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goldfades · 3 days ago

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never felt so alone───paige bueckers

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 6.7k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | requested by @wanderlusturous -> Paige x reader too 🤍 like maybe some teammate fics | i hope you enjoy, babe!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | angst to fluff, ACL injury stuff, paige being a cutie patootie, not sure if theres anything else but it has a happy ending!

The first time you let yourself cry about it—really cry, not just a few silent tears swallowed in the dark—you were alone in the training room, knee wrapped in ice, watching your team warm up on the screen mounted in the corner. The sound was off, but you didn’t need it. You could hear it anyway. The sneaker squeaks, the ball hitting the floor, the echoes of laughter and easy, thoughtless movement. It was the sound of a world that had moved on without you.

And you hated that it hurt this much.

It had been almost a year. A year since your body betrayed you in front of thousands. Since your whole life had changed in a single wrong step, your knee buckling beneath you in a way it was never supposed to. A year since you lay on the court, gripping your leg with hands that shook, blinking up at the overhead lights while everything around you blurred into background noise. A year since you had to sit in that tiny, sterile room with a doctor who didn’t bother to soften the news: ACL tear. Surgery. Recovery. Long, slow, brutal.

And just like that, everything you had been working toward, everything you had been so sure was yours—the draft, the number one pick, the future you had mapped out for yourself since you first picked up a ball—was gone.

You tried to be okay about it. You told everyone you were okay about it.

But you weren’t.

Because now, every time you walked into that gym, it wasn’t the same. You weren’t the same. You felt it in the way people looked at you, in the way their eyes darted to your knee before meeting your face. In the way their encouragement sounded more like pity, their reassurances empty, weightless.

“You’ll be back,” they’d say, and maybe they believed it. Maybe they didn’t. It didn’t matter. Because you knew the truth. You weren’t the same player. You weren’t the same person.

And you had never felt more alone.

But if there was anyone who understood, it was Paige.

She never said much about it, but she didn’t have to. She had been through it too. She knew what it was like to go from untouchable to sidelined, to watch the game you loved move forward without you, to wonder if you’d ever be the same again.

And lately, she was the only person you could stand to be around.

You had been staring at your phone for so long that the screen dimmed, and for a moment, you just let it. You let the notification blur into the background, just another soft glow in the otherwise empty space of your mind. But the words were already burned into your vision. You could still see them, could still hear them.

ESPN: The new projected #1 pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft has been updated.

You hadn’t even opened the article. You didn’t need to. The bets had been completely off for you for a while now. They had kept your name there at first, had held onto you like a favorite whose odds just kept slipping, but eventually, reality set in. You were old news now. Another cautionary tale. A talent with a question mark hanging over her head.

And now, someone else was in your place.

You stared at the screen, willing yourself to feel something other than this heavy, creeping numbness. You should be angry. Should be heartbroken. Should be something.

But you just felt… gone. Like the piece of you that used to care had been hollowed out somewhere along the way.

A year ago, you had been untouchable. A sure thing. The future. The kind of player people built franchises around. And now? Now, there was a chance there was no draft for you at all.

Because the truth was, you weren’t healing fast enough. You had tried. God, you had tried. You had pushed your body past the point of exhaustion, past the pain, past the doubt. You had done every stretch, every exercise, followed every rehab plan like it was a religion. But the clock was still ticking. And if you didn’t get back soon, if you didn’t prove that you were still the player they had once fought over, then what?

Then no one would draft you.

Then it would all be over before it even began.

Your fingers tightened around your phone, stomach twisting into knots, the weight of it pressing against your chest, against your throat, until you felt like you might choke on it.

And then, suddenly, it was gone.

You blinked, hands grasping at empty air as Paige plucked the phone from your grip, her movements casual but firm, like she had seen this moment coming before you even did.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just held your phone in one hand, looking down at you with those sharp, knowing eyes, the ones that had always seen through you too easily.

“It’s nothing,” you muttered, shifting on the bench, trying to sound bored, like your world hadn’t just cracked open a little more. Like you weren’t barely holding it together.

Paige didn’t buy it. Of course she didn’t.

She turned your phone over in her palm, thoughtful, before slipping it into the pocket of her hoodie. “You don’t need to look at that.”

The damage was already done.

Your chest still felt tight, your stomach still sick, your mind still racing down the same dark paths it had been on since the moment you read that notification. Paige could take your phone away, but she couldn’t erase the words from your head, couldn’t make you unsee them, couldn’t stop the way your pulse was pounding in your ears, reminding you over and over of what you had lost.

Paige must have seen something shift in your face because she exhaled, long and slow, before sitting down beside you.

“You’re still in this,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter now, edged with something softer.

You laughed, but it didn’t sound like you. “Am I?”

She didn’t answer right away, just studied you like she was trying to figure out how far gone you really were, how much of you was still left.

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure of the answer.

The locker room was dead silent. Everyone could feel the tension thick in the air, suffocating, pressing against their chests. No one wanted to look at you. No one wanted to be caught in the crossfire.

You sat there, jaw clenched so tight it ached, hands curled into fists on your knees, staring at the floor like if you looked anywhere else, the whole thing would snap you in half.

"You think this is easy for me?" Geno’s voice cut through the silence, sharp, impatient. "You think I enjoy calling you out like this? I don’t. But this attitude you’ve had? It’s not helping you. It’s not helping the team."

You felt your throat tighten, but you swallowed it down. You always swallowed it down.

Geno sighed, dragging a hand over his face before leveling you with that look, the one you’d seen him give so many players before. The one that usually meant tough love, a push in the right direction. The one that used to light a fire in you.

"You know what I’ve told you before," he continued, voice calmer now but still firm. "Half the battle is in the mentality. You can sit here and feel sorry for yourself, or you can prove to everyone that you’re still the player they think you are. It’s your choice."

That was it.

That was the moment you broke.

The moment you couldn’t keep it all bottled up anymore.

Because it wasn’t just about your mentality. It wasn’t just about your attitude. It was about how everything had been taken from you in one second, how you had clawed your way through recovery, how you had done everything right and it still wasn’t enough. It was about the way people talked about you now, like you were a what-could-have-been instead of a what-still-could-be. It was about the fact that you didn’t even know who you were anymore without basketball, and no one seemed to understand that.

Your voice shook when you spoke, but the words spilled out anyway, raw and desperate and unfiltered.

"Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I don’t replay that moment every single night, over and over again in my head, trying to figure out how I got here?" You laughed, but it wasn’t funny. It was bitter, broken. "Do you think I don’t want to be out there? That I don’t want to be the player I was?"

Your eyes were burning now, but you refused to let the tears fall here. Not in front of him. Not in front of them.

"I’ve done everything I was supposed to do," you whispered, voice hoarse, barely holding it together. "And it’s still not enough."

No one said anything.

Not Geno. Not the team.

No one.

So you left.

You grabbed your stuff, shoved past the stunned silence, and walked out before anyone could stop you.

Paige was the only one who followed.

She didn’t call your name. Didn’t try to talk to you. Didn’t try to tell you it was okay, because she knew it wasn’t.

She caught up to you outside the gym, her footsteps quiet but steady, and the moment you turned to look at her, everything you had been holding in—the anger, the grief, the exhaustion—crashed into you all at once.

And without a single word, Paige wrapped her arms around you.

She hugged you tight, like she was holding you together, like she could feel the way you were unraveling, thread by thread. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself cry. Really cry. Not just a few tears wiped away before anyone could see, but the kind of tears that shook your whole body, that made it hard to breathe, that carried everything you had been too afraid to say.

Paige didn’t let go.

Not when your shoulders trembled. Not when you gripped the back of her hoodie like a lifeline. Not when your sobs turned into ragged, uneven breaths.

And that night, she didn’t leave your side.

She didn’t say much. She didn’t need to.

She just stayed, close enough that you could hear her breathing, close enough that, for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel completely alone.

Paige had always seen you as untouchable. As unstoppable.

Seeing you like this? Broken, vulnerable, hurting in a way that even she couldn’t fix?

That broke her, too.

You had always been the one. The kind of player people whispered about before you even stepped onto the court. The kind of talent that didn’t just demand attention but held it, bent the game around you like gravity. Paige had seen it from the first time she played with you, the way you moved, the way you thought the game three steps ahead of everyone else. You were special. And everybody knew it.

That was why, when it happened, it felt like the world had cracked open.

She remembered it too clearly. The sharp sound of your body hitting the floor, the way you clutched your knee, the way your face twisted in pain. She had never seen you like that before. Never seen you down and not bounce right back up.

At first, she thought—hoped—it was just something minor. A bad landing. A scare. You’d get up, you’d shake it off, and everything would go back to normal.

But you didn’t get up.

And when they helped you off the court, when she saw the way you wouldn’t even try to put weight on it, her stomach dropped.

Because she knew.

She knew before the MRI, before the press release, before the hushed conversations about recovery timelines and worst-case scenarios. She knew the second she saw your face.

And that night, when she found you sitting in the locker room long after everyone else had left, staring down at your knee like it wasn’t even yours anymore, she realized something else.

You weren’t just scared of being hurt. You were scared of what came next.

Paige understood that fear. She had lived it. She knew what it was like to sit on the sidelines and feel like the game was leaving you behind, like the thing that made you you was slipping further and further out of reach. She knew how isolating it was, how no amount of support or encouragement could touch the parts of you that ached the most.

But this was you. And in her mind, you had never been touchable, had never been stoppable. The idea of you being anything less than that—it wasn’t something she could wrap her head around.

So she had told herself, You’ll come back. You have to come back.

But months passed, and she watched the way you changed. The way your fire dimmed. The way you started retreating into yourself, isolating, pulling away from the team, from her.

The way your name slowly started disappearing from draft talks.

The way you looked at yourself like you weren’t sure you belonged here anymore.

And now, sitting beside you, holding you as you finally let yourself fall apart, she felt helpless.

Because this wasn’t a game she could win for you.

She could fight for you on the court. She could hit big shots, make big plays, try to keep the team moving forward. But she couldn’t fix this. She couldn’t make your knee heal faster. She couldn’t take away the doubt, the fear, the loss of everything you thought was certain.

She hated that.

She hated that all she could do was hold you, that all she could offer was her presence, her warmth, the steady rhythm of her breathing against yours.

But if this was all she could do, she would do it.

Because you weren’t alone.

And as long as she was here, as long as she had anything to give, she would make sure you never felt like you were.

It started with an alarm.

A shrill, relentless alarm at 5:30 AM. The kind that made you want to throw your phone across the room.

At first, you thought you had set it by accident. But then you heard the knocking.

No. Not knocking. Pounding.

You groaned, pulling your blanket over your head, willing whoever it was to just disappear.

No such luck.

"Get up," Paige’s voice rang through the door, clear, firm, unmovable.

You shut your eyes tighter. "Go away."

The door opened.

You peeked out from under the blanket just in time to see Paige standing in your doorway, arms crossed, dressed in workout gear like she had been up for hours.

You glared. "Do you not believe in knocking?"

"I knocked," she said, unimpressed. "Then you ignored me. Now get up."

You scoffed, rolling onto your side. "Not happening."

You should have known she wouldn’t just accept that.

Paige walked over, grabbed the edge of your blanket, and ripped it off you in one swift motion. Cold air hit your skin, and you practically yelped, curling into yourself.

"Jesus, Bueckers—"

"You can cuss me out later," she said. "Right now, we’re going to the gym."

You stared at her like she had lost her mind. "Paige, it’s five in the morning."

"Yeah, and you’ve got work to do," she shot back, unfazed. "Season starts in a few months. You wanna be ready or not?"

You hesitated.

Of course you wanted to be ready. Of course you wanted to get back to where you were before, to prove that you weren’t just some washed-up has-been before you even got the chance to be a someone.

But that want—that need—was buried under months of frustration, self-doubt, exhaustion. You had pushed yourself so hard for so long, and it still felt like you were running in place.

And now, here she was, asking you to choose again.

Paige must have seen the hesitation in your face, because her expression softened. She sat down on the edge of your bed, nudging your knee lightly.

"I know you’re tired," she said, quieter now, more serious. "I know this hasn’t been fair. But you’re too good to let this stop you. You know that."

You swallowed, looking away.

She sighed, leaning forward, elbows resting on her knees. "You’re not doing this alone," she continued. "I’m gonna be here every step of the way. If you have to push yourself, then I’ll push you. If you fall, I’ll catch you. But I’m not letting you give up on this. I won’t."

Something in your chest tightened.

Because she meant it. You could hear it in her voice, in the unwavering steadiness of it.

Paige had always believed in you. Even when you stopped believing in yourself.

And maybe—just maybe—that was enough to get you out of bed.

You exhaled through your nose, rubbing a hand down your face before finally, finally sitting up.

"Fine," you muttered. "But if I pass out halfway through, it’s on you."

Paige grinned, already victorious. "You’ll live."

And with that, she tossed you your sneakers, stood up, and waited—because she already knew you were going to follow.

The next couple of months were hell.

But not the kind of hell you had been drowning in for the past year. Not the slow-burning, isolating, empty kind of hell where every day bled into the next, where the weight of your own expectations crushed you before you even got out of bed.

No, this was different.

This was the kind of hell that left your muscles aching in the best way, your lungs burning as you pushed through another sprint, your hands gripping your knees as you bent over, gasping for breath, feeling alive again. The kind of hell that reminded you why you had ever loved this game in the first place.

And it was all because of Paige.

She didn’t go easy on you. If anything, she was worse than the trainers. She forced you out of bed before sunrise, dragged you through drills that made you want to collapse, and refused to let you quit.

"You’re too slow," she’d say, breathless, as you tried to keep up with her full-speed cuts. "Use your damn left hand," she’d scold when your layup was just a little too stiff. "Again." That was her favorite. No matter how many times you told her you were done, she’d look at you with that infuriating smirk and make you do it again.

And somehow… somehow, you needed it.

For the first time in forever, you felt like a player again. Like you were clawing your way back to the person you used to be. And with every day that passed, with every extra rep, every bead of sweat rolling down your spine, every time you beat Paige in a shooting drill and got to see the way she rolled her eyes, shoving your shoulder with a muttered, "Whatever, lucky shot,"—you started to believe, just a little, that maybe you still had a chance.

It was exhausting. It was painful. It was the hardest thing you had ever done.

And you had never felt more alive.

But then there was the other problem.

Because somewhere along the way, between the early morning workouts and the late-night film sessions, between the inside jokes and the way she always, always knew exactly what to say to get you out of your own head—something shifted.

You caught yourself watching her too long. Not just as a player, not just as the Paige Bueckers that the world knew. But as her. As the person who had seen you at your absolute lowest and refused to let you stay there.

As the person who had held you when you broke. Who had stayed up with you on the nights where the doubt crept in too deep, the one who knew, before you even said a word, exactly what you needed.

And it scared you.

Because Paige Bueckers wasn’t just some random person. She was your teammate. Your best friend. The person who had dedicated months of her life to making sure you didn’t give up on yourself.

And you couldn’t risk losing that.

So you ignored it. You ignored the way your heart picked up when she brushed against you. The way her hand lingered on your back whenever she guided you off the court. The way she looked at you sometimes, like she was trying to figure something out.

You ignored everything.

Because preseason was coming. And you weren’t where you needed to be yet.

You had made progress—real progress. You were moving better, sharper, stronger than you had in months. But you weren’t there yet. Not fully healed. Not fully you.

But baby steps, right?

You weren’t giving up. Not anymore. And maybe—just maybe—you weren’t as alone as you thought you were.

The gym was nearly empty when Paige found you.

Late night, lights dimmed, the faint echo of bouncing balls from the other side of the facility. You had just finished your last set of shooting drills, your knee wrapped tight, sweat dripping down your back, exhaustion clinging to your limbs. It was another long day of almost being back, almost being who you were before.

But almost wasn’t good enough. Not yet.

You heard the door open but didn’t look up. You knew who it was. Paige had a presence, an energy that filled the space before she even said anything.

"You really gotta stop sneaking in extra workouts," she called, footsteps slow as she crossed the court. "What if I tell Geno? He’ll make you sit out of practice for real this time."

You rolled your eyes, bending down to grab your water bottle. "You won’t tell Geno, because that would make you a snitch."

She scoffed. "I think it makes me a responsible teammate."

"You dragged me out of bed at five in the morning for conditioning all summer, but now you wanna be responsible?" You shot her a look. "Little hypocritical, don’t you think?"

Paige grinned, coming to a stop a few feet from you, spinning a ball lazily in her hands. "That’s different."

"How?"

"Because I was supervising. You out here by yourself?" She made a tsk sound, shaking her head dramatically. "Reckless. Careless. Dangerous, even."

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. "Whatever."

Paige took a step closer, that knowing look in her eyes. "You know you don’t have to do this alone, right?"

Your grip tightened around your water bottle. It wasn’t the first time she had said something like that. And every time, it hit the same.

"I know," you muttered.

She studied you for a second, then nodded, spinning the ball again before flipping it toward you. You caught it out of reflex.

"One-on-one," she said casually, stretching her arms overhead. "First to five."

You narrowed your eyes. "You just had practice."

"So?" She smirked. "I still won’t go easy on you."

That shouldn’t have made your stomach flip, but it did.

You licked your lips, tossing the ball between your hands. "I won’t go easy on you, Bueckers."

Her smirk deepened. "Good."

And just like that, the banter faded into the familiar rhythm of competition—the kind where words weren’t needed, where the only thing that mattered was movement, instincts, the game itself.

But even as you tried to focus, as you tried to lock in, you couldn’t ignore the way Paige’s eyes lingered a little too long. The way her hands brushed against your waist when she reached for a steal. The way she grinned every time you scored, even though she hated losing.

The way the tension between you two had started feeling different.

And you weren’t sure what scared you more—losing the game, or what would happen if you stopped ignoring it.

The sun was starting to set as you and Paige walked back from physical therapy, the sky streaked with warm oranges and purples, the air crisp against your skin. Your knee was sore, but in the way it always was after PT—stiff, a little swollen, but manageable. You were used to it by now. What you weren’t used to was the fact that you didn’t hate these sessions anymore.

Not since Paige started showing up.

At first, you thought she was just being nice—checking in on you, keeping you accountable, making sure you weren’t wallowing in self-pity (even though you totally had been). But then, she started coming every time. She sat in the waiting room during your sessions, tapping her foot impatiently like she was the one getting worked on. She cracked dumb jokes when you winced through exercises, flipped through old magazines and read the worst horoscopes out loud just to make you laugh.

She was like your own personal emotional support dog. If emotional support dogs talked a lot.

And the thing was? She made you feel less bad about all of it.

The injury, the rehab, the endless cycle of progress and setbacks. It didn’t feel so heavy when she was there.

Now, as you walked side by side, your duffel slung over one shoulder, Paige stuffed her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie, gaze flicking toward you before settling on the sidewalk.

"You know, I’ve been here before," she said after a beat, her voice quieter than usual.

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

"This place," she nodded back toward the therapy clinic, her expression unreadable. "I came here after I tore my ACL. Same time, same days. Same routine."

You blinked. You knew about her injury, obviously—everyone did. But she had never really talked about it. Not like this.

"That was before I got here," she continued, exhaling, her breath visible in the cool evening air. "Before I really got back. And it sucked. So bad." She huffed a laugh, but it wasn’t really funny. "I don’t think people get how… alone it makes you feel. Everyone’s moving forward, the season keeps going, and you’re just stuck in the same place. Trying to convince yourself you’re still the player you were before."

Your stomach twisted at how familiar that sounded.

Paige kicked a loose pebble down the sidewalk. "I didn’t really have anyone who—like, I mean, I had people who cared, but no one who really got it. Not like this. I wanted someone to be there for me the way I’ve been here for you."

You stopped walking. Paige took a few more steps before realizing and turned to face you, her brows furrowing slightly.

"You never told me that," you said, voice softer than you meant it to be.

She shrugged, a little sheepish. "It wasn’t something I talked about much. Didn’t think it mattered."

"It does matter," you insisted.

Paige held your gaze for a second, something flickering behind her eyes. Then, she took a step closer.

"You know what else matters?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. "The fact that you were the only person who actually pushed me to get my ass back on the court."

You blinked. "What?"

She smiled, but it wasn’t teasing. It was real.

"You don’t remember?" She shook her head, laughing to herself. "I do. You were a freshman, and you wouldn’t shut up about how I needed to get back out there. You kept saying I was too good to waste it, that I had to stop feeling sorry for myself. It pissed me off so bad."

Your eyes widened. You… vaguely remembered that. You remembered standing outside the locker room, Paige still moving stiffly, not fully cleared yet, and you had said something—something blunt, something stubborn, something about how she was going to regret it for the rest of her life if she didn’t push through.

"You were annoying as hell," Paige added, smirking. "But you were right. I don’t know if I ever told you that."

You were still trying to wrap your head around it. You had no idea you’d made that much of an impact on her. That you had been the one to push her the way she had been pushing you now.

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

Then, finally, you huffed, shaking your head. "So… what you’re saying is, this is revenge?"

Paige snorted. "One hundred percent."

You both laughed, but beneath it, something else settled in your chest. Something warm.

She had been there before. She understood.

And maybe, just maybe, that meant you could come out on the other side of this too.

The doctor barely got the words out before Paige exploded.

"Let’s goooo!" she shouted, jumping up so fast her chair screeched against the floor. She clapped you on the back—hard, like she forgot her own strength—before pulling you into the tightest hug you’d ever been in.

You were still processing it. Cleared. Cleared. After nearly a year of waiting, of doubting, of pushing yourself until you couldn’t breathe, you were finally back.

You let out a breathless laugh, gripping the back of Paige’s hoodie as she squeezed you tighter. "You realize I’m the one who just got cleared, right? Why are you more excited than me?"

Paige pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes bright, that signature smirk tugging at her lips. "Because I knew this would happen," she said like it was obvious. "I told you. You’re too good not to come back. It was only a matter of time."

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling warmer than you should’ve in an air-conditioned office. There was something about the way she was looking at you—like she had been waiting for this moment just as much as you had. Maybe more.

The doctor cleared his throat, clearly trying not to laugh. "Are you two done celebrating in my office, or do I need to step out and give you a minute?"

You and Paige both whipped around like guilty kids, muttering quick apologies, but the grin never left her face.

And it didn’t leave the rest of the day, either.

She refused to let you go home without celebrating. Took you straight to your favorite restaurant, ordered way too much food, and every time you even thought about checking your phone, she smacked your hand away.

"Tonight is not for film. Or texts. Or stressing," she said between bites of fries. "It’s for you. And me. And this delicious meal I just paid for."

"You literally stole my card to pay," you pointed out.

"Yeah, but I swiped it," she said smugly, sipping her drink. "Which means I paid. Which means you should be grateful."

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach flipped, and you weren’t entirely sure it was from the food.

Because here she was again. Paige Bueckers, making you feel like the most important person in the room.

And that feeling hadn’t gone away.

The first practice back, you were expecting a normal warm welcome. Some pats on the back, maybe a few sarcastic finallys thrown your way.

What you were not expecting was to walk into the locker room and see balloons tied to your chair, a giant cake sitting on the bench, and the entire team yelling, "She’s baaaaaaack!" the second you stepped inside.

You stopped in your tracks, wide-eyed. "What the—"

"Surprise!" Paige called, stepping forward with an exaggerated bow. "Courtesy of your personal hype woman."

You looked at her, then at the cake—white frosting, piped-on basketballs, and the words WELCOME BACK, SUPERSTAR in bright blue icing. You could tell she definitely decorated it herself, because one of the basketballs was slightly misshapen, and the lettering was just a little off-center.

Your chest felt tight, but in a good way. A way you didn’t quite know how to explain.

"You did this?" you asked, already knowing the answer.

Paige shrugged, but her grin was unmistakable. "Figured you deserved it."

The warmth in your chest spread.

"Alright, get over here and eat before I do it for you," she added, shoving a plastic fork into your hand.

The rest of the team dove into the cake, laughter filling the room as people threw icing at each other, teasing you about how they were gonna light your ass up in scrimmages.

And through it all, you kept sneaking glances at Paige.

Because this was the part that was messing with your head.

The way she always knew what you needed before you even said it. The way she was so damn proud of you, like this wasn’t just your win, but hers too. The way she looked at you sometimes, like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

And suddenly, you couldn’t keep pretending that your feelings for her were just friendly.

Because they weren’t. Not even close.

The second the buzzer sounded, the roar of the crowd barely had time to register before Paige was on you.

You didn’t even have time to celebrate properly, barely had time to process the fact that you had just played in your first official game back, before she grabbed you—hands firm on your waist, tugging you straight into her.

"You killed it," she practically breathed against your ear, voice thick with something deeper than excitement, something that sent a full-body chill down your spine.

You barely had time to respond before she pulled you closer, her arms locking around your back, holding you like she was afraid to let go. Her heart was pounding against yours, fast and erratic, and you swore she was holding on for longer than a normal post-game hug.

Not that you were complaining.

Your hands hesitated for only a second before finding their way to her back, gripping onto the fabric of her jersey, still warm from the game.

"You act like we just won a championship," you teased, but your voice came out softer than you meant it to.

She pulled back just enough to look at you, her hands sliding down to rest on your hips. "We won your first game back," she corrected, like that was the real victory.

And the way she was looking at you—the way her eyes were scanning your face like she wanted to memorize it, the way her fingers were still gripping onto you like she wasn’t ready to let go—made your stomach flip so hard you almost felt dizzy.

It was so obvious.

So obvious in the way she refused to move more than a step away from you during the entire post-game celebration, always lingering close, her hand brushing against yours, her shoulder bumping into you.

So obvious in the way she reached for you again when the cameras swarmed, her arm slung around your shoulders like it belonged there.

So obvious in the way she beamed every time she looked at you, like she was the proudest person in the damn world.

And it should have been overwhelming, should have felt like too much.

But it didn’t.

Because if you were being honest, you didn’t want her to let go either.

The ice cream shop was packed, buzzing with late-night energy—fans still wearing jerseys, kids on sugar highs, groups of students laughing loudly in the corner. The air smelled like waffle cones and melted chocolate, and the whole team was crammed into two booths, talking over each other, hyped from the win.

And through all of it, Paige wouldn’t leave your side.

