#you're the one holding the knife

[anyfire]

teen shauna and the role of the butcher and adult shauna in both jackie and lottie's childhood bedrooms and how both of these things are about dealing with what's left behind. Or something

[lightseoul]

no thoughts brain empty except for retired househusband!bakugou waiting for you to get home from work :(

[daffodilmoreau]

light fires at night (to fill the void) by inthesea is required reading for andreillers

[mythvoiced]

-. lil side-note i've recently noticed about my writing (at least here on dumblr): i like to take my time lmao. as in, not in terms of replying speed, there i'm just slow, full stop. but i think i just?? like to move things along slowly? progress through conversations, slow-burn the FUCK out of a thread. lately, i've been trying to indulge myself in that more, to focus on character (both yours and mine), so if you feel 'hmmm this reply doesn't move us real quick' MY BAD, i don't like rushing ♥

[elizabeth-mitchells]

WHEN I TELL YOU THAT NO OTHER EPISODE HAS EVER STRESSED ME OUT THIS MUCH

[spareham]

finally awake.... last night an old (presumably liberal) guy yelled at me that 'stalin & d t**** were right' and that 'all anarchists should be lined up and shot'.. vote blue 😘💁‍♀️

[deoidesign]

A general cane guide for writers and artists (from a cane user, writer, and artist!)

Disclaimer: Though I have been using a cane for 6 years, I am not a doctor, nor am I by any means an expert. This guide is true to my experience, but there are as many ways to use a cane as there are cane users!

This guide will not include: White canes for blindness, crutches, walkers, or wheelchairs as I have no personal experience with these.

This is meant to be a general guide to get you started and avoid some common mishaps/misconceptions in your writing, but you absolutely should continue to do your own research outside of this guide!

This is NOT a medical resource!!! And never tell a real person you think they're using a cane wrong!

The biggest recurring problem I've seen is using the cane on the wrong side. The cane goes on the opposite side of the pain! If your character has even-sided pain or needs it for balance/weakness, then use the cane in the non-dominant hand to keep the dominant hand free. Some cane users also switch sides to give their arm a rest!

A cane takes about 20% of your weight off the opposite leg. It should fit within your natural gait and become something of an extension of your body. If you need more weight off than 20%, then crutches, a walker, or a wheelchair is needed.

Putting more pressure on the cane, using it on the wrong side, or having it at the wrong height can make it less effective, and can cause long term damage to your body from improper pressure and posture. (Hugh Laurie genuinely hurt his body from years of using a cane wrong on House!)

(some people elect to use a cane wrong for their personal situation despite this, everyone is different!)

(an animated GIF of a cane matching the natural walking gait. It turns red when pressure is placed on it.)

When going up and down stairs, there is an ideal standard: You want to use the handrail and the cane at the same time, or prioritize the handrail if it's only on one side. When going up stairs you lead with your good leg and follow with the cane and hurt leg together. When going down stairs you lead with the cane and the bad leg and follow with the good leg!

Realistically though, many people don't move out of the way for cane users to access the railing, many stairs don't have railings, and many are wet, rusty, or generally not ideal to grip.

In these cases, if you have a friend nearby, holding on to them is a good idea. Or, take it one step at a time carefully if you're alone.

Now we come to a very common mistake I see... Using fashion canes for medical use!

(These are 4 broad shapes, but there is INCREDIBLE variation in cane handles. Research heavily what will be best for your character's specific needs!)

The handle is the contact point for all the weight you're putting on your cane, and that pressure is being put onto your hand, wrist, and shoulder. So the shape is very important for long term use!

Knob handles (and very decorative handles) are not used for medical use for this reason. It adds extra stress to the body and can damage your hand to put constant pressure onto these painful shapes.

The weight of a cane is also incredibly important, as a heavier cane will cause wear on your body much faster. When you're using it all day, it gets heavy fast! If your character struggles with weakness, then they won't want a heavy cane if they can help it!

This is also part of why sword canes aren't usually very viable for medical use (along with them usually being knob handles) is that swords are extra weight!

However, a small knife or perhaps a retractable blade hidden within the base might be viable even for weak characters.

Bases have a lot of variability as well, and the modern standard is generally adjustable bases. Adjustable canes are very handy if your character regularly changes shoe height, for instance (gotta keep the height at your hip!)

Canes help on most terrain with their standard base and structure. But for some terrain, you might want a different base, or to forego the cane entirely! This article covers it pretty well.

Many cane users decorate their canes! Stickers are incredibly common, and painting canes is relatively common as well! You'll also see people replacing the standard wrist strap with a personalized one, or even adding a small charm to the ring the strap connects to. (nothing too large, or it gets annoying as the cane is swinging around everywhere)

(my canes, for reference)

If your character uses a cane full time, then they might also have multiple canes that look different aesthetically to match their outfits!

When it comes to practical things outside of the cane, you reasonably only have one hand available while it's being used. Many people will hook their cane onto their arm or let it dangle on the strap (if they have one) while using their cane arm, but it's often significantly less convenient than 2 hands. But, if you need 2 hands, then it's either setting the cane down or letting it hang!

For this reason, optimizing one handed use is ideal! Keeping bags/items on the side of your free hand helps keep your items accessible.

When sitting, the cane either leans against a wall or table, goes under the chair, or hooks onto the back of the chair. (It often falls when hanging off of a chair, in my experience)

When getting up, the user will either use their cane to help them balance/support as they stand, or get up and then grab their cane. This depends on what it's being used for (balance vs pain when walking, for instance!)

That's everything I can think of for now. Thank you for reading my long-but-absolutely-not-comprehensive list of things to keep in mind when writing or drawing a cane user!

Happy disability pride month! Go forth and make more characters use canes!!!

[whumptober]

WHUMPTOBER 2024: PROMPTS LIST

Welcome to Whumptober 2024 — Seventh Time's a Charm!

Please make sure to read the Event Info and FAQ below carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

This year's playlist can be found here.

The 'Anatomy of a Whumptober Prompt' post can be found here.

And our 'Resources for Writing Sensitive Topics' post is here.

We’re very excited to see the community come together for another year of Whumptober! Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!

Best of luck and happy whumping,

Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro

(Text versions of the prompts, as well as event information, rules and FAQ are posted below the cut!)

Whumptober 2024 Prompt List

No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK

Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)

No. 2: TRUST ISSUES

Amusement Park | Role Reversal | “You got away with the crime while the knife's in my back.” (Charlotte Sands, Rollercoaster)

No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE

Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you."

No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS

Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You're still alive in my head.” (Billy Lockett, More)

No. 5: SUNBURN

Healing Salve | Heatstroke | "If my pain will stretch that far." (Lottery Winners, Burning House)

No. 6: NOT REALISING THEY'RE INJURED

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | "It's not my blood."

No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES

Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | "It's us or them."

No. 8: SLEEP DEPRIVATION

Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | "Leave the lights on." (Coldplay, Midnight)

No. 9: OBSESSION

Broken Window | Bruises | “Frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble.” (Fall Out Boy, Irresistible)

No. 10: BLOW TO THE HEAD

Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."

No. 11: SEEING DOUBLE

Convenience Store | Loneliness | “Leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist.” (Taylor Swift, Illicit Affairs)

No. 12: STARVATION

Underground Caverns | Cannibalism | "Just a little more."

No. 13: TEAM AS A FAMILY

Familial Curse | Multiple Whumpees | "Death will do us part." (Set It Off, Partner's In Crime)

No. 14: LEFT FOR DEAD

Hunting Gear | Blackmail | “Because I want you to know what it feels like to be haunted” (tiLLie, kooL aiD mAn)

No. 15: CHILDHOOD TRAUMA

Painful Hug | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?"

No. 16: NECROSIS

Swamp | Wound Cleaning | "No, I can't feel anything."

No. 17: NOWHERE ELSE TO GO

Ruined Map | Shipwrecked | "We had a good run."

No. 18: REVENGE

Unreliable Narrator | Loss of Identity | “I see what's mine and take it.” (Panic! at the Disco, Emperor's New Clothes)

No. 19: BLOOD TRAIL

Abandoned Cabin | One Way Out | "Is there anybody alive out there?" (Bruce Springsteen, Radio Nowhere)

No. 20: EMOTIONAL ANGST

Shoulder to Cry On | Giving Permission to Die | "It's not your fault."

No. 21: BODY HORROR

Body Horror | Tattoo Gun | Spirit Possession | “Let the bedsheet soak up the tears.” (Apparat feat. Soap & Skin, Goodbye)

No. 22: BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES

Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good."

No. 23: FORCED CHOICE

Public Display | Broken Pedestal | "I'm doing this for you."

No. 24: RADIATION POISONING

Collapsed Building | Equipment Failure | “I never knew daylight could be so violent.” (Florence + The Machine, No Light, No Light)

No. 25: SURGERY

Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."

No. 26: NIGHTMARES

Breakfast Table | Parting Words of Regret | “I'm haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.” (Poe, Haunted)

No. 27: VOICELESS

Laboratory | Muzzled | “I have no mouth and I must scream.”

No. 28: DENIAL

CCTV | Exposure | "They caught me red handed."

No. 29: FATIGUE

Labyrinth | Burnout | "Who said you could rest?"

No. 30: RECOVERY

Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears | "What have I done?"

No. 31: ASKING FOR HELP

Therapy | Making Amends | "I'm alive, I'm just not well." (Elliot Lee, Alive, Not Well.)

Alternatives List:

Body Swap

Communication Barrier

Finding Old Messages

Forgotten

Friendly Fire

Motion Sickness

No-Holds-Barred Beatdown

Regret

Secrets Revealed

Shivering

Survivor's Guilt

Time Loop

Used As Bait

Venom

Vermin

Event Info & Rules

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is “flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be a reference to an ‘old flame’ - an old relationship. It’s truly down to you!

In total, there are 4 prompts for each day. These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks. There is also a list of 15 alternative prompts that can be subbed in for any day, again to give participants as much creative freedom as possible.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag it with:

#whumptober2024 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(theme number)

#bruises, #stabbing, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#altprompt …..(if you use an altprompt, tag the post with the number of the prompt you replace)

#fandom or #OC, …..(ironman, original content, oc, etc.)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add “tw” in front but only use the word/trigger itself)

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed. This is based on trust and we will not check this.

Frequently Asked Questions

Please read this before you send an ask!

TIMELINE

July: Trope voting form released. Late August: Prompt list is released for at least four weeks of preparation time. Tropes cannot be posted earlier than August 25th because of Moderator obligations in real life. (But, you know, go ahead and start writing/drawing, and add the themes in later, if you want!) September: Do as much or as little on your works as you want. You can prepare everything in advance or let September go by with vibes and start working in October. It’s up to you. October 1st: Challenge begins! A storm of whump breaks upon us all! During this time, some posts will be reblogged to the whumptober archive blog. We open the yearly AO3 collection for posting (optional). November 1st: The challenge is officially over! Completionist form opens for those who want to be included in the hall-of-fame. Early November: We release completionist and participant badges, solicit feedback, and post a hall-of-fame list of completionists by the 10th.

PARTICIPATION AND COMPLETION

Q: What counts as participation? Create or continue at least one work inspired by one of this year’s prompts. Q: What counts as completion? Creating work(s) inspired by at least one prompt from each day (or alts), for a total of 31 unique prompts. Q: Do I need to create 31 works? No. You can, if you want. Or you can create one work that you add to every day with a new prompt. Or several works that combine prompts. You can also update an existing work by adding new material with the current prompts. Q: Do I need to post my works somewhere to be a completionist or a participant? No. Q: How do you know I actually completed the challenge? We’ll take your word for it! Q: Do I have to finish my work(s) to be a completionist? No, you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish them in October, but if you want it to count towards being a completionist, you must have completed 31 prompts by the end of the month. So for example, if you’re writing a long fic and you fit 31 different prompts into the writing you did in October, it’s okay if that fic isn’t finished by the time October ends, you’ll still be a completionist. Q: Is co-writing/illustrating allowed? Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you. Q: Is there a min/max limit on word count for written works? No. Q: Is there a min/max limit of quality for art? No. Q: Do I have to do something each day to be a completionist? No. You can skip days whenever you want, and as long as 31 daily prompts (or alts) are in your works done in October, you can be a completionist. For example, if you wrote a 1000-word ficlet that covers prompts in days 2, 3, and 17, you can check all three days off your list even though it’s only one work. Q: Is this challenge just for fics? No! Artworks, GIFsets, headcannons, rec lists, poetry, moodboards, or any other creative work is encouraged. Q: Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges? Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

PROMPTS

Q: How do the prompts work? There are FOUR prompts per day: a theme and three ideas. You can use one, two, three, or all four prompts for each day. If you don’t like any of the daily prompts, you can substitute one of the ALT prompts instead. Q: How strictly/literally should we interpret the prompts? As literally or as figuratively as you want. For example, if the theme is WATER, that could mean drowning, waterboarding, raining, swimming, take place underwater, be lost at sea, construct a metaphor about a character’s mood that changes like a flowing river, crying, or whatever else you can think of that fits that theme. Q: Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many? No limit and combine as many as you’d like. If you create a work that checks off multiple prompts, that work will count for a fill of multiple prompts. You need to address 31 different prompts to be an official completionist, but you don’t have to produce 31 separate works.

WORKS

Q: What’s whump? Hurting a character, whether that’s physically, emotionally, intellectually, psychologically, or any other way you can think of. Comfort afterwards is optional. Angst is emotional whump, so it counts. Q: How do I know if it’s whumpy enough? If your character is just mildly inconvenienced, it probably needs more whump. However, no participant has to prove whumpiness to the mods. Whatever you write is up to you. Q: What kind of characters can I create for? Anything. Generic “whumpee,” OC, PC, NPC, major characters, minor characters, or whatever you want. There are no limits. Q: Does it have to take place in a specific fandom? No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want. Q: Can I create AI-created works? We will not reblog or promote any works we know to be generative AI-created. Q: Is there anything we’re not allowed to write? As long as it contains whump and is based on our prompts, it’s fine. Please courtesy tag your works if you post them so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences. Q: What about sex, minor characters, and potentially disturbing content? You can create whatever works are legal in your country and post them accordingly. Please courtesy tag anything you think might be objectionable if you post to Tumblr so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences.

POSTING

Q: Where can I post my work? Post where and how you want. You don’t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive. There is an AO3 archive for Whumptober 2024, as well as the parent collection for works completed outside of the event. Q: Can I start posting early? You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? We won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st. Q: Can I post late? Yes. For the sake of our hardworking Post Fairies, only a day’s themes will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive each day of October. But you can post whenever. Some of us are still working on and posting Whumptober fics from years ago. Q: Do I have to use your tags? Only on Tumblr and only if you want us to reblog your work on @whumptober-archive. Q: How do I have my works reblogged to the archive? Properly tagged posts will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive. If you want the official archive blog to reblog you, post on Tumblr and tag correctly (see this FAQ link for more info on tagging). Please note not all posts will be reblogged each day. Q: Can we @ you? For questions and comments, of course. We’ll be getting a flood of notifications, so if you really want us to see something send an ask. Q: Can I cross post on other blogs? Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable, as long as they allow cross-posting (to us). You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once. If you post some works under your main and others under an alt blog, that’s fine for completionist purposes. Q: Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms? Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there, which can be found here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the personal boundaries of any whumpers in your social circle (don’t out anyone as a participant who would prefer not to be outed).

Most importantly, have fun, create, and enjoy all the whump posted this October!

[miihho]

Can you please write type of guy headcanons for dae ho and gi hun 🥺? Thank you ❤️

THE KIND OF GUY

(squid game edition boys) nsfw

Dae ho / Player 388

— DAE HO IS THE KIND OF GUY who radiates warmth and loyalty, like a golden retriever. When Dae ho saw you effortlessly take down the two bullies harassing someone else, his eyes gleamed with admiration, captivated by your strength and resolve. As the crowd erupted in applause, he couldn’t help but feel an even deeper respect for you. In that moment, you earned not only their admiration but his as well. (His crush on you was developing gradually.)

—He's the kind of guy who blushes whenever you're near, his nerves getting the best of him as he stammers while talking to you, laughing awkwardly. It's all because you're so sweet to him—and to everyone else, too! He can't help but adore that about you.

—He’s the kind of guy who genuinely wants to get to know you better, not just the surface-level details, but the little things that make you who you are. He asks questions with true curiosity, listens intently, and cherishes every story you share. To him, understanding you isn’t just about filling in gaps—it’s about building a connection that goes beyond the ordinary.

—He’s the kind of guy who secretly gives you his food. One day, after returning from your bed, you noticed some milk on it. Curiosity piqued, you wondered who could have left it there, but hey, free milk, right? So you drank it. If he saw you enjoying it, he'd be totally happy inside, his heart warming at the thought of you drinking it. But if you didn’t, and instead gave it to someone else, he'd feel a little sad, pouting as he quietly watched from afar.

— He’s the type of guy who daydreams about you even in his sleep, a soft smile playing on his lips as he imagines taking you out on a date, giving you flowers, and writing you heartfelt letters. He’s kind and sweet, but also shy around you.

— He’s the type of guy who supports you wholeheartedly, cheering you on through every victory. He wishes and prays that you’ll make it through the next game, and when you do, his heart swells with happiness. He desperately wants to run up to you, hug you tightly, and lift you off the ground, spinning you in the air while admiring you. But his nerves hold him back. Instead, he smiles shyly from a distance, watching as others celebrate your success, his joy quietly battling with his anxiety as he longs to be the one to congratulate you.

—He’s the kind of guy who admires you from afar, his heart skipping a beat every time you smile. When you're talking with your teammates, he can't help but stare at you lovingly, a soft smile creeping onto his face. But when Jung Bae notices his smile and asks about it, he panics, nervously brushing it off as nothing. If Jung Bae catches on to who he's looking at, he’d tease him, leaving him blushing and flustered, unable to hide his feelings.

— He’s also the kind of guy who would protect you no matter the cost. One night, when it was time to sleep, he stayed watch over you, ensuring your safety. In the process, he nearly put himself in danger, but managed to take care of the threat. Just as he thought it was over, he noticed someone about to ambush you from behind. Without hesitation, he shouted your name.

“Y/n!” he called out, grabbing your attention. As you turned to face him, he ran toward you, tackling you to the ground just in time to shield you from a knife aimed at your back. He placed a protective hand on your head, his heart pounding in his chest.

After dealing with the person who tried to harm you, he was consumed with worry, his concern for you evident in every glance. His hands trembled as he checked for any injuries, his eyes scanning your body for bruises. When he finally saw you were okay, relief washed over him, and he couldn’t help but smile, saying softly, “I’m glad you’re alright, Y/n.”

— He’s the kind of guy who, when you're speaking to him, finds it hard to hear anything at all. You're simply glowing, and he's so completely lost in admiration for you, smiling without even realizing it. When a strand of your hair falls across your face, he can't help but gently tuck it behind your ear. The moment you look up at him, his heart skips a beat, and he suddenly becomes acutely aware of what he’s done. Flustered, he starts to stutter out a flurry of excuses, his nervousness betraying him. But all you do is laugh softly, calling him "cute." That single, simple word sends his heart into a frantic race, leaving him breathless and unable to shake the warmth spreading through him.

—He’s the kind of guy who would go to any length to protect you, even if it means hurting the people who’ve hurt you. He’ll keep going until his fists bleed, unable to stop because his care for you runs so deep. He doesn’t want to see you in pain, and his love for you pushes him to act without thinking of the consequences. Even when you beg him to stop, he’s torn, unable to hold back the intensity of his emotions. But deep down, you know that right? That he just cares for you more than anything.

—He’s the kind of guy who’ll do whatever it takes to cheer you up when you’re feeling down. When you're crying, he'll be right there, comforting you with soft, reassuring words like, "I’ll be here for you," and "It’s okay, everything’s going to be alright." He’ll pull you into his arms, wrapping you in a warm embrace, rubbing your back gently as he holds you close, offering a quiet strength that makes you feel safe. His presence is enough to ease the weight on your heart, as he promises to always be there for you, no matter what.

—He’s the kind of guy who, when in love, will sneakily try to get closer to you, even if it means "accidentally" bumping into people in the crowd. Just being near you makes him happy, and the slightest touch from you sends a thrill through him. If your eyes meet by accident, he’ll hold your gaze for a second, but then quickly look away, his face turning bright red with embarrassment. When he tries to glance at you again and you catch him, his heart races uncontrollably. He’s sure he even heard you chuckle, and in that moment, he can’t handle it anymore—embarrassed and flustered, he tries to hide in the shadows, wishing he could escape how you make him feel. (You have no idea how much you’re making him nervous.)

—He’s the kind of guy who would shower your face with kisses, making you giggle and laugh, completely captivated by the joy he brings. He’s also the type who’s hopeless at flirting, but he still gives it a shot, despite knowing he’s not great at it. When he catches you staring into his eyes, his confidence crumbles, and he can’t find his words, stammering as his mind goes blank. And when you laugh, a soft, teasing chuckle, it only makes him more flustered, his heart racing as he awkwardly tries to recover, unable to stop the warmth spreading across his face. (ARGEUWHRAHHH)

— When he's in a relationship with you, he's the kind of guy who'll ask for a good luck kiss before every game you play together.

—He’s the kind of guy you’ll wake up to, his comforting voice gently pulling you from your sleep. “Good morning, baby,” he’ll say, his smile already softening his features. “Morning, sunshine,” or “Good morning, sweetheart, did you sleep well?” he’ll ask, his voice warm and full of affection as he watches you slowly wake up.

—He’s the kind of guy who would tenderly kiss the places you’re most insecure about, as if to remind you of how beautiful you truly are. He’s the one who won’t stop kissing you, pulling you back every time you try to pull away, as if he can’t let go of the warmth you bring.

—He’s also the kind of guy who craves you in the purest, most innocent ways. He craves the chance to say goodnight and press a soft kiss to your forehead, to tell you how much he adores you, especially when you feel at your lowest. He doesn’t need anything more or less—just being near you, sharing quiet moments together, is all he could ever want.

—He’s the kind of guy who kisses you slowly, with so much passion that it feels like time itself has paused. To him, every moment matters, and he wants to make it last—pressing his lips softly against yours, savoring the closeness. His eyes remain closed, his hands resting firmly on your waist as he pulls you closer, as if he can’t bear to let go. When he finally pulls away, his gaze locks with yours, filled with love so deep it leaves you breathless. And just when you think it’s over, he leans in to kiss you again.

—He’s the kind of guy who would stay outside your house all night the moment you mentioned your parents weren’t home. You said it in a teasing, seductive tone, hoping he’d catch the hint—but instead, his protective instincts took over completely. Without a second thought, he made it his mission to ensure your safety. The cool breeze and late hours didn’t faze him; his only focus was making sure nothing could harm you.

—He’s the kind of guy who values your comfort above all else, always asking for your consent to ensure you’re at ease. When you overstimulate him, soft whines and gasps escape his lips, his breathing uneven as he tries to handle the intensity. He’s incredibly careful, his fear of hurting you evident in the way he constantly checks in, asking if you’re okay. If you show even the slightest discomfort, he immediately stops, gently comforting you with soothing words and touches. Only when you’re ready does he proceed, moving slowly and tenderly.

—He’s the kind of guy who would be endlessly obedient for you, hanging on your every word just to make you happy. When you call him a “good boy,” his cheeks flush a soft pink, and he can’t help but feel a swell of pride, as if earning your praise is the greatest accomplishment. The way he gets all shy and bashful in response only makes the moment sweeter.

—He’s also the kind of guy who whispers a breathless “please” when you tease him, his voice trembling with both desperation and longing. When you refuse to let him cum, he’ll keep pleading, his tone growing needier, begging you to finally let him release cum since you've been edging him for hours straight.

—He’s the kind of guy who moans a lot and would be needy for you. Like he's breathy and full of unrestrained moans as pleasure overwhelms him. His voice, low and husky, spills out between gasps as he murmurs how good you feel. For example.

