VALKOOOOOO WHO ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU COMING NOOOOOOOOW?? I WAS WAITING FOR YOU FOR AGES AND NOW, WHEN I AM IN THE MIDST OF WRITING A OT5 FANFIC, YOU DECIDE TO WAGGLE YOUR WOLF EARS AND GROWL INTO THE MIC???
i'm sure i'm not the first one to think this thought but yk how rafayel always calls us "my bride"? imagine calling him back "my groom". imagine how that man would fold and MELT
Two words stuck in her head. Nothing else. No idea why and when they fell, no clue for whom or what they were meant, she didnât even know whether they were her own. But she clung to them like a lifeline.
How beautiful, was also her first thought when she opened her eyes, seeing nothing but a white ceiling. A good third of it was bathed in the light of a setting sun. Just very few dust particles danced in the air. Nothing special and yet breathtakingly beautiful to her.
She turned her head towards the source of light, a window in the wall, also white. From her angle she just looked at a skyscraper nearby, probably an office building judging by the smartly dressed people strutting through the floors.
How beautiful.
After a few more moments of gazing her mind cleared up. She put two and two together when she realized she was lying in a foreign, clean bed and noticed the monitor next to her place showing colorful numbers and uneven but periodic lines. Only a second later did she realize something was clipped on her index finger, connected to the monitor, and an infusion provided her some kind of clear liquid. Small drops fell from the bag into the tube, another rhythm just like the lines on the monitor. Somehow the silent consistency, the certainty of repetition calmed her.
She was in a hospital, that much was obvious. Next to her was a curtain, too small to hide another person lying in a bed. A woman, maybe in her late thirties, sleeping. She, too, was linked to a monitor and patched up quite a lot. Briefly, she wondered if she looked the same.
She turned her head again, looking through the window once more. Sadly, she wished she could see the sky. It probably looked nice with the setting sun. Another beautiful sight.
Just like the firework.
A firework. There had been one. A wonderful one. She couldnât remember what it looked like, but she still knew.
It was grand.
It was final.
Strange. She felt rather indifferent. It seemed wrong. As if she should feel everything at once but instead there was nothing. She just lied in her bed, observed the office people in the building across and thought of nothing in particular.
She breathed. She felt warm. Safe. It was⊠nice. It wasâŠ
Beautiful.
Within the next hour, when a nurse checked in on her and her neighbor, her waking state was no longer of peace and solace. They told her what had happened, yet she barely remembered. This was nothing to worry about, they said, because she had just woken up. Her memory probably would return in the next few days. Given the circumstances she was lucky to get away with a few broken bones, bruises and a heavy concussion resulting in a headache.
Truly, extremely lucky as others were not. Many had died. And strangely, she was not in the least surprised when they gave their condolences for the loss of her brother. One might say it was the consultantâs tone or eyes showing pity before the message was delivered but as soon as he said her brotherâs name, she knew he was gone. Of course, she grieved, nevertheless.
In the afternoon her father visited. He got informed that she had woken up, that she was back among the living. Their chat was brief and somewhat superficial. She and her father didnât have a lot in common. He was asking about the incident, but she couldnât provide any sufficient answers without really remembering. Still, he assured her that he was glad that sheâs alive.
Even though she had apparently done that quite a lot recently, she slept in early that evening. It had done her good because on the next day her memory returned and she felt a lot more like talking, eating, drinkingâ living, really.
It had been a hot, sunny day, and she and her brother had met to catch up. Since he had moved out to go to college, they saw each other much less frequently. Like the two adolescents they were they had decided to go to Shibuya. She remembered they had mistaken the meteors for fireworks like everyone else. He had even taken out his phone in order to film the beautiful spectacle. After that, for a very brief second there had been immense noise and a gigantic force making her own body feel as light and fragile as a bubble. Then had come the blackness. And thenâŠ
And thenâŠ
Then her heart had stood still for a whole minute, apparently. Thousands of people went through reanimation, not even a fifth of them were successful. Her brotherâs heart, for example, was just one of many that had done its last beat.
Hers however⊠After a minute she had come back. Or so she was told.
A minute of floating between life and death.
To her, it had felt like an eternity.
~~~
It was weird to have so many strangers around and yet to feel heavily connected to them at the same time. Itâs not just her, she knew, they all acknowledged each other as kindred spirits. Without talking to another everyone was aware of their fate, of lives and love lost in the catastrophe, of the humbling experience of standing right at deathâs door.
At least two floors of this hospital were full of survivors of the Shibuya incident. Some were looking quite fine and got discharged just one or two days later, others were more heavily wounded, physically as well as mentally, and needed quite some care, and a few were still bound to a deep slumber.
She had to stay for a while since several rips were broken and one of her feet got crushed underneath the debris. Still, lucky enough. She got to keep all her limbs, her consciousness and, most importantly, her life. After another day of rest, her physical therapy started. She was glad; it felt good to move a little even though it was somewhat confusing that mundane things like getting up and walking to the bathroom left her in need to rest and to catch her breath. At the end of the week, they decided to take a step further and go down the floor. Walking with an orthosis was awkward but she got the hang of it.
A couple of days later, she got used to her slow but steady routine. Her friends visited sometimes, even her father called again, and physical therapy became a set appointment in her day she was always looking forward to. Even though she still didnât leave her floor, she relished on the time she was able to be outside of this small room. She even recognized some faces now â a young woman with dreadlocks for example seemed to have physical therapy at the same time as her since they usually met on their slow struts across the floor, both accompanied by a therapist and greeting each other with a smile.
It had been almost a week when she became fidgety. On another of her friendsâ visit she suggested to go outside for a little to catch some fresh air in the hospitalâs little park. They wanted to ask the nurse for a wheelchair, but she refused. After all, she had grown accustomed to the orthosis and felt a lot better than last week.
They spent not even half an hour outside before she grew tired, but it was a nice time. Her friends did ask about the incident, of course, about her brother, about her mental whereabouts, but they also told her about their own lives. Those snippets of ordinary everyday life made her weirdly happy, and she was glad.
Glad to be alive.
Strange. There was a time, not too long ago, when she had thought different. All she had needed was a minute, apparently.
She voiced her fatigue to her friends and tried to hide her own frustration about her weakened condition. Immediately, they made sure to get up and accompany her back to her room. One of them excused themself only to return a few minutes later with a present for her from all of them: a huge teddy bear, as big as her upper body. She was all eyes when she spotted this giant of a stuffed animal holding a plushy heart in its hands which read GET WELL SOON. The gesture alone and the proudly smiling faces of her friends made her burst out in laughter.
With her heart as light as a feather she didnât feel the slightest bit embarrassed when she grabbed her gift, hugged it tightly and hobbled to the elevator with her friends. She knew some people gawked thanks to this giant teddy bear of hers, but she couldnât care less right now. Somehow this short time in the park as well as this ridiculous yet really cute present had lifted her mood. She hadnât even been aware that she had been so down for the past week.
As soon as the doors of the elevator opened, she went on. With her new, fluffy friend narrowing down her field of vision she didnât notice she was about to run over a person stepping out. âWoah, careful,â they mumbled and dodged.
âOh, sorry!â she apologized and turned her head to look at the person she almost ran over. It was a young man with long hair dyed blond. He wore comfortable clothes and slippers rather than something for outdoors. She guessed he was a patient. His narrow eyes confirmed her guess, having dark rings underneath. His gaze was even worse â dull as if the light refused to reflect in them.
Tired was not even the right word to describe him. He seemed exhausted.
Another survivor of the Shibuya incident.
âDonât worry about it.â His voice was a little raspy, his tone somewhat apathetic.
And thatâs what all there was to it. A small encounter between two strangers, a few words were exchanged, and everything was settled.
Still, she didnât go ahead and instead stood there with one leg inside the elevator. She examined his face a little longer, just at the split of a second. As if she was looking for something. He stirred some kind of⊠familiarity inside her but she couldnât pinpoint why.
Perhaps it all would be a bit awkward if he hadnât been doing the same.
A moment later his gaze dropped to her bare neck. Not in order to gape, that much was obvious. It seemed like he wanted to check something. That startled her. And it supported her guess that she had to have seen him before. âSorry but have we met?â she genuinely asked.
His answer took a little longer than one would usually need. âI donâtââ He paused. Then his eyes flicked back to her face and the corners of his mouth lifted slightly. âI donât think so.â
Now it was her who hesitated. His answer was meant to be nonchalant, but she got suspicious. A gut feeling told her that he had actually planned to reply differently. âAre you sure?â
His smile widened. âPretty sure.â Alright, this was more convincing. Before she was able to reply, he waved to the gigantic teddy bear in her arms. âIâm jealous,â he said with a hint of jest in his voice. âYou got yourself a nice, quiet roommate there. Mine canât stop talking my ears off.â
âSounds⊠fun,â she replied, unsure how to react to that. âSo, you decided to take a break?â With a tilt of her head she pointed to the open area full of patients and visitors and into the direction of the hospitalâs park.
âExactly,â he nodded putting his hands in the pocket of his sweater. Then, he looked at something behind her. âI guess, your friends are waiting for you. See you around.â He lifted one of his pocketed hands slightly as if to wave for goodbye.
Right, her friends! They had gathered in the elevator already waiting for her to join them. âSee you,â she said to his already departing back as the doors of the elevator closed.
âSomeone you know?â one of her friends asked.
âIâm⊠not sure,â she hesitated. âDonât think so, no. Iâve never met him.â These words in her mouth felt foreign. Wrong. As if they didnât belong there. It had to be the exhaustion.
I, for the record, may or may not have had a full on sobbing crying session when Chishiya appeared for like 30 secs and all the feeling i had while writing this two years ago resurfaced
Rafayel who performs at the same academy as you, the two of you â among many others â sharing a stage ever so often.
Rafayel who has his own rituals and ways during performances which happen to align with yours.
Rafayel who feels the mutual attraction between you two and one day simply shoots his shot.
Rafayel who is now your revitalizing partner during breaks â with his cock buried deep inside you.
Rafayel who is moaning in your ear one minute, and then the next minute gracefully and professionally lifts you on stage for all eyes to see.
Rafayel who deliciously grinds his hips against yours and, when a knock at the door errupts and a voice muffles, "We're back on in 5", grunts back, "We'll be finished by then."
Rafayel who actually doesn't like quickies but sees sex in this particular context as a simple mean.
Rafayel who, at least, keeps telling this to himself more and more often.
Rafayel who has never slept with you outside of your performances, but catches himself wishing it'd be otherwise.
Rafayel who doesn't want to ruin what you two do because â Oh, it feels so good, and the energy boost is impeccable.
Rafayel who decides he'll ask you out one day but for nowâ The next act is starting in 20 minutes and you're leading him to your usual spot and he already feels himself getting hard in his costume.
And who is he to let his feelings ruin a good show?
About: You step out of your comfort zone to share special moments with him. He sees right through your act. How will he respond?
Pairing: Female Reader x Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb (Seperate)
Note: Reader and the men are NOT in a relationship but there is implied mutual interest.
Trigger warnings: Fears, insecurities, mild panic, mild food aversion, sensory discomfort
Authorâs Note: Hey! Some of the discomforts and fears in these stories might not apply to you personally â I chose them based on what each LI seems to enjoy and what the reader might quietly endure just to spend time with them. This concept was inspired by a conversation with my dear friend and chaos enabler, Ivy ( @xaviersknight )
If you enjoy my writing and want to support me, you can buy me a Ko-fi! â
SYLUS
Thereâs a boxing ring in his penthouse.
Of course, there is.
It shouldnât surprise youânothing about Sylus ever plays by anyone elseâs rules. He doesnât live, he orchestrates. Even the things that should feel raw and violent, like boxing, feel too elegant when heâs involved. Â Of course, he had a private ring, glinting under moody downlights like something out of a crime drama. Polished floors. Blood-red ropes. A small stack of gloves in varying sizes, already laid out for you. The floors smell faintly of clean sweat and expensive disinfectant.
You're underdressed for this, somehow. Even though he told you to wear something comfortable, even though you showed up in sleek workout leggings and a cropped tee, even though you tied your hair back the way you always do when you mean businessânone of it feels right under his gaze.
âWelcome to my little playgroundâŠâ Sylus speaks from across the ring.
Heâs already inside it, lounging lazily against the ropes like a king waiting to be amused. Black tank top, gloves hanging loose from his fingertips, a thin sheen of sweat already glinting across his collarbone. He looks carved from obsidian and marble, every inch of him dangerous and divine.
You swallow. Smile.
âItâs not so little,â you reply.
âOh? Planning to flatter me into going easy on you, kitten?â
There it isâkitten. The word slides off his tongue. You offer a half-laugh, stepping forward like itâs all a game. But inside, your stomach twists. Tight. Unrelenting.
You donât like boxing.
Itâs too much. Too close. Too exposed. Every movement is a risk. Every breath, a beat away from being cornered. Itâs not just the physicality of itâitâs what it forces out of you. Anger. Instinct. Too close. Too loud. Too... visceral. You liked knowing where your limbs were. You liked boundaries and clear lines and space to breathe.
But Sylus was unpredictable. Impossible to read. A storm of velvet and barbed wire. And once, just once, youâd heard him say: âBoring things donât interest me.â
He hadnât said it to you. But it stuck. And it doesnât take much for the mind to twist things.
Boring people donât interest him, either.
And the thought had stuck in your ribs ever since â echoing in your bones every time he teased you, called you âkittenâ or âsweetieâ like it was second nature. You didnât want to be boring to him. You didnât want him to lose interest. So you said yes.
Of course you said yes.
He tossed a pair of gloves toward you â you caught them, barely.
âYouâll need help with the wraps,â he said, walking over before you could protest.
He took your hands gently, like you were a glass weapon. Thumb brushing your palm. The silk of his touch was deceptive â soft, delicate â but you could feel the power beneath it. Coiled control. Calculated intimacy. Like he knew exactly what strings he was tugging.
âYou nervous?â he murmured without looking up.
âNo,â you lied. âWhy would I be? This is just practice... right?â
You step into the ring.
He doesnât rush you. Just watches.
Youâve seen him like this beforeâwhen heâs stalking someone through a deal, or when heâs circling the truth in a conversation. Itâs not hunger. Itâs focus. Heâs studying you, already inside your head.
âI thought weâd start with light sparring,â he says. âNo pressure. Just a dance.â
You force your lips into a smile, ignoring the cold sweat trickling down your spine. âJust donât break my nose.â
âIâd never mar you, sweetie...â His eyes crinkle, playful. âUnless you ask me nicely.â He was joking, of course. Sylus never hurt you despite his reputation.
He moves first. Not striking. Just circling.
Testing.
You follow. Clumsy. Too stiff.
âRelax,â he says, not unkindly. âThis isnât a war. Not yet.â
You take a breath.
Try again.
The first time he taps your shoulder with a jab, you flinch. He sees it. Of course he does. You donât have to look to know heâs watching your reactions more than your form.
âSomething wrong, sweetie?â
âNo.â You lie so fast it burns your throat.
He jabs againâlight, teasing. You respond with a wild swing. Miss entirely. He tilts his head, the corner of his mouth lifting.
âGetting bold, arenât we?â
Your chest tightens. You canât read him. You donât know if heâs impressed or amused orâ
Disappointed.
Thatâs the word that hurts most.
You move too hard next time. Overcorrect. You nearly trip over your own foot as your glove grazes his chest and he catches youâarms snapping around your waist, steadying you like itâs nothing.
Your face is close to his. Too close. His breath is warm against your cheek. He smells like clean sweat and spiced cologne. He doesnât let go right away.
You look up, startled.
Heâs staring at you again. But somethingâs different.
Less amusement. More... calculation.
And then, softness.
âWhy are you hesitating?â he asks. Quiet. Not a whisper, but close.
You blink. âIâm not.â
His brow arches.
You try again. âI just... Iâm not good at this.â
âI noticed.â
You flinch.
But his voice is gentle now. Not mocking. Not amused. Just... honest.
You didnât answer. You couldnât explain the heat rising in your chest. The way your gloves suddenly felt too heavy. The sweat gathering at your lower back. The eyes on you â his eyes â making it impossible to breathe.
It wasnât the fight. It was the nearness. The intimacy of it. The way his presence filled the ring like smoke, clinging to your skin and thoughts alike.
You stepped back, then again. The ropes pressed against your spine.
His gaze followed you â not taunting. Not cruel. Just watchful.
âYou donât like this....â he said quietly.
You stiffened. âItâs fine.â
âNo, sweetie.â He took a step forward. âYouâre not fine.â
You looked down, fingers curling into the gloves. âI didnât want to disappoint you.â
Silence stretched.
âI heard you say once,â you added, voice quieter now, âthat boring things donât interest you. I just⊠I didnât want to be that.â
Thereâs a pause. A shift.
Then, a laugh.
âIs that what this is about?â
You donât answer.
His hand rises, gloved, brushing lightly beneath your chin until you meet his gaze.
âOh, sweetie...â he sighs, and itâs the softest thing youâve ever heard from him. âYou think I invited you here to impress me?â
You nod. Barely.
He exhales, the sound tinged with remorse.
âI invited you here because I like watching you try,â he says, lips curving into a gentle smile. âYou could throw cotton balls at me, and Iâd still find it riveting.â
You blink fast.
He leans in, voice barely audible. âIf I wanted perfect form, Iâd spar with one of my... business associates. If I wanted dull, Iâd drink alone. But you... you make things interesting just by showing up.â
You feel the tears prick your lashes before you can stop them.
His handâstill glovedâcups your cheek gently. The rough texture of the leather is at odds with the tenderness in his touch.
âYou donât have to prove anything to me, sweetie,â he murmurs. âJust be here. Thatâs enough.â
You nod. Itâs all you can manage.
âBesides,â he adds, voice lighter now, âyour form is atrocious. But your pout is lethal.â
You laughâshaky, but real. He grins, triumphant.
âThere she is..." he whispers.
You donât spar again that night. Instead, you both sit in the ring, backs against the ropes, gloves off, drinks in hand brought up by someone who clearly knows better than to ask questions. Sylus lounges beside you, knee brushing yours, casual in a way that still buzzes under your skin.
He talks, and he listens, and he teases, and he lets you unravel yourself in piecesânot all at once, but enough to make you feel seen. Safe.
And when you leave, hours later, he walks you to the door and leans against the frame, arms crossed, lips curved.
âNext time,â he says, âweâll do something that scares me.â
You raise a brow. âDoes anything scare you?â
âJust one thing,â he replies, eyes holding yours.
You want to ask what.
âBut thatâs a discussion for another time.â He taps your forehead, leading you to his car. his hand, extended, waited for yours without force, without pressure.
Just... waiting.
And when you placed yours in his, he didnât let go.
CALEB
You could hear his grin through the message.
Got us two VIP passes to the Amusement Parkâs Firelight Festival tonight. :p Rides, food, fireworks⊠and a parade with glowing dragons, just like the old stories you love. ;)
And then, like it wasnât a big deal, like it wasnât making your stomach twist in a dozen knots .
 Come ready to fly,.
You smiled when you read it.
You really did. He remembered that you liked parades and fireworks. Youâd told him when you hung out with him once.
And then immediately set your phone down and groaned into your pillow.
Rides. He said rides.
He didnât know. You never told him. It was embarrassing. Heights just... did something to you. The tilt of the world. The way it all dropped away beneath you like gravity forgot how to love you. That sick feeling in your stomach, the one that clung like static even hours after you were back on solid ground.
You liked fireworks. Parades. Candy stalls and fuzzy prizes youâd never win.
But coasters? Loops? Platforms you could see through?
Nope.
And yet, here you were â standing at the entrance of the parkâs glowing gates. breath caught somewhere between your throat and your heart, watching him wave at you from across the crowd.
Caleb was all light. All warmth. That stupidly charming smile that couldâve powered the whole island. He was in his casual clothes â Sleeveless white shirt, baggy jeans and shades and his dark hair was a little tousled like heâd run here.
âHey!â he beamed, trotting toward you. âLook at you. You showed up. Thought Iâd have to fly over and drag you in myself.â
You laughed â or tried to. âWouldâve been easier if you had.â
âOh? You saying you wanted me to sweep you off your feet?â He winked, already walking backward toward the gates, tugging you by the wrist. âNext time just say the word and I will come pick you up from your doorstep.â
He had the same boyish grin as always. Same lopsided energy. But beneath the laughter, there was something tight about him. Focused. Like he was trying to be carefree â like he was carrying something heavier than he let on.
You squeezed his hand. He looked at you, surprised. Then softened.
âYou okay?â he asked.
âYeah,â you lied. âYou?â
âAlways,â he said, but didnât let go. âAnd even more so now that you are here.â
The park was a living constellation. Lights danced in every direction â strung along towers, wrapped around trees, woven into the very air like stardust. People bustled by with caramel popcorn and glowing necklaces. Children squealed. Music floated from every corner.
And high above it all, looming like metal beasts with neon eyes, were the rides.
You avoided looking at them.
Caleb was thrilled. He practically vibrated next to you, pointing out different ones, telling stories, dropping trivia. âThat one,â he said, eyes sparkling as he pointed at a monstrous looped coaster. âIt was inspired by the early zero-G training modules for astronauts. Goes up to 3Gs on the final drop. Wanna try it?â
You smiled too fast. Too wide. âSure.â
With VIP passes, the wait time was almost non-existent.
