Don’t Look Too Close (m)

When he can do both

Inexorable ♕

My birthday present for my beloved wife @iwaasfairy​ and my contribution to her birthday bash collab you can find here. I love you, you’re incredible and I hope you like this i even wrote smut for you smh

Iwaizumi Hajime x female reader

tw: dub-con, stalking, unhealthy relationships, very questionable decision making, smut, nsfw, um… implied murder?

He’s sitting on the steps outside your apartment when you get home from work, a lit cigarette dangling between long fingers. He brings it to his lips, the bright cherry red tip glowing as he takes a nice, slow drag and you scurry on past.

Not a word passes between the two of you, but olive eyes follow you up the stairs regardless, just like always. His name is Iwaizumi – Iwa – but you only know that because you’ve heard his friends yelling it down the hallway. In the three months since you’ve moved in, you haven’t so much as introduced yourself to the guy, but like most strangers crammed into the same shitty place there’s some kind of a routine between the two of you.

Why he religiously chooses this time of night to take his smoke break is beyond you, but like clockwork you’ll arrive home, having walked back from the bus stop and Iwaizumi’ll be there waiting for you, cigarette in hand.

Well, not waiting, just… there. Black leather jacket with a hoodie underneath, there’s a cut above his eyebrow tonight that he hasn’t bothered to clean, a purpling bruise colouring his jaw. Whatever dealings Iwaizumi’s tangled up in, you don’t like to think about too much, but you know it can’t be anything good. His friends dress like him, all have the same ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe. You’ve seen their scrapes and bruises too – the weapons that stick out from the waistband of their pants – though you’re always quick to avert your eyes when they catch you staring.

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meet me in the pouring rain

tags: comfort, established relationship, aftermath of fights, happy ending!!!!!

obviously, you two had your fights. it would be stupid to think you didn't: stupid to assume the two of you were constantly perfect.

you curl up by the door of your bedroom, trying to stop yourself from crying.

you hated this. you hated how you had expected anything different. of course sae itoshi would choose football over you. it was what he had been doing for his entire life.

but why had you thought today would be something different? just because it was your birthday?

you had asked him if you two were doing anything so excitedly, so stupidly. he had looked at you with the blankest expression you had seen.

and of course when you tried to press the matter, he had snapped at you that he was busy- to not bother him before practice.

and the words had spewed out of your mouth, telling him to get on with it and get out of the house.

sae hadn't argued further, merely blinking at you in vague confusion before slamming the door behind him.

he hadn't returned for lunch. and with the sheer amount of rain outside, you knew he couldn't be practicing still. (well, you mused, there was a slight chance.)

but that meant he had to be taking shelter somewhere away from your home, somewhere with other people.

lightning crackled outside. the rain was really coming on in droves now. you curl further into a ball and listen to your own heartbeat, steady and calming.

the notification sound of your phone was a scare, and you flinch, hard. you look around for the source of the noise. the dings continue on and on.

when you finally find your phone, you're stunned to see the contact sae <33

the messages are a clear change from his usual short ones, practically an entire chain of frantic words. it's a drastic change compared to the dead silence he's been giving you today.

y/n

fuck i'm sorry

i didn't mean what i did in the morning

i forgot the date i'm so sorry

y/n?

i'm outside. you don't have to come if you don't want to. i'll stay.

you stare at that last message. sae was-

you run to her window, heart rate rising. you can barely see past the sheer amount of rain slamming down.

but sae was there. you can make out his vague form, the rain unforgivably landing on top of his head.

you almost fall down the stairs with how fast you run down. you skid to a stop in front of the door.

your hand turns on the knob.

“sae,” you breathe out.

sae looks at you with a bouquet of soaked roses and a small box, looking more like a drowned rat than the boyfriend you knew.

“you're going to get sick,” you sputter. “what were you-”

“i love you,” sae interrupts, eyes glowing with an intensity unfamiliar to you.

you've only seen that look on the field, when he's truly concentrating.

"i'm so fucking sorry," he continues. "i need you to know that you are my first priority. i know i don't act like it- but you're the best thing that's happened to me."

your mouth hangs open, your voice weak. "come inside."

he does. you gently take the roses from him and place them on the table. he pockets the box, and you don't question him.

sae waits patiently for you to speak.

"i'm sorry too," you finally say. "i shouldn't have-"

he grabs onto your hands, squeezing reassuringly. "don't apologize. im the one who forgot. it's not-it'll never be your fault."

you swallow. "i love you. but you should really go change-"

"before that," sae digs back into his pocket and pulls out the neatly wrapped box. "here."

the wrapping paper gives easily underneath your nails. you eye the box warily. it's clearly jewelry, so you crack the thing open-

"jesus christ-" you fumble the box.

sae catches it easily, raising one eyebrow.

"you got a ring?"

"it's not what you think it is." he hums, gently taking the ring out of the box. it's a pretty little thing, all delicate and fragile looking. "my proposal wouldn't be this tacky."

you stare at him. "so the ring is..."

"a promise," he answers as he slides it carefully onto your finger. "for a better one eventually."

the blood rushes to your face immediately. sae doesn't seem phased at all, even if he's just confessed that he's going to marry you.

"i-"

sae sneezes. once, and then twice.

you grab his arm. "okay. you are getting into some warm clothes."

he frowns, but follows you up the stairs anyway.

when the two of you reach the bedroom, you stop him by the door.

"you know, i only wanted two words."

his head tilts almost imperceptibly, confusion leaking-

sae smiles. "happy birthday."

Hiiiii! Omg I love this blog. I have a request, so like how would the guys react if their S/O gives them an inappropriately passionate kiss? Like, they go for a simple goodbye peck before leaving but instead it's a super-heated french kiss (a bedroom kiss!) and then their S/O acts so nonchalant about it like they didn't just slip their bf some tongue lmao! My only preferences are for Suna, Akaashi, and/or Sakusa but you can add more! 😉

HAIKYUU BOYS REACTIONS WHEN YOU CATCH THEM OFF GUARD WITH A PASSIONATE KISS

characters — timeskip!suna rintarō, akaashi keiji, sakusa kiyoomi, miya atsumu, iwaizumi hajime

a/n — warning ⚠️ suggestive I WAS SWEATING WRITING THUS OMG yuh get into it!!! yayyyyy time to write some making out mf <3

☾ SUNA you’d went to kiss him goodbye before practice, the gym hallway was fairly empty considering everyone was there already so as he leaned down to give you a quick peck, your fingers immediately tangled in his hair pulling him back against you, smirking against his mouth as you felt his breathing stutter a little, using the opportunity to push your tongue past his lips to glide against his own, before his hands gripped your waist tightly— his body moving closer to yours as you stumbled back before you felt his hand slowly trace its way up your stomach towards your neck, only choosing to pull away just as it reached your nape, you grinned as he whispered a “fuck.” under his breath, his lips swollen, hair messy and tip of his ears tinted red but as you turned with a “see you later, rin.” and a wink, you giggled as he rolls his eyes before trying to brush his hair back into place with a scoff “brat.”

☾ AKAASHI he’d grabbed you a coffee at the counter before he leaned over your body to place it down infront of you with a smile, you’d looked at him with a softer one in return “thank you keiji.” as you leaned in to give him a peck, admiring his gentle, unsuspecting expression before you crashed your lips back against his causing a surprised moan to fall from his lips but his mouth still seemed to move seamlessly against yours before he gently placed his hand on your shoulder as he pulled away, readjusting his glasses as he cleared his throat before looking around the cafe “uh, you’re welcome, love.” watching him slide into the seat opposite from you as his hand opened across the table for you to place yours on top, a smile and a small dusting of pink of his cheeks.

