𝓘𝓥𝓐

welcome to the playground, follow me. 23 y/o | any pronouns | dark content reposter

[orchardjasmine]

Time to Explore

MDNI, 18+

WC: 3,022 | AO3 link

Caleb x MC

Summary: You explore every inch of your big brother’s cock.

Tags & CWs: pseudo-incest, hand job, fingering, praise, innocent MC, many ‘good girls’, cum as lube

Author’s notes: Full disclosure, the only penis I’ve ever touched is my husband’s and he’s uncircumcised so if it reads weird that’s why lmao. This fic was 100% inspired by my own husband’s sleep shorts that leave little to the imagination.

It was hot; the sheets were off, window open, and you couldn’t help but stare. You’d only slipped out of bed to go to the bathroom but were greeted with such a beautiful sight on your return. The thin material of Caleb’s loose sleep shorts outlined his morning erection so perfectly. It practically clung to it, framing where it rested on his stomach, so thick and heavy. Your walls clenched, remembering how it felt to have that thickness deep inside you.

The hot springs had been intimate, emotional. You had shared yourselves with each other for the first time - bodies and souls - and when you’d returned last night it had been much more frantic. Clothes quickly stripped, Caleb’s mouth eagerly devouring your cunt before slipping inside you once more.

He’d not given you the chance to get a proper look at it, to really take your time and explore every inch of your brother’s cock.

You gently crawl onto the bed, careful not to wake him, and sit back on your knees beside his hips. You tentatively reach out, glancing up at Caleb’s face to check he’s still peacefully sleeping before ghosting your hand over the length of his cock. It’s not until now that you realise just how large he is, your hand looking so small and delicate next to it. Gently you trail a single finger up his shaft to the tip, stifling a giggle when you watch it twitch up, almost like it’s desperately seeking out your touch. 

When you reach the head of his cock you press down a little into the damp patch that’s formed during his sleep. You tilt your head in curiosity, intrigued at how it’s somehow hard yet soft. Your finger traces around the mushroom tip, noting how wide it is and now not surprised as to why Caleb had insisted on prepping you so much before pushing inside you.

“Having fun down there?” Caleb’s voice rumbles, thick with sleep.

You jump, quickly pulling your hand away and hiding it behind your back as though that would change anything. You look to Caleb with wide eyes and he just gives you a lopsided smile

“Sorry,” You murmur. “I just wanted to…”

You trail off, you yourself not even sure what it is you wanted and now feeling incredibly embarrassed at having been caught.

“Hey,” Caleb says gently. “It’s okay, you can touch it.”

You bite your lip and slowly bring your hand back round to your front. You fidget with the hem of your night shirt, now feeling too self-conscious to continue with your explorations. Caleb places his right arm behind his head, forcing his bare torso to stretch and his shorts to inch ever slightly lower, showing off the delicious v-shape that leads down to your true goal.

He doesn’t say anything, just lies there patiently, he knows not to rush you by now.

You tentatively reach out once more, this time pressing your whole palm fully against his erection. He grunts and you feel his cock bob underneath your hand. You sneak a peek up at him and he’s just resting his head, eyes closed, and you wonder whether he’s actually fallen asleep again.

That is until he cracks an eye open down at you, probably wondering why your hand has stilled.

“You want me to get it out for you?” He says. “Let you play with it properly?”

You nod your head shyly.

He reaches down with his free arm, grabbing the front of his shorts to pull them up and away before shoving them down just under his balls. His cock gets caught in the process, slapping back onto his toned stomach with a heavy thwack.

You can’t help but stare. Never had you imagined that you’d look at a cock and think it was beautiful, but your brother’s truly was. The perfect shape - not too long, not too thick - a lovely shade of pink with a couple of prominent veins running along the underside, begging to be traced with your tongue. He’s neatly trimmed, not completely bare but enough that nothing’s going to get in the way.

You stroke along the shaft with the back of your fingers, feeling how velvety smooth yet rock hard he is.

“It’s so hard.” You say in wonder.

“It’s always hard for you.” Caleb smirks. “He likes you.”

Heat rises in your cheeks and you can’t help but wonder how often your brother has gotten hard for you in the past. Has it happened when the two of you were together? Would he go away to deal with it or just wait it out in suffering?

You begin rubbing the length of him with your palm, pressing down firmly and feeling the skin move underneath your hand. You watch his cock intently, wanting to memorise every inch of it from base to tip, the tip which is now oozing out the smallest amount of precum. You watch in awe.

“Is this your first time seeing a guy’s cock?” He asks in a strained voice.

“Yeah,” You reply, distracted by how warm he is under your hand. “Well, up close and personal anyway.”

“You’ve watched videos?” He asks, hips bucking up ever so slightly into your palm.

“Maybe…” You answer quietly.

“What a dirty little sister I have.” He groans. One day he’ll ask to see what you like to watch, maybe with his fingers deep inside your cunt.

Your back is starting to ache from the awkward angle you’re leaning over at so you shift, throwing one leg over Caleb’s thigh so you’re straddling it. Your clothed clit presses against the muscle of his leg and you whimper a little.

Your hand moves back to his cock and you slowly wrap your fingers around the girth of him.

You both stare down and watch as you slowly move your hand up and down. You feel the skin pulling with every tug, feel every ridge, every vein, you swear you can even feel his pulse. But you’re suddenly aware of how utterly inexperienced you are. You’ve never touched a guy’s dick let alone given one a hand job and you find yourself at a loss. Do you just keep moving your hand up and down? Twist it? Sometimes they twisted their hand in the porn you watched, right?

Caleb places his hand over yours.

“Want me to help you out?” He sounds wrecked, you’re not even sure how considering all you’ve done is give him a few half-hearted tugs. “Wanna let your big brother show you how he likes to be touched?”

You nod eagerly, thankful that he’s taking the lead.

“Fuck,” Caleb whispers. “Your hand’s so small.”

He’s not wrong. Caleb’s hand completely engulfs your own and you’re struggling to wrap your fingers around him. He slowly begins to move your hand up and down, tightening your hold slightly.

You watch in fascination as Caleb shows you how he touches himself and you try to take note of every little detail - the speed, the pressure, how occasionally he’ll focus a little more on the tip. It makes you think about how he must’ve done this countless times on his own. What did he look like? Would he strip down naked? Or were there times he would just pull out his cock because he’s so utterly desperate to come. Would he always do it in bed? Did he touch himself in the shower, all wet and soapy? What about when you were growing up, was he making himself come to the thought of you when only a wall separated the two of you?

Your walls clench at the pictures flitting through your mind.

“I wanna watch you jerk off one day.” You admit quietly.

“You can watch me do whatever the hell you want, baby.” Caleb says, now moving your hand on his cock with more purpose. “Fuck. Your hand feels so fucking good around me.”

Caleb closes his eyes and tips his head back a little, revelling in the feel of his sister’s hand wrapped so tightly around his leaking cock. He can’t believe he’s here. So many years he’d fucked his hand to the thought of you, never imagining that one day you’d be sat by him, pretty little cunt leaking through your clothes onto his thigh as you help jerk him off with those wide, innocent eyes.

“You wanna try on your own?” He asks.

“Okay…” You say tentatively. “Just…just tell me if I’m doing it wrong, okay?”

“You’re not gonna do anything wrong, don’t worry.” Caleb removes his hand from yours and places it gently on the top of your thigh.

You move your hand up and down his cock, just like he showed you.

“That’s it, good girl.” He moans. “You’re doing such a good job, baby.”

You preen at his praise, becoming more confident in your actions. You give a little squeeze at the tip of his cock and he grunts, more precum oozing from the slit allowing your hand to glide with ease. 

“F-fuck.” He chokes out. “Your hand feels amazing, god, don’t stop.”

His brows are furrowed, bottom lip caught between his teeth, and an adorable blush has spread across his cheeks. You feel him buck up into your fist, hips lightly thrusting upward, and it causes his thigh to press harder into your clit. Only now are you aware just how wet you’ve become when you feel the lips of your pussy sliding against one another. You’re breathing as hard as he is and you’re not even the one who’s on the verge of coming.

“Go a little faster.” He says, voice strained. “Yeah - mmhmm - yeah just like that. Good girl. That’s my good fucking girl.”

You whimper, absentmindedly rocking your hips ever so slightly back and forth on Caleb’s thigh as you continue to jerk him off. You can’t believe how much he’s leaking and, fuck, do you want to just lean in and give his cock a little lick, see what exactly your brother tastes like.

“Can I put it in my mouth next time?” You ask earnestly.

Caleb’s mind blacks out at the innocence in your voice, reminding him of how you used to ask him to play games with you when you were kids, except this time the game involves him shoving his cock down your throat. It’s fucked up that it turns him on, your innocence, knowing he’s the one who’s getting to defile your mind and body for the first time. But that’s how it’s always been - he teaches, you learn.

“Of course you can, baby.” He’s teetering on the edge. “Gonna let you explore every inch of my dick with your pretty little mouth. Would you like that?”

“Mhm.” You nod. “Wanna know what you taste like.”

You allow yourself to take in the full sight of him - chest heaving with each laboured breath, toned abs twitching, thick cock flushed a lovely shade of red. He’s gripping his hair where his arm is still laid behind his head and his face is so scrunched up you could mistake it for being in pain.

“Shit.” He says through gritted teeth. “Gonna make me come.”

“Should I do anything else?” You ask, eager to see Caleb lose himself to pleasure from your hand alone.

“No, no,” His voice is utterly wrecked. “Keep going - holy fuck - just like that. You’re doing so well. God you’re perfect. My perfect little sister. Jerking her brother’s cock just like he taught her. Good girl. Goooood girl.”

He’s rambling, all the thoughts he’s been too afraid to say out loud come tumbling out and he doesn’t even care because he feels like he’s about to fucking explode.

“Yes, yes, yes.” Caleb’s words begin to slur. “I’m so…’m s’close - fuck - keep going, keep fucking going. Feels even better than I imagined, my baby sister’s hand working my cock like she was always meant to.”

His words are perverted, you know that, but you’re starting to realise you might be as fucked up as he is considering how they make your clit throb with need. And somehow he feels even harder in your hand, you don’t know how it’s possible. He’s throbbing and twitching, his cock feels like it’s got a will of its own, and with the bucking of his hips you almost struggle to keep your rhythm.

“Oh shit, shit.” His body tenses, fingers digging into your thigh.

And then it happens. A strained groan leaves Caleb’s lips and suddenly thick, white ropes are being spilled onto his abs, some shooting all the way up to his chest. His nails bite into your skin, low moans leaving his mouth with every spurt. You gasp quietly at the amount, watching wide-eyed as his cum continues to gradually pump out of his cock with each stroke. You slow your hand but keep it moving, milking every last drop out of him, and his whimpers are like music to your ears.

“I can’t-” He whines. “It’s too much but…feels s’good.”

Eventually he places his hand back over yours, stilling it as he tries to catch his breath. You can’t help but grin, so pleased that you managed to get him to such a state with your hand alone. You can’t wait to see how much you can ruin him with your mouth.

You look down to the mess on his stomach, cum pooling in his navel and beginning to spill down his side. You quickly catch a stray dribble before it can make a mess on the bed, swiping it up with your finger. You rub your brother’s cum between your fingers, observing its consistency and warmth, before quickly slipping it into your mouth. The bitter flavour makes you frown at first but your tastebuds quickly adjust and you find yourself savouring the taste of him on your tongue.

Your clit is throbbing so hard, your pussy clenching around air, and you can’t help yourself as you scoop up another load of Caleb’s cum with your fingers before dipping your hand inside your underwear, swirling his sticky mess over your clit and mixing it with your own juices.

“Dirty little girl.” Caleb says, voice hoarse. “Show me.”

You pull your underwear to the side, giving him a front row seat as you rub slow, firm circles against your swollen clit.

Caleb watches, completely entranced, as you pleasure yourself and he can already feel is cock beginning to twitch to life again. But he wants this moment to be for you, you’d already given him the best wake up call he could ask for, after all. So he continues to watch - watches how you bite your lip, how your brows scrunch up tight, how your eyes flutter closed when you touch your clit just right. How your sopping wet cunt is darkening the hair on his thigh.

He groans.

And he knows it’s a bad idea, but his depraved little mind just can’t help itself. So he scoops up as much of his cum as he can from his belly, slides his hand underneath yours, and ever so slowly pushes two of his cum covered fingers knuckle deep inside your cunt. And when he hears your low moan and feels how you clench so tightly around him, he knows you two were made for each other.

Your hips begin to move of their own volition, your mind so hazy that all you can think about is wanting to come.

“There you go.” Caleb murmurs. “Ride my fingers. Atta girl.”

You feel him hook his fingers inside you, pressing down onto your g-spot, and your mouth hangs open as all you can focus on is chasing your own pleasure. You rub your clit harder, faster, no longer wanting to tease and only wanting to come.

“That’s it.” Caleb continues to praise. “Look at you, my pretty girl. You gonna come on my fingers? Yeah?”

You nod and whine, body tensing and you reach down with your free hand to grasp at Caleb’s forearm. You feel the muscles moving under his skin with each flex of his fingers as they relentlessly rub against your g-spot.

“Yeah you are.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “Wanna feel that tight little pussy squeezing my fingers.”

“Caleb…” You whimper. “‘M so close.”

“I know you are, baby.” He coos. “Rub your needy clit harder and come for me.”

You follow his instruction, pressing down harder on your clit but it’s difficult because your finger is sliding all over the place from the mix of both of your cum. Your legs are squeezing around his thigh, every muscle in your body aches from the effort, and it’s not until you push your cunt even further down on Caleb’s fingers that you finally crest over that edge.

“I’m…fuck,” You choke out. “I’m coming!”

You come hard. Your whole body convulses, cunt clenching around the digits stuffed deep inside you. You’re leaking all around them and you can hear the squelch, squelch, squelch as Caleb keeps fucking you through your orgasm with his fingers. You let out a long, broken moan. 

“Theeeere you go.” Your brother praises. “Fuck, you look so good, making such a mess over my fingers. You feel better now, yeah?”

You nod weakly, the spasms in your body gradually lessen and you have to pull your hand away from your clit as it becomes too sensitive. There’s ringing in your ears, your head feels light, and you almost collapse forward onto Caleb’s chest in exhaustion. 

Caleb reluctantly pulls his fingers from your hole and you peek down between your legs - his thigh is covered in your sticky cum.

“Needa clean you up.” You say, the tiredness evident in your voice.

“Don’t worry.” He says, admiring the webbing of your juices between his fingers in the light. “We’ll get cleaned up in the shower.”

He sits up and gives you a soft kiss while you sit there still dazed.

“Although,” Caleb mumbles against your lips. “I kinda like the idea of keeping your scent on me all day.”

[wh0rrorb4by]

ushijima taking advantage of of manager reader… Ohh…. 😭😭😭!!!

YESSSSSS!

tw: 18+, noncon/dubcon

.

top ace ushijima vs team manager… there’s a natural hierarchy. and he takes FULL advantage of it.

i can just see him cornering you in the storage room, or the locker room, or anywhere he can lock the door and pin you down somewhere — against the wall or on a bench. anywhere he can use his full strength against you as you squirm and get all teary-eyed.

“don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“you know i focus better when you cooperate.”

“you want me at my best, don’t you?”

you do, of course you do. you’d feel so badly if anything were to go wrong because of you. so if the star player needs to stuff your little cunny full so he can be on his A-game, shouldn’t you be a good little manager and just let him? your job is to support him in any way he needs, after all — even if he does need to remind you of that fact over and over again.

after practice, before big games, during hotel-stays when the team travels. a good manager lets the ace bully his thick cock into her entrance to keep him clear-headed and relieve stress, or take it deep in her throat as a way to congratulate him on another victory— and you want to be the best, don’t you?

you do, and you try so hard to be. even though it’s way too big— the stretch always burns and it hurts when he bullies it all the way in to cause a bulge in your tummy, and his strong hands leave bruises all over you when he holds you still and makes you take it all. and it’s so embarrassing that you always cry, especially when you uselessly push against his chest and he tells you to “stay still, don’t fight it — you’re not strong enough.”

he’s not even mocking you. just factual as he overpowers you completely, covering you with his much larger body, gripping your waist, your hips, your throat. he always tangles a hand through your hair when he knows you’re close, making you look at him as you fall apart on his cock, and you have to rush to cover your own mouth so no one lingering around in the gym hears you cry out for the team’s ace as you cum. and he forces you keep holding that eye contact as he fills you up, his eyes dark and fixated on you, sweat beading along his hairline and all his muscles tightening as he groans, filling you up with his warm, heavy load deep inside you.

it’s hard work keeping the ace at the very top of his game, and it goes almost entirely without praise. no one except ushijima sees all the extra hours you put into it. no one else knows why you exclusively wear skirts to practice and games, or why it’s hard for you to sit down on the hard bench for a couple days after a loss. they only see the results— his sharpened focus, his precision, his crushing wins. they never ask what fuels it, or wonder what it costs you to keep him that way. however it’s done, they’re just silently thankful, even if they have to pretend they don’t see his hand on your lower back when he stands next to you, or that his spare practice jacket is somehow always in your bag. no one thinks too much about how often you show up with bruised knees after “taking a spill” in the storage room, or why he smells like your perfume at the start of morning practice, or how you definitely squeak a little every time he spikes the ball so hard the sound echoes across the court— and the guys taking a water break are pretty sure you wince and rub your ass afterward, like it reminds you of a painful memory.

it doesn’t matter. if the cost of that precision, that overwhelming power on the court, lies between you and him, well — that’s the system. the structure that keeps the ace untouchable and his team victorious.

that’s what managers are for, right?

[barleyo]

More incest Enji pls

Other Mother.

Enji Todoroki X Little Sister! Reader

A/N: this is a little more fucked up than what i usually write, with a lot more angst and feelings. i hope you enjoy! reblogs + comments are always appreciated :)

Tags: child abuse, canon typical violence, incest (brother-sister), age gap (50s-30s), rape/non-con, domestic abuse, angst, plot heavy, eventual smut, p in v, breeding, mentions of csa/cocsa, not proofread

Wordcount: 4.8k

You loved your niece and nephews. In your mind, when the sun rose, it rose for them. You were ecstatic to find out you were to be an aunt, and when three more children came along, you could not have been happier. 

But you knew what kind of man your brother was. 

Enji had always been rough around his edges, his passion not trimmed down quite enough to fit society's standards. He was driven, yes, and you admired your big brother very much for that, but he was jaded and strict. He had always been that way, even when you two were young. What he lacked in tenderness, he made up for in strength and loyalty, but you knew very well that wasn't enough to raise children with. 

As much as it hurt you to think about, you knew something bad would happen. Your fears were confirmed when you flew in for one of the kid's birthdays. With gifts for all of the little ones flooding your arms, you tapped the front door of Enji's home with your foot. 

Shoto, your secret favorite, opened it for you. He was such a sweet boy, the youngest but so mature. You remembered when he was just a baby—silent as a rock with the smallest hint of a smile on his face when you got your turn to hold him. You could only make out the top of his head, blinded by the boxes you held, but you knew that hair anywhere.

"Hello, sweetheart," you cooed, feeling the boy hug your leg. It was a gentle embrace, as if he were trying his very best to be nonchalant. Only five and still so blasé, you thought. "Help auntie to the kitchen, will you?"

A tiny, monotone chirp followed. "Yes, ma'am."

God, your brother was loaded. You never brought it up, of course, that would be in bad taste, but being a Pro-Hero looked like it had its perks. You had never seen such a nice house, it amazed you every time you visited. Enji offered many a time to move you in, said there was too many empty rooms anyways. You always denied him, but damn, it was a marvel. 

You placed the gifts on the table and mulled through them, finding a smaller box with Shoto's name written on it. 

"And this is for you," you said, turning around to face him. 

You paused mid-crouch, right on his level. Around one of his eyes was a large, red burn mark. It looked to be somewhat new, only starting to heal along the sides, still fresh closest to his eye. You struggled for a moment, seeing how calm his little face was. Before you could say anything, he snagged the box and opened it.

"Woah," he said, slipping the watch on. "I can't read it." 

You held back a snort and patted his head, his deadpan delivery calming you down a little bit. "Don't worry, auntie will teach you how. Why don't you go find your brothers and sisters and tell them I'm here?"

"Yes, Shoto. Bring everyone here," a deep, growling voice said. If you weren't so familiar with it, it would have scared you. 

You had not seen Enji for a few years, maybe two. He was the same for the most part, a few battle scars added here, hint of grey in his hair there. Still your big brother, though, even if you had some serious questions for him.

"Enji! Thank you for the invitation! I cannot believe my Fuyumi is ten, she's growing up much too fast, hm?"

"Hm." His arms, thick with coarse muscle, crossed over his broad chest. "She's been waiting for you all week."

"Because I'm her favorite, of course."

"Finicky child, her favorite is whoever brings the best gift," he said, rolling his eyes. 

You gave your brother a shove, unknowingly something only you could do without consequence, "So I will remain her favorite, then!"

For a second, everything felt normal. Like you two were kids again, like you never left home. You swore you could see the faintest smirk crawl over his face, if you squinted it was there. Your big brother, always so secretive with his joy, as if someone could snatch it away in a heartbeat. 

"I've missed y—"

You were cut off by a tug at your skirt. Shoto stood silently beside your leg, fiddling with the watch strapped around his wrist. Somewhere upstairs, loud footsteps thundered down the hall followed by Natsuo shouting something incomprehensible. Fuyumi’s sharper voice cut through after him, trying and failing to maintain order. 

This, too, felt normal. Felt right. Until you looked down again at Shoto and saw that jarring scar. Your stomach twisted. 

Children got hurt, of course. They were careless little beings, always getting scraped up and knicked. Not like this, though. The skin was swollen and red, uneven in a way that stretched from the corner of his eye to his squishy cheek. No child could accidentally get hurt like this. 

Shoto acted like it was nothing, like the burn's presence was not strange or painful. That worried you most. 

Before you could say something, which you desperately ached to, tiny footsteps made their way down the stairs.

"Ah! My babies!" You held your arms open, ready to catch all three stragglers.

First, Natsuo, jumping into your arms, littering your forehead and eyes with kisses, then exiting just as quickly to dig through the gifts you left on the table. Silly boy. 

Fuyumi was clearly the most excited, as she nearly knocked you over with her embrace. You picked her up and gave her a twirl.

"How is my favorite girl in the whole, wide world?" you asked, smoothing out her hair. 

She rambled something about how much she missed you, and how she cleaned her room specifically for your visit, and if you wanted to see it, and, and and—

"Yes, yes, that all sounds amazing, 'Yumi. Why don't you go scope out the presents with your brother? I think you'll like auntie's gift."

With the promise of that, she ran off. Only Touya remained, standing a little further back. He was your first little baby, he held such a special place in your heart, but now, he looked so different. It worried you, too.

He looked thinner, weaker. Little white streaks shined through in his red hair. Dark circles under his eyes, nothing like you had ever seen in a child. He smiled when he saw you, a gave a little wave. 

You mouthed a greeting to him, able to tell his wasn't in a mood to talk. "Hello, sweetheart." He nodded and joined the others in the kitchen, dragging Shoto with him. 

"Enji, I—"

"Not now," he said, almost brutal in his finality. 

You blinked up at him, feeling your chest grow heavy and worried. 

"Fine."

Fuyumi was such a lovely girl, and it filled your heart knowing how much she loved her party. She was so grateful for everything, the cake, the streamers, the presents. What made you happiest though, was her little hug before she went to bed.

"You gave the best gift, auntie," she said in a sleepy voice, holding onto you snuggly. 

You chuckled and patted her head. "You liked the dollhouse, sweetheart? I knew you would."

"Not that," she yawned, tugging your sweater. "You were the gift. You came to my party, that was the best part. Maybe you can stay for longer? Please?"

Your heart melted into a little puddle at that, and you gave her squeeze. "Maybe I can," you said, sending her to bed with a kiss atop her head. 

You watched her patter up the stairs, growing up so fast but still so little. All of them, really. Part of you hated how you had all ready missed so much of their lives. You were grateful to slip into the important moments, but still.

