous restraint he’d been hell bent on exhibiting.

He brushes his thumb across your bottom lip before pulling your chin to his, consuming you in a mind numbing kiss. You’re so distracted by his tongue against yours that you don’t notice when his fingers close around your nipple, rolling it torturously.

You tear your lips away with a moan, your back arching into him.

Caleb chuckles, between trailing kisses down to your chest, “Needy little thing, huh?”

You’re about to snark back at him until he takes one of your nipples into his lips, letting his tongue circle it tenderly. You bite your lip to stop the embarrassing sounds that threaten to escape, the warmth of his mouth driving you to insanity.

Caleb snakes one hand to your lip, gently unfurling it from your teeth. He’s still attentively devouring you when he forces himself to tear away for one second.

“Don’t you dare hide those pretty sounds from me,” his voice is commanding, every bit of the Farspace Colonel you’d come to know. Except this time, the Colonel makes you shiver with desire and not fear.

His thumb presses deeper, teasing your tongue. Growing impatient with how you hold back your cries, he sinks his teeth into your hardened nipple.

“Nngh–Caleb!” you all but scream. You can feel him smiling against your chest before he alternates to the other, drunk on the noises you cry for him. The taste of your skin on his tongue.

“You always were so good for me.”

With his lips latched onto you, he uses his free hand to unbutton your pants, tugging them down until you’re in nothing but your soaked panties. His fingers trickle down, teasing the waistband. Before he goes further, he grips your chin, bringing your hazy eyes to his.

“More?” he murmurs tenderly, trying to get a temperature check on how you feel. He’d be damned if he ever made you unhappy again.

You sit up on your elbows, peering down at him. He’s flushed from his cheeks to the tip of his ears, his lips shiny with saliva. You let yourself revel in how devastatingly handsome he is, a sinful thought you’d denied yourself many times before.

God, you needed him so fucking badly.

Desperate to make up for years of lost kisses, you pull him in for another. When you finally pull away, you press his forehead against yours, your breath uneven, noses touching.

“More. Please.”

Caleb grins, “That’s my girl.”

Pushing you back against the bed, he sucks a trail of hickeys from your neck, to your breasts, down to your stomach.

In between his kisses, he murmurs, “Let me worship you like I’ve always wanted to.” You whine when he gets to your legs, sucking a bruise into your inner thigh. Your instinct is to pull away, acutely aware of how close he was to your soaking panties.

But Caleb’s fingers dig into the plush of your hips, effectively locking you against his desperate breath and wild eyes. He continues his relentless attack on your quivering thighs, purposely letting his nose brush against your panties, using his fingers to tease them to the side, letting his warm breath caress your most sensitive parts.

“You’re fucking soaked,” Caleb growls, almost in awe, “God, you spoil me.” He’s so close that he can smell you, his mouth literally watering in anticipation.

You whine, at your wit’s end, “Caleb, don’t tease.”

“Always so impatient,” he chuckles with a crooked grin, “I didn’t hold myself back for nearly a decade just to rush this.”

You groan in frustration, tears nearly forming in your eyes from the pure desperation, “You’re such a–hnngh!”

You cut yourself off with a breathy cry, more of a screech, when Caleb presses his tongue into the soaked fabric of your panties, nearly wedging himself into your leaking lips.

He groans as he tastes you. Even through the fabric you taste like a fucking drug. If heaven had a taste…this would be it.

“I’m such a what, princess?” Caleb chuckles breathlessly into your pussy, using your same teasing taunt from earlier.

You’re about to reach over to smack him when Caleb finds your clit, even through the underwear, his lips sucking obsessively. Your hips buck up into his mouth, back arching off the bed, only to have Caleb press his big hand into your stomach, pushing you back down.

“Dreamt about this, you know?” he grunts into you, practically taking a deep inhale of your intoxicating pheromones, his nose pressed into your underwear, as his tongue works you into a frenzy. He renders you unable to speak, even though you want to beg him to move your panties to the side.

He licks another stripe, this time between your lips and all the way until the tip of his tongue strokes your clit, making you squeal.

“Dreamt of how you’d smell.” He can’t help but breathe in a shaky breath, intoxicated by you, drunk off your scent.

“Dreamt of how you’d taste.” He finally tugs your panties down your thighs, nearly cumming right then and there at the sight of your naked core, glistening for him. Like a hormonal teenage boy.

“Hah–Caleb!” you’re cut off when his lips latch onto your bare clit, suckling gently as his fingers start to tease your folds, gathering up your copious slick with his fingertips and smearing it around.

“Dreamt of how you’d call my name. Just like that, babygirl.” He continues to devour you like a five course meal, better than any recipe he’d ever perfected. You tasted so divine on his tongue, he feared he’d never come back from this. Never be able to be without you. Always wanting to dive in between your legs, devour you until the only thing that dared leave your lips was his name.