☾ SAKUSA he’d went to kiss you goodbye before he left for practice, his palm resting against your cheek gently as he leaned into give you a quick peck but his eyes widened almost comically when you grabbed his shirt and pulled him back, hands grabbing his curls as he whimpered into your mouth, his hand that was previously on your cheek moving to the back of your neck instead as his tongue messily slid along yours, chest pressed tightly against your body before he’s pulling away with shallow breathes as his half lidded eyes stared at yours, his cheeks flushed as he tsk’d before pulling on his mask hoping he could cover the growing redness, running a hand through his curls with a frustrated sigh “i’ll deal with you when i’m home.”

☾ ATSUMU youd walked him to the gym doors as he turned to give you a quick kiss as a goodbye that normally lingered a little longer than most, so you felt his lips stretch into a grin when you pulled him closer in favour of sliding your lips against his own, feeling your legs almost buckle as he groaned against you before pushing you against the wall in the hallway, words breathless as they’re exchanged between sloppy kisses “fuck angel, yer really pullin’ this before practice?” his hand hooking under your leg as he pulled it up around his waist, a moan coming from you as he brought his hand down on your thigh— a loud slap filling the silence as he moved to suck on your tongue with a loud groan and a raspy “so fuckin’ hot.” your hands tangling in his hair as his lips moved to your neck, sucking purple marks into the skin but you jumped when the gym doors slammed open “miya! in, now.” your eyes meeting iwaizumi’s cold glare at your boyfriend, a smirk on his now swollen lips as he left one last peck against your own “ya better watch me play extra good for ya, baby”

☾ IWAIZUMI you’d dropped him off at work, eyes trailing across his muscles as they bulged out his uniform, the colours looking amazing against his more tanned skin as he leaned over the centre console to give you a kiss goodbye. you grabbed his collar as your tongue swiped at his lower lip, a deep groan falling from his mouth as you swallowed it with your own moan— leaning over to meet him as he tried to grunt in protest but when his hands travelled to grab a handful of your ass you knew he was a goner. his free hand grabbing a fistful of your hair as he pulled at the roots, just hard enough for it not to hurt you too much as he bit at your lower lip before pulling away, his gaze dark and eyes narrowed but you only focused on the redness of his cheeks and neck, smirking at how wrecked he was over a kiss “shit, you better wait for me coming home, princess.” his deep, straight tone causing you to whimper, but you smirked watching him trip out the car before readjusting his sweats as he walked towards the gym.

— peep show | m.

pairing : hanamaki/reader

wordcount : 2.395

genre : fluff, smut, pwp

cw : established relationship

tags : voyeurism, reading doesn’t know she’s being watched but makki does????, oc roommate, daddy kink, squirting, riding, fingering, soft!makki, praise kink, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, overstimulation,

note : ive had this idea rattling around in my brain for ages. it’s got lit the BARE MINIMUM of plot it’s lit just pwp tbh so ENJOY

+ summary : makki overhears his roommate talking trash about how he can’t pleasure you, his girlfriend. so he puts on a little show to prove just how well he can treat you.

It started out with mumbled whispers in the spare bedroom. Makki was passing by, water bottle in hand as he made his way back to his own bedroom. 

The voice was familiar – the masculine tone of his roommate, Kensuke. If he had to guess he was on discord, chatting with some gaming buddies as usual. He was a nice enough guy, did what he was supposed to do in terms of pay rent and bills – that’s all Makki could really ask for. They had become roommates when Makki put out an ad and the rest was history. They were, by no means, friends and to be quite frank, they both liked it that way. 

And Makki wasn’t usually in the habit of eavesdropping but when he heard your name muffled through the wood, he paused. 

Pressing his ear against the door, he closed his eyes to block out all other external stimuli – focusing on the words being spoken by his roommate. 

“Yeah dude, Hanamaki’s girlfriend,” he muttered, “She’s a total babe, I don’t know how he managed to get her. She’s way out his league,” he was quite for a second before laughing, “Nah, she prances around in these little lounge shorts that just make her ass look great, trust me, it’s a sight.”

Makki rolled his eyes. Of course it would be that. He wasn’t insecure or worried about his roommates apparent attraction to you, no, he was pretty used to it. He knew you were pretty and, to be quite frank, it boosted his ego to hear how other men lost themselves over you. But Kensuke’s next words truly irked him and had him storming back to his bedroom with his jaw set in irritation.

“I can hear them bangin’ sometimes – like the bed moving and shit but she never makes any noise so he’s probably not even that good,” Kensuke laughs, “Anyone with eyes can see she’s too good for him – he can’t even get her to moan in bed, I feel kinda bad for him…poor guy. Anyway, let’s get this game goin’!”

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i'm SO laid back, i only care about like 3 things in the world:

my favorite fictional characters and music

every person on this earth and their opinion of me

the crushing psychological weight of being alive

𝚂𝙰𝙻𝚅𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽

a girl can only do so much when threatened to the edge. no sane person is willing to jump, but the alternative isn't any better, is it? my piece for the mythology collab from hqhq! ♡ i struggled a lot so if it is disjointed i do apologize. I wrote my love Iwa as TÝR (God of justice, war and the sun) because I really wanted to do a gods piece but I didn't want to go for the greek gods this time.

.wordc. 4.5k+ tw noncon, size kink (hajime is 7ft+ in this), degradation, master, power abuse, coercion, unrelated violence/blood, hairpulling, breeding, (1) tummy bulge

We begin in the dark and birth is the death of us— Antigone

Two ravens pass low over the rolling hills, as you pull your cloak closer around you. The thick layer of white hangs impatiently above the grain as the world prepares for sleep, your nose a bitten by the frost. You chew your lips only a second before pushing on. And though the night is plenty scary on it’s own, your heart beats violently against the curve of your ribs. It only serves to remind you how easily shattered bone is, and how soft your skin.

The fields make way for a looming, dark structure through the fog, seeming to crawl its way out of the earth with claws and teeth. There’s no doubt it must’ve looked majestic at one point in time, but dusk leaves the gold pillars with only a muddled sheen of glory, and winter has already gnawed at the foundations.

Cold shivers climb higher and higher up your spine as one of the ravens lands on the edge of the roof, making you stop right in place with held breath. To your slight relief, it only eyes you for a moment before flying off. Knowing one god will be watching you in there is more than enough pressure already.

By the time you get to the stairs, the bottom half of your clothes is damp and weathered, but at this point you have no choice but to give up on seeming high and mighty. You don’t have much to hide anymore. The towering building whines as you push at the door but gives in, and the door falls shut with an echoing noise. With a thick layer of dust that kicks up any time you take a step, your worry both lowers and grows a bit brighter. On one hand, it seems like he has abandoned his place of worship. But on he other— the worshippers have too, and gods don’t take too kindly to being forgotten.

With a deep breath, you crawl over a part of the cracked table, then kneel down to brush away some of the dust. There’s only a small prayer that rings through your mind as you take out a stone from your bag and trace the runes carved into the floor, then place down your candles in every cardinal direction and your offering. The last of your jewelry. “Please work,” you whisper to yourself, “I don’t have the time for this. We need your help.” The silence, thick and pressing, drags on for a few tense minutes, and your heart lurches into your throat as you wait. But it doesn’t come, nothing comes, and your eyes fly open again.

Ever so slowly, you can feel that childlike bit of hope extinguish inside you too. The gods might as well be dead. With a deep sigh you pick yourself up from your knees, moving a pebble with the tip of your shoe as you really let the soreness of your shoulders sink in. This must be what defeat is like. It only stings when you feel the cold metal of your family crest below your collarbones, looking around the place once more. Cobwebs cover most of the supporting beams and any precious jewels have already been pried out of the walls, so there’s not much to worship left anyway.

