Welcome to Love and Deepthroat✨🍑
@interstellarsmutlog reporting for depravity.
🪐 Name’s Astro (she/her), but you can call me your local smut librarian.
🌙 20-something, pansexual disaster, emotionally damaged by fictional men & women and proud of it.
💫 Obsessive about:
Caleb from Love and Deepspace (he’s a freak and I support him)
Dragon Age & Baldur’s Gate 3 (yes, I’ve written at least one scene with tentacles, no I’m not sorry)
Reverse harems, yandere boys, mutual obsession
Submissive men who beg & dominant women who don’t say please
Giving my OCs generational trauma and then making it hot
🛸 Expect:
One-shots that escalate quickly and unapologetically
Horny headcanons, spicy ramblings, and possibly feral liveblogs
Unhinged thirst posts with exactly ✌️two emojis and no shame
This blog is a safe space for being deeply unserious about very serious obsessions. Follow at your own risk, or if you're ready to black out and wake up in someone’s AO3 bookmarks.
perv femmes whose hands are always creeping up your shirt or unbuttoning your pants. perv femmes who will push their tongue into your mouth on the first kiss. perv femmes who guide your hands exactly where they want you to grope and squeeze. perv femmes who look like they’re going to eat you every time you change in front of them. perv femmes who will happily take all their clothes off just for your attention.
Warnings: mutual masturbation, porn, closet sex, rough sex, first time together, desperate thrusting, overstimulation, hand over mouth, biting, semi-public sex, stifled moans, creampie, aftershocks, dazed clinging, emotionally intense.
genre: smut
You and Caleb have always been open with each other.It was part of the reason your friendship worked — that weird, shameless kind of bond where nothing was off-limits. He could talk to you about anything. You could say things that would’ve made other people flinch, and he’d just laugh, head tipped back, telling you that your brain was his favorite place in the world.
here were no rules. Just you, and him, and the strange little rhythm you’d fallen into over the years. Late-night hangouts, casual sleepovers, the occasional too-long hug when one of you needed something unspoken. No lines ever crossed, but plenty blurred.
So when he asked you to come over that night — casual, chill, just to hang — you didn’t think twice.
You showed up in your usual post-shower state: oversized hoodie, bare legs, the kind of soft cotton underwear that felt like home. His place was warm, clean in a way that said he’d tried to impress you without saying it out loud.
He opened the door, hair messy, smile crooked. “You’re late.”
“You’re lucky I came at all.” You say in your usual sassy tone.
He stuck his tongue out. “You always come when I ask.”
You rolled your eyes, stepping in.
Maybe it was the beer. Maybe it was the quiet intimacy of the night. But somehow, two episodes into whatever trashy dating show you’d landed on, something shifted.
“Do you mind,” Caleb said, reaching lazily for his MacBook, “if I put something else on?”
You shrugged. “Sure.”
You thought he was going to play some lame ass action movie but no. you didn’t expect him to open his browser and pull up porn.
"you disgusting little shit" you say with disgusted facial expression causing Cable to laugh.
“Don’t worry,” he said, like this was totally normal. “I’m not gonna jerk off. Just… I don’t know. I like having it on sometimes.”
You stared at him. “With me right here?” “That’s the point.” you keep staring at him and openly judging him.
“I can’t enjoy it when I’m alone,” he said with a small shrug. “It’s not hot unless someone else is in the room. I’m not gonna do anything unless you want me to. I just… I don’t know. It feels less sad this way.”
You stared at him, mouth opening, then closing. "Caleb...that is not normal." He grinned, eyes bright with mischief. “You say that like I’m trying to be normal.” Your instinct was to say no. To laugh it off. To tell him he was fucking insane and grab your shoes. But you didn’t. Instead, you sighed, shaking your head, and muttered, “Fine. But you’re not allowed to make this weird." “I never make anything weird.” “That’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told.” He winked. “And yet… you’re still here.” You roll your eyes and lean your head back. what the hell were you still doing here.
The video was loud. That was the first problem. The moans were high and breathy and clearly real — not the fake, over-the-top stuff that was easy to ignore.
the second problem was Caleb himself.
He didn’t just watch it. He felt it. Breathing in these slow, shallow hitches. Sinking back into the pillows like he was alone, even though you were right there.
You weren't just watching the screen. You were watching him.
His mouth was slightly open. His chest rose and fell under the soft black tee he’d half-tucked into those stupid grey sweatpants — the ones you’d teased him about a thousand times for being too dangerous. and the he fucking moved. Just a shift of the hips at first. Then his hand — long fingers twitching — rested near his thigh. A rub. Absentminded at first. Then another. Slower. Firmer.
