ᯓ★ ONCE UPON A FUCK ME !? — Kinktober 2024 !

he might be the love of my life

MEOWWW I LOVE IT

cybergirl

hamzahthefantastic x reader (fic)

1.0

[part 2]

summary: hamzah’s a horny freak and you’re the lucky camgirl who gets to entertain him.

contains: smut with plot, essentially

wc: 2.1k-ish

~

It's that time of the night where Hamzah has finally completed all his daily tasks and he feels a familiar twitch in his pants. As an adolescent he never understood what people meant by "thinking with your dick," but that was before he had access to myriads of internet porn at the press of a button.

It was a fateful day when he masturbated for the first time. What was once just a pee stick attached to his body suddenly became so much more after stumbling upon his dad's porn magazine collection in the garage. That year was full of mysterious viruses on the family computer that seemed to appear from thin air and lots of trips to his friend's houses to share his findings.

Of course, there was the eventual graduation from magazines to videos to now, God's greatest act since turning water to wine: OnlyFans.

This time, he did not simply stumble upon such a vice. Instead, he was introduced to it through a time of desperation. Covid was at its peak and quarantine was doing a number on his mental state. Or, perhaps that's just what he tells himself to excuse what he did next.

He went to one of the many models he followed on Instagram and clicked the link in their bio.

It was all too enticing, too easy. A simple hop, skip, and entering of credit card information later and he was in—subscribed. This was the first taste of a delicious new drug he would no longer be able to live without. From then on, an addictive part of his personality would take over and he'd constantly want more, more, more.

No one knew about his dirty little secrets in the taboo corner of the internet where he could explore his greatest fantasies. He wasn't a virgin anymore, but a sexual deviant with a very bad spending habit. He'd learn more about himself in this time than any amount of puberty and social interaction could have ever made clear to him in his lifetime.

And that all brings him to the current time, 11:03 p.m. on a Wednesday night, alone as per usual. The saddest part was, the porn made him feel a little bit less lonely in the onset of isolation he was experiencing since his detachment to the world. The throbbing in his pants held a dull ache as he disrobed and laid in bed in only his boxers. He pried his laptop open and typed in his favorite web address, the gateway to his favorite girl in the whole world.

You were the perfect woman in Hamzah's eyes. You'd do anything for the right amount of pay, somehow keeping the mystique surrounding you prevalent and consistently having him crawling back for more. You had fuck me eyes and blowjob lips. And last, but certainly not least, the most mouth-watering pair of tits.

Though Hamzah thoroughly enjoyed these physical aspects of you, he also felt a deeper connection with you. There was something about you that caught his attention, made him unable to focus on anyone else. He'd often find himself daydreaming about you; thinking of your grocery list while at the supermarket and unholy things you could do to him when passing the neighborhood church on walks. He was enamored by your whole being.

He opened up Zoom and went to your usual meeting room, waiting for you whilst nearly bursting through the cloth of his boxers. You were always a little late, and even though he'd been paying for these sessions for a couple months now, he couldn't bring himself to care. You could keep him waiting until the daylight and he was sure he'd still be sitting in front of the camera awaiting your entrance, having a part in his own torture as he refused to please himself until you got there.

When the notification finally sounded that you had joined, it was 13 minutes past your initial meeting time of 11:05.

"Hi, Hamzah," your sweet voice rang, "were you a good boy for me?"

"Yes." He quickly nodded, his eyes unable to separate from your cleavage.

You teasingly pouted and crossed your arms, pushing your breasts up in the process. "You're never naughty... always trying to please me, hm?"

"Always," he breathed out.

"But I want to please you, too," you whispered.

You moved your laptop camera to expose the length of your body, fully bedecked in lilac-colored lingerie atop silky bedsheets. Hamzah's hand instantly reached to grab himself with a whine.

"So eager," you giggled. Your fingernails trailed down your sternum, tracing the bow on the center of your bra. "I love how you react to me."

"I'm already so hard," he said through a grunt.

"Show me," you ordered.