As you walk to look out the window at the purple evening sky, a soft noise rings in the back of your head though. Sounding almost like— burning. Turning on your heels, you stumble back so quick you almost trip. The candles are burning bright, a scorching blue flame cracking and snapping as the wicks are eaten up before your eyes. And with your hairs standing all the way up, you stay frozen in place for what feels like an eternity. Deep breaths, you remind yourself, deep, long breaths. You manage to calm down a little as you close your eyes.

“I suppose it’s nice that people still try to pray,” a deep, gravelly voice fills the temple, sounding both like a child’s whisper and a thunderstorm. It feels like an assault to your brain, and you’re so stunned for a few seconds that you forget to breathe. “But I’m not really the forgiving type.” You can only reach up to brush your hands at your ears, surprised that you’re not bleeding. It feels so warm and sharp, piercing through skin and bone. It’s only when you hear footsteps that you’re able to snap out of your daze enough to recognize that a voice belongs to a person, that you were alone and now you’re not. He walks around you to kneel at the flames, easily picking up the golden piece and paying you no mind.

As you try to understand any of what just happened, you loosen your grip on your clothes and frown, puffing your chest out just a little. You didn’t just go through the worst week of your life to get robbed again. “Hey, that’s not yours to take. Give it back,” you say, putting out your hand with a frown. “Who are you anyway?”

The man straightens up as you watch, following the flexing of his back and shoulders as they move the dark ink there. You only allow yourself to stare for a moment though. You swallow when he turns, suddenly noticing how much he really towers over you when you meet his eyes. He’s huge, at least a foot taller than any man you’ve ever seen and as muscular as the best of them too. There’s a slight twitch in his brow when his eyes drop to your outstretched hand, and you instantly feel laughable. Barely a pebble for this giant of a— whatever he is.

To your relief he doesn’t mention your call for discipline, and responds with that same bone piercing tone as he motions around. So distracting. “Where do you think you are right now?” The purposefully vague answer trickles down into your mind as he pockets the last of your valuables, lips dropping open.

Before you can get anything out of your gaping mouth, he cuts you off by lifting a hand. “Quiet, human. I’m not the cheery type, and I haven’t had any worthwhile offerings in quite some years. It’d be best to keep that in mind before you speak.” As he assesses the temple with a growing frown, you instead stare him down for a few seconds, letting your eyes run all over to really take him in.

Dark hair frames a handsome face, of someone who you’d guess to be a few years older than you— in normal situations. Sharp jaw and an iron expression, but the most beautiful warm, green eyes you’ve ever seen. Like spring, like the mossy hills of home. And the blades attached to his hip only solidify your thoughts. Týr.

You swallow as you take a few steps back, suddenly wanting nothing more than to turn and run all the way back home without stopping. Your situation nags at you as soon as you think it though, recognizing one sad truth. Your home is nothing more than a sad pile of ashes, you have nothing left to go back to. There’s nothing left to do other than bend down and pray for divine intervention anyway. Might as well.

“I need your help,” you start, and he doesn’t spare you a glance as he speaks.

“I am aware. You think I come down for any unlucky fool who breathes my name if they don’t have a reason?” For a few seconds you debate answering that in your head, but it wouldn’t do you much good. Not when all you have is snarky comments in return. “Don’t waste my time. Come on, out with it.”

“My village, and most of the other villages further inland have been run over with crusaders. They burned our houses, stole us dry, and now they’ve taken the men. They took my little brother and my sister’s infant son too.” Your heart aches at the thought of anything at all happening to them. “They took them— My people are dying out there while you sit back and wait, and I- I want them back. I need help.” You take one deep breath, your voice turning desperate. “I am asking you to help me,” you rephrase, feeling the nerves burn high on your cheeks. It doesn’t matter. This was your last resort. If not this, you’ll never see them again. You owe it to yourself to try.

Admittedly, he only chuckles once at your bold claim, finally turning back to you and letting his eyes glide over your -in comparison- feeble body. And your skin feels on fire as he does, burning through your veins. “And what am I supposed to do with that, little girl?” The taunting way he drags out the words makes your jaw clench, biting back some unsavory words. He might be entertaining you now, but you have no doubt that he’d find getting rid of you as difficult as breathing. Before you can answer, he seems to ripple at the edges right before he vanishes in thin air, landing behind you.

“Seems to me like you’re asking a whole lot and not offering me nearly enough in return.” The heat of his body near yours is enough to almost melt your resolve. You feel small around him, insignificant.

You focus your gaze on the flickering of the candles instead of his presence so close to you, almost enveloping you in his scent, and bite your lip. “I have nothing left to offer you.” He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe, or say anything at all, and it’s this that leaves you so vulnerable. Because he knows this, he must. And the only thing you have left- “My life? Is that what you want?” Your fingers are cold as you reach up to grab your necklace, clinging onto it. “My life for theirs then, that’s fair.”

A huff brushes over the skin of your neck. “You think I want your life? Your life means nothing to me,” he says, walking around you to push out the candles one by one. “You haven’t won any battles, no home, no glory. You have no legacy. You really don’t possess much of anything. I could give a rat’s ass about your life, what I want is repayment.”

“Well, whatever it is you want-” you snap, glaring at his back, “you’ll get. Anything I can give, I’ll give.” You wait intently for his reaction, looking at the swirling tattoos that seem to shine a deep red at this angle. He doesn’t move, and you can feel yourself get antsier by the second. “Whatever you need. Just get everyone that was taken home safely.”

There’s a strange ringing in your ears the longer you wait in the silence, but to your relief, he finally puts you out of your misery when he hums. A soft, gentle sound, it soothes your soul just a little. The tension finally ebbs out of you bit by bit.

“Good,” he grunts, straightening his arms above his head as he stands back to his full size. All the heavy looking charms and bands glint around his biceps in the last of the daylight as he flexes, before he turns and comes to stand in front of you, leaning down to meet you halfway. “You just had to say, little one.” His large hand comes to grab the necklace you’re still clinging to, trembling a little as you let go. This time, his mouth corners flick up the slightest bit as he raises an eyebrow.

“Well?” You blank a little at the closeness, watching the dark lashes and the pretty green sparkle in the dark, smelling his overwhelming scent and the glow of his skin near yours. When his eyes find yours your mouth drops open, and that’s all he needs. He kisses you, hard, taking your head and keeping you close. You’re so surprised you almost don’t react, but when you do, you stumble back and stare at him. Wide eyed. “What?” he frowns though, lifting a brow. “I told you I’m not easily amused by mortals. Deny me again, pet, and it won’t end well.”

“B-But,” you swallow, taking a step back, “I don’t- I didn’t-”

“You said anything. I have no use for you dead so you have to make yourself useful in other ways, don’t you?” As you think, his large hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you into his space again, forcing you to look up and kiss him again. And though he tastes good and his warmth travels all over your body, there’s something so heartbreaking about this. Of course that’s what you were offering him. “Not what you were expecting?” he questions, mouth attaching to your jaw, moving down the length of your neck. “Do you think I won’t treat you well?”

His strong hands find your thighs and already start pulling at the clothing there. He breathes deeply, one hand lowering to stroke the skin just above your center. And it’s this that makes you want to hide away from his touch, for more than one reason. You might’ve said anything— but you didn’t know this is what he meant. You didn’t— He rips part of your clothing aside so easily, exposing your belly and thigh. “Týr.”

“Call me Hajime,” he says, cocking an eyebrow as he looks down at you.

You let out a breath, and ball your hands. Who cares about a name right now, you don’t even want this. “Hajime.”