You stared up at the metal track. It twisted into the clouds, lights flashing like a heartbeat. Every scream that echoed down from the peak made your stomach twist tighter. You tried to breathe.
Caleb was rambling about pilot protocols and how G-force affected vision, and you were nodding, smiling, trying to look normal.
But the closer you got, the worse it felt.
Your hands shook when you buckled in.
Caleb noticed. âYou cold?â
You shook your head too fast. âIâm fine.â
The harness clicked into place. The floor dropped out from beneath your feet.
And then â the ascent.
The world shrank beneath you. Each click of the coasterâs gears echoed like a countdown.
You felt him look at you.
ââŠHey?â
You didnât respond.
You couldnât.
Your hands were white-knuckled fists. Your eyes were squeezed shut. Breathing shallow. Chest tight.
ââŠHey.â
His voice was gentler now.
âHey. Look at me.â
You did.
He was watching you. Really watching you â not with teasing, not with that easy charm. With concern. With care.
âWhy didnât you say anything?â he asked softly, the lightest tremble in his voice.
âI didnât want to ruin this eveningâŠâ you whispered, ashamed.
The ride lurched â nearly at the peak now. A second more and it would drop.
The wind screamed as the peak crested.
He reached over â twisted in his seat, even with the restraints â and grabbed your hand with his left. âClose your eyes. Iâve got you.â
It was warm. Heavy.
But steady.
âHold on to me,â he said, voice low. âDonât look down. Donât think about anything else. Just me.â
And then â the fall.
You screamed.
Not just out of fear but because it was everything all at once. The terror. The relief. The way Caleb held your hand the entire time, grounding you when the sky fell away.
When the ride slowed, your breathing did too.
You didnât let go.
He didnât ask you to.
Later, you sat on the grass, away from the lights, a bag of half-eaten cotton candy between you. The fireworks were a long way from happening and there was time to kill.
Caleb leaned back on one hand, the other tucked around your shoulder.
âSorry,â you murmured.
âFor what?â
âWeâve been here for a while now because I did something stupid. I ruined the evening for you... You were so excited.â
âI didnât bring you up here to make you uncomfortable.â he said finally. Soft. Almost guilty.
You winced. âYou didnât. I justâŠâ
âYou hate heights.â
He gave a sheepish little smile, rubbing the back of his neck.
âYou think I dragged you out here for the rollercoasters?â
You glanced at him.
âI did it for the fireworks. For the stupid nebula cotton candy. For the look on your face when the parade started. For you. Not the rides.â
You looked down. âI just didnât want to seemââ
âI donât need you to be fearless,â he said. âI just need you to be you. Thatâs all Iâve ever wanted.â
You swallowed hard.
He tugged you in closer. âIâm serious. If youâre scared, if youâre upset, if you hate rollercoasters â I want to know. I want to know you. Not some version of you thatâs trying to be what you think I want.â
You looked up at him, eyes stinging a little.
âI do like the parade though,â you whispered.
He smiled , soft and golden, all heart. âGood. Because I booked the best spot for it.â
You tilted your head. âHow?â
âIâm a Colonel in the Farspace Fleet,â he said with a wink. âPerks of the uniform.â
You laughed. The sound felt free now.
He watched you with a look you couldnât name. Something warm. Something more.
Then he said, softly, âThanks for trusting me.â
You leaned your head on his shoulder. âThanks for holding my hand.â
He skipped the thrill rides without hesitation, instead loading your arms with candy and glowsticks and ridiculous souvenirs. You sat together on a private bench as the parade passed by, a blur of shimmering lights and music. When the fireworks finally exploded overhead in bursts of gold and violet, he leaned just a bit closer.
âThanks for coming with me,â he said, his voice low and almost reverent beneath the skyâs celebration. âEven if the rides were a bust.â
âIâd go anywhere with you, Caleb,â you said.
And this time, it wasnât a lie.
ZAYNE
You stand in front of the mirror, tilting your head as you assess your outfit for the third time. Casual. Put-togetherâbut not trying too hard. The denim jacket is a little snug across your shoulders, the black tee just low-cut enough to count as flirty if Zayne noticed such things. He always seems so calm, so unfazed. And yet, every time he looks at you, your stomach flips like a coin midair.
You check your phone. Zayne.
Iâll pick you up in ten. Wear something comfortable.
Comfortable? Thatâs rich, considering what heâs roped you into.
Pool.
You had smiled like it was nothing when heâd brought it up over coffee earlier this week, his fingers casually tapping the rim of his mug, eyes steady on yours. âThereâs this place I used to go to when I first joined Akso. Itâs quiet. Good for unwinding. Would you want to join me? I can teach if youâd like.â
And you, ever the glutton for punishment, had said yes.
Youâve never played pool in your life. Something about the geometry, the angles, the calculated strength of the strike⊠none of it sounded appealing to you. Your hand-eye coordination is barely enough for catching projectiles thrown at you. But itâs Zayne. Calm, composed, frustratingly attractive Zayne. And he invited you. That has to mean something.
The pool hall is tucked between a laundromat and a late-night ramen bar. A few patrons linger at other tables, but Zayne seems to know the owner, and within minutes, heâs leading you to a far table in the corner, away from the noise.
Heâs already in his element, chalking his cue. âWeâll start with the basics,â he says, offering you a stick. âGrip. Posture. Precision. Poolâs all about intention.â
You take the cue stick and try to mirror him. You can already feel the weight of the evening pressing at the back of your neck like an invisible hand.
The first round is a disaster.
Your fingers curled around the smooth wood, already clammy. You lined up awkwardly, bent forward, andâ
Crack.
The cue ball wobbled. It barely tapped the triangle of colored balls, scattering them half-heartedly.
"Solid attempt," Zayne said, not unkindly, but with a teasing tilt to his voice. âYou aimed with your heart, not your eyes.â
You told yourself to relax. He didnât expect you to be great. He wasnât like that.
Was he?
Zayne moved with confidence, sinking two shots in a row. His posture was perfect, movements fluid. When he lined up his next shot, he looked back at you briefly, one brow raised as if to say, You watching? You nodded, smiled. Pretended to be fascinated by the game instead of calculating how many more turns youâd have to humiliate yourself.
Your second shot went worse than the first. Your hand slipped on the bridge, the ball skidded, and you felt your cheeks heat. Zayne came up behind you then, gently placing his hand on your arm to guide your posture.
âHere,â he murmured, breath warm near your ear. âRelax your grip.â
Your fingers froze.
He was so close. His hand so steady. Yours... not.
You nodded. Said nothing. Tried again. Failed again.
The next few rounds were even worse. You miss the cue ball entirely once. Twice. Then you scratch it. You try to laugh, but it comes out thin. Zayne doesnât scold you, heâs not cruel, but heâs precise, his words clipped with surgical clarity.
You nod. Try again. Fail. Again.
âYour wristâs too loose.â
âYouâre leaning too far. Keep your core stable.â
âDonât look at the cue, look through the shot.â
With each miss, your shoulders tighten. Your knuckles go white around the stick. You feel the blood drain from your face as a couple nearby chuckles softly. You know itâs not about you, but your skin crawls with embarrassment anyway. You didnât like people watching you mess up.
Zayne watches, silent for a few beats. Then he speaks, voice lower this time. âYouâre holding your breath.â
You hadnât realized you were.
He places his cue stick down gently and walks toward you, his steps soundless on the hardwood floor. He stops just within reach, but doesnât touch you.
âYouâre not enjoying this.â he says softly.
You froze mid-bend.
âIââ you began, but he raised a hand.
âDonât lie.â
You straightened slowly, cue stick still in hand. âI didnât want to disappoint you,â you admitted, voice barely above the background hum of the jukebox. âYouâre so good at this. I just wanted to spend time with you.â
The silence between you was soft, not sharp.
âI invited you here because I like spending time with you,â he said. âNot because I needed a pool partner.â
You blinked at him, uncertain.
He continued, voice lower now. âI can be... singularly focused. Too much, sometimes. But I donât want you pretending to be okay with something just because I picked it.â
Your grip on the cue loosened. âI didnât want to ruin the evening.â
He tilted his head. âIt would ruin it more if you spent it uncomfortable.â
You want to deny it. Laugh it off. But your throat is tight, and your heart feels like itâs pressed against a wall.
âI justââ You force a shrug. âI wanted to spend time with you. Thatâs all.â
Zayne studies your face. âSo you dragged yourself into something you hate just to do that?â
âI donât hate it,â you mutter. âI just... donât belong here. Pool isnât exactly my thing.â
His expression shifts, not amusement, not disappointment. Just something softer. Quieter. The kind of look someone gives when they see through you instead of at you.
âI noticed,â he murmurs. âYour shoulders were locked. You didnât blink once in thirty seconds.â
You try to smile. âSo much for subtlety.â
Zayne chuckles. Itâs a quiet sound, rare, but warm. âIâm a doctor,â he says. âReading body language is half the job.â
Thereâs a pause. Then he leans forwardânot close enough to touch, but close enough that you can smell the faint trace of cologne on his shirt. He lowers his voice. âNext time you want to spend time with me... just say it. You donât have to contort yourself into something you're not. It wouldnât feel right if you were uncomfortable the whole time.â
You blink, stunned into silence.
âI donât want your time if it costs you your ease,â he adds. âThatâs not the kind of presence I want to be in your life.â
Your chest aches, not with shame, but something closer to relief. The kind that comes when someone lifts the weight off your shoulders before you even realize how heavy itâs been.
He straightens up and gently takes the cue stick from your hands.
âCome on,â he says. âLetâs ditch this and go to that ramen place next door. You can make fun of my spice tolerance there. Does that sound good to you?â
You grin, heart hammering, the tension finally cracking like ice. âOnly if you let me steal your gyoza.â
âNegotiable,â he says, brushing past you with the ghost of a smile. âCome. The night is far from over. You donât have to change who you are around me,â he said, tone calm but sincere. âIâd rather have the truth.â
Your heart thudded, unsteady but warm.
You nodded. âNext time... youâll be the one out of your element.â
He smirked. âI look forward to it.â
And he meant it.
XAVIER
The elevator hums quietly as you check your reflection for the fifth time.
Comfortable. Cute. Relaxed. That was the goal.
Youâd chosen your favorite knit sweater â the one just baggy enough to hang off one shoulder â and paired it with soft leggings, fuzzy socks, and a warm-toned scrunchie pulling your hair back in a loose twist. A look that said, âI didnât try that hard,â while clearly being planned down to the scent of the vanilla lip balm on your mouth.
Because this wasnât just dinner.
It was dinner at Xavierâs apartment.
You cradle the two grocery bags in your arms a little tighter, filled with neatly packed slices of marbled beef, a few delicate cuts of lamb, some fresh shitake, enoki, and bok choy, plus the greens. Thereâs also a small six-pack of fruit-flavored soda you thought he might like â and two mochi ice cream desserts in your bag's chill pouch.
Youâd been excited all day.
Xavierâs apartment was what you expected: neat, quiet, lightly decorated in soft colors and odd trinkets he didnât think twice about but made your eyes linger.
In the center of the living space, a low table had been arranged with two cushions on either side and a full hot pot setup. The induction stove was small but new, clean and white, already buzzing  gently beneath a divided metal pot. Steam curled lazily into the air.
He padded barefoot across the room, sleeves rolled, hair loose and a little ruffled from sleep, and took the bags from your arms wordlessly. When you tried to insist you could help, he simply said, âSit. Youâre the guest.â
And so you sat.
And then he poured the broth packets in. The setup was clean and minimalist, just like him â a pale wood table, small ceramic sauce dishes, dipping bowl sets, and a yin-yang shaped hot pot cooker with two separate sides of broth.
Except this time⊠both sides were red.
Not a gentle tomato-based red.
Not one side miso, not mushroom.
The liquid turned dark crimson almost instantly.
You blinked.
âHot Mala. Itâs⊠strong,â he said. He stirred with a lazy rhythm, the aroma already clawing at the back of your throat.
You swallowed hard. Bright crimson oil glistened on the surface, flecked with floating peppercorns and crushed chili. You felt your soul begin to sweat.
â...Both sides?â you asked, feigning a casual glance.
âSpicyâs better,â Xavier said, crouching at the table. âI only bought the twin-pot style because the seller said it was popular.â
Your tongue already tingled at the idea of the red broth. You werenât just bad with spice â you were barely functioning around a mildly spicy samosa. Anything more, and your eyes would water and your face would burn like a reactor core meltdown.
But you looked at him â quiet, warm, fond in that unreadable way of his as he placed dipping bowls beside the stove.
And you smiled. You did what you always did with people who mattered more to you than your own comfort.
Because the thought that you might ruin this calm, carefully arranged evening over something like spice tolerance made your chest tighten.
âIt looks perfect,â you said.
He sat across from you, cross-legged and relaxed in dark joggers and a white hoodie, a bold choice for hot pot, especially with the red broth.
He leaned over the table with all the grace of a sleepy cat, selecting slices of meat and guiding them into the red broth with long chopsticks.
âYou brought good cuts,â he noted, nodding. âI trust your judgment.â
And then, a pause â his eyes narrowed a little at the pile of greens beside him.
âExcept⊠this.â
You laughed softly. âItâs not that bad.â
He gave the vegetables a look that could only be described as betrayal. âIt smells like sadness.â
You tried not to laugh. But your heart twisted. Not because of his words.
Because while he bantered the smell of chili oil and peppercorn was already beginning to sting your throat. You reached for your dipping bowl, adding soy sauce, onions, minced garling, lime and sesame paste with trembling fingers, trying to busy yourself.
And when he dropped your favorite mushroom into the red broth, you didnât protest.
You only smiled.
The first bite singed.
You chewed slowly, nodding like it was fine, like your tongue wasnât slowly blistering from the inside out. You chased it with soda. Swallowed a second piece â lamb this time â and made a soft sound that you hoped passed for enjoyment but probably sounded more like someone dying of quiet regret.
You blinked the tears back.
He watched you.
You looked down at your bowl.
âToo spicy,â he said, softly.
Your fingers tightened on the chopsticks. âNo. Itâs okay.â
âItâs not.â
You flinched, barely. He was still neutral in tone â not accusatory. Just⊠certain. Like a man who already knew the sky was blue and didnât need convincing.
âI didnât want to ruin it,â you said quietly. âYou were excited.â
âIâm always excited to see you,â he said, without a hint of irony. âBut Iâm not excited to watch you suffer.â
That stilled you.
âI thought you didnât notice.â
âI notice everything about you.â His chopsticks stilled above the pot. âI just donât always know what Iâm supposed to do with it.â
You laughed despite yourself, hand gripping your drink as you coughed lightly. âOkay. I admit it. Iâm bad with spice. But I didnât want to say anything.â
âWhy?â
You hesitated. âBecause I⊠uh⊠You invited me. I didnât want to be difficult.â
His gaze didnât waver. âYouâd rather be in pain than tell me the truth?â
You winced. âWhen you say it like that, it sounds stupid.â
âIt is,â he said gently. Then added, âBut Iâve done worse.â
Then he shifted.
With a flick of his wrist, he transferred the vegetables â yes, even the sad greens â and a generous portion of meat into a plate. He grabbed the serving ladle and began to scoop the broth from one section of the pot into a bowls.
âI have a mild instant soup base in the kitchen, it's delicious too.â he said, standing up. âGive me five minutes.â
âYou donât have toââ
âI do.â
You blinked again, but this time not from spice.
âWhy?â
âBecause youâre here,â he said simply, walking to the kitchen. âAnd I like that youâre here.â
Your throat tightened.
The new broth was clear, soft, comforting. The moment he brought it out, you wanted to cry.
Not just from the relief of no longer melting from the inside out.
But because someone had noticed.
Listened.
And changed something just for you.
âYou didnât have to,â you said softly as you ate. âReally.â
âI know.â
And then, as if to demonstrate further solidarity, he reached into the spicy broth, pulled out a bok choy⊠and stared at it like it was his mortal enemy. Then, with slow determination, he bit into it.
His whole face remained unchanged.
But you saw the twitch.
ââŠWas it worth it?â you asked.
âNo,â he said, deadpan. âBut now weâre even.â
Later, when you left, he walked you to the door barefoot, holding the empty mochi container like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
âNext time,â he said, after a pause, âyou pick the broth.â
âNext time?â
He blinked. âIf you want.â
You looked up at him.
He stood in the doorway â hoodie sleeves half-pushed, hair still tousled, the faint scent of chili oil clinging to him like a memory. His expression was unreadable again. But the warmth behind it? That wasnât hard to see at all.
âIâd like that,â you said.
And you were already planning it.
RAFAYEL
You shouldnât have said yes.
That thought rings in your head as the last rays of evening sunlight melt into amber, stretching across the mirror-glass surface of the lake. Everything is quiet â too quiet â save for the light chirp of insects and the steady ripple of water as Rafayel swims deeper, his silhouette cutting sleek lines through the reflection of the sky.
Heâs graceful.
Unfairly so.
Water clings to his skin like it belongs there, catching on his lashes, beading along his shoulders, tracing the lines of muscle down his back and arms as he moves. And you, standing at the shallow edge in your swimsuit, arms folded like a makeshift barrier, feel like a tangled bundle of nerves held together by one wrong decision.
Not the lack of footing. Not the invisible things beneath the surface. Not the way your limbs felt disconnected and sluggish, or how you could never quite get the rhythm of your strokes right without swallowing water or tipping awkwardly sideways like an overfilled tote bag.
You could swim. Technically.
You just⊠didnât like it.
It was clumsy. You were clumsy. Youâd passed the mandatory swimming exam at school, survived a few hotel pools on holidays ut lakes? Open water? With things brushing against your legs, invisible weeds tangling near your feet, the ground disappearing beneath you with nothing to hold?
It made your skin crawl.
But the way Rafayelâs eyes lit up when he talked about it⊠You didnât want to ruin that.
So you came.
You still remember yesterday evening when Rafayel had flashed that impish grin and tossed you with âWear something cute. Iâm kidnapping you for a swimming adventure. No complaints,â â youâd said yes.
Because he was Raf.
And part of you always said yes to him. Hoping, stupidly, that it  might be something worth remembering.
Maybe heâd laugh. Maybe heâd tease. Maybe heâd say something flippant and walk awayâŠ
Or maybe â just maybe â heâd notice you like you notice him.
âYouâre not gonna melt, cutie,â he calls from a few meters out, resting easily on the surface of the water. He floats with infuriating elegance, his arms outstretched and his purple hair haloed around his head. âOr are you actually made of sugar?â
You snort softly, hugging yourself tighter. âI just⊠donât want to ruin the peace. Itâs nice just watching.â
âYou mean itâs nice watching me.â He grins. âGo ahead. Get your fill. I donât blame youâŠâ
Your lips twitch despite yourself.
And that was Rafayel in a sentence â smug, sharp-tongued, beautiful enough to get away with it. But underneath the teasing, you knew his invitation wasnât just about swimming.
He wanted to share something.
And you wanted to be part of that world , his world , even if it made your stomach twist.
So you step in.
Slowly. The waterâs cool against your skin, not cold, but shocking in contrast to the warm evening air. You move step by careful step, feeling the soft sand shift beneath your toes, the occasional ripple brushing your calf like phantom fingers.
Itâs fine.
You can do this.
You make it chest-deep before you hear his voice again.
âCome closer.â
Heâs farther now, maybe eight or nine meters out, treading water with that casual, effortless grace.
You hesitate.
He notices.
Thereâs a pause â one of those strange suspended silences that exist only between people who know each other too well and not well enough at the same time.
Then you smile. Not because you feel okay, but because you want him to feel okay.
And you swim.
Clumsily. Arms too wide, breath too shallow. You keep your chin above water, trying not to panic, trying not to think about the darkness beneath your feet or the silt that clouds around your knees when you kick.
But then â something brushes you.
A slip of lake weed? A fish? A strand of hair?
It doesnât matter.
Terror shoots up your spine like ice.
You gasp sharply, flail, and instinct kicks in â wild, desperate kicks, arms slapping water, trying to go anywhere but where you are. You canât feel the bottom anymore. You canât find a rhythm. Panic closes your throat like a fistâ
And then heâs there.
Strong hands caught you.
You didnât even realize heâd come until his arms wrapped around your waist, one hand steady at your back, the other curling under your thigh to anchor you as you trembled.
âHey. Hey,â Rafayelâs voice was lower now. All the teasing had dropped out. âIâve got you. Youâre alright.â
You tried to speak, but your throat burned. Your hands clutched at his shoulders instead, nails digging in. He didnât flinch.
His face is close. Closer than itâs ever been. Water drips from his lashes, and for once, thereâs no smirk, no teasing spark. Just something⊠protective. âIâve got you,â he murmurs. âBreathe. Youâre fine.â
And somehow, you do.
He holds you for a moment longer. You feel the strength in him, the calm. The quiet assurance that, at least in this moment, nothing would dare happen to you.
And then youâre moving.
Back toward the shore.