Hamzah hastily pulled his boxers off, freeing his erection from its confines. He spat into his palm and gripped his shaft, lips parted.

"I wish that was my hand," you sighed, eyeing the imagery unfolding in front of you. "Don't you?"

"I do," he replied with no regard as to how desperate he sounded. It just fueled the fire in his belly. "I nearly fucked a hole in my hand yesterday thinking about you."

"What were you thinking of?" you questioned, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you unclasped your bra and slid the straps down your arms. Hamzah watched in amazement, the friction of his hand making him speechless. "Was I blowing you? Riding you?"

"In the shower," he panted. "Your face pressed against the tiles—shit—while I fucked you from behind."

You hummed, pinching your nipples for a moment before your hand trailed further down, "all wet for you?"

"Soaked," he said, tossing his head back on the wall but keeping his eyes on you. "S-Screaming my name."

"Hamzah," you teased, "such a dirty mouth on you."

"Say my name again," he pleaded.

"Hamzah," you melodically repeated. "You're not gonna last long if you don't slow down."

He whined, knowing you were right. "So good...don't wanna stop."

"I know, baby," you murmured, running your fingertips over your wetness, "but don't you want to take your time with me?"

He watched as you slipped one finger in, then another, shielded by the fabric of your panties. He grunted in frustration, fisting his dick harder.

"Let me see you, please," he begged like the sight pained him, running his other hand through his disorderly curls.

You obliged, standing from the bed and turning so your ass was in the camera frame. You slowly pulled the laced bands down your hips, bending over as they fell down your legs and pooled at your ankles. Hamzah's breaths quickened as you kicked them to the ground, fully exposed to the camera.

"Fuck," he cursed, desperately reaching for his laptop to pull it closer and get a better view of you. "You're so..."

You crawled back onto the bed and parted your legs so you were out in the open for him, pussy glistening with your desire. Your fingers retraced their destined path as you reached down and spread your folds. He watched with hungry eyes.

"I'd kill to get a taste of you." He panted between his words.

You giggled and slipped teasing fingers in and out, never all the way. "Tell me how you want it, angel."

He moaned louder at the pet name. "All fours, p-please."

You flipped onto your knees, arching your back so your chest was touching the bed and you were looking over your shoulder at him.

"Touch yourself," he demanded.

Your cheek pressed on the mattress as you sunk your fingers deep within yourself, adding a third to fill you to the brim. Your mouth fell agape. The room filled with slapping sounds as you and Hamzah pumped your hands simultaneously.

"My god," he puffed out, his bare chest reddening with the fervor of his movements. "Just like that."

"So tight," you whimpered, feeling yourself clench around your fingers. "I'm dripping for you."

"I can almost f-feel you," he groaned as he pictured himself inside of you. "Fuck, the things I'd do to you..."

"Yeah?" You egged him on, getting restless. "Would you pound into me? Stretching me more than my fingers ever could?"

"Until you're bruised and sore," he promised breathlessly.

His hips began to lift from the bed as he fucked into his left hand, steadying himself on his right forearm. It was impossible for him to lift his jaw closed with the way he felt, his eyes nearly rolling back into the back of his head. Your free hand groped your breasts as your skin burned from his words.

"Are you close, Hamzah?" you asked, familiar with his signs. "Don't you dare cum yet, baby."

"I'm trying," he said through gritted teeth. "I never last long when you're l-like that."

"I love it," you gasped as shocks of electricity coursed through your veins. "Such a mess, all because of me."

"'Cause of you," he echoed, incapable of forming his own thoughts from the pleasure.

The both of your moans filled the air, pushing each other closer to completion. Hamzah's quivering voice, ever so expressive, shouted expletives as he slowly came undone. The pain in your neck went ignored as you took in the pathetic state of him, cumming into his fist and all over himself. His eyes were screwed up as his hips jolted in unison with every spurt of white that left his glossy tip.

Your climax took place soon after he came back down from the clouds, allowing him to watch as your thighs were saturated with your own arousal. He tirelessly pumped his shaft, wanting to ride out every last bit of satisfaction he could from you calling out his name. When your eyes opened and saw him, you shook your hips side to side, letting him ogle you a little longer.

