summary: breaking up with your ex-fiancé, caleb, is like trying to cancel your gym membership: unfortunately, you'll be locked in for a lifetime. but at least being his ex comes with some nice perks. period care on demand, cuddles whenever you like, and a solution to all of the problems that come with an old apartment. he's a constant in your busy life. a little crazy... maybe a lot crazy. but soon, you come to accept that rather than forsake him for it.
contents: nsfw (sexual themes but no actual sex), kinda crack and angst, implied death of minor character(s), implied that caleb drugs you, swearing (you know me), yandere and themes of possession and obsession, reader has a cat hence the header images, 9k words
original thought post + read on ao3
It's just after 9am when your doorbell rings. You glance up, eyes wide like a cat caught in the midst of pawing a glass over the edge of a table. Your breakfast sits in front of you, half-eaten. Grabbing a napkin, you hastily wipe your mouth before scurrying over to the front door. Swinging it open, you find a young delivery boy holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers.
"For Miss—"
You take them from him and sign his tablet, uttering a quiet, "Thanks," before closing the door. You've been receiving a fresh bunch every week for about a month now, ever since you separated from your long-time partner. The flowers from last week sit in a vase on your island bench, casting you a disapproving look as you set the fresh bouquet down nearby and go on a scavenger hunt for another vase. Finding an old pitcher instead, you undo the bouquet and arrange the flowers inside it, adding some water and the provided flower food afterwards.
With your breakfast growing colder by the second, you plop down in the opposite chair and finish it off, your bites rough like sandpaper and chewing menacing like it's not the right grit. Your brow heads inch toward each other, forehead creased and shoulders tight as you eat. He has to stop doing this, you think…
Finishing your breakfast, you wash up your plate and other dirty dishes. Drying yourself off, you dive for your phone and scroll through your contacts, searching for the name with the love hearts only to remember you removed them a few weeks ago. Pressing the call icon, your phone starts to ring. Almost instantly, the line connects.
A rather chirpy voice comes through the speakers, "Good morning, pipsqueak. How are you feeling today—?"
"I told you stop sending me flowers, Caleb," you ground out, your mood thoroughly soured by his unwanted generosity.
"Did you?" He chuckles awkwardly, definitely remembering your last phone call to him a week ago. "It must have slipped my mind. Whoopsies."
"Caleb," you grumble. There's no winning with him. His love is like the fresh air, fuelling your flame. But his warped ideals are the glass placed over the candle, snuffing it out until only grey tendrils and hardening wax are left behind. Your simmering heat dies. Ashes in your heart. You release a defeated sigh. "At least, send them every fornight, okay? They don't wilt that quickly…"
"You got it. Oh, and by the way, how are your cramps? Your period should start in a couple of—"
"Caleb, oh my god! You still track it?!" You exclaim, affronted. It's bad enough that you couldn't recover all of your panties from his abundant collection. Must he track your cycle as well? You suppose it's better for your lover to care more about your reproductive health then not care about it all. But that doesn't apply to exes.
"'Course I do. I can send you some chocolate if you're having cravings. Do you want dark or nutty? That brand you like also came out with an orange flavour if you wanted to try it." You pinch your brow, settling down on the couch as you feel this stabbing pain in your stomach, like some demon slipped out of hell, twisting your guts in its grotesque hand. You're rendered speechless.
"Do you have enough pads?" Caleb asks, continuing to obsess over you the way you wish he wouldn't. "Why don't you text me the ones you need and I'll pick them up for you? I was heading to Linkon this afternoon, anyways."
"No, you weren't, Caleb…" You mutter, growing more exhausted by the minute. "Just give it a rest, okay? I already have all of the chocolate and pads I could ever need. And you don't need to come over."
"Didn't you say your tap was leaking? I can fix it while I'm there. And I'm sure your cat misses me, too. I bought her some treats while I was at the pet store the other week. I should be there about three. Oh, and I can buy some groceries on the way. How about I make us some braised chicken wings for dinner? My treat." You don't even get a chance to respond as he continues on, "Alright, I've gotta get going. Fleet stuff. But I'll see you later, alright? And don't worry about cleaning your place up. Just take it easy."
"Fine. Bye," you utter, quickly hanging up and slamming your phone down on the coffee table. Leaning back, you clutch your abdomen. God, that guy is such a pain in the ass. Just barges in on your life whenever he wants. Giving and giving until you can't take anymore. That's the main reason things fell off between you two. The Fleet was stressing him out, and rather than keeping that stress at work, he'd let it out on those who threatened your relationship. Threatened as in offered to grab something from the top shelf for you, or even smiling at you just a little too much to the point where Caleb became worried they would try and take you away from him.
When he became like this, you can't say. But the man you walked away from most certainly wasn't the one you ran toward. He understands that you're not a possession that can be stolen, or a naive girl that can be misled by creepy older men. But despite his understanding, he still clings to this archaic idea of protection. Your radient light shouldn't be dimmed by the stains of humanity. It should be kept pure. In the palm of his hand.
Moving out and finding your own place was challenging enough. Of course, Caleb wouldn't let you carry any of the boxes or handle any of the white goods. Nor would he let you pay for the rent or utilities. But at least he let you decorate. Oh, and gave you this illusion of space with his recent absence. But your address is ingrained into his mind alongside bittersweet memories of your time together. Your laughter is sewn into his soul, your intellect the sparks that set his neurons alight. Your body is branded into his.
Quiet meows pull you from your daze. You cat, Mittens, stretches before you, paws spread and rear high before her spine curves into an arc. She must have heard Caleb's voice and grew curious. Brushing up against your leg, she meows again, her soft fur sticking to your lounge pants. You give her few head scratches, spouting utter gibberish in a baby voice about how Caleb will be coming over later today. She perks up at the mention of his name, a purr starting in her chest.
Unfortunately for you, your sweet kitty, Mittens, loves your ex-fiancé. She's never been as affectionate with you as she is with Caleb. And he spoils her rotten. The most expensive treats, the prettiest pink collar with her name embroidered into it. Her cat tower remained at his place in Skyhaven because of its size, but you brought along the numerous cat beds, scratching posts, dangly toys and other bizarre cat things Caleb bought for her to your new place; they fill an entire bedroom. And to say she loves them would be an understatement. But the little plushies and other items you've given her over the years? She couldn't be less disinterested.
Resigned to your fate, you fetch a heat pack and chuck it in the microwave, letting it get nice and toasty while you choose a movie to watch. Thankfully, it's your day off, so you have no objections to taking it easy. You end up picking a comfort film and settle back onto the couch, pouting as Mittens goes to sit on her fur-covered cushion that also has her name embroidered into it, but this time, with a crown (guess who bought it?).
The time flies by, 3pm steadily approaching between films and grabbing snacks. There's no knock on the door when Caleb arrives, just the jangle of keys and shameless thud behind him before he removes his work boots. You don't even turn around. He's still in his colonel uniform, you can smell it. Guns, sweat, and unreported violence. The rustle of grocery bags overpower your senes.
Caleb leaves them in the kitchen before stalking into the living room, a big grin on his face as he comes over to you. "Hey, honey." He wraps you in his arms, your face smushed against his shoulder as he squeezes you tight. "I missed you." Drawing back, he cups your face, the heat of his hands soaking through his gloves, into your cheeks. "Where's my kiss?"
"Ca-leb," you groan. "We're separated. Sep-ah-rated. I'm not kissing you."
"Oh, come on, baby. I've had a long day. And besides, it'll make you feel better." His boyish charm is difficult to resist. But you must. As you're about to say no— "Please." Your ancestors must be looking down upon you with disdain as you begrudingly lean in and give him a peck.
"One more?"
"Oh, fuck off."
"Fine, fine. But I expect something a little more generous after dinner." Releasing you, Caleb retreats to the kitchen, going through his overnight bag you knew he'd end up packing.
"I'm not sleeping with you, fuck wit!" You call out to him, remaining on the couch to sulk. His laughter rings off the walls, geniune amusement. You bet Mittens has her tail curled around his calf right now, seeing as she's disappeared from her cushion.
He doesn't shout back. He knew you never liked it when he shouted. And his voice is loud enough, unmistakeable in the quiet of your apartment as he says, "I never implied you should. All I meant was that you're being a little curt. Breaks my heart, you know?" You can envision his sad pout, those cunning, puppy eyes staring at you.
Every retort dies on your tongue. Pushing off the couch, you head to the kitchen and see Caleb feeding Mittens a pureed treat. She laps at it happily, excited every time he pinches the packet and sends another meaty curl springing up from the opening.
"Can you get changed, please? Don't tell me you're gonna fix my tap in that." Your eyes roam over his uniform, noticing the small splatter of blood on his sleeve. The sight causes you to gulp.
"Why not? I thought you liked it when I wear my uniform," he teases, squeezing out the last of the treat for Mittens. Once she finishes eating, he pats her head and cooes gently, "There we go. That's my good girl."
"Caleb." You fold your arms across your chest, your patience wearing thin. He should be saying that to you. "Just hurry up and get changed, okay? You can use my shower or whatever. But don't use all of my body wash. I don't have much left."
"Don't worry. I bought you another bottle just in case." Caleb stands up, Mittens pawing at his leg while he unveils an extra large pharmacy-exclusive bottle of your go-to body wash. Of course, he had time to go to the pharmacy and buy that for you. No! Of course, he made time to go to the pharmacy and buy that for you.
Without another word, your ex-fiancé begins unpacking the groceries he bought, putting them away without any difficulty (he has pictures of your kitchen on his phone, all of the drawers and cupboards labelled accordingly). You help him with maybe one of the bags. He's awfully fast. Sunlight streams in through the windows, illuminating his dark locks. It feels like old times. Noon grocery shopping or after work convenience store runs. Delicious home cooked meals. Lazy Sunday morning sex with breakfast to follow. You miss those times. You miss who Caleb was back then. Who he never stopped being. But not who he ended up becoming.
Your kitchen is spotless by the time he ducks off to your bathroom. You rest against the coutertop, your fingers pressed to your lips, mind off in the clouds. There's a weight that's missing. He kept your engagement ring. You remember that conversation like it was yesterday, though the wound is but a scar left behind.
"I'm not taking it back. It's yours." Caleb huffed, incredulous as to how you could offer up your ring to him like that, the ring he gave you to symbolise the lifetime you'd spend together.
"Caleb! I'm serious. We're over!" You held out the ring to him, inching it closer despite his obvious hesitation. All he had to do was take it from you, and then your soul would finally be freed. You'd be finished with him. For good—or so you thought.
"I told you, I'm not taking it back. I don't care if we're over. I don't care if you pawn it off or throw it in the ocean. It's yours."
"Then keep it safe for me, will you?" You countered, grabbing his wrist and placing the ring in his palm. All your love, in his hand. His to protect. Forever more.
You wonder what happened to it—the ring, that is. If he still has it. He definitely still has it. Probably keeps it in his bedside drawer and stares at it longingly before bed each night like the pathetic loser he is. Your loser… (un)fortunately.
A traitorous grin stretches across your lips, concealed by your hand. You immediately scowl at yourself, mumbling like a mad woman about getting your head in the game. But it's difficult to when you see a fluffy tail swaying until its out of your sight, obscured by the wall. You bet Mittens has wandered down the hall to sit outside bathroom… Yep, you can hear her scratching at the door.
Sighing, you trudge down the hallway, eyeing your precious little baby who must get inside that steamy room with Caleb. Oh, how you wish that was you—! Stop it! You shake your head, intent on banishing those thoughts before they take root and fester. Reaching the bathroom, you go to open the door when the handle turns. The door opens. Not just a little ajar thing, no. Like some freak of nature Caleb opens the door wide, chilly air flooding his soaking wet body, your towel haphazardly slung around his hips.
"Hi ba… by." His voice drops from high-pitched to his familiar resonance, expression turning from over-excited to bewildered in seconds.
"I was. Getting the door." You glance down at Mittens who happens to be licking the water droplets off Caleb's ankle, your cheeks heating up at the speed of light.
"Riiiiight." He quirks a brow at you, mischievous smile on his lips.
You gesture to his (or rather, your) towel. "You couldn't grab a clean one?"
"There were none left in the linen cupboard." He shrugs, quickly catching the edges of the towel as it begins to slip. All you can see is wet, rippling contours. Taut skin. Veins running up his hands and forearms, those on his hips disappearing beneath the pink, Egyptian cotton. It's been a little while…
"You're such a liar, Caleb," you mutter. "You didn't even look! I put fresh ones in there the other day."
"Really?" He says as if he's surprised. His hand comes to his chin. Everyone talks about ovulation cravings, but none dare speak of the beast you become as your period approaches. "Hm… I can't remember seeing any—"
"Because you didn't look—"
"But you don't have many, right? Isn't it better to save them, anyway? We might need them for later tonight." You gasp at his insinuation.
"Caleb!"
"What? You're thinkin' about it, too. There's no need to be shy about it. I thought we got over that a long time ago—"
"Oh my god, shut up!" You groan, your frustration palpable as you stomp away from him, fingers pressed to your temples. You've got a headache coming on. And Mittens will be all damp by the time she and him emerge from the bathroom. You'll have to dry her off while Caleb works on your kitchen tap. The agony that persists. Must life only bring suffering?
Only once the sun kisses the horizon is Caleb finally fiddling with your kitchen tap, twisting it, unscrewing it, examining it while you struggle to keep Mittens away from him. Since you dried her off, she's been strutting through his legs, flopping over and demanding belly rubs almost every minute he works on your tap.
As she does it again, you slide her across the floor and scoop her up in your arms, bouncing her like a restless baby as Caleb flashes you a grin.
"She's really missed me, huh?"
"Yeah. She used to start meowing at like 2am when we first moved in here. And she wouldn't stop until I got up to feed her. But now, she's calmed down a lot." You release her on the ground, watching as she inevitably bounds over to Caleb.
