A special thanks to @stardustsirens, I love your beautiful brain đ
Twenty minutes. You'd been gone twenty minutes before you turned around, halfway to work, because your work folder was still sitting on the kitchen counter.
Valko had stayed the night, though not the way anyone would assume. You'd cooked too late, ended up on the couch watching movies until midnight and the idea of him driving home just to come back in a few hours was ridiculous. So he'd stayed. Folded that huge body of his onto your couchâwhich was built for exactly one normal sized humanâinsisting he was fine even though you both knew his neck would hate him for it in the morning. He hadn't so much as brought up sharing your bed. That line was still there between you, respected without either of you having to say so out loud.
Your living room was empty now. The throw blanket sat balled up at one end of the couch, still warm, still carrying that earthy scent that clung to him. You figured he'd finally given up trying to get comfortable and left for home.
Things had been tight between you two for weeks â not bad tight, just like the kind that builds when you're close to someone in every way but one. Curling up next to him on that couch last night, close enough to feel him breathing, had taken more out of you than you wanted to admit. You'd gone to your own bed after and tossed for hours, finally giving up and finishing yourself off against your pillow just to get some sleep.
You grabbed the folder off the counter, shoved it in your bag, turned toward the door already dreading the way back to work.
Your foot stopped.
Through the crack in your bedroom door came a sound â low, cut off at the edges like it hadn't meant to get out. A hitch of breath, rough with something needy.
You don't move. For a few long seconds you just stand there, blood rushing in your ears, telling yourself you imagined it. Then it comes againâlouder, unmistakable. A deep, broken whine bleeding through the door, underneath it the slow, rhythmic creak of your mattress.
Something hot drops straight to your navel.
Your feet move before you decide to let them, carrying you to the gap where the door hinges open. You don't need to push it. You can see everything
Valko is on your bed, completely stripped of the restraint he usually carries around you.
On all fours, every muscle in his back straining with each roll of his hips. Both your pillows are underneath him. One is pinned between his thick, heavy thighs. The other is crushed against his chest like he's holding onto it for dear life.
The fat tip of his cock is already leaking clear precum, smearing wetly against the fabric with every thrust. The muscles of his ass bunch and flex rhythmically, his tail swishing low and frantic from side to side, brushing against his calves like he can't control it.
His nose is buried deep into one specific corner of the pillow, taking big lunges of airâsniffing the hell out of it. Strands of saliva string from his parted lips, his eyes are squeezed shut so tight his eyelashes tremble. He looks like he's desperately trying to engrave that scent into the deepest part of his memory.
The heat that floods your face is scorching and mortifying.
That's where you'd been last night. Grinding against that exact spot, face buried in your own sheets with his name stuck in your throat, thinking thoughts you'd never planned on anyone knowing about. He has his nose pressed right there. Breathing you in like it's the first clean air he's found in days.
The hallway feels like it's closing in. You can't move. The folder is shaking in your hand and you can't make yourself look away.
Valko moves his hips down again and the groan that tears out of him is nothing like his usual voice. It's scraped raw, stripped of every careful thing he usually puts between himself and the world.
"Fuckâ" The word drags out of him slow and broken. His face presses deeper into the pillow, lips parting against the fabric, inhaling so hard it pulls into his mouth. "Smells so good. So fucking sweet"
Your stomach drops.
When he pulls back to thrust again you get an unobstructed view of him, and your mouth goes dry. He's huge, veins mapping his cock in thick ridges, the head flushed a deep red and slick with everything he's been leaking onto your pillow.
"There you go," he breathes, eyes still squeezed shut, hips rolling down in a slow, grinding push. He's talking to the pillow. He's talking to youâor the idea of you, the ghost of you he's got his hands on. "Take it just like that. Let me get all the way inside that pretty cunt, puppy."
He makes that sound againâa high, needy whine that has no business coming out of something so bigâand his ears flatten tight against his skull. His rhythm stutters, slow grinds breaking into something harder and more desperate, the whole bed frame groaning with it.
"Such a good pup," he mutters, tail thrashing wild against the mattress, fingers curling into your pillow. His voice is getting rougher, darker, words spilling out like he can't stop them. "Gonna stretch you out so nice. Fill you up with everything I've beenâ" A sharp, punched out groan. "You'd take it, wouldn't you? Every single bit of it."
His thighs grip the pillow tightly, his whole body going rigid as he grinds down and holds it there. His knuckles are stark white, fingers curled past the point of grip, something closer to desperation made physical. You can see the effort it's taking him to hold back. Every thick vein along the back of his hands stands out in rigid relief, branching up his wrists, mapping the strain all the way to where his forearms flex with each movement.
With every snap of his hips the tension climbs higher. Up his biceps and across his broad shoulders, the whole architecture of him pulled tight. He is holding the pillow like letting go for even a second would mean losing the last thread of you he has access to.
Like if his grip slips, your scent goes with it.
His hands have never looked like this. You've seen them steady holding a weapon, calm giving an order, certain in every situation that called for certainty. Right now they're shaking slightly. Not from weakness.
But from the effort of not having the real thing.
The ache between your thighs is unbearable and the urge hits you like something physical, pressing into your sternum until your body stops listening to your brain entirely. You want to tell him yes. You want to walk into that room and pull those pillows out from under him and put yourself there instead.
Your foot moves forward one step.
That's all it takes. The tiny shift in air carries your scent right through the gap in the doorâlaced now with the edge of your arousalâand delivers it straight to him.
Valko goes completely still.
His ears snap upright, swiveling toward the door, and his head follows a half second later. Through the narrow crack his eyes find yours instantly, pupils blown so wide the gold of his irises is almost gone. The room sits heavy with the smell of sex and the sound of both of you breathing.
He doesn't cover himself and your eyes drop without your permission.
The sight of you watching himâyour scent hitting him fresh and fullâis what does it. You watch it happen. His cock swells further, skin pulled tight, a low growl tearing out of his chest and his hips give one last involuntary roll forward.
He cums with his eyes locked on yours the entire time.
He stares straight through the gap in the door, unblinking, holding your gaze with an intensity that makes your legs feel unreliable, as the first thick streak of white paints your pillow. Another spasm rolls through him, another rope of cum landing heavy over the exact spot your scent had soaked into the fabric last night. Over and over until the last bead clings to the tip and stretches thin before finally dropping.
His chest heaves and his tongue drags slowly across his lower lip and then his canines like he's tasting the air. His tail gives one long, heavy thump against the mattress.
He's still staring a hole right through you.
âYou are completely fucked.
And while we're here @ekay-i .... PLEASEđđ». Valko deserves a spot in the pillow humpers art. i am begging on my knees đ§đ»ââïžđ«Ł
ââșââ Waking up with Xavier âșâââșâ
His arm draped across your body, and warm breaths tickling your shoulder. Every now and then soft murmurs of adoration and comfort slip out, revealing his sleepiest thoughts.
Getting up would be impossible. The slightest movement from you and his arm locks up, pulls you closer, and into that position where your frame slots perfectly into his like a puzzle piece.
Locks of pale gold feathered across the pillow the two of you are now sharing, sticking up at all angles after a long night. Youâd never tire of seeing him like this â shirtless, messy, voice deep and gravely from sleep â a warm embrace constructed in a way that made you feel safe, like no one else could enter.
"Good morning starlight," he whispers, pressing his lips into the back of your neck.
You can feel his long limbs stretching for a moment before they wrap around again, telling you that youâre not getting out of bed any time soon. Not that youâd want to anyways.
"I donât feel like sharing you with the world today. Thatâs ok, right?"
You sigh contently when a languid kiss finds its way to that delicate spot on your neck. The lack of space between your barely clothed bodies makes it impossible to miss his hard length rubbing up against your rear.
You arrive at home, shoulders slumped, feet hurting from all the running around you did while hunting Wanderers.
There he is, waiting for you, on the couch, reading a report on his tablet.
You stop in front of him, eyes droopy and almost red with tears.
His gaze slowly traces your shape, until it makes eye contact. You can see the instant change. Worry furrows his brows, but his face pleads for context.
"Pips, oh my god," he opens his arms. "Come here."
You throw yourself in his lap, curling like a baby. Tears swell up in your eyes.
"I fucked up, Caleb. I messed up real bad this time. This... this civilian... they got... " your voice strangled at the memory.
"Shhhh, pips. It's ok. It's gonna be ok." His big frame engulfs you as if to melt your body into his.
You take a deep, shaky breath and close your eyes, unexpected slumber taking you.
a/n: drabble based on the art. credits linked! heh đ„°
âDon't cry. Be a good girl.â
Calebâs warm fingertips brush against your wet cheeks, attempting to distract you from the pain throbbing from your knees.
Your sobs turn to sniffles, trying to brave through the sting. Caleb lightly blows on your wound in case any debris from the ground gets stuck. Well, that's the most he could do for now before he brings you back to grandma to treat the abrasions. No deep cuts, thankfully. But he knows it still hurts.
Caleb pats your head to soothe you further, at least until your crying fully stops. His touch is warm and comforting, and the throbbing sting from your knees slowly grows numb.
âLet's go back to grandma, okay?â Caleb assures. He turns around, and kneels, gesturing a piggyback. You gingerly climb, braving through the soreness and you feel Calebâs small palms grab hold of your legs as he slowly stands up and makes the trip back to the house.
âDon't cry. Be a good girl.â
His voice rings in your ears, but you're barely registering it.
Another thrust from below, and your voice is stuck at the back of your throat. Tears stream down your cheeks helplessly from the sheer pleasure.
It feels so fucking good.
Calebâs fingers are tight on your hips, lifting your ass up and forcing you to take all of his cock again and again.
âThat's it. You're taking me so wellâ, Calebâs thick words of praise tickles your ears and fresh slick leaks out of your pussy, adding onto the mess below.
Bite and scratch marks are littered all over Calebâs shoulders and chest. His eyes are glassy, red flushed across his cheeks and the rest of his skin from the heat shared between the both of you.
He bites down his bottom lip when he feels your pussy fluttering against his thick cock again. It's pushing him way too close to the edge. The pleasure is rippling through him so dangerously good, he doesn't know how much of his mind he has left before he completely loses it. The only thing that's staying intact is probably the dog tag that he always wears, absorbing the heat from Caleb's body.
He looks down at the bites he's given you in return on your chest, then the way your tits bounce when you get desperate at fucking him, and finally at the way his cock completely disappears in and out of you, drenched in the sticky mess.
