#because it's not about getting it all right at once. its about leaning into the cycle and how it guides you through developing these

[hyuniemyunie]

Clinical Signs of Affection

gregory house x reader

nsfw

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(ФωФ): domestic fluff, work day softness, kiss sneakery, annoying couple behavior, eventual sex, riding house into oblivion, afab reader. no pronouns mentioned, reader calls themselves a "hot housewife" but is referred to as houses "partner" no prns, just a mention of readers clit n hot housewife🙏🙏🙏🙏

tbh its mostly sfw, the nsfw comes at the end

i love this soggy old man sm.

i might repost this on ao3 too, i have ONE fic on ao3. its a house fic.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

You don’t technically belong here.

You’re not on the clock. You’re not on call. And the front desk nurse definitely gave you the stink eye when you flashed your visitor’s badge and breezed in like you owned the place.

But you do own one very specific thing in this hospital.

Well. One person.

One disaster of a man currently on his sixth hour of ignoring basic human needs like food, water, and common sense.

So you walk through the halls of Princeton-Plainsboro like you’re on a mission, lunchbox in one hand, water bottle in the other, and a familiar devil-may-care smile curling on your lips. You even wore the hoodie he pretends to hate—the one that’s technically his but smells like you now.

A few nurses smile at you. One intern stares like she’s seeing a unicorn. You’ve visited enough times that people know you, but still rarely enough that your appearance turns heads.

Especially when you burst into Diagnostics without knocking.

House doesn’t look up immediately. He’s lounging in his chair, feet on the desk, twirling a pen between his fingers with all the grace of a bored cat. His team—Chase, Cameron, and Foreman—are mid-bicker, voices overlapping, something about liver enzymes and blood cultures and, probably, the meaning of life.

“Tell me someone brought coffee,” House says without looking up.

You don’t say anything.

You just walk in, slow and deliberate, and place the lunchbox right on top of the folder in his lap.

And then the water bottle.

Then, you lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Hi,” you say.

There’s a pause.

Then he finally blinks, looks up, and sees you.

And for a moment, the mask slips.

His eyes soften—just a flicker—and his lips twitch into something less sardonic, more fond.

“I didn’t order a personal chef with boundary issues,” he says.

“No, but you’re getting one anyway.”

Chase coughs awkwardly.

Cameron pointedly avoids eye contact.

Foreman mutters, “Every damn time.”

You ignore them all and pull up a chair beside House like you own the place. Which, emotionally speaking, you do.

“You haven’t eaten,” you say, flipping the lunchbox open. “I know you haven’t eaten. And if I don’t shove food down your throat myself, you’ll subsist on nothing but ibuprofen and rage.”

House narrows his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches.

“Romantic,” he says dryly.

You smile sweetly. “Chicken teriyaki. And a granola bar, because I know you forget dessert exists.”

He squints at you. “You’re enabling my childish avoidance of nutrition.”

“I’m preventing your body from eating itself.”

He eats.

Grumbling, mock-insulting your cooking, muttering about sodium content—but he eats. And when no one’s looking, you slip your hand under the table and lace your fingers with his.

He squeezes once, hard. Doesn't look at you.

But he holds on.

You give him his water bottle with your other hand and wait until he rolls his eyes and takes a sip, just to shut you up.

When his team clears out—some excuse about test results, but really, it’s because no one wants to witness this—he finally glances at you properly.

“You know,” he says slowly, like drawing out each word, “you could’ve stayed home. Slept. Watched trash TV. Painted your toenails. I’m not exactly prime lunchtime company.”

You lean in, pressing another kiss to his jaw. This one lingers.

“I know,” you murmur. “But I missed you. And I like bothering you.”

He grumbles something unintelligible, but his arm slips around your waist. Just a little.

Just enough.

“Also,” you add with a cheeky grin, “I thought you might appreciate a few stolen kisses between patient charts.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Are we in a 90s romcom now?”

You lean closer. “Only if you kiss me back when no one’s watching.”

And sure enough, when Cuddy passes by five minutes later, glaring through the glass with a look that screams Gregory, do your actual job, you’re sitting innocently beside him, lips kiss-bitten, cheeks warm, and House is chewing thoughtfully while looking suspiciously satisfied.

When the office empties again, he leans in and kisses you without a word.

Deep. Slow. Almost hesitant.

“You’re disgusting,” he mutters when you smirk.

“You’re making out with me in your workplace.”

“God help me.”

You grin, smug, resting your head on his shoulder. “Don’t need God. You’ve got me.”

He makes a show of groaning dramatically, but his fingers trail lazily up and down your arm. Like he can’t not touch you. Like he needs to be reminded you’re here, real, breathing beside him.

You stay like that until his pager buzzes again.

He sighs.

You steal one last kiss before he pulls away.

“Bring me leftovers tomorrow,” he calls over his shoulder as he limps out.

“Tomorrow’s your day off.”

“Exactly. I’ll be hungry.”

You roll your eyes fondly, but your heart is full, stupid and warm.

You’ll bring him lunch again tomorrow.

And sneak another kiss, too.

Because even if he never says it in those exact words, you know the truth:

He works best when he knows you’re somewhere nearby—keeping him grounded, fed, loved.

..And hydrated.

---

The moment House’s cane tapped against the hardwood of the front hall, you were already in position like a military strategist. He was home. Finally.

You’d spent all afternoon preparing. Not because you were the type of person to wait on him hand and foot—House would’ve teased the life out of you if that were the case—but because you knew the way his shoulders slumped just a little lower after back-to-back shifts, the way his sarcasm came out slightly more biting when he was actually running on fumes. And because, somewhere deep inside his perpetually grumpy self, he would never ask for what he needed.

So, you gave it to him anyway.

He barely got through the door when his nose twitched.

“Something smells edible,” he grunted, tossing his bag to the side and half-stumbling into the living room. “And here I was expecting the usual ‘eat air and cry’ menu.”

You poked your head out from the kitchen doorway, wiping your hands on a towel dramatically. “Excuse me, I’ll have you know I slaved over a hot stove for at least thirty minutes. That’s premium effort.”

“Mm. You must love me or something,” he said dryly, dragging himself toward the kitchen by the scent alone. “Poor taste.”

“Absolutely tragic,” you agreed, grinning.

When he got close, you could finally take him in—creased button-down under his blazer, the stubble that had grown longer over the last few days, the weary creases by his eyes even as he smirked. He smelled like hospital soap, exhaustion, and the faintest trace of antiseptic.

He leaned in without a word and buried his face in your shoulder, the side of his nose brushing your neck. You didn’t even hesitate—your arms were already around him, pressing him close, fingers slipping up under the back of his shirt to stroke over his skin.

“You always smell better than the hospital,” he mumbled, voice muffled.

“I should hope so. I don’t exactly rub against the ICU on the daily.”

“Might be missing out.”

You laughed against his hair, squeezing him tighter. “You’re disgusting.”

“Your disgusting. You love this disgusting. And speaking of things I love—what did you make me?”

You finally let him go with a dramatic sigh, motioning toward the table. “It’s all ready, Dr. House. Go sit. Or fall. Either works.”

He dropped into his chair with a groan of relief, rubbing his thigh out of habit while you set the table. Pan-seared steak, garlic mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables, and a tiny bit of something green you knew he’d push around but at least look at. You slid a beer beside his plate with a flourish.

“Who are you and what have you done with my partner?” he asked.

“I killed them. Now I’m the hot housewife.”

He took a sip of the beer, eyeing you over the rim. “You do realize this makes me want to skip dinner and go straight to dessert, right?”

You gave him a sly look and sat across from him. “Eat. Or I’m not letting you see the apron under this shirt.”

“You’re wearing an apron under the shirt?”

“No.”

He choked on a laugh, and something about the softness in his eyes when he finally started to eat made your chest squeeze. His sarcasm never went away, but when it was you, he let it soften at the edges. He let himself feel. That was more than he gave anyone else.

The meal passed with the usual banter—House throwing roasted carrots at you for being “a rabbit,” you threatening to “accidentally” pour gravy in his lap, both of you laughing like idiots over things that probably weren’t even funny. You cleared the table together, and when you were finally done, you leaned back against the sink and raised an eyebrow.

“Now,” you said, arms crossed. “Are you ready for me?”

He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Was this all just foreplay?”

“House. I literally lit candles. Do I ever light candles?”

“Only when something’s on fire.”

You threw the dishtowel at him. “I ran a bath. And I’m letting you shower with me. Which is generous, because you’re grabby.”

“You say that like it’s a complaint.”

He slid off the counter and limped toward you slowly.

“You’re mine to be grabby with,” he said as his hand snuck around your waist, tugging you in. “Domesticity looks hot on you.”

You leaned up to kiss his jaw. “Shut up and get naked.”

—

Steam curled against the mirror, blurring the edges of your reflections as House stepped in behind you under the stream of hot water. You gasped slightly when the water hit your shoulders—he had cranked the temperature all the way up. He always liked it too hot, and you always let him win.

“You’ll boil me alive one day,” you mumbled, grabbing the soap.

“Mm. Tenderized and ready to eat.”

His hands slid around your waist again, but this time they didn’t stop. Palms flattened against your stomach, fingers dipping low, tracing lazy circles that made you lean back against him. He kissed your shoulder, then your neck, and the scruff of his beard scraped lightly against your skin. One of his hands moved up, cupping your chest shamelessly.

“House—”

“I’ve been dealing with blood, idiots, and Cuddy all day,” he muttered against your ear. “Let me feel something good.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t stop him, leaning back further into his chest as both of his hands roamed. Not rough—just possessive. Comforting.

You turned in his arms finally and kissed him slowly. He tasted like beer, toothpaste and exhaustion, and he kissed you back with the hunger of a man who’d been living on bitterness and hospital coffee.

“Love you,” you whispered.

His forehead pressed to yours. “You’re an idiot.”

You smiled. “Takes one to love one.”

He grinned, and the way he looked at you in that moment—naked, wet, sleepy, and grinning like a man in love—was worth every moment you’d spent waiting for him to come home.

---

It started, as it often did, with you waking up to something pressing insistently against your backside.

You were warm. Wrapped in soft sheets. Limbs tangled with House’s. The air smelled like morning and him—skin and shampoo and something vaguely medicinal. You didn’t even open your eyes at first. Just exhaled a breath and shifted slightly in bed.

That was when you felt it again.

Thick. Hard. Warm.

Pressed right up between your ass cheeks, like it was meant to be there.

You didn’t need to turn to know House was still fast asleep. His arm was slung over your waist, his breathing even, that low rasp of sleep just starting to fade into wakefulness. But his body was already several steps ahead of him.

Typical.

You smiled to yourself, still barely awake, and wriggled a little closer. That earned you a low grunt.

“…if you’re gonna grind on it, at least commit to the bit,” he muttered sleepily into your hair.

You snorted, turning in his arms until you were face to face, and yup—there was that morning glare. Eyelids half-closed, hair a mess, scruffy jaw, and the world’s most unrepentant erection trapped between you.

“Not my fault you’re pitching a tent,” you whispered, grinning as your hand slid under the covers to palm him through his boxers. “Wanna tell me what you were dreaming about?”

“Medical malpractice.”

“Sure it wasn’t about me in nothing but scrubs?”

He opened one eye, his mouth twitching upward. “You in scrubs is hot. You out of scrubs is hotter.”

You slipped your hand past the waistband and wrapped your fingers around him, slow and firm, and his breath caught, teeth dragging across his lip.

“I could help,” you said softly, giving him a lazy stroke. “Before breakfast.”

“Are you the breakfast?” he asked, voice still gravelly, eyes now glued to your mouth.

You leaned in and kissed him softly. His hand tangled in your hair, and when you shifted to straddle him, his hips arched up immediately into your palm.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he groaned.

“Mm. I’ll revive you. Doctor’s orders.”

You reached over to the nightstand and pulled out a condom from the drawer—because House was a bastard, but he was always careful. You opened the packet, and he watched you like he couldn’t look away, like the very sight of you half-naked in the morning light had short-circuited every sarcastic neuron in his brain.

You rolled it onto him with slow, practiced care, and he hissed softly, hands gripping your thighs. Once he was sheathed and you were slick enough to take him, you eased yourself down onto his cock with a breathless moan.

“Jesus,” he muttered, brow furrowed, “how are you this warm already?”

“Your fault,” you whispered, rocking your hips. “You started it.”

His hands found your waist, guiding your rhythm even though he barely had the strength to lift his head. His mouth fell open as you moved—slow, deep, lazy like Sunday mornings should be. No rush. No urgency. Just the warmth of skin, the roll of your hips, the softness of your hands on his chest, your fingers laced with his.

“God, I missed this,” he muttered.

“You had me last night.”

“Not like this.”

He let you ride him in silence for a few minutes—aside from the low, broken groans he couldn’t hold back when you clenched or angled just right. His thumb brushed your clit in lazy circles, coaxing pleasure from you with that same knowing touch he used in diagnostics—only now it was you he was unraveling.

When your moans started to climb and your thighs began to tremble, he bucked up once, hard, and you gasped.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Come on. Come with me.”

You barely had time to nod before your orgasm hit, crashing through you in a wave of heat and release. You clung to him as you came, shuddering, and he wasn’t far behind—his grip tightened, and he thrust up one final time as he spilled into the condom with a low groan, forehead pressed to your chest.

You collapsed against him, both of you breathless, your bodies tangled and sticky with sweat and satisfaction.

For a while, neither of you moved.

Then, House grunted. “I think I broke a rib.”

“You’re such a baby.”

“You rode me like I was a prize bull.”

You laughed and kissed his shoulder, nuzzling against his neck. “Worth it.”

He reached up, brushed your hair back gently, and kissed your forehead with surprising tenderness.

“Definitely worth it.”

---

After a shared shower—filled more with sleepy kisses and soft touches than anything dirty—you both ended up back in the kitchen, dressed in soft pajamas, your hair still damp, House’s limp a little worse than usual.

“I blame you,” he said, sipping coffee while flipping a pancake with surprising skill. “I’m gonna need my cane just to sit down today.”

“You always need your cane.”

“Not the point.”

You leaned against the counter, watching him. He was still bleary-eyed, still grumbling, but there was something in the way he moved—lighter. More at ease.

When you handed him a plate and he brushed his fingers over yours, you smiled. He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t need to.

It was all there in the way he looked at you over his coffee mug.

Grumpy. Sated. Home.

And as far as mornings went?

You couldn’t think of a better one.

[circledwithaheart]

Once again did a Sentence Exchange so @diazsdimples will finish an essay for uni. He's still working (but soooo close! definitely go harass him about it) but I decided to be generous because Fuck It, right? Have some more actor au, this time in Eddie's POV. Follows this snippet. ⭐️

The first day at 118 Productions, all told, isn’t bad. Certainly not the worst he’s ever had. He’s met A-listers that deny his existence until they have a scene, and C-list actors who fawn over him like he’s a god. Both situations tend to make him uncomfortable but, given the choice, he’d take the former every time.  He’s made a good living in the acting world, he won’t deny that. It treats him and his son very well, affording them opportunities they never would have had otherwise. But under the fame, the money, interviews and flashing cameras? He’s just Eddie Diaz. Mexican American boy from El Paso, Texas. He thinks maybe he can rediscover that part of himself here at the 118.  Everyone from Bobby, the co-owner and founder, to Ravi, their main camera operator, has been friendly and welcoming. Well, almost everyone.  To say that Eddie found Buck’s ‘greeting’ a touch odd is an understatement. Buck may have only spoken one word, but his body language was practically a neon sign, broadcasting his feelings. Eddie expected perhaps a bit more enthusiasm from the guy. They’re supposed to be co-stars. It’s not like Eddie’s here to replace him or anything. Then again, maybe he’s always like that, or just having an off day. Eddie’s only going off of what he’s heard in various circles, and from Anita. People love to talk and, as Eddie’s all too familiar with, it’s almost never accurate till it winds its way through the gossip mill. Until that pipeline of information gets back to the topic of said gossip, it’s hard to know if they’ve been painted as better or worse than they truly are.  “Is there anything I should know about Buck?” Eddie asks, settling into a chair. Bobby finished showing him around the studios and surrounding lots, ending their tour in his office so they could “chat and get to know each other”.  “Buck?” Bobby frowns slightly, quirking his lips to one side. He steeples his fingers together in a way that reminds Eddie a little of his dad, and even more of the priest from his childhood church. Thankfully it doesn’t appear that Bobby will be handing out punishments when he reaches an answer.  “Not that I can think of.” Bobby leans back in his leather chair, his expression relaxing. “He’s a good kid, leaps before he looks sometimes. But he’s come a long way. I wasn’t always sure that would happen.” Bobby smiles, a hint of fondness to it, like he’s talking about his own child. Then he leans forward again, elbows resting on the high gloss desktop scattered with papers. “Buck really put the work in to prove he was worth it, that he deserves a place here. Can’t think of a better person I’d rather have on my team.” “Present company excluded, of course,” Bobby amends.

np tagging, if you wanna share something:

@diazsdimples @daffi-990 @stereopticons @bidisasterevankinard @actuallyitsellie @wildfluorescent @tizniz @diazheartsbuckley @midsummersmorn @spotsandsocks @theotherbuckley @kitteneddiediaz @your-catfish-friend @thekristen999 @aoubooming @wikiangela @rainbow-nerdss @steadfastsaturnsrings @inell @eddiebabygirldiaz @dr-shortsighted-owl @imtheiliad @bi-buckrights @elvensorceress @bucksbiawakening @giddyupbuck @beyourownanchor6 @indestructibleheart @ladydorian05 @lemonzestywrites @monsterrae1 @statueinthestone @honestlydarkprincess @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @thelikesofus @wildlife4life @eowon @rewritetheending @spaceprincessem @bekkachaos @bucksbignaturals @lovetommyactually @toxicpositivitybuddie @hyperfocusthusly @loucifersbitch @thelikesofus and anyone else who wants to😘

[darlingdesire]

hiya love! i have a bobby request for you, if you don't mind

reader is inhaler's photographer and it's super obvious she has a massive crush on bobby. the entire crew (including him lmao dickhead) tease her for it.

one night at a bar this really hot cool rockstar girlfriend kinda girl hits on bobby and reader sees it and gets jealous. bobby makes a joke and reader gets upset thinking he's making fun of her because the other girl was obvi way cooler than her.

cue a soft little moment where he comforts her, maybe a kiss? 🥺💗

When It Breaks

(Bobby Skeetz x female!reader)

Warnings: none!!

Genre: fluff, angst (omggggg)

Word count: 6.9k wtf

Des Talks!!: okay woah. My first ever Bobby fic and I think I have outdone myself. This is one of my favourites so far and i’ve kind of ended it in a way where there could be a part 2 to this. Thank you so much for requesting this as well anon!! It was such an amazing idea and I’m so glad I get to bring it to life WOOOOOOO!!!!! I really hope this is kind of what you were hoping for 💝 (I may have gotten a little carried away oops ) also get your requests and ideas in whilst its hot 🫶

"You comin' out tonight, right?"

She turned her head at the sound of his voice, her gaze moving from the camera which she was packing away; the camera which had loads of photos of him and the band—85% of which were professional which she would have to edit later and post, and the 15% were random moments taken of him. She saw him in a different kind of light when she had the camera up to her face; she could capture him in a frozen photo and store it forever. Not the man who played bass on stage for hundreds of people, but the boy who who had managed to steal her heart and lock away. Much like a photo, captured forever.

Bobby Skeetz had no idea—well, he did... her liking to him was painfully obvious to everyone, one slip-up a few months ago for a lifetime of teasing.

"You guys going out then?" She inquired, a sweet smile appearing on her face; the once concentrated look she had as she packed her cameras away in silence was no longer there.

Inhaler had just finished playing a show. It was grand; the crowd was one of the best they have had so far, and she could tell that the guys were still at the peak of their high; adrenaline and excitement all around. She was there to see it all, she saw the intimate crowds, the boring crowds, the loud crowds; she was there to see the crowds grow bigger and bigger, her joy only expanding each time she saw the size of the venues. She had been the band's photographer for a few years now, she could pretty much say these years have been the best of her life—she could only imagine how Bobby was feeling.

He leaned against the edge of the table as she started to pack her camera away into her bag, looking down at the camera in her hand, then back up at her, her soft features bringing another sweet, boyish smile onto his face. In all honesty, he wasn't sure if he was smiling because he was so amused by her or what. Probably both.

"Yeah," he answered, his Irish accent thick in his words. "I don't know about you, but I think we deserve a few drinks after that."

She looked back down at what she doing, feeling a fluttering of nerves rush up her body at the attention—she couldn't help it, she felt nervous everytime he would look at her, she wanted so desperately to know what he was thinking when he looked at her. She zipped the protective case up, sealing the camera and all the memories away for later; "It was a killer crowd, wasn't it," She muttered out, her words soft but laced with such pride, "I dunno, Bobby—I went out last night."

She couldn't help but feel satisfaction knowing he had asked her himself to join them at the pub tonight—okay, it wasn't abnormal for him to seek her out after a show and ask, most of the time it was brought up when they were in the group and she would be bugged and pestered by the guys until she had to say yes. But she enjoyed when he asked her; she wouldn't tell anyone, but she would pretend to seem tired or decline just so he could keep asking her with a pleading look on his face.

"And you don't want to go out again?" His tone was playful, trying his best to tempt her to go. He didn't know why, but it was the best part about going out after a show - he knew she always came. He could ask, and she would say yes, but it was so much sweeter to tempt her into going. "I'll buy you a drink—one of those gross fruity spritz you like or whatever that shit is."

She gave him a sarcastic pointed look at his dig on her choice of alcohol, earning a smirky grin from him. She watched the way the smile lit up his face, how it reached his eyes and caused them to close a little. Oh, how she wished she didn't pack her camera away so she could take a photo of it. She wouldn't share it with the world, no, she would keep it hidden away in her digital memory bank. Instead, she took a mental image of the sight of him leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, with his hair messy and falling over his face.

Ok, stop looking at him like a creep.

She stood up straighter, turning her body towards him now with her bag of equipment in her hand; he waited for an answer, his brows raised slightly in open hope that her answer would be yes.

"One drink," She finally complied, raising her hand with a pointed finger to set her words in stone, "and it's a pornstar martini I've been liking at the moment, thank you very much."

That boyish smirk turned into a full blown grin at her compliance, giving a soft, pleased 'tsk' noise as he stood up a little straighter, pushing himself off of the doorframe and crossing his arms over his chest. He could have just let her come like she always did, but it was so much better to push her into wanting to go. Plus, it was just another excuse to talk to her, be closer.

"A pornstar martini? Really? Didn't know you liked pornstars," He said with a small chuckle, his tone clearly teasing.

She rolled her eyes at him, walking towards the open door where he stood, "Yeah—love when I have a good pornstar," she played along with it, deadpanning him as she passed by him and stepped out into the hallway; her cheeks flushing red at the conversation, and she willed herself to calm down.

He watched her walk past him, his eyes following only after, a humorous and amused smile on his face at her comeback. "Thought it was only bass-players you loved," He followed, a few steps behind, his gaze falling onto the top of her head now, watching her from behind. He was taller, and the fact he was tall was quite obvious, his long legs easily catching up to her short ones.

He was glad her back was facing him now because he couldn't stop the small, amused chuckle from falling out of his mouth at her now-red cheeks.

She felt dread fill her body when she heard his comeback, her mouth went try and it felt like she had cotton in it. She swallowed nervously. He sometimes teased her about the crush she had on him; she didn't know if she preferred it if he was silent about it and never regarding her feelings for him, or if she preferred it if he was openly able to tease her about it. Either way, it felt as though he was tossing her feelings aside.

She decided to stay quiet.

She knew he was following behind her, and she couldn't help but feel as though she had a hit on her. God, please don't trip, don't you dare trip… She repeated in her mind as she walked, she hated and loved the pressure of his attention being on her; analysing her and perceiving her.

He knew she was nervous, and he could almost hear her thoughts spinning around in her head now, trying to process the situation. He felt a tad amused by the whole thing—how after a few years, she still got all awkward around him. Cute.

His gaze drifted to the way she was walking in front of him, clearly trying her hardest to walk confidently and he knew, one wrong step and she was going to trip. The thought brought a small smirk onto his face as he watched her every step, and then, that said wrong step happened.

"Oh—Fuck," She blurted out when the ugly-looking carpet stopped her shoe from letting her walk properly; the stupid kind of carpet that caused you to trip up because of the rough material. Luckily she had caught herself, and scowled down at the floor; wanting to do nothing more than stomp her foot down onto it a few times for tripping her up in front of Bobby.

She had a knack for tripping and bumping into things. It wasn't new, wasn't something Bobby had never seen before; it was another thing he teased her about. She knew it was light-hearted and that he would never shame her for being so clumsy sometimes, but she just wished she didn't look so silly sometimes.

"You're so graceful," He teased, still stood a few steps behind. There was a playful tone to the remark, along with a light chuckle at the failed attempt to stay dignified. It was clear that this was a regular occurrence as she had tripped numerous times before his eyes.

His gaze was fixated on her, watching her as she scolded the carpet, like it was the carpet's fault that she tripped when it was actually hers.

"Shut up. It was the carpets fault," She turned her head to look at him, an uncontrollable smile lifted her lips up at the humour of it. He sent her a cheeky look and finally caught up with her, using the opportunity of her stopping to finally walk beside her. They continued to walk down the hall together, and she kept on shrugging the bag strap up onto her shoulder every time it started slipping down. After the 3rd time, she felt a gentle tug on the strap and she turned her head to see that Bobby was lifting the bag off her to take.

"Here," he spoke, taking the strap from her as they walked. "I'll take it," he added as the strap was now in his hand, a warm smile taking over his face. He knew she struggled with the strap slipping off her shoulders, but he knew she would have kept on adjusting the strap until it was perfect, and even then, it would probably slip again.

He was being chivalrous—more than normal--and it was more for the fact that he wanted to be closer to her.

She pursed her lips together in a way to force the bashful grin away at his helpfulness, "Thanks."

They left the venue through the back and made their way to her tour bus; the one she had made her home for the past two years. He was in a separate one with all the other boys. Their door was always open for her, and she found herself in their bus more than she was in hers. Their dynamics were perfect; she considered Inhaler her close friends more than she was their photographer. After all, they were all eachother had out on the road.

Bobby set her equipment down on her bunk, not missing the chance to send her a look at the way she left her bed messy. She had rolled her eyes at him, saying; "I'd like to see your bed then, Skeetz," her words seeming more innocent in her head than how they sounded when she said them out loud.

"Yeah, you'd like to see that, wouldn't ya'," He muttered with a smirk; not missing a chance to tease her again.

Her innocent words weren't innocent at all. His mind —and he is almost certain hers (but she would never admit it)—immediately went to somewhere else at the words, the thought of his own messy, unmade bed crossing his mind for a spilt second. "and, by the way, my bed is actually made," he responded quickly with a raise of his brows, his gaze flickering to her unmade bed for a moment before turning back to her; he was telling the truth, his bed was made. Neatly. He was waking up in a good mood these past few months—some could say he was waking up on the right side of the bed.

A newfound optimistic feeling had found him, and he loved it; he was excited when he got up in the mornings (ever since he found out his little photographer fancied him, but he wasn't going to admit that)

She gave him a look as she closed the curtain, separating the two of them from the sight of her messy bed, "yeah, yeah," she muttered and turned on her heel away from him, leading them out of the bunk area and back into the main area toward the open door.

Jack, the social media guy who had joined the tour a while ago stepped into the bus; his eyes lighting up at the sight of her. He said a quick hello, his smile sweet as he placed a warm hand on her shoulder as he walked by the two of them. She had become friends with Jack, he was a good guy and the band liked him. (but she never caught on to the looks Bobby gave Jack everytime he would see her with him.)

His gaze immediately narrowed as he watched Jack place a hand on her shoulder; the sight didn't leave him with a good feeling. He could've sworn his eyes burned into the back of Jack's head as he walked right by them and out of the bus.

A strange, bitter feeling swirled around inside his chest and then his mind immediately went to an unreasonable place—he wasn't exactly sure why he was always so territorial, especially now.

He followed her out of the bus, not paying any mind to extend the invitation out to Jack. He secretly wanted her to himself tonight, as friends, of course....

They clambered into the car with the rest of the waiting guys—who had just finished meeting fans out back and taking pictures with them—they were still in the clothes they were wearing on stage, too eager and excited to get to the pub with everyone for a round of drinks.

Bobby sat next to her, of course. The two of them were in the very back of the 7-seater car as the rest of the guys were in the middle with the 3 seats.

The car was immediately filled with conversation, and they started heading toward the pub that was suggested by a local fan.

She had no trouble involving herself into their conversation, it was rather easy actually since she felt more than comfortable around them.

Bobby sat in silence for most of the ride to the pub, only joining in on the conversation now and then. His mind was somewhere else, mostly, and a couple times, his gaze was on her, just watching her. Watching the way she interacted with the others, listening to every single word that came out of her mouth.

He drew on the foggy window, looking over at her once he had finished the little drawing. A smirk stretched out on his face as he pointed it out to her, "It's you," he said with a nod, proud of his little drawing.

She looked at his drawings in the window, her heart almost exploding out of her chest at the fact he made a little stick figure of her in the window.

"Oh wow," She grinned uncontrollably, a little act seemed so big in her mind and she kept repeating how it was probably nothing and that she was just thinking too much into it, "You captured me perfectly."

His smirk grew into a full blown, amused smile as she gawked over his little drawing in the window. She was so easy to read.

He looked back at the window, his attention now diverted on creating another stick figure next to the one of her, "I know I did, I'm good like that," he responded jokingly, a small chuckle leaving his mouth.

They finally reached the pub and they all started clambering out of the big car; she found it amusing watching four grown men try and climb out the car whilst trying to be graceful and not bang their heads against the roof. She made sure to get a photo of Bobby with his window drawings; he had posed for it with a his thumb up and big goofy smile as he carefully leaned his head next to the window, not wanting to rub his hair against the condensation and ruin his drawings.

They made their way into the dimly-lit pub and found an available curved booth to sit at with their drinks. Josh was sat next to her, and they browsed the drinks menu together. It was more like a bar they were at, but whatever it was it was nice and underground; relatively busy too.

Elijah was on her other side, and Bobby was sitting next to him. Ryan had gone straight to use the bathroom, as he had been complaining most of the drive about it.

The pub was lively, filled to the brim with people, but the music was at the right decibel to allow a normal conversation, and that's exactly what the group was doing.

Bobby leaned back against the booth, arms draped along the back of it, listening to the conversations going on around him. His gaze eventually flickered over to her. He could hear her laughing with Josh as the two of them picked out drinks. He felt a small tug pull at his chest, but he ignored it.

Just then, Ryan arrived back at the table, taking his seat, "I took longer in the bathroom so I wouldn't have to wait for drinks to get here," He joked, rolling his eyes as he sat down next to Josh.

"You sure that was the reason?" Bobby teased, smirking at his words and earning a mock laugh from Josh who then reached over the table at him and whilst pretending to claim he didn't wash his hands; causing Bobby to lean back and let out a groan in disgust.

"Ya' filthy, Ryan," He told him and got up out of the booth, looking over at everyone; his eyes landing right on hers, "you're coming with me. Promised I'd get you a drink, didn't I."

She was in a conversation with Elijah—a conversation about who knows what—she had completely lost her train of thought as soon as she noticed him getting up. She looked over at him, locking gazes as he gestured over to her.

A small feeling of nervousness filled her chest as she knew what was coming, and she tried her best to push it away. It was just a drink.

"Oh, yeah," She spoke, smiling at Bobby before turning to Elijah, "back in a sec."

She had to go past Elijah to get out, lucky that there was a decent gap between the table and the booth seats as she carefully stepped out of it.

"You all want a Guinness, yes?" She turned her head to look at the guys, earning some yes' and grateful nods in response.

Bobby waited for her to make the move to the bar, and the two of them went over together; waiting patiently to be served. She took the time to scan the pub/bar/whatever it was, taking in the comfortable scenery. It was very cool. The place had exposed brick walls and had old antiques littered around on display—a nice mix of old and new.

A bartender came up to the two of them not long after and Bobby took the lead in ordering drinks for everyone. Her eyes landed on a small group of women by a table, they were dressed beautifully—one girl in particular caught her eye though, and it seemed as though hers had caught Bobby. She was looking over at him with an interested gaze—a curious one, one that had y/n turning around toward the bar where their drinks were being made. Her back now toward the group so she wouldn't have to see the look that one girl was giving him.

She turned her head to look up at Bobby, seeing how he didn't even pay any mind to the girls who were ogling him. He was simply watching the bartender, tapping his fingers against the wooden bar mindlessly. He looked down at her when he felt her gaze in him, and he sent her a small, instinctive smile before looking back at the bartender.

She suddenly felt like a deflated balloon; insecurity washing over her and diminishing her high.

She was used to girls checking Bobby out, and she had no right to feel insecure or jealous. She was just like all the other girls who had a silly little crush on him. It wouldn't lead anywhere. 

He would notice her looking at him and not pay any mind to it; maybe he was only teasing her about it in order to push it away, because he had to so it wouldn't be weird between them.

"You good?" She heard him ask, she had been staring down at the wooden bar for a few seconds with a distant look; and he had noticed.

She put on a smile and lifted her head to reach his eyes, "Yeah, m' grand," she told him cheerily; though the feeling in her mind said otherwise, hopefully he wouldn't notice that and see through her lies.

"You should try a different drink one day; a Guiness must get boring after a while," She said, trying to alter the conversation.

He chuckled in response at her comment, a small smirk forming on his face now, "Guiness never gets boring, love," he replied, his gaze flickering over down to her.

He could sense a change in her mood, noticing how lost in thought she had been.

The drinks were finally made and they made their way to take them back to the booth where the guys were waiting. She couldn't help but take a quick peek at the group of girls to see that that one girl was still watching Bobby.

She swallowed hard, trying to push down the feelings as she and Bobby got to the booth. A few more people from the crew had joined the booth and were chatting away with everyone. Jack was there. He had patted the open space next to him and budged over a little bit, there was only space left for and she put the drinks down on the table before sittinf down next to him. Bobby watched as he found himself next to Ryan, his eyes lingering on Jack and y/n in front of him.

A bitter feeling settled in his chest he watched her sit next to Jack. He didn't know why, but it always bothered him when she talked to him, or sat next to him, or just spent time with him.

He took the last empty seat next to Ryan, trying to distract himself from his thoughts. The group went on with their conversations, but he found himself tuning out. His eyes always found their way back to her. His gaze lingered on her for a while before she looked up, meeting it. He quickly averted his eyes, focusing on the glass in his hand instead.

They kept sharing looks, their eyes catching one another every now and then as they listened to people talk, or when one of them was talking and looked at the other—as if they were speaking to just eachother. After the drinks were all finished, Ryan went to go get another round for everyone and forced Bobby to go with him for an extra pair of hands.

Y/n was content in her conversation with Josh and Elijah, talking about stuff they're going to do with their day off tomorrow. They were going to explore the city they were in, and she was going to join them and take photos. She was always welcome to join the band on their little outings, they used the fact that she needed to get content as an excuse to get her to spend time with them. It was cute.

After a while of feeling Bobby's absence, she turned her head to the bar where him and Ryan were still by. Except, Ryan was on his way back with a handful of drinks without Bobby. She glanced over Ryan's shoulder to see where Bobby was; he was still there, but he was with somebody else. The girl from the group.

She had managed to get her way over to Bobby and actually strike conversation with him. They seemed to be hitting it off well too, the girl was stood close to him with a flirty smile. Bobby was more than happy to talk to her.

Y/n couldn't help but trace her eyes over the girl; taking in the way she held herself, so confident and alluring. The girl was dressed in red and black and had a charm about her.

She sunk in her seat and looked away from them; feeling all sorts of ways. Insecure, jealous. All these feelings that she—again—had no right to feel. She was silly to compare herself to the girl, but she still couldn't stop it from happening.

She raised her glass to her lips, taking a sip of her pornstar martini—suddenly wishing she had something stronger.

"You're not very subtle with your staring," Ryan told her in a quieter voice than normal, he was relaxed back into his seat with his arms crossed lazily over his chest and a knowing look on his face.

She looked at him with wide eyes at his straight-forwardness, and glanced around at the other people in the seats to make sure they didn't hear Ryan.

"I was looking at the bottles. God, forbid a girl wants to look at the products," She told him, motioning her head to the bottles of alcohol on display behind the bar, clearly lying—which he could see through.

She was so obvious with her staring, her jealousy, her pining. It was written all over her face, and Ryan could see it from a mile away.

He rolled his eyes at her failed attempt at an excuse, sighing as he leaned closer to her, "No, you were staring at Bobby."

She gave him a blank look, rolling up one of the napkins into a tiny ball and threw it at him as a lame attempt to get him to shut up. She knew her cheeks were flushing red, she could feel the heat and the shy-ness flooding through her.

"I hope you choke on your chips," She said to him, glancing down at his bowl of hot chips.

He chuckled in response, swatting the napkin out of the way, "yeah, yeah, yeah."

He knew he had gotten to her now, and there was no turning back for him. It was too entertaining to tease her, and knowing how she felt about Bobby made it even more amusing to poke at her.

He raised an eyebrow at her, a sly smirk on his face, "Why don't you go over there and tell that girl to back off?"

Y/n's face fell, deadpanning him again with a blank expression, "Oh, yeah," She nodded slowly, musing his stupid suggestion, "No."

He grinned, clearly enjoying himself,  "Why not? You'd rather sit here and mope in jealousy?"

She scowled at him and leaned forward in her seat, finally reacting quick to shut his false (clearly right) assumptions down, "I'm not jealous—" she began to fire out.

"What is she jealous of?" Bobby's voice suddenly cut her off, he had somehow weaselled his way over without her noticing and set the rest of the drinks down on the table; glancing between Ryan and Y/n for an answer.