She had slid into the seat next to you the second you got there, pressing close enough that her knee knocked against yours under the table. And she stayed there, so damn close, even when there was plenty of room to move.

Not that you minded.

She was warm, practically radiating heat against your side. Every time she laughed—really laughed, head tilting back just slightly—her shoulder bumped into yours. Every time she reached for her cup, her fingers brushed against your arm like she forgot how much space she was taking up.

Or maybe she just didn’t care.

"Alright, we’re making a bathroom run," one of your teammates announced, and the rest of them quickly followed, leaving you and Paige alone at the table.

The shop was still loud around you, but suddenly, everything between you two felt quiet.

You tapped your spoon absently against your cup, not looking at her. "You planning on sticking to me like glue all night?"

Paige scoffed, leaning back like she was just now realizing how close she was. But she didn’t move. "Psh. Please. If anything, you’ve been following me."

You raised a brow, finally meeting her gaze. "Oh yeah? That what you’re telling yourself?"

She smirked, like she had been waiting for this exact opening. "Well, you do like me, so."

Your spoon paused midair.

Your brain short-circuited.

She had said it so casually, like it wasn’t the biggest bomb she could have possibly dropped. Like it wasn’t the exact thing you had been trying not to admit to yourself for months.

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Blinked. "I—what?"

Paige just grinned, stirring her ice cream like she didn’t just say that. "Relax, it’s not that deep," she teased, but there was something lighter in her voice, something testing.

You swallowed. "So you’re just out here saying stuff?"

She shrugged, still grinning, but you could see the shift—the way she kept glancing at you, like she was trying to gauge your reaction. Like she was actually nervous.

You inhaled slowly. "Paige."

She finally stopped stirring her ice cream, finally let the teasing drop just a little.

"Okay," she said, quieter now, tapping her spoon against her cup. "Maybe it is a little deep."

The air between you shifted.

You could still hear the noise of the shop, the hum of conversations, the occasional burst of laughter from across the room. But none of it mattered. Not when Paige was sitting this close, looking at you like that.

Like she had been waiting.

Like she wasn’t scared of saying it anymore.

Your chest felt tight. "Oh."

Paige let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Oh? That’s all you got?"

You swallowed again, your heart beating way too fast. "I mean—what do you want me to say?"

"I don’t know," she murmured, voice almost playful but not quite. "Maybe that you like me too?"

Your mouth felt dry.

Because you did.

Of course you did.

It had been obvious for so long, in the way your heart jumped every time she touched you, in the way you gravitated toward her like it was second nature. In the way she made the worst year of your life bearable just by being there.

So, really, what was stopping you?

You let out a breath, then shook your head, smirking just slightly. "You are so full of yourself."

Paige rolled her eyes but leaned in just a little closer. "Am I wrong, though?"

You huffed, pressing your lips together—trying to hold onto the last shred of self-control you had, but it was so hard when she was right there, when she was looking at you like she already knew she was right.

And then—

She reached out, fingers curling around your wrist, lightly, like she was giving you an out.

She didn’t need to.

You didn’t think. You just moved.

And before you could second-guess it, before you could talk yourself out of it—

You kissed her.

It was soft at first, tentative, like neither of you could believe it was actually happening. Like months of unspoken tension had suddenly snapped all at once.

But then Paige exhaled against your lips, like she had been holding it in for so long, and you felt her smile into the kiss before she kissed you again, deeper this time, her fingers tightening around your wrist, pulling you in.

You felt weightless.

Like everything—the injury, the doubt, the fear—had led to this.

And, for the first time in forever, you weren’t thinking about the past.

You weren’t thinking about the future.

You were just here, with Paige, and nothing had ever felt more right.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn #uconnwbb #uconn huskies #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers uconn #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers smut #paige buckets #paige bueckers x female oc #paige bueckers x y/n #uconn wbb #uconn x reader #ncaa wbb #wcbb x reader #wcbb smut #wbb x reader

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littelovelunette · 3 days ago

Note

vi x reader, vi buys the reader some new lacy pink lingerie, and reader feels really self conscious about gaining weight and having new stretch marks, so vi kisses them all over and they have gentle loving sex,with lots of reassurance, before vi makes reader watch in the mirror as vi makes her come over and over (overstimulation?), not stopping until reader admits she’s pretty.

Pretty As The Sunrise

Contains mentions of eating disorder, body image issues, mentions of fatshame, mentions of abusive family and past, trauma trigger

gentle sex and smut, overstimulation, mirror sex, cliff hanger ending

"Hey, pretty, bought you a little something," Vi said with a little smile crossing her lips, enhancing the scar on her lips as she sat down at the edge of the bed where you were reading a book of yours

"Mhm? You didn't have to," you put the bookmark on the page you paused your reading at, slipping the book onto the bedside table and then turned to face your wife

"Yes, I did, you cook and clean the house and make it a home, always take care of me why won't I just buy a simple gift?" vi pushed the bag towards you, you smiled at the bag and then you looked inside it was a lacy pink lingerie, the material was silk and lace. beautiful baby pink colored fabric and just then it hit you

you and vi hadn't had intercourse for quite a while because she'd been busy and so have you been busy around the house, deep cleaning areas you didn't usually clean

but while doing that you used to get so tired you binge ate a lot of junk food to keep yourself fed because you didn't really have time to prepare meals so often

vi knew that but she didn't really care to comment about your recent weight gain not that she needed to given how insecure you already were for your thick thighs

"princess? what are you thinking? do you not like it?" vi asked and you instinctively pulled the blankets over your thighs so they were now covered.

"oh no no no I love it it's really pretty just... looks a little... yknow like i won't look good in it." you said struggling to get the words out for your throat

you had never told vi how much you struggled with gaining or losing weight since a teenager. you were raised in a somewhat abusive household where relatives would openly comment about weight gain or weight loss.

you could easily lose count of the number of times you were victim to being fat shamed by your family, your sister, your—

"baby..." vi wrapped her arms around you in a hug, "talk to me love what's wrong?"

"I just- I don't think I'll look good in the lingerie is all but I appreciate it baby," you smiled a little at her trying to play cool but vi didn't buy any of it

"lay back, baby," vi suddenly said and you were a little taken back but you complied.

vi pulled back and pulled your pants down along with your panties resting your legs on either side of her body as she knelt down between your thighs, "you look absolutely breathtaking," vi breathed and pulled your shirt up just enough to expose your stomach

"see this?" she kissed all over your stretch marks both new and old, her lips moving from one mark to another with love and efficiency

"all these mark that I treat you well, provide to feed you, and you're doing well," vi kissed all over your stomach before slowly trailing down to your thighs.

"I love the thickness, the meatiness of your body," vi said kissing and biting at your inner thighs leaving a trial of hickeys and lovebites all over the skin

vi pressed a kiss at the top of your pussy before pulling back and pulling you up with herself she made you both face the mirror, her body behind your as she plunged two fingers in your pussy making you gasp

"v-vi..." you whined a little as you felt her fingers starting to move painfully slow as vi's other hand reached to the bedside table's drawers taking out a strong vibrator and held it over your clit making you tremble and whine loudly

the mirror showed your reflection getting absolutely ruined by vi who had a lazy smirk on her face while her fingers delved deep inside your most sensitive spot making you moan incoherently at the sensations

"see I'm making you feel so good," vi said as you let out a soft sigh feeling her shove her fingers further deep knuckles burying inside too

"f-fuck, cumming! cumming!" you whined and finished all over her fingers

vi didn't let that be the end of your pleasure and borderline torment, "go on baby cum more for me admit it youre my pretty angel."

you whined and whimpered as vi pressed the vibrator firmly on your reddened clit, pussy clenching down over her fingers as they increased their pace adding another finger

you were slowly starting to lose track of time as you continued creaming around her fingers neediness increasing but so was your exhaustion increasing with every little thrust into your wet cunt

"v-vi okay fine i admit it," you gasped as your hands grabbed hers tightly so she couldn't move her fingers anymore, "im your pretty angel okay? please stop" you whined a little at the end of your claim, vi smiled gently

her fingers slowly slipped out, a little dribble of arousal following right after before she helped you clean up, being gentle as she pressed up behind you in the shower

you both always took your showers together it was a way of bonding for the both of you

as vi finished before she dried her own hair she started dabbing at yours with the towel, making sure your hair was semi dry before she quickly dried her messy pink hair

vi didn't bother too much with her own hair the pink tufts of her hair sticking out at various angles as she did a little run out of the shower room much to your surprise

she came back with the bag of lingerie, taking the pink fabric, which would barely cover your genitalia, out

"you're wearing this for round two baby."

#arcane #violet arcane #vi is the best #vi speaks #vi scenarios #vi #vi they could never make me hate you #vi the piltover enforcer #vi league of legends #vi lol #vi modern au #vi my beloved #arcane vi smut #vi smut #arcane vi x reader #vi x y/n #vi x you #vi x reader

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hiraethwa · 2 days ago

Text

his sun, her star

[a valentine's day special] five times kageyama tobio tries out a term of endearment and the one time he finds the right one

cw. very light smut <3 lots and lots of fluff // wc. 1.8k

love letters from <the collection — to be loved is to be known>

the first time kageyama tobio lets a term of endearment tumble from his lips, you think you hallucinated it.

"darling?” tobio’s voice floats to you from the kitchen where he is intently slicing the shiitake mushrooms in the kazarikiri technique for the sukiyaki dinner tonight.

you shake your head to yourself. maybe you misheard him, he has never shown any inclination to adopt any terms of endearment in the months since you started dating, nor any interest when you asked a question hinting at it.

it has always been tobio and y/n, did there need to be more?

“how are the mushrooms coming along?” you round the island, sliding an arm around his waist, and stop next to him at the wooden block where he has been hard at work—and immediately have to stifle a laugh.

it seems like kageyama tobio finally met his match in something he couldn’t master with his skillful hands, for slivers of mushrooms lay discarded on the board. the poor shiitake mushrooms are missing chunks and look like they have been thoroughly dissected.

“that’s–“ you choke on a burst of giggle bubbling up your throat. “they look great, tobio.”

you suppress the smile bursting at the seams of your lips, or try to. tobio pouts at you and turns to you, allowing your hand to glide over his back and come to a rest on the other side of his waist.

“that doesn’t sound very genuine,” he whines, cheeks tinged pink with the embarrassment from his earlier confidence that kazarikiri would not be a challenge for him.

“it’s because–“ the rest of your words come out muffled as tobio quickly jumps to cover your mouth.

“don’t say it.” he drops his hand once he’s sure you won’t tease him, and hides his warm face in the crook of your neck.

oh, tobio.

weeks pass by the time tobio tries it for the second time, enough that you almost forgot about the first time.

“could you pass me some honey, honey?”

your eyebrows rise to the top of your forehead as you run his words through your mind again. he definitely said it twice. oh.

oh.

“honey? what for?” you call as you dry your hands with the towelette hanging off the oven.

“the smoothie, it’s sour.” his eyes dart to you, continuing the tracking of your movements, hoping it comes off as casual.

“mmhmm, here you go.” you skip over to the couch, dangling the bottle of honey between him and the volleyball match replaying on the tv. his gaze darts back to the tv, but it’s too late, he has already given himself away. “honey?”

he looks up at you, rapidly blinking before opening his mouth. “i–” his cheeks color and he presses his lips together, glancing away.

“trying out something new, honey?” you let the tease loose in the form of a whisper by his ear, leaving tobio flustered and speechless.

by the time tobio recovers, you have pressed a kiss to his cheek and flitted back to the kitchen to tend to the muffins in the oven.

love was his third choice, bringing a smile to your face as you realize that tobio is trying to find a term of endearment that suits you and him.

“do you need anything?” he pats your foot again impatiently from his position at the end of the couch.

you let the book drop on your chest where you are occupying most of the unbelievably comfortable couch with your feet in tobio’s lap as he watches a replay of his match. something about getting too relaxed and hinata would beat him if he continued to do so.

this couch is a great investment, after all.

“hmm? what did you say?” you are quite sure he added love at the beginning of the question when he asked it the first time around.

“i said, do you need anything?”

“i could have sworn you said something else,” you muse, watching amusedly as tobio bites his lip and almost jumps off the couch.

his nose flares as he catches onto you, realizing that in his attempt to settle on a cute couple name, you have found a new pastime in teasing him.

tobio relaxes into the couch once again, squinting at you. you could only hold his stare and give him a sheepish smile in return.

you catch tobio muttering to himself the fourth time, as he stares off into the back of the pantry, finger tapping on pursed lips.

“angel? is that weird? hm.”

“are we running out of pasta, tobio?” you chirp behind him cheerily, knowing you caught him dead in the act. you snake your arms around him, resting your chin on his shoulder.

the scent of fresh laundry fills your nostrils, tangled with another that you could only describe as tobio. not particularly musky, but comforting and familiar, like home.

“you are a minx. definitely not an angel.” he pinches the bridge of his nose, in utter disbelief that he let his guard down in this important period and allowed you to sneak up to him unnoticed.

you pout at him playfully, pretending to be hurt by his words even though he could not see you.

“do not. pout at me. i can feel it.” he pokes at your sides, making you jump from the unexpected ticklish sensation.

finally, he turns around to look at you. of course you are still pouting at him. he sighs resignedly, accepting his fate of being unable to say no to your adorable face.

“come here, you naughty thing.” to which you accept happily, throwing yourself into his open arms and snuggling into his chest. his arms wrap around you securely, keeping you safe, always.

but you could not help the tease that comes out, “how about ‘you naughty thing’ then?” you bite your lip in a pitiful attempt to suppress your laughter.

tobio pushes you away, a look of horror painted on his face. you burst into laughter.

the fifth term of endearment tobio chooses makes you question your sanity and regret all the teasing you wrought upon your beloved so far.

it is similar to one he had tried before, only with a twist that ended in your demise—italian.

amore mio.

the syllables tumble from his stupidly kissable lips and wind up between the ridges of your ribcage in every direction as the sounds sink into your skin and your body soaks them up greedily, sending your heart into a swift gallop.

you think you forgot how to breathe for a few moments before you inhale sharply, aware of the effects of the combination of kageyama tobio and fluent italian on your poor body.

you don’t even remember what you were talking about before he pulled that out of his pocket. how long had he been sitting on that one?

suddenly your lips are crashing together as you yank him towards yourself, fingers snaking up his nape, tangling in his dark hair as you tug him closer. closer, you need him closer.

movie forgotten, you all but climb into his lap, straddling his waist, as he kisses you back with the same intensity. his hands are pressing into your sides as he tries to keep his restraint from undressing you right then and there, sheathe himself inside you.

you are sure, so sure that you would see the imprint of his hand on your skin come morning, and the thought of it delights you too much.

it turns messy quickly, hurried, as your hands wander over each other urgently, gripping and pulling and scratching, a sorry attempt at trying to slow down your impulses.

tobio breaks apart from the kiss first, chest heaving, his beautiful blue eyes burning dark with desire, all while keeping a strong grip around your thighs. he hoists you up from the couch in one fluid motion, allowing you to lock your ankles around him before he carries you to the bedroom.

he licks his lips at the sight of you all splayed out for him on the bed, “so, amore mio?”

to your disappointment, tobio decides that the fifth one was not the one, or at least you assume so since you have not heard the term since that night. the memory makes your cheeks color in shame as you recall how easy it was for him to turn you pliant with a mere few syllables.

then it comes when you least expect it, as you and tobio huddle together for warmth by the lake in the dead cold of winter to watch the sunrise.

it would be an adventure, you had promised tobio the night before, fully convinced that it would be fun to wake up at the crack of dawn and venture out to the lake to watch the sun climb the sky and paint dark skies with ripples of pink and purple, bursting into whorls of gold and vermillion.

all at the coldest time of the day.

but you are undeterred by the cold and reassured by the warmth of tobio against your side, finding yourself enraptured by the ever changing palette of colors in the sky that is reflected onto the ripples on the calm surface of the lake when the sunrise arrives.

“sole mio.” it is so soft you almost miss it the sixth time, but tobio says it again with certainty. “sole mio.”

you break your eyes away from the breathtaking sight in front of you to find tobio watching you in the same way. there is weight curling around each of the perfectly enunciated syllables, providing them with the momentum to shoot through the space between you and execute a flawless landing within your heart.

you hear it, the unspoken explanation behind his choice. you hear it, through the glances and the touches, behind the curtained words whispered on sleepless nights—for you, the one who brought light and warmth and true belonging to him.

you, who he believed to be the sun incarnate, bathing everyone in your radiance. it is not so true these days, when you feel selfish enough to shower only him with your everything.

because kageyama tobio deserves nothing short of everything.

“stella mia.” you lace your fingers through his, holding on to him with a death grip, eyes glazing with emotions you could never hope to put into words. you could only hope he hears them. he responds wordlessly by matching the strength of your grip—yes.

you had taken some inspiration from his choice in the fifth iteration, filled it with your own definition and ended up with one that filled your chest with a feeling of fuzziness akin to a soft blanket on a cold night.

your star, who had endured shining in the darkness to make sure you find your way home, who had saved you again and again, never once complaining of the loneliness that shrouded him in the quiet of the night.

for your star, you will shine bright and warm, chasing away the chill that clung to him like a second skin, bringing him in from the cold. you will gladly be his sun from now until the end of time.

for your star, who had been alone for far too long. but not anymore.

a/n. happy (belated) valentine's day to kageyama tobio (and of course all my lovelies reading this <3333) it is 2am so forgive me if there's any errors in this i tried to edit it but i am afraid my brain is failing me (i had a vision and i don’t know if its vision-ing)

taglist. @hatsukeii @daisy-room @soulfullystarry @kitsune-kita @bakery-anon @thechaosoflonging @bakingcuriosity @wordsofelie @bookskeepers (gen) @mintgrumpy @noble-17 @box-of-roses @theshxaverse @animechick555 @jkkhay @sickpatientt (add yourself here)

tobio nation. @hiraethwrote @shouyuus @yogurtkags @mcdonaldsnumberone @lale-txt

#kageyama tobio #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyu #haikyuu #hq #kageyama tobio fluff #kageyama fluff #haikyu fluff #hq fluff #kageyama tobio smut #kageyama smut #haikyu smut #hq smut #hiraethwa writes #《 to be loved is to be known 》

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bcksbarnes · 2 days ago

Text

snipped

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky is feeling plagued by his past so he asks you to cut his hair.

word count: 1.2K

genre: fluff, sad!bucky

bucky wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to do this, unfortunately his hair had been apart of him for so long that it was like an extension of himself. it was both a mask that represented a time that he wished to forget, and a reminder of the better human he needed to become. but, the thoughts of the tragedies he caused while looking the way did weighed heavy on his mind. he already spent most of his nights woke up with nightmares from his time as the winter solider, he couldn’t continue looking in the mirror and feeling the same way as well.

“hey,” he says as he walks into your bedroom, leaning against the doorframe while he watches you lay in bed. when you don’t respond right away he calls your name, causing you to look up from your phone with a small blush on your cheeks.

“sorry, nat’s on a date and i wanted to see how it was going.” you respond, placing the phone next to you on the bed.

“did she answer?” he asks, a small smile on his face as he watches you.

“yeah, she said he’s boring. what else is new.” you tease, your eyes raking over his face. it only takes you a second to realize he’s uneasy. “what’s wrong?”

you two had been together long enough that it didn’t take much for you to know when bucky was upset or thinking about something. his usual quiet and brooding behavior was always met with small quirks like tapping his foot or biting his top lip when there was something on his mind. this time it was the former.

he sighs as he kicks off the door frame, moving to the edge of the bed and sitting down, still an arms length away from you as he tries to think of how best to approach the topic.

“can you cut my hair?” he lays it out, his fingers picking at a piece of lint at the bedspread, feeling sheepish as he doesn’t meet your eyes. he’s embarrassed by this for some reason. he’s cut his own hair before, usually when he was on the run and was able to find a rusty pair of scissors, but that was usually just a trim and now there’s something about the meaning behind this that makes it hard for him.

your gaze softens as you hear his request, sitting up further on the bed as you wait to see if there was anything else he was going to say. when you were met with silence you speak up.

“of course i can.”

bucky looks over at you, his smile had faded a few moments ago and now all he could think about was how this was going to feel. liberated? angry? happy? he wasn’t too sure, and maybe that’s what scared him the most.

he had done horrible things as the winter solider, things that he could never forgive himself for, but life was different now. he was deprogrammed, he was helping people, he met you and he was starting to feel like he was allowed a life of not always having his demons follow him around. he was ready to move forward.

“hey.” you move off the bed to stand in front of him, your hand moving to gently grab his chin and tilt his head up towards you. “we don’t have to do this if you’re not ready, bucky.”

he sighs softly at your touch, his hands moving to rest at your hips as he pulls you a bit closer, your legs slotted between his. it’s intimate and full of affection, you two always know how to keep your touches light but meaningul.

“i am ready.” though he sounds like he’s trying to convince himself by saying it out loud. “i think ... i’m ready to stop torturing myself every day with the reminder of my past. i want to move forward. i want to show myself that i’m capable of moving forward.”

your heart aches at his words because you will never understand the pain he goes through everyday, but there was nothing that was going to stop you from supporting him. your hand moves from his chin to cup both of his cheeks, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his forehead. his grip on your hips tighten a bit as you hear him let out a shuttering breath that he had been holding in.

his hands move up to press against yours, keeping your touch on his face close for a moment as he relishes in the comfort. and despite popular belief, bucky barnes needed comfort.

it’s a few minutes later that the two of you are in the bathroom, bucky is sitting on a folding chair he managed to find and you had both the scissors and clippers ready to go.

“are you sure?” you stand behind him as he sits, your hands on his shoulders as your gazes meet in the mirror in front of you. he nods his head softly, saying everything that he’s incapable of verbalizing in that moment. “okay, i’ve only cut hair like once so if it comes out bad don’t hate me for it.”

bucky cracks a small smile before he closes his eyes, letting out one last deep breath before you get to work. a comb works through his long hair one last time, getting all the knots out as you place it in a short ponytail.

the metal scissors are in your hand and you whisper a soft you got this to him before you begin to cut. it takes a second to cut through it all but before you knew it you were holding onto most of it in the ponytail. it was shorter, shaggier, needed to be buzzed down and given a little height – but he looked good. different, but good.

you can feel the way he shifts anxiously while you use the clippers, having to tell him to stop moving on a few occasions so you didn’t accidentally cut him, but it’s over almost as soon as it starts, his eyes still closed tightly not wanting to look until the finish product.

your hands find their way back to his shoulders once you put your tools down, taking a moment to admire your work and how different he looks. you bring your lips down near his ear.

“you can open your eyes, buck.”

a beat passes and you can tell he’s nervous to but he has to face it at some point. one last deep breath leaves his lips before his eyes flutter open, landing on the mirror in front of him.

he doesn’t speak for a minute, his eyes taking in his features and his new defined haircut. it looks great, if you say so yourself, but in that moment he’s hard to read and you’re not sure what he’s going to say.

bucky rests his elbows on his knees and his head drops forward, your hand soothingly rubbing his back. when he looks up again his eyes are red and teary, the moment obviously catching him off guard with how much it would mean to him.

“how do you feel?” your voice is soft, keeping the both of you grounded in this moment which you know he appreciates.

a tear slips from his eyes and he runs a hand through his freshly cut hair. one word slips through his lips.

“free.”

#bucky barnes reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #one shot #mine #not me downloading all this stuff to make gifs just so that i can use them for my fanfics / one shots #i saw this gif and was inspired by THE hair #also sorry queen of late night one shots #100

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illubean · 3 days ago

Note

Heyyy, so I’m like reaaaally tall and I wanted to ask if you’d be comfortable with writing headcanons about the Phantome troupe (or just feitan, uvogin and Hisoka) with a tall fem!s/o? Like 6’2 or 6’3 , cuz I really like your other headcanons and I can’t find any of those ANYWHERE… :,)

Phantom Troupe w/ a Tall!Fem!Reader

Characters: Chrollo Lucilfer, Feitan Portor, Uvogin Type: Headcanons, Fem!Reader

Haven’t written hxh for a hot minute… replaced Hisoka w/ Chrollo cus I don’t write for him! also reader is intended to be in the 6’0+ range

Warnings: a tad suggestive?

Chrollo Lucilfer

I personally think Chrollo is a certified tall girl lover

never be afraid to wear heels/platforms around him because he’s literally obsessed with you

his favorite thing ever is when you wear shorts/skirts/anything that shows off your legs

if anyone tried giving him shit for having a gf who’s taller than him he doesn’t care because thats little dick energy and Chrollo is NOT part of that club

tall or not he likes having you in his lap, his palms resting on the outside of your thighs or around your waist

who cares if it looks silly to other people? he adores you

he insists on helping you put on/take off your shoes every time, often pressing a kiss to your ankle and telling you how pretty you are GAHHH

touchy touchy man in private, always laying on your lap, caressing your thighs or offering you specifically leg massages

he may or may not be a teeny bit of a perv

he just can’t help it :(( he wants to spoil his tall baby

we already touched on the shorts and skirts thing but this guy goes NUTS if you wear stockings/fishnets/thigh highs etc. like YESSS THANK THE LAWD

he is not above getting on his knees and quite literally worshipping you, kissing up the length of your leg

ok let me stop before i get freaky

Feitan Portor

oh boy

Feitan is already used to being relatively shorter than people, it wasn’t new to him

but he didn’t expect to get with someone DAMN NEAR A WHOLE FOOT TALLER

you guys are like the big and friendly x small and scary ship dynamic except reversed gender role i guess

as previously mentioned in another headcanon post i did similar to this, Feitan likes being shorter than you for 2 main reasons

1. so he can sneak up on you easier and 2. because he’s practically eye level with your chest..

he likes it when you hug him so he can just faceplant into your rack then blame it on the height difference

he likes to sneak up on you and watch you nearly jump out of your skin because you literally didn’t see him coming

he’s not at all insecure about your height difference but he does get annoyed if you or anyone else teases him

if you tried leaning an arm atop his head or something he would dodge you with a scowl and give you the silent treatment for the next 10 minutes because how dare you!?

he is small but mighty, so if you ever try to pick him up or something he WILL fight back

9 times out of 10 you end up splayed out on the floor while he stomps away, a little salty

but he doesn’t mind so much in private

he actually DEMANDS to be the little spoon

he likes the feeling of having your larger form wrapped around him :3

Uvogin

yeah so no matter how tall you are you’re probably never ever going to be taller than this guy soz

he’s like over 8 feet tall

so needless to say your height doesn’t matter much to him..

but I think he probably has a preference for taller women because it just makes things easier for him

also wtf would it look like if this guy was dating someone under 5’4…it would look suspicious even if they’re an adult……..

so yeah he like’s that you’re tall even though you’re still pretty short compared to him

he likes that he has easier access to kiss you instead of having to lean down ridiculously far (even though around 2 feet is still kind of ridiculous…)

another one who likes it when you show your legs off

to be fair, he likes it when you show skin in general but yeah

cannot keep his hands off you ever

he always has an arm slung over your shoulders or if you’re sitting his insanely large hand is resting on your thigh

he doesn’t shy away from pda ever and it kind of annoys some of the other troupe members..

but yeah you guys are giants in love <3

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yandere-wishes · 5 hours ago

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༻°₊ ｡I'm Sorry I'm Not Everything You Wanted｡ ₊°༺

⭒⌒★𝓑𝓻𝓾𝓬𝓮 𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓷𝓮 𝔁 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 ★⌒⭒

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི 𝓢𝔂𝓶𝓹𝓪𝓽𝓱𝔂 𝓲𝓼 𝓪 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓯𝓮 𝓑𝔂 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓵𝓲 𝓧𝓒𝓧 ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

⊹♡ 𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓾𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓸 𝓖𝓲𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓼𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼 ♡⊹

જ⁀➴Warnings: yandere behavior, older man younger woman (reader is over 18), identity crises but make it hot.