“God you taste…” he can’t even complete his thought before his tongue is wedged between your slit again, lapping you up greedily. You’re too lost in your own pleasure to tease him, your eyes fluttering backwards.

“Can you take a finger, princess?” he groans shakily, practically begging. His breath is hot on your sensitive core, making you tremble.

“Y-Yes–mmf–please,” you huff, fingers carding through his hair as he nuzzles happily between your thighs. Like a bear with a honeypot.

“That’s my girl,” he breathes against you before slipping one finger into you. You gasp, the sting from just one digit taking you by surprise–thicker and longer than your own. But it doesn’t necessarily hurt.

Caleb bites the inside of his cheek, trying to focus on licking up the honey between your legs and not how unbelievably tight you are around just one finger. His cock leaks with the urgent need to feel you, and with how beautifully you’re unraveling for him, he has to fight from cumming untouched.

“You’re so…tight,” Caleb groans, almost in awe. He only had one finger in you. And you felt like that. You can only respond in a string of strangled moans, completely lost in the sensations that ripple through every nerve ending.

“Sh-shit,” he mutters, imagining what you’d feel like wrapped around his length as you clenched against his one finger. You were dangerous.

“Gonna need to stretch you out. Can you take another, sweet girl?”

You nod, not really knowing what he’s saying–too lost in this whole new world of ecstasy Caleb is introducing to you. But you trusted him with your entire life.

Gently, Caleb adds another one of his lengthy fingers. You wince at the stretch, the pain ebbing over the pleasure, causing tears to spring to your eyes. Caleb instantly stills, suddenly hovering above you, his fingers still deep inside you. His purple eyes are crinkled in concern, his free hand brushing the stray strands of hair off your cheek.

“Hey,” he murmurs tenderly, his thumb catching stray tears, “You with me?”

You writhe, still adjusting to the stretch of his second finger, the pain dulling slowly. His still fingers start to feel unnatural, the need for friction growing with every passing second.

“I’m–angh–I’m good,” you pant, “C-Caleb–please. Move.”

Caleb nearly chokes, his cock lurching at your tearful and needy plea. He slowly starts to move his fingers in and out of you again with the utmost gentleness.

“You’re doing so good for me, Y/N,” he pants, trying to keep his own orgasm at bay, “So wet and–hah fuck–warm.”

You whine at his praises, your gut knotting in excitement, the sensation returning back to a tingling pleasure.

Caleb gently scissors his two fingers, pressing his tongue against your core once more, desperate for another taste.

“I can feel you squeezing my fingers,” he rasps in between sucking at your sensitive bud, “Feel good, princess? You like it when I praise you?”

You whine, nodding as best as you can, too far gone to feel ashamed. Your heart squeezes when you suddenly wonder just how Caleb had become so skilled with his fingers, with his tongue.

But you’re pulled out of those thoughts when the man in question starts flicking his tongue with renewed vigor and passion. An overwhelming pressure builds in your gut that makes you writhe with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

Caleb presses you back down, flat against the bed, “Tell me, baby. Let me hear you.” He jerks his fingers, simultaneously flicking his tongue against your clit. His hips buck repeatedly, groaning into your core as he fucks into the mattress.

The lewd sounds of his fingers inside you makes your cheeks burn with want. The vibrations that roll off his tongue and straight into you send you reeling.

“C-Caleb, it feels–I-I can’t..take much more,” you squeal, feeling like your abdomen is going to burst. You almost want to shove him off, overwhelmed by your impending orgasm. Yet you can’t get enough of his hand, his mouth, on you.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against you, fingers still inside you, “Cum for me, Y/N.”

Your breathing grows erratic, reduced to nothing but cries and moans, as he quickens his pace, curling his fingers to a hypersensitive part inside you. Your eyes go wide as the tension in your belly combusts, pleasure searing through your entire body like a wildfire.

Your fingers dig into the comforter, your back arching off the mattress. Caleb groans as he listens to your unabashed cries, his name on your tongue like a prayer.

“Angh–Caleb! Oh God,” you whimper as he continues to devour you, even when you’re gushing. If it didn’t feel so mind blowing you’d be embarrassed that you were dripping quite literally on his face.

“Fuck–dreamt of how you’d fall apart for me, just like this. But you’re…so much fucking better than my silly little fantasies.”

His fingers start to slow as your body trembles with overstimulation. You watch as he withdraws them, entranced by how they glisten and drip with you. With how exquisite you taste, intensified by just how many times he’d fantasized about this very scenario, he can’t help but lick his fingers absolutely clean.

You shakily sit up on your elbows, a mix of mortified and turned on watching him drunk off your slick. Your chest and gut both flutter, your teeth clamping down on your lip.

You wanted to taste him too.

Standing on your knees with him, you wrap your arms around his neck, taking him by surprise as you press your lips to his. His grunt is swallowed by your eager tongue, the taste of yourself confusingly arousing as you kiss him fervently.