"Nothing," She quickly said, sinking back into her seat and giving Ryan a warning look as Bobby sat down next to him.

Ryan smirked, he could see it right through her, and he knew that he couldn't keep his mouth shut in this situation; he had the right reasons, (he was sick and tired of watching y/n pine over Bobby without doing anything about it—right reasons, wrong method of execution)

"She's jealous of the girl you were talking to at the bar," he bluntly informed Bobby, his gaze drifting to Y/n to find her shooting daggers at him. Her cheeks were even more red now.

Bobby's brows raised at the information, and he looked at her reddening face with a growing smirk; and she prepared herself for his response. She wanted to smack Ryan across the head—she was completely over the teasing. It was fun and fine at first, but after a while it just started hurting. Her feelings were being laughed at and mocked, and if he didn't like the fact that she fancied him then he could just tell her instead of teasing her about it.

"You know you're the only girl for me, love. No need for jealousy," He said to y/n with a smirk—teasing her, yet again...

Ryan rolled his eyes at the interaction, feeling amused by the whole thing. He was tempted to smack him and her upside the head for being so unbelievably stupid for not noticing the obvious fact that Bobby just couldn't get the hint—the hint to do something about it. Ryan wasn't dumb, he could sense the feelings Bobby had for y/n. He had just hoped that by now, the blonde-headed idiot would swallow his fears down and ask the damn girl out.

Y/n huffed, feeling flustered at the words and his teasing, "Don't call me love," She spoke to him, her tone annoyed yet light in mockery as she rose from her seat.

The two guys watched as she snatched her small bag off the table in haste and started walking away from everyone, toward the exit.

"Nice going, idiot," Ryan was the first to say something, looking at his friend with a roll of his eyes.

"What?! You're the idiot, idiot," Bobby exclaimed, completely baffled at the response. Ryan was the one who initiated the entire thing.

"No—You're the idiot," Ryan scoffed, shaking his head. "She's a complete goner for you, and you're too much of a pussy to do anything about it," He angled his body toward his friend, speaking lowly so that the other guys at the table wouldn't hear, "You either tell her you're not interested—which you are, I can tell—and drop the whole thing, or you tell her you want her as much as she wants you," Ryan explained, holding his finger up and pointing it at him to assert his point.

He saw the moment Bobby's face changed from confusion to a more softer one. His eyes were casted down onto the table, clearly thinking about the whole situation in his head. He felt awful.

He was stunned into silence for a few moments as he thought on Ryan's words.

He stared at the table, his mind deep in thought, almost to the point where he forgot that people were still around them. He didn't want to face any facts. He knew he had feelings for her, he knew that—but why was Ryan making it sound easier than it really was.

Bobby shook his head slowly, lifting his gaze back up to Ryan; words tumbling out of him, "It's not that simple, mate," he protested, "Have you thought about what would happen if things ended badly? Don't forget she's our photographer."

Ryan scoffed, his disbelief at the statement growing. "Mate, she's also the one person that can put up with your stupid arse," he reminded him, his tone now firm and annoyed, as he leaned forward in his seat, "You're telling me that you'd rather keep all the stupid feelings bottled away in that thick skull of yours, not make a move, and then miss the opportunity to have her?"

Bobby side-eyed Ryan for the insult, and then let out a deep sigh; saying nothing as he straightened up in his seat and looked toward the exit. Maybe he should man up and go out there—but he felt like such a fool. What would she even say? He used humour to help in situations, and so of course he did the same for this one. Maybe he dug himself too deep. All the months worth of making fun of her for her crush on him were coming back to bite him in the arse.

"Okay," He muttered quietly to himself more than to Ryan, shifting a little as he climbed out of the booth and began to head toward to exit.

He paid no attention to the girl from the bar as he walked by her table—even so, she didn't even make a move on him whilst they were talking. It was friendly chatting, and so when he came back to the table to find out y/n was jealous—you could say he was over the moon and handled it in a shitty way.

Meanwhile, y/n had found herself stood on the sidewalk outside of the bar. Not too far away, but just enough distance to be able to clear her head and think things through. She was overthinking what just happened, she went over it so many times in her head and deemed her actions dramatic and childish. Maybe she should have been the one to tell him and everyone she didn't like it when they teased her about her crush; but a slither of her enjoyed it because it was some sort of acknowledgment of it on Bobby's side.

She was in her own little world, mindlessly looking at the array of random posters on the wall when in the corner of her eye; Bobby showed up next to her.

She must have been deep in thought as she failed to notice his presence right away, so he stood next to her in silence as he watched her and studied her every move. He saw her looking at the walls, admiring the art that covered them, before his gaze fell to the ground, and his thoughts started to swirl around in his head.

He took a deep breath to calm himself down. He wasn't supposed to feel like this, he was supposed to be just like any other boy that got the girl, and yet here he was—acting like a love-struck teen and struggling to get the right words out.

"I'm sorry," He finally spoke up, not knowing what to say. He had gone over it in his head during his quick walk to find her, he had made a defend script in his head but it all suddenly went out the window when he was finally next to her.

His voice startled her at first, causing her to flinch for a split second, before she turned her head to look at him. He looked nervous. She could see it in his eyes and the way he looked away from her.

She didn't know how to respond straight away; she felt her words stuck in her throat as she stared at him for a long moment before opening her mouth, "What are you apologising for..?"

"For being stupid," He said, his eyes flickered back and forth between the two of hers. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jackets, feeling his mouth dry as a bundle of nerves ran through him. He took a step closer, and she angled her body towards his at the closer proximity; no longer looking at the art work on the wall.

"I just... I really really like you, y/n," He continued, emphasising the 'really' with a furrow of his brows; but his words must have reached her ears differently and her concept of them sounded like he was about to friend zone her.

She nodded, turning her head to look away from him and back toward the wall, "...As a friend," she finished the rest of his sentence, feeling the knot of sadness form in her throat. Don't cry, don't cry, stupid don't cry you're not 14.

"No, no," Bobby quickly exclaimed as she had misheard him. He reached out with one of his hands, gently taking hold of her chin to guide it back to look at him, "No, not as a friend—as more than that."

He saw her face soften at his clarification, and he allowed a small smile to form on his face as she took in his words, her eyes fixed on him. She looked so pretty.

"What?" She asked in utter confusion, his words were a mind bog—after months of him making fun of her and teasing her for her crush on him, he goes and tells her he feels the same way. Doubt crosses her mind, even though he is smiling so sweetly at her, "Look, I don't know if this is just another joke to make fun of me or if you're saying that because you feel bad. You're confusing me, Bobby."

Bobby shook his head, his heart clenching in his chest as he saw doubt and skepticism in her eyes. She didn't believe him. "No, no, no," he muttered, cupping her face in both his hands, keeping her gaze on him.

"I promise I'm not playing with you, I'm not messing with you. I'm telling you the truth," He looked into her eyes, not looking away for even one second as his thumbs slowly started to trace her features; his touch feather-like.

She almost melted at his touch, but she still couldn't wrap her head around the whole ordeal. They say women were confusing, but maybe it was actually men who were more confusing.

"Then they would you tease me about it for months. I don't understand why. Why did it take you this long to tell me," She asked him, frowning even more as she searched his eyes for the truth.

He sighed, letting go of her face with both hands as he ran one through his hair, "I don't know, I guess I was too scared. Because this is a big deal," he explained, a hint of a nervous laugh escaping his mouth as he pushed his hands back into his pocket.

"You're our photographer. I didn't want to face it and have things be awkward if it never worked out between us and you had to end up quitting because of it," he explained, his gaze shifting all over the place as he tried to keep calm, "I like you too much—I like having you around with the guys, I like having you with me."

"I wouldn't quit because of that," she responded to his words with a scoff and a roll of her eyes, acting as if it was a ridiculous idea.

"So... what are we gonna do?" her voice was softer now, her shoulders slumping slightly as her eyes lifted to find his again.

"I guess that depends on what you want us to be," He responded with a shrug, and he leaned in closer toward her, his voice grew quieter; "Because I know exactly what I want to be."

Her breath stopped in her throat when she noticed he was leaning in closer, and suddenly; everything in the world stilled as she gazed into his eyes. "Bobby..." She breathed out quietly, she didn't know if it was a question, a statement, or whatever... its all she managed to mutter out.

She looked so beautiful in this second. His mind went blank as he got lost in her eyes, the way her lips moved when she said his name was addicting.

He lifted his hand up from his pocket again, gently brushing a lose strand of her hair, "Can I kiss you?" He whispered ever so sweetly.

Shock waves flooded her entire system at his words, not knowing if she imagined that he said that or if she misheard him. She didn't know what would happen between them after this, she didn't know if it would develop into a relationship, but all she knew was that something would completely change between them if their lips connected.

But right now she didn't care if tomorrow they didn't speak to eachother at all, she didn't care if it was awkward between them when the euphoria of the moment died down and was replaced by something more serious.

After a beat, she nodded her head ever so softly and muttered out a simple; "Kiss me."

Bobby didn't hesitate. He closed the distance between them and softly connected their lips together. He cupped her cheeks in both his hands, holding her in place as he kissed her with a gentleness that made her heart beat a little faster. His lips were perfectly fitting over her bottom lip, and he almost smiled against the kiss from how utterly perfect it felt to kiss her.

It was so soft, so gentle. He held her delicately, and treated the kiss like it was such a fragile thing as if it would break if he handled it wrong.

Maybe it was the alcohol flooding through their systems that made them kiss without thinking it through. They would have to talk about it tomorrow at some point when the alcoholic haze wore of and reality settled in. And what scared them the most was not knowing if this kiss would make or break them.

[buggyboba]

Surrender Your Mind

Part One [x] + Part Two [x] + Part Three [x] A03 Link [x]

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𝔸𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖

↳ ▣ | SURPRISE! Happy Anniversary, Surrender your mind! I know I took a poll and posting the last two chapters together won, but hear me out. It took me forever to finish this chapter, too long, and I wanted to have something to post on the anniversary. Okay so there is a lot happening in this chapter, forgive a lot of it please. Pay attention to the trigger warnings, because there are a lot this time.

ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘

↳ ▣ | Missy x Fem!reader

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪

↳ ▣ | After last night emotions are running high, and the trap has been set, and now it's time to get the information she is looking for.

𝕋𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘

↳ ▣ | Missy calls herself Mummy once, lots of petnames, Hypnosis, memory modification, pulling teeth, torture (Not reader), violence (Against reader).

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥

↳ ▣ | 10k

𝔸𝕠𝟛 𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜

↳ ▣ | x

You remained silent while waiting for the water to boil, your stomach tense and your heart racing. Your life was on the line, and she was treating it like it wasn’t a big deal. Then again, it probably wasn’t a big deal for her; she couldn't care less about what happened to you. All in all, you were strangers when it came down to it. Just right now you were bound together by the fact that an assassin wanted to use you to get to her, which held implications you didn’t quite want to think of, and she wanted to know what those implications were; she was treating this like it was a fun little game of finding out a secret. You felt ill as the anxiety worked its way into you, all the what-ifs came flooding your mind, and you couldn’t help but think about them. You couldn’t help but be scared of the thought of today being your last if something went wrong.

The night was full of thoughts. Disbelief that you had done that, frustration that you didn't get relief, and frustration at the plan that wasn't really a plan. You lay there until you finally drifted off to sleep.

There were dreams that left you flushed and sweaty, but dreams you could not recall for your life when you woke up. You laid in bed for a while, listening to the ambient sounds of the TARDIS. You finally dragged yourself up and changed before leaving your room. The TARDIS was strangely quiet. You felt nervous about today; was it going to be today? You walked into the kitchen area and frowned, leaning against the counter as you tried to calm your stomach down. You started the kettle, thankful that it was out and you didn’t have to go on a scavenger hunt for it; perhaps the ship knew how nervous you were. Shaking hands found the cup and started the kettle.

What if it was your last day? What had you done? Were you happy with what you had accomplished? You had been missing for a bit over a week now, you bet friends and family thought you dead, and your life had been violently uprooted thanks to these assassins. Your job was garbage, and you were positive that had you not been missing, you would have been let go. You had spent a week trapped in a spaceship time machine, but it felt more like a fancy cell. Your jailer was nuts, and you most certainly put your proverbial dick in crazy last night. Was it a mistake? Probably, but it certainly was nice at the time, enrichment in your alien enclosure. You were sure you would regret it later if there was a later. Maybe not, though, there was a sliver of hope that you would make it out of this alive; perhaps you would get to move on from this wild nightmare, and this would all be a distant memory someday.

“Oh right, yeah.” You offered. “We have mentioned the plan too many times now, and it doesn’t change. Dangle me as bait. I don’t think that that is the best course of action.”

You didn't hear her come in, so you nearly jumped out of your skin when her arm wrapped around your waist. “Jumpy little rabbit you are.” She mused, She frowned when you stayed silent. “Oh, come on now, we were getting along.” She put her chin on your shoulder, looking at you. The kettle went off, causing you both to jump and her to laugh. “Aw, you have made me tea, how sweet. I knew you would warm up.” She nipped your shoulder and moved around you to grab the tea that was supposed to be yours, the one you had wanted. You frowned but moved to get another cup. “We will have to set up the trap today. Are you ready for that?” She asked, adding sugar and cream to her cup and stirring it. The ting of the metal against ceramic caught your attention, causing you to look at her.

“Calm down? Really? Calm down? You know what? No! I am not going to be calm. You are talking about using me as bait to lure trained killers out so you can have a chance at snatching one. My life is on the line!” You snapped, and Missy's features hardened as you ranted at her.

She tsked and shook her head, taking a sip of her tea. “No, you are just scared, I get it, I understand, but I can guarantee—within my best abilities—that you won’t die here today.” She said calmly, trying to calm your nerves, but she could tell they were fraying. “I’ve mostly ironed out the plan; don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.” You gave her a look, and it told her you were very much worried about it. She sighed again. “Calm down.” Famous last words. You looked at her with narrowed eyes and anger written on your features.

“Calm down, or I will make you calm down.” She said flatly. You wanted to say something, but the tone, the way she locked her eyes with yours—there was a pull; you had felt it before last night and when you first met. “I mean it…actually, we really should just have you clear your mind, have you surrender to me.” She clicked her tongue, her smirk returning to her lips as she caught your chin, tilting it up. The pull got stronger, your head hazy, you didn’t like the feeling, and you tried to pull away. “Ah, ah, ah… Be a good girl.” She cooed at you. You flinched and looked away from her, but she pulled your chin to force you to keep looking at her. You felt hazy, more relaxed, even though you knew you shouldn’t be. “Now, my dear, relax, calm down; you will trust me. Obey your Mistress.” Her tone was steady, hypnotic. You felt your senses yielding; it was an odd feeling as the calm washed over you. You didn’t want to be calm; you wanted to scream and yell and fight, but you felt that feeling fade to the back of your mind.

“See, not too hard. You want to trust me, you want to be a good girl for me today, and you can’t have your silly little emotions ruin anything,” she said lightly and took another sip from her teacup like nothing happened. She watched you for a good few moments, the haze of your eyes as you took her suggestion, not that you had a choice in the matter. She enjoyed the way your features softened, how you finally seemed relaxed, and how you were open and receptive. How you could stand near each other and your heart wasn’t racing, how you didn’t look at her with such distrust and venom.

On the other hand, Missy had work to do, as she said she did. She moved to grab a few things before she headed out; it would be much safer for you to stay put while she went about setting up the trap near the entrance of her delightful little transcendentally dimensional space. She had a plan, yes, as you had pointed out so thoroughly, to have you as bait, but while she was reckless and in any normal circumstance wouldn’t have cared about your safety, she needed answers. She needed to confirm the dreaded conclusion she had come to last night.

You felt like you were wading through a dream; her hold over you had zapped any pushback you had. You trusted her, that she had your best interest in mind, that she could do exactly what she said. “Okay,” you said after a moment; the words felt thick, like honey on your tongue, but lacked the sweetness. “You are right, I trust you,” you murmured. She nodded and patted your arm, kissing your cheek. She moved to lean against the counter.

“Now stay in your room like a good puppy; Mummy has work to do," she said and dismissed you. You nodded softly and wandered to your room.

She had already suspected that the Assassins assumed your ‘relationship’ was something more than it was. The doubt crept in last night after she left your room, the moment she allowed herself to be vulnerable in a way she didn’t normally. She was above all of this; she had to be, right? There was a moment when she was lying there next to you that she felt something, something she couldn’t afford to feel, and it scared her more than she was willing to admit. She chalked it up to the passion and left it at that, even if the what-ifs were still there. This whole situation completely threw off her groove, and she hated that. She wanted it to stop, to go back to her normal plans; those were things she could almost control, almost take into account for everything. This—this was out of her control, and she certainly hated that.

Her fingers trailed over the wires as she twisted the ends together, her eyes narrowed in thought. She needed to focus on this; it had to be solid, there was no room for mistakes, and yet her mind wouldn’t shut up so she could focus. You were something, something that she didn’t understand, a mystery, a stupid little human, nothing more. So why was she thinking of you? It was infuriating. But it was nice how you felt in her arms, how your mouth felt against hers. The beautiful sounds and hunger in you. ‘No! Shut up! She couldn’t think of that right now, the blue wire connected to the yellow one, and the red connected to the green’. She tried to force herself to push the idea of you away; she wasn’t some yearning schoolgirl, she was The Master–Mistress, and human apes were for the Doctor, not her. You were very much just another Lucy; you had to be. She needed to hurt something; thank the stars today she was hunting down that assassin. She needed to release all this pent-up emotion, ‘gross.’ She growled at herself, shaking her head, and restarted twisting the wire ends together. She ran through the plan in her head; it was easy, but everything had to be perfect, just obscured enough views so that the assassin couldn’t get a clear shot. Walking at just the right pace, so they weren’t suspicious. Leading them without it being obvious, it was a razor-wire dance, one that needed the utmost care and utmost diligence. What she was working on now was the most important piece, and she couldn’t afford for it not to go off right. A triform teleport, the other side was going to be right into a forcefield holding cell, one that the assassin couldn’t get out of, something biolocked so no matter how hard he tried, he would be there until Missy was ready for him. Once she was sure that the wiring was right, she laid down the metal that covered them, the base of her trap, attaching each piece with care, aligning them so it laid flat. With the transporter ready, she just had to do the same thing to the one in the room she was using as the holding cell. She brushed her skirt off and wiped her hands together as she stood up, moving to head there. She paused as she got to right before she passed your door.

There was a twinge of something in her chest. What the hell was that? She looked at the ground, trying to place that feeling. Guilt? No. No, no. She didn’t feel that, regret? Even more so, no, no thank you. It felt heavy and gross; she felt bad. Oh no, it was remorse. Why did she feel that? Maybe it was the thought of you sitting alone in that room, hypnotized. Maybe it was because she hypnotized you to keep you out of the way and calm for this crucial setup. Maybe it was because she could have approached all this openly and honestly and gotten your help; you could have at least carried the metal flats. Instead, she chose to make you pliant, enslaved to her will, her whims. She had never felt bad about that before. What the hell was so special about you? She made a mental note to figure out a fitting punishment for you later. Something nasty, maybe a little fatal—it wasn’t like she was really doing this to protect you; she was curious, and if the assassins thought you meant something to her—or future her—she wanted to know why. It was purely research; that’s why she was suffering, you being alive still. Right? Yes, absolutely, it had to be.

She shook her head and moved past your door, catching you out of the corner of her eye. “Good girl,” she reiterated when she saw you sat on the corner of the bed, looking down, like you were trying to figure something out. You were probably trying to claw your way back into a free mental state, but that wouldn’t happen. the push on your will to hypnotize you was too quick; your mental state was already fragile enough that she didn’t have to push too hard, but she felt you try to push back, and that was enough for her to wonder what potential you actually had. You had shown such fire, and even if she didn’t want to admit it, she liked your resilience against her, your cunning. It was a fun game for her so far. “Don’t think too hard, pet; remember, trust me,” she reiterated, trying to make sure her command was solidified; she couldn’t risk any sudden breaks in her control. “Say it again, my dear,” she prompted. Her eyes narrowed when you looked up; there was a flash of something that looked a little like rebellion, but then you nodded.

“I trust you, Mistress,” you said.

She nodded. Well, that didn’t feel as good as when you said it of your own volition, the Mistress part anyway. But she nodded and closed your door, locking it just in case—no room for surprises. She continued on her way to get the rest of the supplies she needed for the other room. The work went about as smoothly as the first one. It infuriated her how she thought of you, and even more so the feelings that it stirred in her. She moved to clean up the oil and dirt from the work and then moved to go wash up, changing into something more fitting for the next part of her plan. Her blue eyes scanned over each and every dress she had. Maybe the black one. No, maybe the purple. Purple was nice; it brought out her eyes, but she wore it so often. It was a good look. She settled on neither of them and picked a deep crimson, nearly black dress that was the same cut; she did so adore Victorian-era wear. She found a hat that matched, a little black one with a lace half veil. She stared at herself in a full-length mirror for a while, and her mind wandered. There was this odd feeling in her stomach she couldn’t say she had felt in a very long time, if ever. She let out a low sigh and shook her head. What was even happening? How could YOU, an insignificant human ape, make her feel bad about hypnotizing you? This was utterly ridiculous, yet she still felt guilt, disgusting. How could this happen to her? What had she done to deserve this? Wait, no, there was a lot, but the universe would be so cruel to make this happen? For a second she wondered if the Doctor had something to do with this whole thing, with his love for humans, but then she remembered he wouldn’t have the guts to get time assassins involved for a silly little thing like this, though that would be something, wouldn’t it? Though he may have been involved in another way, she wondered if you could be a, oh god, what did he call them, companions? Human pets? You felt like the type, all human and pathetic; she could imagine your eyes doing wide-eyed, excited things at the sight of the universe. She got another feeling in the pit of her stomach—jealousy? Why was she jealous? The thought of you being all sickeningly adorable looking at the stars, standing there in the bask of moonlight or starlight, with awe written on your face, but not because of her, because of The Doctor—how dare The Doctor steal you in this completely made-up scenario in her head. She would have very stern words with him eventually. Or maybe she would just blow up a planet or something, kill a companion's loved one. Yeah, that one seemed fitting.

“Good, we are really going to need to sell it. Shouldn’t be too hard; I had the UK believing I was a jolly good husband during a whole campaign.” She chuckled to herself. “And my wife, ex-wife, she shot me… played her part perfectly, and she was dull, droll…boring. You’ll be fine…oh, if you are good, maybe I’ll even hold your hand.” She mused, her eyes sliding over your body as you moved to change into the dress. She tore her gaze away to give you privacy but stole glances occasionally; she couldn’t help it—last night had been very good to her. “You know this isn’t going to work if you are all wide-eyed and look hypnotized.” She thought for a moment, “This will need something different, still hypnosis, but more… complex and subtle…” She mused, moving to catch your arm and giving you a little tug so you would stumble into her; her hand caressed your cheek, and she smirked down at you, all teeth, a predator who caught her prey. “A simple temporary mental manipulation might work, just long enough for you to act your part. Yes, I think that would be perfect. What story should I craft, puppy?”

She was irritated about everything now, she needed to calm down and focus. Yes, that was absolutely something she could do, focus. She moved back to the rows of clothing and looked through them for something for you to wear. Her eyes scanned the clothing, and her tongue clicked against the back of her teeth until she pulled a dress from the rack. It wasn’t extravagant; she didn’t want you too flashy. Flashy was for her eyes only, but she did have an appearance to keep up, and she couldn’t have you making her look bad. This dress would do. She moved to grab flats for you and then walked back to your room, hovering by the door for a moment before she walked in. “Put this on,” she said, putting the dress on the bed next to you. “And we are going to have a fun little game of make-believe we are in love for the public. Do you think you can manage that, puppy?” She asked.

You looked at the dress she put on the bed and then listened to her words, nodding softly.

Missy watched you for a good long few moments. “Hm, no suggestions? How boring.” She tsked at you and then grinned. “Hm, dating a month gives cause for the ‘new relationship’ jitters… Madly in love, I do love devotion…to me… Hm…let's just forget about that nasty little choking incident; maybe that can be permanent,” Missy mused as she locked eyes with you, keeping your head tilted. She meticulously planted and changed memories, drawing up a lovely story about your ‘relationship’. It would certainly be convincing enough and keep you pliant and calm enough without suspicions. Though she was sure the Assassins would be suspicious anyway, given how long they had gone without a sighting of you or her really, she would hope they would just assume she was cocky and dismissive since they were really bad at their jobs so far.

“Yeah, yeah,” You nodded and made a face.

Once she was satisfied with the modified memory, making sure to spin a solid story, nothing that was too wild, it had to be believable so your mind wouldn’t outright reject it. She stepped away and motioned for you to finish changing. You changed into the dress like she motioned for you to; your mind was hazy, but not like before; things were getting clearer; you looked confused for a moment, and she hummed, watching you.

“We are going out today, remember, puppy?” She said, her tone full of concern. She even gave your arm a little squeeze. You looked at her and nodded a bit. Yeah, that sounded right to you. Right, they were going out today.

“You okay there, dear?” She asked and brushed your shoulder off, smoothing your dress over your chest and stomach as she gave you a smile. You nodded, your face scrunching for a moment as you thought, but then you nodded again.

“I feel like I am missing something.” You said with a frown, “Like it’s important, but I just can’t remember it.” You looked at her for answers. She watched you trying to keep her smile. Were the memories not taking? No, they had to. She was practiced at this, and you were just a little human. You shifted, trying to think. She shook her head and moved to give you a kiss. Her lips against yours brought your attention away from trying to unravel the thing you were trying to remember. She pulled back once she felt the resistance melt away. Good, she would have to be more careful with you. Apparently, your will was fighting back, and while it was a fun challenge, she couldn’t have that right now. “What was that for?” You laughed a bit.

“Because you are…” She searched for the word for a moment. “adorable.” She decided on and led you from the room. You walked with her, sticking close to her heels. You felt excited, but like it was manufactured, there was an underlying worry you just couldn’t put your finger on. You followed out of the TARDIS and through the mausoleum of fish tanks, and you grabbed her arm, getting closer to her when you could have sworn one of the submerged skeletons looked at you. She tensed for a moment but then remembered she had a part to play and patted your arm in an attempt to comfort you. You walked quietly, but it seemed she preferred that, until you got outside, she started in idle small talk, though it was very clear she wasn’t pleased about the small talk, she at least made an attempt to be animated about it. She, funnily enough, but to no one’s surprise, spoke more than you, but you didn’t mind; you enjoyed listening to her stories, or at least you got the impression you did. She took a leisurely pace, strolling as she wrapped her arm around you, keeping you close, making sure you both were passing behind cars and signs at a pace that changed occasionally to throw whoever was watching off.

It was a beautiful day, not cold, but not warm, somewhere in the middle. It was cloudy, and rain was imminent, but right now it wasn’t on your mind. Your…girlfriend….yes, that word was correct; that felt correct. Your memories told you that was a correct assumption. She had been working so hard in her funeral company, and you were grateful for this break. You also needed it because you had been staying with her after a main exploded leveling your apartment building.

“Mis, can we go to that tea shop?” you asked idly, playing with her bracelets. She watched you for a moment and nodded, directing you towards the shop. You happily followed, but it seemed like her mind was elsewhere. She was checking the area out of the corner of her eye, but you decided it was just her being paranoid and laced your fingers with hers. You would lean against her some when you got to a pedestrian crossing and had to wait for your turn. You could feel how tense she was and frowned. “Mis, what’s wrong?” you asked softly, looking at her. She shook her head and kissed your temple.

“I have just been…” She searched for the right word: “It’s a me problem, not a you problem.” She decided, but that seemed to make your face fall even more. “No, why did your face do that? This is a nice day out; we are having a nice time. Fix your face.” She said firmly. You shook your head a bit.

“Nothing you have to worry that pretty little head about. Come on, we are almost there. Oh, I wonder if we have time for afternoon tea.” She said, pulling away from you abruptly. You paused and frowned at her no longer being right there. She pulled on your hand and blinked when you weren’t right there behind her, and she actually had to pull you a bit. “Oh come on, what is this then?” she asked and tilted her head some. She didn’t want the defiance; she needed devotion and compliance.

“You keep looking around, and you are super tense.” You said, crossing your arms, “Something isn’t right.” you decided on, though you weren’t quite sure what was off, you felt it, and no amount of her tricks could stop that gut feeling.

“Oh please, keep it together; nothing is wrong. I am taking you on a nice little date. You adore this kind of thing, do you not?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Well, obviously I want to spend time with my girlfriend, yes, but not when she is being super tense and weird.” You shook your head. “You tense every time I touch you. Are you mad at me or something?” You sighed, and she looked around. She didn’t like that you stopped in such a visible spot. She casually put her hand on the small of your back and directed you to walk again.

“Okay.” You said and shrugged halfheartedly. You wondered perhaps if you had done something wrong, but then again, as you mentally recalled, she wasn't an overly touchy person, so you decided to reel it back in, putting your hands in your pockets as you walked beside her. The silence hung, only interrupted by the chatter of people passing by as you passed them. When you got to the tea shop, the one you recalled meeting her in, she opened the door for you, and you slipped in. The smell of floral and robust tea hit your nose, and your mood lifted a bit as you ordered your drinks and some pastries. She picked a table that was close to the back and obscured from the window, which made you pout a bit. Tea time was great for people-watching, and when you sat down, she slid closer to you. “No window today?” You asked, and she shook her head.

“Business stuff,” she said coolly. “Things are moving slower than anticipated; I may have to give things a push.” She said, taking a sip of her tea.

“No, I want all your attention, my dear.” She said and took a sip of her tea. “After all, it is a date day, and I would be upset if you were focused on other people.” She gave a charming smile, her nose crinkling up a bit, you nodded. It seemed reasonable. You listened to her talk, picking a topic; she spoke on it like a seasoned professor. You smiled and nodded, asking questions, but then she seemed to get sidetracked by her phone. You waited for her to resume, but she seemed to get quiet for a few moments.

“Something wrong?” You asked carefully; she shook her head no and put her phone face down on the table, looking back at you.

“Are not enough people dying or something? I mean, it's a funeral company; people are literally dying to get in. You will always have a business.” You said, and she gave a real snort laugh.

“How positively morbid of you. No, it's something else. People are dying at a fine pace, though some could afford to be more prompt.” She shrugged.

“Now, who is morbid?” You shook your head. She leaned back, watching you, studying you like you were a fascinating little creature. You shifted under her gaze and busied yourself by biting into a scone. “What do you have planned?” You asked after you swallowed what was in your mouth.

“Depends.” She said, tapping her finger against the table a bit, a beat of four, before she shook her head, catching herself. She looked at you and smiled. “But for us, I think we could take a stroll, maybe do some window shopping…enjoy the weather.” She mused a bit. You nodded and took another sip of your tea, relishing the flavor spreading on your tongue and how warm it was. She watched you and then lazily looked away towards the window briefly. When you were finished with your tea, she moved to get up. “Come along, pup,” she said, and you moved to get up, to follow after her.

The rest of the date was wonderful, a bit of shopping and some more treats, though it was odd she was taking the long way for certain things; you noticed that it was always shaded or obscured from the view of the street, but you decided it didn’t matter; you were having a good day. That was until you took a turn onto this street. She led you slowly, talking about something you didn’t quite understand, but you let her talk anyway. You noticed the subtle shift in her; she was more aware, or at least seemed to be tracking something discreetly. That’s when she decided the date was over; it was abrupt and jarring, but she started to lead you back to the cathedral. You tried to protest, but she grabbed your wrist and pulled you with her, keeping you pressed to her side. Her pace was quicker than the leisurely stroll you both had been using this entire time. She had a purpose behind her strides. When you both got back to the door, she let you in first, making a show of looking behind her at the area like she didn’t clock the man following them. The assassin had taken the bait, and that was going to be his undoing. She slipped in and closed the door; the trap was set, and now to wait.

“Wakey wakey~” Her voice was cold but held a sing-song quality to it “I have questions~” She said and delivered a sharp crack against the man’s jaw. His head lulled back and rolled to the front; a low groan escaped his throat. “Oh, there he is! A strapping young man! Howdy, partner,” she smirked, a fake southern drawl at the end of her statement. The man blinked slowly, trying to find some footing. He noticed that he was handcuffed to a metal chair. The assassin was trying to think; he would have to be calm and collected to get out of this, though of course, she knew he wasn’t leaving this cell alive; she would let him think he had a sliver of a chance.

“Well hello, handsome, you and I are going to have a little chat. I am not completely heartless. Do you have anything you’d like to tell your next of kin while you can still function?” She said, leaning against the pillar of the light cell. “I know, I know, how could this happen to you? Easy, you decided that much like me, you didn’t value YOUR life, so now we are here staring at each other, and you want to kill that silly little human because you think it will get to me, and I want to know why.” She gave a charming smile before she tilted her head, watching him like a cat would a rat.

“Why the fuck would you think I would tell you?” He muttered, his fingers touching the cuffs he was in. Not human, rather advanced, no holes for a key, voice-activated, maybe. She brushed off her dress and gave a sort of half smile.

“No, I suppose you aren’t. There really is only one other person like me, but he refuses to see it… Shame, we were friends once. I think he will see we aren't so different soon. I don't mind saying it because you are dying here. Sorry, chum, that is just how it is on this bitch of an earth sometimes… Well, that and you decided that I, ME, was prey, and I can’t have that… You have some nice chompers. I didn’t expect your organization to have a good dental plan… fascinating… Oh, how interesting. I bet they have a tracker in you. How fun…” She tilted his head, looking at his teeth with mild interest, until she shoved the pliers in, capturing his back molar and pulling and twisting. Her Time Lord strength made short work as she pulled the tooth from his skull. She looked at it. “Yep, there it is… Thank God for a good cloaking,” she said, dropping the tooth onto the little metal table with the tools.

“I get it; I am very scary, with a penchant for violence and quick to anger. That was the old me.” She laughed and shook her head. “Might as well be the new me too. Now let's get to the nitty-gritty, poppet. What silly little war crime did I do that pissed your employer off? Let's start there; that’s easy since you don’t want to answer my other question just yet.” She said, watching him, but he only glared at her. She frowned after a beat of silence. “The old silent treatment, huh?” She chuckled and shrugged, walking just out of his view where she had set out an array of nasty-looking instruments. Her fingers danced over a few before she pulled a pair of pliers out, walking back over with a charming grin. “Now, we could do this the messy way, but let’s be honest. I’ll have to clean up the blood, not that I don’t mind getting messy; blood doesn’t bother me, you see. I think it’s quite pretty.” She said and stood in front of him. “Now, see, I understand that physical torture is something you little assassins are trained against, same with mental, but I find that if you wound the body just enough, mental fortitude is also taking a big ol’ hit. So let’s begin.” She nodded and tapped under his chin with the pliers. “I am going to have a nice set of…hm…what species are you? Let’s see.” She got closer, inspecting him, subtly sniffing the air around him for any hints. “Oh, look at you, Atrion, so far away from home, and such a short life expectancy—why shorten it more? Just had to get off your little planet, see the stars, kill some people—I get it…kindred spirit.”

“No, I am nothing like you,” he snapped. When he opened his mouth, she caught his jaw, keeping it pried open.

The man tried to wrench away from her, but she held his jaw, digging her nails in, tutting at him like he was a misbehaved child. “We are far from done, my dear,” she smirked. The energy shifted, and she certainly wasn’t the ‘nice’ person she was presenting, but then again, they both knew that. Her eyes darkened as she looked over the Atrion assassin; she moved to pull a few more teeth just for good measure. She pulled back to switch out tools, and the man’s head lolled forward for a moment. “Oh, you simply can’t be tapping out now. You time assassins train too hard for that, I thought.” She smirked and grabbed a long sliver of a blade, turning back towards him. He lifted his head, and when she stepped closer, he spat on her, saliva and blood dripping from his lips afterward. She froze, looking down at him. There was a moment when you could tell she was deciding, and then there was the pull of her blade, hooking in his cheek and pulling up, cutting the cheek open.

“Now that wasn’t very nice of you, spitting on a woman…staining her dress in your filthy blood,” she said calmly. “I’m going to take chunks of you now,” she hummed, “and send them back to your partners, or whoever you may have waiting for you.” She grinned and caught his face before he could try and spit on her again, her nails digging into the gash she had made. “Now, be polite,” she hissed at him and pulled his jaw open more. The man grunted in pain and tried to pull his head away, but she held fast. “Look at me,” she demanded. She didn’t need eye contact to delve into his mind, but she wanted to see the fear in his eyes, the hate. It was burning in him, and she delighted in it, the power. She turned his head so she could inspect the torn cheek, letting her nails jab at his tongue. She tsked a bit and mused, “I’m allowing you to tell me the things I want to know, poppet. I suggest you do, because I could just take a nice little stroll through your mind, make a muck of it, and I really want you to be able to understand what is happening to you when I kill you.” She smiled and poked his nose with her free hand’s finger. He growled out and tried to pull away again; she tsked and pouted at him in mock concern. “No? You assassins always play tough. Well, we both know that it’s an act. You are terrified; your little heart is going a mile a minute. I can hear it, you know. You know how this will end, and yet you are trying so hard to deny me. Hate that for both of us.” She shook her head. “What were your orders?” She demanded. When he tried to bite her fingers, she pulled her hand away and backhanded him, catching his hair. She grabbed his throat and tilted his head back, her eyes locking with his. She felt the defense go up, the mental blockade, but it wasn’t as strong as it could be; he was wounded, and the pain was causing him to lose focus, exactly what she wanted.

