Rosie - Blog Posts

You think you're just nuzzling into Suguru's neck for the first time but no, you're not. You're telepathically telling him that you're just a tiny baby kitten that needs to be held, coddled, cared for, spoon-fed, and kept in a soft fluffy blanket chrysalis cuz you were separated from your mother too soon as a newborn, and the universe sent you his way to protect and nurture you.

Mommy kink, piss kink, humiliation, infantilization, mentions of spankings, dacryphilia, dubcon (?) mdni♡

Mommy!Suguru finds immense joy in making you wet yourself.

One long finger slides underneeth your belt to tug you back, your behind softly crashing against his chest, he secures you in place with one big hand over your tummy then starts squishing the flesh gently.

"S-sugu-" you whine, already knowing what's to come, "please d-don't"

Suguru only chuckles, his hand sliding down to rest over your full blatter, he places several feather light kisses along the crown of your head.

"Sshhhh" he mumbles against your hair "don't be a fussy baby" he whispers before placing a wet messy kiss on your cheek.

Your stomach drops when his hand begins to apply more pressure on your bladder. You stumble back, a futile attempt to escape his touch, and both of your hands fly to rip his off of you but to no avail.

"S-sugu-"

"try again" he warns, and you swallow a lump of saliva before proceeding with your words.

"M...mommy..." you quickly correct yourself. as if you weren't embarrassed enough..

Suguru seems satisfied, and you're relieved, you think about how you might have dodged a potential spanking. Suguru is very serious about the way you address him after all.

"Good baby..." Suguru smooths down your hair gently "empty your head, sweetie..." he brushes his hand against your trembling shoulder, then leaves several kisses on the same spot "My silly little baby and their silly litte worries" he shakes his head fondly "let mommy take care of everything, okay?"

And you nod because what other choice do you have? Suguru is sweet, gentle and motherly, and you'd like to keep him that way, even if it means putting up with him when he gets in one of his moods. Because you've tried, and you can't handle him when he's mean.

"Good.." and before you know it, his hand comes down like a verdict, pressing against your blatter in full force, and you come undone, completely wetting yourself and effectively being stripped of any illusion of dignity to desperately held on to. Hot tears start to spill and you don't get the chance to cover your red face because –of course– Suguru is right there to catch them, right there to catch you when you go limp, just as he has conditioned you to.

"Sweetie...did you make another mess? Aww, let mommy clean you up"

Mdni!! Heavy infantilization, Mommy kink, edging, orgasm control, soft/mean dom Suguru, mentions of pussy inspections, and spankings, pussy spankings, dumbification, afab reader.

All of this could have been avoided.

It's a humiliating sight really. You're completely nude in nothing but white stockings, positioned on your tummy, an arched back, head snuggly nested on Suguru's lap, ass in the air and two digits deep inside your wet throbbing pussy. Working, desperately chasing your peak only to let it all crumble down at the simplest command from your boyfriend.

Suguru came home earlier than you had expected, you didn't have time to cover up your tracks. The messy bed, your heavy breathing, the shaky legs, and the horrible attempt at hiding your favorite toy. It was obvious that you were touching yourself, disobeying mommy. He knew, you knew he knew, but he still made you go through it, he still bent you over then pushed your underwear aside before shoving one thick thumb into your entrance, and to his amusement, and your horror, it slid in just as smoothly as he had expected.

"M-mommy.." your desperate mewl is music to Suguru's ears. One large hand rests on your head, gently smoothing down your hair. "Yes, baby?" His thumb and index finger come together to gently pinch your bottom lip before releasing the plumb flesh.

" 'm s-sorry p-ple fu-uck! P-please let m-me cum mmhmm~"

An exasperated sigh followed by a deep chuckle, "No" and it feels like a death sentence. "No, baby. You did enough of that for one day didn't you?" He leans down to place a feather-light kiss on your temple and shivers run down your spine. "You did this to yourself, sweet thing. Mommy told you to wait didn't he? And disobedient babies don't get to make their cummies, right?" "I know bu-" he shoves his thumb into your mouth before pressing down on your tongue.

"We're talking back to mommy now, sweetie?" And just like that. Your brain melts into a puddle, your eyes dilate and you start to mindlessly suck and drool all over his palm. Suguru has got you trained by now, and there's nothing he loves more than reminding his baby of their place whenever they decide to act out.

You shake your head dumbly, and Suguru is satisfied. "Good..." he pushes his thumb deeper, clearly enjoying your messy state. "Good baby..don't stop making yourself feel good, little one"

Taunting.

"Mmm~ bu- i don't mmMhm~ feel g-ah-good mhm~ muh-mommy" his palm cups the side of your face to get a better grip ~"I know, i know"~ he coos "but i know mommy's baby is brave enough to take it". And you recognize this for what it is. A warning that he has no problem bending you over his lap again and spanking you raw. And the flesh of your ass stings and tingles at the memory.

You don't get to dwell on it for too long because your fingers speed up the pace on their own. You can feel that you're close again. An orgasm that you aren't allowed to enjoy is on its way. But maybe there's a chance. Raising your head up, you flutter your lashes and look at Suguru with big teary eyes "Mom-" "No" his dismissive tone and the sweet smile on his face are enough to make you deflate and resort to more begging, but before you get to whine he pulls his thumb with poping noise following close by.

"Get on your back, little one" It takes a second then two to fully register his order, then a third to process the pain of being left high and dry, and a fourth to notice that you had stopped fingering yourself without question simply because he said so, you sit there dumbfounded.

"Don't make mommy ask again" and you're jumping to lay on your back. Suguru wastes no time to position himself on his knees between your legs, he slides two large palms underneath your thighs, his fingers gently caressing the welts of your stockings. And he just looks so fond, so proud of how easily you melt into him, so proud of you.

"You know everything mommy does is for your own good, right?" He speaks slowly, almost concerned that you won't understand him otherwise. "Mhmm!!" You frantically nod, brain still scrambled from what could have been a wonderful afterglow –if you had behaved–, just eager to get this torture over with.

He fully cups your thighs and starts to elevate your legs, up up up up in the air until your knees meet your shoulders. The extreme movement causes a slight cramp, pushing to whine. "M-mommy-!! Gentle.."

He shushes you before adjusting to hold your ankles and hands together with one firm left hand. His right index finger sliding down your body, starting from your jaw, down to your neck, then to trace your collar bone, he takes a moments when he reaches your breasts, two long fingers paying special attention to your sore erect nipples, –relishing in your yelps and whimpers–, then its back to one finger until he reaches your navel, and his palm flattens over your lower abdomen, and he begins to squeeze then release, squeeze and release, squeeze and release, only serving to arouse you further, and it takes everything in you to hold back the urge to cry and beg and plead.

"I'm still so disappointed in my baby..." he releases the fat one last time before traveling down to your core.

Could he be?

A thick digit circles around your clit, massaging down your labia, tending to you everywhere but where you need him the most. But you can salvage that if you play your cards right.

"N-nghh... 'm so sorry mommy..promise I-i'll always behave f-from now on..I'll be g- gah!! Good..I love you.."

He continues to mindlessly trace circles, seemingly deep in thought.

" 'm so so so sorry, it'll never happen again..pinky promise.."

Still nothing, no reaction. Though you can tell you have his ear.

"Mommy..?" Only the lewd wet sounds of your fluttering cunt fill the room. "S-sugu- AH-!!" A loud ~smack!~ stops you dead in your tracks. Four long fingers come down on your pussy hard and it stung, Mommy's not happy, Oh you really did it this time.

"Would you like to try that again?" His voice feels like a bucket of ice-cold water being dumped on your naked shoulders. "I'm sorry!" You scramble frantically "I'm so sorry!! I-I u-uh it slipped out!! I'm so sorry I wasn't thinking!" You start to absentmindedly chew on your bottom lip, You can feel your stomach drop, your body is getting hotter and your chest feels heavy.

"Exactly, sweet thing" he coos, then raises his hand again before coming down with another harsh smack on your poor puffy clit, completely ignoring your yelps and squeaks. "You weren't thinking" another smack "you never think, ever." he chuckles fondly "mindless little thing..." your pathetic apologies echo in the background, reminiscent of a mantra. "You need your mommy to guide you through everything, don't you?" "Y-yes!! Y-yes!" "I know, little one, i know" and another "but how else are you supposed to learn? You need this." The force increases, and so does your volume. "And mommy's here to give you just what you need. To make sure you stay in line" Tears are streaming down your face at this point, and you start to sob quickly after

"Dumb little thing, what would you do without me, hmm?"

Suguru seems to have had his fill of spanking you for now. He moves back a little to fully take you in in all of your glory. Warm, flushed, crying, sweating and panting. Suguru knows your poor body can't take anymore teasing, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't dying to stuff you full already, to watch you cry and beg and plead for more, sweetly asking mommy to please tend to you properly to paint your insides and and watch you cream all over his thick mean cock until you pass out.

Suguru lives to fuck you into true and absolute mindlessness, he loves how hazy and dopey you remain the following days, unable to properly function, barely able to process his words or respond at all. A little baby deer with unsteady; wobbling legs leaning on its mother. Just as it should be.

The mental image spreads a cheshire grin across his handsome features. And he decides that you've had enough, he releases your limbs from his hold, –not before making you hold your thighs back– then puts one big knee over your soaking wet cunt. And completely ignoring your mewls for attention, he frees his cock.

And there's your prize right there, your reward for being so patient, so sweet and well behaved springs out of his dress pants and stands pretty and erect, already dripping of pre. Your eyes light up and you start to salivate all over again.

The weight of his knee disappears and you're cold and needy again, and before you can whine. The sweet, sweet stimulation is back once more. Suguru is tapping his plump pink tip on your sensitive aching nub, causing devastating pleasure to course through your entire body. Your juices mix together, leaving a string of your wetness and his slick to connect you together each time he pulls away.

"You're lucky mommy's feeling nice today, baby" he fondles and kneads your thigh with his free hand, "Otherwise you would be in so much more trouble, sweet thing."

Before you can nod, smile, beg, thank him for being so sweet or even for punishing you, do anything really, all your senses are engulfed at once, Suguru thrusts into you at an animalistic pace, effectively fucking the last remnants of your brains out.

You've got a long night ahead of you.

giving satoru a blowjob is embarrassingly quick work. the man doesn’t last that long at all. maybe, at max, five minutes. but on any normal day, he can’t get past an easy three.

“oh god, oh god — i’m gonna cum! you’re going to make me—”

as he gasps, choking on his words, bucking his hips into your mouth without a care, chasing his own high, you can’t help rolling your eyes. you’re used to this. all you have to do is suckle on his weeping tip, stroke once. then twice. and he’s gone. just like that, he loses himself. but you suppose, he’s comfortable enough to be that vulnerable with you.

“i really don’t get how you’re not dating him yet.”

your best friend’s words linger insistently in the back of your mind as you glance over at kuroo from the passenger seat of his car. they slip down your throat, fluttering hard in your chest when his eyes flick to yours as he slows to a stop at a red light.

the clock on the dash reads 4:38 AM.

some song on some playlist that you made on his phone plays through the speakers.

green washes over his face, and he crooks a smile at you before turning his attention back to the road. tucking your chin into your shoulder and turning to look out the window, a fresh wave of something flutters behind your ribcage as you incidentally inhale kuroo’s familiar scent.

your fingers pinch the edge of one of his hoodie strings. he’d immediately shrugged it off when he picked you up at the airport, trading you the worn material for the two suitcases sitting on the sidewalk beside you as he popped his trunk.

it’s unusually cold for an early june evening.

and you’re not dating kuroo because he’s your roommate.

because he’s one of your closest friends.

because you have a boyfriend.

—a boyfriend who made a face over video chat when you hesitantly asked him if he’d be willing to pick you up from your flight that had been bumped to a red eye last minute. who rattled off some convoluted excuse about work and being tired and not having gas in his car before shifting his attention back to the video game he was playing.

and yet here kuroo is, looking soft and rumpled and tired behind the wheel as he drags a hand through his hair before his finger twists the volume knob up.

(on a song that you love.)

(your boyfriend always skips this one.)

here kuroo is when you know he’s got to be at the office by 9 AM, completely unbothered by the two-hour round trip from the airport back to your shared apartment.

here kuroo is, showing up for you like he always does.

showing up without being asked.

(he’d texted you shortly before your flight left to ask when you’d be landing, if you were just going to crash at your boyfriend’s after he picked you up.)

(“you’re not taking an uber by yourself in the middle of the night,” were the first words out of his mouth when you answered his call after texting back that your boyfriend wasn’t getting you.)

it’s funny, the way kuroo’s actions seem to unintentionally peel back the shoddy wallpaper that’s been plastered over the seams of your relationship for years. the way you see cracks now in places you’d once thought whole, emptiness in corners that seemed full by illusion alone.

“there’s a cool lookout to watch the sunrise just off of that exit,” kuroo interrupts your thoughts, gesturing toward a reflective sign indicating the upcoming turn off.

“aren’t you tired?”

kuroo’s palm slides over the steering wheel as he taps his turn signal, fingers drumming thoughtfully against the gear shift knob. “good coffee spot nearby, too.”

you tilt your head. “don’t you have to work today?”

he smiles at you, and your heart drifts on a gentle, warm current when he winks and says, “already called in sick.”

kuroo’s never uttered those three words all of your friends have said time and time again—you deserve better.

(he’s never said them because he doesn’t need to.)

she's busy!

the consequences of playing a lil prank on caleb ;p

warnings: filth! u call him sir n he uses some derogatory terms!! nice lil aftercare tho

minors dni ^.^ this was reposted from my (deactivated) twt ;p

“busy, huh?” caleb growls as he snaps his hips into you, the force of his thrusts pushing you further into the couch.

his hand trailing upwards on your body before groping at your tits. “‘m sorry sir ‘m s-so sorry i cant,” you whine out as your hands reach out to hold onto anything nearby. you look up at him through your tear filled eyes, pretty black streaks from your smudged makeup coloring your face, the mere sight of you all ruined and fucked out making him groan out in pleasure.

your tears are his weakness, making his already rock hard cock even harder and you feel him twitching inside you at the sight of them. it makes you feel like a doll, your suffering bringing him so much satisfaction. only he can make you like this, dumb you down till you're babbling and unable to make any coherent sentences, can only whine in pleasure and pain. a dumb lil doll, all for his using.

“you know how much i hate the thought of any one having you,” he grunts as he wraps his hand around your neck, watching your eyes widen slightly and your breath hitch.

you shake your head quickly, trying to come up with another excuse or an apology, but your brain is too cloudy. you can't. “what made you think that was a good prank, hm?” he asks you, his eyes fully focused on the way you're writhing and squirming. a sick grin painting his face as he watches you drool stupidly. he loves this. he loves you.

“answer me, mutt. i asked you a question.” he mutters, his hips never ceasing its attacks on your pussy. you muster the remaining energy you have to reply to him, and he can see that, he can see that you're really trying your best. it fills him with pride. “‘m sorry i really- fuck, i really thought it would be funny im so sorry sir ill never do it again.” youre really crying at this point, unable to keep up with the pleasure he's bringing you.

“oh baby, you truly are so precious,” he chuckles as he wipes your tears with his thumb before popping it in his mouth, the salty fluid making him throw his head back, a loud throaty moan escaping him. your pussy twitches around his cock at the sight, unable to control your incoming high. “f-fuck fuck, sir ‘m gonna cum, please,” you breathe out, your eyes widening as he quickens his pace, the wet noises of your cunt echoing in the room as your whines get louder and louder. “yeah? fuck, pretty, me too.” his thumb moving to flick at your clit a couple times before your back arches off the couch, and feel yourself wetting his abdomen. “f-fuck yeah, cum for me baby, make a mess all over me.” he breathes out before pushing his hips into you one last time, cock twitching in you, filling you up to the brim with his cum.

you're breathing heavily out of exhaustion, caleb holds your face in his hands and presses soft kisses all over. “you okay baby?” he mutters and you nod, a small smile stretching your lips. he chuckles, moves your hair out of your face before mumbling, “i love you pretty girl.” hes so soft with you, holding you like you're his entire world, the only thing that ever matters in the universe. you giggle at him, pressing a soft kiss to his nose. “i love you more.” he grins at you, and gets up, pulling out of you with a wince. “let's get your pretty ass cleaned up, yeah?”

lads x reader smau : you show them how much you miss them!

summary: you send the lads men a provocative photo to show them how much you miss them! 🤗

* MDNI, suggestive, bratty!reader, spelling/grammar mistakes, fem!reader

MORE TOUCHIE!

character(s): Caleb Xia x f!reader (fluff)

touch starved best friend caleb~ (just lemme smooch this guy till he cant breathe pls)

wc: 1.6k

based on this request ~ have a lovely day my loveee <333

Caleb clenched a steaming bowl of honey sriracha wings & rice and shuffled his feet outside the locked door of your room.

“Pip-squeak?”

It had been days since you began your studython - days where you’d only dart out of the room to go to the bathroom and retreat before he could even get a glimpse of you. Days. DAYS since you reciprocated any kind of touch or attempt at a conversation. 

“Pips, I brought you dinner,” he added, palm resting on the door.

More silence.

Caleb understood. He truly did - school was a priority for you - but he just missed you so badly. The slap of your feet against the floorboards. Your obnoxious chewing and delighted moans over his nailed dinners. He missed the poking, groping and ass-slapping you subjected him to on a daily basis. Missed the way you always scratched his back during a movie, crawled onto his lap to watch the sunset from the apartment's balcony, climbed inside his hoodie to take a nap.

He just felt so cold lately - no leech feeding off of him. He missed the lack of personal space - hands constantly in his hair or feet in his lap. God, he even missed massaging your feet!

Then - thudding. Footsteps on the other side of the door. He almost dropped the dinner.

The lock clicked, but the door remained closed. He took it as enough of an invitation to enter and slipped inside.

The air was as stuffy as if he opened a bomb shelter, RedBull mingling with something he couldn’t place and also wouldn’t dare to question. But under it all… you. The smell of you made him feel like an addict who just relapsed - sweet with a tinge of sweat and coffee. His head spun.

“-can leave it on the table. Thanks.”

He turned his eyes up from the paper-and-cans-littered floor to you on the other side of the room. Your voice was flat and back turned to him as you scribbled something on a whiteboard attached to the wall, swimming in sticky notes and booklets.

He set the bowl next to the one he left in front of your door for lunch. Barely touched. 

“I was thinking… maybe we could watch a movie later? So you take a break?”

“Can’t.”