"That's good to hear. But I wish you told me she was giving you trouble. I would have visited if I knew she was keeping you up at night." Caleb dismantles your tap with ease, laying each part out on your sink so he can assess them one at a time.
"That's why I didn't tell you, dummy. I needed some space. I still need some space, actually," you remark.
"I've given you plenty of space, honey."
"You still track my cycle," you grouch.
"Okay, yeah." He picks up one of the parts, sniffing it like that rusty scent will tell him something other than that your apartment is overdue for a reno. "But it's not like I'm reviewing your discharge nightly."
"Anymore," you quip. "I bet you miss doing that, freak."
"You don't have to be so mean, you know? Especially not to the person who's doing you a favour right now." That shuts you up. You glare at him as Mittens begins to meow, anxious for an ounce of that handsome man's attention. As she stretches up, paws on his shorts, hind legs and torso elongated, he bends down and lifts her beneath the underarms. His fingertips overlap. You forgot just how large his hands are. Merely seeing them is different to seeing them wrapped around something. You gulp.
Caleb places her arms over his shoulder, one hand beneath her rear as he continues going through each part of your tap. You don't say anything else as he works, intent on watching her drift off to sleep with her little furry head on his shoulder. Your chest pangs. Everything you've tried to convince yourself you don't need is before you… It's times like these that make you forget those moments when you were curled up in bed, crying as Caleb just had to put another innocent person in their place for 'flirting' with you (showing basic kindness). If he would just change—
You stop yourself. There's no use relying on someone else to change. For someone cannot change unless they truly wish to. And Caleb, you're sure, feels justified in his actions. He can't see his wrongdoings, only how his 'righteous' actions upset you. What he does is not the problem, but he himself is. Or at least, that's how you understand him to be. If his perceptions have changed in the short time you've been apart, then you'd welcome that with open arms. But…
"Looks like it's your o-rings," Caleb says, holding up four little rubber rings.
"My what rings?" Your brow furrows. They really need to rename those to something else.
"Your o-rings. They create a seal between parts, so water doesn't leak out of places it shouldn't. It looks like one of them was loose. But to be safe, I'll replace all four." He sets them down and stalks off, returning with a packet of assorted replacement rings. It doesn't take him long to find the perfect match, and it's all too soon before he's re-assembling your tap, attaching it back to the sink like it hadn't been touched in the first place. He turns it on then off, waiting for any leaks. But there are none.
"Thanks, Cay," you murmur, gracing him with a sweet smile. A high unlike any substance can give him. He beams back at you, attempting nonchalance and thoroughly failing at it.
"It's alright. Wasn't too complicated or anything. But if you have anymore trouble with it, let me know. I can try replacing the washers next time to see if that'll do it." He packs up his few tools and leaves the kitchen, likely heading to his bag which he undoubtably left in your bedroom. You scoff. There's no way he's sleeping in your bed tonight. The couch is calling his name.
It's a little early for dinner, but seeing as Caleb hasn't returned for a minute longer than he ought to, you start pulling out the ingredients he meticulousy packed away earlier in the afternoon. He's probably going through your dirty laundry basket. If you're missing a pair(s) of panties, you'll know who the culprit is that's for sure.
By the time he waltzes back into the kitchen, Mittens trailing behind him, you're already measuring out the ingredients for the sauce.
"Hold on there. Are you starting without me?" Caleb pouts, clasping his heart like it hurts. You roll your eyes at him, snapping the lid back on the soy sauce.
"What does it look like I'm doing, dummy?" Now where is that darn hand grater when you need it? You start pulling open drawers, a bulb of ginger in your other hand as you frantically skim through knives and spoons. It's not long before Caleb is by your side, magically retrieving the grater you swear wasn't there a second ago.
"Looking for this?" He can barely contain his smirk.
"Thanks," you mutter, your eyes narrowed as you take the grater from him. Returning to your array of little bowls, you grate the ginger into one before mincing garlic into another. Meanwhile, Caleb soaks the chicken wings in water and a pinch of salt. But of course, braised chicken wings simply aren't enough for dinner. He also bought your favourite noodles, bean sprouts, and other yummy ingredients to make stir-fry noodles.
Easily, you and Caleb slip into a familiar routine, him at the stove while you man the chopping board. Mittens is off rubbing her scent all over Caleb's work boots. All that's missing is oldies jazz playing in the background. You wonder where you put your speaker as you chop the spring onions. A bit of music wouldn't hurt, right?
The onion slips, but your clouded mind doesn't react fast enough. The blade comes down and pierces your skin. A thin red line appears. A whimper escapes you. Caleb is beside you within a second, prying your hand off the knife and setting it down so he can examine your finger.
"You alright?" He asks, his voice slightly gruff.
"Mhm," you hum, trying to pull your hand back, but he won't let you. His grip is like a vice, clamped up in concern.
"Go sit down." He finally relents, releasing your hand. "I'll grab the first aid kit."
"I'm fine, Cay—" He's already stormed off, en route to your bathroom to grab the bandaids and disenfectant. Petulently, you throw yourself into one of chairs at the island bench, groaning about how he's making a big deal out of nothing (even though he can't hear you right now).
When he comes back, he sits beside you and diligently patches up your finger, chastising you lightly for not being more careful. After all, it's not the first time you've done this when cooking with him. His presence can be so distracting… But it's not like there's anything else for you to do in the kitchen other than chop. There's no way he'll let you near the stove when he's around. Maybe he'll put you on dish duty next time. How exciting.
You're banished to the couch while Caleb finishes up with dinner, your sweet kitty oblivious to your indignation as she finds a way to sit inside of your ex's boots. To leave her scent all over them simply isn't enough. She must infuse herself with the lining, coat the insole with her fur until he's forced to recall her every time he gets dressed for work.
Once Caleb finishes cooking, you help to set the table, watching with keen eyes as he plates everything. It looks delicious, steam rolling off crunchy fried noodles and tender chicken wings sparkling beneath the overhead light. Before digging in, you set out a bowl for Mittens, the clang of the metal on the floorboards enough to rouse her from her cosy spot.
Caleb's shoulder brushes against yours as you sit down, the cotton fabric of his t-shirt catching on yours. You can feel his heat, fabric sliding over skin. An ephemeral touch, replaced by hairs on edge as you yearn to close that small gap between you. He loads up your plate first, giving you the best looking chicken wings before dishing himself out a couple.
You start with the noodles, and oh boy are they divine. Perfectly crisp. The bean sprouts go so well with the salty flavour. Picking up a chicken wing, you bite into it and find that Caleb's cooking has only improved since you last saw him. Taking another bite, it dawns upon you that you forfeited a man who's good both in bed and in the kitchen. You should be ashamed of yourself!
As the silence stretches on, you decide to break it with, "How's therapy going?" Caleb nearly chokes on his chicken wing's bones.
"The-rapy?" He coughs out, clearing his throat before chugging half a glass of water.
"Yeah. Remember? I said that if you wanted to get back together, then you'd have to start going to therapy."
"I know, but I… didn't think you were being serious." Caleb's brow puckers in thought, his hand on his chin as he recalls that fight you two had in the days leading up to your separation.
You sigh dramatically. "Of course, you didn't."
"Hey…" He turns to face you, expression slightly pouty yet undeniably serious. "Look, pips, I don't need to go to therapy—"
"Princess, you're deranged." You twirl your chopsticks in your noodles, gathering them up in a bundle. "You need to go to therapy."
"I'll have you know I'm not deranged." He says, defensively.
"Yes, you are, Caleb. And even if you weren't, I'd still want you to go to therapy or at least maintain a journal or something."
"I have a journal." You cast him an 'oh, really?' look, which he nods at. "I'm serious. I have a journal. I write in it nightly."
"What do you write about?" You ask, pointing your noodle-ladden chopsticks at him antagonistically.
He chuckles in awkwardly. "Uh, it's a secret. There's no point having a journal if I tell you everything I write in it."
"I didn't ask you what you wrote, dummy. I asked what you write about. Work stuff, airplane model stuff, daily life stuff. What? What goes in there?" He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, suddenly avoiding your gaze. You've got a bad feeling about this.
"Don't tell me it's a log of my discharge." His eyes widen. Caught red-handed. "Caleb!" You nearly shriek.
"What?" He winces, acting as if his unspoken admission is competely normal and natural.
"At least tell me it's in a physical journal." You silently pray his answer is 'yes'.
"Of course, not. I can't visualise patterns and trends in a physical book," Caleb says like that's painfully obvious and absolutely essential to the nature of his journaling. "I've got it on a spreadsheet. I can show you sometime, if you'd like. Actually, I noticed as I was going through your laundry that your recent discharge was slightly yellowish. Has that been happening for long or—?"
"Caleb!" You exclaim, almost dropping your chopsticks.
"If it persists, it could be a sign of an STI. Have you been having sex with other—?"
"No!" Your eyes are like those of a deer in headlights, heart pounding defeaningly loud in your ears, and chest heaving. When did you get so worked up? Quiet ensues, neither one of you sure what to say next. Eventually, you utter, "Okay, one, gross—"
"That's not gross—"
"Two, you don't even keep a journal. A journal is supposed to be for mindfulness, Caleb!"
"Well, I would say that tracking your cycle is pretty mindful, wouldn't you?"
You groan, clearly frustrated with his smart ass attitude right now. "You see, this is why you need to be going to therapy."
"You don't want me to track your cycle?" He pouts, ready to turn on the puppy eyes should your temper rise. Of course, that's all he got from what you just said.
"No, you fuck wit. Just listen to me," you grit out. "Yes, I want you to track my cycle. But also, we're not together anymore, so you can stop tracking it now. But even if you do track it, you can just use an app. You don't need to be going through my underwear on a daily basis to figure out where I'm at in my cycle. It's not normal, Cay."
"Well, dating is pretty rough these days." He shrugs, cupping his chin pensively. "I can't imagine many men going to the lengths I do to take care of their partners."
Setting your choptsticks on your plate, you run your hands down your face, exhausted by his antics. "What I'm saying is that it's weird, Caleb. God, you never listen to me."
"Don't say that, baby. You know I always listen to you." He leans over, palm on your shoulder to comfort you. But you push him off.
"No, you don't. You never listen to what I say. You always just do what you think is best for me without asking what I want." Your words hang in the air, floating atop wispy steam. The food's getting cold.
In a gentle voice, Caleb murmurs, "Let's not do this anymore, okay? This conversation isn't going anywhere, and it's only upsetting you."
"You're upsetting me!" You lash out, on the verge of tears. Unexpected, they crept up on you. Your appetite shrivels up and rots in your stomach. Sniffling, you grab your plate and take it to the kitchen counter, wrapping it in aluminium foil and turning on the oven. After placing it inside to keep your half-eaten dinner warm, you dash down the hall, making it to the bathroom to wash your greasy lips.
"Honey…" You hear Caleb coo. Why does it always have to end like this? You, balling your eyes out. Him, unwaveringly oblivious to the pain he's caused you. And your steadily approaching period doesn't help either. Your hormones are out of wack. But at least he doesn't tip toe around you. That would be worse. To be treated like some bomb about to explode any minute. At least respects you enough to argue with you like you're his equal. As if you could call that spat a true argument.
Ducking into your bedroom, you see that indeed, you were correct; his overnight bag rests at the foot of your bed. With tear-filled eyes, you grab it by the handle and drop it on the floor, climbing under the covers to cry in peace. But it doesn't last for long. You're only graced with five mintues before there's a knock on your bedroom door. Caleb doesn't bother to ask for permission to enter, he simply slips inside, sitting on the edge of your bed and stroking where your head is beneath the quilt and blankets.
"I'm sorry," he utters, regret in his voice.
"For what?" You grumble, muffled by the layers between you. But he hears you all the same.
"I'm sorry for making you feel you like I don't listen to you. And I'm sorry for making you cry. It was never my intention to do either of those things." He pauses for a moment, waiting for you to accept his apology. But those magical words never come. With a deep breath in, he concedes, "I know that I can be a little overbearing sometimes. But it's for your own good, I swear." You push the covers back, fresh air swarming your red, puffy face.
Sitting up, you wipe your snotty nose on your arm, swallowing thickly before mumbling, "If your overbearing nature is making me feel unheard and upset, then how is it good for me?" He opens his mouth, retort ready when it withers away. That look in your eyes—it's as if he's been thrust back in time to a month ago—broken. All he succeeded in doing by coming here (besides from fixing your tap) was to shatter your spirit. And even worse, up until this very moment, he felt justified in doing so. But now…
"I'll go to therapy, okay? If it's that simple to make you smile again, then I'll do it. I'm sorry I didn't start sooner." You shake your head. The perfect answer rejected.
"You have to go to threrapy because you want to. You have to want to change. You have to want to get better. It's not about me, Caleb. It's about what you want," you stress. He licks his lips, inredulous, tasting the metaphorical saltiness of your tears. Don't you understand? Caleb can't exist without you. Whatever you want—as long as it's good for you—Caleb wants, too.
"I want to. Go to therapy—"
"No, you don't—"
"Well, I'm going to go anyway, alright? Whatever helps get us back on track. I want you to know that I haven't given up on us. And I'm pretty sure you haven't either." Caleb grabs a tissue from your bedside table before inching closer to you, carefully patting away the wetness of your cheeks. Your lips are swollen, quivering slightly as you feel your tears renew from his sweet affection.
With his hands on either side of your face, tissue in his lap, Caleb leans down and plants a kiss on your forehead. He trails down your temple and cheekbone, coming across to the reddened tip of your nose and then dipping to your lips. His kiss is light and fleeting, nothing too overwhelming as your emotions spill over. Resting your head against his shoulder, you snake your arms around his torso and squish him like a teddy bear. A soft chuckle arises. He embraces you just as tightly if not more.