The man grunted and tried to flail in the chair as he felt the sharp pain of her prying her way past his defenses, her focus acute and pinpointed to break through, her breath hitching as she moved to pin him to the chair better, her knees on either side of his to keep him still, her hand tightening around his throat to block his breath. She got this look like she was thrilled, her smile was all teeth, and her face was close to his. As he tried to fight again, her other arm came to rest around his shoulder so her hand with the blade could grip his back. She forced him to look at her again, her expression giddy.

“Oh, I am going to take a nice walk through your little noggin, and I am going to make a mess. I will tear you apart, memory by memory. It's going to be fun for me, you see. I haven't gotten to do that in quite some time.” She mused and brushed his shoulder off with her other hand before she grabbed his jaw again. “You will let me in. I am The Mistress, and you will obey.” She said her voice had that hypnotic quality as she forced her way into his mind; it was taxing on both of them. Still, she would get the information she wanted regardless of the strain; she knew she was mentally strong enough to endure. She wasn’t so sure about the Atrion, so she would have to move fast; it wasn’t going to be clean, and it would certainly ruin him. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to care; this was a fun mental exercise for her, and she would treat it as such, a little enrichment in her enclosure.

The memories were hazy at first, the Atrion fighting against her mental intrusion, the memories along a web of sorts, fogged and just out of her reach. “Oh, come on, you really think you can fight me off?” She gave a low chuckle, “I can start from the beginning if you truly want, take your best memories away, leave you no joy. Is this how you want to die? No good memories, just bad. Poor little Atrion, so far from home, alone in the wolves' den, and you choose to fight all the way through. I suppose I find that commendable, though annoying for me.” She shook her head a bit and focused again. Mental manipulation was easy at its core, but he was fighting so hard she enjoyed it. She quickly pounced on a memory that was slipping, tearing into it, and she gave a mock frown. “A holiday with family, how sweet. Your mom and dad? Some siblings too? Still around?” She asked with false interest. The man tried to push her from the memory, so she tightened her grip on his throat until his mind hazed, and he got a bit limp. “Try it again, and we will make this an all-day thing. I have the time, and if we run out, I will make time, silly.” She gave a half chuckle and continued the memory, “Yeah, that’s your mom and dad, how sweet…and definitely siblings.” She paused and gave a wicked smirk. “See, the funny thing is, if we remove one, the ache of not feeling whole will still be there— with just a quick pull.” She focused, and the assassin felt his mind burn like something was being pulled and seared out of it. He yelled and jerked, trying to pull away from her, buck her off of him, anything to stop the feeling. Her arm tightened around him, and she gave a fake sympathetic ‘shh’ at him as she erased one of his siblings from his memory but didn’t manipulate it further so he could feel the loss, but he didn’t know what he was missing.

She pushed through several more memories, a similar action with each, taking people from his memories so he would feel emptier, knowing he was missing something but not knowing who and why he felt that ache. That was a special brand of emotional torture. She felt his resolve crumbling and pressed further, trying to get to the memories she required, when she found an interesting conundrum: someone else had rooted around in his mind, a memory that was so cut up that only a minuscule amount of information was there. There was a low, unimpressed sound from the back of Missy’s throat. “Now that is interesting,” she sighed. “And informative, smart business that is, know your enemy. Too bad it's not going to work, my dear,” she spoke as she tried to dissect the memory carefully.

She saw the insignia of the branch of assassins, the file on her in whoever he was talking to's hands. The conversation was vague, at least the parts that weren't redacted. It was smart how they played; the assassin knew the information but only retained the order. Your name caught her attention; they specifically had mentioned you as a person of interest, keeping it vague, saying there was more in the file. She tried to dig deeper, but the information was gone. This was getting increasingly irritating. She had hoped this would be a simple thing; it should have been.

She was The Mistress, and things bent to her; perhaps this agency hadn’t gotten the memo. She felt the connection starting to fray, and she made a click against her teeth with her tongue. “This has been disappointing, to think you will die for naught.” She shook her head and pulled away from him. “You couldn't even tell me what I want to know if you wanted to… Oh well, I've learned enough to go directly to the source.” She shrugged, though she was very irritated—no, that wasn’t quite the right word either; livid was more like it. She wasn’t a fan of when her plans didn’t go how they should, and this company had thrown a rather large wrench in her plans; not only had they covered their tracks and erased the memories she needed, but the mystery of who you were was still eluding her.

Yes, she had the inkling of an idea of who you could be, but she wanted solid proof, and this man could not provide her with that. As she pulled away, she assessed the damage to the man. He was no longer a threat; she had made a mess of his mind upon exit. Killing him would be a mercy. She wasn’t feeling merciful right now, so she stepped away and cleaned the tools up. He could stay here until he rotted for all she cared. She was so mad, she exited the cell, locking it again, and then exited the room to go wash the blood from her hands.

She hadn’t expected you when she rounded the corner, but she gave an annoyed click of her tongue and a tsk sound as she stepped past you. You frowned and moved to follow her. “Are we going to talk about the Hypnosis?” You asked firmly; you were angry she had done that, taken your free will, and then messed with your memories, all so her plan wouldn’t be interfered with.

“No,” she said simply as she walked, rolling her eyes.

“No? I think we should.” You said firmly, which got you shoved away from her hard. “Missy!” You yelped and went to grab her arm, which was clearly the wrong move because she slammed your back against the wall, knocking the wind from your lungs.

“Don’t you ever touch me again, you filthy little ape.” She said sharply, and you froze. She took the opportunity to slip into her room, locking the door behind her. You kicked her door and made an angry sound. There was nothing but silence on the other side, which pissed you off more than the insult. You deserved to know what was happening; you deserved to know what she found out with the assassin. The memory had not been lost to her, just rewritten for a while, and that was another thing: the feeling of not knowing what the true memory was, the confusion, the anger. You deserved to be angry and confront her.

“Missy!” you yelled through the door. “This isn’t fair! Did you get the information or not?” You hit the door again and were met with silence. You tried a few more times before you kicked her door harder and walked away from it. You could just leave, walk out, and take your chances, maybe explain to the assassins if they caught you—no, that was stupid. You decided to sulk back to your room; you had a lot of feelings about what was happening, but you didn’t want to risk getting killed for nothing.

You found yourself listening for movement. It was impressive how silent she could be, but it was odd because you were the avoidant one. What had she learned that made her act like this? You knew looking for the assassin was a lost cause, the TARDIS would never let you find the room, and there was a good chance the assassin was gone by now. You were just so mad that this was the route she went, hypnotizing you, messing around with your memories, making you blissfully unaware of the danger, and cutting you out of the questioning, though you weren’t sure if you could handle what she could possibly do to a person. Taking your right away like that wasn’t okay, especially since now she had locked herself in her room, so she couldn’t even get an explanation.

It wasn’t like Missy could right now, though, unbeknownst to you. She was trying her hardest to be calm and collected; she had hoped finally getting the assassin and questioning him would yield more, but it hadn’t, and she was still left with questions. You were being annoying, and it was taking a lot not just to kill you and move on with her life. She really should kill you; it would end whatever this was. She didn’t even know why she didn’t just do it in the first place. You were a liability, and a big one if the assassin's lack of a full memory was anything to go on. This was all so stupid; she should have let the assassin kill you, honestly, but she also figured whatever her you belonged to would not be thrilled about your death should she have let that happen.

There was a conflicted feeling in you because of her memory manipulation, and you didn’t like it. The relationship she built for the manipulation felt good, so good, felt warm in a way you didn’t know how to explain, but it felt right. You hated it because it had been a lie, a breach of your autonomy, but now, knowing it was a lie, your heart ached for something that never was. What was worse is she couldn’t even be a decent person and face you about things.

Though the longer she ignored you, the odd feeling bubbled in her stomach; at least you had stopped kicking and hitting her door. She knew you hadn’t left because she could hear you; you were quiet but louder than usual, your footfall, and you were waiting for her, listening for her. How interesting. To yell at her, no doubt. How bold of you to raise your voice at her! You were a stupid human, but it was almost endearing that while you were still very much terrified of her, you weren’t scared to be angry and lash out. A misbehaved puppy, but you could be her misbehaved puppy; she could train you. No, that was a dangerous thought too; she hated that she couldn’t land on what she wanted to do to you: kill you or keep you.

Then again, what did she care about what her future self thought or cared about? If her future self had softened so much to keep a human around, then maybe they deserved to lose said human. Then again, you had been so…interesting; that’s the word she would choose for now. The fake date you had earlier was nice, delightful even. No, that was dangerous to think, though having someone around to make her feel better—oh, she understood why the doctor kept so many humans around; it was a pride thing, to make him feel better about whatever, to preen over him. They were easy to manipulate; it made sense, but she was not the doctor, and she wouldn’t allow herself to stoop to his level. No, you needed to go. She had the organization name, and she could go handle this. There was no reason for you to be around anymore. Though there was this deep feeling that she couldn’t figure out, that she wanted you around, and that was even more dangerous. No, you had to go; you were too dangerous for her to keep around. She didn’t like this feeling, or maybe she did, and that scared her. You were bad for her self-preservation, and thus, she had to handle you, not right this minute, though. No, she had things she had to do; she needed to pinpoint this organization for one, and then she could kill you.

She was so conflicted, and she hated that. There was no way she liked you; you were an annoyance that took up some of her time, a mystery she was solving, and that game was almost done now. Logically, it should be easy to just end you and move on, but she found herself cycling between wanting to kill you just so the assassins couldn’t use you against her and wanting to keep you for herself.

She avoided you for a few days, and sure enough, the TARDIS still wouldn’t let you go; you begged and pleaded with it, but it ignored you, ever loyal to its master. Regardless of how much you begged and tried to open its door, it wouldn't release you; it even shocked you the last time you tried to touch the door. Which left you upset and having to hang around, returning to your routine of listening for her and exploring, but it also left you to stew on your anger. You were already starting to get irritated that she was avoiding you, but then again, you had avoided her previously, but that was for a completely different reason. She had kidnapped you; it was justified. This was her trying to avoid responsibility, or at least that’s how it felt. Everything that happened was bubbling your anger more and more; you wanted answers, and you deserved answers. The assassins were trying to kill you to get to her, and she hypnotized you, messed with your memories, and now had the nerve to pretend you didn’t exist. You weren’t going to have it anymore. You were going to make her talk to you, and you were going to make sure she couldn’t possibly ignore you.

You moved to find something heavy, finding the little workshop—at least it looked like a workshop. You found something that looked like a mallet and grabbed it. You started back out to the console room; you had an idea. It was risky, but it was certainly going to be hard to ignore. “MISSY!” you called out, your voice furious as you made it back to the console room, your eyes landing on the machinery. “MISSY, COME OUT AND TALK!” You yelled, and your grip on the mallet tightened. “OR I START SMASHING!” You threatened. The silence that followed pissed you off even more. “I’LL DO IT!” You bellowed out and then watched the hallway. Was she calling your bluff? Too bad you weren’t bluffing. You took a swing at the console, and the sound was loud, metal crunching. The TARDIS’s alarm startled you; it had never made that sound before, but that did the trick because a moment later Missy had grabbed your wrist and turned you to face her. There was an anger in her eyes; you fought against her, and she grabbed the mallet so you couldn’t swing it again.

“What an anger on you, puppy.” She snapped and shook you off, pushing into you so you would let go. You moved to try and push her away; she held the handle, letting the head of the mallet thud against the floor. “You’ve damaged my machine,” she said sharply. “You are getting one step closer to no longer being among the living and joining my cyberdears,” she warned.

You shook your head, “I am so sick of you!” You lashed out; she watched you calmly, like she was watching a child. “You are selfish, cruel, and loathsome! You think you are above everyone else, and you think you are so clever!” you snapped at her. “You only care about things that pertain to you! You narcissist!” you continued. “I don’t care if you are angry; I am angry too! It’s not just your life that matters; the assassin was after me too! Because of you, for whatever reason, and all you care about is you!”

“Are you done?” She asked, deathly calm.

“No!” you said and continued, earning you an annoyed look, but you didn’t care. “You hypnotized me, how many times?” You shot at her.

“You expect me to remember all the little suggestions, please.” She rolled her eyes. “It was for your own good.” She sighed, but you shook your head.

“All of this was for nothing then; guess you aren’t so powerful and clever,” You snapped, and that was it; the fuse was lit. The calm grace was gone; it was pure anger, anger at you, the situation, and herself. She grabbed you and pulled you, and you fought back against her. You were angry too, and she had done nothing but add fuel to the fire. You weren’t going to let her manhandle you again, not without a fight. You didn’t care. If she hadn’t gotten the information, then there were still assassins out there waiting; either way, it was a losing fight. You died out there or you died in here, and that angered you so much more. You never asked for any of this; you didn’t want to be here, you didn’t ask to be here, and furthermore, you didn’t ask to be wrapped up in an insane woman’s schemes and consequences.

“My own good! Bullshit.” You hissed out and shoved her a bit, which caused a dangerous growl from her throat, but you were angry and didn’t care. “You took away my agency because it was convenient for you!” You shook your head. “This had as much to do with me as it did with you!” You shoved her shoulder again. “And all you care about is you! I’m sick of it! What did the assassin say? I’m assuming you at least got to talk to them during our fun little forced date!” you yelled.

“It’s complicated,” she snapped back. “Whatever you are is complicated.” She said and grabbed your wrist when you tried to shove her again. “ENOUGH!” She yelled at you. This was the first time the cracks showed; whenever she had been angry, it had been calm anger, so you couldn’t figure her out, but now the mask was slipping. “The memories were tampered with, gone! I didn’t get the information I was looking for." She pushed you away from her, your back hit the console, and you swung in defense. There was a moment of silence. The world froze, and you both stared at each other, the calm before the storm.

The struggle brought you both to the ground; you bit her shoulder as hard as you could, and she grabbed your jaw, pushing you away with a startled yell, “You animal!” she hissed.

“Takes one to know one!” You hissed back and moved, straddling her hips, your hands wrapping around her throat, and she looked unimpressed. You screamed in an almost primal sound, all of your anger, your emotions, everything just poured out. Your eyes brimming with angry tears, she took this moment to force you off of her, but she was quick; crawling over you, she held your wrists down with one hand, and her other gripped your throat tightly.

“Respiratory bypass, idiot.” She said, like it should be common knowledge, why she hadn’t been choking. “You, on the other hand, puppy, with your pathetic little human system,” She squeezed harder, you choked out and tried to squirm to get your wrists free, and she watched you like you were a disgusting bug. “I should kill you, just end it; it wouldn’t be hard, snap your silly little neck.” She said matter-of-factly there was no playfulness, just actual anger. “If I killed you now, this wouldn’t even happen, you wouldn’t mean anything to me, and then they couldn’t use you. It’s a mercy for both of us if I did kill you, you know.” She let her thumb press against your jaw, forcing your head to tilt more. “Mercy for you, no more headache for me… It’s a win-win, puppy.’ She said, watching you, your chest heaving as you tried to breathe in but couldn’t. You arched, trying to buck her off, but she shifted to stay put. Your eyes fluttered a bit, and the edges of your vision blacked out.

“Please,” you choked out, your limbs heavy. There was a moment when she watched you and suddenly let your throat go, but she kept you pinned. You let a ragged breath in but didn’t fight her. She looked at you, really looked at you.

“You are feisty; I think I will let you live, at least until this is over…” She muttered and sat up to give you a bit of space, but she didn’t get off of you. You took a few deep breaths in and laid there on the cold floor.

“Apologize to my TARDIS, you had no right…” She said sharply, and you weakly nodded and croaked out a weak ‘sorry’. “If you ever try to fight me again, I will disintegrate you, and that will be that,” she warned and then gave her charming grin. “And I will hypnotize you again. I will not apologize for that or anything because it is by my grace alone that you are still alive. Now be a good pup—”

A knock startled both of you, a beat of four on the door. You looked at her in search of an answer. She looked at the door. Her eyes widened a bit as the knock happened again.

@Shipshroom @Germansarechill @thatgaywitch1 @what-bout-me @bugeater77 @sessa23 @lena-kieran-luthor @ch3rrybutterfly @marisacoulterswife @aboutcustardcreams @starbucks-06 @lotus-ignis

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[deoidesign]

Can you make a tutorial on how you world build and make ocs? I can't seem to make any people in my brain, but then when I try to come up with environments jobs, beliefs and little details to slowly come up with someone, I think: well I don't really know how people have influenced the world- it's a weird loop

To be honest, I don't think I can! Writing is an extremely personal process. The way I write is directly related to how I process things, what I find important in stories, years of my own analysis of my and other's writing, etc... The way you write will be unique to you, as well. But I can explain how I personally think of it.

The short answer:

Write. Write anything and everything, it's a tool to explore your ideas. Analyze your own writing, and write more. Then, as you discover which ideas you want to develop, write more to explore them more. You won't know what you want otherwise!

The long answer:

I think this kind of loop is common. It's easy to feel like everything needs to be done "at once," because our job as writers is to make elements logically fit with each other for our readers. But as you've discovered, developing multiple elements simultaneously isn't really possible, or at least is extremely difficult.

Personally, when I think of writing, I break it into three major elements; characters, world, and plot. As much as possible every scene explores one or more of these, and as much as possible these three things tie back into what I personally consider most important: theme.

Everything I do is in service of the themes I want to present. Without them my events feel aimless. It can take a while to discover them, but they're the core of my work. You will have to discover what you feel is the core of yours. Analyzing other media helps with this too.

Concepts in your brain exist in a state of infinite potential. But when you start writing you have to start making choices, which removes potential as you move forward... But you have to move forward anyways. If there's ideas you want to explore later, you can always explore them later.

What this ends up meaning, to answer your question, is that I don't think of my characters as "people in my brain" or my worlds as something people have influenced... Not at their core, at least. They are tools that I use to represent specific ideas. Obviously they're also my blorbos, but mostly they're serving a specific narrative purpose.

So above all else... Write. Write, and discover what you're writing about, and then start over and write with that in mind. Keep doing this. But you have to write!

[intersexghoul]

Sorry I gotta rant in the tags like a maniac because we have nobody to talk to about this without risking our closest friendship. Nobody is required to read and honestly I'd encourage ignoring it

[ishikaxmehra]

Ishika's breath caught somewhere between her chest and her throat, like his words had knocked the air right out of her. She didn’t even realize she’d gone still until her thumb stopped its slow stroke along his jaw. There was something about the way he said “you make me braver” that made her heart ache in the most exquisite way — like someone had finally found the thread she’d buried deep and tugged gently, insistently, until she unraveled just enough to feel safe. “I knew you got it,” she murmured, her voice low and steady, but her eyes shimmered. “That whole ‘untouchable is safe’ thing? Yeah. That was my entire brand. Be the one who doesn’t flinch. Be impressive. Sharp. Untouchable. And then you showed up and didn’t back away when you saw behind the performance.” She shook her head a little, almost in disbelief. “I didn’t realize how lonely I was until you looked at me like that. Like I was allowed to be all of it.”

His thumb on her cheek, the way his voice cracked, the way he called her broken bits waiting rooms—God. It took everything in her not to fall apart right then and there. Instead, she leaned in, forehead resting gently against his again. “You don’t know what it means that you didn’t flinch. That you heard the hard parts and still stayed. Most people fall for the version of me that’s curated, palatable. You… looked past all of that and stayed for the girl who cries at old movies and threatens to key her boss’s car when he micromanages her.” Yes she was talking about her brother but sometimes it was just easier to refer to him like this. Her laugh was soft, caught between tenderness and awe. “And don’t even get me started on the way you shut your mom down. You didn’t even hesitate. I’ve never had anyone in my corner like that, not really. Definitely not without asking for it. I always thought I had to be the strong one all the time. But with you… it’s different. I don’t have to carry the whole world on my back. I just get to be. Messy and too much and tired and hopeful all at once.”

She tilted her head just enough to meet his gaze fully, her hand sliding up to rest over his where it cupped her face. “You make me feel seen, Gavin. Not tolerated, not managed. Seen. And I want that cabin too.” Her voice dropped into something softer, more sacred. “I want your coffee that smells too strong and not strong enough at the same time. I want books everywhere and unfinished thoughts we whisper under throw blankets. I want rainy nights where we say nothing because silence feels like a conversation between us. I want all of it.” At this point, Ishika managed to straddle the man in front of her, her fingers gently threading through his hair as she spoke, her eyes twinkling. “So… what do we do now, Gav? We build the cabin? Or do we just start where we are — figuring it out day by day, bruises and all?” A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Because I’m all in. Even if I’m scared. Especially because I’m scared. I think that’s how I know it’s real.”

Gavin's cheek tingled where her skin touched his. Her thumb on his jaw sent tiny lightning bolts through his body, making his brain short-circuit in the best possible way. Her whispered confessions about spending years building an independent life only to want to be seen with him - it pulled at something deep in his chest. "When you say you spent years building a life where you could stand on your own? I get that completely," he murmured, his voice rougher than he intended. "I did the same thing. Built walls so high nobody could climb them. Thought being untouchable meant being safe." Her fingers against his skin made coherent thoughts difficult. "But you're right … it's exhausting pretending all the time." Her comment about him standing up to his mother with her in mind made his heart clench. He hadn't even realized that's what he was doing until she named it. "You know what's crazy? I didn't even think about it like that. I just knew I couldn't let her talk that way about you. About us. It wasn't even a choice … it was instinct." He brushed his thumb across her cheek. "Nobody's ever been worth standing up for like that before. But you? You make me braver. Make me want to be the person you see when you look at me."

Her hand pressed firmly against his chest, and he wondered if she could feel his heartbeat racing underneath her palm. It thundered like a drum, practically begging to be closer to her. "What you just said about feeling more with me instead of less? I've never heard anyone put it that perfectly." His voice cracked slightly with emotion. "That's exactly it. Like I don't have to sand down my edges or hide the messy parts. You don't just tolerate the broken bits … you actually like them." When she mentioned her sharpness fitting into places where he felt too little, something clicked into place in his mind. "You fill in all my empty spaces. All those places I thought were flaws, you look at them like they're just ... waiting rooms. Just waiting for you." He pulled back just enough to catch her gaze, drinking in the vulnerability in her eyes. "And yeah, I stayed because leaving was never an option. Not once I saw the real you. The you behind all the armor." His lips quirked into a small smile. "And trust me, that version of you is even more incredible than the one you show everyone else." Her fingers curled behind his ear, setting off goosebumps down his neck. When she talked about the cabin in the woods, he couldn't help the flutter in his chest, imagining that life with her.

"That cabin with you sounds like heaven," he whispered. "Just books and trees and honesty. No pretending. No masks. Just us being real with each other." He ran his fingers along her arm, marveling at how right this felt. "I'd build it with my own hands if it meant having that with you. Not running from anything, but running toward something real. Something that's ours." He pressed his forehead to hers again, breathing her in. "You know, I've spent my whole life looking for somewhere I belong. Some place that feels like home. But it turns out home isn't a place at all." He interlaced his fingers with hers. "It's this. It's sitting with someone who sees all your cracks and scars and still chooses to stay. It's finding someone whose broken pieces fit perfectly with yours." His free hand cupped her face, thumb brushing against her lower lip. "So yeah, I want that cabin with you. I want mornings making coffee together. Evenings reading under blankets. I want rain on the roof while we're safe inside. I want all of it … but mostly, I just want you. The real you. I want us being honest with each other in ways we can't be with anyone else."

[cityselcouth]

for research purposes

pairing: caleb x reader

summary: how on earth were you supposed to write a good sex scene with almost zero experience? good thing your best friend was always willing to lend you a helping hand.

themes: childhood best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, friends with benefits, college! au, slowburn, humour, fluff, angst, petnames, profanity, alcohol consumption, sexual tension, explicit sexual content (oral fem receiving, fingering, nipple play, protected + unprotected sex, clothed sex), porn with so much plot, they're both down bad asf

word count: 25k

lyns notes: its been so long since i've written a full length fic like this, and it ended up being so much longer than I anticipated but please don't get scared by the wc 😭 its so self indulgent because i love caleb and I had way too much fun writing this so I hope you enjoy! <3

This was utterly insane, even for you.

The idea started small, though you supposed you couldn’t ever classify it as innocent. At the time, it had been just a flicker, a fleeting thought that slipped through the cracks of your composure. You were in your best friend's dorm, lounging on his bed like it was your own as you complained. 

“I’ve been stuck for weeks now. It’s like I’ve lost the ability to write.”

Caleb glanced over at you from his desk, leaning back in his plush chair as the movement of his fingers over the laptop keyboard stilled for a moment. The expression you received was familiar, you had been on the receiving end of it for years now. One of his lips quirked up, deep lavender eyes alight with amusement, and one eyebrow raised as he took in your anguished state. 

“You haven’t lost the ability to write, Pipsqueak, it's just writer's block. You’ve had writer's block before.”

“Not like this.” You shook your head, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your chin on them. “I usually manage to overcome it in a week or so. It’s been like, three months.”  Your annoyance with yourself was obvious to him, so clear in the slight pout on your mouth paired with that indignant expression.

It was true, you had been writing ever since you were little. Your imagination ran wild as a child, even before you could physically write, you would spin tales and make up stories to entertain yourself with, frequently getting lost in your own little world. You prided yourself on this talent of yours that helped you breeze through English essays and writing assignments, even going so far as to major in English at university. Writing was your bread and butter. It was more than just being good at it, it was the passion and fulfilment you felt when you did it. 

Passion and fulfillment your ass, you couldn’t feel any of that right now.

You were writing a book, your very first one that you started penning in the summer before your sophomore year. The idea had come to you out of nowhere, and once you spent hours outlining all the details, you were certain it was something you wanted to bring to life. The need to finish it burned through you as you spent most of that break stuck at your desk, hunched over your laptop. Caleb had to quite literally drag you out of your room most days, muttering some nonsense about vitamin D and too much screen time.

He had always been like that ever since you were kids – protective, caring, attentive. It was built into his very being, you supposed, ever since he saw you cry outside the first-grade classrooms as a seven-year-old and promised to help you find your way to the correct one. Even now, as he hummed in thought, offering silent support for your frustration. 

“You’ve gotten through a large chunk of it, right?”

“Yep.”

A slow, bargaining smile stretched out on his face. “Hey, you know, maybe if you let me read it–”

“Hell no.” You shook your head stubbornly. “I told you, I’m only letting you read it once it's finished, and I think it’s good enough.”

Caleb snorted, “So you mean never?”

You promptly threw one of the plushies on his bed at him. He deftly caught it, laughter slipping from him as he threw it back. The plushy was a grumpy apple one that he had won you back home at the arcade, but the pile of plushies on your bed was so huge that you graciously suggested that he keep it for you. Partial custody, you had joked, I have visitation rights.

“You’ll be the first to read it. I just….need to get through this one bit.” 

Ah yes, the bit. The part that you seemed to be cursed to never finish. Everything before it had gone so smoothly, the words flowing and pouring out of you so perfectly. A fun romance novel full of twists and humour was what you aimed to achieve, and it seemed like you were succeeding.

That was, until you reached a part of the story that you truly had no idea how to write. The technicalities of it were.…..unknown at best, to you, who had almost no experience in the matter. 

“You know, maybe you could tell me about it. Maybe I could help.” You knew the offer was genuine. Caleb had always been someone you could fall back upon for any assistance. Being two years older than you, in your eyes, he always knew what to do when you were in a pickle. He was the type of friend who placed bandages on your scrapes and offered you candy so you’d stop crying. He carried a hair tie around for when you wanted to tie your hair and helped you study for tests, and explained the concepts that you didn’t understand. Every time you had a problem, he never hesitated to help you in any way he possibly could.

But this….this was something you’d rather die than ask him about. 

Immediately, you shook your head a little too quickly, shooting him a tight smile. “Nope, it's fine. Just something I gotta figure out myself.

He stared at you skeptically but shrugged. “Alright. Let me know if you change your mind, okay?”

You wouldn’t.

Would you?

Absolutely not. Even thinking about it felt like a betrayal. It was like opening a can of worms that held snakes. Deadly venomous ones. 

And yet here you were, your teeth digging into the plush of your lower lip as he turned back to his laptop screen, continuing to work on whatever assignment he had due. He was in his final year and was infinitely busy, though he somehow still managed to make time for you. 

Shamelessly, your eyes studied him. His arms, so well defined and firm-looking, were basically on display for you when he wore that white, sleeveless tee. Dark hair, unruly and messy, no matter how many times you ran your fingers through it in an attempt to fix it. A defined jawline that could probably cut you if you dared touch it. He had grown up unfairly well, no longer the lanky young boy you once knew, now a man. A hot man you had incredible chemistry with.

A very hot man who was completely off-limits. 

Still. You supposed that his help couldn’t be the worst thing in the world–

A sex scene. That was what you were struggling to right. In terms of the story, it was a very natural next move for your characters, and it made sense, and while you could simply artistically describe the ordeal and fade to black, you felt it was a necessary addition. You wanted to showcase the desperation the two characters felt for each other, just how deep their feelings ran through something more primal. You wanted it to feel right, to feel magical. 

The issue? You hadn’t the faintest idea of how to go about it. In all your nineteen years of life, you had only had sex once, and it had been far from magical. It had been uncomfortable and rushed, the result of a very stupid, drunken one-night stand in your first year. The guy very evidently didn’t know how a woman's body worked, and even thinking back on it made you cringe and fold in on yourself. If it were possible to manually pluck the memory out and destroy it, you would have done it in a heartbeat.

So how on earth were you supposed to write the perfect sex scene when your one sole experience in the matter had been so terrible?

And you couldn’t ask Caleb for help. Even considering doing so made you feel as if you would spontaneously combust. He was your best friend, for crying out loud, and this crossed so many lines. You knew very well that he wasn’t a virgin by any means, having caught glimpses of the occasional hickey on his neck despite his best efforts to hide it from you. He was twenty-one, experienced and could probably talk you through it–

Nope. Not going here. 

The idea of Caleb explaining sex to you was mortifying. You didn’t want to hear about any of his conquests, even just the thought of him talking about it made you want to throw up. The notion of him having sex only made your cheeks warm and your throat go uncomfortably dry.

Against your will, the thought festered. It burrowed its way into your mind and settled there as if it belonged, despite its having no business being there. This was completely unethical, but before you could stop yourself, your gaze zeroed in on his tongue darting out of his mouth, licking his lips in concentration as he typed out something. For a second, you wondered how it would feel if he dragged that tongue across the skin of your neck.

Oh my god. What if he simply showed you?

The moment that depraved idea popped into your head, you shot up, getting to your feet with urgency. Startled, he looked over at you, frowning at the alarmed look on your face.

“Are you good?”

“I’m great!” Your voice sounded funny, like you were trying to digest a rock. “I just– er– remembered I have some homework to finish for tomorrow. So I should get back to my room.” You padded over to his door, slipping into your shoes and waving at him. “See ya.”

“....Bye.” He watched your awkward, rushed movements with a puzzled look on his (very nice) face.. You nodded curtly before opening the door and escaping the confines of his dorm, out of his scrutinising gaze that could read you annoyingly well. Another minute in there and you knew he would be grilling you for your odd behaviour. 

Jesus Christ. You were so screwed.

“Y/n? Girl, you gotta get your head in the game.”

Tara’s voice cut through your reverie, causing you to snap out of it. One glance up at her would reveal an unimpressed look directed at you, her hands on her hips. “Our darling editor wants to know why your article isn’t on her desk yet.”

Tara was your closest friend after Caleb, and you had met her when you joined the university paper as a student journalist. She was smart, pretty and always had your back no matter what. Blinking rapidly, you sighed, waving your hand. 

“Tell Jenna I’ll have it there by the end of the day.”

“You better. You know how she is about deadlines.” Tara pulled one of the chairs from the desk beside yours closer and sat on it, resting her elbows on the armrests. “Seriously, though, why are you spaced out today?”

Well, there was no way you could tell her the truth about that. So you resorted to using a half-truth as an answer. “Writer's block.”

“Ah.”

You turned back to the screen of your computer, staring at the article you had been writing. It was almost finished, thank god. At least here, you had the facts to write around, having done your research. Very different to the situation you found yourself in regarding your stupid book.

Ugh. 

“By the way, your boyfriend’s here.”

Your head snapped up at her words, already ready to argue, knowing exactly who she was talking about. Walking into the newsroom holding two coffees was Caleb, wearing that blue-orange jacket that you had bought him for one of his birthdays. He did this pretty often, sauntering in like he owned the place even though he was technically not allowed to be there. Jenna had repeatedly reminded him of this, but he brushed it off, and after a while, she simply stopped bothering. Thus, despite not being on the paper, he spent a lot of time in the newsroom.

This was another problem you faced daily: people mistaking him for your boyfriend. The number of times you had to rehash the fact that he was simply your best friend was astounding, and back when you were a freshman, the constant whistles about you dating an upperclassman– and none other than Caleb Xia– drove you mad. You chalked it down to none of them being fortunate enough to experience a friendship as fulfilling and real as the one you had with him.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” You dropped your voice, keeping it just loud enough for her to hear your rebuttal that held a hint of venom, plastering a smile on your face as he closed in. Tara snickered. 

“Sure, and I’m the queen of England.”

“Hey,” Caleb grinned down at you, his eyes momentarily flitting to your friend. “And what?”

“Nothing,” you said brightly, shooting her a murderous look that silently told her to zip it. She smiled innocently and shook her head, slipping back to her desk without another word.

“She’s an odd one,” he quipped, handing you one of the coffees and then shrugging off the jacket, dumping it on the free space on your desk. You already knew it was your regular order, something he had memorised years ago. You sipped the drink, letting the hot liquid calm you down, grateful for the caffeine. You hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, spending it tossing and turning in your bed.

And why was that?

Caleb leaned against your desk. “Are you free later today?” 

A dejected sigh escaped you. “Unfortunately, no. I need to finish this article by the end of the day, and it seems like my writer's block has infected every aspect of my life.” It was ironic, just how true that statement ran.

“Damn.” You could hear the tinge of disappointment in his voice. “I was hoping we would have movie night. I stocked up on your favourite candy.” He reached over, his fingers brushing against the skin of your forehead as he pushed some of your hair that fell in front of your eyes away from your face, neatly tucking it behind your ear like it was second nature. It was, you supposed, considering he had done so about a hundred times.

But something was different this time, or perhaps you were paying far too much attention to every little thing. To how he pulled back and the way the muscles in his forearm shifted subtly, making you wish he had kept the jacket on. The brief touch lingered on your skin, burned into it.

Fucking hell, you were a mess. A tragic, down-atrocious mess.

Your eyes lingered on his fingers for a moment. Heat crept up your neck, and you coughed, rubbing it absent-mindedly, hoping to push down the flush you felt taking over your body. It had been like this ever since the day in his dorm when your brain had decided to work against you and infect you with the thought of sex with your best friend.

What better way was there to describe your state than calling it an infection? It certainly felt like some sort of sickness with the way it plagued you against your will. Somehow, it was worse than the doomed crush you had harboured for him back when you were in high school, because at least that had been innocent. That was born out of pure admiration, and you were sixteen. A lot of things done at sixteen could be brushed off under the excuse of being young and naive. You had quickly gotten over it. 

You were evidently no longer so naive. In fact, you knew too much.

“Maybe next time.” You managed to choke out finally after a silence that had stretched a beat too long. Part of you hoped he’d leave you alone now so that you could calm down and refocus your attention to the article. 

But of course, he didn’t. Instead, he occupied the chair Tara previously had, complaining about one of his classes as you nodded along, sipping your coffee and glancing between him and your screen. The smooth cadence of his voice usually soothed you and calmed you down, but now it only put you on edge, flowing over scrambled thoughts like honey. Had his arms always been this nice?

You were going to hell.

All things considered, you held yourself to certain standards. You were a woman with morals and integrity, and you were not in the habit of staring at shirtless men.

Except when it was Caleb, apparently. 

“Why are you half-naked?” You blurted out gracelessly, heat viciously curling up your body as your eyes dropped down to his torso. You gripped the Chinese takeout you had gotten on your way back from your evening class a little tighter as you took in his figure. A silver chain with a tag and apple pendant (something you had given him before he left for university while you were still struggling in high school) on his bare chest and perfect sculpted abs, running shorts hanging low on his hips. 

“I was working out.” He said casually, taking the bag of takeout from your hands and walking back into his dorm, leaving you to follow him. You bit down on your tongue hard, almost hoping you’d draw blood. 

This was ridiculous. You had seen him shirtless several times before and had never reacted like this. The other times hadn’t caused you to flush and definitely didn’t cause your heart rate to spike. It didn’t have you furiously fighting off thoughts that had threatened to consume you for over a week now, pushing them back into the furthest parts of your mind and locking them there. 

“I’m almost done, could you grab sodas from the fridge?” Caleb placed the food on the table beside his bed. You wordlessly complied, picking the apple-flavoured sodas that both of you liked. Turning back to the main area of his dorm, you walked over, only to stop dead in your tracks.

Caleb was on the floor. Doing push-ups.

There was nothing inherently sexual about it in the slightest. You knew he liked to stay in shape, hitting the gym at least thrice a week to maintain his physique– a very nice physique that seemed to be your current undoing. His hair fell across his forehead, a little matted from sweat. You watched as he pressed down and back up, and in a moment of weakness, you wondered how it would be if you were under him instead of standing to the side and ogling like an idiot. Would his necklace dangle above you, swinging back and forth in your face?

Dear god. You needed to be sedated. Put down, even.

Finally, he seemed to be done, lowering himself down and then rolling onto his back. He sucked in a breath of hair, running his hands through his hair and messing it up even further. Finally, he sat up and looked up at you, a singular eyebrow raised.

“Why are you just standing there?”

Brilliant question. If only you could answer it. 

Choosing to skillfully evade instead, you tossed him his soda can and grabbed his laptop from his desk, settling down next to him on the floor. Tonight, the two of you had decided to have dinner together and catch up on an anime you had started together a couple of weeks ago. It had been a while since you had properly hung out, and you knew damn well that it was all your fault. 