âDon't stop. You feel so good, Calebâ, your voice comes out slightly hoarse from all the crying and moaning. You don't even know what feels real and what isn'tâonly the delicious sensations of being fucked completely dumb by Caleb.
You hear him scoff in between sharp inhales.
âYou know I wouldn't dare to, pipsqueak. Not until I'm done making you cry.â
Caleb had agreed that you would come visit him last holiday at home, just the two of you in Skyhaven, where he would get to show you around. You had been counting the days, the circled date on the calendar feeling like a ball of anxious energy in your chest.
The journey up to the giant floating island had been fairly normal, you thought, as someone who didn't often journey up to floating islands. He was waiting for you when you docked, eager to catch you as you flung yourself into his arms the second your feet touched the ground. He spun you with the momentum, swinging you in circles.
âYou made it.â He sighed into your hair.
âWere you worried I wouldn't?â
He smiled and pressed a kiss to your cheek, surprising but not unwelcome, as he set you back down.
You held his face in your hands for just a moment, bursting with an indescribable emotion to be here with him.
âTake me to your dorm.â Was the only thing you could muster.
âLooks cozy.â You remarked staring into the cramped room.
âThis isn't even the smallest room I've been assigned since I've been here. I'm just glad I'm not sharing it with anyone else this time. We swap around a lot so there's not a lot of room for comfortable touches, I keep all my personal stuff in a box.â
He tapped a metal footlocker with his knuckle and it caught your eye. Above it sat a bulletin board with his schedule pinned to it, and a handful of personal photos. Most of them were the two of you, jokey selfies you had taken on your phone. You traced your fingers over one of them, one of your favorite memories. The last bonfire party of the summer, your friends all stacked on top of each other to play volleyball on the beach. In the photo you were sitting up on Caleb's shoulders, your free hand tousled in his hair, his hands gripping your bare thighs. You were arm and arm with another girl, some older girl you didn't know, as she sat on one of Caleb's friendâs shoulders. This was the day you knew it was the beginning of the end. Caleb would be leaving for Academy soon and every touch from him felt so intoxicating and final. Climbing on him to play volleyball felt like an excuse to feel his skin against yours. His hands were so warm and strong on your thighs, you spent the whole match distracted by his touch, wishing you could feel his hands on you again for any reason at all. It was the day you realized that missing him felt like more than just missing him.
You cleared your throat to hopefully try and clear the thought from your head. Not helpful when you've just arrived for a three day stay in this cramped glorified studio apartment.
âThat was such a fun day.â He remarked over your shoulder.
âWe lost.â You laughed back.
âIt's not about winning or losing, Pipsqueak. It's about the journey.â
âThe journey to the bottom bracket in beach volleyball?â
He eased your backpack off his shoulder and set it next to the bed, a small twin in the alcove off to the left. You wondered absently what the sleeping arrangement would look like, a flutter in your stomach at the idea of close quarters.
âSomething like that. Hungry? There's a bunch of food trucks set up down on the other side of the docks.â
Skyhaven was beautiful, you knew it would be. He showed you around the parts of the campus he was allowed before he headed down towards what was clearly the gathering spot for locals. Food trucks and pop up stands lined the edge of the pier, bustling with people and activity. Some people wore military uniforms, or class uniforms, or even just fatigues.
You felt his hand on the small of your back as you walked, not unwelcome but surprising again.
The entire place was like a dream in the clouds, it's own mechanical ecosystem up here. There were fewer birds, a welcome departure not to have seagulls begging at the pier. He guided you to a food truck where they seemed to recognize him and you let him order for you. Caleb knew what you wanted more often than you did, it seemed. You ate outside, enjoying each other's company and the beautiful sunlight. Caleb picked up a forkfull of noodles and made a funny face and you snapped a picture of him, making a little heart with your fingers in the foreground. You both laughed and ate, remembering how much you missed each other's company.
The sunset in Skyhaven was beautiful. You saw it from above, stunning reds and pinks melted into the horizon and set a warm tone to both of your cheeks. You snapped a picture of that, too. This was the sort of thing you wanted to remember again when you missed Caleb back on solid ground. He happily obliged your photos, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and burying his nose in your hair.
You lingered until dark, and dark came swiftly. Heavy pendulous clouds rolled in from the east, blanketing the last reaches of soft warm light the second it was extinguished. Thunder rumbled distantly and you wondered how bad it could get.
âAre storms better or worse up this high?â You asked.
The face he made wasn't a reassuring reply.
Rain started to fall, fat wet drops that hit the pavement with a thud and were easy enough to avoid. People around you ducked under awnings as it picked up. Caleb gripped onto your hand, guiding you back to the dorms as it picked up.
You ducked inside fast, laughing like maniacs and shaking the water out of your hair at each other.
âCaleb!â A voice called out behind you.
He turned and couple of people you didn't recognize were waving him down. The hand at the small of your back became a hand at your waist, pulling you closer. It felt indulgent to lean in, but he was protective and full of surprises this weekend.
âI thought you were usually off campus for holidays?â This perfect stranger in a sleeveless T-shirt asked. You wondered idly if all of them have the same level of impulse control and cut all the sleeves off their clothes the second they get up here.
âUsually, yeah.â Caleb replied with a tight smile.
âThis must be your girl from back home you're always talking about. Hey, I'm Gideon.â
He stuck his hand out for you to shake, a typical flyboy overly firm handshake.
âOh, so Caleb's talked about me?â You asked, sneaking a look at Caleb, who was more interested in looking anywhere else.
âOf course I do, y/n.â He replied, more sheepish than you had seen him in a long time.
âHe never shuts up!â Gideon laughed. âAt first we thought he was just inventing some fake girlfriend back home to get the other girls to leave him alone. But you really look like all the photos he keeps.â
You smiled, ready to make fun of him the second you were alone again, catching the blush at the tips of his ears.
âWe gotta head inside, you guys should get moving before the rain gets any worse.â Caleb deflected, gesturing out the windows behind them. He was scrambling to get control of the conversation again.
The storm clouds outside were emptying into the streets, it had gotten darker much faster than you thought. Lightning cracked somewhere in the distance and thunder rattled the building. You winced at it, and felt his arm tighten around you. Always your protector.
âIt was nice to meet you!â Gideon called out, opening his umbrella and ducking into the rainstorm.
Caleb let out a heavy sigh.
âNot a word out of you.â
You laughed and mimed zipping your lips.
The walk up the stairs was quiet, he held your hand and walked ahead of you, keeping his expression hidden.
The door shut quietly behind you before you burst out laughing again.
âI said not a word!â He warned with a finger pointed at you.
âNone of that was a word.â You laughed back. âSorry, I'll be normal now.â
âCome on, Pipsqueak.â
âYour friends seem nice.â
âThey're not.â He sighed again, his hand rubbing his brow.
He shucked off his coat, tossing it over the back of a chair to dry and kicked both of your wet shoes over to the door.
âBeds all yours.â He said gesturing across the room to the lone neatly made bed.
âWhat? No.â You were quick to reply. âIt's your bed, I'm not gonna kick you out of it like that. I can sleep on the couch.â
âWhat kind of host would I be if I dragged you out in the rain and then made you sleep on that lumpy old thing? No, it's fine. I've slept in worse places.â
âI'm the one intruding on your space. It's fine I'll just-â
âIt's not a discussion.â He cut you off. âYou're sleeping in the bed.â
âOkay, Colonel Bossy.â You rolled your eyes.
The bed did look comfortable. You ruffled up the pillows, fluffing them and untucking the sheets. It was unmistakable the way it smelled like him, not just his body wash or his deodorant, but the way they commingled with his natural scent and smelled like warm comfortable sunlight, filtered through summer memories and warmed skin. The idea of sleeping here, completely enveloped in the smell of him, gave your stomach a little flip.
Lightning cracked nearby, rattling the window above the bed. You took a deep steadying breath, hoping the storm didn't get worse. Stealing a look over at Caleb, he was unfolding a blanket onto the couch, pretending not to be looking over at you. You wrung the blanket in your hands, nervous for some reason now.
âWhat if I don't wanna sleep alone?â You asked quietly, knowing this bed wasn't big enough for two.
âThat's okay.â He replied almost immediately, abandoning the half folded blanket mess he was making. âI can keep you company.â
You tried not to smile about it, as if the eagerness in his voice was imaginary. He rifled through his drawers for clothes that weren't rain damp, soft pants and a T-shirt you could swear used to have sleeves. You sat at the end of the bed facing away from him, going through your own backpack for just the same. Slipping off your skirt and sweater for sleep shorts and a tank top. You snuck a look over your shoulder, watching him wrestle out of his damp shirt, trying to commit to memory the way his muscles flexed under his skin. You turned back around before him, pretending not to be looking.
The two of you had shared a bed before, much younger, before puberty, on family trips. You slept backside to backside, curled away from each other, a feat much easier when you're smaller and the bed is bigger. This bed was not that.
âOne of us has to be the little spoon or one of us has to be the pillow, I think.â He said, eyeing his own bed down.
âBe my pillow?â You asked sweetly, hooking your pinky with his in a way you knew he'd never refuse.
He clamboured into bed, leaning against the headboard, leaving room for you to crawl between his bowed legs and lean on him.
Both of you enjoyed your moment to unwind in contented silence, scrolling through your phones with tangled legs. You scrolled back through the photos you took, smiling at the photos of you together. You looked so natural, tucked under his arm where you belonged.
âI could start my own memories corkboard and I could put this one on there.â You said, showing him your favorite of the bunch.
âI bet there's a bunch of old Polaroids of us in the attic, too.â He said with a smile.
You posted the photo of him holding his noodles up tapping out a quick caption âdinner with my faveâ
His phone buzzed somewhere behind you, where you heard a warm chuckle and the buzz of his fingertips on his phone.
âwoah whos that guy, he looks handsomeâ the reply read. A giggle managed to escape your lips as you tossed your phone into your backpack for the night.
You gave a dramatic yawn and used it as an excuse to lean all the way flush against him until you could snoop on him, watching scroll on his own social media.
âWhatcha looking at?â You asked, but you didn't need to. It was your account still. He was scrolling back through your posts and heart reacting them.
âJust seeing what you've been up to since I saw you last. Whose hand is this?â He asked, pointing to the tiniest sliver of a manâs hand in the corner of a photo of a dessert in a cafe.
âZayne.â
âZayne.â He said with a tone. âShould have guessed.â
âDon't be like that.â You scoffed back, watching his thumb click on Zayneâs name and scroll over his profile now.
