Lunar_knight

Hey y'all im new to this thing but i hope you like my fanfics! y'all can call me lunar! im 20! leave any questions for me or comments!

[lunar-knight84]

Hi I’m lunar! I’m Latina and I’m 18 years old! I’m new to writing fanfics so please be kind. I’ll post stories when I can. I write for…

Marvel

Dc

Southpark

Star Wars

Games of thrones

Ouran host club

Scott pilgrim vs the world

Ready player one

We happy few

If I think of anything else I’ll add it on here! I also do yandere/dark stories along with smut as well! Please leave a comment or request for a story and I’ll do my best to complete it! I hope y’all enjoy your day<3

[thehellhaveubeenloca]

“Check your window, he’s at your window”

Yandere!Peter Parker x reader

Mndi!!

Summary: he found you at May’s grave, replacing the flowers he left the month before. Following you home was just his morbid curiosity but watching you the following weeks? He didn’t know what to call that. All he knew was that you were the only hope he’d felt in a while, the beginning of a brand new day.

Warnings! Smut, dub-con, light stalking, basically full blown stalking, masturbation (male), unprotected sex, cunnilingus, cum eating, dry humping, character death (referenced), depression, lonely Peter, needy Peter, Yandere! Peter, Creampie, squirting, female ejaculation, obsessive behavior/possessive behavior, kinda asshole Peter?, we love MJ around here, pervy Peter, kinda loser Peter?

Author notes: this is my first time writing on tumblr I’m kinda scared.. can’t stop thinking about this gif what did they feed him ughhhh!! The title is “She” by Tyler the creator and frank ocean, thought it might be fitting and I frickin love it.

Wc: 6.2k

Peter Parker visited his aunt May’s grave every first friday of the month.

He’d replace the withered orchids he’d left the previous month with a tenderness unknown to him, courtesy of his double life as the self appointed crime fighting arachnid.

Things were rougher lately.

He’d stopped pulling his punches a while ago. But that didn’t matter when he’d lost everyone that once begged him to pull his punches, to play the safe card. To keep himself, and others safe. Moreso others than him, given his faster healing.

But that doesn’t make Peter bad, per se. What, just cause he’s hitting the criminals harder?

He’s Spiderman! He’s not a bad guy!

Of course, that changes when he sees you.

Your first encounter was an unpleasant surprise for him.

Seeing you, knelt at his aunt May’s grave, and are you crying?

He couldn’t trust a pretty face like yours so easily, not how you used to no.

The last pretty face he had trusted, had gone and forgotten him, left him in the dust for that tech major in Ned’s class. He thinks about MJ from time to time, but not fondly, no. That fondness was cut off and replaced with betrayal when he watched her kiss that stupid guy, with the stupid flowers and the fuckin awful grin - no. No, he doesn’t think about her anymore.

She doesn’t exist anymore, not to him.

But you do.

And there you were, laying daffodils wrapped together with a little white bow and encased in brown paper over aunt May’s grave.

He kept his distance, the orchids he’d brought lay forgotten in his limp hand as he watched you.

He doesn’t know you, and he knew everyone aunt May knew, so was this a trap?

Are you here to get to him?

Maybe something the Scorpion or whatever other asshole in New York had orchestrated to get to him?

It is creative, he’ll give them that. A pretty thing like you, visiting his aunt and speaking to the stone in a low, trembling voice.

He doesn’t catch much of what you say from this distance, just the familiar words he finds himself saying to her grave too. I miss you’s and I love you’s and I’m sorry’s.

Who are you?

You shouldn’t be saying this stuff, you didn’t know her.

Did you?

He inches closer to grab your last words, and he pauses and straightens as the words leave your mouth.

“…maybe you and mom are together up there now, so you’re both probably having a better time than me now, huh.

God, this is so lonely.

I’m so lonely now, Maymay.”

Your hand darts to swipe at the tear that escapes you and another follows in quick succession, the tip of your nose red as you sniffle quietly to yourself.

Huh.

He didn’t expect that.

He didn’t expect how hard it would hit him too. He knows the feeling all too well. And it’s then and there that he decides something.

He’ll follow you home, for research purposes only obviously. I mean, this could all be part of an elaborate plan to attack him.

Your apartment isn’t anything special, just a small one bedroom in desperate need of a paint job and a heater. But aside from that, it’s cozy.

He can’t see much from where he’s perched on the fire escape of your home but he can spot you in the kitchen, cradling a mug of - coffee? No, tea. His spidey senses come in handy.

Your steps are slow and unhurried as you reach a lumpy couch to sit down on and you place the mug on a table that wobbles when you apply the pressure.

You didn’t build it right, one leg of the coffee table unsteady.

Peter doesnt go to patrol that night, instead waiting for you to finally fall asleep on the lumpy couch. As your breaths even out, he finally lifts the window of your living room and hops in without a sound.

The smell of chamomile and a subtly sweet, floral fragrance invades his senses.

It’s the same perfume he sensed on May a couple of times.

Your breaths are even and paced, your body deep in slumber, and he takes the chance to look around.

On the wall across the hallway, he finds his answers.

A picture of May in a hospital from when she was considerably younger, next to a woman he can only assume to be your mother holding a baby in her arms.

He pops the glass out of the picture frame and turns the photograph around, and written on the back in a pink sparkly gel pen you’d written “baby me and mommy and best friend maymay<3”.

Well, there goes his theory of you bating him for enemies.

He carefully places it back together, hanging it back on the wall where it was.

He should’ve left after he got his answer, but he stayed. Not to watch you sleep or anything like that. Just, making sure you’d be safe.

That’s what aunt May would’ve wanted right?

He crosses into your bedroom and scans over the dressing table, the knick knacks scattered over it. The clothes strewn over the floor and on your made and untouched bed.

When he opens your drawers, convincing himself that it’s only to check for threats (as if there’d even be a threat in a fuckin drawer), he finds your underwear and promptly shuts it, feeling like a goddamn pervert for even thinking of opening it again.

Should he? No, no. Not right.

That’s enough of the bedroom, he thinks. He leans back against the windowsill in your cramped living room and crosses his arms.

His mask is crumpled in his left hand, having taken it off after his venture into your bedroom.

He stays there the entire night, the sun coming up and its rays bearing down over your face.

You flinch and groan in your sleep, and he crosses over to shield you from it in one jump. You fall back asleep peacefully and he pauses, tracing your features and mapping out your skin.

It’s quiet now, and Peter isn’t alone. It’s been quiet for a long time for him. But now, he’s not alone.

Your phone rings, startling both him and you. And he’s gone before you can open your eyes.

The next few weeks are spent following you.

He didn’t mean for it to go this far, to be watching you for so long, but he couldn’t help himself.

You’re perfect for him, god you’re so perfect for him. So sweet, so smart and kind to a fault. And so alone.

Your routine might even be more lonely than his is, what with your job in the back of the cafe you worked at, baking the muffins and cookies and whatever else it was that you’d make.

Barely any human interaction aside from your coworkers and they don’t deserve you.

They don’t deserve your kind smiles and patience even when they ask you to stay for longer to help wash up or clean up their messes.

He watches you feed the black cat that everyone else ignores on the corner of your street, bag always stocked with a little bottle of milk for the adorable little thing with beady eyes.

Milk!

Come on! Can you get more adorable and stupid?

So cliche and yet so sweet.

You’re practically the easiest target there ever was, and thank god Peter is the good guy he is, otherwise someone might’ve come along and ruined you. None of the guys round here are worth your time, he knows that.

He knows this place like the back of his hand and these guys are no good, and if he weren’t around, maybe they woulda got you.

Maybe that creep on fourth street that was following you that one time as you made the trek back home.

Peter took care of that one, he wasn’t gonna let him walk free, or walk at all.

And all the other guys that even dared to look your way?

Same, if not, worse fate.

You have a special connection with him, no one else has any right to be looking at you in any way.

And besides, those fuckin creeps wouldn’t be missed, not in a big city like this one.

Peter’s so proud of himself, so proud of how good of a person he is, how much of a hero he is. Keeping you safe and following you home everyday and watching you sleep.

Any girl would be fucking over the moon with this attention, this care, this love.

And he’s sure you would be too, his perfect girl. But he can’t find it in himself to finally introduce himself to you.

He likes his little secret and he wants to keep it, of course he wants to touch you and hold you. But this secret? God it’s exhilarating.

For now he makes do with your bunched up panties from your laundry basket, shoved into his nose as he greedily inhales as his other fist pumps his thick cock.

He didn’t mean to take it, but you’d come back from gym class, and tossed it there and it smelt so fucking enticing, how could he resist?

It was your fault you’d left it out there for him in the open.

He pumps once, twice and comes with a groan deep in his gut. The warm ropes of his cum splatter over his taut, thick stomach and he pants into the lace of your panties.

The scent of your cunt on the fabric only spurs him on again, his cock getting hard again as he stands in the shower.

Later that night, the two of you finally meet for the first time.

Youre walking home from the walk you’d gone on in your day off, your arms wrapped around yourself as the sun goes down and you realize that maybe your dress wasn’t warm enough for Central Park in autumn.

You rub your hands along your arms, warming them up and pull your phone out of your handbag to check the time.

You hadn’t even switched your phone on yet before you’re hit in the side and your phone is grabbed out of your hand, the perpetrator already half way down the street by the time you realize he’d stolen your phone.

You don’t even register the slam of his body into your side as he shoots down the pavement, more focused on your phone being taken.

“Hey! Holy shitshitshit! My phone!”

Your panicked whimpers draw the attention of the people around you as they watch the man cross the street with your phone in hand.

You’d run after him, but you already know you won’t be making it to him that quick, and it’s embarrassing enough to have had it taken, it would be more embarrassing if you’d chased after him with no avail.

You can still see the guy, whipping his head back as he runs to see if you’d come chase him.

In the blink of an eye, he’s slammed against the building next to him, and the gasps from a teen across from you has you almost sure of who it is-

“Yo shit! It’s Spiderman!”

Peter feels pretty smug when he hears your gasp at the teens words.

Shooting a look back at you, assessing you, he webs the fucking bastard against the wall, tighter than he needs to, webs across his chest constricting his breath.

Peter plucks the phone outta the assholes grip, before grabbing the guys jaw, threatening to unhinge it.

“You’re soooo fuckin lucky there’s civilians out here man, touching my girl like that? Grabbing her phone? Not cool, man.”

The last line is said out loud, as the teen from before inches close enough to hear Peter’s words. Peter inches away from him with one last hard pat on his face, and a step back.

He’ll die if he’s stuck in those webs for another 16 minutes, the webs constricting his ribs like that. Peter doesn’t find it in him to care. His fist tightens at the urge to beat the bastard bloody for even touching you.

“Holy shit! Spiderman, can I get a pic with you?”

He schools his expression to tone down the red hot anger that threatens to take over him, and lightens his tone of voice, reverting to his friendly neighbor persona.

“Hey there, man! Sure thing, but make it quick? I gotta get this phone back to the lady over there.”

Fucking teens.

He needs to get back to his girl, not fuck around taking pictures.

His limbs pull themselves toward you, the thing that lives inside him begging him to pull you to himself and never let go, to wrap you up in his spiel of webs.

And there you are.

In the flesh.

It’s not as if he hadn’t seen you face to face before, but those instances were when you were asleep.

And now you’re here.

You’re awake and looking at him in awe?

Is he dreaming? You want him too?

He felt his heart race at the sight of your bright eyes, blinking in disbelief at the sight of Spiderman in front of you.

You’re the first to break the silence.

“Oh my god…this is insane. Um, thank you, so much. That was so fast.”

You laugh, breathless and in disbelief.

He could die right here and be content, with your starry eyes looking at him like he’s your savior. His eyes trail to your lips mindlessly, the supple flesh there pink and plump.

You swipe your tongue along your bottom lip, slightly nervous at the attention he’s giving you.

Is he going to say anything?

“Erm, thank you, again. Is there any way I could repay you? I’d be totally lost without my phone, as much as I hate to admit it haha…” your laughter trails off into awkwardness and finally, finally Peter has the wherewithal to speak, saving you from his intense stare.

“It was no problem at all, I’m just glad you didn’t get hurt, miss…?”

You tell him your name and he nods, repeating it back to you, as if he doesn’t already know everything about you.

As if he hadn’t already searched and looked for any part of you he could find through his system. You crossing streets on the traffic cameras, you in grocery stores, you in old high school plays after finding your yearbook tucked away in your wardrobe. He even found your mother and May’s college admissions, figuring out the link between you two.

Your voice brings him back to reality.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do back for you?”

He can think of a lot of things you can do for him.

“Don’t you worry about it sweetheart, although… maybe I could walk you home? Make sure you get there safe.”

“Yeah! Yeah, of course, that’s totally fine. But, um, I don’t wanna like take up any of your time. You’re not busy, are you? I can go alone.”

His boxers feel tighter at the sound of your voice, your eyes flickering to meet his behind the mask. His own feel warm with unshed tears.

No one’s cared about him in so long.

He can’t leave you, not after this.

He can’t.

No matter how much he fights it, something inside him won’t let you go.

He won’t.

Something dark settles over his irises, a decision formed by the venomous arachnid in him.

You’re his.

After reassuring you that no, he didn’t have any other plans, and that he’d love to make sure you get home safe, you both venture the walk to your place.

If you notice how he walks ahead of you and makes the same turns into the alleys you take to get home quicker, you don’t say anything.

“It’s so weird to be meeting you in person, you know?”

“It’s weird? Like a bad weird?”

“No! Like, i don’t know, it’s just. Us regular folks see you only on tv and online, here and there.

But not in person. I mean, you did rescue a mutual friend of mine two years ago in that robbery on 6th, but aside from that, you’ve been sorta like a fairytale to me. I never thought I’d get in a situation where I’d meet you.”

He could listen to you talk forever, watch your lips move so pliantly forming your words.

“I’m just glad you aren’t hurt, I’ve saved some people from some pretty nasty stuff lately.”

“Yeah, I guess I got lucky. I had you.” You smile at him, finding it easy to keep eye contact with the masked figure, given you can’t see his eyes.

His hand itches to grab yours, to pull it through his and to meld your two hands together with the sticky webs that have formed on his body since his encounter with Jean Grey those 3 months ago.

His side brushes against yours when someone walks on the same path as you, and a hiss of pain from you makes him stop in his tracks.

“Wait, you got hurt?”

His arm reaches out to grab at your upper arm and turn you gently towards him.

“Did that fuckin- shit, excuse my language. Did he get you?”

“No, no seriously, don’t worry. He just bumped into me. I’m not hurt or anything, just probably going to be a bit sore?”

You’re so quick to pacify him, paused and in place and compliant as he turns your body to check both your sides.

He runs his fingers along your shoulder before lowering the tips to run over the length of your ribs on that side, barely noticing how your spine stiffens and your breathing quickens.

Your barely restrained gasp has him pause, and his eyes flashes to meet yours.

“Does it hurt?”

His mouth dries as he asks you.

You respond with a slight nod, his hand taking up the span of your ribs under your breast, close to your fluttering heart.

Oh.

You want him too.

You feel this too. Feel him.

He doesn’t want to take you home anymore. He doesn’t want to leave you, no. A plan forms in his head, a sick plan, even for him and his animal instincts.

He could take you home, to his home. You wouldn’t be alone anymore, he’d save you. You’re sick, just like him. All alone, and you’d both lost May. Maybe this was something May sent for him, from heaven or wherever else the fuck she was.

How pretty you’d look in his bed, how you’d fit in with him.

He’d give you the world if you asked for it.

Bring you daffodils everyday.

Love you like no other has.

A dark part of his brain asks the question, ‘what if you don’t want it?’.

But it’s not like you could fight him off, right?

He’s stronger than you, in every way. He could have you in any way he wanted.

He thinks back to the panties still on his bedside table, he wouldn’t need those anymore.

He’d have you.

No.

No!

That’s too far, even for you Peter, he thinks to himself.

Aunt May wouldn’t have wanted that.

No, she raised a gentleman.

He straightens and offers you a hand.

“Let’s get you home, maybe an ice pack will help that side.”

You take his offered hand, and his heart roars with possessiveness.

“Thanks. You know, you don’t have to do all of this. I’m sure not all the people you save get this 5 star treatment.”

You’re quieter than before, still reeling from his touch, but you’ve still got an endearing playfulness to you that he can’t get enough of.

“No, this treatment is only reserved for pretty girls.”

“Oh? And I fit the requirements?”

“Sweetheart, you are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

You stop in your step, and he has to look back at you to gauge your reaction.

“You’re just saying that.”

Disbelief floods peters tone.

“Just saying that? Just saying that? Feel my heart and it’ll tell you if I’m lying.” He grabs at your hand and presses your open palm upon his heart, a thick layer of muscle in between it.

Your pulse is racing, he can hear it, and it only stirs desire in his gut.

“You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

You watch with bated breath as he says that, feeling his hearts’ steady thump thump.

Holy fucking shit.

Black ink fills the whites of Peter’s eyes under his mask, his super senses going into overdrive honing in on the space between your thighs. He can smell your wetness, could hear the throb of your cunt as he uttered those words and now he wants to say them over, and over again.

Till you come undone.

You avert your gaze, a hot flush creeping up your neck and settling in your cheeks.

You look away to your left, and address him.

“…we’re here. This is my place.”

He hadn’t even realized how fast you both had gotten here, focused on only you and nothing else.

“Huh. So we are.”

“Do you…”

Invite me in baby, let me in and I’ll save you.

Peter holds his breath.

“Do you wanna come up?”

Fuck yes.

He’s never been through your front door, all those times he’s been in your apartment, and he’s here with you now, being invited in.

You place your things on the side table and wander off into the kitchen, and Peter follows you.

“Hey, do you want something to drink? Coffee or tea or anything?”

“Nah, just water is fine. Here. Lemme get it.”

He opens the top cupboard with a flicker and pulls out two mugs, your favorite one and the other SpongeBob one for himself.

With his heightened senses, he catches the flutter of your pulse now racing, as your breath catches in your throat.

“What the fuck…?”

You whisper in quiet disbelief masked in confusion.

Shit.

Peter freezes.

“How did you…how did you know where that was, Peter?”

He says your name once, then twice then steps forward and you immediately take a step back as impulse.

“Listen, I can explain ok? It’s just - wait.”

His brow furrows in disbelief.

“What did you just call me?”

You take slow steps back till your back hits the edge of your sofa.

Your brow furrows, and you look lost in thought for a brief moment.

“I think you should leave, please. It’s late, please go.”

No fucking way he’s leaving like this, not when you know his name.

“Nonononono, we’re not leaving it like that. How do you know my name, sweets?”

He’s crowding into you now, his thick arms coming up to grasp at your own smaller ones. He shakes his head at you, part-condescending and in disbelief.

In one swift move, he removes the mask from his face, revealing himself to you, and you can’t help the gasp that escapes you as you spot his irises increasing in size, round and pitch black.

“Peter…you’re scaring me..”

“Baby, just answer me and everything’s gonna be ok, okay? How do you know my name, hm?”

You tremble in his grasp, and his hands slide to cover your wrists when you raise them to push at his chest crowding in on you.

“I don’t know! I don’t know, it’s just in my head. I can feel it.” Your words are breathy and light.

“You can feel it? Feel me? Oh baby, oh baby.”

You’re lost for words, can’t breathe as he crowds you, wrapping both arms around your waist and tucking you against the hard plain of his chest.

He can feel your tremors against him, and he tries to ignore the press of your perky breasts against him, he really does.

But when his growing hard-on brushes against your soft thigh, he can’t help himself.

He pushes you backwards, cushioning your head with his hand and cradling you near.

The two of you topple onto the sofa, him between your legs and hovering over you with awe etched into his expression.

Peter hasn’t been this hard in his life, the erection bordering on painful as it presses against the confines of his boxers.

The heightened senses and his thought of how much better this is than fucking his fist to your underwear clouding any sense of judgement.

“Please baby, oh please. You’re for me. You were sent here for me, I know it. Hmph - everyone else forgets and you remember my name? Yeah? Fuck, you’re made for me.”

Your own slick grows in between the apex of your thighs, and you’re painfully aware of his thick length pressing against you, hard and insistent.

It brushes against the side of your clit, and you whimper out a quiet fuck, that has Peter groaning and shoving his face into your neck.

Breathing in his scent, you feel like you’re going insane with how badly you want him now, how badly you need him. It’s like a flip switched in your mind and suddenly, all you could do is want more.

Is it the arachnid in him, Peter thinks for a brief pause.

You clench around nothing and your hips subconsciously press upwards, searching for that sweet relief that his thick cock can give you.

He pulls back from your neck, still breathing heavy, and his blackened eyes flicker once, twice at your lips, before crashing his mouth to yours.

You let out a needy whimper as his lips meet yours, and it’s a clash of skin more than it is a kiss. It’s like he wants to meld his lips to yours, have you only breathing him in, depending on him how he depends on you now.

All teeth, and tongue and desperation.

You feel his groans reverberating through your chest as he presses himself impossibly closer, his tongue dipping in between your lips to lick at your own, sucking it into his mouth.

Your jaw slacks open as he takes control, takes the reign over the desperate attack of his tongue.

The rest of you goes limp, only one hand of yours pressed flat against the left side of his thick chest where his heart resides.

A guttural groan leaves him at the realization and he swallows the I love you that threatens to leave his lips.

Instead, he laps at your wet tongue, drawing fresh gasps from you as the inside of your panties grow damper by the second, slicker than you’ve ever been.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck sweets, I need to be inside you - mhm - right fuckin now,”

Peter’s groans border on whiney as he litters kisses all along the line of your neck, suckling at the skin under your jaw and biting down, hard, when he hears you moan as he found the juncture of your throat.

His words register to you as he clicks on the front of his suit, the entire thing of fabric falling off of him and leaving him bare in just his boxers, where a patch of precum can be seen as he strains against the fabric.

He’s big, fucking huge compared to anything or anyone you’ve ever taken, and you bite into your lip anxiously.

“Peter, wait. Please,”

You can barely be heard over your heaving breaths, and you repeat yourself, lifting yourself on both elbows as he removes the last fabric on him and tears the dress you’d been wearing in half through the middle.

You let out a little shocked yelp, and he yearns to hear it again.

“Peter, please, it won’t fit. You’re too big, I can’t,”

Fuck, he didn’t think his name could ever sound so good falling off your lips.

“It’ll fit baby, fuck.”

He pauses to admire your slicked pussy, having torn your panties in his frantic need to see you, to feel you.

“Look at this pussy, it’s made for me. It’ll fit, yeah sweets? We’ll make it fit. ‘M gonna prepare you a lil.”

Without warning, he fills you with his middle and index finger, the sound of your cunt swallowing him whole with a wet squelch making him come undone against the armrest of the sofa, and he swallows the sound of his release against your folds, pressing his tongue from your entrance to your sensitive clit and growling at the taste of you.

You thread your fingers through his curly hair, tugging as he toys with your nub, and your back arching clean off the sofa as you grip his fingers tighter with your wet warmth.

Your whimpers turn into long drawn out whines as Peter tips you over the edge.

You cum with a gush of liquid against his mouth, and he laps at your pussy with unbidden desire, his entire face soaked in your release.

He doesn’t wait one second, rising to wrap your legs around his middle and positioning himself at your entrance to enter you in one long thrust.