Your stomach dipped. He groaned, soft and low. His head tilted back. And that sound — fuck, that sound — sent a pulse straight between your legs.
You tried to ignore it. You tried so hard. But your body was already reacting before your brain could process what was happening. Your thighs pressed together. You adjusted your hoodie. You stopped breathing entirely when his eyes flicked toward you and then dropped — low, slow, hungry.
“You good?” he asked, voice hoarse. You nodded too quickly. “Fine.”He smiled — a little too knowingly — and exhaled. “Fuck, she sounds like you.” You blinked. “Excuse me?”
“The girl. On the video.” His voice was dreamy, almost dazed. “She moans like you.” you stared at him "wait..how do you even know what I sound like you creep?" He looked at you then, eyes dark and shining. “You think I’ve never heard you?” Your skin started to heat up and your cheeks flushed "What the fuck Caleb"
“I wasn’t trying to. But you always leave your door cracked. And sometimes I’d just be passing by and then… you’d make this sound. Like you didn’t know how to stop yourself.”
You opened your mouth to say something — anything — but then he moaned again. This time because of you. He was hard now. Very visibly hard.
“God,” he whispered. “Why is this so much hotter with you here?”
you rub your temples, trying to calm yourself down but it was no use "Caleb..I swear.."
Your body was buzzing. Your underwear damp. And every inch of space between you suddenly felt razor-thin, unbearable.
“Touch yourself,” he said, almost breathless.
your eyes went wide and you look at him "Excuse me..? Caleb you can't just say that..!"
He leaned in, voice low. “Please. I need it,” he said, groaning again as he pressed into his palm. “And I don’t want to be the only one.” His eyes flicked to your legs. “You’re turned on.” “I’m not—” “You are.” His voice was firmer now. “I can see it. The way your thighs are clenched. The way you’re breathing.” You looked away. He reached out, gently brushing your knee. “Look at me.” You did. “I swear,” he said, “I’ll stop if you tell me to. But if you want this even a little… just stay.” You exhaled. Shaky. Unsure. Wet. And you stayed. Neither of you said anything for a long moment.
The porn still played softly in the background, but it was just noise now — the tension in the room had turned so dense it pressed in on your skin like heat, like breath. Caleb dragged his bottom lip between his teeth and exhaled slowly through his nose. His hand hadn’t left his lap. You were still watching him. And he was watching you watching him. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, voice hoarse. Your chest tightened. “No.” That was all he needed.
He shifted closer, just barely, and let out a sound — low, needy — as he rolled his hips against his palm. The motion was subtle, but it jolted through you like lightning. He rubbed again, slow, firm, a deliberate drag of pressure down the thick line in his sweatpants. Your thighs clenched instinctively. You were soaked. You could feel it — the press of cotton against slick skin, the fluttering ache that had been growing steadily in your core from the moment he started moaning.
He looked drunk off it. His mouth was open, panting softly. His eyes flicked over your face, down your body, then back to your eyes.“Touch yourself,” he said again, quieter this time. “I want to see what you look like when you’re needy.” You let out a breath that trembled. Your hand moved before your mind could stop it — sliding under the hem of your hoodie, then beneath the waistband of your underwear. Caleb’s eyes followed every inch.
“Oh my god” he whispered. Your fingers dipped into yourself. Soaked. Your breath hitched hard.
Caleb groaned — loud, ragged — and dropped his head back against the headboard, his hand now gripping the full length of his cock over his sweats. The bulge was thick and heavy, straining the fabric. “Fuck, you’re touching yourself,” he rasped. “I can’t believe you’re actually…”
You moaned — quietly, shakily — and he snapped his eyes open. “Say something,” he begged. “Tell me what you feel like.” “I’m so wet,” you whispered, eyes closing. “I’ve never been this wet just from watching someone.”
That made him gasp.
“God—fuck—” He shoved his sweatpants down just enough to free himself, and suddenly you couldn’t look away. He was long, flushed red at the tip, already glistening with pre-cum. You whimpered. His eyes fluttered shut at the sound.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” he muttered. “You know that? Just—so fucking pretty when you touch yourself like that. Show me more.”
You moved your fingers again, slow and deliberate, spreading the slickness and brushing over your clit. Your hips arched subtly into the motion, breath stuttering.
Caleb watched like a man starved.
“I want to taste you,” he said suddenly, voice broken. “Fuck—I want my face between your legs so bad.” Your whole body shuddered.