You were avoiding him. Mentally and physically, especially physically. Caleb, however, being the understanding, saint of a man that he was, chalked it up to you being busy. He made sure to check in on you, shooting you texts or sending you funny videos he knew you’d like. 

“We should try and finish all the episodes up until the latest one,” You said, opening up his laptop and logging into the anime site. “They released a new one on Wednesday.” 

Caleb hummed, stretching his arms as he shuffled closer. Immediately, you froze, the close contact inciting pure panic within you. Jerking away from him, you glared, holding a hand out to keep an arm's distance between the two of you, much to his confusion. 

“Put on a shirt.”

He frowned. “Why? It’s really hot.”

Indeed, it was. “Exactly. You’re all sweaty and gross.”

You really shouldn’t have said that. The moment the words left your mouth, his mouth curled into a smirk– one so disgustingly attractive that you were sure your knees would have probably buckled if you weren’t already sitting down– and his eyes lit up with a mischievous glint that told you he was up to no good. Carefully, he wrapped a hand around your wrist, and the contact has your brain short-circuiting and going into overdrive.

“I think that means you want a hug.”

“Wait– don’t you dare– Caleb!” You yelped as he tugged you harshly, forcing you to fall into his lap, his laughter resounding through the small dorm room. Awkwardly, you shoot your other hand out to steady yourself, placing it on his shoulder as you tumble into him, knee slotting in between his legs and body so dangerously close to his that you wanted to scream. Smoothly, he wrapped his other arm around your waist, circling it and somehow tugging you even closer, until you were flush against him.

“What are you gonna do now, Pips?” He taunted, voice just above a whisper right against your ear. 

Unicorns, you bleakly thought to yourself. Puppies. Cupcakes. Sprinkles.

“You’re so annoying,” You hissed, throwing as much irritation into your voice as you possibly could in the hopes that it would drown out the shakiness you felt. His skin under your fingertips was warm, and you could feel that warmth through the fabric of your tank top. “Go fuck yourself.”

He laughed harder, the sound so contagious it broke you out of your downright sinful thoughts. You gripped his shoulder a little harder, mentally chastising yourself for the situation you found yourself in, knowing that there was no good reason for you to be this riled up. Playfighting with him was something you were used to; it was natural. It should not have had your blood pressure rising and heart slamming in your chest so violently.

Swallowing thickly, you barely processed how he let go of your wrist, his other arm also coming to rest around your waist as he pulled you further into his lap so that you were now sitting on top of him. Before you even had the chance to react to that, he buried his face in the crook of your neck and inhaled. 

“Missed you this week,” He mumbled softly against your rapidly heating skin. You froze for a split second at the contact, hopelessly blaming the flush spread over your cheeks on the humid weather.

And then you softened. 

Instinctively, your arms wrapped around his neck as you hugged him back. “I missed you too,” You whispered, following up with a lie to keep him off your trail. “Just had a lot of work.”

“I know,” he said so patiently that you instantly felt guilty. He lifted his face from your neck so that he could stare at you, and it hit you just how intimate the position the two of you were in was. Although reserved with others, Caleb had always been pretty openly affectionate with you. His hand on the small of your back, fingers intertwined with yours, a light kiss to your temple in encouragement– he had been doing stuff like that to you since you were ten. 

So why did it suddenly affect you so much? Why did something so normal for you make you feel so different now?

“Just….tell me about it,” he continued, those mesmerising purple eyes of his locked onto yours. “Shoot me a text. Let me know what's up with you. Don’t you remember the last time you shut everyone out because you were stressed?”

You did remember. It was during your finals last year, when the workload you had overwhelmed you so badly that you simply pushed everyone away until they were over. Caleb had to practically storm his way back into your life and demand that you take a break and slow down before you worked yourself to the bone. The fact that he remembered this only made your guilt worse because your distance this time had nothing to do with your classwork. 

It had everything to do with him, though. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumbled, slowly slipping out of his embrace and settling down next to him once again. You had to remind yourself of what he was to you, and all this thirsting for him was neither healthy nor something a good best friend would do. “I’m not gonna do that again.” 

“I’m just saying. And what the hell am I supposed to do with my free time if you’re not here to bother me?” He flashed you that shit-eating grin of his that you were starting to think was more devastating than mischievous.

You had to resist strangling him.

There was only one possible conclusion: something was deeply wrong with you.

How else were you supposed to explain your borderline insane behaviour? It had gotten even worse lately, causing you to daydream at the most inconvenient times, like when you were trying to get an assignment done or even in the middle of class. It was a wonder your professors hadn’t called you out for it yet. 

Some level of restraint seemed to remain, though, with you stopping your thoughts from crossing any lines. The moment you caught your mind straying into dangerous territory, you forced yourself to stop, desperately searching for another distraction.

But there was only so much you could do. Thinking was proving to be a dangerous activity.

You pressed your palms into your eyes, hard. It was almost three in the morning, and you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. Earlier, you had tried to write around the damned scene, but emerged fruitless. It was like an obstacle you had to clear before you could get to the next level of a game, taunting you with its incompletion.

Something else taunted you, simmering underneath the expanse of your skin. Things that hadn’t even happened yet, but you had already dreamed of them– his mouth on yours, his hands tracing your body with a feather touch. 

You were even wearing one of his shirts right now, the oversized tee reaching down to your mid-thighs. Several, just like the one you currently wore, sat neatly in your closet, having been stolen from him over the years. You could faintly smell his cologne; cidery and comforting, enveloping you in what felt like it could be his embrace. Turning onto your side, you pulled the blanket over your body and stared at the wall blankly. 

Caleb had been your safe space for so long, and perhaps that was why you gravitated so easily to thinking about him like this. If there was anyone you trusted in such an intimate sense, it was him. 

Even if it shouldn’t have been.

God knows you needed to get laid. Unfortunately, you didn’t want just anyone.

You swore you had never been this horny before, least of all for your best friend. Thinking about him in such a salacious way was strictly a new development that was quickly ruining your life, haunting you day and night. Even now, lying in your bed, heat that was impossible to ignore bloomed between your legs. 

Maybe if you just indulged once, this madness would stop. Maybe you just needed an orgasm, and then you’d stop going insane over every single interaction you had with Caleb. It didn’t even have to be about him, and this was normal; everyone needed a release now and then. 

Your fingers slipped between your legs, pushing the fabric of his shirt up, tracing the outline of your cotton underwear. Your eyes fluttered shut as you let your fingertips gently graze against where you needed them most, letting your legs fall apart just a little bit–

Deep purple eyes flashed behind your closed eyes.

Gasping, you retracted your hand like you had been burned. There was no way in hell you could touch yourself with him in mind; that was everything you had been avoiding for the past three weeks, ever since the notion had first sprouted. Groaning, you buried your face into the pillow.

This had to have been the stupidest cause of insomnia ever.

Caleb 🍎 [15:32 pm] : i better see u at the party tonight :D

Caleb 🍎 [15:32 pm] : will pick u up at 9

Caleb 🍎 [15:32 pm] : no buts.

Caleb supposed that this was technically his fault.

Mentally, he had already prepared for this outcome. It was why he had barely drunk the entire night, barely finishing two drinks and opting out of playing beer pong with the rest of his friends, despite Gideon's need for another member on his team. 

“Come on, Pipsqueak.” He had an arm around your waist to help steady you, ensuring you wouldn’t fall flat on your face. You stumbled into the elevator, and he jammed the number of your dorm floor as you wrapped your arms around his torso weakly, leaning into him. Right now, he was the only thing keeping you upright.

You were drunk, slurring your words and unable to walk in a straight line without any assistance type of drunk.  And yes, this was his fault. 

Probably. Definitely.

One of the frat houses had thrown a party, and he had insisted that you come with him. He had always been great at reading you, and for the last couple of weeks, you had seemed tense over something, though you hadn’t told him what exactly it was yet. That was fine, he knew that eventually you’d spill, but for now, all he wanted to do was help you let loose. 

That was exactly what he told you to do when both of you arrived at the party, even pouring you your first drink. Halfway through the party, you seemed more relaxed than you had in the last couple of days, swaying along to the music by his side. He made sure not to drink too much, wanting to be sober enough to safely get you back to your dorm just in case you overdid it.

His intuition always ended up being right when it came to you.

You whined as the elevator dinged, the doors opening. “Everything is spinning.”

“I know, honey, we’re almost there.” He helped you walk into the hallway, smoothly taking your handbag from you and extracting your keys. Holding you tighter, he opened the door and pulled you through, carefully seating you down on your bed and taking your boots off.

Like clockwork, he grabbed a bottle of water from your bedside table, unscrewed it and held it to your cherry-tinted lips. You only used that specific lip-tint when you were going out, and each time you did, he found himself wondering if it tasted like cherry as well. Even now, as he gently propped his index finger under your chin and tilted your face upwards, he entertained the idea of tasting it for himself.

But he wouldn’t. 

“Drink up,” He said softly, “You’re gonna have a nasty hangover tomorrow.”

Obediently, you parted your lips, drinking with his help. Your cheeks were flushed due to the alcohol, hair a little frizzy from the heat, but still maintaining the styling you had done before the party. To him, you looked stunning at all times, but he could see the effort you had put in to look nice tonight, from your outfit (a black halter top and jeans) to your makeup, which he knew he’d have to help you take off now. 

Once he deemed the amount of water you had drunk enough, he put the bottle back and went into your bathroom, knowing exactly where to find your makeup wipes. He had taken care of you like this once before, so his body moved like clockwork. There was no point in trying to get you to the bathroom– you’d probably just sit down on the floor and stay there for the rest of the night– so he took the wipes with him and crouched down in front of where you sat on your bed. 

Smiling, he held your face again, this time a little firmer. “You’d hate yourself if you went to sleep before you took your makeup off,” he whispered, pulling one of the wipes out and dragging it over the apples of your face. Then, he glanced up and into your eyes, noting how you stared at him so keenly, even through a half-lidded gaze, lips slightly parted. 

If Caleb could’ve kept your attention on him like this for the rest of his life, he would have. 

“What's going through that head of yours?” He cocked his head to the side, studying your intent expression. Immediately, you looked away, but he wasn’t going to back down. Something had been troubling you, and he was determined to find out what. If you wouldn’t tell him outright, he would simply have to guess. “Is it your book, again?”

Your inebriated state made it hard for you to hide things from him. You stiffened in his touch, and he chuckled. “Bingo. You know, if you just told me what you were struggling with, I’d help.” He pressed your chin lightly, angling your face downwards. “Close your eyes.” He gently wiped over your eye makeup, making sure it was all off before continuing. “I know I’m not a writer, but I’m sure I'll be of some value.”

Finally done, he neatly folded the dirty wipe and placed it to the side. “Want some more water? Alcohol is dehydrating.”

And then, out of nowhere, you spoke. 

“Sex.”

Well, blurting would probably be a better way to describe how you said the word. Caleb blinked rapidly, wondering if he had heard you correctly as his face snapped back to yours, eyes wide. 

“What?”

“Sex.” You slurred a little bit as you leaned closer to him, jutting your lower lip out in a pout and repeating it once more for good measure. “Sex.”

“I heard you the first time,” Caleb could hear how strangled his voice was, unable to think straight at your sudden declaration. Oblivious to his mental distress, you thrust out your hand and pointed at the laptop that sat on your desk with drunken animosity. 

“I can’t write a stupid sex scene.” 

You sounded so crestfallen, and he would have totally started sympathising with you if not for the reason. A sex scene? What on earth were you writing?

“I–” He swallowed, “Well–”

“I mean, how am I supposed to write a good sex scene if I don’t know what good sex feels like? Or what even like, happens?” Alcohol had certainly loosened you up, and perhaps a bit too much, having erased any filter that you had. This resulted in you rambling on about everything you would have usually kept to yourself, and for good reason. “The sex I’ve had has been shitty.”

The sex you’ve had? Caleb almost bit his tongue off in shock, staring at you incredulously at the information you had dumped on him. He hadn’t even known you had been having sex, and thank every god for that, because he would have probably jumped off a cliff if you ever talked about your sex life with him. Surely, this was some sort of twisted fever dream he had found himself in. This could not have been real life.

“Christ,” He choked out, “I–okay, maybe I can’t help you–”

“Yeah, you can.” Your eyes cut to his, a little too intense for his sanity. “If you fucked me, I’d probably be able to write the scene.”

He gaped at you, about a dozen inappropriate thoughts running through his head before he could stop it. “What did you just say?” 

Teenage Caleb would have died if he had heard you say that. Adult Caleb nearly did. 

You sighed heavily, and it only succeeded in causing him to spiral even more. “I thought about it. I’m sure it would be good, y’know. You’d know what you were doing, you even look like you’re good at it.”

“You’re so drunk.” He tried to reason with himself out loud, but could hardly recognise his voice with how strained he sounded. Looked like he was good at it? What alternate dimension had he just fallen into? 

“Oh, come on, Caleb. I need some hands-on learning, and you–” you slurred the words as you leaned close and wrapped your hands around his bicep, peering up at him through your lashes. “–have very nice hands. They’re hot.”

You, his best friend, his pipsqueak, had thought about sleeping with him. You thought his hands were hot. The news nearly killed him, and he had to force himself to look away from you, his mind running at a mile a minute. Heat prickled at his face and neck, impossible to ignore as he cleared his throat and stood to his feet, pulling away from your touch. 

“You should sleep.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, stepping away from you. “I–I’ll see you tomorrow.” It was as if he were going through puberty all over again, with the way his voice cracked embarrassingly as he spoke. He left your room hurriedly,  barely getting his shoes back on as he closed the door behind him and leaned against it.

Caleb exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose as the back of his head hit your door. All these years of barely keeping it together around you, carefully tiptoeing between right and wrong, only for you to come and crash into whatever self-restraint he had left. 

Right and wrong. 

All of a sudden, he wasn’t sure if he was going to choose correctly anymore. 

Death had to have been more merciful than the pounding in your head. Grabbing the covers, you pulled them over yourself like a cocoon, trying your hardest to block out all noises and sink even further into your mattress. 

Unfortunately, your hangover-induced headache made it nearly impossible for you to go back to sleep. Cursing, you forced yourself out of bed and into the bathroom to freshen up and change out of your clothes and into something more comfortable. Naturally, you gravitated towards an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts, pulling them on after a quick shower. 

Then, you went right back to your bed, not wanting to face the day in the slightest. You had managed to resist throwing up so far, and even the thought of having to function like a normal human being made you recoil into your blanket and stay there for the rest of the week. Just as you began to genuinely entertain that notion, a sharp knock at your door caught your attention.

You would have ignored it if you didn’t know the pattern of this knock by heart. No one but Caleb knocked twice in sequence. 

Cursing under your breath, you scrambled to the door and opened it, squinting as the bright light of the hallway outside nearly blinded you. There he stood, grinning down at you as he held up a paper bag. 

“Aspirin.”

“Thank god,” you immediately let him in, taking the medicine from him and pouring yourself a glass of water. He stood right behind you as you took the pill, ruffling your already messy hair and staring for just a second too long. 

“Bad morning, huh?”

“You have no idea.” You winced at the whiny nature of your voice. “It feels like my head is trying to stab itself.”

Caleb chuckled dryly, sitting down on your bed and watching as you settled at your desk and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to smooth out the knots. Something was different about the way he was looking at you, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“You’ll be fine,” He muttered, shifting his gaze to the ceiling. You frowned, taking in the way his jaw ticked, and placed your glass of water down.

“Are you okay?”

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine.” He said it a little too brightly, glancing down at your desk. Something flickered in his eyes. “Made any progress on that book of yours?”

A frustrated sound left you buried your face in your hands, elbows on your desk. The reminder of your stagnant writing somehow worsened your headache, as if that was even possible. Of course he’d bring that up. “As usual, no.”

For a while, you had hoped that inspiration would strike you eventually, but it seemed like you were well and truly stuck. It had only taken a turn for the worse, with you suddenly despising everything you had already written, unable to even skim any of it without cringing and wanting to hit delete. Your inability to write had morphed into impostor syndrome, which was a development you didn’t appreciate in the slightest.

“It’s okay,” he said, and you would have mistaken his tone for reassuring if not for the way his lips twitched slightly. “I’m sure you’ll be able to write eventually. After you fuck me, apparently.”

Silence. 

Razor-sharp silence.

Slowly, you turned your head to face him, eyes wide as saucers. “What….did you just say?”

“Only what you said last night. You said you were sure it would be good, which I beg to differ. It would be amazing, thank you very much.” He dared to smile oh-so innocently, as if he hadn’t just upgraded the superlative of what sex with him would potentially be like.

If you thought you were going to throw up before, you were sure you were going to now. You almost choked on your spit, waves of unadulterated shock crashing through your system as you gawked at your best friend, who appeared much too pleased with himself at the moment. If you weren’t so utterly horrified, you would have tried to slap the smug expression right off of his face.

“No.” The singular word comes out breathless, much to your mortification, your gut churning at the implications of that statement. “No, no, no–”

“Oh yes,” He grinned wickedly, leaning back on the palms of his hands. 

“What–what the fuck did I drink last night.” You tried your levity, but your embarrassment ran too deep. Reaching up, you covered your face with your hands in a pathetic attempt to hide away from him. Never, in a million years, had you ever accounted for having this conversation with him, of all people, and you were almost certain there was something in your drinks that had made you say what you did. 

His velvety laugh echoed through your dorm, and you wanted nothing more than to fold in on yourself. This had to have been the worst moment of your life. 

“I guess you don’t remember, huh?” There was an amused lilt to his tone that made you want to jump out of the window. “I can refresh you, if you’d like.”

“NO!” 

The shriek that left you was nothing short of abashed. He leaned forward now, smirking at you conspiratorially. “What's wrong? I thought you needed,” he paused, as if recollecting the exact words you had said to humiliate you even further. “Hands-on learning?”

You pointed to the door, biting back a scream. “Get out.”

The smirk only grew. “Aw, but if sleeping with me is gonna help you write again–”

“OUT!” You glared, cheeks flaming. Your anxiety had prepared you for at least a hundred outright ridiculous situations that had no chance of ever occurring, but none of them accounted for the possibility of your best friend talking about sleeping with you. You couldn’t fathom how he seemed so unaffected by it, as if he were speaking about something as mundane as the damn weather.

Caleb tongued his cheek, evidently fighting off another bout of laughter. He raised his hands to his sides in a placating gesture, but it did nothing to soothe your frazzled nerves. If anything, it only distracted you further, your eyes betraying you and straying to glance at his hands. A suppressed memory from last night resurfaced in your mind's eye, much to your displeasure. 

You have very nice hands. They’re hot.

That was it. You were never going to touch alcohol again. Sobriety was your way of life now, seeing that you couldn’t keep your mouth shut when under the influence. The next time you need to let off some steam, you’d have an iced coffee.

“Alright, alright, I’ll go.” He moved towards your door, hiding his teasing smile behind his fist, disguising his chuckle with an exaggerated cough. “But Y/n?”

He didn’t use his beloved pet name. You straightened slightly, momentarily pushing away your embarrassment at the sudden serious shift of his voice. He opened the door and paused, hesitating for a single second. Then, he looked back at you, all-consuming, violent eyes locking onto yours. 

“I would do it if you asked.” 

You sighed heavily as you walked out of your last class of the day, rubbing the back of your neck and peering up into the darkening sky. Thursdays were the one day of the week when you had longer classes one after the other, which always resulted in you feeling exhausted by the end of it. You barely had the energy to even think about putting together dinner, which your best friend knew, always swinging by once your class ended with enough take-out for both of you and to walk you back to your dorm. 

Which meant…

“I hope you’re in the mood for Thai food.”

Caleb slid into your view with that easy-going smile of his, though lately and much to your annoyance, there seemed to be a knowing glint in his gaze every time it settled on you. 

“I’m in the mood for anything edible.” You sighed as you began walking back to your dorm. He easily fell into step beside you, as always, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. You supposed it was, considering how long your friendship had lasted. It would be almost twelve years soon, and honestly, you could hardly remember a time when he wasn’t around. 

He hummed, knowing how cranky you got when you were hangry. “So easy to please.” It was the way he said it, knowing and with a tone so low that it almost resembled a purr. It had goosebumps rising on the surface of your skin. A little outraged at the way you reacted, you glanced over at him, only to find him already looking at you.

It was how he always looked at you, with conviction and every ounce of his attention. Yet, it felt different, more intense. Or maybe that was just your brain playing tricks on itself. 

I would do it if you asked.

Those seven words had haunted you from the moment he had spoken them. The serious expression on his face mixed with the quiet way he had said it– it had undoubtedly fucked you up a little more than you would have liked to admit. You were beyond infuriated and in complete disbelief over how he had simply offered to sleep with you. Like it wasn’t a big deal or a very major, clear boundary that existed in friendships. In your friendship. 

If you asked. Like it was that fucking simple. He left your dorm since you demanded it of him, but left you to deal with the aftermath of that absolutely criminal statement of his. 

And then there was the teasing. 

Relentless and unsteadying. Caleb would say something a little too suggestive or downright sexual before retreating and pretending like nothing had happened. He’d hold your gaze a little longer, or let his touch linger, before looking away with a satisfied smirk. He knew damn well what he was doing, and although you did too, it didn’t stop you from flushing or freezing up. It certainly didn’t stop scenarios from writing themselves in your head. 

He was torturing you for your little slip-up. He found it hilarious, and now you were the punchline for every joke that blossomed from it. 

He cocked his head to the side now, a small, tilted smile on his lips as he spoke. “What's going on in at head of yours?”

You realised you had stopped walking, and so had he, instead standing right in front of you and occupying every part of your vision. “Nothing.”

Caleb quirked an eyebrow, taking a step closer. “You sure about that? You’re obviously thinking about something.” The cadence of his voice had always been nice, but now the velvety smoothness of it put you on edge in more ways than one. “Are you maybe thinking about–”

“I am not thinking about that.” The statement tumbled out of you before you could bite your tongue. His eyes lit up mischievously.

“Oh, so you’re thinking about something after all, are you?”

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, struggling to findd to find a comeback to that. Somehow, he was even closer now. 

“Mind telling me what exactly that is?”

“Stop it,” You almost snarled, shooting him a withering look as you pushed him away in order to reclaim your personal space. This teasing streak of his was getting unbearable, especially since it was anything but innocent and was driving you up the wall. “Or I’m gonna take the Thai food and leave you with nothing.”

An offended gasp. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.” 

He laughed at your threat and finally let up on you, going back to being the Caleb you knew. He spoke of his classes and the group project he had due at the end of the week, for which he had terrible teammates to work with. It was jarring, how easily he could shift back into acting like he hadn’t just insinuated something so….

Maybe it was just your dirty mind. 

Unbeknownst to you, it definitely wasn’t just your dirty mind. Caleb was mentally punching himself. 

Caleb had had years of practising self-control when it came to you. Years of holding back and hiding the feelings he had for his best friend, shying away from every opportunity to divulge them. He knew how to keep his hands to himself, his mind from straying and his tongue from running into dangerous territory. He hadn’t meant to do it, but your drunken confession had flipped a switch inside of him. The lines had gotten a little blurry, but he would never, in a million years, ever actually cross them.

So what the hell was wrong with him? 

You still hadn’t written a word. Unfortunately for you, you couldn’t even complain about it in peace anymore. Not if you wanted to maintain even a modicum of your sanity.

The reason for said dwindling sanity was sitting beside you right now on his bed, his arm slung around your shoulder, fingers tracing abstract patterns on the top of your shoulder. Usually, this would have calmed you down and even made you sleepy, but it achieved the complete opposite right then. You were painfully awake, his feathery touch like electricity against your skin. 

God, you were so fucked. You had hoped that Caleb’s incessant teasing would have put a damper on your sudden, strong attraction towards him, but nothing of the sort had happened. It seemed to have only gotten worse, with you ending up being jumpy whenever he was around, and considering the amount you hung out with him, you were starting to resemble a kangaroo.

Around him, you were constantly tense and always on the precipice of being turned on. To say it was hellish would be an understatement.

“You’re distracted,” he murmured as the credits of the movie you were watching played. Finally, the two of you had managed to find the time to have that movie night you had passed on weeks ago. You shook your head, glancing up at the clock that hung on his wall. It was a little past midnight. 

“Just frustrated,” you said finally, because it was the truth in more ways than one. Your frustration with your writing, or lack of, ran deep, but now it was intertwined with another very persistent reason. Being sexually frustrated wasn’t something you were used to dealing with.

He seemed to have caught on, though, his hand falling from your shoulder to your waist, curling around it. “Why are you frustrated, Pipsqueak?” He drawled, turning his head so that he faced you now. Of course, he’d pick this moment to torment you, when you were already frazzled.

“No reason,” you said quickly, voice clipped. A slow, languid smile stretched out on his lips. 

“No?” He asked, the side of his mouth tilting. “Could it be….”

“Stop talking.” You despised how hoarse your voice sounded. You wanted– no, needed him to stop doing this before it became unbearable. He was your best friend, for fucks sake. The smile on his annoyingly perfect face melted into a smirk that would have had your knees weak if you weren’t already sitting down. 

“I don’t think I will.” He whispered, pulling you even closer as he dipped his head down until his lips brushed against your ear. It was like he wanted you to break, and god, you were so close to doing so. His hand slid up your waist just a little bit. A shiver ran through you, one you couldn’t have suppressed if you tried. 

“Tell me,” He mumbled, the words sounding much too loud even though he was still whispering. “Do your frustrations have anything to do with a certain sex scene you’re trying to write?”

You inhaled sharply.

Rationality was a funny thing. Every bit of it seemed to disappear whenever you truly needed it. Things you had no business thinking rushed through your head, courtesy of your bright imagination that chose the most inconvenient moments to work. Thoughts you had suppressed and pushed aside every time they had the nerve to pop up swirled around.

The spark that you had been trying so hard to put out crackled to life in your core, its flames spreading all across your body like wildfire. You were painfully aware of every part of you that was in contact with him, his hand just above your waist, sitting there so possessively, his breath fanning across your neck– fuck. It was too much, but somehow not enough all at once, and immediately you knew what you wanted.

More.

You snapped. 

Something possessed you as you turned to look at him, a surge of confidence appearing out of nowhere as you drew closer to him. “Yeah.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Right then and there, three things became very clear to you. One: You wanted to write. Desperately and preferably sometime soon, because you did want to finish the first draft before you could go in and edit. Two: For some reason, you needed to have sex in order to get over the mental block you had when it came to writing it. Lastly, three: You only wanted to have sex with one person, and it was the man right beside you.

“My frustration has everything to do with the sex scene.” You said, surprising yourself with how steady your voice was. “But you can help with that, right?” 

Without waiting for his response, you got to your knees, swinging a leg over him and settling down on top. Surprise flickered in his eyes for a second as your hands found his shoulders to maintain your balance, before he spoke again. 

“Pipsqueak,” he started, voice low and careful, attempting to keep the teasing lilt in his voice but royally failing. “What– exactly– are you doing?”

“You told me to ask.” You muttered, dropping your gaze to his lips for a moment before letting it travel back up. “You said you’d do it if I asked. I’m asking right now.” 

Caleb couldn’t respond, still staring up at you, eyes wide and ears a little redder than they normally were. Good. It was about time he had a taste of his own medicine. His hands found your waist again, and he blinked twice, slowly, and you prayed he wasn’t all bark and no bite. 

You wanted him to bite.

“Y/n,” he muttered, “I….I know what I said.”

You raised an eyebrow, your hands slipping up his shoulders simultaneously until they were cradling his neck, playing with his hair at the nape of it. Was he shy? Now? After everything he had said and insinuated, he had the audacity to be all bashful? “So then you know what I’m asking for.”

“Well–”

“Caleb,” You cut him off, shifting so that you were closer. “I’m asking.” 

Conviction laced those words. You could tell he was reasoning with himself, god knows you could read him well enough to know when he was conflicted, when he bit the inside of his cheek before exhaling shakily. 

“Pips,” He rasped out your nickname. “You– you’re sure?”

You didn’t recognise the look in his eyes right then as he looked up at you, but it had you unravelling all the same. You leaned in subconsciously, but he quickly moved one of his hands from your waist to your mouth, covering it as his jaw clenched, still studying you. “I need you to tell me you’re sure, Y/n.”

Oh, so this was actually happening. You could feel the heat of your breath recoil against your face because of his hand. The ticking of the clock in his room filled the charged silence between him and you, his fingers brushing against your chapped lips. You swallowed.

“I’m sure.”

Whatever had shifted in you five minutes ago seemed to shift in him as well now. He let his hand drop from your mouth, shamelessly staring at it. “We shouldn’t.” But he pulled you closer, his arms circling your waist and palms splayed out on the small of your back. 

“It’s for research purposes,” You breathed out, doing your best to justify how badly you needed him. “Please, Caleb, I need–”

He didn’t let you finish. 

You gasped as he crushed his mouth to yours, effectively shutting you up. The pressure of his lips against your own was dizzying, especially with the way they moved; slowly and precisely, as if he was committing the feel of your lips to his memory. You were hyperaware of his touch on your back, the warmth from his hands permeating through the thin fabric of the T-shirt you were wearing.

Pulling him closer, you tilted your head so you could kiss him better. For the number of times you had mentally chided yourself for even thinking about this, it felt remarkably natural to kiss him, your instincts taking over. Your fingers slipped into his hair, entangling in the dark strands and tugging lightly.

Caleb groaned, and you were on fire. 

“God, Y/n.” There was nothing playful about the way he mumbled your name into the kiss, and the unfamiliarity of it sent a shiver down your spine. His lips, soft and just a little hesitant, moved in tandem against your own, slotting in between them perfectly like you were pieces of the same puzzle, meant to be pushed together like so. He nipped at your lower lip before swiping his tongue over it to soothe the sting, and the intoxicating sensation drew out a needy whimper from you. 

The second that sound escaped you, all indecision disappeared from his end, and the temperature in the room seemed to increase, growing hotter with every smack of his lips against yours. Kissing him was addictive, it felt as if neither of you could bear to pull away from each other. 

Without warning, Caleb lifted you off of him and pressed you into the mattress, swiftly climbing on top of you. For a moment, he hovered, looking down at you, taking in the flush on your cheeks and heavy breathing, proud to have been the cause of your breathlessness despite barely doing a thing. Going in once again, he brushed his lips against yours teasingly, before giving you what you truly wanted, the intensity of the kiss taking a turn for feverish.

A hand of his slid up your side until he cupped your jaw oh-so gently, turning your face to the side to give him better access to your neck, upon which he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses that had heat rush right to your core. The ache between your legs grew, slowly becoming unbearable, and you rubbed your thighs together with a whine, chasing any sliver of friction. 

“Shit,” he muttered against you, his other hand slipping underneath your shirt and coming into contact with your stomach, causing goosebumps to rise on the skin. Spreading his fingers and pressing lightly, he kept you from squirming. “Pips, you gotta tell me to stop.”

“Don’t you dare,” you almost snapped at him, impatient and so painfully aroused it was embarrassing. He couldn’t hold back the breathless chuckle that escaped him as he moved lower, teeth grazing your collarbone. 

“If, at any point, you want to stop, tell me,” he gritted out, trying to hold onto any semblance of self-control he still possessed. “I don’t wanna do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

You nodded quickly. “I trust you.”

That was all he needed. Lifting his head slightly, he fumbled with the buttons of your shorts as he leaned back, all his weight on his knees. Once he managed to undo them, you lifted your hips slightly to help him tug them off your body. He settled between your legs, spreading them until the pretty cotton panties you wore were exposed. 

Caleb swallowed, his breathing growing erratic and heavy. The wet patch on your panties was his undoing; everything about this situation was bound to be the death of him, but he was too far gone now. He let his hand trace up to your hips, hooking his finger through the waistband of your panties, toying with it.

“Is this ok?” The column of his throat bobbed as he stared up at you from between your legs. When you whispered a needy yes, he pulled the panties down your legs, his eyes darkening the moment they settled back on your core. 

“Y/n,” He said your name like he was drunk, a certain sense of reverence infused in his tone that had your cheeks kissed rouge. “You’re even prettier than I thought.”

Than he thought? You would have to take the time to dissect that statement later, much too distracted to do so at the moment when he began peppering kisses along your inner thigh, starting from your knee and working his way upwards. The sensation of his mouth tantalisingly close to where you wanted it so badly was almost too much. Just the sight of him there was so erotic that it had your head swimming. You had never felt more vulnerable than you did right then, exposed and willing.

And then finally– finally– his breath fanned out over your soaked cunt, driving you insane. Liquid fire thrummed in your veins beneath the surface of your skin as your anticipation spilled over. He pressed a light, teasing kiss against your clit. 

Caleb dragged his tongue over your slit, licking up it all the way to your clit, which he wrapped his lips around and sucked, knocking all the air out of your lungs. You gasped, bucking your hips up against him, and he chuckled, the sound sending vibrations up your body, from your toes to the top of your head.

“Impatient,” he chided. “Let me take my time with you, princess.”

The new pet name sounded so natural coming from him, and immediately, you knew you wanted to hear him call you that again. He flicked his tongue against the throbbing bud that had been aching for his attention this entire time, positioning your legs to rest over his shoulders. The sounds that left you were shamefully loud, and you had never been more grateful that he lived in a single dorm. 

“Cal- oh fuck,” You mewled when he swiped two of his fingers through your wetness, rubbing your folds. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” he all but groaned against you, and you could feel more slick gush out of you at that. “Is this all for me?” 

Your back arched off the bed when he pressed a finger to your dripping entrance, nodding with a sense of desperation you had never experienced before. “Yes,” you exhaled the word as he pushed his finger inside your pussy slowly, your jaw falling open at the pleasurable intrusion. 

Slowly, he began pumping it in and out of you as he continued to give your clit the sweet attention it deserved, basking in the noises that you made. The pads of the fingers of his other hand dug into the flesh of your thigh, keeping you nice and spread out despite all your attempts to shut your legs around him. 

When he introduced a second figure to your cunt, your hands found purchace in his hair, gripping and tugging as you panted, unable to focus on anything else. Your eyes fluttered shut as the tips of his fingers brushed against a spot that had you seeing stars, crooking inside you so perfectly. It was as if he knew exactly how to push you to the edge.

Your best friend was eating you out like a starved man and you were enjoying every fucking second of it. He could feel your legs begin to tremble, your impending orgasm building. Shamelessly, you bucked your hips against his face, and the moment he realised what you were doing, he increased the pace of his fingers.

“Come on baby,” he encouraged you, flattening his tongue against your clit and pulling you closer, spurring you on even further. You ground against his mouth desperately, feeling the coil in your core draw tight, so, so close.

“Caleb,” you stuttered his name helplessly, but he somehow understood, knowing just what you needed. “I–I’m gonna–”

He scissored his fingers inside of you, hooking them just right as he gave your clit little kitten licks, determined to have you fall apart on his tongue. Your sweet gasps sent blood rushing straight to his cock, which was already painfully hard, confined in his jeans. Taking your mound into his mouth, he sucked harshly, thrusting his fingers knuckle deep in your sex. 

A broken moan escaped you when your climax hit you, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as waves of pleasure washed over you. Your legs shook, but he didn’t let up, grinning proudly against you as he drove his fingers back into your gushing entrance, helping you ride out your high and prolonging it. Once he was satisfied, he lapped at you, refusing to waste even a single drop of your essence. 

Caleb pulled away, and the sight of you nearly did him in. Eyes screwed shut in ecstacy and hair fanned out on his pillow, undoubtedly tangled from all your writhing. You looked like the picture of sin, and it was the hottest thing he had ever seen. He climbed back, hovering over you again as he licked his lips.

Your eyes fluttered open, pupils blown out and dark due to the sheer level of desire that coursed through you. You were stunning, and he was destroyed, knowing that he’d never be able to forget the way you were looking at him right then. The way you tasted.

When he kissed you again, it was different. It was a heady mix of heat and tongue and want, messier than the kisses he gave you earlier, the control he had before nowhere to be seen anymore. You could taste yourself on his tongue and moaned, reaching out to touch him. 

You started at his collar, dragging your hands down, down, down until you reached the hem of his shirt, whining against his mouth as you tugged at it. 

“Take it off.”

Who was he to deny you? He stopped kissing you, sitting up so that he could pull the shirt off, exposing his torso for you. The way your eyes raked over him hungrily was more than gratifying, especially when they caught on the silver chain that hung from his neck, the pendant sitting on his chest. Tossing his shirt to the side, he pushed your own up your body, exposing the skin of your stomach. 

“Your turn.”

You let him take off your shirt, tossing it to the side and slipping his hands slip behind your back. He silently asked for your permission, which you gave to him in the form of an impatient nod to which he smirked, unhooking your bra and peeling it off of you, letting the discarded garment join the rest of them on the floor. 

One look at you and he was a goner. 

“Fuck,” he could feel himself straining his jeans as he took in the sight of your breasts, so perfect and plush. He allowed himself a moment to appreciate you in all your naked glory, before leaning back down, his mouth back on your overheated skin. He dragged his tongue down your neck, sucking and biting like there was no tomorrow. 

His lips trailed downwards, kissing the swell of your breast before wrapping around your already hard nipple, stroking his tongue against the aching peak. He palmed the other breast, giving that nipple equal amounts of attention and rolling it under his thumb. You hissed in pleasure, breathless as you arched into his addictive touch.

You could barely think straight; everything he was doing to you sent you into complete overdrive. Every touch was criminally good, the simplest of them causing your arousal to increase tenfold. Perhaps it was because it had been so long since you had last had sex, but you had never before felt so frenzied.

Hooking your legs around his waist, you could feel the outline of him pressing against your thighs. Angling your hips, you pressed your bare pussy against his bulge, the roughness of the denim rubbing you just right. He looked up at you from your chest through hooded eyes, earning another whimper as he pinched your nipple.

“You sound so good.” His words went straight to your head. “Tell me what you want.”