𐙚 Synopsis: You begged him to give you the mantel, to christen you as one of his knights, but the burden lays heavily across your shoulders, becoming heavier with each solemn glance.

・┆✦ʚ I couldn't even be them if I tried ɞ✦ ┆・

ʚ☆ɞ It has occurred to Bruce, that the last several nights, there has been a shadow observing him. Slithering through the darkness, perched, watching his every move. He feels studied, noted, like a frog with its skin pinned back divulging its organs for all to see. But when he allows himself a glimpse behind him. He is only ever met with the neon black landscape of Gotham's skyline.

ʚ☆ɞ Menace stalking menace, he is sure of it now. There is an existence haunting him, lurking just out of sight. Someone is stalking him, dissecting him. Their every breath synchronizing with his. He can not catch such a fickle thing, he can not step on this new shadow. It's only when he's half high off fear toxin and two-thirds through an adrenaline rush that he realizes what to do.

ʚ☆ɞ Batman claws at Scarecrow's arm. Nails sinking into straw and flesh. Pulling the sickly thin body above his head and flinging it into the darkness. He listens for the noise of the body hitting something solid. A pained holler piercing the white noise. Echolocation, there is a reason he's chosen the bat as his homage.

ʚ☆ɞ You are a tiny thing, lying beneath the unconscious man. Girlish and juvenile in every way. For a second he considers leaving you there, letting the danger of your ploy sink in. And yet before he can decide whether to offer a hand or turn away, you've already maneuvered out of your binding, pushing yourself up with a puerile skip. Balancing on tiptoes to examine the irritation in his dull eyes…

ʚ☆ɞ You've been trying to slip into the Batcave for the past week now. Batman's scoldings always fall on deaf ears. He's had to save you from his own creations, his own security, after every patrol. He's grown wary of delivering the same lecture. Now he merely awaits the day he'll find you sitting behind his computer with that sickly glib smile smeared across your pretty face.

ʚ☆ɞ It's a forced welcome invitation. You have a way of always being where you are not wanted, prying through steel and concrete until you've made it into the forbidden garden. He hates how much you remind him of Tim. How much you make his sons' presence vibrate through the empty cave. But it's not empty now, is it? He hears you the moment your sole graces the cave's floor, he lets you prowl behind him, awaiting knife and threat. Instead he's almost shaken when you wrap your arms gingerly around his neck, nuzzling into his shoulder with a content hum.

"I finally did it."

ʚ☆ɞ For a second he remembers Don Quioxte, obsessed soul driven to madness. He can't help but laugh.

ʚ☆ɞ He knights you, Robin, not because he wishes to, but because you've left him no alternative. You trail behind him so openly. Spinning and twirling and punching. It didn't take long for Gotham to take note of your presence. "THE NEW CHILD-WONDER" the headlines read. Now there is no other excuse but to deem you sidekick, lest the News and GCPD begin to cavil.

ʚ☆ɞ You cling to his waist, and rest your head on his shoulder during patrols that have gone until sunrise. It's getting harder and harder to ignore the skittish patter of his heart when your weight falls upon him when your arms pull taut his muscles. When he's feeling bold enough to admit somber truths to himself, Bruce confesses that when your eyes flutter open from light slumber is when he thinks you are the most beautiful. Little doll returning to hell. It's cruel and loving all in the same breath.

ʚ☆ɞ And yet he only sees suffering and an early grave with your name inscribed upon the marble. He is doomed to watch his love die. Just like all those who love him are doomed to bleed out in hopes that he will save them…

He never can.

ʚ☆ɞ He will never see you as his equal, you know this, felt it in every shove and push as he huddles you behind his bulking frame. He gives you neither batarangs nor batclaws at first, he doesn't think you're ready for the burden of such weapons. Instead, he teaches you to punch, to kick, to dislocate bones from sockets, and leave men withering in pain. In the end, you find you like the batarangs most. They do more damage than your tiny fists ever could. Or maybe it's cause he'd held you so close once, lacing his fingers with yours to teach you how to throw.

You feel the ghost of his hand weighing upon yours every time you pitch one at the oncoming threat.

ʚ☆ɞ He's only ever known love when it's under moonlight. He's only ever known love in the form of missed bullets. Not I'll protect but rather, I'll teach you how to protect yourself I'll allow you to vanquish the threat before it arises. Maybe cause it's easier this way than watching your body bleed out on the sidewalk. Maybe it's easier to turn your loved ones into abominations than let them be killed by monsters.

ʚ☆ɞ He pulls you onto his lap atop Wayne Tower's edge. Holds your hips with the same grip he uses to crush Poison Ivy's flytraps. Too bruising, too vehement. He could dip you back, pluck your wings without you knowing, and watch you freefall onto the sidewalk. He could kill you, Bruce is sure it'd be so much less painful than watching his rogues dig into you. Gnaw on your organs and swallow your heart. He could save you by snuffing the air from your lungs. You could belong to him eternally…

ʚ☆ɞ You almost feel like Gilgamesh awaiting a miracle that will never come. Chasing after a daemon who knows not how to spare sympathy. You hear the melancholy and pride that lace his voice when he talks about them. The others, your predeceases, his robins. Their legacy lays like nectar in the back of your throat too thick to swallow, too vital to spit.

ʚ☆ɞ It's ironic how, since that fateful night so many moons ago, he's come to learn that there are countless, countless ways people can die. From bullets and neglect, from broken bones and souls, from ideologies to lavish to reside inside a human vessel. He's watched everyone he's ever loved die and die again. But when you pull on his cape and look into his eyes, when the moon's light hits you just right, casting shimmers upon your face, painting you as an ethereal angel who has fallen from the heavens so high. Bruce can't help but pray that you remain by his side until the end of times. Until Gotham's love finally kills him too.

ʚ☆ɞ He can't help but let his stone heart flutter, can't help but long to pull you closer. You chirp his name with an elysian smile, cling to him as he swings you both from rooftop to rooftop. You fit between his bones so perfectly. Bruce dreams of splitting his ribcage open and pulling out his heart. Caging his precious bird inside himself.

ʚ☆ɞ Sometimes you wonder if he knows how sharp the knife is. He speaks in cacophonies but they ever only sound monochrone to you. You mustn't tell your young what they can and can't achieve you think. You mustn't clip their wings till it replicates their antecedent's wings. There is a lecturer before every war, only for you to be sidelined for the next two. You count the pattern like stab wounds. One to the neck, two to the heart.

Batman expects replicas and regalias. You feel so invisible.

ʚ☆ɞ "I would gladly break my heart for you Batman." Bruce winces at the words. You're skipping across the edge playing some form of invisible hopscotch. "Thanks, but I don't need another broken heart on my conscience. I got enough of that already." He wonders if you'd teach him your game if he promised to let you punch Killer Croc this time.

ʚ☆ɞ "I do not understand the insults" you confess one night, He's crutched on a skyscraper awaiting the stampede of Two-Face's getaway cars.

"Are people so obtuse that they see not all the good you've done? Would they rather live in a city that can kill them a hundred times over?" Bruce sighs, a heavy noise that rattles the air. "it's easy to blame things on the one trying to fix them. People need scapegoats, they need to believe in the flaws of their heroes." It doesn't answer your question, not exactly but before you can pry, he's already swinging onto the street. You close your eyes savoring the rare solitude before jumping after him.

ʚ☆ɞ "I think you're destined to do this forever"

You speak through decades, through centuries. Bruce doesn't allow himself the privilege of cringing at the quotation. It had been one of the better things the Joker had ever said, almost like a mother reassuring her child that she would be there to pick them up after school. No, instead he focuses on the ghostly lite of your voice. How it reverberates with his sons' tones. Miscellaneous candances that sound nothing less than eerie. Speaking through time, through space. He is destined to make the same mistakes, destined to watch the same deaths.

ʚ☆ɞ "I think I'll be Lilith after I'm done being Robin"

"Who says you'll ever be done being Robin."

ʚ☆ɞ There is a part of him that thinks, believes, that if he just kisses you, feels the softness of your lips and the rigid bones beneath, then he will have saved you. The logic never sinks in, maybe it's just an excuse. The longing has started to grow teeth. It sinks them into his heart every single night. Bruce pulls you closer and lets his lips still over yours. If he could change something, anything this time around, then maybe just maybe he won't have to watch you die.

ʚ☆ɞ Bruce's kisses are suffocating, patronizing. Your tiny fists do little to deter them. His teeth sink into your bottom lip, his hands massage your hips. He knows exactly how to make poison feel like pleasure.

ʚ☆ɞ There's a bird inside a golden cage. She's pretty singing songs of misery. There will be a diamond ring on her finger soon, stripping away her dreams of being a hero.

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green4allseasons · 2 days ago

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The lights to the townhome are mostly out… save for the single lamp in the window. And Jason’s heart warms at the shallow glow because that means somehow he’d known that Jason would be returning tonight.

Somehow he always knows.

Jason walks the motorbike the final block to the house. The thing is loud, which he usually enjoys. But tonight… he doesn’t want to run the risk of waking any sleeping occupants. So instead, he quietly stashes the bike beside the garage and hoofs it to the front door, pulling out a key that had been made specifically for him.

He loves the way the townhouse welcomes him home. How, although it belongs to someone else on paper, as soon as he steps through the door it greets him as if he's always belonged there too.

On the crooked end table with a single glowing lamp, there's a stack of books that he recently finished reading from the library, all long overdue. And his jackets... those are all neatly hanging from the coat hanger while another's lay stale and untouched in an ever-growing heap on the floor.

Even the fridge is marked with his presence, occupied with tupperware full of stir fry. His recipe... though it had been made by someone else in his absence.

And technically, he could go to his room. Tim had made sure that he knew that it always belonged to him. Even from the very beginning.

So at first Jason considers it. The door’s wide open and waiting for him. And it’s what he usually does when he gets into town late; they’re considerate of each other’s sleep schedule like that.

But... it’s Valentine's Day. Or it was Valentine's Day, he thinks, looking down at his watch and seeing the short hand point at the 2:00. And while Jason’s not a sap for all that capitalist bullshit, he finds himself teetering on his feet in front of his doorway, side-eyeing his bed that looks so cold and lonely in the dark.

“Fuck it,” he decides, turning on his heels and striding into the room across from his. Timmy might get a little pissy about being woken up but he’d just have to live with it for one night. It’s Valentine's Day, or was… and god dammit if Jason isn't feeling a little sentimental. Sue him.

He sounds a lot tougher in his mind, but his actions tell a different story as he slowly nudges the door open, cringing at the resulting creak of old hinges. Had it always been so loud?

Of course, Tim startles, his eyes blearily opening, the pupils constricting at the sudden light. “Jay?” he asks, “Everything okay?”

Jason feels instantly bad. Like he said, they never do this, not unless something’s wrong. So Tim’s instant concern isn’t totally baseless. Usually they give each other a day to adjust to the timezones and whatnot before inexplicably finding themselves in each other’s beds. Intertwined for however long they're both in town… which isn’t as often as either of them would like.

“Yeah, all good, just…” Jason pauses, a little embarrassed to say the words out loud. He was really counting on Tim being asleep. And goddammit, the little smile that crawls across Tim’s face makes him want to bury his head in a hole.

“I didn’t take you for a Valentine’s sort of guy,” Tim teases, that little sleepy smirk so fucking annoying. And yet, Jason feels himself unraveling in ways that he can’t put words to.

He swears, “...Just scoot over, will you?”

Tim lets out a small laugh but opens the covers anyway. Jason’d already showered at his new safehouse so he doesn’t feel bad as he crawls into the sheets. But he doesn’t think Tim would mind either way.

Tim doesn’t turn around, preferring to face Jason as he lays his head back down. They could only manage to fit a twin mattress in the room so it forces them to shift close. Jason sure as hell doesn’t care as their foreheads touch on their shared pillow.

And god, if Jason doesn’t feel like a man with his whole world in his hands. Tim’s warmth so all encompassing that slowly he feels the tension in his muscles lessen, unwinding with every breath that flutters against his cheek. Tim’s breath is still minty from brushing, giving away that he’d probably stayed up too late… again.

Sighing, Jason settles his hand on Tim’s cheek, adoring the contrasting sensations of the impossibly soft skin under Tim’s eyes and the rough stubble over his jawline. Just another indicator that he’d been working too hard.

Ah well, it just means that Jason needs to stay longer this time.

Jason’s fingers rest against Tim’s jawline before he grips gently, using the leverage to press their foreheads together.

“I missed you,” he breathes, holding back so much more that he want’s to say because it’s late, and Tim’s tired, and he doesn’t get enough sleep these days as is.

And really? All that Jason wants to say has been said before and can be said again once morning comes.

Jason plans to spend his whole life saying it. A whole life proving how it’s true.

#Jaytim #Valentines Day #Fic snippet #TBATH #This is just all for funnies #The Bird and The Hood

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ghost-proofbaby · 2 days ago

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hiii, I saw your post about the valentine's event and wanted to ask if you could write a something about Shadowheart going on a cute cottagecore date with a female reader. I don't usually request things because it makes me nervous, so I hope my writing isn't bad lol. have good day or night and thank you!!

ABSOLUTELY!! your writing isn't bad in the slightest, dear <3 i really love the thought of going on a cottagecore picnic with shadowheart, just reading to her as you play with her hair and aaaaaaah. this is my first time properly writing shadowheart x reader so i hope i did her justice as i dip my toes into the water <3

wc: 1.1k+

You’re trying to recall a time Shadowheart has looked so beautiful as she does now, and you’re falling short.

Perhaps that time in the Underdark, in which she gazed around with eyes full of wonder and childlike grin at all the new scenery, could compare. Or perhaps the first time you’d gifted her a Night Orchid, and she’d seemingly glowed from within as she beamed at you behind all her faux casualness. Maybe her silhouette in the moonlight, on the beach during your travels, the night you’d taught her how to swim, could mimic this moment.

But it’s hard to think upon those times when the right here, right now is in front of you.

The afternoon sun is warming her skin just right, pools of gold breaking through the leaves of the tree overhead and catching onto her high cheekbones just so. The bridge of her nose has turned a few shades pinker than it had been when the two of you first arrived, and it’s done nothing to deter her from keeping her head tilted back towards the sunshine. Her silvery white hair is littered with cherry blossoms, her comfortable garments are flowy in the soft spring breeze, there’s a ghost of a grin still on her kiss-bitten lips – she’s beautiful.

Plain and simple. No metaphors, no elaborate plots to go about it. Your girlfriend is the vision of beauty herself, and she has you speechless.

“Have you had enough of all your gawking, lover?” she hums, teasing as she cracks an eye open to peer at you.

The book you had been reading out loud for both of you lays abandoned on your lap, pages face down so as to avoid letting the words distract you, “Never.”

You think you’d spend the rest of your life gawking, as she had so lovingly put it, if she’d just allow it.

“Well, who am I to complain?” she sighs out as she leans further back on her arms, entire body relaxing as another breeze flutters by. You swear, something in the air is whispering for you to kiss her again, “Although, I have to say, I was awfully enjoying that adventurous story of yours.”

“We’ve had enough adventure for a lifetime,” you laugh a little, shifting around on the soft blanket on the ground, narrowly avoiding the picnic basket as you seek out a better view of her, “Is it so wrong for me to simply be relaxing?”

“Gawking – not relaxing.”

“Same thing.”

“Is no-”

You cut her off with an unexpected kiss. Leaning your full weight forward, and capturing her mouth against yours. You’d steal all her breath away, if only she’d allow it.

And she nearly does. She reciprocates easily despite you catching her off guard, quick to reach out for your hips, desperate to pull you closer. There’s no need for begging or bartering, however – you’re already on the move to situate yourself in her lap, fingers already carefully carding around the flowers you had placed in her hair, your own warmed skin eager to feel the press of hers.

“What about the book?” she smiles against your lips, pulling back just a touch.

You chase after her, not letting her get far, “Who cares? If you want to experience a real adventure, we can just call up Withers for another go-round-”

She shuts you up with a kiss now.

Hands dancing across the hem of your dress, inching it up, up, up. Not a secret motive in sight, nothing dastardly on the mind; she simply wants to be close to you. She only aches to feel her fingertips pressing into the soft skin of your thighs a bit, only craves to let the taste of sticky sweet strawberries on your lips dance on her tongue for a while.

You get the message well enough.

This is enough, she whispers with a playful nip at your bottom lip. Stay here with me, just a while longer.

And you will. She doesn’t even need to ask – you’d stay fiercely at her side to the ends of Faerun. You’ve already been fiercely at her side for travels through approximately half of it.

All the kissing and wandering hands with no real destination is a lovely reprieve, but it comes to a sudden end when a flash of white fur barrels into the two of you.

“Oomph!”

“Scratch!”

The two of you yell out in sync, no real anger behind your words as you collapse to the ground for the overexcited dog to trample both of you. The laughter is bubbling like champagne, and a paw weighs heavy on your chest as you watch Scratch begin his assault of licks across Shadowheart’s freckled cheeks.

Giggles, gentle chastising, springtime air, the smell of the grass’ dew below you – it all bursts around you with a whoosh, and it feels a lot like home.

“I was wondering when you might interrupt our afternoon picnic,” Shadowheart simpers as her hand reaches out to ruffle snowy fur. “Miss us too much, boy?”

You turn onto your stomach as you roll your eyes, “Missed you, more like it. ”

“He misses and loves us both very much.”

“He tries to kick me out of our bed every single night,” you snort, “I’m pretty sure he’s cuddled more with you in the last fortnight than I have over the last several months.”

“Jealous?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow.

Very. You’ll probably spend the rest of your days jealous of every single person who ever has the honor of occupying her time, her thoughts, her care. It’s simply impossible not to. Not after getting to see her in moments like these, not after learning her soul as intimately as you have.

But you don’t say that outright, her beauty taking you by storm once more.

Have her eyes ever been so green? Have they always matched the blooming leaves so perfectly? Or is it simply the sunlight catching them, and your heart in the process, just right?

“I’ll take your silence as a yes,” she jests as she turns her head back to the sky, a smirk toying on her cheeks.

Has she always been able to steal your breath away so easily? Has her coy smile always made your heart batter about your rib cage this way?

The answer always has been, and always will be, yes.

You follow her suit, catching sight of a single drifting cloud above the branches, “Of course you will.”

Scratch settles himself into her side, farthest from you obviously, and the three of you lay in blissful silence. The distant chirping of doves, the dull buzz of insects impatiently awaiting the summertime, the thrum of your heart that you somehow instinctively know has fallen in sync with your lover’s.

It’s all white noise when her hand stretches out to yours, sincere skin brushing against your own awaiting palm for just a moment before her pinky hooks with yours.

You never do find your answer as to whether she’s ever looked quite as beautiful as she does now. You have a lifetime to keep searching.

#ghost's stories #v-day party #shadowheart x reader #shadowheart x you #shadowheart #bg3 #sapphic love is always so warm to me i can't explain it

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prettyboykatsuki · 6 days ago

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MY LOVE, MY ALIBI | CALEB | XIA YIZHOU (LNDS)

♡ tags ; psuedocest / adoptive incest, afab + fem!reader, minor age-gap (3 years), mentions / non graphic depictions of child abuse (from readers days in the orphanage), childhood crushing, mutual pining, developing relationship, size difference, some religious imagery, loss of virginity, petnames (baby, princess, pipsquak), use of meimei once and gege a few times but very sparing, oral (f!recieving), nipple play, marking, light masochism from reader, mouth-spitting, fingering, bare-backing, 18+

♡ wc ; 23.3k (kill me)

♡ a/n ; hey. this is an incest fic for adoptive siblings. if that makes you uncomfortable, don't read it. block me if you need to. please spare me lecture.

also - i have reader be carried by caleb a couple of times but dude has a bionic arm so he's strong as shit to me. the size difference tag is mostly about his dick. aside from the carrying there is no phyiscal indicators for reader

important to the fic but i play in simplified cn. please go listen to the simplified cn voice actor before you read this. for my sanity. most of my characterization is based on various cn translations from the kind cn fanbase. special thank you to mao @/yinyuedijun and this yt channel.

♡ synopsis ; for as long as you can remember, the sight of caleb's back is whats made you feel safest. it's no surprise that every man that comes after him never quite measures up.

extended authors note. | caleb playlist | ao3 | tipjar

PART ONE: ANYTHING YOU SAY CAN AND WILL BE HELD AGAINST YOU.

At seven, you knock out one of your teeth roughhousing with one of the orphanage boys.

The good news? You’re winning. You’re at the age where size matters more than gender but the boy you’re fighting is both bigger and older than you.

Even so, you manage to pull off shoving him back.

You don’t know his name, only his face— buzzed head and red gums, the pristine picture of anger. You roll around with him in the small stretch of yard behind the orphanage - white tanktop stained with grass, all knobby knees and short limbs as you fight and fight and fight with every ounce of your strength.

You are seven with something to prove and a lot already lost. Your pride refuses to let you lose further. You recieve a hit of adrenaline when you launch the top of your head into the older boys chin and hear his teeth clack from how hard it lands. He collapses in a pile, spits curses he learned from the grown-ups that come in and out as he lays there.

He nearly jumps you when you’re both down. Your head is throbbing where his chin connected and you can tell if he decides to fight you again, your chances of winning have slimmed significantly.

You see it in his eyes. In his face. He’s so angry. Always is. You knew it was a bad idea to provoke him to begin with.

He nearly, nearly jumps you and almost knocks you out completely.

So you decide it might be better to prepare for it. You fold up. Put your arms up high and brace for impact when a shadow - long, endless, casts over your head. Eyes half open, a familiar pair of beat-up sneakers stand in front of you in the grass. You hear a familiar voice. It’s colder than you’re used to.

“Bullying a little kid is lame,” Caleb says, sharp. It makes you shrink further even though it’s not directed at you. “Quit fighting or I’ll get one of the grown-ups.”

You can’t see what's in front of you. You only hear a shock of gasps around you—another confrontation that quickly settles into silence before Caleb turns around.

His face is soft as he bends down to be eye level. Kind, boyish, gentle - he opens up his arms. He’s not happy about something. You can tell because his smile is a little dimmer than normal. You desperately hope it isn’t because of you.

Even knowing Caleb is going to scold you a bit, you find yourself welling up in tears from relief even over fear. You wail as you wrap your arms around his neck and Caleb hoists you up and carries you on his hip like you’re still a baby.

He’s silent as he carries you into the house.

“You shouldn’t get into fights,” He says, soothing. You sniffle as he walks you inside. His shirt smells like summer, hands fisted in it. Holding on for dear life. Call for me next time.”

Caleb sits you on the mattress, in the room all the older kids share. Your feet don’t touch the ground as he kneels in front of you and rifles around under his bed. He has bandages and alcohol, cotton swabs and gauze.

His eyes are kind as he assesses your wounds. Pours alcohol onto a cotton pad and frowns each time you sniffle and sob from the pain of getting them cleaned. “A crybaby like you shouldn’t fight anyone, seriously.”

“Shut up,” You say first. You hang your head low, instant regret. Your hands close again, blunt nails digging into your palms. Your lower lip trembles. Caleb quickly puts a hand on the top of your head when he notices your distress. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Just depend on me, alright?” He grins with the same front tooth missing. Like a mirror image of you, you think. “I’ll always help you.”

At ten, you give up celebrating your birthday.

You’re the age Caleb was when you met and now you’ve both left the orphanage and lived away from it for a few years. You’ve spent nearly three years with a woman you call Grandma and the world feels a lot kinder with her in your life. She takes good care of you. Gives you a warm bed to sleep in, and good food to eat. Doesn’t get angry when you break cups or get up in the middle of the night to go pee.

You live in a house with only three people and you even get to have your own room—one you don’t have to share, not even with Caleb. It’s nice to sleep where there’s no one else, even if most nights you crawl into Caleb’s bed anyway and sleep next to him because it's more comfortable.

Grandma is nice to you. Sometimes, she looks like she’s somewhere far away but it never lasts for long. You’re thankful to her for taking you in.

You have a warm bed to sleep in, good food to eat, and Caleb is right next to you. He’s your brother now, so you can be together forever. And none of the adults from the orphanage are here to punish him anymore when he tries to protect you.

You’re ten and the world seems to be trying its best not to hurt you any further. Somehow, this only makes you feel more uneasy.

You’re happy. It scares you. You often wonder when someone will punish you for it. If someone will be blamed for allowing it. It makes you feel helpless when you think about it too long.

But you have Caleb. He makes it easier. You can cling onto his shirt when it gets too hard. And he’s older now, enough to really feel grown up.

A night, when you clutch the fabric until it stretches wide, trembling after you’re plagued by bad dreams - having nightmares of rusted rain, Caleb is there.

No matter how deeply asleep, he always wakes up to hold you.