He doesnât drag. He glides, guiding you like something precious â like youâre worth holding onto.
âI didnât know,â he said, his voice just above a whisper, âYou shouldâve told me you didnât want to swim.â
âI didnât⊠I thought I could handle it,â you croaked out, cheeks burning with shame. âI didnât want to ruin it.â
âIdiot, guppyâ he muttered, but there was no venom in it. âYou think I brought you here to watch you suffer?â
You didnât answer. You couldnât. The humiliation was sharp and bitter in your chest, mixing with the leftover panic.
He walked the last few steps, carrying you until the water kissed only your calves. When he set you down, your legs wobbled.
âYou couldâve drowned,â he said quietly. âAnd then what would I do? Swim around this stupid lake yelling at your ghost?â He knew he wouldnât have let that happen. So did you. But he was making a fair point.
That startled a laugh out of you, hoarse and awkward, but it made him smile.
âIâm sorry,â you whispered. âI just⊠I didnât want to say no to you.â
He looked at you, for a long moment. Eyes clearer than usual. âYou donât have to prove anything to me,â he said. âIf you want to spend time with me, just say so. You donât have to drown for it, cutie.â
You blinked. Then frowned. âSo what, youâre not gonna make fun of me?â
âOh no,â he smirked, the old glint back in his eye. âI am absolutely making fun of you. Butââ He reached for your towel, flicking it playfully over your head, ââŠonly after I make sure you're not cold, scared, or crying.â
He plopped down beside you on the ground, towel around his shoulders, hair dripping. The lake shimmered behind him, but he didnât spare it another glance.
He looked only at you. âYouâre an idiot,â he says, voice bright with performative scorn. âA pretty, sweet, stubborn idiot.â
You blink.
He reaches out and dries your wet hair with surprisingly gentle fingers using the towel. Â Then, with a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, he says, âNext time, you sit on the shore, look pretty, and cheer for me. Deal?â
You open your mouth to protest.
âAnd,â he adds, lifting a finger, âYouâll bring snacks. Preferably something cold. Iâll get out, pretend to suffer from exertion, and youâll feed me with loving devotion while telling me how brave I am.â
You laugh. This time, genuinely.
ââŠDeal.â
He bumped your shoulder with his, light and easy. âThatâs my good little guppy.â
And somehow, as the light faded and the stars blinked into view above the treetops â you didnât feel so out of your depth anymore.
AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!
I feel like me and Raf would be like best friends. Not at all a couple or romantic but full of platonic love. Not that heâs not hot, sexy and gorgeous but with the personality type he has I really feel like weâd hang out and talk and do stupid little pranks. Heâd talk to me about MC and Iâd try to give him advice. Idk I think it would be super duper cute to be friends with him.
summary: how on earth were you supposed to write a good sex scene with almost zero experience? good thing your best friend was always willing to lend you a helping hand.
themes: childhood best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, friends with benefits, college! au, slowburn, humour, fluff, angst, petnames, profanity, alcohol consumption, sexual tension, explicit sexual content (oral fem receiving, fingering, nipple play, protected + unprotected sex, clothed sex), porn with so much plot, they're both down bad asf
word count: 25k
lyns notes: its been so long since i've written a full length fic like this, and it ended up being so much longer than I anticipated but please don't get scared by the wc đ its so self indulgent because i love caleb and I had way too much fun writing this so I hope you enjoy! <3
This was utterly insane, even for you.
The idea started small, though you supposed you couldnât ever classify it as innocent. At the time, it had been just a flicker, a fleeting thought that slipped through the cracks of your composure. You were in your best friend's dorm, lounging on his bed like it was your own as you complained.Â
âIâve been stuck for weeks now. Itâs like Iâve lost the ability to write.â
Caleb glanced over at you from his desk, leaning back in his plush chair as the movement of his fingers over the laptop keyboard stilled for a moment. The expression you received was familiar, you had been on the receiving end of it for years now. One of his lips quirked up, deep lavender eyes alight with amusement, and one eyebrow raised as he took in your anguished state.Â
âYou havenât lost the ability to write, Pipsqueak, it's just writer's block. Youâve had writer's block before.â
âNot like this.â You shook your head, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your chin on them. âI usually manage to overcome it in a week or so. Itâs been like, three months.â Your annoyance with yourself was obvious to him, so clear in the slight pout on your mouth paired with that indignant expression.
It was true, you had been writing ever since you were little. Your imagination ran wild as a child, even before you could physically write, you would spin tales and make up stories to entertain yourself with, frequently getting lost in your own little world. You prided yourself on this talent of yours that helped you breeze through English essays and writing assignments, even going so far as to major in English at university. Writing was your bread and butter. It was more than just being good at it, it was the passion and fulfilment you felt when you did it.Â
Passion and fulfillment your ass, you couldnât feel any of that right now.
You were writing a book, your very first one that you started penning in the summer before your sophomore year. The idea had come to you out of nowhere, and once you spent hours outlining all the details, you were certain it was something you wanted to bring to life. The need to finish it burned through you as you spent most of that break stuck at your desk, hunched over your laptop. Caleb had to quite literally drag you out of your room most days, muttering some nonsense about vitamin D and too much screen time.
He had always been like that ever since you were kids â protective, caring, attentive. It was built into his very being, you supposed, ever since he saw you cry outside the first-grade classrooms as a seven-year-old and promised to help you find your way to the correct one. Even now, as he hummed in thought, offering silent support for your frustration.Â
âYouâve gotten through a large chunk of it, right?â
âYep.â
A slow, bargaining smile stretched out on his face. âHey, you know, maybe if you let me read itââ
âHell no.â You shook your head stubbornly. âI told you, Iâm only letting you read it once it's finished, and I think itâs good enough.â
Caleb snorted, âSo you mean never?â
You promptly threw one of the plushies on his bed at him. He deftly caught it, laughter slipping from him as he threw it back. The plushy was a grumpy apple one that he had won you back home at the arcade, but the pile of plushies on your bed was so huge that you graciously suggested that he keep it for you. Partial custody, you had joked, I have visitation rights.
âYouâll be the first to read it. I justâŠ.need to get through this one bit.âÂ
Ah yes, the bit. The part that you seemed to be cursed to never finish. Everything before it had gone so smoothly, the words flowing and pouring out of you so perfectly. A fun romance novel full of twists and humour was what you aimed to achieve, and it seemed like you were succeeding.
That was, until you reached a part of the story that you truly had no idea how to write. The technicalities of it were.âŠ..unknown at best, to you, who had almost no experience in the matter.Â
âYou know, maybe you could tell me about it. Maybe I could help.â You knew the offer was genuine. Caleb had always been someone you could fall back upon for any assistance. Being two years older than you, in your eyes, he always knew what to do when you were in a pickle. He was the type of friend who placed bandages on your scrapes and offered you candy so youâd stop crying. He carried a hair tie around for when you wanted to tie your hair and helped you study for tests, and explained the concepts that you didnât understand. Every time you had a problem, he never hesitated to help you in any way he possibly could.
But thisâŠ.this was something youâd rather die than ask him about.Â
Immediately, you shook your head a little too quickly, shooting him a tight smile. âNope, it's fine. Just something I gotta figure out myself.
He stared at you skeptically but shrugged. âAlright. Let me know if you change your mind, okay?â
You wouldnât.
Would you?
Absolutely not. Even thinking about it felt like a betrayal. It was like opening a can of worms that held snakes. Deadly venomous ones.Â
And yet here you were, your teeth digging into the plush of your lower lip as he turned back to his laptop screen, continuing to work on whatever assignment he had due. He was in his final year and was infinitely busy, though he somehow still managed to make time for you.Â
Shamelessly, your eyes studied him. His arms, so well defined and firm-looking, were basically on display for you when he wore that white, sleeveless tee. Dark hair, unruly and messy, no matter how many times you ran your fingers through it in an attempt to fix it. A defined jawline that could probably cut you if you dared touch it. He had grown up unfairly well, no longer the lanky young boy you once knew, now a man. A hot man you had incredible chemistry with.
A very hot man who was completely off-limits.Â
Still. You supposed that his help couldnât be the worst thing in the worldâ
A sex scene. That was what you were struggling to right. In terms of the story, it was a very natural next move for your characters, and it made sense, and while you could simply artistically describe the ordeal and fade to black, you felt it was a necessary addition. You wanted to showcase the desperation the two characters felt for each other, just how deep their feelings ran through something more primal. You wanted it to feel right, to feel magical.Â
The issue? You hadnât the faintest idea of how to go about it. In all your nineteen years of life, you had only had sex once, and it had been far from magical. It had been uncomfortable and rushed, the result of a very stupid, drunken one-night stand in your first year. The guy very evidently didnât know how a woman's body worked, and even thinking back on it made you cringe and fold in on yourself. If it were possible to manually pluck the memory out and destroy it, you would have done it in a heartbeat.
So how on earth were you supposed to write the perfect sex scene when your one sole experience in the matter had been so terrible?
And you couldnât ask Caleb for help. Even considering doing so made you feel as if you would spontaneously combust. He was your best friend, for crying out loud, and this crossed so many lines. You knew very well that he wasnât a virgin by any means, having caught glimpses of the occasional hickey on his neck despite his best efforts to hide it from you. He was twenty-one, experienced and could probably talk you through itâ
Nope. Not going here.Â
The idea of Caleb explaining sex to you was mortifying. You didnât want to hear about any of his conquests, even just the thought of him talking about it made you want to throw up. The notion of him having sex only made your cheeks warm and your throat go uncomfortably dry.
Against your will, the thought festered. It burrowed its way into your mind and settled there as if it belonged, despite its having no business being there. This was completely unethical, but before you could stop yourself, your gaze zeroed in on his tongue darting out of his mouth, licking his lips in concentration as he typed out something. For a second, you wondered how it would feel if he dragged that tongue across the skin of your neck.
Oh my god. What if he simply showed you?
The moment that depraved idea popped into your head, you shot up, getting to your feet with urgency. Startled, he looked over at you, frowning at the alarmed look on your face.
âAre you good?â
âIâm great!â Your voice sounded funny, like you were trying to digest a rock. âI justâ erâ remembered I have some homework to finish for tomorrow. So I should get back to my room.â You padded over to his door, slipping into your shoes and waving at him. âSee ya.â
â....Bye.â He watched your awkward, rushed movements with a puzzled look on his (very nice) face.. You nodded curtly before opening the door and escaping the confines of his dorm, out of his scrutinising gaze that could read you annoyingly well. Another minute in there and you knew he would be grilling you for your odd behaviour.Â
Jesus Christ. You were so screwed.
âY/n? Girl, you gotta get your head in the game.â
Taraâs voice cut through your reverie, causing you to snap out of it. One glance up at her would reveal an unimpressed look directed at you, her hands on her hips. âOur darling editor wants to know why your article isnât on her desk yet.â
Tara was your closest friend after Caleb, and you had met her when you joined the university paper as a student journalist. She was smart, pretty and always had your back no matter what. Blinking rapidly, you sighed, waving your hand.Â
âTell Jenna Iâll have it there by the end of the day.â
âYou better. You know how she is about deadlines.â Tara pulled one of the chairs from the desk beside yours closer and sat on it, resting her elbows on the armrests. âSeriously, though, why are you spaced out today?â
Well, there was no way you could tell her the truth about that. So you resorted to using a half-truth as an answer. âWriter's block.â
âAh.â
You turned back to the screen of your computer, staring at the article you had been writing. It was almost finished, thank god. At least here, you had the facts to write around, having done your research. Very different to the situation you found yourself in regarding your stupid book.
Ugh.Â
âBy the way, your boyfriendâs here.â
Your head snapped up at her words, already ready to argue, knowing exactly who she was talking about. Walking into the newsroom holding two coffees was Caleb, wearing that blue-orange jacket that you had bought him for one of his birthdays. He did this pretty often, sauntering in like he owned the place even though he was technically not allowed to be there. Jenna had repeatedly reminded him of this, but he brushed it off, and after a while, she simply stopped bothering. Thus, despite not being on the paper, he spent a lot of time in the newsroom.
This was another problem you faced daily: people mistaking him for your boyfriend. The number of times you had to rehash the fact that he was simply your best friend was astounding, and back when you were a freshman, the constant whistles about you dating an upperclassmanâ and none other than Caleb Xiaâ drove you mad. You chalked it down to none of them being fortunate enough to experience a friendship as fulfilling and real as the one you had with him.
âHeâs not my boyfriend.â You dropped your voice, keeping it just loud enough for her to hear your rebuttal that held a hint of venom, plastering a smile on your face as he closed in. Tara snickered.Â
âSure, and Iâm the queen of England.â
âHey,â Caleb grinned down at you, his eyes momentarily flitting to your friend. âAnd what?â
âNothing,â you said brightly, shooting her a murderous look that silently told her to zip it. She smiled innocently and shook her head, slipping back to her desk without another word.
âSheâs an odd one,â he quipped, handing you one of the coffees and then shrugging off the jacket, dumping it on the free space on your desk. You already knew it was your regular order, something he had memorised years ago. You sipped the drink, letting the hot liquid calm you down, grateful for the caffeine. You hadnât gotten much sleep the night before, spending it tossing and turning in your bed.
And why was that?
Caleb leaned against your desk. âAre you free later today?âÂ
A dejected sigh escaped you. âUnfortunately, no. I need to finish this article by the end of the day, and it seems like my writer's block has infected every aspect of my life.â It was ironic, just how true that statement ran.
âDamn.â You could hear the tinge of disappointment in his voice. âI was hoping we would have movie night. I stocked up on your favourite candy.â He reached over, his fingers brushing against the skin of your forehead as he pushed some of your hair that fell in front of your eyes away from your face, neatly tucking it behind your ear like it was second nature. It was, you supposed, considering he had done so about a hundred times.
But something was different this time, or perhaps you were paying far too much attention to every little thing. To how he pulled back and the way the muscles in his forearm shifted subtly, making you wish he had kept the jacket on. The brief touch lingered on your skin, burned into it.
Fucking hell, you were a mess. A tragic, down-atrocious mess.
Your eyes lingered on his fingers for a moment. Heat crept up your neck, and you coughed, rubbing it absent-mindedly, hoping to push down the flush you felt taking over your body. It had been like this ever since the day in his dorm when your brain had decided to work against you and infect you with the thought of sex with your best friend.
What better way was there to describe your state than calling it an infection? It certainly felt like some sort of sickness with the way it plagued you against your will. Somehow, it was worse than the doomed crush you had harboured for him back when you were in high school, because at least that had been innocent. That was born out of pure admiration, and you were sixteen. A lot of things done at sixteen could be brushed off under the excuse of being young and naive. You had quickly gotten over it.Â
You were evidently no longer so naive. In fact, you knew too much.
âMaybe next time.â You managed to choke out finally after a silence that had stretched a beat too long. Part of you hoped heâd leave you alone now so that you could calm down and refocus your attention to the article.Â
But of course, he didnât. Instead, he occupied the chair Tara previously had, complaining about one of his classes as you nodded along, sipping your coffee and glancing between him and your screen. The smooth cadence of his voice usually soothed you and calmed you down, but now it only put you on edge, flowing over scrambled thoughts like honey. Had his arms always been this nice?
You were going to hell.
All things considered, you held yourself to certain standards. You were a woman with morals and integrity, and you were not in the habit of staring at shirtless men.
Except when it was Caleb, apparently.Â
âWhy are you half-naked?â You blurted out gracelessly, heat viciously curling up your body as your eyes dropped down to his torso. You gripped the Chinese takeout you had gotten on your way back from your evening class a little tighter as you took in his figure. A silver chain with a tag and apple pendant (something you had given him before he left for university while you were still struggling in high school) on his bare chest and perfect sculpted abs, running shorts hanging low on his hips.Â
âI was working out.â He said casually, taking the bag of takeout from your hands and walking back into his dorm, leaving you to follow him. You bit down on your tongue hard, almost hoping youâd draw blood.Â
This was ridiculous. You had seen him shirtless several times before and had never reacted like this. The other times hadnât caused you to flush and definitely didnât cause your heart rate to spike. It didnât have you furiously fighting off thoughts that had threatened to consume you for over a week now, pushing them back into the furthest parts of your mind and locking them there.Â
âIâm almost done, could you grab sodas from the fridge?â Caleb placed the food on the table beside his bed. You wordlessly complied, picking the apple-flavoured sodas that both of you liked. Turning back to the main area of his dorm, you walked over, only to stop dead in your tracks.
Caleb was on the floor. Doing push-ups.
There was nothing inherently sexual about it in the slightest. You knew he liked to stay in shape, hitting the gym at least thrice a week to maintain his physiqueâ a very nice physique that seemed to be your current undoing. His hair fell across his forehead, a little matted from sweat. You watched as he pressed down and back up, and in a moment of weakness, you wondered how it would be if you were under him instead of standing to the side and ogling like an idiot. Would his necklace dangle above you, swinging back and forth in your face?
Dear god. You needed to be sedated. Put down, even.
Finally, he seemed to be done, lowering himself down and then rolling onto his back. He sucked in a breath of hair, running his hands through his hair and messing it up even further. Finally, he sat up and looked up at you, a singular eyebrow raised.
âWhy are you just standing there?â
Brilliant question. If only you could answer it.Â
Choosing to skillfully evade instead, you tossed him his soda can and grabbed his laptop from his desk, settling down next to him on the floor. Tonight, the two of you had decided to have dinner together and catch up on an anime you had started together a couple of weeks ago. It had been a while since you had properly hung out, and you knew damn well that it was all your fault.Â
You were avoiding him. Mentally and physically, especially physically. Caleb, however, being the understanding, saint of a man that he was, chalked it up to you being busy. He made sure to check in on you, shooting you texts or sending you funny videos he knew youâd like.Â
âWe should try and finish all the episodes up until the latest one,â You said, opening up his laptop and logging into the anime site. âThey released a new one on Wednesday.âÂ
Caleb hummed, stretching his arms as he shuffled closer. Immediately, you froze, the close contact inciting pure panic within you. Jerking away from him, you glared, holding a hand out to keep an arm's distance between the two of you, much to his confusion.Â
âPut on a shirt.â
He frowned. âWhy? Itâs really hot.â
Indeed, it was. âExactly. Youâre all sweaty and gross.â
You really shouldnât have said that. The moment the words left your mouth, his mouth curled into a smirkâ one so disgustingly attractive that you were sure your knees would have probably buckled if you werenât already sitting downâ and his eyes lit up with a mischievous glint that told you he was up to no good. Carefully, he wrapped a hand around your wrist, and the contact has your brain short-circuiting and going into overdrive.
âI think that means you want a hug.â
âWaitâ donât you dareâ Caleb!â You yelped as he tugged you harshly, forcing you to fall into his lap, his laughter resounding through the small dorm room. Awkwardly, you shoot your other hand out to steady yourself, placing it on his shoulder as you tumble into him, knee slotting in between his legs and body so dangerously close to his that you wanted to scream. Smoothly, he wrapped his other arm around your waist, circling it and somehow tugging you even closer, until you were flush against him.
âWhat are you gonna do now, Pips?â He taunted, voice just above a whisper right against your ear.Â
Unicorns, you bleakly thought to yourself. Puppies. Cupcakes. Sprinkles.
âYouâre so annoying,â You hissed, throwing as much irritation into your voice as you possibly could in the hopes that it would drown out the shakiness you felt. His skin under your fingertips was warm, and you could feel that warmth through the fabric of your tank top. âGo fuck yourself.â
He laughed harder, the sound so contagious it broke you out of your downright sinful thoughts. You gripped his shoulder a little harder, mentally chastising yourself for the situation you found yourself in, knowing that there was no good reason for you to be this riled up. Playfighting with him was something you were used to; it was natural. It should not have had your blood pressure rising and heart slamming in your chest so violently.
Swallowing thickly, you barely processed how he let go of your wrist, his other arm also coming to rest around your waist as he pulled you further into his lap so that you were now sitting on top of him. Before you even had the chance to react to that, he buried his face in the crook of your neck and inhaled.Â
âMissed you this week,â He mumbled softly against your rapidly heating skin. You froze for a split second at the contact, hopelessly blaming the flush spread over your cheeks on the humid weather.
And then you softened.Â
Instinctively, your arms wrapped around his neck as you hugged him back. âI missed you too,â You whispered, following up with a lie to keep him off your trail. âJust had a lot of work.â
âI know,â he said so patiently that you instantly felt guilty. He lifted his face from your neck so that he could stare at you, and it hit you just how intimate the position the two of you were in was. Although reserved with others, Caleb had always been pretty openly affectionate with you. His hand on the small of your back, fingers intertwined with yours, a light kiss to your temple in encouragementâ he had been doing stuff like that to you since you were ten.Â
So why did it suddenly affect you so much? Why did something so normal for you make you feel so different now?