In the cramped confines of a public bathroom stall, he tries desperately to not make a sound. His trembling hand rests on your head, fingers tangling in your hair. He was desperately trying to keep quiet, not wanting anyone outside the stall to discover what you were doing. But you decided to tease him, to push him just a little further. Holding his gaze, you slowly ran your tongue over the tip of his cock, maintaining eye contact that had him on the verge of losing all composure.

“Baby, please...” he begged, his tone barely audible but dripping with raw desperation. His hips bucked slightly, seeking more friction, his body betraying how badly he needed release.

You smirked, letting your lips hover over his slick, aching member, your warm breath teasing his already overstimulated skin. “Hm? What’s that?” you teased, maintaining a deliberate slowness. “You’ll have to speak up.”

His head fell back, and a quiet whine escaped him, “I can’t—please, I need it so bad baby, please let me cum... Want you. I want you so bad.” he whimpered, the faint sound of his soft, needy whines filled the stall, his breathing uneven and ragged as he clung to what little composure he had left. His head tilted back against the wall, his lips parted, and his cheeks flushed as he whimpered softly.

His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, his flushed face and sweat-dampened skin making him look utterly undone. The way he squirmed and whimpered under your control had you tempted to keep teasing him, but his broken whispers and the raw adoration in his eyes made you relent.

"hng...—oh fuck," he gasped, his breath uneven as you gave in at last. "Your mouth feels so good baby, so damn perfect, fuck keep going just like that baby." His praise spilled out uncontrollably, barely coherent as you pushed him closer and closer to the edge.

—Hes also the kind of guy who cries during sex. (Something about men crying is just hgnngjdhe)

“Baby, please stop..” he whimpered, his voice trembling with the weight of his plea. “It’s too much… please, it’s too much.” His hands weakly gripped your waist, trying to stop you, but his body trembled with each movement, and yet there was no escape from the overwhelming pleasure.

“Aww, sweetie,” you cooed, not slowing down. “Just one more round, mkay? I know You can handle it for me."

“N-no, please… it’s too much… I don’t think I can…take it,” he said, his tear-filled eyes locking with yours, his flushed face streaked with the weight of his emotions. The sight of him so vulnerable made your heart ache, and without hesitation, you gently wiped away the tears rolling down his cheeks with the pad of your thumb.

“Aww, don’t cry my love,” you whispered softly, your voice tender as you leaned in, brushing your lips against his forehead. “You’re my good boy, right? You’re doing so well for me. Just a little more, baby.”

“Fine… just one more.” he said, his voice soft and shaky. The way he melted under your touch, still willing to give more despite how overwhelmed he felt. (You made him cum multiple times 🫶🏻)

I decided to do dae ho first cuz he cute(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) HAPPY NEW YEAR

[oreo-creampies]

‘𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬’

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: everything the reader has consented to ahead of time! pure smut, monster fucking, role played breaking & entering, kidnapping (moving to a secondary location), masked ‘unknown’ robbers, established relationship with satoru, planned kinky event, knife play, blood, marking, name branding, biting, toys, hunting/chasing, some fear play, drugging, manhandling, blindfolding akak bag on head, some light bondage, begging, heavy degradation/some praise/taunting/teasing, dumbification/mind break, light cervix fucking, double dick!suguru, double dick!satoru, light semi-public nudity - you're carried to the car naked in the middle of the night (not caught), reader quickly loses all shame and just wants to be pounded and passed around, triple stuffing reader's cunt, anal, anal fingering, some anal prep, suguru has his tongue pierced, reader gets turned into a succubus, pussy slapping, they are mean but kind of sweet at times, one face slap

𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡: 20 minutes - 5.7k

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧: anything fucked up with geto, gojo, toji shiu?

A loud bang and the glass of your balcony door shattering jolts you awake. You barely have time to register how it happened a muscular masked man is pinning you to your bed, holding a knife to your neck. "Caught ya." Your heart pounds as he glides the knife’s tip to your collarbones. There's a cunt soaking thrill to the cool knife's sharp edge.

He croons, "Your little heart is beatin’ so loudly doll, ya scared?” He's massive, weighing heavily on your thighs.

Fighting the urge to writhe when he drags the blade across. Increasing the pressure till your skin splits and a bit of blood beads up along the wound. You're moaning, it's whiny and needy.

Grabbing his wrist, digging your nails in. His gaze drops to your lips. "Sounds like ya enjoyed that, moan like that again n' you'll get my cock hard." Trailing the knife up, towards your neck, tilting your head back into your puffy pillow.

The stinging pain is going straight to your cunt, making her tingle. You're barely able to shift your hips, or even close them. Keeping them spread apart, his clothed cockhead rubbing your clit.

He pulls his mask up, groaning. Your cunt clenches from the obscene deep sound. The moonlight shining through the broken window illumines a beautiful, scarred smirk. Your eyes widen as four sharp fangs emerge, stretching to their full length.

You want him to bite you. He lifts your short nightgown with the knife's tip. “Aw I found a pretty, dirty slut." Stopping beneath your breasts, giving you a short, shallow cut. "N' here I thought I was just gonna get some dinner then leave." He grinds his hips, rubbing your bare puff clit with his cock. "You're sweet ass has dessert for me."

His thin sweatpants barely separate his cock from your cunt. He's warm and thick. Rolling his hips, gliding his cock head along your slit. Biting your lip, holding back a moan. Fantasizing about how deep his fat cock could split you open.

He moans, "Lemme hear your pretty moans, don't be shy now when you're creamin' yourself over me.” Licking your wound, his tongue unnaturally cold. You shiver, grabbing his shirt and pulling him closer. Whimpering, lightly grinding your soaking cunt on his thick, hard cock. His weight on your thighs keeps you from freely moving.

Grazing your neck with the sharp tip of his fangs. Tilting your head to the side, eager for him to bite. "You're too easy, want me that badly already." Roughly biting down, his four fangs in your neck shouldn't feel so good.

Spreading your fingers, groping his hard pec. Digging in your nails, he whines roughly grinding his hips. Sliding your hand down his washboard abs, he flexes, the lines defining his abs deepening. "Beg n' I'll let you have my fat cock after I drink my fill." Leaning back, shifting to straddle your hips. Letting you grind your hips better.

Another man states, "Can smell her dripping wet cunt downstairs." The man turns on the overhead light, walking over to stand at the side of your bed. Your body flushes with heat at how you're found. Grinding your bare cunt on a masked intruder's clothed cock. With your nightgown halfway pulled up.

The white masked man croons, "Poor horny little slut, so desperate for some cock. Is Toji teasing you too much?" Toji holding the knife to your neck doesn't stop you from turning your head to look at the second intruder.

Admiring their sculpted, muscular pale chest, and beautiful v-line leaning into his dark gym shorts. His cock is hard, standing up straight, his gym shorts straining over his head. Fondling his cock, moaning, his veiny hands inked up to his mid-forearms. With an ancient language, you've seen pictures of inscribed stone stabs in history books.

He yanks your dress up over your breast. Toji dips his head. Sinking his fangs into your breast, flicking your nipple with a cold tongue. Groaning when your warm blood trickles into his mouth.

Grabbing a fistful of his dark hair, pressing your thighs together. Grinding your sloppy wet cunt, his cock head catches on your tight hole. At this angle, his thick cock head won't slip it. Whining, twisting your hips, reaching out to jerk the second masked intruder.

He steps out of your reach, slipping his gym shorts down. His cock pops out, standing up, long, pale, and veiny. Toji moves the knife, holding it next to your fast. Switching to your other breast, biting next to your nipple. Which he pinches to hear you whine.

When the other beautiful man comes closer you smear his pre-cum with a swirl of your thumb. You can feel his quick heartbeat in his puffy veins when you firmly squeeze his cock.

A third man gloats, "Told you she'd be a freaky slut." Standing on the other side of the bed. His long dark hair is in a messy bun. He looks down at you with condescending dark eyes making your body hot and your cunt wet.

Sneering, "Already she's grinding her needy cunt on his cock, when we just busted in." He takes the knife from Toji, who grabs his cock swiping your clit with his head. Tugging his hair, he pulls away, blood trickling from the corner of his lips.

Gathering your blood on your thumb, holding it to Toji's lips for him to lick clean. "Satoru she's not even questioning what we are, why we are here. What we are going to do with her." Toji slips your finger out of his mouth, leaning back. Stilling his hips, leaving his hard, veiny cock pressed to your soaking wet cunt, clenching.

Satoru croons, "Pretty pathetic little slut." Your cunt clenches around nothing when he lets out a breathy, needy whine. Jerking his hips, swirling your hand, pumping your hand faster. Swiping your fingers over his sensitive pale pink head.

Questioning them, "What of it?" The third man slides the knife beneath your chin, adding pressure. Roughly swallowing, biting back your attitude. "I'll be good, don't care what you are, we'll figure out how to put something in somewhere." Satoru snickers, sliding his cock out of your hand.

He tugs his shorts up and unfolds a dark cloth bag from his pocket. Toji grabs your wrists, quickly binding them together with rough rope. He moves to the side, yanking your body up by your bound wrists.

The bag is swiftly placed over your head, tightening it around your neck. Ripping an airhole for your nose and mouth. Nudging your lips, you open your mouth for someone's long thick fingers. Swirling your tongue around them till they glide them out.

Toji rips through your sleepwear grumbling, "Fuck your shitty nightgown." Roughly yanking you off the bed. Unexpecting the sudden tug and unable to see you stumble on your feet. Getting yourself thrown over a shoulder, and a rough smack on the ass.

Jerking, whining, "Harder! Please! I'm beggin' for it, want you to make my ass sore." Earning a painful, sharp smack, your cunt flutters. You're aching for more sweet stinging pain as it settles to a warm ache. You can make out the shape of his hand.

Carrying you down the stairs, turning towards the right. They are taking you towards the front door. You'll be outside naked and bound with a bag over your head. You're too horny to be embarrassed. Reasoning it's too late for anyone to be out.

Toji swears, "Damn Satoru you did a number on this door. Don't think any is left on the frame." Thinking twice about protesting over your apparently busted front door. Due to the precarious poition you in with these three men.

Shivering in the cool night air, you hear a car door open.

Satoru reasons, "It shouldn't have looked ugly." The car softly purrs, coming to life. Another car door, he slips you off their shoulder, roughly shoving you into the car. Like you're an object they're storing in the back.

Your face plants into the cold leather. Shifting in the seat, momentarily struggling with your hands to sit upright. When one grabs you by the bag on your head, tugging you up right. The ties keeping it secured on your head dig into your neck until he lets go.

Begging whoever, "Lemme choke on your cock." You hear them shifting in their seat. He pushes your head down moments later. A thick warm cock head nudging your lips. Opening your mouth, groaning around his head, swirling your tongue.

Laying your tongue flat, taking his fat head, thicker head than the one previously in your hand. Toji momentarily holds your head down, gagging you. You'd fondle his balls if your wrists weren't tied.

You hear the soft pulsing of a toy. Eager for Satoru to play with your soaking wet cunt you put your ass up in the air. Satoru spreads your lips with his fingers. "Dirty slut doesn't even care where she's bein' takin." Gliding a thin, pulsing dildo into your cunt. Its head is a small tip, gradually thickening.

Moaning around Toji's cock, clenching the toy. Its soft bumps on the bottom stroking your sweet spot. Satoru groans, "Suguru can we keep her? She has her pretty little glory holes in my face " He pumps the toy faster, purposefully angling it down. Ensuring to stroke your sweet spot to make your cunt fluster.

Trembling, folding your arms, propping yourself up on your bound clasped fists. Bobbing your head faster on Toji's cock. Suguru decides, "You'll have to turn her, vampire or incubus doesn't matter, otherwise you'll break her before the sun rises." You hear the car rev as he speeds up.

Satoru grabs your ass, digging in his nails, biting your other cheek. Toji's cock muffles your whine, he holds your head down. Forcing you to take every inch, burying his cock deep in your throat. Your eyes water, jaw aching from stretching so wide to take him.

Gliding his cock out, roughly breathing. Toji questions, "Whatya say, wanna be our pretty cock sleeve succubus live on taking our cum. Think it's fittin' with how quickly you started groping my tits n' grinding your sloppy cunt on my cock." He rips the hole in the bag wider, spitting on your lips.

Licking your lips clean, pleading with them, "Turn me into a pretty cock sucker you can keep around to stuff full of cum." Satoru pulls you onto his lap, the inhuman dildo pulsing in your cunt. Sitting in his lap keeping the toy stuffed in deep.

Your cunt spasming, clenching the toy. Satoru yanks your head back by the bag on your head. Biting underneath your collarbone, his fangs are shorter than Toji's. With only two on top, the sharp pain becomes a sweet tingle.

Your body becomes hotter, and the intensity of the heat concentrates between your legs. Soaking Satoru's gym shorts, rocking your hips, shifting the pulsing toy in your needy cunt. Pulling away, licking the drops of blood welling up from the small inflictions.

You moan, unable to think of anything as you're overcome by incomprehensible horniness. "Nng!" Satoru moves you to straddle his hips. Yanking you by your neck, arching your back, biting your breast by Toji's previous.

Crying from the short-lived searing pain, then an intense wave of pleasure akin to cumming has you trembling. "Aren't you giving her too much, don't wanna kill her before we have our fun." Satoru grabs the dildo, fucking your sloppy wet cunt,

Giving you a couple pumps before your overly sensitive cunt gushes. Soaking through Satoru's gym shorts. He groans, licking the wound, scraping your nipple with his fang, Biting beneath, injecting you with more venom.

Your eyes roll back, and your body quivers. You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt. Your slick trickling down your thighs. Satoru fucks your sloppy, sensitive cunt with the dildo faster. Licking up to your clit, suckling and groaning.

Pulling away with a pop, "She can take it like she's gonna take both my cocks." Satoru ribs the bag off your head, roughly kissing you. Slipping his tongue into your mouth when you moan. He tastes of blood and strawberry lollipops.

Suguru roughly pulls the car off the road, parking it. "Out. I'm not listening to both of you have fun while I get blue balls." Satoru pulls away, gliding the dildo out. Turning it off, holding it up your lips, ignoring Suguru's demand to get out of the car.

Licking it clean, wrapping your lips, gliding it deep into your mouth. Pumping past your lips, groaning, "You pretty lips are gonna look good wrapping around my cock." He slides it out of your mouth with a soft pop.

You hear two doors slam shut one after another, leaving Satoru and you in the car. He cradles your head, it's spinning. Resting your head in his large hand, your cunt drooling on his lap. Clenching around nothing, you want to cum again despite squirting.

Satoru urges you, "That warmth," another gentle kiss, "The horniness don't fight it. Let it take over, you can be my beautiful greedy little cock whore for centuries." He trails kisses along your neck.

Slowly sinking his fangs in, jolting, whining from another injection. Placing your bound wrists on his thick pecs. Wishing you could run your fingers through his soft-looking snow-white hair.

"Wanna be your favorite cocksleeve." Your gums momentarily ache, your teeth making room for a pair of sprouting fangs. Satoru pulls away, pushing your top lip up with his thumb, crooning, "Aw already getting fangs." He drops his hands to the rope around your wrist.

Without thinking you lurch forward, biting into Satoru's neck. The car door opens, and Toji sneers, "Some kidnapper you are, clinging to her while she sinkin' her fangs into ya neck." Satoru groans, holding the back of your head, fondling your squishy ass cheek.

He groans, "Nn harder." Biting his thick pec with the possessive intent of marking him. "Is it really kidnapping when the slut would've walked out the door with us if not for the bag on her head." Satoru's blood is sweet, filling your mouth. You should be repulsed but can't help but drink another mouthful.

Three men bust in shirtless, with beautifully muscular bodies and within seconds you were thinking with your needy cunt. He wasn't wrong. You'd happily let them carry you off to wherever and keep you for however long if you got your cunt pounded by them.

"Bet she wouldn't but still, she was only meant to pretty blood bag. N' we couldn't risk our pretty dinner knowing where she's at." Toji grabs your hair, pulling you off Satoru. His blood trickles down his chest, following the middle groove of his abs.

Smiling in a lustful daze, "She's too beautiful to let go." Thick black horns sprout from his head, contrasting his bright hair. They twist in a loop, pointing back. His features sharpen, eyes glowing similar to his tattoo. Which spreads up his arms, onto his pecs.

Toji pulls you back for Satoru to step out of the car, shutting the door behind himself. "We both bite each other, that means once I fill her sloppy cunt full of cum, I'll be hers'." The large pale moon in the skin illuminates Satoru's beautiful blushing face.

His smile is breathtaking, this beautiful incubus will be yours. You could taste his lust vanilla and honey. Toji lets go of your hair, dropping on your knees in front of Satoru. Looking up at him, pleading "I want to make you mine n' cum on your cocks. Wanna be yours." Satoru pushes his wet shorts down. He has two beautiful long, pale cocks, both of them standing up.

Suguru pulls you to your fist, slicing the rope, and freeing your hands. "I told Shiu we are hunting the slut we found." Twisting you around to face the spare woods. "By the time she finishes her head start he'll be here." Harshly slapping your ass, making you stumble forward. Leafs crunch beneath your feet.

The initial intense haze of the venom first affects level out. Helping you to latch onto their words with better clarity than before. Which your cunt throbbing with an unbearable neediness infringes upon.

You need to cum, it's borderline painful to not have one of them playing with your cunt. Slipping your fingers between your legs, rubbing your clit. Clenching your thighs together. Moaning, "Whoever gets me first decides who gets to go when! Don't make me wait too long!" Missing the stimulation, the second you stop touching yourself.

Darting into the woods, the trees pass you quicker than they should. You've seen bright full moons in the past, but this was unlike anything else. You could see the bark, moss, rocks, and branches clearly. Acutely feeling the leaves crunching and the damp earth.

Pushing yourself to run faster when you hear a thunderous crack of a tree splitting in two. It doesn't hit the ground until a few minutes later, knocking over several more trees.

Were they fighting each other to get to you? They might not be beyond throwing a few punches towards each other. At any moment one of them could show up, pin you to the tree and do what the wished. Whilst you'll beg them for more.

Struggling to stop, kicking up some dirt. Standing in front of you is a handsome man with a scruffy face, holding a cigarette. "So you're the pretty little thing we're playin' with. Shame to end the game now, run." Taking a step back, the wind picks up carrying the subtle scent of his lust.

It's similar to a bittersweet mixture of dark and milk chocolate, with a hint of sweet caramel. He's mouth-watering, his must be Shiu. He's making no move to catch you, admiring you in the moon light taking a puff off his cig.

"Run." His demand reminds you at any moment the other three could catch up. Taking off running past him, biting into your bottom lip. Hoping one of them would catch you soon and use your mouth and cunt.

Breaking out of the tree line into a wide clearing of tall yellow flowers. A cabin lies on the other side of a large glittering lake. Toji stands in the field's center, waiting for you. Taking off towards the right, the back of your neck tingles when he's about to grab it. Trusting your instinct and ducking, scrambling out of his reach.

Looking over your shoulder, Toji's still close, about to catch you. When you run into Satoru, who appears in front of you within seconds. Wrapping his arms around your waist, flapping white feathery wings. Flying out of Toji's reach.

"I win! Haha HA!" His pupils are wide. He's high off your previous bites. Your venom coursing through his muscular body. "You smell so fuckin' sweet." He grabs your hair, pulling your head to the side. "Your neck looks prettier covered in bitemarks." Whining from the sweet pain of Satoru puncturing Toji's bite.

Grabbing a handful of his soft white hair. Wrapping your legs around his waist. Digging your nails into his back between his wings. Grazing the base of his left wing. He whines, his wings shuttering, the two of you slightly dropping before he steadies himself.

Landing on his feet, pinning you to the closest tree. Pulling away from your neck, licking up the blood. "I can't go much longer without feeling her tight, sloppy wet cunt clenching my cocks together. Sug can help me break her before Shiu and your ass as a chance." Squeezing your neck with his long, thin fingers, tugging on your thigh.

Unwrapping your legs, and standing up, he pulls you away from the tree. Pinning you to Suguru's chest, he massages both your cheeks. His fingers getting closer to your sloppy cunt.

Toji points out, "Look at her, she'll still be begging for more after the two of you. Don't think you can satisfy a greedy whore like her when she's turning." Gliding your hand along Satoru's hard sculpted side. Trailing your fingers along his abs, grabbing one of his cocks.

Smearing his pre-cum by slowly swirling your thumb. He is dripping so much, swirling your hand halfway down his cock. "Please stuff my cunt, fingers, tongue or cock don't care. Need someone to play with my cunt it hurts." Suguru's thick fingers are so close to your puffy lips.

Shifting your hips, Suguru pulls his fingers away, lightly massaging your cheek. Satoru glides his cock out of your hands. "Play with my cunt it hurts, poor little slut." He smacks your cunt, twisting your hips back. "How this?" Suguru tightens his grasp making you take five punishing wet slaps.

Trembling, knee buckling, your clit and lips stinging, cunt quivering. Your eyes water, "Please, that's not what I meant." Satoru mockingly frowns. Grabbing both cocks, matching the pace of your hands. Swirling your hand around his pale pink tip, smearing his pre-smear along his long veiny cock.

"But you said you didn't care." Pinching your cheeks. "What's wrong?" Suguru kneels behind you, biting your squishy cheek. You cry, jerking your hips forward. Satoru pinches your clit, and you shove his chest, forcing him to stumble back, smirking.

Suguru chimes, "Whore is getting some feist to her!" Satoru grabs your hair, yanking your head back, forcing you to look up at him. Satoru roughly slaps you across the face, kissing your aching cheek.

You hear the slick sound of Toji stroking his cock. You can taste his lust. Shiu states, "Bet she'd be able to take it harder than our normal slut." Your soaking wet cunt clenches from his breathy groan.

Toji bemoans, "It's tirin' havin' to hold back 'cause a bitch can't handle how hard I'm fuckin' her." Suguru pulls you onto his beautiful face by your hips. Steadily stroking your puffy clit, grinding your hips, moaning. Getting off on the pressure of Suguru's barbell swiping over your clit.

Suguru smears his thick spit on your asshole. Dipping his finger in, curling it, lubing up your other hole. Flicking your clit, faster with your tongue. Satoru watches in admiration as your beautiful face contorts with an expression of pleasure.

Loudly moaning, "Thank you! Please let me cum again, his tongue feels so good." Suguru glides another finger in, stretching your other hole apart. "Nnn his stretching my ass. We don't have lube! Nn fuck it feels so good thouuuugh don't!" Fucking your ass faster with both his thick fingers.

Keeping his barbell stroking your clit just right. The pressure is too perfect, trembling, rocking your hips. Suguru squeezes your hips, keeping you still. Begging, "Don't stop, faster, please!" His spit is thicker than a normal human, making your other hole and your clit tingle with intense pleasure.

Satoru fondles your breasts, pinching your nipples. Tugging when you cry, arching your chest into his hand, he twists. "Don't worry, Suguru's spit is aphrodisiac-like and lubricate." Easing up on your nipples, gliding his cock out of your fist. Dipping down to kiss both nipples, sucking one into his mouth.

Soothing your aching nipple with his tongue, "Your little ass will be just fine." Suguru spreads his fingers apart, stretching your asshole. The sweet ache dulling with each pump of his finger. He groans on your clit.

Clenching Suguru's head, Shiu encourages, "Let me see you cum beautiful." Creaming on Suguru's tongue, pushing his head away. He groans, flicking his tongue faster. Whining, writhing from the intensity. You've never been this sensitive before.

"Whore moaning like she's never busted a nut before." Satoru lets your nipple go with a soft pop. Kissing the other one, when he stands up. You brace yourself on his thick pecs.

Crying when Suguru digs in his sharp claws to keep you from wiggling so much. Satoru bemuses, "Might as well feel like it, cumming while turning never stops feeling immensely pleasurable." Cupping Satoru's balls, sliding your hand over his abs, feeling him up.