"You're the worst ex." You mumble into his shirt, a big sniffle following behind.
"Yeah?" He replies, teasing lilt to his tone.
"Yeah." You rub your face against him like a feline; Mittens doesn't deserve to have all the fun. Speaking of the devil, she jumps up onto the bed, nuzzling at Caleb's side in an attempt to make your sacred cuddle a group hug.
"Caleb."
"Mhm?"
"I love you," you murmur, squeezing him a fraction tighter. He chuckles quietly, big warm hands rubbing circles into your back soothingly.
"I love you, too."
That night, you reluctantly let him sleep in your bed, his warmth lulling you into the deepest sleep you've had since separating.
Your heart is racing, jitters crawling up your spine as you futz with your hair. You're supposed to be going on a date tonight in—you tap your phone screen. It lights up. 17:52—8 minutes. More precisely, it'll be your first official date with Caleb since you two separated. He's been good for the past six months, going to therapy and keeping his distance (thanks to the cameras he installed all over your place when he was minding Mittens (you were away on a short business trip)). Slowly, you've been growing closer, falling back into old patterns you never really shook off. He's taken care to listen to any problems you've raised, and learned to let you initiate (for the most part).
But of course, Caleb is still Caleb. You can hear him enter through the front door from where you stand in your bedroom, hunched over your vanity.
He coos to Mittens, "How's my favourite girl?" You hear the rustle of treats. Must he feed her? She just ate an hour ago… Huffing, you give up on your hair, resigned to accept the awkward curve of your fringe. Grabbing your perfume, you rip off the cap and douse yourself in that luxurious scent.
"Pipsqueak?" Caleb's footsteps grow louder. He opens your bedroom door. "There you are, honey." You gaze at him through the mirror, eyes roaming over his tailored suit with delight and settling on his orange striped tie. A smile breaks out across your face.
"I'll be done soon, okay?" You tell him, heading over to your wardrobe and unveiling your shoe collection, many of which, Caleb bought for you on a whim. 'I thought these would go with that cream dress you like.' 'The bow reminded me of you.' 'Weren't you searching for a pair of heels just like these?' Skimming through your options, you settle on a sleek pair. Thankfully, you taped your toes together in advance. Slipping the heels on, you wobble a bit when standing up. But Caleb's there to catch you. He grasps your forearms and holds you steady, leading you forward like a parent does to their toddler. That's what you feel like in these fuckers anyways. A wittle baby.
"You okay? You know, you don't have to wear these if they're too hard to walk in," Caleb reminds you. But you shake your head, intent on surviving the next few hours in these beautiful (tortuous) heels.
"I'll be fine, Cay. I wanna look pretty for our date tonight." You tell him. He chuckles lightly, halting and stepping closer to you. His hands trail across to your waist, gripping you firmly.
"You look very pretty, honey, with or without heels." He grins at you, leaning in for a kiss, but stopping short of your lips. He wouldn't dare to ruin your lip combo before you've even reached the restaurant. "Tell you what, I'll keep a second pair of shoes for you in my car. How does that sound? You can change into those once you get tired of these."
"Mhm, yes, please." You nod, scampering off to retrieve your comfiest sneakers. Handing them to Caleb, you follow him out your bedroom door, grabbing your handbag on the way out. Mittens is happily munching on some gourmet treats as you two lock the apartment up. On the kitchen counter, you notice a small plate with a delicious looking slice on it.
Pointing to it, you say, "For me?"
Caleb whips around, a big grin on his face. "Yeah, I made some banana bread this morning. Thought you'd like to try it."
"I'm watching my weight—"
"I know, I know. That's why I only brought you a slice. Try it, won't you?" Staring at him for a few seconds, you eventually sigh.
"Fine. I'll try it later tonight." You abandon the treat and rejoin Caleb's side, ready to leave for your date. Mittens is oblivious to your departure, unperturbed by the lights going out as she finds the jacket Caleb left on the couch for her to sleep on.
The drive down town is short, accompanied by some nice jazz and light chatter. Caleb gets the door for you once he's parked the car and keeps an arm around your shoulders as you walk up to the restaurant's entrance. Heading inside, the hostess greets you both and leads you to a quiet table at the back Caleb specifically reserved. Ever the gentleman, he pulls out your chair for you and pushes it in before taking his seat opposite you.
"You don't have to be so chivalrous, you know?" You remark. Table water and two cups are placed in front of you. The hostess leaves you both to go through the menu.
"I wanna make a good impression." Caleb shrugs, a little shy. You chuckle at that.
"I think we're past that stage, don't you?" You flip the menu open, the insanely high prices jumping out at you. Gulping, you read through the offerings. Weird pairings. Beijing this, Parisan that. You remind yourself that Caleb can afford this kind of fine dining.
"Well, it never hurts, does it? And I've always been chivalrous, pipsqueak." You glance up. He hasn't even opened his menu.
"Aren't you going to read the menu?" You gesture to it, bemusement creeping into your voice. He graces you with a reassuring smile.
"I'll have what you're having."
"Cay-leb," you grumble. It's always these little bullshit games when it comes to him. You thought he got past that months ago. "What if I want a salad?" You challenge, the menu pressing awkwardly against the sides of your fingers. It's rigid. The binding is stiff. Perhaps, they were freshly printed? But these aged pages tell a different story.
"You're not having a salad, honey. We're at a nice place. Why don't you have the roast duck instead?"
"You been here before?" You ask, wondering if he's brought other girls here during the time you've been apart. But as soon as that thought enters your mind, you cast it out. Caleb wouldn't. He's not like that. And neither are you. But he doesn't have to be so smug about this all.
"Well, I had to make sure you'd like it," he replies off-handedly, signalling to a nearby waiter that you're ready to order. You expect Caleb to do the talking once the server arrives, but instead, he nods at you.
For a moment, you stare back at him, the gears slowly turning in your mind. And then—"Hi, um, I'll have the Beijing roast duck and my partner would like—" You glance down at the menu, saying the first dish you see, "The teriyaki glacier 51 toothfish, please." The waiter smiles at you and gathers up your menus.
"Any drinks?" You turn to Caleb and find him to be rather unhelpful. He's wearing this proud smirk, enjoying seeing you struggle like this.
You stutter, "U-uh, yes, please. Just a bottle of red wine."
"Which one, miss?"
"U-uh." You hadn't even gone through the drinks menu! Of course, a place like this has about 30 different varieties of red wine to choose from. "What. Do you recommend?" You ask, your words clunky like this is your first time speaking to a waiter.
Flipping open the extensive wine list, the server points to the reds section. "The 2017 Côte D'Or Bourgogne by Benjamin Leuroux is my personal favourite. The fruit fades into the background, allowing a lightness to take centre stage. Very refreshing and moderately affordable." You eye the $380 next to the wine's name. Very affordable, indeed. "But if you're looking for something premium." The waiter directs your attention to the next page. "I'd suggest the 2013 Chambertin Grand cru by David Duband. Only two barrels were produced from vines over 50 years old. It's beautifully balanced with a broad range of earthy notes complemented by florals and a wild berry that creates a smooth finish. A truly exquisite wine, I can assure you." For over $2,500, you'd be expecting a pretty exquisite fucking wine, yeah.
Again, you meet Caleb's eyes, figuratively on your knees and pleading for him to utter a few words. But now, he seems distracted. He looks at you without really looking at you, smiles at you without smiling.
"Um. We'll have the first one you suggested. Thank you." You grin at the waiter, watching as he retreats before facing Caleb. "Hello-oh? I could have really used your help back there, dummy." He seems to recover from his daze, blinking back to reality at the sound of your irritated tone.
"On the contrary, I think you did great. I should let you take the lead more often," he says playfully.
You roll your eyes at him. "Yeah, yeah. I never wanna do that again. You didn't even give me enough time to look at the menu! And now I just ordered a $400 wine—" His phone buzzes, promptly shutting you up. With a grimace, Caleb pulls out his phone and checks the notification.
"Sorry, honey. Work stuff. I'll be back in a minute, alright?" He pushes his chair out, rising to standing. Your eyes widen, your lips forming into a pout.
"Everything alright?"
"Yeah," he breathes out, quick to reassure you. "Let me handle this and then it'll just be you and me, okay? No more interruptions." You nod earnestly, watching with sinking shoulders as Caleb weaves through the tables to the exit. He's a busy man, you know. But it's hard to remember that when he always prioritises you. If he's not on a mission, then he'll be at your doorstep at the first sign of trouble, no hesitation, no 'Sorry, honey, I have a meeting' or other commitments coming between the two of you. You wonder what's so important that it could disturb him during your date. Maybe something went wrong at the HQ and he'll have to return right away. You sincerely hope not.
As you wait for him to return, you admire the patrons surrounding you. You see glittering pearls and shiny bald spots, beer bellies and opulent diamond rings. The overhead chandeliers are warm and cosy. A pianist in the corner plays, their fingertips agile and skilful. It isn't too long until Caleb sits before you once more, his phone out of sight.
"You okay?" You murmur, your brow puckered from concern.
"Yep. Everything's been taken care of. So where were we?" Caleb replies, sounding rather chipper. Your conversation comes easily, slipping into something comfortable. There's a push and pull, the two of you on the edge of your seats as you lap up the other's words like excited puppies. The food arrives all too soon, the wine poured by a different waiter to the one who took your orders. You have a sip, tasting the subtlety of the fruit. It really is quite refreshing and smooth on the way down.
"D'you like it?" You ask Caleb as he sets down his glass (he won't pick it up again for the remainder of the evening).
He shrugs. "It's a bit bland for my liking, but it's alright. How's the duck?" You pick up a tender slice with your fork and pop it into your mouth. Savoury-sweet bursts on your tongue. You can taste the onions it was roasted with. There's this slightly gamery undertone that you don't mind. Overall—
"It's pretty good. D'you wanna try it?" You hold out a slice to Caleb. Leaning forward, he bites it off your fork, sitting back and tasting the duck.
"Mhm. It's nice," he says, beginning to cut into his own meal. You sample the toothfish you ordered for him and find it to be similar to king crabs with a hint of cucumber and honey. It's a delicacy. But you end up preferring your own dish to his.
"Told you you'd like the roast duck." Caleb smirks. His plate is empty, save for any spilt sauce.
"Yeah, yeah," you sigh offhandledly, reluctant to admit that he was right all along. After finishing your meal, you head to the bathroom to clean up. In the meantime, Caleb pays for your date. When you emerge from the ladies room, certain your makeup still looks good, you find him waiting for you nearby with the bottle of wine in hand.
As soon as you make it out of the restaraunt, you're slung over his shoulders, laughing giddily and kicking your feet while he walks back to the car. He sets you down in the passenger seat and fetches a blanket he conveniently had on hand, wrapping you up in it as you giggle uncontrollably. You only had a couple of glasses of that wine, but there's a buzz in your system. Your body feels hot, and the world moves slowly. You slip off your heels and get cosy as Caleb settles into the driver's seat and gets the car going.
Back at home, you stumble inside, barefoot, while Caleb nurses your heels, back-up shoes, handbag, and the wine. You dash over to the couch and collapse on it, your cheeks aching from smiling the entire ride home.
"Cayyy-leb," you coo. Mittens jumps down from the couch and runs off, probably to greet your date.
"Coming, honey." Within a minute or so, Caleb comes into view, holding the plate of banana bread he left at your place earlier and a glass of water.
Sitting next to you, he hands you the water and says, "Let's sober you up, huh?" You take a sip from the glass, eyes following Caleb's movements as he undoes the cling wrap covering the banana bread and places the plate on his lap. Picking it up, he aeroplanes the slice to your mouth, feeding you a generous bite between your chortles.
"How is it?"
"Yum-myyy." You grin, happily accepting the next bite he offers you. "Mhmmm, Caleb."
"Yes, honey?" You cover your mouth with your fingertips, intent on delaying the next bite.
"Caleb. I love you." Not an odd thing to say. But something you haven't said since that night all those months ago. The liquor has loosened up your tongue. You can't stop yourself from admitting, "And sometimes, I wish I didn't break up with you. You're so handsome and kind to me. But you've got a few screws loose, you know? Like… I think you're a bit fucked in the head. But I still like you." Caleb stares at you for a moment, mouth half-open, unsure of how to react. And then, he chuckles, shaking his head lightly.
"Is that so? Well, I like you, too, pipsqueak. I love you."
"I love how you take care of me," you counter. "And I love your cooking. And I miss your homemade lunches. I miss having you around and waking up with you by my side. And I miss our intimacy. I really miss it... I wish that we could rewind or something, that we could… I don't know. Be together again? Even if you're a little crazy, I still want to be with you. I just don't want to you to hurt me again."
Another bite of banana bread down the hatch. Only one little piece to go.
"Honey…" Caleb grasps your jaw, thumb swiping a crumb past your parted lips and onto your tongue. You taste the tip of his finger before it flees, hand falling down to your knee. "We'll talk about in the morning, okay?" So much he wants to say, lodged in the back of his throat. He chokes on it, lips sealed in an attempt to contain his heartfelt feelings.
You accept the final bite of banana bread Caleb pops into your mouth, munching on it calmy as you stare at him. The only man who's ever loved you like you were the very thing that kept him alive. With reverence. With respect. But also at times, with obsession. Your eyelids begin to feel heavy. That wine must have been stronger than you thought.
Quietly, you say, "I love you, Cay. I want…" You sway a little, finding it hard to keep upright. Caleb wraps his arms around you, pouting at the sight of his precious girl trying to fend off sleep after a long day (or rather, a teeny-weeny dose of valium). "I want to elope with you. Let's just get married. Somewhere in the moutains. Or maybe on an island. Just the two of us, and maybe a few friends." You yawn like a lion cub, adorable in Caleb's eyes as you snuggle into his warmth.
