[madamechrissy]

please, please, please

You love being Satoru Gojo's girlfriend, he dotes on you, takes you on dates, spoils you - just one little problem, you are perpetually ovulating around him! Is wanting your nerdy boyfriend's cock in your mouth really such a bad thing? Satoru wants to wait for the perfect moment for your first time, though! He'll totally wait even when you're wearing that slutty lil dress and grinding on him, right?

pairings - nerd! gojo x girlfriend! reader

warnings - cute and silly, oral over panties/boxers, Satoru edging tf outta us -- reader is horny, Shoko/Hime, Sukuna being a fratboy dick, jealous Toru, rough blow jobs, p in v sex, first time, squirting, teasing, fingering, creampie, consent, breed kink, making your nerdy boyfriend feral and spit in your mouth <3

art creds here!!

this was a comm for my angel @cantarcantar!! ty for understanding that my life was like INSANE - ilysm for being patient <3 wc - 10.1k

It took you almost two years of crushing on Satoru Gojo to actually become his girlfriend, and you’re loving every minute of it. From being too damn shy to admit you like him, to very awkwardly trying to confess and every chance just utterly failing – to then instead becoming the very best of friends.

You two were finally ‘officially together’ as a couple.

Oh, and it was everything, being in his arms, swallowed up by those huge biceps he had hidden underneath his starch white dress shirts. Hearing that little laugh from his lips, all of those sweet little kisses he bestowed upon you – truly, all the feelings blossoming between the two of you in the most beautiful way, especially over the months of truly being his girlfriend.

He’d take you out for all day movie marathons, going to play bumper cars, mini golf, you name it – Satoru was down for it. Every date was a meticulously planned out one too, with little to no down time aside from the drive to and from. Perhaps that’s where you would sneak just the littlest pecks on his neck, hear his sighs as he gripped the gear shift of that fancy sports car.

Satoru adored you – and you adored him.

You were all his. There was no one else in the entire world than the boy who could never quite tie that tie on correctly, always just a little crooked for you to straighten out.

Yet with that came you being unreasonably horny all the fucking time, who wouldn’t be with Satoru though? Those long fingers pressing into your waist, the way that bulge pressed between your thighs, plump lips slipping up your throat. Every time it even got just a little close, maybe you were grinding so good that you were about to cum from that – he paused it.

Wearing a cute, bashful little smile on his face, fogged up, thick rimmed glasses – murmuring sweetheart in a voice that’s designed to make your pussy drip, and you feel like a complete pervert for wanting to beg for more. God, imagining his cock in your throat alone had you desperate and needy, let alone having him filling you, pumping you full, taking you first.

Maybe you are a pervert, truly.

You’ve tried so hard to be patient, you want him to want it as badly as you do, but every time you’re making out with your boyfriend – the top of the dean’s list and ultimate dungeon master for DnD – Satoru Gojo?

Every time his big ass hands grip your waist and he drags you down against his length, before he puts a pause on it?

You can’t even think about it.

You’re pumping your fingers in your needy cunt just thinking about it after every damn date with this boy. Whining out in your bed with your hips bucking up, gasps escaping your lips desperately in your empty room. Pumping faster and faster until you’ve got that sticky release all over your hand.

It’s almost as if you have this sort of ritual now, before you see your boyfriend and right after/.

Your rose toy is probably fucking tired of you.

As if you don’t you ache so damn bad around him it’s painful, hard not to shamelessly hump his thigh till you cum. No, the toy? This takes the edge off just a bit, but even the way you moan his name in your sleep is endlessly hilarious to your poor roommates that have to hear you between the walls of your off campus apartment.

“Still a virgin?” Utahime asked with a laugh when you had woken up this morning, getting ready to see Satoru.

“Not by choice,” you grumble, shaking your head and grabbing a coffee pod from the little rack, popping your favorite inside and pressing the on button. The aroma hits immediately, waking your tired brain.

You’d had the filthiest damn dream of him fucking your tits, cock sliding up and down in messy strokes that had you needing a damn shower right now.

You’re just perpetually ovulating.

Satoru is the perfect boyfriend, truly he is. He’s sweet, he’s a gentleman despite his blue eyes and where they glance too long. Mostly, he cares. You’ve fallen so in love with him so quickly over these past few months, but every time you think that things might progress, Satoru stops it. Gently lifting you up off his lap and sighing, kissing his way up your jaw, his snowy lashes tickling your cheek.

‘Sweetheart, let’s pause this,’ he would murmur those words all sweet and sultry against your skin after almost sucking on those nipples that just stay hard around this man, instead hovering a breath away so it ghosts your tits. Those huge hands brushing just underneath them.

It’s torture, really.

‘Oh, okay Toru,’ you’d whisper back, he’d moan and kiss up your neck, breaths tickling your skin. ‘Mnh…’

‘You’re so beautiful, god look at you.’

It was just wrong to talk to you like that!

“You poor baby. At least you have your toy collection,” Shoko teases, sneaking in and brushing your hair back. “Extensive, too.”

You flip her off, peeking at the phone then and seeing Satoru's name pop up.

Study session?

“Dick session?” She asks, you gasp, as if affronted at such a suggestion.

“I would never assume such a thing!”

You hope so.

*****

It’s not.

No, it’s not a dick session at all.

It really is an actual goddamn study session – both of you were sitting there in Satoru’s living room, his place was far fancier than anywhere, but that came from him being the Dean’s very son. It intimidated you a little at first, but now you’ve grown comfortable, as he made you feel so special.

Today though?

Well, you can’t focus on anything but how badly you’d love to kneel and suck your nerdy boyfriend, his thighs spread wide all slutty.

God his legs are long.

You bet his cock is-

“And this equation?” Satoru teasingly asks you, distracting you from your slutty freaking brain.

You're not even sure what stumbles out of your mouth for an answer, without saying how thick you think the circumference of his cock must be.

That is something you’ve done with your past experiences, and you know you’re good at it. You could easily deep throat a man and you wanted to see his cock so damn bad – could he be a challenge, though?

Your eyes drift down his chest, he peeks at you curiously.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He asks casually, spinning his pen between his fingers and studying you. “Hard question?”

“Um… yeah, a very hard time…”

Stop that! Stop looking at his dick print!

“The question is hard?”

“Uh… the question… yes.” You feel like a damn pervert every time you’re around him, can’t you chill and let things happen when they happen?

He sighs and stands up, stretching his arms up over his head, his abdomen revealed when his dress shirt rides up, showing those little v cuts that make your ovulating brain just a million times worse. It’s like you’re in heat. It's so pathetic right now – maybe you should avoid him till it stops.

“Let’s take a break then.”

“Yeah?”

He chuckles at how eager you are at the thought and comes up to you, leaning down with a hand on each arm of your chair, tilting his head so some of that soft white hair falls over his forehead. You brush a bit of it back and he kisses your palm, lips warm and sweet.

“You’ve been such a good girl, how can I not treat you a bit?” Your heart hammers in your chest, until those next words spill from his lips. “Boba?”

“What? Huh?” You blink as he eases back, pulling up his phone and leaning against the desk. “Boba??”

“Yeah, Boba, I’ll buy you some, I know you love it,” he smiles curiously as you bury your face in your hands. “No Boba? Matcha then?”

“I’m um…” About to cum if he touches you once even. “No, I guess Boba is fine. Thanks Toru.” you manage to say, thighs pressing together, Satoru frowns, kneeling now and gently taking your hands off your face, seeing your blush.

“Are you sick!? You’re all flushed!”

“I’m not-”

“You’re burning,” he touches your cheek in concern, and you almost fucking feel bad – you’re not sick, you’re ovulating. “Baby girl, let’s get you to a doctor right now!"

“No, no I feel fine, I’m not warm because of that,” you shift in your seat and whine out at just that friction. “Promise.”

He frowns and watches you carefully. “You’re hurting, it could be the start of something!”

“Well yeah I hurt,” you sigh as he spreads your thighs and kneels between them, shoving at him. “You’ll make it even worse down there.”

“I’ll make what worse, exactly? Your…” He trails off then, seeing your panties and blushing himself, pink dancing across his high cheekbones and dusting them in that rose. “Y-your… your panties are so… uh… s-soaked and…”

You should freak out at this proximity, at just how much he can finally see of you, but all you can do is whine again, as his eyes shoot back up to yours. “I’m okay, promise.”

“Am I neglecting my pretty girlfriend?” He asks softly, just a little nervous. Satoru has never touched anyone but you, but he’s extensively studied the female anatomy, and how to make you cum.

He just wanted your first time to be perfect.

That’s why he was waiting – the last thing he needed was for you to not enjoy your first time, though he knows you’re a little more experienced than he is – Satoru’s hardly kissed anyone before you. Not because he couldn’t – he just had no interest in that sort of thing until he met you – and even then, he really couldn’t find the damn courage to ask you out forever.

“No I’m being a damn pervert,” you cover your face and he chuckles at that.

“You’re being a what, now?”

You sink into the seat, mumbling. “You heard me.”

He’d been your best friend for so long, thinking there was no chance in the world – always jerking his cock with any article of clothing you’d leave in his room, like a filthy depraved pervert – and you think you were one perverted here?

Does him wanting the timing to be just right making you think that?

Satoru exhales softly, just a hint of what he wants to say slipping from his plump lips.

“What, do you touch your little pussy thinking of me?”

His voice has you lowering your hands, he spreads those thighs and slides up your skirt, making you moan out, head falling back, your hands gripping the arms of the chair even tighter.

“Wha-?” You can’t even finish your damn word.

“Asked you a question, baby.”

“God,” he’s diabolical without knowing – or maybe he does know. You’re trembling as you lean back, letting his thumb brush on your clit and gasping at the touch, already getting slick from a brush on your skin. “What question?”

“Not paying attention, tsk,” he clicks his tongue and his teeth nip your inner thigh, sinking in and making you whine out. “Do you touch her?”

“Y-yes,” he hums a bit, tugging your panties up until your lips are visible, that dark spot growing as slick starts pouring. “Please…”

“Be patient, baby,” he leans back now, smirking at you. “Show me?”

“Are you sure you…”

“Please? I wanna see so bad,” you blush now, you masturbate sure – but not in front of people! “I’ll show you?”

“Show me you um… jerking off?”

“Yeah, I mean… yeah?” You sigh a bit.

“Toru…”

“Mmm?”

“Why don’t I um… suck you?” He is bright red now, he’s almost busting just thinking of your mouth – that won’t do. His first blow job and he busts in one go!? No, Satoru has to jerk it three times before he gets the privilege of fucking your pretty little mouth, of feeling your pink tongue on him.

“Not yet.”

“Not yet? But you’re so hard,” you giggle and tease him with your foot nudging his thigh, he glares and catches it, shoving it wide. “Not yet, then. So you just wanna see me touch myself?”

“God yes, dreamed of that since…” He trails off then, he doesn’t want to admit just how long he’s jerked off to you, because it was before you even knew who Satoru Gojo was. “Lemme see.”

“Okay…” you lean back, running your fingertips over your panties, slipping underneath and leaning your head back, eyes fluttering shut, hearing Satoru’s soft little whine. “Toru…”

“Fuck,” he thought he could handle this, but he’s utterly failing, he can’t even see your pretty pussy and he’s already throbbing, leaking so much pre it hurts, sticking to his brand new digimon boxers. “You’re s’pretty, sweetheart.”

You blush as you look at him with dazed eyes, running little circles right around your puffy clit, coated in hot slick as it dribbles out of your panties. He swipes some of it on his fingers, studying it carefully, his tongue going to lap at it, moaning as the sweetness coats his tongue.

“Oh you’re t-tasting me,” it makes you needier, until you have to plunge two fingers inside your messy, quivering hole, that loud squelch echoing in your ears. He’s gripping your thigh with one hand bruising until you cry out.

“Fuck, so s-sorry… baby I hurt… y-you…”

“No, no, like it,” he moans and puts his hand back on your thigh, squeezing again so hard it aches. He's jerking his cock faster, whining out when he sees your slick fingers pull out of your panties. You press your cum soaked fingers to his lips and he eagerly wraps them around, sucking them off. “Toru…”

“So sweet, my pretty girlfriend,” his glasses fog up when he leans down, licking your inner thigh that is trembling, sliding higher until his tongue is on you – but it's not on your skin, it's on the soaked cotton of your panties.

“Fuck…” he moans as he gets those juices that are spilling through the fabric, his and squeezing his own cock as your thighs sit over his shoulders. 

“More, please,” you're tugging at his hair so hard it hurts, bucking up your hips for more. “I need you, please.”

“Such a needy girlfriend,” he murmurs, thumb circling his drooling tip, looking up at you with desperation in his pretty blue eyes. “You want me to lick it more for you?”

Your answer is a little nod, even having him lick you over your panties is more than you've ever had done, and fuck it feels good. Sinful as he trails a long, slow stripe over the fabric, the tip stopping right over your twitchy clit, his moan is muffled against the damp cotton.

“Toru!” He's lost in your scent, in that taste, the little hints of lace decorating your panties rough against his tongue, the sound is fucking filthy.

Satoru tugs those panties up more firmly, strings of gossamer saliva dripping and dissolving, peering up at you with flushed cheeks. “Like that, baby? Is this what you were thinking about instead of studying?”

Your only answer is to nod quickly, a jerky little motion as he sees those puffy lips just swallowing the damp material. He swipes his tongue over and over, the heat and wetness of his mouth making your entire body tremble. You feel it heating up, hearing the messy sounds of his own cock fucking his fist, wishing it were your throat instead.

"Oh god, Toru," you whimper out it so pathetically, your hands tangling in his soft white hair, fluffy and silky underneath your touch, trying to pull him closer, to shove his face where you need it. “Not enough, mnh!”

He chuckles against your puffy cunt, the vibration and the quick lave of his tongue have you on edge. Pulse racing as he had the audacity to tease you, landing a wet smack on your cunt that had you pathetic.

"Ah - ah," he clicks his tongue, catching your wrists in one of his stupidly large hands and pinning them against your waist, smirking at you in a way that's utterly not dirty at all. "No touching yet, sweetheart. I'm taking my time with you."

“Meanie,” he chuckles again, but you love it – feeling that strength as he grips you so tight. “My panties are ruined, Toru.”

“Mmm. Yes they are,” he tugs them again, looking at how wet the material is, just a pathetic little scrap of fabric with your juices pouring.

Instead of showing you mercy and moving them, he just presses them further against you again, tongue shoving that fabric until it's flush with your needy clit, you swear you can feel his tastebuds as that tongue drags through the fabric, pausing everywhere that has you jerking and honing in.

Like this nerdy boy is studying you.

Oh. He is.

He's methodical, almost clinical with his research of your needy, clothed cunt just separated by this pathetic little piece of fabric, his tongue pressing more firmly against your soppy lil hole. She is pulsing around nothing, torturous strokes, pressing his fingers up and down, you're hot and sticky underneath his touch.

“Toru!” Your wrists are still pinned, his cock forgotten even though it's dripping down onto the soft, plush rug below his knees. Satoru finds your clit again and looks up under snowy lashes, you watch the drips of slick connect with that wickedly long tongue.

“Mmm. I bet I could see myself inside you,” he whispers, you suck in a breath at that, as if he is measuring the distance of your entrance to your belly button, easing your wrists to tug up your top, nipping your puffy lips over the fabric. “Scientifically.”

“Then experiment, scientifically.” He chuckles like the little shit he is, finding your clit once more, a hand pressing where he imagines his cock would bulge out.

“You are so needy f'me, s'pretty like this,” his words slur as he wraps his plump lips around your twitchy clit, barely concealed and swollen underneath the cotton material that is dripping wet. He pulls it in his mouth and sucks it hard through your panties, humming against you.

You're aching, cunt filling his hungry mouth as your hands land back on his hair, his movements making you cry out and buck your hips against his mouth for more.

“So sweet right now, god, look at that…”

Satoru is so close to cumming when he grabs his cock at the base again, squeezing so goddamn hard – he could almost bet that if he felt your cunt without the fabric, he'd spurt his white ropes everywhere.

Make a mess of you.

“Mnh. You close, sweetheart?”

Your answer is a jerky little nod, as he keeps torturing you with this fucking barrier, his teeth grazing that tiny clit ever so lightly through the fabric, making you scream out, your head falling back. Your panties are absolutely ruined now, utterly transparent with your slick and his spit coating them, your sweet little cries rushing through his ears.

Satoru? Well, he laps at the mess he's making happily, his tongue coating the entire area in circles that deliberately avoid that spot until you're twitching, tears falling down your cheeks.

"Such a messy girl," he moans out those words, eyes black when they peek up at you, his voice husky as your slick clings to his lips. "Soaking these pretty little panties f’me.”

“Please, Toru… move ‘em please,” he smirks and decides to have mercy on you, tugging them to the side of one of your lips and exhaling, watching the slick drool and spill down. You gasp as the air hits your cunt, already aching and needy, the dampness making it a cool shock.

“Fuck, you're so pretty,” he murmurs, his cock just about to bust without his touch, he glides his tongue from your ass all the way to your clit, looking right up at you. “Is this what you were thinking of, hmm? My tongue inside you?”

“Your cock, too,” he chuckles against you, but just a couple more flicks has you close, as he spreads your cunt wide, studying your every expression.

“Look at that. My slutty little girlfriend.”

Satoru is trying his best to hold it together, but when his tongue glides into your gummy walls and they grip him, he's too far gone, slurping up every bit of the cum that just pours out. You shatter so damn pretty, squirting all over his face, dripping down his chin until it's glossy, his cock starts pulsing right with your hole, imagining her milking him.

“F-fuckk….”

“Toru, mnh! S'good I… please…” You’re overheated, body sensitive, it’s just not enough, even with his tongue lavishing every bit of your pussy.

Not enough.

“Please what, baby? Mnh,” he grips his veiny cock as he cums with his tongue on your clit, more of your mess drenching his throat, his face, his shirt. His white ropes coat his hand, lashes fluttering shut as he savors your jumping clit in his mouth, whining against you.

“Want your cock in my mouth, Toru please…” he exhales, breath making you jolt, looking up at you with a blush.

“I um…” he leans back on his knees and you see the mess, blushing at it. 

“I didn't touch you though…”

“Didn't need to,” he's clearly a little embarrassed, you take his cum soaked hand then – dripping white – and wrap your mouth around one of his thick fingers. “Oh fuck…”

You suck him right off, tasting that salty white substance and moaning as it hits your taste buds. Satoru pulls back and laps it off his own fingers, before kissing you right with it, the mess spilling between your mouths and dripping down.

Satoru Gojo – your nerdy boyfriend with an insane Digimon collection was a fucking freak, greedily drinking his own cum off your mouth.

You’re trembling when the door knocks, and you faintly remember that he has ordered you boba. He’s the epitome of a perfect boyfriend after that, considerate, caring, cleaning the little rivulets of your own release from your inner thighs – you’re stuck back on the opposite side of the bed, cuddling him and watching a movie.

Satoru even has the audacity to snore after, heavy body wrapping as you ache to get filled by him – at least the movie was so damn boring you drift off right next to him.

****

“I’m gonna die a virgin,” you mumble to Shoko and Utahime the next weekend, aside from more heated kisses and grinding on Satoru’s thigh after your well planned out dates – nothing.

You’re aching.

How much use could your rose toy really see!? And now you even have two more toys going along with it, though you doubt any of them are getting close to Satoru and how good he must feel. No ‘clit sucker’ could come close to what that nerdy little mouth could do.

“You look like you’re dying, girl, damn…” Utahime earns your glare. “Is it that bad?”

“He finally got me off and…” You blush now, unable to finish your sentence, remembering his tongue drinking up your juices.

“Does he know what a clit is?”

“Very much so, it was so good.”

They look surprised.

“You all have no clue, he really was,” Shoko laughs at that, leaning back and hitting the vape, handing it over to you. “No, no.”

“You need a smoke, sweets,” you grimace, brushing your hair back, pacing back and forth as the two girls watch you, snuggling with each other. “You’re pacing holes in the carpet.”

“I can’t handle this, I just… god I wanna suck his dick, is it so terrible? He hasn’t even let me touch it. I sound like a horny ass man, I hate it. I wanna respect him, I really do.”

“You wanna respect him with his cock in your throat?” Shoko finishes.

“Yes. I mean!? I will respect him without the cock in my mouth! You two are menaces.”

They’re laughing like the brats they are, blowing smoke in each other’s mouths, you damn near moan in frustration. Satoru’s gotten you off that one time, then since then he has gone right back to worshipping you in the sweet way he always did, as if you’ll what – forget about his tongue?

His stupidly long fingers…

The cum on your tongue that you lapped right off!?

The taste.

“Ugh -” you lean back and sink further into the couch. “I really am gonna die.”

“Can’t die, we’ve got that party tonight,” Utahime teases, kissing Shoko’s lips and giggling just a bit, you pout at the two of them.

In public Satoru would kiss your hand at best.

Where on earth even had that freak come from that spit his cum in your mouth last week!? He’s all gone again – the pocket protector wearing Nerd Gojo in his place, like some twin fucking took over for a minute.

“I can’t go to a party and get drunk, I’ll make a fool of myself around him, one drink and my pussy has a mind of its own…” You finally sit down, plopping back into the seat. “I feel like a pervert.”

“You are! Let’s just call you fucking pervy Sage.”

“Hey!” You glare at Utahime, Shoko is inhaling another puff of smoke, you cough just a bit. 

“Hah – Sanji from One-”

“Don’t even!? I’m not that bad,” you huff at her, frowning now. “I swear I'm not trying to be pervy. God, what is in this weed?”

“Hmm,” Shoko tugs Utahime on her lap. “I wonder if he's scared you'll like … bite his dick.”

“You're so fucking mean,” you cough a little more, eyes watering as you scowl at the two of them.

“Look slutty, like really slutty,” Shoko walks up now, tilting your chin up and crooking her lips up at the corner. “Something that screams – fuck me.”

“He licked my panties and didn’t even…”

“Really slutty,” Utahime agrees, tapping her chin. “Ooh! I know, I have the perfect outfit in mind, that little black dress of yours.”

“But it’s too small for me now! It’s from like high school, and thanks to you two cooking all the time, my hips-”

“Exactly.”

“Exactly what? Oh…”

You trail off now, realizing what everyone knew – that Satoru loves your hips, he grabbed on to them every chance he got, even when he was just a little bit shy.

“Okay…”

They kiss again in front of you, laughing a bit, making you lovesick for your man – your nerdy man who you wish would kiss you in that way, tongues all dripping. It’s not even fair.

“All lovey dovey, fuck you both.”

They’re so hot and rude laughing at you – you decide to just disappear, you don’t need your hot ass best friends making out in front of you when you’re already in pain from the constant edging from Satoru. You are rushing to your room and trying on outfit after outfit, before finally deciding on the exact fucking one they brought up.

You would look as sexy as you could and hopefully get your boyfriend to not be able to resist you.

But also you’ll respect his decision, dammit! You can wait as long as he wants to, even if you were absolutely gonna put your tits and ass out there for him. Looking in the mirror and touching up your lipstick, swiping a finger across your lower lip to smudge it just a tad.

“Oh damn you look hot, Sanji,” Utahime says when you come out.

“I am not Sanji.”

“You are.”

“Fuck you both!”

*****

Satoru can’t keep his damn eyes off you.

Fuck you’re pretty tonight.

That damn little black dress clinging to your skin is fucking ruining Satoru’s mind, brain short circuiting as the two of you navigate the insanely packed frat house, one of his hands on the small of your back protectively. People are all bumping into everyone, stumbling around, absolutely no chance he lets someone hurt you by accident.

Moreso, Satoru Gojo can’t get his fucking hands off you, no, he can feel your warmth right through the thin layer of cotton material, fingers splaying across it. He reminds himself in his head over and over just what a horrible thing it would be to fucking take your first time at a frat party, even as he has to adjust his cock, turning from you to face the wall for a moment.

“Everything okay, Toru?” You ask softly, hand on his back, he laughs, a fake and terrible attempt at being normal, turning right back around to you.

“Me!? Yes, yes. Do you need a drink, babydoll?” He asks.

The music kicks on as he speaks, and all you can see are his plump lips forming words, ringing from how damn loud they’re blaring the worst dance music known to man. “What!!”

“A drink!!”

“Huh?”

“A DRINK-”

The music pauses for just a minute, switching to something else but leaving multiple people to stare at Nerdy Gojo shouting.

You blink a bit at his shouting, he swears he’ll kill Suguru and Nanami for having the audacity to fucking laugh at him and his pain. Them smoking weed earlier and trying to give him every tip known to man on how to bury said tip right against that surely cute little cervix.

As if Satoru hadn’t studied extensively.

“Yes, please,” you smile all pretty, letting him guide you through, he just about loses it from the sheer amount of eyes locked onto you, gripping you just a little too tight, feeling the curve of those breedable hips underneath his fingertips.

Imagine having them bent over, his hands fit so perfect-

No, he can make it another night, a dumb frat party was not the time or place for something so precious as your first time. Even if you smell that good, and you’re dancing all over him, giggling, your ass brushing right against where his cock has tented his dark jeans.

Your drink in one hand, the other in his as he pulls you against him, for a nerdy boy, Gojo can absolutely move his body. You feel so goddamn good against him, with your waist in his grip now, his lips pressed against your ear – he can inhale that sweet scent you just naturally fucking have.

That’s when he realizes he’s about to cum if your ass rubs up on his cock one more damn time with those heels making you tall enough, he could bend you over and slide it right in. God he bets you’re so wet too.

Satoru has to pull back, making you blink just a bit in confusion, he downs the rest of his drink, smiling apologetically.

“Bathroom, sweetheart.”

“Oh, um… okay, want me to-”

Satoru runs the fuck off.

Maybe you’re doing too much, shit… you were absolutely grinding all up on Satoru because you were craving him so bad. You needed to give him more time! If the roles were reversed, you know he would, even if he may want to as badly as you do. Going to pour yourself a shot, you throw it back and let your eyes shut, sighing just a bit as it burns your throat.

You need to ease up and let Satoru take his time, even if you have to press your thighs together to resist the needy urge of rubbing your cunt on anything right now.

Maybe you are fucking Sanji.

*****

Satoru’s leaned back on the door, unzipping his pants and seeing his reddened cockhead, and just how fucking swollen it is. He’s jerking his cock desperately, whimpering out as the door gets knocked on, banged on in fact by fucking Sukuna of all people.

“Gotta take a piss man, stop jerking it.”

“I’m not!? I’m pissing right now – w-wait,” Satoru is jerking it of course, but how dare Sukuna call him out on it. Dickhead fratboy that he is, he’s chuckling outside of the door, but none of it is getting rid of Satoru’s throbbing erection.

He’s just way too needy, too sensitive, he can see his reflection in the mirror – those flushed pink cheeks. Sukuna thankfully fucks off, but Satoru can't even cum with just his hand, not when he knows your little fist would feel so much better, when your mouth and pussy would grip him.

No, Satoru is left tortured.

*****

You are alone for some time, concerned if he was somehow drunk or sick when the leader of the frat – the slutty ass, pink haired jock named Sukuna comes up to you, sipping his cup and flickering his red eyes up and down your face.

“Hmm, Gojo left you all alone?”

“And?” You scoff, rolling your eyes at him now, he smirks just a bit, leaning close. “He’s busy. Okay?”

“Mmm… yeah,” he peeks over his shoulder now, then looks right back down at you. “So.”

“So, what?”

He grins all big. “Wanna play beer pong?”

“Beer pong?”

“Mhm,” he tugs at a little lock of your hair. “Bet I stomp your ass at it. Look like such a good girl.”

“Hah you think I've never been to a party!?”

“Never seen you before aside from with your nerdy lover boy,” he pours you a drink now and inclines his head.

“I've partied, just… usually me and Toru are busy.”

He snorts at that.

So busy your boyfriend is jerking his cock in the bathroom.

“I see, so busy, huh?”

“Yes but…” you curse now, shaking your head. Satoru has been gone fifteen minutes and won't answer a text, a game of beer pong wouldn't hurt. “Fine then.”

It doesn’t take long until there is an entire gathering of people to watch you absolutely annihilate Ryomen Sukuna in beer pong, to the point he is fucking furious. You're landing the pong ball in every cup, decimating the entire frat at a certain point, giggling as you study them, down to the last shot, against Sukuna again.

“Beginners luck or some shit,” he’s fucking furious – you swear you see his vein ticking underneath his jaw.

Satoru is still not here.

You’re worried but you’re also enjoying the cheers, especially when you land that last one, giggling as the frat brothers who were talking all that shit about the nerdy girlfriend of Satoru moments before are now staring in disbelief. With one final, perfect arc, the ball splashes into the last cup. 

It really is beginner's luck.

But.

Also, fuck Sukuna.

"Damn, girl!" someone yells, and you take a little bow, rubbing it right in Sukuna’s face now, who is slamming down the rest of his beer.

Surely he drank enough to get annihilated – but somehow still standing just normal, big ass man has some insane tolerance because those eyes look completely aware.

"Guess I'm not such a good girl after all, huh?" you tease Sukuna, who's standing there looking down at you, setting the cup down and crushing it.

“Hmmm,” his red eyes dilate just a bit as he steps closer to you, suddenly making you feel just a bit nervous.

Satoru hates Sukuna.

It’s well known, since high school the two of them have been overcompetitive and absolutely insane against each other. He’d be fucking furious if he saw you anywhere near him at all. You peek and see him across the crowd then, getting a text from Shoko blinging on your phone.

He’s really mad.

He is.

You get another text now from Utahime, biting down on your lower lip.

Make him jealous and maybe you’ll get dicked down, Sanji.

“I’m not Sanji,” Sukuna raises a brow, lips twitching. “I’m not.”

“Sanji? Who the fuck is that?”

“One piece?”

“Nerd – hey, wait,” you’re turning and he grabs your wrist for just a moment. “Shit, I mean… you’re right, you’re not a good girl, huh?”

“I sure beat your ass,” you say, pausing when he reaches out, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they brush a stray piece of hair back from your face, rough knuckles brushing against your cheek for a second too long.

"You did, you're full of surprises, brat.”

“Brat? Whatever…”

You can feel Satoru’s eyes on you – you’d pull back, but part of you wonders if making him jealous would bring that freak out that spit cum in your mouth – maybe you are a brat. You sip your drink, remaining normal.

“I’m dating Satoru, you’re too close.”

“Would nerdy ass Satoru know what to do, how to handle your ass?” He taunts, your eyes narrow, his laugh echoing despite the music as your boyfriend starts shoving his way through. “Show you that digimon collection?”

“I’m very pleased, thank you.”

“You look like you need to get your attitude fucked right out of you,” your fingers itch to slap him now. “If he fucks up, you know where to find me.”

“No thank you, I- Toru!”

Satoru is between you and Sukuna, shoving him off and glaring right at him – perhaps the two tallest men at the party right face to face, Sukuna’s smirk making Satoru want to punch him.

“Why are you so close to my future wife?”

“Wife?” You blush and he glares at you.

“Yes, and baby momma – but you’re being a brat,” he whispers, Sukuna snorts at that.

“She is a brat.”

“You can’t call her that,” he shoves the big ass man and takes your hand now. “She has better shit to do than talk to you.”

“Aw, but we were having fun,” Satoru is dragging you away, you blink just a bit, almost scowling at Sukuna who blows you a kiss.

What a dick.

BUT.

Satoru is fuming, and he’s hot.

You’re so toxic!

“What’s wrong, Toru? I was just playing some beer pong,” you say all innocently, as he drags you past everyone, you’re struggling to keep up with his long strides. “Um… what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong!? Hah,” he’s laughing, psychotic and feral like you turned on a switch in his brain, when he finally starts getting some privacy. “Everything.”

“I don’t get it…”

“He was hitting on you,” Satoru yanks you away in the center of the party, you barely bite back your giggle at how excited you are to see him this way, looking ever so serious when he glares down at you.

Maybe you are evil, loving how mad he is, how jealous he is when he presses you against the hallway wall on the other side of the party, you can feel the music humming through the walls, but not as fast as your heart is racing looking up at your blue eyed boyfriend. Blue eyed angry boyfriend.

This isn't sweet Satoru at all, no – he's completely fucking unhinged, his chest rising and falling with his quickened breaths, cupping your face and jerking your chin to look up at him.

“You think he was?” You ask softly, making him raise a brow. “I thought he was just… being nice?”

You make him laugh without humor now, thumb brushing across your lip. “Are you being bratty, sweetheart? Teasing me, making me jealous?”

“What? No,” you straight up fucking lie to his face, batting your lashes all innocent and cute, but you can tell my that little smirk he doesn’t buy any of it for shit right now.

“No?”

“No, I was just talking, Toru. Isn't that fine?” You trail your hands up his chest, wrapping your fingers around to hook behind his neck, tugging him down to face you. “It’s fine for me to make friends, isn’t it?”

“Not when he's looking at these pretty tits,” he cups one, making you suck in a breath – your needy boyfriend is never this bold. “They're not his to look at.”

“Oh?” You lean forward now, tip toeing as he leans low, thumb brushing over a nipple, making it perk up for his touch. “Are they yours? Yours to look at?”

He’s losing it, his pulse hammering behind his ears, in his wrists, everywhere was hammering, his mouth practically salivating as he cups that tit right where anyone can see, big hand squishing it. You gasp out at the sensation, your lashes fluttering closed, little whines mingling against his lips.

“Yes, mine, every inch of you is mine,” Satoru shakes his head now with a soft laugh. “He thought he could dance with you. Kiss your lips? Lips that are mine.”

“All yours,” you open your eyes and giggle again, earning his scowl. “Sorry you're just so cute like this.”

Satoru blinks.

“Oh, I’m cute?”

You go to press a kiss when he snatches you up in one swoop, you gasp and wrap your arms around his neck now. Thighs trembling as he carries you to some room he finds, stumbling you in and shoving you right against the door.

“You think I'm cute,” he presses his cock against your slick heat, slutty little panties practically ruined for him, grinding his cock until you're gasping out. “Well I think that you're a brat.”

You gasp. “Me?”

Two people calling you that.

Well… maybe you are.

“You are bratty, with those pretty fucking lips,” he's kissing you filthy, tongues dancing, saliva dripping between you both, easing you down so that you slide against his body achingly slow. “Maybe I should shut your bratty mouth up.”

Oh fuck.

“Yes please?” He glares at your big fucking grin. 

“On your knees then, sweetheart,” you so eagerly obey, he laughs softly, his heart hammering in his chest, a mix of being utterly furious, nervous about his first time, and dumbstruck by the sight of your heart eyes. “Look at you, bein’ such a good girl – but are you really that desperate to suck me?”

“Please yes,” you have no shame – all you want is Satoru’s cock deep and buried in the back of your throat. “If you want though! C-consent.”

“As if I haven’t wanted this for years,” he shakes his head and tilts your chin up, sighing. “I wanted to do it all perfect, to lick and kiss every inch, worship your body until you were writhing, so fucking needy for it.”

Satoru unclicks his belt, the metallic click hitting your ears. “Mnh… years?”

"Years," he repeats softly, unbuttoning his jeans entirely too slow for you, you go to move your hands and he halts them with a little smack, you bite down on your lip, aching. “Hands on your thighs, you’ll listen to me for once, since you’ve been driving me so fucking crazy.”

“Me, making you crazy, really,” you do as he says though – eagerly – palms on your thighs, he laughs a bit, the sound of his zipper lowering echoing in the room even with the reverberating walls.

“You know every time you drag that messy cunt on me it ruins me, right?” He draws out that word, sighing now. "Every time you wore those little skirts and bent over, every time you'd bite your lip while concentrating…”

Satoru drags a thumb down your lip now, achingly slow against the plumpness that moves underneath it, your teeth nip on his thumb teasingly, and then you let him push your mouth open.

“Open real wide, sweetheart,” you do just that, and he can’t help but whimper as he presses down on your tongue, as if he’s studying the recesses of your open, eager mouth. “Wider, can’t you? For me?”

You listen eagerly, opening wide and fucking obscene, your tongue out for any bit of him he wants to give you, core just aching.

“Fuck, I've imagined this exact moment."

Satoru won’t tell you just how long he has, either, he swallows – just a bit nervous now.

“Suck,” you suck his digits, slurping them and moaning around them, imagining his cock instead, loving how dominant he’s being. “Stop.”

You obey, making him raise a brow.

“You like me tellin’ you what to do? Is that why you got me so fucking mad, so jealous, to have you listen?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, as he shoves his jeans down, and the hard, thick length of his bugle strains against the thin fabric of his boxers. “Pokemon? You traitor!”

“I can’t wait to shut your mouth up tonight,” you giggle at that, Satoru sighs and frowns at them, brushing your hair back a bit. “They were a gift, okay?”

“I’ll buy you digimon ones.”

“God, you’re so perfect,” you’re still giggling, when he gently smacks your face – the lightest little touch that has you almost moaning. “Open up again, yeah? Be a good girl, baby.”

“Mmm, yes,” you nod your head, doing just as he says – the side of freaky Satoru you only saw hints of last week when he’d lavished your panties with his long tongue.

“You got me jealous on purpose, yeah? Wore that slutty outfit to fucking ruin me, wanted cock in your throat that bad? Got me fucking leaking so much… fuck…”

Your answer is to keep that mouth open, leaning forward as you lap your tongue along the damp spot where his pre cum has already soaked through, right over a traitorous yellow pikachu. You’ll make more fun of that later, right now he’s jerking his hips, hissing at the drag of your cute lil tongue on him.

“Fuck…” You’re teasing him just like he did you – licking and sucking his tip over the damp cotton of his boxers. “Act so sweet and you’re evil, shouldn’t feel that good through that… mmm…”

Satoru’s letting you suck around his fat cockhead, slurping every bit of his white cum from it, tongue lolling right along that slit over and over.

“Torturing me back?”

“Yep,” you lick your lips, making him sigh, shaking his head now.

“Go on then, take what’s all yours…" his voice is low, hoarse damn near as he for the very first time pulls his cock out, letting it spring free, slapping against his lower abdomen with a loud, wet smack. “Can you fit all of it?”

You knew he’d be big.

You didn’t know he’d be that big, with his jeans undone all slutty, his pokemon boxers shoved down – his cock is perfect, just the right amount of thick and entirely too fucking long, with a prominent pale blue vein running along the underside. You’re literally drooling as he strokes it right in front of you, the head flushed a deep, pretty pink as it leaks white.

You’re soaked, fucking ruined.

“I can.”

You cannot.

Maybe?

You will try!

“Go on then, sweetheart, lemme see how good you can take all of me,” he chuckles as you lean forward without hesitation, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the tip. “Teasin’ me more?”

You lap your tongue up, keeping your hands right where he asked you too, sliding underneath so you hit that frenum. His sharp inhale is met with his huge hand tugging in your hair so hard it hurts, pulling at the hairs on the nape of your neck.

“Fuck… greedy lil mouth,” he’s damn near slurring his words when you swirl your little tongue around the head, lapping up the salty taste of his cock underneath, brushing along that vein. He whimpers out when you wrap your lips around it and suck. “Oh my… f-fuck…”

Satoru loses it the first time you really suck his cock, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head, pushing you down further as his other hand rests on the doorway, beginning to move so that he’s choking you. You’re whining out, aching to touch your cunt so bad you slide your fingers down.

“So desperate,” he tuts his tongue, fucking your throat now, his cock slamming the back of it as tears spill. “B-baby, is this s’okay?”

You pull back as he does, with a wet, filthy pop, grinning. “I want it, all the way deep in my throat, Toru, I can take it.”

“You can take all of it in that tiny lil’ throat? When she’s this tight?” He whispers, your nod makes him glare now. “Have you done this?”

You blink a bit. “Yes?”

“Then I’ll fuck your throat so hard you’ll forget anything but me,” he takes you over now, slamming deep inside, you’re whimpering as one of his feet spread your thighs, and you’re soaking his black boot. “That’s it, rutting on my boot and taking cock like a little slut, hmm?”

“Mnhgh…” you’re done for, this is exactly what you needed, him railing your throat until you can’t think, until you’re gagging and tears are spilling.

“Look at me,” he orders softly, you do just that as he presses deep, sniffling as you try to take all of him, he hisses as he feels his tip stretching that tight throat, his Adam's apple bobbing. “You know I fucking love you? And respect you?”

You giggle around him and he glares.

“You have to know if I’m gonna say all this,” you pull back again, fingers all coated in your slick, gliding it along his sticky tip.

“I know you love me, Toru. I love you…” He sighs, touching your cheek. “I love you talking to me this way, you could be meaner.”

“Oh? Fuck my frustration on your throat?”

“Please?”

“You’re ruining me,” he mumbles, slamming right back inside, now that he knows you’re okay, he can lose control, see how much you can take, as you grind on that shoe, nails now pressing in the muscles of his thighs, jeans slipping down. “Want our first time to really be right against this door? Shove your slutty skirt up and ruin your cunt for fuckin’ anyone?”

God, Satoru’s sexy like this, fogged glasses and all.

Your answer is to take him all the way, your nose brushing against the white hair, the tufts of it tickling your nose, he’s stuttering now, unable to stop himself from fucking faster, harder, the wet sounds mixing with his whines. He doesn’t hold them back, either, every time he does he feels a fresh gush of wetness even over that leather, he can see it shimmering as he pulls back and slaps his cock on your mouth.

“Slutty girl, this all f’me, huh? Not that fucking loser downstairs?”

“All you.”

“Hold that tongue out,” you do just that, and Satoru slaps his tip on your tongue over and over, as you keep grinding on him. “Can’t believe you’re this much of a pretty little whore, god I thought you were a good girl?”

“Toru… please…”

“Please what?” You just keep rubbing. “Desperate, fuck… stand up.”

You can hardly do that when he helps you by tugging you up, spitting directly in your mouth, you swallow it greedily, earning his pathetic moan as he turns you, shoving you against that door. “Mnh!”