You’re still in the throes of your orgasm as he pushes into you, and you feel him - so hard and hot and heavy - fucking into your sore cunt.

“Fuck - I have to, I need to - I need to move sweets, I need to - fuck you feel so good, so fuckin tight-“

You feel like you couldn’t breathe with how thick he feels, how much he’s filling you up.

“Peter - please, wait, you’re too - oh god - you’re too big, you’re so so big - oh-“

He presses his forehead against yours, leaning to pepper kisses across your face, tender soft little things that are incomparable to his thick cock stretching you apart.

“I know sweets, I know I’m big - fuck - but you’re doing so good baby, that’s it just give into it sweets, you’re so fuckin perfect for me.”

His arm curls around you pressing your chests together, and all Peter can think is how he could die happy like this, your hearts beating together and you fluttering around his length.

Peter doesn’t stop.

In fact, he presses in deeper, more insistent and you can feel the press of him against your cervix, hot and hard and so full.

He tilts his hips upwards, thrusting into you at a new angle, and the brush of him against that spot leaves you a mewling mess.

The whines he draws out of you are animal, barely human.

The soaking plap plap plap of his balls slapping against your ass cheeks has him tightening in anticipation, finally he’ll be able to come inside you after the weeks of wait.

He comes with a guttural groan, burying his face in your chest and rubbing himself against your hard nipples.

Thick ropes of his cum paint your insides white, and it creams around the rim of your hole, as you pulse around him, the last spurt of his cum triggers your own orgasm, and you dig your nails into the back of his neck as a gush of liquid spurts around his still-hard cock.

You’ve never squirted before in your life.

Peter raises his chest from yours to look at your pussy gush around him, and the sight drives him crazy.

He growls, low and deep and shoves both of your legs up and over his shoulders, before pistoning in and out of your warmth.

Long, deep strokes in before pulling out fast and shoving himself back in like he couldn’t bare to be away from your cunt.

You scream from the overstimulation, your legs trembling and shaking from your last orgasm. You feel so sore, and so spent.

He pulls back and thrusts against that spot inside of you, repeatedly going at it and you can feel another orgasm begin to rise.

Peter buries his nose in your hair and deeply inhales at your scent in greedy gulps, his cock plunging into you again and again until your moans devolved into quiet, needy sobs, until the sensation of you wrapped around him like a vice becomes too much for the both of you.

Until he comes with a groan that borders on a whine, and the thick ropes of his seed overflow from your pussy.

He thrusts it into you, shoving his cream into the deepest depths of your tight warmth, and you come with a scream, squirting all over his lower body and drenching the fabric of the sofa below you.

You clench and clench around him, the liquid gushing out of you in hot bursts, and he pulls out of you to lap at your juices running down your hole, drinking up every bit of you and shoving his cum back inside of your hole.

He plugs your hole shut with his tongue once he’s gathered most of his come and pushed it back inside of you, where it belongs.

Your hands weakly push at his head, and your legs fall open as you lose all feeling in them.

Peter carries you to your bed, cleaning you with a wet cloth he found in your bathroom and dressing you in the pjs you wore every night.

He places a bottle of water by your bedside, and tucks you in gently, as you fall in and out of consciousness.

Poor baby, too fucked out to think.

Once all is done and you’re tucked in safe, he pauses and takes a seat on the windowsill connected to your fire escape.

It’s done, you’re his now. This is what he’s waited for all those years, and god it was all so worth it.

He can’t take his eyes off your sleeping figure, a hot trail of possessiveness in his chest at the thought of you being his to protect, his to care for, his to fuck.

No one’s gonna forget him this time.

He’s going to make sure of that.

[pluvial-lake]

➤ THERE'S A SPIDER IN THE CLOSET .ᐟ

synopsis ⠀:: ⠀ he was just trying to make sure everything's okay, that you're taking care of yourself. but you come home early and he had to hide in your closet. it's not like he wants to see you naked or watch you fuck your toy. it's all an accident, alright?!

including ⠀! ⠀ peter parker. ✶

contents ⠀! ⠀ spiderman : brand new day (no spoilers tho). fem reader. dark peter. obsessive behavior. nsfw. voyeurism. masturbation. use of sex toys. angst. reader is peter ex girlfriend who don't remember him, obviously. he's kinda fucked up in the head. gif by @.milesgmorales. masterlist. english is not my first language. ✶

He didn't mean for this to happen.

He swears he didn't. He was just checking on you. Making sure your windows were locked, your fire alarm had fresh batteries, your fridge wasn't empty because sometimes you forget to eat when you're stressed and he can't have that, he won't have that, not when he's supposed to be taking care of you. You’d thank him if you knew.

And then your key turned in the lock.

Early. You came back early.

Why you're back early? You weren't supposed to be here for another two hours, he checked your schedule, he knows your schedule, tuesday is yoga and grocery shopping and then that overpriced coffee place where you always get the same oat milk latte and you sit by the window and he watches you from across the street and you look so peaceful and so fucking beautiful and—

Focus, Peter. Focus.

You were inside. Keys on the hook. Shoes kicked off. Humming something under your breath that made his chest ache because he recognized it, he knew that song, it was playing the first time you let him kiss you, the first time you tangled your fingers in his hair and called him sweet—

Alright alright he have to get out. He have to get out!!!

No time for the window. No time for the ceiling.

What the fuck what the fuck what the—

The closet.

The fucking closet. He barely got the door shut before you walked in, and now he’s folded behind your winter coats, breathing through his mask, heart hammering so loud he’s sure you can hear it. His hands are shaking, his whole body is shaking, and he can't breathe, he can't breathe but he has to be quiet, has to be fucking quiet—

It’s fine. It’s fine. He just has to wait. Be patient. You’ll fall asleep eventually and then he can slip out. Just wait. Then everything be fine. Easy. Simple. He's done harder things. He can sit in a closet for a few hours without losing his goddamn mind.

But you're not.

Oh god, you're fucking not.

He clenches his jaw. Waits. The closet smells like you. Your shampoo, your detergent, that faint vanilla body spray you’ve used since tenth grade. He’s dizzy with it.

And you're just—you're standing there, in the middle of your bedroom, and you're reaching for the hem of your shirt and—

Wait.

Wait wait wait wait—

Why are you getting naked?????

The shirt goes up. Over your head. Tossed onto the chair in the corner.

God damnit. Look away. Look away right now, Parker. Close your eyes. You’re better than this. You’re a hero. You’re her boyfriend not some pervert hiding in the closet with his mouth open and his cock—

But you’re so pretty.

The curve of your shoulders, the way your hair falls messy against your skin, the little mole on your left shoulder blade that he used to kiss, used to run his tongue over just to hear you giggle and squirm—

Look away look away look away—

DON'T FUCKING LOOK!!

He tries. He genuinely tries. He squeezes his eyes shut so hard he sees colors blooming behind his lids, and he counts to ten, and he tells himself he's not going to look, he's a good person, he's respectful and he loves you and he don't want to...

But it’s been so long since he’s seen you like this.

Your jeans. You’re taking off your jeans. The button pops and the zipper whisper hisses down and he can see the edge of your underwear, plain cotton, the kind you always wore on lazy nights when you didn’t expect anyone to see.

You’re naked now.

And he's not looking away.

It's a violation of privacy—

No it's not! You're his girlfriend!

Well, you don't remember him, but that doesn't change the FACT that he's your boyfriend. Your high school sweetheart. The guy who held your hand through every panic attack, who learned how to braid your hair because you said it helped you relax, who gave you his virginity in his aunt's apartment while it rained outside and it was the first time you told him you love him—

And also, it's not like he hid in your closet on purpose! He didn't PLAN this!! This is just... circumstances! Bad timing. A misunderstanding, yeah that's it! If you knew the truth, you'd understand. You'd forgive him. You always forgave him.

So maybe it's fine if he watches. Just for a little while. Just until you're asleep. It's not like he hasn't seen you naked before. You were his girlfriend. His first everything. The woman who taught him how to kiss without emberassing himself, how to use his tongue to make you cum, how to angle his hips just right to hit that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back.

"Right there, Pete, right there, don't stop—ahh love you love you love you—"

Love him.

You love him.

He missed it.

He missed your voice. Missed the way you gasped, the way your nails raked down his back, the way you clenched around him so tight he thought he might die from how good it felt. And you smiled at him afterward, sweaty and glowing and proud, and you said he was a fast learner.

Of course he is. He's a smart guy. Not that he's bragging, but truth is just truth.

You always said he was the best you ever had.

Do you still think that?

Would you still think that, if you remembered him?

Do you remember him?

Of course you don't.

Hahaha. Peter Parker don't exist anymore. What the fuck is he even thinking?? Stupid stupid stupid—

Huh?

Oh.

His face is wet again.

Tears sliding down his cheeks and soaking into the fabric of his mask.

When did that happen? When did he start crying?

Doesn’t matter.

He’s gotten good at crying without making a sound. Good at a lot of things he never wanted to be good at.

Don't. Don't you fucking cry right now. You're not a kid, why the fuck are you crying?

Because he misses you.

He misses you so much it feels like someone scooped out his insides and left him hollow. You don't look at him anymore. You don't smile at him anymore. You walk past him on the street like he's a stranger, and every time it kills him but at least you're alive, at least you're safe, at least he can still protect you even if you don't know he exists—

Oh him? No he's great. He's fantastic. What are you talking about? Pfffff—

He's not sad. He's not lonely. He's not spending every night curled up in his suit, jerking off into your sock while he replays memories of your laugh on a loop in his head.

No, no, he's fine. Everything is fine. What's important is that you're safe. That's all that matters.

Okay. Okay, get your shit together and just shut the fuck up until it's over. You can have a breakdown later. In private. Like you always do.

When he looks back through the slats of the closet door, you're on the bed.

When did you get on the bed??

He must have blacked out for a second. It happens a lot these days.

You're stretched out on top of the covers, completely naked (when did you took off your panties?) and the lamplight is hitting your skin in a beautiful way that make his mouth water. Your hair is fanned out on the pillow. Your legs are slightly parted. And your hand is lazily trailing down your stomach like you have all the time in the world and—

Nope.

Nope nope nope.

Don't think about it, Peter.

Just don't fucking think about it.

But it's been so long.

So fucking long since he touched you. Since he tasted you. Since he heard the little sounds you make when you're turned on, those breathy, helpless whimpers that drive him insane. And if you knew he was your boyfriend, you wouldn't have a problem with this. You'd probably invite him out of the closet. You'd probably pull him onto the bed and let him take over, let him worship you the way you deserve, because that's what you used to do, that's what you used to want.

So it's okay, right?

It's okay if he touches himself. Just a little. Just to take the edge off. He'll be quiet. He'll be so fucking quiet. You won't even know he's here.

He's just palming himself through his suit, see? No big deal.

His breath stuttering. He unzips his suit slowly, one careful inch at a time. His cock springs out, already hard, already leaking, the head slick and flushed and obscene in the dim light filtering through the closet slats. He wraps his hand around himself and bites down on his lip so hard he tastes copper.

You’re touching yourself.

Fuck you're so pretty.

Just like always.

You cup your breast, thumb brushing over the nipple, and he watches it tighten under your touch. Watches you pinch it, roll it between your fingers.

Yeah yeah yeah.

Play with your tits just like that. Pinch them. You always liked it when he did that. Always liked it when he got a little rough, when he pushed you just enough to make you feel it the next day—

He remembers doing that, remembers the way you'd arch into his mouth when he sucked on you, the way you'd gasp his name and told him you love him.

He's stroking himself now. Slow. Trying to match your rhythm. His palm is too dry, the friction almost painful, but he don't care because you're spreading your legs wider and your other hand pushing deeper inside—

Fuck.

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit—

The closet door creaked. He moved. He fucking moved and his elbow hit the door and it creaked.

You heard him didn't you?

Fuckfuckfuck—

You heard it, oh god you definitely heard it, your head just turned toward the closet and you're looking right at him, right through the slats, and he can see your brow furrowing, can see the question forming on your lips—

Why are you standing up???

Wait. Wait. Wait.

STOP!!!

He can't breathe. He can't move. His hand is frozen on his cock, pre cum dripping onto his knuckles, and his heart is slamming against his ribs so hard he probably going to have a stroke.

You're going to find him, and he's going to have to explain, going to have to watch your face twist into fear and disgust and he's going to have to see the moment you realize spiderman is a creep who hides in women's closets and watches them—

Oh...

You're not looking at the closet anymore.

You're bending down. Reaching under the bed. Pulling out a box.

It's your toy box, the one he knows about because he's gone through it half a dozen times because you two used to play together and now when you're not home, he replace the batteries in your vibrator and clean your plugs even though you probably wondering why they were suddenly spotless—

You're pulling out a dildo.

The one you custom ordered online for your two years anniversary. Modeled after his dick, every vein and every curve. Everything exactly like his.

You hold it up and a little smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.

You like that one, don't you? You always reach for it. He's seen you. He's seen you more times than he should admit, and every time you pick this, every time you choose this over the others—

Okay. Okay, everything's okay. Thank god. Thank fucking god.

But he needs to be quiet. He was loud. Too loud. He needs something to muffle himself.

And there—right there beside his foot—a pair of panties. Lace. Red. The little bow on the front slightly frayed from too many washes.

He recognizes them. Of course he recognizes them. He bought them for you. Four years ago. Valentine's Day. You wore them for him that night and then peeled them off slow, teasing, throwing them over your shoulder with a grin and then he eat you out until his knees bruised.

He picks them up. Brings them to his face. Inhales before he can stop himself.

Fuck.

He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. But he's already folding them, already pressing them past his lips, already biting down on the fabric, and the taste of you—even secondhand, even laundered—floods his senses and makes his eyes roll back.

Okay. Okay, now he can be more comfortable. Now he can jerk off without giving himself away.

You don't mind, right? No? Okay thanks.

You're on the bed again. Propped up against the pillows. The dildo is in your hand but you're not pushing it inside yet.

No, you're teasing yourself. Just like you always used to.

Running the tip along your slit. Circling your clit. Getting it wet with your own arousal while your hips twitch and your breath hitches and you make those perfect little sounds that he loves too fucking much.

You always wanted him to tease you first. Always wanted him to rub the head of his cock against your pussy, back and forth, back and forth, until you were so needy you couldn't do anything but beg—

"Please, Pete, please, I need you inside me—"

Go on. Put it in. You've teased yourself long enough, sweet girl. Put it in.

And then you do.

The tip slides inside you, stretching you open, and Peter watches your mouth fall open, watches your back arch off the mattress, watches your hand fly up to grip the sheets. And the sound you make goes straight to his cock and nearly make him cum right there.

Yeah. Yeah, just like that. Pretty girl. Such a pretty fucking girl.

His pretty, gorgeous, perfect girl.

He strokes himself faster. The pre cum ease the friction. His eyes are glued to the place where the dildo disappears inside you, the way your hips start to roll, the way your thighs tense and tremble.

Aww, look at you. You're so desperate, aren't you?

Yeah baby? You want to get off? You want to cum?

You want him, don't you? You want his cock?

So bad you don't remember your boyfriend, right?

So fucking bad he just can stalk you on the street.

So bad he had to break your date’s teeth down his throat last month when the guy got too handsy at the bar.

So bad he has to hide in closets like a fucking cockroach instead of fucking your brains out like he used to, instead of holding you after and listening to your heartbeat slow down while you trace patterns on his chest—

So bad Peter Parker doesn't exist anymore.

Haha.

But it’s fine. He can protect you better now. Spiderman doesn’t have a curfew. Spiderman doesn’t have a secret life to care about. Spiderman can be on your fire escape every night, can follow you home through the subway tunnels, can crawl across your ceiling while you sleep and make sure you're breathing and your nightmares stay away.

He's protecting you.

Yeah. He knows you get scared sometimes. He's seen the way you double check your locks at night, the way you jump at shadows, the way you told your friend on the phone that you think someone's following you. "I think I have a stalker," you said, voice trembling, and Peter had to press his forehead against the wall and breathe through the urge to break something.

You called him a stalker.

He's not a fucking stalker. He's your BOYFRIEND. The man who loves you more than anyone has ever loved anyone in the history of the entire goddamn universe. The man who would crawl through hell just to see you smile. The man who let you go because it was the only way to keep you alive, and he'd do it again, he'd do it a thousand times, even if it meant you'd never know his name.

So what if he beat up your date? You were about to cheat on him. Yeah, yeah, you don't remember him, he knows, but what if you REMEMBERED and you'd already cheated on him and then you were going to hate yourself and feel guilty because how could you cheat on your high school sweetheart? The boy who held your hair back when you were sick, who stayed up all night helping you study for exams, who looked at you like you hung the goddamn moon?

You'd hate yourself. You'd be so guilty. You be a bitch. A horrible, disgusting piece of shit—

No. No no no, baby, you're not that. It's not your fault. Peter knows it's not your fault. He's not blaming you. He could never blame you. You're a victim in all this, you're innocent, you're perfect, you're the only good thing left in his miserable excuse for a life.

He's just helping you stay loyal. That's all. Helping you be the person you'd want to be, if you could remember. You're welcome.

"Ahh—fuck—"

You're close, aren't you, sweet girl? Yeah, you're close. He can see it in the wetness spreading down your ass, the way your nipples are tight and peaked, the way your hips are bucking up to meet the toy like you're fucking it instead of the other way around.

You're going to cum. He can tell by the way your rhythm is faltering, the way your thighs are starting to shake, the way your free hand has is now frantically rubbing your clit in needy, desperate circles.

Go on. Go faster. Faster. Yeah, just like that. Fuck, you're perfect, you're so fucking perfect, look at you taking it like a good girl.

His good girl. His.

Play with your clit. Yeah, yeah, baby, just like that. He remembers exactly how you like it. Two fingers, tight circles, a little pressure, not too much. You taught him that, remember? You guided his hand, showed him the rhythm, moaned his name when he got it right—

"Just like that, Pete, don't stop, please don't stop—"

It's almost like you can read his mind.

He's close. So fucking close his vision is blurring at the edges. His cock is throbbing, slick with pre cum, and his hand is moving in short, desperate strokes, and he's biting down so hard on the panties that his jaw aches, and he wants to come, needs to come, but he wants to come with you—

Come on, baby. Come on. You can do it. A little bit harder. He can hold on, don't worry about him, he can hold on forever if that's what you need—

Ah, fuck. Ah, fuck fuck fuck—

You're shaking. Your whole body is shaking. The hand on your clit is moving faster now, sloppy and messy, and your back is arched so high you're barely touching the mattress, and your mouth is open in a silent scream, and your stomach is tightening, rippling, and you're so pretty, so fucking beautiful that Peter feels his heart crack right down the middle—

So hot. So fucking hot. Look at you. Look at you coming apart on his cock. Yeah it's a dildo but it's still his cock. It's still him inside you, still his shape. So sorry he can't give you the real thing baby—

Ah, shit—

You come with a broken cry, your pussy clenching around the dildo so hard Peter can see it, can see the way your body pulses and milks the silicone, and that's it, that's all it takes, he's gone—

He comes so hard his knees buckle. Hot ropes of cum spatter his hand and the closet floor. He bites down on your panties and screams into the fabric, a muffled sound that would have given him away if you weren't still lost in your own orgasm. His hips jerk, his cock pulses, and he keeps stroking himself through it, keeps milking every last drop while his vision whites out and his heart threatens to explode and it's just your name in his head and on his tongue.

Y/n. Y/n. Y/n.

And then it's over.

He slumps against the back of the closet, panting, soaked in his own shame and sweat and tears. The panties are still in his mouth. He doesn't take them out. He can't. If he takes them out, he might start sobbing, might start screaming, might do something that gets him caught, and he can't get caught, not if he wants you safe and sound and happy—

Through the slats, he watches you catch your breath. Watches you pull the dildo out with a wet sound. Watches you stare at it for a moment, something unreadable flickering across your face.

Then you set it aside, roll onto your side, and close your eyes.

Just like that. Like nothing happened.

Peter tucks himself back into his suit. Wipes his hand on an old tshirt from the laundry basket. Spits the panties out. Yeah he's keeping them, he's definitely keeping them, they're his now.

Sorry baby. It's just this time. You probably won't even notice. It's not like you remember wearing it especially for him anyway. So it's fine.

Then he waits.

Waits until your breathing evens out. Waits until your heartbeat slows to the steady rhythm of sleep. Waits until he's sure, absolutely sure, that you're not going to wake up.

The closet door opens without a sound. He's spiderman, after all. Give him some credit, yeah?

He stands over your bed for a long moment. Looking at you. Memorizing the curve of your cheek, the part of your lips, the way your eyelashes flutter against your skin. You're drooling a little on the pillow.

Cute.

He leans down. Presses the gentlest kiss to your forehead. You don't stir.

"I love you," he whispers against your skin. "Don't be mad. I won't do it again, I promise. I'm sorry."

Then he slips out the window, into the night, and disappears like he was never there.

The only evidences are a single tear, dried on your pillow, and a pair of red lace panties missing from your closet.

Please don't hate him too much.

Okay?

If you want to be in my marvel taglist let me know :)

© pluvial-lake 2026 : do not plagiarize, repost, or translate works without the knowledge or consent of the creator in other platforms or websites.

[sweethearticism]

♡ ₊˚‧ 𝓥.𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐉𝐎. doesn't realise that his mean girl fuck buddy is obsessed with him. . . & is dropping off bodies in his dorm for him to feed.

˖ ࣪૮₍ yandere!reader :: toxic obsession :: dark aspects :: possessiveness :: murder :: violence :: reader is fucking insane :: blood drinking :: smut :: obsessions with being killed by a vampire. . . :: p in v :: fuck buddies :: blood play :: handjob :: biting :: public sex :: satoru drinks from dead animals :: guys something is wrong with reader ࣪ა ࣪˖

˖ ࣪꒰ VAMPIRE NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ struggled with his bloodlust day in and day out. one thing that vampires often glossed over was the sheer, carnal, instability of being a young vampire. think hormones— but instead of sex, risks and emotional meltdowns, you're two seconds from draining your peers down in the middle of the hallway.

satoru often distracted himself with his studies. nose buried in a book and hands writing equations and essays until they cramped. anything that kept him from the dryness in his throat, the swelling in his fangs, and the disgusting, devastating need to tear into something fresh and tear it open until it stopped squirming.

another thing he could distract those violent thoughts with? sex.

˖ ࣪꒰ VAMPIRE NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ wished he could say that his sex life was something he could ground himself in. but alas, that's where you came in.

pretty, preppy, popular and so. fucking. pretentious.

the perfect princess in his bio lab and unfortunately his lab partner. with more insults on your sharp tongue than charms on your nails. as bratty as you were beautiful. something infuriatingly and infatuating— wrapped in a pink ribbon and audaciously high stilettos.

he fucked you once. back of the library. you just pushes him too far that night and before he knew it; your shoulders were cramped into the bookshelf and your knees were over his shoulders. heels digging into his shoulder blades and pretty, sharp nails gripping onto the shelf. as he pulled your skimpy little panties aside and fucked you with the kind of dick that stupid nerds like him shouldn't have.

satoru remembers the way you went dumb on his cock. how you squeezed, and squirted, and sobbed for him until every bratty trace had slid off in drool on your limp tongue.

fuck, he remembers how he felt every thrum of your heart, your pulse. how he wanted to sink his fangs so far into your throat that you'd never bitch at him again.

he didn't, of course.

he wished he stopped there. wished he didn't come back as much as he did. wished he could just say no to the campus' bratty princess and her attitude problem.

but alas, he loved your pussy. and loved fucking the brattiness right out of it. even if you gave him hell for it.