"Honey…" His tone holds a warning. He can't let himself fall prey to your sweet temptation. His fingers card through your hair, feeling the soft strands with a hesitant, yet elated smile on his face. Slowly, you drift off, knocked out real good before Caleb carries you to your bedroom. In true chivalry, he removes your makeup and changes you into a comfy pair of pajamas.
Pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, he whispers, "'M sorry," before straightening up and booking it to your front door. He's out for the early hours of the morning, staining his hands and suit crimson with the blood of that friendly waiter. After ordering Liam to dispose of the body, Caleb returns to your apartment; orange burnishes the dark sky. The sun rises as he showers, burgundy like that damned wine trickling down your drain. Eventually, he joins you in bed, your bodies fitting seamlessly together; the underlying scent of body wash that clings to your skin are the same.
His therapist taught him a valuable lesson, probably because he wasn't a therapist but a cardiac surgeon instead. Rather than quitting an addiction, you should learn to hide it better (or at least, that's what Caleb heard during a 2am phone call with the esteemed doctor last week). He'll give you the perfect life and pick off anyone who dares to disrupt that one-by-one. That's what scared you away. But how can you be afraid of something that's hidden from your view, unknown until Caleb makes a silly mistake. But that won't happen, he's certain of it now. Your separation didn't teach him to let something breathe so that it may flourish. Rather, it taught him to keep something in a spacious cage so it believes it can flourish.
elle's notes: just in case you were confused, when caleb leaves the restaurant to take a phone call, he's actually arranging with liam to have the waiter that recommended you wine picked up. He also cooked the banana bread with valium (or diazepam), which calms your nervous system and induces drowsiness. thus, when you eat it later on, coupled with the alcohol in your system, you fall asleep relatively quickly after the valium takes effect.
@starkissedxav - it's been a while, but i hope you like this!
side header images from pinterest (not mine, obviously). but i did take the centre photo of caleb when playing his myth ages ago. sword divider at the end is from fairytopea, and pearl dividers by anitalenia.
a/n: hi hi !! i hope u enjoy this sweet little domestic piece with xavier hehe :3 requested by @cnavyblue i hope u like it :D that last paragraph is actually top 7 things ive written ever i think so that’s fun ! let me know what u guys think <3
tags/warnings: none ! all domestic fluff <3 wc: 1.1k
today had been exhausting, horrendous, downright atrocious even. a sigh of relief leaves your body the second you close your front door behind you, taking a moment to close your eyes and just breathe. you fight back tears, no, you weren’t going to cry. not tonight at least. tonight you would take care of yourself in the way you knew always worked.
you let the hot water in the shower wash away your worries, using your favorite products and listening to your favorite music. you don’t bother drying your hair, throwing on the sweatshirt you’d stolen from xavier and lighting your favorite candle, humming to yourself as you waited for the popcorn to finish popping.
as you settled into your couch, a small smile etched on your lips. yeah, this was what you needed. you turned to the side slightly, the bunbun plush next to you stared back at you.
you were just missing one crucial thing. he was probably still awake, right?
you: hiii are u awake still :P
angel eyes: yeah, can’t sleep
angel eyes: R U ok?
you: yeah… join me for a romcom ?? :]
the three dots appear and disappear quickly, a small flash of light coming from your bedroom makes you smile widely. you hear the bedroom door creak open and footsteps coming down the hall. messy silver hair and shining blue eyes round the corner to your living room, grey sweat shorts hanging on his hips paired with a black t shirt. you don’t bother hiding the way your eyes trail up his legs, lingering on his thick thighs before finally meeting his eyes.
“so you’ve given up on front doors completely then?” you smile, xavier’s eyes quickly find yours, a smile breaking onto his face as he makes his way towards you.
“didn’t wanna spend anymore time apart from you,” he pouts, you giggle at the way his brows furrow sadly. “long day?” he asks, settling in easily in the space next to you, wiggling a bit until you’re comfortable, you body nestled right up against his and popcorn bowl placed perfectly between his legs.
you hum in response, letting your head rest on his chest as you grab the remote, scrolling through available romcoms before finally landing on one.
“if you’re a bird I’m a bird,” xavier mumbles to you quietly as the movie starts, placing a gentle kiss to your temple. you can’t help the giant grin on your face as you turn to look at your lover.
“when did you watch the notebook?” you tease, savoring the way he smiles sheepishly as his cheeks turn the shade of pink you adore on him.
“i really like romcoms,” he mutters, face turning to avoid yours. a small gasp leaves your lips, quickly replaced by incessant giggles when you cup his cheeks with both hands, forcing him to look at you.
“my hopeless romantic,” you smile softly, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of his nose. xavier smiles, blinking quickly before placing his hands softly on either side of your face, grinning before placing a kiss to your lips. you squeak softly, eyes fluttering shut and whining when he pulls away with a quiet chuckle.
“for you, always.”
you giggle at his words, ignoring the way your face heats up and refraining from commenting on his bright red ears. it was true though, he was a hopeless romantic.
memories of him constantly giving you flowers, sharing headphones, buying you things, confessing his feelings to you after you’d argued and he almost burst into tears, kissing in the rain. the thought made you smile, xavier noticed, of course he did.
xavier only cared for romcoms because he knew you’d love them. he knew you’d want a love so strong they’d run in the rain for you, a love so deep that no matter what happens, your lover would find their way to you. and he gave you that, time and time again he was your fated lover.
neither of you made it past the thirty minute mark of the movie, exhaustion creeping up on the two of you. the comfort of being home with the person you trust the most made your eyelids heavier.
you pretended to be awake when xavier stirred next to you, eyes glued to the screen for half a second before you head lolled forward. xavier didn’t bother acting, soft snores leaving his lips as sweet scenes unfolded on the television.
loud arguments from the movie caused the two of you to jump slightly, eyes bleary as you both blinked quickly and tried to cover up the micronap you’d just taken.
“did you fall asleep?” you ask quietly, rubbing your eyes as xavier yawned.
“… no, did you?” you stare at xavier with narrowed eyes, he blinks rapidly under your gaze before the slightest smile appears on his lips. “okay maybe for a bit.”
“it’s okay, me too,” you chuckle, grabbing the remote and pausing the movie. you stretch with a quiet groan, letting your body fall limp onto your lover.
“‘m so tired, can’t do anything anymore,” you mumble, eyes closing on their own accord as you listen to xavier’s steady heartbeat.
“then we don’t have to,” he replied simply, placing the popcorn bowl on your coffee table before maneuvering his arms underneath you. “let’s just go to sleep, tomorrow we can have a movie night, sound good?” his quiet voice only helps lull you deeper into sleep.
“mhm,” you hum, arms wrapped around his neck as he walks to your bedroom, tucking you into bed. he slips out of his clothes and joins you under the sheets. you smile slightly at the smell of his body wash and cologne, curling your arms tighter around him. xavier feels his stomach flip at the action.
“you won’t leave right?” you slur, right on the line between lucid and asleep. xavier holds back a chuckle at your words, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before letting his eyes flutter shut.
“i won’t ever leave you, my star,” he whispers, “I’ll be right here with you, always.” your silence makes his eyes open, heartbeat calming when he finds you’ve just fallen asleep. he lets out a small sigh, “i love you starlight, more than you know.”
maybe engraved in his dna along with the nucleic bases you were woven in, a part of who he was no matter what. it was always going to be you, nothing could change that. not the timeline he was in, not the world he inhabited or the role he played.
it was always you and him, and he wouldnt have it any other way.
masterlist
taglist: @hirayalia @violasepals @txtworlddom @mrs-lixiaqin @pjselee @luvyizhou @colonelkaboom @xyzsbaobei @ellavelysworld @floatingpalelilies @stillseiims @cocoaxia @goddesssevenseas @latte-ghost @vanillaapples send and ask to be added :3
a/n: hi hi !! gojo fluff because i miss my angel boy !!! i hope u guys enjoy hehe :3 might be ooc hold the tomatoes plz!
every night you tell yourself you won't let satoru keep you up late, and every night you give in when he stares at you with the slightest pout on his glossy lips and pleading, gleaming eyes.
"only five minutes and then i'm going to sleep. I have to be up early tomorrow," you say sternly, biting back a smile when satoru crushes you in his arms, kissing the top of your head repeatedly.
five minutes turns to ten, then thirty, and before you know its already two in the morning. but incessant giggles leave your lips as the two of you talk about anything that comes up, burying your face in the crook of his neck in embarrassment when he recalls the time you drunk texted him before the two of you became official.
the next morning goes just as you'd predicted it would. wrestling yourself out of your lovers obnoxiously tight grip on you and whispering harshly about how you were already running late.
"satoru I need to get ready, let go of me!" he only smiles lazily, cracking one eye open as his hair sticks in every direction, finally loosening his grip when you scowl at him.
"okay fine, leave your boyfriend sad and lonely at home," his voice is slightly muffled from his cheek being squished against the pillow. you roll your eyes, smoothing his hair slightly before heading to the restroom.
"my sad and lonely boyfriend needs to get up and go to his job too, the higher ups hate you enough as is, and I think Yaga would appreciate you being only 30 minutes late as opposed to 3 hours" you call from the restroom, satoru scoffs quietly, rolling onto his back and stretching.
satoru gets up, pulling on his sweats as he makes you coffee and a small breakfast, handing it you with a smile when you practically run out the door. "have a good day sweetheart," he mumbles, catching your wrist and pressing a soft kiss to your lips.
he sees your umbrella as you walk out the door, but satoru is nothing if not opportunistic. and this was the perfect excuse to show up to bring you home after work.
with a sigh you finally head to exit the building, frowning slightly when you see how hard it was raining. you rummage through your bag, brows furrowed when you come up empty.
"there's no way," you mumble, setting your bag on a bench and quickly searching through it again.
“watcha lookin’ for?” the familiar timbre makes your head whip up, a smile already on your face when you’re met with familiar crystalline eyes peering at you over his sunglasses.
“what are you doing here?” you breathe out, meeting his quick strides as he engulfs you in his arms, expensive cologne filling your senses as he kisses the top of your head.
“someone was in such a rush they forgot their umbrella. I can't risk my pretty girl getting wet, that’s an indoor activity,” he snickers, you smack him upside the head, his smile only widens.
satoru smiles when you lean into his side, fingers intwining with his. you stop before you can exit the building into the pouring rain. you turn to face your lover, looking at his empty hand and then back up at him, snowy bangs barely covering his furrowed brows.
“everything okay sweets?”
“satoru, where’s the umbrella?” your blank expression makes him giggle, leaning down and placing the a gentle kiss to your lips.
“my silly girl,” he mumbles, another chaste kiss to your cheek before standing up straight and tugging you out the front door.
“satoru!” you shriek, fully expecting to be drenched from the torrential downpour, only for the fat raindrops to never hit you. instead, they slide off an invisible force inches away from your skin. your eyes widen and mouth falls open as you turn to your lover.
“guess you forget who you’re with, huh?” the cocky smirk on his face makes you roll your eyes.
"you're so annoying," you smile, satoru chuckles, sweeping you off your feet and carrying you bridal style to you car.
"you're so deeply in love with me," he grins, loving the way your heart rate spikes and your cheeks grow warmer.
when the two of you get home, you pretend not to see him throwing you umbrella in the trash, a small smile on his face as he rejoins you on the couch.
"the forecast says its gonna rain the rest of the week, how about I pick you up after work?" satoru's eyes sparkle as he awaits your response, you bite back your laughter.
"what if you're off on a mission or doing something important?" you reply, knowing there was no way out of this. satoru rolls his eyes, letting his head land in your lap. your fingers immediately find their way into his hair.
"sweetheart," his voice drops an octave lower, you can't help but grin at the sound of it.
"guess ill be waiting for my knight in shining armor after work this week," you hum, satoru smiles, taking your hand in his and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.
"always."
masterlist
ps: i wasn’t sure if to add my taglist since this isn’t lads content gulp but if you guys think i should add taglist to non lads writing pls lmk !! i need opinions
at first, you thought he was just being mean, hogging the highest-tech thing you’d ever seen all to himself. then, once you got old enough, you wondered if all the secrecy was for…nefarious reasons. but every time he smiled and ruffled your hair, you just couldn’t bring yourself to think he’d ever watch that kind of stuff.
plus, the thought made your stomach hurt.
eventually, you grew old enough to value your privacy just as much. gone were the days of you sneaking glances over his shoulder and trying to guess his password while he wasn’t looking.
*his password wasn’t your birthday. why wasn’t it your birthday? was it someone else’s birthday?
**it always was your birthday. just typed backwards.
in all that time, you never would’ve guessed the thing he’d tried so hard to keep from you was his own sims fantasy land.
he’d spent hours designing both of your appearances and outfits, chasing accuracy down to the pixel. once he was satisfied, he moved your household into an empty world, so that you were free to live as you were instead of who you should’ve been.
he’s an astronaut, you’re a secret agent. you have a garden, but he always hires someone to tend to it so the plants don't command too much of your attention. his cooking skills are maxed out, as is your relationship level. and there’s a shiny silver band around your left ring finger.
you have a mansion with a motherlode of things to entertain you: hot tub, cupcake machine, karaoke station, rocket ship. and rest assured, there’s a trusty cowplant in the back to deal with anyone who disrupts your peace. over the years, it has lured and devoured multiple incarnations of a certain black-haired, green-eyed, sweet-toothed genius who you could never seem to stop gushing over.
and when the grey hairs come in for both of you, and your time starts winding down…well. he already has twin burial plots mapped out in the backyard, right in the middle of the apple orchard.
not that he’s dreamed about a life with you, or anything.