He pouted but didn’t say anything. Still, he made his way to you, carefully, not to step on any flashcards or disturb you from the flow. He tapped a pile of books as he passed them, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

He only stopped when he was almost pressed to your back and leaned over your shoulder, humming at the diagram you were annotating.

But the moment his chin made contact with your shoulder to rest there, you shrugged him off with a low whine. His heart dropped to his stomach.

He looked around, trying to preoccupy himself with something, but it soon got the better of him…

“You’re slouching again,” he mumbled and pressed a palm to your back in an attempt to straighten you up. You tensed up and it sent prickles up his arm.

You side-stepped away from him to write on a new spot on the board…

Your hair was barely tied and a few strands slipped loose and hung in your eyes. You blew them away but they fell right back where they were annoying you.

Caleb reached out before he even registered it - tucked some behind your ears and smoothed the others down against your scalp. He ran his palm over the strands, over and over, to make sure they wouldn’t disturb your focus again. Oh, how he missed-

“Stop petting me.”

His hand froze mid-stroke. He moved behind you with a hard swallow and pretended not to see the stinging glare you threw over your shoulder.

Still, he couldn’t stop. He reached for the limp band that held your hair together and gave it a tug so it spilled down your back.

“Caleb-”

“Your neck is boiling,” he said quickly, “I’ll just fix it. Tie it up better, I promise.”

You ran him down with a pointed look but nodded. His heart did a flip at the achievement. 

He gathered the strands and peeled them off your damp neck, fingers brushing over skin he missed so bloody much. He threaded through them and scratched your scalp as he smoothed the uneven sections out.

“You’ll kick this exam’s ass,” he whispered. “You’re doing so good-”

“It’ll kick mine if you don’t let me focus.”

…

He ducked his head with a tiny nod but stayed close. Secured the bun in place. His shoulders brushed yours as he picked up one of your markers and scribbled something at the edge of your notes.

“u got this, nerd!” Underneath it, a wobbly doodle of an apple with a pencil and a graduates cap.

You didn’t react, but he swore the corners of your lips twitched.

When you lifted your arm to write higher up, your shirt rose slightly and exposed the small of your back.

Caleb tucked the fabric down.

“You should be careful so your kidneys-"

“Not. Now. Caleb.”

He reached for your hand anyway, frowning at a smudge of ink on your knuckles. “You’ve got marker on you. Let me help you.” He started to sweep his thumb over the stain with a pleased smile.

You ripped your hand away. “Jesus Christ, Caleb! Can you stop clinging for one fucking second?!”

The words hit worse than a slap. His eyes widened and his hands dropped like they burnt you.

“O-okay.” His voice cracked. “Yeah. Sorry.”

He stepped back. “Sorry, pips.” He ran a hand through his hair and blinked back the wet edges of his vision, hoping you didn’t catch the wobble in his throat. He hastily gathered some of the plates on your desk with shaky hands and rushed out the door, tripping slightly over the divider.

The door clicked neatly shut and you turned back to the board.

The marker’s screech halted mid-word and you stared at the unfinished word. You dropped your face in your palms.

The silence wasn’t peaceful - it crawled up your calves and bound your throat.

The laptop hummed. The timer clicked. The dread engulfed you.

God. It was just an exam. One, single, stupid exam.

You rubbed your eyebags.

The boy simply missed you... And you-

The cap clicked back on the marker.

You creeped through the apartment like it was a walk of shame and found him in the kitchen, hunched over the sink. His hoodie sagged a little off one shoulder, the sleeves were pushed up unevenly, revealing his forearms as he scrubbed at your plates.

You stepped closer as if testing the waters. Then closer.

Your arms circled his waist, slipping under his hoodie and tugging him against you.

He tensed.

Your cheek pressed between his shoulder blades. “Caleb…”

His grip loosened on the sponge and hands went limp in the dishwater. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you-”

“Shut up.” You squeezed tighter. “I was being and ass. A mean ass. I’m so sorry.”

He let out a long breath and you nuzzled closer, rubbing your nose into his back. “I missed you too.”

His hands braced on the counter. “You did?”

You nodded against him and he let you hold him like that for a moment later.

When you eased the hold and tugged at his hand, he followed without a question, water droplets trailing you both to the couch.

You plopped down on it and opened your arms. “C’mere.”

He stared at your figure laying there for a second. Then he was sandwiching you between him and the cushions in an instant.

Arms around your waist and legs tangled with yours like a human pretzel, he buried his face into your chest.

You chuckled and wrapped one arm around his neck, traced the shell of his ear with the other. “You’re heavy," you spoke into his hair - it smelled of your shampoo. You took another curious, deeper inhale and... yep... You smelled your body wash on him too.

His voice was muffled. “Missed you.”

He made a strangled noise when your nails scratched behind his ear. 

“I was going insane, Pips.” He brushed his lips over your collarbone.

“I know. I know, bab-” You bit down on your tongue. “I know, Caleb... You should yell at me sometimes.”

He raised his head, hair sticking out in weird angles. “I’d never yell at you,” he sneered. “Not like that.”

You cupped his face and brushed the hair back from his forehead.

His freckled face turned a rosy shade and his lips parted. “Could you…” he averted his eyes from you for a moment. “Could you scratch my back?”

You squeezed his yummy cheeks between your palms. “Of course."

He raised to his knees to pull the hoodie and shirt over his head. He threw them on the floor and sank down on you like a weighted, heated blanket. 

Your nails dragged over the muscle and he groaned into your neck. “Can we stay like this today?”

“We’d need snacks.”

The cupboards flew open and bags of Doritos and dried fruits with nuts blasted past your heads. You instinctively shielded his with your arms. It all landed on the table, faint traces of Caleb’s evol lingering on it and making the air buzz.

“Needy,” you grinned and scratched closer to his ribs. He melted against you, humming under his breath.

"Never denied it..."

An hour later, you still hadn’t changed positions once. Caleb was half-asleep, twitching every time you scratched just the right spot on his back or behind his ears. One arm under your shirt. The other gripping your thigh, tucked in between your legs.

“I need to piss,” you kissed his hair.

“No, you don’t.”

“... Alright.”

caleb's radio: Isn’t it Love - Patrick McHale

The morning was quiet. Slow.

No rushing. No alarms. Just the smell of scrambled eggs and toasted bread. A clink of a mug against the table.

You blinked up as Caleb placed your favourite tea beside your notes, steam curling upward in the morning breeze sneaking in through the window. He didn't say anything - just smiled and tucked a blanket tighter around your shoulders, before padding back to the stove.

There was music playing softly, something quite old and instrumental.

He wasn’t hovering this time. He moved around you with ease. He leaned down at one point to press a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, and whispered: “Got your bag packed. Put some fruits in there. Nothing heavy so the blood goes straight up to the brains.”

Before he could straighten back up, you caught his hand. Held it in both of yours. Rubbed your thumbs over his knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured.

He shook his head before you could even continue. “No, you were stressed. I get it.” He curled his pinky around yours. “Just… thank you for coming back for me.”

When it was time to leave, he helped you into your coat and carried your bag all the way to the exam hall. Not a single word the whole way - just pinkies loosely interlaced.

At the door, he cupped your cheeks and lowered his voice. “I’ll be right here when you come out, okay?” You nodded. “No matter how it goes. Always. But you’re going to crush it. You always do.”

And you did crush it. Of course you did.

When you walked back out, squinting against the afternoon sun, he was there. Arms wide open. Standing exactly where you left him, waiting with bags from your favourite takeout place by his feet.

You didn’t walk - you ran.

And this time, you were the one melting into him when he caught you.

He rocked you excitedly side to side. “You absolute genius!” His breath was warm in your hair. “I’m so, so proud of you, honey.”

You pulled back just enough to kiss your fingers and tap them against his nose. He blinked, dazed and rosy.

“Let’s go home,” you grinned.

He smiled, picked up the bags, and outstretched the pinkie on his free hand to you.

if u enjoyed here are some moree <333  #get in loser we're repressing feelings - ft. bestie caleb  yayyyy <333

if u have any other requests or are interested in a pure cuddles snuggles one pleseeeee ~ my mailbox is always open for suggestions ~

a.n. might have been all of the exams anxieties sublimating into this one upsie daisy ~ imagine having a caleb to pick u up from that hell with takeout *bites into her tear-soaked pillow and screams* my psyche found a soft place to land this fine evening ~ and i shall disappear into the black hole that are my notes again... kisses to u allll <333

tag list for my lovessss (if u wanna be added just leave a comment, shoot me a message, or literally anything <333): @cordidy, @midiplier, @mariojins

Poor Satoru doesn’t know what to do with himself when you get like this.

When you're too sleepy and too stressed to play with him, when your eyes are heavy and your voice is sharp, snapping out little “not now”s and “please, Satoru”s that sting far more than you'd ever intend. He knows it’s not about him. He knows. But still.

He stands there awkwardly at the edge of the bed, fingers twitching at his sides, his usual brightness dulled into something quiet and anxious. You’re lying on your stomach, cheek pressed to the pillow, body still and closed off in a way that tells him you’ve hit your limit.

But he still needs to touch you. He has to.

“Is... is two finger touch okay?” he asks, voice unusually soft. Baby blues raking your body.

You don’t answer, not really. Just make a tiny noise, more exhale than anything. But it’s not a no.

So he climbs into bed with a surprising amount of gentleness. No attempts at disturbing your peace. And then he reaches out, dragging just two slender fingers down the curve of your spine. Featherlight. Barely there. Up and down. Up and down. Sometimes he traces your sides, and when you twitch or tense, he’s quick to shush you, soft, pink lips brushing your shoulder.

“I’m not gonna do anything,” he murmurs. “Just touching. Just this.”

Eventually, when you don’t push him away, he lets out a quiet breath and shifts. Lays down beside you - not quite beside, really. More like on you, curling his long frame to fit your back like a blanket. His cheek finds home against your lower back, arms tucked in as he breathes you in.

“I love you,” he whispers into the silence. “Even when you’re crabby. Even when you’re too tired to look at me. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He stays like that, still and soft, waiting. Waiting until you’re ready to turn around. Until your hand reaches back to tangle in his tousled white hair. Until you mumble that you're sorry, or maybe just press your face into his chest without saying a word.

He’ll wait forever, if that’s what it takes.

Because sure, he doesn’t like it when you’re cranky. But loving you means being close even when you can’t meet him halfway. And if this is all you’ll let him have for now - two fingers and a cheek pressed to your back- then he’ll take it, gratefully.

Because that’s still you. And Satoru doesn’t know how to be without you.

ARE YOU A GOOD GIRL? jjk men.

feat. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, shiu, higuruma

sum. d!ck inside, gasp and moan filling the room. your boyfriend pays you a visit and one praise they have you cum just in a second, and what do they do? oh, i’m gonna ruin you with that’ they said.

warning. non-sorcerer! jjk men, established 23 you & 31 them, praise kink, petname(s), name-calling(s), overstimulated, dirty talk,

GOJO SATORU

your dorm room was dim, just the amber glow of your bedside lamp flickering against the walls and casting shadows that danced with the rhythm of your bodies. his shirt was tossed somewhere by your desk chair, your panties slung haphazardly over your open textbook—because of course gojo had bent you over your desk first, saying something like “might as well break in your study spot properly, baby.”

but now you were on the bed, flat on your back, his silver hair a messy halo as he hovered over you, hips grinding into yours at a slow, relentless pace. skin hot and sticky, your legs trembling around his waist, your breath coming out in ragged little gasps.

“look at you,” he rasped, sweat dripping down his temple as he dragged his cock out to the tip, just to slam it back in. “fuck, baby—you’re taking me so good.”

your nails clawed at his back. “s-satoru—!”

he groaned at the way your voice cracked, the way you clenched down on him so tight the second he said something nice. “mm? what was that? you like that? like being told how good you are for me?”

your walls fluttered around him. violently.

his eyes widened.

“oh my god,” he said, stilling completely inside you. “no fuckin’ way.”

you were already whining, shifting your hips to chase friction, but he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand, staring at you like he just struck gold.

“you’re gonna cum, aren’t you?” he whispered, breathless. “you’re gonna cum just from that.”

your face was burning. “shut up—”

but he didn’t. of course he didn’t. this was gojo.

“ohhh, no no, now i have to test it,” he grinned, the corner of his mouth twitching with mischief. “you like being praised, baby? does it make that pretty pussy all messy?”

you whimpered as his free hand slid down, thumb circling your clit in slow, teasing strokes.

“you’re doing so good for me. such a good girl—letting me fuck you like this, letting me ruin that smart little college brain. i know you’ve been working hard all week, haven’t you?”

your hips bucked hard.

“ah—there it is,” he laughed, almost mean. “my filthy little overachiever. studying all day just to get ruined by my cock at night.”

his strokes picked up. so did his words.

“so proud of you, baby. so proud of this body—these thighs, this tight little cunt that’s soaking for me. you’re just perfect. my perfect, obedient, desperate girl—”

your orgasm hit like a truck.

you cried out, back arching violently, legs locked around him as your whole body seized beneath him. your walls clamped around his cock so hard it knocked the air out of him, and for once, satoru gojo was left speechless.

“f-fuck—holy shit—”

he collapsed on top of you, still twitching inside, and laughed breathlessly against your neck. “you just came from that,” he murmured, grinning like he just won the lottery. “from me telling you how good you are.”

you were still trembling.

“i’m never shutting the fuck up again,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “you’re so screwed, baby.”

and he meant that in every way possible.

GETO SUGURU

it was late—past midnight kind of late—and you’d just finished a soul-sucking group project that left you drained, grumpy, and snapping at anyone who looked at you sideways. which is why, when suguru showed up unannounced, you didn’t even question it. you just fell into his chest with a soft sigh, letting him carry you to the bed like he always did when you were too tired to move.

he kissed you like he missed you. slow and deep, tongue gliding past your lips like he had nowhere else to be. you didn’t even realize when he’d slipped your shirt off, or how your panties were already pushed to the side, or how the heat of his cock was nudging at your folds, thick and pulsing.

“tell me to stop,” he murmured against your lips.

you didn’t.

so he sank in slow, the stretch burning just right, your thighs wrapped tight around his waist, your fingers knotted in the strands of his hair still tied back lazily. he hissed through his teeth as he bottomed out.

“fuck, baby—you’re always so tight for me,” he groaned, his pace steady and firm, hips slapping into yours with a controlled rhythm. “even after all this time.”

you bit your lip, already feeling your body light up like a fuse had been lit in your spine. but you didn’t say anything. not yet.

he noticed it right away—how you squeezed around him the moment his voice dropped, all deep and sweet.

his brows lifted, that soft, wicked smile tugging at his lips.

“wait,” he said, rocking into you deeper. “you like that?”

you tried to look away.

“no, no—don’t hide,” he chuckled, catching your jaw and turning your face back to his. “you’re telling me you get off on a little praise?”

you shook your head. a clear lie.

“liar,” he murmured, leaning down to whisper against your lips. “you’re such a good girl for me. always so wet. always so eager to be filled up.”

you gasped—your body jolted—and your cunt squeezed around him so tight it dragged a curse from his throat.

“oh my god,” he laughed, unhinged now. “you’re fucking serious.”

he started fucking into you harder, deeper. his hand slid down your body, resting on your stomach, pressing there so he could feel how deep he was.

“i’m gonna ruin you with this,” he said, gaze dark with something close to awe. “just words, baby? just a few sweet nothings and you’re this close to cumming? fuck—look at you.”

you couldn’t hold back the noises anymore. every time he praised you—every filthy compliment, every soft ‘good girl’—your moans got louder, your legs shook harder, and your nails dug into his arms like you were holding on for dear life.

“such a perfect little thing,” he whispered, face buried in your neck. “taking me so well. doing so good, baby. you’re so beautiful like this—messy, fucked out, desperate.”

your body locked up.

he felt it, smirked, and gripped your hips tighter. “that’s it. cum for me. show me how much you love hearing how proud i am of you.”

and with a shattered whimper, you came. violently. full-body trembling, eyes rolling, breath stuttering as you soaked his cock.

he groaned into your mouth, slowing down just enough to ride you through it, kissing your lips softly like he hadn’t just broken you in half with his voice.

“mmm, my girl’s got the cutest kink,” he murmured, brushing your hair out of your face as you struggled to catch your breath. “you just gave me a fuckin’ god complex.”

you blinked up at him, dazed.

he grinned, leaned down, and whispered, “don’t worry. i’m gonna make you cum every single time i call you my good girl.”

and the worst part? you knew he would.

NANAMI KENTO

you didn’t expect him to show up at your dorm this late. he rarely came over without warning—he was punctual, predictable, always so polite about it. but tonight, something in his voice over the phone had made your stomach twist with anticipation. his “i’m coming over” had been low, firm, and left no room for argument.

so now you were here. back pressed against your desk, your shirt halfway open, your skirt bunched up around your waist, and nanami on his knees in front of you like a man starved. his tie was off, sleeves rolled up, glasses long forgotten on your nightstand, and you were struggling to breathe through the way his tongue moved over you—slow, devastating, focused.

“you’ve had a long week,” he murmured between licks, his voice thick with restraint. “thought i’d help you relax.”

your legs were already shaking, and you barely managed to stutter his name before he stood, towering over you, fingers ghosting over your trembling thighs. you could see it in his face—the slight pink in his cheeks, the tension in his jaw—that he was holding back.

and when he slid inside you?

oh god.

the stretch was perfect, deep, almost too much. you moaned openly, arms wrapping around his neck, eyes fluttering as he started thrusting into you slow and controlled, like he wanted to memorize the way your body reacted to each push.

and then—you clenched around him. tight.

the second he muttered, “you’re doing so well, sweetheart.”

he paused, eyes flicking up to your face. “...was that because of what i said?”

your mouth parted. you hesitated.

he stared for a beat, and then—something in him changed.

“interesting,” he breathed, voice suddenly darker. “so that’s what gets you dripping like this.”

he pulled out halfway, slammed back in, hard enough to knock a choked moan out of you.

“you want to be praised, is that it?” he murmured, brushing his knuckles along your jaw as he fucked you into the desk. “want me to tell you what a good girl you are?”

you whimpered.

he caught your face in his hand, made you look him in the eye. “you’re such a good girl for me. letting me have you like this. always so polite, so obedient—until i get you alone.”

you broke. you fucking broke.

your body went stiff, orgasm ripping through you before you could even warn him, clenching and throbbing so tight around his cock that his next groan sounded almost pained.

“fuck,” he muttered, hips stuttering. “you just came.”

you hid your face in his neck.

he didn’t stop.

he fucked you through it, whispering into your skin, “you did so well, darling. came so beautifully for me. i didn’t even have to touch you.”

and then, very softly: “what a filthy, perfect girl you are.”

you nearly sobbed.

he wrapped his arms around you, lifted you like you weighed nothing, and laid you on the bed—still inside you, still throbbing hard.