He jerked himself once, twice — not fast, but hard. Focused. Like he was trying to memorize the way it felt while staring at you. You moaned again, louder this time. Embarrassed at how fast your body was unraveling.
“I’ve thought about this before,” he confessed, still stroking. “Not like this exactly. But… you. Under me. Wet and panting. Saying my name.” You bit your lip, fingers moving faster now. “I didn’t think we’d ever—” "Me neither,” he whispered. “But now I don’t even want to stop.” The air was charged, burning. You were close. So close it was making your knees tremble.
Caleb leaned in again, his free hand brushing against your thigh as if asking for permission. You didn’t stop him. His lips were inches from your ear when he whispered, “Let me help.” You paused. Swallowed. He watched you — tense, hopeful, ruined — until you nodded. And then… the shift happened.
Caleb slipped his hand down, fingers brushing yours under the band of your underwear. You gasped, but didn’t pull away. He cupped you gently, middle finger sliding through the mess you’d made.
“Oh my fucking god,” he whispered. “You’re soaked.” Your head dropped against his shoulder. “You made me like this,” you breathed.“Yeah?” he said, voice shaking. “You like watching me stroke my cock for you?” You whimpered again. “Yes—fuck, yes.”
He slid his finger in, slow and deep, while still stroking himself with the other hand. You cried out, biting down on your hoodie sleeve as he moved inside you, curling slightly.
“Come for me,” he said, lips against your temple. “Please. I want to see you fall apart.” It didn’t take long. Your body clenched tight, the pressure building sharp and sudden until it broke — heat flooding you from the inside out, your voice catching as you gasped and ground against his hand.
Caleb let out a desperate groan and came right after you, hot and heavy against his stomach, chest rising in ragged breaths as his hips jerked through the last few strokes.
You both collapsed sideways into the pillows, breathing hard, sweaty, trembling.For a moment, it was quiet. And Then— “That was…” you began, voice wrecked. “I know.” He laughed, still panting. “I know.”
You turned your head to look at him. His hair was a mess. His lips were red. His eyes were soft now — not teasing, not smug. Just open.“That didn’t feel casual,” you whispered. His gaze dropped to your mouth.“No,” he said. “It didn’t.” You didn’t know what would come next.
The worst part wasn’t what happened between you. It was the silence after.The way everything between you and Caleb felt louder because no one was talking about it.
You’d spent the last three nights pretending that orgasm hadn’t happened. That your fingers hadn’t tangled with his. That he hadn’t whispered I want to taste you while stroking himself, eyes on your mouth. You didn’t talk about it. You couldn’t. But the tension between you? You may as well have been shouting.
He sat closer now. Looked longer. He didn’t tease like he used to — not playfully, not harmlessly. Now every glance had heat. Every brush of skin felt intentional.
So when Gideon shouted across the living room, “Let’s play hide and seek — losers get a punishment dare,” you already knew something was going to go wrong.
Because you and Caleb couldn’t be trusted anymore. You didn’t even plan to hide in the closet. You were laughing, breathless, the count ticking down — Ten! Nine! Eight! — and you darted around a corner in the hallway looking for literally anywhere to disappear. The closet door was cracked open. You pushed in and—“Shit—!” A hand reached out to yank you the rest of the way in.
Caleb.
He shoved the door closed behind you both, muffling your gasp, then exhaled hard against your ear.
You were chest to chest. Pressed flush to him. The closet was barely the size of a broom closet — coats brushing your cheeks, the smell of old cedar, the wood beneath your bare feet cool from the tile.
“Seriously?” you whispered, half-giggling. “You’re here?” “You ran into me,” he hissed. “Be quiet—” Footsteps passed in the hallway. The sound of someone shouting: “Not in the bathroom!” You both stilled. And then you started laughing.
Quiet, breathy little giggles that made your shoulders shake. His hands were on your hips now, steadying you, his face so close you could feel his mouth twitch into a smile.
“Shhh,” he whispered, amused. “You’re gonna get us caught.” “It’s your fault,” you whispered back. “Yeah?” His breath ghosted your cheek. “Pretty sure it’s yours.”
Your back hit the wall as you shifted to give him room. But there was no room. Nowhere to go.His thigh brushed up between yours. Your knee bent just slightly. And that’s when you felt it. The slow, unmistakable press of something hard against your hip.
You froze.
Caleb did, too. “Caleb—?” you whispered.
He didn’t answer right away. His breath had turned shallow, his forehead dropping forward slightly to rest against the wall beside your head.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I can’t help it.”His voice was low. Strained. Honest. You swallowed.