ѕυммαяу： ♡ love life in a tragic state and all dates going so poorly that it's no shock the small glimmer of hope you get from one guy, gets immediately stamped out too. it's a good thing you have your best friend gojo to look out for you!
cw ⤷ 𖥻 . ˖ ꒰ mdni ꒱ . smut . cheating (not by reader or gojo) . dirty talk . cunnilingus . fingering . spitting . praise . piv . creampie . multiple orgasms . biting . big dick!gojo . tease/mean!gojo. jealous!gojo. gojo is down BAD . use of pet names . fem!reader . s/her prns used ♯ 9.5k
Checking the time again, you sigh, it’s bordering on an hour since you first sat down to wait for your date. The thought that you had been stood up entered your mind maybe half an hour ago but now it’s practically been cemented.
Maybe you should just cut your losses and leave but this is a nice place, it’d be a shame to waste the reservation. The hope of your date miraculously showing up has left you though. Opening your texts, you think of who to message, the idea to message Gojo briefly crossing your mind before you decide he is the worst possible person to tell about this.
Instead, you message Shoko, asking if she’s free and telling her of your failed date. It takes her a few minutes to reply and when she does, instead of a straightforward response, you receive a cryptic and ambiguous saluting emoji. Deciding to take that as confirmation of her presence, you begin waiting… again.
You think you’ve reached your waiting quota of the year, no more waiting on people. Why do people never seem to value your time? While lamenting to yourself silently, you don’t notice the arrival of someone incredibly familiar, someone incredibly exasperating.
“I’m hurt you know.”
The words startle you and as you look up to find the source of them, you’re confronted with Gojo standing beside you. Pouting like he’s feeling extremely slighted by you for some indiscernible reason.
You almost sputter at him, his presence completely unexpected, “What are you doing here?”
He ignores your question, continuing with his faux pain, “My best friend gets stood up and instead of messaging me… she messages Shoko? That stings.”
Sighing off his dramatics, you ask again, “What are you doing here, Gojo?”
“What else would I be here for?” He smiles big at you, moving to sit in the chair opposite you, flopping down and making himself comfortable, “I’m here to be your date!”
Propping your head up on your hand, you grumble at him, “How did you even know I was stood up?”
“I was with Shoko when you messaged her,” he shrugs easily.
You squint at him, “Why are you here and not her?”
“Because it is my duty as your best friend to be there for you.”
So stubborn about the weirdest things, you’ve known each other forever and sure, maybe he is your best friend, but this is something that has bruised your ego a bit. It’s silly, but for some reason… you don’t really want for Gojo to see you like this.
Sulking, you huff, “It’s not a big deal, I just didn’t wanna waste the reservation.”
“Don’t lie, you dressed up all cute and the dude couldn’t even be bothered to show up?” He frowns like he’ll get angry if he thinks about it for too long, “It’s a big deal.”
“You’re more upset about it then I am,” you play at indifference and while you don’t really care about your failed date, you are thinking really hard about how he said you dressed cute.
“That’s just ‘cause you’re always settling for less than what you deserve,” he grows a little more irritated, like his observation annoys him more than it annoys you.
Defending yourself with a grumble, “That’s not true.”
“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he smiles in a manner that exudes disbelief. Because it does, Gojo has witnessed you settle for less nearly every single day of your lives and every time he has to grit his teeth and cope.
Crossing your arms, you snark at him, “Don’t patronise me, Gojo.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he still has that smile plastered on his face.
You glare at him from across the table but sit in silence, not really having anything else to say to him right now. Annoyed at yourself for losing the back and forth between the two of you for not the first time and definitely not the last.
Gojo, however, is not capable of sitting in silence for too long and so, he whines at you, “Anyways, I thought I was always your first call when things went wrong.”
Looking away from him, you scratch at the back of your neck awkwardly, “You are… for other things.”
Catching onto your meaning, he asks, “So, you never call me when things go wrong on dates?”
“…Correct.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not really something I thought would matter to you this much.” The truth is, you’ve been on much worse dates, dates where they actually do show up but prove themselves to be some of the worst people. You always call Shoko though… that or you just brush it off.
Telling Gojo about your dating life feels weird, it’s not like he tells you about his.
His mouth downturns at your remark, “Anything that involves you matters to me.”
“It’s not like you tell me about your dating life,” you counter, starting to feel somewhat badly.
“I would, if I had one,” he leans back into his chair more, “I’m not currently dating though.”
Sheepishly, you say, “Oh…well…I am.”
“I know that now,” his eyes focus on you, “Just how many dates have you gone on recently?”
“Recently?” he nods at you, “Uhm… a few every couple of weeks, not heaps but… frequently enough that getting stood up isn’t the worst thing to happen to me lately.” You laugh slightly at a memory, “You know, on one of them, the guy actually got back with his ex during our date, like he—”
You cut yourself off when you realise Gojo isn’t experiencing the same amount of enjoyment at the recounting of your date a few weeks ago. Asking, “Why is this bugging you?”
“It’s not,” his tone is certain but the expression he’s wearing is anything but. Clearly annoyed by something.
Challenging his logic, “Do you want me to tell you about my dating life?”
He thinks on it for a second, “No.”
“See? That’s what I thought—”
“—But I want you to call me when things go badly,” his gaze even on you, unwavering.
“You’re annoying,” you huff out a breath.
His face brightens up again, “And yet I’m still your best friend.”
You can only roll your eyes at him because he’s right, he’s completely annoying and also completely your best friend.
After that failed date that turned into you having dinner with Gojo, you’ve chosen to listen to his complaint and call him whenever a date goes south. He seemed actually bothered by the fact you weren’t relying on him more, so you decided that if something does go wrong, you’d tell him about it.
However, your dating life has been going pretty swimmingly the past couple weeks. You’ve found someone you wouldn’t mind being with, having gone on a few dates with him now. You’ve pretty much been exclusively seeing him, he’s taken you out for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Previous dates barely made it through one meal, but this guy managed to appeal to you enough to take you out multiple times.
It’s your fault that you got your hopes up, thinking that maybe he was different but as you sit on the couch in his apartment—his assumed girlfriend yelling at him—you can see he’s just like everyone else in the dating scene these days. It’s that or you just have really, really bad luck when it comes to your romantic life.
For the third time, you try to leave but he holds you back, “Wait no, please don’t go, this is just a misunderstanding!”
You shrug him off you, his touch making you feel disgusting.
Going to say something in reply, but his girlfriend speaks first, “So now you’re cheating on me and trying to keep her here?”
He stutters, like he forgot she was here for a moment, “No! Babe, I’m not cheating on you!”
Awkwardly, you scratch at the back of your neck, “Listen, I’m going to be so honest, I think you’re a bad person and any interest I had in you is gone. I’d just really like to leave now.”
He’s wearing an annoyed look on his face, “How do you even expect to get home? I drove you here.”
She scoffs at him from by the door, foot tapping impatiently, “Now you’re offering her a ride home? Are you fucking serious right now?”
Walking to the front door, you shuffle around his girlfriend, “I’m just gonna… slide right past you.” Pausing after opening the door and turning back to address her, “Uhm… Just in case he tries lying to you… we went on multiple dates over the past couple weeks.” Standing awkwardly for an extra moment as her face twists in realisation, “Bye!” You rush out the door, speed walking to the elevator.
The screaming and yelling gets louder from their apartment, able to hear them until you finally get in the elevator and descend to the ground floor. In the lobby, you pull out your phone and sigh dejectedly, scrolling for Gojo’s contact, you need a ride home.
He picks up pretty quickly, “Hello?”
You get straight to the point, not feeling particularly great right about now, “…I need a ride home.”
“Well, good evening to you too,” he replies, voice full of mirth, “You know. people normally exchange pleasantries over the phone before immediately asking for things, I’ve been told – by you actually – that just asking for things straight up can be read as rude, so—”
“—Satoru.”
The use of his name has him going quiet, stopping his tangent instead to ask, “Where are you?”
You’re tired, your mood travelling through the phone as you answer, “Some apartment, I’ll text you the address…”
“You okay?” He checks.
You can’t help the pause before your reply, “…Yeah.”
His concern for you growing at your seeming uncertainty, “You gonna tell me what happened?”
It’s a little embarrassing, you think, but yeah, you’ll tell him about it, “Later… I just wanna go home now.”
“Alright, I’ll be there soon.” He hangs up before you get to thank him.
You text him the address and then head out the front of the building where you wait for him. While you’re waiting, you find yourself wondering if that girl will stay with the evil man that was your date, you hope she doesn’t, she deserves better than him.
When Gojo pulls up, you silently slip into the passenger seat, you’re expecting him to immediately drive away but he turns and looks at you. His eyes examining you carefully, scrutinising you.
Turning your head to the side, “What?”
“Just making sure you’re okay.” His hands reach out and for a second you think he’s going to touch you, but he pulls on the seatbelt and clicks it into place for you.
You mumble out at him, dismissive, “I’m fine.”
He hums at you, in that way that tells you he doesn’t believe you even a little bit but he’s letting it go for now. Instead focusing on getting you home.
Back at your apartment, Gojo follows you all the way inside, you thought maybe he would just drop you home and leave you alone, but he’s followed you into your living room. You don’t know if you have the energy for him right now, feeling so drained. Probably feeling this way because you’re incapable of finding a decent guy to date.
Couch looking so inviting, you flop down onto it face first, mumbling out, “Gojo, will you just be my boyfriend?”
He seems taken aback by your sudden ask, choking on his own spit, coughing out a confused, “What?”
Sighing, you cryptically answer, “I don’t think I’m built for the dating scene.”
When he finishes hacking up a lung, he taps your legs, to which you hold them up so he can sit down. His hand tugging them back down once he’s sat, “What happened, sweetheart?”
Your voice is still muffled by the couch cushions, “Been seeing a guy for a couple weeks now—”
“—The same one?” Gojo cuts you off.
Humming out a, “Yes and—”
Again, he cuts you off, “—That’s pretty serious…”
I know but—”
“—Why didn’t you tell me about him?” His tone growing slightly alarmed by the apparent seriousness of your dating life.
You, on the other hand, are becoming somewhat annoyed. Pushing yourself out of the cushions to sit up and face him, your legs still resting in his lap, “You said you didn’t wanna hear about my dating life.” You point an accusatory finger at him.
“Yeah but casually dating and actively seeing someone is different—” He’s not really sure if he’s making a fair point or not but sticking to it like he is.
“—Does it matter?” You’re looking at him incredulously, not sure if there is a difference.
He’s steadfast in his opinion, “Of course it matters.”
“I don’t think it should, especially since—”
“—If you’re seeing the same guy multiple times that means you were actually interested in him—” He’s annoyed at himself for not realising you were seeing the same guy, for not asking questions, not realising how serious you were getting about one guy. So caught up in this one fact that he’s lost sight of his original purpose of being here.
“—Can you stop cutting me off!” You raise your voice at him, getting sick of how much he’s been interrupting you, “I’ve been trying to tell you that he had a girlfriend the whole time,” you purse your lips and look away from him, feeling embarrassed, “That’s why I asked you to come get me.”
“Oh…” He feels bad now.
“…Yeah, she showed up while I was there, and it was really uncomfortable, and I didn’t exactly feel safe.” You sigh, slumping, “And now I just feel really bad about dating.”
Completely serious when he suggests, “Maybe you should stop.”
“Stop dating?”
Consistent in his confirmation, “Yes.”
Meeting his gaze again, “How else am I going to meet someone?”
He rolls his eyes at your question, irritated for reasons unknown to you, “Why do you need to date someone now anyways?”
You don’t really see his point, what does he mean ‘why?’… why else do people date? “Maybe I’m lonely, maybe I seek companionship, maybe I’m like every other person who dates?”
“You have me though,” you’d think he was joking if he didn’t look so serious.
Unsure how to go about answering when it seems pretty straight forward to you, “Gojo… that’s not the same thing, we’re friends, we don’t look at each other that way.”
“Says you.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I’d date you in a heartbeat,” he folds his arms over his chest, “In fact, you’re the only person I want to date.”
You can’t tell if he’s teasing or not, “Get real, that’s not what I meant.”
His head tilts at you, “What did you mean then?”
“I’m talking about romantic and sexual attraction,” you’re avoiding his gaze again.
So casual in how he bluntly asks, “You think I’m not sexually attracted to you?”
His question catches you off guard, “It’s not just about sexual attraction, Gojo,” you shake your head, “if that were the case, I’d just be having one night stands all the time, I want a relationship with someone…”
He nods his head like he suddenly understands, “Ah, so you think I’m not romantically interested in you?”
“You shouldn’t be.”
“Why not?”
Disbelieving when you look at him, “Are you serious right now? We’re friends.”
“Yeah, we are friends, but I also happen to be romantically and sexually attracted to you.”
How do you even respond to a confession like that? He’s not even flustered, completely nonchalant in how he’s just told you that he’s interested in you. “I don’t think—”
“—Are you going to tell me you’re not interested in me? Even a little bit?”
“We’re friends.”
“Is that the only thing stopping you?” He doesn’t wait for your answer, “Because if it is, then it’s a little arbitrary, no?”
The beginning of a frown settles on your features, “What are you trying to get me to say? That I’d date you if we weren’t friends, that I’d fuck you?”
He smiles at you, “Sure, but if you would if we weren’t friends, I’m saying you should even though we are.”
Frown deepening, “You’re being serious?”
“I’m being so serious,” he leans in slightly, hand moving to your face, thumb smoothing over the crease between your brows.
Looking at his lips before catching yourself and turning your head to the side, away from his touch, away from his enticing lips.
He sighs at your reaction, “You know, I’ve been interested in you from the beginning, and maybe I’m an idiot for not saying anything but watching you seriously try dating someone else might just kill me.”
You had no idea he liked you, you’ve liked him at different points in your life too, but he always seemed so out of reach from you, and you never wanted to ruin the friendship, so you forced yourself to move on. It feels a little unfair that you’re finding out now he’s liked you the whole time, “What are you asking of me?”