( You wait for him to tell you that you’re too big to be getting scared over nightmares, but the day still hasn’t come. You hope it never does. You think you’d be so sad you would never stop crying. )

You’re ten, and the world seems kinder - but you know better by now. You try to take precautionary measures against letting it take everything from you again.

And you start small. With yourself, and your birthday.

You’ve only ever celebrated a few birthdays. In the orphanage they’d celebrate a lot at once, so it never felt very special. You can’t really remember the ones you had before then, don’t remember much from then at all. Since you’ve been adopted, Grandma has celebrated your birthday and made it special. She and Caleb cook your favorite meal together and you sit around and cut-cake afterwards.

They even decorate the house with balloons and streamers.

Your birthdays now don’t compare to the ones you had then.

Nothing bad is happening but still. You like celebrating your birthday. But, can you feel okay about getting to celebrate a birthday at all? When you thought for sure your life might end before then?

Before your eleventh birthday, you announce to your family that you don’t want to do anything special this year. When they probe you with questions about why not, you refuse to give up any answers.

Caleb is thirteen and heartbroken when he hears you say this. Asks questions even as you turn your nose up and refuse to answer. You get into a fight about it, one of the very first of your entire relationship.

It’s that same night you begin to sleep in your own room.

In the weeks leading up to your birthday, you find your house to be more quiet than usual. Caleb is busy with something but you blame yourself for the distance between you. He always comes back seeming tired. Even though he still pats your head and smiles at you the same way, you notice when he seems a little less there at the dinner time.

When your birthday finally comes, your grandma still decides to celebrate it in a small way. She makes your favorite food and gets you a cake and candles. Hugs you when you cry about it, too. The only thing they skip is the decoration.

(You’re brave though, when next year rolls around and tell them you miss it. It makes Caleb happy enough to hug you tight.)

The warmth that fills your heart seeing your name in iced letters is too big for your body. You wonder if this is what having a family was like.

At night time, after dinner and before you cut the cake - you open your presents. There’s two for your eleventh birthday. One from grandma and one from Caleb. Usually, they sign their gift to you together but this year they’re separate.

At first, your heart sinks, but you try not to think about it. Grandma gets you a bike that matches Caleb’s so the two of you can ride together. You’re happy to have it but Caleb insists you can just keep riding on the back of his if you don’t want to learn.

You open Caleb’s gift second. It’s wrapped in pretty paper with a bow on it so you undo it carefully. Inside of it is a plain looking box.

“Open it,”

There’s a pair of earrings and a necklace when you do. It’s not cheap plastic like all the other jewelry you’ve ever had in your life. Little apples covered in gemstones, and a little gold necklace with a pendant and a locket. Your eyes go wide, fingers trembling a little as you touch it.

You look for Caleb’s face unthinkingly. Kind and warm, eyes crinkled and shoulders slack in relief when he sees your happy reaction. His hand is warm as it rests on your head, rubbing gently.

“It took a while but I’ve been helping our neighbors for money so I could buy it for you,” Caleb says, looking down at you with an easy grin. “The day you were born is important for me, so don’t say that you won’t celebrate it from now on. Okay?”

When tears well up in your eyes, you barely have to say a word before Caleb brings you into his waist. You cry to him the same way you always do - with a hand fisted in the back of his shirt like you’re terrified of where you’d end up if you let go.

Even when you ruin his shirt with salty tears, Caleb never voices a word of complaint. His steady heartbeat and warm hands that make you feel like he’s already done it all before, stay exactly where you expect them.

Your dependable, kind older brother.

At thirteen, you take your first field trip overnight.

It takes a tremendous amount of effort to make it happen.

Grandma was easy to convince, but it took you fourteen whole days to convince your brother that you could handle going on a school field trip without having your hand held the entire time.

(You can still hear the amused, taunting lilt in his voice from when you first mentioned it. Sure you’ll be okay pipsqueak? My bed won’t be there for you to take over if you get scared, you know?)

Ugh. He can be so strict. An you swear he was even more stubborn about it than usual.

You had to use every tactic in the book to get him to say yes. Kissing up to him, acting extra wistful, doing your chores and being super well-behaved. After strategically buttering him up for two weeks prior to you just asking, you also made sure to ask when he had one of his friends over. He’s strict regardless of who's around, but having another person in your corner is good for morale.

(This method is effective for the record. Just as Caleb goes to turn you down, his friend throws an eraser at him and clicks his teeth.

“There’s a limit to your siscon behavior. Just let her go.”

You sneak said friend a candy the next time he comes over as thanks.)

After a lot of persistent begging, Caleb relents and allows Grandma to sign your permission slip. It’s an overnight trip sure—but it’s heavily supervised and rooms are separated by gender anyhow. You really don’t know what he was so worried about.

So far, the trip has been really fun. You went to a butterfly garden conservatory as a part of your science project and one landed on your nose. Your friend even managed to get a good picture. In the afternoon, you did a bit of sightseeing and got to buy some street food.

When evening rolled around, you and all your friends holed up in the same hotel room sleeping together on one big floor. You stayed up a few hours later than you should’ve—gossiping and discussing the newest chapter of a very popular romance webnovel. Most of them are out by the time the clock hits midnight.

And now, you’re the last one awake at 1am.

Unfortunately, no matter how long you try to sleep—it is hard to sleep away from home, knowing Caleb isn’t right down the hall. No matter how much the thought makes you frown.

You’ve outgrown the habit of crawling into his bed every night. Still, you think you rest easier knowing that he’s there. You’d never admit it but subconsciously, it comforts you just knowing he is. The few times you get nightmares of the Chronorift these days, your nightmares are especially persistent. You don’t crawl into his bed like you did when you were a little kid as often as you used to. Even when you want it, it’s just a little embarrassing.

Regardless though, he’ll stay up with you until it passes, and until you go back to to sleep. It’s the only thing that helps it go down easier some nights. That he’d be there no matter what happened.

By the time the clock strikes one-thirty, you get the feeling you just won’t be able to sleep unless you at least call him.

So, after carefully sneaking your phone out of your bag - you leave your hotel room to wander the halls and end up in the lobby in your PJs.

You realize your incidental act of rebellion when you catch some stares from late-night guests. You hesitate on whether or not you should go back before deciding that’d be pointless. Fingers hovering over the call button, it takes a beat before you hit and hear the number dial. He’ll probably scold you but you know he’ll answer.

He picks up in one ring. His voice is thick with sleep when he speaks. “It’s late. You should be asleep.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry, Gege,” You say, crossing slippered feet against the tile of the hotel lobby floor. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

His voice softens instantly. “Somethin’ happen?”

You shake your head before realizing he can’t see you. “No, I just couldn’t sleep.” A beat. “I thought I would sleep better if…I talked to…someone.”

It’s too embarrassing to tell him you wanted to talk to him, specifically. Caleb is quiet on the other side of the line before he laughs, just a little. “You were so adamant on wanting to go with your friends, huh? I thought you’d be just fine. Were you being brave for show?.”

You frown a little, groaning. “I did have fun. A lot of fun. We talked a lot before bed too, and now everyone else is asleep. It’s not like I regret going. And I wasn’t being brave, I was just—”

“Sure, sure. Still can’t sleep unless you know I’m there, huh?”

Silence stretches over the line. You feel your face grow hot with embarrassment as you stretch your legs out, chin tucked against your chest.

“Maybe I should just hang up on you,”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Caleb says more gently. “You can call me as much as you want.”

“You’re being nice like when we were kids.” You observe.

Caleb scoffs a little. “I’m always nice.”

You roll your eyes and Caleb laughs like he knows you did it. It’s quiet again before he speaks. In the voice that makes him feel older than he is. “I’m worried about you so I’m being even nicer than usual. Is that okay?”

His tone is light, teasing, but there’s more to it than he lets on. You trace a pattern into the worn, fabric arm of the chair you sit in. “Why?”

“I get worried when you go somewhere I can’t see you.” He says agreeably.

Your face tugs into a frown, strangely mortified by the sincerity of it. “It’s not like I’m a kid anymore. I’ll be fourteen in a few months.”

Caleb laughs. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ll always be a kid.”

You huff. “That’s not fair. Does that mean I’ll have to beg you like this to do anything for the rest of my life? You’re too much.”

“At least until you turn eighteen.” Caleb replies, voice airy and content. “And if you’re still a little weakling then, probably a few more years after that too.”

You groan. “How terrible. What kind of brother are you? So cruel.” You pause “You’re more like my dad sometimes.”

“Since you’re my responsibility, I usually have to act as all three.” Caleb says with ease. “You should get used to it.”

Despite your grievances, your body relaxes exactly the way you expect as you listen to him talk. You yawn out loud, sleep making your eyes and limbs heavy.

“Finally tired?” He asks, voice softened. Doting. It’s so instant, you don’t have the will to fight it. “Go sleep. Make sure you eat tomorrow morning and don’t just wait until noon.”

“Okay, Gege.” You yawn again. “Goodnight. Love you,”

A long silence stretches between you. You wonder why he hesitates. “Love you too. Now go to bed. And don’t sneak out without telling your teachers again,”

“Wait, how did you—”

“I know everything.” He says dismissively. “Goodnight, okay?”

You pull back and stare at your phone. He’s a little scary sometimes.

“Yeah. Okay. Night,”

At sixteen, you go experience the first real heartbreak of your life.

It’s less over the actual relationship and more about the events leading to your break-up.

Your secret boyfriend of five months kissed one of your closest friends. And you caught them both red-handed.

It was in the gymnasium after school a few weeks ago. You nearly fist fought them both before getting overwhelmed and simply running away in tears to a nearby playground. Your two other best friends had to pry you out of a bed of mulch and take you home after wiping your tears.

You have a list of grievances about the situation. You like (?) the guy but you loved your friend - but now you have neither. And all of it happened for a reason you cannot wrap your mind around at all.

You’re thankful for your other friends who have taken your side in the matter while still trying to get to the bottom of it. And it’s good having them, but in your time of teenage angst - the one person you’d like to tell absolutely can’t know.

Not telling your older brother is hard. Keeping the secret makes you feel guilty enough, but it’s made harder when he’s home. And he will be for the next two weeks until he has to go back to the dorms. They’re on some kind of spring break.

Until then, you make it your mission to keep up appearances. Since the one person you don’t want to find out about your relationship is the person who’d find out the fastest.

Caleb is strict. Has been for as long as you can remember. Though you’ve never explicitly spoken on dating - he has, more than once, “subtly” warned you about having an interest in the opposite sex. You remember how you made stupid heart-eyes to one of his school friends years back and he still brings it up whenever you ask about him and how he’s doing. As if even wanting to know is some kind of betrayal.

(And well, maybe you do ask just to see him react like that. It’s…funny. It’s not like Caleb needs to know that.)

You don’t like keeping secrets from your brother. You’re close. Way closer than most people ever are with their siblings.

Maybe because Caleb has always taken care of you—he feels less like a sibling you can pointlessly squabble with and more like your guardian at times.

It’s hard for you to lie to him explicitly so the fact you’ve kept the relationship under wraps for five months is kind of impressive.

You always told yourself, you’d tell Caleb if it ever got serious. Truthfully though, you didn’t think it was going to last. Didn’t even want to accept until your friends pressured you.

Your now ex-boyfriend is the one who asked you out, which is what pisses you off the most. He’s one of the popular guys in your grade and he’s…nice. Was nice. You don’t think you’d be sad if he simply broke up with you and went out with your friend. You’d think less of him maybe, but it’s not like you’re in love with him.

It’s all the other stuff that’s weighing you down. It’s getting into a fight with your friend. It’s getting two-timed by the jackass who asked you out first. One you didn’t even like that much.

(Maybe not at all.)

It’s wanting to whine and complain about all of this to your older brother who would take your side but not being able to - because you can’t tell him half truths. You don’t have it in you. You barely have it in you to lie to him.

(Truthfully, you think the only reason you’ve been able to all this time is because you’ve kept said boyfriend at arms length somewhat knowingly. You haven’t had a proper kiss.)

Telling Caleb everything is a long time compulsion you don’t know if you’ll ever unlearn.You don’t know if it’s loyalty or gratitude—only that it makes you feel like a dog whose been leashed to a post for most of your life before it gets unchained.

Even when you’re no longer shackled to it, you find you can’t go anywhere. Being without it doesn’t free you, not really. You find it goes against what you know to try to escape without hearing the click of metal.

You stay by the post. You tell Caleb everything. It feels outright wrong to lie about something important.

(And it’s still hard lying about something unimportant.)

You’re sure it speaks to the depth of your attachment but you always end up spilling your guts to him. Like a child always wanting to please their parents and behave. You know Caleb will accept you, even if he gets angry. But you don’t actually know how he’ll react and that scares you into not wanting to tell him at all.

The thought of disappointing him is what makes you most uneasy.

So, you decide that you’ll take it to the grave. It’s your one half-ass rebellion and these are the natural consequences. As long as you process your friendship grief and wear out your anger - it’ll be smoothed over before you know.

Meticulously, you time your sessions of grieving and angry debriefing phone calls in the hours Caleb is out of the house. You work hard at keeping up as if nothing is happening in your life at all. You feel an unshakeable feeling of guilt the entire time, one that has you waking up in cold sweat but you ignore it because… well, you don’t really know how to fix it.

(Truthfully - you’re irrationally worried that he’d leave over something so trivial, and you’d be seven and all alone in the world again. As nonsensical as it is, and as much as you want to pretend otherwise, your attachment to Caleb really matters that much to you.)

You very nearly make it to the finish line of this plan too. Almost. .

In the middle of your crying session - you answer a knock on the door and assume it’s Granny (who does, at least partially, know what’s going on). You open it without thinking.

It’s the last person you want to see in the moment.

You quickly try to shut the door but Caleb is quicker. Slides his unnecessarily huge body through the small gap and shuts it behind him - trapping you both. You stumble back a little, but he catches you by the wrist to make sure you don’t actually fall.

You feel like a deer in headlights. Red, water rimmed eyes, runny nose, and face puffy - you try to pull your sleeves over your hands and wipe your face. Even though he’s already seen it. You’re too old to be crying like this in front of him. It’s humiliating.

Caleb grabs your wrists easily before you can wipe them away. You blink away a few unshed tears to get a better look at his face. You inhale, your chest tight - feet like lead as you look at your older brother. His pinched expression, almost pained but still tender. Still gentle. Just seeing it again makes you want to cry.

“I knew it,” He says. He drops your hands and instead cups your face with his palm, thumb wiping away tears as he cups your cheek. His expression is firm. “What’s wrong, hm?”

It’s like something in you collapses.

You give into it without any effort.

Caleb makes it so easy, after all, to be the weakest version of yourself.

With him, there’s no desire to fight what feels inevitable. So you let yourself fall to nothing in Caleb’s arms and cry. You’re torn up over your first real friendship fight so you let yourself lean on him. Just like you do at seven, and ten, and all the years before. Fist your hand tight in the fabric of his shirt like you’re worried he’ll shake you off, even though he never does.)

(Later, you’ll remember this conversation and realize that there was never any room for anyone else. It was a kind of teenage naivety to think otherwise.

You’ll hear the sentiment from everyone you know—friends, colleagues, family: the person you can be weakest with is who you should marry. If only you had known that then, too. Maybe accepting it would’ve been easier. Maybe you would’ve known sooner what feeling you’d spend the rest of your adult life chasing)

Caleb rests his hand on the back of your head as he tucks your face against his chest. It’s warm and soft. The comforting scent of detergent and cologne, undercut by oil and jetfuel. You wish you could bury yourself in.

You stand and cry like that in silence for a long while. Caleb holds you tight without asking any questions, his chin resting on top of your head, patting your back.

When you pull away from him, ready to explain - he walks himself over to your bed and sits on it. His expression is unreadable. Concerned but trying not to worry too son.

With his legs wide, he opens his arms out to you to invite you into his lap the way you did when you were kids. You wonder if he’s joking—trying to make you laugh and cheer you up.

But in the moment you’re so fragile, you tuck your chin and sit anyway. He stiffens briefly, as if surprised but soon enough, strong arms lay drape your waist as he lets you lean into him.

“Ready to talk about it?”

You fidget. “Aren’t you busy?”

He shakes his. “I’m all yours.”

Your chest feels warm and fluttery when he says it. It soothes you. .

You sniffle, adjusting in his lap. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” He asks. “You don’t have to,”

“No, I—” You shift in his lap. “It feels wrong. Not telling you.”

Caleb hums. “You’re at that age. I already know that much. But no matter what I’m on your side, so don’t hide when you’re feeling sad or upset. Okay?”

“Nn,” You nod. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“It’s really fine. It’s not like I can really be mad at you, right?”

You make a small, thoughtful noise. “You say that but you’re unexpectedly good at holding grudges.”

Caleb laughs. “Hm, that’s true. But not with you.”

You repeat the words to yourself, half-dizzy with a smile. “Not with me.”

Caleb smiles at you. He holds you a little tighter. You grab hold of his jacket, white knuckling the fabric until your heartbeat settles.

“So. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

( In the end, you tell Caleb everything from start to finish.

It’s just as you predicted. Once you start, it’s hard to give him anything but the full truth. Caleb listens to you intently without interjecting. Rests his chin on your shoulders, leaving you with nothing but his body language to pick up on his moods.

He stiffens when you tell him you had a boyfriend. Calms down when you tell him you didn’t like him very much, that all you did was hold hands and cuddle and you still think it was a waste.

Caleb listens to it all. Hangs onto your every word until you’ve tuckered yourself out. You think of what they say about how a burden shared is a burden halved and hope that it’s fine to depend on him this much all these years later.

Caleb is silent and steady for the duration of your talk. Towards the end he tells you: “No boy should ever make you cry. Should I get revenge for you?”

“Gege,” You say exasperated “And what about boys making me cry? That’s all they do from what I can tell.”

He doesn’t refute that. “ That’s true. It’s better to avoid them, really. If I ever make you cry you though, you can hit me,” He replies. You laugh a little.

“I don’t think you would make me cry without good reason.”

“If I do, I’ll make sure to repent for my whole life after.” He says, joking. Maybe joking.

Your cheeks warm “Your whole life feels like a long time.”

“Is it? You can’t really get rid of me easily, so I think it makes sense.”

“I guess that’s true. You can’t get rid of me either, you know.”

Caleb grins at you. “How lucky.”)

At nineteen, you go to a club in the Linkon entertainment district for the very first time.

Your friends dragged you here. It’s your first year of the Hunter Academy and your first time living away from home. You’ve spent most of the school year completely focused on training and working towards your goals - trying to be strong enough to work alongside a certain someone and hold your own.

You’re not here of your own volition, but honestly? It’s not so bad. Drinking and dancing with your friends proves fun for the first couple of hours at least.

After that gets old though, really more stressful than anything.

You aren’t supposed to be here in the first place. That’s the main cause of your current unease. The club is 21+ and it was already an ordeal getting in. The longer you stay, the more restless you feel—the more you want to leave before anyone gets caught up in anything.

You’ve been knocking back drinks all evening, courtesy of some of your friends - and the night is starting to come to a halt for you internally. All the discomfort and overstimulation go from engaging to overwhelming, and your head is starting to spin.

You’re in the section where you and your friends got invited. Apparently there’s someone tonight who's popular in the nightlife scene - son of some rich business man you think. Your friend has been doing you all the solid of keeping him happy. Your eyes flit over to where they dance on the floor and you feel yourself wince just looking at them.

Shit, your head is throbbing.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sink back in your seat and think about what the best strategy is to get out of here.

All of you should go home honestly. There won’t be major consequences for simply being intoxicated, but sneaking into an establishment like this really might affect your ability to graduate. Your academy is not known for its leniency.

Aside from that, you’re tired. You should have more energy than this. You would normally, you think. But it’s a Friday and you had taken up some extra training since you had no plans to be out. The addition of alcohol dehydrating you and the sharp and particular pain from stiletto heels makes you lethargic. Dead on your feet.

It’s later in the night but not so late people are leaving. A second wave of attendees are shuffling in now. You have half a mind to mix with the crowd and leave by yourself. It feels like a good idea at least.

But then, more people are brought to your section. You’re only half-paying attention as the guy from earlier, the one paying for you all, happily introduces the new group to people already sitting.

“...And Caleb, it’s good to see you. You’re usually too busy to come to things like this,”

A pair of eyes bore into you. You freeze completely, eyes glued to your phone screen as you catch a glimpse of the one person you absolutely do not want to be meeting here.

“Yeah,” A familiar voice says. His voice is light like he’s not noticed anything.”I’m glad I came. I’ve already seen some interesting things.”

The dull throb in your head turns the corner to a sharp pain. A feeling of complete misery washes over you. Truly, the worst possible outcome. You wonder what Caleb is doing here in the first place. From what you know, this isn’t usually his kind of establishment either. Maybe someone from his dorms dragged him here too? You think it’d be something like that.

You make the mistake of looking up as Caleb slides in opposite to you with a few other friends. His expression is completely unreadable as your eyes meet across the table. He flashes you a smile that makes your nerves stand on end. All you can do is look away, eyes flitting back down your phone.

A text appears at the top of your screen.

from cpt big bro (1:03am): nice to see you.

A feeling of unease immediately feels you, but when you look back up at Caleb - he’s pretending like you don’t even exist.

You don’t know why you feel so guilty in the first place. Sure, you snuck in here but it’s not like you did something unheard of. And you’re past the legal drinking age in the first place. And the clothes weren’t your idea. You’ll tell him that when he inevitably asks.

You’re not doing anything so wrong but you’re worried he’ll get the wrong idea.

(A voice in your head asks: what idea? You tell yourself it’d be embarrassing if your brother thought you were looking for a hook-up. It’s reasonable enough.

You decide not to interrogate the reasoning any further, even when the feeling doesn’t go away.)

You find your gaze falling in your lap as you try to dissolve the overwhelming feeling of shame and upset just knowing Caleb’s seen you like this.

It’s worse though to have him ignoring you. You know he’s probably doing it for your sake. Even knowing he’s not malicious doesn’t make it much better. Your eyes stay glued to your phone screen.

You don’t know how much time passes before someone else joins you at the table.

A woman this time.

“Caleb! You actually came,” She says over the music. You watch her from your peripherals as she slides in next to him without hesitation. “I thought Kenji was lying to get more girls to show up.”

You hear him laugh a little. You think he sounds a little uncomfortable, but maybe you’re reading too much into it. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Isn’t that always how that goes?” She hums. Your eyes widen slightly seeing the way she presses herself up against his arm. “But I’m glad you're here. Maybe I can convince you to dance.”

“You can try,” He says. You know he’s just being amiable. Or at least, you think he’s just trying to be amiable.

You’ve never really seen Caleb flirt with a girl, so you don’t have a real reference for what does and does not count.

It’s the first time in all of your life you’ve ever seen Caleb get hit on so closely. You’re used to his popularity of course - but back then, Caleb usually made a point to run away. No one ever got near enough. He’s always been nice about it of course, tries to let people down easy.

You don’t know the girl who's flirting with him now, but you can tell that they know each other. They’re sitting close, but not enough to be obvious. You can hear them too, though. Hear how she talks to him. It’s not hard to tell that she’s hitting on him. And your brother isn’t reciprocating but he’s not quite turning her down. It doesn’t seem to bother him, enough that when he makes jokes playfully rejecting her - the conversation still doesn’t sour.

They get along, is what you mean. Better than you thought they would.

Your stomach churns.

You try not to think about whats making you sick. But it washes over you all at once. More dizzy than nauseous. You feel like someone is tying your insides into a coil. The more you try to divert your gaze - the harder it is to ignore it. Caleb glances at you from time to time, but it seems accidental at best.

Your heart is hammering. You think about how long it’s been since you’ve last seen each other. All the things that have happened while you’re apart.

When you find you can’t sit and handle anymore, your body makes the decision to leave for you.

It happens quickly. You stand to your feet, nearly stumbling in your heels as you talk to a friend on the dance floor and make-up a nonsense excuse about needing to leave. She offers to call you a taxi, but by then you’re already making a bee-line to the door and out of the club.

It’s late when you leave. Your whole body feels like it’s trapped in ice as the unforgiving night air whips your skin and leaves you cold. You stumble down the steps in your heels until you finally make it onto the curb with all the other drunk club-goers trying to get home or sober up.

You’ll flag down a taxi, go home, and pretend nothing happened. You repeat the routine to yourself over and over.

It feels like the only way you can handle it. Your mind can't process it otherwise. Can’t think too hard on what you might’ve been privy too.

“Where are you runnin’ off to?”

You freeze when you hear Caleb’s voice. You have half a mind to break into a sprint but you aren’t sure you can without breaking your ankles with your heels. Another part of you is preening over the fact he came immediately to find you. You turn around and try to walk away briskly - only to feel a warm hand on your wrist, pulling you towards him and making you come to a halt.

“Let me go,” You mumble.

He holds you a little tighter.

“Don’t be like that. No matter how much training you have, I know you can’t run in heels so quit it,” Caleb says, with a sigh. “Why’d you run off?”

“What do you mean why?” You say, words slurring. “Who’d wanna see—hicc—”

Caleb frowns at you. “Why’re you trying to be tough if you can barely keep yourself standing up straight?”

He sighs, bending down. You let out a noise as he undoes the strap of your heel.

“Take them off,”

You pout. “How am I supposed to walk home like that?”

“I’ll carry you on my back,” He replies. “Your ankles with have a hard time if you keep wobbling like that,”

“My feet will get dirty from the pavement.”

You’re being difficult on purpose. Drunk and upset, arguing with anything he says. Caleb knows this you’re sure but he doesn’t seem to have a reaction to it besides mild exasperation. Despite that though, he still tends to you.

He makes a face at you before sighing. You watch as he slides his jacket off of his shoulders and drapes it over you. It’s oversized on him, even more so on you. It fits more like a dress and covers more than your outfit does.

When you’ve slipped your arms through it, he drops down onto his knees and undoes the other strap of your heel. He turns around after that, signalling for you to get on his back. You want to refuse him but you find you don’t have the words to do so. You comply with his request, putting your arms around his neck as he lifts you with frightening ease.

He bends down with you on his back to pick your heels up and carry them.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me anything?” You mumble. Caleb sighs. It makes you bite your lip.

“It can wait a bit.”