âIt's fine,â he lied. âHe's a successful doctor or whatever, I'm not surprised he finally mustered up the guts to ask you out.â
âHe didn't ask me out, we ended up at the same cafe at the same time so we sat together.â
âWhat a fumble.â He snorted, scrolling through and liking some innocuous post on Zayne's feed.
You rolled over onto your stomach, pillowing your head on your hands across his chest and watching the reflection of his phone across his violet eyes.
âWhy do you care so much?â
âI don't,â he lied again.
Thunder rumbled softly in the distance again.
He clicked his phone shut and set it off to the side table, finally giving you the unwavering attention you seemed to be asking for. He tucked a stray strand behind your ear and let his hands rest on your shoulderblades. He met your gaze, always with intense ease, and you cocked your head to watch him.
âSo you're telling people I'm your girlfriend?â You asked with a smile.
âNo, I just stopped correcting people. It was easier than explaining.â
âExplaining what?â
He didn't answer, just swept your bangs out of your eyes again.
Thunder rumbled behind you gently and a crack of lightning hit somewhere nearby. You jolted and his arms tightened around you, tucking your head in closer under his chin.
He leaned over to the bedside table and clicked the light off.
âLet's get to sleep, huh pipsqueak?â He whispered into your hair.
There in the dark, could have sworn he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You leaned up and looked up at him, lips a breath away from his.
âThank you for inviting me and being my tour guide.â
âOf course, you know I'd do anything for you.â
âNext time you'll have to come stay with me for vacation and then I can do the same.â
âIs that so?â He teased.
âYeah. And not to brag or anything but my apartment is much bigger than this. Bigger bed too.â
âOh? You planning to make me share your bed too?â
âNo I just-â you sputtered out nervously, a slip of the tongue.
âI'm teasing. I'd love to stay with you. I'll share whatever you want.â
He curled around you, pulling the blanket up to tuck you both in. He was warm and it felt almost like being cocooned. You slipped your arms around his back, holding him tight and letting your head rest on his chest, listening to the rise and fall of his breathing, the swell of his heartbeat. It was the kind of comfort that felt indulgent, how many nights had you wished for this exact comfort? How long had you spent afraid to ask? His breathing evened out as sleep washed over you.
Crack
Crack
The sound of wanderers hitting the ground around you
Thick acrid smoke pooled around you, pouring from the wreckage of your home. It poured out of every shattered window, filling the house and choking you out and you waded to the door. The whole house rumbled and threatened to shake apart.
Crack
Your handle fumbled with the doorknob, turning and turning and turning, shaking the door and try and force it open
Rumble
Shouting from somewhere, muffled by the ringing in your ears, upstairs maybe? There was no upstairs, smoke poured down the stairs like hot blood. Outside.
Crack
You fumbled again trying to look out the window to see if it was blocked. The house rumbled and shook free the broken panes of glass.
Caleb.
Caleb on the other side trying to pry it open. Always Caleb watching out for you. You cried out his name but he didn't react, he couldn't hear you. You fumbled with the knob again, trying to rip the door open, hearing his shoulder crash into it from the other side.
Crack
He was throwing his weight against the door and it shook the whole house. You didn't care if he took the whole thing to pieces as long as he got to you. Beams fell around you as the smoke got higher, sour and hot in your mouth. Walls started to crumble, but not the one that mattered, not the way keeping him away from you. You grabbed the knob and one last time and yanked hard
Crack
âCaleb!â You gasped with a sob, jolting awake against him.
You could hear him shushing you, tamping down your fear as you scrambled closer to him, into his lap, into his arms. He was solid. He was here. You pressed your face into his neck, trying to dig your way closer to him. His arms tightened around you, a hand coming to hold the back of your head almost as shaky as your own.
âYou were so far away and the smoke-â
âJust a bad dream mei mei, I'm right here, I'm never leaving you.â
Thunder rumbled around you, shaking the windows in their frames. You winced, unconsciously, as if the house was threatening to shake apart again. But he was here. There was no black smoke. Just Caleb.
âI'm sorry.â You choked out, trying to gain a shred of composure. You leaned away, his arms still bracketing you in and keeping you from drawing too far from him. âThat's really embarrassing. I haven't had a nightmare like that in a while.â
âYou don't have to apologize to me. Storms were always hard on you, that's what I'm here for.â He wiped a tear from your cheek, you hadn't even realized you had been crying. His hands were so warm and soft and it was easy to lean your face into his palm.
He was so warm and solid and here. Caleb. Your Caleb.
It would be so easy to stop dancing around this thing the two of you had become. His eyes looked pleading almost, begging to ask if you were alright, begging you to know you were safe. Always safe with him. It used to bother you, the way he was so overprotective, the first to jump up to defend you whether or not you ever needed it. Maybe you never needed it. Maybe you always wanted it. You had weathered so much together, clinging to only each other, and now here you were crying in his lap. And here he was, trying to soothe away your nightmares.
Caleb.
Your Caleb.
Closing the gap was easy. His mouth was warm and yielding to yours immediately. Clinging to him felt like clinging to the skin of the earth, threatening to fly away at a moment's notice. He drew in a sharp breath, his hands firm on your shoulders.
âWait.â He started, pulling away.
âI'm sorry I shouldn't have-â
âI said wait.â He interrupted
âIf you don't want me to-â
He cut you off with another kiss, this one hungrier, bruising almost.
âThat's not what I said.â He was softer this time, his hands cradled your face.
Your eyes felt heavy, drunk on one long awaited kiss.
âThis is a line I promised myself I wouldn't cross a long time ago. And if we do now, I don't think it's a line I can go back on once I find myself on the other side of it. So I need you to be certain that this is what you want.â
You wanted to kiss the words out of his mouth. But it was Caleb. So you settled for teasing.
You ran your thumb across his bottom lip, still wet, still wanting. He gave a gentle kiss on the pad of your thumb, staring down at you with wild desperation. You steadied yourself on his shoulders, straddling his lap, wondering which one of you was more nervous.
âYou always had more self control than me.â You whispered into his space, pushing his hair out of his face and pulling yourself closer to him.
âYou have no idea.â
âYou don't have to hold yourself back.â
âIf you knew how badly I wanted you, you wouldn't be saying that.â He said it with almost a chuckle.
âI don't want to go back to how it was before, I just want you.â
His kiss was desperate, devouring. His hands gripped you tighter, roaming under your shirt, rucking it up under your chest. His mouth found its way to the hollow of your throat, sloppy and claiming as it sucked a mark. You held onto the headboard behind his head, trying to gain some semblance of control for just a second.
âPromise you mean that?â He begged between heated kisses, voice thick with something you just couldn't put a finger on.
âI promise.â
âTell me again. Say my name.â
Like a string held taught for so many years, you could hear something had snapped in him. There was a twinkle in his eyes you didn't recognize, and it was hungry for you.
âI only want you, Caleb.â
He stifled a groan against your skin, hands searing where they touched you. He was almost achingly gentle as he touched you, feeling up your back to unclasp your bra, and then back down to pull you further into his lap with reverent hands. You rolled your hips against him and watched a measure of restraint melt away as he bucked up against you. His fingers dipped below your waistband and you gasped as they journeyed further, into your soaked panties.
âAll this for me?â He whispered again, and you could hear the wild smile in his voice. âI can't wait to taste.â
His fingers circled your clit, as deft as you could imagine a fighter pilot could be, and you gripped the headboard like it was the only thing grounding you.
He sucked another bruise into your skin, pulling you closer so he could hear your little moans in his ear. His fingers rubbed tight circles, taking your sounds as encouragement and instruction.
A familiar feeling pooled in your belly and you rocked your hips into his hand, chasing your own release with his body.
âCaa-leb!â You whimpered and gasped against him.
âNot yet, sweet girl. I have more I wanna do to you.â
His hand withdrew and you missed it immediately, before you felt your shirt pulled up. You let go of the headboard and helped, pulling off your shirt and bra together and tossing them off to the side. Just as soon as your eyes were covered the gravity shifted, and you were on your back, feeling your shorts and underwear tugged off and discarded as well. Caleb stood on his knees above you, his chest heaving as his eyes studied every inch of skin he could see.
âI've had dreams like this.â
âMe too.â You replied.
He took off his T-shirt, tossing it off somewhere and crawling over you. He started with a few chaste kisses before he quickly moved downward. He sucked another mark into the hollow of your hips, taking a moment after to pause and press his face into your skin and take a deep breath.
His tongue was hot and wet and you gasped when you felt it at your core. It swirled around your clit and you resisted the urge to snap your hips. As practiced as his fingers were, his tongue made no fool of him, though it quickly made a fool of you. A whimper formed in your throat, somewhere between involuntary and eager. He groaned as he heard it, reverberating through you.
You wondered idly if he was spelling your name or his with his tongue. Before you could finish the thought two fingers spread you open for him before pressing inside. You clenched around him and he groaned into your pussy again.
He was quick to find that bundle of nerves inside you, guiding you towards your crest. You knotted your fingers in his hair, crying out his name as your orgasm met its peak. His fingers pumped in and out, coaxing you through it as he left sloppy open mouthed kisses on your trembling thighs.
âSo perfect.â He whispered between kisses. âJust like I always dreamed. Better.â
Your open palm found his cheek, soothing your thumb over his wet face. He stared up at you from between your thighs, still looking absolutely wrecked.
âI can do more. I'd be so good to you.â
He placed a kiss in your palm, looking at you with expectant eyes, waiting for you to join the conversation.
âMore?â You asked, your post-orgasm brain still hazy and remembering how to fit back in your body.
He slid up on his knees again, and you watched him adjust himself in his pants, placing another kiss into your hand.
âOh, you want to fuck me.â You blurted out as your brain caught up, your soft hand on his cheek turning to a grip on his face.
âPlease.â
âYes, God yes.â
He laughed as he scrambled off the bed. He fought with the legs of his pants, but eventually stripped off his pants and boxers and crawled back across the bed.
He kissed you again quick, pressing his whole naked form to yours. His cock was thick and heavy between you, beautifully hard and bobbing like it wanted to be touched. God, you wanted to be the one to touch it. He leaned up again, taking a look at you under him.
âGod, you're so beautiful like this.â He mused.