“I’m asking you to give me a chance,” his hand gently guides your face to look at him again, “I’m asking you to seriously try dating me.”
You’re trying to make a decision, trying to figure out how to answer him, if you should even give him a chance but the way he’s looking at you, how his gaze flicks between your eyes and your lips is distracting you.
Brows pulling up, voice quieter than before, “Gojo, you need to stop looking at me like that if you want an answer.”
“Like what?” He plays dumb.
“Like you really wanna kiss me,” you murmur back.
“Can’t help it…” he leans in a little bit more, “Maybe if you let me kiss you, I’ll stop.”
“Satoru,” you warn.
“Hmm?” His eyes meet yours for a moment, trying to see what you want.
He’s making you dizzy, “I can’t make a choice when you’re this close.”
Humming at you, “Why not?”
“Can’t think,” you blurt it out before really thinking about how it will come across.
He’s smiling smugly, “Then don’t.”
You don’t know who leans in first, all you know is his lips are on yours and they’re soft. Kissing you gently, trying to learn how you like to be kissed. Growing more insistent the longer you let him kiss you, the years of his need bleeding into it.
One of his hands traveling down your body, resting on your hip, the other cradling your face. He’s leaning into you more, pushing your body down into the couch, him following behind it, never parting from your lips very long.
Hand now holding himself above you, kiss growing urgent, tongue licking into your mouth, meeting yours in a way that makes your body tingle. If you thought his proximity was making you dizzy before than his kiss might have you actually passing out. Skin growing hot at how his hand on your face angles you, how he deepens the kiss effortlessly.
If Gojo were more aware of himself, of the precarious position he’s put himself in, he might be a little bit more careful with how feverish his kisses are and how needy he’s getting but when he’s finally getting to kiss you after years of not being able to, he can’t really control himself. The little control he does have, slipping when you moan into his mouth, his own moan shared in the kiss.
It's you who parts the kiss, it had to be because he certainly wasn’t going to be able to do it. If he had his way, he’d have his mouth on you until he died. In the back of his mind, he knew that kissing you would be good, but he didn’t think he’d get so lost in it. Somewhat embarrassed at himself for how aroused he’s gotten over your lips on his.
Your huffed breaths are intermingled with how close you both are to each other, Gojo hovering over you, speaking into your mouth, “Have you made a decision yet?”
You’re having trouble thinking still, especially with how his lips brush ever so slightly against yours, “I…uhmm…”
When he realises how dazed you are, two things happen. One; his ego grows about ten times bigger and two; he pulls back from you, still close enough that if you tugged on him, you could kiss him again but enough to hopefully give you room to think.
“Come on, don’t keep a guy waiting,” he’s taunting you lightly, taking joy in how hazy your eyes are as you look up at him.
“Okay,” you nod.
“Hmm? Okay what?”
Taking another moment to clear your brain fog, you answer again, “Okay, I will seriously try dating you.”
“Can’t date anyone else while you do,” he conditions.
“Okay,” agreeing easily.
He adds, “Have to seriously think about me being your boyfriend.”
Again, agreeing, “Okay.”
“Have to keep kissing me right now,” smile growing on his features.
“Ok—” frowning at him when you realise, “—Hey.”
“You don’t want to?” His hand tilts your head up by your chin, looking down into your eyes, “Because you look like you want to.”
Pouting at him, “Don’t be cruel.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart,” his smile evil as he continues to look down at you.
Leveling him with an even stare, you state, “I don’t sleep with guys on the first date.”
“Got a dirty mind, huh? All I asked for was a kiss.”
You glare at him and then try to avoid his gaze, voice smaller than before, “You don’t kiss like that’s all you want.”
His smile is crooked as he asks, “And how do I kiss?”
Feeling your skin flare at his taunting question, at how he leans in again, his mouth right over yours, “Dizzyingly.”
He breathes out an amused laugh before he’s slotting his mouth back over yours, how you described his kiss is accurate. He kisses you in such a way that you can’t think straight even if you really want to, which is why it’s probably a bad idea to keep letting him kiss you if you don’t want to sleep with him before you even get a first date.
Abruptly parting your mouth from his, gasping out, “Wait,” taking a second to catch your breath. Gojo groans softly at the loss of your lips, his forehead resting on yours waiting for you to speak.
“What’s wrong?” He asks when you don’t continue.
“You need to stop kissing me.”
“Oh?” He hums at you in thought, his lips now trailing down the side of your face, only to rest right by your ear, “And why’s that?”
His voice has goose bumps raising on your skin, “If you keep kissing me like that…” your volume gets quieter as you mumble out, “…I’ll wanna have sex with you.”
He has the fucking audacity to laugh at you, “That worked up by a few kisses, huh?” Mocking you like he isn’t the hardest he’s ever been, cock twitching at your confession.
“Shut up.”
His words are dripping with delight, “At least we know you’re sexually attracted to me.”
He licks lightly at your ear, and you feel like you almost jump out of your skin, gasping at it. Hands reaching out to push back on his chest, “You’re a mean man, Gojo.”
“At this point…” He looks you over, unmoved by your hands, “…I think it would be meaner to deprive yourself.”
“We are not sleeping together for the first time on my couch before we even go on a date,” you’re trying to stay steadfast but he’s making it hard when he keeps looking at you like that.
“So… you’re saying I should take you to the bedroom?” When you look at him in exasperation, he smiles softly, “I’m just kidding, we won’t do anything you don’t want to, but I will point out – for the last time – that you look an awful lot like you want to.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to… I just feel like if you’re gonna make me seriously consider you then I should date you properly too,” you avoid his gaze, feeling unusually sincere.
Abruptly, he states, “It wouldn’t be our first date though.”
“What?”
He’s a little distant when he answers, having trouble concentrating on the conversation when you’re pouting your lips at him like you are, “I count a couple weeks ago as our first date.”
“When I was stood up?” You scoff, “That does not count.”
“Why not?”
“Because it wasn’t even planned.”
“No but we ate dinner together and you were dressed awful cute, I count it as a date,” smirk present on his face as he continues to hover over you.
Ignoring his compliment, you continue to try and reason, “We were still just friends then though.”
“So, we aren’t ‘just friends’ now?” He’s being a smart ass, he knows what you mean but he’s not going to let up on this, taking it as a small victory in making you think of him as more than just a friend.
You return earnestly, “I don’t wanna count it.”
“Why not?”
“Because it wasn’t meant to be you on that date…” before he can get hurt over those words, you clarify, “…don’t get me wrong, I had fun and I’m glad you showed up, but it wasn’t planned to be you… when we go on our first date… I want it to be meant for you.” You’re unsure if you verbalised yourself in a way that makes sense, feeling much more nervous all of a sudden.
He’s looking at you so intently and you’re worried you’ve upset him somehow, “I know you said I need to stop kissing you, but that’s what I want more than anything right now.” He leans in closer, pausing just shy of your lips.
His words make your heart stutter, throwing caution to the wind as you close the distance between the two of you again, kissing him fully. Letting his mouth consume your ability to think critically, all too happy to fall into him.
Your control of the situation is slipping more and more away from you and so is the ability to care, not minding at all how you’re becoming more and more okay with how hot your body is starting to feel.
Hands reaching up and fisting the material of his shirt, pulling him down into you, his hips colliding with yours. Almost entirely instinctually—and somewhat purposefully—your legs wrap around his lower half. One of his hands reaches for your thigh, gripping the fattest part of it harshly.
You both moan into the kiss, and he parts his mouth from yours, voice straining when he speaks, “Sweetie, if you really don’t want to do anything more than this then you need to tell me to get off you right now.”
Looking at him through your lashes, you play coy, “But I like having you on top of me.”
A shiver runs down his spine, “You’re evil,” he grunts, fighting the urge to grind down into you.
He’s been pining after you for years and it feels like torture to be this close to you, pelvis pressed up against yours, having you so pliant and needy under him. He can feel his sanity slipping from him the longer you stay like this, and your words make it harder for him to pull away.
“Satoru—” when you say his name his hips jut into yours, making you gasp against him.
His erection digging into you hotly, the warmth of you ruining him. Head dizzy and struggling to keep his hips still as he apologises through clenched teeth, “Sorry– fuck– sorry, what’s up?”
You’re struggling too, pussy throbbing around nothing. Choosing to be bold and asking, “Take me to my room?”
“You’re sure?” Trying to hide the excitement from his face.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” you give a small nod, feeling shy.
You really do want to though, more than anything. Only initially so hesitant because this doesn’t feel like the right way to do things but then again, your whole relationship with Gojo is a little less than conventional at times.
When he determines that you’re sure of yourself, he’s off you in the blink of an eye. Quick in his movements as he pulls you up along with him. Before you can even really register that you’re off the couch, you’re thrown over his shoulder as he walks hurriedly to your room.
“Someone’s eager,” you laugh at how ridiculous he’s being.
The chuckle he returns is humourless, “You have no fucking idea.”
You’re dropped down onto your bed unceremoniously, bouncing slightly at the force of it. Your arms reach out behind you to support yourself; palms splayed against your bedspread. Gojo is already tugging his shirt off and over his head, thrown and lost to some corner of your room.
“Gojo, breathe.”
“Don’t need to breathe,” he smiles large at you, “Do need your pants off though.”
Listening to him, you shimmy your pants down your legs, mumbling to him about how bossy he is.
“You know… I’m hearing a lot of complaining but I am also seeing a whole lot of direction following,” he teases.
You grumble at him, “If you’re going to be like this the whole time then I’m changing my mind.
“Don’t lie to yourself, sweetheart. You’re not fooling anyone, especially not with how you’re rubbing your thighs together.” His large hands grip your thighs, “Feeling horny?”
You don’t really want to answer him honestly but denying it feels like a trap, like he’d do something to prove you wrong and the last thing you want is for him to torture you. You’re already so pitifully slick from kissing him.
Fighting with your embarrassment, you give him your best pleading face, “Mhm, really horny.”
The smugness drops from his face, hands suddenly tugging you down the bed as he drops to his knees. You’re falling onto your back with the force of his pull, squirming a little. Gojo doesn’t pause though, mouth leaving kisses from your knees to your inner thighs, your breath catching in your lungs. Not expecting him to be so forward, though you don’t know what you were expecting if not that.
“Gojo, you don’t have to—”
“I want to,” his eyes flick to yours, “Plus, if you wanna take me, you’re gonna need the prep,” smile growing at how your eyes grow wider.
Disbelief clear in your expression, accusing, “You’re full of it.”
He’s not worried about your scepticism, “You’ll find out for yourself in a bit.” He shrugs easily, “Now, can I put my tongue on your pretty pussy, or do you have more to say?”
He asks but his attention is already completely on your covered cunt, a single finger moving under the elastic of the waist band just to snap it back against you. A small noise of shock leaving you, “Ah! Do what you want…”
Oh, he looks so excited by your words, “You mean it?”
You’ll be honest and admit you weren’t really paying attention to what you were saying, brain hazy with how close he is to your core, skin prickling at his hot breath tickling against you. Feeling so unusually exposed and sensitive and you can’t tell if you’re that worked up or if he just has that effect on you.
“Mhm,” you’re nodding your head at him, giving him a green light, for what, you’re not entirely sure, all you know is that you want him to do something – anything.
“These are some really cute panties… kinda bothers me,” he’s still playing with the edges of them, annoyed when remembering you were with another guy tonight. Were you going to sleep with him tonight?
Pulling yourself up onto your elbows, you question, “What?”
Eyes flicking towards yours, “I’m a bit of a jealous guy.”
“I know this,” he always has been quick to get worked up over things regarding you, though it makes a little more sense after learning he’s liked you for so long.
He smiles at you, but his eyes are humourless, “Of course you do,” he fists at the material of your panties, “But the idea of another guy getting so close to seeing you in these… has me feeling really annoyed.”
The sound of fabric tearing fills your ears, he’s just ripped your panties off you. There is no salvaging them, completely useless as he throws them over his shoulder.
“Hey! those were my good pair!”
“Who cares about that?” His tone is dismissive, hands spreading your legs obscenely, eyes greedily looking at your uncovered pussy, “Your cunt is much cuter.”
God, you feel like you might pass out, face suddenly extremely hot, “Don’t be crude.”
“Hmm? …but I think you like it though…” his thumb swipes through your folds and you gasp at him, “Got so much wetter when I said it.”
He’s quick to begin rubbing circles into your clit, thumb giving even pressure. The stimulation has your arms shaking, threatening to give out from under you. Biting your lip to stop yourself from moaning, feeling embarrassed at how intently he’s shamelessly staring at your cunt.
Continuing to speculate, he says, “That or you like being praised…” he smirks evilly, “You like being praised, sweetheart? Being told how good you’re being for me?”
Your heart leaps in your chest, brows upturning, trying to hide your outward reaction to his words, “Hah– No…”
“Such a bad liar,” eyeing your face, “You’re wearing a really great expression right now though.”
Fighting the urge to grind down, you deny, “Not lying.”
He ignores you, “Could be both though,” he’s continuing to ponder on what you react most to, “Which is it, sweetheart? You like how crude I am, or do you like the praise?”
You don’t plan on answering him, eyes closing harshly against his intense gaze, feeling way too exposed. His touch leaves you and you open your eyes in alarm, trying to see what he’s doing. You see his smile before he’s leaning in and licking up the length of your pussy, eyes locked on yours the whole time.
Surprised moans slip from you, arms almost giving out completely, head rolling back. His arms wrap around your legs to hold you steady, face pushing closer into you, tongue flicking at your clit before pressing into your pussy hole.
He’s relishing in your sounds, in how wet you are, how you taste and smell, almost forgetting why he did this in the first place. Pulling away from you with a lewd smack of his lips, smiling big at the whine you let out from the loss of him.