“don’t think we’re finished,” he said, sliding out slow, teasing, only to push back in and make you gasp. “not when i’ve just discovered how to ruin you.”

he kissed your forehead, lips soft and reverent.

“i’m going to praise you until you can’t walk tomorrow.”

and knowing him? he meant it.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

you knew what kind of night it was going to be the moment toji showed up at your door, leaning against the frame like he owned the place, shirt already unbuttoned halfway down and a smug glint in his eyes that said trouble. the man had no business looking that good at midnight.

"heard you’ve been stressin’ over your exams," he said, stepping inside without waiting. "figured i’d help you take the edge off."

“oh?” you quipped, cocky—until his hand gripped your throat lightly, tilting your head back just enough for his mouth to meet yours. and like always, he didn’t ease into it. his kiss was tongue and teeth and a little bite to your bottom lip that made your knees weak.

you didn’t even know when your panties came off. or when he bent you over your desk, your cheek pressed against open textbooks and crumpled lecture notes. all you felt was the heavy drag of his cock, thick and slow, sliding inside until you were full—so full you whimpered.

“fuck, always so tight,” he groaned, pressing his chest to your back. “like you’ve been waiting for me.”

he set a brutal rhythm, fucking into you like he was mad, like he missed you, like he needed this. every slap of skin echoed through the room, and your voice broke with every thrust. but then—

“such a good girl,” he muttered, not even thinking. just slipped out like it was instinct.

and your body snapped. you clenched around him hard, nearly choking on your moan.

he paused.

“…no fuckin’ way,” he breathed, pulling your hair to lift your head. “say that again.”

you stayed quiet. trembling.

he slammed back into you so hard your legs buckled.

“nah, princess. don’t hold out on me. you like that, huh? like bein’ called my good girl?”

you whined, breath hitching, face burning.

toji let out the filthiest, cockiest laugh. “holy shit,” he whispered, licking a stripe up the side of your neck. “you’re tellin’ me you cream the second i open my fuckin’ mouth? shit, baby—you’re so easy.”

his hand reached around, rubbing tight circles on your clit. “go ahead then,” he rasped. “cum on my cock. be my good fuckin’ girl.”

and just like that, you shattered.

you came so hard your thighs trembled, knees giving out under you. and toji? he just held you up, praised you through it, voice low and ragged in your ear.

“atta girl… so fuckin’ pretty when you cum. makin’ a mess on me already?”

he flipped you over like you weighed nothing, lifted your leg, and slid right back in.

“oh, we’re not done,” he grinned, breathless now, pupils blown wide. “you think i’m lettin’ this kink go to waste?”

you barely had the strength to answer, still shaking.

he leaned in, kissed you like he was mocking how ruined you looked. “you’re gonna cum for me again,” he promised. “and again. and again. until you’re cryin’ from bein’ called a good girl.”

and you knew—knew—he meant every word.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

it was late—quiet. the kind of silence that presses in on you thick and slow, where even the smallest sound feels amplified. sukuna’s apartment was dimly lit, just the soft, golden glow from the single lamp in the corner casting long shadows over the room.

you were straddling his lap, completely bare, thighs draped over his, your arms loose around his neck. his back rested against the couch, body warm beneath you, and his eyes—those deep, dark red eyes—never left your face. not even when your hips moved. not even when your breath hitched.

he had you seated right where he wanted you, hands gripping your waist, guiding your rhythm—slow, deep, unrelenting.

and you were a mess already.

“look at you,” he muttered, voice a low, amused rumble. “bouncin’ on my cock like you’re made for it.”

your breath stuttered, thighs twitching.

his fingers tightened on your waist just slightly. “you like that, huh? being told you’re good?”

you didn’t answer fast enough, but your body did—your eyes fluttering shut, hips stuttering, your moan nearly breaking apart in your throat.

and that was all he needed.

sukuna leaned in, mouth brushing your ear with a grin that you felt more than saw.

“ohhh. so that’s what this is.”

his tone dipped—taunting, smug. “my little girl gets off when i talk to her nice.”

you squirmed, half-mortified, half turned on beyond saving.

he tilted his head, watching your tits bounce with every needy rock of your hips. then he slipped a hand up, dragging his thumb lazily across your nipple, his other hand gripping your ass tight enough to bruise.

“you want me to keep tellin’ you how perfect you feel?” he whispered, suddenly more serious. his voice still laced with heat, but there was something darker behind it now. possessiveness. awe. “how tight this pussy is, how it sucks me in like it can’t breathe without me?”

your head dropped to his shoulder with a broken whimper.

“fuck—look at you.”

he let out a shaky breath, hips jerking up. “you’re gonna cum already, aren’t you? just from me talkin’?”

you nodded, desperate, babbling nonsense against his skin.

and then he said it—soft, low, raw:

“that’s my good girl.”

you shattered.

back arching, fingers clawing into his shoulders, your entire body went stiff before it trembled against his. you came so hard around him, so violently, it knocked the breath out of you—and sukuna just held you, smirking against your throat, murmuring filth between kisses.

“knew you were filthy for me.”

kiss.

“but this? fuck, baby. that’s dangerous.”

kiss.

“gonna use that mouth of mine to ruin you every night now.”

you didn’t doubt it for a second.

and from that night on, every time his voice dropped just a little, every time he muttered good girl into your ear—you remembered exactly how it felt to lose yourself right there on his lap, under the glow of that lonely little lamp, with praise melting off his tongue like sin.

SHIU KONG

it was supposed to be just a drive. just a night cruise with the windows down and your hand resting lazily on his thigh, music low and city lights flashing by. but shiu had always been the type to snap once something got under his skin—and you? dressed like that, soft thighs bare and eyes teasing him from the passenger seat?

you knew what you were doing.

that’s why you weren’t surprised when he suddenly pulled into some dark, quiet parking lot and killed the engine without a word.

his voice was low, rough when he spoke, hand gripping your chin as he leaned over.

“get in the back. now.”

you didn’t argue.

the car door slammed, and the moment you slid into the backseat, he followed—tall frame looming, heavy with intent. he didn’t give you time to process, to breathe—just pushed you down until your back hit the leather, and his mouth was already on your neck, hands everywhere.

“you always this bratty?” he growled against your skin. “or are you just desperate to get fucked like a little slut?”

your answer was a gasp, knees spreading on instinct. he chuckled low—one hand pushing up your skirt, the other unbuckling his belt in a way that felt both urgent and terrifyingly controlled. he wanted this, but he wanted to savor it.

his fingers slid between your legs, felt the mess there already.

“fuck—this wet already?” his brows twitched, head tilting. “just from me tellin’ you what to do?”

and then, a little slower:

“…do you like that?”

your breath caught in your throat.

“do you get off on being told you’re a good girl?” he murmured, right by your ear now, voice like hot velvet dragging across your spine. “is that what this is?”

you whimpered, body twitching, thighs tightening.

his grin was all sharp teeth and danger.

“well shit. that’s easy, sweetheart.”

he lined himself up, still fully clothed, only his zipper down, and pushed in with one long, slow stroke. you cried out—sensitive, overstimulated, and shiu loved it. he leaned over you, one hand gripping the seat above your head as he began thrusting, rough and deep, the car rocking with every snap of his hips.

“fuck, you feel good like this,” he panted, watching your eyes roll back. “so goddamn tight. takin’ me so well.”

then—he tried it.

soft, breathless, dangerous:

“good girl.”

your whole body clenched.

he stilled.

“…no way.”

he looked down at you, your chest heaving, face flushed, mouth open in a silent moan, your walls fluttering around him just from those two little words.

“you’re fuckin’ kidding,” he breathed, voice shaking. “you’re actually about to cum just from that?”

you nodded, whining—too far gone to be shy.

he groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “oh, i’m gonna ruin you with that.”

and he did.

over and over, thrusting deep, whispering it like it was sacred.

“good girl.”

“such a perfect fuckin’ thing.”

“look at you, clenching around me so sweet just ‘cause i’m praising you.”

he made you cum so hard, you cried—shaking in the back of his car while the windows fogged and your voice echoed against the leather.

and after? when you were still trembling, body boneless under him?

he kissed your cheek, still inside you, and smirked against your skin.

“next time, i’m doing this with the windows down,” he whispered. “wanna see how many people can hear you fall apart when i tell you you’re mine.”

HIROMI HIGURUMA

the city outside was still alive—lights flickering against the windows, muffled car horns somewhere in the distance—but in his office, it was nothing but dim lamps, the soft creak of the floor beneath the blanket he laid out, and the sound of your breathless gasps echoing off his walls.

he was above you. hands planted firm on either side of your head, body stretched long and tense, every muscle in his arms flexing with control as he moved inside you—slow, deep strokes that made your whole body tremble beneath him.

his tie was still on, his shirt half-unbuttoned and sleeves rolled to his elbows. he looked down at you like he was trying to memorize every single twitch of your face, every broken sound you gave him.

“you’re taking me so well,” he murmured, voice rough, reverent. “fuck—you feel incredible.”

and you whimpered.

he paused—just slightly—but his hips didn’t stop.

his brow furrowed, mouth parting as his eyes locked onto your expression.

“…was that it?” he asked softly, his pace slowing, hips dragging almost teasingly deep. “did that do it for you?”

your face was flushed, mouth open, eyes wide—betraying everything.

he let out a low breath of laughter, something between awe and amusement, and leaned down closer, his mouth brushing against your ear.

“oh, you like being told that. don’t you?”

your hands gripped his biceps, nails digging in.

“god, of course you do,” he whispered, hips thrusting again, more deliberate now. “you’re such a good girl for me. lying here, letting me fuck you slow—just like this. perfect.”

your whole body jerked, breath catching. and he felt it—your walls tightening, the tremble of your thighs pulling him in closer.

his voice dropped lower, rougher.

“gonna cum, sweetheart?”

you nodded helplessly.

he smirked—something lazy, dangerous—and dragged his hand down between your bodies, fingers brushing right where you needed them.

“do it. cum for me.”

then, slower—deeper—hot breath against your lips:

“be a good girl and cum for me.”

you broke.

your back arched off the floor, thighs shaking around his waist as your orgasm tore through you—so hard it hit like a wave, full-body and overwhelming. you cried out, clinging to him as your body clenched tight, trembling under his weight.

and higuruma—he didn’t stop. he kissed your temple, dragged his fingers along your cheek, whispered praises while you came undone beneath him.

“you’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, almost too tender for how deep he was still inside you. “so sweet. you always fall apart for me when i say it, don’t you?”

you nodded again, breathless, dizzy.

his lips curved into something between a smirk and a soft smile, brushing his mouth against your cheek as he pushed his hips in deep again.

“i’m never shutting up again, then,” he said, almost like a vow.

“you’re gonna cum from my voice alone by the time i’m done with you.”

and with the way your body responded—shaking, sensitive, already aching for more—you knew he meant it.

a/n; for that one anon who wanted small tits worship + toji!!!

you’d always been a little self conscious about your chest. not insecure, not exactly—just aware. your shirts didn’t cling in the right places, bras were mostly unnecessary, and no one had ever really made a big deal of it. not until him.

not until toji advocates for any size tits, fushiguro.

"cute little things," he muttered the first time he got your shirt off, palms heavy and warm against your ribcage, thumbs grazing the soft swell of your tits. and when he leaned in, mouth dragging over your sternum, teeth barely grazing the curve under your left nipple, you almost gasped.

"you're jok—ah," you started, but his tongue cut off the rest.

he looked up at you from between them, lips slick, eyes half lidded with that hungry, lazy stare of his. "you think i’m kidding?"

you didn’t answer. couldn't, really. not with the way he was mouthing at you, hands gripping your waist like you might try to squirm away. not that you would. not when he looked that serious about it.

toji had a way of making you feel like the only body in the room, even if it was just the two of you. big hands, bigger shoulders, that wide scarred chest pressing you down into the mattress - just like he could brand you with it. every inch of you, he gave attention to—but your tits? he worshipped the fuck out of them.

he kissed them like they were something holy. slow, messy licks around your nipples, teasing and wet. then he’d suckle, lazy at first, then rougher when he felt your thighs twitch. he’d nudge them together, even when it barely made a valley between them, and shove his face in like they were bigger than they were.

he wanted to disappear in them forever.

“don’t need ‘em big,” he grunted once, biting just below your nipple, pulling back when you whined. “just need ‘em soft. look at this. fuck—” he squeezed them together with both hands, thumbs rubbing your nipples until they were sore. “—could spend hours here.”

you believed him. you really did. especially when he did.

his mouth didn’t stop. he was drunk on you—kissing down the slope of your chest, dragging his teeth over every inch, he really did appreciate your prettiness. always muttering shit like fuckin’ perfect and so good for me right into your sternum, as if your tits were listening.

and you? god. your whole body buzzed. not even from the sex—he hadn’t even gotten that far half the time. it was the way he looked up at you, how focused he got when he had you spread out beneath him, your chest flushed, marked up, and shiny from his mouth.

"lay back," he whispers, voice low and gravelly, eyes trained on your bare skin, he was probably already thinking about he was going to do with your stunning body.

you listened. always did.

"arms up."

you’d do that too. he liked the way it stretched you out, made you arch a little. gave him more room to touch. his tongue would find your nipple again, and you’d let out a little noise, hips shifting under him—but he’d ignore it and push you down.

he didn’t rush. didn’t even touch you lower until your nipples were red and puffy, your chest wet with saliva. until you were whining, fingers twitching in the sheets, desperate to pull him closer or push him down.

"you in a hurry, baby?" toji murmurs, thumb teasing the underside of your boob. “i’m not.”

he'd pin your wrists above your head and go back to sucking bruises over your ribs, working slow, like he had all fucking night. and sometimes? he did. he’d spend forever just playing with your chest, palms warm and firm, lips working your skin. he really was trying to memorize the taste of you.

cw: smut, finger fucking, grinding, 69 woohwooh

currently in the middle of a roadtrip and i couldn't stop thinking about how either caleb or zayne would totally park at a lay bay for a bit to finger fuck you until you're too fucked out to keep complaining "are we there yet?"

if ever you were the type to behave, they'd be so down for a quickie on the halfway point. zayne would sit you on his lap and play with your throbbing clit as he slowly grinds into you from behind. caleb would lap up your dripping cunt while you give him sloppy head in the backseat. they'd consider it as both yours and their reward, they'd be energized after it too ☺

an: quick drabble cause i'm bored and i wanna say i hate camping :')

Because it reminds me of you

(Dedicated to all the lovely hunters who supported this descent into madness (x) u guys feel free to write your own versions. Let’s move the unhinged MC agenda forward. This is my humble contribution :3)

Warning: NSFW, MDNI, filth

It all began that day when everything she knew was taken from her; and his necklace was the only thing left. Her mind kept repeating the fiery hell even in the ambulance, as the oxygen mask brought her back within the caging walls of the moving vehicle. It replayed as she was discharged and sent back work - her dream job as a protector.

She did not protect Caleb and gran. She did not protect Caleb and gran. She did not protect Caleb and gran. She-

Then Dr. Zayne assured her that time did not erase pain; but then what was she supposed to do with the emptiness in her chest? If the most brilliant doctor she knew was powerless towards grief, then there was no hope. And down she went back home, her lonely appartment. Down she went spiralling when no one could see her strained eyes from looking online for any clues. She tried to stop, but everytime she stared at something for too long, it was almost as if she was there again and the pressure and heat threw her back, away from them.

She did not protect Caleb and gran. She did not protect Caleb and gran. She did not protect Caleb and gran. She-

Her breathing that was quiet, suddenly became irregular, as if the air was filled with smoke again. Her chest hurt and her whole body felt weak; lucklily she was still sitting. She felt heavy tears breaking through; something she was acquainted by now. And she just let it fall.

As soon as her strength came back, something in her brain raised an alert reminding her she had work tomorrow; so, dragging her feet to the bathroom, she sat on the small stool and let the water wash away her skin, her grief; the vanilla scented body wash did not stuck enough in her skin to be relaxing; nor did the air freshner she would spray every day wherever she went around the house. Her fingers worked the product into her skin and scalp, but even after some time, it remained faint. Then, as she slowly turned it off, the weight was still there, clinging to her like ashes to her hair. Looking down to support her weight, her eyes registered the weird dark tentacle thing in the tile, trembling along with the water, yet stuck in the same position; she sensed a prickling in her nose, but no tears this time.

At the hunters office, she wore a loose hair do, hoping no one would notice the changes in her once luscious long hair; and with a bit of makeup, it was as if she had had eight hours of sleep. Her tasks were done with efficiency, numbly typing and walking the halls of the Association. Work distracted her, but she hoped they would assign higher profile missions soon, killing the low levels did not do it for her anymore.

It all changed when Operation Aether Ordeal to investigate the Spatium Core was assigned by Captain Jenna herself. And upon hearing about the similarities of this incident, even the Captain was aware it was something the hunter had no choice but to dig deeper.

All those visions, the explosion, the expanding hell, the once lively home and the two most important people to her consumed by it, all began to dwindle the moment she stepped onto the architectural dreamscape that was Skyhaven; and she found more than her heart could have hoped for.

The rookie could not believe her senses when she felt that pull, trapping her in place like a certain someone would when she was looking to put herself in danger. She still could not believe it when she heard the voice that sounded exactly like his voice. And finally, she could not believe her eyes when he announced the test. ‘You must not lie’, that voice kept repeating as saliva kept pooling in her mouth, as it had become impossible to swallow; yet, she did what the voice instructed. He must have rigged the whole thing or she was the best liar to have ever lived.

What should she do, throw the necklace at him, scream from the top of her lungs ‘stupid, dummy. I hate you, Caleb!’, or simply take him in her arms like she has been dreaming all those exhausting months? She chose the latter, and his vanilla scent lingered just below the iron. The loveliest scent in this whole world finally allowed her mind to rest and she held his eyes in hers, smiling like he was the only fountain that could quench her thrist. Riding shotgun, the whole of Skyhaven passed as a blur, her eyes were glued to his face, now somewhat paler, in the place of that warm summer skin that she adored; but it did not matter, Caleb was back.

Her eyes were still devouted as he showed his house; and she chose a random room that seemed cozier than the rest. ‘His room’, the words flashed in her mind first, then became branded in her memory; yet, the house did not smell like him, it did not have the warmth of Caleb’s presence. She hated it here, but it would need to do, because now he was with her again.

She went from happy he was back, to distrustful of his new role - never of him, no. She was with Caleb through and through. But the Fleet and this Lucius man, she did not trust them at all.