“Stop me before I fill all your fucking holes with cum,” he’s kissing down your neck, his glasses cool against your neck, whines escaping his lips as he shoves that slutty lil dress up the gentle curve of your hip. “All of them, I’ll have your cunt drippin’, your throat full, fuck that ass while I’m at it.”

“Mngh, please, please,” it’s all you can do but to arch.

“That needy?” He’s tugging your panties to the side, dragging his tip up and down over and over, moans escaping his lips when he bends down, turning your face to him. “First time in a frat house against a door? You’re so wet do I even need to finger you right now?”

“Already did,” you answered, he laughs, shaking his head and kissing you, rubbing even more, teasing your slit with the fat head of his cock until you’re weak, your thighs shaking. “Please, please….”

“Please what, fuck your cunt for the first time? That’s what you’ve been wanting, me to lose it, huh?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, teasing even more, mouth messy and mean as he bumps your clit, until you squirt right down his length, dripping all down the carpet.

Sukuna’s carpet – it’s his room you faintly notice, as you see the little pictures on the walls.

You wonder if Satoru meant that.

“Squirting already, haven’t even fucked you yet,” he pulls back and bends down, slamming his cock so deep you scream out, head falling back as he tugs your hair, making your ass arch out as he fills you. “Oh my g-god… baby…”

“Toru,” he lets you adjust to his thickness, the very first time your cunt has ever been filled – and this wasn’t how he wanted to do it.

He wanted to stretch you out – one finger, two, then three – but you’re so soaked you suck him right in. Such a tight, perfect fit he can hardly take it, bending down to press sweet kisses on your bare shoulders, easing back and shoving in again, taking your hand and placing it on your tummy, pressing so you feel it all.

“Feel me here?” He asks softly, desperately – worried for a moment with how tight you are that he’s hurt you, but your answer is to look back at him with those slutty, parted lips and dilated eyes, nodding. “Who’s inside you?”

“You, Toru.” you answer, cunt spasming as she’s already close, his body overtaking you, wrapping and tugging, shoving even deeper.

“Who’s first?”

“You.”

“Who’s gonna make this cunt stretch out?”

“Y-you and… ah!”

“Mine, mine… fuck you’re all mine,” Satoru gave you that minute to adjust, a last mercy before your nerdy boyfriend fucking loses his mind. “Mine, this pretty body, this perfect pussy… you… mine…”

“Yours,” you whisper it over and over as Satoru fucks your messy cunt, even though it’s hard to take, you’re so full it feels perfect, letting his hand wrap your throat, fingers pressing on either side of your windpipe. “Ah!”

“Hah – such a perfect fit, made f’me,” he’s fucking you so deep you feel him everywhere, cock gliding in and out of your sticky, gummy walls, fucking you so goddamn messy it's dripping down between your thighs. “B-babyyy…”

You arch for more when he pulls out of your cunt with a filthy squelch and you whine from the loss. “Back in, please…”

He lifts and carries you to the bed, thighs shoved wide, feral now as he shoves back inside and sees himself moving inside you. Every slick glide smoothing your puffy cervix, until she is bruised and aching, that dress shoved higher, panties tugged firmly to the side. He uses both to move in you, laughing as you gasp out, as your thighs tremble.

“Aw, is it too much, sweetheart? Too deep?”

Feral Satoru is here, mixed with sweet Toru, but his cock is anything but sweet – the way it stretches you out, fucking ruins you, pummels your cunt so deep you’re about to cum all over his length, already sensitive.

“Mhm!”

“Full of me?”

“Nghhhh…”

You don't know how the fuck else to answer, it all is entirely too much, the way he can see his cock print, his insane laugh, those blue eyes glittering with the frames fallen off. So blue it hurts to look at, eyes almost threatening to close.

“Nuh-uh, eyes on me, that's it,” Satoru keeps pumping into your cunt, leaning up to shove your thighs against your tits, smushing them as he fucks you dumb.

He knows it too.

“Can't think?”

“mmm, nnnhhh,” your answer is pathetic and just a babble really, as your nerdy, once virgin boyfriend pummels your messy, needy cunt until she's stuffed so full it hurts. Your nails pressing into biceps, digging in as he stretches your puffy lips on it.

“Can’t even fucking talk – already?” Your eyes roll back in your skull as his cock ruins your pussy, so deep you do feel him all over.

“Gonna pump you so full, hah will you finish college without me breeding your cunt?” Satoru Gojo is batshit insane, as he leans over you, bending you so that you're folded in half under his heavy weight. “What would you do then, hmm? If I breed your slutty cunt? Make you mine.”

“Want it, mmm,” you’re utterly fucking shameless about it, feeling his bruising grip, his cock getting creamy at the base as his heavy balls slap.

“Jerked it in the bathroom, had me so hard,” you bite down on your lip, gasps escaping your throat, eyes locked. “You love that, huh? Driving me insane, slutty dress, pretty body… god…”

He presses your thighs down enough to tug your tits out, gripping them and exhaling, thumbs brushing your nipples until they’re peaks.

"Look at you," he pants, "taking my cock so well, pretty girl. You’re just such a good little slut for me, aren't you?"

You can only moan in response, your body trembling as he hits that spot inside you that makes your vision go white, your answer is to grip his hips with your thighs, letting him cup your face, pumping you so full that you can feel it all over. Warm and hot when he whines out so pathetically in your ringing ears, slutty little moans falling from your lips.

“Takin’ all of it, god…” He kisses you even as you shatter, your cunt spasming all around his veiny length, milking him for every drop. “So fucking greedy. So needy.”

He leans down and captures your lips, spurts of cum still pouring, you can feel him twitching, nails pressing into the strong muscles of his back. “Toru… l-love… toru y-you…”

“Cock drunk, sweetheart?” He teases, like the menace he really is – but he also lovingly caresses your cheek. “You took me like you were made for me.”

“I did?” You’re so damn drunk off him you’re slurring your words, pussy achingly empty, feeling his cum slipping out.

“You did a very good job. Such a good girl.”

“Yay!”

Satoru snorts at you, shaking his head and peppering kisses, leaned up on an arm, his shirt half open, revealing the hard planes of his chest. “You’re s’cute… I wanted to take it easy your first time.”

“I loved it,” you admit, yawning now, peeking around the room. “Mmm, can we go home though?”

“Of course we will,” he kisses down your body though, breath ghosting your thighs, spreading them to watch the filthy mess of his cum pour out, groaning. “You’re wasting it all, baby.”

“Hmm? Ah!” Satoru scoops some of that mess up against his fingertips, shoving it right back inside your quivering hole. You’re gripping him tight, thighs clamping down on his hand, as he smirks. “Toru you’re… crazy…”

“Mmm, you really have no idea what I have wanted to do,” he clicks his tongue, pushing that cum deep again, watching your every expression. “Gonna keep you so full of cum it’ll drip everywhere.”

Satoru does not just fuck you once, no – he makes sure to bend you over in the backseat of his car, fucking cum back inside. Once you're at his house he is pumping ropes of cum on your tits, laughing at how messy you get coated in white, before spreading it all over your body.

Satoru fingers and fucks all that cum inside until you're a trembling mess in his arms, passing out and snoring.

“So funny you started all this but then couldn't keep up, hmm?” He teases softly, cleaning you up, cock sore from how you gripped him, how much he came. But even the sight of milky drops escaping your hole had him damn near twitching back to life, groaning against your skin.

*****

“Good morning,” your nerdy boyfriend is littered in pretty kiss marks, indentions of your teeth all down his neck, a loopy smile on his face as he stands there shirtless, glasses firmly back on.

“Oh! Good morning…” you thought you'd be the one to ruin Satoru Gojo, ride his cock till he whimpered and cried from overstimulation.

You had no clue he'd fuck you so good you couldn't sit up right without his help, cupping your face and leaning down to kiss your lips, tilting your chin up and smirking. You're a mess.

A pretty mess.

Hair fucked up, covered in fingerprints and hickies, taking the coffee he brings and sipping it, sighing as it hits your tongue. “Mmm… good morning.”

“Don't you look pretty in my bed?” He muses, smirking on his features. “I wonder what Sukuna thought of his bed covered in your squirt.”

A blush heats up your cheeks. “I didn't squirt that much!?!?!”

“You really did,” you shove him playfully, giggling then. “My cum too though.”

“You did it on purpose, his room!”

“Me? Never.”

Satoru absolutely did.

That's what Sukuna gets for hitting on his girlfriend, dried up cum all on his blankets – as if he could handle you ❤️

heheh i hope ya'll liked horny reader for a change!!!

Patreon -- comms

[thisiscareless]

island breeze and lights down low.

adult fire lord zuko x fire lady firebender reader | mdni. | wc: 7,1k

summary: in which the gaang orchestrates a fake diplomatic summit to force the fire lord and fire lady into taking a break.

content: adult!fire lord zuko x fire lady!firebender reader, established marriage, featuring the gaang (+ suki obvi), humour, element bending (sokka back bends duh), emotional intimacy, light angst, suggestive content, post-war, fluff.

note: no smut this installment! just exhausted married idiots and the gaang deciding enough is enough. pls ignore any accidental lore inconsistencies, i had to fill some restoration era/island worldbuilding gaps with my own interpretations hehe. finally proofread. welcome to whaletail island. ♡

𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

The royal ship cut steadily through the waters surrounding Whaletail Island, its crimson sails shifting beneath the midday wind while sunlight scattered gold across the waves below. Ahead, the island rose gradually from the sea through layers of pale mist and dark cliffs wrapped in cedar forests and hanging bridges barely visible between drifting steam rising from somewhere higher in the mountains.

The closer the ship drew, the quieter the sea seemed to become.

Above deck, Appa rested across the reinforced platform built specially into the center of the vessel, one enormous paw twitching lazily in his sleep while Momo curled comfortably between his horns with complete confidence that no one would dare disturb him there. Nearby, the rest of the Gaang had long since abandoned any attempt at productivity.

Unfortunately, the Fire Lord and Fire Lady had not.

“They’ve been in there for hours,” Sokka complained from where he leaned dramatically against the railing near the stern of the ship, gesturing toward the private cabin below deck with a piece of candied ginger he’d stolen from the kitchens earlier. “I’m serious. At this point I miss when they used to lock themselves away for more… entertaining reasons.”

Toph tilted her head toward him. “You’re such a creep.”

“I’m not a creep,” Sokka defended. “I’m nostalgic for when they acted like newlyweds instead of exhausted diplomats.”

“That’s not helping your case,” Katara muttered, though the amusement tugging at her voice betrayed her.

Nearby, Aang rested against Appa’s side. “I get what he means, though,” he admitted. “They used to relax more. Now every time we see them they’re discussing trade routes or council meetings, which is fair, but seems tiring.”

“Mm,” Toph hummed knowingly. “And their heartbeats are awful lately.”

Sokka grimaced. “That sounds medically concerning.”

Katara’s expression softened as she glanced toward the closed cabin door, where muffled voices could still occasionally be heard beneath the creaking of the ship. “I think they’ve both forgotten how to stop.”

Nobody joked after that.

“Do you think they’ll get mad when they find out?” Toph asked.

“She won’t,” Katara replied confidently.

“Zuko, on the other hand…” Aang muttered.

“Good thing we’ll have his wife on our side,” Sokka said brightly.

“And if we don’t?” Aang asked.

Sokka pointed toward Appa without hesitation. “Then you grab Appa and we leave before the entire Restoration work burns down.” He straightened abruptly. “Alright. I’m going to get them.”

Before anyone could stop him, Sokka shoved himself away from the railing and disappeared down the staircase toward the lower deck.

Inside the royal cabin, warmth drifted through the polished wooden walls from the ship’s heating vents while sunlight poured through the round windows overlooking the sea. Scrolls covered nearly every available surface, spread across the low table between you and Zuko, stacked beside ink brushes, tucked carelessly beneath official maps that had slowly begun overtaking the room throughout the journey.

Across from you, Zuko let out an annoyed sigh.

“Did you sign the harbor authorization for the eastern fleet?” you asked while skimming another line of the document in your hands.

“Yesterday,” Zuko replied without looking up. “I left it on your desk.”

You hummed before taking a sip of tea, absentmindedly warming the porcelain between your palms with a flicker of firebending. Amber light glowed briefly beneath your fingertips before fading back into the warmth of the cabin.

“And did you bring everything from my desk?”

He set one scroll aside in favor of another. “Of course.”

“I think you didn’t, my lord.” You lifted your gaze toward him over the edge of the paper. “You’re becoming forgetful already...”

One dark brow lifted as he finally leaned back far enough to look at you properly instead of the paperwork surrounding both of you. Light from the cabin windows caught against the gold threading of his robes, while loose strands of dark hair had begun escaping around his face beneath his royal headpiece. 

“I definitely did.”

You lowered the document slowly. “Well, I cannot find the council seal or the information packet for this summit.”

His expression narrowed thoughtfully for a second before he gestured vaguely toward the growing stacks of scrolls crowding the cabin table, the nearby shelves, and somehow even part of the floor now.

“Maybe you moved them—” His eyes lifted back toward you. “Did you just call me old?”

“I didn’t,” you answered smoothly, allowing yourself a small smile at last. “Move them, I mean. I did call you old.”

That finally pulled a quiet laugh from him, soft enough you nearly missed it beneath the distant crash of waves against the hull outside.

The cabin door burst open.

“There you are, my favorite busy friends,” Sokka announced dramatically.

Neither of you even flinched. Zuko had already reached for another document before Sokka finished speaking while you continued shifting papers around the table in search of the missing packet.

“You say that like we disappeared,” Zuko replied flatly.

“It feels like you did,” Sokka informed him while crossing the cabin, only to stop short in visible horror at the amount of paperwork surrounding both of you. “It somehow looks worse in here now.”

“Sorry, Sokka,” you said while carefully setting another scroll aside. “We’re a little busy trying to find the information packet for the summit.” Your eyes narrowed slightly. “Did you even send it?”

Sokka visibly froze.

“Oh. Right,” he said quickly. “I forgot.”

You stared at him flatly.

“You forgot?”

“See? Not me,” Zuko muttered. “I’m perfectly in my youth...” 

Your gaze snapped toward him just as the candle beside the cabin window flared unexpectedly brighter. A drifting bonsai leaf brushed too close to the flame and blackened instantly at the edges before curling into ash.

Sokka swallowed.

“It was complicated,” he defended quickly.

You pressed two fingers briefly against your temple before exhaling through your nose. “Don’t worry,” you said with the sort of composure that only existed because you had practiced it for years now. “We’ll manage. Like always.” Your eyes lifted back toward him. “Can you at least tell us more about it?”

Sokka snatched a loose sheet of paper from the crowded table and immediately began scribbling across it at alarming speed.

“I can…” He squinted down at the page. “Rewrite it.”

“By memory?” you asked.

“Duh.” He dipped the brush back into ink without hesitation. “I’m the best, if you haven’t figured that out already.”

Zuko finally looked up again, entirely unimpressed. “I’m still waiting for the day.”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it, quiet but genuine enough that Zuko’s attention shifted toward you at the sound.

Sokka pointed accusingly between the two of you. “See? This is exactly why you both need this.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “Need what?”

“The…” Sokka gestured vaguely toward the ceiling, the cabin, the island waiting beyond the windows. “Important political gathering trip.”

“Nothing excites me more than a royal trip,” you replied with exhausting sincerity while finally leaning back in your chair. The movement pulled tension visibly through your shoulders as you closed your eyes for one brief second before opening them again. “Truly. I can already feel myself relaxing.”

Without looking away from the document in his hand, Zuko leaned over just enough to press a quick kiss against your temple before returning his attention to whatever impossibly important report had captured it.

Across the cabin, Sokka opened his mouth to answer, only for Aang to appear suddenly in the doorway behind him with sunlight and sea wind spilling into the room around him.

“We’re here!” he announced brightly. “You should come see this.”

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

Whaletail Island rose from the sea in sweeping layers of dark volcanic cliffs softened by dense cedar forests and pale ribbons of steam drifting through the mountainside. Sunlight spilled across hanging bridges suspended between narrow stone paths while clusters of wooden cabins disappeared into drifting fog higher along the cliffs. 

The entire place looked impossibly peaceful.

Which immediately made you suspicious.

“You picked a very dramatic location for a summit,” Zuko observed beside you, one hand resting at the small of your back while the ship slowed toward the docks below.

Sokka visibly brightened. “Thank you.”

“Not a compliment.”

Far beneath the ship, harbor workers moved along the docks while pulley lifts carried supplies toward the retreat overlooking the sea. A few Air Acolytes crossed the upper terraces before disappearing between the trees. 

“It’s beautiful,” Katara admitted.

“And isolated,” Toph added approvingly. “I like it already.”

You remained near the railing beside Zuko as the ship finally settled against the docks with a deep groan of wood and steel beneath the waves. Your attention shifted toward the harbor below, instinctively searching for diplomatic ships, royal insignias, or waiting representatives.

“Where are the delegates?”

Aang answered first.

“They’ll probably arrive later.”

Zuko’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

Sokka jumped in right afterward. “Yeah! Diplomats love arriving late. It’s part of being diplomatic.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” you murmured.

Before either you or Zuko could press further, Katara stepped smoothly between all of you.

“Why don’t we at least settle in first?” she suggested. “We’ve been traveling for hours.”

There wasn’t much room to argue after hours at sea. Judging by the tension still drawn through Zuko’s shoulders, he knew it too. 

Eventually, after entirely too much unloading, Appa complaining loudly while being guided toward the upper terraces, and Sokka somehow nearly falling directly into the harbor within the first ten minutes of arrival, the group finally reached the retreat itself.

The cabins rested high above the cliffs where sea wind moved constantly through the surrounding cedar trees. Steam drifted across the stone walkways connecting the buildings while shallow volcanic streams ran beneath narrow wooden bridges.

Directly in the center of the retreat stood the largest cabin of all. Painted near the entrance in elegant gold lettering were the words:

THE SHINY BUG.

You stopped walking.

“…why is it called that?”

Sokka looked deeply, profoundly proud of himself already.

“Isn’t it majestic?”

Zuko stared at the sign for a long moment before continuing toward the entrance without changing expression.

“I already want to leave.”

The cabin itself was beautiful.

Warm cedar walls framed an enormous central living space centered around a sunken sitting area layered with cushions and low tables already set with tea, fruit, and enough food to feed Appa twice over. Tall windows overlooked the ocean below while soft amber light flickered across the room.

For one moment, everyone seemed uncertain what to do next.

Your friends had clearly expected relief, or relaxation, maybe even gratitude. Instead, the second you and Zuko sat down, both of you reached automatically for work again out of pure instinct.

You had barely unrolled another scroll when Zuko finally spoke without looking up from his own.

“We should probably review the delegate list again once they arrive.”

“Mm.” You nodded distractedly while reaching for a brush. “And if the Northern representatives are attending, we still need to discuss the harbor proposal before tomorrow.”

Around the room, the rest of the Gaang visibly deflated.

Toph groaned loudly enough for it to echo against the ceiling beams.

“Oh, for rock’s sake. They brought the stress with them.”

Aang had just opened his mouth to respond when a loud crash suddenly sounded somewhere deeper inside the cabin.

Zuko was on his feet before the noise fully settled, fire flashing sharply to life across one hand while sparks danced instinctively at your own fingertips beside him. Across the room, Katara bent water from her cup into a suspended ribbon while Toph planted one bare foot against the floorboards, expression sharpening beneath the vibrations traveling through the cabin. Even Aang straightened, air stirring uneasily around his sleeves. Meanwhile, Sokka grabbed a decorative serving tray like it might somehow function as a weapon.

“Who’s there?” Zuko snapped.

“Come out,” you added, pulse jumping as another loud clatter sounded near the kitchen.

Sokka yelped somewhere behind you. “WHY DOES THE SHINY BUG HAVE INTRUDERS?”

A cabinet door swung shut.

“…you’re all very tense.”

Suki stepped casually out from the kitchen holding a bowl of fruit in one hand and what looked suspiciously like ice cream in the other.

Katara burst into laughter.

Sokka nearly collapsed against the nearest table in relief. “SPIRITS, SUKI.”

“What?” she asked innocently while stealing a piece of fruit from the bowl. “I got hungry.”

Despite everything, warmth spread through your chest at the sight of her. Nearby, Aang grinned while Katara crossed the room to hug her properly, and even Toph looked noticeably less annoyed than usual.

Meanwhile, Sokka looked seconds away from emotionally combusting.

“You brought ice cream?” he asked, staring at the bowl in Suki’s hand like she had descended from the spirits themselves.

Suki smirked faintly before holding out the spoon toward him. “I know what matters in a crisis.”

Sokka accepted the bite with alarming sincerity. “You understand me on a spiritual level.”

Laughing under her breath, Suki caught the front of his tunic and pulled him down just enough to press a quick kiss against his cheek before he could keep talking. 

Suki finally noticed both you and Zuko still standing there fully prepared for combat and straightened at once, lowering the bowl slightly before offering a respectful bow.

“My lord. My lady.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” you sighed, crossing the room toward her. “Come here!”

You pulled her into a quick embrace before she could protest while behind you, Zuko extinguished the fire still flickering across his hand.

“What are you doing here?” you asked once you pulled back, suspicion already returning.

Suki blinked once.

“Oh,” she answered casually. “Just joining your rest time!”

You slowly lowered your arms.

“Our what?”

From somewhere behind you, Toph muttered, “Uh oh.”

Sokka moved first.

In his rush forward, he nearly slipped on the edge of one of the cushions, catching himself awkwardly against the low table hard enough to rattle half the teacups while still clutching Suki’s ice cream spoon in one hand.

“No one said rest time,” he said quickly, waving the spoon vaguely through the air while panic spread visibly across his face. “Nobody said that. Weird phrase, honestly. Maybe it’s like… a Kyoshi Warrior expression. Right, Suki?”

Beside him, Suki looked genuinely fascinated by how aggressively he was unraveling.

“Uhhh…”

“Sokka,” you said.

He straightened so fast it almost looked painful, nearly dropping the spoon before hastily hiding it behind his back.

“Yes, your ladyship?” he asked nervously, shoulders pulling tighter the moment you crossed your arms.

“Give us the information sheet.”

For one brief second, Sokka looked like he was seriously reconsidering his earlier evacuation plan involving Appa. Beside him, Suki pressed her lips together hard enough to hide a laugh. With deep resignation, he reached into his satchel and carefully handed over the page he had been “rewriting” aboard the ship earlier.

Zuko took the page first while you leaned closer to read over his shoulder. The room gradually fell silent as both of your eyes moved down the document.

Most of it was complete nonsense.

Half the page read like Sokka had attempted to recreate an official summit proposal entirely from memory after sustaining a head injury. Still, buried between badly phrased diplomatic jargon and several aggressively underlined words, there were just enough believable details about Whaletail Island’s harbor restoration and coastal trade routes to explain how this disaster had managed to fool you for several hours.

Then, halfway down the page, your eyes caught the name of the summit:

Southern

Oceanic

Knowledge

Assembly

You looked very slowly toward Sokka.

“We were supposed to believe we’d been invited to an event whose initials spell… SOKA?” Zuko asked, lifting the page slightly between two fingers like perhaps distance alone would make it less ridiculous.

Toph made one strangled noise before dissolving into laughter. 

“You even missed a K, genius,” you said flatly.

Across the room, Katara dragged both hands down her face.

“I mean, it worked until now, you actually believed it—” Sokka started quickly, only to falter the moment your expression hardened further.

He raised both hands in surrender. “I panicked under pressure!”

Beside you, Zuko continued staring at the page in silence. Slowly, the last traces of humor disappeared from his expression. His thumb pressed harder against the edge of the paper until it bent slightly beneath the force while his eyes traced once more across the absurdly written title.  

“You made us waste our time and come here?”

“It wasn’t just me!” Sokka defended, pointing wildly around the room. “It was a group effort!”

Zuko stood abruptly.

The movement was sharp enough to send several nearby scrolls sliding across the low table while the untouched tea beside them rippled inside its cup. He dropped the paper beside it with visible restraint, though the sound still landed harder than it should have inside the sudden silence of the cabin.

That kind of restraint was never a good sign. Not with Zuko.

“Zuko—”

Without another word, he turned and strode out.The cabin shook with the force of the slammed door.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

By the time all of you stepped outside, the ocean wind had turned colder.

Farther below, attendants still moved back and forth from the harbor lifts carrying royal trunks, scroll cases, and ceremonial robes toward the upper cabins completely unaware that the summit they were preparing for did not actually exist.

Zuko had stopped near the edge of the main terrace overlooking the cliffs below, one hand braced against the railing while the sea crashed endlessly beneath him.

“This is ridiculous,” he said the moment the rest of you approached. He turned sharply, whatever restraint he’d been holding onto finally snapping. “Do you have any idea how much we left behind to come here? How many things are waiting for us back home while we stand on this island for a summit that doesn’t even exist? And all of you just stood there laughing.”

“Nobody was laughing at you,” Aang tried carefully.

“You forged diplomatic documents.”

“You barely read them!” Sokka blurted out before visibly regretting it.

Katara closed her eyes. “Sokka.”

“What? It’s true!”

Zuko stared at him in complete disbelief. “That’s supposed to help your argument?”

“No, actually,” Sokka admitted quickly, “that one got away from me.”

You crossed your arms tightly against your chest, irritation still burning hot beneath your skin as the cold mountain breeze lifted strands of hair around your face. “You could’ve just asked us to come.”

“And you would’ve said yes?” Katara asked.

The question caught harder than you expected, your first instinct had been to answer at once. 

But somewhere between palace schedules, council meetings, and waking before sunrise beside Zuko only to spend entire days separated by responsibilities before collapsing into bed exhausted long after midnight, you realized you genuinely couldn’t remember the last time either of you had agreed to rest.

The ocean roared faintly beneath the cliffs while familiar faces watched you from across the terrace: Katara watching carefully, Aang trying very hard not to look guilty, Suki lingering near the steps with her arms crossed loosely, and Toph leaning comfortably against one of the wooden posts with the sort of expression that suggested she already knew exactly what everyone in the group was feeling. 

“We didn’t do this because we thought it would be funny,” Katara said finally. “We did it because every time we see you lately, you both look exhausted.”

“You barely sleep,” Aang added. “And when you do, you’re still working.”

“You answer council messages during dinner,” Toph said.

“We are very busy,” Zuko said.

Katara exchanged a look with Aang before turning back toward Zuko. 

“That’s… exactly the problem,” she said, lifting a brow.

Your frustration didn’t disappear all at once. It still sat there stubbornly beneath your ribs, tangled together with embarrassment and irritation and the absurdity of standing on an island because Sokka had forged a summit named after himself. Looking at them now, it became impossible not to see how carefully this entire disaster had actually been planned.

The fact that all of them had crossed half the world to orchestrate this ridiculous scheme because somewhere along the way they had started worrying about you, about both of you… Suddenly the whole thing felt less like a prank and more like a desperate attempt from people who missed their friends.

However, Zuko still looked furious.

“I have to work hard because I’m the Fire Lord,” he said, pacing away from the railing before turning back again. “I’m supposed to fix. I cannot keep disappearing every time people decide I look tired.” 

“You’re not disappearing,” Aang said carefully. “You’re resting.”

Zuko laughed once under his breath, though there wasn’t any humor in it. “You say that like the world politely pauses while I do.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” Katara answered, her expression softening as she looked between both of you. “But somewhere along the way, it started feeling like you two forgot you’re people before titles.”

Behind him, heat rippled unevenly through the terrace braziers as he turned back toward the others. 

“We’re leaving.” His gaze moved toward the attendants still unloading belongings farther below. “Stop carrying everything up and bring it back to the ship.”

A few attendants paused mid-step. 

Zuko reached for your hand instinctively after years beside each other, his fingers curling firmly around yours as he turned to leave with every expectation that you would follow him without hesitation.

You didn’t move, and the resistance stopped him short. 

Surprise crossed his face as he turned back toward you, your joined hands still caught between you. You stepped a little closer instead, tightening your grip around his hand instead of letting go.

“It isn’t wise to travel back now,” you said, lowering your voice now that you stood closer to him. “The sea paths are darker after sunset, and the fog near the cliffs will only worsen overnight.”

His jaw tightened.

“And although I understand why you’re angry,” you continued, thumb brushing once against the back of his hand, “they didn’t do this to mock us.”

Behind you, the group remained suspiciously silent, all of them pretending not to stare while very obviously staring.

“We should stay until tomorrow morning at least,” you finished.

Zuko looked at you for a long moment, frustration still written plainly across his expression, though no longer burning quite as sharply as before. 

He looked away before loosening his grip on your hand.

“…fine,” he muttered at last.

Toph grinned immediately. “The rest of us almost died and she got him down with one sentence...”

Sokka cleared his throat.

“So. Hypothetically speaking. How opposed are we to group activities?”

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

The back terrace behind the cabin overlooked the cliffs directly, quieter than the rest of the retreat below. Stacks of firewood rested beside the enormous stone firepit at the center of the terrace, and half-unpacked crates filled with blankets, decorations, and cooking supplies had been left scattered near the steps after Sokka insisted the attendants leave the rest to them.

Katara had decided this meant everyone should “make themselves useful.”

Which was how Sokka and Aang conveniently vanished while Katara ended up hanging lights along the cedar beams overhead, guiding each hook neatly into place with small currents of water. Loose strands of hair kept escaping around her face whenever the wind shifted too sharply. Nearby, Suki balanced effortlessly along the railing bordering the terrace, passing decorations down one by one with the kind of ease that made it seem physically impossible for her to ever lose balance. Toph remained sprawled across one of the benches beside the firepit, contributing absolutely nothing. 

You found yourself caught somewhere in the middle of all of it: stacking blankets near the firepit, steadying swaying decorations whenever the wind threatened to pull them sideways again, and trying very hard not to think too much about the argument from earlier.

Above the terrace, unnoticed entirely, the upper balcony doors slid open overhead. Zuko stepped outside intending only to clear his head for a moment, until he heard your laugh below him.

“For the record,” Suki said, “most Fire Ladies probably don’t carry firewood.”

You bent to grab another log from beside the firepit, brushing sawdust from your hands against your robes afterward. “Most Fire Ladies probably don’t get kidnapped into fake summits named after Sokka.”

Suki laughed as she stepped back down onto the terrace stones. “Okay, that’s fair enough.”

Toph stretched lazily across the bench with her arms folded behind her head.

“You know, Toph,” Katara called while adjusting another hanging light overhead with a curl of water, “earthbending the wood closer would actually be helpful.”

Toph tilted her head in her direction. “I’m not intending to be helpful. I’m supervising.”

You glanced over your shoulder at her while setting another blanket beside the firepit. “Remarkable leadership strategy. Truly inspiring for the nation.”

Suki nearly doubled over laughing while Katara looked away with obvious surrender.

“There it is!” Suki said at once, pointing accusingly at you as she leaned against the railing. “That terrifying Fire Lady voice.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You absolutely have one now. And the stare too.”

Katara nodded without hesitation. “It’s true.”

“I do not.”

“You do,” Suki insisted, grinning. “With Toph just now. And earlier with Sokka? You looked ready to exile him from the nation.”

Toph tilted her head thoughtfully from the bench. “Respect.”

“That wasn’t intentional,” you defended, though the laughter in your voice ruined most of the argument.

Katara shook her head fondly. “We haven’t seen that expression in years.”

“Oh, spirits,” you sighed. 

“No, it’s not bad,” Suki assured, sidestepping in front of you. “Do the scary Fire Lady thing again.”

“I’m not performing for you.”

“Boring.”

You scoffed and sent a quick spark skidding toward the edge of her boot.

Suki dodged with a laugh. “Oh, so now we’re bending at each other…”

Katara pointed a warning finger between both of you while another lantern floated beside her shoulder. “No fire near anything hanging overhead.”

You opened your mouth to defend yourself right as one of the hooks overhead snapped loose with a sharp crack.

The lantern tipped sideways at once. Katara reacted first, pulling water upward from the nearby volcanic stream in a quick arc meant to catch it before it hit the floor. Toph reacted second. The stone beneath the lantern shot upward beneath her bending, knocking it safely back into the air directly toward you.

You caught it instinctively, fire blooming between your hands just enough to keep the flame inside from dying out. Heat spread across your palms as the lantern spun once before the dangling cords tangled immediately around your wrists.

Suki had to grab the railing to steady herself through another burst of laughter. 

“Agni, help me...”

“If only the council could see the Fire Lady now,” Katara managed through her own laughter while unsuccessfully trying to untangle one of the cords.

Suki grinned wickedly. “I have a feeling Zuko would love this view.”

“If he hasn’t seen it before,” Toph added.

“Oh, shut up—”

Embarrassment flared through your bending before you could stop it. The cords blackened beneath a burst of heat far stronger than intended. 

“You’re hot…” Suki started to say, only for her eyes to widen. “Wait—”

The edge of the lantern suddenly caught fire. A second later, part of your sleeve ignited too, flames racing upward fast enough to send immediate panic across your face.

“You’re on fire!” Katara shouted.

“I CAN SEE THAT!”

Suki lunged toward you, smacking at the flames climbing the lantern while laughing far too hard to be genuinely useful. 

“STOP MOVING.”

“I’m not moving!”

Katara pulled water upward from the nearby stream in a narrow twisting current before sending it crashing toward the burning lantern to stop the flames from spreading across the beams.

Suki turned just in time to realize she was directly in the path of it. The wave crashed into both of you hard enough to steal the breath from your lungs.

Suki let out a startled shriek while you sputtered hard enough to nearly lose hold of the lantern, water streaming down your hair and soaking through the front of your robes as the last traces of smoke curled weakly from your sleeve.

Toph had to brace one hand against the bench through another fit of laughter. 

“This,” she declared between helpless cackles, “is the best vacation I’ve ever had.”

“You’re not helping!” Katara protested, though by now she was laughing almost as hard herself while water splashed uselessly across the floor.

Toph lifted her chin from where she leaned against the bench, sounding far too confident for everyone else’s comfort. 

“I can help.”

You barely had time to turn toward her before she tilted her head in your direction.

“Extend your arms.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Trust me and do as I say.”

The instant your sleeves lifted, the stone beneath the terrace answered her bending with a sharp grinding crack. A narrow slab of volcanic tile shot upward between all of you in one clean movement, slicing neatly through the still-burning cords before the flames could spread farther across the beams.

Another section of stone rose beside Katara at the same time, Toph clearly trying to stop the burning lantern from crashing directly onto her.

The entire terrace tilted with it, the floor tilting sideways hard enough to throw everyone off balance.

Suki slipped first on the soaked terrace boards, grabbing your shoulders as her footing vanished beneath her. The motion yanked you sideways just as Katara lunged forward to catch both of you.

“Careful with the pregnant one!” Suki yelped as Katara nearly collided into both of you trying to stop the fall.

Your own footing disappeared a second later. For one horrifying instant, the soaked boards rushed up beneath you before the earth shifted beneath the impact. Toph’s bending rippled through the stone fast enough to soften the ground before any of you hit it. Mud surged upward in a thick uneven mound that caught all three of you in one thoroughly undignified heap instead of against the hard volcanic stone.

You landed first with a startled noise half swallowed by laughter, Suki collapsing sideways beneath you while Katara tumbled into both of you moments later hard enough to send muddy water splashing across the floor.

Mud streaked across Katara’s sleeves and cheek, loose strands of hair plastered against her face. Suki’s dark hair clung damply to her neck and shoulders while muddy water soaked through the front of her clothes. Your own sleeve remained singed at the cuff beneath fresh smears of mud across your hands and knees.

Suki rolled onto her back beside you, breathless with laughter. She pushed wet hair from her forehead.

“Technically speaking…” she managed between breaths, “the fire’s out.”

You stared upward at the swaying lanterns for one disbelieving second before the realization hit you all at once.

“I could’ve literally just put it out myself,” you gasped, laughing hard enough your stomach hurt as you covered part of your face with one muddy hand. “What even happened? You’re all insane!”

“Says the woman married to Zuko,” Toph shot back, sending all of you into a round of laughter. 

Eventually, the laughter softened into smiles and breathless sighs, the kind of quiet closeness that only existed between people who had known each other long enough to survive embarrassment together.

“You have no idea how much I missed this,” you admitted after a while, turning your head enough to look at all of them sprawled across the mud beside you. “And all of you.”

Katara reached across the mud between you to squeeze your hand once.

“We missed you too.”

Warmth spread through your chest so suddenly it almost hurt. Without thinking, you leaned sideways into them, and Katara and Suki shifted closer too, arms wrapping loosely around you in a tangled mess of damp robes, muddy sleeves, and lingering laughter.

Above you, Toph made a dramatic sound of disgust from the bench.

“I might be blind,” she informed the night air, “but I can absolutely tell you’re hugging.”

Suki lifted her head. “You should join.”

“Absolutely not.”

Katara grinned. “Toph…”

“No. I already know you all look emotional. I don’t need to experience it physically too.”

You laughed. “Come here!”

Toph crossed her arms stubbornly for approximately three seconds before releasing an enormous sigh.

“I guess,” she said reluctantly, “if I accidentally fell on top of all of you because I can’t see where I’m going, that would technically be acceptable.”

Before anyone could stop her, Toph planted one bare foot against the bench and launched herself forward with no hesitation.

She landed fully across the group with enough force to nearly knock the breath from your lungs while muddy water splashed across the grass. Katara collapsed into horrified laughter beside you, Suki wheezing so hard she could barely breathe while one of Toph’s elbows dug directly into your ribs.

“TOPH!”

“What?” Toph asked innocently from somewhere in the middle of the pile. “I fell.”

“You elbowed me!”

Katara laughed so hard she nearly curled into herself again while you clung helplessly to all of them, breathless beneath the stars.

After a moment, Suki lifted her head slightly from where she’d half collapsed against Katara’s shoulder.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “this feels like a great moment to tell us the baby’s name.”

Katara blinked at her. “What part of this situation says name reveal time to you?”

“Think about it,” Suki insisted. “The baby could have a meaningful name inspired by tonight.”

“Muddy,” Toph suggested immediately.

“Mud-tara,” Suki added.

“Mudpie,” you offered weakly through another laugh.

Katara groaned into her hands while the rest of you lost control again. 

“You’ll know the name when Aang and I are ready.”

You reached over to grab her hand dramatically. “As long as you don’t name the baby something spelling AANG, I think we’ll survive.”

Toph nearly rolled off the pile laughing.

By then, night had settled fully around the retreat, laughter still carrying faintly through the trees below. 

High above the terrace, Zuko stood quietly against the balcony railing overlooking the grounds below. One hand rested loosely against the wood while his gaze remained fixed on you below.

The frustration from earlier still weighed heavily on him, worn raw by days of travel, paperwork, expectations, and responsibilities that never truly released either of you. Yet watching you muddy, breathless, tangled in your friends’ arms while laughter lit up your entire face, eased something in him anyway. Not even the grandest Fire Nation celebrations or the most carefully planned palace entertainments had ever drawn a smile from you quite like this one.

Zuko could no longer look at the retreat as time stolen from his duties, and finally began to understand what the others had been trying to give both of you all along.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

“What are you looking at?”

Your voice pulled Zuko from whatever thoughts had held his attention beyond the balcony doors. He turned, shoulders still carrying traces of the tension from earlier.

His gaze dropped to your dirt-stained robes.

Yours followed a second later.

“… I asked first,” you said.

You stepped farther into the room, moving behind the folding screen beside the bed, already pulling apart the ruined layers of your clothes.

“The moon,” he answered simply after a moment.

You heard the lid of one of the travel chests open at the foot of the bed.

A laugh escaped you from behind the screen while fabric rustled around you. “The moon?” you repeated in disbelief. “It’s worse than I thought. Fire Lord Zuko driven to moon-gazing by sheer irritation.” You paused. “Would you mind—oh. Thank you.”

Your nightgown appeared neatly draped over the top of the screen before you could finish asking.

“I think the moon is beautiful,” he said while crossing somewhere behind the screen, his footsteps against the wooden floorboards. “Don’t tell Sokka that, though.”

Another laugh escaped you while slipping the nightgown over your head.

“How have you found this… whole thing?” Zuko asked after a moment.

“The retreat?” you asked, stepping out in your nightgown and moving toward the vanity near the door. You dragged a brush through your freshly washed hair while he disappeared behind the screen to change in turn.

“And the betrayal.”

His tone remained serious enough that you had to bite back another laugh. 

“First of all, I like this place,” you said, reaching for one of the incense sticks resting atop the vanity and lighting it with a flick of your finger before setting it carefully into the holder beside the mirror, “What they’ve done with Whaletail Island is beautiful. Honestly, I regret not coming sooner.”

You turned just as he stepped fully back into the room, dark hair still slightly damp around his face while thin ribbons of incense smoke drifted through the space between you. 

“As for what you insist on calling betrayal…” Your lips curved faintly. “I think it deserves another name.” You held his gaze, standing from the vanity. “And I think this is highly necessary, Zuko.”

To your surprise, he nodded. 

He crossed the room and lowered himself onto his usual side of the bed before patting the empty space beside him.

The gesture surprised you enough that you hesitated before walking over and settling beside him atop the blankets. The mattress dipped beneath your weight.

His hand settled over yours where it rested against your stomach.

“I… think so too.”

Your head turned toward him fast enough to pull the beginning of a smile from him. 

“What?”

“I think they were right.”

You stared at him in complete alarm before leaning closer onto your knees and pressing the back of your hand against his forehead.

“Are you feeling unwell?”

He laughed.

Which somehow worried you more.

“Zuko, this is serious—”

You grabbed his face with both hands, squishing his cheeks together until his lips puckered awkwardly.

“I’m going to call Katara. Maybe she can heal whatever this is.”

His eyes narrowed into slits beneath your hands before he caught both your wrists and pulled you forward. The movement sent you falling halfway across him with a startled laugh, your hands trapped loosely behind his head while his own hands found your waist to steady you. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, my lady,” he murmured, though the smile lingering across his face made the title sound softer than teasing.

This close, you could see he truly meant it. His thumb moved absently against your waist beneath the fabric of your nightgown.