You looked up at him and thought the same thing, all beautiful lean muscle and wild desperate wanting. He looked like the forbidden fruit you had waited so long to indulge in. You had spent a lot of time and energy envisioning this moment. Many nights spent with trembling fingers pressed to your lips and buried deep in yourself, searching for something you hadn't even known you could taste.
Now here he was in front of you, or rather you were in front of him like a feast.
Somehow you had both over and under prepared to be here, under Caleb for the first time.
âHold on, wait.â You stopped for a moment, hand on his stomach as he stood on his knees and kneeled over you.
âWe don't have to.â He replied, quietly, as he caged you in with his elbows, running the tip of his nose across the shell of your ear.
âNo I want to.â You held your nervous pause. How can you say you spent so long thinking about this moment that you never imagined actually getting here or what it would feel like? âI just-â
âHave never done this?â He interrupted.
âYeah.â
âOkay.â He stilled a moment before he babbled on. âYeah. Good. Okay. That's fine. I can be gentle.â
âWhat do you mean good?â
âIt means I get to be the only one who touches you. I'm terrible at sharing.â
He gripped your hips, lining himself up and waiting. He searched your face for something, you weren't sure what, so you nodded. You felt the press of him near your entrance, rubbing back and forth against your still sensitive clit before pushing in agonizingly slow.
It was both too much and not enough.
You felt the whine in your throat before you heard it, gasping out his name as he split you open.
âThat's my girl.â He keened, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your skin as he moved in you.
He groaned as he bottomed out, fully sheathed in you, and you felt his fingers biting into your flesh.
You took a breath, watching him over you. He swept his hair out of his face, off his sweaty brow and held your eye contact. He still had that wild desperation in his eyes, a look you hadn't seen before tonight, but knew you'd have a hard time living without.
He started moving, torturously slow, his eyes glued to where he moved inside you. He groaned as he watched himself fucking into you, breath slow and even and rapturous. He brought a hand down, circling your clit with the pad of his thumb and earning a gasp. His free hand roamed your skin, looking for any place on your body he hadn't memorized yet to squeeze and pull closer to him.
Your shoulders felt lifted, coming up off the mattress and you scrambled for purchase against him.
âCaleb-!â You shrieked in surprise and he chuckled in response, using his evol to lift you off the bed and bring you flush to him.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding onto him while he shifted your weight around, deciding how to move you.
âDon't drop me.â You teased.
âWouldn't dream of it.â
His mouth was hot, kissing his way down your neck, leaving a litany of marks in his wake. His teeth scraped your collarbone and you leaned back, giving him more room to explore.
His tongue swirled around a nipple and you gasped again. He smiled against your skin and did it again. You cradled his head to your chest, letting him lathe over your skin.
You were happy to let him manhandle you around, and he did with ease. His fingers dug into your thighs, sharp and biting as they held you up and you were certain you'd find bruises in their shapes for the week to come.
The same hands left bruises on your heart you'd been feeling for years, what was one more mark left by him? At least these you could press your fingers into when he was gone and remember how this felt.
He looked up at you through his eyelashes, face slick with spit and sweat, a perfect picture of desire. His mouth was so plush and pink and his half lidded eyes pierced through you as he panted against you.
âI don't think youâve ever looked more beautiful.â He mouthed against your skin.
You wanted to say something witty or sappy or sexy but your mind was blank, an absolute jibbering mess working towards another orgasm at the hands of the only man you've ever imagined while chasing it yourself. You wanted to match his candor but that wasn't what came out.
âI love you.â was what came out instead.
For a moment you felt his focus slip, his arms wound around you again, bringing your mouth crashing to his before you felt your back hit the sheets again.
He held onto you for dear life, strokes getting sloppy and erratic. A new angle pressing him into you in a new way, feeling the peak of orgasm threaten to bloom again.
âAll mine, tell me you're all mine.â He whimpered into your neck.
âAll yours, Caleb. I always was.â
His speed was almost punishing now, fucking into you with desperation, babbling praise and platitudes into your skin. You cried out against him as another orgasm ripped through your body, letting it wash out your senses, filled now with only Caleb.
You pulled his face to you, catching him in a kiss he didn't expect. You swallowed down his moans, tasting like wet summer air and your own spend. He folded around you, burying himself deep into you as he met his own completion, clutching you tight to his body.
You laid there, chests heaving against each other in the dark of his bedroom for what felt like an eternity. You weren't sure when your ears had started ringing, but as they came back to clarity you remembered the rumbling storm outside.
You kissed the top of his head and felt him take a deep breath against you. He leaned up and caught you in kiss, soft and chaste after everything he had just done to you. Caleb peeled himself off of you reluctantly, padding softly to the bathroom, and returning with a soft wet washcloth.
He cleaned you up quietly, placing soft kisses where he could reach. You felt soft and tired now, letting him move you around, worshiping your body in a new way every minute. Finally he slotted in behind you, pulling you flush to him and tickling your ear with the tip of his nose.
âI love you, too.â He whispered, and you were grateful he couldn't see your blush in the dark.
You threaded your fingers with his and wrapped his arms tighter around you.
Thunder rumbled again somewhere in the distance but you were too content and tired to feel anything about it, not with Caleb wrapped around you and pressing little kisses into all the marks he left.
âIf the rain stops tomorrow we should go to the pier again.â You mused, closing your eyes and letting him indulge again.
âYou're lucky if I let you out of this room tomorrow.â He chuckled against your skin.
f!reader x caleb ⥠18+ mdni ⥠â1.6k words ⥠banner art credit
What happens when you actually tap out with your safe word?
Caleb goes into aftercare mode. Sweet doting reassurances and care. Extreme gentleness to accommodate his previous roughness. Petnames included. Barely proofread.
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Your throat is raw, every sound breaking into sobs and moans as Caleb drives into you with ruthless precision. Your body is a trembling, overstimulated mess, every nerve singing with fire. You try to hold on, to cling to the haze of bliss and punishment heâs wrapped you in. But you're so spent, your body is beyond tired, and itâs too much for you. Your chest heaves, your throat catches, and the word slips out, soft but urgent, coated in desperation.
âApple.â
The air shifts instantly. Caleb stills mid-thrust, buried deep inside you, but no longer moving. The sharp edge in his eyes melts away the moment he hears it, replaced with something tender, protective. His chest heaves as he wrestles back the wild hunger driving him, a master of control, his jaw flexing before he presses a gentle kiss against your damp shoulder.
âApple,â he repeats softly, grounding both of you in the word. His tone is calm, steady, doting. âOkay, baby. I hear you. Iâve got you.â
Slowly, carefully, he eases out of you, one hand on your hip as if afraid youâll topple over without him holding you steady. You probably would.
You collapse against the sheets with a whimper, every muscle too weak to hold you up anymore, and immediately his arms are around you. He pulls you back against his chest, cocooning you in warmth, in the safety of his strong biceps.
âShh⊠thatâs it, sweetheart. Itâs over. No more,â he murmurs into your hair, rocking you gently as though soothing a child from a nightmare. His lips brush over your temple, your cheek, damp strands of hair clinging to your flushed face as he peppers you with kisses.
Your body trembles, the aftershocks of too many orgasms rippling through you, but Caleb strokes slow, calming circles into your sides, coaxing you back into yourself.
âYou did so good for me. So fucking good. Iâm so proud of you,â he whispers, each word threaded with reverence.
When your shaky breaths hitch, he tilts your chin up with the softest touch, wiping the drool and tears from your mouth and cheeks with his thumbs. His gaze is nothing but love, nothing but adoration.
âLook at me, beautiful. Breathe with me, yeah? Just like this.â He inhales slowly, deeply, holding you close so you can feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back. You follow, ragged at first, but his steady rhythm guides you until your own breathing evens out.
Caleb shifts you onto your side, curling his body around yours like a shield. He reaches down for the blanket and drapes it over your shivering frame, tucking it around you with meticulous care. His hands linger, rubbing warmth back into your thighs and calves, smoothing over every quivering muscle as if to erase the ache he left behind.
âDo you need water, pips?â he asks softly, kissing the back of your neck.
âOr something sweet? Iâll get you anything you want. Just tell me. Don't hate me, I promise, I don't mean to hurt you, I'm not upset, you did so well.â
Your lips part, a broken little sound of exhaustion slipping free.
âLove you, Caleb, no hate.â His face breaks into a smile, and he doesnât press you for any more words. He already knows.
He tightens his hold around you, murmuring, âItâs okay. Iâve got you. Donât moveâIâll take care of everything. Thank you.â
True to his promise, he slips away only long enough to grab a bottle of water and a cool, damp cloth. He returns quickly, like he canât bear to be away from you, and coaxes you to sip while his other hand wipes the sweat from your forehead, your chest, the sticky mess between your thighs. His movements are slow and purposeful.
When you slump back against him, too tired to do more, he gathers you into his arms again, pressing your head to his chest. His heartbeat is steady, strong, a lullaby beneath your ear.
âYouâre safe now. Always safe with me,â he whispers, stroking your hair until the strands untangle beneath his fingers. He hums softly, a low soothing sound, kissing your crown as you drift.
Every now and then, he reminds you in hushed tones of how much he cares.
âI love you. Iâm so proud of you. Thank you for trusting me. You learn so well, you make me feel so lucky.â
Each affirmation melts into your bones, a blanket warmer than the one covering your body.
As your lashes flutter closed and exhaustion finally pulls you under, Caleb stays awake, holding you close, still murmuring his soft reassurances into the quiet of the room. Protective. Loving. Patient.
And when sleep takes you, itâs with the certainty that he will still be there, watching over you, the next time you open your eyes.
âââââ
Morning comes softly, sunlight spilling pale and golden across the sheets. Your body stirs, but the ache in your muscles is immediate. It's dull and deep, a reminder of just how far youâd been pushed, how much you took.
For a moment you tense, unsure, until you feel the familiar weight of Calebâs arm draped over your waist, the warmth of his chest pressed to your back. Heâs awake, you realize, the steady brush of his thumb over your hip bone proof that heâs been watching for any sign of discomfort.
âEasy, pips,â his voice is low, still rough with sleep but tender. He presses a kiss into your hair before you can even think of shifting.
âDonât move too fast. Your bodyâs had a hell of a night.â
You relax back against him, your muscles too sore to do much else, and he chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your shoulder.
âYeah, thatâs what I thought,â he teases gently, but he isn't smug or too unkindâhis voice holds only total unfiltered affection. His fingers trace soothing patterns along your arm, grounding you in the slow, soft rhythm of his touch.