You crashed to the bed and brought the laptop up so you could observe the way he cleaned himself up with a tissue from his nightstand. Your chests rose up and down, trying to oxygenate your lungs after being so breathless for so long. His happy trail was dampened, lying flat against his skin as he swiped away the last bits of moisture from his stomach.

Silently, you rose with trembling legs to grab the closest cloth to clean up your own mess. When you began wiping your inner thighs with your bunched up panties, Hamzah groaned. You bit your lip and bent over to shake your ass, your reddened pussy on display.

"Is it bad I wanted to lick my screen?" he exhaled as you sat back down, not bothering to put any clothes on.

"Stop," you giggled.

"Mail them to me."

"What?" You were still trying to catch your breath.

"Your...panties." The word sounded more obscene leaving his lips.

"I'll have to wash them first—"

"No." He shook his head, resting his hands on his sweaty torso. "Just send them."

"You're filthy," you gasped, grabbing the moisture-laden garment up from the carpet and holding it up. "What do you want them for?"

His cheeks suddenly flushed and you smirked, twirling the lace in your fingers. "You know."

A lazy smile spread across his face as he leaned his head to rest on his bicep, exhaustion beginning to hit him. It was a really fucked up ego boost—having him so obsessed with you—but up until then you’d never actually felt the rhythm of your heartbeat falter from his words. He didn’t know his words affected you that much, and even less did he know that he was the only client you actually managed to orgasm with.

“Five hundred.”

“Dollars?” Your brows shot up.

“No, pesos,” he joked, eyes half-lidded.

“Do you know the things I’ve done for that kinda money?”

“I don’t care.” He shrugged.

Behind a screen, he was different. Something like an alter ego would be unleashed, an audacious character he certainly didn’t behave like in public spaces. He didn’t have to worry about being found out because of his digital anonymity (as anonymous as you can be with your whole face and dick out). In the real world he was an introverted loner, but here, in the darkness of his room with only the LCD screen illuminating his figure, he was free to act as he pleased.

Besides, in the presence of you, he was basically a saint.

“Okay,” you finally said.

“Okay?”

“I’ll send them over.”

“Can’t wait.” There was a twinkle in his eyes from the acceptance of his offer.

“Try not to look so smug, angel.”

The call ended abruptly and as the light in front of him dimmed, he realized he was getting hard again in anticipation of receiving the parcel.

~

a/n: i’m realizing i can just post whatever i want on here so here’s this lil idea ive been hiding away for a while!! hope u enjoyed freaks <3

phil’s first s’more

I need s'more Dan and Phil please.

Also I’m so hyped about Interactive Introverts next week.

@danielhowell @amazingphil

This was 365 days in the making! What a year, guys.

(x)

so good god i love this series

HIGH & DRY | PT 3

you and hamzah stop tiptoeing around your situation, but fail to be careful about it. read parts one and two here

“we’ll only be twenty minutes or so,” martin says, grabbing the grocery list that’s scrawled with numerous ingredients in hamzah’s messy handwriting - the aftermath of your brainstorming while trying to decide what to cook for dinner.

“thirty,” mandy mutters, tying her shoes by the front door. “depending on traffic.”

hamzah just lifts a hand in a lazy wave from his seat beside you on the couch. “uh-huh. have fun.”

the door shuts. there’s a second of silence, before you hear the inevitable flick of a lighter. hamzah’s already pulling a blunt from his hoodie pocket.

“dude,” you laugh, leaning your head back. “did you seriously bring that over here?”