Before you can even get anything out, he grunts, adjusting himself and pulling your pants down more. “Quiet. Stop talking.” He wraps a strong, muscular arm around your body and brings his other hand down between your legs to rub up and down your tiny slit, forcing his fingers into your wetness. At the feeling you bite your lip, not that it stops the whimper. Two of his long fingers push in until he’s knuckle deep, his palm rubbing over your sensitive clit. “You’re tight.” You squeeze your eyes closed, trying to stay out of your head when he adds his lips again, nipping at your collarbone.

This is so fucked up. It’s messed up and you want to kick and scream, but you can’t make your body do anything at all. As he sucks painful bruises into your skin his fingers pump in and out, pulling a hiss from you when his teeth skim over the sensitive spots. His hands move faster until he can smoothly thrust his long fingers deep inside you. And though it does feel good, you already know it’s not enough when he pulls out and slips the digits into his mouth. You’re way too tense. But you don’t know how to start making that clear, because every time you try to talk he glares at you.

He quickly sheds his clothes and pulls off yours as you let him, desperate to change his mind somehow. But you did say anything you can give, and judging by his sharp focus there’s nothing that will get him out of it. He pulls you over to him and kisses you roughly, keeping you close. You suck your lip into your mouth when he lets go and lays down his heavy, fur coat, before he sits down and motions you closer. You hesitate, but he’s not so gentle when he frowns and pulls you toward him this time, making your knees buckle with the force. You swallow. “You made a deal, pretty one. You can’t back out.”

Your wrists have the marks where his fingers have dug into them earlier, and your nerves are killing you. But he’s right. Every new curve, every dip of his skin, every line and scar, exposed to you is painfully beautiful. If you weren’t so painfully unsure right now, you’d be starstruck. He admires your shape for a bit too, before his hand glides over his clothed cock. “Take that off too,” he orders, tilting his head back a bit. So you do, ridding yourself of clothing and being left in the chill of the room. He takes it and tosses it further away.

With a little whimper, you’re yanked on top of him with your knees either side of his strong thighs and your hands splayed out on his stomach. Everything is just so much bigger, it seems skewed in the worst way. His hard length is fully pressed against the inside of your leg where you’re sat, a feeling that makes you gasp. There’s no way he’ll fit. You try to explain that to him- or anything really, as he grabs your face and kisses you deeply, claiming your tongue with his own. When you pull back for air he’s already pulling you higher onto his waist, and the press of his cock between your legs is a shock to your system. So hot it stings, and huge.

“No, Hajime, I can’t. I can’t, it won’t fit,” you try, whining when he forces your hips to roll against his, only a thin piece of clothing left between you two. He lets out a little hum when you try to push off of him, failing miserably. Your one hand is forced down to where your bodies meet, and he grunts.

“And this, off. I’ll make it fit.” His hands get bruising on your hips, only watching as you fumble with the last bit of his clothing and get it out of the way, before he leads your hips to rub up and down his shaft. You’re checked out though, only able to hold yourself back a little and swallow down your hiccups each time the glistening head of his cock rubs against your sensitive clit. ‘Won’t fit,’ you cry again, and he frowns. “I told you I will make it fit, slut. You’re gushing down your thighs for me already,” he hisses, before lifting your hips and maneuvering you over him way too harshly.

He lines up and pushes inside painfully fast, forcing a few inches in and filling you to the hilt as you let out a choked moan. The stretch is so sharp and painful, your body clenching at the feeling. He’s so big. So, so big. The way he fills out your poor walls is almost too much for your body to handle, and you tear up instantly as he bottoms out. “Ah— ahh,” you squeak, ignoring how he paws at your tits and plays with your nipples. Luckily, he does give you a moment to get used to his size, but it’s still not enough to take away the grating feeling of the first few thrusts.

Ever so slowly, he leads your hips up and slides you down his shaft again. The friction makes your body shake and you can barely breathe, your hand finding support on his muscular arm. “Ah- w-no, need more time,” you try to bite through your tears, but he doesn’t care. He thrusts up into your wet walls, well aimed and relentless. And you sniffle and beg, but you both seem to know that you won’t do anything. Can’t do anything.

His thrusts are slow but way too deep, because you’ve barely been stretched and he’s hitting your walls so high in your belly you’re getting lightheaded. His fat cock twitches as he bottoms you out again, bulging your stomach and making you heave over. Your cheeks are wet when you close your eyes, letting him use your body as he pleases. And though the coarse hair at the base of his cock rubs against your clit

“Does that hurt, little one?” One hand reaching around to pull your head back by your hair, you whine and cry more, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth. “Hah, taking my cock so well. You wanted this, didn’t you? Little pet whoring herself out to a god of all things. You’ve got some -hng- nerve.” Each pump inside you is relentless, as if it’s pushing the air back out of your lungs. You’re gushing all over his lap, white ring forming at the base of his cock each time he forces you back down, with you barely hanging onto your sanity as he picks up the pace even more.

Thighs and balls slapping against you and a sheen of sweat covering your bodies, he grunts deep. “So pretty getting filled up by your master’s cock, look at you. S’ like you were made for this. Made to take my fat cock and get pumped full of cum like a little bitch in heat.” You just whine at his words, no longer able to respond. Your mouth is hung open, and he pushes himself up to pull your face to his and shove his tongue between your lips, humming into it. The wet paps of his cock bottoming out in you seem to echo. “That’s it, you’re my little bitch. Mine to ruin and abuse, right? Say it.”

“M’ yours,” you cry out, taking a few gasped breaths.

The precise thrusts get sloppier and faster the closer he gets to his orgasm, chasing his own with soft grunts and moans. And as his painfully tight grip on your ass gets even more bruising he gets closer and closer, pounding into you until you can feel his balls pull closer to you and his thighs tense. He doesn’t stop though, a choked moan of your name rolling from his lips for the first time tonight. “You’re all mine.” One of his huge hands comes to cup your bouncing breasts while his other comes to rub your clit.

The sharp sounds of your bodies meeting with each pump fills the room, and then, with a few sloppy thrusts, he shoots his hot, wet ropes of cum inside you. The building pressure in your stomach coils down when he moans loudly, the sound almost a song, and pushes you over the edge. You have to rely fully on him to carry you through your orgasm, because your legs give out entirely and you’re left a shaking, limp mess of a person. After a few seconds he allows you to collapse into his arms, cock still inside you while your head rests on his heaving chest.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, just lingering in the silence, before Hajime rolls you to the side and pulls out, wincing mutely at the over stimulation. He leaves you on the floor, but puts a thick, heavy coat over your naked body before he stands up, not that you have the ability to process it anyway. You don’t have the energy to move yourself, let alone care about much else besides the call for sleep and the ache between your legs.

“I’ll be back,” he only says, not bothering to clean you up, “wait here.” You’re too exhausted to comprehend his words, and fall asleep almost right away.

+

You wake up with a startle when something taps your foot, shooting back a little. It’s already bright out, eyes fluttering to adjust to the clarity of the sky outside the windows. You don’t feel rested at all, you’re cold and your joints feel so sore, but there’s a strange peace over your mind. One that another impatient kick to your foot disrupts very easily. “Come, little one.”

With a pout, your manage to squint up at him, only to fall completely silent as he reaches out a hand. He’s covered in thick coats of blood, on his arms, chest, thighs. It even got splattered on his face. There’s a gash in his eyebrow that you’re sure will scar at least a little, but he doesn’t look bothered. At the very least, not when he helps you up from the floor, placing the pendant in your free hand.