And then he told her he would build a maze to keep her safe; and his scent had been strong as ever. His eyes had a manic quality, as if Caleb was running a fever, and she was scared. Was he the sweet friend from her childhood, or had he always been this ‘wolf’, this alluring, terrifying, teeth-baring wolf?

That was her rational mind; in contrast, something deeper in her desperation wanted to reach out and pull him closer so she could feel that scent. A depraved thought, indeed; but she wanted it. She wanted it so bad. Have his vanilla scent all over her skin. Taste it with every nerve in her body. Yet, she did not. She fought back; she hurt him, telling him all those things.

Yet, whenever he left, she felt like those times after the explosion: utterly alone and desperate for an ounce of him. All her vanilla scented candles had stayed back home and his shower products did not smell like that. She questioned whether the vanilla was a story her mind told her senses. Until she found one source of it, and confirmed she was not insane. Something that had gone unnoticed was laying amidst recently ironed clothes. And with each step, the scent got stronger and more enticing. When she was a touch away from the neat pile, something akin to blue, latent shame grew. There were his well-kept underwear, boxers, all black.

She remembered the times Caleb cooked and how it was impossible to resist taking at least one bite as he put his heart into the steamy bowl of soup. This felt even harder to resist; her hands moved, and she glued them back to her side, nevertheless, something in her desired to reach for it. The scent calling to her. ‘I can’t. I can’t. I can’t’, yet, her instincts won and she touched the soft fabric; it was light and good for a man whose routine was intense. But the best part was that it smelled like vanilla. She inhaled softly at first, letting the sweet notes remind her of happier times; then deeply, and her grief was back. She cried. Rubbing her nose and cheeks on the front part, enjoying the scent surrounding her senses. There was nothing besides him now.

She was not thinking, she did not know when she fell asleep. All she knew is that her dreams were sweet like vanilla. Too sweet perhaps. They were somewhere nice, safe. He embraced her nicely, safely. And when morning came, she no longer had the scent to greet her. Not even Caleb was there... maybe the whole thing had been a dream. The items were still there, in the same neatly folded pile. A dream. Perhaps she was losing it.

Her screaming broke the silence, “I don’t need you”, and suddenly he wore that deadly betrayed look in his eyes.

“You. Don’t. Need. Me?” Each wavering word had weight as his steps got his dangerous scent closer to her. His arms trapped her at the right side, his breath was right at her face as he bent to look deeply into her eyes, “then...”, he reached for the pocket of his coat, “care to explain why my clean underwear was streaky, almost as if someone had been crying on them?”

Her face was so hot, she felt like fainting. “I don’t know anything”, she muttered, nearly bumping his chin as she lowered her gaze.

Caleb scoffed, “what was that?”

The cornered woman repeated, still looking down.

“Oh, yeah?” he made her look up with the same hand he was holding the piece of clothing, “then you won’t mind if I throw them away...”

Lonely. Death. No vanilla. No Caleb.

In a pathetic act, she whined, throwing herself against his chest, “no. You can’t do that. You can’t take more from me!”

His tone became cold as he repeated his question; and for a moment, she glimpsed the hardened Colonel again, trying to get a confession out of her lips. She caved in, no lies this time "they remind me of Caleb! They remind me of safety! They remind me of everything I had!" Words spilled out of control.

Caleb’s now empty hand touched her chin, raising her head. A cruel smile of victory resting on his narrow lips, as his gloved fingers wiped the one tear that had escaped from her, “you know I can’t deny you a thing”; and then he attached the underwear to the hem of her pajama pants, “keep it for me, yeah?”

It became a game, she would find creative ways to hide his underwear, and would send him a picture, 'guess', was the only text. Once it was under her pillow, next inside her purse in an embroided pouch with a cute apple. He never guessed correctly, and his typing sometimes would be erratic as she told him he got it wrong and revealed the true location. It was more than a game, it was comfort when Caleb was away.

And by now, she had become accustomed to his presence in her life again, his vanilla scent in every corner of that room when she visited Skyhaven. But could she ask for more? And would he be willing to give?

Drunk on him. She was completely inebriated as her cheeks inhaled his vanilla scent, fresh from his body; her face dragging slowly across his sex. She had completely lost it; they had kissed no more than a week ago, and here she was knees on the carpet, hands on his round thighs and face buried in him. Caleb wore a confident smirk, not at all flustered, “missed me?”

He kept teasing her all week, kidnapping his pieces of delight and sending photos back of their hiding spot. She played along, and like him never got the answer right. Until she broke and demanded he offered compensation. Caleb had just arrived from a specially tiring day at the base, when he was forcefully pulled to the middle of the living room by his tie; her eyes threatening his existence; arms crossed to emphasize her point. His eyes seemed to understand her murderous intentions quickly. “So?” She asked barely containing her anger; as he slowly unfastened his belt and let his pants down, his voice got sweeter than ever “come, then. Take it from the source.”

And she did. Greedily, she felt his heat against her lips, her nose, her cheeks. She did not touch him with her hands, she wanted to feel him. Truly feel his scent. And it was stronger than just that cold piece of delight. This was Caleb’s true scent, hot, strong, deliciously vanilla and sense overloading.

His façade broke when she licked the length of his clothed member, his hands covered his mouth; now he began to feel a bit hot from the heavy coat, yet he could not bring himself to remove it. He kept staring down.

And she licked again.

“Mmm, pip-squeak”, she heard from him. And decided to lick until she felt an altogether different taste. It was rich and mouthwatering. Like an explosion of notes in her mouth. She felt all tingly, like every nerve in her body was screaming 'yes'. She was not bothered by her own wetness; all she wanted was to enjoy this moment with no distractions.

“The taste’s even better”, she said low, the edge of her mouth and chin glistening.

This time, Caleb covered his eyes, cheeks flushed, lips parted. He had been keenly aware of his trembling legs; he had tried to keep them apart and even used his evol in the task. She had not touched him, she had only used her determined tongue; and he had fallen, fallen harder than he had ever been able to achieve by himself.

“Can I keep this one?” The woman was out of breath from the pleasure she had felt.

As he moved his hips up, her quick, quivering fingers lowered them. She held it close to her as if it was the most precious gift. He could not help but laugh, “will that do, pip-squeak?”

The woman nodded and kissed him like a dragged confirmation, impriting his scent farther in her tongue. It was the first time he experienced his own taste. It was not half bad, but his mind wandered to hers. What would she taste like?

Caleb lets u hold it while he pees btw.

BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER!CALEB

content: best friend’s brother!caleb who may have a thing for you

includes: caleb x afab!reader (l&ds)

tags: swearing, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (m. receiving), pussy slapping (just once), caleb is lowkey a pervert and a meanie!

minors dni. this post contains 18+ content.

BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER!CALEB who accidentally runs into you in the middle of the night during one of your sleepovers with his sister. in fact, caleb had seen you ten minutes ago. he had you in a mean mating press, your dream form gushing around him as you cling desperately to his frame. a thin layer of sweat clings to his body as his eyes snap open. with shallow breaths, his eyes dart around his dark room to search for you. shit, that felt so real. caleb sighs, his cock strains painfully against the fabric of his boxers. on his way to the bathroom to wash up, he runs into you—your shadowed figure jumps slightly, surprised to see him.

he apologizes for startling you, but not before taking in how cute you look in your sleep shorts. he curses internally as his eyes scan your oversized shirt, your perked nipples peaking from under the thin fabric. your eyes, still half-lidded and drowsy from your slumber takes in his shirtless figure. though dark, the small light emitting from the partially open bathroom door casts shadows across caleb’s well-defined chest.

caleb doesn’t miss the way your eyes trail down his body— how your eyes linger just a smidge longer on the outline of his hardened cock. caleb feels his cock throb in his sweatpants, begging for some release. heat pricks at your neck and your eyes flicks back toward his. “you’re up late,” you mumble.

“couldn’t sleep,” he responds, his voice wavers slightly. you yawn, wishing caleb goodnight as you walk away. the hem of your shorts ride up slightly—the bottom of your ass peeks at him as you walk, your hips swaying a bit too much. blood rushes straight to caleb’s cock and he swears you’re doing this on purpose. he finds himself back in bed that night, hands slipping into his sweats as he fists his cock to the thought of you. he can’t help it, you make his dick hard. caleb pumps himself slowly, soft whines of your name leaving his lips.

BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER!CALEB who almost loses his fucking mind when you ask him to teach you how to give a blowjob. “what?” caleb immediately says. surely he heard you wrong the first time. embarrassed, you mutter a quick “nevermind” before turning away. he swiftly grabs ahold of your wrist, turning you back to face him. “no, say it again,” he murmurs, gaze never leaving yours.

the air between you two is thick with tension. “it’s just—i’ve never given one before,” you start. “i figured since i’ve known you forever…” caleb chuckles, you’re so cute he thinks to himself. ah, fuck it.

“i’m all yours. have at it,” he says, gaze dark with need. caleb immediately has you on your knees between his parted legs, his hand rests on the back of your head as he sits on the living room couch.

“my parents and sister will be home soon,” he sighs as you plant light kisses over the head of his cock, his breath hitching in his throat. a strangled groan escapes his lips once you wrap your mouth around him.

“shit, you’re drooling everywhere pipsqueak,” he groans, head falling back against the couch as you struggle to take the rest of his cock in your mouth. you moan as your lips wrap around the tip, savoring the salty taste of his pre-cum on your tongue. caleb’s hands tangle in your hair as he guides you further down. he revels in the way your eyes well up with tears as he stuffs your mouth to the brim. when he notices that you could barely wrap your hand around his cock, god he nearly cums at the sight.

“like this?” you ask, eyes innocently looking up at him. “yeah, just like that,” he exhales shakily.

“just watch your teeth pips,” he hisses as your teeth lightly graze the bottom of his cock. “m’sorry,” you mumble, adjusting your lips around him. the sound of caleb’s soft grunts fill the room, loving the warmth of your mouth a little too much.

“try to take it all,” he coos. a drawn out moan escapes his lips as he feels his cock hit the back of your throat and you gag, tears threatening to spill. undeterred, you continue to bob your head around him, hollowing your cheeks as you push him toward his release.

“just like that—oh, fuck,” caleb moans. he cums with a guttural groan, watching as the base of his cock pulses as he empties his seed into your mouth.

BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER!CALEB who practically begs you to let him fuck your pussy. i mean after all, he taught you how to give a blowjob. it’s the least you could do, right? at least that’s what you told yourself when you sneak into caleb’s room in the middle of the night. tears glisten in your eyes as caleb slides his hardened cock against your puffy folds, refusing to fully enter you. his cock glistens with your slick, the tip of his dick rubbing against your clit each time he ruts against you.

“caleb please! just put it in and fuck me already,” you whine, tears threatening to spill from frustration. he chuckles to himself quietly. it’s almost laughable at how desperate you are. it took nearly two days of him begging for you to finally agree. now he has you exactly where he wants you—splayed out across his sheets begging him to fuck you.

“your thighs are shaking so much pips, doesn’t this feel good?” he teases. caleb shifts slightly, causing the tip of his dick to push a few inches past your entrance. you whine and buck your hips up against him, helpless and desperate as you beg for more. “caleb, more,” you whimper, desperate for some sort of release.

“you asked for it,” caleb warns before fully sheathing himself between your gummy walls. your walls flutter around him as you take him inch by inch. you moan loudly at the unexpected stretch, his lips capture yours immediately, effectively shutting you up. caleb’s lips move expertly against yours, tongue tracing the bottom of your lip before pulling away, gaze dark with need.

“are you trying to wake the whole house up?” he scolds. with a swift motion, he delivers a sharp but playful spank to your pussy and your body jolts at the sting. caleb doesn’t miss the way you clench around him.

“oh? you like that huh?” he teases. your body trembles against his as he continues his assault on your pussy. caleb thrusts into you roughly, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass threatening to expose the both of you. your moans come out in ragged gasps as you struggle to catch your breath between his sharp thrusts.

“so. fucking. tight.” he groans inbetween thrusts, your pussy practically sucking him in. from the way caleb grips your thighs roughly, you’re sure he would leave a mark. caleb glances down at where you’re both connected—the sound of your pussy squelching, and the sight of your pussy creaming around the base of his cock has his head spinning and he’s fucking delirious. he drills into you with abandon, angling his hips sharply to brush against your sweet spot and you squeal. “who would’ve known my sister’s best friend would have such a creamy little pussy,” caleb grunts.

your core is on fire and god, caleb might just be sex incarnate. your body tenses as you slowly reach your peak and you come with a guttural moan, your cunt pulsing and desperate.

“i’m coming,” caleb whines. he lets out a strangle groan as he stills, hot thick ropes of cum paint your walls. warmth spreads between your thighs and caleb’s thrusts slowly come to a halt, resting his head against yours as you both struggle to catch your breath. your phone buzzes, your best friend’s name flashing brightly across the screen.

[1:28 AM] bestie <3 sent a message: yall are NASTY pls get a hotel or something 👎👎

a/n: i literally wrote this so quick that’s how bad the brain rot was for this. siri play best friend’s brother by victoria justice.

Pet play with Caleb but you're both switches and dogs for each other. Wearing collars that are attached to each other while you kiss so neither of you can pull away while grinding against each other.......sorry my bad

“So fucking cute, Caleb!”

Your thighs burned with the effort of dropping your hips and picking them up again. The muscles nearly trembling as you attempt to steady yourself on his shoulders.

“You’re so cute it makes me mad.” You whine again, studying his blissfully fucked out expression as your cunt swallowed his cock over and over again.

“Makes me wanna eat you up…” you couldn’t help it, dropping your hips particularly hard so you could roll them against his pelvis. “Sh-shit, pips… easy…ow!”

Your fingers reach up, squeezing the fat of his cheek between your thumb and knuckles. The motion bares his teeth to you, making his mouth fall open in surprise as his nails dig dully into your soft hips.

“You’re just so cute, Caleb… can’t help myself!” You begin moving again, the bouncing shallows a bit due to the strain creeping up your spine. “Makes me mad how cute you are.”

You’re clenching around him, body tensing with the overwhelming emotions you feel. For a second, you swear Caleb’s eyes are going to roll back into his skull.

“My cute boy, the absolute cutest.” You finally let go off his cheek, falling forward to kiss him stupid.

“My perfect, cute boy.” You gasp as you pull back, hips working overtime as pleasure floods your veins. “My cute boy with the prettiest cock, right? My pretty cock to fuck.”

“Y-yes! All yours, all yours, pips. Promise!”

Tears collect at the corners of his eyes but he’s not relenting, his restless hips now flying upward to meet your sloppy thrusts. “All mine, I’m so lucky I have such the cutest, prettiest, sweetest—“ you can’t even finish your sentence before Caleb is spilling his load.

Banner from @cafekitsune

Toji doesn’t even flinch when he feels the softness of your face press against his hip. The steady rhythm of the knife hitting the cutting board doesn’t slow— not even when your nose nudges along the waistband of his sweatpants and you hum quietly, your breath warm against the growing bulge underneath the thin fabric.

“Something on your mind, sweetheart?” he asks, voice smooth and casual like you’re not blatantly rubbing your face against his cock while he slices bell peppers for dinner. His eyes stay on the cutting board, hands still methodical but there’s the smallest twitch in his jaw.

You nuzzle a little harder like a kitten, dragging your cheek across the bumpy outline of him and he slowly exhales through his nose.

“Feels good…” you mumble lowly, lips ghosting over the swell beneath the cotton. “Missed you”.

Toji finally glances down, eyes flicking to where you’re all curled up against his thigh, delicate hands fisting the hem of his shirt, your face tucked into his crotch like it’s comforting to you or something.

A lazy smirk tugs at his mouth. “Yeah? You miss this, baby?” His free hand lifts to cradle the back of your head, fingers gentle as he strokes through your hair and pets you. “Could’ve just asked for attention like a normal girl, y’know”.

You shake your head, nuzzling again, a soft whine in your throat. “Wanna be close… need it”.

He groans low in his throat, the sound quiet and barely there. You feel him twitch under the fabric, girthy and heavy, and it makes you squirm a little, your thighs rubbing together as slick pools into your panties.

“Dirty girl,” he mutters, affection threaded in the rasp of his voice. “You’re lucky I’m tryna make dinner, or I’d bend you over this counter so fast—”

You immediately moaned lowly at his words because that’s exactly what you need right now.

Your face is pressed tight against him now like you’re trying to melt into the warmth of him. “Can I stay here while you cook?” you whisper. “Wanna feel you”

He huffs a quiet laugh, not even pretending to be annoyed. “Fine, kiddo. But you start making messes, I’m gonna finish my meal and yours before I deal with you. Got it?”

You obediently nod, smiling as you nuzzle again, very content to cling to him while he keeps chopping like nothing’s out of the ordinary. But now… now his bulge is pressing a little firmer and rough against your soft cheek. And his breaths are just a little bit heavier.

Maybe dinner could.. wait?

Cockslut!reader is always beside Satoru.

He is the one, who is trying to hide from you, from your filthy mouth and a little pussy which doesn’t know how to stop and always eager to feel his cum deep inside.

You don’t know how to keep your hands away from such a piece of art. If he were a lollipop you would suck and lick him like it is the last thing you could do before dying.

It’s really funny, that you still suck him off like you are gonna die in a minute and the last thing you would like to feel is his cum on your tongue with a mushroom heavy tip in your mouth.

“H-honey, please… I am empty, I can’t do-ahh-this an-nymore” Satoru was holding the edge of the table for dear life. He is going to cum for a fourth time in a row, and all you did was deepthroating his thick cock for 30 minutes.

“Baby, stop lying” you pull out his cock with a pop sound, your pupils are too dilated, too thirsty for his cock, signaling Satoru that he is not gonna make it alive. The mix of rosy cheeks and plump lips on your face was too much to handle for a poor man especially when he sees how you grope your tits with a free hand, meanwhile the right one was tightly squeezing his balls, making him cry out loud. “I knooow, that these breeding balls are full of semen and just for me”.

“No-no, i-it hurts” he is literally whimpering and pleading you to stop this torture, but the way he grabs your face with his two palms and starts roughly fuck your face tell you the opposite.

Oohhh, you love when he is turning to an animal with the only ability - fuck your face like a pocket pussy. You are not his love of his life anymore, just a stupid face to fuck and a tummy to fill with his cum.

But, is it really the problem?? You are just a loving wife, who is always ready to fulfill a marital duty.