He whines, "Beautiful little whore crying from cumming on his tongue." Your bitten breasts ache, the pain is sweet. His warm, soft fingers playing with your nipples, gently rubbing your nipples. You can feel each swipe in your cunt.

Suguru pulls away, adding a third finger. Whining jerking your hips away in an attempt to run from Suguru slowly finger fucking your asshole. He bites your slicked thigh so close to your cunt, his bites throb, a stinging pain shoots down your thigh, becoming a tingling numbness.

Your vision goes hazy, and your body becomes heavy. Seconds trickle by and the numbness fades. “After feigning concern over me giving her too much you drug her up like that. She’s going to break so quickly; our little whore is already so sensitive.” You can feel how deep his fangs are, how wide and sharp they are embedding into your soft thigh.

Toji croons, “Can our dumb slut speak?” Satoru grabs both wrists, looping your arms around his neck. Feebly clasping your hands, he grabs your waist holding your body up. Suguru licks your thigh with a loud groan. Pumping his fingers faster, spreading them out, stretching your asshole.

"Come on cock hungry whore tell them how your greedy cunt is aching to be stuffed full of Sug and I's cock." You can't register their words. Moaning, clenching Suguru's fingers.

Getting your ass prepped for his cock felt pleasure before. But as Suguru's venom takes into effect your ass has the sensitivity of getting your g spot fucked. When Satoru rubs your clit with his head, it is like your cumming instantly.

Your cunt spasming around nothing, slick dripping down your thigh. Immense, intoxicating pleasure consumes you. Leaving you a mindless, horny mess, wanting to cum on their cocks. Gently winding your fingers into Satoru's hair, Suguru grabs your neck with his clean hand.

Shiu bemoans, "We haven't even had a chance to fuck her stupid and she's a brain-dead slut already." Satoru slides his large hand over your hip, along your thigh. You struggle to lift your leg; he has to crouch to grab the backs of your knees.

He folds you in a mating press between his and Suguru's hard muscular chest. Helping Toji and Shiu watch him glide one of his cocks into you.

Suguru glides his fingers out of your ass, grabbing his cock, lining himself up. Groaning, watching his cock stretch your beautiful ass. You can't breathe enough to moan with Suguru's thick fingers crushing your neck.

One of Satoru's cocks is gliding along your clit. The second stretching your dripping wet, tight cunt, stroking your g-spot, hitting your cervix. Your toes curl as you cream on his cock. The lack of air makes your body tingle and adds to the mind-shattering ecstasy.

Satoru wonders, "That change makin' you that sensitive? I just put it in." Roughly fucking your sloppy wet, tight cunt. "Shiu you have a knife on you? I need to carve my initials into her beautiful tits. Mark her whore ass as mine." Shiu lets go of his thick cock, to get his knife out of his pants pockets. With his hand not coated in spit and pre-cum.

Tossing it to Satoru, who catches it without sparing a glance. He grabs one of your horns. "Did you even realize these have fully grown?" He trails his fingers up your horns to the tips, then back down to the base.

Shivering from his soft touch compared to his harsh thrust and the knife's tip trailing along your side. Suguru lets go of your neck, holding your cheek, fucking your sensitive ass faster. "Let me stuff my second cock in her other tight glory hole." Satoru pauses for Suguru to line his second cock up with your dripping cunt.

You clench both holes, loudly moaning. Suguru is thicker than Suguru's veiny cock. His head reaching just below Satoru's whose presses against your cervix with a greater pressure than before.

Satoru croons, "I think she can take another one in her greedy cunt. Her cunt won't break so quickly like she did, will it?" Satoru glides his cock out. Suguru grabs your other leg with his clean hand. Satoru holds his cocks together, lining them up. Slowly gliding them in.

You jolt, tensing up, scratching Satoru's chest. Your jaw dropping, crying your cunt stuffed too full of too many long, thick veiny cocks. The fourth on in your ass, making the thin strip of skin between both holes meaningless.

Toji groans, "Fuck dirty slut is taking so much!" Having to stop jerking his cock to keep himself from cumming before having his turn with you.

Satoru drags the knife along your aching breasts. Holding your head back by your horn. "I know you're too stupid to understand me but try your best to look me in the eyes." His too beautiful to look away from.

Dark horns poking out from his fluffy, messy white hair. Thin strands hang into his stunning glowing blue eyes. A cocky smirk on his kissable pale pink lips.

Satoru urges, "I want to see the beautiful look in your eyes when you cum on my cock." Shivering from the sharp edge of the knife on your nipple. Trapped between their broad, muscular chests, you can't squirm away.

You can taste Satoru's lust stronger than you can anyone else's. Faintly you can feel your own squishy cunt wrapping around his cock. Along with the pleasure that comes with having your soft, squishy cunt stroking his cocks.

Suguru and Satoru keep their pace even, triple stuffing your cunt. Whilst stuffing your tight ass. The pleasure is mounting with every sweet quick harsh stroke. "Nnng your lust tastes so fucking good. Only a perverted cock hungry brain-dead whore would get off on having her cunt stuffed this full." Satoru picks up his speed, with Suguru maintaining his.

Satoru's navel is rubbing your clit perfectly. Suguru groans, "Fuck dirty slut is stretched so wide yet so tight." Clenching their cocks, digging your nails into Satoru's chest.

Reaching back to slip your fingers into Suguru's silk, long dark hair. Until your reach the base of his horns. Wrapping your fingers around his sensitive horn’s base, he groans, passionate, raspy and deep.

Satoru whines, it's breathy, needy, making your cunt tingle. He croons, holding the knife to your neck. "I can feel how she's about to cum. Come on cock whore cream on ournnnng!" You're squirting before Satoru can finish. Thick, warm cum dripping down their balls.

Suguru's thick veiny cock in your ass, all three hard cocks in your sensitive cunt. You're a wreck, half their size, folded in half between them taking each thrust with a loud squelch from both holes.

"Shit I dont wanna cum this quickly!" Hot warm cum spurts from both heads. It's too much for your cunt to handle. "She feels so goddamn goooood! Cummin' so hard, nnnn fuck! fuck!" His thick cum is dripping out of your cock, making your stomach expand with a cum filled bulge.

You can feel Suguru's puffy veins pulse. "Nnn! Ahhh!" You still can't think, you're craving the addictive immense pleasure of cumming already. Their cocks pumping Satoru's cum deep into your stuffed, soaking wet cunt.

Fucking your tight ass and cum filled cunt faster. Suguru groans, "Moan louder dirty little whore! Pretty little sounds are getting me off, making my thick cocks throb." Satoru glides his overly sensitive, softening cocks out.

Satoru pushes on your stomach, and his cum spurts out like you squirting again. You're bouncing on Suguru's cock, a moaning, cock hungry mess. Clenching both holes Suguru's pace becomes sloppy. Rutting his cocks into your sloppy glory holes.

Suguru loudly groans, fucking his thick cum into your greedy cum. Quickly pulling out, letting some spurt onto your ass. They set you on your feet, and Satoru steadies you by your horn and hip.

Toji pips up, "Ready for more?" Your legs trembling, you're barely standing up. Your knees buckle and Satoru doesn't let you fall. Turning you around, pressing the night to your lower back. "I think the whore deserves a tramp stamp of my name instead." You don't have the energy to writhe when he carves a S into your back.

It's seconds without having one of them touch your cunt and your whining, "Please! Wanna cum!" Suguru smirks at you, slapping your cunt when Satoru finishes the first letter.

Pressing your thighs together, doubling over, Suguru switches out with Toji. He roughly grabs your horns, holding your head still. Lining his cock up, "Ya look starving for some cock" You wince when your fangs retract. Crying when Satoru carves an a into your lower back, Toji stuffs his cock into your mouth with a loud, deep groan.

Shiu grumbles, "Dirty fucking whore taking us all." He crouches next to you, stuffing four thick fingers into your sloppy cunt. Rubbing your clit with his thumb. He bites your outer thigh, his fangs have a slight curve to them, sinking in deep.

He groans as your blood fills his mouth, pumping his fingers fast. Finding your sweet spot, focusing on it. Pain and pleasure are becoming the same. Satoru smack your cum covered cheek. "Three more letters, and two more cocks to go." Moaning on Toji's cock, massaging his heavy balls.

Your cunt spasming around Shiu's relentless, quickly pumping fingers. Shiu doesn't bother to clean up the blood dripping down your thigh. Licking up your thigh, you slip your fingers into his short hair. "Cumming on my fingers that quickly?" Satoru quickly cuts the rest of his name into you.

Slipping his fingers in with Shiu's, matching his pace. "Once they finish with you, Sug and I are having another round. Have to test your new limits, see how much our pretty little succubus can handle." He gives your ass a rough smack and steps aside for Shiu to stand up behind you.

Gliding his fingers out of your cunt, grabbing your hips. Smearing your slick on his thick, veiny cock, lining himself up. Roughly slamming his cock into you, splitting your cunt open with no warning. "Perfect fuckin' glory hole you'd think she'd break after that but she's too tight 'round my cock." Toji groans gagging you with his cock, getting off on your neck squeezing his fat cock.

"I'm too big for her little throat. It almost hurts how she grippin' me. But it feels so good, sluts don't need to breathe right?" He shallowly pumps his hips, refusing to let you breathe. Grunting, "Stupid little succubus is gonna drain my balls dry with her pretty mouth."

oreo’s m.list

[rosegolden13]

Princess Treatment w/ John Price

His workaholic habits do not stop after he leaves base to come home to you...

We already know he's opening up every damn door for you. He has the magical skill of knowing when doors need a push or a pull so he never fails to laugh when you pull a push door. "Tha's why you shoulda left it to me, love. Stubborn thing, you are." He'll reach over your head to push the door open for you, plopping a kiss to your hair while he does.

His masculinity does not get in the way of holding your purse for you whenever you're out together, his big bear hands wrapped around the handle of your little black purse.

He refuses to let you carry your own luggage, doesn't care if it takes him multiple trips to get both of your bags into the hotel or rental house. He'll get all exasperated if you insist on helping. "You had a long drive. Lemme handle it, pet." (even though he's the one that drove...)

There's nothing he loves more than ordering for you at a restaurant. His voice is filled with an unreasonable amount of pride when he says "And for the missus..." before telling the waiter your order.

Speaking of food, if you ever eat anything that needs cutting or even doctoring up, expect him to jump in. "Now, now, doll, you know tha's my job." He'll tsk and gently take the knife from you to cut your steak into bitesize pieces or to butter your roll. Yes, he will go as far as to bring the fork up to your lips and feed you if you don't put up a fuss.

He will absolutely pay for your manicure and then coo when you offer him your hand to show off your new nails. "Real pretty, love... Don't go chippin' 'em now. Come sit."

Price always sets up a nice place for you on the couch or bed, blanket at the ready and pillows right where you like them. "Come on now, Mrs. Price." He'll pat the spot next to him like one would for a dog. Of course, he likes it best when he can be your pillow and personal heater (that man is always warm, always) but sometimes he's got to find a way to coax his little love into his arms and away from chores.

Naturally, he will swat your hands away when you bend down to tug on your heels or tie your sneakers. He'll crouch down to place your foot on his bent knee, patting your calf firmly and leaning in to press a kiss to your ankle once he's done.

If you nick yourself while shaving, he'll level you with a disapproving stare and then insist that he do it for you next time. After all, he has plenty of experience with keeping his facial hair so tidy. "Can't have my woman hurtin' herself, now can I?" You bet your bottom dollar he's using his fancy razors and shaving creams on you, extra delicate to make sure he doesn't mar your skin.

He's terrified to smoke around you after you coughed one (1) time and now he only will take his cigars out on the back porch or in his office with the window open. If you come in, he'll snuff it out asap and usher you out of the room, shushing your protests.

I'll probably eventually add a part two cuz soft Price is everything to me hehe... Can you tell my standards are ridiculously high?? Also, does anyone have an accent writing guide for TF-141?? I am painfully American.

[fanaticalthings]

While I do find it funny that henchmen in Gotham probably warn each other about the Red Hood because he's a bat who will actually kill you. I think it would be better if Jason was actually seen as some sort of savior or idol to like 90% of the goons scattered around Gotham. Doesn't matter who they work for, they all know Jason, former crime-lord that took over majority of Gotham's underground in one night.

---

Jason, years after the events of UTRH, now fighting crime alongside the batfam, except every goon he runs into immediately recognizes him, stops fighting, and starts begging.

the first time it happens, Jason assumes they're begging for their lives only to hear them begging for him to return to the crime lord business so they can work for him and not Gotham's current money-stingy, abusive rogues (Black Mask lol)

---

Jason showing up to patrol as backup for Dick in an overrun warehouse full of Two-Face's henchmen and as Jason's about to interfere, one of the men stops dead in their tracks and stares really hard at Jason until:

Goon: Oh my God, boss, is that you?

Jason, pulling out his guns, about to shoot:

Goon: Mr. Hood, sir???

Jason, halfway about to pull the trigger: Wait a min–Jeremy? Oh wow, it's been ages! How's the wife?

Goon (Jeremy): Oh my God it IS you, holy shit where have you BEEN? Me and the guys miss you, man!

Dick, with a knife at his throat: What is happening right now

Jason: Ahh, well, crime-lording just wasn't fitting in on the daily schedule. Tryna turn over a new leaf and all that

Goon (Jeremy): Aw, that's disappointing. We really liked working for you, right guys?

[Chorus of enthusiastic "YEAHS" from the rest of the henchmen (even the one holding Dick at knifepoint)]

Goon (Jeremy): Well, anyways, I can't beat you up knowing you're my old boss! You gave us the best health benefits! We'll just let you take the evidence and leave.

Jason: Aw, thanks guys :)

---

And that's why 95% percent of Jason's missions in Gotham end in success. Not because he's willing to kill people or because rogues are terrified of him, but because 90% of the rogues' henchmen once worked for Jason and fuckin love him lol.

[chuluoyi]

✎ all of me

- gojo satoru x reader

you understand that some things in marriage just needs compromise. and he soon understands too, when you're at your most vulnerable and he fails to be by your side when you need him the most

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship (you're married & have a son!) argument, feral gojo, mentions of injury & blood, fluff

note: if it isn't obvious by now i'm in the mood of angst-hurt/comfort this week HEHE :)) this is longer than the usual love entry, so i hope you'll enjoy it!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Bantering with your husband is not uncommon―in fact, it happens on daily basis.

"Satoru― I'm talking to you!"

But having serious arguments with him is another matter entirely.

Your fists tightening at your sides, facing his unamused expression. How insufferable is he? You told him that everyday, but right now, he's truly surpassed previous levels of infuriating behavior.

"And I can hear you, sweetheart," he retorted, casting a glance your way. The term of endearment he used for you sounding almost like a sneer to your ears and you felt offended.

"I don't think you're taking this seriously," you griped, trying to calm your emotions, still balling your hands. "Someone is following our son on his way back from school―how can you be this... flippant?!"

Numerous photograph of your son exiting the school building from different angles had arrived in your mailbox, and if it wasn't a creepy warning from those who placed a target on his back, then you didn't know what it was.

Satoru let out an exasperated grunt. "I'm telling you, I'll pick him up for the rest of the week. No one will lay a hand on him."

You gritted your teeth. "And I'm telling you, they're trying to make you do just that. Even morons know not to mess with you― they're leaving hints, and you're taking the bait!"

Contrary to what you believed, Satoru felt just as worried as you upon knowing that someone might have marked his precious son, who was now six years old and had recently started attending preschool.

But this is where your approaches differ. You are always the cautious one, overanalyzing each detail, while he leans towards being impulsive, often resorting to brute force.

"Who do you think can stand a chance against me?" Satoru challenged with a real sneer this time. "Remember my words, wife, no one is going to hurt me, you or our baby. I'll end them where they stand."

"That's not the point!" you threw your hands in the air, irate. "Satoru, they're going to take advantage of―"

"Look, I don't want to argue with you." Satoru's gaze was hard on you, his tone clipped, and it made you stiffen. "His safety comes first— and you, of all people, should know I'd never let anything happen to him. You need to quit nitpicking and have a little faith in me."

"I know you are more than capable, but you are not―!"

And then he said it, and his words piercing through you like a knife―

"Don't compare me to you," your husband remarked a little too coldly. "I can do things you can't. Just rest your pretty head, I'll take care of the rest."

Nevermind that he blatantly dismissed your skills as a jujutsu sorcerer, nevermind that he totally didn't listen to you at all―he just went and made himself look like some sort unparalleled god, forgetting how much his hubris could actually take him.

And all these thoughts only made you angrier.

"So be it then." You tried desperately to hold yourself from shaking because you'd be damned if you showed it to him. "A word of advice, Satoru: beware of your arrogance."

With those words, you spun around, marching off toward your son's room, because no way in hell was you going to sleep with that obnoxious prick tonight.

But when you caught the sight of your baby scuttling away from the gap in the door, a fragment of your heart crumbled. Oh. He has seen it all.

In Gojo Satoru's mind, he is made of two things: a powerful jujutsu sorcerer and a family man.

With his immense strength, comes a certain responsibility. And with that responsibility, certain habits have formed. If you just took a few seconds to breathe and looked back throughout the past decade he'd spent with you, you'd know that in fact―

It was also his way to shield you. Satoru stands by the principle that you and his little boy must be protected at all cost, and he most certainly would pull all stops to do just that.

But frankly, he couldn't deny that he felt insulted by how defiant you were. Did you really think he would let anyone ever touch your―his―son? He wouldn't, they'd meet his wrath first and you should've known that.

Still, something akin to guilt nudged at his conscience as he lay alone in your shared bed that night. It felt strange not having you cuddling him. He felt empty.

. . .

None of your shampoo-scented pillow, none of your nightdresses, all of it replaced by a single photo hanging in the wall and the urn of ashes—

Abruptly, he jerked his eyes open, shaken from the most dreadful nightmare he had experienced—

Of you no longer by his side.

“Mama.” Your little boy looked up to you with his doe-blue eyes in the next day, his hand gripping yours. “I’ll be fine.”

You were accompanying him to the preschool. While Satoru had requested Ichiji to drive him, you insisted on tagging along to keep a watchful eye as well. You'd leave your husband to pick him up later just as he wanted.

“Huh?” you turned to him, tilting your head.

“I'll stick by Uncle Ichiji's side the entire time,” he replied in a murmur. “And papa will be picking me up too later. If there are bad guys, they'll get him first.”

You bit your lip, feeling a wave of guilt wash over you. Your boy witnessed your outburst last night and hadn't inquired about it until now, and even then, he was trying to reassure you.

“So… don’t fight.” His round, cerulean eyes then darted towards you, blinking hesitantly, causing you to catch your breath.

He looks so much like Satoru. At six years old, he was the spitting image of him, except his personality—he took after you in that area. It was as if your son was a softer, more innocent version of him. And your heart twisted, remembering your argument last night.

Don't compare me to you.

With a sigh, you bent down to be eye-level with him and managed a smile, holding both of his little hands. “I’m sorry… it was just misunderstanding last night, okay? Don’t worry.”

“…really?”

“Really. Mama and papa were just tired,” you tried to reason, a thin smile on your face. "It's going to be okay, just like you said, yeah? Papa will beat the bad guys out there."

“Will he pull through...? If they bring a knife, and he's just there laughing, they can cut him.”

A giggle escaped your lips at your baby's innocent wonderings, easing the ache in your heart as you recalled how Satoru humored him in so many ways.

You gently poked your son in the cheek. "Nah, do you remember what he always goes on about?"

He puffed up his cheeks in response, his expression turning sour as if combing through memories of hundreds of shenanigans Satoru had instigated to recall his words. You let out a hearty chuckle, finding him so adorable.

"He's strong, he's going to win. He always does."

"Oh. Mmm." Your son scrunched up his nose cutely, before looking away and squeezing your hand. A sincerer smile bloomed in your lips, heart melting at the sight of your growing munchkin.

You will protect him. And maybe you could patch things up with Satoru later that night. Maybe yesterday you were just too paranoid.

That was the plan... at least until your son suddenly screamed—someone wrenching him from your grasp. Without a second thought, you reacted, flipping the attacker away from you and him.

. . . and that was the beginning of how everything started to unravel so terribly that day.

"Gojo-san...! There's been an incident!"

He got that call right after he finished some things with Yaga. Satoru teleported to the preschool right away, only to be greeted by a scene of utter chaos.

Several teachers stood outside the building, and police officers were present at the scene. It was all a blur of cursed energy until his eyes caught sight of—

His little boy, red-faced and obviously in fear, was clinging to Ichiji, who was frantically making calls. Some teachers gathered around him were seemingly trying to coax him to speak.

He didn't waste a second to dash towards him, tearing through the crowd.

"Are you okay? Hey, buddy, what happened?" Satoru pulled him away from Ichiji and turned him over, crouching to his level to check for any signs of injury or harm.

And upon seeing him actually here, his son's eyes immediately welled up with tears, and Satoru felt a chill run through his veins as he broke into sobs, which quickly turned into heart-wrenching wails.

"Mama—! F-find mama—!" the little boy choked out through his tears, clutching onto his shirt tightly and crumbling in his embrace, thoroughly inconsolable.

Satoru's sharp gaze quickly swept over the scene, seeking any clues, while he tightened his hold over him. It was then he noticed traces of your cursed energy mingled with blood.

They hurt you.

"Hey, kiddo—listen to me, it's going to be alright, yeah?" Satoru said, gently pulling away to wipe away his tears, holding the boy's face tenderly in his hands. "Go with Ichiji for now, okay? I'm going to bring mama back, I promise."

He didn't need to be told twice. Your son is always obedient when it matters the most. He gave him a small nod, still shaking with tears.

"Don't worry," he flashed a reassuring smile and ruffled his hair. "I'm the strongest, remember? I'll get her back," he vowed once again. "She'll be fine. Wait for me until then, yeah?"

Ichiji was ready to leave as he had called for those in headquarters as backup in case anything were to happen again. Trusting him to keep his son safe, Satoru took off as soon as he could no longer see the sight of his son's tear-streaked face trying to watch him as the car pulled away.

"I won't repeat myself— where is my wife?"

Satoru wasn't playing this time. He skipped past taunts and just plain threats. These little fries, he thought.

The man he held by the throat was in a lot of distress. "Hyaaa! It's him! Please, please, let me go! I'm acting under orders!"

He then flung him across the wall— might have added more cursed energy than necessary.

At the moment, his entire focus was on trying to locate you. He couldn't let his mind wander to anything else; in fact, he didn't permit himself to.

It didn't take him long to piece together the general location of where you were through the residual of your cursed energy. They stationed several hooligans in this abandoned warehouse to stall him, but he got rid of them quickly and he could sense that you were close by.

"It's Gojo Satoru!"

"Run! Ruuuun!"

What a pain. They picked the wrong person to mess with, and Satoru's lips curled into a manic grin as he opened his palm, pulling them in—

"Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue."

Chaos erupted as the building collapsed around him. He hoped you would realize he was here and manage to avoid getting caught in the wreckage. He was sure you'd know though.

And true to his thoughts, soon he found you— blasting your attacker away with a powerful kick.

Satoru thought that you were a sight to behold, really. And he was about to call out to you when he felt it.

It happened almost in an instant. The way his heart dropped to his stomach, and how his body reacted, barely whispering the incantation for Red as he shot it at something lurking behind you—

At that moment, the only thing you were aware of was the foul stench of a curse. Time seemed to stop before the overwhelming force of Red expelled it away from you.

But before then, you experienced a searing, white-hot pain that scorched through your flesh and pierced your abdomen—

"Y/N―fuck―!" The voice that came from Satoru's throat was raw and laden with panic.

He pulled you against him protectively as you collapsed, blinded by pain. He immediately felt warmth spreading across his lower body—your blood was rapidly drenching his shirt, and he felt a shiver down his spine.

You held onto him tightly while suppressing your scream, feeling every bit of your strength drain away along with the dark crimson blood that poured out of you.

"―toru―" you managed to croak amidst the scalding pain, curling and whimpering in his hold.