He said it like it was a command, and who were you to disobey, especially when you knew exactly what you wanted? 

“I want you inside me,” you whimpered, voice heated with lust. 

How could he ever refuse you? Caleb gave you one last kiss before reaching over to his bedside table, grabbing something from the drawer and sitting up and unzipping his pants. You couldn’t help but stare as he impatiently kicked off his jeans and boxers, eyes widening when you finally saw his cock. 

Fuck, it was big. Long and painfully hard, you could hardly believe he was hard because of you, but the proof was in front of your very eyes. Your lower lip caught between your teeth as you drank in the sight of him, hyperaware of the wetness that coated your thighs. 

He tore open the condom packet, smoothly sliding it onto himself before settling between your legs once. 

“W-will it even fit?” You squeaked, a spike of fear cutting through the lust-filled haze of your mind. He grabbed one of your hands, bringing it to his lips and pressing your fingers to them, kissing your knuckles soothingly as he bit back a smile. 

“It’ll fit.” 

“But– there's no way,” You spluttered, “It’s gonna hurt.” Not that the prospect of being in a little pain deterred you by any means, you were way too horny to stop now. Complaining was probably the least sexy thing you could have done in the moment, but he seemed unbothered, the dark, hungry glint in his eyes never fading. The amused look on his face, however, was not lost on you, nor was the way he bit the inside of his cheek, fighting a smile. You glared weakly. 

“Are you laughing at me?” You asked, incredulous. “I swear to god, Caleb, you’re going to split me in half, and you’re laughing?”

“Baby,” He breathed, “You’ll be fine.”

“Easy for you to say!”

You wouldn’t even blame him if he decided he was done with you and pulled his pants back on, but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, he gripped your hips, grounding you to the moment. 

Both of you were completely nude, and despite this, you had never felt more comfortable. Not when he looked at you like that, like you were something sacred. 

“Relax, Pips, I’ve got you,” He whispered, sensing your apprehension. You exhaled shakily as he pressed his hard-on against your folds, groaning at just how wet you were. “Eyes on me.”

The way he took control so naturally was alarmingly attractive. You looked up, locking your eyes with his, unable to stay silent when the head of his cock rubbed against your swollen clit. “O-oh.”

He shuddered at the feeling, dropping a little so that he was keeping himself up on his elbows. His necklace swung above you just like you had imagined as he ground against you, but it still wasn’t enough. “Ready?” 

You didn’t think you’d ever be ready, but you wanted it so badly you didn’t even care. Nodding eagerly, you intertwined your fingers with his, letting him press the back of your hands into the mattress. When his tip caught at your entrance, you whined. “Please.” 

Having you beg him like that was dangerous. He squeezed your hands, and then slowly, carefully, sank into your wet heat, inch by devastating inch. Your jaw slackened, loudly moaning his name as he filled you up and stretched you out so pleasurably. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he pushed into you until he bottomed out, going breathless himself. One glance down to where the two of you were connected had him actively having to fight off coming right then and there. 

Caleb was in heaven, and he was fucking delirious. He forced himself to stay still, moaning lowly when he felt your walls flutter around him, adjusting to his size. “You’re doing so well, princess.” He praised, lowering his head to your neck and burying his face in the crook of it, inhaling deeply in an attempt to calm himself down. 

There was so much wrong with this, so why did it feel so right? You felt so perfect, like you were made for him.

“Caleb,” You whimpered once the sting faded, letting go of his hands and looping your arms around his neck, “Move. I need you to move.” 

He pulled out until only his tip remained inside of you, before sheathing himself again, causing you to curve off the bed, nails digging into his skin. He did it again and again, nearly growling when he felt you grow even wetter, coating the length of his cock in your slick. Wet sounds that had your cheeks burning filled the room repeatedly.

“Fuck baby, you’re so tight,” He practically growled, contrasting the tender pace he set, telling you he was holding back for your sake. You could feel every inch of him as he dragged against your walls, reminding you how big he was with every thrust.  

Your friendship was potentially ruined, but it felt too good for you to care. With your legs locked behind his back, you gripped his biceps, a wanton moan escaping you as your eyes fluttered shut, the pleasure overriding every other sensation.  

“So good,” words were hard to put together, and he understood and nodded, holding your hips so tight you were sure there would be marks, just like the marks that blossomed all over your neck and chest from his earlier ministrations. Right now, though, you didn’t care about that, consumed by the waves of euphoria rushing through you.

Slowly, the frequency of his thrusts increased, rendering you completely winded and unable to do anything but gasp for air. You felt another orgasm steadily build up inside you. 

Then he tipped his hips a certain way, the tip of his cock brushing against a spot that made you cry out his name, throwing your head back into his pillows. The look on your face was something he wanted to imprint in his memory; the desire lacing your voice was beyond exhilarating. 

Caleb could feel his own impending high, so tightly wound because of just how long he had waited for something like this. When you clenched around him, he knew you were close as well, but the act nearly did him in.

“Don’t do that.” his voice was all scratchy and strained, but you promptly did it once again, high off the notion that you were affecting him just as much as he was affecting you. His hips stuttered against yours as his violet eyes flashed. “Fucking hell.”

“Oh my god,” you moaned, “I can’t–”

“Look at me,” he demanded, “I want you to look at me when you come all over my cock.”

Never in a million years would you have thought your best friend would be so good at dirty talk, but the shock quickly melted into obedience as you managed to hold his heated gaze. Reaching between the two of you, his index finger found your engorged clit and rubbed circles against it. 

You squealed, overly sensitive. “Shit–I’m gonna– Cal-!”

“Come for me.” 

Caleb would never forget how you looked: at his mercy, crying out his name over and over like it was a prayer as you came, spilling over his cock with a euphoric sob. He snapped his hips to yours with renewed urgency, drawing out your second climax and prolonging the feeling. When he saw the fucked out look on your face, it hit him at once. 

With one final thrust, he buried himself inside you, coming with a moan, burying his face in your neck once again. His body was damp against yours, his hair tickling you as you breathed heavily. He stayed like that for a couple of seconds, recovering from the intensity of what had just happened.

Wordlessly, he pulled out of you gently, the sudden emptiness you felt having you whimper softly. Peeling the condom off, he tossed it in the bin next to his bed before climbing off of you, muttering something about being back. Seconds later, you felt a warm, wet cloth drag over your core. He cleaned you up, pressing little kisses to the inner side of your thighs.

Once he was done, he gathered you in his arms and pulled you close, kissing your temple. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, pulling away just enough so he could try and gauge how you felt, rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone as he cupped your face tenderly. “I didn’t hurt you, right?”

You shook your head and leaned into his touch, completely spent. “No, it was perfect.”

He sighed in relief. You curled into him, and he wrapped his arms around you. “You did so well,” he murmured into your hair, massaging your scalp gently. “You were amazing, actually.” Another kiss to your forehead made you simper as your eyes closed, exhaustion settling into you now that the adrenaline had faded. “Tired?”

“Yeah,” You mumbled. Your legs entangled with his, and he stopped talking, tracing shapes on your back while you drifted off to sleep. He watched you for a bit, savouring the skin-on-skin contact, his mind reeling from what had just happened. 

This was strangely normal, no awkwardness or post-nut clarity hitting either of you. Your body lay against his with all of you pressed up against him like that was exactly where you belonged. He could feel the beating of your heart, strong and steady in your slumber, whereas his remained erratic and fast. This was more than just a taste that he had had of you; it was the entire deal, and the knowledge of it all had his morals scattered and all over the place, because now that he knew what he knew, well.

Caleb wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing.

At the time, you had justified sleeping with Caleb as research, something you needed to do in order to get it out of your system. You had assumed, albeit foolishly, that once it was over, you’d be able to go back to normal and continue with your life.

But research was an activity that required constant revisiting. Most of it had to be repeated over and over, especially if it included gathering data from an experiment. There was always a control, and then variations of the experiment would be conducted to record the differences in the outcomes. 

At least, that was what you were telling yourself right now as you straddled him, his cock buried inside you.

Truthfully, you didn’t know how this had happened. After that day, everything seemed to be normal, until he showed up at your dorm to help you study for a class he had also taken when he was in his sophomore year. One thing led to another, or rather, one heated touch later, you found yourself under him once again.

And then it happened again, and kept happening. Whispers of it being just for research mixed in with both of your moans became a melody you were more than used to. This was all for your book, after all. For the sake of accuracy and your integrity as a writer.

Definitely not because of how mindblowing sex with Caleb was.

And it absolutely was. 

He had made you completely insatiable for him, and almost every time the two of you hung out in one of your dorms, it ended up with both of you in bed. Every other aspect of your friendship remained exactly the same, though, which left you considerably confused. He didn’t look at or treat you any differently, poking fun and driving you up the wall, staying his usual reliable self. 

Caleb’s hand cradled the back of your head as he kissed you now, fingers entangled in your hair and pulling slightly. You moaned softly against his lips, grinding on him.

You were in one of his shirts, panties tugged to the side since he hadn’t had the patience to take them off, needing to be inside of you as quickly as possible. Despite his earlier hurriedness, the pace the two of you settled on now was almost teasing, slowly rocking against him as you lazily chased the delicious high that you had gotten so used to experiencing these past two weeks. 

“You’re so gorgeous,” he muttered, more to himself than you, hand slipping under your shirt and cupping your breast, squeezing. When he caught you biting your lip, he tutted, letting go of your hair and using his thumb to release it from your teeth. “Ah, ah, don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself, pretty girl.”

“Too good,” you complained in that whiney, desperate tone he had gotten so addicted to. Pinching your nipple for good measure, he smirked up at you when you squealed. 

Caleb quickly learned that he loved having you on top of him. Getting you all to himself like this was a privilege in itself, but fucking you while you wore his shirt? He was on cloud nine. He could feel himself throb in your sweet pussy that welcomed him so eagerly, in turn pulsing around him. 

He cursed under his breath when you started to bounce, eager to get to the finish line with him. He sounded so good when he swore, you’d never understand it, just like how you wouldn’t get how he looked so pretty with a flush decorating his face and sex-mussed hair.

Gripping his shoulders, you tipped your head back, giving him access to your neck. He had taken to marking you up as and when he pleased, new hickeys surprising you every time you glanced in the mirror. Despite his tendency to leave them in places everyone could very easily spot them, you didn’t tell him to stop simply it just felt so good. 

Everything with Caleb felt good, and not only did it feel good, but you felt completely safe. He was so attentive, doing the most to make sure you were never in any pain, often times focusing more on getting you off rather than himself. 

He thrust up into you suddenly, his earlier impatience returning, and you cried out, falling into his chest. He held you, working you through it and dragging you closer and closer to release. One of your hands fell to his torso, tracing the hard lines of his abs and trailing downwards before your fingers found your clit and rubbed.

Shit. If having you ride him was good, being able to watch you touch yourself as you did was unbelievable. When you came, you came hard, and the feeling of it tipped him over the edge. 

You were a dream he never wanted to wake up from.

You didn’t bother moving, clinging to him even tighter like you couldn’t bear to not be touching him in some way as you came down from your high. He smelled like sex, sweat, and that cologne of his that you loved. It was the reason you stole his clothes so much and why you were wearing his shirt even now.

Your first time with Caleb was the getaway drug, and now you were addicted to him, to having his hands caressing you all over and him whispering praises in your ear. 

“Hey there,” He chuckled, rubbing your back. “All good?”

“Great even,” You mumbled, sitting up properly before finally lifting yourself off of him. You failed to register how jelly-like your legs felt, promptly losing your balance. He caught you before you fell, grinning. 

“Can’t walk?” You could hear how smug he was without even having to look at him. It was then that you registered the burn in your thighs and huffed. 

“Don’t sound so proud about it.”

“You’re no fun,” he pouted, leaving you to scoff as he helped you to your feet, following suit. “I’ll help you clean up. Do you wanna watch the new episode after?” 

Ah yes. Of course, he’d start talking about anime after taking away your ability to stand. That had been the reason he had shown up at your dorm in the first place, but the moment he saw you wearing his shirt, it had quickly become an afterthought.  

The whiplash you felt was indescribable, and you could only nod, letting him pick you up and carry you to the bathroom. After a quick shower and change of clothes, the two of you settled down with your laptop like nothing had happened, your head resting on his shoulder as you focused on the show.

Neither of you bothered to talk about your redefined friendship despite having sex regularly. It was just….a new addition. A benefit that you were both taking advantage of, nothing more and nothing less. 

But even as you reminded yourself of that now, you found yourself doubting it.

There was something to be said about formal events. 

You enjoyed getting dolled up as much as the next girl, but that was where the fun ended. Having to sit through the event was boring and not the way you liked to spend your Friday evenings. You would have much preferred staying in and catching up on some much-needed sleep.

The editor of your university’s paper, Jenna, had organised an affair that was being held in one of the college halls. She had worked very hard on it, inviting several alumni who were all successful in the fields of journalism and writing back so that the current batch of students had the chance to make connections. It was open to the entire student body, but she had made it clear that everyone on the paper was obligated to attend. 

Connections were what helped people get further in life. You were grateful for the opportunity to interact with industry professionals, but didn’t understand why she had insisted on keeping it a black tie affair. That probably had something to do with keeping up appearances. 

You stood off to the side, sipping on your cranberry juice from a cup that was made for something much more refined. So far, you had spoken to a couple of the guests, but seeing that you had been here for over an hour already, your social battery was slowly dying out. The dress you wore was a black number, floor length, form-fitting and plain except for the slit that reached up to a little above your knee. Perfect for an event like this, not too much and on power with what everyone else was wearing. 

Still, it was a little overstimulating. You guzzled down the rest of your juice and placed the empty glass down on one of the tables. 

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

You spun on your heels immediately at that voice, eyes widening and settling on the culprit who stood two, maybe three steps away from you. 

“Caleb?” You asked in disbelief, taking in his presence. He was wearing a suit.

“The one and only,” he grinned, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Here to rescue you from your boredom.”

“What are you even doing here?” To say this wasn’t his scene would be an understatement. He didn’t like wearing the whole suit getup, much preferring casual clothing. Hell, Caleb hadn’t even attended his high school prom (though when you asked why, he would never give you a straight answer), opting to spend the night in with you instead. 

He looked unfairly good. The collar of his shirt hid those lovely collarbones of his and reminded you of how you had bit down on them the other day, the bottom of it tucked into black slacks. He had even worn dress shoes, instead of the sneakers he so loved and a tie around his neck. The entire getup.

“I literally just told you why. To get you out of here. Are you hard of hearing now?”

You returned his jibe with an exasperated sound. “I meant here, at this thing.”

“Oh. Well, you did mention it was open to anyone yesterday,” he shrugged, grabbing a glass of juice and sipping on it. “So that editor of yours technically can’t complain about me being here.” 

That was true. Still, you found yourself bewildered as you stared at him. He was here. For some reason, even though he was allowed to be here, it didn’t make sense to you. You pressed your lips together and cocked your head to the side, studying him. 

“So you dressed up and came here.…only to convince me to leave?” The notion sounded strange even to you. Why on earth would he do that? He finished up his drink and put it down next to your empty glass, taking a step closer to you. The simple movement had butterflies erupt in the pits of your stomach.

What the hell?

“Stop thinking so much. Do you want to stay?”

You considered it. “Not really, no.”

“Do you enjoy arguing with me for no reason, woman?” he muttered dryly under his breath, his eyes catching on something over your head. “On second thought, I think you should stay a little longer.”

Now you were just plain confused. One moment he was talking about saving you from boredom, and the next he was insisting you stay? Before you could undoubtedly start another argument just to spite him, he took you by your shoulders and spun you around, pointing in a certain direction. When you figured out what, or rather, who he was gesturing to, you couldn’t hide your gasp. 

“Isn’t that the author you like?”

You could only nod dumbly. “Raymond.” Last year, you had a phase where you only read his books day in and day out, absorbing the stories he spun like a sponge. His books were the reason you had decided to start writing your own in the first place, inspired by his storytelling skills. 

Caleb nudged your side gently, “Go.”

“How–” you cut yourself off, looking up at him. “How do you even remember that?” You weren’t sure why this entire interaction with him was throwing you off so much, but you felt completely unbalanced. You hadn’t spoken about Raymond or his work in a long time, so how did he know?  He shrugged noncommittally. 

“I know you.” He said it so plainly, like it was something trivial and basic, but his eyes bored into yours. 

Had Caleb always looked at you with such quiet intensity?

He nudged your side gently, reminding you to move. Forcing yourself out of your stupor, you promised him you wouldn’t take too much time and walked over, buzzing with excitement.

The conversation itself wasn’t long, but it was insightful. He answered all your questions about the industry, and you even had the chance to share for appreciation for Raymond's work as well as ask him questions that you had about his novels. You gave him your utmost attention when he gave you advice, but when he started talking about his characters, your eyes and mind wandered.

Back to your best friend, who was waiting for you on the other end of the hall, leaning against one of the walls and scrolling through his phone. He didn’t give a flying fuck about this event, but had still come here for your sake, even when you hadn’t asked him to. He glanced up, his eyes meeting yours, and flashing you a small smile.

Oh.

You looked away and back at Raymond, nodding politely and tuning yourself back into the conversation. Internally, however, you were freaking out. Something was very wrong; that was the only reason you could conjure up at the moment for what was happening to you. How else could you explain the sudden sweatiness of your palms, or the odd, fluttery feeling in your stomach? Maybe it was the excitement you felt from meeting the author you loved so much, but even as you considered this possibility, you knew it wasn’t the answer you were looking for.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

This could not be happening. You plastered a smile on your face as you tried to pay attention to whatever Raymond was talking about, but the damage was done. Your brain had never been one to let go of a single thought you had, especially ones that had to do with Caleb. He had a hold on you that no one else did, and why was that?

Because you liked Caleb.

The horrifying realisation hit you, startling you out of your rapidly spiralling thought process. Blinking, you realised Raymond was done speaking. 

“Thank you so much for your time,” You said, trying not to sound as troubled as you felt. The author smiled at you before turning to another student. 

Swallowing the newfound lump in your throat, you turned around and walked back to Caleb. This was bad. Having sex with him was already vaguely immoral and probably something that shouldn’t have happened– and shouldn’t keep happening like it did– but having feelings for him? That was out of the question.

“Good talk?” He asked, slipping his phone into his pocket. The genuine interest he had in your excitement made the entire situation worse. Why were you noticing all this now, of all times? It wasn’t like he had suddenly turned into someone considerate. He had always been this way; it was written into his DNA. 

You realised he had even tried to tame his hair for today. “It was great.”

“I’m glad. Now I can steal you away from this place.” His eyes were lit up with mischief, just like they did when the two of you were younger and he did something he wasn’t supposed to. Ever the rebel, this one. 

You felt a little guilty. All this effort for you? It seemed completely useless. “Okay, but Caleb, seriously, you didn’t have to do this.” 

He frowned. “Didn’t have to do what?”

“This!” You waved in his general direction and then gestured around. “I mean, you don’t even like wearing a suit, but here you are. It’s not like it's compulsory for you like it is for me. You could be doing anything else.” You were rambling, you knew, but it was hard to stop. He rolled his eyes. 

“Has that stopped me before?”

You paused. “What do you mean?”

“I show up to your newsroom even though I’m sure Jenna wants to castrate me for breaking the rules so much.” He raised an eyebrow. “I attended that lecture of yours when you had a presentation. You know I’m here because I want to be.” You knew he said stuff like this all the time, you always were the recipient of his support. This was normal.

But it didn’t feel normal. For fucks sake, this was the boy you had grown up with. He had seen you fall off your bike, fail tests and puke your guts out when drunk. In each of those situations, he had also been the one to pick you up and bandage your wounds, help you study and hold your hair back for you. 

Did he think it was an obligation now? 

“You….you shouldn’t feel like you have to do that.” You said slowly, but he didn’t let you continue.

“Oh, please. Everyone knows that where you go, I go too.” He flicked your forehead, immediately receiving a glare in return. “We’re like…….” He stopped for a moment, eyebrows furrowing and lips pursing like they always did when he was thinking hard about something. Then he snapped his fingers. “We’re like those yoghurt-granola snack packs!”

You stared at him blankly. “What?”

“You know.” He decided to explain his stupid analogy, as if your head wasn’t muddled enough. “Those things you can buy at the grocery store. The small yoghurt tubs that have a container filled with granola on top of them? Like, they’re both okay separately, but much better when together. People buy those packs for a reason.” He slipped his phone back into his pockets and beamed at you. “We’re like that.”

Oh my god. That barely made any sense. You weren’t sure if you were mortified because of that terrible explanation or because it hadn’t put a damper on your newfound feelings for him. “You’re such a fucking dork.”

He feigned offence, holding his hand over his heart. “Excuse me? You mean cute, right?”

Right. Wait, no, you didn’t. Ugh. “I think you’re ridiculous.”

“Are you coming with me or not, Pips?”

“But Jenna insisted-”

He rubbed a hand over his face in annoyance before fixing you with a droll look. “Would you rather be here or be with me?”

Be with you. 

You ignored the way your stomach flipped. You didn’t have the time or the mental stability to process everything that was happening to you right now. The logical part of your brain swooped in, telling you that you were just confused because of the sex. Yes, that was it. You did not have feelings for Caleb Xia.

Sighing, you relented. “You.” Saying that didn’t mean anything, after all. Nothing about the two of you meant anything, so there was no reason for you to be freaking out, even if it sounded like you had just confessed. A wide grin made a show on his face when he realised he had won, and he tilted his head towards the exit.

“Finally. Wanna get out of here?”

“Just to be clear, this is not what I meant when I asked if you wanted to get out of there.”

You huffed out a soft laugh, fingers curling around his tie as you tugged him closer. “No? Could have sworn you planned for us to end up in a janitor's closet.”

Caleb bit back a laugh of his own, knowing that making too much noise would get both of you in trouble. After leaving the event, somehow, his guiding hand on your hip had turned into the two of you making out in the hallway. You blamed the mess that your head was in for not realising what a bad idea that was immediately, but once you did, you did the most responsible thing you could think of.

And dragged him into the janitor's closet that was close by.

Naturally.

He braced a hand over your head on the cabinet that you were leaning against, essentially caging you in as he dipped his head to kiss you again. “Pretty sure that was you’re doing.”

“Excuse me? You’re the one who kissed me first!” You protested against his mouth, but could hardly complain when he kissed you like it was a relief to do so. Honestly, he was probably the best kisser you had ever experienced.

That must have been the reason for your spiralling thoughts. That and the amazing sex that you were so weak to. 

Yep. That’s all. Anyone could be susceptible to such things.

“Can you blame me? Have you seen yourself in this dress?” His free hand slipped into the slit at your knee, slowly dragging the rest of the dress up until it was bunched up around your waist. “You’re stunning.”

He couldn’t stop kissing you. He knew he shouldn’t have kissed you out there like he had the right to, because he was well aware of the unspoken rules of this arrangement, but he couldn’t help it. If getting too comfortable with whatever you had going on with him was a crime, a sin, then he was a criminal of the highest order. The worst part? He didn’t feel a shred of guilt.

But you were wearing that fucking cherry lip gloss, and god knnows he had waited long enough to taste it.

Warmth spread over your chest first before it rushed to the apex between your legs. The control he seemed to have over your body was truly astounding. In his hands, you were putty. 

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” You whispered back, loosening the knot of his tie and pulling it off completely, dropping it to the side. “This suits you.”

His lips twitched. “The suit suits me?”

“Shut up and kiss me, loser.”

He complied, grinning against your mouth as he pulled you into another earth-shattering kiss that did positively nothing to soothe your frayed nerves. Stubbornly, you pushed down the feelings bubbling around the confines of your heart, refusing to give them any attention if you could help it. 

You gripped the front of his suit jacket, helping him peel it off his shoulders and letting it join his tie on the floor. Without warning, he pressed a knee in between your legs, and you nearly melted against him. 

Sex was great. Sex with him was phenomenal. This was just the lust getting to you. 

Caleb gripped the leg that your slit now exposed and lifted it, propping it up against his waist. He trailed his fingers against your inner thigh, his touch feather-light yet scorching at the same time. When his index and middle finger pressed against your clothed cunt, you were glad for the hot he had on you, pressed up against the cabinet, because you would have surely buckled if not. 

“Wow,” he mumbled amusedly, pushing your panties to the side and teasing your wetness. “You really like the suit, huh?”

The fact that this type of interaction was now commonplace should have been the first sign that things had gone too far. 

Usually, you couldn’t think straight when he touched you like this, but today it was all a mix of feeling way too much and dangerous, fleeting thoughts that made you want to tear your hair out. 

“Maybe,” You peppered kisses along the column of his throat, determined to get out of your head and focus only on how good he could make you feel. Pleasure and person were entirely separate entities, and you would make sure it stayed that way.

“Suit kink.”

“Never say that again.” 

He only smirked, plunging his fingers into you. All you could do was cry out as you gripped the front of his shirt, momentarily forgetting that you were supposed to be quiet. Quickly, his palm covered your mouth, muffling any further sounds you could make. “Can’t have you being loud here, princess. What if someone catches us?”

The way you practically gushed the moment he suggested someone catch you in such a compromising position was downright embarrassing. Raising an eyebrow, he leaned even lower and whispered. “Oh? You like that?”

You whined against his hand, cheeks flushing furiously. You began fiddling with the top buttons of his shirt, and he chuckled lowly. 

“For someone who likes my suit so much, you sure are trying to get rid of it quickly.” 

“For someone who was dying to kiss me two minutes ago, you talk too much.” You rocked your hips against his hand even as you sassed him back. He moved his hand from your mouth into your hair, carding it through gently, tugging slightly to tilt your head back for him so he could kiss you again, swallowing every sound you made. 

No one could sue you for being attracted to a hot man. That was just biology.

You could feel the familiar tightening of your core, signalling your impending crash. You broke away from the kiss, licked your lips and palmed him over his pants, earning a hiss of pleasure in return. 

“Don’t– don’t do that,” He choked out, and you smirked triumphantly, refusing to relent on your movements. Batting your eyelashes, you stared up at him through them in faux innocence, unaware that it affected him so much more than you thought. 

“Just fuck me already.” You whined, half out of desperation for him and party because now you needed him to fuck you to prove to yourself that this was just sex. To be able to brush away all the compliments he dropped that seemed to go straight to your head, to get the intoxicaing fucking way he kissed you out of your head and away from further dissection. To stop the slow-burning feeling of yearning that was growing inside of you for the boy you had grown up with.

Because you couldn’t possibly have feelings for him. You shouldn’t.

“Fuck, okay,” He slipped his fingers out of you and unbuttoned his pants, releasing his cock. You would never get used to the sight of it, precum already leaning out of the tip; the image itself sending shivers down your spine in anticipation of him. 

He pressed back against you, grinding it against your fluttering pussy, going right back to making out with you. It was like he was devouring you whole, claiming every part of you like it had always belonged to him. You could feel yourself get carried away again, forgetting that this was just something he and you did now. 

And then he froze. 

“Shit,” he muttered. “I don’t have a condom.” 

You were too far gone to even care anymore. Cupping his face, you pulled him into another messy kiss, beyond delighted when he moaned, still rubbing his length through your slick folds with a want that rivalled your own. “Put it in.”

Caleb gritted his teeth. “Pips, thats–”

“I’m on birth control,” you kissed his jaw. “And I trust you. I’ve always trusted you.”

That was undeniably the truth. He was the one person in the world that you didn’t have to think twice about when it came to anything, no matter what the situation. He blinked down at you, pupils blown wide with desire but somehow still so focused on you, holding your sides so gently as he hesitated, silently dealing with the conflict in his head. 

“I…..are you sure?”

Oh, this sweet, considerate boy. How could you not love him? The thought was instantly forced to be a passing one as you push it away, refusing to acknowledge it. 

“Caleb, if you don’t stick your dick inside of me right now, I will cut it off.” The threat earned you a winded chuckle from his end, the strain in his face from holding back so painfully evident. Realising he needed another push, you looked into his eyes, bucking your hips against him and licking your lips as you purred. “Now, fuck me.”

There was a reason you phrased it like that. Crude and so filthy, the words set out a challenge for him. If there was one thing you knew about Caleb, it was that he could never back down from a challenge. His eyes darkened as he grabbed both your wrists and pinned them together above your head with one hand, positioning his cock at your entrance.

Without another warning, he slammed into you, once again covering your mouth to soften the obscenely loud broken moan that left you. He pressed his fingers against your lips, smirking mischievously. 

“This is what you wanted, hmm?” He groaned in your ear as he fucked you hard, making it increasingly difficult for you to stay silent. You knew he was doing it on purpose, remembering how he had briefly confessed that he liked it when you were vocal, but here? Here it was risky and stupid, and you couldn’t believe how into it you were.

“Yes,” You gasped, biting his hand at a particularly hard thrust, doing your utmost best to keep all your noises to a minimum. He was just so good, and the feeling of him bare inside of you was almost too much for you. 

“God baby, you feel incredible,” he panted, never relenting on his pace for even a second. His breathing was heavy in your ear, almost pained, along with soft grunts that only succeeded in making you even wetter.

“So b-big,” you could only whimper, too caught up in it all to speak properly. 

He had well and truly ruined you for anyone else. Your heart and mind were at war with each other, but your body was perfectly content with how he held you like this. With nothing between you, he fucked you raw, and it felt so much more intimate than you thought it would have. You could feel everything, hyperaware of every touch and kiss and overwhelming drag of his cock in your sobbing cunt. 

For a moment, you almost wished it wasn’t this good. If only you had never succumbed to your desires that day, maybe you wouldn’t have found yourself in this position, fighting so desperately against feelings that felt so wrong and right at the same time. All this was supposed to have been a temporary fix, a means to an end. Not the start of something you could never see through. 

When both of you came, it was intense and devastating, holding onto each other like nothing else mattered. You could feel him fill you up with his cum and as you went limp, one last terrifying realisation making itself known to you. 

It wasn’t just sex. 

A shattered breath escaped you at the revelation, and you shut your eyes, trying to reason with yourself one last time, but to no avail. Caleb surrounded you completely, holding you up upright with so much care, so deliberately, that it made total sense why you felt this way. With unending affection, he pulled you against him and kissed the crown of your head. 

“Thats my girl.”

Except you weren’t. And it would be better for everyone if you remembered that.

You were writing. 

It had been so long since you had been able to write like this, but the ability had come rushing back to you all of a sudden. Your fingers flew across your keyboard as you steadily typed, focused and satisfied at the work you were producing for the first time in months.

It was two in the morning when you finally snapped out of your concentrated state, yawning as you shut your laptop. Stretching, you quietly padded to your bathroom to get ready for the night and go to bed. You couldn’t believe you had written almost half of the sex scene when even the prospect of starting it had sounded so unachievable not too long ago. 

Courtesy of Caleb, you had plenty of material to pull from.

You splashed water on your face, hoping the cool temperature of it would help you stop thinking about him. To say you were frustrated with your feelings was an understatement; you outright despised them. 

This was your fault, you knew damn well it was. If you were going to get a fuckbuddy, it should have been someone who you weren’t so close to, someone you had no personal connections with. Anyone but the best friend you've had since you were seven years old, who you knew like the back of your hand, who knew you like it was second nature to do so.

Gripping the sides of the sink, you shut your eyes, grounding yourself to the moment. Part of you wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. How on earth did you let yourself get in such a predicament?

You needed it to stop. For these confusing feelings to leave before things got even more complicated than they already were. Somehow, you needed to forget about them.

But how could you possibly do that? How were you supposed to forget the deliberate way he kissed you, or how good he made you feel when he looked at you that way? How were you supposed to get the scent of his cologne out of your sheets and closet, or pretend like you didn’t know what it was like to be touched by him? 

How on earth were you supposed to get over being in love with him?

You didn’t even notice him walking in. 

Writing for your book again meant that you had fallen behind quite a bit when it came to the work you had due for the paper. As a result, you had to stay behind and work late on the articles you had to present to Jenna, stuck at your desk in the newsroom when it was almost nine-thirty at night.

“Thought I’d find you here.” 

Your eyes flickered up to find Caleb standing in front of your desk, one hand stuffed in his pockets and the other holding a bag of takeout from a diner that both of you liked. He gave you a soft, knowing smile that made your mouth go dry. 

“Hey,” you straightened up in your seat, knowing that your posture tended to get worse the longer you wrote for. “You were looking for me?”

“Not exactly.” He grabbed a chair and parked it next to yours, sitting down. “I just figured you’d be working and forget to have dinner.”

“Oh.”

He was right, and you would have been embarrassed if this hadn’t happened before. Wordlessly, he began unpacking the takeout he had gotten. “Take a break for ten minutes and eat, okay?” 

This was just like him. Knowing exactly when you needed to be taken care of while being well aware you could do just fine by yourself. You bit the inside of your cheek as you watched him, apprehensively nodding slowly. 

“Okay.”

You grabbed a fry and began to chew, turning to face him and away from the computer. He looked the same as always, unkempt hair and all. It was like he knew you were tired and a little out of it today without you even having to tell him, falling into a comfortable silence as he ate with you. 

There wasn’t another soul in this world that knew you so intimately. In the past, this wouldn’t have scared you, because you were so used to him and the ways he fit into your life so perfectly. Now, it frightened you to no end, reminding you of how much you had to lose when it came to Caleb. He was the most precious person in your life, which made it so much easier to fear losing him. 

If there were rules when it came to having a best friend, you were certain you had broken all of them. Number one: Don’t sleep with your best friend. Already off to a rough start with that one, it seemed, but there was nothing you could do about it anymore. Number two: Don’t fall for your best friend. You doubted you even needed to go over the rest of the rules. Breaking those two had caused you enough damage. 

Finishing up his food, he took a sip of his soda, noticing you were watching him intently. For the first time in a long time, he couldn’t quite decipher the look in your eyes. It almost felt as if you were hiding it from him on purpose.

He tilted the soda cup to you, silently asking if you wanted some of his. You leaned closer and took the straw in your mouth, taking a couple of sips before looking away. 

Something was off. “Is everything okay?”

You pressed your lips together and gave him a half smile. “Yeah, everything's fine.”

Caleb narrowed his eyes at you, reaching out and propping a finger under your chin, lifting your face so you were forced to look at him. 

“Pipsqueak,” He mumbled, dropping his gaze to your mouth for a split second, but it was enough to make you feel like you were set on fire. Like you were made of porcelain, he swiped his thumb next to your lower lip, rubbing away a stray crumb that had stuck there from your food. Then he looked at your mouth again, subconsciously leaning towards you as if he was about to kiss you. 

Immediately, you jerked out of his touch. Guilt ate away at you when you noticed how he reacted to this, the flash of hurt that passed over his face as he frowned. As much as you hated being the cause of it, the way he was looking at you has started to inexplicably hurt. You were unable to stop the tenderness that unfolded in your chest anymore. It was potent, too real to fight against. 

“We should stop.”

The words were out of your mouth before you could think about them any further, inciting confusion. He retracted his hand, the corners of his furrowed eyebrows tilting upwards. “Dinner? Because we’re pretty much done with that anyway.”

You could have taken advantage of his confusion and put this conversation off for a while, but you knew that letting this go on any longer would end up being torturous. 

“No, Caleb,” You looked away, trying to ignore the way your throat seemed to close in on itself. “I’m not talking about dinner.”

“Then what are you talking about?” His voice took on that impossibly soft tone it did when he was trying to understand how you were feeling to properly help or sympathise with you. It was something he did when you were younger and got hurt, and he wanted to make sure you knew you weren’t dealing with it alone. 

Sucking in a breath of air, you looked down at your hands in your lap, playing with your fingers. “I think we should stop having sex.”

A beat passed. You could feel the weight of his stare on you. “Okay.”

You weren’t sure where to go from there, your heart pounding within your ribcage like it was trying to escape. The light from your computer felt too harsh and the ticking of the clock hands was unnaturally loud in the stiff silence that settled over the two of you. Clearing his throat, he spoke again. 

“Did…Did I do something?”

“No,” the caution yet dejected way he said it made you blurt that out quickly, refusing to let him think something was completely wrong. “You didn’t. At all. It’s just…..” You trailed off, biting your tongue and regretting bringing this up already. “I….I wrote the scene.”

“The scene?”

“The sex scene. In my book.” The awkwardness in your cadence is foreign to your ears and his. You had never been so apprehensive around him because you had never had a reason to. This was a first you despised vehemently, scorning the way you had to phrase everything so delicately, as if you didn’t, the damage caused would be irreparable. 

“Right.” Now he had an unreadable look in his eyes too, matching yours. 

“Right,” you echoed softly. “So there's no reason for anymore…...research.” Because research had spiralled into forgetting your regular roles when it came to each other. Research had made you aware of feelings that had been dormant your entire life and should have stayed that way. 

In an ironic twist of fate, you had literally fucked around and found out. 

“I see.” 

You didn’t know what possessed you to keep talking when it was so obvious that both him and you wanted nothing more than to move on from this conversation. You risked a glance at him to find him aimlessly tracing the edge of his soda cup, eyes trained on the straw. “So we can go back to being just friends. Regular friends.” 

The clarification made you wince. When his eyes met yours again, you were surprised to find something different in the way he looked at you– those dark purple depths swirling with an intensity that superseded their usual levels, startling you. 

“We’ll always be friends, Y/n.”

Caleb didn’t call you pipsqueak. A minute detail that shouldn’t have shaken you at all, and yet here you were stuck on it in spite of the fact that he had just agreed to being friends again. Or rather, the normal definition of friends, because you weren’t ever anything more than that. You swallowed, turning back to your computer.

“Okay. I should get back to working on this article.”

Your dismissal of him was quiet but obvious. The air had started to get suffocating and you needed as much space from him as you could get until you sorted out the mess in your head, one that was your cross to bear. Your fault.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him nod and get to his feet, turning to leave, but hesitating for just a moment. 