Huffing slightly as he says, “Asked a question, not licking your pussy again until you answer it.”
“I don’t know,” your head lolls forward, eyes wet.
His head moves to the side to nip lightly at your thigh, “Shall we find out then?”
You jolt at the sensation, face twisting in confusion at him.
“You don’t gotta do anything, sweetie, just stay like this,” his hands push back on your thighs though, opening you up to him even more. “Been doing so good for me, sound so pretty,” he coos at you.
Brows furrowing at his words, heart skipping beats at his sudden praise, feeling fuzzy all over.
He hums in thought, “So fucking wet for me, dripping everywhere, got such a creamy fucking pussy.”
You twitch at the switch, wanting to crawl away from him.
“I think I’ve just realised something,” he glances up at you, “Got such nice reactions to both things I said, do you know how much wetter you got, cunt twitching and drooling for me.”
You try pulling from him, but his hold is firm, “Gojo!” You warn.
He might be enjoying this too much but learning about what gets you going is way too enticing, especially when he doesn’t have to do much to have you looking so pathetic. “Trying to run away from me,” he tsks, “But you’re fucking dripping, so reactive, so sweet.” His eyes are glazing over, working himself up.
“‘Toru!” You call for him again, you feel like you’re on fire, beyond embarrassed.
He groans at the nickname, not hearing it from you in so long, you used to always call him that. He liked it a little too much, cock leaking for you. He feels as wrecked as he looks when he looks up at you, “I think you like both,” is his conclusion.
Reaching up, he grabs at your hand and pulls it down to your cunt, his fingers guiding your own through your slick. You gasp at it, not expecting for yourself to be so soaked. Biting at your lower lip when he moves your fingers over your clit, teasing you.
Dazed when he asks, “Ever been this wet, pretty?”
You shake your head, “No… I didn’t know I…”
Fingers moving yours to your entrance, “Poor thing, didn’t know how slutty her pussy was.” Feeling the way your cunt clenches at his words, his face bright with it, “Fucking great though, in love with it,” and again, your brows raising in realisation, “Yeah… you know now, don’t you?”
“You’re making me feel embarrassed,” you pout, head dizzy.
“No, I’m making you feel so fucking horny, not my fault that you like being embarrassed and praised at the same time,” he pulls your fingers away from your core, moving them to his mouth, sucking them clean.
You remove your fingers from him, coming to rest back in the bed, feeling breathless as you look down at him. “What do you want from me?”
“Want you to admit it, want you tell me how much you like when I talk to you,” his hand tickles up the skin of your inner thigh.
“…Like it,” you mumble out.
Humming in thought, “Hmm, not good enough, don’t think I believe you.”
Repeating, louder, “I like it.”
Tilting his head at you, “You like what?”
“I like when you talk to me,” you say with more force, brows furrowed.
He pretends to be unsure of your answer, “Are you sure?”
“Yes!” You try again, but as his expression remains unchanging, you add, “I like when you talk to me, I like how hot and fuzzy your words make me feel, I like just the sound of your voice, makes me want to squirm. Love it even! Is that what you wanted to hear?” You huff.
“Holy fuck, yes,” if he weren’t already on his knees, he would’ve fallen to them again.
You let out a squeal at the way his mouth is already back on you, tongue pushing into your hole insistently. Fervent in his actions, clearly worked up by your words. If he were on the bed, he’d be shamelessly grinding his hips down into it, cock so fucking hard it’s aching. Pulsing so pitifully for you and if he weren’t so completely distracted by how you taste he’d throw caution to the wind and fuck into you right now.
“Gojo! Oh—” His name comes out all broken, ruined and shaky from how he laps at your cunt, drinking down all your slick.
Your elbows officially give out and you’re flopping back onto the mattress, fingers digging into the bed. Struggling to hold in all the little noises he’s pulling from you, hips trying to desperately rut into his pretty face with no luck, locked in place by his strong hold.
Gasping out at him, “M–more. Gojo– hah– more, please.”
Grunting against you, vibrations running up your spine, wanting desperately to kick your legs against the stimulation but unable to. He’s worked you up so much, so fucking desperate for release that his touch is making you crazy.
A finger presses at your hole, slipping inside easily, both his finger and tongue fucking into you. Another finger added, opening you up, scissoring them, tongue sneaking deeper inside your cunt.
He feels drunk, head heavy and brain foggy, tongue fucking you deeply. Delighting in the sounds of your sloppy pussy trying to suck him in deeper, he’s losing his mind. Tongue leaving you only for him to spit onto your cunt, thumb rubbing it into your clit, third finger added to the first two. Determined to have you ready for his cock.
“Need you to cum,” he sounds wrecked even to himself, “Before I do in my own pants– ffffuck—” Can’t help the way he curses at how you tighten around him at his words, “Must’ve been telling the truth about liking my voice, huh?” He teases, laughing breathlessly at how you react to him again.
Pressing out a simple, “S–so mean,” in response.
“You fucking like it,” eyes watching how your back arches off the mattress, “Love it even,” he reminds.
A series of moans leave you unabashedly at how he crooks his fingers just right, consistently hitting the one spot, thighs twitching at it. Stomach pulling tight and toes curling, head moving from side to side, so fucking close now.
“That’s it, sweetie,” he encourages, “Doing so good, just let go for me.”
You’re cumming suddenly, the abruptness of it shocking, like your body skipped the rest of the build up at Gojo’s words. If it didn’t feel good how he was fucking you through it, how his thumb kept rubbing at your clit, you’d feel beyond embarrassed at how you came just because he asked you to.
It’s not lost on him how quick you were to finish after he spoke, his ego big before and now fucking massive. Absolutely thrilled by how you continue to prove your responsiveness to him, if he were ever worried about you not being attracted to him, he can’t possibly remember why. Not when you’re squirming under him, tears threatening to slip from your waterline.
“Such a good direction follower,” he mocks, repeating his earlier sentiments.
His fingers keep stroking at you until your body goes limp, only jerking every now and again with your come down. Pulling them from you and parting them, looking at the way your cum connects his fingers together with white strings.
“Look at that,” his voice dripping with glee, “I was right… got such a creamy pussy,” he hums, shoving his fingers into his mouth.
After he’s done indulging, he wipes his spit covered fingers on your thighs. Just to then get to his feet and hastily tug his pants and boxers off. His erection bobbing under its own weight.
He crawls up the mattress so he can lean over you. Fingers skimming at your sides, pulling your shirt along with it, “Can I take this off, pretty?”
Eyes bleary when they meet his, giving a small nod, “Mhm.”
“You okay to keep going?” He checks, leaning in closer to you.
His concern makes you unreasonably happy, feeling genuinely cared for, “Yeah.”
“You sure—”
Cutting him off, “—Yes.”
Shock present on his face before smiling endearingly at you, completely smitten with you and has been for a long time now. It all feels a little surreal to him, being able to hold you, be intimate with you. Leaning in more, pressing soft kisses all over your face.
Showering you in affection as his hands continue to pull your shirt up. Only parting to pull it from you fully, thrown to some corner of your room, joining the rest of your clothes. Shuffling back so he can look at all of you, hands delicately tracing over you, like he’s memorising how you feel under his palms.
“You’re so soft,” he mumbles, hands smoothing over you. He drops onto you, face pressing between your tits, breathing in your scent.
Confused as your voice calls for him gently, “‘Toru?”
“Fuck,” he nips at your skin first and then moves to get back on his knees, “Alright, spread those pretty legs for me, sweetheart.”
Feeling placid from the intensity of your orgasm, you immediately listen to him and open your legs, moving them to the outside of his. Gojo feels like his heart grows in size at how quick you are to listen to him, so docile you don’t even talk back to him.
Your head cocks to the side, confused by his stare, “What?”
“Nothing,” he shakes his head at you, “You’re just really cute.”
He grabs your face, sandwiching your cheeks between his fingers, his lips leaving behind a big and sloppy kiss on yours before focusing back on your cunt. Grasping his cock and groaning at the pressure, squeezing himself to alleviate some of the need crawling desperately up his spine.
You can’t help but stare, he wasn’t full of it, he really is that big. Long and thick and looking so painfully hard, dripping precum so messily down the length of himself, dribbling down onto the bed sheets.
“It’s rude to stare,” he hisses, hand now stroking himself, clearly not even a little bit put off by your shameless staring. If anything, completely aroused by it.
Looking up into his eyes as you apologise, “‘M sorry.”
“Hah,” he huffs in amusement, “So polite all of a sudden, orgasm that good, pretty?”
“Yeah,” you nod, staring at him straight on, aiming to work him up more.
It works, “Fuck– alright,” his hips stutter into his hand and he stops fisting his cock, “‘Bout to give you an even better one,” guiding his dick to your core.
Swiping the head of himself through your folds, letting it collect the slick leaking from you. Teasing you like this for a bit, moving himself up and down before dipping into your hole, only to pull away again.
You whine at him over it, “Please.”
Smile large as he coos, “Don’t worry, pretty. I’ll take care of you.”
Keeping his word, he slowly presses the tip of his dick into you, hissing at the stretch, worried he didn’t give you enough prep. You bite your lip as you begin to take him in, fisting the sheets below, looking up at Gojo. His brows are upturned, and his jaw clenched, focusing so hard on being slow and careful. He pauses when you clench and flinch around him.
“I can take it,” gaze determined as you try to assure him, “You can keep going.”
“Oh, sweetie,” his hand grips at your inner thigh, squishing it under his hold, “I appreciate that,” he smiles, “I do… but you’re gonna want to pace yourself.”
You pout up at him, sulking, wanting to be full and not appreciating his probably—definitely—sound advice.
“Hah, don’t pout,” his thumb moves to your clit, “You’ll take it, know you will,” rubbing circles into it, “Cause I’m gonna make sure of it, but you gotta pace yourself.”
Under his touch, you relax again, and he pushes his hips forward, starting the slow process of opening you up on his cock. His control astounding himself right now, wanting nothing more than to fuck into you completely, feeling your pussy swallow him whole.
He’s not quite half-way yet and already pressing up against the most delicious spots inside you, with that and his consistent pressure on your clit, you’re suddenly so fucking close to cumming like this.
Reaching out to him, your hand lightly slaps at him, trying to warn, “I’m gonna– hah—”
Gojo realises when you clench down on him what you’re trying to say, the small noises you make getting louder, he almost blows his load the second he realises. Ripping himself from you suddenly, you cry out at the loss, cumming around nothing, gasping into your hand.
“Why? Why?” you’re almost incoherent as you ask him.
“I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart,” he keeps his thumb on your clit, trying to make up for the loss of his cock, “Would’ve cum if I hadn’t pulled out, wanna at least fuck you before I do.”
You glare at him, trying to convey how slighted you feel but he only seems to find it endearing, smiling at you over it. “I’ll make it up to you, don’t worry.”
Wasting no time, he fucks back into you, to where he was before he pulled out. Giving shallow thrusts as he keeps pressing forwards, breath stuttering at the small way he’s getting the friction he’s desperate for.
“Such a greedy cunt,” he murmurs, dick slipping deeper, “So quick to cum for me, sucking me in.”
“Gojo—” you whine at him, his words back to embarrassing you.
His voice cracks at how you refer to him, “—No, no, nono, what happened to ‘Toru?” Fucking deeper, so close to being balls deep.
“‘Toru, you’re—” cutting yourself off with a moan, he thrust the rest of the way in when you called to him, “—so deep.”
“Don’t I fucking know it,” he chuckles breathlessly, moving to press his body up against yours, craving the contact.
He’s pressed up against you completely, warm and strong, your legs loop around his waist and he slips in deeper. He groans at it, holding himself back, wanting you to adjust to all of him first. He nuzzles into your neck, leaving kisses and love bites against the sensitive skin there, relishing in the way your pussy jumps around him over such a small act.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you liked me or something,” he jokes, referencing how sensitive you are to him.
Without thinking, you admit, “I have– mmph– I’ve liked you mm–multiple times– ah– at different points in– hah– our lives.”
His head snaps back as he twitches inside you, “Seriously?” When you nod, he grinds down into you, “Fuck– had me so stressed, liked you all this time and you’re telling me I could’ve had this pretty, little pussy so much sooner?”
You’re feeling a bit dazed, two orgasms deep and stretched so obscenely around him, cunt making wet noises just from the small way he’s grinding into you.
“When,” his words are hurried, when you look at him like he’s just said something in a different language, he asks again, “When have you liked me?”
“I don’t remember that, too many– hnn– different times,” you shake your head, you don’t even know if you could recount all the times you had feelings for him resurface even if you weren’t split open on his big dick.
He moans, starting to move his hips in shallow thrusts, “Enough that you– mmph– can’t remember specifics,” he groans, “Feels like a sick joke, been pining after you our– hah– whole lives.”
His mouth is on yours, kissing you deeply, sucking your tongue into his mouth, licking at you. The kiss so dizzying, you’re barely able to catch up to him before he’s talking again, “The most recent time– can you– hah– remember the most recent time you liked me?”
He’s desperate to know, wanting to know how small or big of a window he had missed. Failing to realise it doesn’t really matter all that much right now.
“Not– hah– not that long ago,” you’re almost panting now, wanting for him to move with more urgency but he’s still only thrusting into you shallowly.
“When, sweetie, tell me when, please,” his forehead pressed to yours, eyes imploring.
Struggling slightly as you press out, “B– before I started– hah– going on all those dates,” you’re trying really hard to think, “Beginning of the– hng– year?”
Smiling at you, big, happy, “Not that long ago, just gonna make you like me again.”
He’s a little annoyed that you went on so many dates right after having liked him, not completely lost on him that the two are probably connected and feeling frustrated that he hadn’t just told you about his feelings ages ago.