âStay here,â he whispers after a moment, easing himself carefully out of the bed without disturbing you.
The absence of his warmth makes you whimper faintly, but heâs back soon enough, after fifteen or so minutes, setting a tray down on the nightstand. When he settles beside you again, he helps you sit up against the pillows, lifting you with a tenderness that makes your chest ache.
The tray is simple but thoughtful: a glass of water, orange juice, pain medicine, fruit, and toast cut neatly into small halves with no crusts.
âSomething light,â Caleb explains, placing the water into your hands first.
âYou need fluids. And sugar. Donât argue, just sip for me.â
He watches carefully as you drink, brushing a strand of hair away from your damp forehead, then easing the glass from your fingers when youâre done. Every motion is deliberate, patient, as though youâre fragile porcelain heâs determined not to crack.
âHowâs your body?â he asks, his gaze never leaving your face.
âSore? Cramping? Tell me everything.â
You murmur a weak, âSore. Everywhere,â and he smiles, kissing your temple, then the bridge of your nose.
âGood. That means I didnât imagine how incredible you were last night.â His words are soft, wrapped in unbridled joy and appreciation.
With steady care, his hands are already moving, reaching into the drawer for a bottle of lotion. He rubs it between his palms to warm it, then begins to massage your thighs, your calves, slow and steady. The ache eases little by little under his careful attention.
When you wince, he immediately softens his touch, murmuring, âShh, Iâve got you. Just tell me where itâs too much. Iâll be gentle.â
The care stretches throughout the morning. He insists you stay in bed, fetching you ibuprofen when he notices the strain around your eyes, drawing the curtains to keep the room dim and restful. He changes the sheets while you lie curled in the blankets, making sure everything feels clean and fresh, then tucks you back in like itâs the most natural thing in the world.
Every so often, he leans down to kiss you. Your forehead, your neck, your cheek, and your lips if you tilt your head to meet him. Theyâre slow kisses, grounding ones, nothing like the desperate, disciplinary claims of the night before.
âIâm proud of you,â he tells you quietly, brushing his thumb across your jaw.
âFor using your word. For knowing your limit. Thatâs everything to me, pips. You are so good, so perfect.â
By midday, heâs coaxed you into a warm bath, carrying you when your legs shake too much to walk. He lowers you into the water as though you might break, then kneels beside the tub with a soft towel draped over his arm, content just to watch over you while the heat soothes your aching muscles. He washes your hair for you, careful fingers massaging your scalp until you hum softly in contentment.
âAh~ You're the best, Caleb. Thank you.â
âMm, I know, baby.â
âââââ
The rest of the day is spent in quiet comfort.
Caleb wrapping you in one of his shirts, carrying you back to bed, putting on a movie you barely pay attention to because you keep dozing against his chest. Each time you stir, heâs there, rubbing circles into your back, whispering reassurances you donât even need to hear to believe.
And every moment, he treats you like something precious. To him, that trust you gave him is worth more than anything.
By nightfall, as he tucks you against his chest again and kisses the crown of your head, his voice is nothing but love.
âSleep, pipsqueak. Iâll take care of you tomorrow, too. For as long as you need. Always.â
Caleb is a brat maker and no one can change my mind
caleb is the biggest brat maker there is. ever since you were taken from the shelter & he introduced himself â âiâm caleb, iâll always be by your side.â heâs meant it. if anyone could be the epitome of fulfilling promises to you, itâs always caleb.
when your hazy memories needed some anchor, caleb was there. hugging you and holding you. even though he is only a few years older than you, his sense of responsibility is at par with how youâd imagine put-together adults are like. he learns how to cook just because he wants to wipe off that pout from your face, face slacking when you are doing laundry? heâs ready with his laundry skills. his chest is the perfect body pillow. his hand is the perfect hand to hold when you need to just stim through life or if youâre feeling anythingâŠ. any overwhelming emotion at all.
at school⊠caleb was your senior; hovering over you. helping you through your homework. safe to say â caleb is the one who truly raised you.
so now, years later when heâs stuck to your pussy, suckling at your clit like his life depends on it, kneading at your pelvis to guard the ache from cramping through the pleasure. why would you suddenly become⊠this submissive, docile thing? you scoff when he hums, âask me before cumming, baby.â as if.
âno? youâre my caleb? i donât ask you for things?â you get up in disbelief, brows furrowed.
caleb⊠loves feeling needed and wanted. and when you say with such astounding confidence. all he can hear is chants and rings of âyouâre my calebâ in his head. âalrighty~ alrighty~ you little brat.â he chuckles to himself, so proud of making you one. :3c
đ Five flavors of men absolutely ruining themselves on camera because you told them to. Amen.
Crossposted on AO3
The night stretched too long. Your bed felt too wide, your body restless, your phone burning in your hand like it knew what you wanted before you admitted it. Loneliness and hunger made a dangerous mix. You had spent hours scrolling, replaying old pictures, rereading texts until your skin prickled with want.
And then the thought slipped in: if you wanted them, all you had to do was ask.
Your thumb hovered over the keyboard, nerves coiling in your chest. It was stupid, reckless, and greedy. Five men, five different shades of ruin, and you were about to invite every one of them into your night.
But you typed anyway, fingers trembling, tailoring each request to match the man on the other end. Zayneâs clipped name, Xavierâs smug banter, Calebâs sweet devotion, Sylusâs sharp cruelty, Rafayelâs aching need. The same demand beneath each one, dressed in different words: Send me a videoâ with the sound on.
When the last message flew, you lay back against your pillows, heart pounding. The silence buzzed, your body strung tight with anticipation.
And then your phone buzzed. The first reply lit your screen.
doctor_forced_to_cum_with_sound_on.mp4
Zayne stared at the text glowing back at him:
Donât send me a silent clip, Zayne.
I want the full thing. Sound included.
His jaw tightened, teeth grinding. Typical. You never asked like a supplicant, you demanded, confident heâd fold. He should ignore it, and should tell you to stop wasting both your time. A good surgeon respected his workplace, kept things clean, sterile, and controlled. That was why he was still at his desk, notes open, pen scratching through details of the VSD repair heâd closed earlier that evening.
But his pulse betrayed him. Sharp, hot, and immediate. He could picture it too easily: you with your phone clutched tight, face tilted down to the glow, waiting with parted lips. Ear bent close, listening for every crack in his control. The image cut through him like a scalpel. His throat bobbed on a swallow.
âInsufferable,â he muttered under his breath, though his thumb dragged the camera open anyway.
He set the phone on his desk, angled steady, sterileâ like he was documenting a procedure. Then he rose, chair rolling back as he crossed to lock the office door. The only person allowed to see him stripped down to this was you.
When he returned, the leather creaked beneath his weight. He sat too straight, palms flat on his thighs, staring at the phone as if it might judge him. It had been too long since heâd had to do this alone. Usually, you were there, splayed out on his sheets, legs back, eyes bright, every little gasp guiding him. His cock twitched at the memory, straining hard against the confines of his trousers.
The belt came undone with a vicious snap of leather, too harsh, like he could punish the sin before committing it. He yanked it free, fingers working his fly with clipped precision. His briefs tented, his cock heavy and aching inside, already leaking from the head. He exhaled sharply, then tapped record. The red light glared back at him like an accusation.
He cleared his throat, âThis is Zayne⊠Li. Iâll be masturbaâ fuck it.â His jaw flexed. His voice dropped, dark, guttural. âThis is for you, y/n.â
His palm slid beneath the waistband, cupping himself. The groan that cracked out of him was low, rough, the sound of months of discipline bending under a single demand from you. He tugged his briefs down and freed himself. His cock slapped against his stomach, thick, flushed, the tip wet. He frowned at the sterile air, at the lack of heat and wetness. He wanted your mouth. With a sharp sound of irritation, he spat into his hand and slicked himself. The messiness made him groan louder, hips twitching up as he wrapped his fist around himself.
The first strokes were brutal, impatient, as if he wanted to drag himself past the shame by force. His grip was punishing, knuckles pale, dragging from base to tip with a twist of his wrist that made his cock jump. A hiss cut through his teeth, echoing in the sterile room. His rhythm steadied, long pulls, his chest rising and falling faster with each drag.
The fantasy invaded, vivid and merciless: your lips stretching around him, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth, your eyes watering when he shoved deeper than expected. Your gag, your gasp. His cock twitched violently in his grip at the imagined sound.
âChrist,â he rasped, voice rougher than he meant. âYouâd choke on it, wouldnât you? Let me fuck that pretty throat until you drooled all over yourself.â The words tasted like sin, sharp but unstoppable, spilling from his mouth unfiltered.
The control cracked. His pace picked up, the slick slide louder, obscene. His hips rocked up into his fist, the chair groaning under him as he fucked his hand like it was you. His breath tore ragged out of him, his groans turning guttural, curses spilling unchecked.
Wet slaps filled the office, his spit-slick fist pounding his cock, the base hitting against his palm. The red record light blinked in rhythm with each stroke.
The orgasm hit like a knife to the gutâ sudden, brutal, overwhelming. His back arched, head snapping back, a hoarse snarl ripped from his throat with your name tangled in it. Hot ropes of cum shot across his stomach, splattering his desk blotter, dripping from his fist. His hips bucked helplessly through the climax, body shuddering with each contraction.
He sagged back, chest heaving, sweat plastering dark strands to his temple. His hand was still, sticky on his stomach, the other bracing hard against the desk. He stared down at the mess, at the glowing red light. It pulsed like a warning: delete. Wipe it clean. Pretend this never happened.
His thumb hovered, discipline warring with need, shame grinding against hunger.
âInsufferable,â he muttered again, softer this time, closer to reverence than scorn. His breath shuddered out. And then he hit send.
The notification blinked. Your breath caught as you opened it.
The first thing you heard was him. The low scrape of his breath, the wet slap of his fist, a growl of your name torn out of his chest like it was breaking him in half. Zayne looked furious with himself in the video. His jaw clenched, chest flushed, his release spilling hot and messy across his stomach as though discipline had finally snapped.
You clutched your phone tighter, thighs pressing together, shocked at how loud heâd been, how unrestrained. Heâd tried to stay clinical, sterile, but by the end, he was snarling your name like an animal. You couldnât stop replaying it, couldnât stop pressing the phone closer to your ear, chasing every ragged moan.
gymbro_screams_in_shower_real_audio.mov
Another smug gym pic sent, another quick reply from you. He smirked when he read it:
Pictures donât prove anything. Show me the real thing.