“i bring one everywhere,” he shrugs, lighting up.

you sigh. martin and mandy’s house is too pure for this.

you glance at their cat trees, the water bowls and pet beds. the matching throw blankets draped across the couch. the floral candle that’s lit on the TV stand, soon to be overthrown by the skunky aroma of weed.

the smell hits immediately - earthy and potent, curling into the clean air like it couldn’t care less about how domestic everything looks.

he takes a drag. passes it. you inhale and exhale. it’s a routine.

silence stretches for a few seconds while the two of you get comfortably high. a buzz blankets over you both - making the room feel warmer and the space between your bodies more charged with some sort of hazy energy.

now you're both slouched on their couch, staring up at the ceiling, legs touching. the blunt's halfway done and the living room feels like you hotboxed it with intention.

hamzah exhales slow, watching the smoke swirl above you. he gets your attention with a lazy nudge of your thigh.

you turn your head. “hmm?”

his eyes are already red. his lips are pink and shiny, a stark contrast to the gray plumes of smoke pouring from them.

“we should just fuck for real.” he sighs out.

you laugh, not even phased by his bluntness. “we did, though. even when you kept saying it didn’t count.”

he makes a face. “yeah, but like, for real.” he repeats, like it’ll change anything about what he said.

you snort, choking a little on smoke. “dude, c’mon.”

he shrugs. “m’just sayin.”

you pause, holding the blunt between your fingers. “so - what, you just wanna do it without feelin’ weird? cause it’s official?”

“uh-huh.” he reaches for the blunt, snatching it from your grasp. “pretty much.”

“really?”

hamzah shrugs again, stoned and shameless. “yeah, really. what don’t you get?” he teases. “you’re my best friend. and i’m askin’ you to fuck.”

you lips tug into a small grin. “so romantic.”

“you’re fallin’ for it, so.. yeah.”

you can’t argue. not when his hand is now sliding up your thigh, and you already know where this is going.

the blunt’s nothing but a memory now - burnt out and forgotten in a dish on the coffee table.

your shirt's pushed up. his hoodie's halfway off. your shorts are on the floor. his sweats are shoved just low enough.

and he's pulling your underwear to the side while mumbling, "don’t even take ‘em off.”

his hips are already slotted between your thighs, his frame hovering over you while the two of you try to remember how to breathe.

hamzah’s cock presses against your entrance, and everything’s so warm. you’re already soaked from how long this exact moment has plagued your mind.

“wait- wait, you good?” he mumbles, voice raspy and a little too stoned.

you nod, eyes barely open. “mhm.”

“okay. cool. that’s.. yeah. cool.”

he pushes in slowly.

you both let out matching, low groans as he sinks in - inch by inch, careful but not gentle. you’re high enough to feel everything, and he’s high enough to start twitching before he’s even fully in.

“oh, shit,” he murmurs, a million thoughts rushing through his mind. he’s not sure which ones he should vocalize. “oh my god, uh, you feel - fuck, you’re so..”

“shut up.” your voice is already shaky, your cheeks are deeply flushed and burning hot.

he bottoms out and stays there for a second - just looking at you. the way you stretch around him. the way your lips part like you’re trying to find words that don’t exist.

he drags his palm up your side, watching his hand spread across your ribs, his thumb swiping the edge of your bra.

“you’re pretty.”

you laugh, turning your head into the couch cushion. “oh, my god. you’re really high.”

he just grins. “you’re still pretty.”

his hips pull back slightly before he pushes in again - slow, lazy, way too deep. you choke on a moan, legs falling wider open around him without meaning to.

“fuck,” you breathe out, completely exasperated.

he groans lowly, his head dropping into the crook of your neck. “this position’s so unfair,” he mumbles. “i can see everything.”

you slap his arm. “stop narrating. you’re so weird.”

“can’t help it,” he pants, pulling out and rocking back in. “you just look so- i don’t know. fuck.”

you wrap your arms around his neck without any hesitancy, your hands buried in his hoodie as he starts fucking you. it’s slow and heavy and so warm that it makes your vision blur.

it’s gross. it’s sticky. it’s so high.

you both keep giggling under your breath every time you moan. like it's funny how good it feels. like it's silly that you're doing this in martin and mandy’s living room, of all places.

“shit, hamzah-” you pant. “you’re so deep.”

"yeah?" he pulls back to smirk at you. “told you m’good at this.”

his hips pick up this slow, sloppy rhythm. he’s not even trying to fuck you hard, he just wants to feel you all the way. his cock hits the deepest part of you over and over until your back arches off the couch and you’re gasping into his hoodie.