“I think…” He exhaled, staring somewhere past you for a moment. “I’ve been so focused on keeping everything together that I stopped noticing how exhausted you are too. And maybe I’ve been unfair about this trip. But you deserve to be happy. Spirits know we both needed to step away before this became too much.”

His golden eyes lifted back to yours.

“And…” he added after a beat, “I suppose I appreciate the others trying to take care of us. Even if Sokka’s methods are questionable.”

You smiled.

“And I think,” he continued with visible reluctance at admitting any of this aloud, “that maybe I needed this too.”

You pressed your nose lightly against his. When you opened your eyes again, he was already watching you.

One of your hands eased from his grasp to rest gently against his cheek.

“You don’t know how much I appreciate hearing you say that,” you whispered. “And how much you’ll appreciate it too.” Your thumb traced the edge of his scar. “I’m exhausted, Zuko. And don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t change being the Fire Lady at your side for anything. But we’re constantly under pressure. Even if it’s understandable… we’re still allowed to rest. We matter too.”

As the words left your lips, Zuko looked entirely defenseless against whatever he felt for you. He would have damned Agni himself before waiting another second to kiss you.

One hand rose to your jaw as he leaned down, capturing your lips with a kind of desperation that made your chest ache. You kissed all the time, it was nearly impossible not to when you had a husband like him, but somewhere between royal meetings, traveling schedules, and interrupted mornings, kisses like this had become rare. 

It tasted different, sweeter somehow, not because the island was beautiful or the night was warm, but because for the first time in far too long, neither of you seemed to be waiting for the next obligation to pull you apart. There was no pressure lingering behind the touch, no expectation beyond simply being together, and somehow that made the kiss feel more consuming than any you had shared in months.

Your fingers slipped into his hair while his hand spread wider against your waist, pulling you closer against him as though he’d been waiting far too long to hold you properly again.

You smiled against his lips when you finally pulled back enough to breathe again.

“So…” you murmured, unable to hide your excitement, “does this mean we’ll participate in the activities Sokka planned tomorrow?”

Zuko rolled his eyes, yet the smile tugging at his mouth ruined any attempt at annoyance. 

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

Your expression lit up so quickly it made him laugh.

Before he could react, you kissed him again. And again. And once more after that until his laugh disappeared against your mouth while your hands pushed lightly at the collar of his night robes. His hands slid to steady you as you climbed fully atop him.

“If this is the result of Sokka’s dumb decisions,” he muttered as your lips trailed distractedly along his jaw, “I might owe him one.”

You laughed softly against his chest before lifting your head again, fingers wandering lower across warm skin beneath the loosened fabric.

“Careful,” you warned. “You’re starting to sound forgiving.”

“Maybe he—”

“THAT WAS A WARNING SHOT, SUKI!”

The shout rang through the terrace loudly enough to make both of you freeze. A heartbeat later came Suki’s unimpressed voice.

“You dropped the fish before throwing it, genius!”

Then came a loud splash from somewhere below the balcony, followed by Sokka’s yell.

“MY SANDALS!”

You buried your face against Zuko’s chest laughing while he stared at the ceiling in complete disbelief. 

“I’ll just close the balcony doors,” you managed between laughs, climbing reluctantly off him.

Zuko let out a long, deeply offended grunt at the loss of contact.

“Never mind,” he declared. “Not forgiven. Enemy number one.”

Still laughing, you moved back toward your side of the bed after shutting the doors. You barely made it halfway across the mattress before he tugged you straight back against him, rolling you beneath him this time. 

“No,” he said firmly, settling over you with unmistakable intent. “You come back here.”

His mouth brushed yours once more.

“Now… where were we?”

Part 2.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

note: im so happy with this oneee, cannot wait for your to read the next parts! huge shoutout to @magnificentlyrainythunder for the request that inspired me ♡ - lmk what you think, and if you want to be tagged in part 2&3! Xx

[tonycries]

Imposter Syndrome - C.K.

Synopsis. 8010—DOKI-DOKI-GF: Are you a complete n’ utter nerd that just can’t seem to find a girlfriend? Have you lied to your family and told them that you’re seeing someone (when you really aren’t)? Do you need to save face at the next family dinner before your uncle makes fun of you until the end of time? Well, call our hotline NOW to access Tokyo’s #1 rent-a-girlfriend service! Choso Kamo, unfortunately, is all of the above.

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!rentaI girIfriend!reader, nerd!Choso Itadori family shenanigans, meeting the family, fake dating, UncIe Kuna is MEAN, they’re onto you…, getting kicked out of restaurants, Iove hotels, vírgin!Choso, first times (his), PÚSSYDRÚNK CHOSO, making him crawI, oraI (f + m), fíngering, spítting, bíting, p taIking, scientific taIk HAHA, commands (from you), créaming his pants, making him cúm earIy, multiple o’s (him), MAJOR overstím, pánty-sníffing, ríding, making him whímper, making him cry, somewhat gágging (him), teaching him, creampíes, sIight cùmfIation, implied marathon, getting together, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 12.0k

A/N. HEHEHEH-

“—I’m so happy you’ve found your person, Cho…” Itadori Jin coos- tearing up.

“P-papa, people are staring.” Choso huffs, spooning the syrupy-sweet cherries on his sundae over to Yuji’s.

“I know, I know.” Jin bats a hand, not-so-discreetly dabbing underneath his eyes using his sweater. “It’s just- your uncle and I were getting so worried, y’know?” He gestures at his younger twin brother next to him—looking comically buff in that pretty pink ice cream parlor seat. Jin had chosen this place. “And although we didn’t lose hope-”

“Who’s we?” Sukuna snorts.

“I uh…well.” Jin adjusts his glasses and looks over at Itadori Wasuke - currently scooping out his own cherries to flick into the neighboring table’s cups when they weren’t looking. “Father and I didn’t lose-”

“I did.” Wasuke looks squarely at his oldest grandson, “No offense, kid- but I bet ¥400 that you’d die alone.”

Sukuna nods seriously, “I bet ¥20,000.”

To which you’re finally…reaching over to intertwine your fingers with Choso’s.

…Choso drops his cherries.

And you’re letting out such a sweet, sweet giggle - even sweeter than the linger of cherries on his tongue - before you duck underneath the table to help him pick them up.

Choso was already on his knees crawling after those damn cherries- and all it takes is a single glance at your face oh-so-close to his, in such short proximity, for him to jolt—and bang his head against the underside of the table. So hard that the glasses clink against one another, and Wasuke groans as he misses in his valiant cherry canons.

So loud that half the parlor stares at your little table.

“Oh no.” You’re reaching out in concern as Choso rubs his achin’ head. “Honey, are you-”

“I-I’m fine—!” Choso turns his face away - and the only things you could make out were the frames of his chunky glasses…and the burning red on the tips of his ears. Blushing. Though you’re not convinced, and once you get a little closer- he’s waving you off more fervently than ever. “I promise, I promise! I can handle it…babe.”

You quirk a brow - “If you say so, sugarplum.”

He almost jolts once more- too much…?

However, before you’re thrusting yourself once more into the stratosphere of emotional fathers (at least, one of them) and glowering uncles, you inch yourself closer to the nerve-wracked man - as quick as a flash. And then you’re pressing your lips to his right cheek—just a graze, just a peck.

But it’s enough for Choso to yelp-

And bang his head against the table once again.

“Easy there, tiger.” You’re giggling at him, “I need you in one piece.”

“N-need me…” Choso whispers to himself- perhaps thinking that you won’t hear.

And it’s a small mercy that you’re handing to him - pretending that you didn’t hear that. Instead, you’re throwing yourself back into your seat, and presenting your most-practiced smile at Choso’s eavesdropping family members. 

In little-to-no time, Choso’s popping back up and plopping all those floor cherries into Sukuna’s black coffee. The older man swears. 

Jin covers the seven-year-old Yuji’s ears.

And then your boyfriend’s excusing himself hastily to the bathroom. Leaving you alone with them.

Unsure how to proceed, there’s a few minutes of silence before you’re speaking first. “Quite the lovely place, isn’t it?”

“Yes- yes.” Jin snaps out of his little reverie—he’d been watching over your interaction with such unabashed pride. Such loving nosiness. Out of all the fathers of clients that you’d happened to meet, you think he might just be your favorite…He beams. “I’m so glad you like it, dear. I mean- the first girl that Cho’s introducing us to-”

“The only one.” Sukuna coughs.

“-I just knew I had to impress. I picked this one specifically because it advertised itself as a place that’s both family-friendly and open to coup-”

“So you met the wimp…how again?” Sukuna interrupts. And he ignores the look that Jin throws at him.

“Six months ago at university.” Choso’s finally finished up at the bathroom, within earshot of the table. He takes his seat right next to you. 

“I hope you washed your hands.” You whisper to him.

“Of course, I did.”

The two of you had already repeated this tried and true story at the very start of your introductions. And it was clear that Sukuna was fishing for something…more.

You make a show of reaching for Choso’s hand on top of the table—intertwining your fingers with his. They were fingers much longer and thicker than yours- that you might not have expected. The most sensual calluses from what you assume to be turning pages of books. The softest touch nevertheless.

You squeeze his hand and shoot him a simpering smile.

Itadori Jin just about faints.

Sukuna scoffs at his overdramatic older brother, “S’that so…?” He then crosses his tattooed arms, “You don’t seem like the type to like ah- biology and hemorrhages.”

“It’s biology and hematology, uncle Ryo.” Choso answers crossly, “And no- we met in the campus library.”

Then you’re the one to pipe up. “Cho here- oh, sorry, Choso-”

“Call him whatever you like—!” Jin cries.

As his brother attempts to wrangle him back into his seat, you smile appreciatively and continue. “Cho here was the one that helped me find a textbook I’d been searching for for weeks.” Just to add a little flare to it, you’re squeezing his hand once more and staring deeply into his big, beautiful brown eyes when you speak. “He knew even better than the librarian! And he was just so nervous- stuttering and- and did I tell you that he almost tripped over himself handing me that book?”

Jin, so very interested in your story, shakes his head aggressively.

Meanwhile Sukuna merely rolls his eyes- though you note that he and Wasuke don’t interrupt you for a second.

“Yeah…that was when I knew.” You conclude. Patting lovingly at his arm, “And of course, it did take a few weeks of being friends for Cho here to finally build up the courage. But he did manage to ask me out in the end—”

Sukuna raises one mean, coral-pink brow.

And you’re elbowing your boyfriend.

“-didn’t you, honey?”

It was rather difficult to convince your boyfriend’s family of the story of you two meeting- especially when your boyfriend himself looked as though this was his first time hearing it…Choso kept an expression of sweet euphoria—something soft. Like he was watching a romantic movie play out.

One that was starring in- and you needed him to say something…

“Huh? Yes?” Choso blinks- sense coming back to him. “O-oh, yes.”

And then he straightens up.

Possessively placing his hand on top of yours, “I saw her and I just…knew she had to be mine-”

“See now, that where yer lying.” Sukuna leans over the table with a devilish smile- pointedly ignoring his brother’s swatting. “There’s no world in which Kamo Ultimate Loser Choso—had his first kiss with a biology textbook, asked out the high school lab skeleton before any real person - would be the one asking you out.”

You’re stiffening as he points at you.

“Are you just someone he’s paying to lie? Because whatever he’s paying, it surely can’t be enough-”

You’re plastering on your smile, “If by ‘pay’ you mean love and cherish me then-”

“Then I know my nephew would no sooner woo a damn lab rat than a real person.” Sukuna scoffs, crossing his arms and falling back into his seat. “Especially one so pretty.”

Jin looked tense- and he’d forgone swatting at Sukuna underneath the table to now openly pinching his bicep. Still, the pain seems to do nothing to bate his suspicion.

“More sundaes, everyone? More sundaes?” Jin asks in a strangely high tone.

The only ones unaffected at the table was Yuji currently plucking at his sundae cherries, and Wasuke who stared at them with the internal debate as to whether or not he should fling those at the neighboring table, too. You almost wanted him to—anything to distract from the terseness that had suddenly taken over.

And to your surprise - it’s Choso who’s the first one to speak. “Why, uncle Ryo…” Those doe-like eyes of his narrow into an expression you’ve never seen made by the sweet, sweet boy thus far. “-jealous?”

Sukuna startles- “The hell did you s-”

“Dagnabbit I almost had it this time-” Wasuke gives up on considering and swipes one of Yuji’s overabundance of cherries to throw into their neighboring tables glass. It’s a hole in one.

“Grandma, do that again—!” Yuji squeals and claps his hands.

“Huh, where? I’m grandpa-”

“Everybody silence!” Jin’s voice raises above than the rest - and into every corner of the ice cream parlor. Echoing. He hadn’t realized it in the heat of the moment, but he found himself standing as he stopped the chaos—and rushed to sit down after some apologetic bows at the wider population being subjected to the catastrophe that was…their family.

And his next apology is directed at you. “My dear, I cannot tell you how sorry I am-” Now instead of pinching Sukuna, he outright gives the man a brotherly smack upside the head. Unafraid of doing so; Jin makes it hard enough that even Ryomen Sukuna winces. Now you understand how he kept his title shining as older brother…“-that I am related to a bunch of buffoons, and Yuji.”

“Yuji has been quite the distinguished gentleman.” You’re nodding at Yuji and his ice-cream-covered grin. “But it’s alright, Mr. Itadori. Honestly- promise I wasn’t offended by anything said.”

Your hands have seemed to find a permanent home in Choso’s - at least for the time being - and you squeeze his. 

“I understand that you’re just ah- cautious as the first girl to meet you like this but…I get it. Really.” Jin’s expression just seems to melt as you keep speaking. “Cho really is someone special to me. And I want to protect him, too.”

Next to you, you hear Choso suck in a shaky breath.

“Really? And you truly promise that it hasn’t been too much?” He probes with shining eyes. “Ryo here can get a little too mouthy-”

“Hey!” Sukuna starts—then immediately winces as Jin’s fingers twitch towards him again.

“Please do forgive him- it’s in his nature.”

“Absolutely promise. And I don’t hold anything against Mr. Sukuna, either.” You knew to hit juuuust where it mattered - and referring to Sukuna using such a title made the man straighten in his chair a little. “Choso did warn me that his family might be a little…excited. But to be honest with you, I always have had a soft spot for big, loud families.”

“Well…” Jin blushes happily, before reaching across the table and shaking your hand. “You may call me Jin, if you’d like. And I’d like to welcome you into our big, loud family.”

“I’m so honored- thank you.”

“The honor is all ours.”

“Oh no, it’s ours.”

Sukuna glances at Choso and scoffs. Underneath his breath, “That’s as long as that wimp has paid for-”

The table rattles as Jin kicks him underneath it. “The honor is all ours. Isn’t it…younger brother?”

“Ye-yes—” Sukuna wheezes. His large hand comes slamming down- merely something to hold onto his dear life for. “Welcome to the family, girl.”

You beam like it’s the happiest day of your life.

Head rested on Choso’s shoulder, and your head nodding at the flow of conversation. “This is cooler than the Turritopsis dohrnii.” He breathes.

Save for the brief hiccup earlier- you’d consider your first meeting with Choso’s family to have gone swimmingly. And sure, perhaps Sukuna held the faintest inkling of suspicion that what the two of you had was a ruse—but he’d been shot down almost immediately by Jin.

And thank goodness for that.

“Let’s celebrate by getting the double double heart-shaped cones- oh, I wonder how they get them into that shape?” Jin hums. “And then I want chocolate chips, dipped in the bubblegum drizzle and- oh, hello.” 

He beams as their server nears the table.

“I would like-”

“Sir, we’ve been getting complaints of cherries being flung into people’s glasses and we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Oh.”

Because of course…Ryomen Sukuna had been completely correct.

As the group gets up to leave - perhaps to another diner downtown or so - you’re refusing to let Jin apologize. And you’re still holding onto Choso as though he was the dreamiest boyfriend in the whole wide world, and you were the luckiest girlfriend—as dreamy as he may be…you weren’t the girlfriend he’d been dating for the past five months.

In fact, you weren’t his girlfriend at all.

In fact, you’d only met two hours prior.

You were #1 Rental Girlfriend in all of Tokyo. And this time, you’d been hired to save face at a family get-together.

Of course, it wasn’t the first time that you’ve had to pretend your way through such a predicament - more people than one would think had less and less time for love. Especially not in this day and age. Especially not when work and responsibilities latched onto you like a starving tick, and though its blood supply might be modest at first, it only grows hungrier and hungrier—greedier, until you’re bone-dry. Bone-dry. Bone-dry. And it still feeds- what’s next? The bones and all?

And society still looks at you with the same standards—yes, the parasite’s gotten bigger, but why are you so frail?

And before you know it, you’re hiring a rental girlfriend to prove to your parents that yes- you can still be a functional and well-balanced adult still!

This was exactly why you continued being a rental girlfriend.

It’d started out as a side-job during your first year of university—your friends were all getting partners or throwing themselves into their studies. And you needed something fulfilling to pass the time.

Then, your best friend suggested getting a part-time job.

You’re sure she didn’t mean as a rental girlfriend.

But you couldn’t help it - it’d been the first advertisement for Hiring that’d popped up once you’d searched online! 

And it was meant to be for a few weeks initially- really, you hadn’t planned on continuing this career for so long. Let alone making it a sort of career. 

That morning, you’d opened up your approved application for Doki-Doki-Girlfriend and determinedly made your way to the interview section - promising yourself that you’d run at the first sign of anything off. The interview was being held at the Doki-Doki headquarters: this pretty pink-colored building in downtown Akihabara that had formerly been a host club. It’d been dimly-lit and draped in old perfume and even older sex. 

Though you’d been nervous the first time you entered, you’d been quickly taken by the Doki-Doki owner—Tsukumo Yuki.

The first thing she asked you was what your type in men was.

And when you’d answered - through your shock - that it was the shy, stuttering type- she laughed that that was about 95% of their clientele. So you’d be lucky, perhaps.

Yuki, as she insisted you call her, explained to you the ins and outs of being a rental girlfriend. To smile. To simper. To be sweet but not overly so.

To never let them pressure you into anything. They weren’t the type of rental business that offered other sorts of services. 

What people were searching for above all was a connection- for at least this brief moment in time. And the both of you would understand this transaction: it was the fantasy of a human bond that you were selling, and they were buying. It was your time. It was your emotional investment.

But later…you would come to genuinely connect with most of those you worked with.

After that interview—which you passed with flying colors, you spoke with some of the other girls working there and decided to continue with the job opportunity. Much to Yuki’s delight, who’d taken a liking to you almost immediately. After that was the training period - during which you accompanied some of the other rental girlfriends on their dates.

You were introduced to some as their friend—and as many guys as expected were actually flattered to be seen with two ‘girlfriends’ in public. 

You took notes on conversation topics. You watched their behaviours. 

You understood how they’d change their approaches according to the needs of their clients, and you absorbed it all.

After a few weeks of observation, you were finally added to the roster of rental girlfriends to go on your own dates. 

You just didn’t expect to shoot to the top of the ranks.

#1 in Tokyo.

Perhaps one of the Top 5 in the entire country—only three years after starting, in your fourth year of university. 

The clients adored you.

They draped you in gifts. They went on repeat dates - spending extra just for a minute of your time, though you often refused the additional amounts. Of course, there would be no funny business (and this was something you made quite clear within the first few minutes of meeting a new client). And excluding one or two unsavory clients that were quickly blacklisted from Doki Doki, you’d grown rather fond of your regulars.

There was the older woman who’d practice speaking to women through you- for when she planned on getting her first girlfriend. There was the excitable college student who tested out date spots with you. There was the pensioner who wished to take a monthly stroll through the park, simply talking about their day.

It was the feeling of belonging amongst strangers. Connecting with people you never could have imagined finding common ground with before.

And you believe, through this line of work, you began to understand humans better.

Humans were all just…really, really lonely.

Choso had been the same when he came to you.

It had been a working day like any other - you’d been called to the front desk of Doki Doki in order to be given a briefing of your next date. It was all standard processes, really.

Name: Kamo Choso

Age: 23

Occupation: Student

Prior appointments: None.

Prior love life: None.

Purpose: Client seeks a rental girlfriend to sit through a family dinner with his family, pretending to be his girlfriend. Prior backstory required to be able to maintain the conversation and create the illusion of a loving relationship (5 months). Flirting and mild physical affection. 

Extra notes: Client says to please be wary of his extra ‘rowdy’ family. 

And so, you’d accepted.

You met up with the aforementioned Choso—and found yourself a little taken aback at just how…cute he was.

Nerdy. Nervous.

Pushing his glasses up as he frantically introduced himself - that, too, messing his name up a few times before actually telling you.

Exactly your type. Yuki had been right.

He was your age, and went to - it turns out - the same university as you. Though the two of you hadn’t seen each other before, Choso confessed that that might be because he was cooped up in the library most of the time. 

He bowed at least a dozen times through apologies for the trouble- even though you assured him that meeting a family wasn’t anything out of your way. And then he insisted on paying extra, on coming up with a code should you want to leave, on—you shook your head and grabbed his hand. “So, how did we meet, boyfriend?”

You always did enjoy the ones where big families were involved - sure, they might be more awkward in the long run…but those types of dates always did manage to make you feel so warm inside. Big families. Big emotions.

And the biggest, perhaps, of all had been meeting the Itadori family.

They’d been unlike any other family you’ve ever met.

And that was saying a lot.

Thus, you’re letting out a prolonged sigh the moment you’re stepping outside—it was some downtown diner that the six of you had ended up at after your less-than-ceremonious exit at the ice cream parlor. Sukuna had been craving something hearty after living through that introduction on just sweets and coffee - and Jin had suggested one of their favorite ramen places.

It was only after you’d sat down with them at one of the booths - the one they called their ‘usual’ - that Jin had revealed that when they referred to it as ‘their’ ramen place—they really meant the their.

In everything but ownership.

This was the first restaurant they’d gone to celebrate Choso’s first birthday, this was the first restaurant they’d gone to after Jin’s mother had passed, this was the first restaurant they’d gone to after Yuji was born and Jin was granted full custody.

And you couldn’t help but feel a strange sinking feeling at the pit of your stomach. What was that you said about family-oriented dates being the most awkward in the long term?

At least the ramen had been the best you’d ever tasted- and the conversation flowed freely. Even Sukuna seemed to forgo his initial suspicion to make some conversation with you on Akihabara’s best spots. 

And in the end, you were walking out of that ramen restaurant with a full stomach and an even more full heart. 

Waving to the retreating backs of Jin, Sukuna, Wasuke, and a sleeping Yuji—you’re turning to Choso once they were completely out of sight. “Your family is…”

“Abhorrent?” He pushes his glasses up with a crooked smile. Choso had eased up around you significantly compared to your initial meeting outside the Doki Doki building, stammering through an adequate backstory for your faux-relationship, though he still seemed to be the nerve-wracked type.

“No…” You pretend to think.

“Overbearing?”

“No.”

“Savages?”

“Certainly not.”

“The servers at that ice cream parlor would disagree.” Choso mutters, “How about aneurysm-causing?”

“No.” You’re shaking your head once again, before turning to him with a smile. “They’re loving.”

Choso says nothing, but the tips of his ears burn.

“They care about you a lot- even your uncle was making sure I wasn’t some stranger just taking your money.” Well…

The long-haired man pushes his glasses up with a sputter of confirmation- or at least something that sounds like it. “I-I suppose ah- in their own…ways they’re rather…” Choso swallows a few times, and you’re watching his face as he does so—the Sun was dipping past the horizon now, and cracking its golden yolk over the grooves of his worried face. Handsome. Choso Kamo was just so handsome. 

With his lashes dark and draping over his cheekbones. With his lips pouty and bitten whenever he was thinking deeply about something. With his stature so tantalizingly tall—though he didn’t even seem to be aware of it, as he navigated the world like a newly-birthed fawn. 

He was the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen - glasses and all. 

“—caring.” Choso finally finishes his sentence.

You’re letting a smile stretch across your lips- and before you can think twice, you’re clasping Choso’s hand once more. You’d been doing it so often over the course of the date that it almost feels- natural now. 

“You know…you paid for five hours of my time, Choso. Do you know how much more time we have left?” 

“Two hours, fourteen minutes and—” He grows ever-redder as he stares down at you. Were you…leaning in? Pressing yourself against him? Fuck. “-f-fifteen seconds.”

“Mmmm, I do love a smart boy.” Beginning to tug him in another direction from the path to the Doki Doki building - though you leave enough leeway that he can stop should he want to. Choso follows you like a dog on a leash. “I don’t usually do this, but if you want to spend the rest of your time with me then…I know this ah- other place we can go to?”

“Like you want me to c-call my family back for another family dinner?” Choso asks, eyes bulging.

“Oh no, no.” You laugh. “This place isn’t family friendly at all.”

.

.

.

“A-a love hotel-”

“One room, please. Standard.” Interrupting Choso, you smile at the receptionist.

“Will that be for an allocated time or overnight?”

“Hmm…” You glance sidelong at the gawking Choso next to you- looking around the hotel lobby as though it was some sort of attraction. “Overnight, please.”

As the woman behind the desk continued tap-tap-tapping away at her keyboard, you take a moment to look at Choso - now adjusting his glasses to make sure that he was seeing right. That really was a bowl of condoms sitting on the front desk. As the heat rushes up the back of his neck, you’re wrapping your arms around one of his own—and pressing your body against his. “Everything alright, Cho?”

He’d been like this ever since you started heading him in the direction of the glitzy love establishment. Pink walls. Fluorescent lights. He’d agreed to going…elsewhere to continue your date- but he’d expected your apartment or something! Choso had been stunned but allowed you to lead him in front of the love hotel, and once outside you turned towards him once more. It was the first time you yourself was doing this with who was supposed to be a client. “And you’re really su-”

“Yes.”

And that was that.

The lobby was quiet…too quiet. In a way that made your spine tingle with anticipation.

“That’s a…a real bowl of condoms.” He exclaims- earning a look from the receptionist. 

“That is. Is this your way of saying that we don’t need any?” You joke…mostly. Then the key gets slid over to you - Room 143 - and you’re nodding at the receptionist. “Thank you.”

The two of you make your way down the lust-pink corridor and take the elevator up to your room - jamming in the key to open up a space that looked as if a honeymoon threw up all over it. Rose petals on the floor. Faux candles flickerin’ on the beside cabinet. Rows upon rows of even more condoms lined on the middle of the queen-sized bed. 

If you looked at it from the right angle, it formed a few hearts. 

“I didn’t mean we shouldn’t use them…” Choso’s the first one to speak- and he visibly gulps as you close the door behind you two. “It’s just…I-I’ve never done this before.”

Your eyes widen—you’d been suspecting this ever since you entered. But to have it actually confirmed…“No fooling around before finals or anything? Nothing to de-stress?”

He shakes his head n’ bites his lower lip. “Nothing. I haven’t even had my first kiss, to be honest…” Choso looks up at you with those nervous eyes. “Is that okay?”

“Okay?” You smile. Walking over to twist your hands into his lapels- and tug him to you. “It’s perfect. And since you’ve shared a secret with me, I’m gonna share one with you, okay?”

He nods. 

And so you’re leaning in so that your lips are grazing - just grazing - his pretty, blushing ears. “It turned me on more than it should’ve, seeing you on your knees in that parlor.”

Choso gasps-

And then your lips are on his. 

Then you’re tucking his cute, shivering bottom lip into your mouth—and sucking softly. Choso lets out the most guttural groan at the act- and his hands tremble in mid-air not knowing what to do. 

“Don’t be shy.” You’re cooing at him - reaching up and guiding one of his hands to be on the back of your neck—the other one on your ass. You lean into his surprisingly firm chest, “Although…I find it really cute when you’re shy.”

His involuntary whimper gets swallowed up by your own lips. 

You’re the one that’s guiding him through the sensual motions of your mouth. Kissing and kissing him till he’s senseless.

Till those thick glasses of him have been knocked ever-so-slightly askew.

Till you’ve left him weak in the knees - literally. 

Choso Kamo is melting into you—he’s letting his hands grasp your body as though a forgetting man holding onto his last memory, a drowning sailor holding onto a lifeboat. It doesn’t even feel real to him. And he can’t stop himself as his hands, his body, his knees buckle n’ he’s sliding doooooown the expanse of your body- lips breaking contact with yours with a pained grunt.

Before he knows it, his knees are hitting the floor.

And he’s peering up at you with a desperate expression; brows pinched, mouth kiss-bitten and trembling. Expression something of dazed awe. It makes your pussy clench at just how utterly pathetic he looks. “Everything alright, baby?”

“Ngh- yes.” You watch as one of his hands automatically shoots to cover his crotch - he was rock-fucking-hard already. 

“You suuuuure?” Teasing. There’s a devilish twinkle in your eyes that’s reflected through his as utter indigence. 

And without saying anything more, you step backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed. Bouncing a few times. You’re sitting yourself down on the plush bedsprings, crossing your legs- and watching him through half-lidded eyes. Not a single word comes out of you.

But it doesn’t take a single word for Choso to realize what you wanted with a jolt—

He crawls to you.

He crawls to you.

Choso’s letting his features twist into something akin to embarrassment - with the tips of his ears so red that they were practically radiating heat - as he edges closer. As he shifts on his knees. As he crawls just as he had been doing in the ice cream parlor—except this time, the only cherry he was searching for was that cute lil’ wet spot between your legs.

Your dress was short and already hiked up to reveal those pale pink panties. 

Was that a little bow on top?

Though it seems like an age before he’s finally able to reach close enough to affirm that- yes, that was a little bow on top. Choso finally manages to without combusting, and looks up at you with wide, pleading eyes. 

“Please…” He begs.

You’re softly caressing his cheek- almost lovingly. And Choso’s eyes flutter shut, leaning into the touch in an almost feline manner. 

Moving to his jawline. Moving to the back of his sweaty scalp.

And then you’re shoving his pretty face between your legs—and Choso’s letting himself gladly be shoved. Manhandled. His chin sticks against the foamy mess of your panties, so wet with all your leaking juices. His nose digs between the plushest parts of your swollen pussylips. And Choso lets out a hallowed breath as he gapes his mouth ever-so-slightly wider-

“Awww, why so shy, baby?” You’re cooing down at him.

With your hand clasped onto the back of his head- you’re guiding Choso’s mouth to better plaster against your pussy. For him to find his balance.

“S-s’like a second kiss.” Choso sputters out. And you’re grinning.

“Naughty, are we?” You had a feeling that this was going to be a loooooot of fun…

Choso’s mouth was parted. And his lips were rubbin’ incessantly up and down the outline of your cunt—up and down, up and down.

That flimsy fabric of your panties was just glued to your sopping wet pussy, and he’s able to slot his lips over your folds perfectly. Managing to string down a line of hot wet kisses where you needed him the most- “Mmmm…” You’re arching your back with a deep groan as his nose fits between your pussylips—the pointed tip pressing on your clit. “Just like that, Cho. You can go deeper if you like, y’know that?”

“H-how, baby?” He rasps. Those pleading eyes of his were just so cute- and Choso can’t last too long speaking without pressing a few more open-mouthed kisses on your cunt.

“You want me to teach you?” You’re asking him, to which he nods. “Mmm, well open your mouth a little wider- just a little wider-”

And he does- his cute canines snaggin’ against the top of your pussylips.

“You can just start off by kissing lightly, baby. Remember how we did all that kissing earlier?” Nodding once more. “Yeah- just try to replicate that.”

“M’gonna do my best, baby…” He’s starting off soft at first- slow. Almost timid in his movements as he properly slots his mouth over your pussy - over your panties - and kisses n’ sucks lightly. 

“Fuck- you study biology, so you know where the good spots are, hm?”

“The glans clitoris a-and the…” Kitten kisses. “-the labia minora contain an immense number of nerve endings.” Chaste pecks—but every single droplet of your pussy’s juices splashed onto his tongue seems to leave Choso Kamo reeling. 

Eyes drawing to the back of his head. Ragged pants emanating from the back of his throat. 

And he’s pushing himself deeper, deeper, deeper - making out with your pussy so desperately, depravedly that his glasses were crushing against your pelvis—“Easy there, baby. Easy.” The only way to even get him to take a breath is to tug him back using his hair. “We have more than ‘nough time, okay?”

“Mhmmmm…” He nods through a pout- lips sucking off the juices seeped into your panties. “All night.”

“Eager boy. Next, I want you to use your tongue, okay?” His expression turns into something startled. “What? Not scared are you, Cho?”

Choso shakes his head furiously—as though he couldn’t stand the mere thought of it. “N-no.” He hisses, hot breath gluing to your leaking core - the way he was just so…greedy to lavish your pussy left you even wetter. And he was gladly allowing the excess residue to land all over his face and end up sliding off, “No no no- not at all. This pretty labia- Mmmpf—”

Whatever else was on the tip of his tongue gets muffled- 

For then Choso’s flattening his tastebuds on top of your pussy. Those swollen pussylips. Movin’ his muscle siiiiiiide to the siiiiiide and then up and down the line of your slit. 

You whine, “Oh- just fuck me with it.” Tugging on his locks, “Fuck me with your tongue- ngh, the way I know you’ve been wantin’ to since we met. Don’t think I didn’t see the way you were looking at me…”

“I was…” He pleads. He prays between your legs. Zig-zagging his tongue wildly. 

And then after he’s sucked off your panties all clean - Choso reaches one of his hands upwards to try and take off those useless undergarments-

But you’re faster than him.

And you’re stopping him with a searing pull at his scalp. The nerdy man lets out a sudden yelp and looks at you with the prettiest doe-eyes. “Ah ah—” It almost ached your heart to act so mean to him, not giving him exactly what he wanted. But more than your heart- it was your pussy that was throbbing. “Now who said you’ve earned the right to take them off, hm?”

“B-but…” Choso’s peripherals widen - they were glazed-over with lust. “How can I reach the tunica mucosa if I don’t take off—”

“You don’t have to take it off, right?” You hum. “Eat me out through my panties-”

Just the mere sound of that sentence makes Choso moan.

“-and…” And you’re cocking your head to get a better look at where his hips were starting to rut. Against the rickety frame of the love hotel’s bed, he was grindin’ and crushing what seemed to be an aching erection. “-don’t touch yourself, either.”

Choso’s free hand immediately halts in its tracks.

He’s shooting you a pained look- but more than that, it was flooded with pure, unabashed need. 

Something dark. Something primal.

Choso’s tipping his head back and letting you plough your pussy against his mouth- in rough, rapid grinds. You don’t wait a single moment for him to catch his breath—and that seems far from his main priority in the first place. He’s merely flopping his lengthy tongue out - so pinkish n’ pretty - and slithering it past your panties.

Riiiiiight underneath, after a few tries he manages to ease it past the rim of your puckered entrance.

You’re letting out a semi-shocked gasp once you feel your convulsing walls streeeeetching at the girth of him. He was thicker than you’d expected- with the ridges of his tastebuds melding to your inner channel. And without any experience, Choso doesn’t know how to ease into it - which works just as well for you as he’s expanding his thick tongue inside of you. And then thrashing n’ thrashing away. “Sh-shit, keep going, Cho.”

“What- hck! what do I have to do?” He manages to somehow ask between heavy gulps. And even that amount of time spent parted with your pussy means that he’s letting out loooong, luxurious licks inside your velvety walls to make up for it.

“H-huh?” You blink down at him through your bleary eyes. “Keep going, ngh- faster, baby.”

“No, I just meant…” Choso blinks those big, beautiful peripherals at you. He kept both hands on your thighs to press himself ever-deeper—he couldn’t get enough. “-what do I have to do t-to take off your panties? I wish to see all of you…that pretty vulva like a flower, the- ngh, prepuce…”

The mere thought has him ruttin’ away against the bed once more.

“How about you make me- haaaah, cum, baby? Hm?” You smile down at the desperate man, “And you have to do it before cumming yourself, m’kay?”

He can’t remove your panties.

He can’t touch himself.

He can’t cum before stuffin’ his face between your legs and making you cum first—

Choso was in heaven.

Even through the obscurement of his now-fogged glasses, Choso’s features twist into something primal- and he lets out a looooow whine before drag-drag-dragging his tongue into your clingy walls again. Thrusting in and out at a frenzied pace—the nerd was eating you out like a man starved.

Almost wolfish.

Choso was suckin’ and biting and snarling deep into your cunt. His glasses stick against your clit, and every single time he was forced to part with your pussy in order to breathe felt like fucking torture to him. “The clitoral nerve network consists of about 8000 to- ngh, over 10000 nerve endings-” Before you know it, he’s spitting. Letting it smear down your panties. Then dragging one of his calloused thumbs down that buttony nub. “-and baby, I need you to feel every single one.”

“Ohhhhh, fuck.” Your back arches deeper into him. Hands planting against the mattress in order to steady yourself, “A man that knows anatomy is dangerous.”

“And then the tunica mucosa…those spots there are also-” Such a priggish smile spreads across Choso’s mouth - one that you’re feeling on your cunt - as he swabs his tongue inside and stimulates some of those sweet nerve endings he was talking about. The hooked end of his muscle pushes apart your clingy walls, and somehow manages to find those sensitive areas so easily- “-effective…”

“Shut up and eat me out.” Pushing him deeper between your legs.

“A-and that’s not to mention—” But of course, you should’ve known that it isn’t easy to shut a STEM major up when it comes to their subject of interest. Choso most of all. And that nerdy man is babbling away whilst he’s slipping his tongue in and out, in and out, of you at a furious pace- until it was nothing but a pinkish blur squeezing away between your pussylips. “-the Gräfenberg spot-”

“You mean the g-spot?!” You’re wailing out.

“My favorite.” Choso nods, with your clit sucked into his mouth. Holding your panties to the side. He now alternates between rolling his tongue over your sensitive nub, and pushing it deep into your hole—stretchin’ you out juuuuust enough for his fingers to slip n’ squelch their way inside.

You’re letting out the shrillest keen as two of his fingers scissor apart your cunt’s walls, pushing up into their spongy surroundings to mold his sheer size into you. He’s softer on the tips of his digits, and rougher against the sides - “Easy there. Fuck, easy…” Choso’s sucking in a harrowed breath.

“I should be the one saying that to you.” You huff. Because Choso wasn’t dry-humping the foot of the bed whilst eating you out anymore - he was way past that.

Now solely keeping himself pushed- wedged in one place because just a little more friction and he’s bound to be cumming. “I-I’m alright, baby.” He tells you, “The Gräfenberg spot is located on the anterior wall, so right…up…” 

Just a single press up into the roof of your cunt makes you buck - not having pressed on your sweetest spot just yet but-

“And then about two- three inches deeeeeep—” The loudest, sloppiest squelch! echoes across all four corners of the love hotel room as he eases inside. Roverin’ about inside your tight, wet channel for a few strokes before an explosion of pleasure runs right through you. “-right- there-”

“Fuuuuuuuck, oh.” You simper out. “There- right there- ngh.”

And then he’s thump-thumping his perfect fingers inside your cunt- accurately pinpointing that one spot inside you with his digits like a searchlight. Again and again. And don’t think that his mouth wasn’t working overtime—Choso kept his maw permanently gaped on top of your clit and had his lips hollowed with a constant suctioning motion. 

Letting out broken moans off into your cunt all the while-

Choso manages to slip in a third finger- though those damn panties kept getting in the way. “Baby…” There’s a rasping, almost guttural tone to his words that you don’t recognize at first- you’re even raising onto your elbows to make sure that this was the same Choso Kamo.

But it sure was.

Glasses pressed up against your cunt—getting wetter by the second. “Baby, you’re experiencing vaginal contractions and tremors. Your pulse is faster. Your transudate is leaking even more- you’re getting wetter. And your clitoris is growing even, mmm-” He savors the feeling of your nub being pulled n’ dragged into his mouth. “-more swollen.”

“A-and that means…?” Though you already have an inkling of it.

“You’re going to orgasm, baby.” He never sounded more confident than when he was speaking science between your pussylips. “And I need you to cum aaaaaall over my mouth, okay?”

“Was planning to.” You whisper-

And it’s with a few more strokes, with a few more gashes of your pussy against his face, that the pressure that’d been building in your pelvic region finally explodes.

It thrums through your body faster than you can announce it—making every single vein, artery, and axiom within you vibrate until they’re sizzling at the sheer pressure. It felt as though your body was on fire. And the hottest it could get was at your sopping core- shoved against Choso’s pretty plush mouth and getting draaaagged through the violent peaks of your high.

The best you’ve ever had.

Choso manages to locate your g-spot right when the pleasure was hitting you the most - and you’re getting the faint suspicion that he was counting your throb-throb-throbs until he’d timed it just right. “One…two…” 

Thrashing his fingers deepest.

Damn-near tearing your panties.

Shoving his erection against the bed. 

And his tongue would move over your clit in an almost soothing motion- “Your vasocongestion m-means you’re sucking me up even- ngh, more. Fucking tight.” He spits. “Myotonia and contractions. Your orgasm’s strong, baby.”

“Didn’t need science to tell me that.” You comment.

Thrown through your orgasm.

It’s a crescendo then a plateau, and then when you’re finally done - Choso keeps jabbing his greedy fingers into you just for a few seconds longer. Fucking you through it. Fucking you past it.

You’re so sensitive by this point that you’re sobbing- pushing on his sweaty forehead. “Baby—oh, baby I’m done.” 

“Done…?” He rasps. Eyes bleary as he raises them up, seeing you on your elbows. “Oh.”

“And you did as I wanted.” It takes much more effort than you expected to detach him from your quivering pussy - still a little sensitive from your previous orgasm. It was incredible. A part of you almost couldn’t believe that it’d been poor, inexperienced Choso Kamo that pulled that out of you. 

He’s setting your cunt free with a whimper n’ a loooooud slurp!

Watching slack-jawed as you peel off your soaked-through panties and throw it right at him- it makes you gasp when Choso catches it with one hand…

Then brings that flimsy fabric riiiiight up to his face to sniff, to suck off the remnants of your syrupy sap. Not a speck of regret.

“Filthy.” You leer.