"They always ask about you, you know," your brother said, sliding behind you. 

His body was warm, like a hug. Sometimes it teetered on hot and boiling, though, like a flame you cannot extinguish. For now, it was comforting. 

You turned around with a hum, looking up at him. "I know. Don't think I don't miss them too."

He gave a huff. "If you miss them so much, why don't you move back here. You have no business in America anyways. Why you left, I can't figure out."

"I just needed something different, Enji. I told you before, this is not my home anymore. I'm happy." You poked his chest, hissing when you felt how firm it was. "We can't all be heroes," you teased. "Some of us have to find other paths. This is mine."

"It doesn't have to be. Life could be so simple for you, but you're so damn stubborn. It's safer here, and the kids love you. I'm asking you to come home, so why won't you?" 

"You cannot have everything you want, Enji. I'm not a little girl you can boss around anymore, you know that, right?" again, teasing him. 

He grumbled something under his breath about insolence and your stubbornness. An undercurrent of silence passed over the two of you, which was comforting at first, until you remembered Shoto's face. And Touya's eyes. And the flinching and shaking. 

"What happened to his face?" you asked, crossing your arms around your chest. 

Enji did not answer at first. His demeanor shifted, growing protective and callous. You knew it all too well: big brother guarding himself and shutting others out. Big and strong but not tough enough to have a real conversation. That's your Enji.

"It was an accident," he finally said.

You stared at him blankly. "And?"

His jaw clenched, swiping his teeth with his tongue in one broad stroke. "Rei lost control."

That made your anger hesitate for a moment, staggering behind. "What?"

"She burned him. She threw a kettle at him." His words came out short and mechanical, like he had repeated them too many times. They wore thin and inpatient. You wondered how many times he had to explain that, how many ways the explanation had been played and replayed. It made you feel sick.

You blinked hard. “Rei did that? She would never—”

“She did.” His voice sharpened. “I saw it myself.”

Gentle Rei, who wiped the children's mouths after every meal and kissed scraped knees and apologized to furniture when she bumped into it.

Rei, who spoke so softly that people had to lean in to hear her.

Rei, who begged you to take a seat after flying in to watch her give birth, saying how exhausted you must be all while she suffered contractions. 

Your mind struggled to fit the image together. Then another thought came creeping in behind it, cold and ugly.

What had to happen for sweet, gentle Rei to reach that point?

Your eyes narrowed at your big brother, scanning over him with a mixture of disgust, anger, and exhaustion. 

"What did you do?" you demanded pointedly.

His eyes narrowed immediately, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. What did you do?"

"I did nothing."

"Enji." You had never spoken like this to anyone, let alone your brother. Your tone was splattered with anger—more than anger. The deepest fury and heartbreak you had ever felt. 

Flames crackled faintly around his shoulders. Reflexive irritation. You remembered that from childhood too. Every time you duh through his private belongings or teased him too much, those little flames would ignite around his body, a physical warning of his anger to come. 

“She's not sane,” he said. “The pressure became too much for her.”

"The pressure," you repeated. 

"Yes."

"And who would be applying that pressure?" He went silent. Oh, God. "Please, no." You rubbed a hand over your mouth, exhausted. “What are you doing to that boy?"

“He has exceptional potential.”

“He is five," you said, tears welling in your eyes. "For God's sake, he's still a baby. He can't even read a watch, Enji!"

“He understands what is expected of him.”

“No,” you snapped. “Don't say that, you know very well that isn't true. He only understands what happens if he disappoints you, and telling by his face—" you broke into a sob, shoving your brother again, pushing against his chest with each word, "—he has good reason to be afraid."

He grabbed your wrist. Firm, but not tight. The room went deathly still. When you looked up at him with your teary eyes, you saw the Number Two Hero instead of your older brother. Towering, angry, and unmovable. 

You knew your brother, though. You had known him since he was an angry little boy, throwing punches at walls because the world wouldn't hand him success. You saw every side of him, and you feared none of them. So you stepped closer to him, and got as much in his face as you could for someone much shorter.

"Every time you speak, he flinches. He shakes. Why?"

Enji faltered for a second, still keeping his grip on your wrist. "He's disciplined. There's nothing wrong with that."

"That baby is terrified and I don't blame him one bit!"

"My son is not afraid of me," Enji said, the flames around him sputtering hotter.

"Oh, he is. He's so afraid, so scared of you, but you know what?" You ripped your hand out of his grip and gave him a smack, harder than you intended. "I'm not. Never once have I been afraid of you! Do something, Enji. Get angry!"

He growled but kept his hands planted firmly at his sides. "You do not understand what it takes—”

“To do what?” you interrupted, eyes wide. “Create the perfect hero? Is that what this is?"

You let his silence be his answer. 

"This is wrong," you said, quietly at first, but your voice rose. "Wrong and you know it!"

He cupped his hand over your mouth, "Quiet! What is wrong with you?!"

"How can you ask me that?" you screeched again, letting your smaller fists bang at his chest. "Hit me. If you want to hurt someone so bad, hurt me, but I'll be damned," you said through another sob, "if I let you act like that with them. That's not right, Enji, you know it's not."

You expected him to do something, to hit you. Burn you. Shove you away. Instead, he took you in his arms, letting you smack at him as your hits got weaker and weaker. You cried into your big brother's chest, sobs being silenced by the thick layer of muscle on him. 

"I love you," he said, softly, face still hardened and stubborn. 

Your hands slowly stilled against his chest.

The words should not have shocked you, but Enji had never been good at saying them. You knew he loved you, in his own clumsy, overbearing way, he always had. 

He was the one who carried you home on his back after you scraped your knees as a child. The one who let you sleep in his bed for weeks after you watched a scary movie with your friends. The one who threatened your cheating high school boyfriend so badly that the guy almost pissed himself.

Enji loved hard and that was part of the problem.

You sniffled against him, fingers bunching into the fabric of his shirt. “Then why are you acting like this?”

He, of course, did not answer.

Your brother rested his chin atop your head with a tired exhale, his arms heavy around you. You hated how familiar it felt. Hated how easy it would be to sink into his arms and forget the horror sitting upstairs in four matching little bedrooms.

“I don't know how to do this,” he admitted quietly. "Not alone."

That made you freeze.

Enji Todoroki did not admit weakness. Not to anyone.

"You have Rei. You aren't alone unless you want to be. Confide it her, treat her like a co-parent," you said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"She's been admitted." He cleared his throat. "She's in a mental facility, and she will not be leaving. She wasn't safe, not after the accident."

Part of you was angry that your brute of a brother thought he had the right to call anyone unsafe, but you swallowed it down.

"Oh."

You wiped your face roughly with your sleeve and stepped away from your brother completely. The loss of his warmth felt immediate.

“You need to stop training Shoto.”

“No.” The answer came instantly.

You huffed once in disbelief, tears threatening again. “No—?"

“He is special.”

"They are all special," you said sharply. "You do not pick one child and pour everything into them, good or bad. Fuyumi and Natsuo act like they're responsible for everyone's feelings, and Touya is starving for your approval. Even with the attention, Shoto is terrified of you! None of this is right!"

He jaw ticked so tight that he teeth started to grind against each other. 

"I need you here."

You sighed. "I cannot stay."

In the most humble display you had ever seen out of your prideful, angry, egotistic brother, he kneeled. Shrinking himself before you, he got on one knee and looked up at you. 

"I need your help. I need you to stay. The kids, too. I cannot trust myself without you here. What do you want from me? Money? I can pay," he said, starting to ramble, "whatever you want. You just can't leave."

Ah, shit. 

You loved being around the kids more, and Fuyumi was especially excited when you decided to extend you visit indefinitely. Thankfully, none of them had heard your, well, difficult conversation with their father the previous night. 

Things were actually pretty smooth your first few days living with your brother. He already had a room prepared for you, strangely enough. Perhaps he had it in case you ever changed your mind about moving, which he always hoped you would. It was nice, likely one of the bigger rooms in the house. There were tokens of your childhood splattered about, pictures and awards and whatnot. 

One of the first things you wanted to do was look for a job. Enji quickly shut that down.

"Your job is to stay home," he said over breakfast, sipping his coffee and waving the thought away. "The fact that you would even ask is mind-boggling."

"It doesn't feel right to stay here for free, Enji. I'm not a leech."

"You aren't," he agreed. "You are family."

So, instead, your days were filled with keeping up with the children. You played games with them, something no adult had ever done. Natsuo was shocked the first time you asked to join him in the backyard. 

You told them stories about your childhood, what it was like as a young girl. You gave them the opportunity to hear about their father is a positive light, to feel something other than fear towards him, even if only in stories. 

You tried to break the barrier between Touya and the rest of the family, but at fourteen, the boy was all ready hurt by the world and unwilling to open up. He did, however, show his love in his own way. Much like his father, he struggled showing his emotions, but every once in a while, a sticky note would find its way onto your door with a little heart and a "T" scribbled on it. Little crooked doodles in blue ink. Sometimes accompanied by things Touya thought you might like.

'Saw this flower outside, you should have it.' —T

'Natsuo stole the last popsicle again >:(' —T

Or, your personal favorite: 'You cook much better than Dad does.' —T

You kept every single note in the top drawer of your bedside table. One evening, when you were helping Fuyumi braid her hair before bed, you caught him lingering in the hallway outside your room. 

“You alright?” you asked softly.

He shrugged.

Then, after a long pause: “Do you read them?”

“The notes?” You smiled. “Of course I do.”

He looked away so quickly that it almost gave you whiplash. “Oh.” That was all he said before disappearing down the hallway, ears faintly pink.

It broke your heart that such a little hint of approval could make him so flustered and happy. You were grateful to at least be the one to give it to him.

The children slowly changed with your presence. Natsuo became louder and more easily excited. Fuyumi laughed more freely and made mistakes that kids were supposed to make. Even Shoto started lingering close to your side like a shadow, silently handing you books to read to him or sitting beside you while you folded laundry. He never asked for affection directly, but every time you opened your arms for him, he climbed into them.

They were... happy. They were able to be kids, for once in their lives, without correction or sternness. The only problem with the kids was a hard one to tackle. They had taken to calling you "mom." It was a cute slip up from Shoto at first, and the poor boy was so embarrassed after.

"No, don't read that one," he whined softly, pushing a book out of your hands during story time. "Read this one, mommy!"

You paused for a moment, taking the book. "Ah—?"

His little face went red, flushed with humiliation. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I meant auntie, n—not mommy," he said, tripping over his words as he tried to explain himself.

"Shh, it's okay, I understand. Don't be embarrassed, sweetheart."

Unfortunately, he and all of his siblings took your understanding as permission. 

"Mommy, will you brush my hair?" from Fuyumi.

"Mom, Touya won't share!" from Natsuo.

"I found this for you. Hope you like it, mom." from Touya behind your door, slipping a pretty rock under the crack. 

It was all very sweet, and you didn't mind completely, but it just wasn't right. You weren't there to replace their mom, that wasn't your goal at all! Rei was a good mother, despite all her mistakes, and it would break your heart if the children forgot about her. 

You couldn't tell them no, either, though. They were just so comfortable around you! The house felt less empty with you in it, and Enji...

Well, he watched. Not in a strange way, at first. He just liked having you around. You were his baby sister after all, and you made the house so much softer with just your presence.

You noticed his behavior, but tried to write it off. Probably just happy to have a little help, you thought. Still, it ate at you.

His eyes following you from across the dinner table while you laughed with the children. You swore you caught his eyes dipping down your shirt as you plated everyone's food.

The way he would pause in doorways when you were reading aloud to Shoto in the living room, remaining completely silent for several minutes before continuing on his way.

Sometimes you would look up while gardening outside and find him standing at the window, already looking at you.

It wasn't creepy, per se, just intense. Everything about the man was intense, but intense turned into weird very quickly.

You mentioned offhandedly over dinner how the pillows in your room were too firm. When you returned home the next day, you were met with an entirely new mattress with softer pillows.

Fuyumi asked if there was anything you missed about America, and when you told her about a candy you used to love, your nightstand was full of it the next day.

One afternoon, you stared too long at a dress in a storefront window while taking Shoto into town. It appeared hanging in your closet two days later. With matching shoes.

You confronted Enji immediately, horrified.

“Why would you spend so much on this?!”

He barely looked up from his paperwork. “If you like something, you should have it.”

“That isn't the point at all! That is so irresponsible," you said, urging him to return it.

"I took you from the life you wanted, and I want to give you the life you deserve as an apology. If you want something," he repeated, "you will have it."

You gave in and accepted the gift, because what exactly were you supposed to say to that? It wasn't malicious, just Enji. Too much of Enji. The ease of your life was starting to creep down your back. Everything was handed to you, which sounded like a dream, until you realized that someone had to be pulling the strings. 

One night, you creeped down the stairs, unable to sleep. The house was dark, but peaceful. You nearly screamed when you found Enji sitting alone in the living room.

He was still dressed in his hero uniform, massive frame slumped against the couch. The television played muted in front of him, though he clearly was not watching it.

He looked exhausted. Empty.

“You're awake,” he said quietly.

“So are you,” you replied, clutching your robe tighter. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry.”

You hesitated before sitting beside him. For a while, neither of you spoke. A comfortable silence, with only a hint of anxiety lingering in the air.

“You're happier here,” he said eventually.

You glanced at him. “What?”

“You smile more.”

Your chest tightened. "I like being with the kids. I really did miss them. It's nice."

His gaze lingered on your face for a second too long. “It's more than that.”

You laughed nervously and nudged his arm. “You sound creepy when you say things like that.”

“I mean it.” Enji leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. Even sitting down, he was enormous. “You belong here,” he said.

You tried to brush it off. “I can't stay forever."

“In America, nobody takes care of you.”

“I take care of myself just fine," you said, trying to reassure both him and yourself.

“You shouldn't have to.”

You suddenly remembered the room he already had prepared for you before you arrived. The clothes in your closet. The way he refused to let you work. How quickly the children had attached themselves to you. How every part of this house seemed to be made specifically for your comfort, as if a space had already been carved out for you before you agreed to stay.

Enji finally looked at you again. Softly, he said, "I knew you'd come back eventually, now we can start over."

You jumped up quickly as Enji slipped his uniform off. "What are you doing?!"

"It's not too late to start over. I can do better this time, since you're here. We can all start over."

"I knew it wouldn't work with Rei," Enji said breaking the kiss. Your lips were bleeding now and swollen. "She wasn't made to handle it. She shattered, wasn't good for the children, but you're perfect."

He had been like this for hours, silencing your sobs with kisses or his fingers, all while he mumbled into your ears. 

"I only wish they were really your kids. Shoulda never let you leave, I had plans for us." He shoved his tongue into your mouth again, forcing your tongue to intertwine with his before he fucked into your throat, feeling every inch of your mouth. 

There was no possible escape. His body was big, bigger than you remembered. Years of strength training and hero work made him too toned and heavy to wriggle out from. 

You moaned, using your fists to hit his back and get him off of you, but it was futile. For as much stamina as he had, you could tell he was starting to get tired. Maybe just a few more minutes and he would be done. If you could take it for just a bit longer, maybe—

"Was always supposed to be you. But we have another chance now, my love. Can make it right and give you more kids."

Your cunt betrayed you and squelched against him, gushing with each of his thrusts.

"Oh, you like that idea, huh? Wanna be full of my babies, stay home pregnant and barefoot forever?" 

"No," you whined, tears streaming down your face.

"C'mon," he said through a deep groan, letting his pace get sloppy, "don't lie to me. You think I don't know you love this?"

He groped your belly with one hand and pushed your leg up with the other. He was too deep, pummeling against your cervix like a man crazed.  

"Besides, you weren't complaining when we were younger. Comin' into my room at night and touchin' me, bringing home random guys. You were asking for your big brother's cock then. Still want it now?"

[anizayniac]

Have you heard the Good News???

fanart image credit: @lushfa. go and reblog them and show them EVERY BIT OF LOVE OKAY THANKS

🛩️ gideon x gn, nonMC!reader drabble, cw: fluff and dick-riding gideon... literally (AKA smut)

hotbf!Gideon, who appears unassuming at first because of who's standing next to him. He’s Caleb’s right-hand man, constantly at his side, usually resting an elbow on his shoulder, but never at the center of things himself, making it easy to overlook how sexy, smart, and fun he truly is.

hotbf!Gideon, who smiles easily and is free with jokes, but it’s hard to make him genuinely laugh. 

hotbf!Gideon, who contrasts Caleb's blinding attractiveness with a subtle charisma that hits you out of nowhere. You’re all hanging out together and you can’t take your eyes off of Caleb... until Gideon tosses a sweet and deeply sincere compliment your way, with just a touch of flirt on the end, as smoothly as he would toss a drink from a cooler or keys from a pocket. He has you blushing like mad before you can even fully register what’s happened. 

hotbf!Gideon, who lets Caleb’s romantic pursuers down gently when they try to pump him for information. He also lets them down gently when they try to go after him as their second choice immediately after. He’s a man who knows his worth.

hotbf!Gideon, who gives a cute little smirk at your expression the first time he asks you to call him Dee. Turns out he's been trying for weeks to make you blush like you did before.

hotbf!Gideon, who gives Caleb a pretty big shock when you show up at the door with That Hopeful Look and Caleb is all prepared to tell you he’s not interested until you say you’re there for Dee (🥰). Gideon slides past Caleb with a smile and a wink before walking off with you, leaving Caleb with his jaw on the floor. (This has literally never happened to him ever in his life.)

hotbf!Gideon, who loves you sitting in his lap, to the extent that when you don’t automatically sit there, he raises his eyebrows at you like, “everything okay?” You confirm that it is and he nods and happily wraps an arm around your waist instead. You eventually end up in his lap anyway because chairs and sofas just can't compete with those military-trained thighs.

hotbf!Gideon, whose eyes almost roll out of his head on a daily basis as he is forced to endure constant jokes about you “getting the Dee on the regular” when you two become exclusive. At least 10% of these jokes come from you.

hotbf!Gideon, who kisses the corner of your lips whenever you two part ways, an adorable little reflex you wouldn't have expected of him. And if no one is watching (or no one is watching closely), he softly kisses your neck just below your ear and murmurs, “I’ll see you later, yeah?” Causing you to go slowly insane until “later” finally arrives.

hotbf!Gideon, who gives you the best and messiest head you've ever had, you standing and him on his knees, your leg thrown over his shoulder, his face soaked, juices running down his chin, pinching and stroking your nipples while he laps everything up, moaning and swallowing greedily like he needs it to live.

hotbf!Gideon, who is usually ALL BUSINESS when he's in pilot mode until he takes you up for a short glide and you end up sucking him off within an inch of his life because seeing him be that disciplined is SO goddamn hot. He fights to keep his voice normal when Caleb radios in that “you two have been up there a while, is everything okay? 😏”

hotbf!Gideon, who purposefully baits Caleb on Moments as revenge, even though he knows Caleb will never be embarrassed about how whipped he is by MC.

hotbf!Gideon, who fucks you real SLOW and MEAN, bullying you with a dick that should've come with a warning label for your hips, "you must be this wide to ride." You plead with him to go faster as he brings you closer and closer to your ruin, but he keeps his rhythm with deep, inexorable thrusts, your calves braced on his iron-hard shoulders, you clenching around him in desperation as he pants and grins and pins your wrists above your head with one hand. "Just take it a little more for me, baby. You can take it, right?" But you can't take it and he knows that as you fall apart underneath him, covered in sweat, screaming and jerking helplessly from your orgasm while he fucks you through it with the patience of a saint and the satisfaction of a demon.

hotbf!Gideon, who holds off his own climax as long as he can because he completely loses control once he starts. He's begging you to look at him, biting his lip, biting you, and then kissing you like he wants to take your soul into his body. The fingers of one hand grip and sink into your flesh while his other hand slides one or two fingers into your mouth. He likes to feel you sucking on them while he finishes. 

hotbf!Gideon, who cries your name again and again like an incantation when he finally cums inside of you, followed by groaning whimpers of appreciation when your muscles twitch around him in the afterglow. Knowing how thin the barracks' walls are makes no difference, this is the one time in his life he can't help but be loud. You notice Caleb always reaches for his noise-cancelling headphones whenever you and Gideon disappear into the bedroom.

hotbf!Gideon, who is always so unaffected, always so casual and ready with some off-hand wit, who finally realizes just how screwed he is when he sees you dressed up for the first time as his date for a DAA gala and he is left completely speechless. He can barely speak a word all night, his ears persistently pink, his smile irrepressible, and his heart thundering because there’s nothing casual anymore about how he feels about you.

hotbf!Gideon, who tries to hide how happy he is that you chose him. Being chosen has never mattered to him before, but it matters now and he doesn’t know what to do. It's the best problem he's ever had.

[anizayniac]

STILL thinking about hotboyfriend!Gideon

(cw: brief smut, light angst)

and how dating him is like the polar opposite of being with Caleb but in a good way where it's the most relaxed and secure you've ever felt with anyone because he just... vibes. Like he will be there in less than a second if you need him, he loves you SO much, yes he stole that fighter jet to get here faster, you said it was an emergency, what's up, babe??

But unless you tell him that, he's chillin. You come and go as you please and it doesn't phase him. If he misses you too much, he'll come find you without hesitation, but mostly he's happy just being in your life. He's a low maintenance KING. The calmest port in the worst of storms, think Xavier but without the possessiveness. In fact, he likes you trying to make him jealous, seeing how much everyone wants you and then getting to punish you for it later.

He has you weeping, begging, drooling, stuffed so full of his cock that you're seeing stars, and then he goes, "oh, but I almost forgot, you're bored of this, huh? I should stop so you can go play with someone else. That's what you want, right, babe? You want me to stop?"

His low, satisfied chuckle rumbles in your ear when you scream that you'll kill him if he tries it.

Secure attachment icon. The only thing that unsettles him is when you're on a long mission and he doesn't know when he'll see you again or how he'll get to you if something goes wrong, or if he could even help you if it did. Caleb steers well clear of him when you're gone on these trips because being so laid-back all the time means hotbf!Gideon does NOT know how to cope with being anxious.

He gets restless when you're out of town. He gets uncharacteristically mean, snappish. He starts sleeping poorly. Without an Evol, there's only so much he can do in certain situations and that bothers him immensely. He trains extra hard with firearms and hand-to-hand fighting, learns to ride your motorcycle, starts building up all these other skills in case you ever need his help with anything, but he's always aware of how you regularly face dangers he can only imagine, get put in situations that he would never survive. You're constantly at risk, the one thing in his life he never wants to lose.

"Come back safe, okay?" He asks you before your next mission, and for the first time, you hear a note of real fear in his voice. "Don't be a hero."

He says it with a smile, intending the line to be a joke but there's too much sincerity underneath for it to land.

You hold his hands and stand tiptoe to kiss him.

"That's literally my job, baby," you say softly, apologetically.

He nods, his false smile slowly slipping away.

"I know..."

He wraps his hand around the back of your neck and then pulls you into a tight hug.

He struggles with the feelings, tries to stop himself from asking you for something you can't guarantee, but it's hard because this is the only thing he's ever needed like this. He knows it's unreasonable and yet...

"Please," he whispers, "just come back to me."

[moviecritc]

INFERNO ── enrico pucci

summary: you enter the confessional one year and a half after your last time, finding father pucci this time, who listens to your sins and grows an obsession of how your mind works. an obsession of you. content warnings: devotion, implied past dv, non sexual physical intimacy, catholic guilt, obsession. (wc: 4.4k)

Your heels click against the hardwood floor, stopping after going through the entrance of the church because you have to find the courage in you. It’s been a year since you buried your husband, your older and stronger than you husband, qualities that he enjoyed showing to you every time he could. The church is cold and empty, just a few candles lit up as the sun starts to set. You know it’s too late for a confession, but your heart can’t take it anymore. 

You can hear it beat against your chest while you walk across the room, the stained glass windows creating shapes and colors against your features. The confessional is deeper into the church, having to cross long hallways until you find the box, both of the doors open. You don’t even know if the Father is open for confessions at this moment, but you enter the tiny room either way, closing the door behind you and sitting on the hardwood. 