You’re very relieved to find that you’re already wearing your clothes again, and though you’re fairly certain you didn’t put them on yourself, you’re just glad not to be naked in front of him right now. Your legs are still extremely weak. But here’s a deep sense of responsibility that nags at you. “What happened? Are you— okay?” you start, and he barely moves to glance over his shoulder.

“It’s not my blood.” That’s not what you asked though. He must sense your upset, because he pulls you a bit closer by your wrist to lean down to you. This time it feels less patronizing and more like an offer of peace, meeting you halfway to brush his fingers under your jaw ever so softly. But still. “I’ll be alright, stop worrying.” He holds your chin a bit longer as he assesses you, before finally leaning in further before you manage to pull back.

In the light of day it’s even more apparent that the man before you isn’t like any other person you’ve seen before, from head to toe radiating an air of confidence and security that you can’t shake no matter how much you try. But you also can’t help but feel guilty being this close to him while he’s still covered in drying blood, sticking to your skin and tinting his hands. There’s nothing casual about what just happened, what you can only imagine took place. People have died for this.

People have died because of you. But the light, righteous way he goes about it is probably what you should’ve expected from a god. “Your life for theirs is what you said, right? There’s nothing that guarantees that they are happy with your sacrifice. I hope it was worth it.”

“It was.”

He sighs, irises catching the light with a glint as he straightens up before you, having you tilting your head all the way back. “If you regret your decision later on, don’t come blaming me. This was your promise, not mine.” He eyes you down, then runs his palm up your neck to your cheek. So easily able to hold and caress you. It’d be sweet if not for the way he had and fucked you last night, leaving you in tears. It’s not even an uphill battle anymore.

“And even if you do, you’re mine. You’re mine or nothing at all.” You’ve roped yourself into a lifetime of sacrifice for your family. All you can hope is that they’ll remember you for it. He leans down to kiss your forehead, before pulling you close to him. His lips also glide along your ear and lay a few kisses there, before he speaks. “If you try to run anywhere, I’ll snap that pretty neck of yours myself. That’s a promise, little one.”

Soft clouds of white still leave his lips with every exhale in the crisp air up so high, leaving you mentally wrecked when he pulls back. Despite everything pointing to his lack of humanity, there’s something so strangely, absolutely recognizable about him when he’s so close to you. His temper, lack of tact and the jealousy already burning under his skin are too familiar. Human, warm and real. Though you don’t illusion yourself relating to a god, of all things.

the comfort of not knowing

rindou never felt the need for love. not until he learned that he could get it from you. not until you became the very personification of such an abstract idea. suddenly, you are love—and he needs you in all of his days.

warnings: vulgar language. sex talk. alcohol use.

part two

rindou haitani had his fair share of girls before. don’t get him wrong—nothing was serious. they were mostly hookups and if not, just casual dates he did not want to be a part of but had to go anyway because his brother set him up. 

he did not mind the loneliness, really. he rarely even felt it. sure, he sees ran, sanzu, kakucho, and everyone else in bonten with their girls but they were all temporary. they come and go, most of the time faster than the seasons change. rindou never understood the need for it aside from momentary pleasure that would fade in seconds. he never felt the need to have those too if they were bound to end anyway. 

a waste of time, as he likes to call it.

Keep reading

purge me, purgatory

character: caleb warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pseudo-cest, noncon that turns into dubcon, a hint of dacryphilia, toxic masculinity, reader is a bit of a brat, size difference, manipulation, praise, caleb can get a little mean, nightmares, toxic relationship, power dynamics, pet names words: 5.3k

notes: i started working on this piece before caleb had even been released and i am SO glad i finally finished editing it. this also wasn’t supposed to be nearly as long as it became but alas, such is my curse (◞‸◟；) please heed the warnings above and stay safe!

You know Caleb has nightmares. You’ve seen the toll they take on him: exhaustion hanging heavy over hunched shoulders, staining sunken eyes with rings of purple, face twisted into a grimace as he collapses in the chair across the table from you, an untouched bowl of apple oatmeal steaming in front of him.

“Another one?” you’d always say, voice so kind and cautious, so wan and worried, bottom lip caught between your teeth muddling the question. 

“Yeah,” he’d always respond, dragging a hand down his face as if he’s trying to scrub the fatigue from his features. “But don’t worry about me, pipsqueak. I’m okay.” 

You know Caleb has nightmares—but they’ve never been as bad as this one. 

Because tonight, it wakes you from your slumber, roused gently from sleep’s embrace by the rough whimpers seeping through the thin drywall separating your bedroom from his. 

They sound painful, terrified little noises that keep catching on the uneven hitches of his breath or splintering sharply in his throat, unintelligible pleads sprinkled throughout, too muffled for you to make out the content and chopped up by hiccups.

A dull, dense pang sears through your heart at his yelped out No!, emotion growing thick in your throat and stinging your eyes. Fingers curling in linen, you hug your blanket to your chest, a feeble attempt to quell the ache.

There’s nothing worse than hearing your big brother—your one and only protector, always—in such intense agony. 

And it isn’t stopping. 

It’s too much to bear, your nose beginning to twitch with the threat of tears, and you kick your legs free from your duvet, bare feet hitting cold hardwood a moment later. 

“C-Caleb?” your timid voice soaks into the wood of his bedroom door, followed by a soft rap of knuckles. “Caleb, are you alright?” 

You’re met with a deafening silence, so thick you swear you can feel it weighing down on your chest, lungs crushed beneath the force, ears ringing with it.

“Caleb?” you press your ear flush to the door, eyes squeezed shut in concentration—the ruffling of sheets, the quiet groan of a bedspring, and then, a sniffle. 

Something cracks in your chest, splits itself open so big and so wide it has you hunching over in pain, shoulders curling inward as if your body is trying to keep from tearing apart, one hand flattened over your sternum, the other gripping the brass doorknob.

Another sniffle and the knob is turning, the door falling open, your body stumbling through the threshold. 

Your breathing is laboured, ragged and unevenly shoved from your lungs by a rapidly palpitating heart, a choked version of his name mangling itself in your throat.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, but his voice is thin, weak, fragile, fingertips thumbing aggressively at his eyes, flesh mopping up remnants of teardrops.

It’s a tone of voice that you’ve never heard before, a tone that turns your blood to shards of ice in your veins, a tone that has unease blooming at the base of your spine, crawling up the notches one by one. 

Because Caleb has never been afraid before; you’ve never seen Caleb afraid before. Out of the two of you, he’s always been the strong one, the brave one, the ‘I-can-and-I-will-take-on-anything’ one. He’s always been your guardian angel, your watchdog, your shield from all the bad and scary things in the world. 

You thought he always would be—it is what he promised, after all. 

But right now he looks so small surrounded by a crumpled sea of cotton, tufts of hair clinging to his sweat-drenched temples, muscles tense and rigid, like a predator ready to pounce at the slightest hint of danger.

It has you rushing towards him, falling into his waiting arms—trembling, but safe—and clutching at the collar of his worn t-shirt. Instinctively, your face nuzzles into the crook of his neck, cedar and peppermint streaming down your throat to fill your lungs with him. Your chest swells with his essence, held deep within your core, a natural sedative, your heart beginning to slow.

Home; your big brother will always smell like home. 

You allow yourself another moment to steep in his scent before you finally pull back to look at him, hands clasped tightly around his neck, fingers toying with the strands of hair at the nape of his neck—a nervous habit for you, a calming sensation for him.

“What happened?” 

“Nightmare,” he chuckles, but the word is shaky. “Pretty standard stuff. Nothin’ to be concerned about, pipsqueak.” 

And his facade of nonchalant is good, but it isn’t good enough to fool you.