And then you’re tightening your hold on him—merely than sound was enough to wrench out a yearning croon from him. Preventing Choso from chasing after your cunt once more, “Now now…you don’t want to continue losing that virginity of yours, baby?”

“I-I do.” He eagerly nods.

“Good. Then get on the bed f’me.” You’re patting at the space beside you.

Soon enough, your positions are somewhat flipped - Choso finds himself lumbering onto the bed. Back against the mattress. Skin searing at the heat that your body had left behind. 

He lies where you did- and you’re making quick work of discarding his graphic t-shirt (proudly claiming ‘I found this humerus’ next to a picture of a bone) and his trousers. The tent in his boxers was jaw-dropping—Choso stood proudly erect, thick and looking heavy between his legs, his bulbous tip kept trickling out more n’ more precum the longer you stared. 

And had he just…

Taking off his boxers to make sure—you’re revealing his cock. Long and rock-hard.

It slaps against his soft core, and leaves a heart-shaped mark of sap. Just about seven or so inches in length- though the longer your gaze lingers on him…the longer he seems to look. Shit, was he about nine inches, maybe? And he wasn’t too thick - just flared enough at the tip that he’s sure to make your walls feel it. 

But Choso had an abundance of pretty, long veins decorating down the shaft—underneath the tip, creating patterns down to his base. One which had a few sparse tufts of curly brown - almost black - hair.

Yet what you’re interested in the most was how Choso was so damn hard that his blushin’ red tip looked just about ready to fall off—

“I c-couldn’t help myself, baby.” Choso admits shyly. His hands reach downwards to try and cover his mess- but you’re waving him off. “Having you cum aaaaall over my mouth made me- ngh, want to cum as well.”

“I can see that.” You smirk.

“I didn’t mean to.” He insists, voice growing urgent as the silence stretches - fearing that you’d perhaps refuse to continue as he somewhat broke his promise. “P-promise, I didn’t mean to! It’s just that your tunica mucosa was squeezing me so tight- and your vaginal lubrication just tasted so sweet-”

“Choso?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Shush.”

“I- oh.”

Because, initially, you’d planned on riding the man senseless. But now you were leering yourself closer—almost sake-like in motion.

Staring deep into Choso’s widening eyes once you’re hovering yourself over his shivering legs. His long abdomen. And pressing a cute peck right on the top of his frothing tip—the splashes of his precum were syrupy-sweet. And they were combining with Choso’s cum from earlier to add a salty tint-

“So messy.” You’re whispering as you run your tongue ‘round and ‘round the top of his shaft. Cleaning him off until he was shining. “Are you gonna make a mess like this inside me too, hm?”

“D-don’t say something like that…s’gonna make me cum again.” Choso pleads.

And he really was serious - his words were on the verge of shattering.

You’re letting out a giggle- right into his aching hot cock. The vibrations sprint through his body and make him buck up into you—body before his mind, he doesn’t even realize until he’s doing so with a startled yelp. “My apologies-”

“Mmm, keep going. Get some practice in before the real deal.” You hum once more. 

Choso seems as though he’s about to sob - this was too good for him - as he fucks his cock into your mouth a few more times. You relax your throat to take down most of him, and the parts that you can’t get milked with one hand. 

Once. Twice. Thrice and quadruple before his flared tip starts twitchin’ wildly—draaaaagging up the soft insides of your throat, he leaves a salty aftertaste behind that makes you realize…

You’re pulling off of his cock with an emanating pop! “But you’ve got to save that up for inside, got it?”

He’s nodding so hard you idly wonder whether he might get whiplash. “Yes, baby. Anything for you, baby.”

“Mmm…” Climbing up the expanse of his body, you’re kissing Choso squarely with the same lips. “Just how I like it.”

And then your knees straddle Choso’s slender hips, your thighs press against his sweltering skin - you reach behind you to grab ahold of his cock’s base—and the sudden squeeze is enough to make him jolt. Bodily. He’s letting out a visceral shiver, “B-baby…”

You guide his ruddied tip to you—and just the barest, briefest smooch of your sweet pussy makes him jolt. Just feelin’ his hardness press up against your softness.

It makes him drive his hips off the mattress suddenly. 

“Ah ah-” You warn. “Take it easy, baby. We have all night, don’t we?”

“But…” Choso’s eyes flicker between your face n’ where the two of you were about to connect. Something in him seems to almost break. So close. So close- “That’s so unfair. Your pussy feels like this and you’re expecting me to take it easy?”

A hand claws down your arched spine.

“Not even the textbooks could replicate how good it feels- m’not even inside you yet and I feel like I’m going insane.”

You swipe a thumb down his throbbing tip—catching a bead of white that was threatening to pour out. “I told you. As long as you keep it inside, Cho.”

And then you’re letting your hips lower - aiming to seat yourself down on that toned pelvis of his. “Ohhhh, fuck.” Your back bends, your head tips backwards as you’re taking in the inches of him. It’s a slow process - given that Choso was much larger than average - and you’re wrenching out primal moans as his thick length invades your core. A sweet prodding vein down the side of him was already massaging your insides—“You’re so big, baby. It’s always the quiet ones, huh?”

If he heard you, then he doesn’t make a show of it.

Choso’s handsome features scrunch up into something of pure ecstasy as he dives his cock deeper into you. Hands flying to your waist. Bottom lip stuck between his teeth. “Inside-” He whispers.

“Hmmm?”

“Inside- inside.” Choso gets out through heated pants. His mouth was moving a mile a minute- fuck, even his mind was. But he couldn’t possibly juggle any single coherent thought when his cock was sucked between your soft, soft pussylips and getting practically drained already. “A-am I really going inside? Or is this just a dream, baby?”

Without waiting around for an answer- he’s pinching his arm.

It leaves an angry red mark that proves to him that no…life really was this sweet.

“I am?” As though still in disbelief. 

As though this in and of itself would be enough to make him cum and- oh, shit. 

He really was cumming.

It seems to take the both of you by surprise, and Choso’s lunging his hips completely off the mattress - slamming his cockhead into the springy back of your cunt. 

Bouncin’ off at the sheer force for a few seconds- it isn’t long before he’s then scouring deep into your walls and letting his bawling divot run free. Cumming in less than a single stroke inside you. “Oh- oh, shit.” Choso’s mouth waters, a single line of spittle running from the corner of his lips. “I’m sorry I…”

But he doesn’t have an answer.

He really, truly doesn’t.

“Pussy got your tongue?” You giggle. 

This was his first time - and your pussy just felt that good all wrapped ‘round him and keeping him hostage.

His cum’s flooding you with a warmth, spreadin’ from the in-betweens of your legs and then right upwards. The satiny tresses of it rush uuuuup your walls n’ then right back down—those goopy layers then getting fucked back in by his desperate semi-thrusts. 

Squelch after squelch as he accumulates the cum like frosting on top of his swirling tip. Shoving. 

Choso scrunches his eyes shut and tears start to well up behind- now he was crying, too? Crying just by putting it in?! Buried like this, he feels like he’d do anything for you right now. He feels like he could lay his life on the line for you right now. He feels like—like—he could really truly ask you to become his real girlfriend now…

“Baby, I think I love you.” Choso blubbers up. “Do you want to marry me?”

“Let’s get dinner first.” You giggle, lovingly patting his cheek. 

“Oh…”

If you could feel the way his ruddied tip twitches inside you (and you could) then you’re not teasing him for it…much. Simply a smirk before you’re veering your hips down until he’s bottomed-out.

Clit massaging against the scruff of his happy trail. Pussylips struggling to squeeze around his sheer size. “Fuck.” You’re groaning, starting up a lecherous pace that keeps Choso’s toes curled - his head thrown back into the pillows, his skin blushing. He was flustered.

But more than that- he wanted more.

And sending a silent word of gratitude to the chance of the universe and science itself, Choso slithers that same right hand of his between your sultry legs. Sheened with slick. 

You were making such a mess fucking him whilst you’re still keeping his cum inside you—he scrapes his calloused thumb up, up, uuuup the few inches of his cock still left to fit inside. Collecting the slimy layers of slick up until the folds of your pussy. Reaching it up to his mouth- 

“Now, now.” You tut. “Are we just going to waste that, hm?”

“Oh…you’re right.” With a quiver of his lips, he then plunges it back inside. Then repeats the motion again and again until you’re feeling stuffed to the brim—with both his cock n’ his sappy fluid. Like you said before, it all deserved to stay inside. 

And you better keep it.

The rickety bedsprings creeeeeeak—! as he meets your pace. 

Choso continues, “Not just cum.” His curvaceous thumb swipes your inner folds again, “But that bulbourethral fluid deserves to stay inside, too. How else m’I gonna fill you up, baby?”

“Oh, of course.” You coo, something sensual. “But don’t think that that’s going to be your last time cumming tonight, Cho.”

His eyes damn-near bulge out of their skull. “E-excuse me?”

“It’s not even your last time cumming in this hour.” Oblivious - or so you pretend to be - to his growing concern n’ his gaping mouth. You’re bowing your body into his—manoeuvring your hips in somewhat of a circular motion, the slightest figure-eights and curves, that drag his tunneling cock juuuuuust right against every nook and cranny of your walls. Every hidden spot. “You’re gonna cum for me at least twice more, right?”

“I-I—I don’t know if that’s even possible!” Choso sputters, pushing his glasses up with his free hand- it was glossy with the excess of your slick from earlier.

And without warning, you’re leaning down to lightly lick off a bit of that glittering sheen.

Choso moans n’ feels his overly-stimulated length jolting away inside of you. “Baby, just consider the refractory period. Has it even been a few minutes since I last…?”

“Just about.” You’re smile. “Should be enough, no?”

“Though it varies based on age and health- when I can cum next depends on the blood redistribution, and how long prolactin and serotonin lasts in the body.” Choso admits then, albeit a bit sheepishly. “And I’m still fuh-feeling so goooood, baby- fuck I can’t—”

“But my smart boy’s gonna find a way, right?” Even if he couldn’t cum again, however - it was just too cute to watch Choso squirm like this. “When I said I wanted it inside, I wanted it stuffed inside, Cho.”

“S-stuffed…” He breathes - almost hypnotized by your pussy.

You’re grinding and swervin’ and clenching around his vein-loaded length in ways he could’ve only ever dreamed about before…“Mhm. Need it pouring out of me.” You beg, putting your best pleading expression on. “Need it up until…” 

Hands scouring up his front to press down on your stomach- almost up to your chest.

“-here.”

You pout. 

“If m’not bloated with your cum, Cho, is there even a point?”

“No there isn’t.” Choso’s jaw drops—as though the epiphany had just dropped on him. And no sooner are the words leaving his worry-bitten lips, he finds himself pumping wispy ropes of cum deep past your entrance. 

He doesn’t even know how he did it.

His body just seems to listen to you more than himself - and Choso jerks his pelvis up in synchronization with the faintish strings of cum that escape him. Thoroughly into your cunt. Thoroughly coating it on top of your womb.

You’re shivering as you feel the thin excess thwack! against your deepest innards. Such a lecherous feeling that cannot be replicated. 

Every time he strikes your spongy cervix, Choso lets out a sudden whimper. He sobs. He groooans. He’s fighting to clamor onto your body in any possible way that he could - your waist, your legs, your tits. It doesn’t matter where, Choso just needed to grab ahold of you and perhaps try to get you to fucking slow down—

“Please.” Every single letter in that word is botched with a cry, “P-please. Baby, keep riding me like this and you’re going to make me cum again-”

“Isn’t that the point? Third time’s the charm?” You ask. 

“Oh…” It’s then that he remembers that you’d said twice more- he has to cum twice more. Hiccuping, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Cocking your head with a smile, “And would you like to stop?”

“Not at all.”

Then you’re planting one hand in the middle of his defined chest for balance. Throwing your head back and ridin’ him silly.

Choso cries beneath you. Choso babbles. Torn between the pleasure of having those sweet, sopping lips wrapped ‘round him- and the insanity of his orgasm just barely bating before you’re attempting to hurtle him into another one. This was almost too much for his just recently-lost virginity, but Choso begs for more, more, more. “Please- please- that anterior wall of yours is so clo-”

With your other set of fingers then shoved into Choso’s pretty mouth- spit splashes from the sides of his lips. But he’s taking you so happily—“No no, keep going.” You tell him once his brows raise in surprise, “I just wanna watch my poor boyfriend struggle just a bit.”

“Mmmmpf- soooo good.” He lets out an agonized moan, muffled through the intrusion of your digits. You’re swirling them ‘round his mouth and watching him lightly choke on them. “I need to c-cum just once more, huh?”

Choso’s tears were enough to wash off the fog from his glasses lens.

And he blinks those teary eyes up at you - a few times before one of his hands slithers between your legs. Almost difficult, considering how the space between your two sweaty, crashing bodies was practically non-existant—but his long fingers find a way to thumb apart your puffy pussylips. Nearly swollen shut.

He runs the doughy tips of his digits across your clit, “Around it…just light kisses.” Choso murmurs to himself. “Juuust a little- ngh.”

A single squeeze of your fluttering walls leaves him reeling. 

“And then the good spots-” Peering down at your glossy cunt through his glasses, his half-lidded eyes. “The primary erogenous zones are the clitoris and introitus. Then the periurethral surrounding the urethra is also…oh…” Alternating between bashin’ his swollen cocktip against your g-spot, and thoroughly massaging every good spot he’d memorized.

“Shit…” You suddenly clench around him. “Keep going.”

He was seeing stars at the mere action. “And then the- hngh, even the perineum…” Fingers dipping just a liiiittle downwards to roll over that spot. He was unabashed - not in the state to be as he usually would. “And then fucking- at least as much as I can…here…” Slack-jawed, gaze unfocused. “My favorite is the clitoris.” The nerd presses the crescent pad of his thumb down on that knob.

Your hips are stutterin’ at the sheer amount of pleasure overwhelming you. Choso has taken up stimulating your clit in constant circular motions now. “I th-thought you said your favorite was the g-spot?”

“Both.”

As if on cue, he’s banging his thick tip against that ooooone spot.

Choso was stimulating you almost too well. Leaving you the one speechless as he drills his hips into you at a relentless pace—almost painfully desperate. 

“Good boy.” You whisper.

“Just need to make you- mmm, cum soon.” He states. “Because if you cum…then I’m sure to cum, too.”

Shoving a third finger in his mouth, he moans as he sucks. You hum, “And you’re sure you’re a virgin?”

“S’just everything you t-taught me.” He insists, mouth full yet listening to every word you said - if you expected an answer, then he was giving you an answer. “And sometimes…I’d search up…things online…”

“Online? Poor, innocent Choso Kamo watches porn?”

“Not that, I get too shy.” Choso responds. He blushes all the way down to the roots of his hair, “But using my textbooks, I’d- hah, read through them…study them…look at all the diagrams…”

You smirk. “Ever jerked off to a textbook, Choso?”

His jaw drops. “No…” Although you remain rather suspicious of the ever-deepening blush that seems to invade his cheeks—all the way down to his collarbones. “But I did jerk off just today.”

“Today?” One of your brows raise, “Don’t tell me this was- hah, before we met or…?”

He shakes his head. “After. After.” Big, bulbous tears make their way down his cheeks - and Choso tastes the salt on them as they splosh across his lips. You do too, as you kiss him. “S-snuck right into the bathroom at that ice cream parlor and- oh—”

“And what for? Saw a pretty someone at the neighboring table?”

Shaking his head even harder- “It was…you.”

“Me?”

“You said that thing- fuck, you said you needed me.” Choso’s dark chocolate-brown eyes glaze over as if he’s reminiscing the very moment. Living in it. “Under that table. And I couldn’t run to the bathroom faster to r-relieve myself.” Ah, this was that time then…

Your faux-boyfriend’s brows are then knitting.

His cock tunnels into you at an even more accelerated pace - one that leaves your head dizzy. Flinching at every run of his thumb down your pulsing clit. 

Choso finishes, “But I only lasted two pumps- the thought of you, ngh—” Thrusting in so deep that it felt as though, if he could go past your gooey cervix, then he long since would have. Choso thumps against the back of your cervix and remains there, “-wrapped around my cock and usin’ me to make your anterior- pussy feel pleasure was just too good of a fantasy for me.”

It’s a lewd admission.

It’s almost startling to hear this from Choso above all.

And it’s exactly what’s making you cum—just in time that he is. Your orgasm is prolonged and has been building up ever since he tickled your g-spot for the first time- “C-cumming—!” Belatedly, the announcement leaves your lips.

But Choso already knows.

He can already feel the rhythmic clenches of your sopping wet walls - the soft thing he’s ever felt. They’re tightening around him and tuggin’ on his pistoning cock like you didn’t fucking want him to leave. 

Toes curling. Back arching.

The bang after bang after bang right on that target of your g-spot meant that your orgasm was being intensified. Every peak left your thighs clenching around his waist, and you bounce your hips up n’ down furiously. Up n’ down. Up n’ down. “Yes- yes, yes, yes—and you’re c-cumming too, Cho.”

“I am?” Choso blinks his teary eyes down at your lower halves. The smacking of skin-against-skin was deafening, and Choso’s pelvis was rawly red due to the sheer friction. 

But more than that…he was feeling his even redder tip twitch a few times. Once. Twice. Thrice- before the warmth of bliss takes over his body. It’s a wave of euphoria even stronger than the last few, and it makes the nerdy boy flinch his hips up into yours- agonizingly good. He was hammering into you so animalistically- jabbing short, sloppy semi-thrusts. “I am.” Choso gasps out. “I’m cumming-”

He’d predicted as much earlier, but it actually worked?!

“M’filling you up, aren’t I?” Choso blabbers, a crazed smile on his face. “This virgin…I was able to stuff this pussy full.”

Lovingly patting your cunt. 

“So much so that- hah, look she’s even struggling to- ngh, take me. That cervix uteri is all flooded, huh? All drenched in me?” Through the waves of your high, you’re feeling your orgasm fizzle and pop as he rolls his thumb doooown your clit a few more times. “And these pretty labia of yours are all swollen- bloated with my cum, hm?”

“Mhm…” Before you blink a few times. “Oh- this one was shorter than the last though, wasn’t it? Maybe we need to go again- heh.”

“S’it already done? I…but I’m still…” Choso jabs out numerous more thrusts before he’s pulling out.

And whilst you’re interested in the squelch! and the feeling of hot, wet cum splashin’ out of you and onto his toned hips—Choso himself is more interested in the way his cock twitched n’ feels like he’s cumming…but nothing is actually coming out. 

“Orgasmic anejaculation?” He states in shock. “Baby, you’ve made me cum dry—”

“Oh.” Lips parting, you look down to watch as his pretty reddened tip jolts about irritatedly as though he was in the throes of his orgasm - and he was. It’s just that nothing was coming out. 

“I-it’s likely that this is due to the lack of semen replenishment. Thus, if there’s none left to-”

“So fourth time’s the charm, right?” You cock your head down at him with a smile.

Another time?!

His half-hard length twitches in interest.

“You really are going to be the death of me.”

Choso really, really needed to ask you out after this.

.

.

.

Ryomen Sukuna knew that the two of you weren’t dating.

He knew it.

He just had no way to prove it. 

That is…until one day, just a week after that initial introduction to you, Jin had bothered Sukuna into visiting his nephew. He’d made some cookies—some of your favorites that you’d briefly mentioned at the ramen place, and Jin had immediately gotten to work scouring through his recipes. Flipping through some of grandma’s old cookbooks - he really did get his love for cooking and baking from her.

And then trialing batch after batch of cookies in order to make the perfect one.

And Sukuna hadn’t minded, of course - no one in the house had. They each got to scarf down the ones that Jin deemed as ‘failed’ and they turned out as great as ever. Sukuna honestly didn’t know what more perfection Jin was searching for—especially not for someone he knew Choso was surely paying you in some manner…

There was no conceivable world in which his nephew - as much as Sukuna respected him, for the sole reason that he was related to him (and anyone in some proximity to the great Ryomen Sukuna can’t be all that bad…) - would ever have enough courage to ask a real person out. Let alone someone as electric as you?

Let alone have you say yes?!

Something was up. And Sukuna was on the case.

At least after he finishes this mountain of cookies…

Either way, it took an entire week for Jin to perfect his cookies. And once completed, he’d thumped Sukuna over the head with a couch cushion and told him to go deliver them to Choso.

Unfortunately they hadn’t managed to catch your address or anything of the sort - and there was no telling when Choso would have enough time between his studies and library-haunting to visit. Thus, it’d be easier to just have Sukuna (who was far too busy doing a whole load of nothing) drop the cookies off at Choso’s apartment and let him give it to you.

Jin could trust Choso with handing them to you safe n’ sound.

He couldn’t trust Sukuna not to swallow them whole on the way, however…

So it was with a tonne of brotherly intimidation and threatening brandishes of that cushion that Jin waved Sukuna off—‘you better not eat those cookies, Ryo.’

But Sukuna promised. He promised.

He had other, more important, things on his mind - like cornering Choso into admitting that the two of you actually weren’t dating. Maybe if he didn’t relent so easily, he’d even look around the apartment to check for signs of you or anything you’d left behind—after five months of dating, surely, there’d be some evidence, wouldn’t there?

And then maybe he’d eat the cookies- hah!

The perfect plan.

Ryomen Sukuna what a genius you were, what a mastermind—who said that Jin was the smarter brother?! It was Sukuna that liked literature and poetry (wait, was nerdiness genetic?) No one should underestimate the sheer underappreciated brilliance of a prodigy like-

“Choso’s uncle?” He gapes as you answer the door- and you’re just as beautiful as he remembered you. And oh, alright—Sukuna admits you’re beautiful. Gorgeous, actually.

Which is also why he found it hard to believe that Choso could ever manage to bag you- sure, he wasn’t bad looking…but that’s only because Choso was related to him.

Then again, he wasn’t any Ryomen Sukuna.

A Ryomen Sukuna that was feeling rather…a lot…small as he looks at you.

Your eyes widen as you recognize who your visitor was, though your smile never falters.

“Oh, Cho should be right out. Please come in, have you eaten breakfast yet? You should join us!”

Opening the door even wider, though he stands as still as a statue. 

“Is…everything alright.”

No movement once more. No answer, either.

“Ummm, maybe it’s more comfortable there then?” You’re awkwardly smiling at his lack of a response - this certainly wasn’t the Ryomen Sukuna that you’d met at the family dinner…And perhaps at the same time, you’re realizing why.

Because you weren’t just answering Choso’s apartment door—you were doing so in nothing but sleep shorts and a humerus-related t-shirt that was most definitely not yours. And above the hem of that ratty t-shirt were a series of bite marks, nail marks down your neck…such an obscene display that makes you immediately yelp and tug your neckline upwards.

Though Sukuna remains gawking. “I uh…”

“I am so sorry.” You’re blubbering away, and when your neckline fails to cover you adequately without showing off the similar marks on your midriff- you’re reaching your hands up instead. “We’d just been making breakfast, and I’d completely forgot-”

“No, that’s fine uh…” Goodness, when has the rough n’ tough Sukuna ever floundered like this? “It’s my fault for coming unannounced um…”

“What’s this?” Another voice sounds from inside the apartment.

Soon enough, Choso’s joining the two of you at the door—he’s in JBA sweatpants and pulling on a t-shirt as he walks. With whatever mercy that the universe had granted Sukuna, Choso sneaks up behind you, so he doesn’t see whatever similar markings might have been left on him as Choso finally wears his t-shirt properly. 

There’s amusement in Choso’s tone as he adjusts his glasses and speaks, “I never thought I’d see the day that you apologize to anyone, uncle Ryo.”

Choso throws an arm over your shoulder - the intimacy was palpable. Something far more different than at the ice cream parlor, and yet…Sukuna should’ve recognized the same admiring glint in Choso’s eyes back then, too.

The apartment behind was messy in that domestic way. There were eggs frying on the stove. 

“Sh-shut it.” Sukuna spits. “This is all your…girlfriend’s fault.”

Ah, you really were his girlfriend. The great Ryomen Sukuna has been wrong. How could this be? How could he fathom such a thing?

He takes a big bite out of one of those cookies. 

A/N. Oh Kuna dw I’m here for you <33

Plagiarism not authorized.

[bearlovestea]

閻魔大王!Sukuna x dead!reader (Enma Daiō!Sukuna)

synopsis: Sukuna, as Enma Daiō—the king of hell and the judge of the deceased—who judges a cute ghost.

wc: 2.8k

warnings: smut 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, use of pet names (doll, baby, sweetheart), reader is dead (mention of car accident), Sukuna's lovesick

a/n: inspired by Hozuki's Coolheadedness yayyy

“Next,” Sukuna lazily shouted, boredly watching the old excuse of a motherfucker being taken off for the rest of the judging process. The king of hell snickered to himself as he remembered the guy’s face pale when he sentenced the douchebag to be burned for eternity.

The majority of the dead that came over to his palace to be judged by him were elderly people, so imagine his surprise when the demon staffs brought in a cute girl, with pretty doe eyes and pouty lips, who even made the ugly white robe the dead have to wear look like a tantalisingly pretty night gown.

Sukuna’s pupils dilated black, his head swimming with dizziness as he stared at you, practically drooling as you cowered beneath his intense, crimson eyes. The sweat on his temple slowly glided down his sharp jaw, the weirdly humid yet also dry, hot environment of hell definitely the only reason why his body was feeling too hot in the skin.

“Um… hello?” your soft, delicate and pretty voice rang out across the hall timidly, not knowing whether the silence and his staring was a good thing.

Fuck, you sound so sweet, and looked so fucking adorable.

Blinking slowly, he straightened up slightly and gave you a lazy, cocky, and self-assured smirk. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing here?”

The smirk widened at the sight of your pretty blush, your flighty eyes lowered to the stone floor as you murmured gently, “I had a car accident…”

Sukuna hummed, brows furrowed in sympathy.

“Bad luck, huh?” he said, his voice a deep rumbling in his chest, fond and affectionate as he watched you squirm.

“Yeah… that sounds about right,” you agreed with a soft cute sigh, eyes heartwrenchingly dejected.

“My lord, shall we move on to her judge?” Uraume cleared their throat and looked down at the scroll of all of your records. 

This time, Sukuna fully straightened up with a nod, receiving the scroll with one of his four, meaty hands, noticing your eyes on them with a silent smirk.

Uraume started to list off very minor crimes you have done in your life, which all made Sukuna chuckle amusedly as he caught onto your embarrassed blush on your face. In the end, he judged you to go to heaven, chest warming as he saw your face relax and you sighed softly.

“Thank you,” you said sweetly, bowing to him. So polite.

“Mm, of course,” Sukuna grinned. “I’ll see you around, sweetheart.”

You were taken away by some of the guards, and his smirk widened, pupils dilating as he saw you glance back at him, smiling shyly. Once you were gone and the next dead person was just about to enter, Sukuna straightened up. 

“Uraume,” he said, voice booming as a grin curled on his lips. “Can you—”

“I fail to understand how that’s appropriate, my lord,” they replied with a sigh, rubbing their temple in their usual stress.

Sukuna raised a brow at them before scoffing. “Don’t argue with me. Get that girl out of the judging process.”

“Oh lord.”

༊·˚°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You’re sprawled across the enormous, mahogany table, your white robe stripped away to reveal your skin, glistening with the humidity.

Sukuna softly cursed at how soft and small you looked underneath him, so delectable as he dove to the crook of your neck to lap at the small bead of sweat collected at your collarbone. His deep hum vibrated against your body, and a smile spread across his lips against your skin once he felt you shiver.

“Come on, doll. Let me make you feel good.”

Your doe eyes stared up at him as you nodded coyly from under your lashes, breathlessly replying, begging, “Yes please.”

“Good girl,” he cooed. Laying his large palm flat underneath your thigh, he lifted your leg to press them by your sides. Without any hesitation, he dove in between your legs, down to your pussy, his adam’s apple bopping as he slurped, swallowed and gulped down on your sweet juices. 

“Hahh, ngh—”

“Fuck, ‘m so thirty. You taste so good doll,” he groaned, pushing his nose against your clit, lapping at your juices desperately with insistent licks like a mutt. He let out a pathetic moan as your hands flew to his head, gripping at the pink strands of his hair to move it up and down, up and down to ride him better. “Hahh—”

His hot breath panted against your glistening folds, giving attention to your clit by slurping it, suckling at the adorable nub and flicking his tongue against it. Your moans got louder, sweeter, making his head incredibly dizzy and he couldn’t resist from pushing his thick knuckled finger into your puckering hole.

“Aghh, Sukuna—!” you gasped, eyes bulging out as you tried to squirm your thighs away, trying to wrap them around his head, only to feel his calloused hands insistently pushing harder against your chest, folding you easily.

“Yes, doll?” he snickered, pulling himself away from your pussy monetarily to look down at you, his chin slobbered with your slick—even the roots of his hair were damp, sticking to his forehead and temple. He mercilessly pumped his single finger inside your pussy, stretching your tight hole that tried to clamp down on him adorably.

“Please…” you begged, babbling his name darlingly as your thighs started to quake from how he started to flick and massage his finger tip against your wall.

“Please what?” he taunted. He pressed himself against you, his thickkkkk belly tongue lolling out to lap at your clit and your pussy around his finger to slobber with his spit. “Love your manners, sweetheart, but you gotta tell me what you want properly.”

“I—” You let out a surprised scream as he inserted a second finger inside your cute hole, pumping faster-faster-faster to slap his knuckles rudely against your swelling folds.

“Can’t, heh, hear you from all of the sound your pussy’s making,” he grinned. “So wet, sucking me in, so fucking greedy. Can you hear her begging my fingers to stay?”

Splat, splat, splat—

“At this point, I should just throw you to hell since your pussy’s so greedy and wants the king of hell to keep fucking her,” he laughed crudely, pussydrunk just from eating you out and fingering you, the sensation of your walls around his skin enough to have him reeling. “Or maybe to Samghata Hell, since you’re such a filthy slut…”

He added a third finger, swirling his thick digits inside your pussy.

“Gonna cum, cum-cumming!!”

“Mm, go ahead, doll,” he purred, cackling as he slammed his fingers roughly. Stars burst out behind your eyes as the tight coil of your belly finally being released, and you convulsed around his fingers, coming hard. Sukuna fucked you through it, helping you chase your climax, watching you with heart eyes as he saw your face contort in pleasure.

One of his other hands found your clit again to rub them generously, making you whine pathetically from the overstimulation. Pulling his fingers out of your pussy, he brought them to his pink lips to roughly suck on your juices collected at the crevices of his skin. His eyes rolled back, a deep hum rumbling from inside his chest as he tasted you. Noticing your hazy eyes staring up at him, he smirked and made a show of lapping at his fingertips—filthy. 

Pushing his spit covered fingers into your small mouth, his pupils dilated black as he watched you suckle on them, hollowing out your cheeks.

“Actually, nevermind,” he murmured, rudely taking his hand away from your mouth to roughly kiss your lips instead. A soft, delighted sigh whisked out of you as you kissed him back, suckling on his tongue, making his lips tugged into a satisfied smirk.

Tugging your lower lip with his teeth, Sukuna’s four, heavily lidded eyes watched your glassy look on your face, feeling your breathless pants against his lips as his thick belly tongue started to pump in and out, in and out inside your pussy. “T-Too much, ‘kuna, hahh…”

“Yeah? Well, I changed my mind,” he murmured fondly. “Should just hire you to sit prettily on the Mountain of Needles. Have those dead losers try to have their hands on you, have them hurt themselves as they desperately try to climb up those needles… Then”—At the same, Sukuna pushed his fingers back inside your hole, this time adding another fourth finger to fist out your tight little pussy, the schlick-schlick sound of your wet pussy echoing across the hall—“I’ll fuck you on top of the mountain, have those motherfuckers watch you take my cock like a good girl, stretching your pussy out for my fat cock like the slut you are. You like that?”

“Yes yes yes!” you whined, tossing your head back, clenching your walls around his fingers tantalisingly.

Fuuuck.

“So cute, doll. So sweet for me,” he purred, leaning in to kiss your jaw. His nose nuzzled against your neck, and the scent of your sweat and aroma hit his nostrils like a damn truck. His cock twitched and convulsed, feeling too tight in his pants.

“Fuck me baby,” he groaned, toppling his weight on top of you. His lips peppered the shell of your ear with soft kisses. “You ready for me to fuck you properly?”

“Mmm, fuck—! Yes please, please…” Your blabbers went on, slurred at the end of your vowels. “Want you so bad, please!!!”

“So fucking well-mannered. Such a cute little pup,” he cooed, licking your cheek with a slowwww glide of his tongue against your adorable fat. Sukuna giggles when he hears you laugh softly at the dog lick.

Slowly, he allowed himself to lift his weight off of you, heading down to kiss your neck, collarbone, then your tits, suckling your nipple while his other hand grips your other tit. Finally, he took his lips off of your skin and stood up to his full height.

You watched him through your hooded eyes in anticipation, the tip of your mouth collecting drool as he hooked his thumbs on his waistband, all the while two of his lower arms held your thighs open. As Sukuna tugged his pants down, your eyes widened as a pair of fat cocks sprung out and you reflexively tried to clamp your thighs shut, only to be met with his strong hands forcing your legs to open up more.

He smirked down at you cockily as you tried to squirm away from his grip. “What’s the matter, doll? Thought you’ll let me take care of you.”

“B-But… you have two?” you pouted, tears forming in your eyes, especially when Sukuna gave you a lazy shrug. “It won’t fit…” 

“Shhh, it will,” he murmured, placing a gentle kiss just below your eye to wipe the tear away before grinning down at you. “Don’t gotta worry your pretty little head about it.”

Sukuna bit his lower lip as he tapped-tapped-tapped his cock against your clit, swivering the tip against your nub, mesmerised by how his precum and your juices mixed together, seeing how your pussy drooled and trailed down to the sleek surface of the table. Two of his hands stroked his thick shaft, and he snickered as he saw you eye the veins on his arms.

Swiping his thumb on his slit, Sukuna shoved the finger into your drooling mouth, chuckling as you smiled around him to suck his pre.

“Heh, gotta have you suck my dick off under this desk,” he groaned. “Make the judging hours good for me…”

You hummed around his thumb, nodding eagerly.

“Next time,” he chuckled. Holding his lower dick, he teasingly glided it up and down your pussy lips, from down to your hole to up to your cute clit. Sukuna gripped your thighs tightly, bracing himself before he slowly sunk into your tight hole. “…Fuck.”

His tip smooched your opening before squeezing into your pussy, your gooey walls clamping and squeezing him tightly, making his eyes roll to the back of his head and his mouth to part, panting.

“Ah— shit…” He pushed into your hole a little more, making you mewl and hands flying onto his shoulders, nails digging into his tough skin. A laugh rumbled out of him, crazed and hazy, as he started to rock his hips slowly. Every thrust pushed deeper into you, his thick veins massaging every nerve lovingly and his tip teasingly approaching closer to your cervix. His other two hands found your hip, his thumbs caressing your skin and fingers digging into your plush ass to pull you in, bottoming out.

A scream tore from you, the voice echoing and bouncing across the large hall, followed by the squelch-squelch of his balls slapping at the wetness of your skin.

“Ah, fuck-fuck-fugck—” Sukuna roughly slammed his hips against yours, growling with a boisterous laugh, watching your eyes roll back to your skull. “Feel good, yeah? You, agh, feel so good, doll. So, so good—”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you desperately pulled him closer, lips flushedly brushing against his chapped ones, panting against him, “Feels good, feels good, Sukuna. Don’t stop—!”

Bringing a hand down to your pussy, he stacked his other dick on top of your folds, pressing his girth on your clit. Your lips parted into a soft ‘oh’ as you felt his thick cock rub against your clit every time he thrusted his hips against your. Your nails raked down his back as you held onto him tightly, whining and moaning as you felt his weight crush on top of you from the mean mating press.

Sukuna tossed his head back, slapping his heavy balls against your ass as he roughly thrusted. Hooking your knees on his arms, he hugged you tightly, folding you impossibly tighter than it was possible before nuzzling his nose against your neck.

“Never fucked a pretty little dead ghost before, but… shitt, feels so good,” he rambled on, so so pussydrunk. “You’ll be my pretty girl, won’t you? Warm my bed for the night, we can bathe together in the night before we go to sleep. We’ll fuck every morning, lunch and night— heh, wonder if I can even knock you up…”

Sukuna felt your walls clench around his cock at that, making his cheeks flush bright pink, head dizzy and so fucking hazy. “You’ll like that, won’t you?”

You had the audacity to look shy at that after everything, cheeks prettily mirroring his blossoming hue, eyes darted away as you nodded bashfully. Sukuna felt his heart throb and race and without a thought, he pulled you against his chest and hauled you up. Kissing your cute yelp away with full on tongue and teeths, he had two of his hands cradle your face reverently then the other two to spread your legs more, holding you as he stood to his full height.

Now you truly couldn’t escape from the pleasure, because his fat tip was punishingly smacking your cervix, then that special spot that made your eyes roll and only see white, desperately gasping for air. 

Sukuna found it too adorable how you held onto him tightly, whining against his ear like an adorable little pup as he had you bounce on his chubby cock while his second one continued to rub against your clit roughly. You keened cried out when his belly tongue lolled out to lovingly lap at your clit around his cock as well.

“Hahh, I’m close, ‘kuna.”

“Then cum, sweetheart,” he moaned, picking up speed. “Cum on my cock.”

With a cry, you came undone, your body and pussy spasming around his cock. He settled you back on the cool mahogany table, weight crushing on top of you as he panted and kept pistoning into your pussy, chasing his high.

“Shit, shit, shit!"

With a loud grunt, he gave a final thrust, heaving in effort as he came inside, painting your walls in white.

"That was good,” he breathed heavily, peppering your jaw with kisses. He watched you with amusement lighting up in his eyes, seeing your eyes glazed over, staring up at the ceiling blankly, chest rising and falling in rapid rhythm, blissed out. “You good?”

You blinked then nodded absentmindedly.

Chuckling, he scooped you up to hold you against him as he sat back onto his large chair, running his large palm across your back.

He silently promised to himself that he would never have you escape him into heaven. No, you’re going to stay with him, true to his words for the rest of eternity. A cute little dead ghost warming his bed.

Yeah, that sound better than heaven.

taglist (open)! @daflex, @moonlightbunnies, @brightbriefs

dividers: @/bronzewasp

[abyssyby]

the little twins — masterlist (2)

<- 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝒑𝒕. 1

littles on: things that make them smile

kyros on: lucian being softy

urs on: kieran & luke's littles

the family on: loving mama

sylus & the littles on: mama's kisses

littles on: interruptions

mama on: two tomatoes

the littles on: squeaky shoes

the littles on: mama's name

sylus on: tiny helpers

the biggies on: the mama subscription

sneak peek: dear isel

kyros on: little monkeys

the littles on: part-time jobs

sylus and kyros on: words

urs on: sylus as a father + urs on: crow family discipline ☆༉

sylus on: sound effects

the family on: jellycat dragons

the littles on: fishing with papa ☆༉

littles on: clinging to mama ☆༉

lucian on: authority ☆༉

the littles on: birthday cakes☆༉ + doter zayne on: not-cakes ☆༉

sylus on: transportation ☆༉

the littles on: kissing papa's helmet ☆༉

the littles on: preferred parents ☆༉

the family on: spa days ☆༉

kyros on: airplanes ☆༉

the family on: apple juice, injuries & habits ☆༉

mephisto on: social media ☆༉

the littles on: the lion king ☆༉

the littles on: random giggles ☆༉

lucian on: nightmares ☆༉ + kyros on: sympathy ☆༉

the littles on: their parents' jobs (ft. mr. raf!) ☆༉

mama & papa on: the littles turning into kittens ☆༉

[abyssyby]

sylus x reader | sylus & his family | fluff, cute sylus, messy drunk kieran, amused mama, angst (huh?? what??), comfort (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

tw: vomiting, inebriation, pregnancy, mentions of abandonment

sylus is just a little buzzed.

is what he first told you when he walked in through the front door with the slightest of wobbles. immensely noticeable knowing his usual, confident and unshakable stride.

you don’t hear.

kieran, trailing behind him, is a lot more far gone on his brother’s shoulder. you tend to him first, missing the slower movements of sylus’s arms raising to greet you and sidestepping him completely.

“gotta clean up puke in the car,” luke says. he seems unaffected by the evening’s outcomes, in fact begrudging the night now entirely. “kier’s a pig. worst birthday ever.”

you nod and take kieran’s limp arm and slump it around your shoulders, as if your frame would be enough to support his dead weight. he hiccups, “ma, i frew up…”

“i know, kier, it’s okay.” you pat his cheek and start the shuffle-walk towards a surface he can rest on.

you barely make it a few steps before the weight is lifted off your shoulders and kieran is hoisted up and over sylus’s shoulder.

“sy—“

he grunts, lumbering into the living room and tossing kieran on a couch haphazardly. kieran groans but slumps like dirty laundry over the arm rest.

then sylus returns, a willow hovering over you with limp limbs and a head hung low. you reach up to touch his face, feverish against your palm, and frown. “you didn’t puke too, did yo—!”

his shoulder muffles the rest of what you have to say, smelling fruity and tangy from his choice of alcohol, as he presses his forehead to your neck. “just buzzed.”

his arms circle your frame, larger now with the little heartbeats growing stronger in you, and you’re enveloped in his warmth. slightly off, but just as meaningful.

“papa’s just buzzed.” he whispers to your ear, and it tickles.

“looks like papa doesn’t know how to hold his alcohol.” you tease. you should have warned the twins that sylus is a poor drinking buddy when it comes to the harder fun drinks the youths tend to order.

but you couldn’t crush their drinking with dad dreams, especially now— in this time of sylus’s life—he takes pride in the title more than ever.

sylus was reluctant, not because he didn’t want to indulge, but you’ve just entered your second trimester and he’s been loathe to leave you since… well, since the announcement.

you teased him about being clingy, he whined in the privacy of your bedroom to your baby bump. tattling to your child how mama is keeping him and them apart.

but eventually, he caved and brought the unmasked twins to one of his more private speakeasy’s. which then, maybe escalated into something more neon and bouncy, you aren’t sure. the state of kieran tells you so much and so little all at once.