His hands hold your waist tight against him as he kisses you passionately, reverently. You can feel his massive erection against your stomach, his skin soft and burning against yours. It leaks profusely, smearing against your naval.

Eagerly, breaking away for only seconds, you lift Caleb’s shirt up, scrambling to get it off of him, wanting him to be as exposed as you.

While you have him off guard, you weave one of your hands with his, clasping your palms together. Resonance always came effortlessly to Caleb and you–as natural as breathing. Using your Evol, you manipulate Caleb’s gravity Evol, flipping him beneath you and onto the bed. Your tongue is still tangled with his as you lay atop him, swallowing his chuckles. Your cheeks warm as you try and summon your most alluring self, pressing soft and heated kissing down his jaw, into his thrumming pulse, his thick shoulders.

“You’re so damn cheeky,” he groans, voice gravelly with pent up need, inexplicably turned on by the way you can control his Evol like second nature. His cock twitches as your lips make their way down his body, needing to be buried inside you more than ever.

As you descend further, lips at his abdomen, your intent becomes clear to Caleb. And while the thought of your lips around his dick makes him twitch like a virgin, which he unabashedly was, his impatience to be inside you grows to a painful peak.

He sits up, his hands finding your chin and tilting you to look at him. His voice is ragged, barely holding back the animalistic desire he feels for you.

“Hey, no. You don’t have to. Let me worship you today.”

He doesn’t mention that the feeling of your lips on his burning skin, nearing his painfully hard erection has him just about ready to come undone. Untouched.

You roll your eyes, shoving him back down. You don’t push very hard but he lets himself fall back, weak to your every want and whim.

“Haven’t you always wanted this, gege?” you grin teasingly, unsure where your confidence comes from. Your lips brush against the veins on his pelvis that lead to his very excited member. He jerks involuntarily, cursing under his breath–the familiar pet name now carrying an entirely new meaning.

“Sweethe–fuck,” Caleb chokes as your lips find their way around his thick leaking tip, deliberating shutting him up.

You do your best to pull your teeth back, not having much experience doing this, especially not with one so…big.

But big was an understatement. Caleb was…massive. He had girth as well as length, two prominent veins painted across the pink skin, standing incredibly tall against his abdomen.

Maybe you should be scared–terrified, of how that would fit inside you later. But it only makes you want to please him more.

Caleb’s fingers unconsciously find their way into your hair, tugging ever so gently. He does his best to stop himself from thrusting up into your impossibly tight throat.

“Hah–s’fucking…” he groans, voice haggard and forced as if he can’t breathe, “God, always knew that pretty little mouth would be perfect.”

His words encourage you to dare further, your tongue flicking against his leaking head, lapping up the leaking beads of his arousal. It’s surprisingly sweet, tinged with saltiness, no doubt from his addiction to apples, which makes it easier for you to take him deeper.

Caleb’s hips thrust up gently, his inexperienced excitement nearly controlling him completely. You relish in the way he almost uses your throat for his pleasure, slightly ashamed to think about how many times you’d imagined Caleb using you roughly.

Your thighs clench at the thought, a throaty moan escaping. Caleb’s hips stutter as the deep vibrations of your cry push him closer to painting your mouth milky white.

His voice comes out hoarse, almost harsh, “That’s enough, sweetheart. Come here.” He gently lifts your chin, his impossibly thick cock still buried down your tight throat.

You whine, not stopping, wanting him to come as undone as he had rendered you. Your whine only sends Caleb closer to the edge with a strangled hiss.

You feel the familiar feeling of his Evol wrapping around you, lifting you off, and throwing you under him. You roll your eyes as he hovers above you, his eyes level with yours.

“Always throwing me around with your Evol,” you grumble as if you hadn’t done the same thing moments ago.

Caleb grins, the entire room nearly lighting up with his handsome smile. His fingers trace down your lip to your throat, his hand wrapping around it gently.

“Would you rather I throw you around myself? That can be arranged.”

Your breath hitches as he pulls his pants the rest of the way down, giving you a brief reprieve to really admire his naked body. Caleb had always been well built, even in high school. But now, as he hovered above you, you were painfully reminded of just how much Caleb had grown up.

There was a reason Caleb attracted women left and right all throughout your lives. It literally got so excessive to the point he’d ask you to show up to campus and pretend to be his girlfriend to stop the countless advances. But now, after the explosion, after assuming the position of Colonel of the Farspace Fleet…

He was unreal.

Caleb chuckles, a teasing glint in his violet eyes as he grazes his thumb against the corner of your mouth, “Careful pip-squeak, any longer and you might start drooling.”

When you only respond with a silent glare and a gentle punch to his chest, his very muscled chest, Caleb grins and presses a tender kiss to your pouting lips.

“Later, we will discuss why you’re so good at that. For now…” he trails off hoarsely, entirely serious, despite his teasing tone.