âJustâŠ.tell me about it,â he continued, those mesmerising purple eyes of his locked onto yours. âShoot me a text. Let me know what's up with you. Donât you remember the last time you shut everyone out because you were stressed?â
You did remember. It was during your finals last year, when the workload you had overwhelmed you so badly that you simply pushed everyone away until they were over. Caleb had to practically storm his way back into your life and demand that you take a break and slow down before you worked yourself to the bone. The fact that he remembered this only made your guilt worse because your distance this time had nothing to do with your classwork.Â
It had everything to do with him, though.Â
âYeah, yeah,â you mumbled, slowly slipping out of his embrace and settling down next to him once again. You had to remind yourself of what he was to you, and all this thirsting for him was neither healthy nor something a good best friend would do. âIâm not gonna do that again.âÂ
âIâm just saying. And what the hell am I supposed to do with my free time if youâre not here to bother me?â He flashed you that shit-eating grin of his that you were starting to think was more devastating than mischievous.
You had to resist strangling him.
There was only one possible conclusion: something was deeply wrong with you.
How else were you supposed to explain your borderline insane behaviour? It had gotten even worse lately, causing you to daydream at the most inconvenient times, like when you were trying to get an assignment done or even in the middle of class. It was a wonder your professors hadnât called you out for it yet.Â
Some level of restraint seemed to remain, though, with you stopping your thoughts from crossing any lines. The moment you caught your mind straying into dangerous territory, you forced yourself to stop, desperately searching for another distraction.
But there was only so much you could do. Thinking was proving to be a dangerous activity.
You pressed your palms into your eyes, hard. It was almost three in the morning, and you hadnât gotten a wink of sleep. Earlier, you had tried to write around the damned scene, but emerged fruitless. It was like an obstacle you had to clear before you could get to the next level of a game, taunting you with its incompletion.
Something else taunted you, simmering underneath the expanse of your skin. Things that hadnât even happened yet, but you had already dreamed of themâ his mouth on yours, his hands tracing your body with a feather touch.Â
You were even wearing one of his shirts right now, the oversized tee reaching down to your mid-thighs. Several, just like the one you currently wore, sat neatly in your closet, having been stolen from him over the years. You could faintly smell his cologne; cidery and comforting, enveloping you in what felt like it could be his embrace. Turning onto your side, you pulled the blanket over your body and stared at the wall blankly.Â
Caleb had been your safe space for so long, and perhaps that was why you gravitated so easily to thinking about him like this. If there was anyone you trusted in such an intimate sense, it was him.Â
Even if it shouldnât have been.
God knows you needed to get laid. Unfortunately, you didnât want just anyone.
You swore you had never been this horny before, least of all for your best friend. Thinking about him in such a salacious way was strictly a new development that was quickly ruining your life, haunting you day and night. Even now, lying in your bed, heat that was impossible to ignore bloomed between your legs.Â
Maybe if you just indulged once, this madness would stop. Maybe you just needed an orgasm, and then youâd stop going insane over every single interaction you had with Caleb. It didnât even have to be about him, and this was normal; everyone needed a release now and then.Â
Your fingers slipped between your legs, pushing the fabric of his shirt up, tracing the outline of your cotton underwear. Your eyes fluttered shut as you let your fingertips gently graze against where you needed them most, letting your legs fall apart just a little bitâ
Deep purple eyes flashed behind your closed eyes.
Gasping, you retracted your hand like you had been burned. There was no way in hell you could touch yourself with him in mind; that was everything you had been avoiding for the past three weeks, ever since the notion had first sprouted. Groaning, you buried your face into the pillow.
This had to have been the stupidest cause of insomnia ever.
Caleb đ [15:32 pm] : i better see u at the party tonight :D
Caleb đ [15:32 pm] : will pick u up at 9
Caleb đ [15:32 pm] : no buts.
Caleb supposed that this was technically his fault.
Mentally, he had already prepared for this outcome. It was why he had barely drunk the entire night, barely finishing two drinks and opting out of playing beer pong with the rest of his friends, despite Gideon's need for another member on his team.Â
âCome on, Pipsqueak.â He had an arm around your waist to help steady you, ensuring you wouldnât fall flat on your face. You stumbled into the elevator, and he jammed the number of your dorm floor as you wrapped your arms around his torso weakly, leaning into him. Right now, he was the only thing keeping you upright.
You were drunk, slurring your words and unable to walk in a straight line without any assistance type of drunk. And yes, this was his fault.Â
Probably. Definitely.
One of the frat houses had thrown a party, and he had insisted that you come with him. He had always been great at reading you, and for the last couple of weeks, you had seemed tense over something, though you hadnât told him what exactly it was yet. That was fine, he knew that eventually youâd spill, but for now, all he wanted to do was help you let loose.Â
That was exactly what he told you to do when both of you arrived at the party, even pouring you your first drink. Halfway through the party, you seemed more relaxed than you had in the last couple of days, swaying along to the music by his side. He made sure not to drink too much, wanting to be sober enough to safely get you back to your dorm just in case you overdid it.
His intuition always ended up being right when it came to you.
You whined as the elevator dinged, the doors opening. âEverything is spinning.â
âI know, honey, weâre almost there.â He helped you walk into the hallway, smoothly taking your handbag from you and extracting your keys. Holding you tighter, he opened the door and pulled you through, carefully seating you down on your bed and taking your boots off.
Like clockwork, he grabbed a bottle of water from your bedside table, unscrewed it and held it to your cherry-tinted lips. You only used that specific lip-tint when you were going out, and each time you did, he found himself wondering if it tasted like cherry as well. Even now, as he gently propped his index finger under your chin and tilted your face upwards, he entertained the idea of tasting it for himself.
But he wouldnât.Â
âDrink up,â He said softly, âYouâre gonna have a nasty hangover tomorrow.â
Obediently, you parted your lips, drinking with his help. Your cheeks were flushed due to the alcohol, hair a little frizzy from the heat, but still maintaining the styling you had done before the party. To him, you looked stunning at all times, but he could see the effort you had put in to look nice tonight, from your outfit (a black halter top and jeans) to your makeup, which he knew heâd have to help you take off now.Â
Once he deemed the amount of water you had drunk enough, he put the bottle back and went into your bathroom, knowing exactly where to find your makeup wipes. He had taken care of you like this once before, so his body moved like clockwork. There was no point in trying to get you to the bathroomâ youâd probably just sit down on the floor and stay there for the rest of the nightâ so he took the wipes with him and crouched down in front of where you sat on your bed.Â
Smiling, he held your face again, this time a little firmer. âYouâd hate yourself if you went to sleep before you took your makeup off,â he whispered, pulling one of the wipes out and dragging it over the apples of your face. Then, he glanced up and into your eyes, noting how you stared at him so keenly, even through a half-lidded gaze, lips slightly parted.Â
If Caleb couldâve kept your attention on him like this for the rest of his life, he would have.Â
âWhat's going through that head of yours?â He cocked his head to the side, studying your intent expression. Immediately, you looked away, but he wasnât going to back down. Something had been troubling you, and he was determined to find out what. If you wouldnât tell him outright, he would simply have to guess. âIs it your book, again?â
Your inebriated state made it hard for you to hide things from him. You stiffened in his touch, and he chuckled. âBingo. You know, if you just told me what you were struggling with, Iâd help.â He pressed your chin lightly, angling your face downwards. âClose your eyes.â He gently wiped over your eye makeup, making sure it was all off before continuing. âI know Iâm not a writer, but Iâm sure I'll be of some value.â
Finally done, he neatly folded the dirty wipe and placed it to the side. âWant some more water? Alcohol is dehydrating.â
And then, out of nowhere, you spoke.Â
âSex.â
Well, blurting would probably be a better way to describe how you said the word. Caleb blinked rapidly, wondering if he had heard you correctly as his face snapped back to yours, eyes wide.Â
âWhat?â
âSex.â You slurred a little bit as you leaned closer to him, jutting your lower lip out in a pout and repeating it once more for good measure. âSex.â
âI heard you the first time,â Caleb could hear how strangled his voice was, unable to think straight at your sudden declaration. Oblivious to his mental distress, you thrust out your hand and pointed at the laptop that sat on your desk with drunken animosity.Â
âI canât write a stupid sex scene.âÂ
You sounded so crestfallen, and he would have totally started sympathising with you if not for the reason. A sex scene? What on earth were you writing?
âIââ He swallowed, âWellââ
âI mean, how am I supposed to write a good sex scene if I donât know what good sex feels like? Or what even like, happens?â Alcohol had certainly loosened you up, and perhaps a bit too much, having erased any filter that you had. This resulted in you rambling on about everything you would have usually kept to yourself, and for good reason. âThe sex Iâve had has been shitty.â
The sex youâve had? Caleb almost bit his tongue off in shock, staring at you incredulously at the information you had dumped on him. He hadnât even known you had been having sex, and thank every god for that, because he would have probably jumped off a cliff if you ever talked about your sex life with him. Surely, this was some sort of twisted fever dream he had found himself in. This could not have been real life.
âChrist,â He choked out, âIâokay, maybe I canât help youââ
âYeah, you can.â Your eyes cut to his, a little too intense for his sanity. âIf you fucked me, Iâd probably be able to write the scene.â
He gaped at you, about a dozen inappropriate thoughts running through his head before he could stop it. âWhat did you just say?âÂ
Teenage Caleb would have died if he had heard you say that. Adult Caleb nearly did.Â
You sighed heavily, and it only succeeded in causing him to spiral even more. âI thought about it. Iâm sure it would be good, yâknow. Youâd know what you were doing, you even look like youâre good at it.â
âYouâre so drunk.â He tried to reason with himself out loud, but could hardly recognise his voice with how strained he sounded. Looked like he was good at it? What alternate dimension had he just fallen into?Â
âOh, come on, Caleb. I need some hands-on learning, and youââ you slurred the words as you leaned close and wrapped your hands around his bicep, peering up at him through your lashes. ââhave very nice hands. Theyâre hot.â
You, his best friend, his pipsqueak, had thought about sleeping with him. You thought his hands were hot. The news nearly killed him, and he had to force himself to look away from you, his mind running at a mile a minute. Heat prickled at his face and neck, impossible to ignore as he cleared his throat and stood to his feet, pulling away from your touch.Â
âYou should sleep.â He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, stepping away from you. âIâIâll see you tomorrow.â It was as if he were going through puberty all over again, with the way his voice cracked embarrassingly as he spoke. He left your room hurriedly, barely getting his shoes back on as he closed the door behind him and leaned against it.
Caleb exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose as the back of his head hit your door. All these years of barely keeping it together around you, carefully tiptoeing between right and wrong, only for you to come and crash into whatever self-restraint he had left.Â
Right and wrong.Â
All of a sudden, he wasnât sure if he was going to choose correctly anymore.Â
Death had to have been more merciful than the pounding in your head. Grabbing the covers, you pulled them over yourself like a cocoon, trying your hardest to block out all noises and sink even further into your mattress.Â
Unfortunately, your hangover-induced headache made it nearly impossible for you to go back to sleep. Cursing, you forced yourself out of bed and into the bathroom to freshen up and change out of your clothes and into something more comfortable. Naturally, you gravitated towards an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts, pulling them on after a quick shower.Â
Then, you went right back to your bed, not wanting to face the day in the slightest. You had managed to resist throwing up so far, and even the thought of having to function like a normal human being made you recoil into your blanket and stay there for the rest of the week. Just as you began to genuinely entertain that notion, a sharp knock at your door caught your attention.
You would have ignored it if you didnât know the pattern of this knock by heart. No one but Caleb knocked twice in sequence.Â
Cursing under your breath, you scrambled to the door and opened it, squinting as the bright light of the hallway outside nearly blinded you. There he stood, grinning down at you as he held up a paper bag.Â
âAspirin.â
âThank god,â you immediately let him in, taking the medicine from him and pouring yourself a glass of water. He stood right behind you as you took the pill, ruffling your already messy hair and staring for just a second too long.Â
âBad morning, huh?â
âYou have no idea.â You winced at the whiny nature of your voice. âIt feels like my head is trying to stab itself.â
Caleb chuckled dryly, sitting down on your bed and watching as you settled at your desk and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to smooth out the knots. Something was different about the way he was looking at you, but you couldnât quite put your finger on it.
âYouâll be fine,â He muttered, shifting his gaze to the ceiling. You frowned, taking in the way his jaw ticked, and placed your glass of water down.
âAre you okay?â
âMe? Yeah, Iâm fine.â He said it a little too brightly, glancing down at your desk. Something flickered in his eyes. âMade any progress on that book of yours?â
A frustrated sound left you buried your face in your hands, elbows on your desk. The reminder of your stagnant writing somehow worsened your headache, as if that was even possible. Of course heâd bring that up. âAs usual, no.â
For a while, you had hoped that inspiration would strike you eventually, but it seemed like you were well and truly stuck. It had only taken a turn for the worse, with you suddenly despising everything you had already written, unable to even skim any of it without cringing and wanting to hit delete. Your inability to write had morphed into impostor syndrome, which was a development you didnât appreciate in the slightest.
âItâs okay,â he said, and you would have mistaken his tone for reassuring if not for the way his lips twitched slightly. âIâm sure youâll be able to write eventually. After you fuck me, apparently.â
Silence.Â
Razor-sharp silence.
Slowly, you turned your head to face him, eyes wide as saucers. âWhatâŠ.did you just say?â
âOnly what you said last night. You said you were sure it would be good, which I beg to differ. It would be amazing, thank you very much.â He dared to smile oh-so innocently, as if he hadnât just upgraded the superlative of what sex with him would potentially be like.
If you thought you were going to throw up before, you were sure you were going to now. You almost choked on your spit, waves of unadulterated shock crashing through your system as you gawked at your best friend, who appeared much too pleased with himself at the moment. If you werenât so utterly horrified, you would have tried to slap the smug expression right off of his face.
âNo.â The singular word comes out breathless, much to your mortification, your gut churning at the implications of that statement. âNo, no, noââ
âOh yes,â He grinned wickedly, leaning back on the palms of his hands.Â
âWhatâwhat the fuck did I drink last night.â You tried your levity, but your embarrassment ran too deep. Reaching up, you covered your face with your hands in a pathetic attempt to hide away from him. Never, in a million years, had you ever accounted for having this conversation with him, of all people, and you were almost certain there was something in your drinks that had made you say what you did.Â
His velvety laugh echoed through your dorm, and you wanted nothing more than to fold in on yourself. This had to have been the worst moment of your life.Â
âI guess you donât remember, huh?â There was an amused lilt to his tone that made you want to jump out of the window. âI can refresh you, if youâd like.â
âNO!âÂ
The shriek that left you was nothing short of abashed. He leaned forward now, smirking at you conspiratorially. âWhat's wrong? I thought you needed,â he paused, as if recollecting the exact words you had said to humiliate you even further. âHands-on learning?â
You pointed to the door, biting back a scream. âGet out.â
The smirk only grew. âAw, but if sleeping with me is gonna help you write againââ
âOUT!â You glared, cheeks flaming. Your anxiety had prepared you for at least a hundred outright ridiculous situations that had no chance of ever occurring, but none of them accounted for the possibility of your best friend talking about sleeping with you. You couldnât fathom how he seemed so unaffected by it, as if he were speaking about something as mundane as the damn weather.
Caleb tongued his cheek, evidently fighting off another bout of laughter. He raised his hands to his sides in a placating gesture, but it did nothing to soothe your frazzled nerves. If anything, it only distracted you further, your eyes betraying you and straying to glance at his hands. A suppressed memory from last night resurfaced in your mind's eye, much to your displeasure.Â
You have very nice hands. Theyâre hot.
That was it. You were never going to touch alcohol again. Sobriety was your way of life now, seeing that you couldnât keep your mouth shut when under the influence. The next time you need to let off some steam, youâd have an iced coffee.
âAlright, alright, Iâll go.â He moved towards your door, hiding his teasing smile behind his fist, disguising his chuckle with an exaggerated cough. âBut Y/n?â
He didnât use his beloved pet name. You straightened slightly, momentarily pushing away your embarrassment at the sudden serious shift of his voice. He opened the door and paused, hesitating for a single second. Then, he looked back at you, all-consuming, violent eyes locking onto yours.Â
âI would do it if you asked.âÂ
You sighed heavily as you walked out of your last class of the day, rubbing the back of your neck and peering up into the darkening sky. Thursdays were the one day of the week when you had longer classes one after the other, which always resulted in you feeling exhausted by the end of it. You barely had the energy to even think about putting together dinner, which your best friend knew, always swinging by once your class ended with enough take-out for both of you and to walk you back to your dorm.Â
Which meantâŠ
âI hope youâre in the mood for Thai food.â
Caleb slid into your view with that easy-going smile of his, though lately and much to your annoyance, there seemed to be a knowing glint in his gaze every time it settled on you.Â
âIâm in the mood for anything edible.â You sighed as you began walking back to your dorm. He easily fell into step beside you, as always, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. You supposed it was, considering how long your friendship had lasted. It would be almost twelve years soon, and honestly, you could hardly remember a time when he wasnât around.Â
He hummed, knowing how cranky you got when you were hangry. âSo easy to please.â It was the way he said it, knowing and with a tone so low that it almost resembled a purr. It had goosebumps rising on the surface of your skin. A little outraged at the way you reacted, you glanced over at him, only to find him already looking at you.
It was how he always looked at you, with conviction and every ounce of his attention. Yet, it felt different, more intense. Or maybe that was just your brain playing tricks on itself.Â
I would do it if you asked.
Those seven words had haunted you from the moment he had spoken them. The serious expression on his face mixed with the quiet way he had said itâ it had undoubtedly fucked you up a little more than you would have liked to admit. You were beyond infuriated and in complete disbelief over how he had simply offered to sleep with you. Like it wasnât a big deal or a very major, clear boundary that existed in friendships. In your friendship.Â
If you asked. Like it was that fucking simple. He left your dorm since you demanded it of him, but left you to deal with the aftermath of that absolutely criminal statement of his.Â
And then there was the teasing.Â
Relentless and unsteadying. Caleb would say something a little too suggestive or downright sexual before retreating and pretending like nothing had happened. Heâd hold your gaze a little longer, or let his touch linger, before looking away with a satisfied smirk. He knew damn well what he was doing, and although you did too, it didnât stop you from flushing or freezing up. It certainly didnât stop scenarios from writing themselves in your head.Â
He was torturing you for your little slip-up. He found it hilarious, and now you were the punchline for every joke that blossomed from it.Â
He cocked his head to the side now, a small, tilted smile on his lips as he spoke. âWhat's going on in at head of yours?â
You realised you had stopped walking, and so had he, instead standing right in front of you and occupying every part of your vision. âNothing.â
Caleb quirked an eyebrow, taking a step closer. âYou sure about that? Youâre obviously thinking about something.â The cadence of his voice had always been nice, but now the velvety smoothness of it put you on edge in more ways than one. âAre you maybe thinking aboutââ
âI am not thinking about that.â The statement tumbled out of you before you could bite your tongue. His eyes lit up mischievously.
âOh, so youâre thinking about something after all, are you?â
Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, struggling to findd to find a comeback to that. Somehow, he was even closer now.Â
âMind telling me what exactly that is?â
âStop it,â You almost snarled, shooting him a withering look as you pushed him away in order to reclaim your personal space. This teasing streak of his was getting unbearable, especially since it was anything but innocent and was driving you up the wall. âOr Iâm gonna take the Thai food and leave you with nothing.â
An offended gasp. âYou wouldnât.â
âI would.âÂ
He laughed at your threat and finally let up on you, going back to being the Caleb you knew. He spoke of his classes and the group project he had due at the end of the week, for which he had terrible teammates to work with. It was jarring, how easily he could shift back into acting like he hadnât just insinuated something soâŠ.
Maybe it was just your dirty mind.Â
Unbeknownst to you, it definitely wasnât just your dirty mind. Caleb was mentally punching himself.Â
Caleb had had years of practising self-control when it came to you. Years of holding back and hiding the feelings he had for his best friend, shying away from every opportunity to divulge them. He knew how to keep his hands to himself, his mind from straying and his tongue from running into dangerous territory. He hadnât meant to do it, but your drunken confession had flipped a switch inside of him. The lines had gotten a little blurry, but he would never, in a million years, ever actually cross them.
So what the hell was wrong with him?Â
You still hadnât written a word. Unfortunately for you, you couldnât even complain about it in peace anymore. Not if you wanted to maintain even a modicum of your sanity.
The reason for said dwindling sanity was sitting beside you right now on his bed, his arm slung around your shoulder, fingers tracing abstract patterns on the top of your shoulder. Usually, this would have calmed you down and even made you sleepy, but it achieved the complete opposite right then. You were painfully awake, his feathery touch like electricity against your skin.Â
God, you were so fucked. You had hoped that Calebâs incessant teasing would have put a damper on your sudden, strong attraction towards him, but nothing of the sort had happened. It seemed to have only gotten worse, with you ending up being jumpy whenever he was around, and considering the amount you hung out with him, you were starting to resemble a kangaroo.
Around him, you were constantly tense and always on the precipice of being turned on. To say it was hellish would be an understatement.
âYouâre distracted,â he murmured as the credits of the movie you were watching played. Finally, the two of you had managed to find the time to have that movie night you had passed on weeks ago. You shook your head, glancing up at the clock that hung on his wall. It was a little past midnight.Â
âJust frustrated,â you said finally, because it was the truth in more ways than one. Your frustration with your writing, or lack of, ran deep, but now it was intertwined with another very persistent reason. Being sexually frustrated wasnât something you were used to dealing with.