Frenetic eyes search his face, noting the sheen of cold sweat glazing his skin, the salt that has dried his lashes in thick spikes, the panic swimming in violet irises, concern weighting the corners of your lips. 

“Caleb,” you begin slowly, “you woke me up.” 

His brow furrows, eyes narrowing slightly.

“I…Did? Has that ever happened before?” 

And that’s all it takes, really, to have Caleb switching into his Big Brother Mode, stern and straight to business, the need to know if he’s disrupted your precious sleep before much more important than the terror he was experiencing mere moments ago, as if your comfort matters more than his own. 

“No,” your fingers push into his hair and his head dips, a hum vibrating in his chest. “This one was bad. I can tell.” 

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, his neck curving more, his forehead nearly bumping against your collarbone.

“I’m worried it’ll come back the moment you close your eyes,” you admit, nails raking along his scalp, a shiver coursing through his body, following your ministrations. 

“How many times do I gotta tell you? You don’t need to worry about me.” 

And although it’s supposed to be a reprimand, it comes out soft, no heat to his voice as his head follows your touch, tilting to the side and allowing your fingers more room to move.

He has told you, many times before in many different tones, but that doesn’t mean you’ll ever actually listen. 

It isn’t your fault; you can’t help how much you care for him.

“Just because I don’t have to, doesn’t mean I won’t,” you huff out, a bite to your voice. “It doesn’t matter how many times you say it; it isn’t going to stop me from caring about you, so you might as well—”

He looks up suddenly, brows knitted and eyes hard. 

“Who’s the big brother here, huh?” violet scours your face, his gaze bright and sharp, searching for an answer. “Who’s job is it to take care of who?”

“It is our job to take care of each other,” you say, palms flattening to the sides of his head and inhibiting him from looking away. “It’s a joint effort, Caleb.” 

The hinges of his jaw flex beneath your touch, a forceful sigh flaring his nostrils, his shoulders deflating a little in your stark stubbornness. An argument is nipping at the tip of his tongue, desperate to pry past his lips and reassert authority, but his teeth clench, molars grinding together. 

“Why don’t I stay with you tonight?” you continue, thumb smoothing out that thick vein in his forehead. “Might make you feel better if you’re not alone—kind of like the way we used to make blanket forts in the living room during really bad thunderstorms.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that—” 

“Come on,” you whisper, brushing a strand of damp hair back from his temple. “Let your little sister take care of you for once, yeah?” 

“I’m fine—I’ll be fine—”

“You always say I make everything better, so…” you shrug, eyes searching his. “Let me make this better. Please.” 

The sincerity straining your voice is potent, so much so that he swears he can feel it surrounding him in a suffocating embrace, soaking into his skin and permeating his muscles with something dense and heavy. It weighs him down, roots him to your aura, immobilizing him physically and mentally, the sweetest poison.

Swallowing, he looks away from your piercing eyes.

“It’s not—”

“Caleb,” you whine out, petulant, his name dripping out stringy and thick through a pout. “What is with this reluctance to allow me to take care of you every once in a while? It’s not fair.” 

You sound like a fucking child, and for a moment Caleb is transported back to your shared youth, that telltale pout a lethal weapon he has encountered many times before, that telltale pout a lethal weapon he has yet to find a defence from, an antidote for.

And you, well, you know this—he knows you know this, your infamous brattiness finally making an appearance, usually a foolproof way to get what you want from him, even it if comes with a hefty dose of reprimand. 

Your gaze, glassy and hard, is framed by furrowed brows, nose scrunched up in typical distaste.

His stare searches your own, and you hold your expression open for him—so willing, so wanting—his own eyes darkening with something you can’t quite place. A shiver skitters up your spine, but you swallow against the unease, continuing. 

“I want to help,” you say. “Please.” 

It isn’t right—he doesn’t need your help, shouldn’t need your help, fated to the role of big brother and, by extension, Man of the House; if anything, it should always be him comforting you. 

Well, that, and the undeniable fact that having you in such close proximity—so intimate, sharing a bed after a nightmare—is tantalizing, and that makes it dangerous. 

But he doesn’t know how to say any of that, how to thread those thoughts into sentences and push them from his disinclined tongue.

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to. 

Either way, it doesn’t matter, because in the end you get your way, just like you always do—just like he always lets you. 

“Alright,” he finally says, the word nothing more than a defeated huff of breath. “Alright.”

Disappointment sinks hard and heavy in his chest, and Caleb bites his cheek, disgusted with himself. It’s stupid to feel such dismay; he should be used to this by now. Maybe he had hoped that this time, he would be strong enough to deny you. How utterly silly of him to believe he was capable of such a feat.

“Gosh,” you roll your eyes, playfully nudging his nose with your own. “Don’t sound so excited.”

But your amusement is not contagious, Caleb’s expression steadfastly dismal, your smile fading as your brow crinkles in confusion.

“Hush, now,” he says, but his voice is gentle, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “You need rest.” 

The numbers glowing on his nightstand indicate that yes, you do need rest, you both need rest, and you nod, allowing Caleb to manhandle the two of you beneath his blankets.

The delicate scent of warm toffee and fresh orchid engulf him, one of Caleb’s strong arms curled around your waist, slotting your back up against his chest.

“Sleep,” he instructs, the order rumbling his ribs, his voice low and gruff. “My little protector.” 

“Shut up,” you mumble, but your eyes slip shut. “You’ll be thanking me in the morning.”

But Caleb’s not so sure. 

Because despite your presence being warm and comforting and full of home, Caleb can’t fucking sleep. 

Because you are too fucking close. Abnormally close; inappropriately close, and it’s driving him up the Goddamn wall. 

He’s tried everything—first shuffling away a little, just to put a couple inches of space between your bodies; close enough for you to still feel his presence, and for him to still feel yours, but not too close to be considered indecorous. 

When that didn’t work, when your body sensed the loss and instinctually sought out his own, Caleb shoved himself so his back was pressed flush to the drywall—as far as he could possibly get without physically removing himself from the bed entirely—but that didn’t help, either. 

Because you’re like a little magnet, attracted to his body heat, burrowing through wrinkled sheets to glue yourself to his form as if it is natural, normal, entirely intuitive. 

Even in sleep, you’re greedy. 

Caleb supposes he’s even worse. 

Caleb could, realistically, turn away from you—present you with his sculpted back and protect his front from your unconscious attacks; or leave the bed entirely, opting to sleep on the too-small, too-scratchy sofa in the living room downstairs so he doesn’t have to worry about hands with minds of their owns—hands desperate to touch and grope and mark, hands that can’t keep to themselves. Caleb could wake you up and firmly insist that you go back to your own bed, exercising his Big Brother Authority and overruling any and all of your rebuttals and arguments—but he doesn’t, because he can’t. 

Because he’s fucking weak, weak to his own wicked whims, a slave to his sins, drowning in his own desire. It’s too good of an opportunity to give up, his deepest, darkest indulgences presented to him on a platinum platter, crafted by the devil himself. And Caleb isn’t strong enough to resist it’s enticing allure, ironclad willpower melted to sticky silver in the heat of your body, seeping from your flesh into his, poisoning his blood and his brain.

That’s what you do to him; you eat up his logic and spit it back out, mangled and gross, you consume his highly prized self respect and military-grade discipline and reduce him to something desperate and degenerate. 

And eventually, finally, his worst nightmare comes true. 

It’s stifling in his bed, the fabric of his t-shirt damp with sweat—yours, his, does it matter?—and plastered to his body. His tongue has turned to sand in his mouth, dry and grating and heavy. Swallowing does nothing to alleviate the discomfort, the action rough and sticky, the gummy walls of his throat sticking together with the motion.