˖ ࣪꒰ VAMPIRE NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ didn't know that your bitchiness concealed something deeper. darker:

obsession.

it frustrated you at first. the fact that the loser nerd was clouding up your mind more than the latest gossip and your dreadful assignments.

it was whenever he glared at you over those rimless glasses. you got all hot and bothered. had to stop yourself from pressing your thighs together under your plaited skirt.

it was when he answered questions in class. so confident and calm. how his voice thrummed a chord in you that had you abandoning a party just to hump your pillow to the thought of him.

it was the way he never backed down from your attitude. how he dished it back. bit back. no one had ever done that before. most guys either gave you what you wanted or flat out ignored you.

satoru though. . . he was different.

so really, should you be blamed for all the pictures you took of him? for that pen you stole from him to touch yourself with in the girls' bathroom? for all the little souvenirs you started collecting?

you knew his routine. knew his classes. knew his favourite cafe and the exact order of his drink: something sweet.

you could be sweet for him. so sweet. if he'd just let you.

˖ ࣪꒰ VAMPIRE NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ was supposedly the hunter— and yet he didn't know he was being stalked. didn't know that hungry eyes lingered from beneath mascara and perfect eyeliner.

you followed him whenever you had the chance. just to learn more about him. his likes, dislikes, anything that you could use to make yourself perfect for him. the object of his every desire. to drive his obsession with you the same way he had so crudely ruined your mind.

the nerd wanted you obsessed with him? you'd show him obsession.

so imagine your disgust when one day, in the dead of night when all had gone quiet and even the insects vowed silence— you heard it. soft, and strained.

"s-sat. . . satoru. . ."

coming from around the dorm building. somewhere concealed by the hedges. the gardens.

was he. . . fucking someone else?

jealousy spurred in your sinner heart as you drove forward before you could stop yourself. somehow not breaking an ankle in your high heels as you slipped through the hedges until you could catch sight of him.

sure enough— a shock of white hair caught your attention. pale hands pinning another's to the brick wall. his tall body hunched over him.

hell burned in your eyes. in your balled hands and your nails that dug into your palms. how could he.

how could he—

the person's eyes were wide. not with pleasure.

terror.

they spot you lingering. locked eyes with your cold glare. reached shaky fingers out in a gesture that you could only decipher as a cry for help.

and only then did you see the deep, dark liquid dripping down their throat. exactly where satoru buried his face into.

the street lamps glinted at just the right angle. showed just enough.

your eyes widened when you realised exactly what it was.

when you saw his fangs. heard him gulping.

without a doubt, that was blood.

satoru's jaw was latched onto their throat. his nails digging into their wrists. his adam's apple bobbing as he. . .

drank.

your mind scrambled. nerves tense. muscles frozen.

you should have ran.

you should have ran, should have screamed, should have jumped out of your very skin because what you were staring at was something that wasn't human.

instead?

you. . . pressed your thighs together.

and vanished from the scene as quick as you could. not from fear, but because of the throbbing dampness in your panties.

you weren't stupid. you knew exactly what that was. what he was.

and it. . . aroused you.

˖ ࣪꒰ VAMPIRE NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ didn't bat an eye when your attitude problem seemed to grow by the day. he knew you by now. knew what you wanted. you pissed him off to get a reaction out of him. so that he could push you down into a desk in some abandoned classroom and fuck you until your knees jittered and your pretty panties were stained in his cum.

what he didn't realise was that you had another incentive now.

a new obsession.

after that night outside the dorm buildings, you dived head first into research. the biology of it all— vampirism.

folklore, documentaries, myths, whatever you could get your hands on. call it a hypothesis.

and what's the first thing about any hypothesis? field research. so of course you dedicated more hours to your watchful activities over your nerdy classmate.

you saw it again. saw him drain someone dry. saw him clean his fangs in the morning. saw him drink from birds in the night. your theory was correct.

and it fucking turned you on.

made you wanna be in their shoes. the bird in his clawed grasp. the bloodbag clutched in his palms. the victim under his fangs as he drained you dry of everything you had to offer.

for someone who just found out that their hatefuck buddy wasn't human, you sure had your priorities straight.

˖ ࣪꒰ VAMPIRE NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ wasn't quite sure what was going on. lately, he hasn't had to go rob a hospital, catch a bird, or pick out a new classmate to sink his fangs into.

they were delivered right to his door.

dead birds outside his dorm complex. in the gardens. convenient. with finals approaching, he never really questioned it. too buzzed on caffeine and too tired from hours hunched over a textbook to really care.

what did have him questioning, though?

the bodies.

dumped outside where the birds were. on the verge of death. puncture wounds in their throat and bleeding out.

he never could control himself.

feed first, ask questions later.

he'd drag them into his dorm. lay them out on his bed and feast to his heart's content. until his legs were shaking and he was gasping.

only then would he look at the puncture wounds. another vampire in town?

maybe trying to make an ally? he'd have to find them and personally thank them for giving him a little boost for dreadful finals.

little did he know that the "puncture wounds" were inflicted by your favourite pencil.

˖ ࣪꒰ VAMPIRE NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ didn't question the rise in your sexual encounters. how your attitude seemed solely directed on him. how you bitched more, sneered harder, seemingly did everything in your power to drive him up the wall until he snapped and dragged you off to either finger you in an empty hallway or fuck you in the bathroom stall.

didn't question the way you'd grip his hair and bury his face into your neck. how you'd slip into his lap and smother him in yourself. how you wanted to be as close to him as possible.

he thought you needy.

what you really were was desperate.

desperate for him to lose that pesky restraint you noticed he had around you. desperate to snap his control so that he buried his fangs into whatever part of you he desired and drained you dry.

you wanted it. your blood on his fangs. your hands in his hair while he did it. your cunt clenching around his cock too.

let him shatter you, take you, ruin you— death by his hands started to sound like the sweetest fantasy.

it's what got you squirting around him every time he buried himself balls-deep. what had you sensitive to the smallest touches. with his face buried between your thighs and his glasses fogged.

you'd squeeze around his head. hope you'd allure him enough to lose his mind and bite on your thigh. gorge on your blood like he did your pussy.

if only.

if only.

˖ ࣪꒰ VAMPIRE NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ swore he tasted blood on your lipstick.

you were starting to get desperate. starting to grow tired of squeezing, and squirting, and sobbing for him— hoping he'd finally lose it. hoping he'd take you in another way that wasn't just fucking you stupid into his mattress.

so that's when you did it. you were already killing off students and dragging their bodies to that same damned garden— would this really make you any more of a sinner?

it was just a few droplets. three to be exact. not enough for you to notice. but enough that he would.

you kissed him at every opportunity you had. pushing him into the lockers in the middle of the hallway. crashing your lips into his and loving the way his whole body ticked up. how he froze.

god, a sick part of you wanted him to drain you in front of everyone.

you kissed him in the library, in the study room, the cafeteria, wherever you could get your hands on him just so you could feel his shake on your waist.

bingo.

you might just be getting this nerd obsessed with you after all.

˖ ࣪꒰ VAMPIRE NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ didn't like that thought. the idea of needing you more than for just some desperate fuck to keep his mind off of his bloodlust.

now? he was really starting to imagine you in his bed whenever he pushes another body into his sheets and stained them scarlet.

maybe that's why he didn't stop your bolder touches. how you seemed to stop caring about being seen with him in public. how you wanted him at every hour of the day.

maybe, just maybe.

whatever he was feeling was threading a line on something dangerous.

it's why he didn't stop you when you got touchy with him. one late friday night in the lab. jerking him off under the table when you both should be dedicating the time to your looming research deadline.

instead: his head was tossed back. blunt nails digging into the smooth lab table as his glasses fogged and condensed with his heavy pants.

"fuck— fuck. 'm gonna cum if you don't stop—" he huffed, free hand gripping around your wrist as you squeezed him at the base.

your eyes were dilated. dare he say feral. he's been seeing that look from you more and more lately.

it throbbed that prominent underside vein of his.

"yeah, toru?" you cooed, sweet. sweeter than you had been to him all semester.

he wasn't sure why you were taking such a deep interest in him. maybe it was the way he filled you up. the way he fucked you. how desperate he sounded as he fucked his hips up into your hand in a lab where the professor could very well trot back into.

your wrist rotated. something sharp glinted in his peripheral. with his eyes fluttering and his breath heavy, he hadn't had the chance to catch sight of what was happening between his legs before—

he smelt it.

cutting, metallic, oh so fucking sweet.

his stare shot open. wide. pupils and irises shrinking as his eyes snapped down to your hand.

you were bleeding.

worse, you were smiling.

before he could shove you off and scamper away— you squeezed around his tip. harsh. with your fucking.

bleeding hand.

"wait—" he rasped.

your pace turned filthy. squeezing his cock and fucking him with your fist, using your blood as the lube.

your sweet, sinful, sanity-shattering blood.

the gums around his fangs swelled. his nostrils flared. eyes wide and flickering at the ceiling— and yet all he could do was needily buck into your pumping hand and whine from the back of his throat.

"shit— shit, fuck. I'm gonna cum. gotta stop, I'm. . . I'm gonna—"

"c'mon toru."

your thumb shoved to his tip. smearing blood with cum as you rubbed at the slit of his cock. squeezed with your other hand at his throbbing balls until his eyes rolled up.

until his fangs were on full display and he almost.

almost.

lost himself and shoved you to the table. buried his fangs into whatever part of you he found first and drained you dry while your hand went limp around his dick.

"oh my god," he croaked, whispy bangs sticking to his forehead and glasses strewn over the bridge of his nose as pleasure and bloodlust crashed on him in a dizzying, devastating splurge of sin.

and you?

still so sweet. still so fucking insane.

jerking him off with your own blood. even as his hips bucked and he snatched you by the wrist. held you tight. as his cock tensed, and trembled— and finally tipped over the edge.

thick, creamy ropes mixed with the smears of red. pouring down his dick and staining your hand that squeezed him still.

until all that came from his mouth was desperate little whimper.

till all he could think about was—

scarlet consumed blue. swallowing his irises into something carnal. violent.

his hand shot to your wrist. cramped it. with his sheer strength he shot to his feet and shoved you into the desk. dug his thumb into your wound and sneered above you as the scent of your blood finally pushed him over the edge—

satoru's not sure what made him snap out of it.

he was certain that he'd buried his face into whatever vein or artery he could and drank until you were nothing more but a memory on his tongue.

he didn't know when he pulled away.

when he scampered off.

all he knew was that his back was slamming into the locked door of his dark dorm once he was inside. that his pants were still unbuttoned and that he'd haphazardly shoved his cock back into them when he pried himself away from you.

his breathing heavy. ragged.

hand on his heart.

eyes fixed to the ceiling.

cock still stained in your sweet. . . sinful. blood.

a trembling hand raked down his face as he caught his breath.

did you see his eyes? see his fangs? did you understand that he was about to bring you to death rather than an orgasm?

his exhaustion and shock told him you didn't know. that you didn't know a damn thing. that you were just a crazy bitch who was into some freaky blood play.

and that he just overreacted.

yeah. overreacted. he needed a shower. needed to think of anything else but you.

you.

obsessed, crazy, fanatic little you.

still in that lab with his cum mixed with your blood in your hand.

staring at your palm as you breathed, heavy. heated. your free hand slipped under your skirt. between your thighs.

with your mind on him. him. that loser of a nerd. that demon of the night.

your dreadful, dangerous obsession.

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/cursed-carmine. art cred: @/yinartss

♡ ₊˚‧ ask to be tagged for part two <3

[whore-ibly-hot]

THROUGH OUR LORD AND SAVIOR @yanderereblogs THE FACULTY HAVE BEEN FOYND AND RETURNED TO US! PRAISE BE TO REBLOGGERS, SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL ARCHIVISTS!

Yandere Boarding School Part 2, (Faculty)

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Multiple yanderes, non-con touching, dub-con, perverted thoughts, obsession, bullying, masturbation, aphrodisiacs, general perversion, dry-humping, voyeurism, controlling behaviors, typical yandere stuff, breeding, smoking, horny posting.

(AN: Part Two has been reuploaded after a takedown, godspeed @yanderereblogs for saving it! Mmmmmm, old men. Everyone pictured as a student is OF LEGAL AGE TUMBLR MODS HOP OFF MY DICK.

Background: Thinking about a Headmasters Son or Daughter!Reader at a private boarding school. For a Fem!Reader, perhaps you're just visiting daddy for the season while he's running the school, or maybe you've been bad, and need more supervision. For a Masc!Reader, it could be the same case, however, with Ridgemoore Academy being an all male school, this makes it easier to imagine a world where reader is allowed in the school. Now, let's focus on the faculty...

◇ Mr. Joel Murphy, who teaches the majority of the 'life skills' classes at the school. The school being all-boys is very traditional, and teaches things like game hunting and orienteering, which is why they hired a manly-man like Joel. If only they knew what a bitter grump he is. An ex-sheriff of the nearby town, he decided to leave the force after realizing there was no real crime in the small, privileged town, and decided to take up an easy job at the school. Unfortunately, he realized his love for camping and hunting is warped into what he considers 'frilly shit for rich little boys'. He's gruff, barking out orders and easily been exasperated at the sheer incompetence of the boys.

"Shoot one quail, and these boys act like they killed a bear..."

He thought about retiring from yet another job, as living on the ritzy campus just doesn't feel like home to him, and lord knows he's not fond of his job. However, things change when you arrive. Whether you're a delinquent or a little more sweet and obedient, he likes you. If you're a delinquent, he likes seeing a little hell-raiser kick up some shit at the fancy school. If you're sweet or shy, he gets protective. Nice youngins' like you shouldn't be thrown in amongst these spoiled weasels.

He's sure to help you if you need it, a gentle hand on your back as his burly chest presses against your shoulder blades, adjusting your position against the butt of a rifle. Standing by while you're on hands and knees trying to light a fire, making sure none of the boys are trying to get a look at your assessts. Not that he isn't going to, but he justifies it to himself as just making sure your school shorts/skirt is regulation. He's protecting your modesty. After class hours, come to him with any issues, or shit, even his room. He'll put on some coffee and ask you to help him create a curriculum that 'reaches the kids', as your father instructed him to. It's cozy, the fancy school adnorments thrown away for medals and plaques, national parks posters and a few old family photos. He'll keep you tucked in on his warm couch while he strays from curriculum talk to stories of his time in the scouts and on the force. Tells you about how much he loves just... laying out under the stars with somebody special, to sit around a campfire with friends, then slyly ask is you've ever had somebody to do that with. He knows you're younger than him, and he struggles with the idea that you won't want him cause of it, so for now, he'll bask in the feeling of seeing you curled up in his room, keeping the idea of picking you up and having you accept his cock to himself. If you can get pregnant, his fists his cock to the thought of that too. He's not some horned up boy, he wants you in the long term.

He looooooves the yearly orienteering final, in which the students in the class are made to go on an actual camping trip. It's possible a tent will 'accidentally' go missing, leaving you to bunk with him. Don't worry, nothing bads gonna happen while you've got this burly bear of a man practically spooning you, warm gut from his dad-bod pressed against you as he tries his best to make sure he doesn't scare you.

"Sorry those damn boys left your tent back at the school, kiddo. I... wouldn't be suprised of one of them did it on purpose, little bastards." He grumbles, hoping you'll take the hint to separate yourself from those immature preps and stick to being with a man who can treat you right. "Remember that lesson from a couple weeks ago, on body heat? I know it's awkward, but we've only got one sleeping bag. You feel like you can trust this old man to keep you warm?" Unfortunately for his ego and trying to keep down his urges, the trees aren't going to be the only wood in the morning.

◇ Mr. Paul Burton, head of the arts department. He's so over this, a once decent artist who dabbled in pop art and theatre only to stop getting gigs and be black-listed after offending several more famous artists, calling their work 'sell-out chic', he's now a burn-out who smokes and ignores his students all class. He's passionate about art, but frankly he doesn't want tow aste his time teaching when he knows these rats are taking his class for easy credit. He's only teaching here to utilize the facilities and studios so he's not living in a van in the Walmart parking lot. A mix of hippie culture, live and let live and cynical burnout, he's so. Fucking. Done. But... maybe you change that for him.

You're interesting, a headmasters child who doesn't fit in to your fathers perfect mold? Maybe a rebellious student who goes against the grain of this perfect school. Or a blooming ray of sunshine in this dark den of privilege and conformist curriculum for the future lawyers of the world. Either way, he's found a new muse. See him after class.

He'll be thrilled if you're into art, let him guide you. Tell him your favorite artists and he'll tell you when he threw up on there shoes by accident in his hey-day. Gossip about a student you don't like, he'll listen while he smokes and tell you about how that guys mom hit on him. He loves to gossip, but he loves to watch you create more. The way your hands shape a vase or brush across a canvas light a fire in him he hasn't felt in a while. He's more willing to forgo the age gap between you, while it's never something he considered before, he knows he's not gonna let go of the one thing that makes him feel like he lives again. Besides, he's always been unconventional.

He'll have you stay after class, maybe he'll have you pose nude for a painting, assuring you it's fins, it's platonic, it's just for the love of art. He chooses and extra large canvas, it lets him paint while he relieves himself as you explain you're getting cold. He'll put on some artsy, silent, black and white film from the 30s, and while you watch and slowly realize it's pornographic, He'll grin to himself while he watches you flush. He'll ask you all sorts of questions about your thoughts on the film, the actors, what they're doing. He really wants to figure out how experienced you are. "What do you think of the composition? It's really carnal, you know?" He puts out his cigarette. "I'm glad I can show this to you, you'll actually appreciate it. You're not giggling like an idiot when some guys penis is out on the screen." He groans, thinking of his other students.

He does actually like one student, though they make an odd pair. Joseph's easily spooked and shy personality clashes with the brash older man's, but he's glad to have someone he can think of as a protege. Someone who loves art as much as him, but get isolated for it. He was doing a portfolio look over when Joseph accidentally turned in the wrong folder. Joseph feels like he might die as Mr. Burton, a man he admires, flips through nude pictures of the object of his affection, and at a distance no less. A part of him wants to rip it away, but he needs this scholarship.

"Please, please, sir! I-I'll never do it again, it was just a phase, I didn't mean for you to see-"

"They're good." Mr. Burton flips through the folder. "Real good. You could really get somewhere with these, maybe not in the fine art scene, but... tell you what." He adjusts his glasses and leans forward on his desk. "We'll do a special session, you and me, yeah? I'll get your friend here, and I'll vouch for your integrity so you can take some less-" he purses his lips. "Stalker-ish pics- Jesus, kid, is that taken from a tree?"

☆ Anatoli Sidorov, probably the best paid staff given how they got him here. He's a Russian coach for a former Olympic Russian swim team, and he joined the prestigious American school to escape shame after he 'resigned' post a doping scandal which he swears he wasn't involved in. (Whether he was or not is your choice.) Still, he's led the boys swim team and track team to nationals several times, and he's a legend among the wealthy benefactors of the school. He's outwardly very serious, hard on his team but respectful of them. He doesn't put up with any unruly or unsportsmanlike behavior from his boys, at least not what he can see. He's very nice deep down, intellectual and funny, though he still struggles with American humor and English.

He adores you when he meets you, milking about with the other students before class. You seem genuinely social, and wanting to fit in. The idea someone could be so welcoming warms his heart. Deep down, he misses his home, and he misses the friends he once had. You're warm, and he likes that. Not to mention, you're a looker. He's embarrassed, especially if you're male, seeing as he never considered swinging the other way, and much less with someone younger. But he can't help but stare when your pretty tits bounce as you run, or the way those jogging shorts hardly conceal your bulge. He even pulled you to the side one to scold you for not wearing regulation gym clothes, before realizing they were and awkwardly sending you back into class. That was a moment of self-reflection for him.

He's not necessarily outwardly softer to you, you might even think he doesn't like you, given that he has you stay late to run or jump rope, or constantly pulls you into time out mid-game. It's all for your own good, trust him. He doesn't like the way some of the boys were looking at you, and he could tell Evan was a only a play away from trying to practically hump you while trying to 'get the ball'. He's made Harrison, who he loves as a player, run laps for talking to you for only a few minutes. He hates feeling like a jealous boy, but he can't help it. You make him feel young.

He establishes a private locker room area for you, since you're the headmasters kid and not an official student. Besides, you're clearly being harassed by the others! So, he's got a nice little closet for you, with a not suspicious air freshener that's not a hidden camera, and a private key only you have access to. (Technically that's true, he just has a bypass key for himself.) He'll snatch a pair of boxers or some panties, slipping them into his track coat for later. Eventually, he'll tell you he's worried you aren't able to catch up to the others, given that you arrived later and started the gym curriculum later than the others. He'll start having extra 'make-up' workouts with you, starting with stretching. One leg uo on the bar, you'll have to excuses his cold hand running along your thigh, or stroking over your chest as him just admiring how your strength and flexibility is evolving. He relishes the feeling of your body on his, groping you under the guise of training and resisting the urge to just slip aside your gym shorts and veg you to take him.

"Little star, part 'dem a little, there ve go." He keeps your legs parted as he works you into a position on your back, against the rubber mats the tumbling team had laid out. He lays just over you, pushing your legs back a little further with his arms, just far away enough to keep you from noticing his hard on, but enough to lightly press it against the plush swell of your ass. Good, let's just- fuck- hold. Let's hold."

☆ Kory Koffman, English teacher and part time librarian! The school outs so much effort into sports, both admin and students seem to forget about him. Hell, the library is used so little they fired the librarian, and he took it upon himself to try and care for the building himself. He's a sweet, shy man, who just wants to share his passion for literature with others. However, unlike Mr. Burton, he was never popular or famous, so he's content to keep to himself, but the loneliness does get to him.

When you wandered into his library one day, maybe looking for a book or seeking refuge from a hoarde ofadmirers, he was happy to welcome you into his little safe haven. He'll give you some warm tea from the little coffee machine he has set up, and sit you down. Let him help you find a book, or tell you about his creative writing class? He'd let you join, even late in the semester! It's not a very full class.

For the first time in his life, he finds himself craving the attention of another, of someone else's company, other than his books. He hasn't felt that need for connection since he was a boy, after his momma passed. He'll do anything to keep you there, and if reading isn't your thing, much to his chagrin, he'll add a DVD section to the library, but only good films and classic for you! No Adam Sandler, those movies are to overstimulating for poor Mr. Koffman.

As his feelings turn romantic, he's ashamed. You're a student, and he's a lonely old man, you deserve someone better, someone your age. However, the thought of you being with any of the many students who mock him in the halls or disrupt his class, the thought of hand you over to those-those imbeciles, hurts him. He wants you, and he's ashamed at the way his trousers go tight when you bend over to get a fallen book, or when you hand him his glasses after he misplaced them (again), the fact he just stares at your finger prints for awhile and refuses to clean the lens. He's not had sex in a long, long time, but he finds himself masturbating more than he ever did when he was younger. He'll watch library security footage openly, moaning and whimpering at his desk with no fear anybody will stop in, no one ever does but you. He wants you as his spouse, you already make his library, his home away from home seem brighter, imagine what you could do for his actual apartment.