It was only when he exited the newsroom that you realised it wasn’t any easier to breathe without him there. It felt even harder now, like someone had their foot over your chest and was putting all their weight on it, letting gravity do the rest of the work. You pushed yourself away from your desk, the wheels under your chair smoothly rolling away until the back of it hit the wall behind you. 

Even the impact of that wasn’t enough to shock you out of your misery. Surely, love wasn’t supposed to feel as cruel as it did right now, like claws sinking into your skin and making you bleed. It shouldn’t have felt wrong, but you knew that it was. Perhaps this was retribution for allowing yourself to indulge in something that was so clearly off-limits to you. 

A familiar pressure built up behind your eyes as you turned resentful. The sting of your sorrow manifested as tears welled up and caught in your lower lashes. You shut your eyes, but not before those tears slid down your face, cementing the bitter, indisputable reality of your heartbreak.

Caleb stayed away. 

He had known damn well that whatever was between the two of you wasn’t forever. It wasn’t even real, solely for the sake of your writing and the book you were so proud of. It was his fault for getting caught up in it all and expecting you to never call it off, to stay in that limbo with him forever.

Saying no to you was something he wasn't capable of. Not when he was ten and you were eight, and you wanted the last piece of cake even though it was his favourite flavour. Not when he was fifteen and you used to beg him to let you wear his shirts because you liked how oversized they were on you. Not when you would give him puppy eyes and sweetly ask him to cook those braised chicken wings you loved so much. 

And not when you needed help with writing about sex.

Even if it went against all his morals and everything he had forced himself to believe for the past twelve years he had known you. He had held himself together around you for as long as he could remember, hands to himself and thoughts strictly friendly. Caleb was used to the best friend role. He was good at playing it, even when the script pained him to recite, he did so anyway with a smile on his face.

Because smiling back at him was you. It was always you, with your bright eyes and angelic laughter. 

Caleb had accepted this role when he was only nine years old and had stuck to it ever since. He let it consume him, living in ignorant bliss as he silenced the pleas of his heart and what it wanted, no, begged for. 

How was he supposed to know where to go from here? The script had deviated too much for him to return to its safety. He knew how your lip gloss tasted, sweet and inviting and maddening, just like everything else about you. 

So he stayed away from you and your cherry lip gloss, hoping the marks it had left all over him would fade.

It had been almost two weeks since Caleb last set foot in the newsroom. 

Jenna was overjoyed and Tara was suspicious. The latter asked you where your ‘boyfriend’ was, to which you refused to look at her as you muttered the reminder: he’s not my boyfriend. It felt like you were reminding yourself more than her, lacking any of your usual annoyance. 

You supposed this was your fault as well. It wasn’t like you had made any effort to reach out either, stuck in your pathetic little cycle of self-pity and fear. You felt his absence, though, cutting deep into you and leaving you with a Caleb-sized hole in your life. The last time you experienced something like this was when he left for university for the first time and you were finishing up your senior year, suddenly having to deal with not having him around for months on end. 

At least he was calling you back then, and when you joined him at university, it never happened again. You hadn’t realised what a big part of your life he was until he was missing from it. 

God, you missed him.

You missed that stupid, smug chuckle of his when he knew you were getting riled up because of something he said, and his terrible sense of humour. The smirk on his face when you were losing an argument, and how he’d stick his tongue out when he was concentrating on something. Hell, you missed the sound of his voice and the comfort it brought you. 

After you finished your work for the day, you walked out of the newsroom and down the hallways of the university building. The cool evening air swept around you, making you think of one of Caleb's jackets that was still in your dorm from the last time he had been, draped over your desk chair. You almost wished you had it with you right now. 

Your feet carried you to the dining hall, reminding you of your need to eat through the wall of your troubled thoughts. It was not so much hunger as it was a necessity. Your appetite had been less than robust these past few days, your emotions weighing you down in more ways than one. You didn’t have him to remind you to eat or sleep, or run like a normal human being.

Grabbing an apple to appease your stomach, you bit into it and looked around, mentally going over everything else you had to do that day. Start an essay you had due the next week, beg the members of your group to do their parts of the presentation that was worth a whopping thirty percent of your grade and polish the last scene you had written for your book. 

It turned out that your turbulent emotional state had translated into you being more productive than ever, throwing yourself into your studies and writing like you had never before. Anything to avoid thinking about him and what you felt. An unhealthy coping mechanism for sure, but it worked for you. 

Kind of. 

Unable to stomach anything else, you tossed the core of the apple into a nearby dustbin and left the dining hall, eager to make it back to your room. You hadn’t slept very well lately, and you wanted to get all your work out of the way before crashing. Sleeping, you discovered, was another excellent course of action to take when you wanted to avoid facing something, and at least it wasn’t downright unhealthy. The dark circles under your eyes would certainly thank you. 

When you turned the corner, he was there.

Caleb stood there, just a few paces away from you in all his six-two glory. His back was turned to you, but you knew it was him, deep in conversation with his friend, Gideon. You were unable to do anything but stare, your pulse picking up in speed at the sight of him. You wondered if the chasm he had created between the two of you had affected him as much as it had you. 

When he bid farewell to Gideon and turned, you panicked. When he saw you, you remained rooted to the spot, watching as his steps faltered and came to a stop. He looked almost as tired as you felt, dawdling briefly before speaking.

“Hey.” 

Hey. Hey? Was that all he could say after refusing to look your way for over a week? Your apprehension flared up into anger, and you took three furious steps towards him, your docile stare melting into a glare. 

“You sure talk a lot of shit about keeping you informed for someone who has been avoiding me.”

He winced. “I wasn’t….avoiding you.”

“Oh really? Could have fooled me.” You scowled at him as you took another step forward. You were pissed, and rightly so, but it stemmed more from how hurt you felt rather than any genuine anger. 

Caleb didn’t bother to meet your eyes, opting to look off to the side instead. That stung a little more than you cared to admit. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “Have you eaten yet?’ Barely five minutes around you, and he had already jumped into trying to take care of you. It was so infuriatingly like him. 

Every time he didn’t want to face something, he would deflect and redirect the conversation. Your years together had taught you well, making it impossible for him to sidestep you even if he tried. You could tell he was avoiding you even when you were right in front of him. 

“Stop changing the subject.”

You watched as his jaw tightened and relaxed, something he did when he was conflicted. All his tells were so laughably obvious to you, and yet you couldn’t make heads or tails of how he was acting right now, so forcibly distant and detached, like being close to you was painful. Your eyes burned.

“Do you hate me?” You asked, hating how your voice suddenly sounded so feeble. His eyes snapped back to yours, wide and defiant. 

“I could never hate you.” The finality in the way he said it told you he was telling the truth, and yet, you couldn’t help but fall victim to the doubt creeping into your mind. He was looking right at you now– except he wasn’t really. It was more like he was looking through you. 

“Then…then why?” You whispered, taking another tentative step forward. The space that both of you created, consciously or not, was unbearable. You just wanted things to go back to normal, was that so much to ask for?

“I don’t hate you. You just don’t understand.” 

“Then make me understand!” You threw your hands up in the air in exasperation, wondering what the hell you had to do to make this conversation go somewhere, because right now it just felt like you were running in circles. “Caleb, please, just tell me why you’re avoiding me, because you are.”

He knew he was and hadn’t a single excuse, other than the reason he swore you never burdened you with. You were looking at him so pleadingly, grasping at straws to figure him out, but for the first time in his life, he found himself unable to give you an answer. Instead, his throat constricted, his anxiety keeping him silent. 

“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” Your face crumbled, and upon witnessing it, so did his heart. Your lower lip trembled like a leaf on a windy day, and you bit down on it to stop it from doing so, doing your best to stay composed. Running a hand through your hair, you let out a shaky sigh. “I knew it, I should have never– we shouldn’t have slept together. That should have never happened and now everything is fucked up, and its all because of me.” 

Yes. No. The answer wasn’t as straightforward as he needed it to be, and it paralysed him. The anguish you felt was on display for him and anyone who happened to walk by you to see, plain as day, as it twisted your features. It felt as if he had been stabbed in the gut when you backed away from him.

Turning away, you walked off. You had ruined things, you were sure of it, and it killed you. Once again, you let the rift between him and you grow with every step you took to escape the crash you had been responsible for. 

A hand on your wrist. You gasped as he caught you, spinning you around and forcing you to face him once again. 

Caleb had followed you into the gardens. 

“Do you regret it?”

The question cut through you, and you gaped at him. The fervour you were so used to seeing in him suddenly returned, burning brightly in his eyes as he pinned you in place with them, his grip on your wrist never letting up. Question for question, with neither of you getting the answers you wanted. 

You scoffed, rapidly blinking away the tears that you felt coming on. “If it's the reason things are weird between us, then yes! I do regret it. I need my best friend, Caleb. I need you.” 

How could you not need him? He was your constant, the one person who had been by your side through thick and thin. You needed him in your life, by your side, in whatever way you were allowed to, even if it wasn’t what you truly wanted anymore. 

He let go of your wrist. “I can’t do it.”

Your biggest fear was coming true right in front of your very eyes, and you hadn’t the faintest idea of how to stop it. It was taking form, bleeding into existence. You were losing him. 

“You can’t do what?”

“I can’t be your friend. I just can’t.” He shook his head, shutting his eyes like he couldn’t bear to look at you. 

Your voice comes out weak. Small. “But you said we’ll always be friends.”

“Well, I lied, okay! I can’t be your friend, not when–” He sucked in a breath, rubbing a hand over his face as he tried to reign himself in, stopping his outburst before it could happen. It wasn’t fair to you, none of this was, but he was at his breaking point. “I could do it before, but not anymore.”

“Why?” You whispered, those tears you had so valiantly fought off surging back. Once again, you felt like you had been trampled on, pinned down by a merciless gravity that had no regard for your need to breathe. You weren’t sure there was a reason to fight against it anymore. 

He looked up at the darkening sky, deflating. Staying away from you hadn’t made it any better– if anything, it had only made it worse, his yearning to be beside you bubbling to an all-time high. There wasn’t a point in hiding anymore, not when it was turning out to be detrimental rather than soothing. 

“Because,” he paused, peering up at the cloudy sky. He couldn’t see the stars. “I can’t go back to being your friend when I’ve tasted you. How am I supposed to act like I’ve never kissed you when I’ve had you in my bed? To pretend like I don’t know how it feels to have you like that? God, Y/n, I can’t do it.

Caleb, whom you had viewed as strong and untouchable all your life. Caleb, whom you had endlessly looked up to, sounded almost tortured, like it pained him to even have to tell you this. 

“What are you saying?”

You hoped you didn’t look as terrified as you sounded. It felt as if someone had pulled the rug out from beneath you, but the ground underneath it was falling apart too, leaving you to stumble around and try to find your footing amidst the cracks that remained. If you fell now, you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to get up.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? You had already fallen, and hard. 

Caleb was stripped of his usual self-assuredness and confident smile. He was laid bare there in front of you, fixing you with a look that was so pained it tore through you. 

“I’m in love with you.”

The confession ripped through you, although you didn’t register it at first. Those five words felt so improbable to have been said by him to you of all people that the only thing you could feel was disbelief. It just didn’t make sense. Why would something you longed to hear so badly be said with such sadness? 

He mistook your stunned silence for aversion. He should have stopped there, given up and walked away, but now that he had finally, finally let it out, it was hard to stop. It was like a dam had broken within him; everything he had ever kept to himself when it came to you rushed out all at once. 

“I’m in love with you, Y/n,” he said again, scoffing slightly at himself. No nicknames, just your name spoken in that reverent tone, like you were a divine being he was a devout follower of. “And it kills me because I know you’ll never see me as anything more than a best friend. You’ve made that very clear, and I never want to overstep, so I stayed away from you.” 

“Caleb–”

He didn’t let you cut in. “I could do it when I didn’t know what it felt like to have you as something more than friends. The moment we crossed that line, it was all over for me. I would be your friend until I died if I didn’t know.” His hands were shaking, but they stayed by his sides, fingers curled into frustrated fists as he rambled. 

“I–”

“But I can’t, Pips. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t be your best friend when I’ve loved you my entire life.” And you’re falling all over again, gravity pulling you down, down, down as something unfurled in your chest. “So please just–”

“Goddamnit Caleb, would you just shut up for one fucking minute!?”

You hadn’t meant to snap, but he was seriously to piss you off, going on and on without giving you the chance to speak your mind. Immediately, he clamped his mouth shut, preparing himself for the inevitable rejection he had imagined too many times to count in his head. You, on the other hand, thought you were going to faint, overwhelmed by everything that had just happened. It was everything you had convinced yourself was impossible.

And yet…

You kept your eyes locked onto his as you closed the distance between the two of you, so close now that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, combating the chill in the evening air. Swallowing, you asked. 

“You’re in love with me?”

He clenched his jaw and nodded. He knew what the consequences were, he was ready for them. It was about time he faced the truth anyway. 

What he didn’t expect was for you to start laughing. 

You clamped a hand over your mouth as incredulous laughter left you, eyes practically sparkling. Oddly enough, it sounded a little watery, like you were crying at the same time.

And then he realised you were, in fact, crying, tears streaming down your face. Alarmed, he stepped forward and cupped your face, instinctively wiping them away with the pads of his thumbs. This did nothing to dampen your hysterical laughter as you leaned into his touch. 

“What the fuck?” He muttered, concern overtaking his previous, heartsick expression. “Are you dying or something?”

“Or something,” you managed to get out, gripping his arms, “We’re so stupid.”

“That…..okay, I’m officially confused. And a little scared.” 

“Caleb,” you whispered once you stopped giggling, lethally soft. You looked up at him adoringly, eyes shining and tinged slightly red from your tears. “I’m in love with you, too.”

He froze, mouth falling open. He didn’t have to say anything, though, because honestly, he had said enough. It was your turn now. 

You leaned further into his touch, nuzzling your cheek against his palm. “I think I’ve loved you for a long time, but I only realised after….after everything that happened between us.” You flushed, trying to word it as delicately as possible. “And I drove myself crazy because I thought you’d never see me that way–”

“I’ve always seen you that way.” He breathed out, those captivating eyes of his trained on you in wonder. Butterflies came to life in your stomach. 

“– So I called it off. I said we needed to stop because I was so scared I’d lose you.”

By the time you finished, you were both staring at each other wide-eyed. His grip on you tightened, one hand falling to your waist as he tugged you closer. 

“You love me?”

“I love you,” you nodded. “It just took me a while to figure it out.” 

“Pipsqueak.” You had never been more grateful than you were right then to hear that stupid petname. “Oh my god, we are stupid.”

Without another word, Caleb pulled you into a kiss. You reciprocated instantly, wrapping your arms around his neck as you smiled against his lips, unable to contain yourself anymore. He kissed you like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do, holding you like you were precious, which to him, you undoubtedly were. It was your first proper kiss with him without any pretence or excuse surrounding it, and you couldn’t have asked for more. 

Chuckling when you dissolved into more giddy giggles, he wiped away any stray tears from your face and rested his forehead against yours. After all these years waiting and hoping that you’d feel the same way, he knew he’d never let you go now. 

“I love you, too.” It was a relief to say out loud and to your face, coming out of hiding and letting the truth of his feelings sit out in the light. You pecked his lips again and hugged him, revelling in his warmth and the delight of your feelings being returned. Your best friend loved you back, and everything in the world made sense again. 

“Don’t be my best friend,” You mumbled fondly, cheek against his shoulder as you laid out your final request. “Just be mine.”

He smiled, an expression so dazzling you’d never forget it. “I’ll always be yours.”

When Caleb looked back at the sky, he could see the stars.

“Are you done?”

“Shh.”

You rolled your eyes, flopping onto the pile of plushes on your bed as you pulled out your phone and went through your messages. To be fair, it had barely been two minutes since you handed him your laptop, but you were impatient, wanting to know what he thought as soon as possible.

Caleb’s eyes were focused on the screen as he read, humming occasionally as he scrolled through the scene. If anyone had told you a year ago that you’d be letting him read a part of your writing, let alone a sex scene of all things, you would have either laughed in their face or had a mental breakdown.

Yet here you were. Life sure had a sense of humour. 

Finally, after an agonising ten minutes, he spoke. “Wow.”

“Is it good?”

He shut your laptop and put it back on your desk carefully, before walking over to where you were. Then, he dropped himself onto the bed as well, purposely caging you in his arms and making sure you were trapped under his weight. Squealing, you hit his arm playfully. 

“Caleb!”

Your boyfriend laughed mischievously, lifting his head so you could see the smirk that curled on his lips. “It was good. Very good.”

You sighed in relief. “Thank god.”

“So I must be really good in bed, huh?” 

There it was. You groaned as you tried to push him off of you, even though you knew it was a futile task. “Don’t even try, you smug asshole.”

“What?” He asked, dripping in faux innocence. “I mean, you did use me for research purposes. Is it not a fair assumption to make?” He was so proud of it, and knew damn well that the entire sex scene he had just read had been falicitated because of him. Every part of it had been pulled from things the two of you had done, the thought of which made your skin heat up and your cheeks burn. 

“You’re so annoying,” you huffed, giving up on trying to get him to stop squashing you. Instead, you adjusted, curling into him. Accepting this, he switched your positions, pulling you on top of him and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“You like it.”

“Unfortunately.”

You yelped when he pinched your side, but it dissolved into giggles when he began peppering kisses all over your face. Slipping his arm around your waist, he held you close, grining against your skin. If you had to stay like this forever, in his arms and under the glow of his radiant smile, you would be content. 

“You’re an amazing writer, Pipsqueak,” he cradled your face in his hands, his love for you so achingly obvious in the way he looked at you that you wondered how you had never noticed it before. Rubbing his fingers against your cheek, he kissed your nose. “It would be just as great even if I hadn’t– uh– assisted.”

Though you snickered at him, you couldn’t stop yourself from beaming at his praise for your work. “I’m glad you did though,” you let him pull you closer, arm looping around your waist as you propped a leg over his. “Otherwise we might have never figured our shit out.”

He snorted. “Thank god for research. You would have kept me in the friendzone forever.”

“Hey!”

He silenced any further protests that you could have made, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. All possible complaints fled your mind the moment he did, eagerly kissing him back. You didn’t think you’d ever get enough of this and you had no idea how you had survived for so long while denying yourself of it. 

Caleb had loved you for twelve years, steadily standing by your side and holding your hand even when you couldn’t see it. He had walked beside you through it all, the highest of highs and lowest of lows, lifting you up high over his shoulders with a grin on his face. He would never leave you behind, because he was your home. The one you had grown up with and wanted to wake up to everyday for the rest of your life. 

He had taught you love without imposing it on you, silently showing it to you with every little thing he did. Your best friend. Your love. It had taken you a long time to catch up, but when you finally made it to the finish line, you found him waiting there for you patiently, holding out his hand for you to take. 

The next time Tara called him your boyfriend, you didn’t correct her.

fin.

[tonycries]

Great With Kids? (You Can Have Mine) - C.K.

Synopsis. When your younger brother gets a new babysitter, only two questions linger on your mind: 1. How come your parents didn’t trust you in charge? 2. How dare the sexy babysitter be so perfect - it made you want some attention too.

Pairings. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, babysitter! Choso, male masturbation, voyeurism (from reader), Choso with nipple piercings and eyeliner hngh, unprotected, 69, choking, overstim, oral (male + female receiving), creampie, dirty talk, friends-to-lovers, Choso is down BAD and always has been, mentioned younger brother, swearing. 

Word count. 9.0k

A/N. Gojo longfic next time because I miss my pretty blue-eyed princess.

Your younger brother’s new babysitter was hot.

With a capital h. 

Scarily hot, in fact, that it made you wonder why the hell people stopped having babysitters past the age of 14.

Ah, Choso Kamo, the ever-elusive eldest son of the Itadori’s from next door. You still remember the first time you met him - well, mostly. 

The world was rocking gently at exactly 12:34AM after a night out with your old high school friends. And so were you, stumbling tipsily into your driveway, soaking up the warm summer air. 

Fumbling with the doorbell, you fully expected your parents to still be away on that extravagant couples’ cruise they’d won - one that probably cost more than your tuition.

Which also meant you expected the old lady from down the street to be babysitting tonight. Still wide awake and absolutely bursting at the seams to give you a detailed rundown about the neighborhood tea - who’s divorcing who, and her top suspects for who stole her prized garden gnome. 

What you certainly did not expect was for that door to swing open and to find yourself face-to-face with the most ridiculously attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Shirtless.

Dazed, your eyes involuntarily sweep his figure from head to toe - taking in every inch of those dark, sleep-mussed locks falling effortlessly around his slightly smudged eyeliner, all the way down to the chiseled- oh god, were those nipple piercings?

Alas, the universe isn’t on your side, and you don’t get to confirm, because suddenly the door slams right in your face, almost rattling off its hinges at the force. The sound echoes in your ears as you blink in disbelief at what the fuck that was. Was that real - was he real? 

You double check the address you’ve known for years - just in case - because, hell, if you were dreaming then this was a damn good one. Taking a deep breath, you try to focus on something that won’t make your head spin before reaching for the door again.

But before your finger could even graze the doorbell, it cracks open once more. The same mysterious man towered before you, this time - you note, with a tinge of disappointment - wearing a snug t-shirt that still doesn’t do much to hide that godly physique. 

“Not that m’complaining, but who’re you and why’re ya in my house?” you manage to slur out, voice betraying the shiver that runs down your spine at his intense gaze. He simply leans against the doorframe, arms crossed and expression unreadable. 

“Choso,” he drawls lightly, eyes never leaving your face. Shit, even his voice was hot. 

You nod slowly, mind racing as you blearily try to remember just where you’d heard that name before. Some family friend? Nah, you’d know him if that was the case. An actor? God, he sure had the looks. 

Mercifully sensing your struggle, he clears his throat, snapping you out of your drunken reverie. “Not surprised you haven’t seen me around, sweetheart, but my parents live next door.” he offers, tone laced with amusement and something else you can’t place. “M’babysitting your brother for tonight.”

You almost don’t hear the second part of his explanation, because it hits you like a ton of bricks - oh shit, this was Choso? Choso either-a-hallucination-or-a-vampire Kamo? 

In all your years of having the Itadoris as your neighbors, you’d only seen fleeting glimpses of their eldest son - a flash of black hair at the window, or a sculpted, tattooed arm waving off Yuji at the doorway. And, well, you didn’t know what exactly you’d anticipated. You just didn’t expect him to be so…hot. Or stand half-naked in front of you.

God, he made you more dizzy than the alcohol. 

“Damn,” you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than anything. Yet Choso still hears, quirking an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Everything alright there?” he hums, the hint of a tease in his tone. Smug bastard.

You nod your head, clutching onto the doorframe for support as you lean in closer. “Mhm, perfect.” Wait- was that a blush dusting his face? Damn, this dream just keeps getting better and better.

Liquid courage coursing through you, you bat your lashes, too tipsy to even attempt a wink, “Well, Choso, let me know if ya need any help babysitting, jus’ know I’m always down to-” 

And then - perhaps to save you from the embarrassment of an awful pickup line - that’s when the universe decides to remind you of exactly how many kamikaze shots you’ve downed. The world lurches beneath you. Your hands scramble for something - anything - solid.

Ah, falling down really does feel good, especially when the ground is so warm, and soft. Smelling faintly of vanilla, with a hint of sunshine. 

And then it’s all black. 

To match his eyes.

---

The smell of vanilla still lingers in your mind as you slowly pry your eyes open, squinting against the harsh morning sunlight streaming in through your window. Groaning, you feel as though you’ve been run over by a truck. Five of them, in fact. 

Trying to will away the pounding headache, you bury yourself deeper into the snug covers of…your bed…that you’ve been tucked into? 

Oh shit. Sitting up with a gasp, you hastily try to rub away the sleep from your pointedly makeup-less eyes, remnants of last night now flooding back to you with a surge of embarrassment. 

Choso. Shirtless. Babysitting. Shirtless. But most importantly - your awful display of drunken flirting. The man appears once in a blue moon and you hit on him? Perfect. Great. Wonderful. 

And just as you’re entertaining the idea of convincing your parents to move neighborhoods, you realize with a jolt that he must’ve been the one that carried you up here and took care of you. Even after all of that. 

With a sigh, you rub your temples, wincing as it throbs at the laughter carrying from downstairs - one of them so decidedly Choso. Deep voice ringing in your ears, you can almost feel the lingering traces of his strong arms holding you flush against his chest, or the warm hands gently wiping off your eye shadow.

And it seems Choso had a penchant for interrupting your barely-lucid thoughts, because the door creaks open, ripping through the heavy silence in your room. Heart in your throat, you startle as Choso carefully steps into your room, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“G’morning,” he says, voice so gentle that some small, strange part of you thinks you could listen to it forever. “Feeling any better?”

You offer him a sheepish grin, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks at the memory of your drunken antics. “Yeah, I think so. Thanks for... well, everything.”

Chuckling softly, his gaze softens as he steps closer, taking in your slightly-disheveled appearance. “It was the least I could do, sweetheart. Now, c’mon, your brother and I are making pancakes.” 

You fidget nervously under his gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious even as he turns to leave the room at your silence. Say it, you idiot. Say it. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, words tumbling out in a rush. “I didn’t mean to... y’know, act like a Victorian man seeing a woman’s ankles for the first time-” 

“It’s al-”

 “I swear I’ve seen ankles-”

A large hand cradling your cheek, his thick rings searingly cold against your chin as he tilts your chin up to meet his warm gaze - and those suspiciously red cheeks. “S’alright, sweetheart. I didn’t mind.” 

And, well, if this was his way of shutting you up then by God was it effective. Because you didn’t trust yourself to speak even as Choso gives you an easy smile. Even as he withdraws his hand, the air thick with something you were too hungover to overthink about. 

Not until he turns back to the door, flashing you a teasing smile, “Besides, it was kinda cute.”

And with that, Choso steps through the door with the audacity of someone that hadn’t uttered words that sent your mind reeling. 

As the creak of the door echoes behind him, Choso’s warm touch still sears into your skin. Something hot and prickly pooling in your stomach. Only one thought rings clear in your hazy, still-hungover mind - one that makes your cheeks flare: this was going to be a very interesting summer.

You just didn’t realize how interesting it would be. Not until two weeks, four days, and sixteen hours after you first met Choso. 

It starts out innocently enough, taking the early shift at your internship, volunteering to help with the chores - you find yourself subconsciously making excuses to be around him whenever he’s scheduled to babysit.

You’ve probably learned everything there is to know about the man by now - from the way he likes his eggs (sunny side up) to that time he accidentally dyed his brother’s hair neon pink while trying out a recipe for homemade hair dye. 

Likewise, Choso happens to be the only one who knows that you were the one that accidentally caused that flood in your dorm that required five floors and two plumbers to resolve. 

At this point, Choso’s at your house more often than not - where Choso is, there is you, and where you are, there is Choso. And your brother…and sometimes Yuji, but semantics.

“Semantics” are probably why you find yourself rushing home straight from your internship, ignoring every invitation for an after-work drink - to see your brother, of course. No other reason - definitely not because of the way Choso will inevitably be there too. Or because of the way his smile makes something strange coil in your stomach. Or-

Okay, maybe you speedwalked up your driveway faster than usual a little bit because of Choso. But as you’ve said - semantics.

Yet, sometimes you even think there’s a familiar flicker of something more in those dark eyes.

…

Nahhh. 

Stepping into the yard, the air thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the deafening sounds of splashing, a smile tugs at your lips at the awfully wholesome view that greets you.

Your brother and Yuji are locked in a fierce battle, water guns being brandished like the most seasoned warriors.

And Choso - towering over everyone else - was at the epicenter of the chaos, his laughter booming over the commotion. Shirtless. Again. 

His bare, tattooed torso gleams in the light, muscles flexing with each movement as if sculpted by the gods themselves. Droplets of water glistening on his dark hair like diamonds in the fading light.

Traitorously, your cheeks burn as you step closer, desperately trying to rip your gaze from the milky abs peeking out and the tantalizing glint of metal winking so sinfully at you under the sun.

So he does have nipple piercings.

God, you have to get your mind out of the gutter.

As you approach, Choso’s grin widens, a playful sparkle dancing in his eyes. Without hesitation, he scoops up a large water balloon and takes aim, launching it with frightening accuracy in your direction.

The icy water hits you before the realization, and you squeal in surprise as the balloon connects right with your chest, seeping into your shirt. Glancing down with a startled laugh, you realize a moment too late that your once-pristine white shirt is now completely see-through. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks, but the damage has been done. Smug bastard, you think, glancing up at Choso, slightly red-faced yet wearing a sly grin as he surveys the aftermath of his well-aimed shot.

“Shoulda just told me if you wanted a peak, you lecher. This shirt was expensive, y’know.” you call out, mock-glaring at the man that stood so infuriatingly beautifully in front of you.

Choso throws his head back in a laugh that makes something tingle all the way down from your toes to your burning cheeks. “Maybe you shoulda just kept your guard up, sweetheart,” 

You scoff, “Maybe you should stop being a distraction then.”

His grin widens, reaching for another nearby water balloon, “S’not my fault you’re so easily distracted. No need to be a sore loser.”

“Oh, it’s on now.”

“Well, well, looks like we have a new contender in the water war,” Choso remarks mischievously to the kids, gesturing towards you. Yeah, really smug bastard.

Ah, what the hell. This shirt was on sale anyway.

---

Now, Choso knows you’re hot - always has.

Ever since that first day he moved in next door, when he stumbled upon you sunbathing in your backyard wearing that sinful bikini. And, well, after hours of moving boxes upon boxes of Yuji’s dumbbells, the mere sight of you was like the gates of heaven spread wide open for him. 

But, especially now - all drenched and disheveled. Your shirt sticking to your curves like a second skin in all the ways that should be illegal - and also makes some strange part of him slightly jealous. Beaming smile directed right at him - shit, this might as well just be the final nail on his coffin. Death by you.

Amidst the chaos and confusion, you're a force to be reckoned with. Choso can barely tear his eyes off of you, breathless and victorious in pure adrenaline-fueled bravado, declaring “Beg for mercy and I’ll let you off easy, Choso.”

“Kinky, but absolutely not, sweetheart.”

Clutching a particularly large water balloon, raising your hand high high high - hurtling it straight at him with an unapologetic smirk, “Then, better run for your life.”

Oh? Maybe Choso was a masochi- what was that- 

A flash of his favorite lacy pink, your poor buttons faltering at the sheer force of your throw. Choso doesn’t even feel the cold splash! square on his chest as he’s drenched icily from head to toe. Too transfixed.

Too focused on trying not to make it obvious he’s mentally calculating the chances of your shirt coming off altogether…

Eyes locked on the sliver of soft skin peeking out at him. Only registering you and the traitorous rush of heat flooding his cheeks - and his cock - as he averts his gaze, internally smacking himself for letting his thoughts wander into such dangerous territory. 

Both thanking and cursing the gods above, Choso realizes with a pang that he’s not just screwed, he’s absolutely twisted, tangled, and tied up in knots.

So utterly screwed, in fact, that he probably needs to make a quick run to the bathroom now.

Like, right now.

Shit. 

With a muttered excuse of a bathroom break, each step more urgent than the last, Choso can’t help but wonder if the water balloon incident was some sort of cosmic punishment for his wandering thoughts. Some divine intervention from his ancestors for being such a pussy around you all these years.

And as he slams that bathroom door closed, bunches his pants bunched underneath his heavy balls, and takes his throbbing cock in his hands, Choso thinks he might just see the gates of heaven - well, at least he’ll be able to give his ancestors a piece of his mind there.

With a groan, he leans against the closed door, eyes scrunching shut as he takes his swollen cock in his fist. Leaking hot precum and glistening in the dim bathroom light. He grips the base tightly, pulsing and achingly hard for you. 

Cold rings searing against his skin, Choso wastes no time - wanting to get this over with and join you again more than anything - starting up a hasty, desperate pace up and down his length that makes his knees buckle. Tighter on the base, just teasing his furiously flushed tip. Pink. Pink to match your bra.

With you so sinfully soaked through, wearing that goddamn lacy bra out there, Choso wasn’t as strong a man to possibly get you out of his mind. He can’t help but imagine your sultry smile, how it would look wrapped around his cock. 

Arm straining now, a shiver runs down his spine - all the way to his throbbing erection. “Shit.” he breathes, “J-jus’ like that, sweetheart.” 

Head only filled with you, and your lips and you-

He milks his base tighter - would you take him all in one go? Look up at him with those beautiful, teary eyes as you choke around his cock? 

One hand pulls in urgent, jerky little moves that have his hips bucking into his fist. The other reaches up muffle the fucked out moans leaving his swollen lips. God, it would take everything it had in him to not fuck up into your pretty lil’ mouth. Watch you cock-drunk and taking him so well. 

Or maybe…

Eyes rolling to the back of his head, Choso fights back a groan as he reaches a hand up to teasingly thumb under his slit. Delicate beads of precum dripping onto the cold tile with a deafening drip! drip! drip! Smearing at the way he rubs maddening little circles under that one spot, grazing his sensitive veins. 

Maybe you’d be a a fucking tease - run your tongue under his pulsing head so agonizingly slow. Knowing you, you’d probably pull away as soon as he bucks his hips into your mouth. Lips swollen and glossed prettily with his precum as you whisper, “Now now, baby. If you don’t act like a good boy then you won’t get to cum~”

“Sh-shit, hah-” Choso thinks he’s going insane, he can practically hear your hums as you kiss along his length, tongue darting out to trace his throbbing veins so obscenely. Flicking at his sensitive head. Eyes sparkling - ready to positively devour him. 

All for him. 

It’s too much. 

“Ah- Ngh, fuck.” he moans hoarsely, letting out a low, fucked-out little call of your name. “More. Need m-more, sweetheart.” 

Body shuddering violently, sweat dripping from his brow, Choso’s thighs quiver as he fucks his fist at an almost-animalistic pace. Chasing his release with reckless abandon. 

Choso’s heart pounds wildly in his chest as he tries - and fails - to maintain control. Raspy whines of your name escape through the crevices of his fingers, cracking ever-so-slightly in a way he knows he’d be embarrassed about if he was in a better state of mind. 

Giving up his futile attempt, long fingers snake down below to cradle his balls in a way he knows you’d do better. Tugging and pulling at a jerky rhythm that matches his hand. 

Some tiny, practical part of his brain hopes - prays - that you won’t call off the water fight early and come up to check on him. He knows he should hurry up, he knows he’s fucked if you ever found out. Shit, he should bake you apology cookies tomorrow.

But fuck are so you perfect for him. Voice so pretty and eyes so warm as you turn your gaze to his undeserving self. He’d kill to see if you still look at him that way when - if - he absolutely ruins you.

Would you be able to take all of him? Would you pout adorably until he shoves his dick down your throat? Gagging as he hits the back of your throat over and over - oh how Choso would love to mess up your mascara. He’d fucking tattoo your lipstick stains on his dick if he could. 

“Cum f’me, baby.” you’d mewl, and shit would he burn down this entire world to hear you call him that. “Mm, fill me up with your cum, wan’ taste you, baby-”

“Fuck,” he curses again, voice thick with need, and tight balls twitching so sensitively. “Fuck...fuck fuck fuck. M’gonna cum- shit- gonna cum, sweetheart.”

You - all see-through white shirts and lacy bras that drive him wild. Giggling with the audacity of someone who isn’t making him slowly lose his sanity. You with prettily lips painted white with his seed. Cum and saliva mixing into a lewd pool on the sterile tile as you suck the soul out of him. 

You. 

And then he’s cumming. 

A raw, drawled-out keen of your name and he’s spilling into his fist. Thick, hot spurts of cum that paint his palms white in a way he wishes he could do to you. And behind his closed eyes all he sees is you - you you you-

You, dragging out his orgasm so torturously, lips decorated with his seed, dribbling down to your lacy pink bra, gushing so lewdly down your ready throat. You with your eyes dazed, lips swollen and quirking up into a fucked-out smile as he does so well for you - cumming, all for you.

You, with your wide eyes and disgust on your face as you realize just what he’d been doing on this suspiciously long “bathroom break”.

Shit.

Body still twitching with the shockwaves of probably one of the Top 5 orgasms of his life, Choso all but collapses against the bathroom door, panting heavily, utterly spent. For a moment, he lies there, wondering if this is what heaven truly felt like.

But as the euphoria of his high ebbs away into nothing but mere tingles, a slight wave of nausea crashes over him. 

Sighing, Choso reaches for the paper towels, ready to clean up his mess. If only you were there to milk him dry then he wouldn’t have to-

…

God, he was definitely baking you apology cookies tomorrow. 

Now, when it started drizzling shortly after Choso left, you took it upon yourself to usher the kids back home and hand over his t-shirt personally like the good samaritan you are - out of the goodness of your heart, of course. 

Not for any reason whatsoever because you were hoping to get at least one more glimpse of those sinful nipple piercings up-close.

…

Okay, perhaps there was a slight ulterior motive involved. 

Either way, what you’d expected was for a flash of silver as you handed over his drenched t-shirt. Or maybe that familiar easy smile to warm you up from the icy water.

Literally anything but to find yourself frozen outside the bathroom door, cunt dripping, and ears ringing with the muffled echoes of his pornographic groans.

At first, completely mortified, your fight or flight instinct had kicked in as you realized just what those rhythmic, fucked-out little grunts meant. Only for you to choose neither option - staying rooted to your spot with the utterance of one, simple, word - your name.

Confusion whirls in your mind almost as much as the throbbing in your cunt, knees weakening. Heart thumping louder and louder in your ears at each whine of your name. Shivers running down your spine - all the way to your wet cunt as it really sets in that this was Choso. And he was fucking his fist in your bathroom. To you.

And you didn’t mind?