“i can!” sylus protests.

“f—ck! i gotta fy-ook!” kieran hiccups behind you in distress.

when you start to rush to find something to catch it, sylus holds you in place. you hiss at him. “sy! it’s gonna get on the carpet.”

“luke will clean it.”

you push him away just enough for him to tube-man upright. but kieran has already found a vase and stuck his face into it, now hurling accordingly.

“see?” sylus slurs. “my kids are smart.”

kieran’s dry heaves echo into the hollow artifact and trigger your own reflexes. suddenly, your stomach isn’t feeling so well. you pry away the corded muscles around your waist and sprint to the bathroom.

outside, amidst the chaos, sylus is bellowing. “kieran, look what you’ve done!”

and kieran is wailing, “i’m sorry! i’m s—orry!”

“ohh, i’m going to kill you.” luke returns just in time to witness his twin’s mess into the vase.

sylus is there, standing like a stunned specter when you emerge from the bathroom door. he blinks a few times like he’s rebooting before he places both hands on your cheeks. “are you okay?”

“yes,” you say kindly, stroking his ring fingers with your thumbs. “don’t yell at them.”

“okay.” he nods, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing. “sorry.”

he turns his head and yells into the hallway. “sorry!”

“s’okay, dad.” luke calls back, tired.

“we love you, dad!” kieran cries, voice crackly and strained.

sylus grins, goofy and loopy, chuckling once and slowly turning back to you. “i like being dad.”

you smile at him. it’s been such a time since you’ve seen him drunk, and the last time wasn’t nearly as tame as this. tonight he’s just… happy and cute.

“do you hear me?” he asks, pressing his nose to your bump as he falls to his knees. “i love being your dad.”

“he isn’t even out yet.” you laugh, nails against his scalp that make him melt further onto you.

“doesn’t matter.” he murmurs, peppering kisses over what he believes is the little’s foot. “i’m dad. m’papa.”

he clings to you and snuggles his face into your belly when you sit among your boys in the living room. there, you laugh as luke paints you a picture of their night. how the speakeasy didn’t escalate into a full party, rather a case of your husband’s singing bug.

“boss sang like, seven songs.” luke says, and you laugh when sylus groans into your side. sedated only by your gentle caresses through his hair. “then, a gooey duet with kieran.”

“on the wings of love is a classic and you’re a—hic— pleb for not knowing it.” kieran interjects.

luke ignores him, still upset about cleaning up after his brother twice. “they sang through, like, three bottles of brandy.”

“and sum’beer.” adds kieran. “soo fun.”

“not fun.” grumps about luke.

sylus pouts against you. “you guys said you like it when i’m fun.”

“bossss,” kieran sings. “you were awesome. i will never—hic— ever—hic— ever forget tonight.”

luke watches his brother warily, but then softens when he looks back at sylus. “he’s right. tonight was pretty sick, boss.”

“dad.” sylus corrects, his voice now a grumble teetering towards unconsciousness. “i’m a dad—a’papa.”

“a’papa!” kieran responds enthusiastically, as if sylus had just recited a psalm. he closes his eyes and murmurs it to himself happily over and over.

“i think a’papa needs to go to bed.” you say, brushing back sylus’s hair from his eyes to see them closed. his mouth now slightly ajar too as his breathing steadies.

kieran’s echos fade too shortly after, and soon turn to soft snores.

only you and luke are left awake to witness the crackle of the dying fire in its hearth.

quietly, you ask. “why didn’t you drink?”

luke clicked his tongue and took a while. “i did.”

“but?”

he twists to retrieve a folded piece of parchment from his pocket. its crinkles sounding solemn as it is placed gently into your hands.

you give him a curious look as he sits back and waves for you to open it.

in big, bold, elegant font, it reads:

CERTIFICATE OF LIVE BIRTH

秦薛明 — Lucas Qin

luke turns shy when you look back at him. suddenly, his fingernails have turned interesting that it needs all of his attention.

“i hope you don’t mind.” is the first thing he utters and you are appalled at his words. “or he discussed it with you. we don’t expect you to think of us as yours, but we—we’d love to be part of the fa…”

his voice trails away when you plop yourself beside him and wrap him in a tender embrace. “of course you’re mine.”

he sniffles for the first time since you’ve known him. you don’t dare to look. but he leans his head towards you and swallows. “i didn’t want to forget.

“i didn’t want to wake up and maybe think… it was all a dream.”

all their lives— such hard and painful ones— they never had more than the other. never been wanted. never belonged.

at the gift presented to them, once pristine in the folders sylus had meticulously placed the parchment in, luke and kieran felt as if they had been killed, burned and reborn anew.

unmasked. with a face. with a name.

after years of always pausing by the door and waiting by the barrier, never did they think that they would be invited in.

and that will always be there to haunt them, the idea of being impostors in places they aren’t supposed to be in. where they think they fit, but their reality is bathed in delusion they would blame on their nonexistent childhood.

but now written, they will have something to tell them it’s all true.

“happy birthday.” you kiss his temple. he freezes at the affection, at the difference it makes coming from someone other than his brother. from another member of the family.

and as if you knew what he needed to hear, you swear.

you swear as if it is known, written in the stars eons ago. indisputable by fate or anything brutal that makes its demands. a truth you have lived and remembered and etched into your bones. you swear,

“you’ve always been our sons.”

a kick against his elbow that rests just by your belly is all is needed for him to believe it.

thank you for reading! ❀(*´◡`*)❀

秦薛明 (Qin Xuē Míng) - luke’s chinese name + sylus’s last name

[purrtoru]

uncle kuna series

a small no-curses au where reader is sukuna‘s girlfriend, and he’s yuji‘s and choso‘s uncle ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

taglist: open! ( comment on this to be added )

ᯓ★ introducing you to his nephews

ᯓ★ kuna’s jealous of yuji being your fav

ᯓ★ coming over, but not for your boyfriend

ᯓ★ you‘re taking care of his sick nephews

ᯓ★ his nephews make him apologize after an argument

ᯓ★ someone mistakes you for a family

ᯓ★ getting ready with them

ᯓ★ kuna accidentally teaches yuji a swear word

ᯓ★ his nephews and you draw his tattoos on yourselves

ᯓ★ kuna realizing he might be jealous after all

ᯓ★ more to come. . .

[sweethearticism]

──── GUYS MY AGE DON'T KNOW HOW TO LOVE ME ₎ა ˙˖

ᘛ ꒰ 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑!𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐗 𝐅.𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 ੭

guys your age just really don't know how to do it for you huh? not a problem when he's twice your age though, hunny.

ᝰ.☆ cws : age gap ( 20s/40s ) :: smut :: modern aus :: crime syndicates :: violence :: scandal :: tropes and subversions :: romanceable oc ( gojo enari )

˖ ࣪૮₍ 𝓕.𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ::

꒰ CEO!TORU ꒱ ꒰ ASSASSIN TRAINER!KUNA ꒱

⤿ x college girl reader ⤿ x assassin reader

꒰ CRIMEBOSS!SUGU ꒱ ꒰ FASHION DESIGNER!ENARI ꒱

⤿ x sugar baby reader ⤿ x model reader

──── comment to be added to taglist ₎ა ˙˖

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/cursed-carmine & @/angeliicide

[sweethearticism]

NEED TO ADD SATOSHI AND HIGURUMA

[fireflyschiikawa]

husband!sukuna : beach episode

the sun pours over your body as you walk along empty handed with sukuna holding all the bags and beach equipment. baby!yuji patters along on the mildly hot sand, running on levels of adrenaline only a six year old could muster.

the beach is filled with families similar to yours, children playing in the water, people tanning in the deliciously hot sun and rounds of volleyball being tossed around by large friend groups.

sukuna places down your lounging chairs with an attached shaded umbrella, and plops down with all the bags containing various miscellaneous things.

yuji sticks his tongue out slightly, eyes lighting up with mischief and tries to make a beeline for the water before you grab him by the collar.

“no one gets out there without sunscreen” you wave a finger at him, instructing him to settle down.

yuji pouts impatiently swinging his legs while you get out the bottle of kids sunscreen and rub it on every bit of his exposed skin.

your son wrinkles his nose when you reach for his face applying the lotion in soft rhythmic motions. you proceed to pinch his cheeks and give him a little kiss there while yuji giggles.

sukuna watches you fuss over the brat with mild amusement. his eyes squint under the sun, and drop to admire what you’ve got on.

a frilly little thing exposing your beautiful curves.

sukuna scans the area noting any men looking towards your general direction and stares them down with a cutting glare only he could manage. a look that screamed ‘look away before i come dislocate that head myself’ for good measure.

while yuji runs off to play in the sand, you turn to him with the sunscreen bottle in hand and a knowing smile.

“your turn”

sukuna scoffs from where he’s sprawled back in the beach chair, one arm lazily hanging off the side.

“i don’t burn”

“yes you do”

“i literally don’t”

“your nose got pink last time”

his eyes narrow immediately, “it did not.”

“you then complained that it itched and brooded about it the whole time”

“i don’t brood”

you hum ignoring his offense entirely and pat your thighs.

“c’mere”

he stares at you for a long second before clicking his tongue and leaning forward anyway because despite all his dramatics, sukuna has never once denied you when you used that tone on him.

you snort as sukuna settles in front of you. his massive frame blocks the sun completely and he smells like saltwater and heat already despite barely having stepped into the ocean.

you squeeze sunscreen into your palms and rub it across his shoulders.

his muscles flex beneath your hands while you smooth lotion over the dark markings curling along his skin, careful and thorough despite the way he eyes you.

you drag your fingers over his neck and jaw, rubbing sunscreen into the bridge of his nose while he looks deeply inconvenienced by affection.

“look down”

“this is humiliating.”

“look down, so i can get the back of your neck.”

he grumbles under his breath but tilts his chin downward anyway. his previously bored, half lidded eyes, dilate at the sight of your cleavage, right. in. his. face.

how blissful.

yuji bursts into giggles. you had spiked up sukuna’s hair to stand up in a funky way.

“you look funny papa”

sukuna grimaces.

“want me to throw you into the ocean?”

“yeah!”

“…”

you laugh so hard you nearly smear sunscreen into sukuna’s eye.

you take turns, with sukuna now applying sunscreen onto your back.

eventually yuji tears off toward the shoreline with a plastic bucket in hand, sandals abandoned somewhere behind him.

you lean back into your chair with a satisfied sigh while sukuna sits beside you, one arm draped lazily behind your head.

for a while the two of you simply watch.

yuji jumps over tiny waves, yelling triumphantly every single time he successfully crosses one.

he crouches to collect shells with complete seriousness only to abandon them three seconds later because another wave has appeared.

his little laugh carries over the water. your chest feels warm.

“he looks like you when he gets excited,” you murmur, nuzzling against the base of sukuna’s neck.

“poor kid”

you elbow him lightly, “it is cute sukuna, you are cute”

before sukuna can mull over your words, yuji suddenly turns around spotting the two of you immediately.

“papa!! come here!!”

sukuna pretends not to hear,

“papa!!”

you mouth a slight ‘go’ as your husband sighs dramatically before obliging as per usual.

the water reaches just beneath his knees when yuji grabs his hand excitedly and starts dragging him around with all the strength a six year old could possess.

you pad in after them enjoying the waves and the feel of soft sand beneath your bare feet.

you smile to yourself. it is almost absurd seeing sukuna getting ordered around by a child carrying a neon orange shovel.

yuji points toward a lopsided sandcastle near the shore, “help me make it BIGGER” he sticks his arms out to act out how big he wanted it to be.

sitting back down on your chair you try not to look too amused as sukuna crouches down into the sand.

his large hands awkwardly shape wet sand while yuji gives deeply unnecessary instructions beside him.

“more tower”

sukuna looks over at you, pleading for an escape. you wave him off.

“it’s a sandcastle not a fortress” he mutters back.

“more tower” yuji runs about, sometimes gathering sand and sometimes water. most of the time being largely unhelpful.

sukuna clicks his tongue and adds another tower.

hours later the sky begins softening into gold.

yuji’s exhausted enough now to become clingy, dragging his feet through the sand while holding onto sukuna’s hand.

“i need to wash my feet” you brush sand off your legs with a tired groan.

before you can even move, sukuna bends down and scoops you into his arms effortlessly.

you yelp, “kuna—”

he pats you lower thigh,“stop squirming”

people nearby glance over briefly before immediately looking away once sukuna glares in their direction.

you hide your snicker against his shoulder while he carries you toward the rinse station near the boardwalk.

the water runs cool over your feet as he holds you securely against his chest, an arm around your waist like you weigh nothing at all.

yuji stands beside him sleepily rubbing his eyes.

once your feet are clean, sukuna sets you carefully onto the bench.

then without a word, he crouches down.

you blink.

“..what’re you doing?”

he grabs your sandals from beside the bench.

“your feet’ll get dirty again.”

years of loving him and your heart still stutters stupidly.

sukuna slides the sandals onto your feet one by one with mild annoyance etched across his face, but you know better. his love language when it came to you, was acts of service.

meanwhile yuji watches with narrowed eyes, “papa..?”

“what.”

“that’s sooo romantic” he smiles ear to ear.

sukuna immediately flicks water at his forehead.

yuji screeches dramatically while you laugh loud enough that people turn to look again.

“where did he even learn that?” sukuna asks, a mild smile overtaking his usual harsh features.

you shrug, in a dream-like trance, the domesticity of this moment making your heart soar.

and for once, sukuna doesn’t care at all.

firefly; you guys wanted longer fics so hehe i hope this was good

more like this

[chanelrolls]

when i see you cry, it makes me smile :)

pairing. caleb x afab!reader

synopsis. he's always been a bit sadistic and too obsessively ill with you, and you failed to notice every time.

tags. nsfw, heavy smut, slowburn, plot-based, so much tension, coming-of-age, childhood love, friends to lovers, pseudocest, mutual pining, dacryphilia, obsession, sadistic caleb, resisting and yearning caleb, depraved caleb, emotional reader, crybaby reader, m!masturbating, him doing it to ur pics, fingering, backshots, rough sex, slight manhandling, talking thru it, pacing is slow but worth it!

a/n. i would like to credit paiya443 for giving me this brilliant idea. check her out on tiktok, guys!

wc. 7k

you and caleb grew up in a neighborhood where the afternoons smelled like sun-warmed pavement and fresh laundry, where the trees on your street dipped low enough that caleb could pluck leaves to tuck behind your ear. your families lived door-to-door; yards practically bled into each other. it was the kind of closeness adults called fate and kids never questioned.

and from the very beginning, caleb belonged to you in a way no one ever explained to him.

you were ten when you first cried in front of him. he was twelve, watching your tiny body tremble over a scraped knee you got because you followed him too closely. and something about the sight lodged itself deep inside his ribs — not joy at your pain, but the soft, breathtaking sweetness of you trusting him enough to fall apart in his hands.

he didn’t understand it then. he just knew he liked being the one you ran to. he liked the way your small voice cracked when you said his name. he liked that he could fix things for you — band-aids, broken toys, scared little hearts.

back then, it was innocent.

or at least, that’s what he told himself.

because even as kids, caleb noticed things no normal boy paid attention to. the way your lips wobbled before you cried. the way you’d cling to the sleeve of his shirt like he was a lifeline. the way your eyes always searched for him first — even in a crowd.

and whenever you sobbed and wailed, something warm would bloom in his chest.

something possessive. something dangerous. something that felt like home.

you never noticed his… attachment. you were too busy laughing at his jokes, too busy following him around like a little shadow, too busy trusting him with every corner of your vulnerable heart.

caleb — growing too fast for his age — then learned early how to hide the darker edges of himself. he smiled easily, joked carelessly, and protected you fiercely. he pretended to be normal, he pretended the warmth he felt at your tears was just ... affection.

but as you grew older, the warmth sharpened into a thrill.

he never wanted you hurt — never. but whenever you cried, a strange relief washed over him. a soft, selfish comfort. because your tears meant you still needed him. you still came to him. you still trusted him enough to unravel in front of him.

and if you were crying, then caleb was the one close enough to wipe your tears.

people around you said you were like siblings. inseparable, adorable, meant to grow up together.

but caleb knew better.

siblings didn’t feel this way. friends didn’t look at each other like this.

he learned to control it — the obsession, the dark possessiveness, the urge to keep you close enough to breathe. he hid it in jokes, in teasing smiles, in the soft “you’re okay, i’ve got you”s he gave you each time you trembled.

you never saw the way he watched you. not really. not fully.

because while you saw a best friend, caleb saw the girl he’d spend his life orbiting — quietly, obsessively, lovingly.

he didn’t just want to protect you.

he wanted to be the only one you’d ever need.

~

the airplane didn’t fall — it plummeted, nosediving off caleb’s desk in a tragic, slow-motion arc that you could only watch with widening eyes. the wing hit the floor first, then the tiny propeller, then the rest of it followed with a dull little clack that felt, to you, like the sound of the universe collapsing.

you stood completely still as a ten year old.

your fingers remained frozen in the air, as if you could somehow catch the moment before it broke. but reality blinked back at you in two sad plastic pieces lying on the wooden floor of caleb’s room, sunlight gleaming off the fracture line.

your breath wavered.

oh no.

oh no no no—!

you hadn’t meant to touch it. you only wanted to look, maybe admire it up close, maybe imagine the two of you flying it later outside like you always did. but your sleeve brushed the tail, and then your elbow bumped the base, and then—

you ruined everything.

your throat tightened painfully. tears pricked instantly, too fast, too hot.

“c-caleb’s gonna…” you whispered to yourself, voice cracking before you even finished the thought.

you crouched down, trembling, as if you could piece the toy back together by staring hard enough at it.

then tears spilled, quick and messy, streaking warm down your cheeks.

the door clicked open behind you.

“pipsqueak? you in here— whoa.”

caleb’s voice always had that familiar, steady warmth, but right now it broke off mid-sentence. you felt him pause in the doorway.

then his footsteps crossed the room — quick, sure, almost protective.

you squeezed your eyes shut. “i’m sorry…” you whispered before he even reached you. “i’m really, really sorry— i didn’t mean to— i broke it, i broke your airplane…”

caleb stopped beside you. you didn’t have to look up to know he was staring. you could feel it — that quiet, unreadable focus he had even at twelve, like he always noticed things before anyone else did.

he knelt down, picking up the wing.

“huh,” he murmured softly, examining the crack. “you really did a number on it.”

you burst into louder tears at that, tiny shoulders shaking. “i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to! please don’t be mad— i didn’t— i shouldn’t have touched it—”

“hey, hey— apples.” his voice dropped, gentle but edged with that boyish firmness he was growing into. he reached out and tapped your wrist lightly. “look at me.”

you sniffed, rubbing tears from your cheeks, and lifted your gaze slowly...

caleb didn’t look mad.

not even annoyed.

in fact… he looked almost amused, soft around the edges, like he wanted to chuckle but was trying very hard not to make you cry harder.

“it’s just a toy,” he said quietly. “why’re you crying like i’m gonna banish you from the house or something?”

you hiccupped. “…you liked that toy.”

“yeah,” he nodded, lips tugging upward, “but i like you more.”

your breath hitched — tiny, startled, something warm flashing through your chest.

caleb noticed. caleb always noticed.

he shifted closer, brushing your cheek with the sleeve of his shirt. “you really thought i’d yell at you?” he asked, lowering his voice like he was coaxing a secret out of you.

you nodded, embarrassed. “you always take care of your things… and i broke one…”

caleb snorted softly. "pip, you’ve seen me crash this thing into the wall at least fifteen times.”

“…but that’s different.”

“yeah,” he said with a small shrug, “’cause you breaking it is kinda cute.”

“cute?”

“mm hmmm.” he tilted his head, studying your face with that strange, intent softness he carried only for you. “your nose gets red and your voice gets tiny. you look like a crying dumpling.”

“i don’t—!” you finally squeaked, mortified, but the tears paused in surprise.

caleb grinned, triumphant.

“see? you stopped crying already.” he lifted the broken airplane piece. “come on, i can fix it. but you’re helping.”

you wiped your face again. “helping…?”

“yup,” he said, already reaching for the toolbox he kept under his bed. “if you break my stuff, you have to fix it with me. that’s the rule.”

“w-we never had that rule,” you protested softly.

caleb gave you that smile — the one that always felt like sunlight and trouble. “we do now.”

he tapped the floor beside him twice.

and while you patched the toy together—caleb holding the wings steady, you sniffling as you pushed pieces back into place—he kept doing it. those tiny, stolen glances. the ones he thought you wouldn’t notice, the ones he didn’t even know he was making. every time your lashes trembled, every time you bit your lip to stop your tears, something warm and frighteningly sweet curled in his chest.

later, he would remember this moment as the first time it truly took root—whatever strange, heavy thing was beginning to bloom inside him. an attachment too big for a twelve-year-old boy to understand, too shadowed and sticky to name.

since then, caleb tried to be careful.

he forced himself to walk a step behind you instead of beside you, forced himself to pretend he didn’t always feel your gravity tugging him closer like it always had. he told himself he shouldn’t hover, shouldn’t cling, shouldn’t watch you so openly—because what if you got scared? what if you looked at him differently? what if you... pulled away?

but wanting to protect you and wanting to keep you near were braided into the same quiet ache. so he did what he could: he hid it.

as you grew into teenagers, his restraint only sharpened the edges of his obsession.

in sleepovers, on carpets littered with pillows and spilled popcorn, caleb would lie awake long after you drifted off—watching your chest rise and fall, memorizing every soft, unguarded blink of your dreaming face. he told himself it was harmless, he told himself he just wanted to make sure you were safe in your sleep. but sometimes his breath would hitch, and the room would feel too small and all too intimate.

at school, he became popular without trying—good-looking, tall, the kind of boy people gravitated toward. girls slipped love letters into his locker; some waited by the gates to confess, small boxes of chocolates cupped between shaking palms. he always accepted politely, then went home and left the gifts untouched.

because at night, under the dim blue glow of his phone screen, caleb would scroll through your photos instead—old candid shots you didn't even remember he took, blurry pictures of you frowning at a worksheet, laughing with your head tossed back, or asleep on the couch with your cheek squished against his arm. he’d stare until the ache in his chest grew unbearable, until the need to reach out and touch you almost made him forget his restraint.

and then there was the habit he could never break.

stealing small pieces of you.

a hair tie left on his desk; a pen you forgot to take back; the charm from your backpack that mysteriously “fell off.” he never took anything you would miss too much—just little things, tiny artifacts that made his room feel less empty. he kept them in a box beneath his bed, opening it on nights when the distance he forced between you felt like punishment.

he knew it was wrong, or at least strange. he knew he shouldn’t. but it was the only way he could feel close to you without frightening you with the truth—that you had always been his sun, and he had always been orbiting, hopelessly and helplessly, even when he pretended not to.

and oh, how caleb hated it.

not in the dramatic, stomp-your-foot sort of way—he wasn’t that kind of boy. no, his dislike came in tiny fractures. little cracks behind his smile. soft sighs he pretended were nothing. eyes that lingered too long on scenes he wished he could erase.

because seeing you… sitting beside some boy?

laughing with him?

doing that little crinkly-eyed smile you always did when you found something genuinely funny?

it made something in caleb’s chest twist—sharp, childish, and a little bit ugly.

he didn’t understand the feeling... it wasn’t anger. it wasn’t sadness. it was something weirdly in-between like trying to hold too much water in cupped hands and watching it spill out anyway.

there was that one p.e. class, one of those sunny afternoons where the gym smelled like rubber soles and chalk, and everyone’s voices bounced off the high ceiling.

you were doing partner pushups with a boy, palms meeting each time you went up. it was innocent. your teacher had assigned partners and other students were giggling everywhere.

caleb tried to focus on basketball. he really did. he dribbled, shot, caught, repeated. but his eyes kept sneaking over—like magnets he couldn’t pry away.

he watched the boy grin at you.

he watched you grin back.

and he felt… weird. hot? itchy? restless? like an entire storm was growing inside his stomach.

without thinking—literally without a single thought passing through his brain—he tossed the ball.

except “toss” wasn’t the right word.

it zoomed.

straight toward the boy’s face.

a loud, cartoonish THWUMP! echoed through the gym. the boy stumbled back, letting out a surprised yelp. you gasped, scrambling to his side.

“ah! are you okay?!" your voice was high and worried—so unlike how you talked to caleb. you never sounded like that with him. you always sounded relaxed, soft, comfortable, familiar.

and caleb hated that you used that voice on someone else.

“sorry!” caleb called out, forcing a sheepish grin. “my hand slipped!”

it absolutely did not slip.

the teacher scolded him, told him to be more careful. caleb nodded obediently the whole time, face flushed just enough to look apologetic—but deep down, there was that tiny, secret spark of satisfaction.

because the boy stopped smiling at you after that.

and things only got trickier.

you started finding your own little world—friends to eat snacks with, classmates to chat with before homeroom, girls to walk home with. you laughed more, wandered more, lived more.

all good things.

all things that slowly took your attention away from him.

and caleb, who had always been the sun in your orbit, suddenly felt like he was becoming… a star in the background.

and he hated that, too.

so he tried to tug your gaze back gently—nothing scary, nothing dramatic. just… nudges. soft things. harmless little games.

like posting new photos online. photos where he looked a little taller than last month, or a little sharper, or a little cooler in that effortless preteen heartthrob way he didn’t admit he knew he had.

a half-smile here.

a candid shot with basketball practice sweat on his forehead.

a group selfie where he somehow ended up in the center.

he posted, refreshed, waited.

and when that tiny notification popped up—pipsqueak liked your photo—he felt lighter and heavier all at once.

~

by the time caleb turned eighteen, the dreams about you had already become routine—frequent things that threaded themselves into his nights like an extra heartbeat. at first, they startled him. he’d wake up with that strange sense of longing, a kind he didn’t know how to name yet, the kind that made him want to keep you close even when the world said he should be letting go.

but over time, he stopped fighting them.

dreaming of you became… normal.

expected.

almost comforting, in the same way your childhood scent had been—the faint trace of baby powder, crayons, and the warm, sunlit air of long summer afternoons. his dreams followed that same softness, that same familiarity. in the dreams, sometimes he saw you laughing beside him at the park swing. sometimes you were leaning against him during some lazy after-school afternoon. sometimes you were just… there, smiling at him in that way you used to when you were ten.

he accepted them all.

took them in like breath.

but then—

one friday kinda changed everything?

he’d come home late from basketball practice, shirt clinging to him, muscles sore, hair still damp from a rushed shower. he barely finished dinner before collapsing onto his bed as exhaustion clung to him heavily.

and he fell asleep fast. too fast.

and the dream that came… felt different from the start. warm...? near... breath-close... it felt like someone had stepped into his chest, into the hidden, locked-up places he never let anyone touch.

you.

you were in front of him, looking at him in that soft way—the way you used to when you were little and he was the only person in the world who could fix the things you broke.

he didn’t know who moved firs, maybe you did, maybe he did.

maybe both of you met in the same impossible middle.

but suddenly, your mouth was pressed on his.

a shy press of lips—sweet, tentative, as if asking him a question.

and he answered before he even realized he had.

his hand slid to your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt as if terrified you’d slip away. his mouth pressed harder against yours—hungry, desperate, relieved, every suppressed feeling he’d buried since childhood bleeding through that single kiss. he tasted your breath, your warmth, your everything.

and he wanted more.

so much more.

he was almost gasping for air when your lips parted, resting his forehead against yours with eyes shut tight. his fingers wouldn't stop clutching on your hair locks, and then, he dives in again.

"mmh..." he was already pulling you flush against his chest, like he was afraid that you'd let go, and he'd see how scared you were of how desperate he is. caleb pushes you against a wall, lips ghosting over your chin, your jawline... your neck...

he woke up with a violent gasp.

like someone had dumped him into cold water.

he sat upright so fast his head spun, breathing hard, chest heaving. sweat clung to his hair, his shirt, the sheets twisted around his legs like he had fought sleep with his whole body.

for a long moment, he couldn’t even breathe right.

your name sat on his tongue like a brand.

and the taste of that dream-kiss—imagined but too real—still burned on his lips.

caleb dragged a shaky hand down his face, exhaling shakily as if trying to push the dream out with each breath.

“...seriously?” he muttered to himself, half-frustrated, half-something else he couldn’t admit out loud.

but even with his pulse racing, with embarrassment crawling up his throat, with the weight of want settling unbearably under his skin… every time he closed his eyes, he felt it again: your breath brushing his mouth, your lips pressed to his, your waist under his palm like something he had every right to hold.

his body felt too warm, and for some reason his sweatpants felt too tight.

he kicked off his blankets, but the heat stayed.

his face also burned.

he rolled onto his back, then his side, then back again — restless, pulse drumming in his ears. he tried to tell himself it was just a dream... just exhaustion.... just teenage hormones?

he covered his face with one arm, exhaling shakily. “…damn it.”

only then he'd realize that his other calloused hand was already rubbing the hardening bulge underneath the fabrics.

he sank deeper into the pillows, breath catching as the memory of your mouth moved through him again. the warmth pooled low in his stomach, spreading, tightening into the area between his thighs.

his mind kept drifting where it shouldn’t.

caleb pulled his boxers down, and the grown size of his manhood springs out, twitching for some kind of release.

he stares at it with half-lidded eyes. wonder how you'd react in seeing how big he is.

no, caleb, don't bring her into this.

even still, he let himself fall into it — into the feeling of you, the fantasy of you, the dream he wanted far too much.

he lay very still afterwards, facing up at the ceiling with his chest rising and falling, with his fingers wrapping around the girth of his length, his mouth ajar, his eyes hiding under his arm.

“...this is bad,” he whispered, voice barely there. “i’m in trouble."

he rolled his head back, chest rising in a long, shaky inhale, but it didn’t help. the tension was coiled too deep, wrapped around his ribs, in the way his adam's apple bobbed unevenly. he tried to steady his breathing; instead it came out rough, uneven, almost like a quiet growl.

“god…”

he stroked himself, slowly, carefully, making sure he had to picture your face in his head.

he shifted against the pillows, jaw tight, muscles drawn taut like a bowstring. his body felt big, restless, almost too heavy for the mattress. he pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, but it did nothing for the feverish warmth rolling through him.

and it was you doing this.

just the thought of you.

he hated how easily you could undo him.

but he loved it too much to stop.

his hips shifted unconsciously — a slow, frustrated twitch he couldn’t control — and a low, strangled sound escaped him before he could bite it back.

he squeezed his eyes shut, teeth sinking into his lower lip, breath coming faster now.

he fastened his pace, gripping his own cock tighter with a veiny fist, pumping the length with wanton pleasure.

he felt helpless in a way that made him angry and desperate all at once, like a man fighting against something stronger than him. like wanting you was a force he physically couldn’t resist.

he turned his face into the pillow, voice muffled, deeper, rougher than it had ever been in his life.

“…baby.”

saying a pet name he's always wanted to use on you out loud made the heat slam into him even harder. he jerked slightly — a sharp, involuntary reaction he couldn’t hide from himself — thighs tightening, shoulders flexing as he sucked in another trembling breath through his teeth.

this was unbearable.

this was addictive.

this was everything he shouldn’t be feeling.

and yet — god — he couldn’t stop.

his chest rose and fell in uneven waves, sweat beading along his collarbone, his entire body tensed like it was trying to hold itself together. and still, he continued masturbating.

he then reached toward the nightstand, fingers trembling just a little, brushing blindly until they found the cool surface of his phone. he curled his hand around it, grip tight like he needed it to anchor him.

the screen instantly lit up, bathing his face in pale light.

and the moment he swiped it open, he didn’t even think.

his thumb moved on its own.

straight to the photo album he shouldn’t have labeled with your initial.

straight to the folder he never let anyone see.

he tapped it.

your photo filled the screen.

and then, caleb moaned, stroking himself faster, harder. his hips twitched upward, matching the pace of his fist.

that one picture — the one he’d taken months ago during golden hour, when you were laughing about something he couldn’t even remember anymore.

and god.

seeing it now—

it made him helplessly horny.

his breath stuttered.

his eyes softened painfully, almost hungrily.

he sank back into the pillows, phone held inches above his face, his thumb resting on the edge of the screen like he was afraid touching the photo itself would burn him.

but somehow… looking at your face did more to him than anything else. it lit every nerve on fire. it made his dick harden even more, it made him gasp for air, it made him bite his lip to suck in a groan.

it made him cum.

he exhaled shakily, chest lifting and falling in slow, heavy waves.

his brows knit together, expression tight, almost pained.

he looks at the streaks of cum across his screen, as if he just made a mess on your face. he drops the phone on his chest, arms also dropping to his sides. and all he could do was to get hard again.

~

at twenty-two, the world felt too big for the both of you.

different universities, different fields, different schedules that never lined up right. caleb was off chasing airplanes and flight hours, always with some photo of runways and clouds on his feed; you were buried in training for your own line of work, juggling deadlines and requirements like a circus act.

it wasn’t sad, exactly—just… growing up. the kind that happened quietly, without asking permission.

but every summer, you went home to grandma’s house—the one that smelled like sweet tea and old wood, where the windows were always open and you could hear the neighborhood kids yelling from three streets away. and caleb would always show up, sometimes pretending he just “happened to pass by,” even though grandma always made too much food on the days he returned.

last year had been your last real summer with him.

and now, today, he was coming home again.

just thinking about it made your chest do a weird, fizzy little flip.

your classroom was glowing with afternoon sunlight, warm and playful, the kind that turned dust particles into tiny floating sparkles. you were wiping down desks with a rag, humming under your breath, moving slowly because your mind was far away.

he’s probably already on the bus... or on his way to grandma’s?

maybe he already arrived—should i hurry home? or not?

you were smiling to yourself without realizing it.

until—

“girl?”

you jolted a little, almost dropping the eraser in your hand.

your friend stood near the doorway, eyebrows raised, a grin tugging at her lips. “you good? you look like you’re… floating.”

“i’m not floating,” you said, though your voice came out very much floaty.

“you totally are,” she laughed, stepping into the room. “what’s got you all smiley and glowy? did something happen?”

you straightened a stack of books just to have something to do with your hands. “no,” you said. “not really.”

“mm-hmm,” she hummed, clearly not believing a word. “you’ve been cleaning the same desk for five minutes. and smiling at it. is it a magic desk?”

you pouted a little. “don’t tease me.”

“i’m not! i’m just saying—something’s up.”

you hesitated.

the thing about caleb was… he wasn’t easy to explain. he wasn’t a crush, he wasn’t just a friend, he wasn’t a stranger either. he was something in-between—a familiar warmth from childhood summers, the boy who always stole half your snacks, the one who fixed everything you broke, the one who always came back.

you fiddled with the cloth in your hands and murmured, “it’s just… someone’s coming home today.”

your friend’s grin exploded. “ohhhh. someone.”

you puffed your cheeks. “stop it. it’s not like that.”

“suuuure,” she said, dragging out the word dramatically. “then why are your ears red?”

“they’re not—!”

“they are,” she said, poking one.

you swatted her hand away, cheeks warm.

but inside—quietly, secretly—you were already imagining it: caleb standing in grandma’s kitchen, pretending not to wait for you.

grandma calling your name the moment you step inside.

his eyes flicking to you first.

today, he was coming home.

when you finally arrived home, you stood in front of grandma’s door with your suitcase beside you, still in your uniform, the late-afternoon light brushing gold against the old wood. somehow, even after all the summers you’d come home to this place, today your fingers lingered on the doorknob a little longer.

your heart thumped—not loud, but quick.

caleb should be here by now...

and that thought made you hesitate, the way you did when you were little and wanted to knock but didn’t know if he was on the other side waiting.

finally, you took a tiny breath and pushed the door open.

“i’m home…?”

your voice echoed softly in the living room.

no answer.

you tucked your shoes away and stepped inside, the familiar scent of citrus cleaner and grandma’s dried herbs filling your nose. everything was the same—the framed photos, the humming electric fan, the worn-out sofa with mismatched pillows.

“grandmaaa?” you called, wandering further. “where are you?”

you peeked into the kitchen.

empty.

you peeked into her room.

still empty.

your footsteps pattered through the house like they always did—light, curious, a little bouncy. you called for her again, dragging out her name in that childish way you never quite grew out of.

but she was nowhere.

you puffed your cheeks, confused, and made your way to the backyard, sliding open the squeaky screen door.

the first thing you noticed was the hose—completely undone, tangled like a lazy snake scribbled across the ground. the flowers along the garden edge were soaked, dripping little beads of water like they’d just gotten an unexpected shower.

“grandmaaa, i’m ho—”

a big, warm hand suddenly slipped over your eyes.

you gasped, freezing on the spot.

before you could say anything, a voice brushed against your ear—raspy from travel, deeper than last summer, but undeniably playful.

“guess who?”

your breath hitched.

that voice.

that stupid boy.

your lips twitched upward in a small, involuntary smile. “…caleb?” you murmured, trying not to laugh.

his hand tightened just a little—like even in this silly game, he didn’t want to let go yet. “mm,” he hummed, and you could hear the grin in his voice, “took you long enough.”

you peel his hand off your eyes with a tiny huff, ready to scold him for sneaking up on you—

but then you turn around, and your whole brain just… stutters. for some odd reason.

caleb blinks at you, all casual, all unbothered, all unfairly looking like that.

he’s only wearing a white tank top, thin enough that you can see the faint shape of his muscles shifting underneath. it hangs perfectly over the slope of his clavicle, draws a line to the wideness of his shoulders, and his biceps—oh. yeah. those definitely weren’t that big before. or maybe they were and you just weren’t paying attention. (you were. you absolutely were.)

his hair is slightly damp, pushed back in a way that looks both messy and… weirdly handsome? like he rolled out of some slice-of-life anime where everyone magically looks good doing chores.

“uh—why do you look like that?” you blurt out before your brain can stop you.

he quirks a brow, confused. “like what?”

you wave your hands vaguely at all of him. “like… that.”

he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “i’ve been cleaning since morning. grandma’s busy with her reunion at the clubhouse. the house was a mess so… yyyeah.”

he shrugs, and the movement just makes everything worse. stronger. broader. more defined.

“wow,” you mumble under your breath, “someone got manlier.”

“huh?”

“nothing.”

to distract yourself (and probably to ignore the fact that your heart is beating like a loose tambourine), you grab the watering can beside you. “come on, help me with the flowers.”

“yes, ma’am,” he says, bumping his shoulder lightly into yours—just enough to feel that new, annoyingly firm muscle.

you move along the garden bed, tipping the watering can just enough so the soil darkens slowly. caleb stays beside you, his own can bumping lightly against your leg every now and then—he swears it’s an accident, but you know better.

“so…” he starts, voice soft and a little curious, “how’ve you been? it’s been a while since i saw you this close.”

you brighten a little at the question, because finally—someone to talk to. “oh! i’ve been fine, actually. better than last month.”

and once you begin, you… don’t stop.

you tell him about the weird stray cat that tried to follow you home, the new project you’ve been working on, the random thing you learned online at 2 a.m., the neighbor who sings too loudly in the morning, the sweet snack you’ve been obsessed with lately—just a whole collection of things that have been floating in your mind.

and caleb just listens, really listens.

he keeps his eyes on you the whole time, the soft kind of staring that doesn’t feel heavy—just warm. every now and then he nods, or breathes out a quiet laugh, or tilts his head like he’s storing every word for later. and somehow, his attention makes your talking even worse. even faster. even louder.

“—and then the lady told me i looked too young to be buying that, which is insane because i’m literally—”

“you do look young,” he cuts in, lips twitching.

you gasp. “excuse me?”

“sorry,” he shrugs, though he’s obviously not sorry at all. “baby-faced rather.”

“oh, shut up. you’re just jealous i don’t look like a stressed office worker.”

“hey,” he says, feigning offense, “i think i look very youthful.”

you make a face. “you look like someone’s dad.”

caleb smacks water at your shoe with his watering can. “take that back.”

“nope.”

“fine.” he leans a little closer, lowering his voice dramatically. “just remember—karma comes quickly.”

“what are you gonna do? water me?”

“don’t tempt me.”

you dodge behind the hibiscus plant like a child, laughing. he follows, shaking his head but smiling that soft, helpless smile that only shows up when he’s with you.

the next, caleb flicks a bit of water at your arm, you shriek dramatically, and suddenly it’s war.

“oh, you’re dead!!”

“come here then,” caleb grins, eyes narrowing like a cat spotting easy prey.

“nope nope nope–!!”

you bolt.

like actual children, you sprint straight into the house, socks sliding on the floor, heart thudding from equal parts adrenaline and laughter. behind you, caleb barrels in with none of the grace a future pilot should have.

“get back here!!”

“no!! why would i do that?!”

“because i said so!”

“that’s not a reason—!”

your giggles echo through the hallway as you turn every corner too fast, nearly tripping over a rug. caleb’s footsteps are louder, heavier, like he’s purposely stomping just to scare you. the two of you are basically reenacting tom and jerry—except much louder and much dumber.

you duck behind the dining table. caleb circles the other side. both of you stare each other down.

“…hi,” you say.

“move,” he warns.

“no.”

“fine.”

he lunges.

you yelp, turn, and run for the living room. he’s faster. way faster. you barely make it past the couch when—

“got you!”

caleb grabs your waist from behind and the momentum takes both of you down onto the couch cushions. you let out the most unflattering squeak as he catches your wrists mid-flail, pinning them above your head before you can escape again.

both of you are panting—half from running, half from laughing too hard. your chest rises and falls quickly, and caleb’s breath brushes your cheek, warm and uneven.

your laughter fades first.

his fades after.

and then the silence slips in, soft and heavy.

you blink up at him.

he blinks down at you.

his hands are still around your wrists. his body leans over you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his skin. the white tank top isn’t helping—broad shoulders, defined arms, everything just there and very hard to ignore.

caleb swallows, jaw tightening just a little.