He seemed to have caught on, though, his hand falling from your shoulder to your waist, curling around it. âWhy are you frustrated, Pipsqueak?â He drawled, turning his head so that he faced you now. Of course, heâd pick this moment to torment you, when you were already frazzled.
âNo reason,â you said quickly, voice clipped. A slow, languid smile stretched out on his lips.Â
âNo?â He asked, the side of his mouth tilting. âCould it beâŠ.â
âStop talking.â You despised how hoarse your voice sounded. You wantedâ no, needed him to stop doing this before it became unbearable. He was your best friend, for fucks sake. The smile on his annoyingly perfect face melted into a smirk that would have had your knees weak if you werenât already sitting down.Â
âI donât think I will.â He whispered, pulling you even closer as he dipped his head down until his lips brushed against your ear. It was like he wanted you to break, and god, you were so close to doing so. His hand slid up your waist just a little bit. A shiver ran through you, one you couldnât have suppressed if you tried.Â
âTell me,â He mumbled, the words sounding much too loud even though he was still whispering. âDo your frustrations have anything to do with a certain sex scene youâre trying to write?â
You inhaled sharply.
Rationality was a funny thing. Every bit of it seemed to disappear whenever you truly needed it. Things you had no business thinking rushed through your head, courtesy of your bright imagination that chose the most inconvenient moments to work. Thoughts you had suppressed and pushed aside every time they had the nerve to pop up swirled around.
The spark that you had been trying so hard to put out crackled to life in your core, its flames spreading all across your body like wildfire. You were painfully aware of every part of you that was in contact with him, his hand just above your waist, sitting there so possessively, his breath fanning across your neckâ fuck. It was too much, but somehow not enough all at once, and immediately you knew what you wanted.
More.
You snapped.Â
Something possessed you as you turned to look at him, a surge of confidence appearing out of nowhere as you drew closer to him. âYeah.â
He raised an eyebrow. âWhat?â
Right then and there, three things became very clear to you. One: You wanted to write. Desperately and preferably sometime soon, because you did want to finish the first draft before you could go in and edit. Two: For some reason, you needed to have sex in order to get over the mental block you had when it came to writing it. Lastly, three: You only wanted to have sex with one person, and it was the man right beside you.
âMy frustration has everything to do with the sex scene.â You said, surprising yourself with how steady your voice was. âBut you can help with that, right?âÂ
Without waiting for his response, you got to your knees, swinging a leg over him and settling down on top. Surprise flickered in his eyes for a second as your hands found his shoulders to maintain your balance, before he spoke again.Â
âPipsqueak,â he started, voice low and careful, attempting to keep the teasing lilt in his voice but royally failing. âWhatâ exactlyâ are you doing?â
âYou told me to ask.â You muttered, dropping your gaze to his lips for a moment before letting it travel back up. âYou said youâd do it if I asked. Iâm asking right now.âÂ
Caleb couldnât respond, still staring up at you, eyes wide and ears a little redder than they normally were. Good. It was about time he had a taste of his own medicine. His hands found your waist again, and he blinked twice, slowly, and you prayed he wasnât all bark and no bite.Â
You wanted him to bite.
âY/n,â he muttered, âIâŠ.I know what I said.â
You raised an eyebrow, your hands slipping up his shoulders simultaneously until they were cradling his neck, playing with his hair at the nape of it. Was he shy? Now? After everything he had said and insinuated, he had the audacity to be all bashful? âSo then you know what Iâm asking for.â
âWellââ
âCaleb,â You cut him off, shifting so that you were closer. âIâm asking.âÂ
Conviction laced those words. You could tell he was reasoning with himself, god knows you could read him well enough to know when he was conflicted, when he bit the inside of his cheek before exhaling shakily.Â
âPips,â He rasped out your nickname. âYouâ youâre sure?â
You didnât recognise the look in his eyes right then as he looked up at you, but it had you unravelling all the same. You leaned in subconsciously, but he quickly moved one of his hands from your waist to your mouth, covering it as his jaw clenched, still studying you. âI need you to tell me youâre sure, Y/n.â
Oh, so this was actually happening. You could feel the heat of your breath recoil against your face because of his hand. The ticking of the clock in his room filled the charged silence between him and you, his fingers brushing against your chapped lips. You swallowed.
âIâm sure.â
Whatever had shifted in you five minutes ago seemed to shift in him as well now. He let his hand drop from your mouth, shamelessly staring at it. âWe shouldnât.â But he pulled you closer, his arms circling your waist and palms splayed out on the small of your back.Â
âItâs for research purposes,â You breathed out, doing your best to justify how badly you needed him. âPlease, Caleb, I needââ
He didnât let you finish.Â
You gasped as he crushed his mouth to yours, effectively shutting you up. The pressure of his lips against your own was dizzying, especially with the way they moved; slowly and precisely, as if he was committing the feel of your lips to his memory. You were hyperaware of his touch on your back, the warmth from his hands permeating through the thin fabric of the T-shirt you were wearing.
Pulling him closer, you tilted your head so you could kiss him better. For the number of times you had mentally chided yourself for even thinking about this, it felt remarkably natural to kiss him, your instincts taking over. Your fingers slipped into his hair, entangling in the dark strands and tugging lightly.
Caleb groaned, and you were on fire.Â
âGod, Y/n.â There was nothing playful about the way he mumbled your name into the kiss, and the unfamiliarity of it sent a shiver down your spine. His lips, soft and just a little hesitant, moved in tandem against your own, slotting in between them perfectly like you were pieces of the same puzzle, meant to be pushed together like so. He nipped at your lower lip before swiping his tongue over it to soothe the sting, and the intoxicating sensation drew out a needy whimper from you.Â
The second that sound escaped you, all indecision disappeared from his end, and the temperature in the room seemed to increase, growing hotter with every smack of his lips against yours. Kissing him was addictive, it felt as if neither of you could bear to pull away from each other.Â
Without warning, Caleb lifted you off of him and pressed you into the mattress, swiftly climbing on top of you. For a moment, he hovered, looking down at you, taking in the flush on your cheeks and heavy breathing, proud to have been the cause of your breathlessness despite barely doing a thing. Going in once again, he brushed his lips against yours teasingly, before giving you what you truly wanted, the intensity of the kiss taking a turn for feverish.
A hand of his slid up your side until he cupped your jaw oh-so gently, turning your face to the side to give him better access to your neck, upon which he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses that had heat rush right to your core. The ache between your legs grew, slowly becoming unbearable, and you rubbed your thighs together with a whine, chasing any sliver of friction.Â
âShit,â he muttered against you, his other hand slipping underneath your shirt and coming into contact with your stomach, causing goosebumps to rise on the skin. Spreading his fingers and pressing lightly, he kept you from squirming. âPips, you gotta tell me to stop.â
âDonât you dare,â you almost snapped at him, impatient and so painfully aroused it was embarrassing. He couldnât hold back the breathless chuckle that escaped him as he moved lower, teeth grazing your collarbone.Â
âIf, at any point, you want to stop, tell me,â he gritted out, trying to hold onto any semblance of self-control he still possessed. âI donât wanna do anything youâre uncomfortable with.â
You nodded quickly. âI trust you.â
That was all he needed. Lifting his head slightly, he fumbled with the buttons of your shorts as he leaned back, all his weight on his knees. Once he managed to undo them, you lifted your hips slightly to help him tug them off your body. He settled between your legs, spreading them until the pretty cotton panties you wore were exposed.Â
Caleb swallowed, his breathing growing erratic and heavy. The wet patch on your panties was his undoing; everything about this situation was bound to be the death of him, but he was too far gone now. He let his hand trace up to your hips, hooking his finger through the waistband of your panties, toying with it.
âIs this ok?â The column of his throat bobbed as he stared up at you from between your legs. When you whispered a needy yes, he pulled the panties down your legs, his eyes darkening the moment they settled back on your core.Â
âY/n,â He said your name like he was drunk, a certain sense of reverence infused in his tone that had your cheeks kissed rouge. âYouâre even prettier than I thought.â
Than he thought? You would have to take the time to dissect that statement later, much too distracted to do so at the moment when he began peppering kisses along your inner thigh, starting from your knee and working his way upwards. The sensation of his mouth tantalisingly close to where you wanted it so badly was almost too much. Just the sight of him there was so erotic that it had your head swimming. You had never felt more vulnerable than you did right then, exposed and willing.
And then finallyâ finallyâ his breath fanned out over your soaked cunt, driving you insane. Liquid fire thrummed in your veins beneath the surface of your skin as your anticipation spilled over. He pressed a light, teasing kiss against your clit.Â
Caleb dragged his tongue over your slit, licking up it all the way to your clit, which he wrapped his lips around and sucked, knocking all the air out of your lungs. You gasped, bucking your hips up against him, and he chuckled, the sound sending vibrations up your body, from your toes to the top of your head.
âImpatient,â he chided. âLet me take my time with you, princess.â
The new pet name sounded so natural coming from him, and immediately, you knew you wanted to hear him call you that again. He flicked his tongue against the throbbing bud that had been aching for his attention this entire time, positioning your legs to rest over his shoulders. The sounds that left you were shamefully loud, and you had never been more grateful that he lived in a single dorm.Â
âCal- oh fuck,â You mewled when he swiped two of his fingers through your wetness, rubbing your folds.Â
âYouâre so fucking wet,â he all but groaned against you, and you could feel more slick gush out of you at that. âIs this all for me?âÂ
Your back arched off the bed when he pressed a finger to your dripping entrance, nodding with a sense of desperation you had never experienced before. âYes,â you exhaled the word as he pushed his finger inside your pussy slowly, your jaw falling open at the pleasurable intrusion.Â
Slowly, he began pumping it in and out of you as he continued to give your clit the sweet attention it deserved, basking in the noises that you made. The pads of the fingers of his other hand dug into the flesh of your thigh, keeping you nice and spread out despite all your attempts to shut your legs around him.Â
When he introduced a second figure to your cunt, your hands found purchace in his hair, gripping and tugging as you panted, unable to focus on anything else. Your eyes fluttered shut as the tips of his fingers brushed against a spot that had you seeing stars, crooking inside you so perfectly. It was as if he knew exactly how to push you to the edge.
Your best friend was eating you out like a starved man and you were enjoying every fucking second of it. He could feel your legs begin to tremble, your impending orgasm building. Shamelessly, you bucked your hips against his face, and the moment he realised what you were doing, he increased the pace of his fingers.
âCome on baby,â he encouraged you, flattening his tongue against your clit and pulling you closer, spurring you on even further. You ground against his mouth desperately, feeling the coil in your core draw tight, so, so close.
âCaleb,â you stuttered his name helplessly, but he somehow understood, knowing just what you needed. âIâIâm gonnaââ
He scissored his fingers inside of you, hooking them just right as he gave your clit little kitten licks, determined to have you fall apart on his tongue. Your sweet gasps sent blood rushing straight to his cock, which was already painfully hard, confined in his jeans. Taking your mound into his mouth, he sucked harshly, thrusting his fingers knuckle deep in your sex.Â
A broken moan escaped you when your climax hit you, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as waves of pleasure washed over you. Your legs shook, but he didnât let up, grinning proudly against you as he drove his fingers back into your gushing entrance, helping you ride out your high and prolonging it. Once he was satisfied, he lapped at you, refusing to waste even a single drop of your essence.Â
Caleb pulled away, and the sight of you nearly did him in. Eyes screwed shut in ecstacy and hair fanned out on his pillow, undoubtedly tangled from all your writhing. You looked like the picture of sin, and it was the hottest thing he had ever seen. He climbed back, hovering over you again as he licked his lips.
Your eyes fluttered open, pupils blown out and dark due to the sheer level of desire that coursed through you. You were stunning, and he was destroyed, knowing that heâd never be able to forget the way you were looking at him right then. The way you tasted.
When he kissed you again, it was different. It was a heady mix of heat and tongue and want, messier than the kisses he gave you earlier, the control he had before nowhere to be seen anymore. You could taste yourself on his tongue and moaned, reaching out to touch him.Â
You started at his collar, dragging your hands down, down, down until you reached the hem of his shirt, whining against his mouth as you tugged at it.Â
âTake it off.â
Who was he to deny you? He stopped kissing you, sitting up so that he could pull the shirt off, exposing his torso for you. The way your eyes raked over him hungrily was more than gratifying, especially when they caught on the silver chain that hung from his neck, the pendant sitting on his chest. Tossing his shirt to the side, he pushed your own up your body, exposing the skin of your stomach.Â
âYour turn.â
You let him take off your shirt, tossing it to the side and slipping his hands slip behind your back. He silently asked for your permission, which you gave to him in the form of an impatient nod to which he smirked, unhooking your bra and peeling it off of you, letting the discarded garment join the rest of them on the floor.Â
One look at you and he was a goner.Â
âFuck,â he could feel himself straining his jeans as he took in the sight of your breasts, so perfect and plush. He allowed himself a moment to appreciate you in all your naked glory, before leaning back down, his mouth back on your overheated skin. He dragged his tongue down your neck, sucking and biting like there was no tomorrow.Â
His lips trailed downwards, kissing the swell of your breast before wrapping around your already hard nipple, stroking his tongue against the aching peak. He palmed the other breast, giving that nipple equal amounts of attention and rolling it under his thumb. You hissed in pleasure, breathless as you arched into his addictive touch.
You could barely think straight; everything he was doing to you sent you into complete overdrive. Every touch was criminally good, the simplest of them causing your arousal to increase tenfold. Perhaps it was because it had been so long since you had last had sex, but you had never before felt so frenzied.
Hooking your legs around his waist, you could feel the outline of him pressing against your thighs. Angling your hips, you pressed your bare pussy against his bulge, the roughness of the denim rubbing you just right. He looked up at you from your chest through hooded eyes, earning another whimper as he pinched your nipple.
âYou sound so good.â His words went straight to your head. âTell me what you want.â
He said it like it was a command, and who were you to disobey, especially when you knew exactly what you wanted?Â
âI want you inside me,â you whimpered, voice heated with lust.Â
How could he ever refuse you? Caleb gave you one last kiss before reaching over to his bedside table, grabbing something from the drawer and sitting up and unzipping his pants. You couldnât help but stare as he impatiently kicked off his jeans and boxers, eyes widening when you finally saw his cock.Â
Fuck, it was big. Long and painfully hard, you could hardly believe he was hard because of you, but the proof was in front of your very eyes. Your lower lip caught between your teeth as you drank in the sight of him, hyperaware of the wetness that coated your thighs.Â
He tore open the condom packet, smoothly sliding it onto himself before settling between your legs once.Â
âW-will it even fit?â You squeaked, a spike of fear cutting through the lust-filled haze of your mind. He grabbed one of your hands, bringing it to his lips and pressing your fingers to them, kissing your knuckles soothingly as he bit back a smile.Â
âItâll fit.âÂ
âButâ there's no way,â You spluttered, âItâs gonna hurt.â Not that the prospect of being in a little pain deterred you by any means, you were way too horny to stop now. Complaining was probably the least sexy thing you could have done in the moment, but he seemed unbothered, the dark, hungry glint in his eyes never fading. The amused look on his face, however, was not lost on you, nor was the way he bit the inside of his cheek, fighting a smile. You glared weakly.Â
âAre you laughing at me?â You asked, incredulous. âI swear to god, Caleb, youâre going to split me in half, and youâre laughing?â
âBaby,â He breathed, âYouâll be fine.â
âEasy for you to say!â
You wouldnât even blame him if he decided he was done with you and pulled his pants back on, but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, he gripped your hips, grounding you to the moment.Â
Both of you were completely nude, and despite this, you had never felt more comfortable. Not when he looked at you like that, like you were something sacred.Â
âRelax, Pips, Iâve got you,â He whispered, sensing your apprehension. You exhaled shakily as he pressed his hard-on against your folds, groaning at just how wet you were. âEyes on me.â
The way he took control so naturally was alarmingly attractive. You looked up, locking your eyes with his, unable to stay silent when the head of his cock rubbed against your swollen clit. âO-oh.â
He shuddered at the feeling, dropping a little so that he was keeping himself up on his elbows. His necklace swung above you just like you had imagined as he ground against you, but it still wasnât enough. âReady?âÂ
You didnât think youâd ever be ready, but you wanted it so badly you didnât even care. Nodding eagerly, you intertwined your fingers with his, letting him press the back of your hands into the mattress. When his tip caught at your entrance, you whined. âPlease.âÂ
Having you beg him like that was dangerous. He squeezed your hands, and then slowly, carefully, sank into your wet heat, inch by devastating inch. Your jaw slackened, loudly moaning his name as he filled you up and stretched you out so pleasurably. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he pushed into you until he bottomed out, going breathless himself. One glance down to where the two of you were connected had him actively having to fight off coming right then and there.Â
Caleb was in heaven, and he was fucking delirious. He forced himself to stay still, moaning lowly when he felt your walls flutter around him, adjusting to his size. âYouâre doing so well, princess.â He praised, lowering his head to your neck and burying his face in the crook of it, inhaling deeply in an attempt to calm himself down.Â
There was so much wrong with this, so why did it feel so right? You felt so perfect, like you were made for him.
âCaleb,â You whimpered once the sting faded, letting go of his hands and looping your arms around his neck, âMove. I need you to move.âÂ
He pulled out until only his tip remained inside of you, before sheathing himself again, causing you to curve off the bed, nails digging into his skin. He did it again and again, nearly growling when he felt you grow even wetter, coating the length of his cock in your slick. Wet sounds that had your cheeks burning filled the room repeatedly.
âFuck baby, youâre so tight,â He practically growled, contrasting the tender pace he set, telling you he was holding back for your sake. You could feel every inch of him as he dragged against your walls, reminding you how big he was with every thrust. Â
Your friendship was potentially ruined, but it felt too good for you to care. With your legs locked behind his back, you gripped his biceps, a wanton moan escaping you as your eyes fluttered shut, the pleasure overriding every other sensation. Â
âSo good,â words were hard to put together, and he understood and nodded, holding your hips so tight you were sure there would be marks, just like the marks that blossomed all over your neck and chest from his earlier ministrations. Right now, though, you didnât care about that, consumed by the waves of euphoria rushing through you.
Slowly, the frequency of his thrusts increased, rendering you completely winded and unable to do anything but gasp for air. You felt another orgasm steadily build up inside you.Â
Then he tipped his hips a certain way, the tip of his cock brushing against a spot that made you cry out his name, throwing your head back into his pillows. The look on your face was something he wanted to imprint in his memory; the desire lacing your voice was beyond exhilarating.Â
Caleb could feel his own impending high, so tightly wound because of just how long he had waited for something like this. When you clenched around him, he knew you were close as well, but the act nearly did him in.
âDonât do that.â his voice was all scratchy and strained, but you promptly did it once again, high off the notion that you were affecting him just as much as he was affecting you. His hips stuttered against yours as his violet eyes flashed. âFucking hell.â
âOh my god,â you moaned, âI canâtââ
âLook at me,â he demanded, âI want you to look at me when you come all over my cock.â
Never in a million years would you have thought your best friend would be so good at dirty talk, but the shock quickly melted into obedience as you managed to hold his heated gaze. Reaching between the two of you, his index finger found your engorged clit and rubbed circles against it.Â
You squealed, overly sensitive. âShitâIâm gonnaâ Cal-!â
âCome for me.âÂ
Caleb would never forget how you looked: at his mercy, crying out his name over and over like it was a prayer as you came, spilling over his cock with a euphoric sob. He snapped his hips to yours with renewed urgency, drawing out your second climax and prolonging the feeling. When he saw the fucked out look on your face, it hit him at once.Â
With one final thrust, he buried himself inside you, coming with a moan, burying his face in your neck once again. His body was damp against yours, his hair tickling you as you breathed heavily. He stayed like that for a couple of seconds, recovering from the intensity of what had just happened.
Wordlessly, he pulled out of you gently, the sudden emptiness you felt having you whimper softly. Peeling the condom off, he tossed it in the bin next to his bed before climbing off of you, muttering something about being back. Seconds later, you felt a warm, wet cloth drag over your core. He cleaned you up, pressing little kisses to the inner side of your thighs.
Once he was done, he gathered you in his arms and pulled you close, kissing your temple.Â
âAre you okay?â He asked, pulling away just enough so he could try and gauge how you felt, rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone as he cupped your face tenderly. âI didnât hurt you, right?â
You shook your head and leaned into his touch, completely spent. âNo, it was perfect.â
He sighed in relief. You curled into him, and he wrapped his arms around you. âYou did so well,â he murmured into your hair, massaging your scalp gently. âYou were amazing, actually.â Another kiss to your forehead made you simper as your eyes closed, exhaustion settling into you now that the adrenaline had faded. âTired?â
âYeah,â You mumbled. Your legs entangled with his, and he stopped talking, tracing shapes on your back while you drifted off to sleep. He watched you for a bit, savouring the skin-on-skin contact, his mind reeling from what had just happened.Â
This was strangely normal, no awkwardness or post-nut clarity hitting either of you. Your body lay against his with all of you pressed up against him like that was exactly where you belonged. He could feel the beating of your heart, strong and steady in your slumber, whereas his remained erratic and fast. This was more than just a taste that he had had of you; it was the entire deal, and the knowledge of it all had his morals scattered and all over the place, because now that he knew what he knew, well.