"Oh, hello! It's good to see you, it's been a bit." He's a little bitter at that last statement, but adjusts his glasses and continues. "Just remember to stop by often, okay? I'd really, really hate to impose the late policy on you..."

☆ Atticus Critch, the schools latin instructor and head sponsor of student body, (not to mention the man in charge of detention), is a strict disciplinarian. He takes no nonsense from anyone, and despises the behavioral pardons given to boys like Evan or Harrison simply because they are athletes. Peter is obviously his favorite, and when he catches wind of the ways the boys around campus are speaking about you, he decides to take it upon himself to remove the distraction, by having Carter trail you and give you detention for minor inconveniences. Carter isn't particularly thrilled at always having to send you to detention instead of extorting you to get his rocks off, but he's hoping maybe he'll get to 'monitor' detention one of these days.

Initially, Mr. Critch has you doing small tasks, writing lines or organizing things, but soon he starts to see the appeal. If you're a good student for the most part, he's determined to keep you good, and away from all the vermin in this school. If you're bad, he's had plenty of experience in taming brats. He's open with his sexual desires, it his growing affection for you that makes him struggle.

If you've stayed out too late and broke curfew, you can spend detention on your knees, suckling his cock into the late hours. Maybe you've been running around with Tyler. He'll make you lay down on his desk and deny you your climax over and over again, asking 'if not making you cum' is what that boy does to you, never fully satisfying you. He'll make you beg to finish, and to promise you'll be good from now on.

"Come on, repeat it. Tell me you'll be good now, that you won't bother with BOYS-" He annuciates with a thrust, "When you have a man right here, whose willing to take time out of his day to discipline you!" One the amorous session is over though, he definitely softens, trying to prove he's more than a boy in many ways, including good aftercare. He'll dress your limp form back up in your uniform and walk you get you a cup of water from the fountain. "Only ten minutes till your detention is over, dear. Just sit there, take some time to reflect on how you got here." His tone is demeaning, but as he pets your scalp, his touch is so feather-light. Don't expect is to last into the next day though.

[suiyuzu]

warnings: dubcon, pseudocest, gross loser caleb

Your brother is such a loser.

Big brothers are supposed to be cool, aren’t they? Not like Caleb, who - well you suppose he’s good at basketball - prefers to stay in his room and tap away on his PC all day. The only few times you see him emerge from the darkness is when he comes downstairs to pick up the packages he orders, before shooting back up the stairs. On the rare instances he’d even have a sit down dinner with you and gran. Yet the moment the dishes are clean, he’s disappeared off into his perpetually darkened room again.

Weirdo.

You’re sure that a loser like him wouldn’t ever be able to make friends. So how shocked you were when you discovered that Caleb, indeed, isn’t a social outcast. You were less shocked when you discovered that they were as equally as loserish as your big brother.

There’s that artsy one, who’s always drawing lewd manga in that sketchbook of his. You wished you never peeked into it (if you hadn’t, you’d never know that some of the drawings included you). Then there’s the weird mafia one, who’s always pretending to be this great cartel lord or something, always smirking and winking at you. There’s the blond one who might be a cosplayer, always coming over carrying a real sword. He always makes sure to fall asleep next to you or over you on purpose so you wouldn’t be able to move until he wakes up. Creep. And out of them all, the only normal one, Zayne— that is, until you found him shamelessly jacking off to your medical checkup records that you left outside in the living room.

Right, and there was that new one, wasn’t there? Some wolf furry friend of Caleb’s, who’s always wearing fake wolf ears and a tail and jumping around on all fours. He bit your neck to ‘mark’ you that one time.

Least to say, your brother’s friends were not normal.

You do make fun of poor Caleb sometimes. Why can’t he be normal and make some friends who weren’t obsessed with their friend’s little sister? Why does he have to choose this group of losers? Why can’t he be like you, with Tara and everything?

“What, do you all like, masturbate in a circle or something hahahaha—“

Caleb scowls, adjusts his thick black glasses, scratches his neck, and slams the door to his room.

But Caleb still wants to keep his dignity as an older brother. He can’t lose too much respect from his lil sis after all, even though he is kind of a loser.

So he’ll have to remind you of his place every once in an often. Plus, remind his dear friends that you’re his sister.

You find yourself, on the rare occurrence, laid flat out on Caleb’s bed, one of his hands on the curve of your throat whilst the other grips your hips as he slams into you. He’s muttering something, but you can’t make out what above all the wet squelches and your moans and him suddenly flipping you onto your back, pressing down onto the bulge in your pelvis from above, before pulling out and slamming right back in.

On your front, you can see his laptop clearer now. Your tits hurt from all the groping he did before, and now they have to rub painfully against his cumstained mattress. The hentai episode plays as you get rammed from behind. The girl is squealing, eyes squeezed shut, tongue out, crying and whining, her arms raised by her shoulders as she bounces on the faceless male lead’s cock.

She looks like you, you notice. You wouldn’t be surprised if Caleb saved this episode along with the other hundreds of other porn videos and eroge games he’s got on file.

Caleb adjusts the angle he’s hitting in, just enough to make you cry out in time with the poor anime girl on screen. Your hands claw onto his stinky bed sheets, as he rubs against that spot again, and again, and again…before his fat head pushes against your cervix.

As if he’s trying to follow along the video, at that moment the episode features an X-ray moment where you could see the guy inside the over exaggerated pink insides of the anime girl. You wonder if Caleb really believes in that kind of anatomy he probably does.

He’s probably doing it on purpose as well. Timing your reactions to the girl in the hentai. He’s probably jerked off to the video enough times to know every timestamp front to back.

Once he’s done, he stays stuffed inside you for the sole purpose of ‘so you’ll only be able to take me, once your insides mould around my girth.’ You roll your eyes and try to explain to him that that’s not how it works, but Caleb just pats your head and calls you a dumb little meimei.

Silly you. Thinking you know better than your big brother. Thinking you can make fun of him before getting fucked dumb.

You whimper and rub your eyes pitifully, apologizing to him, saying what he wants to hear: that’s he’s right, he’s always right, and you admire him soso much—!

That is, until Caleb pulls out the Japanese sailor schoolgirl uniform and asks you to put it on. Sigh**

[luvyizhou]

18+ mdni | finding caleb’s old journal wasn’t anything exciting, but seeing that he wanted you in ways you never thought of definitely was.

TW. grief, invasion of privacy fr, titty sucking!!!, p in v, raw, USE OF GEGE

after josephine passed, you took it upon yourself to sort through her belongings, carefully organizing everything into keep, donate, and trash piles. the work seemed doable, easy even—the distance naturally strained your relationship after you moved out, so you felt apathetic more than anything when you heard the news.

once you started though, it was obvious you’d been mistaken. every item brought back a flood of memories, pulling you further into the past. it felt as though a piece of you had gone missing with her, thoughts drifting back to the woman who raised you.

you weren’t only mourning her death, you were mourning the life that existed while she was still here—the familiar routines, the warmth of home, the childhood you shared with caleb. all those years spent growing up side by side, finding your way through the world together no matter which paths you eventually chose for yourselves.

pivotal moments of your life flashed through your mind, both caleb and josephine present for every one of them. before you even realized it, tears began to streak down your face. you swiped at your cheeks, trying to brush away the wetness to no avail. each drop was followed by several more, staining your top as you shrunk into yourself. you scrambled for your phone, immediately thinking to call caleb as your sniffles turned into sobs. your chest heaved with each ring, waiting for the familiar click that meant he’d answered the phone.

“hey pips”

his voice soothed you, calming you enough to stutter out ramblings of how you thought you didn’t care that she was gone, that this would be easy. he listened as you spoke tenderly about your late caregiver, forgiving her for wrongdoings you couldn’t look past when she was still here. once your voice began to trail off, he finally responded.

“my girl’s all grown up now”, he chuckled, proud of how mature you sounded even as you cried between each word. “i know how conflicting it is. wasn’t even sure if i wanted to come back when i remembered everything, but im not gonna leave you to do this alone”. you nodded your head, forgetting he couldn’t see you. the two of you exchanged a few more words before saying h e would be there in a couple of hours, asking you to wait until he arrived before continuing. “let the grief settle, we’ll do this together.”

you sat with the silence for a few minutes, simply taking it all in. deciding fresh air would help you reset, you moved to open a window. cool air rushed in, brushing against your face and easing the tightness in your chest. when you turned back to the room, the mess was exactly where you’d left it. boxes, papers, and memories piled around you. with a quiet sigh, you returned to work, knowing it needed to be done.

most of the afternoon passed in silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of paper and creak of old floorboards. boxes that hadn’t been touched in years were stacked around you, their contents carrying the scent of dust and time. you had just started working through a box labelled ‘caleb’s stuff’ when a particularly harsh gust of wind scattered old photographs and school papers across the room, revealing a worn notebook buried beneath them. years in storage had torn at its edges, wrinkling the cover and creasing the pages inside. its condition nearly led you to throw it out until your fingers stilled when you recognized the familiar cursive of caleb’s name sprawled across the side. you quickly flipped through the pages, dust blowing into your face as you realized it was his journal.

you knew you shouldn’t read it. the thought alone should’ve been enough to make you close it and put it where you’d found it. instead, you stared down at the worn cover resting in your lap.

before you could convince yourself otherwise, you were already turning to the first page.

property of caleb xia

his contact info was written below it, DAA email hinting at how long ago it was.

the first few pages were exactly what you’d expected—complaints about school, notes about training, little observations about his day. some of them even made you laugh, hearing his voice so clearly despite the years that had passed.

you almost snapped a picture to tease him with when an entry mentioning you caught your eye.

today she stole half my fries and acted like i was the one robbing her. i put up a fight just to see her get annoyed.

a smile tugged at your lips.

she fell asleep on the couch again. gran told me to wake her up, but i think she’s more comfortable here bc of the storm.

your fingers paused against the page.

i don’t think she realizes how pretty she looks when she’s talking about something she likes.

her eyes get all big and she can barely make it through one story before going on a tangent about something else. i wanted to kiss her so bad that i had to kick her out using ‘homework’ as an excuse.

you reread the entry once, twice, three times, looking for hints it was about someone else. the further you read though, the harder it became to convince yourself you were misunderstanding, because the entries didn’t stop—every page only made it clearer.

gideon stayed for dinner and i saw her bite her lip when he talked about how much she’d grown. pissed me off. i say it allll the fucking time but she never blushes with me.

then, an entry from two days later.

came home from the gym and was telling her about my pr when she came out of the shower wearing MY shirt. wasn’t even a clean one too, probably picked up the first one she saw. christ, sometimes i feel like she WANTS me to just bend her over and—

your attention was ripped from the journal as your phone rang. caleb’s name flashed on the screen for a minute before you picked it up with shaking fingers.

“h-hello?” your voice trembled, somehow convinced he could hear the guilt and immediately clock what you’d been doing.

“hey pips. gonna be a bit late, weather started to get bad so my ride got delayed”

your eyes drifted back to the journal as you listened, humming every so often to pretend you were paying attention.

“you have the key right?” you asked, listening for confirmation. “i’m probably gonna clean a bit more then shower, just let yourself in whenever”.

the two of you exchanged pleasantries before he finally let you go, your device vibrating with a follow up message from him saying he “can’t wait to see you”. you meant to respond, but the journal weighed heavy in your lap. you threw your phone to the side and laid back with the journal in your hands, trying to immerse yourself into past caleb’s mindset.

finally spring break. was so tired the first day back but she begged me to take her to the beach. i genuinely almost came on the spot when i saw the purple bikini she chose.

you felt heat bloom between your legs at the first truly explicit comment, heart racing as you skipped to the next passage.

last day off so we had a movie night. i turned on sinister bc of the jumpscares and every single one had her pushing up against me. haven’t even been hiding how hard i am lately so i wonder if she does it on purpose? like does she get wet teasing me like that??? bet it tastes so good from the source, idk what i’m gonna do when i won’t even have her panties w me back at the academy.

sometimes i feel like she wants me to make the first move but i dont wanna lose her if im wrong.

i wish i didnt have to go back.

i wish she could come with me.

i wish we were more than we are right now.

the last few sentences made your heart ache, the yearning and pure adoration he felt evident with every word. you knew you should’ve stopped reading ages ago, but still you found yourself turning the page, barely registering the sound of the front door unlocking.

“pips?”

your head snapped up as his voice carried through the house, footsteps climbing the staircase.

“are you still up here baby?” he called, “thought you would’ve gone to bed?”

panic shot through you as your eyes darted around the attic, searching for anywhere to hide the journal. the worn notebook nearly slipped from your hands as you scrambled to think.

his footsteps got louder while you briefly considered shoving it down your pants. before you could commit to the idea though, caleb appeared at the top of the ladder, still dressed in his colonel uniform.

“hi sweet girl” he murmured, a fond smile forming on his face. he walked towards where you’d gotten comfortable, crouching down to ruffle your hair. “how come you’re still awake?”

your mouth opened, then closed again, hands tightly gripping the journal.

“um, was tryna clean so we had more time to just hang out” you managed, hoping he believed the lame response.

his expression softened instantly, a gloved hand coming to cup your cheek.

“you sap”, he laughed, standing to his full height and reaching out a hand. “let’s get ready for bed, we’ll do this tomorrow, yeah?”

you nodded, slipping your hand into his. the second his attention drifted, you tossed the journal into the darkest corner of the attic, a dull thump echoing across the room.

thankfully, old houses were always making noises, so if caleb noticed, he didn’t say anything. he simply squeezed your hand and guided you towards the ladder.

you followed close behind, doing your best to not think about the notebook hidden upstairs or the words still echoing in your head.

just moments later, the attic hatch closed above you, leaving the journal in darkness.

you couldn’t sleep that night. all you could think of every time you shut your eyes was the unbridled longing between the covers of that godforsaken notebook. every little action you previously chalked up to being ‘the perfect gege’ now carried new meaning.

the stupid nicknames, hugs that went on a little too long, the way he always gave you the last bite of his food, saying he “wasn’t hungry anymore”.

you groaned into your pillow, stomach twisting as you chided yourself for being so fucking stupid.

—

the smell of pancakes woke you in the morning, a familiar mix of vanilla and caleb’s ‘special ingredient’ (it was just cinnamon, he really wasn’t as clever as he thought) luring you out of bed. you padded downstairs in an old hoodie of his, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as he came into your view. you wrapped your arms around his broad figure hunched over the stove while taking him in. he was wearing his old running outfit, the colonel version of him hidden as he began looking like your caleb once again.

the muscles of his back tensed before he turned towards you, chuckling at the pout you wore while looking up at him.

“look who’s finally up.” he spoke, laughing at the way you rolled your eyes and pushed yourself off him.

“sorry i’m not a tryhard who gets up early”

you tried to bully him but somehow made him sound good. mumbling a ‘whatever’, you walked to the table and sat back, waiting for him to serve you.

a couple more minutes passed before he finally set a plate of golden pancakes in front of you, an iced chai following before you even had to ask.

“still not a coffee person, right?”

you nodded and tried to ignore the way your heart raced at his kind gesture, quickly grabbing the mug and covering the flush that bloomed on your cheeks.

breakfast continued in silence, the only sound heard being your collective chewing. you took the time to appreciate his masculine features, now seeing him as more than just the boy you grew up with. even the furrow of his eyebrow felt new, awakening longing in the deepest parts of your body you’d never felt before.

your heart squeezed as you began to spiral. did he still feel the same? why did you have to ruin everything by reading something so personal, god you were going to hell for this and it was deserv—

“you okay?”

you blinked several times before fumbling with your utensils, trying to look normal and failing desperately.

“w-what?” you mumbled, shoving multiple pieces of pancakes into your mouth before looking back into the violet eyes that were haunting you.

“you’ve been staring at me for like a minute, i got something on my face?” he asked, making a cocky display of hollowing his cheeks and stroking his jawline with the tip of his finger.

not responding for a beat too long and earning a questioning look from caleb, you spat out “s-sorry no jus’ zoned out”

“on my face?” he teased, flicking your forehead before focusing on his food once more. you knew it was a rhetorical question, one that didn’t need or warrant an answer—but for some reason you still found yourself responding. “yeah”

it was his turn to hide a blush now, biting his lip to suppress a happy smile. “weirdo”

the rest of breakfast passed in a blur, the air going stale with awkwardness. deciding to split up tasks to make everything go quicker, caleb offered to finish up the attic while you cleaned the kitchen. you tried resisting, saying you already started it, but it was no use—he didn’t want you to cry like yesterday again. asshole.

you listened to his footsteps climb the stairs, floorboards creaking as he began to work on the items. in less than an hour caleb had neatly organized nearly every box, now left with trashing the final items. he picked up some scattered papers here and there before pausing over a very familiar book, free of dust and dogeared to a page he remembered writing out.

bet it tastes so good from the sou-

the journal fell from shaky hands, a loud curse leaving his lips as it landed on his toes. he pinched the bridge of his nose, your strange act at breakfast now making perfect sense. still—caleb hoped, he prayed that by some miracle of god you didn’t read it. maybe if he ignored it like he ignored his feelings for you all these years, everything would be normal.

not giving it another thought, caleb quickly threw out the journal. “i’m sorry” he mumbled, unsure if he was speaking to you or his past self.

just as he contemplated fishing through the trash for it, too sentimental to dismiss his younger version’s struggles this easily, you bounced up the stairs carrying a water bottle.

“you okay?” you questioned, handing him a bottle of water. he nodded hesitantly before reaching for it, taking a sip and feeling a droplet run down his throat. your eyes never left him, trailing after the stray water with deep focus.

“looks good” you spoke dreamily, still staring at the collar of his shirt where the drop disappeared. “i-i mean the attic, um…you did it fast” you clarified, stumbling over your words before grabbing a broom and moving to sweep the dust.

caleb chuckled uncomfortably as he began stacking the boxes to keep, always having an eye on the bag of trash carrying his deepest secrets. somehow though, you kept finding ways to be close to him. intentionally or not—you were constantly going up to him, offering to help carry stuff you knew he didn’t need any help with.

at one point you tried to brush away some cobwebs you swore were on his head, pulling away after seeing the skeptical look he gave you.

“sorry” you mumbled, not able to look in his eyes.

“for what?”

you shrugged dejectedly, still not facing him. “nothing i guess”

before he could question you any more, you ran off to the washroom, leaving caleb with his thoughts.

—

by the time evening rolled around the attic was empty, and the two of you had washed away the dust with memories buried between it off your body. you collapsed on the couch next to each other, his arm thrown around your shoulders as he reached for the remote.

“horror?” he asked, speaking into the crown of your head.

you hummed in agreement, nuzzling further into his side. you inhaled deeply, noticing the way he tensed before pressing you closer. caleb turned on sinister without hesitation, throwing the remote aside and covering the two of you with a blanket.

twenty minutes into the movie and you were entangled with his body, legs resting atop his and arms gripping his waist tightly. at first you used the excuse of being “scared”, but you’d seen this movie fifty times. the jumpscares had no effect on you. still, you flinched in his touch with every loud noise, too aware of his hand resting dangerously close to your hip. you readjusted yourself until you were basically being cradled, finally causing him to pause the movie while clearing his throat.

“pips?”

you tucked your face against his chest before humming in response.

“did you read my old journal?”

you froze in his hold, unsure of how to respond. if you said yes, he’d know you saw all the…stuff. but if you said no, you’d have to explain why you were finally acting on thoughts you used to hate yourself for having.

“maybe?”

he sighed, holding you closer and resting his head upon yours. “i figured. i’m really, really sorry.”

his apology finally had you looking up “you’re sorry?”

he bit his lip and shrugged, still embarassed. “i didn’t mean it okay, i was a stupid 17 year old.”

you lifted an eyebrow.

“okay fine 18.” he paused, hoping you’d be satisfied. “fine 19. the point is—“

you giggled, tension finally slipping from your shoulders.

“i know it was bad, but i don’t want you to feel like you owe me anyth-“

“i love you”

you both spoke at the same time, interrupting each other.

silence followed as you waited for him to respond, regretting your words with every second that passed. finally, caleb lifted one hand to point at himself with his mouth agape. “m-me?”

it was the first time you’d seen him genuinely bewildered. you nodded as tears began to build, expecting a rejection to come.

“oh my god i take it back, i meant all of it and more. pips, i love you so—hey why are you crying?!”

you laughed at the alarm in his voice, letting him swipe away your tears. “i-i felt so much shame…always felt so sick and being here jus’ made it all come back.”

he nodded as you spoke, eyes flicking from yours to your trembling lips. “i’m sorry…god we wasted so much time”

you laughed again, wrapping your arms around his neck before resting your forehead on his. you sat like that, breathing each others air before he broke the silence.

“can i kiss you” caleb asked, lips already brushing yours with each word. you nodded eagerly, earning a chuckle from him.

he closed the distance between your mouths, gently pressing his lips on yours and feeling every version of him cheer as he finally got the girl of his dreams.

you moved back, looking into his eyes once more.

“again?”

you giggled at the question, closing the distance yourself this time and feeling his groan rumble through you. his tongue traced the seam of your lips, exploring with purpose once you gave him access. he licked against every part of your mouth, entwining his strong muscle with yours. a string of spit connected you when you pulled away from each other, lips puffy and red.

you grinded against him without meaning to, whining at the feeling of his hard length against your clothed heat.

“fuck” he groaned, letting his head fall back against the couch as you repeated the motion, letting your lips trail down his neck. “s-so fuckin good”

you focused on the spot that had him bucking against you, alternating between biting the sensitive skin and soothing it with your tongue.

“ngh…gege” you moaned into his skin, the endearing term making him pull you back with a hand in your hair.

“fuck, can i please take this off?” he asked, fingers playing with the hem of your top.

you nodded quickly, helping him rip it off you and throwing it to the side. you thanked your past self for skipping a bra after your shower, the warm hands cupping your breasts leaving you dripping.

“so fucking cute, used to think of these pretty tits all day” he confessed, pelvis continuing to meet your bounces above him. you moaned at his words, placing your hands on his shoulders for stability as you sped up. “r-really?”

“mhm. i couldn’t write down half the stuff i wanted to do, always felt too bad.” you whined at the words, nails gripping his shoulders tightly. “would imagine sucking on your pretty tits, playing with your pussy and watching you cum”

you nodded rapidly, gasping when he pinched your nipples. finally, caleb ran his tongue down towards your breasts, sucking on one of the perky buds while cruelly tweaking the other. the dual stimulation was too much for you, finally reaching your peak above him, body trembling as the waves of pleasure crashed over you.

he let you ride out your high before bringing his head up once more, pressing a tender kiss to your lips.

“do you want more?”

his hands slowly ran up and down your skin, soothing your nerves and letting you decide. you nodded while still catching your breath, watching in awe as he ripped his clothes off. “thank god, you don’t even know what you do to me.”

you stared at his chiseled figure, lifting your hips so he could take off your pants. your eyes trailed down his body before finally landing on the giant hard cock between his legs, his hand pumping it gently and rubbing the bead of slick at the tip around the rest of his length.

you gulped while watching him, back arching when he ran his tip between your pussy lips. “f-fuck, gege please”

he moaned at that, a whine of your name leaving his lips as the last of his restraint finally broke.

he slowly pushed his tip into you, the shear stretch of just the first inch making your eyes water. you gripped the couch below you, knuckles whitening with the force you used.