“For now let me show you what you’ve done to me, hm? How utterly you have destroyed me for anyone else.”

Your heart flutters at his words, throat prickly with emotions. Was it really possible that the two of you had felt the same way about each other for nearly your entire lives, both unwilling to speak up?

“How many times I told myself I was crazy, that I was just supposed to be your gege.”

He takes the base of his thick erection into his hand.

“How I had to physically remove myself from the house when you’d wear those god-forsaken shorts.”

He drags himself up and down your leaking core, gathering up your arousal and lathering it against his burning cock. God you were so unbearably wet he had to fight from diving back face first in between your legs.

“How painfully I’d ache when you curled up next to me, claiming to be scared of the thunder.”

He intentionally presses his tip harshly into your clit, making your eyes roll and your hips buck, a strangled moan of his name escaping your lips.

His voice grows strained as he lines himself up with your entrance. While you were anxious of what you knew was coming, your body craves him like no other, your hips instinctively grinding, as if to impale yourself on him.

“How completely you own my heart.”

Caleb captures your lips in a searing kiss, eagerly consuming your cries of satisfaction as he gently rubs his engorged head against your unbearably tight heat. The anticipation eats at you, but you find yourself pulling your lips away.

“I-I’ve never…” you murmur shyly, trailing off, hoping he gets the message without needing you to spell it out. You grip the sheets nervously, your knuckles white.

Caleb’s eyes snap to yours, so quickly his neck nearly cricks. There’s an unprecedented swirling fire in his irises. He hisses, a string of curses that you can’t quite make out, the hand holding the base of his cock shaking.

“You can’t just…You’re trying to kill me aren’t you, pip-squeak?” he growls, restraint hanging on by the thinnest of threads. He buries his face into your neck, taking deep breaths of your intoxicating scent.

“Is that bad?”

He lifts his head from your shoulder, holding your face in his hands, letting his erection rub freely against your slicked pussy.

“No. No. But you’re making it impossible not to…” he groans, slamming his palm down onto the bed.

He sits up, taking your jaw into his hands, cupping your face with all the adoration in this world and the next.

“I haven't either. I’ve only ever wanted you. In high school, at the Academy…In this life, and every life after.”

“Ever since you held my hand for the first time, I’ve been yours.”

His words are so utterly devastating–sincere and painfully raw. It makes your chest constrict, your breath choked off. You find yourself rendered speechless again, despite how many confessions of your own were swirling in your mind, threatening to burst.

Instead, you pull him towards your lips, only able to convey the depth of your own devotion with your actions. Caleb grunts into you, relenting as you demand entrance to his mouth. You lose yourself in him, guiding him to reposition himself at your entrance.

Caleb nips at your bottom lip, his painfully hard dick in his hands once more, pressing gently into you.

You rip your mouth away in a pained squeal as he enters you, stretching you in ways you’d never fathomed. You’re so lost in the sting you don’t even notice the way Caleb’s knees buckle, his palm shooting out to catch himself before he falls on top of you, a string of hoarse expletives escapes him.

Caleb’s fingers gently brush away the hair that's fallen onto your face, the graze of his soft skin momentarily distracting you from the burning ache. His touch is so unbearably tender, it completely masks the way he’s falling apart at the seams, fighting his body’s instinct to explode white and hot inside of you.

“I’ve got you, princess,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting from your jaw into your neck, “You’re so perfect for me. Can you take a little bit more?”

The muscles of your thighs quiver violently at the strain of your body trying to accommodate his stupidly large dick. And while it burns like nothing you’ve ever felt before, you can’t bring yourself to tell him to stop.

In the mush that he’s rendered your brain, you can vaguely hear yourself babbling, “C-Caleb–nngh–I-I can take more. Always wanted you–ngah–s’bad.”

Caleb’s amethyst eyes blacken, his jaw tightening sharply.

“Y/N…you can’t just say things like that–say my name like that and expect me to–hah–keep it together,” he rasps, the thin thread of restraint, on the verge of snapping.

Your eyes squeeze shut, the tears spilling from the corner of your eyes. Your fingernails dig into the thick ropes of muscles in his shoulders, pulling him closer. The sting makes his teeth clench, inadvertently sinking another inch into you.

“Mnngh–need you Caleb, I’ve always n-needed you,” you whimper, lips against his ear. Caleb stiffens.

“Fuck–okay baby. I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you everything.”

You look down as he sinks yet another inch into you, his vein throbbing as it tries to nestle into you. Even through the searing stretch, you’re mesmerized by just how big he is, and how he’s fitting himself so perfectly inside you. The muscles of Caleb’s abdomen tremble with restraint, doing his best to keep from pounding into you.

Caleb kisses your cheek, softly licking up your stray tears.

“G-God the real thing is so much better than anything I could’ve ever dreamt up,” he grunts, squeezing your hips tenderly as he tries to bottom out, “Wanted this–wanted you for so damn long.”