"Hey― sweetheart, please―" his voice rang in your ears, as he pressed down on your wound. His hands were shaking, and you clawed at him and groaned in agony. "I-I'm taking you back now― You're going to be alright, yeah?"

The wound was beyond anything you had experienced before, causing you to cry out and gasp for air. It was almost as if something fried your insides. It was hard to stay conscious.

"I've got you now. You're going to be okay." His voice was coarse, as he hurriedly carried you out. And he tried not to let the full-blown panic take over him when your body went limp in his arms, your breaths slowing, head lolling in his chest.

"You're going to be alright! You hear me, sweetheart? You're going to make it. Our baby― he's waiting for you. I promise you, you're going to be fine―"

Perhaps he was trying to tell that to himself, because despite the excruciating pain, a wave of reassurance washed over you.

You were in the arms of the strongest sorcerer alive, what more could you possibly afraid of?

A special grade curse. They had actually unleashed a potent curse and likely aimed at him as their final card—until it veered off course and struck you, leaving a searing gash across your abdomen.

Satoru felt numb as he sat in the waiting room in his bloodied uniform. You got hurt so terribly right in front of his eyes, and all he could feel was this profound void that seemed to bore through him and pierced his soul.

He was supposed to protect you. He said it to your face that nothing and no one would touch your son, and it was in his wedding vows that he'd protect you with his life too.

And yet what happened?

If only he was faster. If only he was able to pull you to him and protect you with his infinity—none of this shit would have happened.

Seeing your face twisted in agony and smeared with blood made him feel sick to his stomach. Inside that OR, you hovered on the brink of life and death, and he was here, unable to do anything.

Satoru rested his head against the wall, feeling a sharp pain surge through his chest. He remembered waking up to your face every morning, the way your touches felt, and how you had brightened his world for the past decade. If he lost you now... he wouldn't survive it. He would wreck anything, everything—

"Papa!" and came his voice of reason. Satoru immediately discarded his bloodstained jacket by instinct, throwing it away before his boy could see it, with Ichiji and Megumi closely trailing behind.

His son crashed himself into him and threw his little arms around his torso, crying—and in that very second, the thump of his heart sounded louder in his ears. Somehow it felt like a knife that twisted his insides.

"Hey, kiddo." Satoru repositioned him so that he would sit on his lap and hugged him, patting him in the back. "There, there... it's alright, yeah? Mama is inside, she'll get better soon."

Your little boy pulled away and wiped his eyes, and Satoru chuckled as he helped him blow his nose. His child was incredibly adorable, and his actions mirrored yours to such an extent that it made Satoru's heart soften.

"Mama g-got hurt trying to... tell me to g-go..." the boy suddenly said amidst his quieter sniffles. "And... she s-said... papa— i-is strong and g-going to win..."

You believe in him. Ignoring the ache in his chest, only able to reply him with a "Yeah..."

Not long after, Shoko emerged from the operating room and informed him that the surgery had been successful, though you would likely need to have a one-week stay in the hospital for observation. He intended to move you to the VIP suite and stay the night there, but then he remembered his son, who was holding his hand.

Satoru crouched down and patted him in the head, fixing him a smile. "See? Mama is okay, but she needs to sleep here to get even better. Now you go home first with big brother Megumi, yeah?"

Your son adored Megumi and often begged you to let him stay over at his place, but this time he looked hesitant, fiddling with his little fingers. "Really? Mama will be home... soon?"

"Mm-hmm, the more she sleeps here, the faster she'll go back home, alright?"

And with that, his baby nodded and Satoru turned to Megumi with a nod. "Thank you for this, Megumi."

The boy whose life he had once saved on some sort of a whim, now grown up and shared the same concern he had for you, Fushiguro Megumi had never before witnessed his benefactor expressing such sincere gratitude for anything before.

When you came to, your body felt as heavy as lead.

The discomfort in your abdomen made you flinch, and you almost let out a groan until you turned to your side and saw him.

Satoru was asleep while sitting in the sofa next to your bed, dark circles evident under his eyes. It might have been your imagination, but his cheeks appeared to be slightly red too.

You tried to recall what had happened to you when it came back—you urging your son to run away as you let yourself being taken away, almost escaping from that warehouse, the flash of excruciating pain, and Satoru's stricken voice.

So he must've been here since last night. Any remnants of your disagreement seemed to have vanished, seeing him there with you, barely covering himself with the blanket, with a frown still marking his forehead even in his sleep.

You wanted to reach out to him until the movement sent a sharp jab to your stomach and you cried out a bit.

In that split second, Satoru's eyes jerked open, and realizing you were awake, his gaze locked onto yours. "Y/N—" But your strained whimper and expression told him everything. "Does it hurt? I-I'll get Shoko, wait—"

And then he hit the call button. Throughout it all, he kept a firm grip on your hand for reassurance. A few minutes later, Shoko arrived and examined your wound, subsequently administering painkillers to alleviate your discomfort.

"It's going to leave a scar," she explained grimly, showing the mangled skin where the curse had made its mark on you, and seeing that, Satoru clenched his fists.

Shoko sighed, empathizing with her friend's frustration. "It's going to fade with time, don't worry. You did well, Gojo. You brought her here quickly. Had you been even slightly later, there could have been an irreversible damage to her organs."

But your husband remained quiet, unable to bring himself to look at you. And after she left, you tried to finally voice your question to him.

"O-our—"

"He's fine," Satoru immediately answered, squeezing your hand. "Our boy is fine. I'll tell Megumi to visit later—he's with him."

A sigh of relief came out of you. "Thank... goodness."

But his expression seemed to fall even further after hearing your response. Satoru settled himself on the seat next to you and lowered the rail on your bed, allowing you to be even closer to each other.

"Do you not feel any pain anymore?" he asked then, gently tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. He looked so sad, a stark contrast of how he usually was, and it bugged you.

"No... I feel fine now."

"Then, can I hug you?"

Of course you nodded without a second thought, and carefully, he wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you close and resting his face on the crook of your neck.

You knew what it was. Satoru was still visibly shaken by what had happened to you, and he wasn't great at expressing himself, so he tried to find consolation through this physical closeness instead.

"I'm okay..." you patted his back, trying to convince him. "I'm alright now, yeah?" But to your surprise, suddenly his whole body started to shake. "Satoru...?"

“…’m sorry.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he nuzzled you. “I shouldn't... have let you get this hurt...”

It always amazes you how Satoru always gets this distressed whenever you sustain any injury. You had seen him cry precisely two times now—once after you gave birth to your son and experienced severe bleeding, and now.

"It's not your fault..." you whispered in response. "You... have protected me well."

He held you tighter, his tone faltering. "I didn't."

"You have..." you stroked his hair, trying to convince him. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

Hearing you say that made Satoru's chest ache. The thought of something like this happening to you was unimaginable, and now that it had, he couldn't come to terms with seeing you hurt right in front of him.

"Don't—" he choked on his voice, his breath trembled against your neck. "Don't ever put yourself in danger again. If something happened to you, I wouldn't be able to live with myself..."

You couldn't make that promise. Despite the pleading in his voice, you knew deep down that your son's life—and his—meant more, and given the chance, you would obviously save theirs for yours.

“Satoru... I love you, you know that, right?”

So you simply embraced him close, hoping that in this life, you would live long enough that he would never have to see you like this again.

Epilogue

"Papa, how do I become stronger?"

Satoru blinked when his son asked him that so innocently and curiously, taken aback as he led him to your private room later that afternoon. "Oh? What brought this on?"

His first and only son, a perfect miniature of himself, pursed his lips. "I don't want Mama to get hurt again..."

Satoru's heart warmed at his baby’s sincere words, and despite himself, he chuckled.

"What's funny?" his son leveled a glare at him. "I'm being serious."

"Well, aren't you such a good boy? Don't worry, kiddo, I'll teach you my ways~"

"What ways?"

"Well, no need to rush, pumpkin. First of all, you will have to harness your skills and then you have to be more like me—"

"Do I have to be like you…? Is there no other way?"

"—? What's wrong with being more like me?"

"Everything...?"

[beautifulplaceofyouth]

WERE YOU PLANNING TO JOIN ME?

summary - Driven by curiosity, you impulsively open Caleb's ajar bathroom door and find him, near-naked and captivating, polishing a gun. His intense gaze meets yours in the mirror, creating a moment of charged silence and unspoken questions.

pairing - Caleb!Yandere x Reader (Best friends!au)

(nsfw +18) - He is absolutely insane in this (they both are), inexperienced!reader!first time, male!receiving, female!receiving, vaginal raw shower sex, creampie, a lot of tears, gun play as in...literally, knife throwing, a lot of banter and tension, gravity and resonance evol usage, praise kink, nipple play, neck biting, pet names(sweetheart, baby, princess), a lot of dirty talk, he is very much bossy, possessive and sadistic as always. This is a little bit angst but sweet. He likes it rough.

w-20k - Got carried away with this one because I was too excited. I don't even care that it isn't like the original. I needed this.

Masterlist

The rhythmic drumming of the shower fills the opulent, cloud-kissed apartment. Skyhaven, a marvel of suspended architecture and technological prowess, hums with a quiet energy, a stark contrast to the sudden flutter in your chest. You're here, a visitor in Caleb's extraordinary world, drawn by a longing that has quietly bloomed over years of shared history. A mischievous impulse takes hold – a desire to catch him off guard, to inject a spark of playful surprise into his meticulously ordered life.

Your mind drifts back to the Chronorift Catastrophe of '34, a dark mark on the timeline that had unexpectedly woven your lives together. Orphaned in its wake, you and Caleb found solace and a surrogate family in Gran's warm, welcoming embrace. 

The bond forged in those turbulent years was unlike any other, a tapestry woven with threads of shared sorrow, unwavering loyalty, and a silent understanding that transcended words. Caleb, always the stoic protector, and you, the fiery, independent spirit, found a strange equilibrium within Gran's chaotic, loving home. He was your brother in all but blood, your confidante, your rock.

That was fourteen years ago. Now, standing outside his bathroom door in Skyhaven, in his own domain, the air thick with steam and anticipation, you feel a subtle shift in the familiar dynamic. The playful surprise you intend feels laced with something else, a tremor of nervous excitement that you can't quite explain.

Drawn by an irresistible curiosity, you move closer. The door is slightly ajar, a teasing invitation that your impulsive nature can't resist. A frown furrows your brow. It's unusual for Caleb to leave anything to chance, especially a door. The scent of his sandalwood soap mingles with the humid air, further fueling your burgeoning anticipation.

Against your better judgment, against the silent warnings echoing in your head, you push the door open. The hinges sigh in protest, a sound that seems deafening in the otherwise silent apartment.

The scene that unfolds before you steals the breath from your lungs. Time seems to slow, each detail etching itself onto your memory with vivid clarity.

There he is. Caleb.

Towering and undeniably male, he stands bathed in the diffused light of the futuristic bathroom. Water droplets cling to his skin, catching the light like scattered diamonds, tracing the sculpted lines of his back. The muscles ripple with restrained power, a testament to years of rigorous training and the demanding life he leads as a Fleetspace Colonel. His dark hair, usually impeccably styled, is damp and tousled, falling across his forehead in a manner that is both boyish and utterly captivating.

A simple white towel is slung low around his hips, offering a tantalizing glimpse of the lean, powerful physique beneath. But it's not the near-nudity that truly stops you in your tracks.

Around his neck, nestled against the tanned skin of his throat, gleams a familiar piece of silver. Your silver Chan dog tag. The one you gave him the day he left for DAA, a small token of your affection and unwavering belief in him. He’s always worn it, a constant reminder of your shared past, a silent promise of enduring connection. The sight of it there, against his skin, sends a jolt of unexpected warmth through your veins.

Caleb is standing in front of a large, impeccably clean mirror, his reflection staring back at him with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. He's doing something with his hands, something that makes your heart pound in your chest.

Your gaze drops to his hands, and your breath hitches in your throat. He’s holding a gun. A large, black, undeniably lethal weapon. He is wiping it meticulously with a white towel, his movements precise and practiced.

As a hunter yourself, you’re no stranger to firearms. They are tools, instruments of protecting the city from wanderers, as familiar to you as your own gun you wield with deadly accuracy. You've seen Caleb handle weapons countless times, witnessed firsthand his skill and expertise. But seeing him here, in the sterile intimacy of his bathroom, polishing a gun with such focused intensity, feels… different. Disturbing, even. This isn’t the Caleb you know. Or perhaps it is, just a side of him you haven't been privy to before.

Your eyes travel back up, drawn to his reflection in the mirror. And then, they lock with his.

His eyes, that arresting shade of violet that has always held a strange power over you, are fixed on yours. There's a flicker of surprise, a fleeting shadow of something unreadable, before they settle into an unnervingly calm, assessing gaze.

Shit.

The silence stretches, thick and heavy with unspoken questions and burgeoning awareness. You feel like a deer caught in headlights, paralyzed by the intensity of his stare. Your mind races, desperately trying to formulate an explanation, a plausible excuse for your blatant intrusion.

He lowers the gun, placing it carefully on the pristine countertop. The sound is almost deafening in the otherwise silent room. He doesn't break eye contact.

“Were you planning on joining me?” His voice is low, a rumble that vibrates through the air, sending a fresh wave of heat washing over your skin. 

There's a teasing lilt to his words, a hint of amusement that barely masks the underlying tension.

You swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry. "I... I just wanted to surprise you." The words sound weak, unconvincing even to your own ears.

A slow smile spreads across his face, transforming his features, softening the harsh lines of his jaw. "You succeeded." He takes a step closer, closing the distance between you, his eyes never leaving yours. "Though I must admit, I prefer your surprises to be a little less… intrusive."

You flush, your cheeks burning under his scrutiny. "I didn't mean to… to intrude. I just heard the shower, and..." You trail off, unable to articulate the jumble of thoughts and emotions swirling within you.

"And?" he prompts, his voice a husky whisper.

You take a deep breath, trying to regain your composure. "And I thought I'd catch you off guard."

He chuckles, a low, throaty sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "You always were a noisy person, weren't you?" 

He takes another step, and now you're close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, to smell the lingering scent of sandalwood and something else, something uniquely Caleb.

"Only when necessary," you retort, your voice regaining a touch of its usual fire. "Besides, you leave the door open. What did you expect?"

"Perhaps," he says, his gaze dropping to your lips, "I wanted to be caught."

Your heart leaps into your throat. "Caught doing what, exactly?"

The air crackles with a strange energy, a mixture of tension and something undeniably… charged. Before you can fully process the situation, he uses his gravity manipulation – a casual display of power that still sends shivers down your spine – to slam the door shut behind you with his mind alone. The click of the lock echoes in the suddenly confined space, a definitive sound that seals you both inside.

You jump, startled by the abruptness of it all. The sound reverberates through the apartment, amplifying the awareness of your isolation. Your heart pounds a little faster in your chest, a mixture of apprehension and a thrill you can’t quite explain.

“Just making sure no one else gets any ‘surprising’ ideas.” His eyes twinkle mischievously, the light glinting off the moisture in his now-drying hair. But beneath the playful glint, there’s an unmistakable intensity, a smoldering ember that catches your breath. 

He runs a hand through his damp hair, that simple gesture somehow drawing attention to the sculpted lines of his shoulders and arms, unconsciously giving you a full view of his muscular physique. The water droplets cling to his skin, emphasizing the lean strength that's usually hidden beneath his uniform. 

"You know," he begins, his voice a low drawl that seems to caress the air.

You frown, pulling yourself back from the brink of distraction. "In your apartment? Really?" You scoff, trying to inject a note of normalcy into the increasingly unusual situation. "You're a colonel, you know better than to leave your own home vulnerable. You wouldn’t let just anyone in like that… And besides," you shrug, gesturing vaguely, "you added my fingerprint to your automatic door lock, remember?"

He raises an eyebrow, a slow, deliberate movement that accentuates the sharp angles of his face. A smirk, knowing and undeniably attractive, plays on his lips. 

"True," he concedes, his voice laced with amusement. "But you never know when someone might try to pull a fast one, even with biometric security." He backs away from you, moving with the effortless grace you’ve come to expect, and leans against the counter, his arms crossed casually over his chest. The posture is relaxed, almost nonchalant, but you sense the underlying alertness, the coiled energy that’s always present. "Besides," he adds, his gaze locking with yours, "I didn't expect you to be the one sneaking up on me."

You scowl, your carefully constructed composure starting to fray at the edges. "I didn't… I just wanted to give you a surprise visit. I didn't know you'd be polishing your toys," you nod pointedly at his gun, lying disassembled on the nearby counter. The metal gleams under the lamplight, a stark reminder of the dangerous world he now inhabits since you got together again.

He chuckles, the sound a warm rumble in his chest, and uncrossing his arms to pick up his gun again. He examines a piece with careful precision. "You should see your face when you make that scowl," he teases, his smirk widening. "It's quite... endearing." He polishes the gun absentmindedly, his movements fluid and practiced. "So, no sneaking around to steal my food or snoop through my stuff this time?"

“Excuse you?” You exclaim, indignation flooding your voice. “I’m not… I just…”

He cuts you off, still chuckling. "Relax, I'm just messing with you," he says, his voice softening slightly. He sets the gun down with a soft clink and walks over to you, his movements fluid and predatory, like a panther stalking its prey. The space between you shrinks, the air growing thick with unspoken desires. "You're the only one I let get away with stealing my food, remember? It’s practically a tradition at this point."

“It’s not my fault that you always give me snacks…” you mumble, trying to deflect the intensity of his gaze. It's true, of course. He always has a stash of your favorite treats, and he never seems to mind when you help yourself.

"Because you always end up rummaging through my pantry anyway," he retorts, ruffling your hair playfully, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. He steps back, creating a sliver of distance, and resumes polishing his gun, his expression turning thoughtful. "Speaking of snooping..."

You clear your throat, a nervous tic that betrays your guilt. Your eyes dart around the room, avoiding his piercing stare. “I didn’t do it again. I swear.”

He pauses in his task, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. The playful glint is gone, replaced by a sharp, assessing look. "You promise?" he asks, his tone laced with skepticism. He sets the gun down with a sigh and turns to face you fully, his arms crossed again, his body a wall between you and the door. "You swear on your favorite chocolate bar that you haven't been going through my stuff lately?"

You look at the bathroom ceiling, as if searching for answers in the mundane. "Oh, would you look at that? There’s some dust." You point vaguely upwards, hoping to distract and deflect. 

The attempt is weak, even you know it. The dust is barely visible, and the pathetic maneuver only serves to confirm his suspicions. You’re caught, and you know it. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the telltale sign of your guilt.

He follows your gaze, his expression unreadable. "You're not distracting me that easily," he says, his voice low and even, a subtle rumble that vibrates through the humid air of the bathroom. It’s a statement, but also a dare. A challenge laid bare in the space between you. 

He moves with a quiet grace that belies his muscular build, each step deliberate and measured. The tiles are cool beneath his bare feet as he closes the distance between you. “Look at me,” he commands, the request laced with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken.

You back away, a primal instinct taking over as you try to create distance, a buffer between his raw masculinity and the sudden vulnerability you feel. The cool, smooth surface of the door presses against your spine, the only barrier between you and escape. But escape from what, exactly? The question hangs in the air, thick and unspoken.

He stops in his tracks, respecting the boundary you've unconsciously set. A hint of amusement dances in his eyes, a flicker of knowing that sends a shiver down your spine. "Afraid I'll catch you in a lie?" he asks, his voice a soft challenge, a velvet-wrapped threat. 

The air crackles with unspoken tension. He takes another step, closing the gap, his body almost pressing against yours. You’re trapped, caught between the solid, unyielding door and the magnetic pull of his presence.

Your throat tightens, and you swallow hard, the sound amplified in the confined space. Your gaze involuntarily drops, snagged by the sight of his damp chest, the water droplets clinging to the sculpted planes of his abs like tiny, glittering jewels. He’s fresh from the shower, his skin gleaming, radiating a heat that seems to seep into your own. 

You try to look away, but it’s like staring at the sun – blinding, yet impossible to resist.

He notices your wandering gaze, the subtle widening of your eyes, the almost imperceptible intake of breath. A slow, knowing smirk curls his lips, a predator recognizing its prey. His voice drops to a low purr, a sound that resonates deep within you. "See something you like?" he asks, the words laced with playful arrogance. 

His hand comes up, not to touch, but to stake his claim on the space around you, resting on the door beside your head, caging you in with the casual ease of someone who knows his power. His other hand reaches out, his touch feather-light as he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, to acknowledge the desire that’s simmering beneath the surface.

“Caleb…” you warn, the word a breathless whisper, a plea for him to stop, even though a part of you doesn’t want him to.

"Mhm?" He hums, a sound of pure amusement that vibrates against your skin. His finger remains tilted on your chin, holding you captive, his lips only inches away from yours. The air between you crackles with unspoken promises. His voice drops to a whisper, a seductive murmur that sends shivers down your spine. "You're the one who showed up unannounced in my shower..." He intentionally leans forward just a tiny bit more, testing your boundaries, pushing you to the edge. 

You can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, smell the clean, fresh scent of soap mingled with his intoxicating natural musk.

Panic flares, a desperate need to break free from the intoxicating spell he’s weaving. You turn your head, the movement abrupt and jerky, right as his lips brush your cheek. It’s a near miss, a tantalizing tease that leaves you breathless and yearning.

He pulls back slightly, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he notices your abrupt movement. "Missed by inches," he murmurs, his breath tickling your cheek, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps across your skin. 

He leans away from the door, giving you some space, a sliver of freedom, but keeping his proximity close enough that his damp skin still radiates warmth, a constant reminder of the intimacy you just shared.

You turn to look at him, your heart pounding against your ribs, trying to regain some semblance of control. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, the question barely audible, lost in the chaotic rhythm of your own breathing.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He counters, his eyes searching yours with a mix of curiosity and something else, something that makes your stomach flip. He raises his hand again, this time tracing the curve of your jaw with his thumb, a slow, deliberate caress that ignites a fire within you. "I'm just making sure you're not going to keep avoiding eye contact with me." The statement is a challenge, an invitation to engage, to stop hiding behind your carefully constructed walls.

You blush, the heat rising in your cheeks, betraying your carefully constructed composure. “I’m not…avoiding you…and…can you unlock the door so I can get out?” you stammer, the words tumbling out in a rush, a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation.

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk still playing on his lips, enjoying your flustered state. 

"Afraid of being alone with me?" he asks, the question laced with teasing mockery. But then, he relents, stepping aside and unlocking the door. "Here you go." He gestures towards the open door, a clear path to freedom, but he doesn't move away from it completely, keeping his body angled towards you, a silent promise of more.

You raise an eyebrow, mirroring his earlier expression, a spark of defiance flickering in your eyes. “That easy? I thought I will have to borrow your gun to shoot the lock.” The words are meant to be flippant, a way to deflect the intensity of the moment, but there’s also a grain of truth in them.

A laugh escapes him as he hears your joke, a deep, genuine sound that washes over you, easing the tension in your muscles. A real smile spreads across his face, transforming his features, making him look younger, more approachable. "You'd have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands," he says, still chuckling softly, the sound warm and intimate in the small space. 

His gaze flickers to your lips briefly, a fleeting moment of undeniable desire, before returning to your eyes, his smile lingering, a silent invitation.

This time you smirk, a slow, confident curve of your lips. “In love with it too much?” you challenge, pushing his buttons, daring him to reveal more.

"Damn right," he grins, his shoulders relaxing, the tension finally easing from his body. He unconsciously adjusts the towel lower on his hips, unknowingly giving you a better view of his sculpted abs, the movement casual, yet undeniably provocative. "You almost had me there with the shooting the lock thing." He chuckles again, the sound warm and inviting. If you were desperate enough to, you would probably do it but he knew you were bluffing this time.

Before he can predict your move, you lunge forward, a reckless impulse taking over. You run to take his gun, a daring act of defiance.