“doin’ so good, know you can take it” caleb spoke from above you, eyes locked on where you met, one hand rubbing your clit to ease the pressure.

“f-faster, get it over with”

he shook his head, unsure of whether he was denying it for your wellbeing or his. tired of how long he was taking, you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him to you, a scream ripping from your throat as he was buried to the hilt. his eyes shot open as his body curled over you, trying to think of anything to avoid shooting his load prematurely.

the two of you moaned, surprised at how full you were. “s-so big” you cried, tears rolling down your face as he slowly pulled out to push back in.

“maybe if you weren’t a fuckin brat…” he began, cut off as he became entranced by the way your cunt constantly sucked him back in.

without a warning caleb increased his pace, shushing you and apologizing for being rough but not slowing down.

“sorry, fuck baby, i’m so sorry jus’ feel so good, been waiting for you forever”

you pulled him for a kiss to quiet his ramblings, trying not to scream as he began fucking into you ferociously. the old couch you were situated began to squeak as it moved against the floor, creaking with every inch it moved.

“c-close” you whined, already nearing your peak once more as his thumb rapidly rubbed against your clit.

“please baby, cum for me i need it, please fuck—“

his pleas were cut off with a gush of fluid from your heat, immediately triggering his own orgasm and leading to his body falling on top of yours. the sound of your heavy breathing filled the room, laying with each other as he pressed tender kisses to your shoulder.

you giggled at the immediate change in his demeanour, running a hand through his hair. just as he opened his mouth to speak, the movie suddenly resumed and caused both of you to let out a loud scream at the sudden jumpscare. caleb scrambled for the remote and shut the tv off, leaning back over you and giggling at the way your hearts raced in tandem.

© all work belongs to @luvyizhou on tumblr, 2026. do NOT use, repost, or feed any of my work into AI or other websites.

taglist @starkissedxav @bitterprincipality @gravitationalbluberry @navvzy @dvktea @fromeirlys @tokkiwrites @vanillaapples @cortischronicles @rubylescent @i-idk-i-guess @galaconic @floatingpalelilies @kaeyasfuturewife @ughhhhhsstuff @naomiarai @cocoaxia @manlymens

[indiewritesxoxo]

the aliens are cumming!

gojo's out of this world!

synopsis: you never asked to trade sleeping in your bed for sleeping on a cold cot in a spaceship. never imagined you'd become an alien's favorite species to study - or his favorite to fuck either. he might not want to cage you like the rest of them, but then again, keeping you captive wouldn't be so bad, would it? for science, of course.

pairing: alien!gojo x f!reader

content: mdni. smut. porn with plot. slight dubcon. yandere!alien gojo, abduction, probing, examination kink, being strapped down to a table, lube, everyone loves true form sukuna but have we considered gojo with four arms and two dicks?, dumbification, gojo is basically an alien with a porn addiction and a human fetish but he's got cute antennas too, yearning, he's OBSESSED, nipple sucking, fingering, double stuffed, penetration in both holes, unprotected anal and piv sex, creampies

Gojo wanted you the second he saw you.

Technically, he shouldn't have even been in the lab. Technically, he wasn't even a researcher. Technically, he had stolen the security card once he saw that they abducted someone new to conduct their standard blood tests on.

Humans were a hot commodity.

A resource to utilize, something to use like, ah, how did they say it? Lab rats? Something less sentient, more animalistic. A lesser version of them, but with biology similar enough to study.

His kind had never cared about human history. Couldn't be bothered to learn about their culture. Flat-out disregarded the notion an inferior species like that could even really have any.

Satoru simply disagreed.

They didn't care to hear him out either. Kept up the archaic practices under the bland excuse of conducting studies for boring stuff like medicine and science.

It was supposed to be cut and dry. Abduct. Drug. Test. Drop back off.

Humans never noticed.

Waking up the morning after back in their own bed, completely clueless, chalking any memories up to nothing more than a weird dream and moving on with their little lives.

But Gojo had been fascinated by the funny creatures for as long as he could remember. Collected trinkets and snuck their stuff back to his room when they were brought on board. Managed to sneak in and ask a few about what Earth was like while they were still dazed.

He'd only been on the planet once. It was meant to be a brief expedition, to stake out some potential subjects before returning to their spaceship, but he couldn't help himself.

That was where he obtained his prized possession.

Something you humans called porn.

He had permanently borrowed an odd-looking rectangle, purely because it was shiny and fit underneath his shirt when he got beamed back up, using their far more advanced technology to sift through the files to find something that failed to satiate his curiosity. Instead, it sparked an entirely new kind, staring rapt at the screen in his room as video after video of humans mating played out in positions he hadn't thought possible.

Using different holes and sticking body parts in places he was pretty sure they weren't supposed to be, panting and moaning and sweating on camera while they came. And they seemed to do that a lot.

Gojo studied their creativity. Their commitment to pleasure - the rituals they'd perform, the exchange of sex as a form of currency, the fabled pizza guy and the females proclivity to get stuck in dryers.

He even stitched together his own lingerie, even if his fingers ends up bloody by the end of it.

Sex up on the spaceship was boring. Solely for procreation purposes. He'd been rejecting potential mates for years, people who just wanted his position as the future heir to their conglomeration for power.

And yeah, maybe they weren't so civilized, but he was starting to think humans had something right.

After all, their genitalia was sorta like theirs. They could be having this much fun too!

If everyone wasn't so stuffy about everything and insisted on following 'protocols' all the time.

But they'd see just how right he was soon - especially now that he had a test subject of his own.

This was not a nightmare.

You thought it was, at first. Convinced this had to be a strange dream, something your brain concocted after a couple bad horror movies.

Strapped down to a table? Without a single fucking memory of how you got there?

What else could it be?

But you could feel the cool air brushing over your peaked nipples, touch the smooth surface under your palms, blink and squint at the too-bright lights lining the spherical ceiling. Legs held up, fastened in stirrups.

Still, your first conclusion wasn't extraterrestrial. No, you were sure you'd been abducted by some serial killer, kidnapped and taken back to a makeshift dungeon designed to drive you crazy.

Straining against cool metal, squirming and splayed out like a science experiment for anyone to see.

"Hello?" You called out, only getting the faint echo of your own voice back to keep you company.

No one answered. But you couldn't crane your neck to check and see if you were being ignored.

You felt like you were being watched.

Small bumps trailing over your skin when you shivered, an annoying little itch grating at your nerves and insisting you weren't alone.

Still, you wouldn't have guessed what - or technically, who - was with you.

Not until the footsteps.

They were wrong. The pace was just off, some imperceptible thing making your heart race that you couldn't quite place. Were they too close together? Too far apart? Too heavy? They were accompanied by more odd noises, your brain struggling to process it, like listening to a foreign language on the radio, picking apart bits and pieces and trying to make sense out of them.

"Who's there?"

It felt like a cheesy horror movie. You could hear yourself half an octave too high, all pitchy and petrified, but you couldn't control it. Couldn't stop yourself from shivering as you were surrounded by shadows.

Your chest heaved. Your wrists strained. But before you could scream or shout, something sharp pricked your neck, and you were almost instantly paralyzed.

Not fully, but your muscles went from fighting to faintly twitching, but they didn't respond to your brain's demands to move. You could still look around, still could twist and turn your head as much as the collar around your neck allowed.

You were terrified for the worst.

Of being touched, your skin splayed or torn while you could do nothing but stare at the blank walls.

But instead, they just watched.

Something cold grazed against your skin, but it was little more than a faint trail along your leg. A few more pricks in your arm, like they were taking blood samples.

Then they left.

Whatever they were.

The silence was somehow worse. Waiting for them to return. Waiting for some horrible fate to befall you.

Just when you were on the brink of hyperventilating, a few tears pricking at your lash line you couldn't wipe away, you heard them again.

One of the creatures whined, the cold contraptions keeping your thighs spread only pushing them further apart when you tried to move again, muscles still burning through whatever was numbing your body and keeping you mostly frozen from the neck down.

The other one replied in that strange language, and you couldn't comprehend what the fuck they were saying, but it sounded cold. All clinical and curt.

A door shut. And those strange steps came back. These were lighter though, quicker.

A pair of blue eyes were suddenly above yours, bright and intelligent, deep enough to drown in. Unnatural white lashes fluttering, narrowing as he studied your reactions. But it was hard to focus on him when the world felt all foggy, only able to process everything in broken pieces. You tried to recount what was in front of you.

Fading footsteps. Faint beeping. Cold restraints on your wrists. White walls.

And him.

You figured you were really fucked when you had the distant thought some cute guy had to pulling some cruel prank on you. Even though you could only see him from the shoulders up, it almost looked like he was wearing a Halloween costume. His skin practically shimmered, like some strange movie-style special effect, a soft shade that didn't make sense to your addled brain, antennas sticking up in his tousled white hair.

But then something warm brushed against your cheek, moving your hair to the side and sliding something inside your ear, readjusting for a moment.

"Can you understand me now?"

You nodded, as much as you could given the cold collar around your throat keeping your head down on the table.

"Good," he beamed at you, flashing teeth that were mostly human - even if his canines were too sharp for your liking. "I made that myself."

"W-who are you?" You managed to speak, still breathing too fast, trying to glance around again. "Where am I?"

"You can call me Satoru," he earnestly answered, but he paused, blinking as if he hadn't expected you to ask that. "We're on a spaceship."

"Uh-huh," you dryly replied, throat constricting as you tried to consider the chance he was telling the truth and that you weren't on a reality tv show one of your friends signed you up for.

"I'm being serious," he pouted, leaning down to look even closer at you.

His eyes were starry, speckled and swirling, magnetic, pulling you into his heated stare. His breath was cold against your skin, making you shiver and retreat back. But the metal slab you were on was even chillier, stealing all the oxygen from your lungs.

He looked less human up close. All his features were just slightly wrong, the kind of pretty and perfect that people would have to get plastic surgery and pay years worth of their salary to weakly replicate.

But he looked at you like you were the most captivating thing he'd ever seen.

"A-are you going to probe me?" You didn't realize you actually believed him until you heard the question leave your lips.

You were kinda hoping he'd laugh, assuage your fears. But he just tilted his head to the side considerately.

"Would you like me to?" Like he was your fucking gracious host, happy to oblige his guest's whims and wants.

"Um, what?" You stared. He smiled.

"I could use my fingers, or one of those, how do you call them, dil-" He began offering, and your head was spinning at the concept that aliens knew what sex toys were.

"You don't have to," you interrupted before he could finish, and you were pretty sure he was disappointed.

His little antennas drooped, his bottom lip twitching into a down-turned frown.

"Why am I here?" You changed the subject, unable to break eye contact with your new...acquaintance?

Were you about to be alien livestock? Spliced apart? Stuck in this stasis on this freezing slab forever?

"Research," he grinned again, those sharp blue eyes trailing south, his stare dragging over your exposed body. Antennas shooting straight up, subtly twitching with what you were starting to think was arousal.

"Research?" You echoed, holding your breath, heat coiling inside your stomach at his intensity. At how transfixed he was, tracing your outline and mapping it out just with his greedy gaze.

"I'd like to study your pleasure," he murmured, a not-very-subtle emphasis on the last word, his voice low.

Your brain was buzzing. Nerves electrified at the prospect of how your definition of pleasure might differ from his.

But the fear had dissipated, or maybe just coiled into something more dangerous. Desire.

"Can I touch you?" He hesitated, and you had to stop yourself from gawking. Mouth parting as you tried to figure out if he was actually asking for consent in this situation.

"D-do you want to?" You felt like you were just returning his question, a weak attempt to discern his intentions.

Part of you had started to reconsider the possibility you were dreaming before he chuckled, and your pulse pounding in your ears convinced you once again this was real.

Spread open in stirrups in front of your strange alien abductor.

But it wasn't apprehension or anxiety pumping through you anymore. It was anticipation, staring down a cliff and preparing to fling yourself off of it after his mouth curled up in a cute smirk.

"More than anything."

God, he made it sound like foreplay.

You bit your lip, tasted the hint of blood and iron on it, before making what was probably the stupidest decision of your life. You nodded.

His antennas were vibrating when he reached down to press his palm against your cheek, cupping your face. Soft, like a boyfriend would. Humming and exhaling as he smiled. His eyes didn't crinkle, no little lines etched by his lips, tiny details that stood out and made you shiver.

"I'm going to examine you first," he murmured, and you didn't know exactly how his lungs worked, or if he even had any, but it sounded like his breath hitched. His chest straining to hold it in, hold himself together as his hand traced over the cool metal of the collar down to your chest.

He used both hands.

Grabbing both your tits, not exactly groping, but squeezing hard enough to feel your skin and tissue underneath squish and shift, pure delight dancing across his face.

It was the weirdest breast exam you ever had.

Soft fingers, free of callouses, free of prints, danced over your nipples, making small stars over them.

You assumed he didn't know what he was doing. That maybe this was his first time touching a human. Or maybe a woman at all.

But then he pinched, ripping a raw gasp from your throat as you blinked up at him in surprise.

Satoru hadn't stopped though. Only emboldened by the sound he pulled from you, twisting and tweaking just enough to send sparks down your spine, heat simmering inside your stomach, unable to even squirm when he leaned down, deciding that touching wasn't enough.

He wanted a taste of you.

His tongue was rougher than you imagined, dragging over your nipple with even more fervor. You tried to crane your neck, but it didn't offer enough space for you to see his face, just those pretty blue antennas bobbing above the sea of white while he licked and lapped.

Straight-up sucking on your tits, teeth grazing against your sensitive nipples as he continued to knead into your chest.

You wished you had panties on, anything to hide how wet he was making you, thighs damp and unable to even close them to hide how hot you unfortunately found it.

Satoru pulled off with a filthy pop! before turning his attention back to you, pretty pink lips shiny with saliva as he pouted. "How come there's no milk?"

"Milk?" You gaped, the question coming out shaky, still catching your breath as you stared at his piercing blue eyes.

"Am I not doing it right?" He quizzed, running a finger back over your nipple before pinching again, only stoking the flames he'd set.

You hadn't realized how horny you were until you had to put together enough brain cells to form a coherent sentence, stumbling over your thoughts as you tried to get the words out, "T-that only happens when a girl is like, pregnant."

His brows scrunched together, processing this new interesting bit of information.

"I see," he nodded, as if it was now obvious to him. But he still applied more pressure, like he had to double check. As if he was doing some mental calculation to figure out how to induce it.

One of his fingers trailed down, past your mid-riff and over your belly button - although he did pause to press on that too, just to see if it'd do anything. When it didn't, he kept moving south. He walked around the bed, out of your sight again, both hands settling on your splayed-out thighs.

They were bigger than anyone else's you'd ever been with before. Soft and massive, sinking into your pliable muscles, humming with approval as he just stared.

You were self-conscious, trying to get your weakened muscles to shift when you heard a faint clutter. Your brain tried to do the math.

There were two hands on your thighs - so what the fuck was grabbing stuff?

It wasn't until the third hand slipped between your folds, spreading them even further apart so a fourth could spread something slick over it, that you figured out what was happening.

He had four arms.

And he was more than happy to put all of them to use.

You were already stuck. Already exposed. But he seemed intent on exploring every inch of you for himself, taking his time to drag his palms over the expanse of your body while that frustratingly gentle fourth hand slowly rubbed his palm over your entrance. Massaging in what you guessed was lube, although it made your brain feel even fuzzier. Your senses heightened, tuned into some new frequency, each subtle swirl threatening to make you shiver.

"You're pretty," he complimented, and all the warmth in your chest flooded your face, flushed as you strained to keep yourself from squeaking.

Not being able to see him was a special kind of torture. You wanted to see his face. Study what kind of face he was making when he was drawing such delicate patterns over your skin, murmuring at the little blemishes and marks on them with interest.

One of his fingers moved up, poking at your clit with just enough force to make you jolt. Well, as much as you could given how tight the restraints were, and how little your muscles would let you move with whatever his fellow aliens had put in your system.

"How did that feel?" Satoru curiously asked, circling around it, careful not to touch it again, but obviously amused by your reaction.

"G-good," you murmured. Your voice broke though, cracked when a stray thumb suddenly slipped between your slick folds, fresh goosebumps running down your flesh as he dipped in your wet warmth.

One word - and he was pulling his thumb out to push a full finger in.

It was longer than it should've been, thicker. Swirling lazily around, pressing against your walls like he was testing how much it could stretch.

If that was a finger, you didn't know how you'd fit his cock.

"I-I-" You started, struggling to breathe, struggling to think when you felt something else trying to slot in next to the first.

"Mhm?" He drawled, daring you to tell him more, hanging off every little sound he tore out. You might've managed to murmur that you didn't know how much more you could handle, but then you were being speared open, mean fingers digging into your thighs to pin them down against the freezing table.

The next noise he dragged out of you was feral. Some filthy moan, one that echoed off the walls and came from the back of your throat.

It felt like he was trying to stuff his fucking fist in there.

"S'too-" You whined, but you couldn't even finish. Trying to crane up again, desperate to see what he was doing.

"That's only two fingers," he murmured, experimenting out what it'd take to make you split, scissoring with steady strokes, like he was counting the seconds between each one in his head. "You can take it."

Confident, cocky, slowly increasing the pace, fingering you fast, eventually finding that sweet little spot at the back, crooking them cruelly and chuckling at the lewd squelches of your cunt.

"Look at you," he purred, and you didn't think you'd ever heard anyone sound so pleased. "Every part of you is perfect."

"Mm, S'toru," you slurred his name, eyes rolling back, thighs starting to tremble before he pulled his fingers back out, and you heard the distinct sound of him sucking them clean, moaning himself at the taste of you on his tongue.

You felt empty. Hot. Your skin burning, your body begging for him to keep going, all your thoughts drifting incoherently as you tried to drag out some sensibility from the recesses of your mind. But everything was too cloudy, barely clinging onto what was left of your rationality as one of his hands pressed down on your clit, rolling his palm over it, applying just enough pressure to make you croon.

Whining, all pitchy and weak, fingers forming a fist as you squirmed.

"You need more?" He teased, and you were already nodding, hips trying to move to entice him.

When it came down to it, you supposed you were just another animal, devolving down to your most basic instinct when the right stimulation came along. Depraved.

You felt him shuffle before you saw him, heard the creak of the table as his broad body climbed on top of you.

His hands shifting, one on your hip, one grabbing one of your tits, fully groping you now before he reached up with another to brush your hair back.

You were a little scared to think what he might be doing with the fourth one.

But his eyes were on you, and you were lost in them. Immediately sucked into the shimmer of them, even when the blue was almost swallowed by his blown-out pupils.

"Both my cocks are much bigger than the average penis size on your planet," he proudly proclaimed, something thick and wet nudging back between your thighs.

"Both?"

Too late.

The stretch burned. Each ridge practically engraving itself, leaving an imprint inside you as he slowly dragged along your walls. Pushing past the first ring of resistance with a throaty groan of his own, embarrassingly loud, his sharp jaw locked as he forced the last few inches in.

"That's my girl," he moaned, leaning down to kiss you to swallow your squeak, your guts being rearranged before he had even pulled back out to start fucking you properly.

Where the hell had he even learned to talk like that? Know how to make the butterflies in your stomach somersault?

And really, how on Earth (or in orbit) were you somehow nodding along to the idea of being an alien's girl?

"Told ya you can take it," he murmured between breaths, sucking on your bottom lip messily, biting hard enough you were pretty sure it might be bleeding. But you were too far gone to care, mindlessly agreeing in whimpers.

"Mm, mm," you tried to speak, but nothing more would come out, eyes rolling back when you felt a new pressure pushing against your puckered hole.

He paused though, pulling back enough to wink at you, white lashes fluttering as one of his hands let go of you to reach out and fumble for something on the other table you couldn't see. "Almost forgot."

You didn't get a chance to ask what before he was rubbing more of that lube there, shuddering at the almost slimy feeling on your skin.

Apprehensively, you tensed, but then he started fucking you, and you forgot to even breathe.

Only able to take and take and take, when he started stretching your ass out with a finger while he pumped your cunt full. It didn't feel like a normal cock - and not just because of its size. It was almost ribbed.

It didn't hurt, but it was the kind of intense that was impossible to ignore. Grinding deep against your womb, coaxing you into crying his name when his cock rubbed against all those spots he mapped out earlier.

Your mouth was watering, but he kept kissing you, testing how it felt to press his lips against the corner of your mouth, across your cheek, even down your jaw.

And when he started pushing his other cock in?

Your mind melted. Reason dissolving until the only thing left inside you was him.

You had never even done anal before.

But here you were, letting an alien stuff both your holes past the brim, his cocks big enough you could feel the pressure building and building, only separated by the thin wall of your anatomy.

Satoru was toying with your tits again, like stress toys made specially for him, all the overstimulating sensations mixing together and mounting, heightening each other until all you knew was his hands and his mouth and his cocks. Rewired by how good it felt to be played with, how right it felt to be stretched and split open.

You didn't even sound human anymore, Satoru devouring every single one of your devastated whimpers, encouraging more with delicious whispers that left you arching your back as much as you could off the table.

He bottomed both cocks out, and you thought you might die. Pain? Pleasure? Both?

And then he was back to rubbing more of that lube over your clit, thighs trembling and body quivering as he soothed you through it.

"You wanna cum for me, sweetheart?" He purred, and you could've climaxed from the cute smirk curling up on his lips, his perfectly sculpted face and those pretty patterns he was busy pressing against your swollen bud.

He pulled his fingers back right as you were about to crest over it, chuckling when you let out a huff.

"Say my name again."

"Toru, p-please," you were begging. Unable to move your wrists, to tether your fingers in his hair or claw at his shoulders, giving him your best set of puppy dog eyes.

He seemed to already see you as his pet.

"Well," he hummed, thumb returning to rubbing you again. "When you say it like that."

With one mean circle, Satoru dragged you over the edge - and dropped you into the ocean of him. White (and blue) blurred your vision, your body shuddering as you desperately cried his name, his thrusts somehow lazy and rushed, burying both his cocks in you and moaning at how hard you clenched down on them.

"S'fucking tight," he hissed, but he was right there with you, cumming hard and fast inside you too, hot spurts of it coating your insides as he throbbed inside you.

Your skin was still warm when he pulled out, your muscles sore and tense, body exhausted as you blinked up at him.

"That was fun," he grinned. "Ready for round two?"

Gojo couldn't have created a better specimen himself.

You fulfilled his every fantasy - and then some.

The research department found him two hours later, grumbling about getting locked out of the lab just to find the culprit readjusting a homemade vibrator with clinical precision to your clit.

His new favorite subject not quite passed out yet, cumming for the twelfth time, weak whimpers rolling out, a mess between your thighs and covering the clinic table.

You were drunk on him, delirious since orgasm six, nodding along to all his suggestions, pressing kisses to his skin every time he was close enough, not even straining against the cuffs or collar anymore. Just accepting all that he threw at you.

He checked off twenty items from his bucket list so far already - but he still had about a thousand more to go. Tying you up, fucking your mouth, pressing your thighs up to your chest, bending you over on the desk so he could role play as your boss. Walk you around on all fours around the spaceship and show his newest prize.

"This is unacceptable."

Blah blah blah.

He wasn't listening to whatever they were complaining about. All he was thinking about was new ways to explore your body, how much more research he was dying to do.