The initial pain had ebbed into a dull ache that was quickly bleeding into the same ecstasy he’d just given you with his tongue.

“Ngah–wanted you since I can remember Caleb,” you confess brokenly, thick with the release of imprisoned emotions. You do your best to reach your shaky hand up to his perfect face, moving his sweat-dampened hair out of his eyes. He leans into your touch on instinct, that boyish charm returning to his face as his eyes shut in pure adoration.

“A-always…hah–have. So badly.”

Caleb groans at the genuinity in your confession, his normally purple eyes blackened almost entirely.

“So–nngh–you feel so incredible. I shouldn’t have wasted so much fucking time,” he groans, thrusting the rest of the way, bottoming out in your perfect little cunt.

Your cries are half way between a squeal and a moan as you feel him hit your cervix, pain blending overwhelmingly with the vast sea of pleasure.

“Caleb, s’too big–it’s too much,” you wail, feeling nearly split in half as his cock throbs inside of you, pulsing with the primal need to mark you. You look down and nearly yelp when you see his massive erection buried between your thighs–it was far too massive.

“You can, baby. You can take it,” he groans, bucking his hips ever so slightly, desperate for the feeling of your heavenly walls wringing him.

“Be a good girl, yeah? For me?” Caleb murmurs, his teeth nipping at your pulse, which earns him a beautiful moan from you. Your stomach flutters at his deceptively innocent pleas, your deep-rooted desire to please him, your perfect gege, taking over.

Your eyelids feel unbearably heavy as you stare into his heated irises, nodding eagerly.

Caleb exhales a shaky breath, bending down to press a burning kiss to your lips. You return it with equal fervor, whining when he pulls away, too quick for your liking.

He chuckles breathlessly, wiping the drool from your lip tenderly, “Say it, sweetheart. Need to hear you say it.” He punctuates his demand with the slightest shift of his hips, causing the thick head of his cock to brush against a particularly sensitive spot in you.

“Oh god Caleb–! I can take it, I can take it, please!”

Caleb hisses as his hips start to move. He hikes your thigh up, and you instinctively wrap your legs around him, caging him against you. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your rear, holding you impossibly closer to him as his pelvis snaps into your skin. The sound of wet skin colliding against each other rings loudly in your ear, lewd and filthy.

His thrusts are erratic, trying to find a suitable rhythm without losing his mind and taking you like a rabid beast. His other hand kneads at your breast, fingers toying with your perfectly pebbled nipples.

“Hah–taking me so well, always–nngh–knew you’d be absolutely perfect wrapped around me. Thought about it so many damn times.”

You bite your lip so hard you think you might draw blood, squeezing your eyes shut as his movements quickly blur the line between pleasure and pain. Your eyes flutter open when you feel Caleb’s thumb against your lip, prying your teeth away.

“Look at me Y/N. Let me see those beautiful eyes.”

Despite his rough movements, his eyes are jarringly tender, looking at you so adoringly–as if he wasn’t rutting into you like a madman.

You force your eyes open, blinking rapidly with the weight of the ecstasy raining down on your body. You briefly look down at where he’s connected to you, too fucked out to even notice the reddish-pink sheen coating Caleb’s member.

When your eyes flutter shut again, Caleb tsks, pressing his palm against the hypnotizing bulge against your stomach. Physically being able to see where he was buried so perfectly inside you drove him just to the edge of cumming, unable to stop himself from touching it.

Your eyes widen, squealing as you feel your walls harshly clamping down on his cock, nestled right at your g-spot. Caleb himself falters at the sensation, growling as he twitches uncontrollably inside you.

That was a mistake. You were already impossibly tight as it was, making you bare down on him only served to push him headfirst into the climax he’d been staving off.

“Baby,” he pants raggedly, “Nngh–shit–!” His hips stutter, knees buckling, burying himself into the curve of your neck. He bites down on your pulsing skin, forcing himself to pull out of your warm embrace, as he releases seemingly endless ropes of thick milky cum onto your beautiful stomach.

You whine at the loss of him buried inside of you, your core fluttering around nothing. You prop your chin up, getting lost in the way he paints your stomach, fisting himself furiously through his climax.

“Can’t control myself around you,” he grits through his orgasm, jaw slacking, “Not anymore.” Every defined muscle of his toned body quivers with the power of his orgasm.

Shivering at the sensation of his burning release splattering on your abdomen, you reach up to cup his face as he cums. Of course, he leans into your touch on instinct, the onslaught of emotions intensifying his climax.

Your body aches at the hollowness, but it quickly dissipates as you watch Caleb’s face, beads of sweat pebbling his skin, contorted in a pleasure so intense, a pleasure you’d given him. Squirming at the sight of him, still spurting cum, your fingers find your clit desperately.