It takes two minutes for Father Pucci to appear on the other side of the confessional, you hear the door click and your breath rags, the discomfort going back to your body. “Forgive me Father, for I have sin. It’s been a year and a half since my last confession.”

Silence stretches on the other side. You can almost feel Father Pucci listening, patient and still. Your fingers twist together in your lap, the fabric of your dress suddenly too tight against your ribs.

“I... I killed my husband,” you say, so quiet the words almost disappear into the wood between you. “I couldn’t live like that anymore.”

You swallow hard and keep going, the confession spilling out like it has been waiting inside you for months. “I made it look like an accident. He always drank too much after those long nights. I waited until he passed out in the garage, then I moved things around, just enough. The car was old, the brakes had been wearing down for a while. I made sure the scene looked right. Police called it a tragic fall, it’s been a whole year and nobody has ever looked at me with suspicion.”

On the other side of the divider, Father Pucci stays quiet for a long moment. You wonder if he is disgusted, if he is already thinking about calling someone. But then you hear the soft shift of his robes and  admiration slips into his silence. He thinks to himself how clean it was. How careful. A year without a single loose thread. Most people slip up. You had not.

The sound of his door opening makes your heart jump. Then your own door opens too. You gasp, eyes wide as cool church air rushes in. Father Pucci stands there, tall and framed by the low candlelight. His white hair looks almost silver in the shadows and those sharp eyes lock onto yours. The tension snaps tight between you like a live wire. Neither of you speaks. You can hear your own breathing and you wonder if he can hear it too.

He does not reach for you. He does not step back. He just looks at you like he is seeing every secret you have ever buried. The air feels heavier, warmer, charged with something neither of you name.

After what feels like forever, his voice comes low and steady.

“You may go in peace.”

But he does not move away from the doorway, his hand stays on the edge of the confessional door, long fingers curled around the wood. You stay seated, knees pressed together, staring up at him. You rise slowly on shaky legs, your heels clicking again as you step out. Your shoulder brushes close to his chest when you pass. Close enough to smell the faint scent of incense and clean fabric, close enough that you both freeze for half a second.

“Father...” you start, but the word dies on your tongue.

He finally lowers his hand, letting the door swing shut behind you with a soft click. Yet his eyes do not leave your face. There is no judgment there, you don’t know what’s in his eyes but it feels like devotion in your skin.

“Peace is not always easy to find,” he whispers. “But sometimes... it finds us instead.”

You stand there in the hallway of stained glass and candlelight, heart hammering, wondering if you should walk away or if you are waiting for him to say something more. The silence stretches again, full of everything you are both too careful to speak out loud.

Your shoulder brushes his chest as you step out of the confessional and Father Pucci feels it like a spark against his skin. He stays perfectly still, fingers still curled around the wooden doorframe, watching the way the candlelight dances across your face. His heart, usually so steady in prayer, beats harder than it should. Most sinners came to him broken and sloppy, their sins messy and full of loose ends. But you... you had been careful. Methodical. You turned your husband’s own strength and habits against him without leaving a trail. It was beautiful in its precision. Pucci had heard hundreds of confessions, yet none had left him quietly impressed like this one. God tests us in strange ways, he thinks, and she passed hers with grace.

He should feel horror, he should be reciting verses about repentance and the sanctity of life. Instead, a quieter voice whispers admiration. She endured. She waited. She freed herself. The same kind of resolve he respected in himself, the kind that made a person worthy of destiny. His eyes trace the line of your neck, the way your dress clings just slightly from nerves and something warmer stirs beneath the black of his cassock. A dangerous warmth.

Pucci’s thoughts twist. She is beautiful in her sin. Part of him, the priest, wants to guide you toward true atonement. Another part, deeper and hungrier, wants to know every detail of how you planned it. How your hands must have moved in the dark. How clever you had been. That curiosity feels like temptation itself, sweet and forbidden.

Inside, his mind races faster. If she can do that... what else is she capable of? The thought sends a thrill through him, one he quickly tries to bury under years of discipline. But it does not stay buried. It lingers, warm and insistent, as he stands there in the candlelit hallway with you. The air between your bodies feels alive, charged like the moment before a storm. He does not step back. He does not tell you to leave.

Instead, he tilts his head just slightly, white hair catching the light. “Tell me,” he says softly, against his better judgment, “do you feel lighter now that you have spoken it aloud? Or does the weight still press on you?”

You stand there in the flickering hallway, heart still racing from how close he is. His question hangs between you like incense smoke, you look up into his sharp eyes and answer softly.

“I feel lighter in some ways, Father. But heavier in others. Saying it out loud made it real again, but now I’m scared someone else knows.”

He does not pull away. Instead, his hand moves gently to the small of your back, guiding you without pressure. “Come with me,” he murmurs. “The confessional is too small for the weight you carry.”

You follow him through the quiet church, heels clicking softly on the stone floor as he leads you to a side door. His office is warm compared to the rest of the building, a desk covered in old books, a single lamp glowing and a small couch against the wall. He closes the door behind you both and the click sounds louder than it should. The tension from the confessional follows you inside, thicker now.

You sit on the couch, hands folded in your lap. Father Pucci takes the chair across from you at first, but after a few minutes he moves closer, sitting on the edge of the desk so your knees almost touch. The conversation starts slow, then deepens like water pulling you under.

You tell him more about your husband. How he would pin you against walls when he had been drinking, how his strength made you feel small and helpless every single day. You do not say the worst parts, but you do not have to. Pucci listens without interrupting, his expression calm but his eyes burning intensely, he nods when you describe the careful way you planned it all, the patience it took. You see it again in his face,quiet admiration. He thinks your crime was perfect. Holy in its justice.

Then the talk shifts to faith. “I prayed for years for it to stop,” you whisper. “But God never answered, so I did what I had to. Does that make me damned, Father?”

“God gives us strength in many forms. Some call it sin, others call it deliverance. Your faith did not abandon you. It tested you.” His words feel like a caress. He speaks about his own beliefs then, how he sees destiny and fate woven into every choice. How suffering can lead to greater purpose. You listen, mesmerized by the passion in his tone. He is not like other priests. There is fire in him.

You find yourself asking about him too. What brought him to the church, how he stays so calm when the world feels so heavy. He answers honestly, telling you pieces of his past, his drive for perfection and control. The conversation stretches for what feels like hours as the candles outside the window burn lower as night settles fully over the church.

At one point you gather your courage and ask, “What is your full name, Father? I feel like I should know it... after telling you everything.”

He does not hesitate, his eyes meet yours without a flicker of doubt. “Enrico Pucci,” he says clearly, like the name itself is a gift he hands to you. “You may call me Enrico when we are alone like this.”

Something shifts in the room after that, you can see it in the way he looks at you. His thoughts race behind those calm eyes. She trusted me with her darkest secret. Her freedom. Her sin. The realization hits him deep. He would do anything you asked of him now. Anything. If you told him to hide you, to lie for you, to burn this church down, he feels the terrifying truth that he might. And he wants the same from you, he wants your loyalty to burn just as hot, your devotion pointed only at him. The thought makes his pulse quicken under the collar of his cassock.

He reaches out slowly, his fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. The touch is gentle but electric. “You are stronger than you know,” he says with softness. “And I... I find myself wanting to protect that strength, to understand it completely.”

The air between you feels alive again, heavy with everything unsaid. Enrico Pucci sits there, closer than a priest should be, realizing he is already falling into dangerous waters. Yet he does not pull back. He waits, watching you, hoping you will fall in with him.

You started coming to the church almost every evening after that. At first you told yourself it was just to talk, but deep down you knew the truth. Enrico Pucci was becoming addicted to you. He craved your presence like air. The moment you stepped through the heavy wooden doors, his sharp eyes would light up with hunger. If you were even ten minutes late, he would pace slowly behind his desk, fingers tapping restlessly until he heard your heels on the floor. Your voice, your words, your smallest stories, they fed him. He needed them. He needed you.

“Stay with me tonight,” he asked one evening, as he looked up from his paperwork. “The ledgers feel endless without your company.”

You agreed, of course. How could you not when he looked at you like that?

From then on it became routine. You would sit in the chair across from him in his quiet office, legs tucked beneath you, while candlelight and the desk lamp painted his white hair in soft gold. He worked slowly on purpose, just to keep you there longer. Every time you spoke, he would stop writing completely, leaning forward with his full attention, drinking in every syllable like it was holy water. Your laughter made his chest tighten with warmth. Your opinions on faith, on life, on pain, they became his new obsession. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to own every secret you had.

The conversations flowed so easily between you, you told him more about the heavy years with your husband, the bruises you hid and the fear you carried. He listened with burning intensity, his hand sometimes reaching across the desk to brush yours. In return he shared pieces of himself he had never given anyone else. His ambitions, his loneliness, the way he saw destiny written in every choice. But mostly he asked about you. Always you.

“You have no idea what your words do to me,” he confessed softly one night, eyes never leaving your face. “When you leave, the silence here feels unbearable. I find myself counting the hours until you return.”

You felt it growing stronger every time you saw him. The air between you grew thick with tension and unspoken need.

Then came the night of the storm.

Rain slammed against the stained glass, thunder cracked so loud it vibrated through the stone walls. You had stayed later than usual, talking quietly while Enrico pretended to finish his paperwork. By the time you noticed how violent the weather had become, it was far too late to leave. He stood by the window, watching the pouring rain, but you could tell his mind was on you.

“You cannot go out in this,” he said, turning to face you. His voice was calm, but his eyes were dark with barely hidden relief. He did not want you to leave tonight. Not ever, if he could help it. “Stay here with me. The church has rooms for guests, but I-I would feel better knowing you are close.”

Your heart raced as you nodded, he led you through the dark hallways, lightning flashing across his tall figure with every step. He prepared the guest room near his own quarters, but neither of you went there right away. Instead you ended up back in his office, the storm raging outside while the two of you sat closer than ever on the small couch. He had removed his outer robe, sitting in just his black shirt with the collar loosened. You kicked off your heels and curled up beside him. He could not stop looking at you. Every word you spoke, he hung onto desperately, leaning in until his knee pressed against yours. 

“Tell me more,” he murmured whenever you paused. “I need to hear your voice tonight. It keeps the storm away.”

Enrico Pucci was completely lost in you now. He would do anything to keep you here, to keep this closeness. And as the rain kept falling without end, locking you inside the church with him, he realized with quiet certainty that he was never letting you go. Not after tonight.

“Come with me,” he said, it was not really a request.

You took his hand, your pulse jumped as his fingers closed around yours. He led you through the dark hallways, lightning flashing blue across the stone walls and his white hair. He took you back to the confessional, the same wooden box tucked deep in the church where everything had started.

He opened your side first, then stepped into the priest’s side. You hesitated, but the look he gave you through the open door made your stomach twist with heat that you slipped inside and closed the door behind you. The small space felt even tighter now, your knees pressed against the divider as you sat down, heart pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

His voice came through the lattice. “Confess.”

“Enrico…” you whispered, already breathless.

“You know what I want to hear,” he said, quieter this time, but no less intense. “Tell me what you feel for me. Here. Where you first told me your sins.”

The wooden lattice between you suddenly felt too thin. You could see the shadow of his face, the sharp line of his jaw. It was uncomfortable, sitting there in the tiny dark booth while lightning lit up the edges of the confessional. Part of you wanted to run, but a bigger part wanted to stay right there under his attention.

“I… I think about you all the time,” you admitted, voice shaking. “Even when I’m home alone. I replay every conversation we’ve had. The way you look at me, it makes me feel things I shouldn’t.”

You heard him shift closer to the divider. His breathing sounded heavier now. “Keep going,” he murmured. The hunger in his tone sent warmth rushing through your body.

“I feel guilty sometimes,” you whispered. “You’re a priest. But when I’m with you, I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here every night. I want your eyes on me. I want… I want you to need me as badly as I need you.”

Silence stretched for a few heartbeats, then you heard his door open. A second later your door opened too. Enrico stood there, filling the doorway, looking down at you with eyes so dark they looked almost black. He stepped closer, then he fell to his knees, you gasped when his hands grabbed your ankles, his own breath ragged with heat as he looked up at you.

“Say it again,” he breathed. “Tell me you need me.”

“I need you, Enrico,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. It felt dangerous to admit it here, in this holy place. “I crave being close to you like this.”

He leaned closer, his face only inches from yours as he hoovered his hands close to your face. The heat between your bodies was unbearable in the tight confessional, you could feel how he was holding back, how badly he wanted to close the last bit of distance. His obsession burned in every look, he needed your words like oxygen.

“Good girl,” he murmured against your lips, not quite kissing you yet. “I have been starving for this confession.”

He stayed kneeled as he found the courage to take your face between his hands, positioning himself between your legs, your noses brushing each other as he waited for you to say or do something.

“This is wrong, Enrico,” you whispered, your voice trembling as his hands held your face so gently, yet so possessively. “We should not be doing this. It’s sinful. We—”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his thumbs stroking your cheeks with reverent touches. “Do you really not want this? If you truly want me to stop, I will. But I need to hear it from your lips.”

You opened your mouth, but the words would not come. The way he knelt between your legs, tall and desperate for you, made your thighs press lightly against his sides. The silence stretched, your heart hammered so hard you felt dizzy.

Enrico’s eyes darkened with satisfaction when you stayed quiet. One of his hands left your cheek. Slowly, he brought his thumb to your lips, tracing the bottom one before sliding it gently into your mouth.

“Suck,” he breathed.

Your lips closed around his thumb, tongue swirling softly as you looked down at him through your lashes. A low sound escaped his throat, something between a groan and a prayer. He watched you with pure obsession, the sight of you sucking his thumb was the most beautiful thing he had ever witnessed. His breathing grew ragged, chest rising and falling faster as you took him deeper into your mouth.

“You-you have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered, voice husky.

After a long moment he pulled his thumb free with a soft pop, his eyes fixed on your wet lips. Then he could not hold back anymore. Enrico surged forward and kissed you. Years of discipline shattered in that one desperate press of his mouth against yours. His hands slid into your hair, tilting your head as he deepened the kiss, tongue sweeping in like he wanted to taste every confession you had ever held back. You moaned softly into his mouth and he drank it down, pressing his body tighter between your legs, the confessional creaking around you. He kissed you like a starving man. Like he had been waiting his whole life for this exact moment, for your taste, for your little sounds, for the way your fingers clutched at his black shirt. When he finally pulled back for air, his lips hovered against yours, brushing with every word.

“I would burn this church down for you,” he whispered fiercely. “Tell me again how much you need me. Please. I need your voice while I kiss you.”

His mouth claimed yours once more before you could even answer, his hands sliding down to grip your waist and pull you closer to the edge of the seat. You’ve fantasized about the taste of him much more than what you will ever admit, having him kneeled in front of you, kissing you fiercely was a new and unexplored sensation. 

Enrico stayed pressed to you even after breaking the kiss, searching in your eyes for any type of regret, but your orbs were shining under the candlelight. He slowly got up, taking your hand and making you stand up with him. He guided you out of the confessional, his hand gripping yours not hard but with possessiveness and need in his blood. 

“Enrico,” you called for him, you lost count of all the times you had called for him this night, but the sound of his name on your lips has become addictive. “Can I… may I sleep in the same bed as you tonight?”

He stopped on his feet for a second, blinking fast as he turned to look at you. “Yes,” he said immediately, no hesitation at all. 

His hands slid up to cup your face again, thumbs stroking your cheeks like you were something precious. “Tonight and every night after, if you want it. I do not want you sleeping alone anymore. I need you close to me. I need to feel you breathing next to me when the church is quiet.”

He kissed you again, softer this time but full of promise. Then he guided you through the halls of the church. When you reached his private quarters, he did not let go of you even for a moment. He closed the door behind you both and pulled you straight into his arms again, kissing you like he had been starving for hours instead of minutes.

Enrico’s hands trembled just slightly as he guided you toward his bed. The storm still howled outside, but inside his room everything felt hushed and sacred. He stopped you at the edge of the mattress, eyes drinking you in like you were the only holy thing left in his world.

“May I?” he asked. When you nodded, he leaned in and kissed you softly, then let his fingers trail down to the hem of your dress.

He took his time. So much time. Every button came undone slowly, in his perspective, he was unwrapping something precious. His lips followed his hands, pressing lingering kisses along your shoulders as the fabric slipped away. He kissed your collarbones, the curve of your neck, the spot just above your heart that was beating wildly for him. 

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered against your skin. “Every inch of you. I have dreamed about this, about seeing you like this, open for me.”

Your dress pooled at your feet. Enrico dropped to his knees again, just like in the confessional, his hands slid up your legs with aching gentleness. He kissed your thighs, your knees, even the tops of your feet as he helped you step out of the dress. His short hair brushed against your stomach when he rose again, lips worshiping every new piece of skin he uncovered. When only your bra and panties remained, he stepped back for a moment, breathing hard, just looking at you.

“Perfect,” he breathed. “You are perfect.”

Then he undressed for you. He pulled off his black shirt, revealing skin and the lean muscle hidden beneath his priestly robes, his movements were unhurried, letting you watch every second. When his pants joined your dress on the floor, he stood before you in only his boxers, tall and beautiful in the dim lamplight.

He climbed into bed first and reached for you, pulling you down with him. The sheets were cool against your heated skin, but Enrico was warm as he wrapped himself around you. You lay facing each other, legs tangled, bodies pressed close and his hand traced slow patterns along your back, your waist, the curve of your hip, never rushing, just feeling.

“I love the way you feel,” he murmured between kisses. He kissed your eyelids, the corner of your mouth. “I love how your breath catches when I touch you here…” His fingers brushed just under the band of your bra, making you shiver. “I need you close like this every night.”

You kissed him deeply, pouring everything you felt into it. Your hands explored his chest, his shoulders, the strong line of his back. “I want this. I want you.”

He groaned softly at your words, pulling you tighter against him. “Say it again. Tell me you’re mine.” His lips moved to your neck, sucking gently.

You whispered against his mouth, “I’m yours, Enrico. I have been since the night I confessed.”

The kisses grew slower, more intense, hands roamed but never crossed that final line. Instead you touched and learned each other, whispering secrets between every kiss. He told you how obsessed he had become, you told him how safe you felt in his arms, how his obsession made you feel wanted in a way you had never known.

The two of you stayed wrapped up in each other, skin against skin, hearts beating in the same rhythm. Enrico held you tight, pressing soft kisses to your hair and your lips again and again.

“Stay forever,” he whispered into the dark, voice full of devotion. “Sleep here every night. Let me worship you like this until morning comes.”

You nodded, curling closer into his chest, feeling completely loved, completely wanted and completely his.

art by: mgong520 on twt a/n: once again thanking @irisgrrl for hearing me go insane about pucci's characterization <3

[sseravirtue]

JOIN ME (IN DEATH) — c.xia

pairings . . . ★ caleb x childhoodbsf!reader, small xavier x reader and zayne x reader

synopsis . . . ★ caleb has always loved you ever since you were both kids. you brushed his behaviour off as simply "big brother protection". but when you fall in love with someone and plan your wedding while he's away for training, his mask finally cracks. he realises no one else can protect you other than him—he refuses to lose you, even it it meant hurting you and others in the process.

wc . . . ★ 11k i think

warnings . . . ★ pseudo-incest, obsession, toxic relationship duh, dub-con elements, pinch of violence, LOTS of emotional manipulation, 18+ explicit content, sard hex, infidelity, choking, slapping, near-death situation, morally-grey characters (everyone is insane), caleb himself should be a warning.

wisp note . . . ★ here i am dropping a FUCK YOU bomb to my loyal readers who prob expected more kdrama fluffs.... 😭 this is the most unhinged fic ive written so far so prepare urself #save me yandereleb 💕 also timeline and some stuffs might be off since my memory sucks

you were only six years old—and the world felt big and unkind to little you.

the playground behind the old linkon residential complex was nothing special—rusted swings that screeched with every push, a dented slide that burned the backs of your thighs in summer, and cracked rubber mats that never quite cushioned the falls. that afternoon smelled like hot metal, melting ice cream, and subtle distant rain. you had simply been chasing a butterfly when your foot caught on an uneven edge. next thing you knew, you fell face first into the ground.

you felt a sudden rush of pain in your knee. the scrape was ugly, dirt and gravel embedded in raw skin, blood already welling up and soaking into your white frilly socks. tears stung your eyes instantly.

the other kids laughed—a boy with a missing front tooth pointed and shouted, “what a crybaby. look at her cry!”

you hugged your knee, trying not to sob too loudly, when a shadow suddenly loomed over you.

“shut up.”

the voice was young but commanding still. nine-year-old caleb pushed through the circle of kids like he always belonged at the center of everything. his messy brown hair stuck up in every direction, and his school shirt was already stained with grass. he shoved the boy so hard, the kid stumbled backward and fell on his butt.

caleb immediately crouched in front of you. his eyes—those warm purple orbs with flecks of gold from the sunlight— scanned your injury with surprising seriousness for a kid his age.

“doesn’t hurt that bad right?” he said, voice softening just for you.

he pulled a slightly crumpled handkerchief from his pocket—blue with little jets on it—and pressed it gently to your bleeding knee. “i’ve got you. breathe through it. that’s what pilots do when it gets rough.”

you sniffled, staring up at him like he was a hero from the silly cartoons you watched. “but it stings…”

“yeah, but you’re tough. tougher than these dummies.” caleb shot a glare over his shoulder that scattered the remaining kids. then, he smiled at you again—bright, confident, and strangely protective. “name’s caleb. i live in building 3. you new here?”

you nodded shyly. “building 4. with my grandma.”

“cool. i’ll walk you home after we fix this up.” he helped you stand, letting you lean on him even though you were small and he was already tall for his age. his arm stayed around your shoulders the entire way to the water fountain, where he carefully rinsed your knee and tied the handkerchief around it like a bandage.

from that day forward, caleb decided you were his.

he waited for you every morning so you could walk to school together. he saved the best snacks from his lunchbox for you. when bullies tried again, he was already there with his fists ready, voice loud, chest puffed out.

the adults around you thought it was cute. “such a good big brother,” they’d say, patting his head.

you believed their words too. older brother instinct, despite not actually being related. that was all.

months later, zayne moved into the apartment right next to yours.

unlike caleb, he was quiet, pale, with neatly combed dark hair and sharp green eyes that seemed to notice everything. his family was stricter— books instead of games, piano practice instead of playground time. but somehow, the three of you clicked instantly.

at first zayne was an observer. he’d sit on the edge of the playground bench with a book while you and caleb ran around. as time goes on, he slowly joined in. he helped you with homework when numbers confused you. zayne also bandaged injuries with far more precision than caleb’s makeshift solutions. and he watched caleb’s protectiveness with a silent, unreadable expression.

it was also during those years that caleb would make a nickname that’d stick with you forever—pipsqueak.

one rainy afternoon when you were eight, the three of you built a blanket fort in caleb’s living room. raindrops thumping through the windows with much intensity while thunders rumbled outside. you huddled between them, clutching a stuffed rabbit.

“i’m scared,” you whispered.

caleb immediately pulled you into his embrace, arms squeezing around your small body. “nothing’s gonna get you, pips. not while i’m here. i’ll be a pilot one day and fly you away from all the scary storms.”

zayne simply adjusted his glasses, then with hesitation—reached over to pat your head. “statistically, the chance of lightning striking this building is very low.”

you giggled, tension easing. caleb’s arms tightened around you just a fraction. you didn’t notice how his cheek pressed against your hair, or how long he held you even after the storm passed.

as years went by, the protectiveness deepened.

at ten, when a group of older boys cornered you after school demanding your allowance, caleb appeared like a storm. he punched the leader square in the nose, took a few hits himself, but sent them running. you fussed over his bruised cheek the whole walk home, pressing a cold drink can to it.

“you didn’t have to do that,” you said, eyes watery.

caleb grinned through the pain. “yeah i did! no one messes with you.”

zayne, ever-so-quietly walking beside you both while carrying your dropped backpack, muttered, “violence isn’t always the answer.”