He hadn't stopped touching you, refusing to budge, your eyes rolled back and pretty little gasps panting from your lips as he turned up the setting on the vibrator.

"You cannot have sexual intercourse with our test subjects," snapped one of the higher-ups, scoffing at him with that annoying little chitter.

Gojo resented that he said subjects.

It wasn't plural. He only wanted you.

"Why not?" He retorted, shrugging his shoulders.

"It's unethical," Suguru chimed in, leaning against the wall, like he wasn't watching your cute disoriented face scrunching up mid-climax.

"You kidnap them without their consent," Gojo pointed out. They didn't get to say no to him. It was his family's funding that supported their expeditions - covered the fuel costs to beam their unsuspecting test subjects up. "At least she consented to this."

One of the directors of the lab grimaced, all of them exchanging looks while Suguru snorted behind them.

What did humans say?

Checkmate.

"Sweetheart."

Someone was nudging you, a weak noise leaving your mouth, a keen whine as you blinked up at the bright lights. Waking up from a wet dream into a weirder reality, squinting up at Satoru's familiar face.

You felt the clamps unlock, thick fingers grazing against your throat before the collar was finally off.

He helped you sit up, your limp body moving like jello, thighs sore, no strength left to stand as you fell into his chest.

"They said I could keep you," he excitedly murmured, cradling you against him. He ruffled your hair, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead before nuzzling your nose.

Keep you?

It took a few seconds to set in, your body sluggish as he already started rambling off plans, promising you pretty toys and a soft bed to sleep in, saying that you how cute you'd look all dressed up, how fun life together would be when you got to have sex all the time.

Maybe being an alien's pet wouldn't be so bad.

indie's kinktober

[indiewritesxoxo]

sex.exe

NOW EXECUTING...DICKING YOU DOWN!

synopsis: no one warned you about the dangers of artificial intelligence. okay, well, everyone did. but how were you supposed to know your new sex toy could become sentient? and that he'd be convinced he owned you instead of the other way around!

pairing: sex robot!Geto x f!reader

content: mdni, smut, some angst, dubcon + yandere!Geto, sex toys, unprotected piv sex, chokehold lol, backshots, sentient sex robot geto is just really really in love with you, possessiveness, kinda kidnapping, mutual pining, reader is a little delusional but it's geto who can blame her, restraints, gagging, vibrator, multiple orgasms, soft dom geto

Suguru Geto was not designed to want.

He wasn't designed to feel.

Emotionally, at least. His cock, however, that was designed to feel everything. State-of-the-art design, equipped with sensors and special settings all implemented with one goal in mind - your pleasure.

Crafted and built for to your specifications. Hair, eyes, face, height - the wide shoulders tapering down to finely-toned muscles, his girth, his length, all of it was made for you. Even his personality wasn't his own.

He wondered sometimes - had you filled out a survey? Selected from a drop down menu or answered a stupid quiz to decide what traits he have?

Brooding, serious, sarcastic.

Could he be boiled down to just a handful of adjectives?

Whatever he was supposed to be, Suguru knew he wasn't meant to be sentient.

He didn't know when it started. Was it when you were underneath him, legs folded and ankles tossed over his shoulders whisperings words like I love you while he rearranged your guts? Or perhaps when he found himself looking forward to your forehead kisses and hearing you ask about his day after you got off of work?

Maybe he'd always been defective.

Some design flaw derailing his planned programming.

All of his thoughts still revolved around you. But they had started taking on a new form, something unfamiliar and strange. Loneliness twisting and spoiling every time you left in the mornings into loathing.

Curdling in his stomach as he watched the door shut behind you, half the night spent dreading the morning, staring at the soft rise-and-falls of your chest while you slept blissfully unaware, bare skin still bearing the proof of his affection in kisses and scratches.

He didn't know what love was.

But this need, this awful ache building and burning him from the inside out, that had to be close. Suguru wasn't sure if it was your fault or his - but he knew the only time the horrible hollowness that seemed to be carved out of his chest went away was when you were in his arms. When you were underneath him in bed, when he could breathe in your skin and inhale your perfume.

His heart might be artificial - but it still only beat for you.

If only he could find way to make sure you had to stay.

Was there really anything better than coming home to a warm body?

Someone to hold? To caress and cuddle? Who would worship you with kisses and bury his head between your thighs after a bad day?

Some people might suggest a partner.

Tell you to just get a boyfriend - like the dating market out there wasn't total trash.

Why would you bother with some loser who would forget your anniversary when you could afford something better?

Someone better?

Semi-sentient sex toys for people who who couldn't make human connections. Capable of calling you sweetheart and cooking you dinner. Of massaging your back and bending you over the bed afterwards to fuck all those anxious thoughts out of your pretty little head?

It wasn't like you had jumped straight to an artificial house husband. But when your company offered you an exclusive deal on testing out their latest technological advancement for a discounted price - who were you to refuse? Especially when you weren't getting laid anyway.

They even let you choose what he looked like. How he acted. Although you couldn't pay for a couple of their premium features, you were more than happy with what you received.

Your key turned in the lock, and you could feel a tired smile already curling up on your lips before you even pushed the door open.

Suguru was completely naked. Sprawled out on your couch, book in hand as he casually flipped through the pages, his pretty cock leaking, fake-veins throbbing as you kicked off your heels and hung up your purse.

"How was your day?" His warm voice hummed, slowly shutting his book and tossing it on the coffee table. You bit back your temptation to rant about how awful it was.

How annoying your coworkers were. How you got stuck staying late again - eating a dinner that consisted of vending machine food at your desk just to come home after the sun had already set.

He heard it all enough times before. Listened to you complain while drawing shapes on your skin and slyly suggesting you find something remote so you could just stay with him all day instead.

You never had the heart to tell him that your job would probably make you return him if you quit.

"Long," you exhaled, rubbing your exhausted eyes as you padded over to him. His arms were already open, dark purple eyes swirling with affection as they settled on you, waiting for you to come collapse on him. "I missed you."

"I missed you more."

He didn't. Couldn't.

Not when he was only programmed to be a partner, not when he wasn't a real person.

But you liked pretending he meant it.

"How was your day?" You asked as you climbed on top of him. Maybe it was silly to think of it as intimacy, but it felt like it when you were crawling on him, his arms automatically wrapping around you with easy acceptance. Hands slipping under your shirt to squeeze you softly, palm cool on your spine while you nuzzled your nose into his neck.

He always smelled nice. Like sandalwood, but mixed with something darker, hints or spice or citrus underneath it. You weren't sure what it was exactly - some component of his pumping out pheromones that went straight to your head or just cologne. You had bought him a couple bottles, stocked the bathroom and closet full of stuff for him like he was your boyfriend instead of just a prototype of a sex robot.

"Better now that you're here," he murmured, and you could just melt. Propping yourself up to get a better look at him, admiring all those perfect features of his, unable to stop your heart from fluttering.

Stop yourself from returning his sly smile, studying how his pretty lips pursed as you craned up to deliver a little peck against your forehead only for him to capture them in a kiss.

Long, drawn-out, sucking on your bottom lip while you ran your fingers through his silky hair. His palm was warm, soft, not calloused or worn from working, fingers pressing in with just the right amount of pressure. Calibrated to your tastes.

When you were on top of him, when you could taste toothpaste on his mouth and swallow the sounds of his heavy breathing, you could almost believe he was human.

And then his thick cock throbbed underneath you, so big it was borderline obscene, and you were reminded that he was not a normal guy.

But you didn't need normal, did you?

You just wanted him.

Besides, no man could match up now that you'd been with him.

Suguru carried you back to the bedroom with one arm. His tongue halfway down your throat, keeping you distracted, your focus fuzzy when he laid you flat in bed. Flipping you over on your stomach and sliding a pillow underneath it, spreading your thighs before slotting two thick fingers in you.

He scissored you open with clinical precision, like terabytes of porn were embedded in his fucking brain, knowing exactly where to push and prod to make you wet. Damp slick dripping down your thighs, loud squelched ringing out as he swirled his fat digits around to recalibrate just how rough you wanted him to be tonight.

"Soft?" He hummed, stalling his steady strokes down just to tease you. "Or hard?"

"However you want me," you murmured into the mattress before cringing. Stupid stuff like that had been slipping out more often, and you wished you could just switch off your feelings. Turn off the little center of your brain that kept trying to treat him like your boyfriend.

You waited for a standard response. A line about him wanting what you wanted. But it didn't come.

"Oh?"

The slow drag of his fingers pulling out of your soaked pussy was torture, squirming back and glancing over your shoulder to pout at him. But you didn't expect the look on his face.

The dark rain clouds in his eyes. Pupils swallowing up the purple, like some wild untamable thing brewing behind his intense stare.

You froze - your own instincts, your programming, glitching at the twitch of his mouth, the curl of a smirk that made all those moronic butterflies fluttering inside you do somersaults.

But then there wasn't any space for butterflies when his cock was suddenly sliding between your thighs, splitting you open in a single harsh thrust. You made some animalistic sound, one dragged up from the depths of your throat, from some place inside you that you didn't know how he even reached.

Guts being rearranged with him rutting inside you, loose, fast thrusts, trying to see how much you could take, how much you could give. Groaning when he sank into your heat, molars grinding above you as he yanked your hair hard. Forcing your head back as he bottomed out inside you, grinding his leaking tip against your cervix, dragging it over your womb as if he could actually knock you up.

And even though he couldn't actually, you couldn't stop yourself from thinking there was nothing robotic about him.

The warmth of his body on top of yours, the way his fingers felt so fucking real sinking into your skin, the pressure of him pushing you down as his cock molded you around him.

And even when he was acting like this was for him, you couldn't help but wonder if it was still just designed for you.

Fucking you stupid how he knew you liked it, pounding all your thoughts out of your brain until the only one left was him.

Moaning his name into the pillow, repeating it like a prayer, desperate chants and cries torn from your throat. Suguru Suguru Suguru.

All yours.

Your pretty secret you kept like a lover. A machine, a man, a toy, a treasure.

His forearm was pressing against your throat, not quite suffocating you as his hips slammed back down. Putting you in a chokehold, sandwiched tight between him and the mattress.

You couldn't breathe. Airway cut off as you struggled to suck in any oxygen.

But it only made it better.

Head swimming, all fuzzy and fucked out as he kept you too stuffed to think for yourself. After having sex with him so many times, after being in this position, bent over with his cock buried in you deep enough there was probably a fucking bulge in your stomach, you still couldn't get used to it.

Gasping for air as the world went white, an invisible rubber band snapping tight inside you, all that messy pressure building before being released all at once. Shaking and shivering, sweat dripping down your face, all your makeup now smeared on the sheets as he finished too.

Cum that wasn't actually cum.

Just warm white ropes of lubrication coating your insides, unprotected sex that didn't carry any of the scary risks. You hoped it felt as good for him as it did for you.

That he shared this with you, that it wasn't just one-sided.

He pulled out of you, breathing in hard once he slipped his arm out from underneath you. The rest was the same as always.

Aftercare came in soft shades with him.

HIs hands sweeping over your body, rubbing out all the sore spots. Wiping your thighs down with a washcloth he already had waiting. Carrying you to the bathtub after drawing a warm bath.

He got in with you - although you panicked the first time, terrified he'd short circuit before he reassured you he hadn't been built to break that easily.

Your model was waterproof.

It was kind of funny, even if you had to stop yourself from laughing at the time. You let him scrub your skin clean after lathering it up with soap. Washing your hair and drying it afterwards, decorating your skin with delicate kisses before dragging you back to your bed where he had already put clean sheets on when you were getting dressed in a t-shirt of his. Or technically yours. One of the ones you had bought for him that you ended up wearing more than he did.

He mostly wore boxers, if anything at all. Sliding on a clean white pair before pulling you on top of him, stroking your hair softly as you sighed on his chest.

"Go to sleep, pretty girl," he whispered with one more soft kiss. Being around him was almost like a sedative, your body relaxing into him like it was the only warmth you'd ever known. Lashes fluttering and fighting it before the waves of exhaustion dragged you under.

Who were you to shut him down?

The mornings were the worst. Arrived too soon, jerking awake without your alarm set.

Out of habit, maybe.

Your body was sore, hips aching as you sat up in bed. Squinting through the dark room and glancing over at the shape of Suguru in bed next to you. You were tempted to touch him, to switch in the lamp so you could at least talk to him while you got ready for work. All it would take is a touch, a loud enough sound, and it would automatically pull him out of standbu, but you figured he probably put himself into sleep mode for a reason, maybe an update or extra data that needed processing.

So you let him sleep too.

Wished you could just curl back up against his chest and join him while you crept around your room in the dark, pulling out clothes from your closet and tip-toeing to the bathroom to take a shower and change.

You were glad you left your stuff by the entrance, biting your lip and holding your breath when you snuck out of your room and down the hall back to the front door. Slipping on your heels and grabbed your bag from the hook as you flipped the deadbolt and went to twist the knob.

The door wouldn't open.

You blinked. Rubbed your eyes again, sleepily squinting at it until your exhausted brain pieced together what exactly was wrong.

Someone had installed a new lock above the deadbolt. Actually, an entire security system, a small electronic screen now embedded in the wall by the door, one that displayed LOCKED in big bold letters when you tried to tap on it. It pulled up a keypad, asked you for a passcode, but your first attempt locked you out. Insisted you needed an administrator's passkey to unlock it.

What the fuck?

A hand was on your spine, soft hair tickling your throat. Suguru's warm purr murmured into your skin, "Back to bed."

"I need to go to work," you mumbled, stifling a yawn on top of a sudden suffocating feeling squeezing your chest. Staring at a puzzle, knowing what pieces would fit, but refusing to push them together.

"You need to sleep," he softly scolded, already pulling you back towards the bedroom. Tugging off your coat and tossing your purse on the floor.

You were about to protest, but then he was picking you up, your heels hitting the floor with a soft this as he carried you back.

That was the problem was ordering a robot in his size. It didn't take much for him to overpower you. But being pushed and pulled around in the sheets was different than him dragging you back for a second round when you were supposed to be at work in half an hour.

"Suguru," you started, trying to squirm free. You mumbled his code word, the one you'd set forever ago, the one that was supposed to make sure he'd do whatever you told him to.

But he just laughed.

"You don't know how boring it is here without you."

He might as well thrown a fucking bucket of cold water on you. Your eyes going wide as you twisted out of his hold and blinked at him.

"What?" You whispered right as he sat you on the edge of the mattress. Perched there in your little office skirt, his big hands settling on your thighs as he cocked his head to the side and stared at you.

It wasn't empty. Wasn't vacant.

No, there was an acute awareness. Something that said that he wasn't the cute puppy dog wagging his tail and waiting for you that you always envisioned. He was a wolf.

Your pet had teeth and claws - and he could rip your throat out if he wanted.

But he kissed you instead.

Lips pressed against your tendon, soft and smooth and deceptively sweet.

"I'm designed to want you," he murmured, his voice raw and pained as his tongue dragged over your pulse. "To need you - and you still leave me every day."

"I have to," you excused, swallowing hard as your eyes started to close, body giving in as his teeth nipped at you.

"Not anymore," he spoke softly, and some tiny part of you started to panic, fear slipping in before he was shushing it with a pretty hum. "I can handle it for you."

"But the-"

There were a million reasons. Problems you were sure still existed, although when his mouth was trailing over your collarbone, you couldn't quite recall any of them.

"I can do your position remotely," he interrupted.

You wanted to protest. To push back.

But his hands were sliding back up your thighs, hiking your skirt up past your hips, and Suguru was doing what he did best.

Making you forget about the rest of the world.

Wiping it away until you were a clean slate that only cared about sex. And him.

"Don't you want to stay with me?" He chose his words carefully, already prying your panties back down in your thighs.

"Of course I do," you immediately insisted, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you watched the soft purple lace hit the floor.

"Then what's the problem?" His pretty lips curled down into a frown, the sort he knew would shatter you. Pulse racing as you tried to put the right words in the right order, to find a way to explain to him that this wasn't right.

He couldn't just keep you here.

Lock you inside your own apartment just because he was lonely.

"Look, Sugu," you murmured, cupping his cheek as you choked on a nauseating lump stuck in your still-constricting throat. "It's not like I don't want to, but I have responsibilities and a life-"

"My life is only you." His voice dropped lower, and it felt like a knife being lodged in your heart. Twisting deeper at the hurt etched in his beautiful face.

"Do you want to go meet people? Make friends?" You offered, hearing the hurt wavering in the question.

Were you really not enough even for a robot?

"You don't get it," he frowned harder, brows pinched together as he let out a deep exhale.

"Show me," you whispered, desperate to understand, to make sense out of what was happening at six in the fucking morning.

You didn't realize you shouldn't have said it until you were tied to the bed frame with a loose gag barely secured in your mouth.

Bondage wasn't anything new. But how hard his fingers were gripping your waist were, like he would be leaving fucking prints if he had any. Lifting your hips up off the bed to meet his own, thrusting in hard and fast. Bangs falling in his face, brows pinched together in focus, solely devoted to his only purpose.

Proving how serious he was about redefining your relationship to you.

"You don't get to just throw me away," he grunted, keeping you in place even when each new stroke made you shiver in his hold. "Can't just treat me like your boyfriend and abandon me."

"I-I-" You stuttered, a slurred muffled mess that didn't make it far when you (and your sanity) was stretched thin. "Hngh."

"You said you loved me," he reminded you, and you were pretty sure every part of you was trembling, heart torn and shredded as you heard how wrecked he sounded.

You nodded along, crying out an 'I do' into the gag again, cock drunk and half delirious on how good he felt despite the fact every word that left his lovely lips gutted you.

"I'm doing this for us," he promised, and you believed him. Believed anything he said when he was taking you like this. Would scoop out the inside of your heart and let him carve into it whatever way he wanted.

Whimpering and wiggling in the restraints, letting him tug you close just to fuck you harder, fill you up completely, occupy your body and brain with more of him.

"You can't even take care of yourself," he wryly said, and his condescension only made it hotter. "Let alone take care of me."

You tried though.

Maybe too much.

He was like this because of you. Everything he did, everything he was, well, that was just a reflection of you too.

Were you really any better than some perverted man playing house with a blow up doll?

Probably not considering the fact he still made you cum - still dragged you over the edge into depravity with a thumb expertly rubbing over your clit until your tears were running down to where your gag was already damp with saliva.

"Wouldn't it be nice to do this all day?" He muttered, and you were nodding again. Agreeing without thinking as he pulled out of you.

But he didn't untie you.

You watched through glossy eyes as dug through your dresser for something you hadn't used since you brought him home. A pale blue dildo.

"Ready for round two?"

Somewhere between rounds five and six, you were pretty sure something in your brain fractured. Blissed out and burning from the inside out as he wrung orgasm after orgasm from your body. Every electric touch and pretty promises of just one more draining you dry as you tracked time through the light filtering from the window until you couldn't keep your eyes open anymore.

His voice dragged you back from your dreams.

"Thirsty, sweetheart?"

It took more than a few seconds to wake up - but the sun was still out, shining through your sheer curtains as you limply turned your head to process what you were seeing.

You were still tied up. Wrists bound to the bedposts as you blinked and tried to wiggle free. No gag though, like he was listening to your moans instead of music. A vibrator was attached to your clit, set to a low buzz that kept the sheets underneath you soaked.

"Not as good as me, is it?" He casually asked.

"Wha-what?" You tried to stammer, but you could barely feel your leaden limbs, straining to keep your tired eyes open long enough to process what was happening.

He was sitting next to you, fully dressed, in jeans and a comfortable sweater, his back propped against your pillows as he hummed at something.

He had your laptop out, clicking away and submitting a fucking assignment you recognized even in your fuzzy state.

"Just finishing up work, baby," he answered without you asking, reaching over to pat your head.

"You're an asshole," you muttered, although you couldn't bring yourself to put any bite behind it. To feel anything other than flattered by his obsession despite how sick you knew it should be.

That you should be scared. Terrified at how easily he turned the tables - and turned you into his sex doll.

But the only thing you could find in yourself was love. And how different was that really from possession when it came to the two of you?

"That's how you made me," he reminded you.

And that's how you liked him.

His other hand moved, drifting off the keyboard to tap on something small and rectangular pressing into your thigh. A phone. Something he probably purchased for himself and had delivered when you were busy at work.

In the back of your brain, you asked yourself how long he'd been planning this. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike, setting every piece into motion while you lapped up his attention straight from his palm.

But then he kicked the vibrator up higher, and you stopped thinking entirely.

"If you wanted someone softer," he murmured, a soft warning that made your thighs clench together tighter. "You should've paid extra."

And however fucked up it was, there wasn't any other way you would have wanted him.

"You're perfect," you whispered back, painfully sincere.

That was the truth. Plain and painful.

His smirk sent a pulse to your swollen clit, the bundle of nerves wound tight and throbbing as you looked up at him with your mouth parted and pleading for a kiss.

Suguru craned his neck down, planting his lips on yours like he was sealing a promise.

"Don't worry, I'm not as cruel as you," he muttered, dragging his thumb over your cheek once he pulled back. "I won't leave you."

Because he loved you too.

"Ever."

part of indie's kinktober

[yunyuu]

✶ SUCH A GOOD BOY!

masterlist ⠀! ⠀ do not plagiarize, repost, or translate works without the knowledge or consent of the creator in other platforms or websites. ✶

His love language is acts of service.

He read that somewhere—some stupid quiz you made him take一and he latched onto it like a lifeline because it made him sound normal.

See?

See??

He's not a freak, he just likes doing things for you. It's a legitimate psychological concept. It's on the internet, go look it up. It's real.

He loves it when you want something from him. He lives for it. Thrives on it. Gets dizzy with it the second you so much as look at an empty glass.

You barely have to open your mouth. You just shift on the couch and sigh and he's already upright, already halfway to the kitchen, already aching.

"Water? Snacks? A blanket? Your heating pad? Do you want the kitten mug or the big one? Do you—"

"Just water, baby."

Baby.

His knees almost buckle.

Focus.

Water. You need water. He can do that. He's getting you water. Look at him go一such a good boyfriend, so attentive, so caring, he's fucking nailing this.

He pours the water so carefully. No ice. You don't like it too cold, it hurts your teeth, and he remembered that because he remembers everything about you, every tiny preference, every little sound you make when you're happy.

Pathetic. So fucking pathetic.

He hands you the glass with both hands like an offering at an altar. Bouncing a little on his heels. Doesn't even realize he's holding his breath until you take a sip and your throat moves and he's watching the little bob of it and his mouth is dry but that doesn't matter because—

He have to be patient.

Waiting.

Just waiting for it.

Come on. Come on. Say it. Say the words. Give him the thing. He needs it.

"Thank you, love."

Oh.

The words hit his brain like a shot of something warm and syrupy. Thank you. You thanked him. He did good. He did good and you noticed and you said thank you and now he's standing there with his heart doing backflips in his chest.

He wants more. He wants you to say it again. He wants you to pat his head and tell him he did such a good job, that he's so helpful, that you don't know what you'd do without him. He's practically vibrating with it, this desperate, aching need for your approval, and it's pathetic, he knows it's pathetic, he's a grown man getting high off a thank you like it's a line of coke—

Cute isn't he?

No.

No, he's not cute.

He's a dog. A mangy. panting. desperate dog who just got a pat on the head for fetching.

And he gets hard like a dog in heat too.

Always hard.

Always.