And make sure the soundâs on.
A laugh ripped out of him, bright and arrogant. You thought you could out-dare him? Cute. He leaned back against the mirror, still damp with his workout sweat, already picturing the look on your face when your phone filled with his voiceâ when you realized just how loud he could get. And Xavier could get really loud.
The amenity gym on the top floor of his condo was practically deserted compared to the one downstairs, which suited him just fine. He tossed his towel over his shoulder, slid his phone into his pocket, and grabbed the spray bottle, wiping down the handles of the bike like he hadnât already decided what he was about to do.
He strolled into the locker room, casual as sin, and swung open the stall door at the far end. The acoustics were perfect: tile, empty space, echo chamber. He could already imagine your reaction when the sounds bounced straight back at him and into the mic.
He hit record with a grin sharp enough to draw blood. He propped the phone against the soap ledge, angling it just so, catching every flattering line of his torso. One hand raked back through his sweat-tousled hair, the other flicked on the shower.
He didnât look at the lens at first. He let you watch him go through the motions like it was casual, squeezing shampoo into his palm, lathering it through thick hair, head tipped back under the spray. Rivers of water carved down his temples, traced the sharp lines of his jaw, slid along the arch of his throat. He let it run, let you watch, a tease stretched over long minutes.
Next came the body wash. He squeezed the gel onto a cloth and began to drag it slowly over his skin. Ankles, calves, thighs. His hand skimmed high on his hip, soap bubbles catching in the grooves of his muscles. He didnât even hide his smirk when he turned back toward the camera, chest slick, lips curved.
The cloth moved upward, over his chest, circling his nipples, down the ridges of his abs. He was tracing the same paths he knew your hands would take if you were here. He winked at the camera, a smug promise. His pace slowed as he reached lower, the cloth brushing over his hipbones, sliding across the hard line of his stomach.
The friction of terrycloth against sensitive skin made his breath catch. His grin faltered into a hiss. He adjusted, wrapped his hand around his cock with the cloth still between, and dragged it down once, rough. His head fell back.
âFuckââ The word echoed, sharp and needy, bouncing against tile.
He stroked again, longer this time, his cock already flushed and leaking, the soap making every slide harsher, wetter. His chest heaved, shoulders rolling back as he pumped his fist faster, the cloth rubbing mercilessly. The shower spray beat down on his back, mixing water with the suds and slick, sending white froth running over his thighs.
He moaned, loud and unrestrained. The sound filled the locker room, obscene, amplified until it sounded bigger than him. His eyes flicked to the phone, locking with the lens as he groaned your name. âAhhâ fuck, y/nââ It left him half-whisper, half-plea, swallowed immediately by a ragged groan.
He didnât quiet himself. If anything, he grew louder, every gasp, every choked grunt echoing. His hips snapped forward, hand pistoning faster, his thighs trembling with the effort. His moans turned sharp, cracking into curses.
âY/nâ fuckââ His head hit the tiles behind him with a dull thud as his orgasm ripped through, hot stripes spilling from his cock and mixing with soap and spray. His voice broke into something between a growl and a laugh, messy and triumphant, his body jerking as he stroked himself through the last pulses.
For a long second he just stood there, chest heaving, shoulders quivering with aftershocks. Then slowly, deliberately, his grin spread back over his face. Wild, victorious.
He leaned in close to the phone, dripping, water running down the hard cut of his jaw, pooling at his collarbone. His smirk was lethal, cocky enough to bruise.
âBet youâll watch that on repeat.â
He didnât even bother wiping the spray off the lens before his thumb hit send.
The second video arrived before your pulse had even calmed.
This one was a performance from the first frame. Steam curling in the locker room, Xavier smirking at the lens as he soaped himself down. And thenâ loud, cocky, unashamedâ his groans filled your speakers, echoing hard off tile, every noise amplified like he was putting on a show for the whole world. He never looked away from the camera as he came, grinning while cum splattered across his fist, water washing it down his abs in streaks.
You covered your mouth with your hand, but you couldnât stop laughingâ breathless, turned inside out, wrecked by how shameless he was. Where Zayne had fought himself every second, Xavier leaned into it, dared you to keep watching. He knew youâd hit replay until your legs shook.
softboi_cums_in_kitchen_while_cooking_sauce.mp4
The video call had been soft, domestic, the two of you catching up over the sound of his stove and his low, tuneless humming. He teased you about something, you teased backâ it was easy, playful. Until it wasnât. He heard the shift in your voice, the way your breathing slowed between words, the rustle of you squirming against your sheets. And then your plea slipped out, quiet but weighted like a stone dropped into water:
âYou sound so good to me right now. But I donât just want your voice⊠I need to see you. Send me a videoâ with the sound on. Please?â
Before he could even respond, you hung up, too shy to hear the answer. Caleb froze in his kitchen, spoon clattering uselessly to the counter. His throat went dry, a rush of heat blooming low in his belly, making him dizzy. âYou really know how to undo me, donât you?â he whispered into the empty room, hands trembling as he shut the stove off.
Your voice looped in his head, drowning out everything else. The sauce could burn. The only thing he hungered for was youâ spread out, lip caught between your teeth, phone glowing in your hand as you waited to see if heâd give in.
His cock swelled, pressing hard against the fabric of his basketball shorts. He didnât even think about setting the phone up, just yanked it open with one hand while the other pushed under the waistband.
A ragged breath tore from him as his palm wrapped around his length. Already hard, already leaking, precum smeared across his fingers as he dragged them along the shaft. He turned the phone toward his face, eyes wide and dark with hunger, teeth digging into his lip. âLook what you do to me, pipsqueak,â he rasped, voice wrecked. âThis is all your fault.â
He shifted the angle, letting the frame catch glimpses of his flushed chest, the desperate pump of his fist, the way his cock gleamed wet in his grip. The slick sound of him stroking filled the kitchen, obscene against the metronomic tick of the forgotten timer.
âF-fuckây/nââ His moan cracked, high and desperate, as his thumb rubbed over the swollen head, spreading slick down the length. His hips started to buck, chasing the pace, the head of his cock smacking against his stomach on each upward pull. The noise was loud, messy, and raw.
His mouth wouldnât stop running. âWish it was your hand. Wish it was your mouthâ god, baby, youâd look so fucking pretty choking on me. On your knees, drool dripping down your chin, crying while I fuck your throat until you canât breathe.â His voice shook, filthy words tumbling unplanned out of his mouth.
The phone shook with him, the lens catching half-blurred glimpses of his body, the frantic way he fucked into his fist, his abs clenching, sweat sliding down his temple. His breaths turned to broken whimpers, every sound spilling unrestrained into the quiet.
It built fast, like heâd been waiting all night for you to ask. His thighs tensed, his hips jerking hard, the wet slap of his strokes turning frantic. âY/nâfuck, Iâmââ His words cut off in a hoarse shout as his climax ripped through him. Cum shot hot and heavy across his hand and stomach, streaking messily up toward his chest. He pumped through it, shuddering, gasping out your name again, voice breaking, half-moan, half-prayer.
The kitchen smelled of tomatoes and sex, his sauce forgotten, his breath ragged. He nearly dropped the phone, fumbling it closer, his face flushed and glassy-eyed, lips trembling around the words:
âThis is yours. Iâm yours. Always.â
Shame and tenderness warred in his chest, his thumb hovering. Then, with a broken exhale, he hit send.
When Calebâs name lit up your phone, you hesitated. Heâd never said yes so easily before. But when you tapped play, the sight punched the air from your lungs.
The frame was shaky, unfocused, but his voice filled the kitchenâ loud, desperate, filthy. His moans cracked into whimpers, curses tangled with your name, and the slick sound of his strokes carried like he had a microphone pressed to his cock. He was so unpolished, so wrecked, cum striping his chest as he whispered Iâm yours with a trembling smile, still panting.
You pressed the phone to your chest, eyes burning, heat pooling low. He hadnât just sent you proof. Heâd given you every messy second, every broken sound, and confessed himself in the same breath.
The fight had started over nothing, like most of them. You teased, he snapped, you pushed, and he shoved back harder. His last message still burned on your screen: âYouâre too demanding.â
Your reply cut sharp as a knife:
If youâre so unbothered, prove it. Send me the video. And if itâs muted, donât botherâ I wonât watch it.
Sylus barked out a laugh, low and cruel, tossing his phone onto the mattress before picking it back up to reread. âYou think youâre clever, donât you?â he muttered, lips curling into something feral. âFine. You want sound? Iâll give you something youâll never get out of your head.â
He set the phone on the nightstand at an unflattering angle, deliberately unpolished, legs spread wide. His jeans were undone in seconds, his cock springing free, heavy and flushed dark. He spat into his palm, letting the camera hear the wet smack of it before he wrapped his fist around himself.
The first stroke was deliberate, slow, the slick drag echoing in the room. He stared straight into the lens, eyes sharp, daring you to look away. âThere. That what you wanted? Loud enough for you?â His lip curled as he pumped harder, the sound growing wetter, obscene.
His hips started to roll into his fist, sharp jerks that made his cock slap audibly against his palm and thighs. He grunted, a guttural noise, then let it melt into a cruel laugh. âBet youâre already touching yourself. Earphones in, listening to me fucking my fist while you get yourself off like a needy little slut.â
The noises were relentlessâ the slick slide of his spit-slick grip, the wet slaps of his strokes, his heavy breathing growing rougher. Every time he moaned, he did it louder than necessary, exaggerated, mocking you with the rawness of it.
âYouâd be drooling if you were here. Choking on me while I held your head down, making you gag until your mascara ran. And youâd take it, wouldnât you? All the way down. Crying for more.â His voice was rough, vicious, but his strokes betrayed his own desperation, faster now, his hips snapping up into his grip.
His thighs flexed, abs tightening, the muscles in his arm standing out as he fucked into his hand like he hated himself for needing it. His groans cracked, slipping out too raw, too honest, until he bit them down with his teeth.
But the edge crept closer, violent and inevitable. His balls drew tight, his breath stuttered. âFuckây/nâyeah, hear that? Thatâs you ruining me.â The snarl shredded into a ragged moan as his cock jerked violently, thick ropes of cum spilling over his abs, striping his stomach and dripping onto his thighs. He stroked himself through it, grunting with each spurt, milking every drop for the microphone, for you.
The last tremor shook him, chest heaving, cum smeared across his fist, sweat glistening along his throat. He leaned toward the camera, breath fogging the lens, his smirk feral even in ruin.