Water would be nice, but there’s no way for Caleb to slip from your embrace—a thigh thrown over his hip, a palm pressed to his sternum—without ruining your peaceful slumber. 

And you do look oh-so-peaceful; so serene, so ethereal, so fucking breathtaking that it’d be a crime to spoil such a sight.

Moonbeams stream through the window, painting you in strokes of translucent silver. It catches on the beads of sweat adorning your neck, dewdrops that glitter with the steady throb of your jugular, and Caleb feels saliva begin to flood the underside of his tongue, thick and slimy. 

Sweat has water in it, doesn’t it? 

It happens before he even has a chance to think it through, a primal desire his body knew needed to be met, tongue unfurling from its cavern slow and sick to trace along that jagged pulse.

Your neck arches into his taste, offering him more—such a good little sister, you are—and he takes, a slave to temptation, tongue flattening against your flesh and licking one long, wide stripe from the notch of your collarbone to the hinge of your jaw.

It’s delicious, better than anything he could’ve ever imagined, and Caleb laps at you again, harder this time, rougher this time. 

Your essence, salty sweat and bitter perfume, explodes on his tastebuds, and something rattles, roars to life, deep within his chest. It ignites a hunger within him that cannot be sated— dark, desirous, depraved as it claws at his sternum, no matter how much he takes, it always wants more, his desperate attempt to feed it only working to make it more voracious.

It awakens the monster rooted at the core of his soul, a sordid creature borne of something illicit and sinister and wrong many years ago. It sparks the ever-simmering addiction kindling in his rotten, charred heart—a craving that flares higher, burns brighter with every passing second, leaving him intoxicated and stupid, drunk on your aura.

If he doesn’t cut it out he’s going to lick your skin raw—how many licks to get to your sugary sweet center?—your saccharine sweat staining his tongue. 

His mouth latches over your collarbone and sucks, tongue swirling around the knob as his teeth scrape, nipping superficially. Tiny tangles of capillaries snap beneath the force, violet flooding the tissues beneath the thin barrier of skin—and oh, how sweet your blood must taste, how shameful to have it trapped beneath your flesh. 

A soft moan vibrates in your throat as Caleb seals the mark with another heavy lave, pressing a singular kiss to the rapidly developing bruise. Pulling back slightly, violet eyes sweep across the mess he’s made of your flesh, fleeting marks that will fade much too quickly for his liking.

A callused thumb ghosts over the bloom, an involuntary whimper catching in his throat. 

“So pretty,” he breathes to himself, caressing the mark again. 

A delicate shiver quivers through your flesh, procured by his airy words, and Caleb coos, tongue washing over your skin again in a crude caress, his hot breath cool against the glaze of saliva he’s painted in its wake. 

“Y’like that?” he whispers, the question barely more than a wisp wafting over your soaked skin. “Y’want me to do it again?” 

You answer with the softest mewl and a groan rumbles his ribcage, his hips snuggling between your spread thighs, a dainty wheeze pressed from your chest as his weight bears down on you. 

His tongue lolls out from between his teeth, thick strings of drool dripping off the tip to drizzle along your neck, sopped up a mere moment later as the slick muscle rolls along your flesh, following the scrape of his front teeth. 

Another gentle tremble ripples through your form—such precious responses to your big brother’s mouth!—and he runs his teeth along the curve of your throat again, revelling in how such simple actions can pull such gorgeous reactions from you, entirely subconscious. 

That must mean you like it, right? Such responses clearly connote your enjoyment, don’t they? You ought to know, on some subconscious level, that it is your big brother doing this—that it is Caleb’s lips and Caleb’s tongue and Caleb’s spit, that it is Caleb that you are reacting to.

It’s impossible to quell the slow gyrating of his hips as he feasts on your flesh, aching cock grinding against your thigh in messy little circles, fully hard and tenting flannel. He can feel the small pool of pre-cum steadily garnishing the slit, leaking through his PJ pants to leave shimmering smears of his perverted pleasure along the silky skin of your inner thigh.

He’s getting greedy—he knows he is, but he just can’t seem to restrain himself, your essence too alluring to resist; a compulsion, uncontrollable and unquenchable.

He should stop before you wake to your big brother gnawing at your neck and humping your thigh; really, that’s what any good, decent big brother would do. Your rest is important, after all. 

He should do a lot of things.

But he doesn’t, because he can’t. 

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to. 

The sensations are overwhelming; something he’s spent several years denying himself, something he’s spent several years dreaming about—it doesn’t count if it’s just in his head, right?—and he finds himself drowning in it, embraced in the ecstasy.

“God, fuck,” he whimpers, curse cracking in his throat. “You feel so—so good.”

Forehead pressed into the crown of your head, his breath is sweltering and damp along your hairline, rough little moans spilling from his lips with each rut of his pelvis. 

“Y’so perfect for me, letting me use you like this,” he manages to gasp out, eyes squeezed shut, imagining how stunning you must look in the throes of pleasure; dazed eyes glazed with lust and rolling back in your skull, lips licked raw and mouth dropped open as the sweetest symphony plays on your tongue, spine bowing off his mattress as pure rapture climbs the notched vertebrae.

Oh, what he’d give to see such a sight, just once.

He wishes he could trick himself into thinking that a singular instance of experiencing such beauty would be enough to keep him from committing such a heinous act of indecency ever again, but he knows that isn’t true. 

Because already he wants more, gluttonous for your body, yearning to be buried in the warmth of your sweet little cunt; and he’s barely taken anything at all yet. Caleb can’t imagine what sort of creature this monster would evolve into under such circumstances. Too much is never enough. 

Caleb sure as hell can’t trick himself into believing such nonsense, but he sure as hell can trick you. 

He doesn’t realize you’ve awoken until he hears your tiny voice, muffled by his chest, fingers pressing into his tensing abs. 

“Cae—Caleb?” his hips stutter at the sudden sound—so quiet, so scared—his cock twitching against your leg. “What are you doing?”

“Shh,” he hushes you, body sliding down yours so he can search your face, so you can see the sincerity, the desperation, shining in his gaze, his cock pressed hot and hard against your core. “Just—” his hips roll once, a groan catching in his throat as his shaft is enveloped by your swollen lips, so easy to feel through the flimsy fabric of your pyjama shorts. “—Enjoy it.” 

“Wh-What?”

“Come on, just this once.” 

“Caleb,” you begin, and the fear in your voice, tinged with a sick sort of curiosity, has another moan clawing at the back of his tongue, hips rolling into yours slow and purposeful. “This isn’t right…” 

“No one has to know,” he slurs out, nuzzling his cheek against your temple in a crude form of comfort. “We keep so many secrets—what’s one more?”

“No, Caleb—” your hands furl into fists, pushing into lean muscle, and a dark, decadent sound of amusement drips from Caleb’s lips. Oh, how pathetically precious the you think you could ever shove him off. 

But your squirming is beginning to annoy him, that telltale aggression building in his chest—an anger only you seem to evoke, especially when you’re being uncooperative—and he snarls, pulling back a little to fix you with an unimpressed look, his hips pinning you to his bed. 

“Tell me it doesn’t feel good,” he glares at you, his words a cross between a growl and a whine, and it’s hard to tell if it’s a demand or a plead. “Go on, fucking tell me. Say ‘it doesn’t feel good, Caleb. Your cock doesn’t feel good, Caleb’. Come on.” 

Your lids clamp shut in the face of his intense, invasive stare, tears blossoming along the seam of your lashes, a pitiful squeak catching in your throat as your head shakes.

“No? Why not?” A hand wreathes itself around your jaw, blunt nails biting into your cheeks, the pain causing your eyes to spring open. “Is it because you can’t?” 