“but it worked,” caleb shot back, slinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. his hand lingered on your arm, thumb rubbing small circles. you leaned into him, feeling safe. zayne’s gaze flicked to that hand, then away.

by twelve, caleb had started calling you “pips” more than your real name. he grew taller, stronger, always practicing jumps and mock flight maneuvers in the courtyard. girls at school started noticing him, but he always brushed them off.

“why don’t you talk to any of them?” you asked once, swinging your legs on the rooftop where the three of you often escaped.

caleb shrugged, bumping your shoulder with his. “well first, they’re not you. too annoying. you’re fun, pipsqueak. and you get me.” zayne whos’ reading under the setting sun, closed his book. “she’s going to grow up eventually and so are both of us.”

caleb’s expression darkened for just a second. “she’ll always need me. right?” he looked at you with those intense eyes.

you nodded brightly. “of course, ‘leb! you’re my best friend. like a big brother.”

that word again. brother.

caleb’s smile faltered for half a heartbeat before he forced it back and ruffled your hair roughly.

“yeah. exactly.”

you never saw how his fists clenched, or how he stared at the horizon like he was already planning something bigger.

at fourteen, during a school trip to the linkon aerospace museum, you suddenly got separated from the group. panic started to set in among the crowds when caleb found you. he pulled you into a tight hug right there in the middle of the exhibit hall, heart hammering against your cheek.

“don’t scare me like that again,” he whispered fiercely. his arms were stronger now, more possessive. when he finally let go, his hand slid down to hold yours the rest of the day. you thought it was just protection.

summer nights on that same rooftop became a ritual. the three of you would lie on old blankets, sharing sodas and dreams.

“i’m gonna be the best deepspace hunter linkon ever has,” you declared, pointing at the stars. “i’ll fight wanderers and keep everyone safe.”

caleb laughed softly. “then i’ll be your pilot. i’ll fly you wherever you need to go. no one will ever touch you.”

zayne spoke quietly into the night. “i’ll become a doctor. so I can fix you both when you inevitably get hurt.”

you laughed, content in the middle of your two favorite people. caleb’s pinky hooked with yours behind your back where zayne couldn’t see. a silent promise.

but as you turned fifteen, the shifts became harder to ignore—at least for everyone except you.

zayne had to move for med school despite his age. you gave him one last hug and a pinky promise “-not to forget each other?”

caleb simply watched as he caressed the small of your back, before zayne leaves. you never heard of him again until you were both adults.

by the time you turned eighteen, the playground felt like a distant memory. the two of you had outgrown blanket forts and scraped knees, but the rooftop remained your sacred ground. it was the one place where the rest of the world— school drama, strict parents, the growing threat of wanderer sightings on the news—couldn’t touch you.

but puberty had changed everything.

you had grown into your features. your hips had curved, your chest had developed, and suddenly boys at school looked at you differently. whispers followed you in the hallways. notes started to appear in your locker.

for the first time, you felt seen as something other than “caleb’s little sister” your whole life.

he hated it.

he never said it outright at first. instead, it showed in the little things.

one friday afternoon after classes, a classmate walked you partway home. he was funny, easygoing, and had complimented your smile. you were still smiling when you reached your building.

caleb was leaning against the wall near the entrance, arms crossed, that blue-orange jacket already slung over his shoulder even though he wasn’t in any aviation club yet.

“who was that?” he asked, voice deceptively casual.

“just a friend. we have classes together.”

he pushed off the wall and fell into step beside you. his arm immediately draped around your shoulders, heavier than usual. “you shouldn’t walk with random guys. it’s not safe.”

you laughed him off, bumping your elbow against his side. “he’s not some random. and you’re starting to sound like my grandma.”

“no i’m serious, pipsqueak.” his fingers flexed on your shoulder. “guys like that only want one thing.”

you could only rolled your eyes. “and what is that? you’re going to rat out every person i talk to?”

“if i have to.” he grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. then, he ruffled your hair roughly like he always did, trying to play it off. “come on. those ice creams i bought for you might be melting right now.”

when you got back home right after hanging out with caleb, you received a call from one of your friends. she wants more caleb receipts, i guess.

your friend had always been suspicious of caleb’s true intentions towards you. unlike anyone specifically you, she could see right through him.

“he started interrogating me about the guy-“ you said, rolling on your back. your eyes met with the ceiling.

although you couldn’t see her physically, you could just feel her raising an eyebrow.

“interrogating? did he get mad or something?”

“no—well, he did sound kinda offended when i told him we’re just friends.”

“[name], you’re your own person. he doesn’t have the right to control you like that.”

“he’s just protecting me. like a brother should.” you replied, fingers moving by it’s own to twirl a piece of hair.

“that’s what you think now. but wait until he actually stops you from talking to anyone.”

you stayed silent at that—and quickly changed the topic before things get out of hand.

as the years passed, you expect the tension to dissapear—but instead it grew stronger.

at twenty, you started deepspace hunter aptitude training. you were a good hunter—fast, intuitive, and stubborn. the instructors praised your reflexes. caleb, meanwhile, threw himself into anything flight-related; simulators, physics clubs, weekend workshops at the aerospace center.

after your first combat simulation, you came home exhausted and exhilarated, a fresh bruise blooming on your collarbone from a training fall. caleb noticed immediately.

he cornered you in the narrow hallway in your home, tilting your chin up with two fingers to inspect the mark.

“who did this?” his voice was low, and dangerous.

“it’s from training, ‘leb. i’m fine.”

his thumb brushed over the bruise, surprisingly gentle. but his eyes darkened. “you shouldn’t be throwing yourself into danger like that. not without me there to watch your back.”

you smiled up at him, still breathless from the day. “then hurry up and become the best pilot so you can fly support for me.”

something shifted in his expression. for a moment the hallway felt too small. his gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes. his hand lingered on your jaw longer than necessary.

“yeah,” he murmured, voice rougher. “i will.”

he pulled you into a hug then—the kind that crushed you against his chest. you could feel how much taller and stronger he’d gotten. caleb’s heart hammered against your cheek. you hugged him back tightly, breathing in the familiar scent of his soap and faint jet fuel from the simulators.

“i wish we could stay like this forever—the two of us against the world.”

you looked up at him. his purple eyes staring right back at you.

“you really think we’ll stay together?” he asked, voice unusually vulnerable.

“of course. you’re my family.”

his smile faltered slightly at that but he quickly composed himself.

you stared at his strikingly handsome—strong jaw, warm eyes, easy confidence that made girls in school whisper. but he only ever looked at you.

“family,” he repeated. the word sounded bitter. he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. “is that that really how you see me, pipsqueak?”

you tilted your head, confused by the strange tone. “yeah? my big brother who always protects me.”

he exhaled through his nose, then forced a crooked grin. “right. big brother.” he pulled you into another crushing hug, burying his face in your hair. “i’d do anything for you. anything. remember that.”

you hugged him tighter, oblivious to the way his fingers gripped the fabric of your shirt like he was afraid you’d vanish.

you were officially enlisted in the deepspace hunter program. the physical tests were brutal, but you passed with flying colors. caleb got accepted into an elite pilot academy on the other side of linkon—intensive, two-year program with limited leave.

fate also brought you to zayne again after years of no-contact. not only is he your friend, but he also became your primary physician. how nice is that?

the night before caleb was scheduled to leave for academy dorms, you three gathered on the rooftop one last time.

you brought snacks. zayne brought a bottle of sparkling cider. caleb brought his usual cocky attitude, but it kept slipping.

you sat pressed against him, legs dangling over the edge. “i’m gonna miss you so much,” you admitted, leaning your head on his shoulder. “who’s going to call me pipsqueak and cook for me every day?”

caleb’s arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you half into his lap like he used to when you were little. “i’ll message you every night. and when i become a hotshot pilot, i’ll fly over and take you on joyrides.”

zayne silently watched the two of you quietly, sipping his own drink.

as the night grew later, zayne eventually stood. “i should head back. early shift tomorrow.” he paused, looking at caleb. “do take care of yourself.”

then he looked at you. “you too, [name].”

after zayne left, it was just you and caleb under the stars.

he didn’t let you go. instead, he shifted so you were fully in his lap, your back against his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder. his arms banded around your middle.

“i hate this,” he whispered. “leaving you here.”

“i’ll be okay,” you reassured him, covering his hands with yours. “i have grandma, zayne…. and i’ll be training hard too.”

his breath was warm against your neck. “if anyone bothers you… if any guy even looks at you wrong…” he trailed off, then pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. “promise you’ll tell me.”

“i promise.”

you turned your head to smile at him. in the dim light, his eyes looked almost feverish. for one breathless second, you thought he might kiss you properly—on the lips. your heart stuttered strangely.

instead, he pressed his forehead to yours. “i love you, pipsqueak. more than anyone else ever could.”

you smiled brightly, still so naive. “i love you too,”

“-like a brother.”

his entire body tensed. a quiet, broken sound escaped him before he buried his face in the crook of your neck, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe.

“yeah,” he rasped. “exactly like that.”

you stayed like that for over an hour—him holding you like you might disappear the moment he left for training. when he finally walked you to your door, he hugged you again at the threshold, longer than ever.

“be safe,” he murmured. “and wait for me.”

“i will.”

he left the next morning.

you waved goodbye from the street with your grandma, tears in your eyes, heart aching with the kind of innocent sadness that only comes from temporary separation.

you had no idea that caleb’s obsession had already taken root so deeply it would never let go.

that his love had stopped being protective years ago.

and that the boy who once bandaged your knee had quietly decided long ago that you would never belong to anyone else.

the first few months after caleb left for DAA were quieter than you expected.

you threw yourself into deepspace hunter training with everything you had. early mornings, brutal physical drills, tactical simulations that left you bruised and exhausted but buzzing with purpose. zayne was buried in his never-ending patients, but he still made time to patch you up after rough sessions, his hands steady and clinical even when his eyes lingered a second too long on new injuries.

“you’re pushing yourself too hard,” he told you one evening in his office, pressing an ice pack to your swollen shoulder.

“i have to be strong,” you replied, wincing but smiling. “caleb’s out there training to be a pilot. i can’t be the weak link when we all finally work together.”

zayne’s expression remained neutral, but his fingers paused. “he’s not coming back the same person. none of us will.”

you waved it off with a laugh. “he’ll always be caleb. overprotective and calling me pipsqueak until we’re old and growing grey hairs.”

zayne didn’t argue. he rarely did when it came to caleb.

life moved forward. you graduated from the academy with solid marks and were assigned to alpha team under captain jenna’s wing. the work was surely dangerous, exhilarating, and lonely in ways you hadn’t anticipated. late nights in temporary outposts, watching protofields glow ominously on the horizon. the constant fear that one day a wanderer would be too much.

then came the joint operation in the N109 zone outskirts.

it was supposed to be a standard sweep—high wanderer activity reported near an abandoned research facility. you were paired with an elite hunter known only by the name: “xavier.”

it wasn’t your first time meeting him. you saw him awhile back—on your first day you officially became a hunter, but not as his partner.

his blond hair catching the dim emergency lighting, sleepy blue eyes that seemed to hold entire galaxies, and movements so fluid they looked choreographed. his weapon was a long sword that shimmered with ethereal light. during the briefing with jenna, he said almost nothing—simply nodding when tasks were given.

the mission went south fast.

a category A wanderer ambushed your flank. you were pinned down, energy shield flickering, when xavier appeared in a blur of silver and light. his evol carved through the creature’s core with terrifying precision. he didn’t just fight—he danced with death, graceful and merciless.

after the fight, while all your teammates regrouped, xavier approached you. up close he was even more striking—pale skin, soft features that contrasted his lethal reputation, and a quiet aura that made the chaos around him feel distant.

“you fought well,” he said simply. his voice was soft, almost lazy, but carried a weight.

you wiped blood and dust from your cheek and grinned. “i would’ve been wanderer food without you. thanks.”

he tilted his head, studying you. “you’re… different from last time we met. not just another hunter chasing glory.”

something in his gaze made your stomach flutter.

since then, xavier was assigned as your temporary support for several missions. between fights, you started talking.

he was surprisingly easy to talk to once the tension broke. he listened more than he spoke, but when he did, his words felt intentional. over hotpots at random restaurants after a long patrol, you told him about your childhood—the rooftop nights, your brother’s ridiculous protectiveness and the hardships to becoming a hunter.

xavier’s sleepy eyes softened. “you sound anchored. i’ve wandered for a long time. it’s rare to meet someone who still has roots.” you blushed.

“what about you? no dramatic backstory?”

he smiled faintly. “more than you’d believe. maybe one day i’ll tell you.”

one day turned into many days.

stolen moments between missions became dates. a hidden meadow outside the city where he showed you constellations from a perspective no one else seemed to know. quiet evenings in his apartment where he’d fall asleep on the couch, looking impossibly peaceful. he never pushed. he simply existed beside you, steady and warm.

the first kiss happened after a particularly brutal mission.

you’d taken a nasty hit to the side. xavier carried you back to base himself, his arms surprisingly strong. in the dim med bay, while waiting for a nurse to arrive, he cupped your face with trembling hands.

“i thought i might lose you,” he whispered.

then he kissed you—slow, hesitant at first, then deepening with centuries of hidden longing. his lips were soft, tasting faintly of starlight and relief. you melted into it, hands fisting in his white uniform.

that night, after you were cleared, xavier took you back to his house—deciding on taking care of you despite your protests.

xavier undressed you slowly, reverently, kissing every bruise and scar as he revealed it. “beautiful,” he murmured against your collarbone. “so incredibly beautiful.”

you were nervous—it had been a while— but his patience melted it away. when you finally stood bare before him, he shed his own clothes with quiet grace. his body was lean but toned, marked with faint old scars that glowed faintly under certain light.

he laid you down on the bed and worshipped you with his mouth. starting at your neck, he trailed kisses downward, lavishing attention on your breasts until you were arching and whimpering. lower still, he parted your thighs and tasted you like you were sacred.

his tongue was slow and thorough, circling your clit before dipping inside you. two fingers joined soon after, curling gently while he sucked. you came the first time with a broken moan of his name, thighs trembling around his head.

xavier didn’t stop. he worked you through it, then built you up again until you were begging.

only then did he climb over you, positioning himself at your entrance. his eyes locked with yours—sleepy blue now dark with desire.

“are you sure?” he asked softly.

“yes, xavie. please.”

he entered you slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open with a delicious burn. the fullness was overwhelming. when he bottomed out, he stayed there, forehead pressed to yours, breathing shakily.

“you feel like home,” he whispered.

then he began to move—long, deep rolls of his hips that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you. the pace was unhurried but devastating. every thrust felt meaningful, like he was pouring years of loneliness into you.

you wrapped your legs around his waist, nails digging into his back as pleasure built again. he kissed you through it, swallowing your moans while his hips snapped harder.

when you came the second time, clenching tightly around him, xavier groaned your name like a prayer. his rhythm faltered, then he buried himself deep and followed, pulsing hot inside you as he trembled in your arms.

afterwards he held you close, still buried inside, stroking your hair as you both came down.

“i think i’m falling in love with you,” you confessed quietly.

his arms tightened. “then don’t stop."

the relationship blossomed in secret.

you told almost no one. zayne suspected—he always noticed the new marks that weren’t from battles, the way you smiled more—but he kept his silence, though his eyes grew heavier with unspoken words.

xavier was everything caleb wasn’t in the moment—gentle, patient, respectful of your independence. he never called you small or weak. he fought beside you as an equal. his love felt like starlight—cool, vast, and healing.

a few months in, after a successful mission, he took you back to the meadow under a clear night sky.

laying on a blanket, wrapped in his arms, he pulled out a small box. the ring was simple platinum with a tiny iridescent stone that shimmered like captured starlight.

“marry me,” he said softly, almost shy. “i’ve waited lifetimes for someone who makes the wandering feel worth it. i don’t want to wait anymore.”

tears filled your eyes. you said yes without hesitation.

the wedding was planned for three months later—small, private, perfect.

but you never told the number one person in your life—caleb.

every time you sat down to write the message or record the call, fear stopped you. fear of his reaction. fear of disappointing the boy who once promised to protect you forever. fear that his “big brother” love would twist into something you couldn’t handle.

so you kept it from him.

you wore the ring on a chain under your uniform during missions. you smiled through caleb’s video calls from DAA, laughing when he called you pipsqueak and asked if any “idiots” were bothering you.

“they’d have to get through me first,” he’d say with that familiar cocky grin.

you’d laugh and change the subject.

but guilt gnawed at you every single day.

two weeks before caleb’s scheduled return, you and xavier were in your apartment, slow dancing to an old vinyl record playing softly in the background. his hands rested on your waist, thumb brushing the skin under your shirt. your engagement ring caught the warm lamplight as you swayed.

“i can’t wait to marry you,” xavier murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. you smiled, leaning into him.

“me neither.”

the song swelled and he spun you gently, then pulled you back against his chest. for the first time in months, everything felt right.

until the front door opened without a knock.

the music kept playing—same old, slow ballad you and xavier had grown fond of—but it felt mocking now.

caleb stood frozen in the doorway, his duffel bag slumped at his feet like it had given up too. his jacket was unzipped, revealing the tight black shirt underneath that showed how much muscle he’d gained during training. his hair was messy from the helmet, and there was a faint shadow of exhaustion under his eyes from the early return. but none of that mattered compared to the look on his face.

“pips…?” the nickname cracked halfway out of his mouth.

you pulled away from xavier far too quickly, guilt burning hot across your cheeks and neck. your hands felt suddenly cold without xavier’s warmth. “caleb! you’re back early—i thought your training ended next week. i wanted to tell you in person, i swear—”

xavier remained calm, though you felt the subtle tension in his body. he stepped forward politely and extended his hand. “you… must be caleb. she’s told me a lot about you. i’m xavier.”

caleb stared at the offered hand for two long, dangerous seconds. then he took it. you noticed the way his knuckles turned white, the way his jaw clenched so hard you worried he might crack a tooth. the handshake lasted longer than necessary—a silent battle neither man yielded.

“yeah,” caleb finally said, voice deceptively light. “funny, ‘cuz she barely mentioned you at all.”

the silence that followed was suffocating. the record continued spinning, the singer crooning about eternal love while everything in the room fractured.

you swallowed hard. “caleb, this is…xavier and i are engaged. the wedding is in three months. i wanted to explain everything when you got back, but things moved fast and—”

“engaged huh.”

caleb repeated the word like it tasted rotten. his eyes dropped to the ring on your finger—the delicate platinum band with its tiny captured star. something in his expression shattered, then iced over completely. he forced a wide, sharp smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “well damn, pipsqueak. guess my little sister really grew up while i was gone.”

the nickname felt different now. heavier. posessive.

xavier’s hand found the small of your back, a quiet show of support. caleb’s gaze tracked the movement like a predator.

“i should give you two some time to catch up,” xavier said diplomatically. “i’ll be in your room. text me if you’re done.” he said, giving you a small smile before walking away. not without a last look at caleb.

you nodded, squeezing his hand gratefully. after xavier left, the apartment felt ten times smaller.

caleb didn’t move from the doorway at first. he just stared at you, drinking in every detail—the way your hair fell, the new confidence in your posture, the ring that wasn’t his.

then he crossed the room in three long strides and pulled you into a crushing hug. the kind he used to give when you were small and scared. his arms locked around you like steel bands, one hand cradling the back of your head, pressing your face into his chest.

“you smell the same,” he murmured into your hair. “still my pipsqueak.”

you hugged him back, tears stinging your eyes. part of you—the naive little girl from the playground—was genuinely happy to see him. the other part felt like you were suffocating.

“i missed you,” you whispered.

“yeah?” his voice dropped lower. “not enough to wait for me, apparently.”

you pulled back slightly. “caleb… it wasn’t like that. xavier and i just… happened. he makes me happy. he treats me as an equal on the field.”

caleb’s smile turned bitter. “and i don’t? after everything? after every time i protected you, walked you home, stayed up all night worried when you were on missions?”

“that’s not fair,” you said softly. “you’ve always been important to me. like family.”

there it was again. that word. family.

caleb laughed—a low, broken sound. he cupped your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks a little too roughly. “family, right. keep telling yourself that, pips.”

he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering far longer than a brotherly kiss should. you felt his breath tremble against your skin.

that night, you dragged everyone to the old rooftop. it felt like the right thing to do—a way to stitch the past and present back together. zayne arrived later (due to his schedule that he still managed to clear up that night) with a bottle of wine and his usual reserved expression. xavier of course were beside you the whole time, calm and polite despite the tension.

the four of you sat on the familiar blankets under the same stars you’d wished on as kids.

you could feel caleb’s piercing gaze as he watches xavier’s arm heavy around your shoulders, thumb stroking slow circles on your bare skin.

it should’ve been him. right there, comforting you.

every time xavier touched you—a hand on your knee, a soft smile—caleb’s knuckles tightened.

“so,” caleb said loudly, taking a long swig of beer, “three months until the big day, huh? you moving in together? planning kids already?”

the question was sharp. xavier answered smoothly, “we’re taking it one step at a time. her safety comes first.”

caleb’s laugh was ugly. “safety. sure. because nothing says safe like marrying a hunter with secrets written all over him.”

zayne who kept quiet the entire time finally shot caleb a warning look. “enough.”

you tried to steer the conversation to lighter topics—old memories, funny training stories—but the air remained thick.

caleb sat closer to you. ruffling your hair. pulling you against his side. at one point, he even tugged you halfway into his side like he used to when you were little.

“you’re cold, pips,” he murmured, wrapping his jacket around you. his scent enveloped you—familiar, comforting, and suddenly terrifying.

xavier watched everything from his peripheral vision with that same quiet, unreadable eyes. zayne drank slowly, his sharp gaze flicking between all of you like a doctor diagnosing a terminal illness.

later, when xavier walked you back to your door, he kissed you gently. “he loves you,” xavier said softly. “but love like that can become a cage. be careful.”

you nodded, but the guilt already sat heavy in your stomach.

caleb stayed at your apartment that night since he refused to leave.

“i just got back,” he said, crashing on your couch like old times. “let me stay. for old times’ sake.”

you couldn’t say no. not to him especially.

but sleep didn’t come easy. you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, twisting the engagement ring on your finger, heart torn between the gentle love of xavier and the fierce, burning protectiveness of the boy who once bandaged your knee.

in the living room, caleb lay awake too. staring at the ceiling. his fingers clenched around his phone. photos of you—old and recent—saved in hidden folders.

he wasn’t going to lose you.

not to xavier.

not to zayne.

not to anyone.

the next two weeks were a masterclass in slow suffocation.

caleb has inserted himself back into your life with terrifying ease. he showed up outside the association under the excuse of “visiting my sister.” he’d land his bike nearby, leaning against it with that cocky grin while watching you.

some of your colleagues thought it was sweet—childhood friends reunited. others gave you wary glances when they noticed how closely he watched every male hunter who spoke to you.

xavier especially was patient throughout all this, but you still felt the strain. your fiancé would text gentle goodnights, never pushing, but the distance between visits grew. you hated how guilty you felt every time you chose not to tell him that caleb was sleeping on your couch again.

zayne’s warnings became sharper during your check-ups.

“he’s deteriorating,” zayne said quietly one afternoon, gloved fingers pressing along your ribs after a minor mission injury. “the obsession was always there. now it has permission to breathe.”

you stared at the ceiling. “he’s just protective. he’ll adjust.”

zayne’s green eyes met yours. for once, his mask slipped. “you’re underestimating how dangerous love can be when it’s been starving for years.”

you didn’t listen.

caleb also started showing up at your apartment unannounced with takeout, movies, or random gifts. “just like old times,” he’d say, ruffling your hair.

but the touches lasted longer. his hugs became crushing. his jokes about your upcoming wedding carried darker edges.

one night after you came home exhausted from a mission, he was already in your kitchen cooking.

“you should rest more,” he said, pulling you into a back hug while you tried to protest. his arms wrapped around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. “let me take care of you. like i always have.”

his hands splayed possessively over your stomach. you felt the heat of his body against your back, the way he pressed closer than necessary.

“caleb…” you started.