It didn’t feel like a joke. It didn’t even feel like a dare. It just… was. Real. Present. Pressed right up against you.
The memory of that night came rushing back — the way he gasped when you moaned, the wet sound of your bodies moving in sync, the look in his eyes when he touched you like it meant something.
And now you were here.
Too close. Too warm. Your short dress had ridden up when he pulled you in, and your bare legs were brushing his sweatpants with every shaky inhale.
You should’ve moved away. You didn’t. Instead, you whispered, “This is dangerous.”
He nodded. Barely. “I know.”
Your hands were on his chest, fingers curled into the soft fabric of his shirt. His hands still sat heavy on your hips. Neither of you were breathing quite right.
And then—you shifted.
Just the smallest movement. An unconscious roll of your hips as you tried to balance.
And Caleb let out the quietest, shattered groan. Your stomach dropped. “Don’t do that,” he whispered.
“Do what?” But your voice was thinner now.
“That.”
You did it again. Just to be sure. The press of your core against him was slow, experimental — your thin underwear the only barrier between your body and the thick, hard line of his cock beneath his sweats. He whined. Low, soft, desperate. His forehead dropped to your shoulder. You felt him tremble.
“You can’t grind on me like that,” he breathed. “You were already hard.” “And now you’re already wet.” The words punched the breath out of your lungs.
You didn’t say anything — couldn’t — and instead let yourself roll against him again, slowly this time, hips rocking once more into his. His mouth dropped open. You felt it brush your skin.
“Fuck, you’re killing me,” he groaned.
The coats swayed faintly beside you as he gently pressed you back into the wall, his hands tightening at your waist, thumbs brushing under the edge of your dress. You gasped quietly as he rocked up into you, the friction too good, too familiar.
“I think about it every night,” he whispered, like it hurt. “The way you sound when you come. How soft you were. How hot your hand felt over mine.” You were burning.
Your body responded before your mind did — rocking again, your arms slipping up around his neck to muffle a soft, stuttering moan into his shoulder. He cursed under his breath. Then he stilled. His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his.
“Tell me to stop,” he said.
You didn’t. Instead, you leaned in — your lips brushing his, breath against breath, heart in your throat. And that’s when the closet door creaked.
“Anyone in here?” someone called.
You and Caleb froze.Your mouth hovered over his. Neither of you moved. Neither of you dared. The door didn’t open. Footsteps passed. And the second you were alone again, Caleb exhaled.You were still catching your breath when you heard it. The soft click of the inside lock. Caleb had turned the tiny latch on the closet door — sealing you both inside. Your eyes darted to his, wide, breathless, heart kicking.
“What are you doing—?”
But he was already shifting you, gentle but firm.
Turning you in the dark, pressing your front to the wall of the closet, your palms flat against the wood paneling, your chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. His voice came at your ear, low and wrecked. “I can’t pretend anymore.” His hands slid up your thighs — slow, reverent, shaking slightly — fingers brushing the hem of your dress, pushing it higher until it was bunched around your hips. You gasped when you felt it — the warm weight of his cock, thick and flushed, freed from his sweats and nestled right in the crease of your thighs. Hot, hard skin against the damp cotton of your panties.
“Caleb—” You tried to say something. Anything. But then he rocked forward. And your mind blanked.
The first thrust wasn’t deep, wasn’t precise — just a desperate press of his cock between your thighs, dragging the thick head right along your clothed pussy. You whimpered. Your knees nearly buckled.His breath left him in a shaky hiss. “Holy fuck—” You didn’t realize you were moving until you were rocking back against him — instinctive, helpless — meeting every slow rut of his hips with the arch of your spine. The friction was perfect. Each thrust of his cock between your thighs rubbed right against your clit through the soaked fabric. It felt filthy. Overwhelming. Like a fever dream you didn’t dare wake up from. And then his mouth was on your neck. Hot, open, wet kisses down your jaw, your pulse, his tongue tasting your skin like he’d wanted to for years. His hands grabbed your hips, greedy now, pulling you tighter against him with every roll of his body.
You were panting, trembling, moaning softly into the wall with every pass of his cock between your slick thighs. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, voice unraveling, “you feel so—shit—so soft.” You turned your head, breath shallow, eyes finding his in the dark.
“Caleb,” you whispered. His mouth crashed into yours before the word could fully leave you. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful. It was desperate.
Tongue and teeth, lips parted, mouths gasping against each other like this kiss had been trapped between you for years. Like he was starving for it. Like you’d never survive it. You grabbed at his hair. He groaned into your mouth. His hand slid up your front, fingers curling under the fabric of your dress, and suddenly he was palming your breast — rough, hungry, his thumb brushing your nipple through the lace of your bra. You arched into his hand. He bit your lip. You whined, trembling, your voice cracking. “I need you.”