"shit," he mutters. "feels really good."

the couch squeaks beneath you. the armrest digs into your back. one of the throw pillows hits the floor.

it’s slow, drugged-up sex that burns in your belly and lingers under your skin. his hips flex under you with just enough rhythm to keep you gasping. sweat beads at your temple. your body is burning hot.

"we’re actually the worst," you choke out. "we’re on mandy’s fuckin’ fancy-ass couch."

“yeah, and you’re making a mess on it,” he mumbles, voice so low you feel it in your chest. “you’re fucking dripping.”

you slap him again, weakly. “don’t say shit like that.”

he laughs into your neck, breath hot and shaky. “you love it.”

you do.

hamzah groans and buries his face in your neck, his hands gripping under your thighs and pulling them up higher until your knees are damn near to your chest.

you’re folded. split open. wrapped around him in a mess of limbs and heat.

your whole body is buzzing, mouth open, barely breathing - just taking it. letting him fuck you deep and slow and so intimately it makes your stomach twist.

his hand slips between your legs without warning. two fingers rub over your clit, and your head jerks back against the armrest with a choked whine.

you cover your mouth with your palm. he hates it.

he grabs your wrist and pins it to the cushion beside your head. “don’t,” he murmurs, thrusting again. “wanna hear you.”

you moan involuntarily - not loud, but broken. he laughs a little, totally breathless. you laugh too.

he holds your gaze while he fucks you - cock disappearing inside you with every thrust, your thighs trembling, his hoodie damp with sweat where your hands are still grabbing at him.

“stay still,” he pleads, sensing through his drug-hazed mind that you’re both close to losing all sense of composure. “just let me - fuck - let me watch you cum.”

you nod, shaking, jaw slack as he rocks into you again. your limbs feel loose, your thoughts melting into heat and haze. you’re both moaning now, messy and uncoordinated.

the sound of your bodies pounding into the couch is obscene. you think you could cum just from the weight of him on top of you, the way he keeps whispering “just like that, good girl, fuck - that’s it-”

you’re right there. so fucking close - and the door opens.

you hear it.

hamzah doesn’t.

not until the grocery bags hit the floor.

“what the- what the fuck?!” martin yells. hamzah freezes, still fully inside you.

you’re under him, arms gripping his back, legs around his waist. the whole couch is creaking and the house reeks of weed and sex.

your eyes snap to the door. mandy’s standing there, staring, mouth open, one hand still clutching her car keys.

martin’s just pointing. “you.. in my house? on my couch?!”

“my couch.” mandy corrects him, sounding much less shocked than martin.

you slap your hands over your face with a groan. “oh, my god-”

“are you-” martin’s voice cracks mid-sentence. “hamzah! you’re literally still- why are you still moving?”

“m’not,” hamzah lies pathetically, his mind too stoned and his body too needy for his own good.

you grab the throw blanket and yank it over your face and chest, your legs still tangled under him, entire body humming with leftover pleasure and absolute shame.

mandy, still frozen, mutters, “i knew it.”

martin stares at her. “you knew?”

“it was obvious. i told you, martin. phone call? the way she was out of breath and hung up out of nowhere?”

martin groans, annoyed by how right she is.

“this is so much worse than what i saw last time.” he huffs.

“can’t believe you fully caught them first and still didn’t figure it out,” mandy says, exasperated, still eyeing you two like a car crash in her living room that she can’t look away from. “i told you they’re hooking up.”

“we aren’t!” you yell from under the blanket.