“Hmph.”

You find you have nothing left to argue with him. You give up on trying to refuse and let him carry you, both hands lifting you up as you keep your arms around his neck. Your cheek pressed against his shoulder, worried your makeup will smear on it.

You don’t know how long you walk. Your eyes are closed for the duration of it and you only open them again when you sense a change of lighting. The noise of an automatic door and a tired greeting alarms you. You feel embarrassed, suddenly, at the idea that someone else has seen you like this.

Caleb just greets them as normal.

“Aren’t you gonna let me down already?”

“Are you feeling uncomfortable?”

“No, but—”

He doesn’t respond to you further. You get the impression there’s not much meaning to continue arguing so you keep quiet.

You watch from over his shoulder as he roams the aisles until he comes across cheap pairs of slippers and socks - next to other random household items. He picks the correct size without asking you. Seeing it only adds to the strange feeling you’ve had since leaving the club.

He goes to self check-out, pays for the sandals, then carries you to one of the few seats and table near the window of the 7/11. Carefully, he sets you down on one, your heels on another, then silently opens the packaging. He drops to his knees and looks up at you in silent question.

“You don’t need to—”

He doesn’t say anything when you attempt to refuse him. Keeps quiet and just waits for you, not unkindly. You frown and hold your foot out to him. He rolls each sock carefully onto your feet, pulling them all the way up over your ankle before the slippers follow.

“Do they fit okay?”

“Mm,”

You nod. Caleb hums. Holds his hand out.

“C’mon. Pick out something to eat or drink so you sober up a bit,”

“While we talk?” You ask, voice suddenly small. He pauses, smiles just barely, and pats your head with the same firm hand he always does. It makes you want to cry.

“Yeah. While we talk.”

You nod as Caleb helps you off the seat. “I’ll go get some water.”

“Okay,”

You think of what you want to eat. Childhood memories whisper answers to you. Chips and candy - sweet and salty so you have balance. You remember the way Caleb would cut into his own snack budget for you to get what you wanted. He’d pretend to complain, but he’d smile at you while you ate.

You pick the same things you used to. You wonder if he’ll notice.

He returns with two bottles of water. “Did you finish choosing?”

You nod. His eyes drift to your hands. He cracks another smile that makes you happier then it should.

“I see. Let’s check out then, hm?”

Your heart flutters. You follow him quietly. He goes to the cashier the second time around - amiable, friendly and easing some unspoken tension. Apologizes for the inconvenience and, with familiar diligence, asks if there’s a recycling bin for him to toss trash nearby. The cashier offers to do it for him.

Afterwards, he holds his hand out to you like it’s only natural for you to want to hold it. You take it.

Of course, you do.

He guides you outside, and the two of you sit on the curb. An expectant look appears on his face when he dusts off place beside him where he’s hoping you’ll sit. You do, knees touching - folding your hands into your lap. He opens the bottle of water and hands it to you.

“We could’ve just shared one,” You offer.

“I’m not so stingy,” Caleb says.. You purse your lips. You want to tell him that’s not what you mean, but you don’t want to ask yourself what you do mean.

You take it from him and drink.

Silence stretches over the seemingly endless night. The streets of Linkon prove to be busy and limitless. Given the district you’re in, you’d expect it to be more packed - but the streets are desolate. Proof of life resides in the lights of buildings and clubs but now, here—it feels like you’re the only two people left in the world.

It’s quiet for a long while. You sit like that until you break the ice.

“You still haven’t asked me anything.”

“Well,” Caleb looks at you from the corner of his eyes and shrugs, taking a drink. “I can kind of guess why you were there in the first place. Don’t have much of a clubbing spirit, you know. Your friends probably told you to go right?”

You nod.“You’re not upset?”

“Mm,” Caleb sighs. “Not at you for just going. It’s hard to be mad at you especially when you…” He trails off, an almost imperceptible smile on his. He shakes his head before continuing and you miss the window to ask about what that was all about. He glances at you again. “Your dress is too short, though.”

You feel heat crawl up your skin. “It’s not that bad. And I’m nineteen,”

“So? You’re still my baby sister. Naturally I won’t approve, right? You know that much.”

You bend over your knees, pouting. You feel weirdly happy but try not to think about it. “You’re so unreasonable sometimes.”

He clicks his tongue. “I’m being very reasonable right now,”

“...Mm.”

Tension lingers in the air. You open the chips Caleb got you and tilt it his way. A peace offering. He takes one.

“Why’d you run off?”

You make a face. Will yourself to not cry as you tuck your chin.

“...I dunno.”

He glances at you. You miss the knowing expression on his face. “Even if you were doing a good job of lying, you know that wouldn’t work on me right? Did something happen? Something you can’t tell me?”

“Nothing happened but you—”

Caleb interjects. “Me? So it’s because of me then.”

You bite your tongue. Caleb is lost in thought.

“I didn’t mean to ruin your night showing up. Didn’t know you’d even be there. It’s not like I’m mad or anything.” Caleb starts.

“It’s not that,” You say quickly. The frustration just thinking about it makes your throat well up. You can feel it. You drink water trying to wash it down.

“Then?”

It slips out of you, exasperated as you sit up and turn to look up at him.

“You were ignoring me,” You say, voice wet and shaky - hands fisted at your knees, shoulders tight. You still haven’t sobered up much. Your lips curl into a frown. Caleb is stunned into silence. “You didn’t even… I thought you were mad at me. And then that girl sitting next to you was—”

You stop yourself. Caleb looks at you wide-eyed. Opens his mouth to say something but closes it again soon after. He processes what you’ve said slowly, though he doesn’t seem surprised by all of it.

“I wasn’t mad at you. Surprised, but not so mad. Even if I were mad, I wouldn’t ignore you. It’d make more sense for me to drag you out myself, don’t you think?”

You huff. “It felt like you were mad at me. And—”

You want to ask. Who was she? Why was she so close to you? Why didn’t you push her away? Do you like her?

Nothing comes out right. You bite your lip. “That girl… was she your friend?”

Caleb stops. He looks awkward all of a sudden. “Huh? No, no. She’s my senior. She has someone else she likes,”

“She was hitting on you,” You say bluntly, sticking your feet out. “And you didn’t stop her.”

For a brief moment, you swear he looks amused. His expression settles again quickly. “I know she’s not being serious so I didn’t feel like there was any point causing a rift.”

“She’ll get the wrong idea. If you don’t turn her down properly and just let her—” Be all over you. Touch you so close. Get in your space. “...flirt with you.”

A beat. “You think I should turn her down properly then?”

It hangs in the air. You want me to turn her down?

You bite the inside of your lip. “Yeah.”

“Will it make you feel better?”

Your eyes meet. For a brief second you feel like someone has stolen all the air from your lungs in one go. You look down.

“Yeah,”

Caleb’s breath hitches just a touch before he speaks. “Okay.”

He opens his arm up to invite you closer and slot into his side the way you used to. Blinking wetly, you scoot across the concrete and tuck yourself under the safety of his arm. Your face is close to his chest. He smells like cologne and iit makes your heart beat feel erratic. His hand comes up to stroke your head and you let him soothe you like you have so many times before.

“No matter what happens, there’s nothing you could do or say that’d make me angry enough to ignore you. I’d never ignore you if I didn’t think you wanted me to,”

“I never want you to ignore me, ever.” You say immediately. “Never ever.”

He chuckles. The way it reverbs in your body makes you dizzy. “Okay, princess. Noted. Do you wanna sit a little longer or should I call a car for you?”

You tuck into his side. It’d be nice if you never had to leave him ever again. Pressing into him, your words muffle in the fabric of his shirt. You tug at the hem.

“Wanna stay here. Just for a bit.”

He hesitates above you. But a while later, you feel his lips at the crown of your head - right at your hairline. His voice is gentle. “Sure. As long as you want,”

At twenty-two, you often dream of your older brother.

At first, it’s grief. Caleb dies not long after your birthday and in the months that pass - the warm memories of your childhood seem to follow you into sleep. Some nights, it feels kind to see him. In your dream, you run into his arms and he holds you tight when you tell him you missed him.

Grief holds the rest of you hostage. You want for nothing and think of nothing except your brother. You miss Grandma too, of course you do.

But there’s nothing in the entire world like a brother. Like your brother—who you could ask anything of. It’s hard to unpack the loneliness you feel. Hard to explain it to other people.

In the months you correct yourself from saying have to had—and watch peoples eyes change into one of sorrow and pity. At the worst of it, you can’t even pretend to think of that as a kindness. Can’t even thank them for being nice. At the worst of your grief, you find yourself especially angry at being pitied. You look at people and want to say they don’t understand. They don’t know what you lost. There are no words that make it digestible. You bite your tongue, give a tight-lipped smile.

What you wanted to say was this: How dare you act like you understand what I lost? How dare you feel sorry when you don’t know the half of it? My brother is dead. A piece of me is missing.

You never say any of it. You bury the words in the black vast of your grief and throw yourself at finding answers.

Your feelings about the incident change the more you find out. About Grandma and the abomination in your heart—and you cycle from anger to sorrow to unease.

They never change about Caleb though. The apparition of him, warm and broad, cycles through your dreams every now and again. Some nights, you wake up expecting to be seven years old again—clinging to your older brother, the only thing you know in the world that’s made you lose everything.

Most nights, you wake up from dreamless sleep and feel yourself wanting to cry.

(You don’t cry often when he’s gone, even when you should.

Who would be there to hold you now when you do?)

When you finally see Caleb again, see him alive—your emotions become just as complicated as your mind has been in the months of his absence.

You’re ecstatic, you’re angry, you’re terrified, you’re so so sad. You are all of these things at the same time.

And then, you realize that the death of Caleb did not only change you. Your older brother comes back to you. He’s warm, kind, and gentle sometimes. But it’s not the same. There’s something about him, inexplicable, that is changed forever.

Caleb dies and comes back wrong—but this only strengthens your resolve. To do what, exactly? You aren’t sure. You don’t know what you want and you still know nothing about the Aether Cores. Or about what Caleb does.

All you do know is that your older brother has come back to you, and you are empty without him. You’d rather have him wrong than not have him at all. You’ll fix him or become wrong with him before you ever let go of him again.

(Even the way he is now, sometimes, he seems worried about ruining you. You want to say sometimes—then ruin me. You know what he’d say if you did. He knows he’d tell you to watch your tongue and not to say what you don’t mean.

You’ve thought about it, though. You’d rather that then he disappear again. You’d rather you know what's going on then not. )

Things have changed. Caleb has changed.

You have changed, most of all.

When you hear from Caleb for the first time he no longer wants to be your brother - that he’s tired from playing house with you, your first reaction is devastation. The memory of that dread is so strong, you still feel it when you replay it all in your mind. Caleb above you, caging you in, unreadable—no longer what you know.

You don’t think about anything. You can’t. It destroys you completely to hear him say it. Makes you want to cling to him and beg. Cry loudly enough to wake the version of him that did want to be your brother. That loved you unconditionally.

When you have to go the next morning and find a memory of your childhood tucked away - you realize not all of him is lost to you. That the parts of him you loved so dearly have not entirely disappeared.

So you stay, and try to mend the broken pieces of your relationship back together.

At twenty-two, you often dream of your brother.

When he comes back to you, you think you’ll be given one more dream before he disappears. You figure the real thing is back in your hands. It’ll go back to the way it was before, where your sleep is long and dreamless but that’s fine. As long as you can wake-up and see the sun, without feeling like yours was stolen from you—anything is fine.

At twenty-two, even after you learn he’s alive, you often dream of your brother.

The first time you ever have a wet dream of Caleb is just after he comes back to Linkon.

After you sit in the garden with Caleb and blow the hydrangea petals away from his face, and his hand comes up to touch you. After he promises to take good care of the flower he takes back to SkyHaven. After he tells you there was no way he’d be able to stay away from you.

When you sleep the night after he returns home, you dream of Caleb again.

This time you’re in your bedroom—the one from your childhood home, that Caleb spent so many years taking up space in. You dream of your brother on top of you and you both look a little younger. His face contorted with pleasure, and your hand being the one to give it to him. The image missing from the waist down, all you can see is the clear view of him over you. Making it so obvious what you’re doing. Doing together.

You wake up from your dream with a feeling like something’s crushing your chest. A wheezing breath as you struggle to calm down. A distinct feeling of wetness between your legs that cling to your PJs when you stumble into your bathroom - trying to relieve yourself and being confronted with the reality of what just happened.

The first time you have a wet dream about Caleb—you only feel shame. You tell yourself that it’s a fluke, and that dreams are meaningless anyway. It makes you violated to think of him like that. You can’t control what you do in your sleep. You decide not to dwell.

Weeks pass and you see Caleb again. You share fruit and more conversation, and the following night - you have another wet dream. This one, more vivid than the last. Different. You dream of Caleb with a baton to your neck and the tension in the room when he caged you in his arms. In your dreams he’s cruel as he drags the metal end down your body, pushes it against your—

You wake up the next morning almost inconsolable.

The cycle repeats for as long as you see him. Every time Caleb appears in your life, you dream of him the next night. You wake up in shock, wet down your legs and spend all morning trying to suppress it down as far as you can.

You tell yourself all sorts of things when it happens. You reason with yourself. Dreams are nonsense. You can’t control them. It’s your brother. You don’t think of him like that.

(You think of all the times you’ve seen him since he’s returned. All the ways his eyes soften for you, all the ways his hands linger—how ever since he’s denied being your brother at all, you think of what that might make you now.

It breaks your heart to not have him as your brother. Your precious family. An unbreakable bond. The one you love most. He touches you the way brothers aren’t supposed to, and you remind yourself of what you can’t have. You remind yourself of what loss you would feel first.

He always looks pained when he touches you like that, though. And, for some strange reason, sometimes you want to tell him: Did you know I dreamt of you touching me? So you don’t need to make that face. Like you’re wrong. My dreams couldn’t make you this gentle.)

The harder you try to force it down, the harder it is to pretend it’s nothing. You push and push and push—but each time you see him, the cycle repeats.

Eventually, it’s too hard to pretend. You refuse to name it, or think about it—but when you let your mind stop forcing it so deep into your subconscious, it’s easier to reconcile.

It doesn’t go away. But your skin prickles with embarrassment, and you sigh, and you move on from it. Even if the dreams don’t stop, you can go on about your day when you leave it all alone.

You think maybe, if you and Caleb never saw each other again, it might even work to rid you of the dreams completely.

But he’s your brother—your precious family, the one you love most. You see him all the time. Whenever your schedule allows it, he’s the first person you check with to see if you can come spend time with him. Even if he can’t be with you, you stay over at his place to eat his food and watch TV on his expensive flatscreen.

It makes you feel like you live together again.

(You try not to reel at the thought. It’s normal for siblings to stay together from time to time. It’s like a sleep over. That’s all.)

So it’s not unusual for you anymore to drop by his place. You even have a key.

(Your key, you think. Caleb put a stupid green apple cover on the top part of it. It’s for you, and only you.)

Even when you do come over, sometimes you only see him at night. You have little conversations before you need to go to sleep (or rather, when he makes you go to sleep.) But it still feels better than only seeing him sometimes.

So it’s not unusual for you to be here in your PJs and watching something stupid while draped on Caleb’s couch.

It is unusual, however, to have him come home so soon.

PART TWO: SO ONLY SAY MY NAME, IT WILL BE HELD AGAINST YOU.

You pick your head up as soon as you hear the security system for Caleb’s apartment announce someone at the door. The time reads 6:56pm.

Heavy footfall makes you pick yourself up, crawling to the edge of the couch and standing on your knees to catch sight of him. You lean forward.

“You’re home early.”

It takes him a second to register who's talking, but he smiles slightly when he does. Turnt towards the doors, he’s leaned against a wall as he undoes the laces of his steel-toed boots.

“So are you,”

You give him a melodic hum. “I got off since we have a holiday. I have Monday off too.”

“Yeah? That’s good. You should try to rest up some,”

“I will. Gotta catch up on my shows first though,” You reply thoughtfully. “I’m like half-way through ‘em.”

“Workin’ hard I see. Try not to over-exert yourself.” He adds, playfully sarcastic. You nod.

You answer him in silly earnest. “Of course. I’m more relaxed here so don’t worry.”

He pauses as he finally stands back up. You see him at the other side of the room with a smile.

“Yeah?”

You feel something in your stomach that you choose to ignore. “Yeah. Plus I don’t have to eat my own groceries.”

“It’s better you eat mine than me wasting them,” He says with a shrug.

“How generous of you.”

“Right?”

You lean forward, resting more of your weight on the couch. “Did they just send you home early too? Or is it some special Colonel privilege?”

You see him shake his head as he slides off his coat and walks over to the fridge, grabbing a plastic bottle of water out of it before taking a few long drinks.

“Mm, kinda the first.” He says thoughtfully. “I got injured in the field today, had to go to the infirmary. It’s a minor injury but I checked in with my commanding officer and he told me I might as well go home.”

You frown. “What kind of injury?”

“It’s really fine,”

“Caleb.”

He sighs, turning towards you. The open fridge door illuminates him. “Just got a bruise along my thigh from how I fell. Nothing broken.” He says. You’re still frowning at him. “Don’t worry about it.”

“How can you be fine if they sent you home?”

“It’s not like that,”

“I don’t believe you,” You say petulantly. Caleb shuts the fridge door with his hip as he laughs.

“What, you want me to show it to you?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s on my thigh. I’d have to take off my pants,” He says, laughing. He joins you on the couch - sitting where you were laying—eyeing you while he waits for you to come join him. You narrow your eyes suspiciously but crawl over to him anyway, sitting beside him with your legs up. “Unless you’re really just wanting me to strip, promise it’s fine. I’ve had it worse,”

“That’s not a good thing. If it were me you’d be freaking out already and fussing over me.”

“It’s different,”

“Is not,”

“Is too. My little sisters still a bit of weakling, see—if I don’t take good care of her she’ll end up hurting herself even worse,” Caleb says, voice high.

“I’m not even weak. Maybe not as strong as you but not weak.”

“When you get stronger than me, we can talk about who gets to worry about who,” He says, flicking your forehead lightly. You pretend to flinch at the injury.

“You let me do whatever I want except worry about you.”

“You got it. Glad you’re getting up to speed.”

You elbow him. Caleb laughs.

You sit back with your knees to your chest, frowning. Caleb leans back, arm stretched on the back of the couch. Inching closer to him subconsciously, your brow furrows as you think about his injury.

It’s like he reads your mind.

“You’re really worried about it.” He murmurs.

You purse your lips. “No shit.”

“Don’t cuss,”

“I’m twenty-two!”

“So?” He raises his eyebrow.

“You make me want to strangle you sometimes.”

“If you succeed I’ll be impressed.”

You glare at him. “I’ll make sure to wait until you’re fully recovered so it counts,”

He relaxes into the couch, eyes filled with mirth. “Smart move.”

“You’re still in your outside clothes. Don’t you want to wash up first?”

“Do I smell bad?”

“No, that’s not it. But if you get too comfortable, you might not want to get up to do it, you know?”

“I’m not like a certain someone, so I’m not worried about that.” Caleb says. You huff as he continues on. “I just wanted to sit with you for a bit first. Is that not okay?”

“I didn’t say all of that. Don’t put words in my mouth, jeez.”

He hums. “Just checking,”

Comfortable quiet settles between you as Caleb sits and watches your drama with you intently.

You relax further into the couch as you settle back in, once again engrossed in your show. It’s a period and fantasy drama about a once noble woman getting married against her will to a supposedly cruel emperor. Crude description aside, it has high political stakes, violence, and good writing.

The romance aspect of the show was what drew you in more-or-less, but it’s a slowburn between the main couple. You’ve mostly been watching for the high-tension plot. It captures both your attention and seemingly Caleb’s too.

“Wait,” Caleb interrupts half-way through an episode. “I want to watch the rest with you but I need to shower,”

You smile at him. “It’s good right? It’s not a lot of romance but there’s other stuff. We can watch it together after you wash-up and maybe…we can have a drink together.”

“You’re so interested in that,”

“I want to know what kind of drunk you are. It’s not fair you’ve seen me drunk and I haven’t,”

“Pfft,” He rubs your head with hand, amused. “What kind of reason is that? But you know what? Sure. Order whatever you want with my card while I go shower.”

“Yay!”

You pause the TV as Caleb stands up and stretches, fishing for his wallet and passing you his card. Snatching it from between his fingers, you give him a mischievous look that makes him laugh.

“Go shower,”

“I am, I am,” He holds his hands up. “I’ll be quick,”

You watch your drama late into the evening.

You drink casually with Caleb as you binge watch the final few episodes of the season you started on. You take a break later in the night to have dinner delivered to you, but afterwards - you decide to keep watching.

Caleb wasn’t lying when he told you he holds his drink well. You’ve both been knocking them back since eight pm. Even with the time to sober up in between, he seems like he hasn’t had a single thing to drink the entire time.

You feel far from wasted, a warm meal in your stomach settling some of inebriation - but you still feel somewhat tipsy. At least enough to have that pleasant, warm, loose-limbed buzzed. You’re sober enough that Caleb doesn’t get on your case about drinking enough water - though you sure it’ll be a different story in another hour or two if it keeps going.

Half-past midnight - you’re two episodes deep into the third season of your drama.

Relaxed, you’re half-way draped on Caleb - legs in hips lap and nursing another cheap can of beer. After several episodes of action and violence - the story is starting to get back to the romance aspect for the main couple.

Maybe it’s your fault for not thinking it through, but you’re really not expecting a graphic sex scene to play so soon after so much high plot.

In the first place, it doesn’t start out like a sex scene. The main character went to go visit her injured husband after he returned from battle. Sweet, you thought. Maybe you’d get to see them have some intense, longing eye-contact like they’ve been having for a while now.

You aren’t sure when exactly it takes a left turn. You’re tipsy and comfortable and warm. On your phone looking things up on social media.

They kiss once, then twice before a breathy moan cuts through the comfortable.

Before you can scramble to find the remote and scrub through it, the scene changes instantly in temperature. A few tepid kisses rapidly go from chaste to deep, all tongue and teeth.

Near full blown nudity flashes across your T.V. screen as a strange heat creeps up your neck. You feel like you’ve had enough mental torment when you see the male lead kiss his way down the female leads neck. It’s more uncensored then you thought.

Your voice is trembling a little. “We should uhm,” You swallow thickly. “Where’s the remote..?”

Caleb feels a little… different. He seems startled hearing you speak, looking at you with lidded eyes. “Not sure. Think you had it last,”

“Oh, right. I don’t,” Another moan rips through the tension between you. It takes your full body effort not to jump. “....really remember where I put it,”

“You want me to help you look?”

You blink at him. “I mean… we should, probably look for it. Since, uhm… you know.”

“Are you uncomfortable?” Caleb interrogates. You stare at him.

“You aren’t?”

Caleb is quiet for a long time, like he’s thinking hard about the answer.

“I feel fine,” Is what he says after what feels like forever.

“You feel… fine.”

He nods without looking at you. “We can skip it if you want. Probably have to get up to find the remote, though.”

You sink back in the couch, your face feeling warm. “It’s fine, then.”

You’re a little startled as the couple on T.V starts to really have sex - at least more than foreplay. It’s not full frontal, but the sounds and angles are enough to get the point across. Caleb just… watches. Relaxed.

“You sure?” He offers, glancing at you again. “It’s fine if it’s too much for you,”

Frowning, you sit up slightly. “What do you mean too much for me?”

“Hm?”

“You’re saying it like you’re used to it,”

Caleb gives you another glance. Assess you once or twice before looking back at the T.V.

“Does it matter if I am or I’m not?”

You find yourself at a loss for words. Is he used to this? That can’t be the case, right?

“You never dated anyone when we were growing up.”

Caleb nods. “You don’t really need to date someone for something like that, though it’s better that way.”

You find yourself shocked by his answer. He’s changed a lot, you know that but—

But it feels wrong. You can’t imagine him just hooking up with someone and having a one-night stand. He’d only ever do it with a girlfriend. So if he has any experience, it’d have to be with someone like that.

He smiles at you. “You’re making a scary face.”

You look up at him, unsure of what face you should be making. The question slips out before you can stop to think about whether or not you should even ask it.

“So are you… used to it?”

He pauses before leaning in. “This is the second time you’ve asked,”

“That’s…”

“I don’t think it’s the kind of thing someone’s little sister should ask their older brother right?”

You snap your mouth shut. Caleb leans a little closer. “Right?”

“You’re not answering,” You whisper. Your foreheads touch.

“Is there a specific answer you’re looking for?” Caleb says.

Your eyes widen, teeth pressing against your lip as you tear your gaze away from his face. . “No,”

“Is that what my answer should be or are you answering what I just asked?”

You don’t give him a reply.

Caleb lets out a soft breath of laughter before he finally seems to decide he’s teased you enough. He gets like this more and more lately. Most times you cool off from it quickly but…

You aren’t sure what drives you to make a move. What makes you tug him back to you by the front of his shirt when he tries to pull away. If it’s the alcohol, or the jealousy that makes you do it. It’s hard to say what the source of your heart pumping so hard is—only that it’s all Caleb’s doing.

Your hands fist in the front of his shirt as you drag him forward and kiss him as hard as you possibly can, only barely avoiding biting down with your teeth. Chaste but harsh, you press your lips together with nothing but pure desperation, air pushing hard through your lungs as you do. For a minute or two, longer than a kiss should last.

And then, you pull away. Out of breath like you just ran a marathon, cheeks hot and flushed. Your first kiss that you initiated. It’s almost mundane.

Embarrassed, your first instinct is to jump off the couch and lock yourself in the bathroom. But Caleb knows you. Even better than you know yourself.

He catches your wrist as he leans towards you. His expression is unreadable.

“You kissed me,” He says, completely entranced. “You did right? I didn’t just dream that?”

“It’s your imagination. You must be drunk,”

He laughs good naturedly. “Maybe I am.”

Your frown deepens. How do you refuse him when he acts like that?

Your heart feels like a jackhammer against your ribcage. You can’t. You really can’t. You shouldn’t have—

“I didn’t mean to k-kiss you,”

Blatant heartache fills his eyes. It feels like something is crushing your chest. “Is that so?”

You squeeze your eyes, relenting only a little. Your voice is barely above a whisper. “We can’t.”