Your eyes squeeze shut as you touch yourself to the image of him writhing above you. Not even a split second later, you feel the pull of gravity, your wrist being yanked away and pinned above your head.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You whine as Caleb presses back against you, his cock replacing where your fingers had just been, “Y-You already–You don’t have to force yourself Caleb. I can–”

Your words are caught in your throat when Caleb lines himself back up with you, smearing the combined arousal messily around, teasing you relentlessly.

“You’re crazy if you think I’m done with you,” he grins widely, using his clean hand to realign himself. You glance down and realize Caleb is still unbearably hard, even after the absurd amount he’d painted your stomach with.

He slips back into you, your eyes rolling back at the familiar stretch. Except it’s so much more intense this time, your body knowing just what Caleb could do to you, and craving it like nothing else.

“Oh God just like that, Caleb–please!” you cry, pride gone with the wind, as he starts an earth-shattering rhythm, hips rolling into you with precision and purpose.

Caleb curses, the oversensitivity heightening every sensation, every desperate thrust into your perfect angel cunt, “Tell me, princess. How do I make you feel?”

You try to force your mind to cooperate and find the words that you want to say, “Feels…feels so–mnngh–Caleb!”

You can vaguely hear him laughing warmly as your mind goes blank, the thick head of his leaking cock pounding into you ruthlessly. He’d practically mapped out every sensitive nook of your pussy and he fully intended on taking advantage.

He gently grabs your throat with his free hand, applying pressure with only his fingertips and not his palm.

“Hm? Feels like what, sweetheart?” His thrusts slow to a tortuous pace, enough to have you squirming for more but not enough to push you over the edge of release. And he knows it.

“Caleb, don’t fucking tease me,” you whine breathlessly, “Hah–Pleease.” Your hips move against his pelvis, trying to chase the pleasure yourself.

“Needy little brat,” he murmurs affectionately, “You know I can’t say no to you.”

With those words Caleb starts pounding into you with renewed vigor, hell-bent on making you cum just as hard as he just did. His fingers wedge between your joined bodies, easily finding your clit and rubbing just how he knows you like. The familiar tension in your gut builds at an alarming speed, your body desperate to release after being even slightly edged.

“In return, you can show me how much you’ve wanted this, hm?”

His knowing words, the underlying authority in them, make you whimper with a mix of arousal and embarrassment. The combination of his relentless touch, his filthy whisperings,

Fuck, the Colonel of the Farspace Feet was your absolute undoing.

Caleb’s own muscles tense as his sensitive cock, hardened beyond belief again, starts to twitch inside you once more. You’d literally just milked him dry and he still couldn’t get enough. He probably never would.

“Oh god, so c-close Caleb!”

“Yeah? Show me how much you’ve wanted me to fuck you senseless, baby.”

He punctuates his demand with a twitch of his fingers against your clit, driving so deeply into you that you nearly choke. Your back arches so deeply it hurts, the cold feeling of his cum still painted across your stomach, a long forgotten sensation in the back of your mind.

“How much you want to cum on your gege’s cock.”

Your body shudders as you come undone explosively against his violent thrusts. Your fingers dig into his biceps, making Caleb hiss with satisfaction, his eyes unable to tear away from your gorgeous face as you cum on him.

“Oh god–please! Mnngh Caleb, c-cumming. Wan’ to cum for you s’bad! Don’t stop–please!”

Caleb groans at your filthy words, his own hips stuttering as he fucks you through the endless waves of pleasure, feeling every contraction of your perfect little cunt.

“Juuust like that, give it to me sweetheart.”

Your thighs tremble violently as he rocks you through the unprecedented pleasure. With your eyes rolled back, your tongue slightly lolled out, crying out for him repeatedly. Caleb can’t stop himself.

In your fucked out state, you can vaguely feel the caress of his gravity Evol, his hands still busy working at your clit and your breasts. It maneuvers your thighs so that they’re pressed firmly into your chest, nearly folding you in half. He uses his Evol to grab a pillow, throwing it under your lower back, completely changing the angle at which he ruts into you.

“C-Caleb–” you gasp, eyes wide as the pleasure turns sharp, “S’too much. Feels…”

Despite feeling unbearably sensitive, your eyes still flutter in bliss. You want to tell him to stop, but your body physically refuses, still curling up to meet his thrusts. At this new angle, your knees nearly on either side of your head, his cock practically buries itself into your throat.

“I’m sorry,” he rambles, “I’m sorry.” But he doesn’t stop. “A little more, yeah? You can take a little bit more for me, right baby?” Just by his voice alone, you can tell he’s on the verge of another powerful orgasm.

Something about the way his violet eyes bleed with desperation, with devotion. Your body finds its way inexplicably bending to his every will, readying itself to take more of him. Even through the sting of overstimulation, even through the ache of how deeply he has your body folded into a mating press.

Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of his cum smearing messily across your stomach, you sit up to press your forehead against his, your hips screaming in protest as your body is bent even further.