“shh..” he turned you around and kissed your forehead again. then your cheek. his lips hovered dangerously close to yours.

“i know you think you’re in love with him. but he doesn’t know you like I do. he wasn’t there for the scraped knees. the nightmares. the time you cried for three hours because you failed your first hunter exam.”

his voice suddenly dropped to a whisper. “i was. i always will be.”

you pulled away gently, heart racing with confusion and old affection. “i do love him, caleb.”

for a split second, raw pain flashed across his face. then it hardened into something darker. something obsessive.

“we’ll see,” he murmured before finally pulling away from you.

he stayed again that night. and for the first time since he returned, you locked your bedroom door.

but you could still feel him on the other side of it—awake, watching, waiting.

the boy who promised to protect you had come home.

and he had no intention of letting you go.

the breaking point came on a quiet thursday evening.

you were cleaning your apartment, trying to create some sense of normalcy before the wedding planning meeting with xavier the next day. while watering the large potted plant near the window—the one caleb had “gifted” you the week he returned—your fingers brushed against something hard and metallic hidden deep in the soil.

you pulled it out.

a small, sleek camera. professional grade. lens still blinking faintly.

you felt your stomach dropped.

heart hammering, you instantly tore apart the rest of the apartment. another camera in the air vent facing your bed. a third cleverly concealed in the bathroom mirror frame. all of them transmitting.

you sat on the floor surrounded by the devices, hands shaking. nausea rolled through you.

when the front door opened without a knock five minutes later, you didn’t even flinch.

caleb stepped inside, helmet tucked under one arm. he saw the cameras laid out on the coffee table and stopped. for half a second, something like guilt flickered across his face. then it vanished behind that calm, possessive mask.

“you went through my stuffs?” he asked, voice eerily even.

“your stuffs?” your voice cracked. “caleb, this is an invasion of privacy. you’ve been watching me. in my bedroom. in my bathroom. what the fuck is wrong with you?”

he set the helmet down slowly and closed the distance. each step felt deliberate. “i just worry about you, pips. you’re a hunter. you take stupid risks. you think that pretty-boy fiancé of yours is going to keep you safe when a wanderer gets too close? he doesn’t know you like i do.”

you stood up, backing away until your spine hit the kitchen counter. “this isn’t worry. this is insane. this is borderline stalking.”

caleb’s purple eyes darkened. he caged you against the counter with his arms on either side of your body, leaning in until you could smell his familiar cologne.

“i’ve loved you since you were six years old bleeding on that playground,” he said, voice low and rough. “every scraped knee. every nightmare. every time you smiled at me like i was your hero. while you were laughing with him, planning your perfect little wedding, i was counting the days until i could come home to my girl.”

tears burned your eyes. “i’m not your girl, caleb—i’m engaged. accept it.”

his hand shot up, cupping your jaw hard enough to bruise. “but you were mine first.”

the kiss that came after was violent.

he crashed his mouth against yours, all teeth and desperation and years of repressed hunger. his tongue forced its way past your lips, claiming, devouring. you shoved at his chest but he grabbed both your wrists in one large hand and pinned them above your head against the fridge.

you bit his lip. hard.

he groaned into your mouth, hips grinding against yours so you could feel the thick, hard length of him already straining against his jeans. “still fighting me?” he rasped, biting down the column of your throat, sucking dark marks into your skin. “i’ve always loved when you fight. makes it better when you finally give in.”

he spun you around suddenly, bending you over the kitchen counter. yours cheek pressed against the cold marble. in one rough motion he yanked your shorts and panties down to your ankles, kicking your legs apart.

“fuck, look at you,” he growled, dropping to his knees behind you. “already soaked. your body always knew who it belonged to.”

his mouth was on you instantly—merciless and hungry. his tongue dragged through your folds before focusing on your clit, sucking hard while two thick fingers pushed inside you without warning. he curled them immediately, stroking that sensitive spot with ruthless precision while his thumb worked your clit.

you cried out, thighs shaking. the pleasure was sharp, unwanted, and overwhelming.

caleb didn’t stop. he ate you out like a man starved, tongue fucking into you alongside his fingers, groaning at your taste. “so sweet. so fucking tight. been dreaming about this for years while watching you through those cameras.”

you came hard the first time—sudden and humiliating—walls clenching around his fingers as your legs nearly gave out. he kept going, prolonging it until you were whimpering and oversensitive.

only then did he stand.

you heard the sound of his belt and zipper. his cock slapped heavy and hot against your ass—thick, flushed, leaking at the tip.

he rubbed the head along your dripping folds, teasing your entrance. “beg me to fuck you.”

you stayed silent, panting, tears slipping down your cheeks.

caleb chuckled darkly and thrust in anyway—one deep stroke that buried him to the hilt. the stretch burned deliciously. you screamed, nails scraping the counter.

“fuck, pipsqueak…” he groaned, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades. “better than i imagined. so perfect. all for me.”

he gave you almost no time to adjust. he started fucking you with deep, punishing strokes, hips slamming against your ass. every thrust dragged against that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes. the filthy sound of skin slapping skin filled the kitchen, mixed with your broken moans and his low, possessive grunts.

his hand reached around to rub tight, fast circles on your clit. “say it,” he demanded, voice wrecked. “say you’re mine. say you’ll call off the wedding.”

you came again instead—harder, vision whiting out as your walls fluttered and squeezed around his thick cock. your legs shook violently.

caleb cursed. he pulled out suddenly, flipped you around to face him, and lifted one of your legs over his hip. He thrust back in even deeper this way, face to face, eyes locked on yours.

“look at me while i fuck you,” he growled.

he kissed you messily, all tongue and teeth, while pounding into you. his hand wrapped around your throat—not choking, but holding you in place, possessive. his hips snapped harder, grinding deep on every thrust.

you came a third time, sobbing his name, tears streaming down your face. the pleasure mixed with guilt and shame until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

with a broken moan of “pips—fuck—”, he buried himself as deep as possible and came hard. you felt every pulse, every hot rope of cum filling you until it leaked down your thighs.

he stayed inside you, rocking slowly through the aftershocks, kissing your tear-streaked face with a tenderness that felt obscene after what he’d just done.

“i’ll forgive you for him,” he whispered against your lips, still twitching inside you. “we’ll fix this. you and me. the way it was always supposed to be.”

he didn’t pull out. instead, he lifted you, still impaled on his cock, and carried you to the couch. he sat down with you in his lap, arms locked around you like iron. for the next hour he stayed buried deep inside you, softening but refusing to leave your body. He stroked your hair, whispered old childhood memories, rocked you gently while you cried silently against his chest.

“you’re safe with me,” he murmured. “you’ve always been safest with me.”

you hated how comforting his arms still felt.

you hated how part of you—the broken, lonely little girl from the playground—still believed him.

later that night, after he finally carried you to bed and cleaned you up with surprising gentleness, caleb held you tightly from behind, one leg thrown over yours, his hand splayed possessively over your stomach.

“you’re never leaving me again,” he whispered into your hair as you drifted into exhausted, nightmare-filled sleep.

outside, the city lights of linkon glowed. somewhere across town, xavier waited for a message that wouldn’t come.

and deep in your chest, the chains caleb had been forging since childhood finally clicked shut.

the morning after felt like waking up in someone else’s life.

you were sore everywhere. deep, bruising aches between your thighs, fingerprints pressed into your hips, dark hickeys scattered across your neck and chest like accusations. caleb was already awake, propped on one elbow, watching you with soft, possessive eyes.

“morning, pipsqueak,” he murmured, voice still rough from sleep. he leaned down and kissed you slowly, almost tenderly, like last night had been some romantic reunion instead of what it really was.

you turned your face away. “i-i need to go to the hospital for my check-up.”

caleb’s hand slid down your waist, holding you in place. “cancel it. stay with me today.”

“i can’t.” you forced yourself to sit up, wincing. “it’s protocol after yesterday’s mission.”

he watched you for a long moment, something dangerous flickering behind the warmth. then he smiled and kissed your shoulder. “fine. but i’m picking you up after. we’re not done talking about the wedding.”

the word wedding felt like a knife now.

you showered quickly, trying to scrub away the evidence, but the marks were stubborn. you covered what you could with makeup and a high-collared jacket before heading to akso hospital.

zayne’s office was quiet and sterile, the way it always was. the familiar scent of antiseptic and faint coffee greeted you as you stepped inside. he was already waiting, white coat immaculate, green eyes sharp behind his glasses.

“take a seat, [name].” he said, voice neutral. “full scan today. you missed the last two.”

you obeyed, removing your jacket. the moment zayne’s clinical gaze landed on your neck, his entire posture changed. the pen in his hand stopped moving.

he stepped closer without a word and tilted your chin gently to the side. his fingers traced the dark bruises along your throat, then moved lower to the ones peeking from your collar. when he asked you to lift your shirt for the rib scan, the fingerprints on your hips and the fresh bite marks on your inner thighs made him go completely still.

the silence stretched.

zayne removed his glasses slowly, methodically, as if buying time. when he finally spoke, his voice was dangerously quiet.

“was it him?”

you looked away.

“it’s not what you think.”

“answer the question.” there was steel in his tone now. the calm, composed doctor was cracking.

you swallowed. “yes.”

zayne exhaled sharply through his nose. he turned away for a moment, gripping the edge of his desk until his knuckles whitened. when he faced you again, his eyes held a storm of emotions—anger, disappointment, and something darker that looked almost like jealousy.

“i warned you,” he said. “i told you he was unstable. that his attachment had crossed into obsession years ago.”

“he says he loves me,” you whispered, voice breaking. “that he’s always loved me. that xavier is the one using me.”

zayne laughed—a bitter, hollow sound you’d rarely heard from him. “and you believe that? after he put cameras in your own home? after he marked you like property?”

before caleb had arrived yesterday, you had told zayne about the cameras. you didn’t expect he’d bring it up today.

you flinched. zayne noticed immediately and softened his tone, stepping closer. he held your shoulders with careful hands, the same hands that had patched you up since you were children.

“you’re destroying yourself,” he murmured. “caleb will never let you go. he’ll break you piece by piece until there’s nothing left for anyone else. whereas xavier…” he paused, thumb brushing your shoulder blades. “xavier carries his own curse. he’s hiding something ancient and dangerous. you’re caught between two men who see you as a solution to their emptiness.”

tears finally slipped down your face. “then what am i supposed to do? everyone wants something from me.”

zayne’s gaze dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second. his voice grew quieter. “i would have tried to give you peace. quiet nights. a life where you weren’t someone’s obsession or someone’s savior.” he let out a shaky breath.

“but even i’m not clean. i’ve watched you for years too, saying nothing while caleb tightened the noose. we’re all selfish.”

he pulled you into a careful hug—clinical at first, then tighter, more human. you felt his heartbeat racing against your cheek.

“leave both of them,” he whispered into your hair. “i can help you transfer to another sector. start over.”

for one tempting moment, you almost considered it.

but then you remembered caleb’s broken voice whispering childhood memories while he was still inside you. xavier’s soft smile under the moonlight. the way both of them made you feel seen, even if it hurt.

“i don’t know if i can,” you admitted.

zayne pulled back, his expression closing off again. the doctor mask returned, but the pain in his eyes remained. “then at least let me treat the physical damage. and promise me you’ll be careful.”

he tended to your bruises with gentle precision, applying creams and scanning for deeper injuries. every touch was professional, yet lingered just a second too long. when he finished, he wrote a prescription for painkillers and something to help you sleep.

as you were leaving, he caught your wrist.

“if he hurts you again,” zayne said, voice low and dark, “i won’t stay silent. doctor’s oath or not.”

you nodded and left, heart heavier than when you arrived.

caleb was waiting outside the building, leaning against his bike with two cups of your favorite drink. he smiled when he saw you—bright and boyish, like the old caleb. the one you grown up with.

“how’d it go, pipsqueak? everything okay?”

you forced a smile. “just routine.”

he handed you the drink and pulled you close, kissing the top of your head. his hand slid down to squeeze your ass possessively right there in public. “good. because i have plans for us tonight. no xavier. just you and me.”

caleb had secretly took your phone the other night while you were sleeping, he took your phone out of your grasp—and of course he knows your password—and texted xavier about postponing the wedding plannings since you “needed more time.”

a short, but dissapointed reply came 2 minutes later. he smiled at the text bubble.

that night caleb took you again—slower this time, almost loving.

he laid you on your bed, undressed you piece by piece, and kissed every bruise he’d left like he was apologizing and claiming them at the same time. when he entered you, it was deep and deliberate, eyes locked on yours.

“tell me you feel it,” he whispered, rolling his hips in that devastating way that made your back arch. “tell me no one else makes you feel this safe.”

you came with his name on your lips, tears in your eyes. he followed soon after, spilling inside you while groaning “mine” against your throat.

afterwards, he held you tightly, refusing to let you pull away even an inch.

the days blurred into a toxic cycle.

caleb’s presence became constant. he would fuck you in the mornings before missions, leave new marks, then act like the protective best friend in public. xavier grew more distant, sensing the shift but saying no more than just occasional texts. you’re starting to wonder if he’s even your fiancé.

zayne’s texts though, became more frequent—clinical check-ins that carried heavy subtext behind it. it had become almost daily. he said nothing more about leaving, but his touches lingered longer, and his eyes carried the weight of someone watching a car crash in slow motion.

on rare days where you could meet up with xavier in peace (without someone lurking)—he finally confronted you in the same meadow where he’d proposed.

“you’re pulling away,” he said quietly. “is it him?”

you couldn’t lie to him. not completely.

“i don’t know how to fix this,” you confessed. “he’s been part of me since i was six. i keep thinking if i just explain better, he’ll understand.”

xavier’s sleepy eyes looked infinitely sad. “some loves aren’t meant to be understood. they’re meant to consume.”

he kissed you then—slow, lingering, full of quiet heartbreak. his hands were gentle where caleb’s were rough. for a moment, you remembered why you’d said yes to marrying him in the first place.

but when you got home, caleb was already there.

he smelled xavier on you immediately.

the sex that night was punishing. he bent you over the couch and fucked you so hard you saw stars, hand fisted in your hair, growling, “did he touch you? did you let him inside what’s mine?”

you came harder than you should have, shame and pleasure twisting together until you couldn’t breathe.

caleb held you afterwards like you were glass, whispering apologies and promises. “i’ll be better. just don’t leave me, pipsqueak. i can’t survive without you.”

you realized then that everyone was right.

no one here was truly good.

“tomorrow’s your big day,” caleb murmured, nuzzling your neck. “we should make it official. call off the wedding. tell everyone it was always supposed to be us.”

your stomach twisted. “caleb… i can’t just—”

his grip on your waist tightened. “you can. and you will.”

the argument started there and escalated quickly.

you pushed off his lap and stood, finally done with his antics.

“i love him, caleb! i said yes to him. you can’t just decide my life for me because you’ve loved me longer.”

caleb rose slowly, towering over you. the easy smile dropped completely. “loved you longer? i didn’t just love you longer, pips. i became love for you. every mission i flew, every risk i took—it was so i could come back and be worthy of you. and you throw it away for some guy who probably won’t even survive the next big wanderer wave?”

“he treats me like an equal,” you shot back, tears burning. “not like a fragile little sister he needs to lock away.”

caleb laughed bitterly. “equal? he doesn’t know you. not the way i do.” he stepped closer, backing you against the wall. “he wasn’t there when you cried for hours after your first failure. he wasn’t the one who held you during thunderstorms. he didn’t spend years watching over you when you were too naive to see it.”

his hand came up to cup your throat—not squeezing, but a clear reminder. “you’re mine. you’ve always been.”

then, you slapped him.

the sound cracked through the apartment like a gunshot.

caleb’s head snapped to the side. when he looked back at you, his eyes were wild—pain, rage, and obsessive love all twisted together.

“you’re going to regret that,” he said softly.

with all the might left in your body, you pushed him away and dashed straight to the door. his arm suddenly caught your waist, not letting you go before kicking his leg with your foot. he lost his footing, and you ran without looking back.

in a wave of panic, you called the first person in your mind—xavier, your beloved fiancé.

the night air was cold as you made your way to the meadow. xavier was already there, probably teleported right after hearing your scared voice. when he saw you, relief and sorrow crossed his face at the same time.

“[name]-” he called out softly before opening up his arms.

you ran straight into his embrace. he held you gently, one hand stroking your back. for a few precious minutes, it felt like peace.

but peace never lasted in your world.

footsteps echoed across the grassy meadow. caleb appeared out of the shadows, still in his clothes from earlier, hair messy, expression thunderous.

“well, isn’t this cozy,” he snarled. “slapped me—and then proceeds to ran away in the middle of the night to meet her side piece, pipsqueak?”

xavier stepped in front of you protectively. “leave her alone, caleb. you’re hurting her.”

“hurting her?” caleb laughed, sharp and ugly. “i’ve protected her since she was six. you’ve known her for what—months? you’re only using her. tell her the truth, star boy. tell her about your curse, your endless wandering, how you’re hoping she’ll break it for you.”

xavier’s calm facade cracked. “that’s not all there is.”

“but it’s part of it, isn’t it?” caleb advanced, eyes blazing. “at least i’m honest. i want to own her. keep her safe. keep her mine. you just want salvation.”

you slowly stepped between them, heart pounding. “stop, both of you! i’m not a prize for either of you to claim.”

caleb’s gaze softened when it landed on you, but only slightly. “pips… come home. we can fix this. i love you more than he ever could.”

xavier reached for your hand. “you don’t have to choose his cage.”

the argument grew heated. accusations flew over your head—caleb calling xavier a selfish immortal, xavier calling caleb a violent guy obsessed with you. you stood in the middle, tears streaming, trying desperately to pull them apart.

then your’s and xavier’s hunter watch blared.

CATEGORY S WANDERER ALERT.

Immediate threat to Linkon City. All available Hunters and Pilots report.

the alert tore through the night like a death sentence.

red emergency lights flashed across the place. sirens suddenly wailed from below. pilots and hunters scrambled in every direction as the sky above linkon began to tear open—a massive protofield collapsing and reforming into something monstrous. a category S wanderer was rare. catastrophic. one this close to the city could level entire districts.

there was no time to finish the argument. no time to choose sides.

caleb grabbed your arm, eyes wild. “stay close to me, pips.”

xavier’s hand closed around your other wrist, gentle but firm. “we fight together. don’t do anything reckless.”

you pulled away from both of them, heart shattering. “i’m a hunter. i do my job.” before you walked away from them.

the battlefield was hell incarnate.

the wanderer was colossal—a swirling mass of dark energy, multiple cores pulsing like malignant hearts, tentacles of corrupted protofield lashing out and disintegrating everything they touched. linkon’s defensive cannons roared in the distance, but the creature had already breached the outer perimeter.

you fought on the ground with xavier at your side, your movements synchronized from months of partnership. his sword danced in silver arcs, carving through smaller spawned entities while you fired precise shots into exposed weak points. above you, caleb’s aircraft screamed through the sky, missiles streaking down with deadly accuracy.

you dodged a lashing tentacle, rolling across debris, and fired. the shot landed clean. xavier finished the creature with a glowing slash. for a moment, it almost felt like teamwork.

but the tension never left. every time xavier shielded you with his body, caleb’s voice would cut through comms with barely concealed venom: “get your hands off her!”

you were caught in the middle, fighting for your life while the two men who claimed to love you waged their own war above and beside you.

the wanderer core began destabilizing.

“protofield collapse imminent!” someone shouted over the general channel. “all units fall back!”

you didn’t fall back fast enough.

a massive energy surge erupted from the central core—a blinding white-violet explosion that ripped through the battlefield. xavier saw it coming first. he shoved you hard, sending you flying behind a collapsed wall.

“xavier!” you screamed.

the blast caught him directly but he endured it, light flaring around his body as he absorbed what he could. but the shockwave continued outward.

caleb’s aircraft was mid-maneuver, trying to provide cover fire.

“caleb!”

too late.

the shockwave slammed into his plane like a giant’s fist. you watched in horror as the aircraft spun violently, one wing shearing off against a half-destroyed building. black smoke poured from the engines.

“pips—!” caleb’s voice cut off in static.

the plane plummeted.

debris tore at your uniform. smoke burned your lungs. wanderer remnants still screeched around you, but you didn’t care. you sprinted toward the crash site, heart hammering louder than the explosions.

you found the wreckage half-buried in a collapsed warehouse.

the aircraft was twisted metal and fire. caleb’s cockpit had partially crumpled. you climbed through jagged steel, cutting your hands, until you reached him.

he was alive. barely.

his left leg was pinned under crushed metal and debris, blood soaking through his flight suit. his face was cut and bruised, blood trickling from his temple and mouth. his breathing was shallow, ragged.

“pips…?” his voice was hoarse, weak, but his eyes lit up when they found you. he reached out a trembling, bloody hand.

you dropped to your knees in the wreckage, cradling his head in your lap. tears streamed down your face, mixing with the ash and blood.

“stay with me,” you begged, pressing your hands to the worst wound on his leg. “medics are coming. just hold on, caleb. please.”

he smiled—that same crooked, cocky smile from the playground, now bloody and broken. “told you… pilots and hunters don’t get their happy endings.” his hand weakly touched your cheek, smearing blood. “you okay? did you get hurt?”

“i’m fine,” you sobbed. “just stay awake. don’t you dare leave me.”

xavier landed nearby in a flash of light, breathing hard, sword still drawn. he assessed the situation quickly. “help is three minutes out. we need to stabilize him.”

caleb’s eyes shifted to xavier, hatred burning even through the pain. “get away from her… you don’t get to save her now.”

“stop it,” you whispered fiercely. “both of you. just stop.”

caleb’s gaze returned to you. his bloody fingers traced your lips with surprising gentleness. “if you marry him… i’ll never stop. even broken like this. i’ll crawl. i’ll ruin everything. you’re mine, [name]. you’ve always been mine.”

his voice cracked. real tears mixed with the blood on his face. “i loved you first. i loved you worst. every dark thing i did… i’d do it again. just don’t leave me.”

you held his hand tightly, rocking him as he trembled from pain and blood loss. “why couldn’t you just be happy for me? why did you have to break us?”

“because happy without you isn’t happiness.” he coughed, blood flecking his lips. “you were my whole world since that playground. since i put that stupid handkerchief on your knee. i couldn’t let anyone else have that.”

sirens grew louder. zayne arrived with the medical team, jumping out of the emergency craft before it fully landed. his face went ashen when he saw caleb’s condition.

he worked fast—barking orders, applying stabilizers, cutting away metal to free the mangled leg. you stayed on your knees in the blood and oil, holding caleb’s hand the entire time.

zayne’s diagnosis was grim after the initial stabilization. “he’ll live. but the leg… severe damage. nerve and bone destruction. he won’t be able to fly anymore.”

caleb laughed bitterly through the painkillers, eyes never leaving yours. “guess i’ll be grounded with you now, pips. no more running away from me.”

you stood up slowly.

xavier reached for you but you stepped back.

zayne looked at you with quiet understanding and sorrow.

you were covered in Caleb’s blood. your hands shook. your heart felt torn into pieces so small they’d never fit back together.

“i can’t do this anymore,” you whispered.

you turned and walked away from the wreckage.

caleb’s broken voice followed you. “[name]! don’t go—please—i love you!”

you kept walking through the smoke-filled streets as dawn began to break, sirens wailing behind you. xavier called your name once. zayne said nothing.

you didn’t stop.

six months later.

you lived in a quiet coastal sector now after requesting for a transfer. lower rank. smaller apartment. a life built on distance and silence.

but the nightmares never stopped.

sometimes you woke up feeling caleb’s hands on you. sometimes you heard xavier’s soft voice whispering about stars. sometimes you saw zayne’s disappointed eyes.

caleb survived. he was in long-term rehabilitation in akso hospital. grounded permanently. you heard through mutual friends that he asked about you every single day, that he kept a worn photo of the two of you as kids taped inside his wallet. that some days he laughed remembering old rooftop nights.

other days he stared at the wall for hours, whispering “pipsqueak” like a prayer, a curse, or a promise.

one rainy night, your phone lit up with an unknown number. you answered anyways, expecting anyone but him.