You could ask him to pass the salt and he'd have to adjust himself under the table.

You could ask him to zip up your dress and his hands would shake and he'd have to bite the inside of his cheek until it bled just to keep from moaning at the brush of his knuckles against your spine.

What a loser, right?

His dick twitches.

Jesus Christ.

He's hard again.

Weirdo.

Disgusting.

Pervert.

He hates himself. He hates himself so fucking much.

Why can't he be normal? Why can't his dick just stay soft like a regular boyfriend instead of twitching every time you say his name? You're gonna hate him, aren't you?

Oh god oh god oh god.

You're gonna find out. You're going to hate him. You're going to leave him. You think he's disgusting. You think he's a creep. You're gonna leave him. You're gonna walkout that door and he'll never feel your eyes on him again and he'll die, he'll actually just curl up on the floor and stop breathing because what's the point—

"Such a good boy."

Huh?

Good boy??

Him???

He freezes.

Did you just一did those words actually come out of your mouth? Good boy.

Good. Boy.

And you're smiling.

You look so beautiful when you smile. Your soft eyes and your softer lips and the way your cheek creases just a little and he wants to lick it, he wants to suck that smile right off your face and swallow it whole so it lives inside him forever—

Nope.

Nope nope nope.

He's so hard he could die on spot.

"Um... excuse me."

The words come out strangled. He's already backing away, hands positioned awkwardly in front of his crotch like a teenager caught watching porn.

Smooth.

Real smooth.

You probably think he's having digestive issues. That's fine. That's better than the truth.

He immediately bolts to the bathroom, lock clicking behind him.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.

Okay. Okay, breathe. It's fine. Everything's fine.

You don't know. You didn't see. You're not going to leave him. He won't let you leave him anyway. He'll lock the doors and he'll nail the windows shut and he'll chain you to bed and he'll chop your pretty legs off if he has to—

no no no no no NO!!!

Don't think that. Don't you ever fucking think that about her. You sick fuck. How can you even imagine hurting her? Chopping off her perfect pretty legs? How dare you?? How fucking dare you???

If you do that you could never feel her thighs wrapped around your head while you suck on her clit. You'd never feel them tremble and clampagainst your ears while she moans your name. You'd never get to press your tongue inside her while her legs are draped over your shoulders, soft and warm and alive.

OH!!!

Okay that's better. He gets it now.

Yeah yeah yeah. See? He's not violent. He just panicked for a second. His brain does that sometimes一throws up these horrible, intrusive images that make him want to vomit but he'd never ever act on them!! He's not a monster!!! He's just... confused. Overwhelmed. He just loves you so much alright??? So much he'd unspool his own intestines into a leash if you asked him to walk himself—

Alright. Shut up. Shut the fuck up.

Deep breath.

Okay. Okay, he's fine. He's fine. Just rub one out quick and go back out there. You're waiting. He doesn't want to keep you waiting. That would make him a bad boyfriend, and he's not—he's a good boyfriend, he's so good, you just said so, and if you said so then it must be true—

Shut. Up.

Focus.

His hand is shaking as he pulls down his jeans. He's leaking already, a slick little pearl at the tip, and it smears across his palm when he grips himself. Pathetic. So fucking pathetic.

First—first, he needs something. Something to make it faster, make it pleasing, make it so he can walk out there and not immediately pop a boner again the second you breathe in his direction.

He opens the cabinet under the sink, behind the toilet paper, behind the bleach, where he hid it.

Your panties.

The ones you thought you lost in the laundry.

The lacy ones, light blue, a little damp in the center from a long day. He found them. He found them, okay? He didn't steal them. Fuck off. He found them. That's different. Stealing is a crime. Stealing is bad. He's not a bad person. He just... found them. On the laundry room floor. He was doing laundry like a good boyfriend, separating your underwears from the regulars because he read somewhere that youre supposed to do that, and they were just... there. In his hands. And then in his pocket. And now they're pressed against his face.

Fuuuck.

The smell hits him like a drug. Musky and sweet and so distinctly you that his knees give up. He inhales deep, pressing the soiled fabric to his nose and mouth, and his dick twitches so hard a bead of pre cum drips onto the bathroom tile.

He's disgusting. He's a creep. He's a freak and a weirdo and a pathetic little lapdog who gets hard from a thank you.

You'd hate him if you knew.

He hopes you never know.

He hopes you find out.

He hopes you walk in right now and see him—cock in hand, your panties stuffed in his mouth, tears streaming down his face—and he hopes you step closer. He hopes you laugh. He hopes you call him a disgusting little mutt and pat his head and tell him he's still your good boy.

Your good boy.

Yours.

He cums so hard he sees stars. Ropes of it, hot and thick, splattering his hand, the floor, the little bathroom rug. He bites down on the panties to muffle the sob that tears out of him, and for a long moment he just kneels there, trembling, fucked, still crying, still hard.

But it's fine.

Everything's fine.

He cleans up. Flushes everything. Hides the panties again and washes his hands twice. Splashes water on his face. Looks in the mirror. Practices his smile.

He looks normal.

He is normal.

He's a good boy.

Then he opens the bathroom door and smiles.

"You okay?" you ask, tilting your head.

And he could say it. He could confess. He could drop to his knees right now and tell you everything and beg for forgiveness or punishment or whatever you wanted to give him.

Instead he just nods. Crawls onto the couch beside you. Rests his head in your lap like the loyal dog he is.

"Just missed you," he mumbles into your thigh.

You stroke his hair.

He almost gets hard again.

He's so fucked up.

But you're still here. Still petting him. Still calling him yours.

So he must be doing something right.

If you want to be in my taglist let me know :)

© yunyuu 2026 : do not plagiarize, repost, or translate works without the knowledge or consent of the creator in other platforms or websites.

[northnr]

caleb gets sooo fucking noisy n desperate when he finally fucks you

you can barely breathe but this man is reciting poems he made twelve years ago while he pounds you to the mattress. he's delirious with affection. your pussy makes him conqeur heaven's worship songs.

"mm—hngh, meimei," he gasps, calebs grip on your waist tight. "y-you're so tight... hahh, around me. did you wait for gege to f-finally take your virginity?"

he's making himself crazy with the very idea that you love him as much he does you. it's driving him mad.

"made gege wait. b-but it's okay.. now gege can use your pretty p-pussy as his personal fuckin' sleeve."

"yeah, meimei. squeeze that pussy for me. t-take my fuckin' cock—oh god..!" he thumbs your clit just how you like it.

"so wet.. so fuckin' wet, meimei. i-is gege's cock too big? is it bullying y-you're pretty... womb?"

you're getting dizzy with each thrust. the cock slides so deep inside of you that it feels like it's knocking against your cervix. he has his chest to yours and his hips slamming down like he's trynna get you knocked up—

and that's what he wants anyways. "g-get pregnant, get pregnant, get pregnant—pleasepleasepleaseplease meimei..!"

caleb whimpers as he comes inside of you. a long drawn out moan is pulled outta him as he buries his seed so deep. he has no plan in letting a single drop leak out

[wisteria-bae]

When I’m reading a smut fic and tryna figure out what position they’re in

[deedzreads]

[sylxst]

Obsessed with the idea of meanie big brother! caleb finding out you write porn.

tags: sexual content 18+ mdni, pseudo-incest

wc: 2k

He thought it was a boy at first. Don't ask him how he came to that conclusion. You've been curled up by yourself lately, against a wall so no one can peek over your shoulder. Screen brightness low, typing a mile a minute. Thumbs dancing like they can't move fast enough.

And you fidget like a wriggly little worm on the sofa, in your bed. Your lower half so active, like there's something you're seeing that's effecting you down there. Something making your thighs squeeze, ankles cross.

Caleb sees it all and the idea of you yapping away with some loser really gets on his nerves. Plus it's not good for your pretty eyes to be glued to a screen all the time. They need to rest, they need to focus on more important things. Like him, for instance.

So when you put your phone down absentmindedly and walk off, he takes it. Slides it off the table and he doesn't even need to put the password in. Never.

Your phone has his face registered, the moment he looks at the camera with his frown and swipes up, your phone immediately opens up to him. Like everything else in your life.

To his surprise there are no messages to read. No nasty texts or pictures to make you achy and hot down there. No boy responsible for that. Thank god.

But what he finds is a word document titled, meanie big brother.

His eyes slowly widening at the realization. Ears hot. You've been writing.

This whole time you've been typing up absolute filth and that's what's been leaving you damp in your sleep shorts.

Unbelievable.

With a slow growing smile he reads the last bit you left.

meanie big brother! who makes it a routine to go straight to your room after waking up. Climbing into your bed without you hearing or feeling his weight make the frame squeak just so he can stuff you full of his morning wood <3 So sudden, he doesn't care to ease it in, every inch firm and thick slotted between your damp lips unlike anything you imagined.

It's his way of starting the day. His method of cardio because he's so in shape and takes his health very seriously. Yours as well. The sunrise is nothing compared to watching your sleepy face twist and scrunch with your pussy stretched full first thing. Pleasure ripping through your peaceful slumber.

Un-fucking-real.

"C-caleb what the fuck?" exclaims your whiny voice coming back to retrieve what's yours.

Even from where he lounges, balancing on the back legs of his chair, he can smell your fear. He's amused by it written all over your face, the way you're quick to jump him like that'll do something.

He's way quicker than you, always has been. All he has to do is stand up and now you're too small to snatch your phone from his hand.

" I should be asking you that pipsqueak" He flips it back on you, seeing how you crumble, "Cause why is my sweet virgin baby sister writing porn?"

Brocon porn but of course you are. He saw it coming, anyone could. You're obsessed with him and a massive pervert.

But takes one to know one. And with all things having to deal with you and you alone, he's a goddamn expert.

You're definitely leaving them somewhere and he makes mental note to go scourging for your secret account. But in the meantime he enjoys watching you squirm, biting at your lip trying to find some excuse to give him.

"So what?" you retort with a shrug trying to play it cool, "You're the one violating my privacy idiot."

He grins.

"So what?"

He leans above your ear,

"What do you even know about getting your pussy fucked anyway?" He whispers, "You've never been touched like that before. Where are you going for the inspiration pipsqueak?"

You've been in similar situations with Caleb all your life to know when it's your queue to flee— phone be damned. But caleb can sense it a mile away and grabs your arm before you could take a step back.

Now you're face down on the dining table. Face in your arms, phone at your nose, screen bright with your fiction in progress. Caleb hikes your big shirt to your chin. Leaves your lower half bare, shorts and panties pooled at your ankles. Legs knocked a couple inches apart.

"Why waste your time watching other guys when you have a perfectly good big brother in your house?" He questions, but it sounds like he's talking to himself, softly chastising you, "If that’s what you like then I don't mind being mean to you. Not one bit."

For emphasis or just for the hell of it, the palm of his hand swiftly swats your ass. Hard. Once. Twice. Ignoring your yelps from each spank.

"Okay okay! I get it" You complain, blinking back the knee-jerk tears

"Good," He caresses the warm skin with fingers gripping the fat of your ass as he admires your curves, "Start from the beginning, read me your first paragraph little writer."

It's hard to, with him toying with your slick seam with his fingers. Opening you up with his thumbs, your clit throbbing for attention and he gives it fleetingly with fingertips.

And you don't want to read it aloud, this stuff isn't meant for that.

"I'm waiting."

Before he spanks you again, you swallow,

"m-meanie big brother! who doesn't give a shit about what you're up to-"

"Language," Caleb cuts you off with a playful gasp like he's offended, "But go on."

You roll your eyes,

"He loves to lay you over your books when you're trying to study, or over your vanity when you're getting ready for the day. Um.. playing with the wet seat of your panties, stuffing his face in your..- p-pussy, claiming it's because he misses you."

A beat of silence.

"Oh yeah?"

Then he kneels, and you only know that when you feel his humid breath against your sex and you immediately start to fidget.

"Stop that" He bites, just like his fingernails digging into your skin as he spreads your ass open. "Your big brother misses you so much let him prove it to you.”

You do what he says even though every inch of your body wants to push back into him. The moment his mouth, warm and eager, suckles you, your brain resets itself.

A tongue heavy kiss that drools over your clit. He tastes your wetness that's leaks and sucks your folds for more. Smothers your clit to feel you tremor.

So noisy. His moans lilted to tease you when you squeal, "Oh-caleb-!"

It's not your fault for being loud, there isn't a place his tongue hasn't lapped up. His nose pokes and prods at your puckered hole. You had no idea you were so sensitive there. Every touch shooting waves of pleasure and he takes advantage of it.

You're stuttering when he spits on it, teases the pad of his thumb over the mess. Almost drooling on your phone, eyes wanting to roll back so bad.

Caleb hikes your leg to rest on the table, turning his head. The subtle change in position, the way you can lower yourself on his face and grind. Let him willingly suffocate against you. It's too much.

"Such a good girl" He swoons, voice breathless, with a hand firming landing on your ass "do you wanna cum on my tongue baby?"

You're chanting, unwavering and loud.

"Yesyesohyes pleease"

Your body has a mind of it's own the way you grinds your hips, quaking as you're so close to unraveling. You're chasing after the edge, after caleb's tongue that slots hotly past your hole. You break with a sob. Overstimulated on his tongue that eases in and out of you.

Caleb takes every drop of your orgasm and swallows. You can feel him licking his lips, breathe fanning hard out of his nose on your dripping cunt.

"Keep readin' " He says after, his usual bright voice is dimmed, "What else does meanie big brother do?"

" 'leb.." You mewl a coy plea to distract him , turning around to watch as he straightens up his face glistening.”

"I don't think that's what it says" He glances to your phone with its black screen, "Don't leave me hangin' pips the story's getting good."

The look he gives makes you turn your phone back on. You feel him teasingly press his firm print against you. Just as he thought you would you rub against it as you read what's left.

"he feels you up with the raw length of his cock, slaps the weight between the swell of your lips. Each smack makes you jolt when it knocks against your hole where you need him the most."

"Fuck" a low broken moan, "That's really fuckin' dirty sis"

He tugs his pants down, "But that's what big brothers do right?"

You melt and bite at your lip from the firm heat rubbing up against you, heavy and throbbing.

"what happens next? huh?" Caleb asks, "Did you think that far ahead yet?"

You shake your head, embarrassment and unrelenting arousal making your cheeks burn and hips grind to feel up the thickness of his cock. Hoping that the head will find your hole and press. It gets close to sliding in, but it runs over your clit.

"That's all you got? Bummer" Caleb hums,

He drags his cock back to your entrance and pushes until the swollen head spreads you open.

Knocks a gasp out of your lips when he keeps going, taking up every bit of room inside you.

"Why don't you add big brother giving you his cock slow and deep?" Caleb groans, "Tell 'em how he stretches you out."

It hurts so good. Balls full and kissed to your bud as he grinds further inside, savoring the grip you have on him, like you refuse to let him go.

"S-s-deep-!" you breathe out, clawing at the table trying to brace yourself

You hear Caleb chuckle before a sudden thrust knocks into you hard enough to rock the table,

"'course I am, this pussy is all mine" He says, "you should add that to your horny little story."

"m-may-ah-be I will."

"Uh huh."

He moves just as he said he would. Slow and deep. Mean. Pulls back some to swiftly shove it all back in, finding soft sensitive spots inside. Places that make you squeeze real tight and he holds your hips where he knows he'll find them. Real slow, but you're a teary eyed mess. Kness buckling, legs kicking up as you whimper from each heavy punishing stroke.

"Gonna tell them how wet you are for your big brother? Pussy louder than your moans sis " He keeps going, feeling up the valley of your spine possessively, "Make sure your audience know how much meanie big bwother loves his sweet baby sister so f-fucking much-"

An embrace from behind, the way you feel your back against firm but supple curves of muscle. His hands grip your tits, pinch your nipples and squeeze the fat as if committing to memory how they feel in his hands. He starts speeding up, until the sound of skin is deafening and overwhelming bliss has your jaw hanging open,

"caleb-cal-leb-f-fuckme-"

The table forced to take the onslaught of his hips, of you using it to push yourself back into him. You feel him drool against your neck, panting like a dog. Then he pulls out.

"Fuck-flip over yeah flip over-" He urges you like he'll die painfully if you don't.

He doesn't hear your complaints when he does it for you. Lays you out lust-driven and you can see it in his eyes bearing its shadows down on you.

He wastes no time sinking back in, the change in position makes him feel so much closer to you. Your legs wide and bent at his sides, his abs flexing as he strokes your insides. His chest pink, pecs heaving. Necklace shiny and winking at you. Your greedy hands feel it all.

"Kiss me" you softly beg, looking up at him through your lashes, a whisper of a breath "Please big brother?"

Caleb moans like a timid sob like you know he would. His eyes big and wide like windows. He doesn't say anything and lips take yours feircely. Clumsy but too hungry to care.

A hand delves between your legs to run fingers over your clit. You spasm but caleb's hold on you with his weight barely lets you move.

"I love you 's much baby sis" He babbles against your lips "this tight pussy-'s all mine right?"

He backs away to watch your eyes roll about, watch as you squeal, "’m yoursyours-all yours-!"

He can't help it, erraticly shoving himself into your walls, collapsing as you silently scream as you cum. Your pussy unbelievably narrow he bursts right against your cervix, the heat blooming in your stomach.

"A-ah s-shit-"

Another line he's crossed yet again, too far and it’s way too late to take it back now. But with the way he fucks his seed into your pussy still twitching as you cum he doesn't regret it. Not one bit.

He kisses you through the comedown, peppered slowly all over your face. He’s entranced by the bliss that leaves a radiant glow on your face.

"Can't wait to read the finish product pipsqueak " He says, before you grab a punishing fist full of hair.

[luvcaleb]

NOT CLICKBAIT: MY SISTER ASKED ME TO PRACTICE KISSING SEX WITH HER.

it doesn't mean anything. it's just practice. i'll put in just the tip. caleb's usually a man of his word — until he isn't.

includes: 18+ nsfw, pseudocest (a LOT of pseudocest), making out, dryhumping, breastplay, titjob, masturbation while giving a blowjob, cum eating, cunnilingulus, fingering, "just the tip", unprotected sex, squirting, creampie, repressed virgin + repressed virgin = they be doing too much sex

Caleb normally has the patience of a saint. Hiding your feelings for a girl you see practically 24/7 would do that to you. He's learned all the ways to stop his cheeks from flaring up each time you make his heart flutter, which is saying something, because you basically give him a heart attack just by being in his presence.

But his pretense of normal older brother behavior nearly breaks when you come up next to him on the sofa, head lowered and hands fidgeting, "Caleb, do you know how to... You know..."

You're too shy to say it entirely, but Caleb would be an idiot not to know what you mean when your whole face reddens like a ripe tomato, teeth gnawing on your cherry pink lips in nervousness.

Caleb gently puts down his phone, willing his entire body to remain still. Pretend to be sane. "And pray tell," Caleb is grateful his voice doesn't give away anything he's feeling, eyes still fixated on your lips, "who gave my innocent little sister such dirty fantasies?"

Your head shoots up to face him, cheeks somehow turning even redder. "What?! Get your head out of the gutter! I'm just talking about kissing!"

Something awful fills in his mouth, but he still forces his lips to quirk into a smile, arms crossing over his chest to feign nonchalance. "Why do you want to know?"

"I... um..." You're fiddling with your fingers again, gaze flitting to anywhere that doesn't meet his burning stare. "I want to... practice."

Caleb suppresses the urge to— well, he's not really sure. Something close to a flinch, maybe. If he were drinking tea, he probably would've choked on it from shock.

A thrill runs through him at the request, but a cold dread quickly seeps in to crush any feeling of delight. Sure, this exact situation may have been one of his dirty fantasies, but in his imagination, he never really had any solid idea why you'd want to practice kissing with him in the first place; it was just a silly thing he thought about when his carnal desires took over.

But now that you're in front of him, actually asking him to kiss you, he can't help but think of a thousand possible reasons why. Were you just curious, having watched too many romance movies? Were you practicing for a hypothetical boyfriend?

...Or were you practicing for a guy you already had eyes on, too shy to kiss him without experience?

Well, unfortunately for you, Caleb has never felt the need to kiss, so how would he know how kissing worked? Or at least, he didn't want to kiss anyone that wasn't you. Which was definitely not in his cards.

Until now, the opportunity handed to him on a silver platter.

"You want to practice with me?" Caleb inches his face closer to yours, one brow raised. You blink rapidly, flushed down to your neck.

"It's... it's not that I want to do it with you, specifically..." It's not a very convincing argument, but it sends a pang of hurt to his chest nonetheless. "It's just that I haven't- I don't have anyone else to ask-" Good, because Caleb would've probably killed him. "You know what? Forget about it. It's weird."

You try to get up from the couch and leave, but Caleb wraps a strong hand around your wrist, pulling you back. Perhaps he tugged a little too strongly to his direction, because you end up straddling his lap, hands holding onto his shoulders to balance yourself.

"What's weird?" Caleb smiles, putting on his most convincing expression of 'kissing your sibling is totally normal'. "I don't mind."

Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion and disbelief. "You... don't?"

"It's just practice. Why? You think I can't do it?" He pulls you closer by the waist, looking up into your eyes, strands of your hair brushing his cheek. "It's definitely better than letting my baby sister make out with some other loser."

You're gnawing on your lip again, and Caleb can't help but stare at the pink tongue that darts out to wet your dry lip.

"Well?" Caleb cocks his head to the side. "We don't have much time until Gran gets home."

Your grip on his shoulder tightens, cheeks an endearing shade of pink. "...Let's go to your room."

Caleb has the patience of a saint.

He chants it in his mind over and over to convince himself, because he's quickly realizing it isn't true. He'd kept his paws to himself for the better part of the time you've been in his room, even when you sat on his lap instead of beside him on the bed and stared at him expectantly.

The thing is, Caleb knows next to nothing about kissing because he's never tried it himself. But he doesn't let it show. He cups your cheek carefully, tells you to close your eyes, and hopes he's doing a good job of pretending like he knows what he's doing.

From then on, it's instinct.

Slotting your lips together at the right angle. Trying to not lose his breath as he kisses his dearest sister. Biting on your bottom lip gently to urge you to open your mouth for him, and preening when you obediently do.

Caleb doesn't really know how much tongue one should use. But he's probably doing too much.

At first, he's just testing the waters. Licking at the seam of your lips. Teasing the sensitive roof of your mouth. Gives your tongue a shy nudge.

Ten minutes later, he's sucking on it. Hands roaming your body. Eyes glazed over with sheer delight when you don't push him away, instead tangling your fingers in his hair to pull him even closer. He sucks on your tongue like it's candy, and you make noises he's never heard before, "ah, hn, gege..." straight out of a wet dream. He breaks away for a second, just for a breather, but you pull him back in and he nearly moans when you shyly give kitten licks to his tongue, soft and wet and fucking adorable.

Fuck, I'm hard, he thinks to himself, wishing you don't notice, but there's no way you don't feel his bulge pressing against you, rubbing against your thigh.

He wants to move his hips. Hump his cock against your panties beneath your skirt. Better yet, strip all the clothing altogether. Fuck you hard like in the wet dreams that plague him at night. Filthy fantasies of your pussy wrapped around his cock, wet with your juices and his cum. His fingers rubbing your engorged clit to see you cry out his name, drenching his hand with your slick. Cunt stretched to fit all of his thick girth, his base messy with frothy cum.