Caleb wasnât sure heâd be able to stop.
It was supposed to be a one-time thing.
At the time, you had justified sleeping with Caleb as research, something you needed to do in order to get it out of your system. You had assumed, albeit foolishly, that once it was over, youâd be able to go back to normal and continue with your life.
But research was an activity that required constant revisiting. Most of it had to be repeated over and over, especially if it included gathering data from an experiment. There was always a control, and then variations of the experiment would be conducted to record the differences in the outcomes.Â
At least, that was what you were telling yourself right now as you straddled him, his cock buried inside you.
Truthfully, you didnât know how this had happened. After that day, everything seemed to be normal, until he showed up at your dorm to help you study for a class he had also taken when he was in his sophomore year. One thing led to another, or rather, one heated touch later, you found yourself under him once again.
And then it happened again, and kept happening. Whispers of it being just for research mixed in with both of your moans became a melody you were more than used to. This was all for your book, after all. For the sake of accuracy and your integrity as a writer.
Definitely not because of how mindblowing sex with Caleb was.
And it absolutely was.Â
He had made you completely insatiable for him, and almost every time the two of you hung out in one of your dorms, it ended up with both of you in bed. Every other aspect of your friendship remained exactly the same, though, which left you considerably confused. He didnât look at or treat you any differently, poking fun and driving you up the wall, staying his usual reliable self.Â
Calebâs hand cradled the back of your head as he kissed you now, fingers entangled in your hair and pulling slightly. You moaned softly against his lips, grinding on him.
You were in one of his shirts, panties tugged to the side since he hadnât had the patience to take them off, needing to be inside of you as quickly as possible. Despite his earlier hurriedness, the pace the two of you settled on now was almost teasing, slowly rocking against him as you lazily chased the delicious high that you had gotten so used to experiencing these past two weeks.Â
âYouâre so gorgeous,â he muttered, more to himself than you, hand slipping under your shirt and cupping your breast, squeezing. When he caught you biting your lip, he tutted, letting go of your hair and using his thumb to release it from your teeth. âAh, ah, donât do that, youâll hurt yourself, pretty girl.â
âToo good,â you complained in that whiney, desperate tone he had gotten so addicted to. Pinching your nipple for good measure, he smirked up at you when you squealed.Â
Caleb quickly learned that he loved having you on top of him. Getting you all to himself like this was a privilege in itself, but fucking you while you wore his shirt? He was on cloud nine. He could feel himself throb in your sweet pussy that welcomed him so eagerly, in turn pulsing around him.Â
He cursed under his breath when you started to bounce, eager to get to the finish line with him. He sounded so good when he swore, youâd never understand it, just like how you wouldnât get how he looked so pretty with a flush decorating his face and sex-mussed hair.
Gripping his shoulders, you tipped your head back, giving him access to your neck. He had taken to marking you up as and when he pleased, new hickeys surprising you every time you glanced in the mirror. Despite his tendency to leave them in places everyone could very easily spot them, you didnât tell him to stop simply it just felt so good.Â
Everything with Caleb felt good, and not only did it feel good, but you felt completely safe. He was so attentive, doing the most to make sure you were never in any pain, often times focusing more on getting you off rather than himself.Â
He thrust up into you suddenly, his earlier impatience returning, and you cried out, falling into his chest. He held you, working you through it and dragging you closer and closer to release. One of your hands fell to his torso, tracing the hard lines of his abs and trailing downwards before your fingers found your clit and rubbed.
Shit. If having you ride him was good, being able to watch you touch yourself as you did was unbelievable. When you came, you came hard, and the feeling of it tipped him over the edge.Â
You were a dream he never wanted to wake up from.
You didnât bother moving, clinging to him even tighter like you couldnât bear to not be touching him in some way as you came down from your high. He smelled like sex, sweat, and that cologne of his that you loved. It was the reason you stole his clothes so much and why you were wearing his shirt even now.
Your first time with Caleb was the getaway drug, and now you were addicted to him, to having his hands caressing you all over and him whispering praises in your ear.Â
âHey there,â He chuckled, rubbing your back. âAll good?â
âGreat even,â You mumbled, sitting up properly before finally lifting yourself off of him. You failed to register how jelly-like your legs felt, promptly losing your balance. He caught you before you fell, grinning.Â
âCanât walk?â You could hear how smug he was without even having to look at him. It was then that you registered the burn in your thighs and huffed.Â
âDonât sound so proud about it.â
âYouâre no fun,â he pouted, leaving you to scoff as he helped you to your feet, following suit. âIâll help you clean up. Do you wanna watch the new episode after?âÂ
Ah yes. Of course, heâd start talking about anime after taking away your ability to stand. That had been the reason he had shown up at your dorm in the first place, but the moment he saw you wearing his shirt, it had quickly become an afterthought. Â
The whiplash you felt was indescribable, and you could only nod, letting him pick you up and carry you to the bathroom. After a quick shower and change of clothes, the two of you settled down with your laptop like nothing had happened, your head resting on his shoulder as you focused on the show.
Neither of you bothered to talk about your redefined friendship despite having sex regularly. It was justâŠ.a new addition. A benefit that you were both taking advantage of, nothing more and nothing less.Â
But even as you reminded yourself of that now, you found yourself doubting it.
There was something to be said about formal events.Â
You enjoyed getting dolled up as much as the next girl, but that was where the fun ended. Having to sit through the event was boring and not the way you liked to spend your Friday evenings. You would have much preferred staying in and catching up on some much-needed sleep.
The editor of your universityâs paper, Jenna, had organised an affair that was being held in one of the college halls. She had worked very hard on it, inviting several alumni who were all successful in the fields of journalism and writing back so that the current batch of students had the chance to make connections. It was open to the entire student body, but she had made it clear that everyone on the paper was obligated to attend.Â
Connections were what helped people get further in life. You were grateful for the opportunity to interact with industry professionals, but didnât understand why she had insisted on keeping it a black tie affair. That probably had something to do with keeping up appearances.Â
You stood off to the side, sipping on your cranberry juice from a cup that was made for something much more refined. So far, you had spoken to a couple of the guests, but seeing that you had been here for over an hour already, your social battery was slowly dying out. The dress you wore was a black number, floor length, form-fitting and plain except for the slit that reached up to a little above your knee. Perfect for an event like this, not too much and on power with what everyone else was wearing.Â
Still, it was a little overstimulating. You guzzled down the rest of your juice and placed the empty glass down on one of the tables.Â
âYouâre welcome, by the way.â
You spun on your heels immediately at that voice, eyes widening and settling on the culprit who stood two, maybe three steps away from you.Â
âCaleb?â You asked in disbelief, taking in his presence. He was wearing a suit.
âThe one and only,â he grinned, his hands stuffed in his pockets. âHere to rescue you from your boredom.â
âWhat are you even doing here?â To say this wasnât his scene would be an understatement. He didnât like wearing the whole suit getup, much preferring casual clothing. Hell, Caleb hadnât even attended his high school prom (though when you asked why, he would never give you a straight answer), opting to spend the night in with you instead.Â
He looked unfairly good. The collar of his shirt hid those lovely collarbones of his and reminded you of how you had bit down on them the other day, the bottom of it tucked into black slacks. He had even worn dress shoes, instead of the sneakers he so loved and a tie around his neck. The entire getup.
âI literally just told you why. To get you out of here. Are you hard of hearing now?â
You returned his jibe with an exasperated sound. âI meant here, at this thing.â
âOh. Well, you did mention it was open to anyone yesterday,â he shrugged, grabbing a glass of juice and sipping on it. âSo that editor of yours technically canât complain about me being here.âÂ
That was true. Still, you found yourself bewildered as you stared at him. He was here. For some reason, even though he was allowed to be here, it didnât make sense to you. You pressed your lips together and cocked your head to the side, studying him.Â
âSo you dressed up and came here.âŠonly to convince me to leave?â The notion sounded strange even to you. Why on earth would he do that? He finished up his drink and put it down next to your empty glass, taking a step closer to you. The simple movement had butterflies erupt in the pits of your stomach.
What the hell?
âStop thinking so much. Do you want to stay?â
You considered it. âNot really, no.â
âDo you enjoy arguing with me for no reason, woman?â he muttered dryly under his breath, his eyes catching on something over your head. âOn second thought, I think you should stay a little longer.â
Now you were just plain confused. One moment he was talking about saving you from boredom, and the next he was insisting you stay? Before you could undoubtedly start another argument just to spite him, he took you by your shoulders and spun you around, pointing in a certain direction. When you figured out what, or rather, who he was gesturing to, you couldnât hide your gasp.Â
âIsnât that the author you like?â
You could only nod dumbly. âRaymond.â Last year, you had a phase where you only read his books day in and day out, absorbing the stories he spun like a sponge. His books were the reason you had decided to start writing your own in the first place, inspired by his storytelling skills.Â
Caleb nudged your side gently, âGo.â
âHowââ you cut yourself off, looking up at him. âHow do you even remember that?â You werenât sure why this entire interaction with him was throwing you off so much, but you felt completely unbalanced. You hadnât spoken about Raymond or his work in a long time, so how did he know? He shrugged noncommittally.Â
âI know you.â He said it so plainly, like it was something trivial and basic, but his eyes bored into yours.Â
Had Caleb always looked at you with such quiet intensity?
He nudged your side gently, reminding you to move. Forcing yourself out of your stupor, you promised him you wouldnât take too much time and walked over, buzzing with excitement.
The conversation itself wasnât long, but it was insightful. He answered all your questions about the industry, and you even had the chance to share for appreciation for Raymond's work as well as ask him questions that you had about his novels. You gave him your utmost attention when he gave you advice, but when he started talking about his characters, your eyes and mind wandered.
Back to your best friend, who was waiting for you on the other end of the hall, leaning against one of the walls and scrolling through his phone. He didnât give a flying fuck about this event, but had still come here for your sake, even when you hadnât asked him to. He glanced up, his eyes meeting yours, and flashing you a small smile.
Oh.
You looked away and back at Raymond, nodding politely and tuning yourself back into the conversation. Internally, however, you were freaking out. Something was very wrong; that was the only reason you could conjure up at the moment for what was happening to you. How else could you explain the sudden sweatiness of your palms, or the odd, fluttery feeling in your stomach? Maybe it was the excitement you felt from meeting the author you loved so much, but even as you considered this possibility, you knew it wasnât the answer you were looking for.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
This could not be happening. You plastered a smile on your face as you tried to pay attention to whatever Raymond was talking about, but the damage was done. Your brain had never been one to let go of a single thought you had, especially ones that had to do with Caleb. He had a hold on you that no one else did, and why was that?
Because you liked Caleb.
The horrifying realisation hit you, startling you out of your rapidly spiralling thought process. Blinking, you realised Raymond was done speaking.Â
âThank you so much for your time,â You said, trying not to sound as troubled as you felt. The author smiled at you before turning to another student.Â
Swallowing the newfound lump in your throat, you turned around and walked back to Caleb. This was bad. Having sex with him was already vaguely immoral and probably something that shouldnât have happenedâ and shouldnât keep happening like it didâ but having feelings for him? That was out of the question.
âGood talk?â He asked, slipping his phone into his pocket. The genuine interest he had in your excitement made the entire situation worse. Why were you noticing all this now, of all times? It wasnât like he had suddenly turned into someone considerate. He had always been this way; it was written into his DNA.Â
You realised he had even tried to tame his hair for today. âIt was great.â
âIâm glad. Now I can steal you away from this place.â His eyes were lit up with mischief, just like they did when the two of you were younger and he did something he wasnât supposed to. Ever the rebel, this one.Â
You felt a little guilty. All this effort for you? It seemed completely useless. âOkay, but Caleb, seriously, you didnât have to do this.âÂ
He frowned. âDidnât have to do what?â
âThis!â You waved in his general direction and then gestured around. âI mean, you donât even like wearing a suit, but here you are. Itâs not like it's compulsory for you like it is for me. You could be doing anything else.â You were rambling, you knew, but it was hard to stop. He rolled his eyes.Â
âHas that stopped me before?â
You paused. âWhat do you mean?â
âI show up to your newsroom even though Iâm sure Jenna wants to castrate me for breaking the rules so much.â He raised an eyebrow. âI attended that lecture of yours when you had a presentation. You know Iâm here because I want to be.â You knew he said stuff like this all the time, you always were the recipient of his support. This was normal.
But it didnât feel normal. For fucks sake, this was the boy you had grown up with. He had seen you fall off your bike, fail tests and puke your guts out when drunk. In each of those situations, he had also been the one to pick you up and bandage your wounds, help you study and hold your hair back for you.Â
Did he think it was an obligation now?Â
âYouâŠ.you shouldnât feel like you have to do that.â You said slowly, but he didnât let you continue.
âOh, please. Everyone knows that where you go, I go too.â He flicked your forehead, immediately receiving a glare in return. âWeâre likeâŠâŠ.â He stopped for a moment, eyebrows furrowing and lips pursing like they always did when he was thinking hard about something. Then he snapped his fingers. âWeâre like those yoghurt-granola snack packs!â
You stared at him blankly. âWhat?â
âYou know.â He decided to explain his stupid analogy, as if your head wasnât muddled enough. âThose things you can buy at the grocery store. The small yoghurt tubs that have a container filled with granola on top of them? Like, theyâre both okay separately, but much better when together. People buy those packs for a reason.â He slipped his phone back into his pockets and beamed at you. âWeâre like that.â
Oh my god. That barely made any sense. You werenât sure if you were mortified because of that terrible explanation or because it hadnât put a damper on your newfound feelings for him. âYouâre such a fucking dork.â
He feigned offence, holding his hand over his heart. âExcuse me? You mean cute, right?â
Right. Wait, no, you didnât. Ugh. âI think youâre ridiculous.â
âAre you coming with me or not, Pips?â
âBut Jenna insisted-â
He rubbed a hand over his face in annoyance before fixing you with a droll look. âWould you rather be here or be with me?â
Be with you.Â
You ignored the way your stomach flipped. You didnât have the time or the mental stability to process everything that was happening to you right now. The logical part of your brain swooped in, telling you that you were just confused because of the sex. Yes, that was it. You did not have feelings for Caleb Xia.
Sighing, you relented. âYou.â Saying that didnât mean anything, after all. Nothing about the two of you meant anything, so there was no reason for you to be freaking out, even if it sounded like you had just confessed. A wide grin made a show on his face when he realised he had won, and he tilted his head towards the exit.
âFinally. Wanna get out of here?â
âJust to be clear, this is not what I meant when I asked if you wanted to get out of there.â
You huffed out a soft laugh, fingers curling around his tie as you tugged him closer. âNo? Could have sworn you planned for us to end up in a janitor's closet.â
Caleb bit back a laugh of his own, knowing that making too much noise would get both of you in trouble. After leaving the event, somehow, his guiding hand on your hip had turned into the two of you making out in the hallway. You blamed the mess that your head was in for not realising what a bad idea that was immediately, but once you did, you did the most responsible thing you could think of.
And dragged him into the janitor's closet that was close by.
Naturally.
He braced a hand over your head on the cabinet that you were leaning against, essentially caging you in as he dipped his head to kiss you again. âPretty sure that was youâre doing.â
âExcuse me? Youâre the one who kissed me first!â You protested against his mouth, but could hardly complain when he kissed you like it was a relief to do so. Honestly, he was probably the best kisser you had ever experienced.
That must have been the reason for your spiralling thoughts. That and the amazing sex that you were so weak to.Â
Yep. Thatâs all. Anyone could be susceptible to such things.
âCan you blame me? Have you seen yourself in this dress?â His free hand slipped into the slit at your knee, slowly dragging the rest of the dress up until it was bunched up around your waist. âYouâre stunning.â
He couldnât stop kissing you. He knew he shouldnât have kissed you out there like he had the right to, because he was well aware of the unspoken rules of this arrangement, but he couldnât help it. If getting too comfortable with whatever you had going on with him was a crime, a sin, then he was a criminal of the highest order. The worst part? He didnât feel a shred of guilt.
But you were wearing that fucking cherry lip gloss, and god knnows he had waited long enough to taste it.
Warmth spread over your chest first before it rushed to the apex between your legs. The control he seemed to have over your body was truly astounding. In his hands, you were putty.Â
âYou donât look so bad yourself,â You whispered back, loosening the knot of his tie and pulling it off completely, dropping it to the side. âThis suits you.â
His lips twitched. âThe suit suits me?â
âShut up and kiss me, loser.â
He complied, grinning against your mouth as he pulled you into another earth-shattering kiss that did positively nothing to soothe your frayed nerves. Stubbornly, you pushed down the feelings bubbling around the confines of your heart, refusing to give them any attention if you could help it.Â
You gripped the front of his suit jacket, helping him peel it off his shoulders and letting it join his tie on the floor. Without warning, he pressed a knee in between your legs, and you nearly melted against him.Â
Sex was great. Sex with him was phenomenal. This was just the lust getting to you.Â
Caleb gripped the leg that your slit now exposed and lifted it, propping it up against his waist. He trailed his fingers against your inner thigh, his touch feather-light yet scorching at the same time. When his index and middle finger pressed against your clothed cunt, you were glad for the hot he had on you, pressed up against the cabinet, because you would have surely buckled if not.Â
âWow,â he mumbled amusedly, pushing your panties to the side and teasing your wetness. âYou really like the suit, huh?â
The fact that this type of interaction was now commonplace should have been the first sign that things had gone too far.Â
Usually, you couldnât think straight when he touched you like this, but today it was all a mix of feeling way too much and dangerous, fleeting thoughts that made you want to tear your hair out.Â
âMaybe,â You peppered kisses along the column of his throat, determined to get out of your head and focus only on how good he could make you feel. Pleasure and person were entirely separate entities, and you would make sure it stayed that way.
âSuit kink.â
âNever say that again.âÂ
He only smirked, plunging his fingers into you. All you could do was cry out as you gripped the front of his shirt, momentarily forgetting that you were supposed to be quiet. Quickly, his palm covered your mouth, muffling any further sounds you could make. âCanât have you being loud here, princess. What if someone catches us?â
The way you practically gushed the moment he suggested someone catch you in such a compromising position was downright embarrassing. Raising an eyebrow, he leaned even lower and whispered. âOh? You like that?â
You whined against his hand, cheeks flushing furiously. You began fiddling with the top buttons of his shirt, and he chuckled lowly.Â
âFor someone who likes my suit so much, you sure are trying to get rid of it quickly.âÂ
âFor someone who was dying to kiss me two minutes ago, you talk too much.â You rocked your hips against his hand even as you sassed him back. He moved his hand from your mouth into your hair, carding it through gently, tugging slightly to tilt your head back for him so he could kiss you again, swallowing every sound you made.Â
No one could sue you for being attracted to a hot man. That was just biology.
You could feel the familiar tightening of your core, signalling your impending crash. You broke away from the kiss, licked your lips and palmed him over his pants, earning a hiss of pleasure in return.Â
âDonâtâ donât do that,â He choked out, and you smirked triumphantly, refusing to relent on your movements. Batting your eyelashes, you stared up at him through them in faux innocence, unaware that it affected him so much more than you thought.Â
âJust fuck me already.â You whined, half out of desperation for him and party because now you needed him to fuck you to prove to yourself that this was just sex. To be able to brush away all the compliments he dropped that seemed to go straight to your head, to get the intoxicaing fucking way he kissed you out of your head and away from further dissection. To stop the slow-burning feeling of yearning that was growing inside of you for the boy you had grown up with.
Because you couldnât possibly have feelings for him. You shouldnât.
âFuck, okay,â He slipped his fingers out of you and unbuttoned his pants, releasing his cock. You would never get used to the sight of it, precum already leaning out of the tip; the image itself sending shivers down your spine in anticipation of him.Â
He pressed back against you, grinding it against your fluttering pussy, going right back to making out with you. It was like he was devouring you whole, claiming every part of you like it had always belonged to him. You could feel yourself get carried away again, forgetting that this was just something he and you did now.Â
And then he froze.Â
âShit,â he muttered. âI donât have a condom.âÂ
You were too far gone to even care anymore. Cupping his face, you pulled him into another messy kiss, beyond delighted when he moaned, still rubbing his length through your slick folds with a want that rivalled your own. âPut it in.â
Caleb gritted his teeth. âPips, thatsââ
âIâm on birth control,â you kissed his jaw. âAnd I trust you. Iâve always trusted you.â
That was undeniably the truth. He was the one person in the world that you didnât have to think twice about when it came to anything, no matter what the situation. He blinked down at you, pupils blown wide with desire but somehow still so focused on you, holding your sides so gently as he hesitated, silently dealing with the conflict in his head.Â
âIâŠ..are you sure?â
Oh, this sweet, considerate boy. How could you not love him? The thought was instantly forced to be a passing one as you push it away, refusing to acknowledge it.Â
âCaleb, if you donât stick your dick inside of me right now, I will cut it off.â The threat earned you a winded chuckle from his end, the strain in his face from holding back so painfully evident. Realising he needed another push, you looked into his eyes, bucking your hips against him and licking your lips as you purred. âNow, fuck me.â
There was a reason you phrased it like that. Crude and so filthy, the words set out a challenge for him. If there was one thing you knew about Caleb, it was that he could never back down from a challenge. His eyes darkened as he grabbed both your wrists and pinned them together above your head with one hand, positioning his cock at your entrance.