“Cum–mnngh–Cum inside me Caleb, want to feel you. Need you s’bad.”

Caleb’s eyes widen, his rough movements nearly stuttering to a complete stop.

“What? Don’t play with me right now, Y/N,” he seethes through grit teeth, willing his hips to stay still, “You can’t just–hah fuck–say that.”

Your eyes roll at Caleb’s slow and controlled thrusts, each one deeper and more punctuated than the last. You force your mind to cooperate, fingers weaving into his hair, “M’serious. Please Caleb, for me?”

Caleb swears, picking up his pace again, each thrust deliberately bruising past your g-spot, stretching you to your breaking point.

“God, you know I can’t say no to you,” he growls, “You know how many times I’ve thought about filling you up?”

“You can say—nngh—no, you just don’t want to,” you playfully quip through your tear-blurred vision. Caleb’s jaw ticks at your blatant teasing.

“The mouth on you…” he nearly murmurs, voice gruff and controlled, “Let’s give that filthy little tongue something else to do.”

You let out a high pitched whine when Caleb thrusts harder. You feel him trail two fingers along your stomach, the moist sensation of him catching some of his cum making you convulse as you near another orgasm.

When Caleb brings his right hand up to you, slick fingers brushing against your lips, you can’t even protest. Because you want it. But he absolutely did not need to know that.

“Open,” he murmurs, clean thumb stroking your chin, two dripping fingers so close they almost graze your lips.

You want to curse your traitorously submissive body because your mouth parts on instinct, allowing Caleb to put two fingers into your mouth, pressing gently onto your tongue.

The taste of his salty-sweet pearly essence renders you a submissive desperate mess, your hands coming to grasp his forearm as you clean his digits, peering at him through your eyelashes.

He groans, a strangled curse on the tip of his tongue, as he watches you suck on his fingers. His pupils are blown, drinking in the sight of you, hips faltering, overwhelmed by how fucking beautifully you fall apart for him. How effortlessly you unravel him.

“Just like that, princess,” he coos, “God, it’s like you were–hah–created in a lab to drive me insane.”

You whine against his fingers, feeling an orgasm more violent than a hurricane brewing in your core. Your pelvis aches with the weight at which he fucks you into the mattress but all you can feel is him. And the otherworldly sensations he rains down upon you, your body’s pleasure already second nature to him.

“Now be a good girl and cum again.”

His skilled thrusts, his animalistic demand, his smoldering purple eyes that watch you with a terrifying blend of obsession and devotion–it’s all enough to send you plummeting towards your third climax of the night.

In your nearly blacked out state, you don’t even remember that Caleb’s fingers are still toying with your tongue when you bite down to stay conscious amidst your explosive finish. He chokes, knees buckling, but doesn’t flinch–nor does he withdraw his hand. In fact, he only seems to fall deeper into the abyss that is you.

“Shit–shit, Y/N!” Caleb’s moans wash across your lips, his damp forehead against yours, letting you bite down on the fingers of his right hand. Reveling in the sensation of your teeth digging into his digits, your perfect gummy walls fluttering around him.

“Gonna fill you up,” he rasps, the pain pushing him over the edge, “Take it all for me, yeah? You can do that for me right, baby?”

His words make your entire body tighten up even further, biting harder, squeezing tighter. The wet sounds of your arousal against his pelvis, pounding into your thighs, mixed with your screams of his name have him all but combusting, exploding white, hot, and plenty inside of you.

“I can–I can!” you practically beg, drunk off the feeling of him exploding inside you, “W-Want it–want more.” His fingers fall from your lips as you speak–much to his dismay.

Caleb groans, unable to stop rutting inside of you at your heated pleas, using the frictionless thrusts to push his cum as deeply inside of you as he can.

“There’s my perfect girl–nngh–take it all. Look at you, taking every last drop for me.”

Your hips ache in protest, but in your fucked out bliss you can’t find yourself saying anything but his name, repeatedly, tenderly, reverently. The feeling of him inside of you, the bulge of his cock visible on your naval, the warmth of his cum almost ebbing to even your fingers, his unbearably sweet and filthy words.

“Caa–leb,” you moan brokenly, the intense overstimulation clearing your hazy mind.

Caleb presses his lips to yours, still gently thrusting into you. You whine into his mouth as he pushes your thighs deeper into your chest.

He kisses you absolutely breathless, a line of spit trailing from your lips to his as he pulls away.

“Yeah, princess?”

You desperately tap his broad chest, “Heaavy.”

Caleb chuckles, shifting his weight off of you, leaving his dick inside you still. You moan when you can finally put your legs down, every muscle in your body aching and trembling.

“Sorry pip-squeak, got carried away,” he murmurs tenderly, shifting all his weight onto his elbows, still hovering above you, cock still nestled inside you.

You squeak when he twitches inside you, feeling incredibly sore.

“Caleb, if you don’t pull out of me right now…” you grumble with a playful glare, “Say goodbye to your penis.”