Caleb scoffs “Why? Because you see me as your brother?”

“You are my brother. You are and you always will be, and I don’t want to lose that. I can’t, I can’t. You’re—”

“Why can’t you?” His voice is raw, almost desperate. Trying so hard to understand you. It makes you hurt seeing him like that. “What can I do to become more to you?”

“You’re already`—” Everything to me. “You’ll always be the most important person to me.”

His hands grip tighter, devastation darkening the familiar aura of warmth you’ve come to love. Like he’s at the precipice of something considering what he should do. It takes him a while to come upon answers. Staring at you so desperately before closing his eyes, loosening his grip like he’s ready to let you go.

He looks like he makes a choice then. Really makes one. You can already predict what’ll do. What smile he’ll give you but it feels different from other times.

You hold onto him before he can, hand fisted in his shirt. He startles again, softens, not agitated despite how wishy-washy you’re being.

“It’s not that I don’t want you,” You say, so quietly it almost evades you both. “But I don’t want to lose you as my brother if we become more than that.”

Silence falls between you.

“You won’t lose me,” He replies, gently and easily. Your eyes meet. It’s nice. “I want to be everything to you, remember? All of it. I want you to only think of me for the rest of our life. For us to only need each other. You don’t need to give anything up. When have I ever said no to you?”

You turn away from him, shaking your head. “You said that you never saw me as family, that you wouldn’t be—”

Caleb stops you. “I want to be everything to you. Everything. I want us to only need each other. I had to make you understand. From the start, I never intended to give anything up for anyone else.”

“But that’s…”

“I don’t care if it’s wrong,” He says, reading your mind. “I’m asking what you want. Tell me who you want me to be. I’ll do all of it for you.

You glance down, away from him - guilt, remorse, fear. You’re resolve is wavering, but you’re too afraid to say it out loud.

His voice softens. A hand, big and warm and kind, cups your cheek. You know. Know every scar, every touch.

“Tell your big brother what you want and he’ll give it to you.”

Something in you shatters. The weak resistance you’ve been trying to hold onto so desperately, denying yourself of what you’ve wanted deep down all this time. Having it offered to you, handed to you—proves to be too much. It all comes tumbling down.

Your voice comes out like a whine. Your dependency more than shows.

“Touch me,” You gasp, voice wet with tears. Caleb cracks a slight smile. “Touch me, please—want you so bad. Don’t want anyone else to have you.”

Caleb looks elated. Adoring. Madly and terribly in love.

“What a crybaby, hm?” He pulls away from you, standing up before scooping you in his arms “Here. Hold onto me. I’ll carry you,”

“Caleb, I’m too—”

He stops you. “I have a bionic arm. Don’t say you’re too heavy. It could carry ten of you.”

He keeps good on his promise. You wrap your arms around Caleb’s neck as he picks you up. Wrapping your legs around his waist, a gasp leaves your mouth as his hands rest under your thighs - lifting you as he walks you to his room. It reminds you of when you were little though a lot has changed since then.

The realization makes you nervous.

“The TV is still playing.” You mumble..

“You won’t be able to hear it from my room,”

“This is embarrassing,”

“You’ll live.” Caleb hums.

“I hate you,”

Caleb opens his bedroom door with his hip and closes it the same way, walking you to the end of his bed and dropping you on to his mattress. He leans over you, hands on either side of your thighs to keep himself up - inches away from your face.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean. It’ll make me sad.” He says sweetly.

You pout. “Sorry,”

He laughs a little. “It’s okay,”

This close to you, you feel a strange warmth glow your whole body. You crane your neck up to kiss him chastely, pulling away and feeling shy again.

“You taste like beer,”

Caleb stares at you for a long time, smiling slightly. Dazed. “Should I go brush my teeth?”

You look down, away from his face, your hands fiddling with the ends of his shirt. “No…”

He presses his forehead to yours, noses brushing. “How can you be so cute, hm?”

“Quit that,” You whine.

“If you get this embarrassed just hearing you’re cute, you’ll have a hard time later on.”

You blink up at him owlishly. He laughs, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“I’m barely holding it together, you know?”

You look up at him.

“What do you wanna do to me?”

His eyes seem to dilate. “Don’t ask me that,”

“Tell me. I want to know,”

He laughs breathlessly. “That’s unfair,”

“I don’t have to be fair with you,” You say petulantly. “Tell me,”

“I’ve spoiled you too much.” Caleb says, faux regret. “Even if you get scared, you can’t run away.”

“I won’t get scared,”

“Really?” Caleb hums. He moves to the side, his mouth next to your ear - voice barely audible. He puts his hands over yours as he towers over you. “You sound confident, but you know—I’ve wanted to touch you for so long. So badly that it scares me just thinking about it. Can you handle that?”

It’s a confession you think, as much as it’s dirty talk. He pulls back and you’re face to face again.

“I’m not scared of you. Even if you can’t control yourself I won’t be scared.” You tell him, headstrong as always.

His smile falters. “I don’t want to hurt you,”

“I know you like to call me a weakling but you know I’m not really made of my glass,” You stare at him, eyes tracing over his features. “It’ll be hard for you to break me in one go. Might’ve be fun,”

He tsks. “Don’t talk like that. I’d prefer to treasure you.”

You look at him for a long time quietly.

“I dreamt of you.”

“Hm?”

You feel your face flush, but for some strange reason - you have an urge to tell him. The words come easy. Maybe you’ve just been waiting for a reason to confess.

“Of you touching me,” Caleb’s eyes go wide. You smile a little. “Used to dream of you when you were, you know… but it wasn’t the way I dream of you now.”

“How do you dream of me now?” His voice is strained.

“They’re dirty dreams,” You say, fidgeting. “Sometimes I’m touching you and making you feel good. But most of the time, it’s you doing whatever you want to me.”

His voice is hoarse. “Yeah?”

“Mm,” You lock eyes. You can see it in him. It almost feels cruel, but you’re not saying it to tease him. “I had a wet dream about when you were interrogating me. You were being mean in that one. Really mean,”

“I already said sorry about that,”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,”

He swallows. “Oh,”

“Yeah, oh.” You slide your hand up his arms, squeezing the back of his biceps as he leans over you. Look up at him with mutual love. “I’ll only say it once so please listen carefully: I’m fine with anything if it’s you.”

It’s unexpected when Caleb tackles you to the bed. Not to kiss you, rather—but to hug you. You squeal as you both drop onto the mattress with your legs hanging off the edge. Caleb’s full weight crushes you, trapping you in his arms. You find yourself laughing a little, giggly as you feel him squeeze you tight enough to crush you.

“You’re squishing me, Caleb.”

He laughs breathlessly, rolling you both to the side. Pulling away with your face inches apart, he beams.

“Do you know that I’m crazy about you? Or do you say things like that not even knowing?”

“I don’t know,” You say, burying your face against his chest. “I just know you take good care of me. I want to take good care of you too,”

A spectrum of emotions pass through Caleb’s features at once at the admission. It’s the most vulnerability he’s ever shown you.

His body stiffens. He takes a deep breath before pulling away from you. You watch him innocently as he pushes himself up closer to the headboard. Rolling onto your stomach, you stare at him as he rolls onto his side.

“More comfortable this way, right?”

Consider without trying, your face warms. Caleb’s voice is whisper soft. “C’mere.”

You push yourself up until you’re closer to him, legs no longer hanging off the edge.

Within his reach, Caleb’s hand find your waist. He’s strong, you forget it all too easily—until he’s manhandling you to be in his grasp. Careful but demanding. Rolling on his back, he pulls you onto his lap until you’re straddling him.

The view proves too much for you both. His face is pink. A sheepish smile on his face.

“Regretting it?”

You shake your head quickly, careful not to rest your weight on his lap. He rests one of his hands on your thigh, closer to your knee and steals a glance at you.

Like this, you become aware of him for the first time. Consciously, as if he’s become a completely different person. All the things you’d never allow yourself to consider, slowly draw into focus. Like seeing him with a new set of eyes.

You notice every detail. Sparking arousal and curiosity, you put your hand on his chest and just stare. Unconsciously, your fingers reach for the dog-tag necklace you gifted him - straightening it. Metal warmed underneath your fingertips, you center it on his shirt. At the dip of his muscles where his chest is.

Fitted tank-top shows off enough to give you an idea of what’s underneath. Smooth, alabaster skin. Muscles bulking underneath the ribbed cotton - soft and supple from lack of tension, rising and falling with each breath. Your thumb smooths over the silly apple-shaped pendant, the raised letter of the dogtags. The brief skin to skin makes the air feel electric.

You do it unthinkingly, really. Following your instinct, you rest your hand on his chest before sliding them up closer to his neck. Defined clavicles, the long column of his throat and how it leads to the angled curve of his jaw. Eventually, your hand finds his face. His boyish features—handsome but youthful. Caleb leans into the touch. His usual, playful teasing nowhere to be found. It makes you jolt in surprise. His expression is painted by desire, a rosy flush to what's an otherwise perfect face.

His voice grows thick. An octave deeper than you’re used to. “Having fun?”

“Nn,” You shift under the weight of his gaze. “Sorry,”

“S’fine,” He says, pressing his cheek to your palm. “You can touch me however you want.”

Hearing it embarasses you. But your reply comes quickly. “You too,”

Caleb smiles shakily. His hand slides up your thigh. It’s slight, barely there. His hands are trembling.

“Can I kiss you?”

“We’ve kissed before,”

He shakes his head. “It won't be like before.”

“I don’t have any experience,”

Caleb laughs breathlessly. “I don’t care.”

You frown, but let yourself fall forward. Suddenly inches apart, your eyes widen. Caleb is staring at you this time. His eyes soaking in your expression, gaze falling onto your lips and staying there. They flicker back to yours for silent permission.

You meet his eyes completely assured. He swallows and cranes his neck, his hand coming up to your face to cradle it. His thumb traces your lips, inching himself closer and closer. You can hear his breath. Feel it on your face from how close you are.

Cupping your nape, he presses his lips to yours with unfathomable tenderness—undercut with the hottest flames of desires you’ve ever felt. It’s hard to describe it. All of the kisses you’ve ever had in your life have been Caleb’s, but this one really is different.

An unfamiliar desperation fills it despite being a gentle press of lips. He pulls away and you miss him. Try to chase it as he speaks against your mouth.

“Open your mouth, baby. Breathe through your nose,”

You listen to your older brother obediently, mouth parting as he leans in to kiss you again. Soft at first before pulling you down deeper into him by your. A moan escapes you subconsciously and you feel Caleb shiver. Eyes closed, you let him guide you through it. He controls the depth, the pace. You kiss deeply like that, holding each other before he pulls away again.

Every time you part, you feel a strange pang of sadness. Caleb never leaves you like that for too long

Your mind is hazy with desire as you fall into a pace with him. He breathes hard each time he pulls away from you, seems overwhelmed each time he kisses you again. Switching between deep kisses to chaste one, your lips throb from the overwhelming intensity of it. His mouth perfectly warm, lips soft and full. Wet as the kiss deepens but not unpleasantly. A tingly sensation that makes your skin prick.

You make a noise of surprise when Caleb slips his tongue against your mouth. But you don’t dislike it. Rather, out of curiosity, you copy him.

(A habit of your childhood—to copy your older brother and keep what you like from him as your own. )

Caleb inhales when you mirror him. Your eyes flicker open briefly to see his face, pleased by the draw of his eyebrows, before letting them close again.

There’s nothing intimidating about kissing Caleb. Every fear you harbor about how you should do it is washed away by the sheer force of your lust for one another. Like a gap of communication has finally been bridged—with your soft tongues sliding against each other, brushing against his palate, open mouth panting, subconsciously rocking your hips. Each second of doubt is brushed away by the overwhelming feeling of mutual, lovesick desire. It flows through your veins with more naturality than even your blood. Nothing more righteous, more sure.

You kiss like you’re telling him every secret you’ve ever kept—lips incapable of anything but honest confession. Holding onto each other in desperate, desperate necessity. A lifeline. A lifetime of holding it in, unraveling like the seconds couldn’t pass quickly enough to answer for it.

It feels like the beginning of devouring. You’ve never felt so hungry for something in your life. It gnaws at your conscious thoughts.

Desire simmers as you subconsciously settle your weight on Caleb’s lap, rocking your hips against the pleasant hardness meeting it. Not entirely sure of what it is your even touching. Caleb moans softly each time you do.

“Fuck,” Caleb pulls away finally. You whine and he laughs at you. Kisses you again, just once. “Shh, baby.”

“Nn, you don’t wanna kiss?” Your words come out slurred, even to your own ears.

“Not that I don’t want to, but you’re—” His laugh comes out higher, breathier. “Doing a little more than kissing,”

“Mm?”

He looks up at you. Amusement mixed with arousal. “You don’t even know what you’re doing, do you?”

“Feels good,”

“You’re this weak to a little pleasure,” Caleb says. His hands are hot as they squeeze your hips. “Can’t you feel what you’re sitting on?”

The question sobers you. Caleb hold you steady to stop you before changing the pace. Uses his strength to hold your hips down as he grinds you over the full length of his…

“Oh,” You’re startled. You’re grinding against—

“You’ve been grinding against my dick like that without thinking about it at all. Isn’t that dangerous?”

A shiver wracks through you. Caleb’s voice is husky, low when he says. It’s crass and to the point—something you could never imagine hearing him say. But now that you have heard it, it makes it feel like your whole body is melting. Sticky arousal climbs through your limbs, leaves your mind muddled as you moan. Shivering, you fall forward in his arms. He closes them around your back, grinding his hard-on against your clothed cunt. The way it catches on your clit so indirectly feels so good you could cum from it.

His lips find your face, your jaw. His kisses affectionate. “Feels good, huh?”

“Mmm,” You press your face to his neck. “Caleb,”

“Do you want to cum like this? Or do you want me to make you feel even better?”

“Better?”

“Yeah,” Caleb says, a promise. “Better. Promise. Do you want that?”

You nod. “I want it,”

“Gonna lay you on your back, okay?”

You make an affirmative noise as Caleb flips you on your spine with ease. Surprised by his strength again, you gasp a little as he turns you over until he’s over you. He kisses you sweetly.

Your head feels full. Too heavy on your shoulders. You want to put your tongue in his mouth again and you don’t feel all the way there. Caleb looms over you.

“You’re beautiful,” Caleb says, breathless. Your eyes go wide. “Really fucking beautiful,”’

“That’s…”

“I think it all the time. Want to say it to you all the time, but I never wanna scare you.” Caleb hums, a hand on your thigh.

“Why would that scare me?”

Caleb chuckles like it’s obvious. “You get skittish easily, you know? When I act less like your brother and more like…”

You finish the sentence for him with a pout. “My boyfriend?”

He hums like just hearing it feels good, eyes lidded. “Yeah. Like your boyfriend.”

“Well that’s….”

“Do I make you nervous?”

His expression is playful. Makes your stomach flip. Your hand finds the hem of his shirt.

“So what if you do?”

“It’d make me happy,”

“You want me to be nervous? How mean,”

He leans into your space. You kiss again and feel disappointed when it’s over. Were you always so desperate?

“Don’t put words in my mouth. It just feels good to know you think of me that way, yeah?”

Something about it, about him like this makes your stomach tie in knots. You make a face, head tilted trying to tempt him into doing what you want. Caleb knows without you speaking a word, always does. Dips his head down to appease, lips firm and steady. Soft and full enough to make you melt. Your arms around his neck, a little breathless, mewling at the way it makes it feel like there’s electricity in your skin.

“You really like kissing, huh,” Caleb says. He pulls away again. Casts a brief glance your way before he peppers kisses all across your face. Draws his lips down your jawline, hot and wet as he noses against your skin. He finds your pulse and darts his tongue across the sensitive skin of your neck.

You keen. It’s a sudden sound, sensitive. Your body shivers. Caleb makes an affirmative noise and does it again. Scrapes the same spot gently with teeth.

Another pitchy moan escapes your lips. Caleb breathes from his nose like laughter. Places more experimental bites and licks all along your neck. Your voice slips before you can catch it.

“Harder,”

He appeases you. Just like always. Feeling his teeth in your neck makes your mouth fall open and you moan his name like a small prayer.

His teeth leaves marks along your neck at your request, hands at your waist to hold you in place as you learn more about your body. You can feel your shorts dampen as he does it. It overwhelms you, makes you tremble with every light breath and every sordid bite. You don’t have any experience, have nothing tangible to compare it to except the things you did alone in your bedroom.

It doesn’t compare at all, though. No amount of relieving your sexual urges as a desperate teenager or fumbling against a stranger in a club even kind of helps your mind make sense of it. Caleb kissing and biting down your neck, his hands touching your skin—it’s the first time in your life you’ve ever felt it. First time you’ve known touch like this.

First time your mind has been rendered so useless to think.

He rests his mouth as his hands slide up your sides. You gasp slightly as they go underneath your shirt but you don’t make any move to stop it. Further and further they go until the reach for your back. Searching for something.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” He whispers..

“I don’t at home,”

He lets out a breath like the winds have been knocked out of him. “Right,”

“Are you into that?” You ask before you can stop yourself, surprised by the sound of your own voice. Caleb just laughs like he’s in disbelief.

“Take a guess,”

“I just don’t get it,”

Caleb doesn’t say anything to that. But his hands maneuver. Stopped just underneath the swell of your tits, his eyes look up at yours and ask for silent permission. His shoulders sag with relief when he receives it.

The way your chest fits in Caleb’s hands makes your breath hitch. Squeezing the fat of them, relishing how they feel between his palms. He’s quick after that, pulling your shirt up until it’s gathered underneath your neck. There’s an impatience to it that surprises you, something uncharacteristically lacking composure as he halfway undresses you.

His eyes linger like that for a long time. So long it makes your face burn.

“Stop staring,”

“...I don’t know if I can.”

There’s something like awe in his gaze. Your spine tingles, goosebumps appearing on his skin. The way his hands hold onto your waist. He presses his cheek just below your sternum with an loving sigh, kissing it as he picks his head back up. It’s sweet to the point it almost nauseates you. It might if it were anyone other than Caleb.

His thumbs draw over your nipples, hardened from arousal. Your chest rises and falls in anticipation, in ache. Thighs squeezing together in a silent admittance. His touch is experimental, careful in observing what elicits the most reaction out of you.

Chest tender, takes one of your nipples into his mouth without warning. You gasp, hand covering your mouth as you feel him smile against your chest.

The air shifts again. Hotter, heavier—there’s a sudden carnality to the way he’s touching you. Mouth latched onto your nipples tenderly, grazing them lightly with the blunt end of his incisors like he can guess everything you like. His mouth on your chest is overwhelming. It baffles you that something can feel that good. Each time you think you can’t be surprised any more, Caleb makes good on making you feel better and you’re forced to eat your words.

Between your legs is throbbing hard. Whatever Caleb can’t fit in his mouth, he teases with the rough pads of his fingers - brushing and squeezing and twisting. Alternating as to make sure nothing goes neglected. Your hips cant against air, frustrated by lack of friction. Caleb is relentless, but does not make any move to sate your growing desires.

“Caleb,”

His eyes are washed over as he looks up. A look on his face you don’t know, have never seen until now. His voice is low in the back of his throat, strong hands cupping your chest and squeezing.

“‘Mm?”

A sibling bond like this, you think, is to blame for understanding so quickly what Caleb wants. Something you know innately, deep in your subconscious that makes your cheeks grow hot. A hot, prickly feeling goes down your back and all your clothes suddenly feel restrictive. He sits and remains steadfast, but you can sense it too.

It feels good but something is missing. Something is off.

Despite his restless desire, he’s taunting you. Goading you. You groan and Caleb laughs.

“Don’t—Caleb. Please,”

“Did you want something?”

Another groan leaves your lips as his smile remains unfaltering.

“You promised you were gonna make it feel better,” You say, so petulant and childish to your own ears you wince.

Somewhat predictably, this works on Caleb right away. Overwhelming lust tucked carefully behind a thoughtful smile. “I did, huh?”

“Don’t be a jerk,” You reply. He laughs but not for long.

He has something flash on his face at your reply. You just kind of know. “Sorry, sorry,”

“Stop holding back.”

He looks surprised. “I’m not—”

You nudge him with your knee. “You are. You think I don’t know you? Didn’t you say you wanted me to see you differently? Stop acting like a cool older brother. It’s annoying,”

His expression is one of awe and amusement. It’s not quite that he’s irritated, but you can sense that you just barely get under his skin with the implication.

“Weren’t you the one who was crying about not wanting anything to change? Now you’re chiding me? You were acting so spoiled just a minute ago to get your way and now you’re saying you don’t want me acting like your big brother, hm?”

Your eyes widen at the change in character. It still feels like Caleb, but it’s so intense. Too sincere to be completely playful. A strange mix of lust, nerves and fear wash over you. “Just—”

He pushes himself back up to hover over you, swift as a hand cups your jaw, forcing your gaze up. Pure arousal shoots through your veins, almost unwittingly, as you catch sight of Caleb’s gaze. An vengeful quality to it.

“Meimei,” He says, and your breath hitches. Your head is clouded with the immoral lust of hearing it this way. “Your older brother didn’t teach you how to lie, right? If you want something, say it with your mouth. Say it clearly,”

A flush crawls onto your face, eyes darting away. Caleb allows you this much mercy. To let you look away feels kind.

It’s an uncomfortable sort of feeling. To acknowledge what desire, what reaction you’re seeking. It’s unfair, and childish - since Caleb has done nothing but love you from the very moment you met him. Kind, gentle, considerate—you love him so deeply that it hurts to breathe just thinking about all you’ve experienced.

Something about what you’re asking of him is ugly. Born of selfishness, the desire to have all of him, too.

“Ugh, just—stop saying you want me and show me,” You say, full of distress.

You see it in his eyes when something clicks.

And then, with a sudden force, he kisses you. It’s rougher than the ones previous, deeper, greedier. What you want. You moan into his mouth as Caleb licks at your lips, pulling away to kiss your cheek. Sweet as always.

“Don’t regret it,”

The change is immediate. In a way, he’s still just answering to your desires - but you don’t dislike this part of him. Your heart rate kicks up as Caleb strips you of your shirt completely before settling himself back down to where he started.

From just beneath your breasts, all the way down the place of your belly and navel - Caleb places hot, wet kisses to your skin. No longer languid but hurried, long fingers curling into the very edge of your waistband as he drops down further and further before settling between your thighs. He glances up at you when he begins to pull down your shorts but doesn’t ask you for permission and it makes you feel a strange thrill when he doesn’t.

Caleb tugs your shorts off and helps you wriggle out of them in one go - an audible groan escaping his mouth. Plain, tattered cotton panties hug your hips as you lay with your legs up. He nudges your thighs open as you place your feet flat on the bed. With your legs spread, your clothed cunt is readily visible.

He lets out a soft breath. When you look down, your eyes meeting—there’s something almost animalistic to him. A completely and utterly ruined expression, blush dusting across his nose and cheekbones.

“I want to make you feel as good as you can, okay?” Caleb says breathlessly.

He brings his mouth to your inner thigh, closer to your knee and places a sweet kiss on the skin. Both of his hands are gripping hard onto your hips, as he breathes in the scent over and over. It sets your body alight to see it in glimpses. His brow is furrowed as he sucks and bites sloppy hickies into the soft fat of your thighs - working his way up slowly. When he finds you properly marked on one leg, he repeats it on the other.

You can feel the ache of fresh bruises. A sensation that coaxes a completely new wave of arousal straight from the deepest depths of your body. An impossible wetness soaking the paper-thin cotton, sliding down the curve of your ass from how keyed up the touch makes you.

It’s less that he’s satisfied in his markings with you, more that his desire for you grows too heavy. Caleb stares at your pussy with eyes of pure, unmistakable reverence.

You have never been able to picture another human being looking at you the way he does.

So much ardor. So much bone-deep, blood-red voracity in a single gaze. The shakiness of his breathing, the harsh grip of his hands, that unsteady look in his eyes as his nose and mouth hover over the soaked panties over your pussy. As if you can see the words repeating in his mind: want, want, want. Nothing more certain.

Your whole body wracks with a shiver. You whimper with your hands fisted at your sides in anticipation.

A startled gasp escapes you as Caleb doesn’t do anything but press his nose firm to your pussy and breathe. Deep and unrepentant like he’s trying to memorize the scent of you, use it to track you like a bloodhound. Embarrassed warmth floods your system and you squirm in protest of his actions.

But you’re trapped there. Completely and utterly, rendered helpless by his gri. His eyes flicker up unfocused but quickly go back to being closed. It’s all the communication you need to know he intends to do exactly as you’ve begged him to do. To expose the extent of his unsavory appetite. Inhaling the scent of sweat and skin, of a day of lounging and leaving your pussy completely confined.

He looks so madly-in-love in the moment you find it hard to breathe even a word of protest. Your clit throbs unhelpfully in response.

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream when Caleb finally, finally drags his tongue over the seam of your panties. He doesn’t pull them off—instead sucking the wetness from the material. Puffy clit helplessly pulled into the force of it while trapped under your panties, you buck your hip up against his tongue. Caleb obliges you. He points the tip of his tongue and slides it over the small bud through the cotton - completely stiffened from arousal. You shake at the touch, the wet promise of pleasure. How the drenched fabric of your panties gives the most gratifying, mind-numbing friction. You moan loud. You can’t help the sound that leaves you when he licks your pussy.

You’ve never felt anything like it before. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt this way, but you’re under the impression that most people will never know a pleasure like this in their life.

When your underwear is completely saturated with spit - only then does Caleb let off from you. Without a single word of warning, he tugs away the material. Exposing your pussy, bare and throbbing - he blows warm air onto your clit and watches as you squirm.

Another beat of admiring before his mouth latches onto your pussy again. Panties tugged away haphazardly, his tongue sliding from wet hole all through the seam, the soft folds of your pussy - settling at your clit. He licks experimentally, wading through your moans. When his tongue tastes your clit just the right way, you practically scream.

With newfound dedication, he commits to worshipping your pussy with his mouth.

It’s humiliating. Purely euphoric and undeniably stimulating, boneless as Caleb’s tongue laps desperately at your clit. His eyes shut, completely blissful - brows furrowed and moaning into you. He eats you out like it’s what he’s wanted to do his entire life and this is the last opportunity he’ll have to make good on his dreams.