Without another warning, he slammed into you, once again covering your mouth to soften the obscenely loud broken moan that left you. He pressed his fingers against your lips, smirking mischievously.Â
âThis is what you wanted, hmm?â He groaned in your ear as he fucked you hard, making it increasingly difficult for you to stay silent. You knew he was doing it on purpose, remembering how he had briefly confessed that he liked it when you were vocal, but here? Here it was risky and stupid, and you couldnât believe how into it you were.
âYes,â You gasped, biting his hand at a particularly hard thrust, doing your utmost best to keep all your noises to a minimum. He was just so good, and the feeling of him bare inside of you was almost too much for you.Â
âGod baby, you feel incredible,â he panted, never relenting on his pace for even a second. His breathing was heavy in your ear, almost pained, along with soft grunts that only succeeded in making you even wetter.
âSo b-big,â you could only whimper, too caught up in it all to speak properly.Â
He had well and truly ruined you for anyone else. Your heart and mind were at war with each other, but your body was perfectly content with how he held you like this. With nothing between you, he fucked you raw, and it felt so much more intimate than you thought it would have. You could feel everything, hyperaware of every touch and kiss and overwhelming drag of his cock in your sobbing cunt.Â
For a moment, you almost wished it wasnât this good. If only you had never succumbed to your desires that day, maybe you wouldnât have found yourself in this position, fighting so desperately against feelings that felt so wrong and right at the same time. All this was supposed to have been a temporary fix, a means to an end. Not the start of something you could never see through.Â
When both of you came, it was intense and devastating, holding onto each other like nothing else mattered. You could feel him fill you up with his cum and as you went limp, one last terrifying realisation making itself known to you.Â
It wasnât just sex.Â
A shattered breath escaped you at the revelation, and you shut your eyes, trying to reason with yourself one last time, but to no avail. Caleb surrounded you completely, holding you up upright with so much care, so deliberately, that it made total sense why you felt this way. With unending affection, he pulled you against him and kissed the crown of your head.Â
âThats my girl.â
Except you werenât. And it would be better for everyone if you remembered that.
You were writing.Â
It had been so long since you had been able to write like this, but the ability had come rushing back to you all of a sudden. Your fingers flew across your keyboard as you steadily typed, focused and satisfied at the work you were producing for the first time in months.
It was two in the morning when you finally snapped out of your concentrated state, yawning as you shut your laptop. Stretching, you quietly padded to your bathroom to get ready for the night and go to bed. You couldnât believe you had written almost half of the sex scene when even the prospect of starting it had sounded so unachievable not too long ago.Â
Courtesy of Caleb, you had plenty of material to pull from.
You splashed water on your face, hoping the cool temperature of it would help you stop thinking about him. To say you were frustrated with your feelings was an understatement; you outright despised them.Â
This was your fault, you knew damn well it was. If you were going to get a fuckbuddy, it should have been someone who you werenât so close to, someone you had no personal connections with. Anyone but the best friend you've had since you were seven years old, who you knew like the back of your hand, who knew you like it was second nature to do so.
Gripping the sides of the sink, you shut your eyes, grounding yourself to the moment. Part of you wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. How on earth did you let yourself get in such a predicament?
You needed it to stop. For these confusing feelings to leave before things got even more complicated than they already were. Somehow, you needed to forget about them.
But how could you possibly do that? How were you supposed to forget the deliberate way he kissed you, or how good he made you feel when he looked at you that way? How were you supposed to get the scent of his cologne out of your sheets and closet, or pretend like you didnât know what it was like to be touched by him?Â
How on earth were you supposed to get over being in love with him?
You didnât even notice him walking in.Â
Writing for your book again meant that you had fallen behind quite a bit when it came to the work you had due for the paper. As a result, you had to stay behind and work late on the articles you had to present to Jenna, stuck at your desk in the newsroom when it was almost nine-thirty at night.
âThought Iâd find you here.âÂ
Your eyes flickered up to find Caleb standing in front of your desk, one hand stuffed in his pockets and the other holding a bag of takeout from a diner that both of you liked. He gave you a soft, knowing smile that made your mouth go dry.Â
âHey,â you straightened up in your seat, knowing that your posture tended to get worse the longer you wrote for. âYou were looking for me?â
âNot exactly.â He grabbed a chair and parked it next to yours, sitting down. âI just figured youâd be working and forget to have dinner.â
âOh.â
He was right, and you would have been embarrassed if this hadnât happened before. Wordlessly, he began unpacking the takeout he had gotten. âTake a break for ten minutes and eat, okay?âÂ
This was just like him. Knowing exactly when you needed to be taken care of while being well aware you could do just fine by yourself. You bit the inside of your cheek as you watched him, apprehensively nodding slowly.Â
âOkay.â
You grabbed a fry and began to chew, turning to face him and away from the computer. He looked the same as always, unkempt hair and all. It was like he knew you were tired and a little out of it today without you even having to tell him, falling into a comfortable silence as he ate with you.Â
There wasnât another soul in this world that knew you so intimately. In the past, this wouldnât have scared you, because you were so used to him and the ways he fit into your life so perfectly. Now, it frightened you to no end, reminding you of how much you had to lose when it came to Caleb. He was the most precious person in your life, which made it so much easier to fear losing him.Â
If there were rules when it came to having a best friend, you were certain you had broken all of them. Number one: Donât sleep with your best friend. Already off to a rough start with that one, it seemed, but there was nothing you could do about it anymore. Number two: Donât fall for your best friend. You doubted you even needed to go over the rest of the rules. Breaking those two had caused you enough damage.Â
Finishing up his food, he took a sip of his soda, noticing you were watching him intently. For the first time in a long time, he couldnât quite decipher the look in your eyes. It almost felt as if you were hiding it from him on purpose.
He tilted the soda cup to you, silently asking if you wanted some of his. You leaned closer and took the straw in your mouth, taking a couple of sips before looking away.Â
Something was off. âIs everything okay?â
You pressed your lips together and gave him a half smile. âYeah, everything's fine.â
Caleb narrowed his eyes at you, reaching out and propping a finger under your chin, lifting your face so you were forced to look at him.Â
âPipsqueak,â He mumbled, dropping his gaze to your mouth for a split second, but it was enough to make you feel like you were set on fire. Like you were made of porcelain, he swiped his thumb next to your lower lip, rubbing away a stray crumb that had stuck there from your food. Then he looked at your mouth again, subconsciously leaning towards you as if he was about to kiss you.Â
Immediately, you jerked out of his touch. Guilt ate away at you when you noticed how he reacted to this, the flash of hurt that passed over his face as he frowned. As much as you hated being the cause of it, the way he was looking at you has started to inexplicably hurt. You were unable to stop the tenderness that unfolded in your chest anymore. It was potent, too real to fight against.Â
âWe should stop.â
The words were out of your mouth before you could think about them any further, inciting confusion. He retracted his hand, the corners of his furrowed eyebrows tilting upwards. âDinner? Because weâre pretty much done with that anyway.â
You could have taken advantage of his confusion and put this conversation off for a while, but you knew that letting this go on any longer would end up being torturous.Â
âNo, Caleb,â You looked away, trying to ignore the way your throat seemed to close in on itself. âIâm not talking about dinner.â
âThen what are you talking about?â His voice took on that impossibly soft tone it did when he was trying to understand how you were feeling to properly help or sympathise with you. It was something he did when you were younger and got hurt, and he wanted to make sure you knew you werenât dealing with it alone.Â
Sucking in a breath of air, you looked down at your hands in your lap, playing with your fingers. âI think we should stop having sex.â
A beat passed. You could feel the weight of his stare on you. âOkay.â
You werenât sure where to go from there, your heart pounding within your ribcage like it was trying to escape. The light from your computer felt too harsh and the ticking of the clock hands was unnaturally loud in the stiff silence that settled over the two of you. Clearing his throat, he spoke again.Â
âDidâŠDid I do something?â
âNo,â the caution yet dejected way he said it made you blurt that out quickly, refusing to let him think something was completely wrong. âYou didnât. At all. Itâs justâŠ..â You trailed off, biting your tongue and regretting bringing this up already. âIâŠ.I wrote the scene.â
âThe scene?â
âThe sex scene. In my book.â The awkwardness in your cadence is foreign to your ears and his. You had never been so apprehensive around him because you had never had a reason to. This was a first you despised vehemently, scorning the way you had to phrase everything so delicately, as if you didnât, the damage caused would be irreparable.Â
âRight.â Now he had an unreadable look in his eyes too, matching yours.Â
âRight,â you echoed softly. âSo there's no reason for anymoreâŠ...research.â Because research had spiralled into forgetting your regular roles when it came to each other. Research had made you aware of feelings that had been dormant your entire life and should have stayed that way.Â
In an ironic twist of fate, you had literally fucked around and found out.Â
âI see.âÂ
You didnât know what possessed you to keep talking when it was so obvious that both him and you wanted nothing more than to move on from this conversation. You risked a glance at him to find him aimlessly tracing the edge of his soda cup, eyes trained on the straw. âSo we can go back to being just friends. Regular friends.âÂ
The clarification made you wince. When his eyes met yours again, you were surprised to find something different in the way he looked at youâ those dark purple depths swirling with an intensity that superseded their usual levels, startling you.Â
âWeâll always be friends, Y/n.â
Caleb didnât call you pipsqueak. A minute detail that shouldnât have shaken you at all, and yet here you were stuck on it in spite of the fact that he had just agreed to being friends again. Or rather, the normal definition of friends, because you werenât ever anything more than that. You swallowed, turning back to your computer.
âOkay. I should get back to working on this article.â
Your dismissal of him was quiet but obvious. The air had started to get suffocating and you needed as much space from him as you could get until you sorted out the mess in your head, one that was your cross to bear. Your fault.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him nod and get to his feet, turning to leave, but hesitating for just a moment.Â
It was only when he exited the newsroom that you realised it wasnât any easier to breathe without him there. It felt even harder now, like someone had their foot over your chest and was putting all their weight on it, letting gravity do the rest of the work. You pushed yourself away from your desk, the wheels under your chair smoothly rolling away until the back of it hit the wall behind you.Â
Even the impact of that wasnât enough to shock you out of your misery. Surely, love wasnât supposed to feel as cruel as it did right now, like claws sinking into your skin and making you bleed. It shouldnât have felt wrong, but you knew that it was. Perhaps this was retribution for allowing yourself to indulge in something that was so clearly off-limits to you.Â
A familiar pressure built up behind your eyes as you turned resentful. The sting of your sorrow manifested as tears welled up and caught in your lower lashes. You shut your eyes, but not before those tears slid down your face, cementing the bitter, indisputable reality of your heartbreak.
Caleb stayed away.Â
He had known damn well that whatever was between the two of you wasnât forever. It wasnât even real, solely for the sake of your writing and the book you were so proud of. It was his fault for getting caught up in it all and expecting you to never call it off, to stay in that limbo with him forever.
Saying no to you was something he wasn't capable of. Not when he was ten and you were eight, and you wanted the last piece of cake even though it was his favourite flavour. Not when he was fifteen and you used to beg him to let you wear his shirts because you liked how oversized they were on you. Not when you would give him puppy eyes and sweetly ask him to cook those braised chicken wings you loved so much.Â
And not when you needed help with writing about sex.
Even if it went against all his morals and everything he had forced himself to believe for the past twelve years he had known you. He had held himself together around you for as long as he could remember, hands to himself and thoughts strictly friendly. Caleb was used to the best friend role. He was good at playing it, even when the script pained him to recite, he did so anyway with a smile on his face.
Because smiling back at him was you. It was always you, with your bright eyes and angelic laughter.Â
Caleb had accepted this role when he was only nine years old and had stuck to it ever since. He let it consume him, living in ignorant bliss as he silenced the pleas of his heart and what it wanted, no, begged for.Â
How was he supposed to know where to go from here? The script had deviated too much for him to return to its safety. He knew how your lip gloss tasted, sweet and inviting and maddening, just like everything else about you.Â
So he stayed away from you and your cherry lip gloss, hoping the marks it had left all over him would fade.
It had been almost two weeks since Caleb last set foot in the newsroom.Â
Jenna was overjoyed and Tara was suspicious. The latter asked you where your âboyfriendâ was, to which you refused to look at her as you muttered the reminder: heâs not my boyfriend. It felt like you were reminding yourself more than her, lacking any of your usual annoyance.Â
You supposed this was your fault as well. It wasnât like you had made any effort to reach out either, stuck in your pathetic little cycle of self-pity and fear. You felt his absence, though, cutting deep into you and leaving you with a Caleb-sized hole in your life. The last time you experienced something like this was when he left for university for the first time and you were finishing up your senior year, suddenly having to deal with not having him around for months on end.Â
At least he was calling you back then, and when you joined him at university, it never happened again. You hadnât realised what a big part of your life he was until he was missing from it.Â
God, you missed him.
You missed that stupid, smug chuckle of his when he knew you were getting riled up because of something he said, and his terrible sense of humour. The smirk on his face when you were losing an argument, and how heâd stick his tongue out when he was concentrating on something. Hell, you missed the sound of his voice and the comfort it brought you.Â
After you finished your work for the day, you walked out of the newsroom and down the hallways of the university building. The cool evening air swept around you, making you think of one of Caleb's jackets that was still in your dorm from the last time he had been, draped over your desk chair. You almost wished you had it with you right now.Â
Your feet carried you to the dining hall, reminding you of your need to eat through the wall of your troubled thoughts. It was not so much hunger as it was a necessity. Your appetite had been less than robust these past few days, your emotions weighing you down in more ways than one. You didnât have him to remind you to eat or sleep, or run like a normal human being.
Grabbing an apple to appease your stomach, you bit into it and looked around, mentally going over everything else you had to do that day. Start an essay you had due the next week, beg the members of your group to do their parts of the presentation that was worth a whopping thirty percent of your grade and polish the last scene you had written for your book.Â
It turned out that your turbulent emotional state had translated into you being more productive than ever, throwing yourself into your studies and writing like you had never before. Anything to avoid thinking about him and what you felt. An unhealthy coping mechanism for sure, but it worked for you.Â
Kind of.Â
Unable to stomach anything else, you tossed the core of the apple into a nearby dustbin and left the dining hall, eager to make it back to your room. You hadnât slept very well lately, and you wanted to get all your work out of the way before crashing. Sleeping, you discovered, was another excellent course of action to take when you wanted to avoid facing something, and at least it wasnât downright unhealthy. The dark circles under your eyes would certainly thank you.Â
When you turned the corner, he was there.
Caleb stood there, just a few paces away from you in all his six-two glory. His back was turned to you, but you knew it was him, deep in conversation with his friend, Gideon. You were unable to do anything but stare, your pulse picking up in speed at the sight of him. You wondered if the chasm he had created between the two of you had affected him as much as it had you.Â
When he bid farewell to Gideon and turned, you panicked. When he saw you, you remained rooted to the spot, watching as his steps faltered and came to a stop. He looked almost as tired as you felt, dawdling briefly before speaking.
âHey.âÂ
Hey. Hey? Was that all he could say after refusing to look your way for over a week? Your apprehension flared up into anger, and you took three furious steps towards him, your docile stare melting into a glare.Â
âYou sure talk a lot of shit about keeping you informed for someone who has been avoiding me.â
He winced. âI wasnâtâŠ.avoiding you.â
âOh really? Could have fooled me.â You scowled at him as you took another step forward. You were pissed, and rightly so, but it stemmed more from how hurt you felt rather than any genuine anger.Â
Caleb didnât bother to meet your eyes, opting to look off to the side instead. That stung a little more than you cared to admit. âIâm sorry,â he mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to another. âHave you eaten yet?â Barely five minutes around you, and he had already jumped into trying to take care of you. It was so infuriatingly like him.Â
Every time he didnât want to face something, he would deflect and redirect the conversation. Your years together had taught you well, making it impossible for him to sidestep you even if he tried. You could tell he was avoiding you even when you were right in front of him.Â
âStop changing the subject.â
You watched as his jaw tightened and relaxed, something he did when he was conflicted. All his tells were so laughably obvious to you, and yet you couldnât make heads or tails of how he was acting right now, so forcibly distant and detached, like being close to you was painful. Your eyes burned.
âDo you hate me?â You asked, hating how your voice suddenly sounded so feeble. His eyes snapped back to yours, wide and defiant.Â
âI could never hate you.â The finality in the way he said it told you he was telling the truth, and yet, you couldnât help but fall victim to the doubt creeping into your mind. He was looking right at you nowâ except he wasnât really. It was more like he was looking through you.Â
âThenâŠthen why?â You whispered, taking another tentative step forward. The space that both of you created, consciously or not, was unbearable. You just wanted things to go back to normal, was that so much to ask for?
âI donât hate you. You just donât understand.âÂ
âThen make me understand!â You threw your hands up in the air in exasperation, wondering what the hell you had to do to make this conversation go somewhere, because right now it just felt like you were running in circles. âCaleb, please, just tell me why youâre avoiding me, because you are.â
He knew he was and hadnât a single excuse, other than the reason he swore you never burdened you with. You were looking at him so pleadingly, grasping at straws to figure him out, but for the first time in his life, he found himself unable to give you an answer. Instead, his throat constricted, his anxiety keeping him silent.Â
âItâs my fault, isnât it?â Your face crumbled, and upon witnessing it, so did his heart. Your lower lip trembled like a leaf on a windy day, and you bit down on it to stop it from doing so, doing your best to stay composed. Running a hand through your hair, you let out a shaky sigh. âI knew it, I should have neverâ we shouldnât have slept together. That should have never happened and now everything is fucked up, and its all because of me.âÂ
Yes. No. The answer wasnât as straightforward as he needed it to be, and it paralysed him. The anguish you felt was on display for him and anyone who happened to walk by you to see, plain as day, as it twisted your features. It felt as if he had been stabbed in the gut when you backed away from him.
Turning away, you walked off. You had ruined things, you were sure of it, and it killed you. Once again, you let the rift between him and you grow with every step you took to escape the crash you had been responsible for.Â
A hand on your wrist. You gasped as he caught you, spinning you around and forcing you to face him once again.Â
Caleb had followed you into the gardens.Â
âDo you regret it?â
The question cut through you, and you gaped at him. The fervour you were so used to seeing in him suddenly returned, burning brightly in his eyes as he pinned you in place with them, his grip on your wrist never letting up. Question for question, with neither of you getting the answers you wanted.Â
You scoffed, rapidly blinking away the tears that you felt coming on. âIf it's the reason things are weird between us, then yes! I do regret it. I need my best friend, Caleb. I need you.âÂ
How could you not need him? He was your constant, the one person who had been by your side through thick and thin. You needed him in your life, by your side, in whatever way you were allowed to, even if it wasnât what you truly wanted anymore.Â
He let go of your wrist. âI canât do it.â
Your biggest fear was coming true right in front of your very eyes, and you hadnât the faintest idea of how to stop it. It was taking form, bleeding into existence. You were losing him.Â
âYou canât do what?â
âI canât be your friend. I just canât.â He shook his head, shutting his eyes like he couldnât bear to look at you.Â
Your voice comes out weak. Small. âBut you said weâll always be friends.â
âWell, I lied, okay! I canât be your friend, not whenââ He sucked in a breath, rubbing a hand over his face as he tried to reign himself in, stopping his outburst before it could happen. It wasnât fair to you, none of this was, but he was at his breaking point. âI could do it before, but not anymore.â
âWhy?â You whispered, those tears you had so valiantly fought off surging back. Once again, you felt like you had been trampled on, pinned down by a merciless gravity that had no regard for your need to breathe. You werenât sure there was a reason to fight against it anymore.Â
He looked up at the darkening sky, deflating. Staying away from you hadnât made it any betterâ if anything, it had only made it worse, his yearning to be beside you bubbling to an all-time high. There wasnât a point in hiding anymore, not when it was turning out to be detrimental rather than soothing.Â
âBecause,â he paused, peering up at the cloudy sky. He couldnât see the stars. âI canât go back to being your friend when Iâve tasted you. How am I supposed to act like Iâve never kissed you when Iâve had you in my bed? To pretend like I donât know how it feels to have you like that? God, Y/n, I canât do it.
Caleb, whom you had viewed as strong and untouchable all your life. Caleb, whom you had endlessly looked up to, sounded almost tortured, like it pained him to even have to tell you this.Â
âWhat are you saying?â
You hoped you didnât look as terrified as you sounded. It felt as if someone had pulled the rug out from beneath you, but the ground underneath it was falling apart too, leaving you to stumble around and try to find your footing amidst the cracks that remained. If you fell now, you werenât sure youâd ever be able to get up.