But before you can even grasp the gun, Caleb swiftly lunges forward with surprising speed, his wet feet slipping slightly on the bathroom mat. He regains his balance with effortless grace, using his evol to steady himself. 

He grabs your wrist just as your fingers brush against the cool metal of the gun, his grip firm but not painful. "Uh-uh," he chastises playfully, his voice a low rumble, a warning and an invitation all in one.

“I touched it,” you smirk, a triumphant glint in your eyes.

"You barely grazed it," He retorts, pulling his hand back slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He watches your smirk, your unknowingly tempting body language, the way your chest rises and falls with each breath. 

God, you’re killing him. He swallows hard, struggling to maintain control. "You know stealing's wrong, right?" He adds teasingly, the words a lighthearted attempt to break the tension, to mask the desire that's raging within him.

You glance at his gun on the counter beneath the white towel, the cold steel a stark contrast to the domesticity of the setting. Your fingers twitch, yearning to close around the familiar weight, to reclaim a sense of control in this tense dance you've been locked in. You try to reach it again, stretching but he anticipates your move with a speed that borders on preternatural. He shifts his weight, a subtle adjustment that places his body squarely between you and the gun. 

"Nice try," he chuckles, the sound a low rumble that vibrates through the air. His eyes, usually guarded and watchful, are sparkling with amusement, a playful glint dancing in their depths. But beneath the surface, you catch a glimpse of something more intense, a smoldering heat that sends a shiver down your spine.

He keeps your wrist gently but firmly in his grasp, his fingers warm against your skin, preventing any further attempts. His touch is light, almost teasing, but the underlying strength is palpable. "You really want that thing?" he asks, his voice a husky whisper that seems to wrap around you.

You shrug, feigning indifference, though your heart is hammering against your ribs. "You're so protective of it. Might as well be your girlfriend." The words are laced with sarcasm, a desperate attempt to mask the turmoil swirling within you.

His lips twitch with suppressed laughter, the corners of his mouth lifting in a tantalizing curve. "Jealous?" he teases softly, his thumb unconsciously rubbing a slow circle against your wrist. The simple gesture sends a jolt of electricity through your veins, making it difficult to breathe. "Here," he says, surprising you by releasing your wrist and placing the gun within your easy reach. 

"See if you can steal it." He challenges, his eyes dropping to your lips briefly, a fleeting moment that feels like a brand against your skin.

Your eyes glint with challenge, a spark igniting within you. It's not just about the gun; it's about the game, the chase, the intoxicating pull that exists between the two of you. "No cheating," you say, your voice low and husky, mirroring his own. "We can't use our evols."

"Deal," he whispers, a competitive edge creeping into his voice. He purposefully places the gun just slightly out of immediate reach, as if daring you to try. Then, he steps back, giving you space, ready for your move. His posture is relaxed, almost nonchalant, but his eyes are laser-focused on you, tracking every movement, every breath. They spark with excitement, the thrill of competition mixed with something else, something far more dangerous, that's becoming harder and harder to ignore.

With a swiftness that belies your earlier feigned indifference, you sidestep him, your body a blur of motion. You feint to the left, drawing his attention, then pivot sharply to the right, using the momentum to deliver a swift and precise kick with your elbow, sending the gun spinning into the air. You lunge forward, reaching out, your fingers closing around the cold, hard steel just as it begins to fall.

"-Shit," he curses under his breath, impressed despite himself. He moves to block your escape route, reacting purely on instinct, but in his haste, he ends up accidentally catching your waist in his arms. 

The air rushes from your lungs as his hands wrap around you, pulling you against him. For a moment, time seems to stand still. 

You're practically chest to chest, his rough breathing audible in your ear, mingling with your own ragged gasps. His heat radiates through your clothes, a tangible force that threatens to melt away your resolve. "You fucking cheated," he accuses, his voice a low growl against your skin.

“How? I said, no evols. Just our hands.” You fight to keep your voice steady, to project an air of nonchalance that you certainly don't feel.

"...Your foot," he mutters, his gaze flicking down to your feet before returning to your eyes, his expression a mixture of frustration and grudging admiration. His hands remain wrapped around your waist, his thumbs brushing against the curve of your hips. The contact is innocent enough, but the sensation is anything but. 

He swallows hard, his mind suddenly filled with inappropriate images, a dangerous dream landscape of him kissing you like he always wanted to and cross that line for once. "Give it back," he demands, his voice strained, barely a whisper.

You smirk, a slow, deliberate curve of your lips that you know drives him crazy with annoyance and amusement. You reach behind you, intending to stash the gun out of reach, but of course, he anticipates your move. He uses his gravity evol, the familiar force field shimmering almost invisibly around you both.

As you try to place the gun behind you, Caleb's gravity evol kicks in, the subtle pressure intensifying, making it impossible for you to move the gun away from his reach. You're caught in his invisible web, your movements restricted, your will subtly bent to his. He leans in slightly, his breath warm against your temple, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your very core. 

"Not so fast," he murmurs, the words a promise and a threat all rolled into one. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you a fraction closer, eliminating the already minuscule space between you.

“Uh…not fair,” you grit your teeth, the words forced out as you struggle against his evol, your muscles straining against the invisible force. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension coiled tight within him, mirroring the tension that's gripping you.

"All's fair in love and war," he murmurs, his face inches from yours. His eyes, dark and intense, flick down to your lips again, lingering there for a moment too long. The air crackles with unspoken desires, with the weight of years of suppressed longing. He reaches around you slowly, deliberately, his chest pressing against your back as he plucks the gun effortlessly from your hand with his other. 

The contact sends a jolt of electricity through your body, igniting a fire that threatens to consume you both.

He chuckles, the sound a low, throaty rumble that sends shivers down your spine, the gun now back in his possession, safely out of your reach. "You touched it because you cheated with your foot," he argues, his arms still wrapped possessively around your waist, effectively trapping you against him. 

He pulls you a little closer, as if testing the limits, his gravity evol making it increasingly difficult for you to step away, to create any semblance of distance.

“Caleb…stop it,” you hiss, desperately trying to regain control of the situation, of yourself. The proximity is intoxicating, too close, too dangerous.

"Stop what?" he asks innocently, even though his grip on your waist tightens slightly and his breath is warm against your ear, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps across your skin. He knows exactly what he's doing, and the smirk playing on his lips gives him away. "I'm just holding you so you don't try to steal my gun again." The lie hangs in the air between you, a fragile shield against the storm of emotions threatening to erupt.

You glare, fighting to maintain eye contact, but your gaze is drawn, almost against your will, to the silver dog tag chain nestled between his pecs, rising and falling with each breath. Your gift for him. A silent promise of safe return.

He feels your stare silver necklace glinting under the light, a tangible reminder of your connection. His mind wanders back to the day you gave it to him when he left for DAA, engraved with a little red apple and the words "When you come back". A lump forms in his throat, a wave of tenderness washing over him. His hands on your waist flex unconsciously, pulling you closer, as if wanting to erase the distance that has always separated you.

His eyes soften as he glances down at the dog tags, remembering the care and emotion behind your gift. The playful smirk fades from his lips as he realizes how close you are, your bodies almost melding together in the confined space. 

He clears his throat nervously, the sound amplified by the sudden shift in atmosphere. "You giving me that glare because you lost, or..."

"I will get that gun," you hiss, your voice a low, determined rumble. The air crackles with your competitive spirit, a challenge laid bare.

A low laugh escapes him, his chest vibrating against your back, sending shivers down your spine. "Is that so?" He challenges softly, his grip on your waist loosening slightly, but not enough for you to escape easily. His eyes spark with a mix of amusement and something more intense, a hunger that makes your breath hitch in your throat. "You want it that bad? Come and get it."

"Caleb…I swear…" you start, a warning laced with a hint of exasperation. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, a dangerous warmth that threatens to melt your resolve.

"You swear what?" His lips quirk up in a teasing smirk as he senses your growing frustration. With deliberate slowness, he slips the gun behind his back, keeping it just out of your reach, a silent promise of the game to come. "You're welcome to try," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, sending another wave of shivers through you.

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to resonate with his own evol, the unique energy that surrounds him, a key to unlocking his defenses. The air hums with anticipation.

"Smart," he whispers approvingly, feeling your evol activate, a tangible connection forming between you. Normally, this would be a fair competition, a test of skill and power. But with his arms still wrapped around your waist, trapping you against him, he's enjoying this too much to let you win easily. Instead of resisting your gravity pull, he uses it to his advantage, subtly shifting his weight, drawing you even closer. "You feel that?"

"Just a bit," you grit your teeth, focusing on the task at hand. "I will have it." The heat of his body is a distraction, a tantalizing temptation that wars with your determination.

He chuckles softly, his breath warm against your neck, making the hairs stand on end. 

"Is that a promise?" he teases, his grip on you tightening just enough to make it clear he's not going to let you have the gun easily. 

He shifts slightly, using his own evol against you, pulling you even closer until you can feel the hard planes of his chest against your back.

"Caleb!" you exclaim, a mixture of annoyance and something akin to pleasure coloring your tone. You can feel your resolve crumbling under the weight of his nearness.

"Too slow," He laughs, feeling your gravity push against him half-heartedly. He realizes you're trying not to push too hard, afraid of hurting him. His smirk widens, a predatory gleam entering his eyes. "You're not trying hard enough," He taunts, "Here, I'll make it easier."

You bite back a retort, your mind racing, searching for a way to break free from his intoxicating hold.

He shifts his body slightly, giving you a small opening, a sliver of hope in your current predicament. But instead of making it easy for you to grab the gun, he uses the opportunity to lean in even closer, his lips almost brushing against your ear, his breath ghosting over your skin. "Come on," he whispers, his voice low and challenging, husky with desire. "Show me what you've got."

You shiver, despite yourself, and swallow hard. The nearness of him is intoxicating, a potent cocktail of danger and desire. You decide to move, channeling all your energy into a sudden burst of momentum.

"There," He whispers softly as you move, finally putting some real effort into your evol. His smirk widens, a glint of admiration in his eyes. You're fast, he'll give you that. 

He sees an opening at your sudden move and takes it, his reflexes honed from years of training. He whirls around, mirroring your resonance pull, creating a vortex of energy between you.

"Hey!" The gun gets floated in the air above your head, spinning gently in the space between you. Since you were short, you couldn’t get it, your fingers grasping at empty air.

"Gotcha," he laughs triumphantly, watching the gun float effortlessly towards his hand from above. He catches it with ease, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He looks down at you, still floating about a foot off the ground, your arms stretching up to try and reach the gun, your brow furrowed in frustration.

"Caleb! It will not kill you if you give it to me," you plead, your voice tinged with a playful desperation.

He laughs heartily, his chest shaking with mirth. "And miss out on this?" He asks, gesturing to your futile struggle, his eyes sparkling with delight. "No way." He holds the gun just out of your reach, his arm extended high above you, a tantalizing prize. "Say please."

You pull a deep breath, steeling your resolve. You decide to use your other card, the one that always works, the one that exploits his soft spot. He always falls for that. Your eyes get sad, a well-practiced expression of vulnerability, and you pout, your lower lip trembling slightly. "You don't love me anymore," you say, your voice barely a whisper, laced with mock sorrow.

"Damn it," He mutters softly, his expression instantaneously softening, the playful gleam replaced with a flicker of guilt. He lowers the gun slightly, his eyes searching your face, his thumb caressing the cool metal. "You know that's not true," He says softly, his voice losing its competitive edge, replaced with a tender warmth. "Here," He lifts his chin towards the gun, floating it gently within your reach, surrendering to your carefully constructed emotional trap.

You lunge at it, your fingers wrapping tightly around the cool steel.

"Too easy," He laughs, a hint of exasperation in his voice, as you snatch the gun out of the air. He watches your serious expression, your pout gone, replaced with determined eyes, a triumphant glint shining in their depths. 

He swallows tightly, mesmerized by your transformation. "You cheated," He accuses softly, his competitive nature re-igniting slightly. "Using those puppy eyes."

You smirk, a mischievous glint in your eyes, as you look at the big black weapon in your hand, savoring your victory.

He shakes his head in amused disbelief, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "I fall for that every time," he murmurs, watching you proudly display your prize, his gaze lingering on your face, admiring your cunning and determination. Caleb spreads his hands in mock surrender, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "Congrats, you win this round."

You grin, feeling a surge of satisfaction course through you. "Yes."

The playful glint in Caleb's eyes is disarming, even as he playfully mocks, "Don't get too cocky," his voice a low rumble that vibrates against your skin. He takes a step back, a gentlemanly concession of space, yet the air crackles with unresolved tension. "You know I won't go easy on you next time." A pause hangs in the air, the silence amplifying the intimacy of the moment. His expression softens, a flicker of something deeper replacing the teasing. "You know what?"

"Mmm?" you hum, the sound a question and an invitation.

"You've gotten really good," Caleb says, the admiration in his voice a stark contrast to his earlier jesting. It’s an honest, unguarded compliment, a moment of genuine respect that makes your heart flutter. "I swear, in a few years, you'll probably be better than me." He chuckles softly, shaking his head as if marveling at the impossible. "Lucky for me, I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve."

A genuine smile blossoms across your face, warming your cheeks. "Do you think so?" you ask, the words barely a whisper, laced with a mixture of disbelief and hope. You know you were pretty good hunter but be better than him who is taller and stronger than you? That was a big compliment.

"Duh," he grins widely, that competitive spark reigniting in his eyes. He loves that you're humble, your lack of ego only fueling his desire to push you, to see how far you can go. "You're like a sponge. You learn something once, you got it. I swear, you're scary good." He laughs softly, a sound that always manages to send shivers down your spine. "Here," he says suddenly, reaching into a nearby basket. 

Without warning, he throws a small dagger in your direction.

Years of training kick in, instinct taking over. You react without thinking, your hand shooting out, effortlessly catching the dagger mid-air. Simultaneously, you set the gun you had been holding down on the counter.

He whistles appreciatively, his brows raised in genuine surprise. "Damn, you're fast today." The playful teasing returns, but there's an undercurrent of something more, a respect for your skill that he can't quite hide. He moves closer, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. His voice drops lower, becoming a husky murmur that sends a shiver snaking down your spine. "And you caught it perfectly." He reaches out to take the dagger, his fingers purposefully brushing against yours in the handoff, a deliberate act of provocation.

A wave of awareness washes over you. You instinctively hide the dagger behind your back, the cool metal a reassuring weight in your hand. It's then that you realize you're backed against the bathroom counter, the cool tile a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Caleb. 

He notices your realization, the triumphant smirk that spreads across his face a clear indication that he's exactly where he wants to be. 

He takes another step closer, effectively trapping you. His voice drops to a teasing whisper, a low rumble that seems to vibrate through your very bones. "Cornered already?" He leans in slightly, his eyes never leaving yours, a captivating gaze that holds you captive. "You know, for someone who just won a gun off me, you seem pretty vulnerable right now."

"You always do this," you scoff, the word laced with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "Play and tease me."

"And you always fall for it," he retorts, his face just inches from yours. You can feel his warm breath on your skin, the scent of him filling your senses. "It's cute." He reaches behind you, his body pressing against yours, a blatant act of intimacy designed to fluster you. His fingers brush against your back as he reaches for the knife you're holding, the deliberate contact sending a jolt of electricity through you.

You tighten your grip on the dagger, a stubborn refusal to relinquish control. The game is on, and you're not about to back down.

He feels you tightening your grip, a smug smile tugging at his lips. He loves this, the push and pull, the battle of wills that always seems to erupt between you. "Let go of the knife," he whispers, his eyes locked in the knife reflected in the mirror behind you. He can feel your knuckles turning white as you refuse to loosen your grip. "Last chance."

"And if I say no?" you breathe, the words barely audible, laced with a mixture of defiance and apprehension. You can't stop this cat and mouse play, this dangerous dance that always leaves you breathless and wanting more.

He chuckles darkly, a low, predatory sound that sends shivers down your spine. His breath is hot against your ear as he whispers, "Then I'll have to take it from you." His free hand comes up to rest on the counter beside your hips, caging you in, making it impossible to escape. "And trust me, you won't like how I do it."

You shiver involuntarily, a reaction to his words and the heat radiating from his body. Leaning back, his bare chest presses against yours, the solid muscle almost crushing you.

He feels your shiver, his smile widening mischievously. He straightens his arms, locking them beside your hips and pushing you further against the counter, intensifying the feeling of being trapped. "Last warning," he whispers, his voice low and commanding, sending a thrill of fear and excitement through you. "Open your hand."

"No…" you whisper, the single word a testament to your stubbornness.

He hears the defiance in your whisper, a surge of frustration and determination rising within him. Without another word, he uses his arm to press your hand against the counter, the knife still gripped tightly in your fist. With his other hand, he grabs your wrist, applying firm pressure. "Open. Your. Hand."

"You could easily cheat you know? Why are you adamant to take it directly from my hand?" you ask, your voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and defiance.

"Because I want to see how far you'll push me," he admits, his voice gruff, the honesty unexpected. He applies more pressure to your wrist, his other arm still pressing your hand flat against the counter. "Now open your damn hand before I break your wrist to get the knife out."

You gasp, the threat surprisingly intense.

Seeing your gasp, Caleb pauses, realizing the intensity in his words. He is a colonel in the military, used to commanding, never meaning to threaten you. His grip loosens slightly, but he doesn't release you entirely from the cage of his arms. A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans in closer, his voice lowering to a teasing murmur. "Gotcha."

"Did you just fucking threaten me?" you hiss, the anger bubbling to the surface.

He hears the anger in your hiss and feels a strange mix of amusement and unease. He leans in even closer, his lips barely an inch from yours. "Maybe," he whispers back, a challenge clear in his voice. "What are you gonna do about it?"

You glare, trying to mask the effect he has on you.

He holds your glare, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as he tries to suppress a smile. He can feel the tension radiating off you, making him enjoy this power dynamic a little too much. He flexes his arm, pressing your hand flatter against the counter. "Last chance,"

"Don't use your Colonel voice on me!" you snap, the outburst a testament to his control over you.

He feels a jolt at your snap, the Colonel voice slipping out automatically. He blinks, breaking eye contact for a moment, the memory of his past life a sharp reminder of the man he used to be. When he looks back at you, his expression is softer, almost apologetic. "Fuck, I'm sorry," he murmurs, his grip on your wrist loosening completely, his regret palpable.

You breathe heavily, trying to regain your composure.

He sees the heavy breathing, taking it as a sign that he's getting to you, that the game is still in play. He decides to push his luck, leaning in closer until his forehead rests against yours. "Open your hand," he commands, his voice dropping lower, taking on that authoritative tone again. "Or I'll…"

"What? Restrain me?" you challenge, your voice laced with a mixture of fear and excitement.

"Mm, something like that," he murmurs, his eyes locked with yours. He can feel his hands itching to grab your arm and pin it behind your back, to take control completely. "You leave me no choice but to use force," he whispers, his fingers slowly inching back towards your wrist, as if testing the waters.

"Caleb…" you breathe, the word a warning and a plea.

"Too late," he whispers, his hands moving quickly. He wraps his arm around your wrist and pulls it behind your back, trapping it between your shoulder blades. He steps closer, caging you against the counter with his body, making escape impossible. "Open your hand," he orders, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

"You goober!" you exclaim, the childish insult a desperate attempt to break the tension.

He chuckles at your insult, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Keep talking back and see what happens," he murmurs, his free hand coming up to rest on the counter beside your other arm, effectively trapping you. "One more chance to open your hand before things get... interesting."

“Interesting?” you breathe, the word catching in your throat, a strange heat blooming in your chest. It's a question, but also a confession. Suddenly, this confrontation, this tense standoff, feels…different. You don’t know why you're feeling this way. The adrenaline, maybe? Or the way his eyes are locked on yours, intense and unwavering. Whatever it is, it's undeniably a turn-on.

He notices the subtle shift in your breathing, the almost imperceptible tremor in your hands. He sees the way your eyes dilate, dark pools reflecting the fire that's beginning to flicker within you. He realizes that you’re not just angry or defiant anymore. 

A slow, knowing smile spreads across his face, a predatory curve that sends a shiver down your spine. He leans in even closer, the heat of his body radiating against yours, his lips almost brushing against your ear. 

"Are you enjoying this?" he murmurs, the question a low, seductive rumble.

“No…” you hiss, the denial weak, unconvincing even to your own ears. The fight seems to have drained from you, replaced by a strange, unsettling vulnerability.

He can hear the tremor in your voice, the subtle waver that betrays your true feelings. He feels the way your body is pressing against the cool countertop, trapped between his unyielding arms. He takes advantage of this newfound weakness, his body shifting slightly, a calculated maneuver that tightens his hold. 

His arm around your wrist pulls your arm up higher between your shoulder blades, forcing you to arch your back, accentuating the curve of your breasts against your shirt. The position is undeniably compromising, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. "Last chance," he breathes, the words a promise and a threat.

“Last chance…” you mock, mimicking his deep voice with a forced bravado that doesn't quite reach your eyes. You glare at him, attempting to recapture the anger that fueled you just moments ago. But the heat in his gaze melts your resolve, leaving you feeling exposed and strangely thrilled.

He smirks at your mimicry, enjoying the playful banter, the dangerous game you’re both playing. "You're playing a dangerous game," he murmurs, his voice a silken caress that belies the steel beneath. His hand on the counter, the one not holding your wrist captive, slides closer to yours, inching its way toward your trembling fingers. His thumb brushes against the back of your hand, a light, fleeting touch that’s almost teasing, sending sparks of electricity through your veins. "I could make you open it," he says, the words hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken implications.

“Guess what? With your evol?” you retort, trying to sound confident, but your voice cracks slightly, betraying your inner turmoil.It was a desperate attempt to regain control, to steer the conversation back to safer territory.

"Exactly," he whispers back, his breath warm against your skin. His thumb traces a small circle on the back of your hand, a deliberate, hypnotic motion that draws your attention, stealing your focus. Your hand twitches slightly at the sudden sensation, giving away your vulnerability, the way his touch affects you. He watches your reaction closely, savoring the moment, drawing power from your response. "Then again, I might use something other than my evol..." he adds, the words laced with a suggestive promise that makes your heart leap in your chest.

You gasp, the sound escaping your lips before you can stop it, and your eyes widen in surprise, searching his. Fear and anticipation war within you, a confusing mix of emotions that threatens to overwhelm you. 

"What do you mean?" you ask, the question a breathless whisper, barely audible above the pounding of your heart.

His expression turns intense, a dark, smoldering gaze that holds you captive. It’s dangerous, predatory, and utterly thrilling. 

He leans in closer, invading your personal space, until his lips are nearly touching yours, the heat of his breath a tangible presence against your skin. His voice drops to a husky whisper, a seductive murmur that sends shivers down your spine. "You really want to know?" he asks, intentionally blowing a small, warm breath across your lips, teasing you, testing your limits. "I could just..."

Your breath hitches in your throat, your lungs seizing as your body betrays you. The world around you seems to fade away, the sounds of the bathroom blurring into a distant hum. All that exists is him, the intoxicating scent of his skin, the heat of his gaze, the promise of something forbidden. 

Your eyelashes flutter shut, surrendering to the moment, inviting him in.

He waits for a moment, relishing in the effect he's having on you, the power he holds over you. He feels the tremor that runs through your body, the rapid pulse at your throat. He knows he's won. 

Then, without warning, he closes the distance between you, his lips claiming yours in a searing, electrifying kiss. His hand, the one that was tormenting your hand only moments ago, moves to tangle in your hair, gripping the strands possessively, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss, demanding a response.

A whimper escapes your lips, a small, involuntary sound of surrender, as your fingers loosen their grip on the knife. The metal clatters against the tile floor, the sound echoing in the sudden silence, a symbol of your defeat.

He hears the knife fall, the sound like a starting gun, and a satisfied growl rumbles in his chest, a primal sound of victory. The kiss intensifies, his tongue sliding against yours, tasting, exploring, staking his claim. 