“hey, pips.” his voice was rougher now. weaker. but still undeniably his. still warm. still dangerous. “been a while.”

you closed your eyes. tears slipped free anyway.

“i’m never letting go,” he said softly. “even if you never come back. i’ve got nothing but time now. broken leg. broken everything. but my heart’s still yours. always will be.”

you listened to him breathe for ten long minutes. shared silence filled with years of love and pain.

when you finally hung up, you curled up on your bed and cried until the sun rose.

for the boy who once saved you on the playground.

for the man who destroyed everything to keep you.

for the love that became chains, scars, and rot.

none of you would ever be whole again.

you had finalized your divorce with xavier. he sent one final message to you—but you deleted it instantly without opening it.

zayne’s occasional clinical texts went unanswered, and caleb’s obsession became a quiet story among those who knew.

and you carried the limp in your soul—the terrible, aching knowledge that some childhood loves don’t die.

they simply rot inside you forever.

© sseravirtue.

[kyousonly]

cw: NSFW, pseudocest, step dad/step daughter dynamic, Aizawa masterbating to the thought of you. Includes Shoji x reader because he’s my fav. A/n under cut

Aizawa can’t help but feel guilt wash over him as he strokes himself to the thought of you.

His sweet, loving adopted daughter he took in just about five years ago after an accident had left you an orphan, ultimately falling into Aizawa’s hands as you trusted him the most.

He knew your bonds with the rest of your family weren’t exactly tight, or stable, for that matter, so what harm would come to you living with him? A pro hero, for that matter.

And for a time, it was true.

He took care of you. He gave you an allowance, a reasonable amount for a young adult your age to spend, a curfew that didn’t seem too late or too early, and allowing you enough space to grow your wings and flourish as an adult, navigating the world on your own, while hovering just enough that he could keep an eye on you.

It was sweet, for a time, but a change in the air had him thinking twice the first day you brought him over.

Shoji Mezo, possibly one of the better students in his class.

Quiet, good grades, and overall kept himself out of trouble, compared to the rest.

He was a gentle man, and Aizawa thought he was quite fit for you.

But something changed the night he unlocked the keys to his apartment he shared with you, deep groans and high pitched moans hitting his ears as he picked up on them instantly.

He immediately felt his body stiffen, at first with caution, eyes darkening with the thought that someone managed to get inside the place while you were alone and vulnerable, as being involved with hero work made Aizawa a target.

But as he took each step and listened further, his precision keen before rushing to your bedroom door, it sounded less like pain and more like pleasure, twisting his previous belief that someone had managed to take advantage of you.

The voice of his student was all too familiar, the groans being produced by the same boy he saw just last week in his classroom releasing these same sounds, as low as they were.

Aizawa almost couldn’t believe what he had walked into, but after a moment of thought, he knew his step daughter was bound to get into sexual activity at this age, just as he did.

After he had handled the matter, sending Shoji on his way home and having “the talk” with you, he found himself here now on his bed, reminiscing to the sound of you.

Every stroke of his cock filled the room with a lewd schlick, twisting his hand around his cock as he let his eyes close to the thought of you.

How every moan of yours was laced with pure ecstasy, getting higher and higher in pitch as you drew close.

It made Aizawa sick.

Sick with need, sick with temptation and the weight of guilt, knowing that a step father shouldn’t be thinking of his step daughter this way, and yet, he let it all go, furthering each stroke as he threw his head back.

His cockhead was reddish in color, angry yet free as he pleasured himself swiftly.

He didn’t waste any time, wanting to keep himself up to pace with the imagination he had in mind, picturing you riding his cock as your sweet, puffy lips sucked him in.

Aizawa was too grown for childish jealousy, but he couldn’t help but admit he wished he had you all to himself.

And as he fucked his fist in quick motions, twisting his shaft at his own rhythm, he thought back to the times you’d touch yourself at night, sinking your fingers inside the tight hole of your pussy, unable to get it to curl just right like he could, if you’d give him the chance.

He’d often wonder if you knew how thin these walls were. How easy it was to hear the sound of you pleasuring yourself late at night.

He could treat you so much better than silicone and every other toy you owned, but for now, he refrained from crossing the line, bucking his hips until he finally came, spilling all over his chest as he came in spurts.

Aizawa fisted his cock once or twice until he finally came down from his high, panting out into the open air of his bedroom, soon having to face the fact that he had just came to the thought of you, his charming little stepdaughter.

a/n: not too crazy about this one, wrote it while im sick with the flu but I hope you guys like </3

[driftd0ll]

oooh i had extension ideas for some of those!!!

You start getting more confident in the clothes Amir puts you in and letting him put you in more pretty clothes. you end up in a sheer top and a tiny skirt that's mostly made of lace, Amir behind you showing you why you look so good in this [mostly by holding you still and cupping each part of your body]

I feel like Cam would love watching you cry all the pretty make up you were wearing off, telling you it was even prettier now.

Imagine going on one of those walks with Mac, Mateo and Skips, then following it with going to Amir, then going to Cam in those pretty clothes and having them ruined..

Maybe you come to Betty all high and messy after being with Cam and she cleans you up and cuddles you. You fall asleep and start rocking your hips against her thigh. She doesn't want to stop you because you're so cute.

Going to Eddie and Volt after they scared you about getting a boyfriend, sitting down and crying about how you're so scared now, and you don't want one anymore. Them trying to convince you it isn't so bad, you just have to choose the right one. And them showing you all those good things.

[bonus points on that if Eddie fingers you as an apology and makes you squirt for the first time all over Volt's lap and you ask what happened and they tell you that you did so good for them.]

Oooh what if the reason Dorian wasn't there was because he was on a trip? You don't tell him any of what happened, but he just knows you were being naughty?

Dorian asking you to tell him what happened and you won't because you don't want to get anyone in trouble.. Then he lays you over his lap and spanks you til you tell him everything. By the end of it you're crying-

"See, that wasn't so hard, love, was it? Next time you just tell me and I won't have to do that again."

You don't understand why you're so wet after he spanked you like that!

I think the whole dynamic between everyone is a “open secret”—everyone knows that they’re all craving you, if not actively fucking/“making love” to you (depends on who you’re asking)

That said, I think Uncle Cam would be one of the only ones to ever kind of acknowledge it! He toes the line on purpose because the thrill of it is fun.

For example, Amir will dress you up, making you feel like a princess. Later, the same day that Amir had sent you off, wearing your pretty little number, he gets a text from Cam about how he’s sorry for the damages—with a picture of you, clearly fucked out (“clearly” to someone like Amir, who’s seen that expression too many times to not recognize it), with the dress lifted up with some suspicious stains.

The thing it, it’s a weird picture, but most can shrug it off. But anyone who knows Cam, and knows you and this family, knows that the picture is risky.

Does that make sense? I’m rambling lol

Eddie and Volt don’t exactly feel bad about scaring you from a boyfriend (they don’t want their Livewire wandering off) but they do feel just a teeny bit guilty for scaring you to tears. They make sure you know not all boys are bad, but you have to choose someone really close to you, who’ll make you feel good! And they make sure to give a reference, with Eddie laying you back against him, fingering you, while Volt rubs and kisses your thighs.

Imagine Dorian finding you while you're all floaty, trying to get one last good high in—only for you to severely miscalculate and forget he's coming back that day. He can't bring himself to do anything but kiss and take care of you, but trust that you will be explaining to him where the hell you got your stash.

If you look guilty enough and give him your pretty puppy eyes... Dorian might take it a bit easy on you, but don't expect to not get a long talk and your pretty ass spanked, especially if you refuse to answer who gave it to you (because, as Dorian pointedly says, he knows his little one would never get the idea to do this all on their own). On the other hand, if you don't tell Dorian—expect Uncle Cam to give you a nice, long reward later, kissing your neck while sinking his fingers inside of you.

(If you do, though, Dorian gives an annoyed sigh, "I should've known." and leaves you alone, all wet and needy, to call and chew out Uncle Cam) (Dorian isn't mad, just disappointed that his little girl would do something like this... It's okay, because he'll keep you nice and close! A hand on your thigh to keep you right next to him, glaring whenever Cam is in the room... He has no idea that Cousin! Mac and Brothers! Mateo and Skips are also guilty of supplying you)

[driftd0ll]

this is gonna be long. this is the dynamics i see for each character in our big fauxcest family!

Dorian: your daddy who always wants the best for you and holds himself back to make sure he doesn't hurt you. also keeps you in line as best he can to keep you safe.

Keith: your other daddy who is a bit more lax about the rules. he secretly lets you do all kinds of things and he loves seeing how perverted you can be!

Amir: your uncle who constantly tells you how you could be a model and says there's no shame in being an underwear model, especially with how gorgeous you are.

Memoria: your aunt who reads you scary stories to get you to curl closer to her. she always comforts you through it and you watch something silly and nostalgic after.

Mateo: older cousin who has sleep overs with you and definitely didn't peek while you changed into pajamas! [it's fine, you always peek while he changes too!] then you end up cuddling and he usually ends up staring at you a lot or touching you gently

Mac: other older cousin who definitely doesn't have a back door into all your tech so they can make sure you're safe 24/7 [and also to spy on what you watch/buy]

Betty: your aunt who always helps you relax, usually by giving you massages [as a cover up to grope you] but she loves watching you sleep! you're just so damn cute when you're curled up to her and drooling on her chest!!

Hector: your sweet, slightly creepy older brother who steals your clothes

Tony: your uncle who comes over to fix things, and tries to teach you how to flirt [mostly as a tactic to get you to flirt with him, even if you're too dumb and cute to catch on

Cam: your gross uncle who convinces you to do dirty things and lets you have weed gummies to keep you pliable and dumb [he doesn't want you to go home smelling like weed bc he'd get yelled at by Dorian]

Eddie&Volt: I'm struggling with these 2 but i think im going with them being your older cousins who try to get you to try new things [like new drinks. they're definitely trying to get you wasted so they can do things to you]

Skips: your awkward emo brother [or cousin?] who's scared you'll stop hanging out with him. he's one of your comfort people. easy to fall asleep around [he definitely jerks off to you when you're sleeping]

I will be back with more fauxcest content soon. [either to add more characters or give little fauxcest babbles] feel free to add any other characters you want to this list.

-🔨@doll-witha-hammer

Okokok I got some ideas!!

Keith, completely amused by how curious you are, letting you “use” him like a toy. He doesn’t touch you, and both of your clothes are on, so it’s not wrong, right? You’re under the impression you’re being naughty (you are), that you’re being sneaky while grinding against Keith’s cock—but you don’t realize that Keith snuck a quick picture and sent it to Dorian with some teasing “They grow up so fast” (Dorian is annoyed that you’re up past your bed time and taking advantage of the fact he’s not there, but also chewing Keith out for entertaining you…)

Uncle Amir asking you to model some of his outfits, and you agree! You don’t think much of it until you’re shuffling out the room, flustered, while wearing something backless, too sheer… It’s much more revealing than anything Dorian would ever let you wear, but Amir praises you (he looks like he’d about to eat you up)

Older cousins! Mac, Mateo, and Brother! Skips that finally, finally let you tag along on their private walks while everyone else is busy. You never realized that they would get high on these outings, but you don’t want to seem like a wimp—so you beg for a teeny hit! Mateo and Skips are a bit more hesitant (Mateo more so), but Mac (the one who brought it) is patting their lap and showing you how to hit the joint properly… When you’re all a little spacey, Mac is mouthing at your neck, and Skips is whining and grinding against your back while Mateo leans back and strokes himself, whimpering quietly.

^^ To add onto this, Brother! Hector who takes care of you after your first high, and is completely flustered and turned on by how clingy you are. He encourages it, hugging and pulling you closer—even blushing and hesitantly putting his hands a bit low on your hips (not even on your ass, but so fucking close)

Uncle Cam (the one probably supplying Mac) who finds out about this high, and pretends to be all concerned “No, it’s not bad that you got high- but you don’t want that crap, do you? No, you want the good stuff.” Cam gives you stronger gummies, watching your eyes glaze over on his couch. He’s already hard, placing your hand on his clothed bulge…

Auntie Betty that you tell everything to. She’s not a snitch, but she can’t say she’s entirely pleased that you’re being so naughty—she makes you promise to at least be safe. Betty lets you stay over whenever you want, and lets you cuddle with her into her chest when you’re tired! You trust her with all your heart. She does tease you, though, rubbing you while sighing with a faux-disappointed face, “Oh, sweetie. What would Dorian think?”

Uncle Eddie and Volt (extended family—the kind that you call “uncle” despite not actually knowing how you’re related) who get you tipsy. They’re rich, and you often stay at their house on vacation—they’re cool and often let you drink as long as you stay in the house. They’re so cool! You think while getting progressively more drunk, until you’re hiccuping and shyly admitting to Uncle Volt that you’re a virgin (he gasps dramatically, claiming that you must by lying, while Eddie rolls his eyes). They offer to help you, maybe prepare you for what your future boyfriend will want (not that they’d let anything silly like a boyfriend happen—they can’t let any random guy put his hands on their niece!) (They make you feel so good, but Eddie is sure to scare you just a bit)

Uncle Tony, who you run to after being scared by Uncle Eddie and Volt—you don’t want your future boyfriend to be mean, they must have been exaggerating! Tony is thoroughly confused, but is pleasantly surprised, anyways. He holds you tight, and despite not meaning to make your fear worse, he does share plenty of stories (obliviously) that only reaffirm your fears! Tony realizes that he’s making it worse, though, and feels bad—he decides to show you the good side, sucking your nipples and pumping his fingers in and out of your hole.

[willieverknowpeace]

don’t cancel me but yall ever read a ff so ooc 😭 listen im not judging but it catches me off guard sometimes. like why is neteyam, nanami or peter parker calling me “ma” or “mamas” out of nowhere 😭😭

don’t take this seriously pls

[wildernessuntothemselves]

cw: noncon, didi!caleb, jiejie!reader, drugging, pseudo!incest, impregnation

Didi!caleb who joined a frat when he got to college. He is the frat's most popular and lusted after member but no matter how hard his brothers try to get him laid, caleb is just not interested.

Until one day his jiejie visits his frat. Her coworkers had convinced her that college frats have the best free drinks and are a good way to let loose and have fun for night. None of the guys here are serious and maybe she'll find someone to fuck her and take that stick out her ass.

She's not interested in fucking some college dude but she's not gonna say no to free drinks. So she goes, jumping with her friends from frat party to frat party. getting increasing inebriated and stupid she doesn't even realise she has ended up at her didi's frat until he's walking up to her and snatching the drink some idiot tried to give her out of her hand.

"Didi what are you doing here?"

"This is my frat. What are you doing here?"

"Getting some free drinks."

"They're not free. These idiots want to fuck you." He's angry but she just shrugs. "They can try."

And she's pushing him away, getting back to her friends. Caleb is seething, watching her drink and flirt from a distance.

"So that's your type huh?" Gideon asks.

"That's my sister."

Caleb doesn’t hear his response, rushing forward to push that bastard trying to grind down on her on the dance floor. And when she rolls her eyes and tries to walk away from him. He grabs her and presses himself to her back, grinding his dick against her ass.

"Is this what you're after, jiejie?"

She shoves him away. "You're disgusting."

And he doesn't even bother to hide the hard-on he has when Gideon finds him again.

"Your sister huh?"

"Keep your mouth shut if you know what's good for you."

"Hey if I had a sister as smokin hot as her i'd wanna fuck her too." Gideon laughs "she won't put out huh?"

"She's my jiejie." Caleb repeats the same mantra he has been telling himself all his life.

"Hey i aint judging. I'm just happy to finally have the chance to help my brother get laid." Gideon smirks

Caleb's eyes shoot to his face. "What?"

It was easy, too easy with the way she was accepting drinks from just anybody for gideon to slip her the spiked drink. And before long she's in caleb's bed, her friends giving her away so readily when they find out he's her brother.

Caleb really shouldn't do this. There is still time to turn back. He could pretend she got black out drunk and he being the good little brother he is rescued her.

But those clothes look awfully tight on her. They must be uncomfortable. He'll just change her into something more comfortable.

She doesn't even stir when he takes her top off and--fuck is she not wearing any bra?

His hands find themselves groping her bare tits before he could stop himself. God they feel unreal in his hands, fitting just right like she was made for him.

And when he takes her skirt off he finds her wearing lace panties that he never saw before. They make him angry. Who did she wear these for? Was she really here to get fucked?

But then gideon's words rattle around in his mind.

"Think about it. She came here knowing it's your frat. She is rejecting everyone else. She is dancing around in that slutty little outfit right in front of you. She wants you bro."

And it all makes so much sense to caleb.

He takes off her panties, stashing them in his drawer for later. He stares at her naked body under him. She's even more sexy than he ever thought. He can't help but snap a few pictures as keepsakes of his jiejie lying down drugged out and bare in his bed, under his mercy.

He buries his face in her cunt just like he always wanted, disappointed that he isn't greeted by the moans he imagined he would get in his wet dreams. That drug worked too well.

Still he enjoys his meal anyway, making sure to commit her shape and taste to memory, delighted when his fingers push into her only to be met with resistance.

His jiejie is a virgin too. She really has been waiting for him. Well he won't make her wait any longer.

Spitting in his hand, he lubes himself up awfully inadequate but he can't wait any longer. He pushes into her, finding her so impossibly tight. It's better than anything he could have ever imagined.

And when he shoves himself in, breaking past her resistance, her limp body clenching at the pain, he cums on the spot right inside of her.

"Whoops." He laughs "guess there is no point pulling out now huh, jiejie?"

His orgasm does nothing to sate his desires. And he fucks her again and again, filling her up with load after load, moulding her pussy to his cock, palming her perfect tits, kissing her unresponsive body. And he asks himself why the hell he never did this before.

When she wakes up the next morning, her body on fire and naked in her brother's bed, she freaks out.

"What the hell did you do?"

"I did what we both wanted jiejie"

"Are you insane? I never wanted this. This is sick!"

And she can't believe her ears when her sweet baby brother recounts to her all of gideon's fucked up logic.

"What is wrong with you? You drugged me. You raped your own sister!"

When she tries to get up, he pushes her back down, his body hulking over hers.

"Where are you going jiejie?"

"Far away from you you asshole."

Oh that won't do. He didn't imagine her falling happily into his arms but he had hoped she would eventually come around. After all she's clearly not as ready to own up to her desires as he is. But if she's going to be all hysterical about it, he can't let her go.

He fucks her again and again that morning, until she can't fight him back anymore, laughing at her when she threatens to scream.

"Go ahead. No one but my brothers here. They're the ones who gave me this gift"

When caleb finally makes it downstairs late into the afternoon, gideon greets him with a grin

"Had a good time?"

"The best."

"You're insane." Gideon laughs "when did you take her back?"

"I didn't. She's still in my room."

Gideon's smile falls. "She's still there? Is she awake? What did she say?"

"A little shocked. But i'm sure i can make her come around."

"I don't know about this man." Gideon says nervously "when i did this for you i thought you'd just get it out of your system and take her home before she woke up. What do we do now that she is awake and knows what you've done to her?"

"You keep your mouth shut and leave it up to me. I have it all figured out."

The next time gideon sees caleb's sister is two months from now. She's in caleb's lap when gideon comes down the stairs. He's feeding her breakfast and she's sitting obediently in his lap, all covered up in bruises and marks

"Good morning gideon." Caleb chirps

"Morning caleb" gideon replies, feeling nauseous. He had tried to forget she was there, tried to block out her screams and sobs until they eventually stopped.

"Say good morning jiejie it's rude to ignore my friend."

"Morning gideon." She says hoarsely and caleb coos at her, kissing her unmoving mouth

Gideon can't wait to get out of there but caleb's voice stops him in his tracks.

"Didn't you say that your uncle is an obstetrics doctor?"

"He is" gideon gulps and caleb looks up at him with a sick smile

"Can you make us an appointment? I think my jiejie here got herself into some trouble."

taglist for all my caleb fics: @mcdepressed290, @monoidmango, @seraphineash, @lewdcifer778, @strayy-kidz, @virtualdonutcashdeputy, @airachniide, @deceptive-solitude, @mimiluvzu2, @smmnlz, @secretarykitten, @fukyachickennuggets-blog, @joannafaustus, @rose3heartzzz, @unadulteratedtranquility, @pixiu-palindrome, @iwillstealyouruwus, @lilkittenskiss, @remnantsofgildedcages, @cinnabean3, @pookiei-bookie

[king-of-anime-simping]

The Warm Embrace Of Your Enemies' Arms — Bruno Bucciarati / Leone Abbacchio / Reader

summary:

You could barely believe your luck. You had the mission to assassinate the Don of Passione and his Consiglieri, and it was precisely them you were sitting at this table with. Bruno Bucciarati and Leone Abbacchio. You should have been able to get rid of them easily… so why didn’t you?

tags / warnings: SMUT, noncon /!\, f!reader, rival gang member!reader, stand user!reader, Passione boss!Bruno, consiglieri!Leone, drugging, kidnapping, hair-pulling, verbal abuse, aphrodisiacs, altered mental state, dirty talk, praise kink, temporary amnesia, neediness, authority figures, rough kissing, nipple play, pet names, spitroasting, facefucking, rough sex, spanking, DP, begging

notes: yall im so sorry i made them so mean in this one </3

You could barely believe your luck. You were sitting at a table, alone in the room with the Don of Passione and his Consiglieri. Bruno Bucciarati and Leone Abbacchio.

Honestly, you thought they’d be smarter than that. But they couldn’t know how much of a threat you were. After all, they believed they had taken all your weapons. But you still had one. One they had no way to know even existed.

Wildfire, your Stand, was going to reduce them to ash. They simply stood no chance. They wouldn’t even be able to see what was coming.

You brought your glass of whiskey to your lips to hide your uncontrollable grin. You frowned. It tasted absolutely terrible. Did they purposefully give you a shitty whiskey just to piss you off?

You closed your eyes. No sound could be heard around you. It was the perfect time to strike.

“Are you alright?” Bucciarati asked with a gentle smile. “It seems like something is troubling you.”

You chuckled. “Oh, I’m perfectly fine.”

Abbacchio shot a quick glance to his Don. He seemed focused, like he was trying to read your intent. There was no need to hide anymore; they wouldn’t have time to fight back.

“Wildfire!” you called to materialize your Stand.

But nothing happened.

Bucciarati and his Consiglieri burst out laughing.

“Trying to call your Stand, pretty girl?” Bucciarati asked with a predatory smile.

Your heart was pounding in your temples, and your breath grew heavy. How did they know about Stands? Had you fallen into a trap?

“I knew you were done for as soon as you accepted to give all your weapons away without protesting.” the Don stated nonchalantly.

“Without your Wildfire, you stand no chance against the two of us.” Abbacchio added, getting up and walking around the table towards you.

You glared up at him, and he barked out a laugh. You had definitely fallen into a trap.

“Good, you’re smart enough not to try and escape.” Bucciarati nodded, crossing his legs and leaning back into his chair. He lit up a cigarette and looked coldly into your eyes. “You’re making this easier for us. We need you alive."

“You fffucking…” you slurred. Why were you so tired all of a sudden? “Piece of sh…”

Suddenly, Abbacchio grabbed you by the hair and turned your head to face him. “Show some respect. We said alive, not in good shape.”

“Calm down, Leone.” Bucciarati smiled. “It’s okay. I want to see the look in her eyes when she realizes how fucked she is.”

He was right. You had no way to run, and no way to fight. And you had probably been drugged. So even if you tried to make a weapon out of broken glass, you most likely wouldn’t be able to use it.

Bucciarati laughed again, crystalline and pure. Nothing like the man he was.

“See?” he grinned, ecstatic. “This is what I’m taking about.”

“Let me… go…” you panted, glaring at Abbacchio through your messy hair.

“No.” he chuckled.

“She’s completely at our mercy.” Bucciarati relished in your growing panic. “I wonder what we’re going to do to her…” he hummed. “What do you think, Leone? What does she deserve for trying to trick us?”