[nsfw!] you sneaking into caleb's bed at night

yeahh, and grandma is sleeping in the next room lol

katsuki will pull away from a full blown, steamy, hot makeout session, cheeks red and heaving with his full chest while gripping your sides, and will genuinely ask you if you still love him.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry... I’ll be good I promise, I’ll change I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do. Please I can’t live without you, you’re my savior, my goddess please don’t throw me away I’ll die without you”

“I hate being alone, it’s so cold here without you. Not being able to see you scares me, I feel so uneasy. I exist for you, I won’t leave this room unless I’m with you, I won’t even talk to anyone b-but you are able to do those without me, because you don’t need me. I can smell other people whenever you come back to this room, I know I have no right to complain about such things but it breaks my heart I can’t help it. I exist for you, I breathe for you, I live for you. This worthless life belongs to you so please keep it, don’t throw it away don’t neglect it”

A cute little toy

With that we are finally done with everyone! I hope you guys enjoyed seeing them under a new light, did it make any of you you change your opinions some of them?

Silas knows it hurts but how can he stop when you feel so warm and good?

This can be considered noncon or not depending on you

Still taking requests? Can you do one where Caleb and MC are fooling around, but worried about the grandmother finding out about their 'forbidden' love? / Worried about her hearing them moan? I always find those interesting.

behave for me . . . ! ★

cws: fem reader, smut, kissing, sneaking around, unestablished relationship, gagging, etc

a/n: i would've ended up as a teen mom if i grew up under the same roof as this man ngl i would have him nutting in me every single night without fail 💀

taglist: @m00nchildwrites, @venussakura, @valleydoli @hys-hyangshine, @i-messed-up-big-time, @yourlocalcatscammer, @sayoko-ou, @umamaki @local-twat @bimbohkitty @dontaskmecusidk taglist application

Caleb leans in as close to you as he always does, a large hand resting at the base of your throat to remind you to keep your volume down. He could feel the vibrations of your every little whimper settle across your sweating skin. “Couldn’t sleep without seeing you…” He groans, feeling your limbs curl into his and hold him close. You moan as his lips roam over your entire body, sucking your skin into his warm mouth. He grips you and holds you by your waist, pushing and pulling your body against his at his leisure.

“Caleb-” You sob, feeling how hard he’s growing against your core. “Fuck!” You only manage to get those two words out before his hand has moved to cover your entire mouth. He clamps down on your swollen lips but doesn’t stop the movement of his hips rutting against your wet pussy lips, the tip catching your rim every now and then.

“What did I tell you?” He grits his teeth and slows his movements down to a teasing pace. The night air cools both of your bodies but Caleb is always hot to the touch. Both of your hearts race with anxiety and lust but you squeeze the answer out after a few moments of desperate gasps. “Gotta b-be quiet…” You cry out, feeling the engorged tip of his hardness tease at your seizing entrance.

“You trying to give gran a heart attack or somethin’, pipsqueak?” He chuckles lowly, finally easing himself inside of you like he’s done so many times already. The sudden thrust forces the air out of your lungs and you brace yourself with a hand slapped against his torso. The loud gasp of surprise that you let out is muffled behind the weight of his hand. Caleb feels the heat of your leaking cunt wrap him up like a hug and he pulses with crackles of electricity as he hilts himself inside of you.

When the coast seems clear, he leans in close, lips brushing against your ear tenderly as he whispers, “Shh, honey, can’t go around screaming like that no matter how good it feels.” He even keeps his voice low but you can tell that he’s being more serious than he would usually be. Caleb began to move then, easy at first, hips rocking against yours deliberately. Every inch of your tight heat enveloped his shaft like melting velvet. “Caleb…” You pant, earning a kiss on the forehead when he can tell that you’re trying to listen to him, trying so hard to express the profound pleasure while obeying him.

He keeps going, fucking you long and deep with dedicated strokes that reach the deepest recesses of your pretty body and he keeps a hand clasped over your mouth to muffle your soft gasps and whimpers. Caleb fucks you harder and faster until your mouth is vibrating against his palm and his eyes are squeezed so tight that it’s painful to have to keep so quiet when all either of you really want to do is fuck each other rough and messy, and as loudly as you want.

₊ . ݁˖ ‧ ୨୧ if you enjoyed my content, pls consider reblogging ୨୧ . ݁˖ ‧₊

҉ ⁀➷ 𝑺𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑭𝑳𝑶𝑾𝑬𝑹𝑺

╰ 𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃 LOVE AND DEEPSPACE: SPRING AND FLOWERS

10:52 pm - domestic moments (indoor date night) w/caleb

Your ever busy schedule can only be matched with Caleb's even busier workload. Both of you knew that your relationship would involve a lot less physical time with each other. You're lucky to even see him in the morning before him or you head to work.

That's why date nights are especially rare. Again, it wasn't like you both didn't want to have a nice night out every now and then. However, the amount of times a date night had to be postponed, rescheduled, or downright canceled due to work has caused a major headache in your lives.

Caleb hadn't realized how much this affected you. It wasn't until he once came home, at the dead of night, to see you silently sobbing into your shared bed that he realized that he hasn't truly seen much of you in a long time.

And oh, he hates seeing you cry. He hated being the reason why tears feel upon your face. Approaching you in bed, he cupped your face while holding your body close. Caleb promises you a night, where it would just be you and him together. Separate from the world. Away from life and its responsibilities that tugged away from you. While it was only for a night, it was a start.

That's how tonight happens. You had some work duties during the morning, but Caleb told you not to worry and just make it home in one piece. A surprise, he has said. You could barely focus at work, buzzing at each tick of the clock until work hours ended. What had Caleb planned? A fancy reservation at a new restaurant? Maybe a picnic in some hidden spot? Hell, even if it was just hanging out at home and playing board games you were down. All you wanted was to finally spend some time with your boyfriend.

You could have rivaled the speed of light with how fast you sprinted out the building. After a few long, excruciating hours of sitting around work and basically doing nothing, you could finally go home and spend time with Caleb.

As you walk home, you realize that it had started to rain. So, that probably ruled out the plan of an outdoor date. A shame, but you're sure you'll still have fun. You enter your (and Caleb's) shared home, only to be hit with the smell of your favorite dish wafting through the air.

Behind the stove was none other than the man who looked at you like he was looking at his own salvation. Caleb seems focused on the task in front of him. Of course he knew your favorite food. Sometimes it scares you, the fact that he knows more about you than you do about yourself.

Making your way to him, you greet him by wrapping your arms around his body. He doesn't act surprise, almost as if he knew you had been there the whole time (he did, he always knew when you entered a room).

He puts down his utensils, setting the heat to low, before turning to you. Before you can process it, Caleb picks you up, and sets you down on the counter next to him. He decides to settle between your legs, caging you with his large body. His face buries itself into the nook of your neck.

You can feel his breath turning more and more steady. With this proximity, you can feel his heartbeat. It mimics your own, quick but controlled, sporadic but at peace. Despite having been together for a while now, neither of you can help this feeling of deep devotion towards each other.

Much against his wishes to stay like this forever, Caleb moves away first, greeting you with that same smile that you fell in love with years ago.

"missed you, pipsqueak"

Three words. one being that nickname you've grown to love. it doesn't take much to cause your heart to beat a bit faster.

"Go ahead a wash up. I already made your bath. We're having a movie night, and we can eat on the couch"

Nodding at his words, you hop off the counter, leaving Caleb to finish cooking your meal. He wasn't kidding about preparing your bath. You enter the bathroom to see the bath ready, bubbles and bath salts, your favorite products lined up. God, Caleb knew you so well.

Although staying in the bath was a tempting option, you wanted nothing more but to be within Caleb's proximity. So, you push yourself out of the comfort of the bath, and throw on your favorite pajamas- that being a pair of your shorts and Caleb's t-shirt.

Meanwhile in the living room, Caleb had prepared everything. He had picked out your favorite movies, set up dinner on the coffee table, and arranged your favorite snacks as well. He was just about done setting up when he seeing you emerge from your shared room.

God, you're beautiful, he thinks. Yes, your hair is still damp, you're wearing the baggiest clothes, wearing no makeup or anything. Yes, he still thinks you the most beautiful thing in this world.

You see the spread that Caleb has prepared, and it makes you want to tear up a bit. He did all this, taken a day of work, to prepare a night where it was just you two in your own world.

Caleb pulls you from your spot, dragging you into the couch. He sets you both to where your legs are on top of his. He throws over a blanket over you two, and presses play on the first movie.

It never has to be fancy or intricate with Caleb. He knows you, and knows exactly what to do during these rare times when you both care indulge each other's company.

While you know that you both have to return to the real world tommorow, you settle into the comfortable space you've both created for each other.

I need lover boy!caleb now pls and thank you

𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

✧ — synopsis: She came to the confessional to cleanse her soul—confessing every filthy thought she’s ever had about the priest she was never supposed to love.

But Reverend Caleb doesn't forgive. He claims. “Don’t you see?” he said, voice now just above a whisper. “Your sin… was never in thinking of me.” His next words were slower, darker, rich with promise.

“Your sin was in not letting me have you.”

✧ — pairing: caleb x mc

✧ — wc: ~11k

✧ — warnings: religious imagery and symbolism, cunnilingus, semi-public sex, confessional, choking, loss of virginity, virginity, first time, biting, licking, altar sex, breeding, power imbalance, submission, dom/sub, spanking, degradation, pet names, worship, praise kink, sexual overstimulation, multiple orgasms, marking, improper use of a rosary, forbidden love, possessive behavior, dubious morality, obsession, jealousy, slow burn, blasphemy, plot what plot/porn without plot, marriage, begging, caleb fulfilling his prophecy to marry mc

✧ — notes: just priest!caleb fucking and breeding mc on the altar after she confessed her sins—wanting her soul cleansed by him. a thought i had days before easter that made me write this gigantic nasty porn without plot oneshot. i hope u enjoyed the wild sinful ride with me <3

The confessional. It is tonight.

The rain taps gently against the cathedral roof—soft, persistent, like fingertips brushing glass. You step through the heavy doors, and the world behind you vanishes into silence.

Inside, the air is cold, tinged with centuries. It smells of beeswax and incense, like time sealed in amber. Faint smoke still lingers in the rafters, curling toward the arched ceiling like the breath of ghosts.

The hush is deep. Not empty, but full—of prayers, of echoes, of things unsaid. Each of your steps sinks into the silence like a secret. The floor, made of cool, polished stone, reflects the colored light that streams in through the stained glass.

Crimson, cobalt, and gold spill across the nave, painting your skin in fragments of saints and sacrifice. The windows tower above, depicting stories of martyrdom and mercy, their faces staring down with solemn, eternal knowing. You’ve known these windows your whole life. And yet now they seem to burn with judgment.

The pews stretch in rows to either side of you, carved from pale oak and worn soft by devotion. Between them rest narrow stands—each one holding hymnals and Bibles with curled edges, opened and closed by countless trembling hands. A rosary is draped over one, forgotten or perhaps left as penance.

Your dress brushes against your legs as you walk, each step careful, deliberate. The candlelight flickers in alcoves along the walls, casting long shadows that sway and watch. They seem to move with you. Or maybe ahead of you.

You walk past the baptismal font where you were once cradled in holy water. Past the wooden doors of the confessional, their slatted windows dark and closed like eyes half-lidded in sleep. You avoid looking at them. You’re not ready for that part yet.

Your breath trembles as you near the altar.

He is already there.

A figure cloaked in black, bowed in prayer, unmoving. The flickering light outlines his silhouette in gold. The dark fabric clings to his shoulders, heavy with devotion and restraint. His hands are clasped. His lips move, just barely. You cannot hear the words—but you feel them, somehow.

You hesitate. Then step forward.

Your shoes make the faintest creak against the steps, swallowed quickly by the vaulted stillness. Each movement feels too loud. Too alive.

You lower yourself into a bow before the great wooden cross, your gaze falling on the carved figure of Christ. The crown of thorns. The ribs etched in wood. The face turned slightly, as though even He cannot look at you.

You climb the short steps, one at a time. Then kneel on the stair just beneath him—close, but not enough to touch. Not yet.

Your hands rise into a prayer clasp. You bow your head.

But your thoughts are not clean.

Your lashes lower, and all you can feel is the warmth of his presence just above you. The gravity of him. The silence between you vibrating like a held breath.

You are here to confess.

But something in you already knows:

You will not leave absolved.

“Your Reverence,” your voice broke through the silence like a crack in stained glass.

Instantly, it felt as though the very walls had turned against you—thorns blooming from the stone, pricking your skin for daring to disturb his prayer. The altar seemed to hum with disapproval.

He didn’t answer. Not at first.

But then—he breathed in sharply, like he’d been struck. And from his lips came a soft, warning hush, as if silencing you was the only way to silence himself. It was soft, but it sank into your skin like warm wine.

It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t kind. It echoed like a warning, but it settled deep in your chest, stirring a part of you that had been asleep for too long. It had been years since you last saw him. And even now, kneeling behind him, you recognized him instantly.

He hadn’t changed, not really. Not where it mattered.

Still in prayer, his posture remained perfect—back straight, hands folded, head slightly bowed. His hair was a shade darker now, but it gleamed under the moonlight pouring through the stained glass above. Silky. Soft. Untouched. His side profile had sharpened with age—more defined, more elegant—but it was still the face you once memorized during slow, stolen moments in the university library.

He was still everything you ever wanted.

And yet, now he was untouchable. A man of God. A priest.

“Forgive me, Father,” you murmured, your voice softer now, almost lost in the candlelight. “I didn't mean to interrupt your prayers… it’s my time for confession.”

For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t move.

But then—he rose.

Slow, steady, deliberate. The robes fell from his frame like shadows peeling off stone. His back now fully faced you, cloaking your vision in silhouette. Then, he turned slightly, just enough for his voice to reach you.

“Pips,” he said.

The nickname curled from his lips like a benediction. His mouth tilted into a smile.

That smile.

The one that once warmed a life too cold to bear. The one that made children feel safe, and girls fall in love, and you believe in things again. It hadn’t changed. It was still soft, still unbearably kind, still threaded with a mischief only you ever saw. It was the smile that belonged to the boy who carried your books and dried your tears. The boy who once told you heaven must’ve dropped you off early.

It was a smile that made you want to fall to your knees—not to pray, but to beg for things no prayer could grant.

You shouldn’t feel this. Romancing a priest is pure sin.

…Or is it?

“Come with me,” he said.

His hand reached out—hesitant, trembling slightly at the fingertips—but before your skin could meet, he pulled it back. The air between you folded with tension.

He wasn’t yours anymore.

Once, he was your childhood friend. Once, he was the boy you loved in secret.

Now, he was the Father of a church beloved by all. A holy man. A savior to many.

And yet still—still—the one who saved you first.

You rose slowly, your hands brushing against the fabric of your dress as you stood. Then, without a word, you descended the altar steps, footsteps hushed and reverent as you followed him toward the confessional.

He led you down the side aisle, the folds of his black cassock brushing softly with each step, echoing beside your own. The flickering candlelight followed in your wake, illuminating the worn stone and the stillness that draped the pews like sleep.

Neither of you spoke.

You passed by statues of saints, their faces carved in stone serenity, gazes heavy with judgment—or perhaps sorrow. The rain outside still murmured, its rhythm softer now, like a hymn sung just for the two of you.

Then, he stopped.

The confessional stood at the edge of the transept, tucked between columns like a secret waiting to be told. Its doors were carved from dark wood, heavy and timeworn, the surface etched with crosses faded by decades of penance.

He gestured toward the booth.

You entered one side in silence. The door creaked open, then shut with a soft click, sealing you in. The space was small, cloaked in shadows. The only light came through the ornate lattice screen before you—thin and golden, like threads of heaven stitched between you and him.

You knelt.

The bench beneath you groaned faintly as you settled, hands trembling in your lap. You could hear the rustle of his robes on the other side. He hadn’t spoken yet, but his presence filled the air between the walls. You could almost feel his breath through the wood.

The screen kept you from seeing him fully—only the faint outline of his silhouette, only the curve of his mouth if he leaned close enough.

A moment passed.

Then, finally—

“Speak, my child,” he said, the low timbre of his voice threading through the wooden screen and settling deep in your chest. It vibrated somewhere beneath your ribs, making your heart thump faster than you wished it would.

You tried to gather your thoughts, but they scattered like fragile petals underfoot. The silence in the confessional felt dense, heavy, sacred. His breath—steady and measured—was too loud in this small space, brushing the air between you like a secret. You clutched your hands together, but the prayer clasp trembled and fell apart. The cold inside the booth made your skin feel sensitive, hypersensitive—each breath prickled your arms, each moment stretched like a string pulled too tight.

“Forgive me, Reverend,” you whispered, your voice barely holding. “I’ve been having thoughts.” You faltered, swallowing the guilt rising in your throat. “I’ve tried to cast them out. I swear I have, but…” Your words drifted, as though even saying them was dangerous. Shame coiled around your spine, pressing down.

The silence stretched too long. Just when you thought he might break it, you saw the shape of his mouth shift behind the lattice—slightly open, as if to speak, then hesitating.

“Who is this man,” he asked gently, “if I may ask?”

His voice was soft, but it cut through you like confession itself. You flinched, not from the sound but from what it demanded. You weren’t sure if it was his question or the holiness of the place that made your heart ache more. You felt like the walls could hear you, like the carved saints above the booth leaned in to listen.

You hesitated. A war raged in your chest—between what you should say and what you couldn’t keep hidden any longer. You hadn’t even spoken the truth aloud before. It had always been a private torment. A quiet ache that you carried like a cross. But now, with him just on the other side, with the sacred wood between you, the lie refused to hold.

“They’ve always been about you.”

And with that, it was done. The sin you had carried silently, the one you buried beneath forced smiles and half-sincere prayers, spilled from your lips like a cracked dam. It hung in the air between you, heavy and irreversible. You waited for condemnation. For silence. For shame. But he said nothing. Not at first.

His lips shifted—parting, then pressing together again. His expression, though mostly obscured by the lattice, flickered. You knew that face too well. You watched him carefully, searching for rejection, for disdain. Instead, he gave you that smile. Gentle, practiced, familiar. The same smile you had seen a hundred times on Sundays, when he blessed children and comforted widows. It had always made you feel safe.

But now it hurt. Because now, it meant distance.

“So… you’ve been having sinful thoughts. About me?” he asked, not with judgment, but with something else—something softer. His voice was laced with concern, with warmth, with something dangerously close to longing.