The corrupted thought lights fire under your body anew. To think of Caleb lusting for you when he shouldn’t be. Like a forbidden fruit, ripe and sweet and nearly his—nearly within his grasp but always just barely slipping between his fingers. Your kind, sweet, considerate older brother thinking of ruining your mind and body. The idea he’d been torturing himself over it makes you sad but more than that it incites impossible longing. You want him to want you even more than he does now.

You can feel your body ache for it for the first time. Like a reply to his feelings, you think of how good it will feel when Caleb finally fucks you. Takes you, plucks you from vine and claims you all for himself.

But the act of him tasting you like this is more than good. The tender bundle of nerves is throbbing hard against the wet flick of his tongue - hips rutting to meet the perfect motion of his mouth. Something in your belly warms. Sweetens your senses and melts you from the inside like crystalized honey coming to liquid sugar over a flame. Your mind has melted away so utterly you can’t do anything but reach your fingers through his hair and chant his name.

“Caleb,” Your voice is unfamiliar to you. Worked up beyond any rational understanding.. “Caleb, Caleb, Caleb.”

Closer and closer, Caleb remains completely persistent in his efforts. Licks your clit and laps up all the arousal that spills - silky fluid like ambrosia to the unending heat of his mouth.

The knot tangled inside of your body unravels with an alarming speed. Makes your eyes go wide before you shut them again hard, your spine arching off the bed - every muscle in your body going unbearably tense as Caleb’s tongue toys with your clit. The filthy sound of licking making your ears ring.

Your body goes taut. It feels like a calamity. A pure rapture, like God himself is bringing pleasure. The kind that can only be derived from being your maker. Caleb has that in common with him, you think.

Your voice rings loud, hands fisted in his hair. You’re cumming hard, and fast, and there’s white behind your eye-lids. Smatterings of bright stars as you press them shut.

You cum so hard you can’t breathe. For a brief moment you’re weightless before it all comes crashing down in one swift go. Caleb eats you out through it relentlessly and your voice breaks on the syllables of his name - asking for mercy and receiving none. It feels so good it terrifies you. Your body is trembling, cunt spasming around his tongue as Caleb continues his assault.

You feel something wet rush out of you but Caleb is undeterred. He drinks it all down, every last drop until he’s satiated at least some of his endless, terrifying thirst.

When he pulls away from your pussy, his mouth is soaked in saliva and your cum. He looked the most satisfied you’ve ever seen him in your life. You’ve never been so scared of someone while being so unbearably aroused in the same breath.

“You taste so fucking good. Better than I dreamed in my entire life. Need to taste it again. I almost don’t want to do anything else.” He laughs breathlessly. “Almost.”

“Caleb,” You whimper. completely helpless as you try to catch your breath. “Fuck, ‘m still cumming,”

“Gonna make you cum over and over and over.” Caleb says cheery. “Promise,”

After cumming the first time, your body's sensitivity increases tenfold. Where you think it’ll cool off the glaring heat, melting you down to your core - all it does is turn it higher, make the feeling more tangible. Caleb’s offer to make you cum again excites you more than it scares you. You stare at him when he comes up for air.

“Kiss?”

“Even after all that?”

You nod sheepishly.

“Jeez. How cute can someone be?”

He comes up for a kiss, surprised when you lick into his mouth. You like tasting yourself on him, tongue dipping in for more. Caleb smiles at your enthusiasm, eyes lidded when he pulls away.

“Open your mouth,”

You give him a blank stare but do as he says. He puts a hand on your throat, tipping your head back before you feel something warm hit your tongue. Your eyes meet Caleb’s in surprise, instinctively swallowing the spit as it slides down your throat. Caleb meets you with an eager kiss, a gentle affection in his voice. “Good girl.”

Something washes over you hearing the praise. A soft moan into his mouth that leaves Caleb with raised brows. “You like hearin’ you’re my good girl, huh?”

Your face feels hot. “...Maybe,”

“Still so bad at lying, pipsqueak. Some things never change,”

The affection in his voice makes you forgive him. You know the tone, the sound—the lilting coo of your older brother's voice when he’s teasing you. It’s a way of speaking you could recognize in a heartbeat, the kind of voice that you’re anxious without. It shouldn’t soothe you in this context, shouldn’t make your pussy feel so achy when you know exactly how he’s addressing you.

Caleb kisses down the length of your body again. Neck to navel until he settles down between your thighs. You can’t mask your surprise. Caleb looks up at you from between your legs.

“What? You thought one time would be enough for me?”

Truthfully, yes. You’re a little startled at the thought he’s going to do it again. Make you feel all of that again. An anticipatory shiver makes you squirm but Caleb holds you in place. He presses another kiss to your clit. “One time doesn’t even come close to being enough.”

True to his word, Caleb starts the process all over again.

The second time around, he doesn’t let himself up to breathe. You’re locked in place as his increased familiarity with your body has him driving you over the edge even faster. Firm grip on your thighs, face buried between your legs - he laps at your clit for what feels like an endless amount of time. The pleasant warmth of his mouth paired with the focused, precise licks on your sweet spot make your body wrack with an impossible pleasure. It’s gentle enough to not be completely overstimluating - but his endurance, his persistence in doing it makes your experience a new high. A trembling mess of limbs and quiet, desperate pleas. Too much, too fast - toes curled as he hoists your legs over his shoulders to give him full access. Clit pulsating, stiff under his tongue with his nose bumping occasionally.

It feels so good you’re almost content to let him stay there. Let your mind wash away and succumb to the gluttony tying you to the bed. You cum twice again from the pressure - your body experiencing each one longer. Unable to withstand it, your hands clenched tight trying to level yourself with the feeling. A pleasure you’ve never experienced, the kind you doubt you’d be able to feel with someone else.

Caleb has always been like this in that respect. Your older brother who set the standard for every other man you ever came across. You were always using him as the gold standard, comparing every man you’ve ever met to him. Especially ones who claimed to like you. What would your brother do, how would he act, how would he treat you. He’d never tell you if you were too much. Never call you spoiled even when you act it, embody it so why settle for less? Why want for something else? For someone else?

It’s not surprising that Caleb touches you with the same level of care he’s always given you. Even less surprising that your body longs for it so desperately.

Caleb is your big brother after all. He takes care of you like this. No one else gets to have it. It makes you entitled, moody, and emotional just to think of him acting this way with someone who isn’t you.

Yearning and deep affection well up inside of you as these things cross your mind. Whisper to your longing as a deep, endless need overwhelms your mind. Your third orgasm steals the breath out of your lungs. A shockwave of emotions washes over you, as you tug at his hair. You let out a throaty whine.

“Caleb,” You whimper, pulling him off. “Caleb,”

Attuned to your emotions, Caleb is quick to pull away when he hears the audible distress. He pulls away from you, worried. “Shhh, hey. It’s okay, I’m here. Did you want to stop?”

You shake your head rapidly. Caleb gives you a small smile. “Just being a crybaby, then?”

The truth is, yes, just a little. You can’t voice this to Caleb so you instead give him some unknowable, unreadable look. He reads it almost instantly, shifting himself to hug you tight. Without any words at all, like he knows every single thought that passes through your mind. You wrap your arms around him and nudge your nose against his neck. He smells familiar.

“This what you wanted?”

You nod against him. Caleb’s heartbeat is steady in a way that brings you bone deep comfort.

“Be more pampered with me. More selfish, more demanding, more spoiled. Gege will do anything for you, so don’t hesitate.”

Hearing him refer to himself that way makes your stomach flip. You nuzzle yourself deeper into him, aroused by the sound of his laughter - playful but smug. You speak against his chest, words muffled.

“Want it inside right now,”

His breath hitches immediately. “Yeah?”

Another nod. You pull away to look him in the eyes when you ask. You know how to beg Caleb for something. You’ve been doing it your whole life, and right now is the most sincere you’ve ever been. Doe-eyed and full lips, all covetous and coy the word falls from your mouth with ease.

“Please,”

It has the exact impact on him you want it to have. Groaning, the outline of his cock twitching with a shameful lust, almost blanking out at the thought. He scrubs a hand over his face.

“You’re gonna kill me,”

“Please,” You repeat. Caleb kisses you as if to stop you from saying it again.

“I have to stretch you out on my fingers. It’ll hurt otherwise,” You open your mouth but Caleb cuts you off. “Don’t say it’s fine.”

“Caleb,” You whine and he laughs sympathetically.

“Be a good girl,” He placates, and it works on you just as maddeningly as your begging does on him. “Hm? For me?”

You melt. How embarrassing.”...Fine,”

He coos at you lovingly and you make no effort to deflect. You can’t. Your usual fire and wit, your banter is dissipated. Brain thoroughly undone from so many orgasms and the deep, aching want in your cunt - so apparent it makes you want to sob. A desperation to be full that you didn’t fathom existing in such a bodily way, something you thought only existed in porn.

Sensing how strung out you are, Caleb changes positions again. Instead of laying between your legs, he curls up besides you. He turns on his side, sliding an arm underneath and hugs your body close to him. Like he’s cradling you. Your legs slot together, one of yours between both of his - your other leg on the outside. Caleb hikes your thigh up - high enough to have your legs spread. The arm not supporting your back is supporting you, his forearm underneath your thigh.

At this angle, you’re face to face. Caleb can see you clearly as he cradles you in his arms. A large hand squeezes your ass before reaching around - teasing your clit with long fingers.

You feel…small like this. It’s the way you’re being held. The feeling of Caleb’s arm under your back, sliding up to hold your neck.

His fingers are exceptionally long. Slender and thin, with thick veins from wrist to pinky, more appearing less visibly to the rest. His palms are big- making up the bulk of their size. You feel yourself fixating on them in their movements.

On the calluses on them from handling guns, to the few thin scars from your childhood that have remained on his body into adulthood - now scarred. The way his fingers caress you, stroke your clit slowly. He kisses you again with a silent question like: you like this, right?

The eagerness of your tongue into his mouth answers it for him, a puppy keen on greeting it’s owner. Caleb laughs sweet into your mouth, encouraging you with all the kindness he has in him. His fingers slides through your slick folds impressed until he reaches low enough to be at your hole.

You’ve put your own fingers in there before. You think you can handle someone elses.

You find out fast that you can’t.

Caleb’s fingers are long. They’re thicker than yours, and longer than yours - and just the first one gives you a stretch you're not expecting. You shudder, a noisy breath. It’s an intrusion, a noticeable one. Caleb is careful, though. It’s easy for him to push the digit it when you’re so wet inside. A soft squelching noise makes your skin burn hot but Caleb goes on undisturbed.

His finger reaches deep. He fucks it in so slowly and so carefully but it feels like it never ends. All the down to the knuckle with just the one, you find yourself shuddering. Caleb is quiet, but you can hear the labor in his breaths. Feel his cock pressed against your inner thigh and twitch.

You moan his name instinctually - not for any particular reason and he says nothing. Just thrusts his finger in and out. How can something feel so different on the basis it’s someone else? You can’t hold still, rocking your hips against the sensation. Caleb groans unabashed.

“You want it so bad, huh?” He says, half-delirious and so pleasantly smug. You nod immediately.

“A little more. Hang in there, okay?”

Okay, you think. You’d do whatever it takes in the moment for Caleb to fuck you more quickly so you bite in the side of your cheek and try not beg stupidly each time he repeats the process. Another finger, longer than the last - stretching out, reaching deeper than anything has ever gone in your life, thrusting until your pussy takes it. It surprises you to know just how much you can take when you take three and you really feel it. How soft it is inside.

“Enough,” You whisper hoarsely.

Caleb doesn’t heed your request. Another finger goes in. It takes four for him to finally feel like it’s enough. Four fingers stroking from the inside out, an almost brutal precision curling against your g-spot. Not enough to cum, just enough to get so wet he can’t pull his fingers out without the filthiest noise you’ve ever had to follow it.

Completely out of your mind, you grab onto him weakly. Every ounce of shame and sense gone.

“Caleb,” Your voice is a pant. “Fuck me. Please, please—just do it,”

His own voice is no better than yours. “Gotta grab a condom from my—”

Your voice is vicious. Like you’re lashing out at him. “No. Fuck me.”

Caleb is quieted by it. Unsure of how to react. “Don’t be like that, baby.”

A reprimand. Soft as ever. Tears well up in your eyes immediately. “Please hurry,”

“We have to use a condom next time, okay?”

You hear nothing that comes out of his mouth except the words next time, and nod.

He gives in. You’re thankful he always does. You’re at your wits end and you don’t know if your body can handle any more waiting. Not getting what you want with Caleb unsettles and upsets you. Especially this strung out.

Caleb rolls onto your back again after he pulls his fingers out. You whine at the loss, unwittingly falling onto your back with both legs open. Presenting yourself in some impossibly obedient way that you can’t catch quick enough to stop, knees bent and up in the air. Waiting impatiently for Caleb to follow.

He follows suit moments later. His hand resting on your knees to spread your legs for him, taking in an eyeful of you as he stands on his own.

At the angle you’re laying and with nothing to distract your senses - you can see Caleb in full shape. Your body responds in kind for you, throbbing between your legs as you cut his figure. Tall and strong and broad, visible muscles and deltas. There are veins above the lowcut of his waistband, thick and tempting. A little lower than that - a patch of dark hair that leads to…

Your throat feels dry seeing Caleb’s cock standing to attention, just underneath his sweatpants. Eyes blinking rapidly trying to make sense of it. How it strains, a wet patch where it ends. Your breathing slows significantly. Your mouth watering, mind fizzling like a bottle of champagne. The ache in you urges deeper, hand going between your legs to soothe it. Or maybe welcome what's coming.

Caleb is breathless. Amusement undercut by lasciviousness. “Enjoying the view?”

You nod stupidly. Caleb grins a little. Makes a show of hooking his thumb into the top of his sweats and tugging all the way down. A thick trail of hair and the smooth, uncut outline of his cock has you gasping. When he tugs his pants all the way pas his thigh, you feel completely speechless.

He’s huge. Utterly. Too heavy to stand on its own, uncut, veiny. You blink in disbelief, like everything in the room has paused. It’s burly. Ridiculous. Thick enough to look like someone’s forearm. Pearls of pre-cum dribble of out of the tip, pulled back to be revealed. A ruddy reddish brown and angry. It’s darker then the rest, throbbing in a way that looks almost painful. It’s not the first time you’ve seen it but that was on accident in a bath before it was—

You stop your train of thought and just stare for an unknown amount of time.

He looks sheepish. The tips of his ears crimson red, all the way down to his chest. You make an unintelligible noise at the sudden change in attitude and also at everything else.

A sensible person would feel fear. Not your strong suit. You don’t know if it’s bravery or lust that inspires the reaction in your body. You just know you want him to fuck you so bad you might jump on him to get it.

“We don’t have to get in today, princess. We’ve got time to—”

“If you try to deter me one more time I’m going to run away from home,”

Caleb closes his mouth. He just mumbles something, but obliges you right after.

In what can only be considered a miracle, Caleb finally settles between your legs. His hands are on top of your thighs as he taps his tip against your clit, rubbing the pre-cum into the mess, The feeling of skin on skin elicits a gasp out of you both. His voice is shaky.

“Might not last,” He says hoarsely

“S’fine.” You put a hand between your legs and spread your pussy open for him a little wider. A move from porn that works on him instantly. He swears hard under his breath, not giving himself a chance to indulge in the feeling long.

Tip nudging through slick folds—Caleb finally, finally slides in.

Another synchronised moan, sweat breaks out onto your skin as you feel the thick tip of Caleb’s cock finally come through. You feel full. It’s completely different from four fingers, more invasive on your body than ever. .

It elicits a chain reaction. You watch Caleb above you, death grip on your hips trying to keep his composure and not fuck a hole through you. A horrible part of you almost wants him too, even knowing you absolutely wouldn’t be able to take it.

You’re trembling. It feels ridiculous but you’re so worked up that -

“Gonna c-cum,”

Caleb’s eyes blow wide. “From—fuck. That ain’t fair, you can’t,”

You buck your hips up and groan. He’s stretching you out so fucking good. One more time and it’ll hit that spot and it’ll feel so perfect, so right. You need it. Caleb shakes over you.

“Mercy,” He says, not sober enough to laugh. You’re going to lose your mind soon. Maybe you already have.

“I-s it all in?”

“Half,” Caleb grunts. You moan at the thought.

“Fuck me. Shit, please,” Your voice breaks high on the last syllable. Caleb looks like he wants to protest, wants to tell you to take it slow. But you can see it in his face that he’s reached his limits. Or maybe he reached them a long time ago and he’s already far gone.

But he listens. Your jaw goes slack and he pushes in. Inch by tortuous inch until you feel him bottom out. Feel his hips on the back of your thighs. His cock is throbbing inside of you, silken walls clinging onto the shape like you’re being pried open. It doesn’t take anything. He shifts as he bottoms out and your voice comes out in garbled, unintelligible noise.

“O-oh, ‘m cumming, cumming, ngh,” Your back arches up that leaves your mind blank. Completely white out, nothing but static as you cum again. Cum around the hard, intrusive length of your older brothers cock - bullying into your cervix until it’s wet and pliable and fuckable for him. Stretching out like it’s his to shape and mould. You can feel it in your body, each vein and each curve. Caleb lets out a whistle. Sharp and so fucking dark, it exicites you helplessly.

“She’s clingy just like you,” He says, fond but sneering.

Your head spins when it dawns on you on what he’s saying.

“Caleb—”

“I feel conflicted. Are you naturally this gifted?” He laughs, folding over you. Overtaken by something. Bending you under his weight. “Or is it because it’s mine that you’re making it so easy?”

“I was worried, you know,” He pulls out. The disappointment and gaping emptiness are brief. You hear the way your body refuses him pulling out. “Worried about how such a tight hole would fit something so big. Worried about your body, but you’re taking me in so fucking well. So perfect,”

You’re panting. It feels so good. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, limp under the weight of it as Caleb gives you a slow few thrusts to get you used to the size. But you’re so stretched and sensitive it just feels fucking incredible from the jump.

“Be a good girl and let me in.” You clench down on him. He grins to himself. “That’s it,”

He bottoms out again. Slams hips and fucks you in one swift, unforgiving motion. Groaning, he puts his hands up under your knees, driving his dick into you with animalistic need.

“Your pussy feels so fucking good. Too good. I’m never gonna be able to think about anything else. It’s not like I was before but you’re-” Out, back in. You haven’t made a single coherent sound. “You’re just too good. It’s warm and wet and still so tight, how are you still so tight, huh? It’s like you don’t want me to leave.”

For a brief moment, the two of you make eye contact. The vivid color of his eyes burns bright, pins you underneath the weight of his gaze. It goes straight to your stomach, making it flip in one smooth go.

“Tell me it’s okay,” Caleb says, barely restraining himself.

You look up at him confused. He suddenly looks like he’s at his wits end.

“Tell me it’s okay to fuck you hard,”

Like a woman possessed, you reach your arms around to squeeze his back and biceps. You put your mouth close to his ear as you bring him down towards you.

“Gege,” He twitches inside of you. “Fuck me as hard as you can,”

You underestimate just what effect it’ll have on you. On him. As quick as he possibly can, he pushes his hands under your knees and folds you into a mating press so deep it makes you scream. He’s pistoning you instantly, pounding into your pussy like he owns. Your nails dig into the muscles of his shoulders without realizing.

“I love you,” are the only words that come out of his mouth. It has you clenching down even harder. “Gege loves you more than anyone else in the world, okay? More than anyone.”

Just like that, Caleb fucks you. Given up on being gentle but still trying to make you feel good, trying to touch somewhere no one ever will again - he folds you up under the weight of his body and fucks you with relentless stamina. Your mind is gone. His cock is fat and heavy inside of you, splits your pussy open as the tip knocks against your g-spot with each thrust. His balls smack against your ass on each go.

It’s too much. For your brain, for your body, for your insides - getting permanently rearranged like he’s crushing your womb. A feeling like it should be painful, but it isn’t because he’s got you so good and open. This a reward for you both. For his patience. Every thought wrung from your head, impressed by your body’s own avarice for cock. Addicted to the feeling of getting strethed, gaped completely open. It feels like you’re cumming without a clear end.

Wanting Caleb to cum inside of you is a distant thought. Pleasant like a lullaby as your body yearns for it. Another sharp orgasm builds. It builds and builds and builds - and you know’re going to be fucked through it again.

But this time Caleb is close. Right alongside you. Sweating and panting in your ear as he pounds into your frenzied.

His voice comes out like a whine and it turns you on even more. You say it before he can think of pulling out, tightening your legs around his waist.

“Cum in me,”

Caleb grinds himself deeper. “Gonna cum in you, baby. I love you, I love you—fuck!”

Pure euphoria floods your entire nervous system as Caleb bottoms out one last time. His cum fills your pussy in thick, long spurts. It feels hot as it takes, makes you shiver with how it feels. Disappointed at the idea it’ll flood back out.

Caleb, still balls deep - continues suddenly. Where you think he’s gonna pull out, he doesn’t. Instead he fucks you again, this time more clear-headed as he rubs your clit - a hand between your bodies. His voice is shot.

“Sorry. Don’t wanna be selfish. One more nice and easy, then we’ll clean up?”

You have no room to protest. After all, Caleb is nothing but relentless when it comes to spoiling you. You let him fuck another orgasm out of you until you’ve got nothing left to give.

He collapses on top of you after your pussy milks what's left of him

You kiss when he does, sweaty and tired. You look at his blissed out face and kiss his nose with affection.

“I love you too, Gege.”

He pauses then laughs. Brightly. Hopelessly.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,”

You aren’t sure when exactly you pass out.

You remember lingering with Caleb in his bed before limping into the bathroom. And a bath too, if your memory serves you right. You must’ve fallen asleep in the tub with Caleb, the broad warmth of his chest lulling you right to sleep. You’ve got good endurance from being a hunter, but you’re tuckered out just thinking about earlier.

Also a little embarrassed.

You wake on the couch of the living room. Cleaned, changed, and tucked into with a blanket over you. There’s a scent and the quiet sizzle of a pan. Your limbs feel heavy as you pick your head up. It’s still dark out but it seems like morning.

You rub your eyes as you swing your legs over and place them on the floor.

Standing to your feet, you find slippers at the end of the couch and feel your heart swell ten sizes. You put them on before padding into the kitchen.

Caleb is at the stove like you thought he’d be. You flush seeing his back covered in scratches and a bite or two - none you remember leaving. You know your body is in the same state if not worse.

You walk up to him and wrap your arms around his middle, pressing your face against his broad back. Your voice is small, embarrassed. Everything feels brand-new.

“G’morning,”

Caleb turns the heat down and puts the spatula on the counter top, turning to face you. He looks down at you with a boyish grin. Unfairly handsome, making you pout.

“Morning, sleepyhead. Feel okay?”

You tuck your face into his chest and nod. “Just a little tired. I don’t hurt or anything.”

“That’s good, then,”

You make a little mm sound and stay there for a while. Caleb is content to hug you until you pull away.

“Caleb?”

“Hm?”

Your face feels warm. “...Kiss?”

He stops, then beams. Dips his head down to catch your lips in a kiss that feels romantic and practiced, but doesn’t make you feel strange in a bad way. You’ve never had a boyfriend, not a real one. Does everyone feel butterflies like this?

Maybe there’s something wrong with you. He pulls away and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“You’re less moody than you usually are when you wake up,” Caleb teases. “Good to know. An effective way to deal with your attitude is always welcome.”

You frown at him, feeling furious for more reason than embarrassment. It’s really unfair how flirtatious he is. “Shut up,”

Subconsciously, your hands are fisted as you cling to Caleb’s chest. With no shirt to hold onto you, your muscle memory finds it the most steady. They’re clenched hard from embarrassment and a flood of other feelings you need soothed.

Caleb grabs your hand and unfurls them for you. Strong, warm, big hands grasp yours in their palm and open them both softly - fingers interlocking until you’re no longer so tense. Just melted away.

“I’m right here,” He says. A wave of emotions passes over you.

You hold his hand and squeeze it. Once, twice - it has a steadiness the grip of fabric doesn’t.

You smile to yourself. Helplessly happy. Overwhelmed with pure, unrelenting love.

“Yeah,” You say, more to yourself than anyone else. “You are,”

#caleb x reader #love and deepspace x reader #caleb smut #love and deepspace smut #lads x reader #lads smut #writing tag #psuedocest cw #incest cw #this is super vanilla. but of course there is incest sdkjfsd

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jinwoosbabyboo · 3 months ago

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Self-Aware!Sylus x Down-bad!Player

Sylus becoming aware he is a character in a game and now he’s aware of you as well. A modern day Romeo & Juliet story here …. A tragic love story pt. 2 here A/N: Don’t fight me [Requested by: Anon]

Self-Aware!Sylus who realizes he’s in a game when he can sense your energy on the other side of a phantom wall. He can hear you squealing when he calls you honey and you're radiating happiness when you send him random emojis.

Self-Aware!Sylus who finally sees you when he happens to be looking around during a photoshoot and sees your shocked face when he makes eye contact. He smirks and turns back to the in-game version of you. “Why are you out there?” You dropped your phone and stared at it in shock. Did Sylus just ….. talk to you? You muttered a low ‘Hello?’ but got no response. You brushed it off as you just being tired and on the game too long.

Self-Aware!Sylus who manages to create a keyboard in your chat so he can actually text you. You were so confused when you opened it and it allowed you to type without just pressing a prompt. You gave it a spin with a quick ‘Hey Sylus’ something simple. Of course the message was read immediately and he replied with a ‘Hello [your name]’ you stared at the screen in shock not knowing if this was a new update or if you were just going crazy.