He froze.
Your words hung in the air — too raw, too loud, too real.Then he growled, deep in his chest. And his hand moved Down your stomach. Past the waistband of your underwear. Two fingers slid through your soaked slit and came away dripping. He hissed, whispering something under his breath you couldn’t catch. Then he hooked his fingers under your thong — pulled it aside. The head of his cock, hot and heavy, slipping between your folds. Your knees nearly gave out.“Are you sure?” he breathed. “Fuck—tell me.” You didn’t hesitate.“Yes. Please—” He didn’t wait another second. He gripped your hip, braced a hand on the wall beside your head, and with a single smooth thrust, sank into you. You gasped — loud and broken. He groaned like it hurt. Like he’d been dreaming of this for too fucking long. You could barely breathe. He filled you so completely you felt split open. Every inch of him slid deep, hot and thick, your body clenching around him like it had been aching for this—like it knew him.
Caleb stayed still at first.
Forehead to your shoulder, panting, hand tight on your hip like he was trying to ground himself. “Fuck,” he whispered. “You feel like heaven.”You whined — a low, raw sound — hips rolling back into him, your fingers scraping the wall for anything to hold on to. That was all it took. His restraint snapped. His hips drew back. And then he started fucking you. It wasn’t slow anymore.It wasn’t careful.
It was frantic, overwhelming, wet — the obscene slap of skin-on-skin muffled only slightly by the coats around you, your slick dripping down the inside of your thighs with each thrust. You tried to be quiet. You really did.
But every time his cock drove into you, you couldn’t stop the moans — breathy and soft at first, then high and frantic as his pace picked up. And when a louder gasp escaped your mouth— His hand clamped over it. Large, warm, shaking fingers curled across your lips, muffling the helpless sounds spilling from you as he pounded into you from behind.You whimpered into his palm. His voice broke right beside your ear. “I’m sorry, baby—I need you quiet—can’t let them hear—” You nodded. Barely. But your body was shaking. Your walls fluttering around him. And Caleb knew you were close.
So he got mean. Rougher.
He slammed into you harder, his cock dragging across all the right spots, your thighs trembling from the pressure of each thrust — and the filthiest part? You were soaked. The squelch of your cunt around him was wet and loud and pornographic, and it only made him fuck you harder. You bit down.
Hard.
Right into the base of his palm as his hand stayed tight over your mouth. He groaned, bucking into you like it drove him insane. “Shit—fuck, just like that—”
He lost rhythm for a second, stuttering into you, hand slipping from your mouth to your throat, thumb under your jaw to tilt your head back, mouth against your skin again.Then he bit down.His teeth sank into the soft curve of your shoulder as he buried himself deep, his moans muffled into your skin. You swore you blacked out for a second. You couldn’t tell which way was up anymore — just the overwhelming drag of his cock, the heat in your belly, the white-noise roar in your ears as your orgasm crept higher, hotter, inevitable.
“Fuck—Caleb—I’m gonna—”
“I know,” he groaned. “I feel you, baby—fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight—” You came with a cry into his wrist, your whole body spasming. Everything snapped — the pressure, the tension, the weeks of unsaid things between you, all of it boiling over in that moment as you fell apart on his cock.He barely held it together.You felt him twitch inside you, pace faltering, his voice falling to ragged, desperate whimpers. “Fuckfuckfuck—oh my god, I’m gonna—can I—inside—?” You nodded, dazed. “Yes—yes, please—”
One more thrust. Deep. Hot.
And he came with a bitten-off moan into your neck, his body jerking hard as he spilled into you — thick, hot spurts of cum painting your insides, his cock buried deep as he rode out every last pulse, twitching and trembling. You slumped forward, boneless. His arms caught you. Held you there. Both of you breathing like you’d run miles. Sweaty. Shaking. Still joined, still stuffed full. The closet spun in silence. And when his hand finally fell from your mouth, you whispered — voice shot, lips swollen —
“…We can’t ever just be friends again, can we?” And Caleb, still inside you, kissed your shoulder like it was a promise.
John raising his voice at his wife, only to immediately be hit with “who do you think you’re talking to?” paired with a head swivel, hand on hip, and thee mom glare.
childhood friends to lovers where it’s years later and you’re casually undressing in front of them because you’ve done it so many times before all those years ago so what’s the issue now just because you’re adults? only to find them staring at you