His response sounded muffled to you, and could barely be heard under the high pitched noise in your ears. Struggling to keep your eyes open, your vision was blurring into a mess of the dark reds and golds of the room.

As you completely gave into unconsciousness, you felt Abbacchio’s strong arms around you, throwing you onto his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

When you came back to your senses, you were in a luxurious room, lying on your back in a king-sized bed. Your mind was blurry, you couldn’t remember much. You tried to move your arms, but they felt far too heavy for you. So you simply stared at the ceiling.

You heard two masculine voices approaching you, but couldn’t make out what they were saying.

“Hey…” you breathed out.

“Oh, she’s awake.” the deeper voice said as its owner, a tall and muscular man with long moonlight hair you couldn’t help but find ravishingly beautiful, closed in on you. You took a closer look at him, taking in the sharp edges of his face and the way his pearly white locks fell onto his shoulders, clad in purple.

“Oh.” the other man noted with delight in his tone.

Something in the back of your head was telling you you knew these men, and you had to run away from them, run as fast and far as you could. But you dismissed that thought, they had done nothing wrong that you could think of. You didn’t even know their names yet!

“How are you feeling, principessa?” he asked with a tone you couldn’t help but find slightly sarcastic.

“I’m…” you tried, before giving up on that sentence and just giving a thumbs up.

The man finally came into your view, and he was simply breathtaking. His straight obsidian hair, adorned with two gold charms, was styled in a perfect bob which framed the delicate features of his face. He was wearing a white and black dotted suit with an opening shaped like a heart showing a muscled chest covered with an intricate tattoo.

As he sat on the bed, he smirked. “Why are you staring at me?” he asked.

“You’re hot.” you said before realizing you probably shouldn’t say that to a stranger.

The brunet’s eyes widened with surprise, and he laughed. His laugh was really pretty too, you thought.

“Well, let me return the compliment. You look very… enticing too.”

You felt yourself blush at his words, and looked away quickly.

“May I ask your name?” he asked, a hand on yours.

Your name… You couldn’t remember it. It felt like something important, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“I dunno.” you shrugged. “What about you two?”

“I am Bruno Bucciarati.” the one sitting next to you introduced himself. “But I’d rather have you call me ‘Boss’, or ‘Don Bucciarati’.”

You hummed in agreement, that seemed obvious to you.

“Yes Boss.” you answered, and his breath ever so slightly caught in his throat; he squeezed your hand tightly for a fraction of a second.

“What about you?” you smiled at the other man.

“I’m Leone Abbacchio, Bruno- uh… Bucciarati’s…” he hesitated, glancing at the Don.

“He’s my lover.” the other smiled, and you saw Leone flinch and blush in your peripheral vision.

“Okay.” you nodded. “And who am I?” you mindlessly wondered.

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Don Bucciarati told you as he softy stroked your cheek. You leaned into the touch, taking his wrist in your hand.

“Boss, what…” Leone started, shushed by the Boss placing a finger on his lips.

“Leave her some time, Leone.” he softly scolded him. “Cara mia, tell me.” he said as he turned to you. “Without thinking, what do you want right now?”

“I want both your cocks…” you pouted.

Oh, maybe you shouldn’t have said that. Shit, why didn’t you keep that to yourself. He did say without thinking, but that was probably too blunt.

But Don Bucciarati seemed very pleased with your answer. And Leone too. They looked at each other quickly.

“That’s perfect…” the Boss purred, his eyes half lidded with obvious lust. It felt like the first time anyone had looked at you with such blatant want.

He twined his fingers with yours, bringing your hands down on the mattress by your head. He was kneeling on top of you, gazing into your eyes with arousal.

You closed your eyes and parted your lips for him, feeling his mouth on yours. He softly kissed you, in a way that left you wanting more, so much more than he was giving you.

You could feel his warm breath against your lips as his teeth gazed your skin, making you quietly moan. He let go of your wrists, instead letting his hands roam your body, caressing your neck, squeezing your breasts, petting your sides. You couldn’t help the way your hips angled themselves against his pelvis, pressing your core onto his growing hardness.

You almost pulled him back against you when he ended the kiss, but you knew better than to disobey him.

“Want a taste, Leone?” he smirked, lips covered in your pink gloss.

“Fuck.” the other man breathed.

“Soon, don’t worry.” Don Bucciarati chuckled, placing a hand on his partner’s hip and giving him a peck on the lips.

Leone focused his gaze on you, climbing onto the bed and grabbing your waist to sit you up. One hand on your ass and the other tangling in your hair, he kissed you hard and rough, giving you everything Don Bucciarati had denied you.

You brought your hands to his broad shoulders, grasping them for balance as you moaned on his lips without restraint. He pulled you closer, grinding his hips against yours as he slid his tongue inside your mouth.

When he released your mouth, it was only to push you down by the shoulders and onto the mattress, bending over you and tying his hair up into a ponytail before moving his head to the crook of your neck. He roughly sucked and bit at the skin there, making you whimper and hold onto his shirt. You could tell by his erratic breathing and short grunts that he was probably just as horny as you. You began tracing your fingers along his lower back, caressing him and loving the gasp that escaped him at the touch.

You felt the mattress shift by your side and slightly opened your eyes to see Don Bucciarati looking down at you with eyes full of something you could only describe as predatory hunger. It was, without a doubt, the sexiest look you had ever seen on anyone, and you ached to take him right then.

“Ah, Leone…” you whined as he took your nipple in his mouth; you hadn’t even noticed him removing your shirt and bra.

“Keep calling his name like that…” the Boss rasped, unbuttoning the top of his suit and sliding it off his shoulders. He was so, so fucking beautiful.

“D… ngh, Don Bucciarati, please…” you begged, not missing the twitch between his legs as you did. “Shit, oh my god, please...!”

Merely Leone’s tongue on your sensitive bud was enough to make you this desperate, which actually surprised you.

“‘Please’ what?” Don Bucciarati breathed. “Use your words, tesoro.” he smiled.

You didn’t even know what you wanted. “I… I need you, fuck, please…” you whimpered. “Let me touch you…”

“Damn,” Leone snickered as he detached his mouth from your breasts, wiping his lips with his wrist. “Looks like she likes you, Bruno.”

“Don’t stop.” his lover ordered with a playful smile. “She’s clearly enjoying it, give her what she wants.”

“Sure, Boss.” he teased. “But I’m sure she’d like a little… more.” he added, brushing his hand on your mound. “Don’t you?” he asked, directing his eyes to your flushed face.

“Y… yes, yeah, please…” you managed to get out.

“So polite.” Don Bucciarati chuckled. “Always asking so nicely… How could we possibly say no?”

He gestured for Leone to move, and positioned himself in your place, making you straddle him. Sitting up against the pillows, he looked at you with malice glittering in his eyes, head tilted to the side.

“You’re… wow.” you simply said, running your fingers on his strong torso.

He breathed out a laugh as you admired his firm muscles. He looked nothing short of divine, with his sun-kissed complexion, and deep blue eyes that seemed to see through your entire being, and full lips you wanted to feel on every inch of your skin, and… Fuck, you were staring again, weren’t you?

You felt Don Bucciarati’s hands travel down your body, from your shoulder blades to the small of your back, and you arched your back at the pleasurable touch. He brought his face closer to yours, so close you could feel his breath on your lips, before he kissed you passionately. It wasn’t nearly as greedy as Leone’s kiss from earlier, but made you melt into his touch just as efficiently. You pressed your body to his, feeling the warmth of his chest against yours as you wrapped your arms around him.

Leone grabbed the waist of your shorts and pulled them down along with your panties, tossing the clothes beside the bed. He spread you open and dragged two fingers along your folds.

“She’s so wet…” he crooned. “I could slide my cock inside so easily…”

The Boss released your lips and his smile widened. “Please, feel free to. Don’t let me hold you back.”

Leone hummed, thoughtful. “No, I think I’d rather watch her choke on it instead.”

As he spoke, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer before leaving a long lick from the base of your neck to the shell of your ear. You sighed in pleasure, sandwiched between these two perfect men.

“What do you think, Bruno?” he murmured. “Wanna fuck her while she sucks me off?” he offered, still rubbing circles on your clit.

Don Bucciarati smirked, looking down at you. “I’d love that.” he answered, licking his lips. “Get on all fours.” he ordered.

Leone removed his hand from between your thighs and moved aside to let you position yourself on your hands and knees in front of him, hiking your ass up in the air.

“Come on, get to work.” Leone commanded, a hand tilting your chin up to make you look at him.

You hurriedly undid his belt, opening his zipper to take his cock in hand. It was fully hard, and looked big enough to be a struggle to fit in your mouth. Mouth slightly agape, you swallowed thickly and stuck your tongue out, licking a long stripe from his base to his tip. You heard him moan as he placed a hand on your head, and took his tip into your mouth, slowly bobbing your head up and down to take in more of him each time.

Before you could fully get used to his length, Don Bucciarati buried himself inside you down to the hilt, pushing you forward and forcing all of Leone’s cock down your throat. As the man moaned with the tightness of our throat around him, you let out a few choked sounds, trying to adjust to the intrusion. As soon as Leone let go of your hair, you threw your head back, panting and coughing.

“Fuck, that was so hot…” Leone sighed. “Wish I could fuck your face like that longer, but I wouldn’t want you passing out, carina…”

Without waiting to be asked, you returned to your task, taking his cock into your mouth and flicking your tongue at his tip.

“Should I start moving?” Don Bucciarati asked as he brushed a hand on your backside.

Unable to reply, you only moaned in agreement and rolled your hips against him, hoping he’d understand.

And he did, judging by the way he grabbed your sides and started ramming into you , whispering a ‘brava ragazza’ into your ear just before. You were expecting him to take it slow at first, so you were surprised — but not in the least bothered — by the strength and speed with which he took you.

The two of them set a hard rhythm fucking you from both ends, the Boss shoving himself deep inside your cunt as Leone pushed his length into your mouth, over and over, until there was nothing on your mind but them, their strength, the feeling of their cocks, their perfect bodies, their beautiful voices as they both moaned with the pleasure you brought them. You wished it could last forever.

“Don’t you think it’s time to wake her up?” Don Bucciarati suggested in between pleasured sounds. “I’d love to see her realize what we’re doing to her.”

You didn’t understand at all what he was talking about, but you couldn’t care less. Bliss was filling up your whole body, burning up every part of you, and you had no fucks left to give about anything else.

“Oh, you’re so right…” Leone smiled and bit his lower lip. “This is gonna be amazing.”

As soon as you heard Bucciarati whisper your name into your ear, you lost your breath, as though every information that came back to you knocked you out. The first thing you tried to do was ask what the fuck was going on, but you found that rather difficult with something big in your mouth.

Suddenly, it all came back to you, what had happened since you had woken up, how you had let them do this to you. How you had acted with them while you didn’t remember who they were.

You tried to grab Abbacchio’s hips to push him away, but Bucciarati took hold of your wrists and pinned them against your back. “Mh mh…” he tutted. “We’re having our fun with you now, don’t ruin the moment.” he smirked. “Leone, pull out, she’s gonna bite you.”

You had planned to do so, yeah. Before you could try anything, Abbacchio grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you away from him. “You look angry.” he mocked. “You were prettier with a fucked-out smile, in my opinion.”

“Fuck off!” you spat.

“Language, cuore mio…” Bucciarati warned.

“Let me go, you fucking crazy bastard!” you shouted, trying in vain to free your wrists from his grasp.

“You’re supposed to call me ‘Don Bucciarati’, not… whatever that was.” he chuckled darkly.

“Yeah, like hell I’m gonna call you that.” you hissed.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to resist, cara. Let me remind you your Stand is still gone.” He punctuated his statement with a hard slap to your ass, which, much to your horror, made you moan. “See? You don’t even want to fight back.” he said with a victorious grin.

“Don’t try to mess with my head, you… ah…!” you lost your train of thought as he resumed his thrusts, slow but oh so deep inside you. It electrified every nerve ending in your cunt, making your breath hitch and clit throb.

“Mmn, you feel even better when you’re struggling against me…” he growled, digging his nails into your backside.

“You’re fffucking… mmh, fucking insane…!” you grunted. “How… the fuck are you even enjoying this?!”

He laughed and brought his face closer. “Oh believe me, the pleasure is nothing compared to the satisfaction of finally shutting you up like that…” he murmured in your ear, his voice sinfully sweet. “Though, don’t get me wrong, your pussy feels absolutely amazing around my cock.”

He hooked an arm under your lower belly and another under your breasts, lifting your body up as he rammed into you. He began to rub at your clit while his other hand went to your neck, not quite choking you yet; a warning.

“Nnno…” you weakly protested, and immediately felt his grip on your throat tighten. “Don’t… touch me…!” you creaked, uselessly trying to push him away now that your arms were free.

“Ah…” Bucciarati moaned, squeezing you tight. “Leone, come over here and fuck her too. You deserve to feel good with me.” he smiled, eyes glazed over and hair a mess, looking like an animal in the middle of its hunt.

Why the fuck were you still finding him hot?!

He pulled out of you, throwing himself back to land on the pillows and taking you along his fall. He manhandled you so you were on top of him, chest pressed firmly against him.

You struggled in his grasp, but all you managed to do was land a slap across his face. That victory was short-lived, though, as he bent your arms to pin them to your back and glared at you.

“Would it kill you to be goddamn compliant for a second?” he hissed under his breath.

Not when I’m getting raped! you had the urge to retort, but anything you could’ve said was swallowed by your own whine as Bucciarati effortlessly slipped into your wet entrance.

You sensed movement behind you, and soon, you had each of Abbacchio’s hands on your sides, and felt his tip rubbing against your asshole.

Fuck, was he going to do that?! You weren’t prepared, this was gonna hurt too much…!

Noticing your panicked expression, Bucciarati smirked. “Leone, bello, be nice. Get some lube.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Abbacchio mumbled, opening a drawer of the bedside table.

Pinned against Bucciarati’s body with all his strength, you could only try and kick your feet, which earned you a spank from Abbacchio.

“Don’t be such a brat.” he said. “We can make it hurt more if we want to, you know.”

You hummed in frustration, letting yourself go limp on top of Bucciarati. Abbacchio grabbed you and lifted your ass up, opening the bottle of lube and letting a good dose of it dribble onto you.

You actually just wanted to die.

Abbacchio started entering you, slowly, inch by painful inch, groaning as you whimpered and wriggled in Bucciarati’s grasp.

“So fucking tight…” he slurred, he squeezed your hips when he was fully sheathed inside you.

You let a defeated sob escape you, which was soon replaced by a pained moan as Bucciarati and Abbacchio both started moving, one bottoming out when the other had just the tip inside.

They soon picked up the pace, leaving you a mindless, begging and moaning mess with their cocks. You didn’t want to lose face in front of them, but what could you do? It was so fucking painful, and humiliating, and so disgusting, what they were doing to you. So you let yourself softly cry against Bucciarati’s chest, occasionally interrupted by a whine caused by a particularly strong thrust.

“Please…” you whispered in a broken voice.

Abbacchio laughed cruelly and leaned over you. “Or what?” he murmured.

“Or I’ll…” you hiccoughed. “I’ll…” you tried again, but no convincing threat came to mind. You were completely and utterly at their mercy. “You’re monsters…” you sobbed.

“Maybe we are.” Bucciarati grinned. “Monsters, demons… You should’ve known killing us was off the table from the start.”

You heard Abbacchio’s breath grow heavy and ragged above you, and felt him grow even harder inside you. “Fuck, Bruno… I’m… close…!” he groaned.

“No you’re not.” Bucciarati scolded. “You don’t get to come before she does.”

As he spoke, he slipped a hand between your bodies and started furiously toying with your clit, fucking into you harder. The unwanted pleasure was too much, you couldn’t take it anymore, clenching your fists in the sheets and biting your own tongue until you drew blood. You couldn’t care less about getting hurt.

Quickly, Bucciarati’s skilled fingers unwound the pressure that had accumulated in your core, getting you closer and closer to the edge.

“Ah, fuck!” you choked out as he ripped your orgasm from your body, making you clench around the two cocks inside you. “B… Bucciarati, Abbacchio, I…!”

“I said ‘Don Bucciarati’.” he cut you off.

“Don Bucciarati, I’m coming!” you cried out without even thinking, not a single ounce of pride left in you.

Each wave of your climax washed over you as you came harder than you probably ever had, rocking your hips against their thrusts. But when you came down from your high, they didn’t stop. In fact, they seemed to go at it even harder, turning your moans into pained whines. Overstimulated, you clawed at Bucciarati’s chest, begging him to stop.

“Our turn now.” he rasped. “You didn’t think you’d be the only one to come today, did you?”

“No, no, it hurts!” you kept crying. They absolutely did not care. Actually, maybe that even turned them on, seeing what kind of sadistic psychos they were.

“Bruno, please, I can’t…” Abbacchio gasped, digging his long plum nails into your soft flesh and pounding into you harder.

“Fill her up for me, amore.” Bucciarati ordered lustfully.

Abbacchio pressed his chest against your back and pulled your hair as he came, flooding your insides with his seed. Overwhelmed by his pleasure too, Bucciarati threw his head back into the pillows and pressed you closer to him. He arched his back as he spilled his cum into your hole, calling your name in a breathless moan.

They remained inside you a moment longer as they went soft, chests heaving with their slowing breath. You wanted to push them away, to kill them, to kill yourself, anything to escape. But you were so exhausted… So, despite your hatred and despair, you stayed between the two of them, letting your sniffling end.

“Caro mio, pull out, there’s something I want to do…” Bucciarati requested, audibly tired but content.

Abbacchio did as he was asked, falling to the side next to you. You looked away, his eyes in yours were unbearable.

Bucciarati’s cock left your cunt as well, and he pushed you off of him to rest your back against Abbacchio’s front. You pressed your eyes shut to try and imagine you were somewhere else, anywhere else. The feeling of cum dripping from both your holes was really not helping you in mentally escaping.

“Hold her.” you heard Bucciarati say before Abbacchio pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist and placing his head in the crook of your neck. You felt his hair tickle your shoulders, but still didn’t want to look at anything in this god forsaken room.

Then, you heard the distinct click of a phone’s camera, and your eyes snapped open. Bucciarati was standing in front of you with a smile, much too sweet for the situation, phone in hand. He came back to sit next to you, angling the screen towards you.

“Don’t you two look pretty?” he asked.

You glanced at the picture he was showing you. Mortifying.

You saw yourself, laying on your side in your mortal enemy’s arms, your messy hair forming a halo around your fuck-drunk face. Your skin was covered in bruises, red spots, hickeys, bites and scratches. And both your holes were shamelessly covered in white fluid, slowly oozing out in a way that made you want to break everything around you. You felt defeated, angry, hopeless. Disgusted by yourself.

Bucciarati huffed out a laugh at the face you were making as he set his phone on the table by the bed before joining the embrace, stroking Abbacchio’s hair. He looked at you with something akin to… appreciation? in his eyes. Abbacchio extended his arms to hold his Don close as well as you, squishing your bodies together. You faintly wished you could be smothered to death before having to live through any more of that, as you felt sleep slowly engulf you.

The last thing you heard before completely drifting into unconsciousness in the arms of the men you hated the most in the entire world, was Abbacchio’s “we should do this again soon” and Bucciarati’s approving laughter.

[shut-thy-m0uth]

Hi hi! Will you do more hush’s rumours (maybe Trey or Malleus)? I just read Leona’s and loving it 👉👈👉👈

So, Here’s What I Heard…♡

I heard a rumor that every time the prefect (that of course being you!) stops by to visit, Trey gets this smile on his face that he just can’t seem to wipe off for the rest of the day. Riddle may notice and raise a questioning brow, and Cater will more than likely question him directly, teasing him about what could possibly have garnered such a fond expression. He’ll never tell, however.

I heard a rumor that the vice housewarden of Heartslabyul, despite many protests, does in fact play favorites. I’m talking letting you try and taste-test his desserts before anyone else in his dorm (sometimes even Riddle if you’re lucky!), or maybe letting you off with a gentler scolding than he would other students or his underclassmen.

I heard a rumor that— to literally no one’s shock, the guy who’s obsessed with teeth has an oral fixation. I know, I know, cliché, right? But really, it started as something innocent! From some kind-hearted inquiries about your dental hygiene, to taking a closer look at your teeth (with your permission!), to having his eyes wander specifically to your mouth whenever you eat, to imagining your mouth on his body and his cock. He doesn’t know how it escalated, really!

I heard a rumor that Trey also loves to imagine putting his mouth on you in return! A greedy lover he is not! Kissing his way down your body, being sure to target all your sensitive spots before going down on you.

I heard a rumor that his way of showing affection is essentially mother-henning you to death. He just wants to make sure you’re comfortable and calm at all times— so don’t be shocked if you randomly receive food for the next two weeks if you so much as off-handedly mention you forgot to eat breakfast.

I heard a rumor that Trey is actually a lot more experimental in the bedroom than people would initially think. He doesn’t really feel to comfortable outright insulting you or slapping you— but overstimulating you with his hands, tongue, and cock before having the audacity to tease you about your fucked-out expression? He will do that.

I heard a rumor that yes, he would let you stack donuts on it. But only on two conditions! One, that you let him make a terrible joke about cream-filled donuts. And two, that you’ll let him lick frosting off your body. Fair warning if you agree to this— he’ll take an absurd amount of time making the frosting decorating your naked body with shocking precision and focus. It’s funny considering he’s just gonna lick it all off of you anyway, but hey— consider it foreplay! Just… very long foreplay.

I heard a rumor that despite how much of an honest-to-seven sweetheart he is, he really wants to spit in your mouth. His ideal fantasy is trailing his thumb over your bottom lip, reverently and softly, before forcing your mouth open and watching you swallow his spit. I mean— did you honestly think Riddle’s obsession with obedience wouldn’t rub off on him at least a little?

I heard a rumor that Trey enjoys holding your face in general, whether that’s holding it reverently, making you swallow his spit or cum, or forcing it down into his bedding. He simply adores the expressions you make, as well as the feeling of your jaw or cheeks in his hand. Sometimes he may jostle you around— that’s just because he thinks you’re cute when you’re horny. Heaven forbid he hurt you.

I heard a rumor that Trey is great with aftercare. He’ll guide you to get cleaned up, maybe even bathe with you, before laying back down with you until you fall asleep. After all, he wants to take good care of those he cherishes— even a little bit!

But remember—! You didn’t hear this from me~!♡

HELLO HELLOOOOO!!!! Trey is hereeeee!!!! A special special thanks to the anon who suggested this, as well as all the other asks whose rumors will very soon be spread! Thank you all so much for reading, and of course for your patience. Blessed be my gossips! Mwah~!

[swamelon]

how buccigang would eat f!reader out please? 🥺

Bucci Gang Head Game

tags: nsfw, fem! reader, established relationship, all characters 18+

characters: giorno, bruno, abbacchio, mista, narancia, fugo

Giorno Giovanna

- he's a very calculated eater. everything that he does to pleasure you is all intentional, he knows exactly what he's doing. do not doubt him.

- doesn't mind doing it everytime the both of you get intimate, he'll do whatever to make you feel good.

- uses his mouth 90% of the time and is able to make you come with only his tongue.

- he uses his fingers to circle around your clit when you're really close / or when he wants to make you squirt all over his tongue.

- he takes his time omg he never rushes. he likes kissing your thighs and tummy before going straight into it.

- hooks his arms under your thighs, while his free hands gently rub up and down your stomach.

- likes it when you coat the bottom half of his face with your cum, he'll lick you clean.

- can be very merciless, he'll overstimulate until your legs are shaking just to mess with you.

Bruno Bucciarati

- a gentle yet messy eater. he isn't scared of being sloppy with it either, he'll have half of his face covered with your slick.

- always initiates foreplay to get you all wet and hot for him. making out, caressing and groping your breast, maybe even having you grind against his thigh for a bit.

- likes having your back pressed against his chest, legs spread as he teases you with his fingers first.

- very sweet with his words, he'll look up at you through his lashes and in a deep voice goes "remember to give me a tap if it's too much."