He breaks the kiss only to trail his lips down your neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin, igniting a firestorm of sensation. His arm around your wrist tightens possessively, a steel band that keeps you trapped, at his mercy.

“Caleb…” you gasp, your voice breathy and weak, barely a whisper. The sound of his name on your lips feels like a betrayal, a confession of your desire.

"Shh," he murmurs against your neck, his teeth gently sinking into the flesh, a playful bite that sends shivers down your spine. His other hand slides down from the counter, around your hip, and grips your bottom possessively, pulling you closer, molding your body against his. "No more talking," he commands softly, the words a velvet promise laced with steel, before starting to lift you onto the counter, claiming you.

Your heart pounds in your chest, a frantic drumbeat that threatens to drown out all other sounds. You can feel his strength as he lifts you, the way his muscles flex beneath his skin. You wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, clinging to him for support, surrendering to the moment.

He can feel your heart racing against his chest, mirroring his own frantic rhythm, as he lifts you onto the counter, stepping between your legs to keep you trapped, a willing prisoner in his embrace. His hands roam your body, touching and exploring in a way he's never allowed himself to before, igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume you both. He presses close, his growing erection evident against your core through the thin barrier of the towel, a tangible reminder of his desire.

“Caleb…” you whisper again, his name a plea, a prayer, a promise of what's to come.

He silences you with another kiss, this one more demanding and dominant than the last, a raw expression of his hunger. His tongue pushes into your mouth, claiming you completely, possessing you with every touch. His hands continue to roam, exploring the curves of your body, igniting a fire with every caress. 

One hand slides up to cup your breast, squeezing gently through your shirt, teasing the sensitive nipple, while the other grips your thigh, pulling you even closer, erasing the remaining space between you, preparing you for the storm that's about to break.

You allow yourself to moan, the sweet, vulnerable sound catapulting straight to his core. You feel the immediate result of your surrender as his erection presses harder against your thigh. Instinct takes over, and you find yourself pulling him closer by the nape of his neck, your fingers tangling in the short hairs at his hairline. He's so tall, you have to lift your hips off the counter, practically bending him in half to maintain the fervent connection of your lips.

He groans into the kiss, a deep, guttural sound that vibrates against your own mouth as you pull him closer, bending him down to accommodate your smaller stature. The altered angle presses his hardness even more firmly against your center, igniting a fresh wave of heat that makes you moan again, a low, primal sound escaping your lips. 

His hand, which had been tentatively resting on your waist, slides upwards, seeking the bare skin beneath your shirt. He pushes the fabric upwards, urgency lacing his touch, as his other hand squeezes your thigh, almost desperately.

You pant, your breath coming in ragged gasps, too overwhelmed by this sudden and dramatic turn of events to form a coherent thought. The world has narrowed down to the feel of his mouth on yours, the hard press of his body against yours, and the frantic rhythm of your accelerated heartbeats.

He breaks the kiss briefly, reluctantly, to trail his lips down the sensitive curve of your neck. He nuzzles his face between your breasts, his breath hot and damp against your skin, as he tries to push your shirt up further. 

"Lift your arms," he growls, the command rough and edged with a desperate, unsatisfied desire. He needs to see you, touch you more, now. The burning need is consuming him.

You gulp, your throat suddenly dry, and obediently lift your arms, your movements slightly jerky and uncoordinated.

In one swift, decisive motion, he pulls your shirt over your head, casting it carelessly to the side. You stand exposed in just your bra, the cool air raising goosebumps on your skin, but the chill is quickly replaced by a searing heat as his eyes darken with undisguised desire as he looks you over. His gaze lingers on the curve of your breasts, the swell of your hips, before finally returning to meet your eyes. His hands, as if drawn by an invisible force, immediately go to your waist, his thumbs tracing the delicate line of your hip bones. 

"Fuck," he mutters, the word a raw, reverent sound, as he leans down to place open-mouthed kisses between your breasts, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

You moan again, a longer, more drawn-out sound this time, as you arch your back instinctively, offering him more. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, clinging to him as if he's the only thing anchoring you to reality. 

"What's happening?" you manage to gasp out, the question barely audible.

"Shut up," he snaps, but there's no real heat or anger behind the words. He's too far gone, too lost in the feeling of your body against his lips, the taste of your skin, the intoxicating scent of you filling his senses. 

His fingers, emboldened by his growing passion, hook into the bottom of your bra, and with surprising ease, he unhooks it. He pushes the material aside, revealing your bare breasts to his hungry gaze. He pauses for a moment, just to admire the sight, before his hands cup your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples.

“Caleb…please…” you say, your voice thick with a mixture of arousal and confusion. You reach up, your hands trembling slightly, and cup his face, your thumbs tracing the sharp angles of his cheekbones.

Caleb pauses, his intense gaze softening as you cup his face. He leans into your touch, a visible shudder running through him as he closes his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the feeling of your skin against his. "Please what?" he asks, his voice low and rough, the question laced with a raw vulnerability. 

One hand comes up to cover yours on his cheek, his fingers interlacing with yours as he holds your hand against his skin, while the other gently squeezes your bare breast, thumbing the nipple in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

“Why are we…” you trail off, unable to articulate the jumble of thoughts and feelings swirling within you.

"Because," he answers simply, his voice husky with desire, leaning down to take one of your breasts into his mouth. He suckles gently at first, teasing and tantalizing, before his grip tightens and he begins to suckle more firmly, drawing a sharp intake of breath from you. His hand, the one not holding yours, slides down your side to your waistband, his fingers fumbling with the button of your jeans. "We're always supposed to," he murmurs around your breast, the words muffled but clear, his fingers finally succeeding in unbuttoning your jeans.

“Why?” you ask again, the question a desperate plea for understanding.

He looks up at you, his eyes intense and unwavering, as he unbuttons your jeans, his fingers hooking into the waistband. 

"Because we're always supposed to be more than friends," he explains, his voice muffled against your breast. "Because every time I see you laughing with someone else, I get jealous. Because every time someone looks at you for too long, I want to punch them."

You swallow hard, your throat tightening with emotion. “That's why…you said you will never get a girlfriend?”

He nods against your chest, the movement small and hesitant, before standing up straight and pulling the rest of your clothes off, leaving you sitting bare before him. "I never wanted a girlfriend," he admits, his voice raw and honest, his eyes fixed on yours. "I never wanted anyone but you."

Your heart skips a beat, a wild, erratic rhythm taking over your chest. “Since when…? When we met or…”

He swallows hard, his eyes flickering down your body, lingering on the curve of your breasts and the swell of your hips, before meeting your gaze again. "Since we were kids," he says softly, the words barely audible above the frantic pounding of your heart. 

He steps closer, closing the remaining distance between you, until he's standing between your legs. "Remember when we used to play hide and seek?" he asks, his fingers hooking around your thighs, his touch sending shivers up your spine.

You nod, a small, involuntary movement. “You always somehow found me.”

"Because I always looked for you," he explains, his thumbs rubbing the inside of your thighs, his gaze unwavering. 

"Remember when you scraped your knee on that field trip, and I carried you home?" he asks softly, his eyes searching yours, as if looking for confirmation, or perhaps forgiveness. When you nod again, remembering the incident vividly, he continues, "Remember I told I will always be by your side?”

You nod again, feeling a lump forming in your throat. The memory is sharp and clear, the feeling of his arms around you, the concern etched on his face, as real now as it was then.

Caleb leans in closer, his voice dropping to almost a whisper as he continues, "That wasn't just something friends say. I meant it. Every promise, every joke shared, every bump and bruise I tended to - it was all me saying 'I'm in love with you' without actually saying it."

Your heart actually swells, filling your chest until it feels like it might burst. You struggle to breathe, the air caught in your throat, as the weight of his words settles upon you. This is it. This is the culmination of years of unspoken feelings, of hidden glances and secret longings.

He watched, his gaze intense and unwavering, as a kaleidoscope of emotions played across your face – surprise, disbelief, a hesitant joy that threatened to bloom into something more. He saw the question in your eyes, the silent plea for reassurance, and it fueled the courage that had been simmering within him for what felt like an eternity.

His own heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the years of longing he had so carefully concealed. Each stolen glance, each casual touch, each shared laugh had been etched onto his soul, fueling a secret fire that now threatened to consume him. He had built walls around his heart, fortifying it against the vulnerability of love, but you, with your infectious laughter and unwavering spirit, had chipped away at those defenses, brick by agonizing brick.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached for you, his hands trembling slightly as they spanned your waist. The touch was electric, a jolt that sent shivers down your spine and stole the breath from your lungs. With a strength born of years of suppressed desire, he lifted you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. The heat of your body pressed against him was intoxicating, a promise of connection that he could no longer deny himself.

"I'm in love with you," he said, the words finally free after years of restraint. There was no fanfare, no grand pronouncements, just a simple, honest declaration that resonated with the weight of his unspoken feelings. He watched, his breath suspended, as the words settled between you, waiting for your reaction, for the answer that would either shatter him or set him free.

Your fingers traced the line of his jaw, tilting his chin up so you could meet his gaze. The question hung in the air, unspoken but palpable. "That's why you wrote my name on that graffiti wall by the basketball court? As a wish, when we wrote our wishes?"

He continued to walk you further into the shower's embrace, feeling the slick tile beneath his bare feet. Without breaking eye contact, he used his evol to release the knot of the towel cinched around his hips. It fell to the wet floor, discarded like the pretense he had carried for so long.

The warm water pulsed against your skin, a comforting weight that seemed to ground you as the world tilted on its axis. Caleb cupped your face with his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones. 

He looked at you, really looked at you, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion that left you breathless. Unspoken words swirled within those depths, echoes of old wishes and long-held dreams.

"Yes," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your skin. "I wished for you every time."

He gently lowered you to the shower floor, the cool tile a startling contrast to the heat that radiated from his body. Kneeling before you, he took your hand in his, his touch reverent and tender. He brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against them.

"You don't have to say anything right now," he said quietly, his eyes never leaving yours, searching for a flicker of understanding, a sign of reciprocation. "Just…just let me love you for now, okay?"

You could only nod, the gesture small and uncertain, but enough.

His lips curved into a gentle smile, a smile that reached his eyes and banished the shadows that had haunted them for so long. He knew how rare it was for you to grant silence, how you usually filled every space with your vibrant energy and quick wit. Your quiet acquiescence was a gift, a fragile offering that he would cherish.

"Always wanted to know what your lips tasted like under the shower," he said softly, his voice laced with a playful desire that eased the tension in the air. He slid closer, his hips brushing against yours, tilting your chin with his fingers, his gaze dropping to your mouth. "Mind if I find out?"

A spark of your old self flickered in your eyes, a hint of the playful banter that defined your friendship. "Oh…now are you asking permission after you manhandled me?" You raised an eyebrow, a challenging glint in your gaze.

He laughed, a deep, husky sound that resonated through you. "Too late for that," he pointed out, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. His hands slid down to your behind, his fingers gently kneading the curves of your flesh. "Answer the question, smartass." He nuzzled your neck, the warm breath against your skin sending shivers dancing down your spine. "Can I kiss you under the shower?"

Another nod, this one more decisive, more eager. The anticipation was a tangible thing, a vibrating energy that hummed between you.

And then his lips were on yours, gentle at first, a tentative exploration of familiar territory. But the gentleness quickly gave way to a deeper hunger, a raw need that had been simmering beneath the surface for too long. His lips became demanding, coaxing your mouth open, inviting his tongue to slide in and taste you. 

The warm water rained down on you both, a sensuous curtain that veiled you from the world, mixing with the heat of his kiss. He sighed into your mouth, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure, his hands squeezing your backside possessively, drawing you closer, closer, until there was no space left between you. "Finally," he breathed against your lips.

In that single word, you heard the depth of his longing, the flicker of fear, the sting of jealousy, all woven together with the raw, undeniable thread of love. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, a testament to the years of suppressed desire and unspoken emotions.

He finally broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as he caught his breath, his chest heaving. "I've imagined this so many times," he admitted, his voice rough with emotion, raw and vulnerable. "You, me, under the shower, finally together." He kissed you again, deeper this time, pouring all his pent-up feelings into the kiss, a desperate plea for reciprocation, a silent vow of devotion.

You smiled into the kiss, a genuine, heartfelt smile that radiated through every cell of your being. It was a smile born of relief, of joy, of the burgeoning realization that your own secret feelings were finally being mirrored back at you.

He smiled back, his eyes shining with a happiness that banished the shadows and revealed the man you had always known was hidden beneath the surface. He stood up, pulling you up with him, his hands roaming possessively over your wet body, lingering on the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips.

"Let me wash you," he said, his voice husky with desire, picking up the bottle of body wash and squeezing a generous amount onto a waiting loofah. "All over."

You giggled, the sound light and carefree, a stark contrast to the intensity of the moment. "So now you’re my sweet Caleb and not Colonel Caleb?"

He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine, filling the small space with a comforting intimacy. "Only you get to see this side of me," he said softly, running the loofah gently over your shoulders, his touch careful and tender. "Colonel Caleb is for everyone else." 

He leaned down to kiss your shoulder, his lips lingering against your skin, his hands tracing slow, deliberate circles as he began to wash you.

You sighed and leaned against him, letting the warmth of his body and the gentle caress of the loofah soothe your senses. 

The water continued to pulse around you, washing away the doubts and fears, leaving only the raw, undeniable connection that bound you together.

"You know you're making it really hard for me to just wash you instead of-" He paused, clearing his throat, his voice suddenly thick with desire. "You're killing me here," he murmured, nipping gently at your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin. His hands trailed down your sides, lingering just under your breasts, his fingers tracing the delicate curve. "Should I continue washing?"

"You already stripped me naked and dragged me into the shower," you pointed out, a playful challenge in your voice, a subtle invitation in your eyes.

He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through you. "Touché," he said, his hands finally moving to cup your breasts, his thumbs circling your hardening nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. "I guess I can skip the washing part." He pressed his hips against your backside, letting you feel his growing arousal, a tangible expression of the desire that consumed him.

You moaned, the sound muffled against his shoulder, feeling the hard length of him pressed against your ass.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hands tightening on your breasts as you wiggled against him, your movements only fueling the fire that burned between you. "You're driving me crazy." He spun you around, pinning you against the shower wall, his eyes blazing with a raw, primal need. "I need to taste you," he said hoarsely, dropping to his knees.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry, as you looked down at him. He was tall enough that his face was eye level with your tummy, his gaze intense and unwavering.

Caleb pressed a quick kiss to your belly button before trailing his lips lower, his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place. "I've thought about this moment even more than kissing you," he confessed, his breath hot against your core, sending shivers of anticipation through your body. "Want to eat you out until you're screaming my name."

You whimpered, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The anticipation was almost unbearable, the promise of pleasure a tantalizing lure that threatened to shatter your carefully constructed composure.

He smirks up at you, loving the effect he's having. "Brace yourself, sweetheart," he warns playfully before diving in, his mouth covering your clit as his tongue flicks rapidly over the sensitive bud. He moans at your taste, the vibrations sending shockwaves through you.

“Caleb!”

He hums in satisfaction, the sound vibrating against your most sensitive spot. "Mmm, just like I imagined," he murmurs against you, not breaking his rhythm. He slides one hand up to your breast, teasing your nipple while the other grips your thigh, pulling it over his shoulder for better access.

You almost come from the sight. This sweet powerful man who was always with you through the years was actually kneeling in front of you and eating your pussy. It was a fantasy you'd nurtured in secret, a forbidden bloom in the garden of your mind. 

You never tried to imagine it, respecting your friendship and bond with him but you always wondered what if….

Now, here it was, a vibrant, tangible reality. The contrast between the gruff exterior he often projected and the exquisite tenderness of his current ministrations was almost too much to bear.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with lust and something more profound. "You have no idea how many nights I've jerked off thinking about this," he admits, his voice muffled against your thigh. The raw honesty in his confession both shocks and thrills you. 

To know you've occupied his thoughts in such a primal way, to realize the depth of his desire… it ignites a fire within you, hotter than anything you've ever known. He dives back in, his tongue working faster, more insistently.

You moan as you grab his hair. The feel of his thick, dark hair between your fingers is intoxicating. You tug gently, urging him closer, desperate for more. The sensations are building, swirling, threatening to consume you.

He growls possessively, the sound rumbling against your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. He stands up abruptly, lifting you so that your legs wrap around his waist. "Need to be inside you," he declares, his voice firm with need. "Now." The urgency in his tone is electrifying. You feel your own desire mirroring his, a desperate hunger that can only be sated by the joining of your bodies.

You bite your lip. The anticipation is almost unbearable. You've waited so long for this moment, dreamed of it countless times even if it’s wrong. To finally be here, on the precipice of intimacy with Caleb, is both terrifying and exhilarating.

He takes your silence as agreement. 

"Damn," he mutters, positioning himself at your entrance. He looks at you, making sure this is okay. He's big - almost too big - and he doesn't want to hurt you. The genuine concern on his face softens his rugged smooth features, making him look vulnerable and utterly irresistible. He captures your mouth again, pushing just the tip inside you. The sensation is foreign, intense, and undeniably arousing. You gasp softly against his lips.

“Wait…” you push his muscular chest to stop him. The small barrier of your hands against his powerful frame feels almost comical. 

The heat radiating from his body is overwhelming, and the throbbing pressure where he's joined you is making it difficult to think.

He pauses, holding his breath as he waits for you to speak. "What's wrong?" He asks softly, his arms tightening around you. He can feel how tight you are around just the tip, and he's worried it's going to hurt too much. His concern is palpable, a wave of tenderness washing over you.

You swallow and decide to be honest, "It's gonna bleed." The words hang in the air, heavy with the unspoken truth. You watch his expression carefully, bracing yourself for his reaction.

He freezes, his eyes widening slightly as he processes what you've said. "Are you—?" He starts, then stops, his voice barely a whisper. "Are you a virgin?" He asks gently, his brow furrowing with concern and something else—tenderness. The realization washes over him, transforming his gaze from one of pure lust to one of profound respect and awe.

“Yes..” you whisper. The admission feels strangely liberating. It's a vulnerability you've kept hidden for so long, a secret you're now entrusting to him.

Caleb's breath catches as he realizes the enormity of the moment. He leans his forehead against yours, his eyes soft with emotion. "Hey," he murmurs, "we don't have to do this right now. As much as I want you, I don't want it to hurt you." The sincerity in his voice is disarming. He's willing to sacrifice his own desire for your comfort, a testament to the depth of his feelings.

You shake your head. “No. I want you too. We can’t just…stop..” The words tumble out, fueled by a mixture of nerves and longing. 

You don't want to back down now. You've come too far, waited too long. The fear is still there, but it's overshadowed by the overwhelming desire to experience this with him.

He can see the determination in your eyes, mirroring his own desire. He kisses you gently, trying to prepare himself for the pain he knows you might feel. "Alright," he whispers against your lips, "but if it hurts too much, we stop, okay?" The promise is both reassuring and arousing. He's putting your needs first, but his own yearning is still evident in the intensity of his gaze.

You nod. The agreement seals the pact. You're ready.

With extreme care, he slowly pushes in further, feeling you tense around him. "Jesus," he hisses, "you're so tight. Relax, sweetheart." He keeps kissing you, trying to distract you from the invasion of his size. 

The pressure is building, a burning sensation that makes you want to both pull away and lean in closer. "Here comes the part that might sting..."

You tense. Every muscle in your body is coiled tight, bracing for the inevitable pain.

He pauses, giving you a moment to breathe. 

“Just a bit more," he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. With infinite gentleness, he pushes forward, feeling the barrier give way. You inhale sharply, and he freezes, holding himself still inside you. "You okay?" His voice is laced with concern.

“It’s worse than my period,” you wheeze. 

The comparison is clumsy, but it's the closest analogy you can come up with in the moment.

His heart clenches at your words, knowing he's the cause of your pain. He stays perfectly still, letting you get used to his size and the discomfort. "Shh, baby," he whispers, peppering your face with soft kisses. "Just breathe through it." He's a fortress of strength and tenderness, holding you close and offering silent support.

You nod and breathe deeply. You focus on the rhythm of your breath, trying to find a center of calm amidst the storm of sensations.

After what feels like an eternity, he feels your body start to relax slightly. He takes this as his cue to begin moving slowly, careful not to cause you too much discomfort. "Tell me if it's too much," he pants, his forehead dripping with sweat from the effort of holding back. The vulnerability he shows in this moment, the raw emotion etched on his face, is more intoxicating than any physical sensation.

The sight of him struggling, fighting against the raw desire that threatened to consume him, ignited a spark within you. A mischievous glint entered your eyes, a silent dare. You wouldn't cower, wouldn't appear weak or intimidated. Instead, you dug your heels into his, a subtle yet deliberate act, pulling him closer, inch by tantalizing inch. The whisper that escaped your lips was a single word, a plea, a demand: "More."

That single syllable, laced with innocent longing and burgeoning desire, seemed to shatter the last vestiges of his restraint. His grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging possessively into the soft flesh. The controlled movements he had so painstakingly maintained became less precise, more urgent, fueled by a primal need. 

"Fuck," he growled, the sound raw and guttural, a stark contrast to the playful banter you usually shared. "You feel so good... better than I imagined." He paused, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. "But baby, I'm really deep like this... too deep?"

A moan escaped your lips, your body humming with a newfound awareness. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious ache that spread from your core to the tips of your fingers. In that moment, words seemed inadequate, clumsy tools to express the intensity of what you were feeling. All you could manage was a simple, almost childlike description: "Like stick."

The unexpected crudeness, delivered with your characteristic naiveté, drew a smile from him, a genuine curve of his lips that momentarily softened the intensity in his eyes. Even as he fought to control his own spiraling pleasure, he understood. He knew you wanted him buried deep inside you, wanted to feel the fullness of his presence. 

"Too stuck, you mean?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your skin. He began to move, slowly at first, thrusting his hips in a circular motion, deliberately pressing against your sensitive walls, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from you.

"No…" you choked out, a nervous laugh bubbling up from your chest. "You're so hard that it feels like I have a stick in my pussy." The words were clumsy, unrefined, yet perfectly captured the unfamiliar sensation that had taken hold of you.

His head snapped back, and a deep, unrestrained laugh erupted from his chest, a sound you had never heard before. It was a sexy, guttural sound that resonated through your body, sending shivers down your spine. 

Despite your innocence, your blunt phrasing had only served to harden him even more inside you. "Only you," he said, his voice thick with amusement and desire, "could make me laugh while I'm fucking you senseless..." He leaned down, pressing a series of slow, deliberate kisses along the sensitive curve of your neck, each touch sending sparks of pleasure through you.

A smile bloomed on your face, and a soft moan escaped your lips, a testament to the exquisite sensations flooding your senses.

He continued to move, his body finding a rhythm that seemed to please you both. His thrusts grew deeper, more assured, each one pushing you closer to the edge. "God, you're amazing," he murmured, his voice strained with effort. "Your pussy is so tight and wet... it's like a perfect glove." He leaned in, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, his tongue mimicking the motion of his hips, driving you wild.

"Mmm," you hummed, lost in the intoxicating sensation of his mouth on yours, his body pressed against yours.

Seeing you so consumed by pleasure emboldened him, and he quickened his pace slightly, his movements becoming more insistent. He could feel your body beginning to relax, opening up to him, surrendering to the raw, untamed desire that coursed through you both. "You like how I fill you up, don't you?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "Is my big cock hitting that sweet spot?"

Your eyes rolled back in your head, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his voice. It was a voice you had never heard before, seductive and possessive. You had known him for years, talked to him countless times, but this voice, this side of him, was completely new.

He could see the surprise in your eyes, the flicker of recognition as his deep, husky voice washed over you. He knew this voice was reserved only for the intimacy of this moment, a secret language spoken only between lovers. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer as he thrust deeper, pushing you closer to the edge of oblivion. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice laced with a hint of possessiveness.