Caleb chuckles, forcing himself to pull out of you despite how his body aches to stay inside you. He groans as he slips out, a moan of your own escaping as you flutter emptily.

“Always resorting to violence.”

You briefly peek at him, still kneeling between your legs. He’s still hard, faint streaks of pink mixed with both your essences. With his Evol, he catches a box of tissues in his hand, tenderly cleaning the mess between your legs, and then himself. You wince at the sight of blood on the tissues and look away.

You shut your eyes, enjoying the afterglow of each other’s last night together. You don’t see when Caleb grabs your used panties, wet with your arousal and his saliva, stuffing them into the side of the mattress. To retrieve later.

Caleb flops down beside you. You’re about to lay your head on his chest when you feel him lifting you, with his arms this time and not his Evol.

“Hey!” you yelp, but he only gently places you on top of him, pressing your cheek into his chest, right where his heart thrums. Your previous resistance dissipates, as you hum happily, nuzzling into his embrace.

He laughs breathlessly, running his fingers through your hair gently.

“You’re like the stray cat that would show up at our door every morning. Hissing and swatting when we tried to pet her, purring and mewling when we gave her our breakfast scraps.”

You smack his chest lightly.

“Ow,” he chuckles lightheartedly, “Nevermind, at least that cat was nice sometimes.”

The silence washes over the pair of you. It’s comfortable and warm, but a heavy tension hangs in the air, both of you knowing the bubble will pop once the unspoken words are uttered.

“Caleb…” you start gently, but he squeezes you tighter against him.

“Don’t,” he says firmly, almost a plea, “Just…don’t say it. Not yet.”

Your heart clenches at his vulnerability, not knowing how to console him. You both know what’s coming.

Pressing a tender kiss into his chest, you prop yourself up to look at him, his amethyst eyes bright under the soft ambient lighting.

“I can’t stay in Skyhaven.”

You choose your words carefully, but Caleb and you both know what you’ve left unsaid.

I can’t stay with you.

Caleb is silent, though his grip on you tightens imperceptibly, his heartbeat quickening alarmingly.

“I know.”

His voice is small, arms holding you tighter. As if you might disappear right then and there. To him, you might as well be.

“I know I can’t keep you here, even if it’s for your safety. No matter…how much I want to.”

He strokes your naked back, trying to commit every ridge, every goosebump to memory, “I…I don’t know how to take care of you anymore.”

Your chest throbs inexplicably at his words. That’s what you’d wanted him to see all this time, isn’t it? That he’d stuffed you into a cage, plucking your feathers until you could no longer fly.

“You could come back with me,” you say, “Linkon is your home too.” You're only half serious; you knew he couldn’t just leave the Fleet.

Caleb smiles up at you, but it’s a haunted, bittersweet smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. In fact, his eyes are as hollow as you’ve ever seen them, almost staring right past you, into a blackhole behind you.

“I can’t leave.”

Those three simple words, raw and unfiltered–his soft and broken face, remind you of the Caleb you thought you had lost. The Caleb you were so desperately trying to get back.

He really was right in front of you.

Like the sun finally coming out after a day of rain, it dawns on you that maybe Caleb had never been your captor–the one who locked you in a gilded prison and watched from outside as your wings fluttered into the golden bars.

You realize that Caleb was a captive bird in that same cage, preening your ruffled, fraying feathers as you struggled, bound by the same fate that chained you.

Except Caleb’s wings were also clipped by the weight of your expectations, imprisoned by the image of him that you’d so desperately clung to. That you forced on him–punishing him when he didn’t fit the mold.

And while you were being set free, he’d stay locked inside that glass cage, watching you fly through the clouds.

Watching the thunderstorm outside, you reminisce, “Do you remember that nest of baby birds in the big tree in front of the house?”

Caleb is taken aback, but he nods, laughing softly, “Yeah. I remember we’d always worry when it rained if the fledglings would be okay.”

The rain patters against the massive windows, just like the days after the birds had hatched.

“You’d always wonder…if the baby birds would fly off once the rainy season ended–going their separate ways. It always made you so sad.”

Caleb stops breathing for a second, unsure why you remember those musings from your childhood. He’d intended them to be inconsequential; he’d never expected you to hold onto them. He keeps his eyes on the unending crystal raindrops streaming down the windows.

“Yeah. I’d always wonder if the birds would come back–after leaving the nest.”

He briefly ponders if you were awake those nights–when he was awakened by nightmares and the only way he could breathe again was to sit by your head as you slept, weaving his fingers with yours. Watching those same baby birds from your window.

You look at him, your chin propped on his chest, leaning into his palm when it comes up to tuck your hair behind your ear. Your voice is tender and melancholic when you finally find the words, pressing a soft kiss to where his heart beats under yours.

“Sometimes, they come back.”

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#tbr list #l&ds; caleb

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