âYou wanted sound? Now youâre stuck with it. Every filthy second.â His voice dropped into a growl. âDonât say I didnât warn you.â
He hit send without hesitation.
The buzz of Sylusâs reply made your stomach knot, dread and arousal twisting together.
From the first second, you knew you were in trouble. The video was cruel, unfilteredâ wet smacks of spit, the slick drag of his fist, his groans sharpened into taunts. He exaggerated the noise, made it filthy, deliberate, mocking you with every guttural grunt. And when he came, it was violent, cum striping his abs as he laughed low and feral, snarling into the lens: Youâll regret turning the sound on.
You hated him for it. Hated how your hand shook as you replayed it anyway, thighs pressed together so tightly they ached. Every noise was branded into you, raw and merciless. Heâd ruined you on purpose.
It had been a lonely night, one of those nights where everything reminded you of himâ the way his scent clung stubbornly to your sheets, the ghost of his laugh echoing in your chest. Loneliness and want gnawed at you until your thumb hovered, trembling, before you finally typed:
I miss you. Itâs not enough to imagine you. Let me hear you. Send it with the sound on. Let me drown in you.
The message flew, and almost instantly his reply lit up your screen. âYou want me?â The three dots blinked frantic, frantic, before another came through: âThen youâll have me. Every sound. Every breath. Iâll give you everything.â
The video opened too close, his flushed face filling the screenâ pupils swallowing nearly all the color, lips parted around uneven breaths, sweat already dewing at his temples. He shifted back with a shuddering exhale, fumbling at the button of his jeans like his body couldnât keep up with his need.
âYou donât know what you do to me,â he rasped, voice shaking, ruined already. âEvery time I hear your voice, Iâfuck, I canâtââ His words cracked into a groan as his cock sprang free, thick and flushed dark, the tip glossy and wet.
He spat into his palm and wrapped it around himself, dragging slowly from base to head, the noise of it wet and obscene. His head tipped back against the headboard, throat straining, a helpless moan spilling out.
The room filled with noise, unrestrained, indulgent. The slick slide of his fist, the wet slap of his balls against his palm as his hips rocked up to meet the strokes. His voice poured out with it, broken and desperate. âY/nâoh godây/nâfuck, pleaseâplease, I need youââ Your name was woven into every breath, every curse, every guttural groan.
He shifted the angle lower, letting you see the thick length of him working through his hand, veins standing out, precum smeared down the shaft until it glistened. His fist pumped harder, faster, the sound wetter, louder, like he wanted to make sure you heard every filthy second.
âI need you here,â he gasped, voice raw and cracking. âNeed your mouthâ fuck, your perfect little cuntâ want to bury myself so deep inside you youâd never forget me. God, Iâd fill you until you screamed my name and begged me not to stop.â His hips bucked hard, the phone shaking in his grip, his breath breaking into little sobs of frustration and want.
Every moan climbed higher, sharp and unrestrained, body wracked with trembling as he fucked his hand like he was imagining it was your body giving way under him. He whined your name, choked it out like prayer, the sound so raw it bordered on worship.
âY/nây/nâ Iâm closeâ I canâtâ fuck, baby, Iâm gonnaâ â His voice shredded into a hoarse wail as his orgasm ripped through him, violent and overwhelming. His entire body convulsed, cum spilling in hot, thick ropes across his stomach, his chest, dripping onto his thighs and pooling in the grooves of his abs. He didnât stopâ kept pumping through it, messy, frantic, milking himself for every drop, whimpering your name again and again until his voice cracked.
The camera caught everything: the sticky mess smeared across his trembling stomach, his fist still working his cock through the aftershocks, his hips jerking with each pulse. The sound was relentlessâ wet strokes, broken moans, the whispered please, please, please spilling out of him without thought.
Finally, his pace slowed, body shaking, sweat streaking down his flushed chest. His cock still twitched in his messy grip, cum smeared slick over his abs and hand. He fumbled the phone closer with his free hand, his face filling the frame againâ eyes glassy, lips trembling, his smile shaky, reverent, worshipful even in ruin.
âThis is yours, cutie,â he whispered, voice hoarse, every word quivering. âAll of me. Every sound, every dropâ itâs yours.â
And before shame could claw its way in, before reason could drown his devotion, his thumb hit send.
By the time Rafayelâs name lit up your phone, you were already trembling. But nothing prepared you for him.
The video filled with his face firstâ eyes glassy, lips parted, begging before he even touched himself. And then the soundsâ louder than all the others, drowning everything else out. Wet strokes, frantic gasps, your name choked on a sob as he fucked his fist like he was praying with his whole body. His orgasm shook him apart, cum spilling in thick, heavy ropes across his chest, his voice cracking as he moaned please and yours over and over until it was all you could hear.
You sank back into your pillows, phone pressed so close it might as well have been in your skin. He hadnât just given you a video. Heâd given you worship, ruin, devotion in its rawest form.
Five men. Five videos. Five different ways to tear you open.
thank u again for 200 followers, my heart is so full. ⥠hereâs a lil celebration post hehehe. >< the worm in my brain has been scratching at the sides of my skull for me to get my hands on caleb
the apartment door clicks shut, locks sliding into place, calebâs footsteps soft on the hardwood. itâs late, much later than he meant to be home. he pauses in the kitchen when he sees the plate on the counter still covered with foil, oven light humming faintly. thereâs a sticky note stuck to the edge in your sweet little handwriting:
eat before bed, please! :D âĄ
his chest tightens. itâs nothing dramatic, but itâs everything to him. you remembering, thinking, caringâall the little ways you love him when heâs too wrapped up in exams and projects to take care of himself.
he doesnât even heat it up. he eats leaning on the counter, fast and focused, like the sooner heâs done, the sooner he can see you. he takes a quick shower after, and when he steps into the bedroom, youâre exactly where he imagined you the whole drive home. curled up in his spot, hair messy, cheek squished against his pillow, drowsy frame engulfed in one of his shirts and nothing else. skin soft, inviting, his.
heâs exhausted, but the ache in his chest yearns for you, you, you. he eases onto the mattress, moving carefully so the bed doesn't dip or creak. but the shift still makes you stir, heavy eyes blinking open slow.
âyouâre home,â you mumble, voice still thick with sleep.
âuh huh. sorry iâm late, baby,â his palm cups your cheek, thumb brushing over skin warm from sleep. âmissed you.â
you sigh, a small, sleepy smile tugging your lips. âsâalright. i missed you too.â
he brushes a strand of hair from your face, thumb lingering at your temple. his eyes follow the curve of your jaw, the way your chest rises and falls under his shirt thatâs too big for you.
he could stop there. curl you close, soft kisses on your forehead, drift off to sleep just like that. but his gaze catches the hem of his shirt riding up when you shift, and his fingers ghost over your hip longingly.
âwearing anything under that, pips?â
you shake your head, cheeks flushing. he swallows hard, already undone by you.
he leans in, lips capturing yours in a slow, lazy kiss like heâs memorizing every curve, every inch of you all over again. it deepens, tongue teasing yours softly, teeth gently nipping at your bottom lip. his hand dips between your thighs, pressing over you, feeling the heat of you. you gasp, arching instinctively, and he hums against your mouth.
you nod, a small, needy jerk of your head, and he smiles against your mouth like he already knew. his fingers ease in, two thick ones stretching you slow until you gasp. the heel of his hand works against your clit while his other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you up and into his chest so your whole body rocks with the movement.
itâs not enough for him. not after the day heâs had, not after spending every hour thinking about you. his hand slips away just long enough to shove his sweats and boxers down, the warm weight of him falling heavy against your thigh. you barely have time to brace yourself before the blunt head is nudging your slit, hot and leaking from how soft and pretty you are for him.
he drags his cock over your clit in one slow pass that makes your knees buckle, then pushes in, deep, steady, your walls straining around him. it doesnât matter how many years itâs been, how many times heâs been inside youâheâs still so big it steals your breath, stretches you wide until your nails bite into his shoulders.
hips flush together, his breath hot against your ear, he gasps, âshit. still so tight. howâs that possible?â he groans, holding still for a moment just to feel you clench around him. âspent months opening you up for me. look at her, hugging me so tight.â
the first few thrusts are deep and unhurried, like heâs got all night to ruin you. one hand cups the back of your head so your forehead rests against his, the other spreads over your lower belly to feel the way heâs pressing into you from the inside.
your breath stutters, warm against his lips. âcaleb,â you whimper, "more, please, iââ
you shift, hips bucking in tiny, desperate movements, chasing the drag of his cock. he groans, low in his chest, catching your mouth in a deeper kiss. âmmâyeah, thatâs it. pretty girl knows what she wants.â
he keeps the pace steady, pressing into you slow and sure, filling you completely each time. his eyes stay on yours, drinking in every twitch, every tremor, every sound you make. your head tips back when his thumb drifts between where youâre connected, brushing over your clit in time with his thrusts. you gasp, legs trembling, and he catches your jaw in his palm, bringing your gaze back to his.
his voice drops to a rasp, breath warm against your lips. âkeep your eyes on me, sweets. let me see you,â his thumb moves in lazy little circles, each one making your chest heave harder.
you try to keep them open, you really do, but the heatâs coiling tight in your belly and his cockâs hitting so deep, slow, so deliberate you canât think. his free hand grips your thigh and presses it open wider, like he needs more of you, all of you.
âbeen thinkinâ about this all damn day,â he mutters, thrusting just right to hit that sweet spot inside you. âmissed my girl, all soft and sweet for me.â
his eyes burn into yours, so close you can feel the way his breath stutters when you clench around him. youâre right there, the pleasure building until your nails are dragging down his biceps, your hips rocking helplessly into every thrust.
âthatâs it,â he coaxes. âyouâre right there, pips. you can do it, canât you?â
your breath catches, the pressure snapping all at once, and you break with a choked cry, clinging to him like youâll fall apart without him holding you together. your thighs shake around his hips, every muscle tightening as wave after wave rolls through you.