In fact, you find yourself leaning against the door, thighs squeezing together - mere inches away from where you imagined him slumped against it. Soft strands sticking to his forehead, cock hot and heavy, aching for release. Ragged breathing as if caught off guard by the intensity of his own pleasure. Broken whispers of your name leaving him over and over-

Really, you know you should give him your privacy. But if the white-hot ropes of pleasure running up your spine are anything to go by then, well, is it really that bad?

You have half the mind to just reach down down down - just a little release. Almost jealous of Choso-

Click!

You’re sure you could rival Usain Bolt with the way you ran down those stairs. Cheeks flaring, his damp t-shirt still clutched tightly in your hand. Mind racing with only one thought - this little fuck wanted you just as badly as you wanted him.

---

You can barely remember what transpired after your little discovery. You couldn’t decide who looked more dazed - you or Yuji, who was being practically dragged out that front door as Choso exited hastily with vague mentions of baking and cookies

And in the ringing silence that followed after that front door slammed, you couldn’t help the smirk that found itself onto your face. This was going to be fun.

But if there’s anything you’ve learned about Choso - it’s that even after twenty-something years on planet Earth, that man can not take a hint.

You somewhat had an inkling after the fifth time you decided to sunbathe in just a skimpy bikini at exactly when you knew he’d be watching. Well, you might not have gotten any reaction other than an extremely flushed face at the window, but at least you knew he’d have more very fun bathroom breaks.

Hell, one time you even bought ice lollies for the whole house - but especially Choso. Making sure those dark eyes followed every lick and trail of it dripping down your fingers under the scorching summer sun. Ultimately resulting in nothing more but a heavy gulp and for his ice lolly to hit the grass faster than it could even begin to melt. 

Ugh, should you get your brother to start another water fight? That went down well last time. 

It’s only after another failed attempt at trying to get him alone and a few hours of deliberating whether you should ship your interrupting brother off on a cruise too that you realize you have to get out the big guns.

“The big guns” being stealthily organizing a sleepover for your brother at the Itadoris, then inviting Choso over for a movie night. Simple, right? And, well, if anyone asked, you could just say the movie just so happened to be rated R. 

It wasn’t too hard to convince your brother that a sleepover with Yuji would be the best thing since sliced bread. The excitement in his voice palpable as he agreed, not suspecting a thing.

You just didn’t think it would be even easier to convince Choso to come over with a simple playful text of “Netflix no chill. Haha jk…unless?” But then again, when has Choso not surprised you?

And that night, as your brother eagerly headed off to Yuji’s place, you couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of guilt - but, hey, it was for a good cause, right? 

It’s a win-win either way - your brother gets to spend the night with a friend and you get to be here, so achingly close to Choso on that couch. So close that you could feel the heat radiating off of him, stealing glances at his sharp profile as the conversation flows easily about the movie playing on screen.

Shifting ever-so-slightly closer, electricity crackling between you two was palpable. You smile in anticipation, after all - you weren’t lying about the movie being rated R.

Now, Choso certainly didn’t come over to your house tonight expecting a wholesome rerun of Cars 2. However, he also wasn’t expecting the blockbuster action movie to suddenly unfold into something so steamy.

Goddamn lecherous directors and their goddamn pervy movies.

Eyes firmly trained on the ground, instead of the actress currently fake-moaning dramatically onscreen, Choso tries to ignore the subtle shift of your hips or the way the temperature in the room has currently increased by about 10 degrees. Or the way your moans would sound a million times prettier in his ears.

Alas, Choso was not a strong man, and he especially tries to will away the blood rushing straight to his cock right now - but how could he? You were such a vision of temptation, so close and warm and close to him on the couch.

This was absolute torture. 

“God, this is so painfully fake. Don’t you think so?” your voice rips through the deafening silence between you two, tone careful and balanced, startling Choso out of his little reverie.

His eyes flicker hastily to meet yours, and for a moment, he seems caught off guard by your sudden interruption. “Oh, yeah.” voice rough with a hint of nervousness. “I’ve seen better performances in middle school plays.”

You nod, the tension between you thickening as you lock eyes. “I mean, who even writes this stuff?” you continue, leaning in even closer to Choso, words positively dripping in sarcasm. “It’s like they’ve never actually had sex before.”

Choso lets out a shaky laugh, the sound strained as he shifts subtly in his seat - but not subtly enough. Because you catch the way he desperately tries to adjust his now-uncomfortably tight pants. Success. 

“Yeah, exactly,” he clears his throat, ripping his gaze away from yours.

You study him for a moment under the dim lighting, noting the way his hands clench and unclench in his lap, the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he struggles to control his breathing. He was nervous. Nervous and horny - exactly where you wanted him. 

A sudden rush of adrenaline courses through your veins, and you lean even closer to the man. Not even a hair’s breadth between you two - you relish in his strangled gasp as your tits press so enticingly against his arm. 

“Choso, just a thought.” you hum casually, lips mere inches from his ear. “Wanna recreate the scene better?”

His breath hitches at your words, muscles rippling so deliciously beneath your touch. “Do you know what you’re saying?” he rumbles, lowly. Eyes darkened and unreadable.

You smile, heart pounding against your chest as your lips brush against his earlobe. “Absolutely.”

It was like something snapped.

Because then he’s kissing you. And you’re kissing him. Because goddammit you haven’t spent the last month sneaking glances at those pretty lips for nothing.

Movie completely forgotten, Choso is warm under your touch - all sculpted chest and urgent pulses as his lips kiss you dizzyingly. Groaning lowly as your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer.

He breathes you in with an infectious desperation that bleeds into his hands, wandering every inch of your skin - as if he didn’t have enough time. And he probably didn’t. Distantly, Choso thinks that no time in the world would be enough to absolutely fucking wreck you the way he wanted to.

Large, hurried hands grope your chest, squeezing so teasingly in a way that almost made you think he was trying to feel out what bra you were wearing - lacy pink. His favorite, of course.

You minx.

Urgently tugging the hem of your tight shirt over your arms, Choso tosses it god-knows-where. Mouth watering as he pulls away to greedily take in the heavenly view of your heaving chest - the same one he’s shamelessly fucked his fist to for too long.

God, you were perfect. With a soft, little oh! Choso leans down to leave hot, open-mouthed kisses on every bit of exposed skin he could reach. Nipping, and tugging lightly. Relishing in the way you whine for his lips again.

Threading a hand through his soft hair, you lightly pull him back to you. Breath fanning his face, lips ghosting over his own.

“Kiss me, you fool.”

And, well, Choso didn’t have to be asked twice. Molding his mouth against yours once more. Letting your lips part, you intertwine your tongue so sinfully with his. He tastes just like he looks - so intoxicatingly delicious.

With a breathy sigh, he lightly taps the curve of your ass. Hands lingering for far longer than necessary, kneading the flesh in a way that has your skin searing. 

You get the signal. Urgently, you loop your legs around his waist. “Choso- bed.” you whisper, muffled in-between kisses. “Now.”

Shivers run down your spine at the way he chuckles darkly, “Honestly, sweetheart. I don’t even hah- know if we’ll make it there.” Mumbling against your lips, “Would you kill me if I take you right here right now?”

“I’ll kill you if you don’t fucking do something.” you hiss, words dripping in desperation. Ah, but Choso, ever the merciful man, shuts up whatever other retort on the tip of your tongue with his own. Kissing you with almost-bruising intensity as he gets up from his seat. Strong arms securely wrapped underneath you, holding you flush against his warm skin.

Choso doesn’t pull away even once as he hastily makes the route to your room. And honestly, with the speed at which your back hits the soft mattress, bouncing at the sheer force at which you two fell on top, you wouldn’t even be surprised if he teleported there.

Now safely in the confines of your room, you all but rip off Choso’s snug t-shirt. Those familiar obscene nipple piercings winking at you under the dim lighting in greeting. 

“Always wanted to do this.” you murmur, surging forward as if on autopilot. Lips latching delicately onto the pretty pink nipples, tasting the cold metal on your tongue. 

“Oh- oh, fuck. A-always knew you had a thing hah- f’my piercings, sweetheart.” Choso breathes out, letting you have your fun. His favorite bra now at the foot of your bed. Fingers deftly sneaking under your skirt, blood rushes straight to his cock as he feels the positively soaked state of your panties - if you could even call them that. 

Sanity snapping, he immediately flings off your skirt. Throwing it somewhere across the room with no care or concern for where it ends up. All so he could look down at oh-

Oh god, if you had to describe Choso’s face as he takes in the sight before him - it would be absolutely losing his sanity. Your pussy dripping and clenching around nothing - all for him.

Strings of slick trail down your thighs as Choso hooks one, long finger under your slutty g-string, tugging impatiently.

You keen as the cold air hits your dripping cunt. Yet Choso’s eyes stay locked hungrily on the sticky fabric intertwined around his fingers “Guess you were expecting this, huh?” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. 

Scoffing, you buck your hips up for something - anything. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you since that first night I hit on you, y’know,” you admit, the heady air of your room melting away any reservations you had previously. 

And that seems to snap Choso out of his trance - eyes flickering over to you, darkened with something so carnal that it makes your cunt throb. “Oh yeah?” he mumbles, swiftly stuffing the g-string in his pocket before leaning down, hot breath hitting your ear. “Now, what was that pick-up line you were gonna say that night?” 

You gasp in embarrassment, heat flooding to your cheeks at the memory. “Wha- that doesn’t matter. I was drunk and-”

Smack!

The delicious sting on your ass hits you before the realization that Choso smacked you. He smacked you. Even later do you realize that you like it - slick beading so obscenely at your sloppy hole.

“What was it, sweetheart?”

You shudder at the tone that leaves no room for argument. The words tumbling out of you as Choso caresses soothingly over the handprint on your ass. “I- it’s stupid. I was gonna say that I’m down to sit on your face, baby.”

“Thought so,” he grins, pulling away from the dizzying proximity. Shifting - well, more like manhandling - you to flip positions. 

God, you could almost sink into his muscles as he lays back on your bed. Voice low and dangerous as he utters words that go straight to your dripping pussy, “Now, sit on m’face.”

And before you know it, you find yourself hastily straddling Choso’s pretty face. Hands snaking down his milky abs, lips kissing along his tattoos, catching purposefully on his sensitive nipples. 

Warm breath fanning your quivering cunt, he reaches up to cup your ass, nudging your needy core to his mouth. Kneading. Groping. 

Not stopping his ministrations even when your slick oozes slowly, torturously through your swollen folds and onto his awaiting tongue. A maddening drip! drip! drip! ringing in your ears above your thundering heartbeat.

Choso groans at the mouthwatering sight above him. You - spread so shamefully open for him and clenching around nothing. 

“Luckily for you, sweetheart, wanted you to sit on m’face ever since I saw you.” sweet juices flowing down his throat, words muffled against your throbbing lips. 

He barely even gets the words out before he’s surging forward. Licking a long, languid stripe up your heated folds. Again. And again. Faster at the pretty moans that spill from your lips.

Pushing his tongue in between your slit, past that first, tight ring of muscle. Bullying it deeper and deeper. Chin pressing against your throbbing clit, ravaged at each movement of his face. 

He caresses your warm walls, relishing so filthily at the way you clamp down on him in surprise. “Hngh- oh shit, baby. Ah-”

Your sweet moans are music in his ears and shit - you called him “baby”. It’s as if every wet dream he’s ever had has come to life as Choso dips in and out at a ruthless pace. Pulling out to tease your dripping entrance, pushing past mercilessly into your plushy walls. In and out in and out in and out-

His cock strains so painfully against his pants at the way your sloppy hole sucks his tongue in so obscenely - almost as if it hurts to part. Tongue fucking you the way he wishes he could with his cock right now.

“Oh- Hah- Choso! Fuck, baby. S’good.” your body arches into his absolutely depraved tongue. 

Desperate whines spilling incessantly from your mouth at the way he quirks his tongue up just right to graze that spot he knew would have you grinding down on him for more. “Ah! Right there - jus’ like that!”

As if he knew exactly how to drive you wild. Exactly how to break you. You almost don’t notice the mindless, shallow little thrusts of his hips into your open palm. Almost.

Eyes snapping open at the tremors, you reach a hand across his quivering thighs. All the way down towards the very obvious dark patch on his pants - right where his furiously hard tip was leaking thick, relentless precum that made your mouth water. 

Oh, how you’d kill to taste him - see if the rest of him is as intoxicating as his mouth is.

So you do. 

Choso was so pussy-drunk in-between your thighs that you think he barely notices the way you fumble with his belt. Shakily pulling those pants down just enough to glimpse the rock-hard erection that those boxers do nothing to hide. 

“Shit,” you whisper, voice strained with need. 

You always imagined Choso had a big cock - but this was ridiculous. Your pussy clenches in both nervousness and anticipation as you imagined the delicious stretch of him splitting you apart on it. Breaking you. 

And that’s probably when Choso notices - you clamping down so filthily on his tongue. 

“Oh?” he rasps, voice sending white-hot vibrations of pleasure right up your spine. “Didn’t think you were so desperate for my cock, sweetheart. Gon’ make me cum, hm?”

Now, you’ve always thought of yourself as a woman of action rather than empty words. Which is probably why you urgently pull down his boxers. Choso’s painfully hard erection springs out, hitting his lower abs. 

You take a moment to admire the long, heavy cock in your hands - a deliciously pretty pink on top, furiously leaking glistening precum. Saliva pooling in your mouth - you shove it as far down your throat as you possibly could. 

Oh, how many times in his life has Choso imagined this moment right here. In the shower, right before bed, right after waking up too. You’re really a dream come to life. 

A startled, strangled moan of your name leaves Choso’s kiss-bitten lips as you take him all in one go. Only to pull back and spit once- twice on his throbbing cock. The steady stream of spit cool - followed so maddeningly by the warm heat of your mouth once more. You start up a torturous, filthy pace bobbing your head up and down on his cock.

He strains his head to catch a glimpse - even just one - of your nose pressed against his pelvis. Breathing in the heady scent at the tufts of hair at the bottom, already wet with precum and spit. His dirty girl. 

Popping off with a lewd squelch, “Feels good, baby?”

“Feels perfect.”

But he wasn’t gonna fall far behind.

Immediately attaching his lips with yours once more, Choso dives nose-deep in your dripping cunt. Rolling your throbbing clit in between his lips. Flicking his tongue along the sensitive bud in a way that makes your head feel so light. He alternates between a slow, languid torture on your clit and fucking into you unforgivingly.

Your movements stutter as you teasingly lick at his sensitive slit. The salty flavor of his precum is probably your favorite taste now. That bastard.

Reaching down, you cup his heavy balls, massaging the tender flesh in harsh, hasty circles that match your mouth down his length - up and down up and down up and-

Muffled moans and lewd squelching filling the heated room. A rhythmic, sinful cadence that both of you were losing your sanity to. Movements more frantic now. Desperate to make the other cum. Desperate to be first.

Letting out soft, raw grunts, Choso fucks up his throbbing erection into your mouth. Your eyes water as his tip abuses the back of your throat. And it makes you wish you could see how messy he looked right now. All smudged eyeliner and slick-glossed lips. 

Gagging around him, a mixture of drool and precum drips sinfully down the corner of your mouth as you increase your pace, pooling messily on his lower abs. Sloppy - so sloppy.

So it only made sense that your orgasms were the same. 

Pleasure dizzyingly overwhelming, you gush around Choso’s mouth with a stifled squeal. Stars behind your eyes, vision blurring, mind blanking - the only things you register being the languid tongue lapping up at your sweet juices and the guttural groan of what sounds like your name as Choso shoots thick, hot spurts of his cum down your throat. 

Throat burning as the salty taste fills your senses, you milk his cock for more more more- his dick pulsing and stuttering in your mouth. Cum staining the fresh sheets below - a problem for later. 

Right now all you were focused on was riding out your high, grinding almost animalistically on Choso’s pretty face. 

You’ve barely removed yourself from him with a lewd pop! before Choso’s wrestling you back onto the mattress. Two fingers squishing your cheeks into an embarrassing pout, cold rings digging into your skin. The other hand snaking in between your thighs to play with your still-twitching cunt. 

“Didn’t say we were done yet, sweetheart.” he mutters. You weren’t done - no, far from it. Because fuck a refractory period - both of you were going to take all you could get.

And before you can think of anything else, Choso is leaning down, hand prying your lips apart for him into a brutal kiss. Teeth clashing, lips bruising. He forces his tongue down your throat. Tasting himself before you barely get a chance to taste him as well. 

“Hah- fuck-” you flinch as he swears into your bruised lips. “So fuckin’ sweet. You taste so good sweetheart.” The sheer debauchery and ache of his cock too much for him. 

Tasting him. Tasting you. Both a heady flavor that leaves you yearning for more. 

You bite down on his bottom lip in retaliation, relishing in the drawn-out groan that rumbles into your mouth at this. The kiss is feral. It’s animalistic. It leaves you feeling so fucking dirty. 

And you barely recognise the dazed, predatory glint in Choso’s eyes as he pulls away, his mind clearly miles away as he spits once. Twice. Three times on your face.

The wads of saliva and cum hit your face with a warm, wet jolt. You whine at the way it seeps into your skin, dripping down your cheeks so fucking obscenely. Pooling at the sheets below in a way that makes you feel sorry for whoever had a shift at the laundromat tomorrow.

“Now, what do we say, sweetheart?”

A fucked-out, delirious smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you realize - yeah, you wouldn’t have it any other way. “Thank you.”

Not even when Choso lets out a dark chuckle, throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders and manhandling you so that you’re splayed out so shamefully for him. Dripping cunt spread for his greedy gaze and clenching around nothing - aching for him. Begging for him.

Not even when he lines up his still-rock hard cock at your entrance, tip - angry and red - weeping so desperately as he nudges at your sloppy hole. Dragging his head along your folds collecting every bead of slick, just grazing your pulsing clit. Every muscle in your body trembling and anticipating what was to come.

You mewl at the stretch as he presses in - deliciously painful, boderling insane, and exactly what you wanted right now. Splitting you apart on his throbbing cock. 

And especially not when he bottoms out inside you in one, harsh thrust. Burying himself inside your sloppy walls till his twitching balls smack against your ass. 

“Ah- hngh- oh fuckkk.” you keen in both pain and pleasure - broken, raw moans leaving you uncontrollably. But not for long, because suddenly Choso’s shoving two ringed fingers in your mouth, bullying their way inside till you’re gagging and moaning around them. 

Pressing right at that spot on the back of your tongue that makes your eyes tear up so prettily. Hey, if he couldn’t see you choking on his cock properly, the least he could do is see you choking on his fingers, right?

“Now now, wouldn’t want anyone else to hear, hm? Our brother’s would get worried.” he chuckles. Pure, dark amusement in his eyes as he takes in your swollen lips, the teartracks down your cheeks, how utterly beautiful and debauched you look underneath him. So much better than any lust-hazed imagination of his.

And yet, even when you’re being gagged and split apart on his cock, you find it in yourself to be mouthy. Words muffled around his thick fingers as you raise a brow. “There’s no one else home, though?.”

The corners of Choso’s lips lift into a devilish grin, “The neighbors, sweetheart.”

His tone is teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness that sends a chill down your spine. He’s just joking, right? Right?

“Wha-”

And probably because he was losing his patience - and partly to shut you up - Choso begins to move.

Pushing past the resistance, beginning to fuck into you in shallow, uncontrollable movements of his hips. Just little motions to get him off, groaning at how sinfully tight you were - the way you were sucking him up so good.

Next time, Choso thinks, reaching down a hand to draw tight, little circles on your poor, abused clit - next time he’ll fuck you right. Hours upon hours of teasing you so you don’t know what it feels like when you’re empty without him. 

But fuck does he think he could just about pass out right now.

There’s no going back now. Choso fucks you in a way that makes you feel so deliciously filthy. Plunging into your heated cunt with no restraint. Thrusts positively savage.

Pulling all the way back so that his leaking tip just barely kisses your sloppy entrance, slamming down down down, Choso fucks you at a merciless pace. Relishing the delicious stretch of your cunt as he thrusts into you with a desperation that surpasses the need for reason. 

“Sh-shit, sweetheart. God, s’tight. better than I ever could’ve imagined.” he moans breathlessly, brows furrowing, eyes rolling to the back of his head, the feeling of you milking the absolute soul out of him just too much.

“Oh, yeah- wanted this for so long-”

You yelp every time he rams his cock into you, the smacking of his toned pelvis against your thighs stinging almost as deliciously as his tip kissing your cervix. The obscene slapping of skin on skin makes your cheeks burn - both pairs as his heavy balls smack against your ass each time he shoves his throbbing cock into you.

And because you can’t leave him alone, of course, you find your nails digging harshly into his muscled shoulders. 

Pulling him impossibly closer. You want more. You need more. 

Maybe you say those words out loud - you don’t even know anymore, too delirious and cock-drunk from Choso and your last orgasm and Choso - because his eyes widen ever-so-slightly, mouth falling open into a small oh. Your cunt twitches at the surprised, fucked-out little laugh that leaves him,  “More? My sweetheart wants more?”

And, as you’ve come to learn with Choso - anything you want, you will get. 

“Then fucking- take it.” he grunts lowly, each word punctuated by a harsh thrust of into your plush walls that sends both of you spiraling deeper and deeper into insanity.

And God does he make you take it. Every inch of him fills you, stretching you beyond your limits - both your cunt and your senses as he leans down to bury his head into your neck, hips moving so sloppily, hiking your leg further up his shoulder. The change in angle making you see stars.

Your hips buck up in tandem with his, uncontrollable little ah! ah! ah! leaving you at each thrust. You whimper in pleasure and overstimulation into the heady room, “Yes. Yes yes yes- wan’ cum. Need more. Need you-”

“Fuck- Hngh-” is all he manages to gasp out, pleasure overwhelming his sensitive cock. Choso’s balls twitch almost painfully as they keep smacking your ass. Brain still not keeping up with his body because shit, this is all he’s wanted for years, the least he could do is make you cum before him.

“Sh-shit, sweetheart.” he rasps into your heated skin, “So close- m’ so close.”

You all but sob at his words, “M’too- hngh- ah, m’gonna cum, baby.”

You didn’t expect the petname to be what breaks him, but then again you didn’t think there was anything more left to break. Because Choso groans gutturally, cock twitching inside you “Shit, you’re driving m’crazy, y’know that?”

“I know.” you mewl, voice breaking at the way he increases his frenzied pace on your clit. You could barely even call them circles, just filthy little movements to get you closer and closer to the edge. So close. You writhe beneath him, desperate for release.

And what you didn’t expect was for Choso to connect his sweaty forehead with yours. You take a second to admire just how beautiful he is - all smudged eyeliner, tousled hair, your release still shining on the lower half of his face, and yours. All yours. You could probably stare at the sight forever.

Choso’s hot breath fans your face as he moans breathlessly against your lips, words slurring together as he ruts into you mindlessly, “Always did, y’know?”

“I know.”

“No- y’don’t hah- understand, I- for so long fuck- I-”

“Choso, just kiss me.”

And then you’re kissing him. And he’s kissing you like you’re the most precious thing on Earth. A slow, tender little dance that doesn’t match the way he rams his cock inside you. 

And then you’re cumming. Stars behind your eyes - or maybe those were tears - clamping down desperately on the harsh, jerky movements of his glistening cock that fuck you so sinfully like his little slut. 

White-hot pleasure runs down your spine, or maybe that was Choso - painting your insides the prettiest white you’ve ever seen. Shooting thick, hot ropes of his seed into your waiting pussy. A creamy ring forming around his base as he spills his cum into your snug cunt as he moans against your lips.

It’s messy. It’s sloppy. And as Choso fills you to the brim, hips still unforgiving, seed dribbling out of your dripping pussy at the way it was so overfilled - you think that it’s all you could ever want. 

As his cock twitches finally, exhaustedly - and you distantly wonder how the fuck it isn’t seizing up - Choso collapses onto you, thoroughly fucked-out. Finally pulling out with an obscene squelch, you hiss lowly at the pool of cum that forms beneath you. Gushing out of you sinfully. 

A weighty silence in the air as you both try to catch your breaths.

In the haze of your orgasm you realize that even after all that transpired, he still isn’t laying his full bodyweight on you.

Too afraid to break you.

To break whatever this tender little understanding in the air was.

And it makes some part of your heart clench so delightfully. Subconsciously, you thread a hand through his damp hair, breathing in that familiar smell of vanilla and sunshine - and the heady scent of something so Choso. It makes you intertwine your body so impossibly close with his, not knowing where one of you ends and the other starts.

“My parents are coming home tomorrow.” you start, casually. 

“Mhm. But I’ll still be around here, sweetheart.” Choso rumbles into the crook of your neck. Kissing soothingly over the marks he’d made in the heat of the moment - some carnal little part of him proud of the way you looked like you were fucking thrown to a pack of wolves. 

Words hiding a tense little fear beneath them as you probe further. Something prickly and scared rolling around in your stomach. “For babysitting?”

“Nope.”

Settling deeper into the covers, basking in the afterglow of him. You know you should get up and clean, but right now this was all you wanted. And maybe no other words were needed. 

“God, am I glad your parents aren’t home.” 

Except maybe those. 

You chuckle as you pull back to stare into those deep, dark eyes. Cheeks flaring at the tender little warmth in them much more than they had when he was fucking you so sinfully. A devious idea coming to mind - because now that you got a taste, you were absolutely hooked.

Choso Kamo was absolutely intoxicating.

“Well, we still have time so how about-”

A distant click!

“Honey, we’re home~!”

Shit.

A/N. Fun fact this was originally supposed to be called Timeout! but it was giving too much me during beep test.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[kamitv]

Tutor!Nanami who steadily became more of a private fuck for you instead of a tutor and utters things like, “If only you followed directions as well as you take my cock.” while he's fucking you over the very desk you're supposed to be studying on.

Tutor!Nanami who's been sick of how awful you are at following his overly simple directions whenever he tries to go over course materials with you so, he figured he'd have to fuck these lessons into that pretty head of yours.

Tutor!Nanami who wasn't even the one to suggest this kinda thing. He just went along with the way your eyes focused more on the tight blue-collar shirt and khaki-colored slacks he wore on a day to day basis instead of the notes he was reading to you. You made it so painfully obvious that you only agreed to these tutoring sessions so that you'd have an excuse to ogle him.

Tutor!Nanami who, after fucking you that first time, decided to use the sex as more of a reward for every time you studied properly with him. If you could last an entire session without your eyes lingering elsewhere, he'd reward you by laying you out against the desk and eating you out like a man starved.

Tutor!Nanami who groans into your sopping cunt about how, "This is what happens when you focus on your work instead of," pausing, simply to reel back and shoot at messy wad of spit right in between your slippery folds, "Thinkin' about filth all day."

Tutor!Nanami who kisses just about every inch of skin his lips can reach as he fingers you 'til your legs are shaking around his hand and your fingers are curling around his wrist, pushing at him to give you a break.

Your back is arching up off the desk and moan after moan of his name is slipping off of your tongue whilst you writhe beneath the skillful curl and twist of his thick fingers inside you.

Tutor!Nanami who praises you like it second nature to do so, all against your ear with his warm breath tickling your sensitive skin and his slightly fogged glasses brushing up against you as he tips his head every which way just to get different looks at you.

Tutor!Nanami who promises to fuck you how you really wanna be fucked as long as you ace your next test. And when you come to him a few days later with that gorgeous A printed atop your paper, he's left to completely and truly live up to his own promises to you.

Tutor!Nanami who's mouth is filthier than you could've ever imagined once he's got you at his place. Fast forward past all the sloppy make-outs that led you to where you are now and here you are standing before him with soaked panties and heavy lungs as he unbuckles that thick belt of his.

Clank after clank and you're nibbling on your lower lip in pure anticipation, awaiting the moment he tugs that belt through its annoying loops and tosses it to the side.

But of course, Tutor!Nanami still has you anxious at every given moment because suddenly he's tipping his head to the side and nodding his chin toward your legs, “Bend over n’ show her to me."

You've never moved faster in your life--tugging off what little clothing you have on, discarding it to the floor and doing exactly as he's instructed you to by bending over his bed and leaving your cunt on full display for the man.

Tutor!Nanami smirks and runs his smooth textured fingers over the curve of your ass first before settling his greedy palms on your hips and leaning over just to whisper to you. "I wanna see if this pussy’s worth taking my cock exactly the way she wants it,” He tells you with a mean emphasis of his straining bulge against your exposed cunt.

You're unintentionally drooling all over him, and no, not by your mouth at all.

It only takes a bit of messy grinds back against him before Tutor!Nanami gets the idea that you're growing impatient. He was trying to drag this whole thing out with you, truly. But how can he possibly do that when you're turning your head back and begging him to fuck you??

Yeah, this is Tutor!Nanami who gives you exactly what you want and feeds your eager cunt with his fat cock after only a short while of listening to you beg for him.

Tutor!Nanami who fucks you better than anyone else ever has, making your eyes roll to the back of your skull, and your fingers curl into the expensive sheets below.

Tutor!Nanami who's naturally the best at aftercare, and returns to his usual composed and stoic state not too long after fucking you to tears. Treats you the way he did when you first started studying with him and even asks you if you're gonna ace all your tests after this...

Of course, he only asked that because he want you to do well academically. Not because he wants to do this again.

[ttsukiimi]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ F⍣CK HER ‘TILL SHE SORE!

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ⎯ He’s not addicted to your cũnt—he swears. He swears even as he’s forced the fourth ōrgasm out of you tonight; and there’s more to come.

★ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ⎯ gojo x fem!reader, toji x fem!reader, choso x fem!reader, nanami x fem!reader, smut (mdni), tit play, multiple örgasms, size difference (choso), slight còckwarming (nanami), reader referred to as (princess, baby, doll, good girl)

✧･ﾟ𝓖. 𝓢 ✧･ﾟ

Gojo didn’t even know how he even initially found himself inside you—it was like one second he was cuddling closer to you as his eyes glued to the tv, then another your leg was hoisted over his waist as he jerked his hips into you repeatedly. Was it his fault? Had he begged you to let him put just the tip in? Yes.

But you had given in, and that in its own was your mistake.

“Stay still, princess, wanna give it to you good,” he whispered in your ear, the way his shaky breath fanned past your neck causing goosebumps to bloom on your skin. You nodded, though it wasn’t a promise, and tried to take each passionate thrust of his girth he gave to you.

You were clutching the couch pillow for dear life, whining as you felt euphoria rock through you so pleasurably for the umpteenth time that night. The movie playing had long been forgotten—only serving as background noise, and to Satoru a nuisance since the sounds drowned out your heavenly moans.

He huffed into the skin of your neck, determined to now make you louder, and a hot slap landed on your left cheek, effectively coaxing a loud yelp from your lips. “Mh—!”

And you were sensitive by then, his seed dripping from your battered cunt, your body shivering and thighs quivering, but even then he was set on urging one last orgasm out of you.

Or two.

Hell, he couldn’t even promise it wouldn’t be three. But he just needed to stay inside of you.

Satoru’s hands came up from behind you before they latched onto your chest, groping your tits as he muttered lewd words in your ear.

“You like when I fucking play with these pretty tits, hm?” He kissed your shoulder, and you felt a smile form against your skin as the only thing you could let out was a weak whine—too drunk on his dick to speak. Satoru groaned at the sound, his lips finding your pulse point as he spoke.

“Always so dumb once I get inside you,”

✧･ﾟ𝓒.𝓚✧･ﾟ

Choso doesn’t have an exact idea of why he loves being buried inside you so much; perhaps it’s the way you sound, the way you feel, or the way you look—tears in your eyes and all—but he does know that he’d die happy if that meant he was inside you in his last moments.

And he absolutely adores every minute that he is.

Because with how much your greedy cunt is pulsing around him, and your manicured nails are scratching red lines down his back, Choso thinks he’s really found heaven. Right between your legs.

“Baby, slow down, Cho,” you whined, your sight obscured with tears though you could still make out the image of his sculpted body over yours, and he’s so big compared to you.

Sometimes he might forget that—but could you blame him though? Anyone would forget about some mere size difference when inside your addictive pussy, and he proved to be that anyone.

Choso leaned forward, and in the process his hair fell forward, framing both yours and his face. His hands ventured up your body and found their place on your chest, squeezing the meleable flesh.

“‘S okay, you can take it,” he mumbled, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, uncaring of the slight drool dribbling from the side of your mouth. With each thrust the course hairs at his base tickled your clit, stimulating you in a way that felt so good your whole body was quivering with pleasure.

“Just..one more, baby,”

✧･ﾟ𝓝.𝓚✧･ﾟ

Sometimes Nanami finds himself wondering just what you do to him, how you’ve changed him in ways he couldn’t himself in the past years you’ve been together. He can't help but smile when he sees your infectious smile, and he melts when he hears your sweet laugh.

But, above all, you've created an addiction in him. One that he seems to think about every waking moment; even at work, and that’s new territory for him.

What’s worse is that you know. Always teasing him about how pussy drunk he is, how he’d really do anything just to be inside you—not like he’s denying that—but he can’t retaliate with the way the tips of his ears burn pink. So, he’ll prove it.

“Kento, what’re you—“ you cut yourself off with an uneven breath, eyes rolling to the back of your head in tandem with the way he pushes himself into you.

His strong arms are wrapped around you, keeping you in place, but he strangely doesn’t begin to move. The reason being—well, he’s testing himself. His resolve, his patience by not moving a single inch, even while being compressed by your tight warmth.

Which is proving to be a challenge already for Nanami.

“Proving to you that ‘m not—“ he halts, groaning and gritting his teeth as you slightly shift, causing a grin to flourish on your face.

“That you’re not what?” you retort, pushing your hips back onto him, taking him in deeper than he already was. Your hand reaches back and caresses his face, cooing above his lips. “Know you wanna move. ‘M not stopping you either, ken.”

You’re so close to his lips Nanami could move an inch and they’d touch, but he won’t, of course. But…when you’re fucking yourself on his cock, moaning out for him to hear, to tease him, Nanami thinks maybe there isn’t anything to prove.

Maybe he is drunk on your pussy.

✧･ﾟ𝓣.𝓕✧･ﾟ

Toji knows of his slight compulsion towards your pussy. His tendency to always want to be inside is truly something that needs to be studied—because there’s absolutely no way his sex drive should be this significant.

Admittedly, he is aware of his addiction, but will he take any action to try to change his behavior? No. That then becomes your problem to tackle, but you have the perfect solution.

“A what?” Toji mumbled, licking the scar on his lip as he creased an eyebrow upwards in confusion. You were sat on his lap, your arms looped around his neck and you began to speak.

“A Sex ban, Toji.” you attempted to suppress your grin when you saw the confusion on his face only deepen, and a big hand came to cup your cheek, forcing you to look at him.

“‘M not for all your little games today, doll. Got a mission tomorrow and y’know what that means.” he sighed, his free hand holding your waist, slowly sliding to the waistband of your shorts and beginning to pull them down.

“But, really baby, we—you need a break.” you protested, but just couldn’t counter back with the way his rough and thick fingers were already playing with your folds, gathering your essence.

Quickly, his lips were on yours and that shut you up, which gave him time to free himself from his sweats and enter you in one, swift motion.

He wasted no time in holding your hips and bouncing you up and down on his cock, a smug smirk on his lips as he looked at the way your eyes rolled back in pleasure. You weren’t one to talk about a sex ban when you could hardly even let him go on a mission for more than 2 days without complaining about how much you missed him and his magic dick.

“Now ya just be quiet and take what I give you, yeah?” he breathed in your ear as his big hands groped your tits, fingers playing with your hardened nipples. The pleasure coursed throughout your body so deliciously, already causing your thighs to begin quivering and your pussy pulsed around him, greedy to suck him dry.

“Good girl,”

[sttoru]

outlaw!toji who initially kidnapped you for money, to rob you from your valuable belongings, eventually forms a strange attachment to you. he can’t help but feel a faint twinge of guilt for robbing a pretty and delicate little thing like you.

so, he decides to let you return to your beloved family in town. though he does not let you go completely.

every now and then when toji is passing by the town you reside in - avoiding sheriffs and other people whom could possibly recognise him from the wanted posters plastered on every wall - he looks for you.

of course, you freak out the first time he sneaked up on you. however slowly yet surely, you let your guard down. the outlaw didn’t harm you in any way after all.

“how ‘re ya doin’, princess?” toji would always greet you with that signature, cocky smirk of his, leaning against a nearby wall with his arms crossed over his chiseled chest or his hands on his worn gun belt.

sometimes you reply quickly, but on other occasions you indulge him and continue the conversation. it’s often at night that he visits you, so you have less of a chance to get caught together.

you don’t know when or how toji found out where your family’s house is. he simply started showing up at your balcony once in a while, just to catch up. after a couple times, you even let him in.

those nightly visits swiftly turned into something more intimate. it feels so wrong yet so right. a dangerous criminal who’s killed hundreds, who had even kidnapped you one day, being invited into your bed— how scandalous.

though you can’t help it. his callused yet warm hands that touch your skin, his burly body that presses you into the mattress just right, his slightly chapped lips that nip at your flesh and leave marks. . . you don’t regret a thing.

especially when you’re both catching your breath after an intense encounter. toji’s muscular body, filled with countless of scars, blankets yours easily. his arms cradle you to his bare chest afterwards and all you can do is relax against him.

“i think i really hit the jackpot with ya, aye? may not have robbed ya of yer stuff that day, but i got ma prize money one way or ‘nother,” the rugged outlaw grins as he lights up a cigar and holds it between his lips.

you can’t even tell him off for smoking in your room. toji’s fingers massage your scalp so good to the point you’re putty in his hands. the scent of tobacco is also comforting. it’s one you associate with him, because he always smells like it. it’s always a combination of tobacco, nature, horses and gunpowder.

toji knows that he has to leave before anyone comes checking in on you, but he can’t leave you when you look so adorable, clinging onto him like a lifeline.

every time he visits, it’s the same exciting story.

when toji is in a more sentimental mood, he takes you out on a ride. he settles you on the back of his horse, speeding off into the sunset, letting you enjoy the view outside of town.

the beautiful freedom that comes with the life of an outlaw. the freedom of seeing nature in all its glory. you get to experience it all.

at times, when you’re out and about, he takes his chance and teaches you how to handle a gun. toji knows you’ve been spoiled rotten by your parents growing up, so you probably haven’t touched a gun a day in your life. that’s where he comes in.