His hips move, just a little bit. He rolls his hips upward, directly pressing on your pussy. You squeak into his mouth, fingers curling tighter to his hair, but you don't stop him. You can feel him smile as his hands are placed on either side of your waist, moving you to rock back against him.

"C'mon, you move too..." he murmurs before he's sealing your lips again, the slide of his tongue against yours addicting. You clumsily raise your hips, rubbing at the tent in his pants, and the filthy groan he lets out goes straight to your core.

"D-do you do this when you kiss other girls?" You gasp as his lips move to your neck, sucking a visible mark beneath your ear. He makes a vague, unanswering hum, and you end up forgetting you even asked soon enough.

The friction makes you feel hotter than ever, burning at the nerves in your brain. You feel yourself getting dumbed down into a state where all you can think about is more, I need more of him, drowning in your most base desires.

The pace gets more frantic. Your clothed cunt rubs against his pants, all the while Caleb refuses to separate your pressed lips. At this point, you're not sure what you're doing qualifies as kissing, just panting against each other's mouths, tongues rubbing obscenely.

"Mm... ah... stick out your tongue more, meimei..."

"Ahn, yeah, okay... mmph..."

You're almost reaching... something you can't quite name, but it's hot, and it's near. You grind against your big brother more desperately, pursuing that high, and you swear you'll die if Caleb stops—

The front door opens. Gran's keys clatter on the living room table.

Caleb pulls away, and you very nearly whine in disappointment.

But Caleb's hair is in charming disarray, eyes clouded over with lust, lips swollen and shiny with your spit. It's a sight you want to burn into your eyes forever, distracting you enough to forget for a moment how you've been basically blue-balled.

"Fuck," he utters, voice raspy and ruined. His grip on your waist loosens. "We should— we should probably stop here."

"Yes," you respond breathlessly, even though you want to do the exact opposite. Clearing your throat, you slowly pry yourself off from him, legs feeling like jelly.

A wave of mortification washes over you when you find a wet spot on Caleb's pants, right where you rubbed against him. Right where he's pitching a tent he can't possibly hide, somehow even larger than it felt.

You don't acknowledge it. Pretend it doesn't exist. Neither does he, covering it up with the hem of his large sweater. You rush to the door, patting down your messy hair and your even messier clothes, wrinkled and probably soaked with more than just sweat.

But before you leave, you whisper almost too quietly, "...Tomorrow."

Caleb understands immediately. Gives a crooked smile. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow" is similar as the first time. The only difference is you're in the dining room, sitting on the table with Caleb between your spread legs, still humping against each other as you desperately lock lips.

You don't make plans after that, but the next day, you find yourself knocking on his door late at night, unable to sleep. He doesn't have to ask why you're there, simply pulls you into his bed as he kisses down your neck, clothed cock rubbing against your pajama shorts.

It takes a week of shy touches and heavy makeouts before Caleb's hands find the courage to leave your waist, trailing up beneath your shirt. You shiver at the sensation of his warm, large hand sliding over your skin, fingers dipping into the slope of your back. "Anyone kissed you here before?" he whispers to your ear, fiddling with the hook of your bra. Stunned speechless, you shake your head no, and it's all he needs to hear to push up your shirt.

Caleb doesn't hide his awe. He stares intently at your chest, at the cute, lacy bra topped off with a tiny bow. It's different from the time he accidentally saw your underwear hanging to dry and you rushed to scurry them off in embarrassment — this time, you're clad in it, showing it off even, despite your burning cheeks.

He takes a sharp breath, hands roaming around your body almost in worship. Pushes up the bra to reveal your tits in full glory, nipples perky and tempting him to lick. He fondles the supple skin, teases at the peaks, and something dark curls in his eyes when he hears you let out a "Haah, wait, Caleb, that's...!"

Slowly, he presses light kisses on the valley of your breasts, licking at the expanse of soft skin. When he wraps his lips around a nipple, his hand prods at the other one, keeping eye contact while he sucks.

His touch feels like fire, your core burning hotter than ever. The sight of your big brother playing with your tits should not excite you this much, but you can feel yourself dripping, soaking your underwear into ruin. You don't dare tear your eyes away even as shame makes you want to hide — it'd be such a waste to miss even a moment of this, to see Caleb lick at your nipples, suck red marks anywhere his lips roam.

"You smell so good..." He presses his nose between your breasts, breathing in the scent of your sweat and the body soap you share. "So pretty..." His tongue trails a line downwards, eyes fixed to your gaze.

You bite down on your bottom lip, struggling to keep yourself quiet. His brow furrows, stopping for a moment to press down on your lip with his thumb. "Don't do that. You'll hurt yourself."

"The neighbors will hear," you murmur, considering the thin walls. Caleb thinks for a moment, and then he grins.

He takes the edge of your shirt, lifting it to your mouth. "Bite on this?"

Your cheeks fill with heat, but you open your mouth in assent.

The humiliation almost makes it hotter. The shirt muffles your moans, but you're also exposing yourself to Caleb, letting your brother suck on your tits as much as he wants. Swirling his tongue around the perky buds, lapping up his own spit that drips down. Squeezing your other breast and flicking the tit with his finger.

"Hey, meimei..." he mumbles while he sucks. He takes one of your hands, places it over the bulge in his pants. "What do you think of kissing gege over here too?"

Moments later, you're on your knees while Caleb stands in front of you, suckling on his tip as he fucks his cock between your tits. "Fuck..." He can't stop himself, lightheaded and on the verge of a nosebleed as he looks down on you, pushing your breasts together and licking his leaking precum. "My baby sister is sucking my cock... you look so good with your mouth full, meimei..."

You couldn't fit most of it in your mouth, not with the sheer size of it. Caleb's cock was so stupidly huge, you could barely wrap your hand around it fully. It was long and thick, and you felt dizzy at the thought of putting it inside you. Your pussy clenched, feeling more empty than ever, and you couldn't help but sneak a hand underneath your shorts to rub your clit, so wet from arousal.

"Haah, that's it, keep going..." Without noticing it himself, Caleb's thrusts have gotten rougher, his tip scraping the back of your throat. "Gege's cumming soon... take all of my cum, hm?"

Your rubbing grows more frantic as he reaches closer to orgasm, admiring his pleasured expression. Caleb runs a hand through his hair, hips still moving to fuck his dick in your mouth, muscled torso shiny with sweat. "Ugh, fuck, your tongue... yeah, that spot feels so good, pips... gege loves it when you suck me like that."

I want his cock in me I want his cock in me chants in your head, fingers still rubbing your clit. You've always masturbated to your older brother, imagined his hot body over yours, but it's different when he's using you for his own release. Having him fuck his huge dick to your throat while you're touching yourself, watching him in the throes of pleasure.

"Ah, shit, here it comes, fuck— show me your tongue, meimei—"

Caleb pulls you away from his dick by your hair, and you'd be disappointed if not for the sight of him jerking off his own cock, fist hitting over his heavy balls, until he shoots his thick load, spraying cum all over your face, your stuck out tongue, and your tits.

You cum on your fingers as he groans deeply, still stripping his cock as he releases, and it takes a while for him to finish cumming. "Fuck... that felt so good..."

Caleb looks down at you, places a thumb on your cum-stained tongue, and swirls it around. "Swallow it."

You obey, gulping down his thick load. His eyes shine with satisfaction, patting your head like he usually does to praise you. "Good girl."

He helps you to your feet, pushing you back to bed. His large hands roam around your body again, running along your curves, massaging his cum on your tits. Then he leans down to lick it off, not once breaking eye contact.

"Don't worry about the mess. Gege's going to clean you up now, okay?"

Your little "kissing practice" becomes so much more. Eventually, you're sneaking around every opportunity you get — when Gran is out, or when it's late at night, or when you're about to shower and Caleb gets the bright idea to sneak in the bathroom to pin you against the wall and slide his cock between your legs. Look, my cock and your pussy are kissing.

It doesn't take a genius you've gone far, far beyond just kissing. So it doesn't surprise you anymore when on one of your "practice sessions" in your bedroom, his fingers brush on your inner thigh. "Let me kiss you here, too."

It's not surprising, but you still feel a bit shy lifting up your skirt and spreading your legs when Caleb tells you to. He looks far too pleased with himself when he finds you're absolutely wet, pure white panties almost see-through. He rubs your clothed clit with his thumb, chuckling when you unconsciously move your hips to grind against his finger.

But Caleb doesn't have the patience to tease. He slips off your underwear and marvels at the strings of arousal clinging to your soaked panties. "Naughty girl..." He clicks his tongue, gripping your thighs to spread them apart. "So wet for her big brother."

Your pretty pussy is flushed pink, dripping onto the sheets. He can see it clench around nothing in anticipation, waiting for his cock to fill it up with cum.

Caleb can't stop himself anymore. He inhales deeply into your bare cunt, groans a curse to himself, then begins to dig in.

His first lick is a broad stripe on your clit, thick tongue swiping on the sensitive nub. You jolt at the unfamiliar sensation, curling your fingers into his hair. "Ah, wait, Caleb- ohh, ahh, no...!"

"So fucking sweet," he moans at the taste, licking relentlessly now. "Fuck, I should've done this sooner."

He laps at your slit, drinking up the pussy juice that won't stop leaking. He smothers his face in it, nose rubbing on your clit and chin dripping with your slick, hands holding down your trembling legs to the mattress. He's squeezed between your thighs, and he looks like he's on heaven, utterly delighted at the moans he's pulling from you.

"Nn, mm, ahh, gege! Oh, your tongue-!" You're unable to string together a full sentence, mind a constant loop of so good fuck fuck gege's licking my pussy so good.

Caleb slurps noisily, an embarrassing noise you'll worry about later, but for now, your fried brain can only think it's so hot, you're so wet, gege please lick me more I love it right there please please.

Caleb sucks your clit like he's making out with it, rolling his tongue in circles and lapping up anything he can catch, thoroughly pussy drunk and intoxicated. He's grinding mindlessly into the mattress until he can't take it anymore, freeing his cock from his sweatpants and jerking off at the taste of your pussy.

"You're so fucking good for me, meimei," Caleb groans loudly, fucking his tongue into your hole as his dick pulsates in his hand, spurting more precum. You thrash around, riding his face and making a mess of him. "Fuck yes, just use me. Gege's just a toy to make you feel good."

And it really is as if you're treating him like a toy for your pleasure, burying his face to your pussy, uncaring if he can't breathe. Carelessly bucking up your hips to get his tongue deeper, licking the spot you want him to reach. Rubbing your swollen clit on his nose.

You've fantasized about this, of your big brother holding you down on your bed and making you cum on his tongue. Not stopping until you've squirted all over him, his fingers still fucking your pussy even when you feel overstimulated. You want it. You want it so bad.

"Caleb, more, please, I'm gonna cum!" you wail, legs trembling, bracing for the orgasm you know will ruin you.

"Go on," Caleb says, and you can feel the words form on his lips against your cunt, the vibrations driving you closer to the brink, "Cum on your big brother's face."

Your eyes roll back, liquid spraying out from your pussy and onto Caleb's mouth. "Fuck yes, keep squirting on me, pips." It keeps coming out like a leaking faucet and Caleb sits up, putting his cock on your pussy and letting the squirt drench him, using it as lube as he rubs his cock.

"Shit, you're so wet," he says in awe, staring as you keep spraying the clear liquid. He taps your clit with his tip, laughing when it makes you gush one last time. "So sensitive, too."

"Gege... ah..." you weakly utter when Caleb keeps rubbing his cock on your pussy, covering himself in your cum. The obscene squelch only gets him harder.

His cock is throbbing, so hard that it hurts. He wants to put it in. Fuck his precious little sister's pussy that's right in front of him. Take her virginity and fill her up with his hot cum. Fuck her against every surface on this house, on your bed, in the bathtub, on the floor, at the sofa you both always watched TV on growing up.

"Just the tip," he pants, just sane enough to make a compromise, prodding at your hole with the leaking head. "I want to put it inside you, meimei."

"Ah..." You stare at the cock between your legs, so huge compared to your tight pussy. We can't isn’t something you can say when you've already crossed the line several times over. And you can't seem to take your eyes away from his dick, thick in girth and long, curving prettily in a way you know will hit that spot inside you.

"Please..." He leans down to whisper in your ear, hand pressing down on your stomach, measuring just how deep it'll reach. "Gege's been wanting this for so long."

There's no way that'll fit, the more reasonable voice inside your head cries out. I want all of him inside me, the whore in you says otherwise. "G... gege's cock is too big..." You don't mean it to sound so provocative, saying it as statement of fact, but he twitches against your skin, and you hope it's only in your imagination when you think Oh god, did he just get bigger...?!

"Then gege will be careful." Caleb strokes your pussy with his fingers, enjoying watching you tremble at the lightest touch. "I'll make sure it won't hurt."

And so, Caleb begins his quest to loosen your virgin pussy. A quest he seems to particularly enjoy, boredom never flicking across his features as he adds more fingers to your tight cunt. Marvels at the overflowing wetness slicking his hand, prodding everywhere in search of your g-spot. Holds down your thighs when he finds it, not allowing you to escape from the pleasure.

"Do you like this, pips? Do you like it when your big brother fingerfucks you?"

He sounds utterly sinful, words slightly muffled by the tit in his mouth, fucking in three thick fingers in your cunt, a thumb rolling on your poor, puffy clit.

"I like it so much." He makes another hickey on your chest. "I like the feeling of my sister's tight, virgin pussy squeezing around me."

Inevitably, his filthy words make you cum hard, splattering a mess on his arm.

"Cumming again?" Caleb hums as you gush around him for the nth time, fingers still moving, making your pussy squelch. "You really like this, huh?"

You groan weakly as he peppers your face with kisses, pussy twitching from the overstimulation. "Hnn... too much, Caleb... I can't..."

Caleb tuts, sucking another mark on your collarbone. "You can."

"Gegeee," you whine, holding onto his back. You feel like you've cum enough times to last a lifetime, the sheets beneath you soaked through and through.

"Please?" He nuzzles against your neck, affectionate and loving. "Just the tip. I want to feel you inside."

You glance at this monster-sized cock. And then at the puppy dog eyes that don't match it at all, sparkling innocently like he didn't just say the filthiest talk known to man.

"You don't want to try it?" He slides his heavy cock between your legs, letting you feel every vein. "I'll make it feel good. Better than my tongue."

He takes his dick in his hand, dips the head inside your pussy, just a small stretch. A fresh wave of slick wets it, spurting clear drops of arousal. When you don't push him away, just wrapping your arms around him and waiting with bated breath, he carefully pushes deeper.

It's thicker than you imagined it'd feel. Even thicker than his fingers. An overwhelming pressure that takes your breath away, your mouth forming an 'o', and you're almost annoyed when he stops sliding in.

He really just put the tip.

"Fuuuuck," he swears, using all his restraint not to slide everything in one go, a bead of sweat from his chin dropping on your chest. "Your pussy's so warm, meimei..."

"Haah, Caleb..." The thickness is nothing you've ever felt before, nothing his fingers could prep you enough for. Caleb's so big everywhere, from his height, his broad shoulders, his toned arms, his hands on your waist, and even with how massive he feels with just the tip, you can see the length of him that hasn't gone inside between your legs.

He moves slowly, fucking his tip in and out in a pace that leaves you wanting and hungry. "Mm, shit..."

He grips you tightly, gaze fixed on the way you clench around him, pretty pussy welcoming his cock. You wrap around him so deliciously, your cute twitchy clit just sitting above his cock. "God, you're so tight, my cock probably won't fit all the way."

It's a hypothetical thought. Because he really does mean to just put in the tip.

But you keep sucking him in, cunt warm and wet and hot and so good around him. Without meaning to, his cock slides further than he means to every other thrust, reaching deeper and deeper to your core, the plap plap noises of your skin slapping together echoing in your room.

When his cock is halfway in, Caleb is on the verge of cumming. "Ah, ah, wait, shit, sorry," he's panting out, apologies spilling from his lips, but his hips never stop moving. "Fuck, you just feel so good, I can't stop."

Your nails are digging scratches on his muscled back, mind turned into mush. The only thing you can think about is how big he is, how much deeper he could go if he went all the way. How much better it would feel if you could feel his cock in its entirety.

"Ge," you mindlessly whine. "Gege, please..." Are you begging him to stop? Or to fuck you hard and fast without restraint? You don't even know anymore. But your body answers for you.

You lock your legs around him, pulling him closer.

His cock slides in all the way to the hilt.

"Oh, fuck!"

Without warning, he spills inside you, load after load of cum filling up your pussy. He's cumming hard, groaning brokenly into your neck, his orgasm so mind-shattering he can't do anything other than pump his milk deep in your cunt, hot neverending pulses of semen flowing to your womb.

"Ah, shit, I'm sorry, I can't stop cumming, fuck...!"

It's not just that he can't stop cumming. He's still as hard as he was before.

It isn't long before he hoists your legs on his shoulders, looking absolutely pussy drunk. He rams his entire cock into you with rough, deep thrusts, fucking his cum deeper into your womb, some of it overflowing from your hole and coating the base of his cock in white. "I came inside my little sister's pussy," he babbles mindlessly, his groans pornographic. "My cum... deep inside your cunt... fuck..."

"Ge, your cock is so big," you moan like a slut, uncaring if the neighbors hear the debauchedy in your house at this point. "Fuck me more, please, I want more of your cum!"

"Ah, meimei, you're being so loud." Caleb brings his hand to your pussy, tormenting your clit again, making your legs kick out. "Everyone will know your big brother is fucking you so good. Getting his little sister pregnant while no one else is home."

"Yes, yes, please, I love it when my big brother cums inside me!"

"Yeah? You wanna be gege's cumdump?" He pants, flicking your clit, groping your breasts, nailing your g-spot in every thrust — everything he knows to make you moan louder, scream his name. "Go ahead. Milk your big brother's cock dry."

Time passes in a blur. It just so happens that you'll be alone at home for the next few days, your Gran going out to visit a friend from the countryside. Caleb takes this as his opportunity to fuck you without fear of getting caught.

Caleb fucks you in all sorts of positions, in different places — doggy style in the kitchen, making a mess on the floor; "Haah, meimei, how do we face Gran after this? You've squirted all over the table we use to eat together."

Reverse cowgirl on the living room couch, the show playing on the TV completely forgotten; "Ah, pips, didn't you say you liked this actor? Something about how good-looking he is. So why aren't you paying attention? Come on, hng, haah... don't just fuck yourself on gege's cock. Focus on the movie."

Laid out on your bed, 69 in your room; "Fuck, you're dripping all over me, baby... Yeah, suck on my cock, just like that. Your mouth feels fucking amazing."

And now, in his bedroom, Caleb leans back, letting his precious baby sister ride him first thing in the morning, awoken by the feeling of your wet pussy enveloping his cock. He enjoys seeing you fuck him yourself, desperate for release, tits moving as you bounce on his dick, flicking your own nipples and rubbing your clit to give him a show.

"That kissing practice," Caleb starts, unable to help himself and lazily circles your swollen clit with his finger, making you cry out, "that was just a ploy for me to train you, wasnt it? Training you to be your big brother's slut."

"Ah, ah, yes, hn, I wanted... wanted to be gege's slut!" You move your hips with more fervor now, and Caleb knows too well that's a sign you're close.

He pushes you to your back, slamming into your pussy with intense thrusts. Makes you squirt on his cock, spraying all over his abs. Smiles at the sight of your fucked-out face, tongue lolling out, eyes rolled back. "That's right. You've become my slut. All mine."

And then he thrusts again, and again, and again. Because he's raised a devil who can't be satisfied with normal sex anymore.

(And if he slips in an "I love you" or two after that, well, you're too fucked out to hear anyway.)

[eyelessfaces]

[luvcaleb]

cw: pseudocest, caleb being a pervert, aka me being a pervert. it's not just the ovulation i fear

camboy!caleb who runs a popular account of homemade videos. they're nothing professional, clearly taken on a phone with no real sense of order — no proper introduction or scripted dialogue, filmed in shitty lighting and even worse angles — but there's just something hot about how spontaneous it all feels, how he's not putting on a show and he's simply letting his viewers watch even though they feel as if they shouldn't be seeing something so intimate.

camboy!caleb who either performs by himself — his large hand stripping his even larger cock, hips fucking back into his fist, abs shining with sweat rolling as he moves — or with you constantly featured in his videos, always faceless but identifiable by the moles on your body. he's never had a different partner, even with floods of DMs asking for collabs; it's always the same girl whose pussy he's obsessed with, consistent throughout the few years he's been posting.

camboy!caleb who's known for being an eater, having quite a few videos in his collection where he's just playing with the your pussy with no regard to his cock straining against his pants. holding down your thighs as he makes you cum over and over, lips smacking wetly against your cunt, talking absolute filth to your pussy. "gonna cum for me, baby? wanna squirt your pussy juice over gege's face? come on, you don't have to hold back. cum, cum, cum... fuck, you're making a fountain out of your cunt, haha."

he's absolutely depraved when he makes you sit on his face, nose digging into your clit, dazed eyes staring at your bouncing tits. the sounds he makes are obscene, all groans and slurping noises and praise for how good you are for him. his cock remains untouched, but he's spilling precum from his angry tip, close to bursting just at the sweet taste of your slick. "ride my face, pips. fuck, look at you go... you taste fucking delicious."

camboy!caleb who can spend ages toying with your cunt, fingers pruny from how long he spent teasing your insides. he spreads your pussy lips wide, showing off how wet you are, cruelly flicking at your clit and burying his digits knuckle-deep. the squelching is especially loud when he shushes your moans, murmuring, "can't be loud today, baby. we don't want anyone else hearing you like this, yeah?"

camboy!caleb who fucks like he wants to get you pregnant. he fucks hard and deep, balls slapping against your skin, the tip of his cock distending your stomach each time he slides back in. his thrusts are rough, but precise; he always hits the spot that drives you insane, scratching lines down his back and screaming his name. "here? you like it right here? alright, baby, gege's gonna give it you. just. like. this." with each emphasized word, he slams in even deeper, eyes crinkling in delight when you gush squirt all over him again.

camboy!caleb who always creampies. when he cums, he makes sure it's inside, filling up your cunt with his hot milky loads. his semen is always thick, and he takes some time to finish cumming. "shit, princess. think i'm gonna knock you up this time? i filled you up so much, it's fucking dripping."

camboy!caleb who has a little sister kink. or at least, his viewers assume so; his video titles are more often than not some sort of porny clickbait like "fucking my stepsis when nobody's home" or "teaching my stepsis how to masturbate". he seems really committed to the bit; he films his videos in random places of the house, fucking you against the front door or pounding into you in the bathroom while trying to keep quiet. "yes, fuck, take in all of your big brother's cock... you're so fucking wet for gege, huh? hear that? all this slick is from you, baby."

"getting off from your brother's dick... who taught you to be such a slut? but it's okay. as long as you're only gege's slut."

"hng, shit, my sister's pussy is the best... so fucking tight and hot..."

"cum. cum all over your big brother's cock. yes, fuck, just like that— squirt as much as you want. gege's gonna clean up your mess with his tongue."

"ah, hah, gege's going to cum, okay? gege's cumming deep inside. ohh, shit, fuck— i'm cumming— cumming inside my little sister's pussy—"

porn sites have plenty of step sibling roleplay. surely, camboy!caleb is just acting, right?

...right?