“…caught you,”

caleb stays still for a long moment, his eyes fixed on you, and for once, the world narrows down to nothing but your face, your hair falling slightly over your cheeks, the way the sunlight hits the curve of your jaw.

and then—it all crashes back. every quiet feeling he’d tucked away since you were kids, every stolen glance, every moment of watching you sleep, every tiny obsession he’d convinced himself was harmless… it comes rushing forward like a flood he can’t hold back.

he swallows hard, throat tight, and his chest feels like it’s too full, too fast. he’s leaning over you, feeling your warmth, the softness of your hands under his, your uniform riding up slightly as you shift, and it’s almost unbearable how… beautiful you look. how impossibly you’ve grown, how much you still belong in his orbit.

but then, just like that, the moment snaps. his lips twitch into a small, almost mischievous snort, like he’s breaking the tension with the smallest, most human excuse he can find.

“ugh,” he mutters, brushing back his damp hair, finally getting off of you. “i need to change my clothes. this tank top is sticking to me like glue.”

he stands, trying to keep his voice light, playful, like everything is normal again. like the sudden surge of everything buried in his chest doesn’t exist.

you blink up at him, unsure if the air between you is just heavy from running or from… him.

~

summer slips by the way it always does with him.

one monday, you’re wobbling carts through the grocery store with caleb, arguing over which apples are “pie material” and which ones are “just posing as apples.” he flicks your forehead when you pick the wrong brand of flour. you shove him into the cereal aisle, and the employees would stare, but he just grins.

then you’re both in the kitchen, elbows touching, sugar dusting the counter, caleb peeling apples with that stupid smug look because his slices are “more aesthetic.” you roll your eyes but let him win. he always wins.

another day, you’re sitting cross-legged on his carpet, controllers in hand, yelling at him for cheating.

“you literally walked off the map,” he accuses.

“you distracted me with your commentary!”

he laughs so loud you almost throw your controller at him.

and then the fair—cotton candy fingers, grandma holding both your hands while she drags you into photobooths. caleb presses his cheek against yours in one of the pictures, claiming it’s “for comedic effect,” but he keeps that strip of photos in his wallet later.

it’s all small things, tiny pockets of happiness. the kind that feel like childhood with just a hint of something else underneath.

then one saturday night, with summer already slipping through your fingers, you stand at the doorway of grandma’s bedroom and watch caleb help her with her medicine. he’s gentle, patient in a way he never is with anyone else. he brushes a stray hair from her forehead, telling her, “c’mon, grandma. you promised you’d take it without making that face.”

and she tries—she really tries—not to make that face.

you smile quietly, but it aches in your chest. because it’s almost over again.

so you slip away, leaving them to their soft laughter, and you walk down the hall toward caleb's bedroom.

his door is half-open with the lights warm. his room smells like pine-scented laundry, a little cologne, and something distinctly caleb.

you step inside, slow, hesitant. your fingers graze his desk, the edge of his bookshelf, the jacket tossed carelessly over a chair.

you’re just… taking him in.

the way he exists in this space.

the way this room feels like him.

the way being here feels like the summer you wish would stay just a little longer.

you sit on the edge of his bed, sinking into the sheets that still hold the shape of the boy you grew up with, the one who somehow became the person you look for in every room.

and for a moment, alone in the soft quiet of caleb’s bedroom, you let yourself feel it—

that tiny, childlike longing.

that wish that summer didn’t have to end.

that wish that he didn’t have to go for another year again.

you kneel on the wooden floor, palms warming against the boards as you lean forward, squinting at the little shadow jutting out from beneath caleb’s bed.

a black box.

sticking out just enough to be suspicious.

you blink.

tilt your head.

you shouldn’t.

you really, really shouldn’t.

but curiosity has always been your fatal flaw—caleb said that once, teasing you as you tried to solve a puzzle he purposely made too hard.

so you swallow, reach out, and tug the box toward you. it scrapes softly against the floor, heavier than you expect. you hesitate, fingers hovering over the lid.

this feels like trespassing.

like peeking into a part of him he would never show you on purpose.

but then—the lid lifts.

and your breath stops.

inside…

is you.

everywhere.

your mind blanks for a moment, then comes rushing back too fast.

right at the top: a bundle of ballpens you thought you’d lost in elementary school. the blue one with the star sticker you swore someone stole.

and beneath it—

your old handkerchief, folded neatly, the one you dropped at the playground when you were twelve.

your brows knit, confusion rising.

what—

you dig deeper.

and your stomach flips.

there, tied gently with a small ribbon, is a clipping of hair—your hair—cut cleanly from the time you’d trimmed your bangs at his house and swept everything carelessly into the trash.

your hands tremble.

your breath feels too loud in this quiet room.

printed photos of you follow—some candid, some clearly zoomed in from afar. little notes scribbled around the edges in his uneven handwriting;

mine

she smiled today.

don’t let anyone else see this.

your pulse stutters.

and then you see it.

tucked in the corner.

soft fabric you immediately recognize.

your ... underwear.

one you lost at a sleepover years ago. you’d laughed it off, thinking maybe grandma misplaced the laundry.

but it’s here.

folded.

kept.

you flinch, heart hammering so hard you can feel it in your fingertips.

your mind shatters into a dozen frantic thoughts all at once.

since when? why? how long has this been here?

you can’t breathe. you can’t think straight. you stare at the contents of the box — the pens, the handkerchiefs, the hair ribbon you thought you lost in middle school, the printed photos, the little notes scribbled along the edges.

pieces of you. pieces he kept. pieces he collected.

is this… really caleb? your caleb? the boy who teased you, protected you, grew up with you?

you replay every memory you can grab onto — his laughs, his scoldings, his shoulder bumping yours, the way he always appeared when you were sad, the warmth in his voice when he said your name.

none of it ever hinted at… this.

or maybe… maybe you simply never looked close enough.

your breathing starts to shake. your hands press against the floor, palms clammy.

if he walks in now—if he sees you kneeling here with this box wide open—what would he do?

your heartbeat feels like it’s crashing against your ribs. your thoughts spiral so fast they blur into noise. what do you say? what do you do? what is he going to think? what is he going to do?

panic rises like a wave.

you’ve always been like this — whenever the world becomes too big, too loud, too confusing, your eyes sting before anything else.

and now, tears start gathering at the corners of your vision. you blink them back, but they only spill faster.

“pips?”

caleb's voice drifted from the hallway in that familiar, warm way he always calls you when he comes home, like he’s expecting you to peek your head out with a smile.

but his footsteps stop.

silence folds into the doorway, sharp and sudden. you freeze before you even look back — some instinct curling tight in your chest.

you turn anyway.

caleb stands there, half-shadowed by the hall light, one hand loosely gripping the doorframe. at first glance he looks like himself — tall, composed, that calm gentleness he’s worn like a second skin since childhood.

but then his expression shifts.

quietly, subtly, and... devastatingly.

the softness drains out of his face when his gaze drops to the box beside you.

and the world seems to still.

you feel your throat tighten, breath hitching around the panic rising up like a tide you can’t hold back. your fingers shake when you try to close the lid, as if that could undo what you’ve seen.

“c-caleb,” you whisper, your voice splintering. “i… i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to— i shouldn’t have— it just… fell out and i… i’m really, really sorry—”

the apology collapses into itself. your words tangle, trip, dissolve. tears prick hard at your eyes, and once they start, they won’t stop — you’re crying before you can even think to control it.

you bow your head, covering your eyes with a trembling hand.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper again, smaller. “please don’t get mad…”

for a moment, caleb doesn’t move. not an inch.

and that’s somehow worse.

his eyes stay trained on your face, or more specifically, on the tears streaking down your cheeks. there’s a tension in him, a razor-thin stillness, like he’s remembering something old and buried.

and then it comes. the smile.

slow and wrong.

it isn’t the boyish, familiar grin he’s shown you your whole life. it’s something quieter, curved at the edges with an eerie sort of fondness. a shadowed tenderness. a chill disguised as warmth.

something double-edged, like a gemini splitting into two halves before your eyes.

one caleb softens at your sorrow.

the other… savors it.

the memory hits him, and you can see it flicker across his face. that day years ago when you cried over his broken toy airplane, hiccuping apologies through your tiny hands while he knelt in front of you, both amused and captivated.

he remembers how small you looked, how helpless, how easy it was to hold you together.

and now?

now you’re twenty-two, trembling on his bedroom floor, tears falling in the same pattern, the same rhythm. and caleb—

caleb drinks in the sight.

his smile deepens by a fraction, just enough to reveal the truth beneath it: possessive and unsettlingly pleased, something that has clearly been growing in the dark all these years, fed by every moment you broke down in front of him.

he steps forward once unhurriedly, “…baby,” he murmurs, almost tenderly. “you’re crying again.”

you flinch at him, caught completely off guard. his expression… it isn’t the caleb you’ve known your whole life. not quite. it makes the air in the room press in on you, and for a moment, you stop crying, unsure whether to feel relief or dread.

“you know,” he murmurs like he’s teasing a thought out of you slowly, “i’ve been waiting a long time for you to… see me properly. to know just how… depraved i am… about you.”

your hand flies to your face, wiping tears quickly, frowning. “…w-what? how… why… when…?”

caleb exhales softly through his nose, a faint chuckle curling at the edge of it, and leans just a fraction closer. “i’ve always been like this,” he says calmly, almost casual. “i just… learned how to hide it and study how to keep it safe… and just for you.”

then he reaches out, hand brushing your cheek with gentle precision. instinctively, you flinch under his touch, and he notices immediately.

“oh?” he teases softly, leaning a little closer, voice dipping low and intimate. “scared of me now, huh?”

in caleb’s mind, a storm raged quietly, controlled only by the years of practice he had spent masking it behind jokes, mischief. he had trained himself to appear harmless, easygoing, the caleb you knew and trusted since childhood. it was a careful performance, a shield he wrapped around the darker edges of himself so you would never see the full weight of his obsession.

and yet, right now, the performance threatened to crumble.

he felt the tug of restraint, the voice inside whispering that he should stop, that he should step back, apologize, tell you he didn’t mean to frighten you. because the last thing he ever wanted was for you to be scared of him. not you. not ever.

but then he looked at you.

looked at the soft curve of your tear-streaked cheeks, the way your lashes trembled, the small catch in your throat as you tried to steady yourself. the way your lips quivered, pleading silently for forgiveness.

and everything he had buried — the longing, the possessiveness, the aching need to protect you and own every fragment of your vulnerability — exploded.

he could feel it spilling over the careful lines he had drawn around himself. his smile twitched, tinged with something that felt like both awe and hunger. his hand twitched in the air, wanting to brush your cheek again, to touch, to tether, to reassure, to claim just a fraction of the fragility you were showing him.

a part of him screamed to stop, to let you step back, to let you run from this intensity.

but another part whispered too loud, too insistent: no. don’t stop. keep going.

and so he stayed, watching you carefully, savoring the vulnerability you hadn’t meant to show him. every shiver, every hiccup of breath, every glittering tear that caught the light… it was like electricity under his skin, something he couldn’t, wouldn’t, hide.

“you’re so… fragile,” he murmurs, “always trembling when i look at you. always… like this.”

he tilts his head, studying you. the duality is there; the big brother smile that makes your heart ache, and beneath it, something darker; a grin that delights in the power he has over you.

you lift your hands, wiping at your cheeks, trying to reclaim yourself once more.

“stop trying to hide from me,” he whispers, almost a growl beneath the surface, a sound that should be playful but feels weighted. “you think you can erase this, hm? this face? it’s mine to see.”

your breath catches, and before you can answer, he closes the tiny distance between you. not abruptly — slow, intentional, teasing — his lips brushing yours in a touch that’s soft, yet desperate. it’s a kiss that speaks of obsession, of years of secret longing, of power and possession, all tangled together.

he lingers just enough for you to feel the way he kisses you, lips moving against your own. and when he pulls back ever so slightly, just to look at your reaction, his grin curves sharper, almost sadistic.

“see?” he murmurs, voice low and taunting. “i’ve wanted this for so long… and now you’re finally here, just like this, just for me.”

he tilts his head, letting just the hint of a smirk play at the corners of his mouth, as if he’s daring you to do something.

“come on,” he murmurs softly, but carrying that edge of impatience only he can wear. “you’re not going to just sit there, are you?”

your heart skips. your hands fumble, and he notices, of course. he shifts, one hand sliding gently above your wrist, not gripping, but holding just enough to keep you there. the other balances him against the floor, fingers splayed and steady.

he presses again, brushing his lips against yours with a rhythm that’s like he’s testing boundaries you didn’t know existed. it’s the kind of kiss that makes your mind spin: tender in one moment, provocatively bold the next, all while his eyes glitter, studying your reaction like a puzzle he’s determined to solve.

“see?” he whispers between soft presses, tilting his head closer. “i know you want to, pipsqueak… just a little. i can tell.”

you whimper softly, and it’s enough to make caleb pause, just for a heartbeat, before his grin curls sharper.

“there it is,” he teased, as if he’s discovered a secret treasure. “that little sound… that’s all i need to know.”

before you can protest, before your mind even has the chance to catch up, he’s lifting you effortlessly, cradling you against him as if you weigh nothing at all. your body instinctively stiffens, heart hammering, but caleb’s hands are firm enough to hold your thighs.

he carries you to the bed, laying you gently on the comforters. the softness swallows you, a cocoon, yet caleb leans over, pressing close, lips meeting yours again, depraved and passionate.

your eyes shut, trying to catch up with his pace, but you could only grunt.

“shh,” he whispers, tilting his head just enough to catch your gaze, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from your temple. “look at me. it’s okay… you’re okay.”

but the teasing lingers in his tone, “you sound so helpless when you do that” he chuckles, “i could listen to it all day..."

"shut up, caleb—"

"are you enjoying?"

you can feel your heart thundering in your chest—embarrassed, and nervous, but…the way he’s been speaking and acting also has arousal pooling between your legs, even though you aren't quite sure of what exactly is this wet feeling yet.

"i..."

“hmm? what was that?” his fingers lightly coast up the skin on your face, and the sensitivity of it has you gasping quite loudly.

you attempt to escape his touch (despite your instincts, which are currently screaming at you to let him continue, because god it feels somewhat... good), but caleb isn’t letting you go anywhere. with himself above you, you’re stuck. there’s no way you can beat him in a game of strength.

“w-what do you think i want?” you manage to respond, mustering up a bit of courage. it’s not in your nature to just let someone, especially caleb, talk to you like that without fighting back. caleb, however, is blunt with his rebuttal.

"i think you want more than just a kiss, apples. i think you'd love to see how far we can both go, right? am i wrong?"

your breathing has picked up now, fanning in hot puffs between your bodies. each of his words causes sinful scenarios to bloom within your mind—and you feel your down there clench around nothing—hot, and aching to be filled.

yeah, you grew up uninfluenced, but that doesn't mean you haven't went through nights of masturbating, watching or listening to something from your phone because caleb was too far away, in all ways.

“but… if i’m wrong about you, then say the word and i’ll stop,” he murmurs. “i will.”

yet you don’t say it. you can’t. you want him to keep going, painfully, shamefully so.

without missing a beat, you finally close the space between you, pressing your lips to his with desperate urgency, hands moving to cup his face. and then, just like that, he pushes back, shoving you onto the sheets beneath you with a controlled force.

“if you want more,” he says, eyes dark with mischief, “you’re going to have to say it.”

"please let's do it," you respond, breathless. caleb leans in, your lips nearly touching, and he looks you in the eye.

“say it right, because if it’s not good enough… don’t expect me to give you anything.”

“i…” your throat feels parched, words caught somewhere between your racing thoughts and the ache curling through you. you’ve never needed this—needed him—so badly before. and if caleb doesn’t give in… you’re not sure how much longer you can hold yourself together.

“i want—,” your words are cut off as a gasp involuntarily escapes your mouth. caleb's other hand has found its way between your legs, two long fingers rubbing between your soaking folds.

“d-didn’t you just say i wouldn’t get anything?” you stammer, thighs tightening instinctively, betraying how horny you've gotten. caleb raises an eyebrow, that infuriating, crooked grin tugging at his lips.

"does this really count as anything?"

his fingers tease at your entrance, barely dipping into your pussy. even if you think of grinding down to force him deeper, his hold on you prevents you from doing so—and you whine as he pulls his fingers away—simply continuing to tease your womanhood while neither touching your clit nor pushing his digits inside of you.

“i would suggest saying what’s on your mind, squirt. you shouldn’t be acting like this when i haven’t even done things.”

“i-inside me,”

"hmm?"

"i want you inside," you say, starting off innocently enough. you’ve never verbally been lewd before—the idea of telling caleb what you want him to do to you while he's literally hovering right there above you is a bit terrifying—but you know if you don’t start somewhere, you’ll never get what you want.

“i... i want you to fill every inch of me, i've been wanting it for so long.” you get braver with every word, and when you feel caleb's cock strain against your stomach, trapped in the tight space between your bodies, a wave of satisfaction emboldens you.

you take a shaky breath, finally letting the words tumble out, eyes fixed on him, and whisper, “i… i’ve been thinking about you for so long, caleb, longer than i even realized. every little thing you do, every look, every word… i’ve felt it, this pull toward you. i’ve wanted you, more than i knew how to say, and i’ve been yearning… for you, for all this time, without even understanding it myself… until now.”

caleb's breathing is a bit gruffer now—his face burying against your shoulder as his hand drops away, coming to momentarily rest near your hip. you feel his hand sneaking beneath the hem of your top and dragging upward, with goosebumps rising on your skin. your confidence momentarily falters—a hot wave of arousal jumbling your thoughts—but you continue.

"s-sometimes, i wonder... how would it feel to do the things people do in adult stuff with you. if you would like it if i gave you a blowjob—"

without warning, he bites down on your skin—two of his fingers slipping inside of your pussy at the same time. a breathless whine escapes you, pain and pleasure mingling, and when you attempt to grind your hips down on his hand, he nips at you again.

“maybe it wouldn’t be so bad,” he murmurs against your skin, voice warm and taunting, “if i could put a tag on you. just so everyone knows you’re with me. you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

you open your mouth to respond, but he doesn’t give you the chance—his lips moving to capture your own as his digits thrust between your walls. his tongue forces its way into your mouth, swallowing the moans that rip from your throat—his pace ruthless as he fingers fuck you. but he knows it’s what you want, your pussy positively drenched for him, lewd sounds permeating the room with each flick of his wrist.

his other hand finds your breast, squeezing the soft flesh roughly and causing you to whine. caleb's touches are sure to leave you sore and bruised, but the idea of having marks to remind you of this moment for days to come is undeniably appealing.

“c–caleb,” you gasp, your knees beginning to buckle. you’re already racing towards your climax, his fingers pressing into your sweet spot with every jab.

“are you already going to cum?” he asks, placing an open-mouthed kiss against your jaw. your head is spinning, but you manage to nod.

“mmm... should i let you cum?”

“please.” your voice is raw with desperation, head pressing back against the sheets as the dam holding your orgasm at bay threatens to collapse. weakly, your hand raises to grab caleb's arm—your fingernails digging into his skin.

he smiles, lips pursing together, eyes following the motions of your head. "cum then."

and you do—mouth opening into a silent scream as you release around his fingers. he pumps you through it, pace slowing to drag out the waves of pleasure. and finally, once you’re able to breathe again, he pulls his hand from between your thighs.

you watch him bring his soaking digits on his lips, smearing your own juices against his tongue. it’s an embarrassing realization—that you had drenched his hand with your arousal—and his action only burns you up even more.

but caleb maintains eye-contact as he does, before bringing the very same fingers towards your mouth, urging you to lick his saliva off.

for a moment, you take your time getting caught off guard, staring up at caleb, your caleb, ontop of you. the boy you used to climb on trees with, eat crayons with, chased frogs on the streets with.

you lean forward to suck on his fingertips, tongue lapping up the length.

“don’t regret what you said earlier about letting me use you,” he whispers into your ear, and within seconds, you find yourself tossed around onto the soft sheets, flipped onto your stomach.

there’s movement on the mattress behind you, and then caleb’s hands are reaching forward to grab your hips. he forces you onto your knees—dragging your ass backwards—and without warning, something quite large shoves between your walls.

“mm--!” you bite your lip, fingers grasping at the sheets as caleb begins chasing his own release. his hips smack against your ass, rattling the bedframe with each movement, and despite yourself, pleasure begins building in your gut once more.

"oh, yeah... i was right." caleb speaks, voice all breathless and raspy. "you were as tight as i've been imagining—no, more tight—much, much tighter—!"

you whine at his words, thighs shaking as the intensity of his love-making begins to overwhelm you. if it weren’t for caleb's grip on your hips, you’d be slack against the sheets—twitching, and taking a much-needed breather.

but this isn’t about you. right now, it’s about him, and you both know it. it's his turn to do whatever he wants. it's the least you can give him, considering he’d already let you cum, right?

“cum again?” he asks, and you shake your head no. he chuckles, one of his hands reaching around to toy with your clit. the act immediately has you crying out—pussy tightening around him and forcing a grunt from his throat.

"let's see about that, huh?"

the next few minutes are a blur—your mind spiraling into incoherency as caleb's dick stretches and fills you in all the right ways. with his fingers rubbing circles at your clit, you’re brought back to the brink of orgasm quicker than you’d imagined—the pleasure beginning to tip into overstimulation.

“please please please please,” you chant, forcing yourself to clench around him. caleb groans, retaliating with a brutal thrust that has tears pricking at your eyes. you’re not sure if you want to cum, or simply want him to cum so you can finally catch your breath.

“fuck,” he curses, beginning to fall apart around the edges. his fingers work at your clit even faster than before, and you choke on a cry—attempting to pull your hips away—but he doesn’t let you.

with a guttural moan tearing from your throat, he forces another orgasm from your spent body. you go limp—any remaining strength fading from your limbs, and caleb drags you back onto his cock a few more times before his pace falters, and he finds his bliss as well.

instantly, caleb plops down beside you, trying to chase his own breath. and when he steals a glance from you, he takes a double look.

"hey, hey, did you just cry?"

you're too worn out to answer, but you're sure you probably did. from how hard and rough he was fucking you.

your vision is starting to blur, and the last thing you see before blacking out is caleb's smile.

"you know, when you're like this, all teary-eyed and fragile, it makes me smile."

[syluses]

big girls don’t cry

𓍯𓂃 self aware robot! caleb x female reader

(wc: 9.5k) ✦ summary: after your brother passes, consumed by grief, you take to the internet to order a synthetic version of him. afterward, it’s impossible to throw him out. (or: alternatively titled the trojan horse)

✦ content robot! caleb, past engineer! caleb, au where EVER deals in robotics, non-evol au, 18+ nsfw/smut, mildly dubious consent, angst, grief, mental instability, bad coping mechanisms, robot pseudocest?? robot sex, mind games, moral grayness all around, dark/yandere undertones; this fic can have multiple interpretations, pregnancy

✦ sidenote have yall ever seen that episode of black mirror? ‘be right back’? basically this: the girl’s boyfriend dies so she orders an incredibly realistic, intelligent robot to replace him. they’re identical in personality and appearance, and yet… 👀 ANYWAYS ( ⸍ɞ̴̶̷ ·̫ ɞ̴̶̷⸌ ) i have a set plot for this in my head, but i left it a lil vague so ur allowed to think of it in ur own way 🤎 if u wanna know the ‘canon’ tho.. u can absolutely ask me. the lore is so deep its traumatizing :,) anyways hope u enjoy <3 ty for 1k btw!! take this as a lil celebration treat 🥳 it took so much out of me but i think i really vibe with it heheh

He’s perfect. Nigh on.

For the first few days since his arrival, since hauling him off the foot of your porch and into your living room to unpack him- heart tickering in your chest all the while, trepidatious- you’ve just stared. Reached out your hands to hover, ghosting over the broad blade of his shoulder, his chapped lips, the slight jut of his cheekbone.

His hands, as big and weathered as you remember them (but gentle, always gentle), hang limply by his sides.

You don’t dare slip your smaller ones in them.

All of the theatrics, yet you don’t press his- its- button, either.

No, you don’t even touch it after the initial unpacking, wrenching your fingers away as soon as they get too close. As soon as they get too tempted by hope and the wish that this hunk of metal was more than just a replica of your late brother. Half of you thinks it might burn if you get too comfortable; and you won’t get comfortable— underneath the solidified layers of grief and- you have trouble saying it aloud, but bitterness- there’s still just enough common sense to keep you from taking the leap. The leap from mourning to insanity.

It’s hollow. You know that much. A nothingness enwrapped in a steely chassis full of wiring and code too technological for you to understand, all covered by a synthetic skin suit as the pretty bow on top.

And you know- what with your emotional state- that if you could peer inside, strip it down to the framework and just… take a moment to look, that you’d vomit. It’d be too much to bear, being forced to reconcile with the fact that he really is gone— and in response to it all, you’ve blown your savings on an eerily-realistic, glorified doll of him with wires for veins.

You’re trembling when you stiffly prop him against the far wall, limiting contact as much as possible, and step away, keeping your eyes on him all the while. It. Not him. Not Caleb- that’s not your fucking brother, just a disgusting, soulless fascimile of him—

But as you stand back on your feet (with the coffee table in between, just in case) to get a good look at him, like a real, proper look, your breath is taken.

The thing: He’s not just a passable carbon copy, you realize. Admittedly, he’s…

Identical.

(He’s Caleb.)

All the oxygen gusts out of you in a breeze.

You lift a shaking hand over your open mouth and choke as silent tears spill from your lashline, blurring your eyes on the way down. Wetting your knuckles as they shake wildly.

You’re crying. Of course you’re crying. This is- you can’t do this. You just can’t.

Racing upstairs, retreating to your bedroom to slam the door as if the devil himself was on your tail, only then do you drop your hand and fully sob.

It’s pitiful, really. Wretched noises that resonate from deep in your throat, your spirit wrecked as you curl up on the floor and make yourself into a ball.

Darkness comes outside, the space around you muting itself in grey colors. The puddle beneath your cheek is moonlit. You sniffle and relocate, but you don’t even bother to tuck the not-Caleb robot in its special container, no- you just settle beneath your blankets and pray it’s all a bad dream you’ll awake from come tomorrow.

Tomorrow: you’ll send him off. Return him.

You don’t care how much money it costs- for all you care, it’s paltry, it’s replaceable. And it is replaceable, that’s the bleak truth: that android stood motionless by your couch, despite having a face so familiar it’s painful, has no emotional value whatsoever. There’s no depth to it. No substance.

A skeleton built by rods. Artificial flesh modeled around thin, colorful cables and circuit boards.

I mean- he’s no better than the stapler on your desk, or the toaster on your kitchen counter. Better yet, a crumb on the floor.

A nothingness, you think again. Prettily encased in smooth, sun-speckled skin and that cottony loungewear (that still retains his smell) you could hardly part with when the online form requested his attire.

He’s perfect, nigh on, you’ll give the company who forged him that much credit, because they sure followed his pictures to a T. It looks just like him; so much so you couldn’t even bear to look at him for more than ten minutes before bolting, the emotional response so violent.

But the problem is that he’s not real. He’s not your Caleb.

✦

It’s hard to throw him away when he looks like that. When he bears the likeness of your late, beloved older brother.

Yes, you want to stuff him back in his box and return to sender, but when it comes to courage, you lack the backbone necessary to carry out your decisions.

You tiptoe down the stairs to see him again and sputter.

He’s too real, you decide in a heartbeat. Too real.

Shutting your eyes as tears begin to pour anew, lunging forward with blind intent to cache him away in the elaborate box he came in, you get to work. And you get to work quickly. You can only bear to look at it- that heartless caricature of your gege- for so long until you feel something in you, your last fragile piece, begin to fracture.

After the explosion, all you had left of him were the memories. Not an explanation, not a goodbye, not even a body. What remained of the boy you were fostered with was ash and a puerile, yet no less beloved locket with its edges burnt copper.

Now, you have something exponentially more physical and intact, unsullied by the reality of what was.

So for a moment, yes- sue you and your heart for hesitating- but it’s a hard task to seal him away.

Agonizing, really.

His arms are stiff by his sides but you feel the skin; the lump of muscle in his forearm, the bump of his elbow. The only thing that keeps you from giving into the puffed-up illusion of his being real and alive is the coolness beneath your fingertips. The unnatural, icy feel to his otherwise mortal skin that reminds in a voice, condescending like all things out of reach, see? that’s not Caleb. And you’re insulting him by thinking that it could be.

You’re halfway done nudging him towards the box (careful, despite your frenzied, fluttering heart; afraid to damage his likeness) when you trip over your own feet navigating the narrow space between your table and the couch.

It’s unthinking, the way you grab him- arms flying out to steady yourself with his broad shoulders.

In all your scrambling- something clicks. Gives under your fingerpad.

A button.

With mute horror, you watch his eyes light.

…And you can see it too, you know, registering in his gaze as it settles over you and takes you in— a blip of mirth that quickly warps into worry at the look you give him. You must appear no different than a deer in headlights.

For several seconds, you simply stand there, your palms clamming up where they dig into his shoulders, and gawk as Caleb— not-Caleb’s— expression turns to one ready to comfort.

Familiar, painfully.

The stiff hands at his side are spurred into motion, lifting to cradle your cheek while the other helps ground you by the small of your back.

“Meimei?”

No, no- don’t say that, don’t say that, internally, you have to shoehorn down all your grief as it bubbles up, and harden your face to keep from crying all over again.

…Although it’s more or less obvious you had been. The puffy eyes rimmed in red, the certain wisp of defeat to your brow and the exhaustion written all over you is clear as day. It leaves nothing to ponder.

He sounds disturbed by it all, the sadness about you that lies thick as a coating of paint. Commiserative to a fault. Lassoing you to his firm chest as he burrows your head below the dip of his chin.

He goes, “What’s wrong?” Then, “It’s okay, I’m here. I got you. Just let it all out.”

And the world around you staggers to a fall.

✦

It was very difficult to get rid of him as he stood still; when you could convince yourself he was just a startlingly realistic statue.

It’s all but impossible when he begins to move, and speak, and smile at you.

You don’t get close enough to press his button. You’re not quite strong enough to apply the distance you probably should, though, so when he takes a step forward, you take one back- but you never run.

It’s a weird limbo you’re caught in. Do you leap into his arms? Do you… Do you toss him out the door, after all? Leave him to the elements to chip away at his body; the rain to erode his fleshy outer shell?

But no. How could you do that? He-

He fucking looks like Caleb. It feels more sinful to rid yourself of him, now that he’s… on, than to indulge a little bit in the idea that he’s still alive and breathing.

If Caleb was still alive, you wonder silently one morning with no small amount of hurt, would he hate you? For whatever the hell it is you’re doing now?

You can’t even blame Gideon, not really. Without his persistent messages, and all the links he sent you of articles revolving androids and how they can help the user cope with grief, you’d have been none the wiser to the concept, sure- but at the end of the day, you made the choice to get one.

A chunk of your savings and an unprompted, fat check from Caleb’s best buddy— you decided to throw that at some futuristic company (well, not ‘some’: both men worked there- albeit they always kept their work very hush (you did catch whispers of a promotion, though, before the accident)) and one of the many services they provide.

Gideon, over the course of some months, was all but pointing you at their website, promising it would help. He’d be there to clear any confusion, in any case; hey, how neat did a walkthrough of the site from a bonafide EVER engineer sound?: Just one of his probes.

It was only two weeks back, however, when he paid an unsolicited house call, wordlessly wrapping you into his broad chest, that you caved to them.

You think about the scene while you sit at the counter and sip from your mug.

Your home smells richly of coffee, just brewed, and bacon as it sizzles. Eyeing not-Caleb with a pang of unease— not fully able to snuff out that feeling of uncanniness even as some days pass peacefully— you offer a small smile when he glances up at you.

Beaming just as he was the day before. Beaming like nothing is terribly wrong.

(To be clear, something is.)

You… can’t help but feel like you’re being monitored when he stares.

Yes, it’s a silly fear, you know that. The company your late brother worked for wasn’t exactly open with all the scientific grounds they made breakthroughs on, but he always promised that their means were lawful. Caleb wasn’t one for lies- so your doubts were soothed. So as hush-hush as EVER is sometimes, you’re fairly confident they wouldn’t ship out mass batches of faulty or otherwise rigged products.

Anyway- you suppose the weird intensity in its eyes isn’t all that off-putting when you take into account the very real personality it was formulated from.

When the pancakes (your favorite: banana chocolate chip; information he apparently already knew) turn an appetizing shade of gold, he shimmies them off the pan with a spatula and onto a plate.

That plate- loaded tastefully with bacon, a scoop of rice, and eggs with a ketchup smile painted over its face- slides before you. But though your belly growls, you don’t eat. Not right away. Wherever the culinary arts are concerned, your older brother has always excelled. Growing up, maybe you even exploited him a little for it- but he never did anything he didn’t want to; sometimes it even seemed like Caleb enjoyed sticking his neck out for you.

He pats his hands over his too-small apron (not that he minds it), frowning.

“What’s wrong, Pipsqueak? Does… Does the food look alright? I haven’t made somethin’ for you in a while, huh…?”

Oh no, the food looks fine.

It’s just that you’re the only one eating it.

And maybe it’d be better to keep that thought to yourself: part of you is just over the moon to have him standing in your kitchen with you after months apart— but it doesn’t matter that you keep your mouth shut, because Caleb reads your mind anyway.

He’s at your side in a blink, hushing away the tears that bead at your eyes out of nowhere.

“Hey, hey… No cryin’, okay? I’m just not hungry this morning, Meimei- but that doesn’t mean I won’t sit with you and talk while you eat. C’mon,” he squeezes your hand where it lies on the counter, smiling lightly.

It takes everything in you not to flinch away from the touch.

“Wouldn’t want your breakfast goin’ cold now, would we?” Pulling out the barstool beside you, he sits.

You don’t ask him to, but Caleb picks up your fork and embodies one of the several memories you have of him spoonfeeding you as a child.

“I can feed you. Just like the good ol’ times. Here, you gotta open your mouth first,” His smile strengthens when your lips, as if by habit, part. Your lashes flutter shut when that first bite touches your tongue- syrupy hotcakes and fluffy scrambled eggs- and for that you’re glad because you don’t have to see the way he marvels at you as you eat.

It’s not good for your heart.

“So? What does Pipsqueak the number one food critic have to say about my dish?” He shines, “Does it taste as good as it looks?” You can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes- the scene too nostalgic to simply idle away with indifference. You wear all your emotions on your face, anyway; you’re not fooling anybody, least of all Caleb.

“Even better,” you murmur with the barest of smiles. He presses another spoonful to your lips and you giggle.

Violet hues glitter with delight. You’ve said practically nothing to him this whole time, and he’s been patient- weirdly patient, almost- but the joy in his gaze is palpable now.

Sometimes, though, you can almost swear you see something in his gaze shift. Tuning itself like a lens. He blinks and it disappears.

“…But I will say your presentation could use some work. It’s a 7 out of 10.”

Caleb, still holding the utensil out, uses his other hand to prop his chin up. He smiles fondly as he regards you. As you’ve gotten older, it’s like every time you see the brunet, he looks at you like he’s taking you in for the first time all over again.

“Yeah?” He encourages. “Enlighten me, oh Pipsqueak- what must I do to earn those three extra points?”

“The ketchup smiley face was all lopsided,” you explain in a quiet voice, having a hard time fully immersing in this lie unraveling before you; beautiful as it is. As much as you might ache to.

This isn’t a good idea. You know that.

Still…

Maybe… maybe just a couple of conversations with him can’t be too bad, right? I mean, it’s only a fraction of what Gideon was expecting of you (lounging around together to chat, game nights, and even public outings), but to him, it’d be a start. For you, though, it’s a stretch. An exception.

You should limit interaction with not-Caleb.

You know this, and yet—

Glancing back to him, you try and fail to hide a coy smile with a napkin. “Next time, keep a steady hand, and you’ll be a perfect chef in no time. Maybe not as good as me, but, y’know…”

He chuckles, brows lifting. “Oh yeah? Then expect surgical precision from me tomorrow morning. Chef Caleb won’t let you down again!”

An intense sadness slips through the momentary happiness you were allowed. It nags at your chest.

You blink rapidly, giving a feeble, light sound before looking away.

You’ve never let me down, Gege, you don’t say, taking your fork from the clasp of his big hand (much to his dismay) to prod at your plate.

It was me who failed you.

✦

Not-Caleb looks like Caleb, yes.

He acts like him, too.

You spend the span of the next few weeks trying to scrutinize him; hours spent on the couch, his hand in yours while you grill him. You treat him like a bug under a microscope. Prodding for answers to questions you’re sure his programming must miss- interrogations built on memories so old they’re near ancient. Just blurry wisps in your mind.

Not-Caleb remembers some better than you.

Puts you to shame with his mechanical replies detailing scenarios you’re missing fragments of.

What’s Caleb’s favorite fruit?

I like apples, Pipsqueak.

And what’s my favorite food he’d make for me?

Easy-peasy. You still love those boneless chicken wings, don’t you? Although, that braised pork I make for you comes as a close second, doesn’t it?

Am I your real sister?

And you’d never ask the real Caleb such a thing. You’re only doing it now because it’s one of the most personal things you could possibly make a query of. His response would be very telling.

Life before you met him all those years ago is no more than a fuzzy glimpse, and you never minded all that much: so long as you had Caleb, nothing else, nothing before, mattered. All throughout your childhood, people didn’t know the difference anyway.

Far as they knew, you were family.

Which… isn’t wrong, per se— but it’s not biological. ‘Real.’

You, Caleb, and Gran were obviously aware of that. To you it was always a beautiful thing: a tale of rebirth, in a way, or a second chance, as a young girl found a new place to call home with a warm guardian and a brotherly figure. They’d stabilize her and bring warmth to an otherwise cold beginning.

Caleb was never spoken for on that front.

You… didn’t see eye to eye on all things. Oh, that much is true.

Sometimes you were convinced that he wanted nothing to do with the assumption that you were his little sister (albeit, you were never sure why). At others, it was like he was furious you were only bound to him in name and not blood. He saw it as an attack on your close bond.

…But Not-Caleb surely doesn’t know all his nuances. Not like you came to.

So you’re expecting a pause. A minor glitch or even a malfunction as the robot scours his database.

Got him, you almost think to yourself— then swiftly take it back.

The face of the android sat at your side falls, much to your surprise, into a small frown.

And the truth must be coded deep in the bulwarks of not-Caleb’s artificial brain: your and Caleb’s respective origins. The answer is no. No, you’re not his real sister.

…But your real Gege would lie and say yes, absolutely you are—

“‘Course you are,” Not-Caleb goes. And he does it with as much passion behind it as you’d expect.

You’re startled into silence.

He scoots impossibly closer and loops an arm over your shoulder, tucking your head to his jaw. Seamlessly, he pecks your hairline, saying, “You’re my sweet little Meimei. You’re priceless to me. Now no more pickin’ at me, okay?” He suggests in a light tone, rubbing your shoulder. “You’ve been questioning me all evening- look, it even got dark out. Let’s get you to bed-“

“I- I didn’t say I was tired-“

“You didn’t have to. I could tell you were startin’ to get sleepy, Pipsqueak,” he looks down at you and smiles- a reassuring, yet no less playful smile- and for one moment you cant breathe because fuck it’s him. It’s really, really him. “Your drooping eyes were a dead giveaway. Hm... I guess that big dinner we had put you in a food coma, huh?” He chuckles.

We. Funny, that. You recall the feast being one-sided.

Nonetheless.

Without prompting, he sweeps you off the couch and walks you up the wooden stairway. The old steps creak underfoot. He does it all effortlessly, though, arms as strong and capable as you remember.

You loop your slimmer ones around his neck.

With great hesitance, you lend a part of yourself to this illusion.

This beautiful, near unbelievable, oh-so fragile illusion that Caleb is not dead.

When you reach your bedroom, you don’t send him off to the guest room like all the nights before. No, when he carefully sets you down, you watch him, motionlessly, as he tucks you in and plants a chaste kiss to your forehead. When he turns to go- “don’t let the bed bugs bite”- you snatch his hand, half terrified you’ll blink and he’ll be gone, and flash him a look that silently pleads.

Stay.

The brunet’s lashes flutter, brushing over his cheekbones where the lamplight makes them shine.

He opens his mouth.

Pauses, then closes it.

“Stay. Please, Gege,” you breathe, on the cusp of shattering all over again. It’s become more manageable over recent days, this unresolved cluster of emotion inside you, but it’s times like these that make you feel blindsided by it.

You innocently add, “Like when we were kids.”

Oh, you’d go back to then if you could.

His long fingers, loose in your hold, flip to swallow up your hand. He stoops over to turn off the light.

His voice shakes ever so slightly, “Okay.”

Then, he clambers into bed with you and reminds you of just how small it is, how much he does not belong, but you’ve never felt more at home when he pulls you to his chest and- dutifully ignoring the quiet beneath your ear, the absence of a pulse- you cling to him.

Maybe it’d be a little weird, the proximity, what with your grown age and the fact that you were no longer children cuddling during thunderstorms…

It’s not like you’re hanging off him like he’s your lifeline for any nefarious reason, though- and it’s not like he can hold any judgment anyway. He’s… He’s not really Caleb. He’s not even a person. Just a sentient robot that resembles him to a shocking degree and soothes that ache in your chest- just by a smidge.

…And yet when he looks at you, suddenly, tilting your jaw up so he can admire what he sees in the darkness- your stunned expression lit faintly by the moon- it’s like he’s reading this in his own way.

His interpretation? you realize in a shaking breath?

He’s no longer holding his little sister, but a woman.

It’s in his eyes, rippling as he exhales deeply (all artificial, albeit you don’t dwell on that for long) and thumbs over your lip.

A boyish kind of wonder lifts his brow as he stares, cheeks slightly flushed.

Your heart bangs in your chest. Like gunshots punctuating the silence. It grows to be unbearable. This is weird, and wrong- the way he’s looking at you. But you quickly chalk it up to a malfunction.