“Yes, Reverend. And I know I can’t. I shouldn’t.” You shook your head slowly, your words beginning to tremble. Tears threatened to rise, and it felt as though the air around you was pressing in too tightly. You wanted to reach through the screen, to press your hand to his, to feel something real between you. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

“I… I’m to be married,” you confessed. The words felt like stones being laid down in front of you, one after another, building a path you never wanted to walk. Your tears slipped quietly down your cheeks. You didn’t bother to wipe them. Your palms were dug into your thighs, fingers curled in tight. You felt your voice break in half as you added, “I never wanted this.”

You hadn’t wanted love to become something conditional. Something lost to tradition and duty. But it had been decided. You were a woman raised in the faith, under your grandmother’s roof, under her rules. A Catholic woman must either marry or become a bride of God. You had no voice in the matter—only obedience.

“I don’t even know the man they’ve chosen for me, Caleb.”

You froze the second his name left your mouth. Too raw. Too familiar. Too forbidden.

“I—I meant Reverend. I’m sorry.” You wiped your cheeks quickly, trying to restore some formality to your voice, but it was too late. The intimacy had cracked open between you, and no title could fix it.

This was supposed to be a confession. It wasn’t meant to become therapy, or longing, or a desperate attempt to bury love beneath ritual. And yet here you were, unraveling before the very man you were trying to forget.

You heard his breath again. It was different now—no longer calm. There was a subtle shift, the sound no longer steady but erratic, staggered. He was still breathing through his nose, trying to stay composed, but it was clear. Something inside him had changed.

“I came here to confess,” you said, almost defensively now, trying to hold onto something that had already crumbled. “To let go. To cast this away before the wedding. I needed to be clean. I needed to kill the demon that made me think this way—especially about someone like you. A man who’s respected. Loved. Sacred.”

You trailed off. Your hands were trembling again. There was no more strength to pretend. Not in front of him.

But on the other side of the lattice, he was silent still. Breathing. Just breathing.

And somehow, that was worse than anything he could have said.

Because in that silence, you heard the one thing that terrified you most.

He felt it too.

“You have always been faithful,” he broke the silence, and the sound of his voice—low, deliberate—sent shivers down your spine. There was something in his tone. Not gentle. Not warm. Cold, like marble. Unforgiving.

You looked up toward the lattice, unable to see much beyond the shadow of his form. But you wished—desperately—that the wall between you would break. That something divine might shatter it, or that he might reach through and pull you from this torment. But nothing moved.

“Always obedient,” he continued, voice smooth as silk laced with steel. “Always pure. Always a good girl.”

The words lodged in your throat like thorns. That praise—God, that praise—it wasn’t meant to come from him. Not here. Not in this sacred, confining space. You weren’t a good girl. Not now. Not when your thighs had tensed at the sound of his voice. Not when you had touched yourself the night before while imagining those lips murmuring holy things against your skin.

You wanted to scream, to deny it. You wanted to confess the truth of who you were beneath the purity he believed in—or pretended to. But the words wouldn’t come.

You heard him shift. A soft rustle of fabric, a faint movement—closer now. The sound echoed in the tiny space between you. He wasn’t touching the lattice. But he was near enough for you to feel it. The warmth. The gravity of him.

“Some love,” he said slowly, “is born only to be tested.” A pause. Then a breath, heavy, reverent. “And some prayers,” he exhaled, “should never be answered.”

His voice trailed off like incense smoke curling toward the ceiling. Then—nothing. Silence again, deep and terrible. It swallowed everything.

You could hear your own heartbeat, wild in your ears. Your breathing—too fast, too shallow. You shouldn’t be feeling this. Not in the confessional. Not with him.

You opened your mouth, but no sound came. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

And he just waited.

The stillness between you stretched, pulling taut like a string threatening to snap.

You didn’t know—couldn’t know—that he had planned for this. That he had seen your name on the list. That he had made certain he would be in this booth today, waiting for you. Listening to you. Testing you.

Tempting you.

The silence pressed in around you, thick as velvet. It wrapped around your skin, sank into your lungs. The kind of silence that made you forget where you were—only that you were being watched. Not just by him, but by something older, higher, crueler. Every flickering candle, every carved saint, every fragment of stained glass bearing witness to your descent.

And still, he said nothing.

But he didn’t have to.

The air had already shifted. You could feel it—an unspoken weight settling over both of you, thick as oil and far too warm. He was waiting. Not as a priest. Not as a guide. But as something far more dangerous. A man cloaked in holy black, coaxing you with the patience of a saint and the hunger of a sinner. He was waiting for you to surrender.

Your fingers tightened where they rested in your lap, nails grazing skin, your palms damp with heat. You didn’t know how to begin. Didn’t know how to speak the words that had once only belonged in dreams—secret and desperate things meant to die in the dark. But they were rising now, unbidden, unholy, and you didn’t want to stop them.

“Tell me,” he said at last, his voice no longer the cool blade it had been, but something warm now, deeper, smooth like dark wine poured into a golden chalice. “Tell me what these thoughts looked like.”

You inhaled, shaky and thin, your eyes darting toward the lattice. His shadow was still there—still silent and unreadable—but his presence had changed. There was tension in it now. Heat. Anticipation.

“I…” Your voice faltered. Your cheeks were already burning. “I can’t. Reverend, I can’t say it. Thoughts like these… they don’t belong here. Not in this room. Not in this church.”

You looked down, ashamed of your own boldness. This was sacred space. And you were turning it into something impure.

You had come here with the weight of years pressed on your chest—years of silence, of longing, of loneliness. You had come here, not just for absolution, but with a prayer even you couldn’t name. A hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d look at you the way he used to, back when you were young and foolish and still believed in things like fated love.

But he was a priest now. A man revered. A man entrusted with salvation.

And you… you were just a sinner with trembling hands and a body that ached for things no sermon could erase.

“I need to know,” he said, a smile blooming in his voice—low, rich, and far too knowing. “How can I help you cleanse yourself, Pip-Squeak, if I don’t even know where the stain lies?”

He chuckled then, the sound soft but intimate, curling around your ears like smoke. It struck something deep inside you, something hungry, something ancient. You felt the way your legs pressed tighter together, the way your breath hitched just at the sound of it.

You should have stopped. You should have fled.

But this might be the last time you ever see him.

“I…” Your throat tightened around the words. “I thought of your hands.”

Even saying that made your pulse race.

“On me,” you whispered, barely able to breathe. “Not to comfort. Not to bless. Just… on my skin. Exploring. Possessing.”

The moment the words left your lips, you felt something unravel inside you. Like a string that had been pulled too tight for too long had finally snapped. And you couldn’t stop now.

You couldn’t see his face, but you heard the breath he let out—low, heavy, almost shaky. It wasn’t disapproval. It wasn’t shock.

It was something much closer to relief.

“And how,” he asked slowly, “did you want me to touch you?”

His voice was calm. Pastoral. The kind of tone meant to soothe. But it felt like a test, like he was feeding fire to see how brightly you would burn. You felt it in the way your skin tingled, in the way your breath quickened. He was still playing the reverend, but every word was a step closer to the edge.

“Reverend, I—”

“Caleb.”

His name cut through the air like thunder.

Your whole body jolted.

That was not the voice of a priest. That was not holy. That was him—the real him, the one buried beneath the collar and robes and years of distance. Sharp. Commanding. Possessive.

“Call me Caleb,” he said again, lower this time, almost tender.

You swallowed the heat rising in your throat, your voice shaking as you gave in.

“Caleb,” you whispered, the syllable cracking open something deep inside you. “I always imagine your hands... slowly running up my thighs, over my hips, up to my ribs.” You exhaled, shaky. “I imagine you pausing there—just long enough to hear me beg—and then moving higher. I want your hands on my breasts. I want your fingers teasing the tips of my nipples until I’m shaking, gasping, whispering your name like a broken prayer.”

You heard him move on the other side of the lattice. Not much. Just a shift. But enough to know he was listening. Hanging on every word.

“I want to be laid bare in front of you,” you continued, eyes closed now, shame and need swirling in equal measure. “I want to be underneath you, completely exposed, while you look at me like I’m nothing but temptation itself. I want you to command me. To order me. Like I’m the devil’s own creature, sent to test your will.”

You could barely breathe.

Your thighs clenched. Your hands trembled. You didn’t know whose breath was louder now—yours or his.

“I want to be ruined,” you whispered, “by the man I was told to worship from a distance. I want to be claimed. Marked. Made yours.”

And then, softer. Quieter.

“I want you to breed me, Caleb. I want you to fill me again and again until there’s no part of me that doesn’t belong to you. I want to carry your child—not in shame, but in devotion. As atonement. As worship.”

The confessional pulsed with silence.

But nothing about it felt holy anymore.

Behind the lattice, you caught the faintest curve of his lips—a smile. Soft, serene. Almost saintly.

It unsettled you.

How could he smile like that—so calm, so composed—when your body was trembling, your thoughts stained with everything sacred and forbidden? How could he look at you with such quiet kindness after the filth you’d just confessed?

But then, he spoke.

And his words didn’t match the expression at all.

“My sweet girl,” he said softly, voice like velvet against your ears, “you’ve carried this sin for so long… and yet, you still look to me for forgiveness.”

You stilled, the breath catching in your throat. There was no judgment in his voice. No disappointment. Only something deeper. Richer. A kind of hunger masked as care.

He continued, slow and measured, like every word was chosen for its weight.

“You’ve spent your nights dreaming of my hands, my mouth, my body. You’ve imagined how it would feel to be beneath me, filled, ruined—claimed.” His voice dipped lower. “And still, you come here, to this church, thinking you’ll find absolution. Thinking you’ll be cleansed.”

You could feel the heat curling inside you again—stronger now. Almost unbearable.

“But you’ve misunderstood,” he murmured. “This place is not where you’re purified, Pip-Squeak. It’s where you surrender.”

Your eyes widened, heart pounding. The air in the confessional was too thick now, too close. You couldn’t breathe without inhaling him—his words, his scent, the soft, sacred ache of his voice.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he whispered, still smiling behind the screen. “Even when you try to look away. I’ve seen the tremble in your hands when we share communion. The way your lips part when I speak.”

You could barely hold yourself upright. Shame and want coiled together like thorns under your skin.

“I arranged this moment for you,” he confessed. “I made sure it was me sitting behind this screen. I wanted to hear it. I needed to know just how deeply I’ve carved myself into you.”

You gasped quietly, a soft whimper caught between horror and desire.

“I’ve known for a long time,” he said gently, “that you’d never be able to forget me. Not truly. Not with the way you whisper my name when you think no one hears. Not with the way you ache when I touch your hand during blessing.”

He paused. Let it hang. Let it simmer.

“Don’t you see?” he said, voice now just above a whisper. “Your sin… was never in thinking of me.”

His next words were slower, darker, rich with promise.

“Your sin was in not letting me have you.”

The silence stretched like a lifetime unraveling—deep, suffocating, as though the very air between you had thickened. You inhaled shakily, your chest rising with disbelief. His words echoed in your ears, over and over, like a psalm twisted into something forbidden. He wanted you. He desired you. All that piety, all those prayers—his devotion had not been for God. It had been for you.

“Caleb, I—” you whispered, your voice trembling as you reached through the carved gap in the lattice, fingertips trembling with hope, aching to touch him. To feel even the brush of his hand. But the moment your fingers brushed the open air, he recoiled. His hand withdrew like you were fire—like he had been burned.

As if he hadn’t just shattered your soul with the truth.

As if none of it had been real.

“I’m sorry, Pip-squeak,” he murmured, and the softness in his voice made it worse. Too gentle. Too cruel. It held no resolve, no certainty—only guilt, polished and sharp. Your stomach twisted. No. No, this couldn’t be backpedaling. Not now. Not after everything.

“I should have contained myself,” he continued, and his words broke you. “I made an oath. I’m not just the boy you knew anymore. I’m a priest. I have no right to lust after anyone—especially not you.”

And with that, all the air was stolen from your lungs. The flicker of hope that had dared to rise in your chest—gone. He turned away, slowly, and from the gap between you, something small and delicate dropped into your hand.

A rosary.

Elegant, dark red beads shimmered against your skin—cool, smooth, lovingly chosen. A beautiful offering. A quiet rejection.

“Take this. Use it when you pray. I’ll arrange another meeting with a different reverend—someone more… disciplined,” he said, standing now, his voice tightening as he stepped back. “I’m not fit to hear your confessions anymore. I can’t help you. I’ve already failed you.”

He turned, reaching for the confessional door. His robes whispered against the wood, the sound like parting wings. But just before he stepped out, he paused—his profile half-lit by the flickering candlelight.

And he smiled.

Not a warm smile. Not cruel either. Just… unreadable. Quietly ironic. It was a paradox, that expression—so soft, so subtle, and yet it didn’t match the penitent words that had come before it. You couldn’t tell what he wanted. Couldn’t tell if he was leaving you behind… or waiting for you to chase him.

He stepped into the aisle, disappearing into the dark sanctuary beyond.

But you didn’t move.

You remained kneeling for a moment longer, your knees numb, your breath shallow, your hands clenched tightly around the rosary that felt like a curse. And then something inside you snapped—loud and sharp and undeniable.

No.

No, you couldn’t let this slip through your fingers. You couldn’t walk away and accept a life bound to a stranger, to a marriage you didn’t want. You had tasted the edge of something sacred and feral, and you would not let it go.

You surged to your feet, robes swishing around your ankles as you ran through the cathedral. The air burned in your lungs. Candlelight streaked past you, warping the saints and angels into ghosts as you chased his shadow up the stairs. You called his name—broken, pleading, not in prayer but in desperation.

And then—you reached him.

He had stopped before the altar, his back to you, shoulders bowed as if ready to fall into prayer again. But you grabbed him—your hands clutching his arm, your touch shaking with fury and want.

“Caleb,” you gasped, your voice cracking, “please. One chance. Just one. Allow me to commit this sin and carry the guilt—before I’m shackled into something I never asked for.”

He didn’t speak.

So you pressed on, breathless and trembling.

“I don’t care if I’m to be married. I don’t want him. I never did. Please… just this once—taint me. Make me yours so I can’t belong to anyone else.”

That was the breaking point.

You saw it in the way his shoulders tensed, in the way his hands slowly curled into fists. And then—without a word—he turned.

His hand seized your waist, firm and unyielding, and he pulled you flush against him. The sudden closeness knocked the breath from your chest. You could feel everything—his breath against your cheek, the thunder of his heartbeat against yours, the heat between your bodies that had always been there, waiting to be claimed.

His other hand rose, slow and deliberate, and pressed two fingers beneath your chin, tilting your face up. Then, those same fingers slid down, wrapping around your throat. Not to harm, but to hold. Possession, pure and holy.

“You have no idea what you’re asking,” he whispered, his breath brushing your lips, his eyes locked on yours with something darker than longing. “Be careful, Pip-squeak. Because if I say yes—if I give you what you’re begging for…”

He leaned closer, his lips grazing the corner of your mouth, his voice no longer gentle, but a vow.

“I won’t stop. There will be no betrothed. No more prayers to cleanse you.”

He licked the edge of your ears, slow and deliberate, and your whole body arched into him with a soft, desperate moan you couldn’t contain.

“I will ruin you. I’ll make you mine in every way the church says I shouldn’t. I’ll bury myself inside you until your body remembers nothing but me.”

His grip tightened at your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

“I won’t let you go,” he growled, “not again.”

His irises darkened, deepening into a shade like violet blood—rich, ancient, and hungry. The passion in his gaze no longer shimmered beneath the surface, no longer cloaked in guilt. It bloomed now, wild and uncontrollable, like a flower that had finally burst through the soil after years of suppression. No burden. No veil. Only want.

And you saw it. You felt it—in the way his fingers clenched tighter around your waist, as though he feared you might vanish. As though he had already lost you once and refused to risk it again. His grip was no longer gentle. It was possession.

How could you—merely a sinful, trembling creature before the divine—deny the priest who had already been yours in secret?

“Then don’t, Caleb,” you whispered, your voice soft, reverent, almost worshipful. Your hands rose to cradle his face, thumbs stroking along the edge of his jaw with aching tenderness. His skin was warm beneath your touch, alive with the kind of heat that could melt sanctity itself.

“Don’t ever let me go,” you breathed, your words barely more than air, “ruin me… consume me, like I am the communion and the wine. Take me as if I were the apple, bitten and bold—tempted by Eve, offered to Adam, as the serpent laughs and God turns away.”

Your eyes met his—wide, wet, unwavering. His breathing was uneven now, ragged, thick with restraint unraveled. His pupils blown wide, devouring you like scripture rewritten in flesh.

“Take me, Caleb,” you said, voice no longer pleading, but resolute. A sacred declaration. A promise. This was your moment. Your fall. Your offering. You had waited long enough to become the Eve of your own story—to tempt the man who was once salvation, now sin. To drag him from the heavens and pull him into you.

He stared at you for one long, breathless second.

And then—he smiled.

Not holy. Not kind.

But hungry.

“With pleasure, Pips,” he murmured, voice deep with something primal, something unholy, and beautiful in its blasphemy.

Before you could react, he spun you by the waist, his grip firm and unrelenting, and pushed you forward—your body guided not roughly, but with the precision of a man who had imagined this a thousand times. You stumbled slightly, catching yourself against the edge of the altar, your hands splayed on the white linen cloth that once held chalices and scripture.

Now, it would hold you.

You looked back at him over your shoulder, your breath shallow, your heart pounding like a liturgical drum. He stood behind you, towering, silent, reverent—his gaze devouring every inch of you like he was memorizing a psalm written on skin.

This was not the priest.

This was the man beneath the collar.

And you were no longer the sinner.

You were the sacrament.

“On the altar, honey,” he murmured, his voice dipped in something sweet and dangerous—menacingly saccharine, like poisoned honey. His hands guided you back, gently but firmly, until your spine met the cool linen-draped table. His touch lingered like reverence, like a prayer not yet spoken.

To him, you must’ve looked like temptation incarnate—your flushed skin glowing in the golden candlelight, long hair fanned out over sacred cloth, chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm. A vision of sin made flesh, sprawled out where offerings to God were meant to be placed. But tonight, you were the offering.

He traced the shape of your body with a single finger, slow and deliberate, dragging it over the tight curve of your red dress—the one you chose just for this night, just for him. Each pass of his touch sent a thrill crawling across your skin, your thighs tensing with every inch he explored.

“This was intentional, wasn’t it?” he whispered, lips brushing just above your navel as he pressed a kiss there—soft, delicate, intoxicating. You felt butterflies erupt beneath your skin, fluttering desperately under his breath. “You came here wearing this dress that no good Catholic girl would ever wear. You chose my hour in the confessional. Scheduled yourself with me.”

You couldn’t speak. Your head was light, your limbs loose and tingling from the weight of his words and the unbearable heat of his touch. The anticipation dripped from you like holy oil.