âfuck, donât squeeze me like that,â he groans, his rhythm stuttering as your walls milk him. his forehead drops to yours, jaw tight, eyes half-lidded. âgonnaâshitââ
his hips slam deep one last time, warmth spilling into you as he lets out a shuddering moan. for a moment, neither of you move. just the sound of your breathing, the thud of his heartbeat pressed against your chest fill the otherwise quiet bedroom. he kisses you slow, lingering, like he can pour every ounce of his adoration into it.
he brushes your hair from your face before easing out of you, careful, gentle. he disappears for a second, then comes back with a warm cloth, murmuring quiet praises while he cleans you up. âdid so good, pips. love you so much.â
he tugs the blankets up around you, slipping in beside you and pulling you against his chest. his hand rubs lazy circles into your back, lips pressing over your temple one last time. the steady rise and fall of his chest, his warmth, his heartbeat, the quiet promise in the way he holds you like youâre the only thing thatâs ever truly been his lulls you to sleep.
to all the caleb truthers of the world i hope i got his vibe right i donât have my caleb xia certification yet. </3
Caleb is 100% someone who doesn't get 'offended' when his friends and coworkers tease him about how he bends so easily to his gf's will and that he's literally wrapped around her finger.
Some guy: Damn Caleb, you're hot shit around here but if people knew how you're literally under your gf all the time, their fantasies about you would crumble so fast
Caleb: You talk about being "under" your s/o as if its such a bad thing but I think I'm pretty fucking lucky she even looks my way at all. She's got me wrapped around her finger and she knows that I'm happy to be there. I'm dating her because I want to make her happy, not the other way around. Anything she wants, she gets.
word cnt: 1.4k
summary: Your sweet gege shows you what it's like to be eaten out.
All your friends already had their firsts, seconds, thirds. Well, theyâve had sex countless times, virginity already taken in high school, and now they were boasting about the thrilling sex, all the kinky shit theyâve been doing in all sorts of places. In the public bathrooms??? Isnât that overdoing it? Or how good their hookups were at eating out, cumming 3 times on their tongue. Is that even possible?!
You wouldnât know, youâve never even kissed a guy! What would you know about the experience of being eaten out. You hated being left out of all the girl talks, but itâs not like you could just find a random fuck, so you could brag about it later. You werenât like that.
So, you substituted to pleasuring yourself every night to the sight of porn on your tablet, discretely watching under your duvet in the middle of the night. But it never felt as good as others described it, it felt uncomfortable and kind of painful. You could never cum on your own fingers and toys felt so unnatural.
And it wasnât like this went unnoticed by Caleb. Of course not. Your gege knew there was something going on in that pretty lilâ head of yours. He noticed that far away gaze as your thighs clenched around nothing while you absentmindedly stared off into the TV.
He had to do something about it, and when you confessed to him one nightâafter he pressured you under the gaze of his constant questioningâabout how insecure you felt being the only girl in your friend group to never cum or even have sex with a guy. Well, now Caleb had to do something.
His sweet meimei wasnât feeling good about herself, what kind of gege would he be if he didnât fulfill your desires. But he wouldnât hand you off to some guy to fuck. No, no.
He generously offered himself to show you what it was like.
Which certainly caught you off guard. It would be weird if Caleb helped you, I mean he was practically your brother. But the way he whispered into your ears with that devilâs tongue, tempting you about how youâd finally be able to contribute to your groupâs talks had you thinking otherwise; youâd never feel left out, and it was to experience the feeling of cumming for once. Wasnât that a good deal?
He promised to start from the beginning, take it real nice and slow. Of course he wouldnât just make you take his cock. That was for later. Your gege would show you what itâs like to be eaten out, how his hot muscle felt against your aching core, simple enough, wasnât it?
When you were finally convinced, showing no sign of protest, he slowly tugged the ends of your shorts, pulling them and your panties off of your warm plush thighs like it was foreplay. Hooking your legs over his shoulder. Your hands tightened nervously around your tank top as he leaned in closer to your heat; small kitten licks nipped along your sensitive bud, prompting sweet whimpers that spilled from your trembling lips.
Before you knew it, his tongue flattened against your clit, long languid stripes of his tongue cleaned up your arousal, but it did little to nothing as you became more wet. Noticing your quick adjustment to the situation, he began to eat you out like a man starved, sucking on your bud as if the sweetest nectar would spill from it at any moment.
Hands harshly squeezing your ass, his aching cock threatened to cum in his trousers, it was absolutely painful, and the sight of you falling apart from his mouth had him rutting against the cushion, moaning into your heat like a horny teenager. The vibration added to your pleasure. Your hips bucked towards his mouth, thighs clenching around his head, and the heels of your feet pressed against his back like blades, while you bunched his hair in your hand, begging for him to get closer than he already wasâ he was nose to clit, there wasnât much farther he could go than that.
His tongue explored your entrance, not leaving a single area untouched while he stuffed the wet muscle deep inside your warm cunt as his nose stimulated your swollen clit.
What felt like hours was less than 10 minutes and you were already so close, âCaleb!!â crying out for your gege to help you, the knot in your stomach forming; it was so foreign to you, you had never you gotten this far on your own. But Caleb would help you through it all.
âLet it out for me, my sweet girl.â âDonât hold back.â
Muttering from where he was stuck to your aching core, it was torture to leave it for even a second, you tasted so sweet and delectable. The thought of tasting your cum had his cock pulsating, already whipped out in the open from the constant rutting on the couch. Your legs trembled violently around his head, hips bucking faster as you got closer.
Caleb then stuffed two fingers in your cunt curving at your g-spot, knuckles deep inside, while his tongue gave your clit close attention. Quick licks and suckles on your skin filled the room with squelching noises, the noises that came from your innocent voice sounded so pornographic, he felt proud to be the one that got you to this point. He wanted to ruin you for anyone else, you should only come to your loving gege, if you wanted help. He didnât need any other asshole seeing you undone like this, this was for his eyes to see, just for him.
You were almost there. So close. Just there. Then all you saw was white as you came all over Calebâs face, legs spasming around his head as he lapped all you juices, your release coloured all over his face, drops falling down his chin; he chased you down your high, his tongue moving quickly to suck up every drop, feeling your cunt trembling against his mouth.
You were a rag doll on the couch, barely registering what was happening, everything was too much, it felt like the world was spinning, breathy pants came from your lungs as your legs shook like an earthquake.
Caleb seemed to have other plans. Sitting up from his place in front of your cunt, your legs still hooked next to his head; he jerked himself off, he was already at the edge of cumming, but he had to neglect his leaking cock to aid you. After a few jerks of his hand he let his release out all over your gorgeous pussy, now decorated with spurts of his cum and ass red from the abuse of his fingers.
It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and with the adrenaline in his veins, he scooped up his cum and rubbed all over your red clit, âso pretty for meâŠâ
âLike that, baby?â you only responded in sex drunk mumbles, your mind was else where, his darling meimei was fucked stupid on her gegeâs mouth, what more could she say. Stuffing his release deep in your holes, he could feel your cunt clench around his fingers out of habit. A proud grin made its way to his face, this was of his design. Your apple red cheeks ân ass, glossed over eyes, and aching pussy, it was all because of him, and it belonged to gege.
When you finally woke up, you found yourself alone in the living room, clothes on, and Caleb nowhere to be found. You thought it was all a dream, until you felt the ache in your legs, and moisture of your thighs; you were mortified, what had you just done?
What would Caleb say afterwards? What would gran say?!
You swore to yourself that youâd never let what happened today to repeat, but Caleb can promise you that this wouldnât be the last.
He couldnât wait for the day you beg him to impale you with his cock, deep inside your warm womb, mouth against mouth, tongue against tongue as he cums ropes inside you like he dreamed since high school.
It was only a matter of time, and for now you could brag all about the legs shaking oral sex you experienced⊠Maybe leaving out the part that your generous gege volunteered.
Caleb is pissed when you get asked out for the first time. He had deliberately warned everyone in both of your social circles to stay away from you. Not without threats of violence or death, either. So yeah, heâs pissed as fuck when you tell him. Did he have to burn the whole world down merely to keep you all to himself? To protect you from perverts and creeps?
But, unfortunate and naive, you were so damn excited for this date. He couldnât spoil your mood. Not when you asked him which dress to wearâboth of them too short for his likingâand certainly not when you asked him to zip up the back for you.
There was just something about how you looked, all dolled up and cute to see someone who wasnât him. He can already barely control himself around you; even the thought of another man having access to you like this makes him utterly sick. âItâs just not a good idea. All guys want the same thing.â
âYouâre a guy arenât you, Caleb? So what, are you telling me youâre like that too? Hmm?â He wants to wipe the playful smile off your face. You just think everythingâs some fucking game.
âHeâs gonna want to kiss you. Touch you. Fuck you. Have you ever been fucked? Huh, pipsqueak?â
He thinks he went too far then, notes the way your eyes widen and lips slightly part. You shake your head, but he already knows. He knows everything about you. So when you ask if he can help you, give you some advice, he knows exactly how he will.
âSo naive, let me just show you.â He smashes his lips against yours. The force wouldâve sent you falling backwards had he not steadied you with his hand on the small of your back.
âThis is how to kissâŠâ he mutters it into your mouth, not caring that your teeth are hitting each other.
âAnd thisâŠâ he lifts your skirt just enough so that he can pull your panties to the side and slide his fingers along your puffy folds. âThis is how it feels to be fingered.â
âAhâCaleb!â You squeal when he fully plunges his finger in deeper than your own fingers ever could. He adds another, and soon the room is filled with your moans and the lewd squelch of his fingers thrusting in and out of your soaked pussy.
His lips are back on yours, and this time his tongue is shoved inside your mouth, claiming it. He goes faster when he feels your walls clench around him, and lets you grip his biceps while you come around his fingers and leave behind crescent shaped indents on his arms.
He nearly throws you on the bed, eager to yank off your underwear and free himself from his own boxers, wasting no time in aligning his tip to your still sensitive cunt.
âThis is how to take it like a good fucking girl.â You try your best to relax, to be so good for him as he buries himself into you. He lets you get used to his size, going slow. Not moving until you practically beg him to, then thereâs no going back. Heâs brutally snapping his hips against yours and watching your tits bounce through your dress.
âAlready gonna come on my cock? You really are inexperienced. Canât even control yourself. Go on then. Fucking. Come.â With two last jerks of his hips, your climax washes over you and he tries so fucking hard to delay his own orgasm. He begins to pull out but your legs lock him in place. He cums on the spotâstill inside you.
âDonât care that I ruined your dress? How you gonna go on your date now, baby?â
âHm. Guess I have to cancel,â you say, faux disappointment coating your words.
He pauses. âThere was no date.â
âThere was no date.â You confirm, wearing that same stupid grin from before. Luckily your schedule is free, because he has a hell of a punishment waiting for you after that.