It’s all a fluke, technology fucking up in a way that reminds you of humanity’s shortcomings and how far they can only go.

Finally, you’ve found the fault in its design. The place where Caleb and not-Caleb differ.

You know your beloved older brother like the back of your own hand, so when his eyes flutter (flash, almost) and he lurches forward to clumsily press his lips to yours— you label the action for what it really is.

An inaccuracy.

Perhaps, you think as you close your bleared eyes and let him, the only. Because the rest of his program is perfect. Infallible.

The scene unfurling is foreign- his big hands cupping your cheeks as he kisses you like his life depends on it- but as he shifts you beneath him and hovers atop, that signature softness remains. Really, as his fingertips reach for your shorts—

(A blip of something mechanical in its fiery gaze, almost as if it’s trying to rectify itself; the shortest of pauses—)

It’s all that grounds you.

“Caleb,” you moan, or cry. You don’t know. Just that when he helps you out of your panties to go down on you, digits delving inside your tight hole after he wets it with his tongue, your heart sings for him.

You don’t push him away. No, even as the humanoid sullies your late brother’s image with all his sinful hungering, you can’t break yourself free. Never find it in you to.

Because it doesn’t matter what he treats you as. You realize belatedly, with no small amount of horror, that you don’t even care how many flaws Not-Caleb has. He could have a million for all you care, you’re already too far gone- writhing underneath him as he holds your legs open and feasts- to pretend you have any right to feel offended.

And if the real Caleb was here, he’d hate you: an echo in your skull, sneering. He should, but-

“There, Meimei, ngh…” a hot tongue (no longer as cold as he was in stasis) laves along your folds. Mauve eyes look up to you with reverence, glittering in the dark.

“Just like that. Moan, say my name- I’ve been waiting for this for so long…”

You wear ignorance like a blindfold. Shutting your eyes and ears.

A fluke. His hardware stalling.

His hair woven in your fingers feels like velvet. Soft, silky; hanging over his brow as he eats you out- skillfully, might you add. Albeit his passion wins out by just a touch against his expertise, clumsily plunging his two middle fingers into your pussy.

“You taste so good, so sweet- mmph- I’ll take care of you, okay?” He mumbles in between lewd squelches.

In both physical and moral terms, there is not one thing about this that isn’t filthy.

Y-You know that, but…

“Don’t worry. I’ll- ah- I’ll make sure you feel real nice. I’ll make you come as many times as you want. I’ve been… dreamin’ of this for years now… I won’t mess this up, okay? I’ll do whatever it takes until you’re shaking.”

-but this is all you have left of him.

Hazily, you glance down to him, cheeks aflame, and barely succeed in asking, “C-Caleb- h-how are you even gonna-? You-“ you choke on the words you need to say. With a mite of dry humor, you think right then that you’re short-circuiting just as bad as him (because he is).

“Are you capable of it?”

Of fucking you? Of pinning you down and throwing your ankles over his shoulders to better plow you into your creaking, old mattress?

His brow twitches slightly. Voice ragged, he makes an agreeable sound, pressing a kiss to your clit so adoring it’s almost funny when his finger bends sensually inside you. “Are you doubting my abilities, Meimei? I’ll have you know I’ve been practicing this moment in my head for—“

No. You slam your eyes shut and drown it all out.

His words become a white noise. No different than the steady whir of the air conditioning as a cool breeze gusts beneath your door, cooling your forehead where it beads with sweat.

A- A glitch, you quietly decide. Even long after he’s made you cum thrice (twice on his fingers and tongue, once on his thick, flushed cock), you hold staunch to that.

It’s all just a fluke.

✦

When the sun rises, you wake with a start to a phone ringing- yours- and swallow a lump of unease at the figure lying beside you (your Gege, a voice in your head reminds: you silence it).

Prying off the solid arm around your waist to gingerly exit the room- still half-naked- you piously ignore the cum caked to the inside of your thighs. Yours, it must be. You don’t focus on the confusion, either, the ask of just how the hell last night was possible and why you let your emotions get ahold of you.

(Because you love him. And maybe, just maybe- in your own weird, admittedly morally-grey way- you can cobble together a sense of normalcy with him. At least just for a little bit...)

As you head to the living room downstairs, you tap your phone and lift it to your ear.

“G-Gran,” you say as greeting, smoothing your hair back, still quite ruffled over… recent events. Ruffled and ashamed.

Very.

But- while he looks like Caleb, he’s not in reality. That… malfunction last night is a blatant proof of that. You only got on your back and let him have his way with you because you’ve missed his touch so much that you’d quite literally accept it in any form.

If sex or his lips battling against yours- his whispered vows, as seemingly heartfelt as they were errant to Caleb’s true character- is all you’ll get of him, then so be it.

In your own way, messed up as it is, it’s almost like with his android, you get a chance to reconcile with the loss.

To say goodbye.

Because before that package arrived at your doorstep, you didn’t have the luxury of one.

A familiar, aged voice sounds over the line. “Hey, dearie, oh- I didn’t wake you, did I? You sound tired.” She’s one to talk, you think to yourself- but not with malice. Truth be told you’ve worried for her as of late.

It’s been lonely for you both, you’re sure, but even though she only lives on the other end of Linkon, you have trouble making the drive. You haven’t dropped by in a couple weeks.

There’s a few different reasons.

It’s hard to pretend you’re fine when you’re not, for one, that what happened with Caleb- the abruptness and lack of conclusion, the confusing aftermath of it all- never did. You try your best to plaster on a smile and be strong in your grandmother’s presence, but that’s easier said than done. Especially when that old house of hers is jam-packed with photos and tokens of your past with him— painful reminders whenever you do visit.

The newest excuse for not is guilt.

Frankly, Gideon is the only one who knows what’s going on. Hah- no surprise, being he was the main reason for your even ordering not-Caleb.

But Gran doesn’t know.

You haven’t told her about him. And after last night, what with your own release still dried to your legs (which wobble slightly; he was every bit passionate and then some), you don’t think you ever will.

She might actually slap you across the face, taking your willingness to believe in such a lie as an offense against her grandson’s vibrant character.

…If she found out what happened- that you opened your legs for him and moaned- she might go into cardiac arrest.

You didn’t… want that to happen, definitely not- I mean, you didn’t even have the time to prepare. But yes, you did let it.

And curse yourself for wanting your brother back, but—

“No, it’s fine, Gran,” you glance over your shoulder to the staircase. Finding it empty, you let out a breath. “Is something wrong? It’s… It’s early.”

—you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel a little fucking blissful to wake up to his face again, just like back when you were inseparable kids.

She sighs on the other end, “no, no,” she starts. You think you hear a TV in the background; something to fill the silence you leave her to sit in. “Nothing’s wrong, my dear. I just… I haven’t seen you in a bit. I miss your face, Y/n. How are you doing?”

Like a dart to a board, guilt lands its mark.

You shouldn’t fluster at such a simple question, but you do. Not just because it’s so direct and genuine, but because a big hand rests over your shoulder and suddenly Caleb is there, standing behind you.

You straighten up from where you’re propped against the wall and quickly lift a hand to silence any words he may speak.

“I-I’m well, Gran. Sorry, just- I’ll visit soon, I promise.”

“I’d like that,” she murmurs. You’re aware of how much she means it and close your eyes with a wince. A broad palm, as if sensing your inner turmoil, rubs your shoulder soothingly.

You rub the bridge of your nose and don’t look.

“What’s… What’s been keeping you?” She broaches after a beat. Laughter from the television fades in and out over the speaker.

For a second, you freeze. You freeze because you fear she might know.

All for naught: “You’re getting enough sleep, right? I don’t want you overworking yourself. I know you’ve had a lot on your mind, sweetie- oh, God knows we’ve both suffered all these months without Caleb, but that’s no reason for us to fall apart either-”

You sigh shakily and bite down on a cry.

“Yeah, I know. But I’ve been better, Gran, okay? I…” Shiftily, you wet your bottom lip and give a half truth- as if that can relieve you of this weight. “I was talking with Gideon a little; he’s…. he helped me.”

She sounds pleasantly surprised. “Oh? Good, good. What about?”

Nosy as ever. Not that you’re complaining. It’s good to know someone cares- someone… real.

You swallow your unease. “He was just talking to me about his job and stuff. EVER... He told me he was finally getting that raise or whatever, so he’s doing well... I- I was prying per usual,” you joke to lighten the mood, “He, uh… he tells me more than Caleb ever did, so…” (And when his name started to feel like a sin to say, you don’t know.) “So, you know. I was just curious. He was checking in on me, too…”

Warm breath fans at your ear, fingers closing around your shoulder as he peppers kisses at your neck insistently- and you shudder. Clasping the phone tighter (because it suddenly feels unstable in your hands), you shrug off (not)Caleb for just long enough to say,

“Gran- I- I gotta go. Uh- someone else is calling me,” and to preclude any probing on her end- or extra guilt on yours- you add, “I’ll visit tomorrow, okay? I promise. I’ll- I’ll be there. I love you.”

A voice timidly mirrors it back, and then a big set of hands is taking the phone from you and ending the call.

You turn to him with a notch in your brow as he pockets it in the sweats he must’ve hastily thrown on after finding the bed empty.

“Caleb-“

You start, and his lips press to yours.

With some encouragement- hushing you between kisses, knuckling down your cheek affectionately- he shepherds you back upstairs, to your room.

“Nuh-uh, just let me take care of you, pretty girl, ‘kay?” He murmurs, smiling. You could die in peace to it, you think hazily as he lies you down— because the last mental screenshot you took of him before the accident was his handsome face crestfallen after you’d said something scathing.

To your defense, at the time, you thought he’d deserved it. Maybe he did. It’s hard to remember, but whatever the argument was about, it must’ve been stupid. Not worth it.

And… he’s not Caleb, he’s not, you know that, but…

“Lie back. It’s… It’s just you and me here. I want you to know that. And everyone else-“

(Gran, you realize he must mean; Gideon and all the other familiar and unfamiliar faces both at EVER.)

“None of it matters now. Just focus on me. On Caleb.”

(And how eerie is that? You muse with a whit of your rationale. The rest, as it withers, perhaps only does so for the sake of your own sanity.)

The whole world as it stands: nudged away to oblivion at his behest.

“O-Okay,” you give.

He’s not Caleb. But if this is your best- only- shot at reconciliation, then you’ll take him with arms open.

…

When he’s done priming you, he clambers on top and you experience a repeat of last night.

Deja vu, as fresh as a wound reopened, makes your mind lag a few increments behind reality. But when he starts to slow down, thrusts growing sloppy- it feels oddly real, and, head a bit clearer than last night, you register that.

…But it’s your release that stains the sheets. Steadily trickling from your hole, slicking his hips. It only makes sense that way; he might fuck like a human, but that’s all inherent to his program, you’re sure, built to please- and ultimately, he’s made of metal. Rods. You think you can feel them when you grab too tight, that hardness.

He leads you to the proverbial end of the cliff, and you survey the bottom one last time before- geronimo- you make that final leap.

When not-Caleb comes, he shudders in your arms.

Yet you swear… You swear something inside him, behind his lidded eyes, deeper in-

It’s like it shutters.

A flash. Brief and jarring, for a moment so bright it’s like your eyes have been virginal to light all along.

Just a malfunction, you decide with a spent sigh, sweaty in his solid arms as they make a cage around you, eager to sleep until noon.

Maybe you’ll mention it to Gideon next time he drops by.

Maybe he would know how to fix it.

✦

The days that follow after are foggy and empty. Like a moratorium of everything that once breathed in your life.

You wreathe not-Caleb’s neck with that beloved apple-shaped locket like he’s earned it.

Knowing nobody ever could.

✦

Gideon knocks, one afternoon.

You send him away. Or- Caleb does.

At that, you feel the need to remind him of who he is: the people he cares for, his career path, how he operated as a person before the incident in his suite in Skyhaven.

Caleb stops you short, a palm dwarfing the back of your own, and says I know. I just don’t want my buddy interrupting our time together, Pipsqueak. Can you blame me for wantin’ it to be just you and me?

You stop going out.

He doesn’t let you- not really. I mean, he doesn’t explicitly declare these rules over you, but it’s in the strange glint in his eye- the one that makes you shut your mouth and purse your lips- when he stops you at the door and suggests you stay.

Says it’s better that way. Says he worries whenever you go. Says to take him with you instead if you really must.

Progressively, you’re drifting farther and farther out from shore. Mentally-speaking, you’re going off the deep end. But exiting your house hand-in-hand with your brother- the man the town declared dead in an email you couldn’t bear to finish reading- as he stares at you like a lover, is, no matter the ache, something you can’t quite bring yourself to do.

It’d make this illusion just a smidgen realer. You’d never wake from this dream if other people saw it- saw him- and therefore made his presence more solid in your mind. (Not to mention the disgusting assumptions they’d make- none exactly wrong.)

You’ve been so consumed by grief lately, though, that the knowing of your imminent breakdown can’t stop you from making other bad choices.

So when the brunet altogether bars you from going out in public for the fear that something bad will happen to you (nonsensical; not that he sees the flaws in his arguments), insisting that groceries can be bought online, Gran can be checked up on over the phone, etcetera—

Yeah, you bend to it, alright? Sue you. Of course you bend. It’s all you know what to do anymore.

Gradually, though, the unexpected charm of not-Caleb begins to fade, and you’re left with a possessive form of the brother you once knew. A man desperately clawing at straws, hellbent to keep you at his side, clingy and insecure and, frankly, sometimes scary.

As the inaccuracies build, you’re not sure for how much longer you can overlook them.

The only reason you even tolerated him originally was because he was passable. More than that, even- he was perfect. A dead-ringer for Caleb in both appearance and personality.

But this-

This isn’t Caleb. No longer. It never was.

You don’t believe it for a second.

You heave a soft sigh. Anything louder than a breath brings the chance that he’ll overhear from where he stands in the kitchen and come zipping over, no doubt ready to fret and question you. If you value your time alone- rare as it is these days- then you’ll stay silent.

It’s a near impossible task to separate yourself from him. It was a small miracle in itself that you managed to break away for half an hour or so- but even that was begat by a lie. It seems the only real way to rid yourself of the overly doting, obsessive older brother (even if just for a few minutes) is to give him another demand. This time, it was an ‘I’m hungry’ that finally earned you some peace and quiet.

It’s a little sad, but lately you treat him more or less like a jacket after entering a warm home: you’re eager to shrug him off because the climate has changed.

The climate has changed.

He- He’s changed.

He’s growingly insane and yes, while the irony of that observation isn’t lost on you (considering you’re the mad woman who bought a human-like robot as a replacement in the first place), you still can’t help but feel alarmed as the signs of wrongness don’t cease but worsen.

You think about pressing the button. Turning him off, sending him away.

Hell, maybe you’d just dump him in the communal trash receptacles out back. Leave him there in a human-shaped bag for the garbage men to come and squint at before hauling away like junk.

…Because he is junk, right? No different than a crumb on the floor, you’d once said.

Perhaps you’ve lost it.

The section of your brain responsible for caring must’ve shut off, though, because it’s currently hard to feel much of anything.

…But there, like a soft stirring (or the voice of God as it whispered to Elijah)- you can sense it. That feeling is reminiscent of a survival instinct, or a watered-down version of it to tired nerves, breathing down the back of your neck where hackles rise—

What are you doing here?

The dream begins to fissure in real-time when Caleb (not-Caleb, you harshly remind yourself) cheerfully patters into the living room where you sit, helpful as ever, and his eye flashes as it settles on you. No different than a camera would.

The food looks delicious, per usual- you’d expect nothing less of your brother or even the robotic copy of him- but as nausea churns in your belly and you jolt upright, slapping a hand over your mouth as you run to the bathroom, nothing can save your appetite.

You shakily lock the door- but he’s knocking in an instant, worried.

You always did melt at his bleeding heart. Too often, men, especially the bigger of them, fell under the persuasion of apathy. Yet your gege was always different, always sweet, always gentle and patient and- yeah, okay, sometimes he was a touch mean, teasing to a fault- sometimes to the point of tears on your end as he quickly tried to right his wrongs- but he was preciously yours.

And he was real.

Dammit, he was fucking real-

He was alive and emotionally tangible in a way that this awful fucking hunk of metal is not and never will be—

“Pipsqueak-? Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Let me in. A-Are you not feeling well?” His words crack when you say nothing, dutifully ignoring him.

“Y/n… Let me in. Please-! don’t leave me alone, don’t go.” His voice becomes ragged, raw, the longer you don’t answer. Boyish in its vulnerability. “Stay- Stay here with me.”

By God your soul splinters down the middle. But you don’t answer. You- You can’t.

You throw your lunch up in the toilet and then your back against the wall, sliding down it with your hands over your ears like a child.

You don’t care, if he’s shouting and beating at the door, on the brink of hysteria like you’ve heard only once or twice when he was a boy too soft for his own good- you don’t care- you don’t care—

You sit there until he short-circuits out and thuds to the floor.

You flinch when he does.

Only then, however, do you tiptoe out- careful lest you trigger some internal response from him- to quickly pull on a hoodie and put your hair up, locking the front door behind you.

You don’t know for how long he’ll be conked out, but if luck is on your side, it’ll be for long enough to run to the local corner store and buy a pregnancy test.

You know you’re losing it, the little sanity you had left after your brother passed— misreading a common cold for a veritable child swelling in your womb.

It’s laughable: using your sleeve (another old piece of his clothing you ‘borrowed’, never to be returned) to dot away the tears at your lashline, you do laugh on the short trek to the convenience store.

But if not a reminder that you really are going crazy, losing control, then at least it’s just an opportunity to get some fresh air for a bit, right?

(…You also know that the first step to regaining back said control is to say goodbye to not-Caleb.

As it stands, though, you’re just-

You were never ready.)

✦

Two pink lines.

The thing clatters to the bathroom floor, and you along with it.

You sink to your knees and the white walls surrounding you feel more like an asylum than a space in your own house- because yes, you must be delusional. This is the final nail in the coffin.

But this- this can’t be right. It’s impossible. In the strictest sense of the word it’s impossible!

Heavy feet traipse in the kitchen; the livingroom; the hall, searching for you with faint, candied beckons of your name.

You rub your face as if to feel the color as it seeps from your complexion, and tell yourself that you’ve positively lost it as you thoughtlessly choose one of the corners to slump into, hyperventilating.

You’ll- you’ll send it back to EVER... You’ll send it back and forget and move on. You’ll move on. You’ll stop grieving, you’ll squirrel away your fraying, final memories of Caleb like you did all those precious photos in that old shoebox in your closet.

You’ll-…

A breath. The fan whirs.

The faucet, going full-blast, sputters, effectively drowning out the sounds you make as air becomes a tricky thing to intake; thick enough to choke on.

You’ll throw yourself into the fifth stage of grief then crawl out the other side of it if that’s what it takes to undo this fucking reality you’re lost in-

“Pipsqueak?” A hand on your shoulder.

Broad, big. A little weathered.

But gentle always. Gentle always. Just like you remember. Just like when Caleb meant Caleb; not the big glorified toy that walks and acts like him as an admittedly convincing, yet ultimately faux locum.

Your heart stills, hanging pendant in your chest. You swing from that uncertainty. By God you’d beat that handsome face in- oh, but by God would you kiss it, too.

The door sways on its hinge by splintered fragments, creaking behind the brunet.

Timidly, you lift your head over your shoulder to meet his eye where he towers behind you, violet hues softening with concern. They drift lower, honing in on the little item by your knee, wayward.

He coos immediately, enveloping you in his strong arms.

The feeling- it’s not exactly like that of the one you’d get while swimming in a hot tub, engulfed in its steaming waters, but it’s not too far off either. You let him hold you, unseeing as he all but sings in your ear, and restore the warmth to your bones.

Like a dead thing, or prey, you hang limp in his firm grasp. Terribly uncertain.

“Shh…” he croons, and you only realize a belated moment later that you’re crying. Hard and ugly.

He pets down your hair, ever the comforter, and as you press your head against his barrel chest it’s almost like you can hear a faint whirring in lieu of a heartbeat- speedy but low.

Unreal. Unreal. But then how-?

Perhaps you’ve lost it.

“We’ll figure it out together, honey,” you think it’s a barely concealed smile you register at the crown of your head, pasting down a kiss. “But no more cryin’, okay? I can’t stand to see you like this… Let me draw you a bath, hm? I’ll light some candles and we can talk about it. But don’t be scared. This is… such good news,” and then he laughs- a boyish, marveling little laugh that digs deep into your heart and twists.

The button, between his breastbone, just out of reach, glows faintly through his shirt.

For a moment you’re ready to press it like a player would on a game show— with urgency— but you blink and see those two pink lines searing themselves into your conscience.

Defeatedly, you shut your eyes. But you don’t shut him off.

✦

With Caleb preparing dinner, you’re able to slip away one evening for long enough to call Gran.

For worried friends and relatives, your voicemail box is becoming quite the hotbed- but among them, your grandmother is the priority.

Propping yourself by the sliding glass door, you brush back the curtain and look out to the small, cookie-cutter yard as you accept the call. Not without a shaky breath to prepare you, though; it’s been over a month since your last visit, and while your calls haven’t been quite as behind, you still wince a bit every time her contact pops up.

You want to tell her.

If not about Caleb, then at least the small bump forming beneath your oversized lounge shirt. There’s excuses for it- ones to be frowned upon, yes, but they’d be believable nonetheless. Obviously, a pregnancy is not something as simple to hide as a robot you can turn on and off and, if needed, stuff in the coat closet until the coast is clear.

You want to tell her. But-

You purse your lips, answering, “Hey Gran.”

The tone of her voice, frazzled and barely holding together, sends a chill down your spine.

“Y/n- where have you been? Is everything okay? I’ve been- I’ve been calling all afternoon.”

You digest that information with a quirk of your brow, scanning across the lawn outside, and a thick swallow.

There’s the voicemails, sure; it was only two nights ago you were poring over them all and holding back tears of guilt. But this afternoon? It was quiet- almost blissfully so, spent curled up to Caleb’s chest on the sofa as you watched an old favorite movie and he happily fed you fruit-flavored candies from his hand every so often.

Nobody called, let alone multiple times. You’re sure of it.

“Gran- what? No, I’m fine. What’s wrong?” You start, tossing a nervous glance behind you, internally grateful that Caleb’s absent humming while he chopped veggies was too distant for the phone to pick up.

She blusters out, apropos of nothing, “Is he there with you?”

Something in you stills.

“Y/n- is he there with you?”

An abnormal rush of blood to your ears and a murmur of your heart as you stand confused. The fingers curled around your phone case jitter.

You hold it closer to your ear.

“What? What are you talking about? I-Is who here with me?”

Does she- There’s no fucking chance- does she know?

How?

Chest thumping, your pulse fluttering in the column of your throat as it bobs uncertainly, you begin to wonder to yourself if this is the time you come clean, lay all your sins out like cards on a table. Make the confession.

Push has come to shove, you think. And fuck if you know where all this is coming from on her end, if Gideon told her or she just miraculously put two and two together or-

An exhale on her end, shaking on its way out.

“Were you not told? Dear-“ she broaches, louder, more firm— and this is just milliseconds before the world as you know it- the one you freed of your hands and let reshape itself around a delicate delusion- buckles at the knees. It’s right before you do, too.

“They found him. They found Caleb.”

That breath, right afterward of her telling you, is like the first one after drowning.

Your eyes widen as you break the surface.

His- His body. The tinny footage they dredged up from the area showed he entered his home, but after the explosion, there was no sign of him, no ash no corpse no nothing— So you don’t know how the hell they managed to recover his pieces, let alone after they already ran clean-up crews through the charred infrastructure and hosed it down- but you’re hysterical at the news.

You were cruelly forced, all along, to just assume he’d been burned to nothingness.

So you don’t even care about the how. How it’s possible or how this is happening after several months of white noise and hurting on your end— you don’t care.

You were made to come to terms with his death, and you did, at most, acknowledge it- but evidently, you could never quite accept it.

…If this is your final chance to say goodbye- even if it just means peering over a metal table in the morgue as he lies disheveled, hardly recognizable under a sheet- so fucking be it.

You’ll say goodbye if it kills you.

“What-? Where- where?” Your tone reflects as much, urgent as you stagger over to the sofa, nearly tripping as you reach for the jacket slung over the arm.

“I-Im coming,” you croak out, words failing you as the velvety carpet feels like mud beneath your bare feet- hard to walk across, every step making you feel like a baby taking its first ones.

One second you’re navigating a truth so unbelievable it’s near violent as it barrels into you; in the next, you’re collapsing under the weight of it, too caught up in your own scrambling for your keys and the door to even think of not-Caleb.

Gran goes to timidly say something, but your ears are shot and you quickly interject, “Let me get dressed- I-I’ll be there! Is he at the morgue?”

“Oh, no, honey,” she quavers out, “He’s alive. The town just messaged me; they made a mistake with his death certificate- they’re revoking it as we speak. He’s in Skyhaven.”

The phone drops to the floor.

And then that, too, gives way beneath you.

…It’s good a helping hand is there for you, then. Shouldering your weight without prompting- fretful as he confiscates the device, no different than a teacher with an unruly student, swiftly disconnecting the call.

It tuts in your ear, but- more sober than you’ve ever been- you can only note the sympathy practically dripping from its tone for what it really is: the upshot of its near immaculate programming as it mimics your considerate gege to a T.

Not-Caleb noses against your nape and sighs.

Mutely, you wind a hand, tottering, uncoordinated fingers and all, behind your back to grope along his chest—

He easily gathers both your wrists in his palm, “hey now,” turning you around. He lifts your knuckles up for a chaste kiss, watching you intently all the while.

A cold weight settles over you, soaking you through like meat left overnight to marinate. From the kitchen, stirfry sizzles in the pan. A few moments more of it and the smoke detectors will fire off.

…He just leans in to peck your forehead though, deaf to the sirens you hear wailing in your head, having mastered the art of playing dumb long ago.

He murmurs, as cloying as cake frosting, “C’mon, Pipsqueak, let’s go eat. Dinner’ll be done in just a sec. I made one of your favorites. After that, we can sit around the couch and brainstorm some more names for the baby- what d’you think?”

Flukes, malfunctions, glitches— no; Not-Caleb, you realize right then, ceasing to blink as you stare at its prototype through the shifting lens head-on, was never flawed.

“…But you’re not leavin’, not to him.”

The real one was.

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

QUESTIONS&ANSWERS HERE

[dollgxtz]

No Turning Back

ᯓ ︎Word Count: 12k

ᯓ Tags: yandere!caleb x fem!reader, obsessive behaviors, psuedocest, noncon, coercion, manipulation, use of gege/mei mei, adopted siblings dynamic, unprotected sex, mentions of baby trapping, creampie, cunninlingus, nicknames like pips, pipsqueak, baby

ᯓ Summary: Caleb comes home from college, much to your excitement. Sadly, you'll be leaving soon for college yourself, leaving the nest and...him. He can't let this happen. He's already sick of pining after you, forever stuck in just the brotherly role he was forced in. He decides to take matters into his own hands, to cross the line and force you to confront the fact that he wants to be so much more.

He'll be whatever you need him to be. Just as long as he doesn't have to pretend he doesn't want to kiss you.

The sight of you, so flushed and flustered, spurred Caleb on. He could feel his cock hardening in his shorts, a throbbing ache that demanded release. "Stop please...we c-can't do this," you pleaded, your voice a breathless whisper, your eyes darting wildly as you tried to push him away, your hands pressed firmly against his chest. Your struggle was futile, and Caleb knew it. He sighed, a sound that was equal parts resignation and anticipation, and then his lips were on your neck, trailing hot, wet kisses that sent shivers down your spine. His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and contour, his touch both possessive and tender. "You don't want this now," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin, "but I promise it'll feel good if you stop struggling. I've always taken good care of you haven't I?."

ᯓ AN: Hiii guys! I'm very excited for this to be my first (officially posted) Caleb fic! This trope is uncharted territory for me!! But soo fun to write. I just find it so endearing to kind of delve into the mindset of someone that's stuck in a brotherly role and wants so bad to be more to you that he forces you to break that image of him by forcing himself into you. All because he's worried you'll never see him any other way. EEE so interesting!!!

I really wanted to make it a point that in this fic, Caleb doesn't fully mind having the role of your brother, since he knows that it'll be hard for you to let go of that mindset after so many years. After all, he feels his whole purpose in life is to satisfy your needs. If you still need your gege, he'll be that for you. He just doesn't want to only be your gege :3

No taglist for this since this is a new taboo trope I'm writing and I don't want anyone to be uncomfy. Read at your own risk!!!

You paced your room, heart thudding against your ribs like it was trying to escape. Eyes flicked from the clock to your phone and back again, every second dragging slower than the last. The warm, savory smell of Grandma’s turkey crept in under your door, thick with rosemary and thyme, the scent of holidays and family and everything you’d been waiting for. It should’ve been comforting. Instead, it made your nerves buzz louder.

Why were you this anxious? You talked to Caleb all the time. He called almost every night, even when he was drowning in exams or hanging out with friends you didn’t know. His voice, grainy and tired through the speaker, always lit you up for a little while. He’d ask about your day, tease you about school, listen to you ramble about your latest anime obsession when you found a new one to talk incessantly about. But it wasn’t enough.

You didn’t miss the voice-on-the-phone Caleb. You missed your gege. The one who’d sit cross-legged on your floor with a pencil behind his ear and do your math homework without even looking at the textbook. The one who’d hand you his phone already queued up with your favorite show, tell you to lie down on his lap, and stroke your hair while you slowly drifted off. He used to sneak snacks into your backpack before school, gave you the best nicknames, the worst jokes. Caleb made everything feel simple.

But this reunion was bittersweet in a way too.

Because this time, he wasn’t just coming home—you were getting ready to leave. Your acceptance letters sat in a neat, mocking row on your desk: different cities, different dorms, different lives. It was supposed to be exciting, and sometimes it was. But right now, the thought of walking away from this house, from him, made your chest ache.

You hadn’t even told him yet which school you were leaning toward. Or that you'd been accepted at all. Part of you didn’t want to decide. Part of you wanted to stay in this room, with Grandma’s turkey in the air and Caleb on his way, forever.

You stopped pacing and sat on the edge of your bed, bouncing your leg. Picked up your phone again. No new messages. No updates.

Ugh. He was always so slow. You’d definitely have to tease him about it later—maybe something about needing a calendar instead of a clock.

Deciding to stop torturing yourself, you shoved your phone into your pocket and bounced downstairs, drawn by the mouthwatering smell drifting from the kitchen. Your stomach grumbled in response.

The kitchen looked exactly how you hoped it would. Slightly chaotic, full of steam and clinking dishes, but cozy. Grandma stood at the stove, carefully spooning juices over the golden-brown turkey, her focus intense. She wore her usual holiday apron, the one with a cartoon reindeer holding a spatula, and her hair was pinned up in the same neat bun she always wore when she meant business in the kitchen. The window over the sink was fogged up from the heat, and a half-empty mug of tea sat on the counter beside a folded towel and a cooling pie.

She turned at the sound of your footsteps, her face lighting up with a tired but warm smile. "Dear, can you give me a hand? My arthritis is acting up, and this turkey’s pretty heavy. I swear, they make them bigger every year."

"Yes ma'am!"

You nodded immediately, already reaching for the oven mitts hanging by the fridge. Helping Grandma was non-negotiable, especially when it came to the turkey. Besides, this was your favorite part—slicing into the turkey, feeling the crisp skin give way under the knife, watching the steam rise as tender meat separated in perfect layers. That first cut always felt like a reward for the work, the patience, the buildup. You slid the mitts on and moved to her side, ready to take over.

"Careful," she warned, handing you the baster with a wink. "He’s a juicy one."

You grinned, nodding like a soldier receiving a mission. As you basted the turkey, Grandma leaned back against the counter with a soft sigh, watching you with a combination of pride and nostalgia.

"You know," she said, her eyes softening as she looked over the turkey. "I usually make Caleb do this part . You remember that one year? The second I turned my back, you snuck a whole slice and tried to blame it on him" She laughed, the memory pulling a grin across her face. " You always hovered right here, acting all helpful, but really just waiting for a piece to fall off the platter. You had gravy on your chin and still tried to look innocent."

"And then Caleb took the blame for me anyways and you pretended to believe him" you replied with a grin, but the memory pulled a giggle out of you before you could help it. You could still see it clearly—Caleb standing there with that guilty look he’d perfected just for your antics, apologizing like he’d actually done something wrong.

And Grandma, standing over both of you with that wooden spoon in hand, raising an eyebrow but never pushing too hard. She knew the truth. Of course she did. But she just sighed and let him take the fall anyway.

Just as you picked up the turkey to move it to the table, the sharp chime of the doorbell sliced through the air. You both turned toward the sound, and your hands trembled so hard you nearly dropped the roasting pan. A splash of hot juices nearly burned your wrist, and you hissed under your breath, steadying the pan with both hands.

You gasped, heart launching into your throat. “Oh. Is that him? He's late.” Grandma clicked her tongue and gave you a knowing, warm smile, knowing exactly what was going through your mind. “Don’t drop the turkey. Go on and let him in.”

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god! He’s here!

Your mind went blank except for that one thought, looping on repeat. You quickly and—miraculously—set the turkey down without disaster, fumbling a little but managing to avoid catastrophe. You wiped your hands on a towel that wasn’t nearly as clean as you thought it was and practically bolted for the front door. Every nerve in your body buzzed like you’d been plugged into an outlet. After all this time. After every late-night call, every dumb meme shared at 2 a.m., every message that ended with "soon"—he was finally here.

You paused at the door, took a breath. Your reflection in the glass caught your eye—hair slightly frizzed from the kitchen steam, cheeks flushed. You straightened your shirt. Cleared your throat like that would somehow organize the chaos inside you.

Then you swung it open. And there he was.

Warm violet eyes that lit up even in the bright afternoon sun. Tousled brown hair that practically begged to be ruffled. A sleeveless tank that clung to him just enough to show off arms that had definitely spent some time at the gym—whether intentionally or not. He looked tired, but smug, the corner of his mouth curling up the moment he saw you like he’d been waiting just to see your face.

“Heyyy, pips! Took you long en—oof!”

You didn’t even let him finish. You crashed into him, arms around his neck, squeezing like you never wanted to let go again. His bag hit the ground with a thud you didn’t even hear. You buried your face in his chest, inhaling the faint scent of airport and his signature cologne.

He staggered back a step with a surprised grunt but caught you easily, strong arms wrapping around your waist in that old, familiar way. For a second, nothing else existed—just the two of you, in the doorway, like no time had passed at all.

"No...took you long enough, Caleb..." you mumbled, your voice muffled against his chest. The words were more instinct than thought, rising from a place that had waited far too long. Your hands clutched at the back of his shirt, needing the pressure, the proof he was really standing there.

“Missed me, huh?” he mumbled into your hair.

You couldn’t see his face, but you could hear the smile in his voice—a soft curl of sound that wrapped around you like a blanket. And for once, your brain didn’t pull up a witty comeback or a teasing jab. Instead, there was just this quiet, overwhelming rush of everything all at once: relief, joy, disbelief. Your eyes stung, and you swallowed hard as you nodded against him, your throat too tight for anything else, your heart flipping like it was trying to break free.

“Are you really gonna make me say it?” you whispered, the words unsteady, tangled between a shaky laugh and a tear threatening to spill. His grip around you tightened, grounding you with warmth and certainty, just for a moment—but that moment said more than a thousand explanations ever could.

“Okay okay, you don't have to” he said, a quiet laugh slipping from him. "Is that turkey I smell? Im starving.”

You pull back from him, playfully tugging his arm to rush him inside. God, he’s so much heavier than you remember. Solid. Like trying to tug a tree. He barely budges, just plants his feet and gives you that familiar smile that always made it hard to stay annoyed with him for long. It was infuriating—and comforting all at once.

"Yes, and you'd better hurry up 'cause I've already eaten most of it," you joke, flashing him a sneaky grin.

Caleb rolls his eyes, scooping up his bag from the ground with an exaggerated sigh. "Uh huh, sure. Like Grandma would ever let you do that before everyone’s seated. I bet she still guards the turkey like it’s the crown jewels."

You stick your tongue out at him like you’re ten again, and he retaliates with a quick ruffle of your hair, laughing as you duck and swat at his arm. It's clumsy and playful, and you hadn’t realized you this until it was happening again. Just like old times.

As you both step into the living room, the warmth of the house seems to wrap around you tighter. The lights are softer here, golden with age and memory, and the familiar creak of the floorboards under your feet brings it all rushing back. The framed photos on the wall—some new, some ancient—remind you of every version of this house you’ve ever known.

Grandma’s voice floats in from the kitchen, warm and steady, cutting through the ambient clatter of dishes and the soft hum of something bubbling on the stove. "Caleb, can you come here? How was the flight, dear? I heard there was a storm."

The sound of her voice makes you both pause. He glances down at you, that spark still in his eyes, then shifts his gaze toward the kitchen. His smile changes, softening like butter left out on the counter, melting into something gentler. That voice had been the soundtrack to so many homecomings, to so many recoveries after bad days, and you can almost see the years of memory flicker across his face.

"Coming, Gran! It wasn't that bad." he calls back, his voice a little louder, a little more boyish now, like some small part of him had never really grown up—even after everything.

You follow close behind, the scent of roasted turkey stronger now, pulling all of you home at once. Caleb’s bag bumps against his leg as he walks, and you trail just behind. Everything felt a little more real now.

You all settle into a kind of warm, chaotic normalcy as soon as you're through the doorway. The smell of sage and butter still floats through the air, blending with the low hum of voices and clinking cutlery. Grandma, ever the general of the kitchen, waves you toward the dining table with a firm command.

"Sit, sit! Let me and Caleb handle this."

You don’t even try to argue—it’s tradition at this point. You sink into your usual spot at the table, the cushion still slightly sunken from years of use, while Caleb drops his bag near the entryway and heads straight for the serving dishes like he’s been doing this every Sunday for the last ten years.

"Plates? Got it," he mutters, already reaching for the stack, moving like he knows where everything is—which, of course, he does. Grandma trusts him with plating, and always has. Her sharp eyes track his movements with silent approval as she finishes adjusting the last of the dishes on the counter.

But what catches you off guard, even now, is how naturally he makes his way to your plate first.

"Still acting like my servant, huh?" you tease with a crooked smile, watching as he starts scooping mashed potatoes. The way he smooths them into a neat little hill like he used to when you were little makes something tighten in your chest.

He shrugs like it's obvious. "If I don't spoil you, who else is going to? Now do you want green beans, or are you still picky like you were when you were ten and used to sneak them into your napkin?"

You raise your eyebrows, feigning offense. "For your information, I'm not a child anymore. I eat green beans now and have for awhile."

He snickers, reaching for the serving spoon. "You suuure about that? You kinda act like one still."

Before you can reply, he ladles a big helping of green beans onto your plate with theatrical flair, lifting the spoon like he's about to knight you. "Do you want me feed you too, pipsqueak?" he teases, giving you a sideways glance that dares you to challenge him.

"Caleb!" you snap, glaring at him, but it’s useless—you’re already biting back a laugh. And he knows it.

He grins, smug as ever, and keeps going. "What, don't you remember when you would get lazy and beg me to feed yo—"

You grab a spoon and toss it at him with mock outrage, knowing full well it’s a futile gesture. Sure enough, he holds out his hand lazily, and the air around the spoon ripples as it freezes mid-flight—gravitational waves wrapping around it like semi invisible fingers.

"Cheater! Always using your Evol cause you know I'd get you otherwise," you tease, folding your arms and leaning back with a smirk. He laughs, flipping the spoon in mid-air and catching it effortlessly. "Oh really? You threw things at me our whole childhood and never once managed to hit me."

Grandma turns her head, not even looking, and calls out in that tone that made both of you freeze since childhood. "No evol usage at the table! I swear, I’ll take that plate right out of your hands, Caleb."

"Yes ma’am," he says with a laugh, stuffing the spoon into a drawer with exaggerated obedience.

You catch her smirking to herself before she turns back to the gravy. "Some things never change," you murmur, smiling to yourself. Caleb sits beside you now, nudging your elbow. "Seriously though, you want rolls? Or do I have to guess that too like some kind of food psychic?"

You nudge him back. "You’ve guessed wrong before."

"I’ll risk it," he says, piling one on your plate anyway.

You glance across the table, where everything feels familiar but a little fuller now, a little warmer. This moment feels suspended in amber—just long enough to make you wonder if time ever really moved forward here, or if you’d stepped right back into something you never really left behind.

"Ah, dammit. I knew I was forgetting something at the store," Grandma mumbles, walking into the dining area and pushing up her glasses with the back of her hand. Her apron is dusted with flour and her slippers scuff slightly on the floor as she stops beside the table, looking around with an expression that's equal parts frustrated and disappointed in herself.

You and Caleb glance at each other, confused, forks halfway to your mouths. "What’s wrong?" he asks, standing up halfway from his chair, voice full of concern.

She shakes her head with a sigh and waves a dish towel like a white flag. "I forgot the cranberry sauce. Didn’t want to make my own this year—too much trouble—and it completely slipped my mind. Guess we’ll just have to eat the dressing with the gravy, kiddos."

"No, no, it's fine. I’ll go grab some from the store real quick. It’s no problem," Caleb says, already pushing back from the table with a casual shrug. Before he gets far, you reach out and grab him, your fingers wrapping around his arm.

"You just got here and you're already leaving again? Caleb..." you say, dragging out his name in a playful whine, your expression softening into an exaggerated pout.

He pauses, looking down at you with that familiar, half-annoyed, half-amused glint in his eyes. Then, without missing a beat, he reaches for your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "You can come with, you know. No need to beg, Miss Clingy."

You huff, pulling your hand back and rolling your eyes like it's the most ridiculous suggestion you’ve ever heard. "I am not clingy."

"You literally just clung to me," he points out, smug as ever.