But that was the thing, wasnât it? You had already fallen, and hard.Â
Caleb was stripped of his usual self-assuredness and confident smile. He was laid bare there in front of you, fixing you with a look that was so pained it tore through you.Â
âIâm in love with you.â
The confession ripped through you, although you didnât register it at first. Those five words felt so improbable to have been said by him to you of all people that the only thing you could feel was disbelief. It just didnât make sense. Why would something you longed to hear so badly be said with such sadness?Â
He mistook your stunned silence for aversion. He should have stopped there, given up and walked away, but now that he had finally, finally let it out, it was hard to stop. It was like a dam had broken within him; everything he had ever kept to himself when it came to you rushed out all at once.Â
âIâm in love with you, Y/n,â he said again, scoffing slightly at himself. No nicknames, just your name spoken in that reverent tone, like you were a divine being he was a devout follower of. âAnd it kills me because I know youâll never see me as anything more than a best friend. Youâve made that very clear, and I never want to overstep, so I stayed away from you.âÂ
âCalebââ
He didnât let you cut in. âI could do it when I didnât know what it felt like to have you as something more than friends. The moment we crossed that line, it was all over for me. I would be your friend until I died if I didnât know.â His hands were shaking, but they stayed by his sides, fingers curled into frustrated fists as he rambled.Â
âIââ
âBut I canât, Pips. I canât do it anymore. I canât be your best friend when Iâve loved you my entire life.â And youâre falling all over again, gravity pulling you down, down, down as something unfurled in your chest. âSo please justââ
âGoddamnit Caleb, would you just shut up for one fucking minute!?â
You hadnât meant to snap, but he was seriously to piss you off, going on and on without giving you the chance to speak your mind. Immediately, he clamped his mouth shut, preparing himself for the inevitable rejection he had imagined too many times to count in his head. You, on the other hand, thought you were going to faint, overwhelmed by everything that had just happened. It was everything you had convinced yourself was impossible.
And yetâŠ
You kept your eyes locked onto his as you closed the distance between the two of you, so close now that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, combating the chill in the evening air. Swallowing, you asked.Â
âYouâre in love with me?â
He clenched his jaw and nodded. He knew what the consequences were, he was ready for them. It was about time he faced the truth anyway.Â
What he didnât expect was for you to start laughing.Â
You clamped a hand over your mouth as incredulous laughter left you, eyes practically sparkling. Oddly enough, it sounded a little watery, like you were crying at the same time.
And then he realised you were, in fact, crying, tears streaming down your face. Alarmed, he stepped forward and cupped your face, instinctively wiping them away with the pads of his thumbs. This did nothing to dampen your hysterical laughter as you leaned into his touch.Â
âWhat the fuck?â He muttered, concern overtaking his previous, heartsick expression. âAre you dying or something?â
âOr something,â you managed to get out, gripping his arms, âWeâre so stupid.â
âThatâŠ..okay, Iâm officially confused. And a little scared.âÂ
âCaleb,â you whispered once you stopped giggling, lethally soft. You looked up at him adoringly, eyes shining and tinged slightly red from your tears. âIâm in love with you, too.â
He froze, mouth falling open. He didnât have to say anything, though, because honestly, he had said enough. It was your turn now.Â
You leaned further into his touch, nuzzling your cheek against his palm. âI think Iâve loved you for a long time, but I only realised afterâŠ.after everything that happened between us.â You flushed, trying to word it as delicately as possible. âAnd I drove myself crazy because I thought youâd never see me that wayââ
âIâve always seen you that way.â He breathed out, those captivating eyes of his trained on you in wonder. Butterflies came to life in your stomach.Â
ââ So I called it off. I said we needed to stop because I was so scared Iâd lose you.â
By the time you finished, you were both staring at each other wide-eyed. His grip on you tightened, one hand falling to your waist as he tugged you closer.Â
âYou love me?â
âI love you,â you nodded. âIt just took me a while to figure it out.âÂ
âPipsqueak.â You had never been more grateful than you were right then to hear that stupid petname. âOh my god, we are stupid.â
Without another word, Caleb pulled you into a kiss. You reciprocated instantly, wrapping your arms around his neck as you smiled against his lips, unable to contain yourself anymore. He kissed you like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do, holding you like you were precious, which to him, you undoubtedly were. It was your first proper kiss with him without any pretence or excuse surrounding it, and you couldnât have asked for more.Â
Chuckling when you dissolved into more giddy giggles, he wiped away any stray tears from your face and rested his forehead against yours. After all these years waiting and hoping that youâd feel the same way, he knew heâd never let you go now.Â
âI love you, too.â It was a relief to say out loud and to your face, coming out of hiding and letting the truth of his feelings sit out in the light. You pecked his lips again and hugged him, revelling in his warmth and the delight of your feelings being returned. Your best friend loved you back, and everything in the world made sense again.Â
âDonât be my best friend,â You mumbled fondly, cheek against his shoulder as you laid out your final request. âJust be mine.â
He smiled, an expression so dazzling youâd never forget it. âIâll always be yours.â
When Caleb looked back at the sky, he could see the stars.
âAre you done?â
âShh.â
You rolled your eyes, flopping onto the pile of plushes on your bed as you pulled out your phone and went through your messages. To be fair, it had barely been two minutes since you handed him your laptop, but you were impatient, wanting to know what he thought as soon as possible.
Calebâs eyes were focused on the screen as he read, humming occasionally as he scrolled through the scene. If anyone had told you a year ago that youâd be letting him read a part of your writing, let alone a sex scene of all things, you would have either laughed in their face or had a mental breakdown.
Yet here you were. Life sure had a sense of humour.Â
Finally, after an agonising ten minutes, he spoke. âWow.â
âIs it good?â
He shut your laptop and put it back on your desk carefully, before walking over to where you were. Then, he dropped himself onto the bed as well, purposely caging you in his arms and making sure you were trapped under his weight. Squealing, you hit his arm playfully.Â
âCaleb!â
Your boyfriend laughed mischievously, lifting his head so you could see the smirk that curled on his lips. âIt was good. Very good.â
You sighed in relief. âThank god.â
âSo I must be really good in bed, huh?âÂ
There it was. You groaned as you tried to push him off of you, even though you knew it was a futile task. âDonât even try, you smug asshole.â
âWhat?â He asked, dripping in faux innocence. âI mean, you did use me for research purposes. Is it not a fair assumption to make?â He was so proud of it, and knew damn well that the entire sex scene he had just read had been falicitated because of him. Every part of it had been pulled from things the two of you had done, the thought of which made your skin heat up and your cheeks burn.Â
âYouâre so annoying,â you huffed, giving up on trying to get him to stop squashing you. Instead, you adjusted, curling into him. Accepting this, he switched your positions, pulling you on top of him and resting his chin on your shoulder.
âYou like it.â
âUnfortunately.â
You yelped when he pinched your side, but it dissolved into giggles when he began peppering kisses all over your face. Slipping his arm around your waist, he held you close, grining against your skin. If you had to stay like this forever, in his arms and under the glow of his radiant smile, you would be content.Â
âYouâre an amazing writer, Pipsqueak,â he cradled your face in his hands, his love for you so achingly obvious in the way he looked at you that you wondered how you had never noticed it before. Rubbing his fingers against your cheek, he kissed your nose. âIt would be just as great even if I hadnâtâ uhâ assisted.â
Though you snickered at him, you couldnât stop yourself from beaming at his praise for your work. âIâm glad you did though,â you let him pull you closer, arm looping around your waist as you propped a leg over his. âOtherwise we might have never figured our shit out.â
He snorted. âThank god for research. You would have kept me in the friendzone forever.â
âHey!â
He silenced any further protests that you could have made, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. All possible complaints fled your mind the moment he did, eagerly kissing him back. You didnât think youâd ever get enough of this and you had no idea how you had survived for so long while denying yourself of it.Â
Caleb had loved you for twelve years, steadily standing by your side and holding your hand even when you couldnât see it. He had walked beside you through it all, the highest of highs and lowest of lows, lifting you up high over his shoulders with a grin on his face. He would never leave you behind, because he was your home. The one you had grown up with and wanted to wake up to everyday for the rest of your life.Â
He had taught you love without imposing it on you, silently showing it to you with every little thing he did. Your best friend. Your love. It had taken you a long time to catch up, but when you finally made it to the finish line, you found him waiting there for you patiently, holding out his hand for you to take.Â
The next time Tara called him your boyfriend, you didnât correct her.
âi donât get you,â sukuna mutters, arms resting on his knees as he stares at your cat, who sits primly on the floor, tail flicking lazily. âyouâre small. your head is tiny. you have no claws worth a damn, and yet you strut around like you own this place.â
your cat blinks at him slowly. the audacity.
âoh, so now youâre being mysterious? yeah, real intimidating, runt,â sukuna scoffs, leaning in. âtell me, why the hell do you scream at five in the morning for no reason?â
your cat meows. sukuna nods, as if that was an actual answer.
ânah, i donât buy it. i know when someoneâs bullshitting me.â he strokes his chin, as if deep in thought. âand whatâs with the scratching? you have a whole damn tree to tear up, but no, itâs gotta be the couch, huh? or my chair. my throne in this shitty modern world.â
your cat remains utterly unfazed, licking a paw and dragging it over its ear. sukuna clicks his tongue in frustration.
âyou think youâre untouchable. you think you can do whatever you want just âcause youâre small and cute?â he narrows his eyes. âyou remind me of someone.â
you narrow your eyes right back from your hiding spot behind the doorway. excuse me?
but sukuna is too deep in his investigation to notice. he gestures toward your phone lying face-down on the table. âand whatâs with you and cameras huh? every time thereâs a flash, you go feral. you act like youâre being dragged to hell.â
your catâs ears twitch. a clear tell.
âohhhh,â sukuna smirks, leaning in like heâs caught onto something juicy. âwhat, you got a dark past? you some kinda criminal? donât want your face out there âcause youâre on a hit list?â
the cat swipes at sukunaâs knee, and he actually pulls back with a scoff. âoi, donât get violent with me, brat. i asked a simple question.â
you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing.
âi should make you my disciple,â sukuna suddenly muses, tilting his head as he assesses the feline before him. âyou got the attitude down. the little mind games. yeah⊠you could be something great.â
your cat sneezes.
sukuna frowns, as if personally offended. â...youâre turning down my offer? just like that?â
he sits back with a dramatic sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. âunbelievable. youâre worse than your owner.â
excuse me again???
before you can march in and object, your cat gets up, stretches leisurely, and thenâjust to really assert dominanceâturns around and sticks its tail right in sukunaâs face before trotting off.
he stares after it, jaw clenched, eye twitching.
ââŠiâm gonna eat it.â
you finally lose the battle against your laughter.
"baby," you whisper again, poking satoru's side softly. he groans and opens his arms wide making you giggle and snuggle into him. bare skin meets and he lets out a soft sigh.
âtoru, Iâm hungry,â you whine softly, head butting his chest.
âsweetheart,â he rasps out, âyou just sucked the life out of me. i'm practically lobotomized right now.â
you giggle and run your fingers up and down his toned stomach. he lifts his head up to look at you and then flops it back down with yet another groan.
âhow are you so energetic right now? we both came like five times.â
you purse your lips and shrug,
âdunno, you just give me life i guess.â
âyeah, you forcefully steal it through that tight pussy-â
âsatoru!â you squeak, slapping your hand over his mouth, âwhat is wrong with you?â
he licks a large strip up your hand and you squeal again and yank your hand away but reach up and pinch his nipple.
âow what the fuck-â
satoru grabs your wrist with surprising speed for someone who could hardly move just seconds ago.
âthought you were lobotomized,â you grumble.
âthat shit fixed me,â he smirks as he lets go of your hand and rests it on your hip, rubbing circles into your skin. you huff and and snuggle closer to him.
â⊠so now that your brain is back⊠McDonalds?â
âfive more minutes of naked cuddling then fine,â satoru says as he tucks his face into your neck and tugs you closer.
Your gojo fic reminds me of when I was secretly dating a coworker, we had been dating for about 2 years but I never mentioned it to anyone because I don't like talking about that kind of stuff at work and when everyone found out, my boss fired me because it turns out she likes my boyfriend, for a moment I felt like I was in a k-drama
How unprofessional of your boss! Hope you and your boyfriend are still happily together and you found a new job. The "love conquers all"-type of ending
It was impossible to not at least fall a little for Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer in the world â and your colleague. Both of you started working as teachers at Jujutsu High at the same time. Back then, you had heard of him, of course, but with you graduating from the Kyoto branch, you had only met him a few short times, even less had talked to him.
He was just like everyone said: Loud, cocky and extremely powerful. His whole presence had pissed you of at first, but just after a few weeks and one or two very mature moments of self-reflection you had realized it was admiration. Admiration and envy. Because he was the strongest and infuriatingly good at everything he did, and why on earth did he have to start teaching at the same time as you?! People would compare the two of you, naturally, and there was no chance against him. It was outrageous.
And the worst of it all: He noticed you (How could he not when he had arrived terribly late at your initiation and you and Principal Yaga had waited for over an hour?), he knew you (How could he not when he grew bored within the first five minutes of Yagaâs speech of the schoolâs principles, had asked for your name and used it ever since when he was greeting you?), he seemed to like you (⊠How could he?).
To be fair, itâs Gojo Satoru. He smiled almost all the time and seemed to be endlessly excited about everything and everyone. If he disliked someone, he had no problem with showing and saying so, and at some point, you noticed, he had never said he disliked you. No, quite the contrary, when he was bored, he was looking for you bothering you while you had work to do; nagging, poking, invading your personal space, whining about a lack of attention right in front of your class to a point where you had to kick him out. When you were getting lunch, he joined you without being invited to or asking to be; as if it had always been like this. He chatted with you about everything and anything at all, and you chatted back. Because you had realized Gojo Satoru might be a nuisance, but he was good and kind, and that was nice company to hang out with, you thought.
One day in winter you went into the teacherâs lounge in between classes to grab a quick cup of coffee and found him⊠existing there for whatever reason. You just gave him a short greeting, not paying attention to what he was doing, and immediately went for the coffee machine. Instead for a greeting in return, you were met with silence first, and then a: âAre these yours?â
You looked up to see him holding one of your gloves. It looked incredibly small in his large hands.
âYeah, why?â
When he turned to you, you couldnât see his eyes, but you imagined they were wide open with surprise. At least that was what his hanging jaw indicated. âAre your hands that small?â
You raised your eyebrows in offense. âI find them perfectly fine.â To prove your point, you raised your hand, palm facing him.
Without hesitation he put his against yours to compare the size of your hands. His infinity was off, and skin touched against skin. âWoah, they really are small!â He put his hand and your glove down and made his way to the door. âAnyway, gotta teach. See you.â And just like that he left.
And you were left standing there, your palm still tingling from the contact of his warm hand and your heart pounding a tad bit too much. A part of you wanted to react with humor, throwing an exaggeratingly desperate âWhat are we?â after him which he would have definitely heard. But you couldnât because your voice left you for a minute or two. Why was your heart still pounding? And why were you frozen in place repeating these few seconds again and again in your head?
Retrospectively, that palm-on-palm encounter was most likely where it all started. You began second-guessing all of his interactions with you, everything he said. For a first, you realized that he was very touchy with you, seeking your proximity: His fingers brushing against your arms nearly every time he was talking to you. As if he wanted to pull you closer. Or your fingers always touching when handing him something. Walking unnecessarily close to you, or shifting after you sat done, so there was merely an inch left between your arms or legs. Perhaps it all happened by accident, but your heightened attention caused you finding it more significant than that; and it occurred too frequent to call them accidents at some point.
Another thing you noticed was the staring. More than once you felt a tingling sensation at the back of your neck, and when you turned your head, you would find him looking at you. It was a bit difficult to distinguish whether he had actually been observing you or something lying in the same direction, with his blindfold and all. But most times when being caught he would either smile or quickly turn away.
And lastly, and most importantly, the way he spoke to you. It created butterflies in your stomach. He wasnât particularly flirty, not more to you than to anyone else, but he seemed so carefree when he was talking to you. There was all this nonsense and his jokes, of course, no one got spared, but with you he seemed to relax in a way that sometimes made him turning a conversation to more serious matters to which he not only contributed cold facts but also his very own thoughts and concerns; his opinion and worry on certain topics, he shared them with you. The moment you realized he didnât do that with everyone, your heart fluttered, somewhat prideful of the fact that you were someone Gojo Satoru confided in. You felt special.
It made you think of him outside of work; about interactions with him, involuntarily reading into them. That one time the teachers of the Tokyo and Kyoto branch had to group themselves into pairs of two for a field day activity for the students, and Gojo pretty obviously used his Six Eyes during drawing lots to get paired up with you? Yes, he wanted to be teamed up with you, but why? Because you had more patience with him than Urahime or Nanami? Or because he enjoyed spending time with you, liked that you laughed about each otherâs jokes? Because he liked you? Or that one or two times when he pinched you out of sheer boredom in one of the meetings and then snickered at the way you squeaked and slapped him on his shoulder as a punishment? Or that time around Christmas when there was decoration all around the city and you and him were on a mission and he had spotted a heart-shaped Christmas ball that he wanted to hang on your uniform?
You tried to think about it rationally. Despite hanging out with him so often, you barely knew him. You had no idea where he was born, if his parents were still alive, what his favorite color was, which kind of music he enjoyed listening to, whether he had a partner. It would make sense, that last part, because this was Gojo Satoru, the strongest, the most handsome, the wittiest of them all. How could he still be single?
On the other hand, wouldnât he have mentioned them at some point at least? Hm, not necessarily; he was the strongest which also meant he had lots of enemies. He probably didnât want to put anyone in danger who was dear to him.
Okay, then: Would he act towards you like he did when he was already happily taken? Maybe? Maybe not? Probably not. Right?
It drove you mad. You could hardly concentrate on your work which affected your results, and that drove you even more mad. It was ridiculous. You were a grown adult and felt like a teenager with your funny, little feelings for that dashing colleague of yours. Surprisingly, every time you spoke to or ate or worked with him, you found yourself maturely nonchalant considering the turmoil he caused within you. Quite the opposite even: When you saw him, you felt at ease and the storm inside your head calmed down.
You fell for him.
It was maddening.
You decided to tell a friend â that you were crushing on your coworker, not who said coworker was exactly â and they managed to give you enough courage to ask him out. âHe will say âNoâ if heâs not interested. Or if he has a partner, I guess,â they said. It would be the first time for Gojo and you to meet privately. After pondering for hours you texted him whether he wanted to grab a coffee sometime this week.
He took an awfully long time reply but after six hours full of agony you received an answer: âYeeeeees, sounds like fun! ^^ But Iâm not in the city this week :(â
You texted him back, suggesting a day next week. Once more, many, many hours passed. Heâs a highly demanded sorcerer, you reasoned, heâll be busy.
He replied that he couldnât say for sure whether heâd be in Tokyo next week but not to worry, you guys would manage somehow.
His words were encouraging but at the same time you felt a little Pang in your chest that it didnât work out as planned. But, rationally speaking, it was going well; he agreed on meeting you and that gave you hope.
When he didnât text you at the end of next week and you hadnât seen him at school either, you dropped another message asking about his whereabouts. His answer came the next day, that he was fine but also very busy.
You suggested another time for the coffee, and this time he agreed.
The greeting was warm and full of smiles; it had been quite a while since you two had last seen each other with missions and all. You got your drinks and started chatting about what you had done in the last couple of weeks. You were talking about your classes, about that especially annoying curse you had had to take care of on your supposedly free day, and some family business you had had to attend to.
After that, he told you about his super top-secret mission â abroad even! â he had been sent to, about how he had finished it with so much ease (of course) that he had been able to return back to Japan earlier than expected â⊠and thanks to that I spent a few days in Kyoto, thatâs where my girlfriend lives.â
Was it just your imagination or had he gazed at you a bit more intensely than usual when he had said âgirlfriendâ? You didnât know and you couldnât skip back and replay that moment.
You wished you could. You wished you could stop everything right before he said that awful sentence. You wished he was joking but he hadnât been using his teasing tone. You wished you would wake up and realize that you just had one of those horrible nightmares that hit a bit too close to real life scenarios.
But nothing like that happened. And just like that, within a second, your heart was broken; unintentionally even, you thought so at least. Gojo wasnât the type to lead someone on. Heâd be a bit flirty with everyone, yes, but he wouldnât want someone properly fall for him when there wasnât a chance. He wasnât cruel to people he liked.
And yet there you were. The meeting was very nice; lasted for hours because the two of you had lost track of time. That was even worse. If it would have been awful, you thought you could eventually live with the fact that the two of you clicked at work but nowhere else, but that didnât appear to be the case. Just like usually, you guys could easily joke around, talk about stuff related to work but also to some more private matters; teasingly banter about your favorite dishes being the whole opposite of each other but agreeing on the problems of the Jujutsu society.
Only when you were alone at home, you allowed yourself to let the fact sink in that Gojo Satoru had never been romantically interested in you. That all of his acts and words were nothing but platonic. Perhaps even an expression of mutuality that you mistook for romantic affection. And maybe that was the reason why you fell for him at the first place, because he interacted with you without any ulterior motives.
You wished you had known beforehand because then you might have never properly fallen for him. But what had happened, had happened.
And all you knew was that you had to work with him while trying to make your stupid, little feelings fade away. You had no idea whether you would manage.