“you are right now!” martin nearly screams, completely overwhelmed.

another stretch of silence.

then hamzah - who’s still flushed, still high, still inside you - sheepishly asks, “..we still get dinner though, right?”

a/n: happy 4/20 guys ayyy

xoxo giulia

taglist: @gulicore @slushedup @arroganceisherfavoritecolor @layzerzlovesu46 @babysitter19 @marixoa @starjely @viennawaiits @a1exaaaa @freakzah444 @anginluv @gabwilliams @sturniyolo @screamertannie @brlwla @yourstrulykiya @thefantastickid @hamzaholic @divinesturn @forestlv4r @mayapuma20 @ottakugirl @hamzahsbestone @pulcen @rustnroll @venus-planetof-love @nickmillersn1gf @rock678 @wandas-lovey @guiltyfemcel @axetheboyboss @harrys0nlyange1 @ttlynotme

special mention for @isathefantastic who convinced me to take a break from my break .. ౨ৎ

toge inumaki // fic recommendations

note: remember to read the tags! + i do not own any of these works

salmon!

dog-gone it.

intimacy is subjective

the sky, the sun, getting beat up by inumaki

bitter eclipse

puppy love

tongue-tied

be not afraid of my body

sweet dreams and other cursed demands

i leave you

come

our hands

the sun will rise again

1999

transatlanticism

my home is where your heart is

i know when you're around ('cause i know the sound of your heart)

let's talk.

nightmares

paper wings

pull me close

this love

secret admirer

favorite

muse

a coffeeshop phone call

crush

fillings for you

Alliance – Kozume Kenma x reader

Kenma and Y/n both have a crush on Shoyo. When he confesses he likes his teammate Atsumu, the two decide to form an alliance to stop Shoyo from asking Atsumu out.

status: on going

pairing: kenma x reader

cw: rivals to lovers, roommates to lovers, fem reader, probably a lot of kys/kms/die jokes, probably suggestive at times, characters might be ooc

taglist: open, to be added send an ask or let me know with a comment <3

• • •

chapters:

0.5 – and they were roommates | supporting cast

1 – leftovers

2 – ...

🍎 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ikaw lang

— synopsis: caleb is back, but he's different. he looks the same, talks the same—but something about him feels just out of reach, like a melody you can’t quite remember. the boy who used to piggyback you home, who cut apples for you without complaint, who always found a way to annoy and protect you in equal measure—he's not here anymore. and yet, as you watch him silently peel an apple, his hands steady and sure, you realize something. you still want him. even if he’s changed. even if he's not the same. because no matter what, he’s never leaving you again. — note/s: first post on tumblr im a bit intimidated HAHA wrote this while listening to ikaw lang by nobita and also realized i NEED filo caleb. save me filo caleb save me I NEED TO WRITE A FILO COLLEGE/HS AU OF HIM SO BAD

cross-posted on ao3! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

caleb has changed, you realize grimly.

he sounds the same, looks the same, talks the same—

but he's not your caleb.

he's not the same caleb who used to piggyback you home after school, he's not the same caleb who would use you as his fake girlfriend to ward off his fangirls, he's not the same caleb who would slice apples for you because you would always complain about being lazy... no.

when you look at this man's—this stranger's—face, you do not see your caleb. you see fleet colonel caleb of the farspace fleet, you see a soldier hardened by war, a man who has seen too much and lost even more.

"—pipsqueak? pipsqueakk— earth to pipsqueak? oh, there she is! hello, what has gotten you so out of it? you're staring, y'know."

caleb raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the kitchen counter like he belongs there. like this is normal. like you haven’t been standing here, silently cataloging every little thing that’s different about him.

"am i?" you blink, tilting your head, feigning ignorance. "you sure it’s not you just being self-conscious?"

"as if," he scoffs, and there—there it is. a glimpse of him, of the boy you knew, the boy who used to flick your forehead whenever you got too smug.

but then it’s gone, swallowed up by something older, something colder.

his fingers tap against the counter, a steady rhythm. you used to recognize all his nervous habits. the way he’d scratch the back of his neck when lying, the way his nose scrunched when he was about to say something stupid. this? this tapping? you don’t know this one.

"well?" he prompts. "you gonna tell me why you’re looking at me like i grew a second head?"