“oi, watch out. yer gonna blow my fuckin’ face off, girl,” toji grunts with a faint chuckle as he notices your clumsy hand gestures while holding his revolver. it’s endearing, truly. he doesn’t yet understand why it warms his heart to see you try and shoot at the targets he set up.

what the outlaw loves more than that, is when you’re both resting against a large oak tree, with his head on your lap. especially after he gets back from a long and successful heist in a far away town.

toji often lets his cowboy hat cover his face while he naps and uses your thighs as the perfect, plush pillow. the gentle breeze only adds to the perfect moment.

when you take his stetson and put it on your head instead in a innocent gesture, he lazily opens one eye and raises a brow in amusement.

“oh? that yer way of telling me y’ want a ride?” toji teases before pinching your cheek. he loves seeing that flustered expression on your face when you’re once again reminded of the cowboy hat rule he taught you the other day.

toji never misses the opportunity, however. he sits up and leans back against the tree trunk, patting his thick thighs which he spreads lightly.

“hop on f’ me then, pretty. show me how good of a cowgirl y’ are, yeah?”

well, briefly said, it’s never a dull moment with outlaw!toji.

[screampied]

໒꒱ cw. fem! reader, unprotected, sugar baby gojo, missionary, tīt play, praise kink, mdni.

sugar baby!gojo who lives off your praise,

you can buy him anything in the world—but hearing you call him a ‘good boy’ was the most expensive, priceless gift he could ever get.

anytime he’s buried between your thighs, it’s like pure heaven to him. satoru can’t help but shove his face between your soft breasts, humping sloppily against your body as you run your fingers down his hair. down his undercut, oh that spot . . it makes whimpers spew straight past his lips at the simple touch of your fingers. “f- fuck, miss,” he’d grunt, almost forgetting that his hardened cock was stilled inside of you. his bottom lip quivers as his body continues to sloppily thrust against you, his hips lazily trying to become in sync with your own. satoru almost purrs, feeling your thumb swipe down his undercut and the way you clench around him. “y- you feel so good.”

“eyes up here, ‘toru baby,” you coo in a sweet tone, almost angelic. pretty azul irises dilate, meeting yours whilst you cup his chin. he leans into your touch as his eyes shimmer in the light. “thaaaat’s it pretty boy, jus’ hold my hips,” and he shivers once you drag your tepid hands further down, grabbing ahold of his frigidly cold hands. satoru moans, continuing to drive his dick into your sopping cunt before he leans in for a kiss. “mmpf,” you let off a muffled squeal, tossing your arms over his tensing broad shoulders.

satoru’s soft lips crash onto yours, tasting the remnants of peachy moët & chandon on your tongue—you tasted sweet, rich. .

“no, call me a good boy again,” and with how whiny his voice is and how far apart his snowy white brows furrow, he’s not asking he’s begging. “please miss . . please.”

“mhm, satoru,” you breathe through gritted teeth, his sizzling hot body continuously rocking against yours. the queen-sized bed grows rickety and your nails claw a long slope down his tensed back.

he’s stupidly feral, rutting into you again and again with his hungry jittery hips plowing into you with such needy, greedy thrusts. and as he’s between your thighs—going back and forth, hearing the sloshing sounds of your pussy shriek in rapture, satoru’s got that look in his eyes awaiting for you to say it again.

those sweet sweet words, sweeter than honey.

satoru’s sloppily kissing down your neck as his hips thrust into you quicker. he huskily groans, the sweltering hot tip of his cock kissing up against that same spot. your toes curl in pleasure as you feel his pumping surge deeper into your loving core.

“good boy,” you whisper, letting off a soft whine once he goes back to sucking on your tits again. with a loud ‘pop’, one tit of yours jiggles out from his mouth with a silvery string of saliva swallowing. a sleazy grin spreads across his lips as he heard your words of approval. he’s nodding with your swollen nipple, his eyes telling you, ‘say it again, again. . ’

“ngh, good boy,” you repeat in broken breathy whimpers, feeling the shaky weight of his sculptured hips continuously buck into yours. satoru can’t get enough of you, your scent — oh, that expensive acqua di parma perfume you’d spritz all over yourself purposely just for him to smell - it drove him insane.

satoru’s whining, his face sitting up from between your chest and he’s staring dead at you. dewy hooded eyes lock onto yours before he’s starting to see nothing but white. as satoru’s weakly moving his hips against you—his eyes were staring to roll back, he was about to almost drool. all because of your sweet cunt—the epitome of pussy drunk.

his base was the fullest its ever been. it thwacks and thwacks against your sloshing wet cunt until you’re dizzy, until he’s dizzy. wrapping your legs around his slim waist, you grind yourself back into him. “fuck me, right there ‘torubaby, fuck.”

“ ‘m gonna cum just from your voice—shit,” he huffs, and he can feel your pussy slobbering all down his pace with your slick. your hands run down his waist and he moans from your touch. it was almost cute at how sensitive he was to something as simple at touch. to the outside world—he’s satoru gojo, the strongest. but between your legs, he’s weak—happily weak just for you and only you.

with how wet you were and how his cock’s just twitching and throbbing inside of your clingy gummy walls, it’s just so damn lewd. he sucks his teeth as his bare knuckles split, turning pale. “god, keep touchin’ me please, touch my body. keep t- touchin,”

cupping his cheeks, you have a sheepish expression. “baby, you’re rambling again,” you softly murmur, and he’s panting, rolling his hips faster into you. he leans into your touch, his plump cheek squishing against your palm. your arms go back to hauling themselves over his shoulders before you bring him into a kiss.

satoru’s shivering at how your lips crash onto him yet again—your hands feeling all over him. his hips grew so unapologetically sloppy that it was only a matter of time before his knees pathetically buckled.

as his tongue blissfully curls against yours, strands of sappy saliva tangling amongst each other, he whimpers right into your mouth. satoru’s hips pop against you as he tries to slow down, feeling himself finally let go.

it’s so good, his cock emits out lustrous ribbons of cum right into your cunt and your lips part, gasping. “oh, o- oh shit,” he grunts, feeling the warmth of your ankle run down his chiseled back. satoru’s panting heavily, cowardly tucking his head back between his favorite place — your tits.

“mmpf,” he tries to suppress his moans as he’s still cumming. it’s so much that he can’t help but shake. euphoria overtakes his body as he’s dumping satiny strands inside of you. his tongue swirls against each of your pretty tender nipples before he gives each of them a long three second suck. you whine, feeling him pour every dribbling drop inside of your pussy until it’s no more for him to spill.

a hand of yours runs through his unkempt ivory strands as he’s trying to silence his sweet noises by having his mouth stuffed full. “f- fuck, that’s it, ‘toru,” and he hums with his pretty lashes fluttering themselves shut, feeling butterflies once your fingers drag through his delicate scalp.

satoru’s entirely sloppy without zero shame either. with half-lidded droopy eyes, you watch as a bit of his own saliva runs from the corners of his pink crooked lips. “s- satoru,” you moan, his flaccid cock still plugged into you. it’s hot, his tip was barely even leaking anymore, and yet between your thighs—it was an entire mess he’d gifted you. you always showered him with praises and gifts so he decided he’d shower you with a gift of his own this time.

the gift in question was currently spilling down your thighs and staining the rich velvety sheets.

“say it again,” he whines, pretty eyes pleading at you. satoru’s got a pout displaying against his lips as his head presses on top of your breasts. but his pout suddenly turns smug once he playfully nips at the sheeny pearls that wrap around your neck.

“call me your good boy again, miss . .”

[eraserbread]

nanami's not about to fight with u... he's just gonna show u who you truly belong to. read part 1 for context

"i'm not fighting with you, just get on your knees."

"ken, we have a houseful of guests-

he's shaking his head, tugging his zipper in a fateful swoop. you don't lie and say you weren't buzzing with the idea of what he'd do next, but it felt so wrong. now was not the time to be getting him off.

"i won't repeat myself." then his pants are down and he's easing his already-flushed cock from its confines. he's rubbing himself to his full potential right in front of you, so comfortable with you standing in front of him, wide-eyed and nervous.

luckily your kitchen is closed off from the rest of the house, but it's not completely closed. someone could easily pop their head into the arched entryway and see everything you're seeing. deep down you know kento wouldn't let that happen. he has the awareness of an anxious cat, so you trust him enough to get on your knees, crawling to close the distance between you two.

"i'm doing this because domination tends to make you mild-mannered," he explains briefly, voice tinged with a hint of arousal. "and that's what I need from you right now. do you understand?"

"mhm." you reply, looking up at him with silent doe-eyes. from this angle at his feet, he looks so much bigger. daunting and familiar. so beautiful... and all yours.

"relax your throat." he demands just before taking a handful of your hair and guiding you down the length of him. he's not easy to take in the slightest - your jaw burns, eyes screwed shut as you try to swallow back a gag.

then, a thunderous bout of laughter erupts from the other room and you fold -- gagging and choking all over his pretty cock.

he yanks you backward, face screwed up in distaste. "what did I just tell you?"

"'m sorry." you whine as he smushes your lips with his tip.

"if satoru walks in here and sees you like this, i will be extremely upset."

"'m sorry." you repeat, genuinely sorry and just wanting him inside of you again. he's barely gracing your lips, but every atom in your body is screaming for him. if you thought satoru was charming five minutes ago, you didn't even know who he was now. all you want is your husband.

"him and his righteous savior complex.. makes me sick." he mutters, mostly to himself. he has two big hands on either side of your head, squeezing like only he can. it's been too long together, he knows you're not a china doll.

so, he fucks your limp throat like he hates you, eye twitching as he watches your face go more flushed with each mean thrust he's delivering. you've never taken him like this, feeling the drippy tip of his cock at the base of your throat, giving you goosebumps all around his touch. you've never felt closer to him, yet so pained by every one of his movements.

it's like your entire mind goes limp. etched with scrawling versions of his name only. he's you can think about, all you can taste...

only when he's finally done and marked your stomach with his seed, does he help you up with a strong hand, just holding you close for a second until yours stops shaking.

he doesn't say a word, just watching your eyes as they stare back at him expressionless but teary and bloodshot nonetheless. he leans forward and kisses your forehead.

"sorry. you know i'll always love you."

you nod, because... yeah. same. that makes him smile.

and he guides you back to your party holding your hand, watching out for you as you take the seat next to satoru back. it's like he doesn't even notice your presence, he's far too preoccupied teasing utahime about some nameless story from the past.

once the party has concluded and kento is seeing them all out, does satoru stop and say something.

"poor, little nanami..." satoru stops just before he reaches the first step past the front door. ken regards him with a nod, leaning against the doorframe. "this is what happens when the lamb chooses a wolf."

"do i even want you to explain?"

satoru shrugs him off, throwing up in hand as a curt goodbye as he turns around. "she's too nice. it's sad to know you yelled at her... she was all teary-eyed and mellow for the rest of the night."

kento turns around, chuckling to himself as he finally shuts the front door. reveling in the quiet comfort of his home he thinks:

ha. did much more than make her cry...

[ddejavvu]

Cant stop thinking about Logan bending Wades darling little sister (in her 20s) over the kitchen table while Waded out on a mission. That is all I can think about right now

Insatiable - Logan Howlett x Reader

send me logan requests!

contents/warnings: smut, minors dni. age gap (legal; reader is in her 20's, logan is like... 200 years old.), wilson!reader, dirty talk, slight breeding mentioned

The only reason you're able to do it in the kitchen is because Wade isn't home, and you'd managed to shut the door on his pathetically endearing little dog. Mary Puppins is probably tearing up Wade's poor excuse for a comforter right now, and Logan is tearing up- well.

You.

Your pussy.

You're bent so far over the counter that your tits are cold, your nipples stiff and sensitive against the countertop. The pressure against them hurts, or maybe it's a lack of other stimulation against them- either way, they're stinging and you wish to right yourself and tug mercilessly at them.

But Logan's weight- not the full load, or you'd be crushed - is holding you down, your hands scrabbling uselessly at the smooth counter for purchase that you'll never find as you're rocked steadily into the cabinets below.

Logan's cock is buried so deep inside of you that you're not sure he'll ever get it out again, but then he does, and then he thrusts back in and you're hit all over again with a sense of shit, I didn't know I went that deep. He's found your limit, stretched your cunt to the breaking point with his impressive length, and his facial hair tickles the side of your face as he takes your cunt from behind.

Your face smacks painfully against the cabinets over the counter and Logan reaches a hand up to cover your forehead, "Shit, be careful. Head down, honey, there you go. Wouldn't want Big Brother finding an imprint of your face in the wood."

"Whaddya think he'd say?" Logan's suddenly snickering, a gruff delight to his voice as he rams his cock inside you once more, thrusting at a steady, merciless pace, "Shit, if he knew my old ass had his sweet little sister pinned up against the counter..."

Wade would kill him. Or try valiantly to, as it's been established before by Wade's best efforts that Logan is one difficult motherfucker to kill. But you don't fancy a bloodbath even if the vessel will survive, so you tuck yourself tight to the counter so that you won't have to explain to Wade why the cupboard door is off its hinges.

Leaning forwards more only pushes your ass out further, and Logan groans, dick twitching, as he's able to thrust more viciously beneath the curve of your ass. He's humping you like a dog, a depraved pace set as he chases an impending orgasm.

"Taking you in your brother's house- aagh, shit," Logan grunts, nose nudging against the back of your neck as he inhales your sweat, "God he's gonna drop his swords on this fucking counter as soon as he walks through the door, not- not even gonna know your tits were smashed up against it. He's gonna get coke from that cabinet in an hour," Logan's voice is strained, moreso the faster he pumps his hips, and all you can do is cry out as he ravages your cunt, "He's never gonna know I made his sister cream up against it. Never gonna know I fucked my fuckin' babies into you here, aah- agh-I-!"

Logan bites, hard against your shoulder, catching some of your neck in the process and introducing yet another blindingly painful sensation that turns into sick, twisted pleasure between your legs. Your cunt is spent, barely capable of another orgasm after you'd already had two fucked out of you before, but it gives you its best shot as Logan's thick, warm cum gushes into you, immediately too much for your poor pussy to handle as it drips down your thighs instead.

Logan relinquishes your shoulder with a low groan, his breath coming hot and heavy as he pants, "You alright?"

"Yeah," You whimper, legs shaking as Logan holds you steady, "I- I don't think I can stand anymore."

"That's okay." Logan hums, gentler now that he's fucked himself calm. He peels you off of the counter, supporting your body weight as he half-walks, half-drags you down the hallway towards his bedroom, "Next round's on my bed, sweetheart. You won't need to move a muscle."

[shotmrmiller]

Big man, Big mouth

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader (because demeaning girl usage) WC: 4.9k it's just gross smut and simon gets kinda mean sometimes nothing crazy :) ty to the brain to my pinky @xoxunhinged and precious beta @waves-against-a-cliff catching my errs

The smile you’d had on your face all morning is subsequently wiped once you’re told that you won’t, in fact, be spearheading a team meeting with air conditioning and a cup full of your favorite medium roast, but instead, you’re being sent somewhere where practical experience trumps theoretical, textbook knowledge. And alone, at that.

Guess your travel mug is about to make its big debut.

The construction site is alive with purpose— the buzzing of drills, raucous banter, and the low hum of music from a stereo. You run a hand down the back of your skirt that is more tourniquet than office attire you were forced into wearing, regretting not drawing the line at the heels pinching your toes. "Professional setting, professional appearance," your boss had said. Nothing here demands you to stand in ironed clothes with dust settling on your eyelashes and the taste of grit on your tongue.

You feel out of place, a white-collar worker surrounded by hard hats and steel-toe boots. Perhaps taking this job for a promotion was hasty on your part. But it’s too late now and the sun above you is wilting the starched collar of your blouse.

Best get this over and done with. (The bottle of barefoot wine at home will be your reward for your suffering.)

Walking to the home still in a semi-skeletal phase had been a bit uncomfortable, anxiety gnawing at your nerves and the polished shoes at the skin of your heel. But what made your shoulders tense and spine stiffen was the crew. You'd expected disgruntled workers, sure. A bit of grumbling here and there. No one likes to have someone with more authority and less experience trample all over your work, telling you what's what.

Not them eyeing you like you're a fish in a shark tank. A little minnow pulled out of her natural habitat and into the mix with dominant predators. The paper on your clipboard crinkles audibly as one of them— the leader, you gather— stops you before you can get any closer than he feels necessary. He plods over, hard hat tucked into his arm, wiping his sweaty brow with his sunbaked forearm, a few wood curls nestled into his beard.

"Ya lost?" he grunts.

There's a guy with a comb for hair and limpid blue eyes staring right at you from the back as he leans on a half-built wall with a smarmy grin on his thin lips.

"No! No, I, um—" you stammer, "I'm here as a temporary replacement for, um—"

He cuts you off with a dismissive wave, fingers thick as steel beams. "Right. Yeah, yeah." Bloody rude. "The inspector." His head tilts and spits on the cement, eyes giving you a once over, lingering on the bare skin of your calves. "John," he says then jerks his head behind him, to the shady inside of the home. "Let's get ya out this sun 'fore you melt like sugar on the driveway."

You keep your lips pressed in a line, swallowing down the retort sitting on your tongue with a hint of frustration, and follow him on swift feet. It is unforgivingly hot and at least there's a roof overhead. Most of the walls were still just wooden beams, the foundation concrete covered in dust. Rough-bristle brooms lean in corners, the stereo now sitting silently in the center of what’s to be the living room next to a man with a massive frame and a sweat-soaked wifebeater who didn't bother turning around as you made a beeline for the only fan feebly cutting through the muggy heat inside.

John from behind you grabs your attention. "So? What's the issue this time? We jus' had tha' muppet pass through a week ago." You turn around, the breeze now somewhat cooling the back of your neck.

"Just need to personally check what's left—" you clear your throat, giving the clipboard a waggle, "on this. Nothing too grand." The blonde one with shorn hair hasn't looked up once from the blue cooler between his legs.

John scratches his head. "Right." There's a drag of heavy boots behind you. "Temporary, eh?" His eyes are like cerulean rivets, pinning you in place.

Gruff Scottish cuts in, tone dripping with amusement. "Will ye look a' tha'," he mutters, accent thick and deliberate, "bosses up top sent a bonnie wee lass to keep an eye on things. Make sure ye pay good attention, aye?" The brute comes to stand in front of you, flexing one arm, bicep like a knotted tree trunk. "Would hate ye missin' the show."

Show ‘em your teeth, little fish. That promotion is already in your hands, don't let it slip through your fingers.

"Listen, you—" you snap back, cheeks burning hot but then his eyebrows raise to his hairline, the corner of his lip curling in challenge.

"It's Soap, hen."

“...Right.”

What the hell kind of name is Soap?

A third voice— crisp English just like John's— cuts through the air from the second floor. "Wipe the slobber off ya chin 'nd leave 'er alone, Soap! You still hav'ta sweep up 'ere!" A man with bronze skin and a cap adorned with the Union Jack in the center pokes his head out from over the wooden railing. His smile looks stiff.

"Miss." His eyes flash to Soap. "Move it. You can get your cock—" wow, mouth like a sailor, that one, "wet while on company's time." His gaze falls on you for a moment longer before disappearing back into the upper level.

Soap grumbles what sounds like a "fuckin' 'ell Kyle" but heads for the stairs anyway, steps creaking under his weight. "Ah'll be 'round if ye need me," he says with a wink.

Unlikely.

John absently shakes his head and turns to the grizzled, mountain of a man still hunched over that cursed cooler of his. "Simon." He suddenly moves then, rising smoothly to his feet for someone his size. He's a wall of muscle, a very clear force of nature, and he's now staring at your—

your shoes?

"Alrigh'," he gruffly says, "We'll get outta your way. The faster you can look for, whatever it is you're lookin' for, the faster you can get out o' my beard." He places his hard hat back on and gives Simon a nod. "To work, break time's over."

Simon walks past you without so much as a glance, his thick arm brushing roughly against your shoulder with enough strength to make you take a step back but then he speaks. "Don't trip on nothin', girl. I'd hate f'r our pretty mascot t'get injured on the," he emphasizes the last word, tone heavy with mockery, "job."

Your tongue is pressed firmly behind your clenched teeth as you straighten your skirt. Get this shit over with.

--

Their attitudes toward you had left some to be desired, but they had done their job seamlessly. Not a crack in place nor a bolt out of it meaning that ticking off the rest of the boxes on your clipboard had been a cinch, making the promotion even easier. By the time you were ready to go home— the thought of leaving behind the tangy scent of sweat and iron adding a pep to your painful step— the sun had already dipped, casting long shadows over the construction site.

Until John's unwelcome chivalrous gesture: sending one of his to accompany you to your car. "t's late out," he says, leaving no room for lip. Fine, whatever. The faster you get out of here the better. Saliva pools in your mouth at the thought of having a chilled glass of wine with chinese takeout for dinner.

Except the one waiting for you in the garage with a lit smoke between his chapped lips is Simon. He flicks it to the ground, smothering out the embers with the heel of his boot. "Move. Ain't got all day."

The last strand of your patience snaps and your mouth twists into a snarl. "Then leave off! I don't need a fucking chaperone. Believe it or not, I do know how to look both ways before crossing the street."

You'd only taken three irate, swift-footed steps away from him, clipboard trembling in your grip when the back of your shoe dug into raw skin; a sharp, sudden agony flaring out in a hot, thick wave and you stumble. The world spins for a second, colors blurring together until—

The relief is immediate. The hot needles on your raw nerves dulled down to a throb, vision blurring from the brief bite of intense pain. You breathe in a deep lungful of air, tasting salt and sawdust while you flex your feet, hissing when the blistered skin stretches. At least the damage to your toes is minimal.

But not to your pride. Tripping over your own feet, because the driveway while unfinished is still flat, now means you're being hauled over his shoulder, which is broad enough to be surprisingly comfortable, in the opposite direction of where your car is with your heels in hand. The fabric of his tank feels stiff under your sweaty palms.

"Is this kind of behavior normal for you? Or am I just lucky?" your voice is tinged with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. His arm tightens uncomfortably around the back of your bare thighs even though the office skirt you managed to squeeze into is knee-length.

"Only when I spot clumsy-footed birds like you. Can't 'ave ya splat on the concrete like a crime scene outline." A slow creeping flame spreads from your neck to the apple of your cheeks when you notice the guys staring at you from a window upstairs, Soap giving you a toothy smile. Even Kyle seems amused. Mortifying. Someone strike you down now. Actually, no. Then who'd feed your cat once you’re gone?

"'nd John would chew me out f'r lettin' ya break these," his long fingers circle your ankle, "in 'alf." You try to muster a response, but the words sit behind your teeth, your chagrin having tangled your tongue into knots.

Then he stops and the creaking of hinges reaches your ears. "Wait." Your eyes land on a black cargo bed, caked with dried mud. "Are you just going to sit me in your car?" He sets you down in the back seat anyway, tossing your shoes inside.

"Truck. I can drop ya on the patch of grass if ya like." Simon leaves you there, going to the driver's side rummaging through the middle compartment. His work truck is exactly what you'd expect from a man like him. The seats are covered in a thin layer of dust, you imagine he gives no one a ride, a well-worn visibility vest strewn about, an extra pair of work boots stained with splatters of white paint—the size difference of your shoes compared to his has you swallowing a lump the size of your fist down.

Simon pulls out a mid-sized red box and places it on the floor mat then props your leg up on his. His grip is firm but gentle as he inspects your open wounds and then sucks on his teeth. "A bit stupid, wearin' ankle breakers when out on a job." He prods around the inflamed skin, the pain making you tense.

"Don't worry about me and mi—" you hiss when he digs his thumb into the arch of your foot, "mine. Maybe I wanted to look nice." Fuck those shoes.

"'m sure ya did, though the skirt's all ya need." The warmth of his breath spreads through your toes and up your calf, raising gooseflesh.

You can't hold back a snort. "And now you're going to tell me that you prefer women in skirts and dresses?"

Simon switches legs, careful to not aggravate the blisters further. "I prefer my women with no clothes. But both of those make it f'r easier access. Like yours. Can see your knickers from 'ere." That has your heart skipping a beat, eyes widening with disbelief. Instinctively, you sit upright, back straightening with a pop.

"They're red."

You chuff out a breath. He's lying. You'd put on the only available pair you had at the time since you'd forgotten to dry your laundry the night prior. A simple, cotton grey. "You—! Fucking hell, I almost kicked you in the teeth." Simon's looking at you now, eyes dark and intense.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's tried," he says with a smirk, voice low. "White, then."

The first aid kit still lies on the floor mat. "Stop talking." Simon ignores you, instead grabbing your other leg and pulling you closer toward the edge of the seat. Toward him.

"Green," he rumbles, his hands cupping the bottom of your feet, thumb and pointer coming to gently tug on your toes before moving his way up. You feel like a young, dewy-eyed farm girl having her first tumble in the hay and he's only now stroking the protruding bone of your ankle. The motion is slow, deliberate, a tender caress that sends a shiver up your spine. Has it truly been that long since you've had your body shape imprinted into the mattress?

"How about," you swallow thickly, "you patch me up proper and I'll be on my way?" If anyone else had heard, they'd say you're trying to convince yourself that being here isn't what you really want. But the little garble in your voice gives you away.

Simon hums, a sound that vibrates in your chest, sinks into the marrow of your bones. "Little bird wants t’go home 'nd 'ave only a throw 'nd a cat t'warm 'er bed?" You feel a different kind of ache this time, pulsing sharp and deep in your core. "Eh? Y'wanna curl up on the couch with one o’ those sex books while playin’ with your pretty cunt?" 

The idea of having to use the blue bullet sitting inside the nightstand drawer sounds unappealing. And it’s probably out of battery too. Damn. 

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and shake your head. He doesn’t accept that as your answer.

"Wha's tha'? You will speak when spoken to, pet. Do you," he emphasizes the last word as he begins to open your legs by the knees, "wanna go home with an empty pussy or let me fill it 'til you're leaking cum out ya ears?"

Can't say no to him serenading you like that. You clench around nothing, hesitance crumbling like sand. "B-but what about your job? Aren't you still working?"

Simon grabs you then, dinner plate-sized hands wrapping around the softer part of your waist. "'M on a break. I'd say I deserve it after all my 'ard work." He lifts you effortlessly, the hem of your skirt rolling as you widen your legs further.

He rolls his hips once, feeling the bulge in his jeans brush against your sex, feather-light, and you bite on the thickest part of your tongue to keep from moaning like a cat in heat. "And what about us being in the open?" you ask though the question is redundant. Besides the crew's work vehicles, there's not another car in sight. If anyone else had been working nearby, they've long since left.

He seems to share your sentiment. "If tha's all? 'm tryin' t'see if I got it righ'."

No, that'll just about do it. "Okay. Alright." God knows you need this. Even if it comes from a stranger you'll probably never see again. Simon doesn't wait any longer, pushing up the rest of your skirt to pool above your thighs.

He hisses long and low through his teeth. "Tight little thing, innit?" Yeah, well. You were going to tell him that while putting on your skirt that morning had been an absolute nightmare, it wasn't that small on you until the tips of his fingers glided along your clothed slit. Oh. He's not talking about that.

"I guess grey's my new favorite colour. Especially this—" he thumbs the darkened wet spot on the fabric, "shade." When he adds more pressure, you can't help but let a gasp out as you buck your hips in want of more. "Easy. 'aven't even started with you." Simon opens the front of your blouse with a single hand, coming undone easily. He goes for the clip of your bra that's serendipitously placed on the front.

"Gotta let the girls breathe," he says. Whatever his reasoning doesn't matter because all there is, is relief. No more underwire digging into your skin, no more suffocating restraint. You only wore the blasted thing because all of your sports bras would've been visible through the blouse.

Simon rolls a hardened bud with one hand while unbuttoning the front of his jeans with the other. "Eatin' this," he gives the mound of your pussy a mean tap, "gonna 'ave t'wait. I'll get ya off though, don't worry tha' little head o' yours."

You wonder if he says that to everybody he fucks in the back of his truck. "What? Why?"

His length sits hot and heavy over your cunt. And it's big enough to kill. Death by cock. That'll be on your epitaph. "'m a big geezer," he mutters, fingers toying with the side of your panties, "lyin' down so you can sit your cunt on my face isn't gonna work righ' now."

Definitely says that to everybody. "Doesn't matter. I'll take care o'ya 'nother way." Simon pulls the dampened gusset to the side and lowers his head to— "Pretty like I thought it was." A fat glob of spit lands on the puffy lips of your pussy and he smears it around with his cock, tip sliding right along your clit. He uses his thumb to press himself down harder, more friction, more sensation, each slow roll of his hips pricking neglected nerves awake, alive, and it feels good. Surprisingly good.

The way the scar on his lip whitens as he bites it tells you it's just as good for him too. "Thought about it much, did you?" He goes lower this time, ruddy tip catching on your entrance momentarily before returning up.

"Since you walked inside a place you 'ave no business bein' in. Birds like you shouldn't be minglin' in the trenches with us grunts." The tips of your ears are hot as he stares down at you. "Should be sittin' nice 'nd pretty in a cubicle with air conditionin' 'nd an oversized mug o' watered-down coffee."

Simon cups the swell of your arse, canting your hips to glide himself better. Every bump and ridge on the underside of his cock is rubbing slowly on you and the thought of licking a slick stripe on the vein only tightens the white-hot coil below your navel.

"Or better yet, sittin' at home doin' wha'ever else while waitin' f'r a man like me to come back from work with a ribeye 'nd redskin potatoes in the oven." He lets your panties fall back into place; the sodden front almost transparent as he rubs against your swollen clit at the same time. God, he's fucking. your. panties! And you're bloody letting him.

What a way to break this year-long dry spell.

He bends your legs so that your feet are now being held flat on the thick of his chest with his hands as he picks up the pace. The suspension springs on the truck begin to groan. "I like mine medium rare."

Your back's come off the seat, spine bowed. You're close, so fucking close, you've got slick coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down to your arse, probably staining his polyester material underneath. This is torture and your pussy feels tender, raw, yet he's barely touching the focal point of your desire. If he doesn't make you come in the next minute, you're breaking that thick neck of his.

It's like he read your mind because he uses his cock to tap on your clit firmly, hard enough to hear a wet thwack and he does it once, thrice and—

And then your body gives, an intense climax that steals the breath in your very lungs, has you your blunt nails biting into the muscle of his forearms, his groan drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears. Your face feels hot, probably is hot to the touch and there's a sting on the middle of your bottom lip and can taste iron on your tongue. Even the tips of your fingers tingle.

Through your half-lidded gaze, you see Simon holding onto the top of the truck while his breath comes in ragged gasps. Did he come? You curiously touch the expanse of your stomach. Not sticky.

"No. I didn't come. You," he takes in a deep, steadying breath then reaches to squeeze the sides of your face, cheeks plumping under the pressure. "You almost 'ad me, though. I don't remember the last time I 'ad to think tha' 'ard of London t'not finish. But I'm not done with you."

Simon hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and takes them off with urgency only to stuff them in his back pocket. "Better with no clothes on, remember." You can feel his twitching cock leak onto your heated skin.

"If ya need, use this." A black bundle of fabric lands on your chest, what is— It's a mask? If he means to hide your identity from his coworkers, you're not sure this skull mask is going to work. He drags you to him roughly until your arse is hanging off the seat. And then there's a hot, dull pressure pushing against your entrance that's followed by a searing sting, and it, it's so much, it's too m-

"Tight fucking-, Ya need t-, fuck, to relax," he grunts, fingers dimpling your thighs. Simon's thrusts are jerky, short, as he wrenches your walls apart. Even with your creamy cum and his spit it's still a struggle. "'Alf way there," and a rattled breath escapes you. You're being split right down the middle and there's still some left?

For the next few moments only your squeaks and mewls can be heard as he makes room for him, your hand flat on his lower stomach— feeling the coarse, thick patch of hair on it— as if you're trying to keep him away, out, something but then he snarls and snaps his hips. You've heard of a ring of fire some women experience at some point in their life and you think this is yours. The thin skin of your entrance burns, most likely stretched to its limit, like a rubber band about to snap.

"Easy," he drawls out, "The worst's over. Took me like you're made f'r me. G'mme ya 'and." He takes your clammy hand and has you touch where the two of you meet. His eyes are glued to your fingers that are split into a v, pads feeling your cunt soaked in viscous slick.

The groan he lets out at the sight makes the world around you spin. "Stay jus' like tha'." Sure, not like you’ve got anywhere to go. Not with his hands tight around you like metal cuffs. Simon holds nothing back, not even in the very first minute. Doesn't warm you up to it, don't let you try to get used to him turning you inside out. His thrusts are long, firm, hungry— bottoming out every single time until he sits snugly at the plug of your womb. Grinds up when he meets resistance, eyeing your features in case there's discomfort.

The only ache you've got is the one he's fucking into you. (And you also might be partly lying on his tape measurer.)

But then he hitches your legs up, hands around the back of your thighs as they're pushed toward your chest and that pulls a whine out of you that you're sure John and the crew heard. "There she is, bird's got a healthy set o' lungs on 'er." He keeps the same, unforgiving angle and doubles down, using the bulk of his weight to pin you in place, forced to do nothing but take and take and take.

Until Simon's strikes the side of your arse with an open palm. "D'ya hear 'em?" Wha? What? Hear who?

And then you hear it. Him. The handsome one with the hat from upstairs. "Ghost?" he sounds right across the street and Simon hasn't stopped rocking the truck as he fucks you right through it. "Wha's tha' Kyle?" His voice is steady even though there are beads of sweat rolling down the side of his temple.

"I said good job on all your 'ard work 'nd we'll see ya tomorrow. You 'ave a good night too, Miss." There's a crude whistle followed by a pained grunt and a quick mumbled apology. Maybe if you don't respond they'll just get in their car and go home.

But then John calls out to you too.

"Simon must’ve missed you, sweetheart. “Wow. He barks out a laugh. " 'ave yourself a good night, Miss.” Then, sternly says, “Tomorrow at 6, Simon.”

Simon, though, has no intention of letting you take the easy way out. He smacks your arse again, right in the same— already tender— spot from just moments before. "Answer 'em, pet. Or 'ave I fucked all the manners outta ya?" He accentuates the last three words with thrusts so sharp that if he hadn't been holding you in place, you would've been sent sprawling back.

Whatever words you're supposed to say are snagged in your throat like hooks, only whimpers and high-pitched gasps falling past your trembling lips. He drags his thumb over your bottom one, the calloused pad of it tough. "Go on. Be good 'nd tell 'em to 'ave a good night too. And no names. Only one comin’ outta you should be mine."

When you open your mouth, he weaves a hand down to your clit, jerking it in fast little circles that have you forgetting where you even are. "Mf- g-good," he gives you just a second of respite to spit on it. "Good night-," his fingers are almost torture, and god, you're going to come in front of all of them. You warble out the words hastily, feeling your impending orgasm come at you with the speed of a freight train.

"Tha's a good bird, singin' when I tell ya to." There's no stopping this, not with all of his focus on the little bundle of nerves and every drag of his cock making your spine arch as if he were winding it. "Squeeze my cock, tha's it."

Your legs shake violently, toes curled, and you can feel a cramp begin in your calf but none of it matters, not when you're seeing bright lights behind your scrunched eyelids, not when you feel fingers in your mouth to stifle the scream that's viciously wrenched from your throat nor when Simon growls out a "Fuckin' 'ell."

"I told ya, if ya needed somethin' t'bite on, use tha'," he jerks his head toward the mask that's tight in your fist. Your soul is still floating adrift in the wind and he's already trying to make conversation. And he did not say to bite on it.

"I'm not puttin' this unwashed thing in my mouth." You languidly watch him inspect his hand, looking at the deep purple teeth imprints on his fingers. Whoops.

"But you'll 'ave me after sweatin' under the bloody sun for 'ours." His hand slides behind your nape, lifting your head a bit as he lowers his chest to meet your sweat-slick one. Your hands come to claw at the shifting muscles of his back when he begins anew, this time his pace is relentless, sharp, predatory. He's a shark that has scented blood and is now on the hunt.

The prickling bristles of his facial hair scratch against your temple. "This," the hand around your neck tightens, your rapid pulse now roaring in your ears, "is the best pussy I've ever had." His thrusts are jarring, make your teeth clack together hard enough to hurt, and after a dozen of them, he comes with a cruel bite to the junction of your shoulder, snarl animalistic.

Hopefully, the guys drove off a while ago otherwise you're re-dressing and driving home with that mask Simon tossed your way.

Your blouse is unfortunately beyond saving. Your skirt isn’t faring any better if that massive tear in the front has anything to say about it and your shoulder will require at least half a bottle of concealer plus a couple of bandaids, which the first aid kit is completely empty of. Not even the first aid guide is inside. 

You sluggishly begin to button up one of Simon's spare flannel shirts when he asks you if you're hungry.

"No." Not really. Hard to feel much when most of your nerves from the ribs down are shot.

"Get in the front, I'd like t'eat my dinner soon." He's staring right at the apex of your legs, your cunt still throbbing from the abuse."'m 'ungry." There’s no tow car sign on the street, actually, there’s not even a simple stop sign here. 

It better not get towed. You’re not paying a dime if it does.

(Are your feet still hurting or can he fuck those too? No? Next time, then.)