The question has that same taunting tone he’s used since you were kids—that infuriatingly blasé I’m-better-than-you cadence, the one that proclaims that you’re stupid and he’s superior, that he always wins—and a fierce flame of determination ignites within your ribs, eyes hardened and teeth barred. 

“It—It doesn’t feel—Oh, oh, Cae—”

And you’re trying, trying so desperately to force those words from your tongue, to spit them from your lips and devour the smugness glinting in his eyes, but then he’s moving again, the slick head of his cock rubbing over your clit in precise movements—back and forth, back and forth. 

That isn’t fair, but when has Caleb ever played fair, really?

He’s got you completely trapped beneath his body now, his knees digging into the mattress as he shifts his weight, forcing your thighs open wider.

“What was that? I didn’t quite catch it.” 

“I—It’s not—It doesn’t—” A mewl of frustration slices your sentence, chased by a groan of defeat. 

“C’mon, angel, spit it out already if it doesn’t feel good.” 

Squinting in the face of his mocking stare, you steel yourself, throat rippling with a thick swallow of resolve. 

“We shouldn’t—” The sentence splinters with a whine, your words pulled taught between virtue and desire. 

Tears cloud your eyes, rendering Caleb nothing more than a shimmering blur, and you blink rapidly in an attempt to clear them, tiny droplets caught by your lashes. 

“You’re a terrible liar, y’know that?” he breathes, the question damp on the shell of your ear. “I can feel how turned on you are, silly little girl.” 

His hips rock forward once in accentuation, the movement slow and purposeful, as if to prove a point. His clothed cock glides over your drenched cunt with ease and the head strokes your swollen clit again, another torrent of heat rushing to the apex of your thighs. 

“And you know what this tells me?” his voice drops to a whisper. “It tells me you like it.”

Pins of humiliation erupt across your cheeks, tingling heat flooding your face. A soft sob stutters your chest, head shaking in weak denial—a denial that you like it, or simply a denial that this isn’t moral, neither of you can be sure.

“Besides, don’t you wanna take my mind off that stupid nightmare?” His voice drops an octave, deep and devious, chills skittering across your skin. “This—” he rolls his hips once in emphasis, “this will help.” 

“Cae…” 

And he can hear it; can hear the internal struggle reflected in your voice, a tug-of-war between the need to please and the obligation to do what’s right.

“Come on, be a good little sister for me—you said you wanted to make me feel better, right? This will make me feel better. This will make me forget all about it.” 

This will bring him to the crest of bliss, the closest to Heaven he’s sure he’ll ever get. 

“I…I don’t—” 

“Why can’t you just enjoy it with me, huh?” Caleb murmurs, dragging the words along your jaw then planting a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Give in to it. Just this once.”

It doesn’t take much coaxing before you’re nodding into his neck, body gone slack beneath his own; you’ve always been so easy for him, so eager to obey even with venom in your mouth and fire in your eyes. Caleb supposes that’s just a big brother’s influence. 

Because no matter how much you retaliate, how much you taunt and tease him, you have always wanted to be his good little girl. Praise from Caleb is sacred, precious, and rarely doled out. It must be savoured, protected, cherished. 

And so you allow your big brother to find comfort in you, in the warmth of your body, in the melody of your moans, praying that this short-lived ecstasy will be enough to cleanse his mind of its nightmares.

“There’s my good girl,” he hums, pleasant and triumphant, the reverence sealed with a chaste kiss to the edge of your hairline. 

Then he’s pulling away and sitting back on his heels, an arrogant little smirk materializing on his lips at the discontented whine that sounds at the back of your throat. Violet stares down at you with such passion it nearly burns, his callused palms pushing your knees open wider, following the V of your thighs until finally, finally, he reaches the apex. 

“Fucking Christ.”

Drenched silk outlines the contours of your cunt—No undies, huh? How naughty—and Caleb reaches out, tracing the shape, pointer finger ghosting over every bump and dip and curve. 

“Gorgeous,” he breathes to himself, gaze hungry and unblinking, enchanted by your body—enraptured by your arousal, captivated by your reactions; the way every graze of his fingertip sends a delicate wave of pleasure tremoring through your flesh; the way his touch makes your lashes dither, unsure if they want to stay open or snap shut. “Let me see it.”

Potent lust leaves his voice husky, and while his sentence is a statement, it comes out as a plead—desperate, desirous. 

Vying fingers pull your sleep shorts aside to reveal your glistening cunt, a whine vibrating deep in the back of his throat. Chest heaving with yearning, his trance stays unbroken, his mouth parted and his tongue pulsing with each of his heavy breaths. 

For a moment everything is still, silent, Caleb revelling in the radiance of your body.

Then something snaps, the final thread of thin resistance broken, and he’s surging forward, teeth catching on your upper lip as his mouth collides with yours, procuring the prettiest little yelp to crack in your chest. He swallows it down greedily, tongue breaking through the barriers of lips and teeth to lavish your mouth in his spit. 

His hips are moving again, shoved snug between your spread thighs, sharp hipbones carving bruises into supple flesh. Each forceful roll of his pelvis has his cockhead catching on your hole—so close, so close—a vicious shudder coursing through his form.

And he can feel it, he can feel your cunt through the thin flannel of his pyjamas—teasing him, taunting him, tempting him, each gentle contraction begging for him to stuff it full—another groan rattling from his mouth into yours. 

It’s all simultaneously too much and not enough, the soft breaths of his name exhaled hot and heavy onto his waiting tongue and the eager fluttering of your cunt desperate to suck him in and the nails scrabbling at the back his neck and—and Caleb feels like he’s going to burst out of his fucking skin, flesh starting to split at the seams, if he doesn’t get more, now. 

He’s hardly aware of what he’s doing, moving on pure instinct as a hand snakes between your bodies and paws at the waistband of his pants, the heel of his palm pushing it down just enough to free his aching cock.

A faint Caleb, no, wait! tugs at the back of his consciousness, blotted out by sheer lust as his palm wraps around the base of his cock, head bumping purposefully against your hole. 

The cry that shatters in your throat as he shoves himself into your cunt is nothing short of gorgeous, his own responding whine straining his throat. One quick, hard thrust to bury himself to the hilt is all it takes before his cock is throbbing, filling you with copious amounts of cum—so much, too much, and Christ, when has he ever cum like this?

It’s so intense that it has his whole body tensing, pleasure whiting his vision and wiping his mind and all he can smell, feel, taste is you, you, you—toffee and orchid shooting straight to his brain, your body knotted with his, hips rocking up in desperate little movements as you try to fuck yourself on his spent cock, your sounds of pleasure sweet on his tongue and he licks into your mouth, starved for more. 

“Caleb, Caleb, Caleb!” 

“M’here, baby,” he slurs against your mouth, rubbing his lips into yours. “M’here, come on, make a mess for me.” 

He isn’t even sure you cum—something he’ll berate himself for in the morning—but in the moment it doesn’t even matter, his brain so poisoned by the pleasure that it’s turned to a pulsating mush, intoxication flooding his veins as he submerges himself in you. His hips stutter as his cock twitches with those last few ribbons of cream, almost as if he’s trying to fuck his seed deeper into you, before his trembling muscles finally give out, Caleb collapsing on top of you. 

“God,” he gasps out, lips moving against the crown of your head. “Th-Thank you.” 

The gratitude is punctuated by a kiss to your hair, his breath hot and erratic on your scalp. 

“Thank you,” he says again, a singular arm twined around your waist as he manhandles you both onto your sides, your body cradled close to his chest.

And for the first time in a long time, Caleb falls into a peaceful sleep.