“Gonna charm the fuck outta you, take you to nice places, shower you in compliments, tell you how cute you are,” he’s rambling now, about your theoretical future dates, “Remind you every day how much I like you, how perfect you are, gonna make you like me again.”
“I’d like it if you moved, ‘Toru, please,” you beg, tears in the corners of your eyes from being teased.
“Since you asked so nicely,” he quips, kissing your cheek before complying.
Finally starting a pace that has you going crazy but in a different way, fast and deep, weighted thrusts that make you struggle to maintain focus. Pulling out almost completely before fucking back into you, hammering his hips into yours, lewd squelching filling the room at it.
Your whimpered moans have Gojo’s skin pricking, so turned on he feels insane, like you might kill him, “Got such a great pussy, fucking soaking wet, taking me so well, could die like this and not complain, fuck—”
Clawing at him now, at his forearms, his biceps, shoulders, back, anywhere you can reach, desperately scrabbling for purchase. “Gojo—”
“—No, I don’t know who that is,” he ignores your cry of his name.
Trying again, “‘Toru, want– I want—”
You’re not even entirely sure what you want or are asking for, but Gojo seems to know immediately. His hips moving faster, pelvis slapping into your clit every time he meets yours, cock hitting against your cervix in a way that hurts so fucking good.
Eyes rolling back in your skull with the pleasure, fat tears running down your face at it. Sex has never felt like this, is it meant to feel like this? Have you been doing it wrong? Or maybe he’s just insanely good at it, or maybe you just like him more than you were aware of.
“Feels– feels good, I—”
“Again? Fucking perfect, so perfect for me,” he sounds so excited, “Want it, want you to cum on me, cum all over my cock, fucking coat me in it.” It’s almost like he’s begging you for it.
Luckily for him, you really do like his voice, love how he talks to you and at his borderline feral begging, you’re cumming all over him. Cunt clenching down on him, sobbing out pitiful moans of his name as you cum. It’s coating him, just like how he asked for, creamy white ring at the base of his cock.
“Fuuck, that’s it, such a good girl,” your cunt jumps around his cock, and he laughs, “Oh? You liked that, should’ve called you a good girl sooner.”
Too dazed to fight him on his teasing, corners of your vision blurry and ears ringing, twitching pathetically under him. He doesn’t stop his thrusts, fucking into you harsher, more shallow, getting close to finishing himself.
Orgasm on the tip of his tongue, the thing that sends him over the edge is how you look up at him. Eyes fucked out and cheeks tear stained, whining out a small, “‘Toru, want it, please.”
“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” his words are choked out, almost whining himself, balls heavy with how badly he wants to cum.
Thrusts faltering as he fucks into you the last few times, suddenly slamming his pelvis to yours, releasing all his cum inside you, painting your walls a pretty shade of white. Hips grinding into you as he finishes.
Fucked out whimpers of your name leaving him as he presses his head into the side of your neck. Biting down onto you, shocking you slightly, the pain unexpected, he laves over it with his tongue.
He slumps down onto you, and his weight is too much so your hands push at him. “Too heavy.”
He hums out at you noncommittally but gets up, carefully slipping himself from you, not shy in how he stares at your pussy. At the way his cum gushes from it, the urge to fuck it all back inside you strong. He withholds though, seeing you’re clearly beyond fucked out. Next time, he promises himself.
Gone from you but not for too long, only leaving long enough to clean himself up and bring stuff back to clean you up. Wiping softly at your legs, cleaning you of his spend, “You look cute dripping with my cum,” he singsongs.
“Lewd,” you accuse, too tired to think of something more to say.
“Yeah…” he gets into bed by you, “But I’m certain you like that.”
You snuggle into his side, letting him cuddle you, “Not sleeping with you again until at least the third date.”
“I bet…” he looks down at you, lips hovering over yours, “…You’ll sleep with me after each of them.”
You go to scoff at him and deny it, but he kisses you, deep and imploring. Effectively shutting you up and as you let him kiss you how he likes, you realise, he might be right.
α.η. THIS IS A REPOST .. a repost from my old account @/lovelivision, if you feel like you've read it before, maybe you have !
i'm hoping to finish up pervert bf gojo very soon and in the meantime you guys get another repost because i am filled with guilt ! i think the next time i upload another old fic it won't be gojo
regardless, i hope you guys enjoyed ! have beautiful days / nights !! ily ❤︎❤︎
꒰꒰. all works are the intellectual property of aliienangel .. do not plagiarise/translate/reupload/feed to ai ♡. 。
featuring: wally west, tim drake, dick grayson, jason todd
content: smau, established relationship, fem!reader, talks of pregnancy (non-serious), potentially sexual themes ??? this is just crack don't mind me
— wally west
— tim drake
— dick grayson
— jason todd
a/n: baby's first SMAU! this is a prompt that has floated around in my brain for a while and i'm honestly kind of shocked that i've never seen it done before (let me know if u have). all the pictures are from pinterest btw. let me know what u think!
likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3
Description: Asking the lads men if they would still love you if you were anything other than a human
Pairings: Valko x reader, Zayne x reader, Sylus x reader, Caleb x reader, Rafayel x reader, Xavier x Reader
A/n: This might probably flop even harder than my last post which was the second part of my Valko fic (pls show it some love) but I wanted to try my hand at smaus so have this thing that I cooked up.
P.s, Valko's is entirely for shits and giggles as he's a wolf and we see him as a puppy so ignore me (I'm still laughing about it)
caleb had just taken a shower, coming out dripping wet, wearing only some boxers that hung on his waist.
using the towel to dry his hair, your sitting on the bed basically drooling.
“you okay pips?” he asked, giving his hair one last shake.
you couldn’t take your eyes off his lower half. sculpted so perfectly, you were getting dry mouth.
slipping off the bed, invading his space. you wrap your arms around him, caleb immediately reciprocating your hug, your face pressed into his chest. looking up at him, glossy eyes. “ yeah i’m fine.”.
your still holding him, caleb turning to set the towel on the chair.
sinking down to your knees, now eye to eye with his cock.
*peck.* you place a small kiss on the outside of his boxers.
“what are you doing?” caleb blushing, covering his mouth.
*peck* another kiss.
“nothing.”
sitting up a little to caress his lower stomach. sensitive there, he was already starting to get hard.
*lick*
you dragged your tongue across his band line.
fully erect, this violet and orange eyes fully of hunger looking down awaiting your next move. his breathing scattered.
looping your fingers around the band of his boxers, pulling them down to his knees. his cock twitching.
looking at all his glory, you take one it your hands and wrap it around. your eyes find his again. opening your mouth.
letting just s little saliva drip before taking him into your mouth.
“holy fuck pipsqueak.” his veins were popping out of his arms, really trying to keep it together.
holding eye contact as you bobbed your head slowly, taking more and more of him in each time.
caleb pushes you back leaning down for a quick sloppy kiss.
sliding your back against the bed, taking him back into your mouth.
he’s fucking your throat, pushing him deep inside, your arms wrapped around his thighs trying to keep yourself from sliding all the way down to the floor.
“just like that, open up a little bit.”
in and out, your dripping out of the sides of your mouth.
“f-fuck. i’m going to cum.”
grabbing your hair harder, thrusting in and out.
getting faster as he was getting closer, pulling his cock out with a plop,
a loud groan, muttering your name. reaching out to milk every last drop from him, covering you with his cum.
caleb’s twitching in your hand, he’s still hard.
“you look so pretty pips.” he says kissing you, tasting himself on your lips.
his eyes full over hunger, wiping some of his cum off your chest bringing it to your mouth.
cleaning it off, showing his finger the same treatment you gave to his cock.
note: lowkey unfinished, not proofread, but tbh idk how to end it </3 having a huge blank there sorry ily guys
CW: yandereleb, little bit disgusting blood play ig | ↻ + ♡ appreciated
“Caleb, I don’t think you need to help me with this anymore,” you say, watching him pull his fingers out after inserting your first tampon of the day and licking the residue from them.
“Why? You don’t need me anymore?”
Caleb had been the one to convince you to switch from pads to tampons, and he was also the one who helped when you were too scared to try them for the first time. Ever since, he would insert them for you, taking a disturbing kind of satisfaction in it.
Caleb looks hurt. You know he likes to feel needed, so you’ve been letting him do this ever since you hit puberty. You don’t have the heart to tell him no.
“Never mind. I do need your help,” you say, giving in immediately.
Caleb smiles innocently and nuzzles into your neck.
“Good. I can’t stand the thought of you not needing me anymore.”
He looks up at you with his puppy-dog eyes.
“But… when we change this one out, do you think you can help me out again?” he asks.
A few hours later, Caleb inserts a menstrual cup instead of another tampon.
“Caleb, I think it’s ready to empty it. I brought the bowl too,” you say as you enter his room later that evening.
“Perfect, right on time. Come closer,” he replies.
He slips his fingers inside you to grab the cup and carefully pulls it out, emptying its contents into the bowl. He dips his fingers into the blood and begins to write with them.
— LAST WARNING —
“How is it?” he asks, looking proud at his work.
“Looks good, but usually you only send one blood warning before taking care of them. Why two for this one?” you ask confused.
“For this one…,” he says quietly, “… I’m giving him another chance to back off on his own before it’s too late.”
“Who is it?” a sudden feeling of uneasiness settles in your stomach.
“I hope you don’t have to find out.”
Over the next few days, you keep wondering who the latest threatening message was meant for. Caleb has already taken care of every guy around you who got too close to you for his liking. Who could possibly be left?
A few weeks pass. You and Caleb find yourselves driving to a funeral. “Caleb… I still don’t understand. What did he do? He and I barely talked.”
“He knew too much.”
“About you writing these letters and taking care of… them?”
“No,” his eyes stay on the road, “about you.”
You frown, “What do you mean?”
“I talked about you too much over the years,” he says quietly.
“So he knew too much about you, he remembered everything. Your favourite flowers, favourite food, favourite perfume, favourite movie — things only I should know.”
The rest of the drive is silent.
When you arrive, everyone has already gathered.
They were waiting for Caleb, who would give the speech for him.
After all, he had been his best friend.
deep inside me, I think caleb deals with your brattiness by giving you just the tip and then jerking himself off into you until he fills you up.
like it’s so wet when he pushes it in, and just the tip no matter how much you whine. notches the sensitive head into your warm cunt and holds your hips down when you buck up desperately. it’s a nice show for him almost, as cruel as it might seem.
your gege loves you, this you know. he’s the who has always encouraged your endeavors and wants and because he’s the one who created you like this—he knows this is what’ll fix your behavior.
he knows that as he splays one hand over the soft cushion of your belly to pin you and wraps the other around the length of his cock. a single glide of his hand makes his dick twitch in you, a hiss escaping his mouth along with a bitten smile as you whine and fuss.
and though this is your punishment, caleb will be caleb. your gege first before he even knows to be anything else.
"behave and i'll reward you, okay?" his words are a lilting coo, the condescending drawl that masks sweet words. "you know i'll make you feel good, so just be a good girl, okay?"
caleb doesn't mind when you misbehave. he knows you just want attention, tenfold of what he already gives you. this is his way of taking responsibility of the greedy little thing he's created.
and he loves you so so much, just be good for a while longer.
In which Pervy roommate!Choso is your personal pussy cleaner
There exists, in nature, a mutually-beneficial dynamic between living things — a symbiotic relationship. Like the bird that eats debris and parasites from a crocodile’s mouth, or the pitcher plant and spiders that live inside it, who feed on the insects trapped by said plant.
Well, you have a sort of symbiotic relationship with your roommate, Choso: you save yourself a trip to the bathroom and he gets to have his fill of depravity. He needs it like air.
All you have to do is croak his name and he’s busting through the door with his beady eyes already fixated on the glistening of the sensitive skin of your thighs. He scrambles onto the bed, pushes your legs apart so he can slot himself between them, and he dives face first right into your cunt. No hi, hello, how are you?
Only lewd slurrrrrrpssss! and obscene squeeeeelchessss!
“Oh fuck,” he moans right on your clit, lapping up your essences and greedily gulping every ounce down. Choso doesn’t hesitate to slice his tongue down your other hole if so much as one drop escapes him. Within seconds, he already sounds drunk on the taste of you. “I was -hah- starving… light-mmm-headed. T-thought I might pass out.”
It’s a good routine.
But it comes with its own set of bumps. Like the fact that he will poke and prod incessantly, encouraging you to go finger yourself or ride your toys even when you’re not feeling it. Whether you’re eating, just got back from classes or work, freshly woken up, lounging, Choso’ll give you a small smile and ask, “Aren’t you feeling needy? Maybe your favourite hentai website dropped something good. Don’t you wanna check?”
“Leave me alone,” you demand through gritted teeth.
You’re starting to think he’s not very focused on cleaning you up in a timely manner at all — you even think he intentionally drags it out, purposely makes you cum once more, or twice, maybe even a third time so there’s more to suck, more to drink, more to take.
His eyes are glossy, face thoroughly soaked when you yank him back by the hair. He shakes you off and latches himself back onto your clit, wringing out more moans and lurid sounds from your body with the fingers he curls up against your gummy walls. “N-no,” he pleads, voice so pitchy and broken and desperate. “More. Give me -ngh fuck- more. I want more. Don’t push me away. Just lie back a-and let me make myself useful.”
Useful. Right.
So he wants you to pretend he’s not rutting his cock into the mattress of your bed, to pretend you don’t feel the headboard banging against the wall with the force of his grindings, to overlook the sporadic spasming and pornographic whimpers he lets out when he humps the bed to another orgasm. “Fine. One last one, okay?” you tell him.
Choso nods, cheek nuzzling your entire slit so he can feel your juices stick and dry on his skin even hours later. “Yes, yes. One last one.”
Then…
“Or two.”
I Love Caleb 🍎🍏 @zziggerang - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