He smirked. And then his hands moved lower, gripping your waist hard, like he was claiming you piece by piece.

You gasped, body jolting at the force of it.

“Answer me,” he commanded, the sweetness gone, replaced by steel. His brow furrowed in mock disappointment, his voice like thunder behind stained glass. You nodded weakly, unable to count how many times you’d already said yes to him—in your mind, in your dreams, in the silent ache between your thighs.

“Good,” he purred. “I love it when you give yourself over to me. When your mind shuts down and your body remembers who you belong to.”

His hands slid down, finding the buttons of your dress. He gripped the fabric with both hands and yanked—ripping it apart with one swift, sinful motion. The sound echoed like a heresy in the sacred space. You gasped, heart racing, body bare beneath him.

From above, you saw his expression shift. His mouth fell open slightly. His pupils darkened further, almost black. His face—usually unreadable—now twisted with hunger. He looked at you as if you were the first woman he’d ever seen. As if you were not just desired… but worshipped.

“You look so divine, Pip-squeak,” he growled, voice low and trembling. His hands came up to your chest, cupping your breasts with greedy reverence, his thumbs flicking across your nipples—once, then again, harder, rougher, until your body arched into him. The pleasure bloomed sharp and sudden, your breath catching in a gasp.

“Caleb, I—”

He shushed you immediately, placing two fingers over your lips as his eyes gleamed.

“No words now. Only your sounds. Only your body,” he whispered. “Let me learn it like the Bible.”

And then he did. He moved over you like a man discovering lost relics—hands sliding across your stomach, down your thighs, along your ribs, over your curves. Every part of you was touched like it was rare, precious. As if every inch of skin was sacred parchment he intended to study and memorize.

But when his eyes lowered between your legs, his expression changed again—this time to something quieter. Something awed.

You scrambled to close your thighs, the instinctual shame creeping up your spine. But his hands were faster—firm at your knees, pushing them apart with command.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said. “I never told you to close your legs.”

And then he saw you.

His gaze locked between your thighs, reverent and consuming. You turned your face away, too overwhelmed to meet his stare, too undone to endure the worship in his expression.

“You’re untouched,” he murmured. His thumb grazed your folds—slow, featherlight, unbearably gentle. “So pink. So soft. Your little petals hiding everything sacred inside.”

You whimpered, unable to speak, trembling under the heat of his voice and the slow, circling motion of his thumb. You could hear it now—the wet sound of your arousal, soft and obscene in the quiet church. It should’ve filled you with shame.

But all you felt was need.

“You’re so wet for me,” he whispered, pressing just slightly deeper, letting his thumb slide through your slick folds as if he were parting holy pages. “This is all for me, isn’t it?”

You nodded. He smiled.

“Then let me worship you.”

And then—he lowered himself.

His lips brushed your inner thigh, trailing upward, each kiss placed like benediction. His hands held your thighs wide open as he reached your center, breath warm against your slick entrance. And then his mouth found you—devoured you.

His tongue lapped at your clit slowly, then faster, lips closing around you as if drawing out sin itself. You cried out, moaning his name like a prayer, like it was the only one you remembered. His fingers gripped your thighs harder, anchoring you in place, as his mouth wrote psalms into your body—his tongue spelling out lust and salvation in every circle, every flick, every sinful kiss.

You arched. You gasped. You sobbed his name.

And still—he kept going.

“Gods, you taste like devotion,” he groaned against your folds. “Like you were made just for this.”

And in that moment, as your body trembled on the altar, thighs parted for a man who wore a collar he never truly obeyed—

You believed him.

His fingers trailed downward, slow and exploratory, until they found the slick heat of your folds. He teased the entrance just below where his tongue had ravaged your clit, circling the soft, wet opening with the gentleness of someone handling something precious—something never touched before. Your body arched sharply, your back curving off the altar in a broken cry. It was too much—too much pressure, too much pleasure, too much him.

Your gasped whispers of “Caleb” unraveled into helpless moans as his finger gently breached you, the motion deliberate and careful, but impossibly overwhelming. Your body clamped down around him, wet and trembling, your inner walls drawing him in like they had been waiting for him all your life.

“Let me open you up, alright, baby?” he whispered against your skin, his voice dripping with affection. “I don’t want to hurt you. I want to make it perfect for you.” His tone was velvet, contrasting the way his tongue resumed its relentless worship of your clit—wet, fast, devout, like he was trying to write a hymn with his mouth.

His finger moved deeper, slowly curling to explore you from the inside—his touch searching, learning, memorizing the feel of your tight, trembling heat. He found rhythm, divine and sinful, his tongue lapping furiously at your swollen bud while his finger pressed deeper, coaxing moans from your lips like a choir from a cathedral dome.

But then, pain.

It was sharp, unfamiliar, a sting beneath the waves of pleasure.

“Caleb… it hurts…” you murmured, your voice broken and soft. This was your first time—your body had never been opened by another’s touch. You tried to hold back the sobs, your forearm covering your eyes to hide the tears you couldn’t stop. Hiccups escaped you, trembling from your chest, fragile as confession.

And he stopped.

“Aw, Pip-squeak…” he cooed gently, his voice laced with guilt and warmth as he moved up to you. “Was that too much?”

He pushed your hand away from your face, just enough to see the mess of tears on your cheeks, the swollen red of your eyes, the vulnerability etched across every inch of you. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your eyelids—soft, reverent, like you were a butterfly he feared would break in his hands. A breath of love after a storm of lust.

“No, Caleb… it’s all just new,” you whispered through your hiccups, the words slurring as you clung to the edges of control. “I’m not used to it. That’s all.”

He looked at you like you were the most fragile and sacred thing he’d ever touched. As if you weren’t a girl laid bare on an altar, but a miracle. His hand found yours, guiding your palm to his cheek, pressing your fingers into the heat of his skin.

“I know,” he said, voice low and warm. “I know, honey. Let me take care of you.” He nuzzled into your touch like it was the only truth he needed. “You’re going to have a beautiful first night. With me. Just relax. I’ll do everything. All you need to do is feel.”

And before you could answer, his mouth claimed yours.

The kiss was not gentle. It was fierce, hungry, consuming. Your lips moved in a tangled, heated rhythm, tongues sliding and curling, mouths parting only to let out breathless moans. You could feel his teeth grazing your lip, then biting—a sting sharp enough to make your knees buckle. He drew blood, and then licked it away, eyes dark with pride at the mark he left.

Then—his hand was back between your legs.

He slid the same finger inside you again, slow but insistent, and you gasped into his mouth. Your lips were still locked with his, the kiss muffling your cries, your body arching beneath him. He didn’t stop. His hand was working you open again, pushing and curling with more purpose now—loving you, preparing you, ruining you.

And then—another finger joined.

You cried out against his lips, breath stolen, chest heaving. His fingers scissored you open, stretching you with maddening care, moving in and out with slick, obscene sounds that echoed through the sacred chamber. Every motion felt like a new world cracking open inside you—every nerve alight, every breath sharp.

“Fuck—Pip-squeak,” he groaned, watching your face twist in pleasure. “You really are my testament, aren’t you?”

He pumped his fingers deeper, faster, pressing into that sacred spot inside you that made you sob. Your whole body buckled, trembling under the rhythm of his fingers.

“Crying for me… moaning like that…” He kissed your jaw, your throat, your shoulder. “You said you’d walk through hell with me, didn’t you?”

Your breath came in stutters, your body grinding down into his hand, chasing the pleasure like a lifeline. You couldn’t speak. You could only feel.

And then—he stopped.

You whined—needy, devastated.

He pulled his fingers from your soaked heat, the emptiness making your body clench on instinct, your folds slick and pulsing.

“Caleb, what—”

“I can’t wait anymore,” he said, his voice hoarse, desperate. “I think you’re ready. And I need to be inside you, now.”

You watched, spellbound, as he stood upright and reached for the belt around his waist. One by one, his fingers undid the layers of his robe, revealing him beneath—the slow unveiling of a god, not a man. He peeled back the fabric as if shedding holiness itself, as if casting off the weight of every prayer he’d ever made. And what remained beneath…

Was divine.

He was sculpted like marble. Veins coiled along thick forearms, chest broad and heaving, every line of his body drawn with aching precision. It was like something ancient. Like Zeus had carved him from his own likeness, then cast him into a collar to suffer the burden of flesh.

And now, here he stood. Unburdened. Unholy. Yours.

All words fled your mouth. All thoughts vanished. You were no longer a girl with a name, or a sinner with shame.

You were his.

At his mercy. At his altar.

And Caleb—your priest, your first love, your god-made-flesh—was about to make you his church.

When he pulled down the final barrier between you—his undergarments falling to the floor with a soft, weighted thud—it echoed like a vow unspoken. The air shifted, heavy and thick with want. And what you saw made your breath catch in your throat.

He was hard. Gloriously hard.

Thick, veined, and flushed with heat, his cock stood proudly between his thighs—an offering, a punishment, a blessing all at once. You had never seen anything like it, not even in those nights alone with your phone dimmed low and your heart racing in guilt. This… this was real. It was beautiful in a way that made your body ache—his shaft a soft, dusky pink with golden undertones, the crown swollen and weeping beads of precum that glistened like sacred oil under the candlelight. It pulsed with restrained desire, the veins beneath his skin standing rigid with anticipation, as if every part of him had been waiting to be released inside you.

He watched your reaction closely, and you realized—he wanted you to look. He wanted you to witness him like this. Bared. Ready. Sacred.

“It’s…” you whispered, breathless, lips trembling as you tried not to stare, “it’s so big, Caleb. I—” your voice cracked slightly, “I don’t think it’ll fit.”

He stepped closer, the heat of his body brushing against your thighs as he leaned down, his hand curling around your cheek.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, lips grazing your jawline, “it will. And if it doesn’t…” he kissed the corner of your mouth, slowly, deliberately, “I’ll make it fit.”

You shivered beneath him, but his next kiss melted your resistance. It was softer this time—reassuring, protective. His lips moved against yours with a slowness that made you ache, a tenderness that threatened to undo you entirely. He kissed you like he’d never get to again. Like this was both prayer and farewell.

And then—you felt it.

The thick, flushed tip nudged against your folds, slick with both your arousal and his need. Your body jolted at the contact, instinctively trying to pull back, but he held you steady. His hand moved from your cheek to your jaw, cradling you gently but firmly, his thumb stroking the curve of your chin.

“Shh,” he whispered against your lips, “don’t run. Just feel me. Let me love you through it.”

Then—he pushed in.

The stretch was impossible. Raw. Blinding. Your inner walls strained to accommodate him, the head of his cock parting you in a slow, aching invasion that made every nerve in your body seize and tremble. He was too big—too thick, too much—and you cried out, your breath hitching in your throat.

“C-Caleb, it won’t fit,” you gasped, tears pricking your lashes. “It’s too much, I—I can’t—”

But he didn’t let go. He pressed a soft kiss to your nose, eyes full of reverence.

“Trust me,” he said gently. “You can. You’re doing so well. Just relax. Don’t tense up. Let your body take me.”

He kissed your temple, then your jaw, and then your lips again—his mouth never leaving yours as he pushed in deeper, inch by inch, each movement slow and reverent. You could feel every ridge, every vein, as he slid deeper into your warmth. The pressure was maddening, the stretch a sweet agony. He was molding you to him—reshaping you around his cock like you were meant for it.

Your moans were breathless, broken, rising in pitch with every inch he claimed. You felt your pulse in your throat, your fingertips, your womb.

And then—he paused.

He looked down at where you were joined, your slick folds stretched wide around him, your body trembling, your breath hitching with each twitch of his hips. His lips curled into a smile, soft and ruined.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re taking me so well, baby. And this…” he rocked his hips slightly, making you whimper, “this is only halfway.”

Your eyes flew open.

Halfway?

He met your gaze, eyes dark with devotion and desire.

“We’ll take it slow,” he whispered. “I’ll teach your body how to love me. How to worship me.”

And then—he began to thrust.

Slow, deep, rolling movements that dragged his cock against every untouched nerve inside you. Each push was gentle, yet commanding. Every retreat was followed by a deeper plunge, opening you wider, stretching you further, claiming you with each pass.

You sobbed beneath him—not from pain, not anymore—but from the sheer overwhelming pleasure. He filled you so completely, so intimately, that you didn’t know where your body ended and his began.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice breaking, “you’re perfect—tight, warm, mine. You were made to take me, Pip-squeak. This—” he grunted as he thrust deeper, “this is where you belong.”

Your nails raked down his back, clinging to him, needing something to anchor you as the altar shook beneath your bodies. His forehead pressed against yours. His lips hovered above your mouth, panting into you like he was drowning.

“I’m going to ruin you for anyone else,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m going to fill you so full of me, you’ll feel me for days.”

And you believed him.

Because this wasn’t just sex.

This was worship. This was prophecy.

And he was your god now.

And this god—this man who had once belonged to the altar—was now the one thrusting into you, deeper and deeper, with a rhythm so consuming it blurred the edge of pain and bliss. With each slow push, he reached into places no one ever had—into your body, into your soul. As if this was your final absolution. As if this… was your cleansing of sin.

“Let me feel you deeper, alright?” he murmured, his voice low and full of heat, brushing your ear like a sacrament. “It might sting a bit, but stay with me, my love.” He kissed you again—tender, warm, anchoring—his lips moving over yours in a slow, open rhythm that steadied your breath as much as it stole it.

Your nails found his back again, digging in harder this time, leaving half-moon imprints across the muscles of his shoulders. He welcomed it—grunted into your mouth—and thrust deeper. The stretch was too much, too perfect, and yet you clung to it, welcoming the ache like revelation.

His lips traveled to your throat, then down the delicate slope of your neck. And when his pace quickened, his hips rolling deeper into yours, the sound of slick skin and desperate breathing filled the chapel air. The sensation was overwhelming—every sense dissolved into him. Your vision blurred, your ears rang with the sound of your own heartbeat, and the warmth of his body became the only truth you knew.

He found your collarbone with his mouth, kissing it reverently before biting down—not gently. The bite was harsh, branding. A mark meant to last. You gasped and arched into him, tears spilling down your cheeks—not from pain, but from something greater. You were overwhelmed, undone, and entirely his.

“Caleb…” you whimpered, voice caught in a moan. “It’s… starting to feel so good…”

He chuckled, low and rough, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Knew it, baby,” he murmured between kisses. “Knew you’d take me like this. Like your body belongs to me.”

His rhythm was no longer careful—it was erratic now, frantic, unrelenting. The god inside him had broken free. There was no restraint left, only desire carved deep by years of silence and prayer. You felt the pressure building again, something enormous and electric gathering in your belly, and you didn’t understand it—but you craved it.

“Caleb, please—please—it feels… so strange,” you sobbed into his shoulder, your voice high and trembling.

He slowed just for a second, lips brushing your temple, smiling like he’d known this moment would come. “You want to come, baby?” he asked softly, lovingly. “Then come for me. You have my permission.”

And then—release.

The world shattered in white.

Your first orgasm rippled through you like holy fire, curling your toes, arching your spine, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your body clenched around him, your cries echoing through the cathedral like sacred hymns, and all you could feel was him—Caleb, Caleb, Caleb—claiming every part of you as if he’d waited lifetimes for this moment.

When your body finally slumped against his, spent and trembling, he gathered you in his arms like something sacred. His hand found the back of your neck, fingers brushing your hair, the other wrapped around your back, lifting you into his lap like a prize, a promise.

“Like it, baby?” he whispered, kissing your forehead, your cheek, your nose. You nodded wordlessly, still floating somewhere between earth and heaven, still pulsing from the aftershocks. “Yeah,” he smiled, his voice soft with wonder, “I can tell.”

Then—he reached for something.

The rosary.

Your rosary.

Dark red beads caught the moonlight streaming through the stained glass, the glow painting your skin in sacred crimson. He unclasped it gently, looped it around your throat, and fastened it like a necklace of devotion. It was weightless and warm, like it had always belonged there.

“You look divine in red,” he whispered, tucking your hair behind your ear. “The hickeys. The tears. The rosary on your throat.” His thumb caressed your cheek as he studied you—eyes soft and worshipful. “You are… heavenly. I’m so fucking glad you chose me.”

You were dazed. Drenched in love. You looked up at him, and for the first time, truly saw him.

The boy you had known was long gone.

What sat before you was a man—a god, a beast, a lover—shaped by prayer, by pain, by desire.

His violet-hued eyes bore into you. His jaw sharp. His lips chapped from too many kisses. His body sculpted like myth, veined and divine, as though made by the same hands that shaped the stars.

And then—he leaned in, voice low and trembling.

“I’m not done with you yet, Pip-squeak.”

Your eyes widened.

“W-what?”

He kissed your mouth—slow and deep.

“On your back, love,” he murmured. “I haven’t had my share. And I intend to fulfill my prophecy—as your future husband.”

Your breath caught as he slowly withdrew from your body, leaving you achingly empty. He helped you to stand, your legs barely steady beneath you. His hands stayed on your waist, guiding you like a lamb, reverent and possessive.

“Hands on the altar,” he said gently, pushing you forward. “Arch your back for me, sweetheart.”

You obeyed.

He leaned down, whispering into your ear, his palm stroking the curve of your spine. “Perfect. Look at you. My obedient little wife.”

Your heart stuttered.

“Caleb…” you gasped. “You’re a priest. You… you can’t marry me. I’m a sinner—”

He stilled behind you.

And then—a quiet laugh. Dark. Dangerous.

His hand gripped your hip, pulling you back against him. The tip of his cock nudged your entrance once more, the heat of him radiating through your trembling thighs.

“I’ll make arrangements,” he said simply. “The moment I breed you… the moment I seal this bond… you’re mine. And no one—no one—will take you away from me.”

He turned your face just enough to kiss you again—deep, claiming, final.

And then, he entered you once more, slowly, fully, with a groan of pure relief.

This time, Caleb wasn’t letting you off easy.

There was no gentleness left in him—only hunger, only need. He drove into you with a rhythm that felt like judgment day: relentless, punishing, divine. His thrusts were thunderous, dragging cries and whimpers from your throat that echoed through the hollow sanctuary like ruined hymns. Each motion forced a sob of pleasure from your lips, your body trembling with every drag of him, every delicious, overwhelming stretch.

“Too deep, Caleb… please—” you moaned, the words barely intelligible between broken breaths.

Your legs had long since given up. Your thighs quivered with exhaustion, and your knees threatened to buckle with every thrust. But before you could collapse, his hand gripped your cheeks—strong, unyielding—guiding you right back into the position he wanted.