You slowly obeyed, your eyelids fluttering open, revealing the hazy depths of your desire. You met his gaze, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

He held your gaze, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your heart pound in your chest. "That's it," he whispered, his voice thick with lust. "I love seeing you like this—flushed, breathless, and taking my cock so beautifully." He shifted his angle slightly, finding that elusive spot that made you gasp aloud, a strangled sound of pure pleasure.

"Caleb…" you moaned, his name a breathless plea on your lips. "Please!"

Hearing his name spoken with such raw desire seemed to snap something inside him. In that moment, you were no longer his innocent best friend, the girl he had protected and cherished for years. You were a woman, a sexy, wanton creature beneath him, begging for more. 

"Please what, baby?" he ground out, his hips bucking against yours, hitting that sweet spot again and again. "Do you want it harder?"

You bit your lip, a nervous habit that had always plagued you. Seeing that small, vulnerable gesture seemed to ignite a fire within him.

"...Fuck, don't bite that lip like that. Never hurt yourself," he growled, his voice laced with a protective ferocity. He caught your plump bottom lip between his own teeth, gently tugging before capturing your mouth in a deep, consuming kiss. Without warning, he abandoned all pretense of control and began pounding into you harder, each thrust precise and powerful, driving you closer to the brink. "That what you wanted?" he asked, his voice a low rumble against your lips, knowing full well that it was.

You whimpered, your head lolling down against his shoulder. "Like that. Yes…"

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, his control finally slipping away as your whimpers drove him wild. "You feel so damn good I could come already..." He pinned your hands above your head, changing the angle completely, granting him deeper access. His eyes darkened with unrestrained desire as he slammed into you, finding that perfect spot that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

"Oh fuck, Caleb!" You screamed his name as you came, your body arching off the wall, exposing the delicate curve of your throat.

Seeing your neck bared and hearing his name spill from your lips in a scream of pure ecstasy made his body taut with anticipation. He plunged into you even harder, chasing your orgasm with his own. 

"Damn," he muttered, watching your body writhe beneath him, your muscles clenching and releasing in a symphony of pleasure. 

Your neck was arched back, your breasts thrust out, a vision of pure, unadulterated beauty.

Releasing your wrists, he used the advantage of your exposed neck, curling his hand around your throat, holding his fingers against your jaw.

"Fuck…."

He used his other hand to pull one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up completely, granting him deeper access. He wrapped his fingers around your throat, his touch surprisingly gentle as he tilted your head back further, exposing you to his intense gaze. 

He continued to thrust into you brutally, each stroke a testament to his raw, untamed desire. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice hoarse with passion.

You sobbed as you looked at him, another orgasm building within you, threatening to overwhelm you completely.

Seeing the tears in your eyes, the raw vulnerability etched on your face, pushed him over the edge. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling your scent as he came with a guttural groan, his body convulsing with the force of his release. 

His hot, thick seed filled you up, throbbing inside you as his hips jerked erratically. 

"Fuck...fuck…fuck," he chanted, his fingers tightening slightly around your throat, a primal expression of possession.

As his breathing slowly returned to normal, he inhaled the familiar scent of apples, a fragrance he had come to associate with you, now mixed with the intoxicating aroma of sweat and mingled pleasure. It was a scent that suddenly felt incredibly intimate, comforting, and achingly familiar. 

He nuzzled his face into your neck, gently kissing away the beads of perspiration. 

"Baby... you're crying," he murmured, his voice laced with concern.

You choked out a teary laugh. "Yes."

He wiped the tears away with his thumb, his fingers loosening their hold on your throat. 

"Was it too much?" he asked softly, his purple eyes searching your tear-streaked face, seeking reassurance. He could feel you still trembling beneath him, your body wracked with aftershocks and lingering sobs.

You swallowed, trying to find the words to articulate the complex emotions swirling within you. "You're so intense…."

"Too intense?" he asked carefully, pulling back slightly, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. His gaze dropped to your neck, and he saw the faint marks left by his fingers. He realized his handprint was slightly visible, a stark reminder of the intensity of their encounter. He also remembered your throaty screams, the way your legs had been wrapped tightly around his waist. 

"Answer me," he said hoarsely. "Truthfully."

"I mean…it surprised me…"

He nodded slowly, understanding your shock. "I know I got a bit... carried away," he admitted, his thumb gently rubbing the faint mark on your neck. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" 

His voice was laced with genuine concern, the intense lust from earlier replaced with a tenderness that made your heart flutter.

You shook your head, your eyes meeting his. "I loved it."

He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "You did?" he asks, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Because fuck, baby, you looked so beautiful like that... tears and all." He leans down and kisses you gently, his hand cupping your face. 

The shower roars around you, a steamy cocoon isolating you both from the world. The water sluices over your skin, washing away the remnants of your earlier despair, replaced now by a heady mix of fear and exhilaration.

“So you admit that you’re a sadist?” you laugh, the sound a little breathless, a little shaky. You try to inject some lightness into the moment, to diffuse the raw tension that crackles between you. But the words hang in the humid air, heavy with unspoken desires.

He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates through your chest, his fingers tightening around your face possessively. 

"Guilty as charged," he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot and moist against your skin. "You bring out the worst in me, you know that?" He pulls back slightly, his purple eyes glinting mischievously, reflecting the overhead light. “You like being manhandled?”

You blush, the heat rising in your cheeks, prickling your skin. "What kind of question is that?" you stammer, your mind struggling to keep up with the rapid-fire intensity of his words and actions. The way he looks at you, like you're the only thing in the universe, is both terrifying and intoxicating.

He smirks, clearly enjoying your reaction, the curve of his lips predatory and enticing. 

"It's a simple question, baby. Do you like it when I get rough with you?" He shifts slightly, making sure you can feel him, still hard and throbbing, deep inside you. 

"Because I can do it again if you want." The air crackles with unspoken promises, with the threat of exquisite pain and pleasure intertwined.

“Round two?” Your eyes widen, mirroring a mixture of disbelief and undeniable anticipation. The thought of surrendering to his dominance, of relinquishing control, both scares and excites you in equal measure.

"Or three," he says with a smirk, lifting his hips slightly to remind you of his persistent presence within you. "I can keep going all night, you know. And judging by how your pussy just tightened around me..." He runs his nose along yours teasingly, the scent of soap and arousal filling your senses. "You want more." He knows you. He sees through your carefully constructed facade of defiance straight to the yearning core of your desire.

“Shit…you little-“ you start to retort, but the words die in your throat, overwhelmed by the sheer force of his presence.

"Fucking genius?" He offers, interrupting you, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Yeah, I know." He captures your lips again, swallowing your curses as he starts moving his hips again, slowly, deliberately, drawing out the exquisite torment. "Now shut up and let me manhandle you some more," he growls against your lips, the possessive command igniting a fire deep within you.

You growl in his mouth, a primal sound of frustrated desire. You want to fight him, to resist, but your body betrays you, arching instinctively into his touch.

He grins, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, a delicious threat. "Like that?" he asks, his voice low and husky, vibrating with barely suppressed passion. "You're so fucking adorable when you're trying to be aggressive." He uses his gravity evol to lift you even higher up against the tiled wall, your legs wrapping around his waist, affording him even deeper access. 

By this point, you're both completely drenched under the relentless shower spray, the water plastering your hair to your face and tracing rivulets down your heated skin.

“Hey!” you exclaim, a weak protest.

He laughs, a deep rumbling sound that echoes in the small space. "You're adorable and you know it." He starts thrusting harder, his hips slapping against yours loudly, the rhythm primal and insistent. "Now be a good girl and hold on," he commands, his hands gripping your ass tightly as he fucks you hard against the wall, claiming you with every powerful stroke.

“Shit…shit…shit,” you curse and moan, the words a litany of surrender. You try to bite back the sounds escaping your lips, but the pleasure is too intense, the sensation of him filling you too overwhelming.

He swallows your cries with his mouth, one hand sliding up to cover your breast possessively, his thumb teasing your nipple. 

"Damn right," he hisses, watching your body bounce between the wall and his hips, his eyes dark and intense with lust. "Take my dick like a good girl," he growls out, his purple eyes darkening with desire.

You gasp, your muscles clenching involuntarily around him, a desperate plea for release.

He tosses his head back with a groan, feeling your walls tighten around his cock, the sensation almost unbearable. "Fuck, just like that," he praises breathlessly, squeezing your breast harder, eliciting another gasp from you. The steam from the shower fogs up the air around you, creating a hazy, sensual atmosphere, droplets of water mingling with your sweat, clinging to your skin like tiny jewels.

He leans in your ear, breathing heavily, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. “You know what I would love to see?”

“What?” you manage to whisper, your voice hoarse with passion.

"My gun down your throat. The one you so desperately wanted to take," he whispers, the words a shocking contrast to the sensual intensity that had been building between you.

You choke, your muscles clenching again, this time not from pleasure, but from a sudden, sharp wave of fear and confusion. 

What the fuck? The abrupt shift in tone leaves you reeling, your mind struggling to reconcile the brutal image he paints with the raw intimacy you've been sharing.

He smiles at your reaction, a cruel, knowing curve of his lips, his hips slowing down as he continues speaking into your ear, his voice low and dangerous. "You tried to steal from me and now I want to see your mouth stuffed full of something I own." He bites your earlobe, his tongue piercing digging into your skin, a small stab of pain that sends a jolt through you.

“You wouldn’t…” you hiss, the words a mix of disbelief and challenge.

"Try me," he laughs darkly, the sound sending a shiver of apprehension down your spine. "I might actually enjoy watching you choke on my gun." He pulls back slightly to look at your face, his purple eyes serious, devoid of any trace of the playful amusement from before. "You have such a smart mouth. I bet it'd look perfect wrapped around my gun." He tightens his hips again slowly, deliberately, the movement both a punishment and a promise.

“You’re serious?” You are speechless, the air knocked out of your lungs.

As a hunter, you held a gun everyday but use it for pleasure like this? Was he insane? 

The thought is jarring, disturbing, completely at odds with your understanding of the world.

"Deadly serious," he states firmly, his gaze unwavering. "I own you now, remember? Your mouth is mine to use however I want." 

He leans back and uses his evol to grab the gun from the counter as it floated in his waiting hand, holding it up so you can see it. The metal glints menacingly under the shower spray, reflecting the sharp angles of his face. "Open up."

“Caleb…” you gasp, shocked, the name a plea, a desperate attempt to reach the man you thought you knew.

"Now," he orders, his voice firm and commanding, brooking no argument. He presses the cold metal against your bottom lip, silently urging you to open your mouth, the contact sending a shiver of revulsion and a strange, twisted kind of excitement through you. 

His eyes blaze with possessiveness and triumph as he looks at your shocked expression, the power he wields over you palpable. "Be a good girl and open your mouth for me," he demands softly, the words laced with a dangerous undertone.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to breathe. Slowly, hesitantly, you open your mouth, a silent act of surrender.

He slides the gun into your mouth slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving yours, watching your reaction with an almost clinical detachment. "Good girl," he praises, his voice low and dangerous, sending a shiver down your spine. "Now suck it like you would my cock." He watches as you tentatively wrap your lips around the metal, your eyes wide with shock and arousal, the conflicting emotions warring within you.

You taste the cold metal, the lingering smell of gun powder filling your nostrils as you suck the barrel, a strange, forbidden pleasure tingling on your tongue.

He can feel your warm breath on the gun as you suck on it, his fingers tightening around the handle possessively, the weight of the weapon heavy in his hand. "Deeper," he growls, pushing the gun further into your mouth until it hits the back of your throat, making you gag slightly, the metallic taste intensifying.

You whimper, a small, involuntary sound of distress and submission.

The cool metal of the gun barrel presses against your lips, a stark contrast to the heat that’s been building between you and Caleb for what feels like an eternity. 

He pulls it out slowly, deliberately, the silver glinting in the dim bathroom light. A thin string of saliva stretches from your parted lips to the cold steel, a fragile connection in this moment of raw, untamed desire.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice a low, husky rumble that sends shivers down your spine. His eyes, usually a vibrant, playful purple, are now dark pools of lust, focused solely on you, on the way your body reacts to his every move. He slides the gun back in, a slow, agonizing tease that makes your breath catch in your throat. Each inch is a deliberate act, mimicking the possessive thrusts of his hips from just moments before, etching the memory of his forceful claim onto your very being.

The sensation is shocking, forbidden, and undeniably arousing. You try to fight it, to pull away, but his grip is firm, his control absolute. He dictates the pace, the depth, the intensity of this bizarre, sensual dance. 

Your head spins, the world tilting on its axis as the pleasure and the danger intertwine, creating a potent cocktail that threatens to overwhelm your senses.

Soon, your eyes roll back in your head, the fight draining out of you as you surrender to the intoxicating wave of sensation. You’re lost in the moment, the boundaries between right and wrong blurring beyond recognition.

“Mmh,” he hums, watching your body go lax, your mouth open and accepting around the gun. A possessive triumph flickers in his eyes, a primal satisfaction at your complete submission. “You like getting mouth-fucked by my gun?” he growls softly, his voice rough with barely contained desire. 

He pushes it deeper again, hitting your throat harder this time, a deliberate act that makes you gag slightly, but the discomfort only adds to the intensity of the experience. The sound of wet, sloppy sucking fills the small bathroom, amplifying the intimacy, the transgression.

You can’t help it. You moan, a low, guttural sound that escapes from the back of your throat, a testament to the pleasure he’s inflicting, to the control he wields.

He feels your moan vibrate around the gun, the sound resonating through his body, igniting a fire that threatens to consume him. 

“Fuck,” he groans, the sound ripped from his chest, raw and desperate. He pulls the gun out and sets it aside on the shower bench, the sound of metal against tile echoing in the sudden silence. 

His other hand, calloused and strong, grips your throat tightly, not painfully, but firmly, possessively, reminding you who’s in charge. He slams his mouth against yours, kissing you roughly, desperately, his tongue invading your mouth in a blatant act of ownership. “You’re mine,” he hisses against your lips, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

You sob, a small, involuntary sound of surrender, as the overwhelming rush of sensation finally breaks you. You come, hard and fast, the orgasm tearing through you with a force that leaves you shaking, gasping for breath. Harder than before, more intense, more complete.

He swallows your cries, muffling the sounds of your climax, claiming them as his own. 

Your body convulses, your nails digging into his back as you cling to him, the only anchor in this sea of overwhelming sensation. He feels your release cover his thighs again, hot and slick against his skin, his eyes darkening with a mixture of possessiveness and raw, primal hunger. 

He lifts you up suddenly, wrapping your legs around his waist again, your bodies molding together as one. He pulls out and enters you roughly, a forceful invasion that makes you scream loudly, the sound echoing off the tiled walls.

His fingers dig into your bottom, gripping you tightly as he lifts you up and down on his length, fucking you hard and fast against the shower wall. The sound of slapping skin mingles with your screams, creating a cacophony of pleasure and pain, of dominance and surrender. His eyes, burning with possessiveness and hunger, seem to pierce through you, stripping you bare, exposing your innermost desires. “Who owns this pussy?”

You sob, the words torn from your throat, a desperate plea for release, for validation. “You, Caleb. You.”

He slams into you harder, deeper, rewarding your submission with a low groan that vibrates against your skin. “Goddamn right I do,” he growls, biting your neck possessively, leaving a trail of burning kisses in his wake. 

His hips piston relentlessly, driving you closer and closer to the edge. The shower wall steams up around you both, droplets of water mingling with your sweat and his saliva, marking your skin with the evidence of his claim.

You can’t hold out, the next orgasm building inside you, a tidal wave of sensation threatening to engulf you.

As if sensing your approaching climax, he reaches down and presses his thumb against your clit, circling it mercilessly, increasing the pressure, pushing you closer to the breaking point. “Come for me again, princess,” he demands harshly, his voice rough and possessive. “Show me who this pussy belongs to.”

The sweet pet name, spoken in this moment of intense passion, is a final surrender, a complete and utter relinquishing of control. It makes you come again, almost absurdly, the force of the orgasm even more intense than before.

He groans deeply as he feels your pussy clench around him, milking his cock with each pulse of your orgasm. “Fucking hell,” he growls, his hips moving faster and more erratically, his control slipping as he teeters on the edge of his own release. “That’s it, princess. Come all over my cock.”

“Caleb!”

He hilts himself inside you with a final, brutal thrust, biting down on your shoulder to stifle his own cries as his orgasm crashes through him, a cataclysmic explosion of sensation. 

“Mine,” he snarls possessively, flooding your pussy with his hot, thick release. His cock twitches inside you, prolonging your shared climax, holding you captive in this moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.

“Holy shit!” You wheeze, gasping for breath as the last tremors of your orgasm subside.

Panting heavily, Caleb leans his forehead against yours, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “Holy shit is right,” he chuckles weakly, his cock still buried deep inside you, a tangible reminder of the connection you share. He squeezes your ass playfully, his earlier intensity melting into post-coital affection. “You alright there, princess?”

You are left panting, your mind still reeling from the intensity of what just happened, struggling to process the sheer force of his dominance, the depths of your own surrender.

He can see the dazed expression in your eyes, a testament to the power of the encounter. He nuzzles his face against yours, inhaling your scent deeply, savoring the taste of your skin. “Baby, you okay?” he asks softly, his fingers splaying out on your backside possessively, assuring himself that you’re still there, still his.

You nod weakly, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasms. “I think I broke my sweet Caleb.”

He lets out a low, satisfied laugh, his body still entwined with yours, his cock throbbing inside you. “You didn’t break me, princess. But damn, you wore me out.” He gently kisses your lips, his hands moving to support your weight as he slowly lowers you down, his cock finally slipping out of you, leaving you feeling vulnerable and exposed.

“Oh god…” you gasp and wobble, feeling his cum leaking out of you, a visible reminder of his possession.

Seeing the look on your face, a mixture of shock and arousal, he grins mischievously. 

He reaches down and scoops some of his semen off your inner thighs, bringing his fingers up to your mouth. “Open up, princess,” he commands softly, his eyes locked with yours, daring you to resist. “Taste what you do to me.”

You don’t glare this time, the fight gone out of you, replaced by a strange mixture of exhaustion and a lingering desire. You melt and open your mouth, too weak to fight or argue, surrendering once again to his will.

He gently pushes his fingers between your lips, letting you taste his salty, musky release. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing your bottom lip as he pulls his fingers out, leaving a glistening sheen on your skin. He helps you steady yourself against the shower wall, his hands roaming possessively over your curves, claiming you as his own.

“I can’t believe you fucked my mouth with your gun.”

He chuckles darkly, turning off the shower and wrapping you in a plush towel, his movements gentle despite the raw intensity of the encounter you just shared. “I can’t believe you let me,” he retorts, his voice still laced with amusement and satisfaction. He picks you up bridal style, carrying you out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You were forcing me, you know?” You hiss, trying to regain some semblance of control, to remind him that there are boundaries, even between you.

He lays you down on the bed, a smirk tugging at his lips as he towels you off more aggressively than necessary, his eyes burning with a possessive fire. “Forcing you? Baby, you sucked that gun like it was your favorite fucking lollipop.” He leans in close, his voice low and teasing, his breath ghosting against your skin.

You swallow, not knowing what to say, caught between outrage and a shameful surge of arousal.

He notices your reaction, the flicker of desire in your eyes, and his smirk grows wider. “Did you like it that much?” he asks, his eyes shining with curiosity and something darker, something that both excites and terrifies you. Before you can respond, he gently spreads your legs and crawls between them, his face hovering just above your pussy, his breath hot against your most sensitive flesh. “Let’s find out.”

“How?” You breathe.

He inhales deeply, his eyes fluttering closed as he savors your scent. When he opens them, they lock onto yours with an intent gaze. Slowly, deliberately, he leans down and presses his mouth to your pussy, parting your lips with his tongue and dragging it through your folds.

“Oh shit!” The words are a ragged expulsion of air, a surrender to the intense sensations that are already threatening to overwhelm you.

He grins against you, the vibrations sending a shock of pleasure through you. “That good, huh?” He does it again, this time flicking his tongue over your clit, watching your face contort with pleasure. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open and exposing you fully to his mouth.

“Caleb…” Your voice is a dazed whisper, barely audible above the roaring in your ears. Your eyes, wide and unfocused, lock on his. You search for something, anything, in his gaze – a hint of mercy, perhaps, or maybe just a sign that he’s feeling this as intensely as you are.

"What baby? Want me to stop?" His voice is a rough whisper against your wetness, knowing full well that you don't want him to stop. He circles your clit with his tongue again, maintaining eye contact as he does so. "Does my tongue feel good right here?"

You moan, a low, guttural sound that comes from the depths of your soul. Your hands, trembling, reach up to grip his hair, your fingers tangling in the dark strands, pulling him closer. “Caleb…fuck…”

He chuckles darkly, the vibrations against your sensitive nub making your hips buck up. He sucks your clit into his mouth, applying gentle pressure as he flicks his tongue back and forth. His fingers dig into your thighs, spreading you even wider as he devours you hungrily.

Your eyes roll back in your head, your vision blurring at the edges. You feel yourself losing control, spiraling down into a vortex of pure sensation.

"Fucking hell, you taste amazing," Caleb growls, releasing your clit momentarily. He dives back in, this time plunging his tongue deep inside your pussy, mimicking the motion of a cock. He curls it upwards, seeking that special spot to make you see stars.

You come without warning, a sudden, overwhelming surge of pleasure that shatters your control completely.

You scream out loud as a intense orgasm rips through your body, making your legs shake uncontrollably. Caleb holds onto your hips, keeping you place as he continues to lick and suck on your pussy, prolonging your climax. Your eyes flutter open, finding his intense gaze locked onto yours.

"I love watching you fall apart on my tongue," Caleb says roughly, giving your clit one last lick before standing up and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His pupils are dilated with desire, his breathing heavy.

You lick your lips, still tasting him on them, and your gaze lowers to his body. He is very much naked after the shower you just had, his skin flushed and damp, his muscles tense with barely suppressed energy.

Caleb follows your gaze and smirks, his hand reaching down to wrap around his thick, hard cock. He gives it a slow, languid stroke, his thumb swirling over the sensitive head. "You want this, don't you?" he asks, his voice a deep, seductive rumble.

You whimper, a small, involuntary sound of need that betrays your every thought. You lay in the bed, still with your legs spread and boneless, completely at his mercy.

He watches you, his eyes darkening. The way your legs are spread, the way your body is boneless and sated - it makes his blood boil, fuels the possessive hunger that claws at his insides. He wraps his hand tighter around his length, pumping slowly. "You look like you've been properly fucked," he comments softly, almost to himself, voice laced with dark satisfaction.

You choke a laugh, a weak, breathless sound that still manages to convey a hint of playful defiance. “And who was the one who did that?”

He groans, his eyes fluttering closed briefly as he continues to slow jerk himself off. You’re teasing him, laughing softly even though you’re clearly wrecked from their fucking. "Shut up," he mutters, his voice strained.

You find yourself watching. Each stroke is deliberate, a slow, sensual dance of hand against flesh. You see the flexing of his muscles, the tightening of his jaw, and the way his breath hitches with each movement. It's a raw, uninhibited display, and you find yourself captivated by the sheer intensity of it.

He opens his eyes, finding you watching him with heavy-lidded eyes. The way you're looking at him, like you're enjoying the show - fuck, it's hot. He picks up the pace, his hand moving faster over his length. "You like watching me touch myself?" he asks roughly.

You swallow, the word catching in your throat. "Yes," you whisper, the admission a release, a surrender to the moment.

A low groan escapes his lips as he hears your admission. He strokes himself faster, his grip tightening. "Do you want to watch me come?" he asks, his voice strained with desire. "Or do you want something else?" He looks at you, his eyes filled with lust and a hint of challenge.

"More..." you breathe, the word a plea, a promise.

His breathing grows heavier as he continues to stroke himself, his free hand balling into a fist at his side. "More what?" he growls, his eyes locked onto yours. "You want me to do something else?" He swirls his thumb over the sensitive head, his hand pausing briefly.