- takes his time, paying close attention to what makes you tense up or gasp as his tongue flicks over your labia as he gives your clit a gentle kiss.

- he does use his fingers to stimulate you more. the more you're being touched, the better right?

- he hums quietly when you run your fingers through his hair to give him a tug, he won't pull away though.

- likes to keep your legs spread wide open for him, wants to see how far you can take it before you squirm and try to sandwich his head with your thighs.

Leone Abbacchio

- messy eater #1

- he wastes no time getting right into it, a firm grip at your thighs as he lets his tongue lap every inch of your pussy.

- his mouth is filthy, as in he dirty talks you throughout most of it. he makes comments about how sensitive you are, how needy your cunt is for him, or how you're already staining the sheets and he hasnt done anything yet.

- spits on it. lmao. he will spread your folds apart and spit on it, he loves mixing his spit with your cum.

- a biter but he's super gentle when he manages to gently nibble your clit and watch your body jerk.

- slaps your pussy, especially when he's already tongue deep and his fingers are already stimulating your clit. might as well give your clit a little slap.

- gropes and massages your breast while he licks you up. gives your nipples a pinch when you're getting too loud but don't stop.

- edges you to no end, he can be ruthless but he'll give in to what you want if you ask nicely.

Guido Mista

- messy eater #2

- he's really handsy, he loves to have his hands run all over your body. giving your thighs a squeeze, spreading your legs further apart, and of course fingering and spreading your pussy lips for him to get in there.

- sometimes talks while he's eating you out and his voice is so muffled because he's deep in there. like nose digging into your clit type of deep.

- you need all the strength in the world to pull this man away from you. he claims your pussy is magnetic and he's drawn in.

- lowkey talks to it like it's sentient. you hear this mf stand at the foot of your bed, tugging at your panties saying how "she's wet and needy for me, huh?" as he runs as thumb through the fabric.

- constantly tells you how good you taste, moaning between each lick and slurp.

- into anal LOL. he will eat your ass all while his fingers are damn near knuckles deep in your cunt as he does a 'come here' motion at the same time. you felt like your body ascended when he did it the first time.

- he tries to get you to squirt every session, he did it once and now he feels obligated to do it again.

Narancia Ghirga

- he's so eager about pleasing you, he can't even stay still.

- he's very noisy too. moans and hums as he tongue fucks you like crazy. not to mention his slurps and licks are loud too, its almost like he does it on purpose.

- would occassionally pull away to look up at you with a hopeful glint in his eyes, constantly asking if he's doing a good job.

- smiles at you while he kisses and licks at your clit, damn near abusing it. he giggles too when your moans get so high pitched.

- tbh, he wouldn't be as good at it than he is now if it weren't for your help. you guided him, shaping his knowledge on how to please your body and from there he just started learning on his own.

- did he struggle to find your clit? yes. but once he found it, he made you sing like a bird all night.

- continues to eat you out even after he's made you cum like three times. he doesn't even mean to overstimulate you, he's just addicted like it's crack.

- loves to spread your folds with his thumb as he lets his tongue trace circles. he wants you to make a mess all over his face.

Pannacotta Fugo

- he's needy and desperate, like a starved man drinking water in a long time.

- similar to abbacchio, he can get a little aggressive and it's because he's so into it. the more you moan and praise him, the needier he gets.

- overthinks a lot, he pays close attention to any sound or movement you make and will repeat it.

- actually thinks hes super hot when you squeeze your thighs against his head. its like his own personal headphones.

- likes licking your folds through the fabric of your underwear, there's something so hot about that thin piece of your panties blocking from him fully being inside.

- grunts and groans into your pussy, just hearing you moaning his name makes him want to moan with you too.

- loves kissing you right after he finished making you cum, just so you can taste yourself on him.

- he hides the fact that he came in his pants a few times from just pleasuring you like this with his mouth. he doesn't want to look pathetic in front of you after all but sometimes he can't help it.

[sugarplumpearl]

Alpha!Caleb x Omega!reader

Synopsis: The colonel is used to his every command being obeyed. Those who step out of line are subjected to required correction, no matter who they are. Why would it be any different for his mate?

Word count: +3.3K (this was suppose to be less than a thousand words...)

Warnings: +18 (mdni), mean!Caleb, manipulative!Caleb, yandere!Caleb, colonel!Caleb, omega!reader, misogyny, Caleb limits/withhold things to make reader need him, emotional manipulation, unrequited love, hunter/prey, nicknames (good/bad girl, honey, omega), gaslighting, coercion, mate bond, fear of unconsented marking, Caleb treats reader like a pet, petplay?, use of cage, use of collar, dryhumping, needy!reader, broken!reader, dependent!reader, mention of spanking, actions influenced by secondary gender, one of the darker pieces I’ve written so please heed the warnings! lemme know if I missed anything

Caleb had finally managed to break you.

After months of constant pushback or trying to make a run for it whenever you thought he wasn’t looking, which only ended with you being unable to sit down as his large handprint was painted to your bottom, you realized you would never be able to escape him. If it wasn’t the bond tethering the two of you together or the stupid tracker he had implanted in your neck within the first week of meeting, maybe there’d be the slightest chance of running away.

Unfortunately, the man was far smarter than you had given him credit for. If he couldn’t make you submit through physical means, he’d break you down mentally.

First, you were no longer allowed to go out into the garden.

While he kept you locked away, the garden was the one place you felt like you could breathe. You were able to create some distance by enjoying the shade the large willow tree offered, going as far as to take daily naps there. You’d keep yourself busy by tending to the flowers and crafting paper boats before setting them afloat in the ripping water of the large fountain, though the entire time, you could feel him watching you from the window connected to his office.

He took away your one joy within a blink of an eye.

The closest thing you had to experiencing your beloved garden, was admiring it from afar as you sat in a window nook that offered the best view from inside the house. Eyes gazed longingly into the pretty greenery he once declared he had built just for you. The little animals that you had befriended, came day after day to find you, but they seemed to eventually give up as you couldn’t recall the last time you had seen your favorite golden-colored bunny.

Then came the decline in food quality.

On the days he wasn’t needed at the office, he’d make sure your belly was filled with the most delicious home-cooked meals. Every plate was planned meticulously, ensuring you were receiving your recommended, daily nutrient intake. Whatever the choice of meat was, he’d go as far as to take into account how you liked it cooked. For the days he’d be working long hours, he made sure the finest chef was hired, a long list of your likes and dislikes hanging on the fridge for them to see.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss it as you were left to either make yourself something or starve. The heavily processed food left you feeling sluggish, often finding yourself hungry within a couple of hours. Cereal and processed food had become your best friend as you lacked the necessary skill needed to cook. The one time you tried, you ended up burning your hand.

Caleb wasn’t too pleased with the fact that you scarred the pretty canvas that was your skin, but he didn’t show it. He’d usually take his time dressing your wounds, but this time, he merely directed you to the first aid kit in the bathroom.

Lastly, he took away any physical contact. His specifically.

You had no idea how reliant you had become on his presence and the soft caresses he used to give you daily. Though you used to shy away from them, your body reacted to his in the way it was meant to.

Every morning, he’d rouse you out of your slumber by brushing your hair out of your face, nimble fingers touching the soft skin of your cheek. It was only a few days ago when you woke up once more-alone-in a suddenly too large bed, in an empty bedroom.

Your mind wandered to the memory you had of him, coming home every night before settling you onto his lap as he rocked in his favorite recliner. His hand would cradle your head to his chest while the other rested along your hip. There was a time when he’d go as far as to pat your bum as he noticed it helped you fall asleep.

Being denied the things that unconsciously grounded you and provided the smallest amount of comfort while being locked away by your mate, it felt as though your emotions had become unregulated. It was no wonder you ended up spiraling.

On the night before you found yourself sealed away in the metal cage Caleb had placed in his office, you had been patiently waiting for him to arrive, sitting beside the front door. Making sure the lights were off, you perked up when you heard the familiar ring of the pin pad being messed with. He only had one foot in the door when you took off, slipping past him and into the night air, the rain harshly hitting your skin.

He let out a fierce growl, the sound causing your insides to tremble and your feet to glue themselves to the wet pavement as you came to a sudden stop. Glancing over your shoulder, you noticed his back was towards you, his shoulders moving as he struggled to keep his anger controlled.

“I’ll give you one more chance to make things right. Get. Inside. The. House. And I’ll pretend this didn't happen.” When he turned to look at you, you could see how his purple eyes glowed under the shadow cast by his colonel's hat. The sudden twitch in his cheek, had you swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat. He continued. “Omegas are supposed to be obedient and from the moment they meet their alpha, they’re supposed to run into their arms, not away from them.”

His boots made a nasty thump as he walked across the pavement and closed in on you.

“You’re being a bad girl, omega. If you make a run for it, I won’t feed into your pleas when I get my hands on you.”

Your eyes burned from the unshed tears, bottom lip trembling. Though you weren’t sure if it was from fear or sadness. Maybe it was both.

“I-I had a life before we met…and you took that from me. I have no one to talk to. You won’t even let me see my friends-”

“You can talk to me. You don’t need anyone else.” The rough tone his words carried faded away as he tried to pursue you to make your way back into your home. “C’mere, honey. I’ll pretend this didn’t happen. We’ll make our way back inside and I’ll run you a bath, yeah? Look at your feet. They’re absolutely filthy.”

He used the second it took for you to look down at your feet to lunge at you, but like a frightened deer, you bolted into the tall trees.

He must have been messing with you, giving you false hope as you ended up getting him off your tail for a moment. With the sound of his footsteps fading, you slowed down before leaning against a tree to catch your breath. Once you managed to control your labored breathing, did you realize the predicament you were in.

The forest was a sight during the day, the critters that lived there making their presence known, but at night, it was something out of a nightmare. Gone were the chirping birds and the swaying trees, an unsettling stillness overtaking the entirety. Any sudden change in the shadows or rustling of the leaves had your eyes flickering back and forth, looking for the form of the massive alpha searching for you.

You were too caught up to sense the figure creeping up behind you, purple eyes glowing in the dark. With calculated steps, Caleb had managed to make his way towards you without producing a single sound.

A scream tried to make its way out of your throat when your arm was grabbed, but a familiar large hand covered your mouth before you even had the chance to.

You found yourself trapped between the tree and Caleb’s chest. You refused to move because no matter what you did, you’d fear Caleb would snap.

With his nose burying itself in your hair, you felt as he took in a deep breath, calming himself with your scent, before nuzzling his cheek against the top of your head.

“Why do you continue to fight? Am I not good enough for you?”

You tensed as his hand locked onto the back of your neck, holding you there.

“Your life before me was dreadful. You had to work, barely making enough money to get you by and living in that pathetic little studio you called home. Sure you had a couple of friends, but believe me when I say, your absence has gone unnoticed by them.”

The lump in your throat had become too painful to bear. Your tears fell, mixing with the raindrops that clung to your cheeks. A sudden cry fell from your lips when Caleb forcefully tilted your head to the side, exposing the soft skin of your neck.

“Don’t cry, honey. Breaks my heart, you know?” Pressing open-mouth kisses along the expanse, you tensed, fearing he’d mark you. If he did, every alpha command he gave, your body would follow, whether you wanted to or not. “I won’t mark you yet, I want your obedience to come from you willingly, not cause of some bite. I had every intention of allowing you a bit of freedom, as long as you accepted me as your mate, but you had to go and run away, like some little house cat. You only have yourself to blame for what’ll follow. You wanna act like some unruly kitten? Fine by me, but I don’t think you’ll be too happy with what I have in mind.”

Cold, metal bars dug into your tender flesh. The once flowy gowns he’d dress you in are now long gone as your bare, handprint-marked ass rested on the cool ground. It provided a brief moment of relief before the chill was overpowered by your own body heat. Though he had covered the cage with a plain, black sheet, it did little to prevent the draft in the room from reaching you.

Your legs had gone numb from the kneeling position you’d been in for god knows how long, so sure that if you tried to stand, you’d end up a crumpled mess on the floor.

There was no point in crying. You realized that the moment Caleb’s hand refused to stop meeting the globes of your ass. No matter how much you cried and begged, the spanking didn’t come to an end until he thought you had had enough.

You could hear the familiar sound of his boots meeting the marble flooring of his office as he paced around. The low timber of his voice echoed in your ears as he spoke to one of his subordinates, their pen catching against the paper as they wrote down every important word that came from Caleb’s mouth.

“I’d like to have my weekend free, so try to cram every meeting before the week ends. I don’t care if you have to double-book me.”

“Yes, of course.” The subordinate’s pen stilled. “Uh, Colonel…I don’t mean to step out of line, but don’t you think that box is a bit-how do I say this-a bit of an eyesore?”

When the room went silent, you leaned forward in the cramped space you had been placed in, listening for any sign of life.

Caleb cleared his throat.

“That’ll be all.”

It wasn’t until the door to his office was completely shut that he made his way over to you.

“Though you acted as if our home was a cage, at least it was pretty and you were able to walk around freely. I made sure to fill it with the fluffiest blankets so you could make yourself your little nest whenever you needed space, but you just had to be a damn brat.”

You shouldn’t have tried to make a run for it. Had you just been the obedient mate he had expected, you’d be at home. Though you’d be under constant surveillance as he had cameras littered across the rooms, you would’ve at least been warm, neatly dressed, and with a belly full of the most delicious food you had the pleasure of eating.

Leather creaked under Caleb’s weight as he settled into his chair, followed by the sound of typing on a keyboard.

You waited, hoping that he’d remember you were in the room with him, only hidden away. You shuffled around as you tried to catch his attention. Either he was extremely focused on his work or he was doing it on purpose. You knew it was the ladder.

“Caleb…” You called, fingers curling around the metal bars. The typing stops, followed by defining silence. You tried once more. “Caleb? Can-can I come out…please? My legs are s-starting to go numb.”

“Since you asked so nicely…”

The wheels from his chair could be heard rolling across the floor, growing louder as he got closer. The drape was lifted, the light suddenly allowed in causing you to flinch. Taking the special key required to open the crate, he left the door slightly ajar before rolling back to his desk and continuing his work.

Hesitantly, you pushed the door open, grimacing as its hinges creaked. As you crawled out, the bell attached to the collar Caleb had placed around your neck jingled. His refusal to mark you now wounded the part of your brain that was connected to your secondary gender. The collar was acting as its substitute.

Glancing to the side, you saw Caleb’s concentrated expression as he looked over important documents. Ever since that night, he no longer gave you the attention you subconsciously needed. He didn’t initiate any physical contact either.

If you wanted anything from him, it was up to you to ask for it.

You would’ve stood to straighten out your legs, but if you wanted to get on his good side, you’d have to work for it.

Watching his face, you slowly crawled over to him. The floor was freezing, the chill in the room causing a layer of goosebumps to erupt along your exposed skin. Once you had reached him, you gazed up at him, a hand going to tug on his slacks.

“Caleb?”

He hummed, never tearing his eyes from the screen.

Using the space he left between him and the desk, you slipped yourself in between the two to lay your cheek on one of his thighs.

“Caleb…I’m c-cold. Can you h-hold me? Please?”

Closing out of whatever tab he had pulled up, he leaned back in his seat and settled his clasped hands on his lap, finally looking at you.

The sight of you between his thighs on your knees had his pants tightening from the front. The dark purple, leather collar with orange stitching and a gold heart settled in the middle complimented your skin tone.

Caleb was pleased with his choice of collar. He had to add the small bell himself, but that didn’t matter. It was a simple adjustment required for your safety.

“I didn’t quite catch that, honey.” He said, tilting his head to the side, a small smile threatening to form across his face as he was enjoying the situation before him. Nudging your leg with his boot-clad foot, he continued. “Go on.”

“I w-want you to h-hold me. Please?”

He could no longer hold back his smirk as he removed his colonel coat and directed your arms through the sleeves, the material bunching around your elbows as you were significantly smaller than him. Slipping his hands under your armpits, he lifted you off the ground. The bell on your collar jingled as he settled you onto his lap, your body quickly melting into his embrace.

You wanted to cry from utter happiness as his familiar warmth wrapped itself around you. His pheromones that clung to the heavy material enveloped your senses. There was no way for you to hold back the happy chirp you made. With your arms tightening around his neck and your cheek resting along his shoulder, you let out a sigh of relief as your eyes fluttered shut. Your weight settled against him eventually as you relaxed, your bare cunt meeting his clothed cock.

It took a few seconds before your eyes flew open as you realized what you were feeling.

Your heat covered him instantly. The slick that your body produced at the scent of its mate quickly soaked his pants, causing the material to stick to his length in a deliciously sinful manner. The purr that came from him had you perking up in his arms.

He had never made that sound before, but from how relaxed he appeared as he reclined in his seat, it was a good thing.

Mustering enough courage, you rolled your hips in a leisurely, almost hesitant, manner. It took a few tries for you to find a decent rhythm, basing each grind off of Caleb’s reactions. After a particularly rough buck of your hips, he spoke.

“What do you think you’re doing, honey?”

A cry slipped from your lips as your clit caught against his pants, your middle curling forward at the tingle that ran through you.

“Ah…wanna make a-alpha feel good…”

“Yeah?” He asked as he brought a hand to wrap around your neck, forcing you to look him in the eye. “And may I ask, what brought this on? Finally want to be my good, little ‘mega?”

Forcing you to expose your neck to his gaze, he placed open-mouth kisses on your collarbone, his nose nuzzling your skin here and there.

“…when he’s happy.” You mumbled, allowing him to catch only your last few words.

“Umm, want to repeat that? Couldn’t hear you, honey.”

Grabbing onto the wrist of his hand that was holding you in place, you looked him in the eye. The sadness in your eyes wasn’t unnoticed by him.

“Alpha’s nice to me when he’s happy.”

Caleb chuckled.

Though he had to play the authoritarian role, dealing with a firm hand, he was left with a sour taste in his mouth whenever he saw how you’d slumped over when he refused you physical contact or when he watched you pick at your microwaved meal. Either way, after denying you the affection and attention you hadn’t known you craved, you had come crawling back to him.

“All I wanted was for you to see that an omega will always need their alpha.” Standing up from his seat with you in his arms, he placed you onto his desk and nudged your shoulder for you to lie back. When you did, his eyes trailed down the expanse of your body before he went on. “I know what’s best for you, you just have to stop resisting me. Let alpha take care of you.”

It was quiet for a moment as your eyes gazed up at him, the lights in his office causing your eyes to twinkle. It wasn’t long before your bottom lip wobbled and your eyes burned. Letting out a pitiful whine, your arms reached out to him, motioning for him to take you into his arms once more.

“Want alpha so much! Need him to take care of me…Need him to hold me when I’m cold or when I’m scared!”

Once he did, you sobbed in relief, your face tucked against his chest. His chin rested on the top of your head as a hand smoothed your hair back. He waited patiently until your cries stopped, left sniffling. He cooed, a thumb brushing away a stray teardrop before he hugged you tightly.

Through the reflective glass across from his desk, anyone would’ve been able to see past his artificially sweet tone as a dark smile broke out across his face as he spoke.

“That’s right, honey. Alpha’s here.”

[swamelon]

WHAT GUILTY PLEASURES THE JOJOS HAVE (like the smell of used panties, armpits, etc.)

Jojos and their guilty pleasures

tags: NSFW UNDER THE CUT, established relationship, innapropriate usage of stands, gn! reader, aged up josuke and giorno and jodio (duh!), scent kink, panty shots, theyre all perverts smh

Jonathan Joestar

- a bit of an exhibitionist and he's so guilty about it too. he really, really wants nobody to walk in on you two. but its so exciting at the same time.

- food play, the bulge in his underwear is noticeable when you make him eat off of your naked body.

- size kink #1 , loves to gush about how good you're able to take him despite his size.

- obsessed with giving you head, he wants to please you so much you'll have to push his head away from you when it gets too much.

- king of aftercare, he loves being able to take care of you right after sex.

Joseph Joestar

- he loves taking sneaky pictures of you when you're not looking. panty shots, cleavage shots, ass shots... feet shots? no, he deletes those.

- size kink #2 , he makes fun of you for being much shorter than him and uses it to his advantage.

- has or had a porn addiction. it got so bad he recognizes porn stars by their name and face. if he saw them in the street he'd ask for a picture.

- he loves being called daddy. what can he say? it gets him going.

- has a thing for stocking. loves fucking you when you only wear stockings for him.

Jotaro Kujo

- size kink #3 , he wraps his body around you and scolds you for being a lot smaller than him.

- has considered having some kind of threesome with you and star platinum, however the hell that works. but you were so down and he was too horny to care.

- loves fucking you when you're wearing lacey lingerie, specifically of the color is a dark red or black.

- office sex, when you visit him at his job and you're being a huge tease. he'll swipe off everything on his desk and pin you down.

- breeding kink. he'll tell you how much he's gonna fill you up until you're concieve his kids. whether you're able to get pregnant or not, the thought is just thrilling.

Josuke Higashikata

- he's just like his damn daddy except he's a panty thief and is ashamed about it. he'll steal your underwear for his own spank bank, but then he regrets it.

- really sexy, slow music puts him in the mood really fast. he pays too much attention to the lyrics.

- there's a lot of crusty, used socks under his bed and a big bottle of lotion on his nighstand. you do the math..

- this guy is an undercover cuck. he briefly mentioned how hot it would be if he watched you get fucked by his best friend, okuyasu.

- pegging. he was so hesitant about it but you two did it once and it changed his life forever.

Giorno Giovanna

- mirror sex. he'd love to install a big mirror on the ceiling.

- really into getting his hair pulled. he grew it out to be so long, you can't help but run your fingers along his golden hair and yank his head back.

- candle wax, temperature play(?) the way it drips down his skin leaves him shivering. or having to rub an ice cube on your body.

- markings, loves to mark your beautiful skin as his lips latch on to the piece of flesh. anywhere on your body, he thinks its beautiful.

- massages. theyre always gonna lead to something when his hands move a lot lower than you expected.

- power play? now that he's the don, he likes using his position in the bedroom. gets a kick when you moan "don giorno."



Jolyne Cujoh

- has a drawer full of sex toys. ones you have never seen before and she gets slightly flustered if you ask her about it too much.

- intoxicated sex, it heightens your senses 10x more. preferably wants to either get high or drunk before you two go at it.

- biting. lots of biting. she loves being bit and doing the biting. her favorite spots to be bitten is her neck, shoulder and her hip.

- tentacles. at first she thought how gross it would be because its slimey and cold. but the suction...?

- likes being watched as she plays with herself. but she wants you to watch her, to see the way her body turns or when she cums.

Johnny Joestar

- he loves your FUNK. he's getting a whif of your armpits and lets out a low moan as he shakes.

- mommy/daddy kink? he doesn't want to admit it though but you'll catch him slipping it out while he's a whimpering mess.

- the bug bite fetish right... but what if he just likes being scratched? purposely makes himself itchy so when you scratch something for him he'll bust a nut.

- loves to hump your leg like a dog. and then he scolds you for letting him do that but he's the dirty one...

- choking. but he's the one choking you while you ride him. he loves how helpless you look.

Gappy Higashikata

- will bust a nut when you praise him so much as you're both fucking in your bedroom. tell him how big he is, how good he makes you feel, etc.

- likes being called a "good boy". because he is and he wants to be one for you.

- dry humping. he'll get an erection when you sit on his lap for a while and you just start grinding your hips down. he'll make a mess out of himself.

- has a thing for piercings. if you have piercings on your body, preferably a belly button or nipple piercings, he'll be over the moon. he thinks theyre hot.

- loves taking showers with you. and yes, it leads to more sex but he swears its not intentional.

Jodio Joestar

- loves saving nude pictures of you and has a dedicated album to it. but he hardly sends any back.

- likes roleplaying with you, he loves being the nerd and you're his bully. he puts you in place instead.

- obsessed with the fat on your body. whether its on your tummy, or your thighs, or chest. he'll squeeze it gently as he's inside of you.

- brat taming. on either you or him because he can be just as bratty.

- likes when he shoves his fingers into your mouth and make you suck on them. especially when he's doing it to prep himself up before he'll trail those wet fingers by your crotch.