“Keep your posture, Pip-squeak,” he growled, his voice rough, breath hot at your ear, and you obeyed like the good little subject he’d made of you.

You let your forehead rest against the altar, body limp under his force, your senses shredded from the high of your first orgasm. But he wasn’t finished with you. He hadn’t even begun to show you what it meant to be his.

Because you wanted it.

You wanted to be ruined again. Used, over and over. You wanted to be his sanctuary and his sacrilege—his only cocksleeve, his blasphemy made flesh.

You pushed your hips back, seeking friction, desperate for the sound—the slick, vulgar squelch that made your thighs shake and his groan rattle through your spine.

“Fuck,” he laughed, dark and delighted. “Look at you. My little whore can’t even wait for my rhythm—now you’re fucking yourself on my cock like a common slut.”

His hand groped your ass, fingers digging into the soft curve before delivering a sharp smack that made your whole body jolt. Your mouth dropped open in a silent cry, eyes fluttering as the sting bloomed across your skin.

“You really are the devil,” he muttered, his voice nearly reverent. “You came here to torment me. To make a man of God fall to his knees for you. And now look at you.”

He reached for the back of your neck where the rosary lay tangled, tugging gently until the red beads tightened around your throat, grazing over the bruises and bite marks he’d left before.

“Imagine me breeding you on the altar,” he whispered, thrusting deeper until you gasped. “Filling you up like a sacrifice. Just you, me, and God watching.”

Then he pulled.

The beads clinked and tightened, the tension making you jolt, your moans gasping and ragged as the cross at the center pressed into your throat. You were sure it would leave a mark—like a collar. Like proof.

“You’d look perfect,” he said, voice low and shaking with lust. “With this mark. Everyone would know who you belong to.”

He loosened it, just long enough for you to breathe, only to tighten it again—controlling the rhythm like a prayer. Your eyes rolled back, tears streaming freely, your body twitching from the overstimulation.

“Caleb…” you sobbed, voice hoarse, lost. “I-I’m close again…”

“I know you are,” he murmured, lips brushing your spine, his teeth catching on your shoulder. “You were made for this. For me.”

His thrusts deepened, the rhythm brutal and beautiful all at once. Your walls clenched hard around him, your body desperate to drag him further inside, to pull him into your core and never let go.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Pips,” he groaned. “But I’ll die with a smile if it means I get to leave it all inside you.”

And then you broke.

Again.

This time harder. This time deeper. Your orgasm crashed through you like a holy reckoning, violent and luminous, a star exploding behind your eyes. Your body seized and shivered uncontrollably, walls fluttering around him as your vision went white. You screamed his name like it was torn from your soul, your throat raw from the effort, from praising him.

It was all too much—the relentless thrusts, the rosary tight against your throat, the weight of him pounding into your most sacred places. The hot stretch of his cock as it hit that tender, deepest spot. The scent of sweat and salt and sex thick in the air. The wet sounds of your bodies clashing, your skin slick against the altar.

You were sobbing now, lips parted, gasping for air between high-pitched moans and fevered, half-sobbed whispers.

“Thank you,” you cried, “thank you, Caleb… thank you for using me… for making me yours… thank you for claiming me—”

He growled—actually growled—his breath hot at your ear, hips stuttering against you as his grip on your hips tightened.

“I’m gonna fill you now, baby,” he moaned, the words shaky and broken with need. “Say it again.”

“Thank you,” you begged. “Thank you for choosing me—thank you for breaking me—thank you for taking me like this.”

Your hands clutched the altar cloth, nails tearing into the fabric, body writhing against his. “Thank you for fucking me, for ruining me… for cleansing me. Thank you for not holding back. Thank you for loving me like this.”

“Gods” he gasped, shuddering behind you. “Fuck—”

And that was all he needed.

With one final, forceful thrust, he sank himself so deep inside you it felt like your bodies had fused. You felt the tremble in his thighs, the groan that tore from his chest, the way his hips twitched as he came undone within you.

You could feel it.

The heat.

The fullness.

His release poured into you, and with it, something even heavier: a bond. His sin, his promise, his final vow.

He collapsed over your back, chest heaving, breath ragged and uneven. His arms wrapped around you like you were holy. Like you were salvation.

And inside you… he left everything.

His vow. His love. His sin.

His seed.

The altar had seen many unions—but none like this.

You both remained there, bodies tangled and trembling, time suspended in the thick, honeyed silence that followed. Minutes passed like lifetimes—slow and sacred—as if every breath you took together rewrote the shape of the world.

His body draped over yours, flushed and heaving, the weight of him pressing against your spine like a divine burden. You could feel his chest rising and falling, his heartbeat still rapid, still syncing with yours, like your souls were too entangled to separate now. His warmth cloaked you, his skin slick and fevered against your back, and it was all you could do to keep breathing.

His name had become your prayer.

His love, your religion.

His presence, your sanctuary.

“Pip-squeak,” he whispered, voice hoarse and soft, barely formed through the haze of what you’d just done. The nickname sounded different now—deeper, claimed, sacred. But you couldn’t answer. There were no words left inside you. Just breath after breath, whispering through your lips like wind through cathedral glass.

Then he said it.

“I love you.”

The words drifted through the air and wrapped around you like a blanket. Your eyes fluttered open, lashes damp, vision hazy. You wanted to turn to him, to see his face in the aftermath of what had just been sealed between you, but your body felt too wrecked, too stretched, still parted by the weight of his shaft still inside you—keeping you open, keeping his warmth in, like he didn’t want a single drop of himself to leave you.

“I…” your voice broke, soft and trembling, “I love you too, Caleb. I have since we were kids.”

You gathered every last shred of strength in your arms, tilting your head back just enough to cup his jaw, your fingers brushing his skin with reverence. You pulled him closer until his forehead rested against yours, the scent of incense, sweat, and sanctified sin thick in the air between you.

“I’m glad I came to you,” you whispered. “I’ll leave everything in your care… then?”

His gaze softened.

And then—he smiled.

That familiar, golden smile from long ago, reshaped by the weight of years and the burden of forbidden love.

“Yes, honey,” he murmured, voice like a lullaby. “I’ll take care of everything. No one will touch you. We’ll leave this place unscathed… and walk the path God truly chose for us.”

He lifted your hand, the same hand that had touched him, clung to him, loved him—and pressed a kiss to your fingers. It was gentle. Tender. Final.

“I love you,” he whispered again, like a promise sealed in your skin. “Now sleep, my love.”

And you did.

You closed your eyes beneath him, your body still held open by his, still trembling with the ghost of every thrust, every vow. And as the darkness settled, soft and warm, you felt his arms wrap around you tighter—like he’d never let you go.

He was the last thing you saw that night.

And you knew, with a quiet certainty blooming in your chest, that he would be the last thing you saw each night for the rest of your life.

Until death… if it dared to separate you apart.

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

You sit beside Xavier on the bench in the park, watching people pass by as golden afternoon light filters through the leaves. The air smells of fresh-cut grass and distant food carts. A stylish couple walks past, the woman’s laughter musical, her confidence evident in every step.

“I wish I was pretty like her,” you mumble, more to yourself than to him, your fingers absently tracing patterns on the wooden bench.

Xavier turns to you, his expression shifting to one of genuine confusion. His brows furrow deeply, eyes widening just a fraction.

“What... did you say?” he asks, his tone remaining even despite the clear puzzlement in his eyes. He shifts his body toward you, giving you his full attention.

“Nothing, just...” you gesture vaguely toward the retreating couple. “Sometimes I don’t feel very attractive. Especially around people like that.”

Xavier stares at you for a long moment, looking genuinely bewildered. The silence stretches between you, broken only by distant children’s laughter and birdsong.

“I don’t understand,” he finally says.

You start to explain, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his unwavering gaze, but he gently places his hand over yours, the warmth of his palm surprising against your skin.

“No,” he interrupts, shaking his head slightly. “I mean I don’t understand why you would think that. It doesn’t make sense.” His thumb traces a small circle on the back of your hand. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he states matter-of-factly. “I’ve always thought so.”

Coming from Xavier, the sincerity in his voice makes your heart skip.

“You don’t have to say that,” you protest weakly, looking down at where his hand covers yours.

Xavier shakes his head, leaning closer. “I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true. I don’t...” he pauses, carefully selecting his words, “understand how you can’t see what I see.”

His fingers tighten around yours, the pressure gentle but grounding. “Every time I look at you, I...” He struggles with the words, clearly moving outside his comfort zone. A faint color touches his usually pale cheeks. “From a purely objective standpoint, the way you look—” He stops, frustrated with himself, and takes a deep breath.

“That’s not what I meant to say.” He closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, there’s a rare vulnerability there. “What I mean is that you’re beautiful. In every way that matters. Your smile when you’re excited about something. The way your eyes light up when you talk about things you care about. How your whole face changes when you’re lost in thought.”

He reaches up with his free hand, hesitating just shy of touching your face. “I’ve remembered every expression you make. I’ve studied them all.” He looks away, embarrassed by his own earnestness. “You’re beautiful. Please, don’t think otherwise.”

The tension in his shoulders eases slightly, as if relieved to have expressed something he’s held inside for too long. He doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the afternoon.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

You’re helping Zayne organize his medical journals in his office as late afternoon shadows stretch across the polished floors. The pristine space feels both clinical and comforting—much like the man himself.

As you reach up to place a heavy volume on the top shelf, you catch your reflection in the large window overlooking the city. The bright lighting does you no favors.

“Ugh,” you mutter, tugging self-consciously at your clothes. “I look awful today.”

Zayne glances up from his desk where he’s been meticulously updating patient files. He sets down his pen, the soft click audible in the sudden silence. His eyes, usually so focused on his work, now study you with that penetrating gaze that seems to see beneath surfaces.

“What brought this on?” he asks, his voice filling the room.

“Nothing specific,” you say, turning away from your reflection. “Just... some days I don’t feel pretty, that’s all.”

Zayne stands. He gestures to the leather chair beside his own. “Sit.”

You comply, watching as he leans against his desk, arms folded across his chest. The setting sun through the windows casts half his face in shadow, highlighting the sharp angles of his features.

“Are you overthinking again?” he asks directly, but there’s no judgment in his tone. “Or did someone say something to you today?”

“Just overthinking, I guess,” you admit, fidgeting under his steady gaze.

He nods once, as if confirming a diagnosis. “I see.” He’s silent for a moment.

“Beauty is subjective,” he begins. “But if you’re asking for my opinion...” The corner of his mouth twitches in what might be the ghost of a smile. “You’re more than perfect. Inside and out.”

When you start to protest, he raises a hand to stop you.

“I don’t make observations lightly. You know that.” His eyes hold yours. “I’ve studied human anatomy for years. I’ve seen thousands of faces.” He leans forward slightly. “None of them affect me the way yours does.”

The admission seems to surprise even him, a rare moment of vulnerability from someone so carefully composed.

Suddenly, he reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a small chocolate wrapped in gold foil. It’s from the exclusive chocolatier across town—the one he pretends not to favor.

He places it in your palm, his fingers lingering against yours longer than necessary. “Here,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “Sweet for the sweet.”

Before you can respond, he leans forward and places a kiss on your forehead. The momentary closeness allows you to catch the subtle scent of his aftershave mingled with antiseptic.

“Now,” he says, straightening himself, “wait for me to finish organizing these journals so we can go home. I’m thinking of dinner at that place you like on Fifth Street.” He turns back to his desk, but not before adding, “And no more nonsense about not being pretty. I won’t have the person I care for most questioning their worth.”

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

You’re sitting on the private beach adjoining Rafayel’s seaside studio, watching him add final touches to a vibrant seascape painting. The ocean stretches endlessly before you, waves crashing rhythmically against the shore. The air tastes of salt and fresh breeze. Seagulls circle overhead, their calls mingling with the gentle lapping of water against sand.

Rafayel stands before his painting, completely absorbed in his work. Paint splatters decorate his rolled-up sleeves and there’s a smudge of blue across his cheekbone. The wind tousles his already disheveled hair as he captures the dance of light on water.

A group of beautiful people laugh further down the beach, their perfect silhouettes outlined against the setting sun. You glance down at yourself, then back at them, feeling suddenly out of place in this picturesque setting.

“I don’t think I’m pretty enough for this place,” you whisper, the breeze carrying your words away—or so you think.

Rafayel’s hand freezes. He turns to you slowly, paint-speckled fingers stilling on the canvas, his expression transforming from focus to complete disbelief.

“What did you just say?” His usually playful voice has an edge to it now, sharp as broken glass.

“Nothing, just thinking out loud,” you reply, regretting having spoken at all.

“No, no, no,” he sets his palette down with a clatter on the small table beside him. “You don’t get to say things like that and dismiss them as ’nothing.’” In an instant, he takes a seat on your side. “Did someone say something to you?” he demands, looking around the empty beach as if searching for culprits. “Which human do I need to have a word with?”

“No one said anything, Rafayel. It’s just how I feel sometimes,” you admit.

“That’s even worse! Your own mind betraying you like this?” He runs his fingers through his hair. “This is an emergency. A catastrophe of the highest order!”

He grabs your shoulders. “You are an absolute masterpiece. Do you understand? A masterpiece. I know art. I create art. I live and breathe beauty in all its forms. And you—” he pokes your cheek lightly, leaving a tiny dot of turquoise paint, “—are the finest creation I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

When you try to look away, embarrassed by his intensity, he gently tilts your chin back. The setting sun reflects in his eyes, turning them to liquid gold. “The ocean is jealous of your depths. The stars envy your brilliance.” His voice softens, becoming almost reverent. “And I would swim across every sea before I let you believe you’re anything less than stunning.”

He wraps his arms around you suddenly, clinging like a child. “Now don’t say such ridiculous things again. It offends my artistic sensibilities.”

He then stands, pulling you up with him. “Come on. We’re going to watch the sunset together. I’ll show you how I see you.” He places a brush in your hand, his fingers lingering. “And maybe then you’ll understand why I can’t look away.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

You stand before the massive floor-to-ceiling windows in Sylus’s penthouse suite, overlooking the sprawling N109 Zone from stories up. The city stretches below like a circuit board of neon and shadow, vehicles and people reduced to tiny moving points of light. The luxurious room behind you is bathed in the soft glow of artfully placed lamps illuminating his collection of rarities—collections plucked from across time and space.

Catching your reflection in the darkened glass, superimposed over the glittering cityscape, you murmur without thinking, “I don’t know why you keep me around. I’m not even pretty.”

The room falls silent. You hear Sylus set down whatever gem he was examining, the soft clink of crystal against metal followed by his steady steps as he approaches.

“What an odd thing to say,” he remarks, his voice silky yet sharp as a blade, “because you’re entirely incorrect.”

You turn to find him watching you, head slightly tilted.

“Did I hear you questioning your beauty?” A smirk plays on his lips, but his eyes remain serious, almost stern. “After all this time with me, you should know very well that I have exceptional taste.”

He closes the distance between you. He places his hands on your waist, positioning you both so your reflections are visible in the window. His gaze in the reflection holds nothing but admiration.

“Do you think I surround myself with anything less than perfection?” He gestures to the rare treasures adorning his collection shelf—items worth more than most people earn in a lifetime. “Do you imagine I would waste my time on someone who didn’t captivate me entirely?”

His fingers trace your jawline, feather-light. “Hundreds of rare gems, ancient artifacts, priceless paintings—I collect only the extraordinary, the unique.” His voice drops lower, more intimate. “And yet, not one of these treasures compares to your presence and beauty.”

When you start to protest, he places a finger gently against your lips. “I don’t tolerate self-deprecation from the one person in this universe I genuinely cherish.”

He turns you to face him fully now, both hands cupping your face with surprising tenderness from someone so powerful, so used to taking what he wants. Your disbelief must show on your face because he chuckles softly.

“Your beauty is not up for debate, not even by you. Challenge me on anything else if you wish, demand whatever your heart desires—but on this matter, I will not yield.”

He steps back after brushing a kiss against your forehead, apparently considering the matter settled. “Now come here and tell me what you want instead of what you think you lack. That’s much more productive, don’t you agree?”

He gestures to the plush sofa. “Sit down and tell me about your day today. I haven’t heard you talking about it.” His expression softens further. “Let’s talk about that instead.”

As you join him, he casually drapes an arm around you, pulling you closer. “And tomorrow,” he murmurs against your hair, “I’ll show you exactly how beautiful you are to me. I have something special planned—something worthy of you.”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

You’re absently scrolling through your phone as you accompany Caleb while he sorts through Fleet reports in his home office. The space reflects his dual nature—military precision in the organized shelves and structured workspace, but touches of warmth in the photographs and mementos from his DAA days. The soft glow of multiple screens illuminates the room as rain patters against the windows, creating a cozy atmosphere.

Caleb sits at his desk, brow furrowed in concentration as he reviews security protocols. His uniform jacket hangs on the back of his chair, sleeves of his standard-issue shirt rolled up to reveal his forearms. Despite the late hour, his posture remains perfect—the Colonel, always on duty.

Glancing up, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflective surface of a dormant monitor. The unflattering blue light highlights every perceived imperfection.

“Ugh,” you mutter under your breath, running a self-conscious hand through your hair. “I look terrible today.”

Caleb’s head snaps up from his work. “What did you just say?” There’s a sudden alertness in his posture, as if responding to a threat.

“Just that I’m not looking my best,” you shrug, trying to downplay it, surprised by his intense reaction. 

Caleb stands, his chair rolling backward. His eyes narrow as he scans the room like he’s searching for enemies in a combat zone. “Who put that idea in your head?”

The protective edge in his voice takes you by surprise.

“No one, Caleb. It’s just how I feel sometimes.” You set down your phone, touched by his concern even as you try to ease it.

His expression darkens for a moment before he walks towards you. “Hey,” he says, crouching beside where you’re seated and taking your hands in his. “Look at me.”

When you meet his eyes, they’re filled with the same warmth they held when you were both kids, before the Fleet, before the incident—before everything changed.

“I’ve watched you grow more beautiful every single day since we were kids,” he says, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The calluses on his palms catch slightly against your skin. “Sometimes I still can’t believe I get to be with you.”

He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. Rain continues to drum against the windows, creating a private world just for the two of you.

“You’ve always been the prettiest person in any room to me. Always will be. Nothing compares to coming home to you.”

His smile returns. “And trust me, I’ve had plenty of people try to catch my eye over the years. None of them even came close. It’s just not possible when my mind can only think of you.”

He presses a soft kiss onto your forehead, his lips warm against your skin. “So no more of this ‘not pretty’ talk, okay? Or I’ll have to issue an official declaration about how gorgeous you are, and that would be really embarrassing for everyone involved.”

Based on this request.