"you’d be lucky if that happened. then you’d have twice the brain cells," you retort automatically. safe. easy. the kind of banter you used to have.

it works. he rolls his eyes, lips twitching like he wants to smirk. "real original. you workshopping that one while zoning out?"

you shrug, moving to the fridge. "maybe."

his eyes follow you. you feel them, just like you feel the weight of his presence in this space that suddenly feels too small. he was gone for so long, and now he’s here, standing in your kitchen like nothing’s changed.

like everything hasn’t.

"you still eat those awful store-bought apple slices?" he asks, nodding toward the fridge.

"mm. got tired of cutting them myself."

he exhales sharply—something between a laugh and a sigh. "figures. lazy as ever."

you expect him to leave it at that, but then, before you can process it, he’s reaching for the fruit bowl on the counter. a knife glints in his hand, and for a second, your breath catches. not because you’re afraid—no, never of him—but because of how he holds it.

not with the careless ease of someone cutting fruit. but with the precise grip of a soldier trained to kill.

a second too late, he seems to realize it too. his fingers shift, adjusting to something more casual, more familiar.

"still want them peeled?" he asks, tone too light.

you force yourself to breathe. "obviously."

he hums. starts peeling. his movements are too smooth, too calculated, but for a moment, if you squint, you can almost pretend.

almost.

he hands you a slice without looking up. you take it.

it tastes the same.

you chew slowly, watching him, waiting for something—anything—that feels real.

his gaze flickers to yours, unreadable. then, softer, quieter—

"good?"

the apple sits heavy on your tongue.

you swallow.

"yeah."

you chew, swallow, and place the half-eaten slice on the counter. caleb watches, waiting for something—maybe for you to complain about how the pieces aren’t cut evenly like you used to. but you don’t. you just stare at him, this version of him, and you realize something.

you still want him.

not just the boy he used to be—the one who would throw you over his shoulder just to prove he could, the one who’d grumble about being your fake boyfriend but always played the part too well. no, you want this caleb, too. the one who stands before you now, heavier with the weight of things unsaid, carrying shadows you don’t recognize.

your fingers twitch, and before you can overthink it, you reach out. you expect him to flinch when you press your palm against his wrist—his grip tightens just slightly around the knife, but he doesn’t pull away.

"caleb." you say his name like an answer to a question neither of you have asked.

his jaw tightens. he sets the knife down, slow and deliberate. when he finally looks at you, his eyes are searching, guarded—but underneath it, there’s something raw. something afraid.

"i know," he says. and it’s barely a whisper, but you hear everything. the guilt, the exhaustion, the hesitation.

you exhale. "i never said anything."

"you don’t have to." his lips press into a thin line. "i can tell."

you consider denying it, telling him he’s being dramatic, but you’re tired of pretending. so instead, you squeeze his wrist, grounding him.

"it’s okay," you say quietly. "if you’re no longer the same caleb I knew."

his breath hitches. you feel it more than you hear it.

"because either way—" you tighten your grip, firm, unwavering, "you’re never leaving me again."

his body stills. like he’s waiting for the catch, for the conditions, for something that makes this feel less like a promise and more like a fleeting moment he can let slip through his fingers.

but you don’t take it back.

caleb swallows. his free hand twitches at his side, like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t know if he’s allowed to.

"say it again," he murmurs, voice barely above a breath.

you step closer. "you’re never leaving me again. i won't let you."

this time, he exhales shakily, as if he’s been holding his breath for years. and then—finally—he rests his forehead against yours.

neither of you move.

the apples sit forgotten on the counter.

(caleb drops a bag onto the counter with a dull thud.

you glance at it, then at him. “what’s this?”

“apples,” he says, already rolling up his sleeves.

you blink. “they’re not pre-cut.”

“no shit,” he snorts, pulling out a knife. "figured you were overdue for the real thing.”

you watch as he starts peeling—smooth, practiced movements, no hesitation. he still holds the knife like a soldier, but his hands are steady, deliberate. for you.

a slice appears in front of your face. you take it without a word. it tastes fresher, sweeter.

he smirks. “better than that store-bought crap?”

you chew, swallowing down something thick in your throat, replacing it with something lighter in your chest.

“…yeah.”)