A moan escapes your lips, involuntary, a testament to the power he holds over you. You nod, unable to speak, your body trembling with need.

A smirk plays at the corners of his mouth, a predatory curve that sends a thrill of excitement through you. He releases his length, leaving it throbbing, glistening, a beacon of raw desire. He comes closer to the bed, stopping at the edge,” Come here, baby.”

You obey, your body moving without conscious thought. You close your legs, knees digging into the mattress, and crawl towards him, drawn by an irresistible force.

As you crawl closer, Caleb reaches out, his large hands grasping your wrists gently. He pulls you the last bit, until you're kneeling right before him. His cock juts out, a pulsing testament to his desire, inches from your face. “I think you want a taste," he murmurs, stroking his shaft slowly.

You lick your lips, the anticipation building to a fever pitch. You nod, looking up at him with a mixture of lust and adoration. He's offering you a gift, a privilege, and you're ready to receive it.

Caleb's breath hitches as he watches you lick your lips. He guides his thick head to your mouth, painting your lips with his pre-cum. "Open up for me, sweetheart," he orders softly, his voice thick with desire. He wants to feel your warm, wet mouth enveloping him, to lose himself in the sensation of your touch.

You open your lips, a silent invitation, and he doesn't hesitate.

"Fuck," he whispers, the word an expletive and a prayer as you take him in. He pushes himself deeper inch by inch until he hits the back of your throat. Your gag reflex tries to kick in, but he keeps a firm but gentle grasp on the back of your head, holding you steady. "You're such a good girl," he murmurs, his voice laced with praise, the words a reward for your devotion.

Your eyes roll back in your head, lost in the sensation, the praise igniting a fire within you. You want to please him, to give him everything he desires.

Seeing your reaction, Caleb groans deeply, his hips beginning to move slowly. "That's it, baby. Take my cock so well," he praises, his voice husky with lust. He gently thrusts deeper, giving you time to adjust to his size, to the overwhelming sensation of his presence.

You moan, a muffled sound against his flesh, and almost choke, tears welling up in your eyes. You struggle to breathe, forcing air through your nose, trying to maintain control, to continue pleasing him.

Caleb's grip on your head tightens slightly, but he remains gentle, feeling your struggle. "Shh, baby, take a breath," he coos softly, slowly pulling back to give you a moment of respite. He watches as you gasp for air, tears streaming down your cheeks, your face flushed and contorted with effort,” Look at me.” he whispers.

You look up at him, your eyes pleading, vulnerable.

His heart melts at the sight of you looking up at him with those tear-stained cheeks. His pace remains slow and rhythmic, careful not to hurt you. Not this time. "You look so fucking beautiful with my cock in your mouth," he whispers, wiping away a tear with his thumb.

You whimper, a small, involuntary sound of pleasure, loving that he's so tender with you, so aware of your limits.

"My sweet girl..." he breathes out, continuing those careful thrusts. One hand stays on your head while the other gently strokes your cheek, offering comfort and reassurance. “You're doing so good, taking me so deep..." He watches you struggle, feeling both guilt and intense pleasure knowing it's him causing those sweet tears, that look of blissful torment on your face.

You try to open your mouth wider for him, a silent offering, a desperate attempt to give him everything he wants.

"God, yes... just like that," he encourages, his voice growing thicker as he feels himself nearing his limit. "Your mouth is heaven, sweetheart. So warm, so tight... I'm so fucking close." He bites his lip, trying to hold back, wanting to prolong this moment.

You moan around him, a garbled sound of pleasure and desperation, reaching up to cup his balls, your fingers gently stroking, teasing, adding fuel to the fire.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he curses under his breath, a tremor running through his powerful thighs, the muscles bunching and releasing under your touch. "Stop, stop," he warns you gently, the words a breathy plea, yet his hands, those strong hands that could crush bone stay firmly on your head, contradictory to his words. "You'll make me come if you keep doing that..." His breathing grows raspier.

You ignored him, or perhaps, he knew you would. The thrill of control, of pushing him closer and closer to the brink, was a heady aphrodisiac. Deeper, faster, you swallowed, your hand a firm, possessive grip on his heavy sac, the weight of his impending release heavy in your palm.

"Holy shit," he mutters, hips jerking forward slightly. He's trying hard not to face-fuck you, his self-control surprisingly good. "Your mouth..." He swallows hard, watching you take him deep. "Your hand..." He tenses again as you gently massage his balls.

You broke the rhythm, just for a moment, lifting your head, your gaze locking with his. The moan that escaped your lips was a primal sound, born of pure, unadulterated lust.

His face contorts with pleasure when you look up at him, your usual innocent eyes were filled with desire and hunger, and he finally loses control. "Fuck, I'm coming," he grits out, hands gripping your head tightly as he begins to pump his hips, face screwed up in ecstasy.

Your eyes roll back, the world fading away as the first taste of his release flooded your mouth. He was fire, molten and consuming, and you welcomed the burn.

He lets out a guttural groan as he releases into your mouth, his hot seed spilling out as you swallow around him. He holds you there, not allowing you to pull back as he continues to shudder and come, his body trembling above you. "Damn..." The word was a ragged whisper, a testament to the intensity of what had just transpired.

Seeing him undone, vulnerable, weak in the aftermath of his climax, fueled a deep, primal satisfaction within you. He was a god brought to his knees, and you were the force that had felled him.

Caleb's knees nearly buckle as the last waves of his orgasm course through him. Slowly, he pulls back, his cock slipping from your lips with a soft pop. He stares down at you, chest heaving, a look of stunned awe on his flushed face. "Holy shit," he repeated, the words a hushed prayer.

You swallowed, relishing the lingering taste of him, and licked the last remnants from your lips. The act was deliberately provocative, a silent dare. Your voice was hoarse, raw from the intensity of the moment. "How was that? Better than when you made me choke on your gun?" You grinned, a flash of teeth in the dim light, the question laced with a playful defiance.

A low chuckle rumbles in Caleb's chest as he listens to your hoarse voice and teasing words. His eyes light up with amusement and something darker, more primal. He reaches down, gently lifting your chin with his thumb and index finger. "Mmm, definitely better." He murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

Your grin widened, emboldened by his response.

Caleb's gaze drops to your lips, still glistening with his release. Without a word, he leans down, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue delves in, tasting himself on your lips and tongue. He pulls back after a moment, breathing heavily.

The words, the ones you had choked back in the shower, the ones that had been burning in your throat, finally escaped. "I love you..." The declaration hung in the air, fragile and vulnerable.

His heart skips a beat, emotions playing across his features - surprise, fear, love. "Fuck... don't you dare say things like that," he whispers, but there's no venom in his tone. Instead, he pulls you closer, forehead resting against yours, the contact grounding him.

You giggled, the sound light and airy in the otherwise heavy atmosphere. "Well... you told me to take my time."

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, crinkling the skin around his eyes. "You did take your time," he admitted, his voice softer now. He sat back against the headboard, pulling you into his lap, his arms wrapping tightly around you, holding you close. "Too much time." He paused, his heart pounding in his chest, a frantic drumbeat against your back.

You snuggled into his neck, inhaling his scent, the familiar aroma a comfort and a challenge. "You love me, so it's only right to love you back."

Caleb's arms tighten around you, his breath hitching slightly at your words. He presses a soft kiss to your temple, his voice barely above a whisper. "You know I do. More than anything." He pauses, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back, a silent language of affection.

"Mmm," you murmured, content in his embrace.

Caleb tilts his head, watching your smiling face intently. A playful smirk tugs at his lips as he squeezes you gently in his lap. "Was that an'mmm' of agreement or an'mmm' of trouble?" His eyebrow arches teasingly, clear amusement sparkling in his eyes.

You rested your forehead against his, peering up at him through your lashes. "Definitely agreement."

A warmth spreads across his face at your answer, his eyes softening as they lock onto yours. His hand moves to gently rest on your cheek, thumb stroking across your skin. "Smartass," he whispers, but the word comes out fondly.

You nuzzled his hand, pressing a kiss into his palm. You had missed this, these quiet, tender moments, the feeling of being safe and cherished in his arms.

He watches you nuzzle into his palm, his expression unguarded. His other hand comes up to cup your jaw possessively. "God, you're like a damn cat," he murmurs, his voice lower, almost tender again. He missed these small, unguarded moments with you too, the feeling of your warmth against him, the trust that flowed between you.

You giggled, the sound fading into silence as you settled back into his embrace. "What now?" The question hung in the air, a hesitant inquiry about the future, about where this fragile connection would lead.

Caleb's thumb continues to stroke your cheek, his eyes searching yours. "What do you want to do now?" he asks softly, giving you a small smile. He shifts slightly, making sure you're comfortable in his lap. "We could just stay like this for a while, or... we could talk."

"Or...you can bring me some snacks?" You countered, the playful request a deliberate attempt to lighten the mood, to avoid the weight of serious conversation.

Chuckles softly, the vibrations rumbling against your back. "Always so demanding, aren't you?" He kisses your shoulder gently before setting you back on the bed. "Fine, I'll get you some snacks. But only if you promise to stay right there and look pretty for me."

“How pretty?” You teased, batting your eyelashes as you watched him pull his boxers on.

Rolling his eyes playfully, Caleb ran a deliberately slow, appreciative gaze over you, from head to toe, lingering on the curve of your breasts, the swell of your hips.

"Prettier than a sunrise, dummy. Now sit tight before you ruin my carpet with your gorgeous self sprawled out naked."

You laughed, a genuine, uninhibited sound that filled the room. "You think I would lay on the carpet?"

"With your lazy ass?" He teases, shaking his head as he turns towards the kitchen. "Knowing you, you'd probably decide the carpet is more comfortable than this king-sized bed." His voice carries a warm, affectionate tone that betrays his playful joking.

"Bring my favorite! Apple flavored!" You called out after him, the request laced with a sweet anticipation.

His low chuckle was the only response, a soft rumble that faded as he disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you alone with the lingering scent of sex and the quiet hum of contentment.

taglist : @mcdepressed290

[pseudowho]

"Hey...are you finished yet?"

You sidled up to Kento in the kitchen, impatient, his waist snatched by his apron as he chopped chillies. He knew what you wanted, and chastised you without venom, a wry half-smile upon his mouth.

"If you want dinner, you'll wait a few more minutes."

You loitered by the counter, one leg stretching out to stroke at Kento's hip, your toes trailing round his waist, and down, and--

Kento coughed, grabbing your toes against his lap, dropping his knife and giving his hands a cursory wash under the tap. Holding your foot to him, he closed in until your knee was crumpled to your chest, and you giggled as he glowered down at you.

He leaned down, his voice rumbling, appraising your body in his shirt with hungry eyes. Lifting you up on the counter, he continued to chastise you to your laughter, his voice low at your neck as he made love to it.

"You're not wearing anything under there, are you, Mrs.Nanami? Impatient. Filthy."

Giggles turned into sighs, turned into whimpers as Kento tangled a gripping hand in the front of your shirt, affectionately restraining you while his fingers slid down to your core, slipping between your folds until he found his aim.

Kento allowed himself one long-fingered dip inside you with a shudder, before rolling practiced circles over your clit.

You nuzzled into him with a sigh, feeling so oddly sensitive down there. The feeling built, a strange warm prickle, thinking Kento must have doused his fingers in magic and sin before they met their mark. You shivered, whimpering, the feeling building.

"...ungh...hot..."

"Mmm...yes, you certainly are. Could always edge you like this until you--"

"--no-- no, Kento-- hot, it's hot!"

Kento pulled back in alarm at the terror in your voice, keen eyes narrowed and fixed on you. You both stared at each other for a moment in dumb confusion.

His eyes flicked down to his fingers, still as the grave between your lips. Your eyes flicked over to the chillies he'd been chopping just minutes before.

"Kento, the--"

"--the chillies, fuck, shit, I'm so sorry--"

You shrieked, slapping his glistening fingers away, your face twisted in pain. "--oh my fucking god, Kento, you fucking idiot--"

"--excuse me, I am sorry, but if I recall, you were the one who seduced me--"

"--why did you let me?!"

You shrieked again, the Great Fire of London blazing at the crest of your thighs. Kento jolted to life, darting to the fridge, reassuring you, while he berated you, while you panicked in pain.

"--hang on, hang on, you'll be alright--shit..."

Kento slopped milk into a glass, shoving his hand into it and walking back over to you as you lay back on the counter, one hand clasped over your burning vagina. Kento's voice rumbled, authoritative, his hair mussed and sweaty.

"Open up."

"--you're fucking joking, Kento--"

"Do as you're told. This will help. Open up."

Half-laughing, half-crying, half-aflame, more agony than woman, you kicked at Kento while he huffed a laugh, batting your thighs apart.

Still weakly objecting, you gasped when he sunk two milky fingers between your folds, dipping his hand once more in the cold milk, and back again. Milk, labia. Milk, labia.

Lying back with your hands over your face, miserable with shame, you could do nothing while Kento milk-fingered the burning chillies off you. You could feel him trying to look serious and mournful as he did it.

"Stop laughing, Kento--"

"I would never."

"--you absolutely are--"

"I wouldn't dare, my love."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You and Kento ate your curry in silence. Kento's face was fixed throughout, deliberately solemn. You glared over at him occasionally, mulish, the ghost of a fire still lingering at your core.

Kento finished his curry, clearing his throat. He barely hid the crooked smile behind his napkin.

"That was delicious."

"...yeah. I guess it was."

"I do fancy a glass of milk though."

"--alright, that's it. Get undressed-- I'm giving you a blow job--"

"--darling--you've just eaten chillies--"

"Exactly."

Kento paled, voice tight as he begged for his life. "Please don't."

[awxcoffeexno]

ain't gon' ever deserve you

mutant!loganhowlett x human!reader one shot

fic masterlist | nsfw claw worship

summary: logan has a nightmare and hurts you by accident - or - the one where you worship his claws the way they deserve.

content: mostly family-friendly claw worship. logan believes in the animal accusations but reader fixes it. reader is human, logan and reader have an established and v loving relationship, lots of reassurance and comforting for logan.

warnings: logan has nightmares, mentions of blood, logan self-hate, family-friendly knife play??????.

word count: 2.1k

a/n: listen, claw worship has been on my mind for a looooooong time. I'm too chicken to put up any of my nsfw writing yet so here's an sfw version with affirmations for poor baby lo-lo. also this is super inspired by logan and kayla's relationship and even uses some quotes from them.

you're deep asleep, dreaming of everything and nothing when you feel the sudden sharp sting in your arm.

eyes flying open, you open your mouth to hiss in pain but logan's lips are at your ear, snarling and grunting in his sleep again.

you look down to find his claws out, the metal tips digging into your arm. you exhale sharply, watching the warm blood seep down your arm and onto the new white sheets.

"no! n– no!" he growls, and you're forced to bite your lip as you try to pull away from his vice grip. when that doesn't work, you sink your nails into his arm.

"logan–"

"victor, NO!" he screams and sits up, yanking his claws from your arm and stabbing at the air in front of him.

victor creed. logan's brother and the bane of his existence. victor who haunts his dreams every single night, victor whose name you can never forget, victor who is now the reason logan's hurt you.

you sit up with him, aching for him, wrapping your arms around his torso. the burning pain in your arm an afterthought, you hear him swallow and gently let out a breath. he's sticky with sweat and the dry radiator air in the room isn't helping, the moon glowing through your glass walls, creating a halo around his head.

"nightmare." you state, letting him catch his breath and take in his surroundings.

he nods even though what you said wasn't a question but a statement. he twists around and pulls you into his lap, hugging you like he does near every night – chin tucked into your shoulder, arms wrapped all the way around your torso. he smells of soap and cigar smoke and the faintest hint of your shampoo. you smile to yourself and press a kiss to his hair.

"you're so cute." you mutter and a small smile spreads across his lips.

"cute?" he repeats, amused. "that's new." he pulls you closer, further down his lap and you can feel his heartbeat start to steady again.

"you used my shampoo again, and don't you deny it this time."

he scowls at you but lets you kiss him anyway. "reminds me of you," he sighs when he realises you won't stop until he admits it.

"but i'm right here," you giggle, running your thumb over the shell of his ear.

he opens his mouth to explain further but that's when he smells it. the blood he's drawn from your arm in his nightmare-fuelled anger at victor. his jaw tightens as he looks for the source of blood, finding three uniform slices on the outside of your forearm.

"no," he gasps, a thousand emotions crossing his eyes.

you try to wiggle your arm out of his grip, the blood running down your arm now. "hey... i'm okay."

"like fuck you are," he snarls, angry at himself.

how could he have possibly hurt you?! was this a thing now?? was he a danger to you even in his sleep?! god, he'll have to put you to sleep and then figure out a way to declaw himself. maybe if he just slices the back of his palms open–

"james..." you break him out of his thoughts, hand on his cheek. "baby, i'm okay. really. it looks worse than it feels."

"i'm going to rip these out." he whispers, holding his fists up, the back of his palms facing you. his words are as much a promise to you as a command to himself.

you grab his fists and glare at him. he blinks at your expression, looking at you over his hands.

"don't you dare say anything of the sort. these are a gift."

"a gift," he scoffs, "you can return a gift."

"these are a gift," you repeat sternly. "and i will not let you do anything to them."

he opens his mouth to protest but you aren't done. how dare he even think of hurting himself, of declawing himself when you love his claws as much as you love every last part of him.

you run your fingers over the back of his palms and whisper, "take them out."

"sweetheart..."

"take them out, my love" you repeat, kissing his knuckles because you know it hurts every time he does.

he carefully and very very slowly bares them and you look at him from between the blades.

not breaking eye contact, you lean in and press a soft kiss to the base of the middle claw on his right hand. you catch him shuddering and your eyes widen in surprise.

"you felt that?"

you can see him redden even in the dark. "'course i did," he grunts.

"what does it feel like?" you ask, fascinated. everyday you learn something new about him and it never fails to delight you.

you kiss the base of another claw on the other hand and see him inhale sharply.

he groans deeply, humming to come up with the right words. "like... you're stroking every nerve in me to life."

that makes you sit up on your haunches and wrap your fingers around his wrists. he freezes, bracing himself to yank the claws back in the second he thinks you might hurt yourself on the sharp ends. you carefully lick along the length of the claw between his pinky and ring finger on his right hand, making him exhale shakily.

"tryna kill me, sugar?" he says through gritted teeth, every muscle in his body tense.

"trying to show you how much i love your claws, lo. even if they hurt sometimes."

you loop your right hand between both of his, gently pressing the tip of your thumb against the sharp end of a claw. you run your finger up the blade, making him whine in protest as you draw blood.

his eyes implore you, pleading, but you simply take your hand up to his mouth, pressing your bleeding thumb against his lips. he relents, sucking it into his warm mouth and licking it clean.

"logan?" you whisper and he hums around your thumb.

despite the heat in your core, pooling between your legs, you need him to hear this. you'll have time to fulfil that need later.

"every part of you means everything to me. but your claws, especially your claws, have the most special place in my heart. they protect me. they make you feel good. and most of all, they're fucking cool."

and that finally makes him crack a smile again.

"y'think so?"

"mhmm."

"c'mere." he says finally, pulling his claws back in and tugging you back into his lap.

he makes you straddle him and kisses you warmly. he looks into your eyes with such fondness, it squeezes your heart. carefully he pulls his first claw out on his right hand and uses it to gently push your hair out of your eyes. your eyes flutter shut in response, leaning into his metal touch.

he brushes the back of the claw across your cheek and your lips part prettily for him. the air doesn't feel so thick anymore, the quiet humming of the refrigerator in the kitchen not overwhelming him the way it was when he snapped awake.

ever so carefully, pushing his own boundaries, he turns his wrist and pushes the flat of his claw onto your tongue. it's warm and tastes of him, salty and musky and like metal.

"that okay for you, pretty girl?" he mumbles and you can hear the strain in his voice. he's terrified but he so badly wants to be brave for you.

you wrap your lips around the claws and suck softly in response, drawing a groan of pleasure from him.

he shudders beneath you, every inch of him tense and trembling with restraint. you slide your tongue along the metal, tracing the edge of his claw with reverence, savoring the taste of him.

logan’s breath catches in his throat, and you feel the warmth of his exhale ghost across your face. his other hand, free of the adamantium blades, finds its way to your waist, gripping you tightly.

"god," he breathes out, voice rough and filled with a raw vulnerability you hear only at night. "you have no idea what you do to me."

you slowly release his claw from your mouth, letting it slide out with a deliberate slowness that has him biting back another groan. his eyes are locked on you, dark with need.

you reach up, cupping his face with your now clean thumb, and brush your lips against his in a featherlight kiss. "i think i do," you whisper against his mouth. "i want you to feel how much i love every part of you, logan. even the parts that scare you."

his claws retract with a soft snikt, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you impossibly closer.

"you're something else, darlin'," he murmurs into your hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. you can feel the smile playing on his lips. "you make me feel... whole."

you nestle into his embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest. "and you make me feel safe," you reply, closing your eyes and letting the furnace heart of his presence envelop you. "always."

you feel his grip tighten, his hand trembling slightly against your waist. he's always been the warrior, the weapon, the animal, but here in your arms, he's just logan, just a man who’s been through more pain than anyone should endure.

"people see the claws and think i’m nothing but a beast," he murmurs, his voice thick with self-doubt. "like i’m more metal than man. they look at me and all they see is the damage i can do."

you pull back just enough to look into his eyes, your hands framing his face. he tries to look away, but you won’t let him. you press a soft kiss to his brow, then his cheek, and finally, to the corner of his mouth.

"they don’t make you an animal," you whisper, your voice even and filled with conviction. "they make you strong. they’re not just weapons, they’re part of what makes you you."

his breath hitches at your words, and you feel him struggle against the years of conditioning, the years of being told that he’s nothing more than a killing machine. but you won’t let those words hold power over him anymore.

you reach down, gently taking his right hand in yours. with care, you press a kiss to each knuckle, feeling the warmth of his skin under your lips. then, you look up at him and slowly, deliberately, coax his claws out again.

you run your fingers lightly over the metal, tracing the curves and edges with the same care you’d give to a delicate piece of art.

logan watches you, his expression shifting from uncertainty to something deeper, something like awe. "you don’t see me like everyone else does," he says, almost to himself.

"no," you agree, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of one of his claws. "i see you, logan. the real you. and what i see is a man who’s fought for so long to protect the people he loves, even when it’s cost him everything. your claws, they’re not just about hurting or fighting. they’re about protecting. they’re about survival. and they’re about who you have been for so long."

his chest rises and falls with each breath, the tension slowly easing from his body as your words sink in. for once, he doesn’t feel like an animal. he feels like a man, just a man. and it's nice.

"besides," you say, tone lightening. "so you really think I'm such a baby i can't handle three little cuts?"

you both know you're underplaying it and though he would never admit it in the day, the moonlight across his face betrays his grateful expression. it's easier to believe that he hasn't hurt you too much when you're saying it yourself.

you lower his hand, resting it against your chest, over your heart.

he swallows hard, holding you as if he’s afraid to let go. "ain't gon' ever deserve you," he whispers, his voice thick.

"you deserve everything," you murmur back, holding him just as tightly. "and i’m going to keep reminding you of that, every day."

for a moment, he’s silent, just holding you close. then, in a voice that’s barely more than a whisper, he says, "you almost make me feel human, darlin’."

you pull back just enough to kiss him again, only because you know he'd much rather feel than hear. your kiss is slow and tender, letting him feel the truth in your touch.

he doesn’t say anything more, but the way he kisses you back, the way he holds you, tells you everything you need to know.

he'll be okay. you'll make him okay. you gently push him to lie down and rest your head on his chest.

you love him, you love how he wants so badly to believe you, and most of all, you fucking love his claws.

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this stemmed from a very nsfw thought™ but here we are, all warm and fuzzy. a mostly non-angsty fic is new for me!!

hope you liked this x

love, d <3

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edit: i wrote an nsfw claw worship fic too 🤠🤝🏽 >> unholy