Self-Aware!Sylus who chuckles when he sees you pouting because you didn’t get his card so when you close the app and lay down he gifts you the card himself. You opened the app and the first thing Sylus says to you is “I don’t like seeing you sad, check your memories I left a gift for you”. When you open your memories you see that you not only got his most recent card but all of his five star memories. “What's happening here?” “You’re smile is so captivating I just had to see it again”

Self-Aware!Sylus who opens the app randomly throughout the day so he can see you “I haven’t seen you all day what are you doing?” causing you to snatch your phone off the table because he always seems to catch you when you’re at work or around a group of people. “Sylus I'm at work I'll call you when I get off” he crosses his arms and seems to be pouting? “I don’t like how much you have to work I don’t see you as often” “Well not all of us are billionaires some of us work for said billionaires to make a living” “I wish I could take care of you….” “You and me both”

Self-Aware!Sylus who teases you when he wins a game of kitty cards or who uses his evol to get every stuffed animal for you when you get frustrated. “You sure do wear your heart on your sleeves sweetie”

Self-Aware!Sylus who stares directly at you when you’re doing a photoshoot with your in-game MC “Sylus focus on her so I can get the picture” “I want to focus on you though” “She is me” “…..she’s not”

Self-Aware!Sylus who tells you not to fall in love because he’s not real, but he falls head over heels in love with you anyway. From the late night conversations of you explaining your world to him and just talking about everything and nothing at the same time. He can’t help it one night when you’re up late on the phone as always he just has to ask “Do you love me?” you’re shocked by his question, but swiftly answer with a shy “Yea I do”

Sylus: I thought we agreed not to fall in love Y/N: I was already in love you just noticed late Sylus: I believe I fell harder You giggled as something somber settled in your chest. Y/N: We’ll never truly be together you know? Sylus: I know and yet I continue to long for you …. I wish I could kiss you Y/N: I wish you could too…..

Self-Aware!Zayne Self-Aware!Xavier Self-Aware!Rafayel Self-Aware!Caleb

#love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lads #lads sylus #sylus x you #l&ds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus qin #Sylus salads #self aware love and deepspace salads #nikaaaaimagine

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likeumeanit9497 · 2 months ago

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| after hours c.s. |

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: chris practically begs his best friend to massage his back, but after an awkward discovery, y/n finds it difficult to keep her hands -- and her eyes -- on the job.

warnings: smut; established friendship; oral (m/f receiving); fingering; hand job; squirting; unprotected p in v; dirty talk(!!!!); 18+

notes: whew! long time no see! life has been putting me through the absolute ringer lately! i haven't felt like a real person in months! i still don't tbh! im working on it! but i have absolutely missed writing and tumblr and u all so much! pls forgive my absence on here i literally haven't even been able to open this app since october when my life went south. my semester is over now so i have one major thing off my plate, so im hoping i can be a bit more consistent with writing. I MISSED U ALL SO SO SO SO MUCH and i hope u enjoy this chrissy one shot that i started months ago and just finally finished it today. love u all <33333

“No Chris.” I chuckled, standing up from my couch and walking to my kitchen to put away our leftover dinner. “Please,” I heard him whine behind me, “My back is killing me Y/n.” I turned around, facing my best friend still sitting on the couch where I left him. I laughed at his fake expression of misery, and the hand pressed to his lower back was a nice touch. “Chris, you know I’ve made it a rule not to massage my friends in my free time.” I explained, putting my hands on my hips. He groaned dramatically. “But why? You have all your stuff in the next room!” He began standing up from the couch, being sure to make it seem like a painful struggle.

He was right. I was a licensed massage therapist, and had recently started my own practice from the comfort of my home. I had turned my den into a massage room, fully equipped with a massage table, calming music, and essential oils. But I had made it clear to all of my friends — especially Chris — that I wasn’t going to massage them after-hours. Of course, I would treat them free of charge, but they had to book during normal hours. I was brand new in this career, and I wanted to ensure professionalism right from the start.

“You already know why.” I replied, turning away from him and opening up the fridge to put away my leftovers. As I leaned down into the fridge, I gasped as I suddenly felt a hand press against my lower back. “Just right here.” Chris whispered behind me, circling his thumb along my lower back. “It’ll only take five minutes.” I shuddered at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his touch. Chris had a habit of turning on his sex appeal when he needed something from me, and even though him and I were only friends, it unfortunately worked.

I turned around and closed the fridge, coming face to face with my friend. His eyebrows were knit together in what I could only assume was faux pain, because there was a playful smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Sighing, I ran a hand through my hair before pointing at the closed french doors leading to my massage room. “Go in there, take off your shirt and lay on the bed. Call me in when you’re under the sheet.”

A smile consumed his entire face, and before I could change my mind he walked over to the room and shut the door behind him.

Chris’s POV:

As I shut the door of the massage room behind me, I stood for a moment to take in the room. She had never let me in the room before, in fact she made it known that she considered it separate from her home and so she didn’t like going into it when she wasn’t working. I always joked around with her because of that, asking her if it was really a secret torture room, but as I saw it for the first time, I couldn’t help but smile. It was professional, but still had personal touches that made it clear that it was hers.

The lights were dim, enough to see clearly but dark enough that everything had a blurry haze to it. It smelled like that shit she diffuses in her bedroom — I think she told me once that it was lavender or something. I noticed the various candles dotted around the room, and took it upon myself to light a few of them. As I lit the last candle on the small table beside the bed, I noticed an old phone connected to a small speaker. Finding that the phone didn’t have a password, I opened it and hit play on the playlist that showed up first, smiling at the title: music that makes strangers fall into my bed.

I chuckled to myself. Not so professional, sweetheart.

Typical spa music filled the small space, and I couldn’t lie, it did add to the meditative atmosphere of the room. Looking at the massage table in the middle of the room, I remembered what I was actually in there for and felt a wave of excitement hit me. I hadn’t been lying when I told her that my back had been hurting — not exactly, at least — but I had definitely been exaggerating. The truth was, I just really wanted to see what her hands could do. Not wanting to waste any more time, I took of my clothes and climbed onto the table, slipping my lower half under the thin white sheet.

“Y/n!” I shouted, “I’m all set!”

Y/n’s POV:

From my place at the kitchen counter, I heard Chris’s voice and my stomach did a flip. I wasn’t sure why I was so nervous, I had given a few of my other friends massages before, but for some reason I had been dreading the idea of giving one to Chris. Maybe it was because him and I had such a playful relationship, and I was so used to being professional with my clients, I couldn’t quite envision how combining my two personalities would go. Still, I took a deep breath and headed for the room.

Once I opened the door, I noticed the candles were lit and soft music was already playing. Looking at Chris, laying face down on the table, I chuckled. “I see you made yourself comfortable.” I remarked. Heading towards him, I noticed the pile of his clothes on the floor, including his sweats and boxers. “Uh Chris,” I began, stopping at the top of his head, “I said you only had to take off your shirt, remember?” He lifted his head from the table, looking up at me briefly. “I know. It’s just that the pain goes pretty low down my back and I figured it would be easier to just take everything off.” There was a playful look in his eyes. “It’s what I’ve seen them do in the movies.” He added softly, making me chuckle.

“It does make it easier,” I replied, moving so that I was now standing on his right side. “It’s really just about what you’re comfortable with.” As I spoke, I began running my hands down his back, from his shoulders down to his tail bone, to check for any tightness. He remained silent underneath me as I applied pressure on certain areas. “So, you said right here is sore?” I asked, pressing down on the same spot that he had when demonstrating on me. I heard a muffled hiss and watched as he nodded his head. “And the pain kind of shoots down to here.” He added, awkwardly moving his arm behind him and trailing it from where my thumb was down to just below the white sheet.

I hummed in acknowledgment, pumping the bottle of massage oil beside me and rubbing it in my hands. “Okay, I’ll get started. Let me know if the pressure is too much.” I said the same thing that I said to all of my clients robotically, before working against his muscle. It was pretty tight, but definitely not as bad as he was making it seem before on the couch. Like I do with my other clients, I stayed silent to encourage him to relax against my pressure. A few groans of pain fell from his lips as I worked, but he encouraged me to keep going each time I asked if he was okay.

I noticed him shuffle a few times under the sheet. “Are you uncomfortable?” I asked him softly, wondering if maybe the massage table was too hard. “N-no, I’m fine.” Was his reply, and even though there was a slightly panicked edge to his voice, I took his word for it and continued working my hands lower down on his back. I felt my cheeks grow hot as my hands pulled the white sheet lower to gain access to his pain. I had never seen this much of Chris’s body before, and even though I was trying to be professional, I felt like the act was a little too intimate.

I rushed to finish up, and after about fifteen minutes I was satisfied that the knot in his back had improved. “Alright, I think I’m done. Want to flip onto your back for me?” I asked, pulling the sheet up slightly. “W-why?” Chris asked, his tone filled with alarm. “I usually finish every session with a neck massage. Sometimes the neck gets stiff from the way it lays when you’re on your stomach.” I replied. “Oh, uh, it’s okay.” He replied, refusing to move. I rolled my eyes. “What? Not even 30 minutes ago you were begging me for a massage, and now you’re turning it down?” I crossed my arms and moved over to his head, “Come on, turn over. It won’t take long.” I reassured him.

He sighed, and, holding onto the edge of the sheet, slowly turned over. I stifled a gasp, because between his legs, the thin white sheet had tented, and I could clearly see the outline of his erection. I was thrown off, unable to take my eyes away from it, but quickly recovered — clearing my throat and dropping my eyes to his face. His eyes were still closed and his cheeks were flushed; I could tell he was embarrassed. In a normal circumstance, I would think that I would have made a joke about it, and he would have just told me to shut up. But at that moment, there was something so real about his exposure and humiliation, and so I knew that I would just ignore it.

I began massaging his neck, trying to focus on my actions and regain my professionalism. But, I couldn’t stop looking at the white sheet; it being the only thing between his cock and my eyes. I could tell that it was huge, and I watched as it grew harder and harder as I continued working his neck. It went from standing straight up and wobbling in the air as Chris breathed, to being pressed right against his front. The sheet draped around it, perfectly outlining its girth, and I could see a small bead of dampness taint the sheet a translucent shade of white at its tip. My mouth watered and my mind wandered. I felt my own body begin to react to the sight in front of me, and the tension in the room began to grow so heavy that I began to gasp for air.

“I-is the pressure okay?” I asked, doing my very best to keep my voice strong as I worked his neck. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed nervously before nodding his head. “It’s good, Y/n.” His reply was so simple, but there was something about the gruff undertone, the almost indiscriminate breathlessness as he said my name, that caused my knees to weaken and my throat to turn into a desert. Suddenly, I could no longer hear the soft music playing throughout the room as my blood pumped deafeningly in my ears. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from his bulge for more than a few seconds at a time — it seemed so hard that it had to be painful. My eyes continued to flutter between his flushed face and pulsing member until suddenly, when my eyes returned to his face, his bright blue eyes were wide open and staring right at me.

I felt a new wave of heat crawl up my face at the fact that I had just been caught red-handed staring at the one thing in this room that both of us had been actively ignoring. I opened my mouth to attempt to explain myself, but his words beat me to it. “I’m sorry.” He murmured sheepishly, his face turning the same shade of red that I imagined mine to be as he squeezed his eyes shut. Immediately, I began shaking my head rapidly. Partially as a reassurance to him and partially as an attempt at erasing the last two minutes of my life. “No! Don’t be sorry. It happens all the time.” I rushed out, doing my best to make light of the situation. “No it doesn’t.” He replied flatly, with a hint of disbelief in his voice. I forced a chuckle. “Okay fine, it doesn’t happen all the time. But its not not normal.” I tried again, brushing a soft curl out of his face.

Chris was silent for a moment, his eyes still squeezed shut in either embarrassment or concentration. I had stopped massaging his neck, but my hands were still on his damp skin; my thumbs drawing gentle circles against his rapid pulse. After a moment, an exasperated sigh fell from his lips. “It won’t go away.” He said, his voice laced with genuine disgust. “I’m sorry Y/n, this is creepy.” A forced laugh, then another sigh.

The room fell silent again as I tried to find the right words to fill the space. Words that would reassure him more genuinely than more “it’s okay’s”. Because, from the way my pulse had quickened, and from the way my core had grown so slick from arousal that I could feel it dripping steadily onto my panties, it really was okay. It was more than okay. So, instead of trying to find the words that could possibly portray just how okay it was, I leaned down and pressed my lips to his.

I felt him tense at the first brush of my lips against his, clearly shocked by the sudden close proximity of our mouths; closer than they had ever been before. So, I pulled away for a moment, finding his piercing eyes to search them for whatever thought is running in his mind. They were wild, racing across my face trying to make sense of what just happened. But there was something else there, something erotic that was blurring the line between right and wrong. Between professionalism and spontaneity. Between friends that fuck around and friends that fuck. I could tell that we were both balancing on that same fine line, but when I brought my lips back down to his, and when he opened his mouth to welcome mine with the kind of hunger than can never be satiated, I knew that we both came to the same conclusion.

Our lips moulded together in rhythmic wonder as our tongues explored each other. Immediately, I felt his body relax as his hands reached up and wrapped themselves in my hair. A soft moan of satisfaction fell from his lips as I nibbled on his bottom lip, causing my body to react in a way that was foreign to me. I felt goosebumps raise up across my skin as if his hands were all over it. He pulled his lips from mine and used his grip on my hair to tilt my head to the side, giving his swollen lips access to my neck. He sucked and nibbled against my electric skin just below my ear, and I felt as though I could fall apart and dissolve into a puddle just from that. “L-let me make you feel better.” I managed to moan out through the waves of pleasure I was feeling. My eyes wouldn’t leave the rock hard bulge under the white sheet, just barely out of my reach. Chris groaned against my neck at my words, and I watched as his cock twitched under the sheet as if it heard my words itself and was begging me to help it.

After another moment of Chris devouring my neck, tasting every inch of it as if he couldn’t get enough, his grip on my hair loosened and he allowed me to straighten up. I looked down at his face, now even more flushed than before. His lips had gone bright pink and were so beautifully swollen from their journey against my skin. His chest was rising and falling rapidly and, after a short moment, his eyes fluttered open and landed on me. “You sure you want to do this?” He asked, his voice slightly tentative, and I knew what he meant.

A kiss between friends is one thing. It can be brushed off as a slight moment of weakness, can be something that the two friends can one day laugh about as they look back on their friendship. It can be never spoken of again, can be hidden from their other friends deep in the vault of the minds of the two people that shared it. But anything more than that, any other touching, or licking, or exploring of the other person is not as easily ignorable. In friendships there is deep love and strong understanding of the other person. Once that love and understanding collides with the act of literally merging together, of being as physically close to another that you can be in this lifetime, it’s not so easy to ignore. My mind may not be able to shut out the events that transpire with Chris tonight ever again. We may never be able to chalk it all up to a moment of weakness, or keep it a secret from our mutual friends. We may never have the same friendship we had before I agreed to this massage. But there is no way to know that for sure. What I did know for sure in that moment, with Chris staring up at me with eyes filled with intoxicating desire, with my own body vibrating with lust, was that I wanted this.

So without a word, I walked down his body towards his beckoning cock. I took a moment to just gaze at it, closer to it now than I had been all night. I rested a hand on his thigh hidden beneath the sheet, and watched as his cock once again twitched. I chewed on my bottom lip in an attempt to keep myself from moaning just from the sight, and after a moment let my eyes flutter back up to his face. “I’m sure Chris.” I replied softly, searching his expression. “Are you?” I asked, realizing that he was likely considering the same potential outcome that I had been. He kept my gaze for a brief moment, his eyes focusing on different parts of my face. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He replied finally, a cheeky smile growing on his face. I felt my own expression mirror his own, and without wasting another second I began peeling the thin sheet down his waist.

My smile fell the moment his bare cock was finally exposed, and was replaced by what I knew was the expression of desperate hunger. His length was impressively long, and I felt my mouth water at the thought of running my tongue along its veins up to its swollen head. Reaching to my left, I pumped some massage oil into my hand. I brought my cupped hand above his upright cock and let the oil drip between my fingers and coat him. He released a sharp hiss at the feeling of the oil as it trailed down his length towards his base, and I watched as his hips thrust forward desperately from the barely-there contact. A bead of pre-cum suddenly dripped from his slit, and I used my thumb to collect it before finally pumping my hand up and down his shaft. Immediately, a deep moan fell from Chris’s lips as I worked his oiled cock in my hand. I focused on his body language as I adjusted my movements to figure out exactly what he needed to feel good.

When I went slow, I watched his breath grow steady, telling me that I should pick up the pace. When I used a softer touch as I moved along his cock his hands would stay relaxed at his side, but I knew he liked it when I used a bit more pressure along his tip as his hands would tighten into fists against the sheet. But when I used both hands, twisting in opposite directions with the occasional brush against his balls with my pinky, I discovered that was what he liked most of all. A deep grunt followed by a moan fell from his lips, and his right hand flew to my upper thigh; where he gripped so hard I was sure that he would leave a bruise. “Fuck, Y/n.” He breathed out as I continued with these movements.

His hand traveled further and further up my leg until his fingers slipped under my loose-fitting shorts. I continued to stroke him with both hands, even when I felt the tip of his fingers just milimetres from my trembling core. They brushed against the ever-so-soft place between my pelvis and my pussy, and I bit back a moan. Subconsciously, I adjusted myself so that my legs were wider apart; giving him access to touch even more of me. My hands continued to work his cock as his fingers inched closer and closer, before finally, I felt the very tip of just one of his fingers reach my core and dip into its warmth. My knees buckled at the barely-there contact just as he released a muffled moan. “Jesus fuck, Y/n,” My eyes flew to his face and the translucent arousal that I found all across it was almost enough to push me over the edge. “Put that on my face right fucking now.”

His demand was so jarring, his voice so gritty and raw, that I didn’t hesitate before peeling my shorts down my legs, lifting myself onto the massage chair, and straddling his face. Immediately, his hands gripped onto my thighs and pulled them apart; giving his eyes untethered access to my glistening core. “You’re fucking soaked.” His words came out in an almost-whisper, as if he hadn’t actively planned on speaking them aloud. Still, they shot straight to my lust and I leaned forward, resting my head against his chest to allow him to see even more of me.

I gasped as I felt his thumb against my slit, collecting my arousal. I heard a wet sound and then another deep moan. “So good.” He whispered before suddenly his warm mouth was suctioned to my clit. Immediately, I dissolved into a puddle of desire as his tongue swirled and licked against my sensitive bundle of nerves. Moans fell from my lips as my brain turned to mush from the relief of finally having his mouth on me. I began moving my hips against his face, chasing a high that I so desperately needed. Satisfied moans slipped from his mouth into me, and I felt a sharp slap against my ass cheek that added to my intense need.

I had turned into nothing more than a dead weight on top of him, his lethal tongue paralyzing me. But as I opened my mouth to release a guttural moan, I felt my lip brush against the tip of his cock. Without a second thought, I slipped his cock into my mouth and began pumping up and down. Another moan fell from Chris, vibrating against my clit and causing me to moan around his girth. “Fuck.” Chris muttered against me, and I responded by deep throating his cock until my nose pressed against his bare thigh. “Mmmm, Y/n.” Chris breathed, removing his mouth from my clit. I stopped my movements as well, waiting on shaky legs for him to continue.

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna cum.” He began, gently running his knuckles against my ass cheek. “And I don’t want to do that yet.” He slipped two fingers into my core effortlessly, causing me to immediately begin rocking against them. “Mmm. Thatta girl.” He breathed, presumably watching for a moment as I rode his fingers just inches above his face. “What I want you to do is focus on making a mess all over my face, then after that I want to cum with these tight walls wrapped around me.” His words caused my eyes to roll to the back of my head, and a sharp moan fell from my lips. “Sound good?” He asked, his voice muffled as he reattached his mouth to my throbbing clit. I nodded my head maniacally as he resumed his impressive movements against my nerves. He kept his fingers inside of me, and as I slid my soaked cunt against his face, I cried out at the added sensation of his fingers filling me.

“Fuck C-Chris.” I moaned, my words nearly incomprehensible as I grew closer and closer to my climax. He could tell that I was quickly approaching, and tightened his grip on my ass cheek with his free hand; pressing my cunt so hard against his face I was afraid that he would suffocate. “G-gonna cum!” I warned him just before the tumultuous waves of my orgasm took over. My body began shaking as I came hard against his face. I had never before felt so out of control of my own body, and relished in the feeling as my back arched and a plethora of moans fell from my mouth. I felt a gush as I squirted against Chris’s mouth, and trembled at the guttural moan he released as he began lapping me up.

Once my mind reattached to my body and my orgasm had finishing ripping through me, I rested my head against his stomach as he ran his hands along my tense back and dropped gentle kisses against my sensitive core. He let me lie there on top of him for a few moments, catching my breath and slowing my heart rate, before gently lifting my limp body off of him and sliding off of the massage table. I sat up on the edge of the table, facing his standing figure before me, and my gaze landed on his excruciatingly hard cock. He grabbed my chin and lifted my head up before pressing his wet lips harshly against mine. He tasted like me, and immediately a new wave of arousal filled my core.

As his tongue flicked into my mouth, I reached between our bodies and began stroking his cock. He thrusted into my hand instinctively, and a moan fell from his lips as his hand shot to my core where he drew torturously slow circles against my over-stimulated clit. Caught up in how good we were making the other feel, our kissing slowed and our mouths eventually turned into matching O’s; eyes shut in pure bliss. I dropped my forehead against his bare chest, and watched as our hands worked on the other’s body, slowly working up the nerve to do the one thing we hadn’t yet done with each other.

“You still want to do this?” Chris asked, his voice strained. I jolted slightly at his words, shocked at the fact that he seemed to be reading my mind. A sharp wave of pleasure hit me from his fingers and I moaned softly before looking back up at him. “Mhmm.” I breathed, meaning it. “Do you?” I asked in return as I felt his cock jump in my hand. “So much.” He replied before lowering his head and planting another deep, wet kiss against my mouth. After a moment, he grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and pulled it over my head. He took a moment to admire my bare chest before kissing each of my painfully pebbled nipples. “God, you’re unreal Y/n.” He moaned, running firm hands against my completely naked frame. I arched my back against his touch and shut my eyes blissfully.

He leaned forward and ran his tongue along my collar bone. “You ready?” He asked. I felt his hand replace mine on his shaft, and bit my lip as I felt him line the head up with my soaked core. He used his free hand to hold firmly onto my lower back, and I wrapped my legs around his waist; using the grip to press him against me. “I’m ready.” I replied breathlessly, looking up at him through my eyelashes. Without wasting a second, Chris kept his glazed eyes on mine as he slowly pressed his hips into me. My jaw dropped as his girth stretched my walls out further than I thought possible, and the intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain that can not truly be described with words turned my brain into mush.

Chris hissed as he bottomed out in me, his cock taking up every inch of my cunt. He remained still as he rested his forehead against mine, his breath erratic and hitched. “Fuck.” He finally groaned out, his body more tense than I’d ever seen it. “You okay?” I asked, wrapping my arms around his neck. He nodded. “I’m gonna cum in, like, record speed here Y/n.” He replied, taking deep breaths and keeping his forehead pressed to mine. I couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s okay Chris,” I replied, running my hands through his hair. “Just give me what you’ve got.”

My last seductive whisper seemed to give him the motivation to power through, because immediately he snapped his hips into me. I released a sharp moan from the depth of his movements, and that was enough to bring him fully back into it. Using the grip he had on my lower back, he plowed into me relentlessly. My eyes were rolled into the back of my head as I felt my walls stretch with each thrust; allowing him to hit my g-spot each time. “Jesus!” I cried out, gripping onto his shoulders in a weak attempt at holding onto my sanity.

“You’re so f-fucking tight.” Chris groaned into my shoulder as he continued to drive his ruthless cock into me. The room filled with the sounds of our bodies smacking against each other, adding to the indescribable arousal I was filled with. Chris’s hands began travelling all across my body, taking his time on my tits as his thumbs drew circles around my hardened nipples. He gave my tits a harsh squeeze before travelling down my stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps on my skin as he reached my clit and began rubbing it in rhythm with his thrusts. “God, keep going baby.” I moaned, wrapping my legs even tighter around Chris’s waist, “F-feels s-so good!” I cried just as Chris lifted me up off the table and slammed me into the wall. I released a sharp gasp from the shock, but as he continued pounding into me, my pleasure was intensified.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Chris growled as he nibbled against the skin on my neck. “You always this fucking wet?” His dirty words make my head spin. “N-no. I’m n-not.” I reply honestly, feeling my juices spread all over his front. A wicked smile covers his face. “Just for me then, huh?” His tone was arrogant, but there was an undertone of overwhelming arousal in it that told me he needed it to be true. I nodded my head rapidly. “Y-yes Chris! O-only this wet f-for y-you.” I managed to reply just before my second orgasm swept in and overtook me.

Just as I began riding my high — my nails digging into his skin and my mouth sputtering out profanities — Chris stilled inside of me and released a ragged “Oh fuck!”. I felt his cock pulse inside of me, painting my walls with his warm seed as my orgasm milked him dry. He released soft grunts against my neck as he rode through his own high, and I relished in the feeling of his cum as it dripped from my cunt.

After a while, both of our bodies relaxed and we rested against one another as we caught our breath. I waited for the overwhelming feeling of regret to wash over me, as one would expect it to after fucking your best friend, but it never came. In fact, I was so relaxed in that post-sex liminal space, pressed against the wall with Chris’s softening cock resting in my core, that I almost couldn’t believe that we had never done that before.

I was pulled from that thought by Chris placing a deeply passionate kiss to my lips. There was no lust, no untethered desire attached to it; it was almost as though this kiss was the end of one chapter of our lives and the beginning of a new, more exciting one. Our lips moved in slow motion, as if we had kissed like this a thousand times. With his lips still on mine, Chris slowly helped me down so my feet were on the ground. After another moment of our mouths merged as one, I pulled away and was immediately wrapped in a hug. Chris’s warm body felt so familiar, even more familiar than before, and I closed my eyes and took in the moment, as I knew it was the start of something new.

“Well, I think we have some things we should figure out,” Chris said, and I felt a soft chuckle against my head tucked into his chest. “Because I don’t know about you, but there is no way I can go the rest of my life without doing that again.” It was my turn to laugh, and I pulled myself out of his arms and looked up at his face. “I think I am officially under your spell.” I replied, feigning a smile. “Let’s go sit down and figure this all out.” I grabbed my discarded shirt and threw it over my head before walking towards my living room. “Oh by the way Y/n,” Chris grabbed me by my waist from behind as we walked through the door, “My back feels great now, in case you were curious.” I rolled my eyes with a smile and continued walking. “You have magical hands.” He whispered, and all I could do was laugh and give him a half-hearted shove.

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

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