You open your mouth for a retort, but the spark of excitement blooming in your chest steals your words. The idea of walking to the store with him—just the two of you, like when you were kids on snack runs or pretending to go on missions—suddenly sounds like the best possible detour.

Grandma raises a brow but doesn’t argue. She just shakes her head and mutters, "If they’re out of the jellied kind, don’t come back." You both laugh as you head toward the door. Caleb pulls it open and the cold air rushes in, biting at your cheeks. The early evening light spills across the porch, painting everything in warm gold and sharp shadow.

"Adventure time," he says with mock drama, pulling on his jacket.

"For cranberry sauce," you reply, rolling your eyes but smiling. "Truly heroic."

As you step onto the porch, your shoes thud lightly on the wood, the sound muffled by the wind picking up through the trees. Leaves skitter across the driveway like tiny dancers, and you pull your jacket tighter, tucking your hands into your sleeves. You two begin your descent down to the store, begin to fall in the smooth rhythm of memories.

Caleb almost couldn’t believe it—couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move—when the door opened and you stood there in the frame. For a moment, everything had went silent. No wind, no rustling leaves, no thoughts, even. Just you. Then you moved, and it hit him like a truck.

You had launched yourself at him with that same recklessness that always made his chest ache, and before he could say a word, your arms were around his neck, your warmth pressing into his chest, your scent—God, that scent—flooding his head like smoke. Sweet. Soft. Sinking into his ribs and curling there like it belonged.

Because there you were—real. Solid. Alive and soft in his arms after all those years of glitchy video calls and messages that never felt like enough.

You’d grown since he saw you last. Taller, more confident in your skin. Your figure had filled out in ways he hadn’t been prepared for. Ways he’d imagined late at night, then immediately hated himself for. But imagining it and feeling it—your body pressing up against his, completely unaware of what you were doing to him—was something else entirely. He’d tried to will it away, the sharp pulse of heat low in his stomach, the tension making his cock tighten in his shorts, but there was nothing he could do with you clinging to him like that.

He prayed you didn’t notice. That you wouldn’t pull away with a horrified look. That you’d keep holding on just a little longer. You smelled like home. Like his favorite memories. Like the only person who’d ever made him feel tethered to something real.

And through it all, one thought kept circling like a vulture: Mine. She’s still mine.

Not officially, of course. You’d never said it. But you never had to. The way you looked at him. The way you called him when your days were bad or when you just wanted to hear his voice. The way you ran to him like this moment had been waiting for years.

He’d spent every damn day in college forcing himself through lectures he didn’t care about, social events he loathed, professors who droned on and on—just for the chance to end the day hearing your voice. A few stolen minutes. A dumb meme. A sleepy goodnight. That was his fuel. That was what got him through. He'd even pushed himself to graduate early so he could come back home to you sooner. And now here you were, warm and real and smiling at him, like the wait had been worth it.

The neighborhood is quiet, a stillness that settles in just before dinner. A few windows glow with light, silhouettes of families moving inside. You pass Mrs. Langley’s place—her plastic snowman already out, even though it’s not quite December—and wave when you see her peering out through the blinds.

"Still watching for suspicious teenagers," Caleb mutters under his breath.

"We were the suspicious teenagers," you reply, elbowing him.

The store is only a few blocks away, but with the chill in the air and the sky starting to dim, it feels like its own little journey. You both fall into an easy rhythm, footsteps crunching over patches of gravel and the occasional rogue pine needle from someone’s wreath.

"You know," Caleb says as you near the corner, "I kinda missed this. Just...us. Doing dumb errands and pretending they’re quests."

You grin at him. "They were quests. Epic ones. Remember when we tried to find marshmallow fluff and ended up at that weird corner deli where the guy insisted it only existed in Canada?"

He chuckles. "And you believed him. For, like, three years."

"Hey, he had a very trustworthy mustache."

He laughed, reaching out with that casual ease only he could pull off, and gently tugged you to his side—away from the curb, onto the inside of the sidewalk. Closer to him. Always closer.

It was instinct now. Second nature. You didn’t even question it—just moved with him like it was normal. Like it hadn’t meant anything. But it meant everything to him. That simple movement made something tight in his chest loosen, just a bit. You were still so trusting. Still his.

God, you were perfect.

Every little thing about you set him on fire. The way your arm brushed his. The sound of your voice, laughing at something stupid he said. The scent of your shampoo, warm in the cold air. The way your skin felt when it grazed his—the softness of it like silk against the calluses on his hand. He’d touched you a thousand times before—flicking your forehead, ruffling your hair, guiding you by the elbow—but now, every contact felt loaded. Dangerous.

He remembered every photo you’d sent him. The sweet ones. The silly ones. The unintentional ones where your shirt hung just low enough to stir something that clawed at his self-control. And when you were gone—miles away, unreachable—those photos became something more. He'd touched himself to them more times than he could count. His guilty ritual on the nights he couldn’t sleep.

His phone had been covered in his cum more than once, it slipping down the screen and covering your face before he promptly cleaned it off.

Maybe deep down, he'd always felt this way. Maybe he’d always been on this edge, toeing the line between brotherly affection and something far darker. But he’d never acted on it. Never let himself slip. Not when you were still just a kid, still clinging to your stuffed animals and dragging him into cartoon marathons. He was good back then. Careful. Disciplined.

He would never have dreamed of tainting you. Of letting the thoughts in his head touch you in any way. Not his mei mei. Not the one person in this world who made him feel human.

But now?

Now you were grown. Beautiful in ways that felt unfair. Confident without realizing how much power you had over him. And walking beside him like you still trusted him completely—like he wasn’t choking on the things he wanted to say to you. To do to you.

It was harder now. So much harder to keep those thoughts at bay. To pretend his feelings hadn’t shifted into something deeper. Possessive. Hungry.

He watched you glance up at him, smiling like you hadn’t just unknowingly shattered every boundary he’d built around himself. And he smiled back. Because you didn’t need to know yet. Not all of it.

This was getting harder. Every step you took in front of him chipped away at the restraint he’d been holding together with frayed thread.

He hadn’t meant to look. He wasn’t trying to focus on the way your shorts hugged your butt, or how your breasts moved when you jogged a few steps ahead to point out some forgotten corner of the neighborhood, rattling off memories with that easy smile. The way the outline of your nipples were slightly visible. But God—it was impossible not to notice.

Everything about you demanded attention. Even when you weren’t trying.

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a slow breath through his nose. He needed a distraction. He needed something to ground him before his thoughts slipped too far again. You were right there. Laughing, turning to look at him with that light in your eyes like no time had passed. He couldn’t ruin this.

“So…” he started, forcing his tone into something light, teasing. “Pips. What’ve you been up to while I’ve been gone? Applied to any jobs yet, or still dodging adult life like it's the plague?” He flashed a smirk, hoping it came off as playful and not something else.

The effect was immediate. Your smile faltered—just a flicker—but he caught it. You slowed your steps, suddenly studying the sidewalk like it had something more interesting to say than he did. Caleb narrowed his eyes, every part of him snapping to alert beneath the surface.

He stopped walking. “Hey.” His voice came quieter now, gentler. “Did I say something wrong?”

"No! I just...I-" you stuttered, seeming to short circuit on the spot. You looked away from him and that silence did things to him. Bad things. His mind spiraled through a dozen possibilities in a second—none of them good.

“If you don’t want a job, it’s alright,” he said quickly. “You know that, right? I wasn’t trying to push. I just…I worry.”

He took a half-step closer, just enough for his shoulder to brush yours. He wanted to touch you—grab your hand, tip your chin up, look you in the eye and make you see that he didn’t care what anyone else expected of you. If you didn't want to work? Fine. He'd take care of you forever if he had to.

“I just want you to be okay, and satisfied in life” he added, softer this time. “That’s all.”

He smiled again, but there was a hint of tension behind it now. A smile that said: Tell me everything. Don’t hide from me. Not you.

You sucked in a breath—a shaky, uneven inhale that made Caleb’s chest tighten before you even spoke. He could see it in your face, the storm gathering behind your eyes.

"I know," you said quietly. "It’s just...you just finished college and came back...and now it’s my turn to leave."

Your voice cracked, and for a second, it looked like you might cry. That expression shattered him. A thousand memories crashed in at once—nights on the phone with you tucked under your blankets, video calls with pixelated smiles, your voice through earbuds as he wandered cold campuses just to hear you say his name. He hadn't even been back a full day. He’d barely held you for more than a minute. And now this?

His heart slammed once against his ribs, then kept pounding.

He stepped closer, automatically reaching for your arm, needing the contact. Needing to ground you. “What do you mean? Are you moving out?” he asked, his voice a notch too calm. “That’s fine, if anything...it means we’ll be closer.”

He knew he was lying the moment the words left his mouth. He already knew. You weren’t just moving down the street. And you weren’t telling him this like someone with casual news. There was weight in your voice.

You looked away from him.

“No, Caleb” you said, almost a whisper. “Actually, I got accepted into a few colleges. So…I’ll be off doing that. None of them are in Linkon either” You hesitated, biting your lip like you didn’t want to say the next part. “I wanted to tell you, but…I didn’t want to ruin this.”

Ruin this.

Caleb’s throat went dry. His fingers flexed against the fabric of your sleeve, knuckles whitening for half a second before he caught himself. You were leaving. You had planned this. Made this decision without him. Held it in during all those calls. All those nights. And now you were here, looking at him with that apologetic expression like he was just another person in your life who’d you have to let go.

The thought made something cold bloom behind his ribs.

He forced a smile—a tight, careful one—and exhaled slowly through his nose. “You didn’t ruin anything, pipsqueak” he said, voice gentle, soothing. “You’re allowed to chase your future. You’re smart. You deserve that.”

But underneath the surface, his mind was spiraling. Running wild. Colleges. Dorms. New friends. New guys. People who didn’t know you like he did. People who hadn’t been there. Who hadn’t earned you.

He could feel it rising in his chest. That old, sick fear. Not just of losing you—but of someone else thinking they had the right to have you. Still, he kept his expression soft. He couldn’t let you see that part of him. Not yet.

“Where?” he asked, voice steady. “Where’d you get in?”

That simple question seemed to make you feel better.

Your face brightened almost instantly, like the clouds had cracked just for you. Caleb felt the shift in his chest—an aching pressure that loosened, only to come back sharper. You started listing off colleges, rattling them off with a kind of nervous excitement that made your voice go a little higher, faster. He listened. Of course he did. Every word was memorized before it even left your mouth.

You were glowing.

He couldn’t help it. He smiled too, soft and small, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes—but you didn’t notice. You were too caught up in the moment. Too focused on a future without him directly in it.

“I’m so proud of you,” he said, reaching out to ruffle your hair like he used to. It was familiar. Innocent. A reflex built from years of habits. And you beamed at him like it meant everything. "You're gonna kill it. I bet you'll be top of your class too."

Then you kept walking, humming some tune under your breath, talking about dorms and classes and new cities you couldn’t wait to explore. Caleb stayed beside you, nodding, occasionally answering—but his smile began to slip, bit by bit.

His mind turned darker with every step.

Because you were excited. Too excited. And he knew you—he knew how easily you trusted people. How quickly you made friends. You’d get swept up in it. In the freedom. In the noise. You’d meet people who didn’t deserve you. Frat boys with perfect teeth and snake-oil charm, the kind who’d say just enough to make you feel seen. The kind who’d hand you a drink and smile too long while you weren’t looking.

He clenched his fist in his pocket.

You wouldn’t see it. You never did. You never noticed danger until it was too close. And Caleb had always been there to keep it away. Always. But if you left—if you were hours away, miles away—how could he protect you? How could he stop them?

You kept talking, laughing now, completely unaware of the storm churning in his head. Every step brought you closer to the store. Every word made it worse.

You two kept walking, but time felt warped. The distance from your front porch to the corner store couldn’t have been more than a few blocks, but with you beside him—talking, laughing, unknowingly unraveling him—it stretched out like a lifetime.

Then, finally, the corner store came into view, glowing weakly under the streetlight like some kind of checkpoint in a dream. “Oh! Caleb, we’re here! Fucking finally, that walk felt like forever,” you sighed, reaching for the door without hesitation.

“Let me get it,” he said quickly, stepping in front of you with more urgency than he meant to show. He caught the handle and pulled the door open, making sure to keep his body between you and the cold metal.

You smiled—wide, grateful, familiar.

That smile.

He felt his stomach twist. He used to think seeing you smile was the best feeling in the world. Now, it was something worse. Addictive. He couldn’t bear the idea of being without it. Of some stranger making you smile that way while he sat miles away, wondering if you'd already forgotten the sound of his voice.

You walked in first, brushing past him, your scent trailing behind like bait on a hook. He followed, jaw tight, hands in his pockets to hide the tension crawling up his arms.

The store was warm and overly bright. Too many fluorescents buzzing above. It smelled like stale coffee, processed sugar, and years of wear.

You made your way through the aisles like it was a treasure hunt, pointing out snacks you used to buy as kids, holding up a bag of off-brand cereal with a grin. Caleb stayed close behind, letting you lead, answering only with soft hums or low chuckles. His mind wasn’t here—it was on the ticking clock, on how little time he had left with you.

Then you spotted it. “Cranberry sauce!” you declared triumphantly, holding up the can like you’d just won a prize. You turned to him, expectant. “Grandma said jellied, right?”

He nodded, voice dry. “With the ridges from the can. Non-negotiable.”

You headed toward the register, humming, blissfully unaware that he was watching every move you made like he needed to memorize it. At the counter, you fished around in your pockets, frowning. “Shit. I forgot my wallet.”

Caleb didn’t even hesitate. He was already pulling out his card.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, smoothly sliding it across to the cashier. “I’ve got it.”

You gave him a sheepish smile. “You’re gonna start charging me interest soon for all the money I owe you.” He didn’t respond. Just watched you laugh as the scanner beeped and the bag was handed over.

If you left—if you went away to college, to a new city, to some other life—who would be there to open your doors? To cover for you when you forgot things? To protect you from people who wouldn’t know how fragile and precious you really were?

You thanked him with that same smile again. And it hit him all over: He couldn’t lose you. Not to distance. Not to time. And especially not to someone else.

Caleb started plotting the moment the store door shut behind you.

The bell jingled, the cool air hit your skin, and he shifted gears without a word. He moved faster now—just a little at first, but enough to make the difference clear. His stride lengthened, purpose behind every step. You didn’t notice right away. You were still talking, still laughing softly about the cranberry sauce like everything was normal.

But then your steps slowed.

“Hey…slow down…” you panted behind him, breath catching. He felt your hand grab at the edge of his jacket. You were trying to keep up. "You're still so hard to keep up with, you know that?"

He glanced over his shoulder, flashing a grin. “What? Still a slowpoke after all these years?” You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes this time. You were winded. Tired. That’s what he wanted.

No…not wanted. Needed.

You already couldn’t outrun him if you tried—he knew that—but this made it easier. Less fight. Exhaustion would do the work for him. A tired body was a weak body. A dependent one. He wasn’t going to hurt you. Never that. But if you stayed too energized, too alert when he pounced, you might actually get a few hits on him if you fought back. And he couldn’t allow that. Not when the future he so desperately wanted with you was already slipping away from him like smoke through fingers.

He kept going for another block, keeping the pace steady but relentless. He watched you in the corner of his vision—the way your breathing grew uneven, the way your steps started to lag. And then, finally, the telltale sheen of sweat began to form just beneath your hairline.

Now. He slowed, just enough to make it feel like a choice. As you both approached the old bridge that curved gently over the creek, he pointed toward it with a casual nod.

“Want a break?” he asked, voice easy, like this was spontaneous. “Maybe our carvings are still there. Let’s check.”

He said it with a warmth he didn’t feel. But you didn’t catch that. You looked up at him, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling faster than usual. You were tired. Perfectly tired.

He gestured again toward the bridge, a little more insistently this time. “Come on,” he added. “For old time’s sake.” And beneath the surface of his calm voice and boyish grin, his mind was ticking like a metronome.

“Hah…a-alright, but only for a few minutes…hah—Grandma’ll be pissed if we take too long…”

And his mind only got darker as you stepped forward, your gaze flicking down to the path under the bridge. You hesitated just slightly, just enough to show you still remembered the place. The old stonework, the arching curve, the colorful graffiti that never washed away.

He watched you go, every step of yours feeling like a countdown in his chest. God. Was he really doing this? Was forcing himself on you really the answer? He shouldn't. He knew that. He knew that.

But knowing meant nothing right now—not with your hair swaying in the breeze, not with your voice still echoing in his ears, not with the thought of you slipping out of this city and into someone else’s world without him.

There had to be other ways. Kinder ways. Slower, safer paths.

But his mind didn’t want them. His heart didn’t care. He’d waited too long, been good for too long. Always the patient one. The supportive one. The safe place. The one you could always run to, but never the one you planned on staying with.

And now you were leaving.

The image seared into his brain: you laughing in someone else’s dorm, lying in someone else’s bed, walking hand in hand with someone who hadn’t seen you in your worst moments and held you through them. The idea hollowed him out.

So no. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn't. He had to stake his claim. He was terrified even if he did things the "right" way, you'd never reciprocate how he really felt. That he'd be stuck simply playing the role of just your brother forever.

This wasn’t just about love anymore. It was selfish. Real. A part of him had always known it would come to this. That someday, he'd stop being the version of himself you'd grown up with and become something else—something much darker.

He needed to make it clear that he wanted to be way more than just your brother.

He followed you down the slope under the bridge, his steps slow and deliberate, eyes locked on your back. He remembered carving your initials there when you were both younger, yours nested just above his. A forever etched in stone before either of you even knew what it meant.

Now, more than ever, he wanted to make that real.

“Wow, this was so long ago. I can’t believe it still looks so brand new,” you said, your voice low with wonder as your fingers brushed over the rough stone. The initials carved all those years ago were still there, yours above his, like they were always meant to be that way.

“I know,” Caleb murmured. “Almost like it was yesterday.” He stepped in behind you, silent until the last second, and then closed the space between your bodies. Pressed himself gently—deliberately—against you.

You gasped at the sudden contact, instinctively tensing, your shoulders rising. You didn’t say anything. But you didn’t move away either. He didn’t need words. He could feel the nerves rolling off you in quiet waves. The stiffness in your spine. The way your fingers froze on the stone. He hated how much he loved it. That tension. That breathless stillness. It wasn’t right, and he knew it—but it filled something hollow inside him. Something that had ached for too long.

He reveled in it.

It wasn’t just about closeness. It was about control. The power to pull you back to him no matter how far you drifted. To be the one you turned to when everything else felt uncertain.

He remembered when you were kids—how easily he could get into your head. A well-timed ghost story, a flicker of shadow near the window, and you'd be climbing into his bed before midnight, begging him to stay close. You’d always trusted him, even when he was the one who made you afraid.

And now, here you were again. Standing at the edge of the past, nervous and quiet, while he stood behind you like a shadow. He shouldn’t want to break you just to be the one who puts you back together.

But some part of him did. And he wasn’t sure he could keep pretending otherwise. Caleb’s hand moved to your waist slowly, like the movement itself had been rehearsed a thousand times in his head. His fingers settled lightly, but firmly, possessive in their stillness. You stiffened under the touch.

You felt so small compared to him.

So easily held. So easily overpowered.

And he knew it.

The realization hit him hard, low in his gut—not just the physical disparity between you two, but the power of it. You shivered at the contact, flinching just enough for him to feel the jolt travel through your body.

“C-Caleb…” your voice came out in a whisper, thin and uncertain.

You tried to recover quickly, clutching the grocery bag like a shield. “We should head back to Grandma… she’s probably wondering what’s taking so long.” You turned and stepped forward, trying to slip past him. But he wasn’t ready to let go. His hand closed gently but firmly around your wrist, halting your movement. “Hey…wait,” he said, voice barely more than a breath.

He felt the tremor run through you. A small, involuntary shiver that pulsed against his palm. Caleb's heart raced as he heard the words spill from your lips, the familiar sound of your voice laced with a combination of confusion and frustration.

"Caleb, seriously. What's up with you? You're acting so different...." Your struggle against his hold only fueled the fire burning within him. He sighed inwardly, a sound that escaped his lips as a resigned exhalation. Of course, you were going to make this difficult. This was never going to be easy.

With a swift and determined motion, he yanked the bag from your grasp, the abrupt movement causing it to hit the ground with a sharp, metallic clang that echoed through the bridge. "Caleb!" Your voice rang out, a yelp of surprise and anger mingling in a way that sent a thrill through his veins. He spun you around with a force that left you breathless, your back pressing firmly against the cold, unyielding stone wall. The rough texture of the ancient stones bit into your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of his body as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your face.

Caleb's knee pressed firmly between your legs, forcing them slightly apart. "I'm not going to hurt you," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "Just let this happen. Listen to your gege." The words were a command, a plea, a promise all rolled into one.

And then, before you could react, his lips crashed onto yours, the kiss hard and intense, more passionate than he had initially intended. The taste of you, the feel of your body against his, it was intoxicating, a drug he couldn't resist. His hands, once restrained, now gripped you tightly, holding you in place as if you were a prize he had long sought to claim.

You struggled beneath his kiss, your body squirming against the unyielding stone wall, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. As Caleb finally pulled back, a long, glistening string of saliva stretched between your lips. Your face was flushed, a vivid heat that spread from your cheeks to the roots of your hair, and your chest heaved with each wild pant, your eyes wide.

The sight of you, so flushed and flustered, spurred Caleb on. He could feel his cock hardening in his shorts, a throbbing ache that demanded release. "Stop please...we c-can't do this," you pleaded, your voice a breathless whisper, your eyes darting wildly as you tried to push him away, your hands pressed firmly against his chest. Your struggle was futile, and Caleb knew it.

Suddenly, gravitational waves rippled around your body, a shimmering distortion that froze you in place, rendering you unable to move. Caleb's lips curled into a smirk as he watched you, his eyes gleaming with a hunger that was both thrilling and terrifying. "I can't stop," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "And I won't lie and say I'm sorry. Cause I'm not."

He sighed, a sound that was equal parts resignation and anticipation, and then his lips were on your neck, trailing hot, wet kisses that sent shivers down your spine. His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and contour, his touch both possessive and tender. "You don't want this now," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin, "but I promise it'll feel good if you stop struggling. I've always taken good care of you haven't I?."

"Caleb, I'm serious!" you exclaimed, your voice laced with panic as you felt his fingers deftly unbutton your jean shorts, the zipper sliding down with a harsh rasp. He tugged at the waistband, pulling both your shorts and underwear down in one swift motion, the fabric catching on your ankles, rendering you even more helpless. The gravitational pull of his Evol held you firmly in place, your feet rooted to the ground, your struggles futile against the almost invisible force.

Caleb's breath hitched as your pristine, glistening pussy was revealed to him, a sight that made his heart race and his mouth water. He had never dared to look for so long, always averting his gaze during your shared baths as children, a sense of shame and respect for your innocence keeping him in check. But now, that moral compass had vanished, leaving only raw, unbridled desire.

"So am I." The words escaped his lips in a breathless whisper, a sound filled with awe and hunger. He crouched down, his eyes locked onto your exposed flesh, and then his tongue was on you, leaving a wet, hot streak against your cunt. You whimpered and moaned, the sound a mix of pleasure and protest, your body betraying you as it responded to his touch.

Caleb's tongue delved deeper, forcing your lips apart with a relentless, greedy motion. He sucked and lapped at you with the fervor of a starving dog, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you in place, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. Your head fell back against the wall, a moan escaping your lips, a sound that was both a plea and a cry. "Ah...c-caleb....stop...!" You moaned, your voice a breathless whisper, but your body arched towards him, a silent invitation that he was more than willing to accept.

Caleb reveled in the sounds of your moans, a sound of pleasure that he had never thought he would hear from you, especially not in this way. The raw, unbridled sounds were intoxicating. Addicting. He was the first and only man to hear your sweet, desperate sounds, and the knowledge filled him with a primal satisfaction. The thought that he would also be the first and only man to take your virginity, right here under this bridge, sent a thrill through his body, making his cock thicken even harder.

“Ah…ah…ahh…agh….”

As he continued to lap at you with fervent, greedy strokes, the taste of you spreading across his taste buds, he felt your cunt pulsing over his tongue. You were already close, he could tell, and the realization spurred him on. He couldn't stop, wouldn't stop, not until you were completely undone, your body squirming and arching as he claimed you with his mouth.

Opening his eyes to meet your gaze, he watched as you promptly looked away, a flush spreading across your cheeks. Your gasps and moans filled the air, a breathless symphony that only served to fuel his desire. "Ah...! Mgh! Caleb! Stop! Im gonna..." You gasped, your voice failing as the first waves of your orgasm crashed over you, your body clenching around his tongue in a rhythmic, involuntary dance. You involuntarily grind your lower body against his mouth, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure overtakes you.

Caleb's heart raced as he tasted the remnants of your release on his tongue, felt the way your body responded to his touch, and he knew that this was just the beginning. He was far from done with you, and he intended to explore every inch of your body, to draw out every moan and gasp, until you were utterly spent and satiated beneath him.

Caleb watches as you shakily calm down from your high, likely still processing the overwhelming reality that Caleb, of all people, just gave you your first orgasm. Your mind races, trying to reconcile the intensity of what just happened with the familiarity of your relationship. You can't bring yourself to look at him, and the weight of the situation leaves you looking dazed.

Caleb notices your struggle, his heart clenching as he sees the tears rolling down your face. You begin to dissociate, your body trembling as you try to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions. "Hey hey, you're okay, baby. I'm almost done, okay?" he says, finally releasing you from the clutches of his evol. The sudden freedom catches you off guard, and you nearly fall to the gravel in tears.

Caleb is quick to catch you, his arms wrapping around you in a surprising embrace. You find yourself held against him, his warmth seeping into your chilled skin. "Let go of me...why are you doing this? I thought we were-" You manage to get out, your voice shaking with a mix of confusion and betrayal. But the sentence remains unfinished, hanging in the air as you struggle against him.

Caleb coos softly, his voice a mix of firmness and gentleness as he wrestles you to the ground. "You're adorable when you struggle. But it won't get you anywhere. Remember when we'd wrestle as kids? I always won" he murmurs, his words sending a shiver down your spine. You cry out, "Stop! Stop!" but your pleas fall on deaf ears.

"Shh, not so loud. Though I doubt anyone's crossing this old bridge," Caleb responds, his tone laced with a dangerous calm.

He promptly climbs on top of you, holding your wrists above your head as you continue to struggle beneath him. The weight of his body pins you down, and you can feel the hardness of his cock pressing against you.

The gravel bites into your ass and thighs as Caleb presses most of his body weight against you, his strength and dominance overwhelming. He leans down, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss that leaves no room for resistance. This time, you don't fight him; instead, you shakily open your mouth, allowing his tongue to explore yours with a hunger that matches his actions. The kiss deepens, a dance of desire and surrender that leaves you breathless and trembling beneath him.

As he pulls away, you look up at him, lashes wet with tears. This is the most beautiful you've ever looked to him. "Don't Caleb, please. Please. You can still stop. I won't say anything to Grandma..." Your voice is a whisper, a plea laced with desperation and a glimmer of hope that he might relent.

Caleb sighs, a sound that is both resigned and determined. He hikes up your jacket and shirt, his movements deliberate and unhurried, exposing your breasts to the cool air. Your sensitive buds are fully revealed, hard and begging for attention. "You still don't get it, do you? I don't want to just be your family. If anything, I want to be a different kind of family." His words are a statement, a declaration of his intentions that leave no room for misunderstanding. What don't you understand? Was making you cum with his tongue not a clear message?

Very well then. He'd make you understand.

You blink tearfully, your voice trembling as you speak. "I understand that you love me...a-and care about me. Right?" The words hang in the air, a plea for reassurance amidst the chaos of your emotions.

Caleb nods, his expression tender. Of course he loved you. He loved you more than words could ever express. That was the whole reason he was doing this—to prove that he was the only man who should ever be inside you, that no one knew you better than him. He gave you a small, reassuring smile, but it was tinged with a hint of something darker.

He reached for the hem of his shorts, his movements slow and deliberate. "I do. So so much. Its why this needs to happen. You'll understand very soon." His voice was low, a promise laced with a dangerous edge.

You watched him pull down the rest of his shorts, your heart racing as panic surged through you. "T-then this shouldn't happen. You don't do this to people you love. You don't rape them!" Your voice was a desperate cry, a plea for him to see reason, to stop before it was too late.

Caleb sighed, a sound that was both resigned and patient. He pulled his hardened cock free from his boxers, the sight of it making you suck in a sharp breath, your panting growing more rapid and shallow. He lined himself up against your entrance, beginning to rub his tip against your wet hole. "No. You've got it all wrong. This is good for you. I'll be very gentle, just hold still, okay?"

"Caleb! Cale-." Your voice caught in your throat as a sharp pain radiated through you. Caleb groaned as his cock slipped past the first bit of your tight walls, feeling you tense underneath him from the pain. He was much larger than average, so it was going to be a bit of work, but god if you didn't already feel amazing. He felt almost sorry that he had to do it this way.

His warmth invades you, stretching your wetness to its limit. You dig your nails into his back, leaving half-moons in his skin. "It h-hurts," you whimper, but he only whispers in your ear, "You're doing so good, just a little more." You bite your lip, tasting copper as he forces himself another inch inside. "It'll feel good soon," he promises, but all you can focus on is the pain.

You cry out in agony, your nails digging into him even harder as he gently pushed forward again. The feeling of your wet pussy sucking him in was almost overwhelming. "Scratch me, bite me, yell if you need to, okay? You're doing so good, f-fuck."

His heart nearly bursts as you begin to use your hands to try and pull him closer, clearly desperate to have something to ground you within all the pain. He was always your source of comfort, even now that he was quite literally forcing himself inside you. He found it adorable. He was more than happy to be your anchor as he pushed deeper, and deeper into your wet walls. You were in more tears now, shaking beneath him as he broke the last bit of your innocence, staking his claim on you.

You were finally, utterly all his.

"Hah...ah...Caleb..." you cried, trying desperately to blink away the tears. "Baby, don't cry, I'm right here. You're taking me so well, I'm already in," Caleb cooed, leaning his forehead against yours as he pulled back out slightly and pushed back in. "You feel so good, better than I ever imagined."

No words came out, only moans and groans as he reached the back of your walls, pushing against that spongy part inside you. The sensation was intense, and he could feel every inch of you clenching around him, your body adjusting to his size. Caleb's pleasure was building with each thrust, the mix of your wetness and the tight grip of your body driving him wild.

Soon, your moans of pain began to transform into moans of pleasure, and it became easier for Caleb to pump in and out of you, your wetness growing more and more, much to his delight. Caleb leaned down for another kiss, your breaths mingling as you panted and whined against him. "Feels so...oh...fuck!" Your face was flushed, and your body was covered in a layer of gravel and sweat.

"Feels good?" he panted, anchoring his hands on either side of your head. "Y-yes..." you breathed, clutching onto his shirt now. Yes, just what he wanted to hear. "Good girl, see what happens when you listen to Caleb and don't fight it?" You sniffled, nodding your head.

"H-hold me please." You were clearly breaking down at this point and just wanted comfort from the person you could always run to.

Caleb obliged, picking you up from the gravel and shifting you both so you were sitting on his lap. A bit advanced for an ex virgin, but you didn't seem to mind, already clutching onto him and sobbing as he held you close, bouncing you up and down on his cock. The new angle allowed him to hit even deeper, and he could feel every inch of you gripping him tightly. Caleb's own pleasure was building, the sight of you so vulnerable and needy pushing him closer to the edge.

"F-fuck I love you. So so much," Caleb moaned, his voice husky with emotion and exertion as he held you tightly against him. "I did this cause I love you." His body was slick with sweat, and his heart pounded in his chest as he felt your tight, wet walls clenching around his cock with each movement. "Mghm! I-I..." you sobbed, your voice breaking as you clung to him, your nails digging into his back, leaving even more angry red marks of your desperation.

Caleb's hips moved in a steady, relentless rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of you with a wet, sucking sound. He could feel every inch of you, your body yielding to him completely. "I'm not going to pull out...you know what that means, don't you?" he whispered, his voice low. You gripped him tighter, your body tensing as you understood the implications. He felt you nod your head against his shoulder, a shiver running through your frame.

"I'm gonna cum in this sweet little pussy, and you'll have my baby won't you? No more college. No more leaving. Okay?" Caleb's words were a promise more than a question. You cried out, your body shaking and shivering in his arms as you realized the weight of his words. Not like you had much choice anyway. He would cum as many times in you as he had to to ensure you had no way to get away from him.

"N-no please Caleb don-...fuck...I-i'm cumming...!" You pant, your body convulsing as you grind your hips against him, finally breaking and orgasming once more. Caleb feels you clench and grind on him, which only pushes him over the edge. He holds your hips firmly in place as he groans, slamming into you with a final, powerful thrust, painting your insides a creamy white as his cock throbs inside you. His release is intense, his body shuddering with the force of it.

He had come this far, and he wasn't taking no for an answer. You whine and attempt to get off him as he fills you, but he quickly catches your lips in another kiss, silencing your protests. He only lets you go once he's sure he's filled you with every last drop. Your panting is ragged when you yank away from his lips, your body shaking and in full-blown hysteria now. "No! Fuck! How could you? If I get pregnant..." you sob, your tears wetting his shoulder.

"Shhh, it's okay. I'll take care of everything like I always have. You know that, don't you? Don't cry," Caleb soothes, his voice a low murmur against your ear. He holds you tightly, his arms wrapped around you protectively, as if to shield you from the world and the consequences of what just happened. His cock is still hard inside you, pulsing with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

You looked up at him, tears welling in your eyes, the light in them fragile and trembling. Your voice came out in a whisper, cracked and raw.

“I’m scared Caleb…I’m scared.”

And just like that, the years seemed to vanish. For a moment, it wasn’t two people on the cusp of something broken and strange—it was you and him again, younger, smaller, in a dim bedroom lit by nightlights and half-lidded promises. You, clinging to him after a nightmare. Him, wrapping you in a blanket and whispering stories until your breathing slowed.

That same helpless need was in your eyes now.

And it shattered him.

If he could bottle this moment—your trembling lips, the way your voice reached for him, the unspoken request for comfort—he would. He’d keep it locked inside forever. A sacred thing. Proof that you still needed him.

He leaned in, slow and deliberate, and pressed soft kisses to the tears as they slid down your cheeks. One. Then another. His hands were gentle now, holding your face like it might fall apart in his palms. And maybe it already had.

He broke you.

And now he’d pick up the pieces.

He knew this wasn’t going to be simple. This shift between what you were and what he wanted you to become—between adopted siblings and a whole new family entirely—it wasn’t going to be clean. It would be messy. Awkward. Painful. But if it meant you staying with him… if it meant you saw him the way he saw you…he’d walk through fire for it.

He’d be everything you needed. Brother. Protector. Lover. Home.

Just as long as you never left.

“I know,” he whispered, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Gege’s here. I always will be.”

He held you until the hysteria passed—until your sobs turned to sniffles, and your body stopped shaking in his arms. Your fingers curled weakly into his shirt as your breathing finally slowed, and you just stayed there, trembling, spent, but no longer spiraling.

Caleb didn’t say anything for a while. He just held you close, one hand running gently down your back, anchoring you. He’d never felt more needed. You let yourself fall apart in front of him and that meant everything.

When your body started to shift with discomfort, he slowly helped you slide off of his cock, moving carefully and wordlessly as he watched his cum slide out of your cunt with a deep sense of satisfaction. He adjusted your clothes with quiet, focused hands—nothing hurried, nothing inappropriate.

Still, some of his cum lingered on your thigh—unavoidable, really. You whined, flustered and embarrassed, and tried to brush it away.

“God, Caleb, this is so gross…”

He offered a low chuckle, trying to ease the tension. “I’ll help. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

And he did. With a napkin from his jacket pocket, and gentle movements, he helped you clean up. Part of him felt guilty for the mess. But the other part—the louder part—felt something close to elation. You hadn’t pushed him away. You weren't trying to run even after he buttoned your shorts back up and tied your shoe that had come undone in the chaos.

When you finally tried to walk, you winced, just barely, but he noticed. Caleb was instantly beside you, arm wrapping around your waist. “No, no” he said, his voice low and final. “You’re not walking.”

“What? Caleb—no, I can—”

But he was already moving, slipping one strong arm under your legs and hauling you up against his chest with effortless strength. His other hand clutched the grocery bag, the corner of the can of cranberry sauce pressing against the thin plastic as it swung at his side. You let out a startled gasp, cheeks flushing as your arms clung to him instinctively. “I said I’ve got you,” he murmured, not looking for permission anymore.

And with you cradled against him, the air cool and quiet around you, Caleb began the walk home—slow and possessively content.

Neither of you said much on the walk back. The silence was fragile. Like speaking would crack it wide open and let too much in. You let out the occasional sniffle, face buried against Caleb’s shoulder, your arms looped loosely around his neck. Your fingers clutched him tighter every now and then, like your body remembered fear even if your voice had gone quiet.

Caleb didn’t ask what you were thinking, though the ache to know gnawed at him. He didn’t just want to be the cause of your unraveling—he wanted to be your comfort too. Your constant. The arms you trusted, the presence you clung to when the world didn’t make sense. But he knew better than to push.

You needed time to process what happened. To understand what had shifted. Because things had changed—indefinitely. And whether you wanted to admit it yet or not, the line between what you were and what you’d become had been crossed.

By the time you reached the porch, the sun had deepened. The cool air clung to your clothes and the scent of roasted herbs still drifted faintly through the windows. Caleb adjusted his hold on you, careful, almost reverent, as he cradled you with one arm and held the bag of cranberry sauce in the other.

Just as he stepped onto the welcome mat, the door swung open. Grandma stood there, apron still on, her expression unreadable for a half-second before her eyes did a quick scan—your flushed face, his tense jaw, the plastic bag hanging from his hand. Probably wondering why Caleb was carrying you, but likely chalking it up to your feet hurting and Caleb spoiling you like he always did. Instead of mentioning it, she smiled.

"Figured you took me seriously when I said don’t come back if it’s not jellied," she said, her voice breezy. "Hurry now, I’ll warm up the food."

Caleb gently set you down on your feet, his hands lingering just a moment longer than necessary before slipping away. You wobbled slightly but steadied yourself. He stood close, watching your face for the smallest sign that you might start talking about what happened.

But you only nodded, eyes lowered, and followed your grandmother back inside.

And just like that, the house swallowed you both again. Familiar. But forever altered.

Later that night, the house was quiet. The stillness made your thoughts louder. You lay curled beneath the covers, facing the wall, pretending to sleep. Your breathing was even, your body still, but inside your chest, your heart was racing. You heard the soft creak of your bedroom door as it eased open.

Footsteps.

You felt heat rise—not just from embarrassment or nerves, but from the confusion threading itself tighter around your thoughts. An aching heat begin to spread between your legs. The lines had blurred. You were so so confused now. Caleb had always been safety, steadiness. Family. But now...now you didn’t know what he was.

You had thought about what happened under the bridge all day, the painful ache between your legs not letting you push it to the back of your mind. You never that you'd think of him that way, much less lose that innocent boyish image you'd always had of him. Your virginity was gone, taken by Caleb of all people...

Caleb had given you your space, but it was clear you couldn't avoid him forever.

The blanket lifted slightly. You flinched at the touch. “C’mon,” he murmured. “I know when you’re actually asleep, pipsqueak.”

He sat down on the edge of your bed with the weight of someone who’d done this a hundred times before. His fingers reached out and gently combed through your hair, like he used to when you’d cry after nightmares. The rhythm was the same, but the air between you had changed. Thick with everything unspoken.

You opened your eyes. Just barely. But said nothing. He didn’t stop. Just kept stroking your hair, watching you quietly in the dim light spilling in from the hallway.

“You understand now, don’t you?” he said after a long silence. His voice was low. “I did it for you. Everything I’ve ever done was for you. Out of love.”

He paused. “Even if things are hard at first… we’ll find our way back. We’ll find happiness again in our own way. I know it. I'll be whatever you need me to be if it makes this all easier for you. But I can't go back to pretending I don't want more.”

“Caleb…I…” You paused, voice caught somewhere between a whisper and a breath. You didn’t know what to say. Every word felt like a landmine. "What you did was awful...you really hurt me."

He was getting in your head, and it scared you. The way he looked at you now. The way his voice dropped when he spoke to you like the world narrowed down to just this. Just the two of you.

These new feelings—confusing, tangled, impossible—wrapped tight around your chest. They felt wrong. They had to be wrong. Rape couldn't mean love could it? But you wanted to trust him. You always had. And some part of you still did. And part of you just wanted to feel safe again. Wanted him to make it safe again.

Caleb leaned in, resting his forehead gently against yours. His breath mingled with yours, warm and steady. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. You hoped he couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t feel how much you were shaking beneath the surface.

You could feel the heat of him—his closeness. His steadiness. “I know,” he whispered, voice low, threading into your bones. “But you can’t convince me you hate me with every fiber of your being".

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to consume you. "No...its not hate. I don’t know what this is..." you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of confusion and fear. "I just know I don’t want to lose you. I don't want to lose the Caleb I've always known."

Caleb's response was a soothing murmur, a promise that cut through the chaos in your mind. "You won’t. Don't be silly" he assured you, his voice steady. "We're just becoming closer than before."

There was a moment of stillness, a pause where the weight of his words hung in the air, offering a sense of security that you desperately needed. Then, his voice dropped into a whisper, a secret shared between just the two of you. "If you're not too sore, I'd like to make it up to you. We can't make too much noise though or Grandma will hear us."

You swallowed, the reality of your situation sinking in. The thought of being discovered sent a shiver of apprehension through you, but also a creeping heat across your cheeks. "You’ll be good and quiet, won’t you?" he asked, his tone playful with an edge of command.

You nodded without thinking, your throat too tight to speak. “Yes...,” you breathed, barely audible, like saying his name softly would distract you from the turmoil in your head. His lips met yours with a quiet certainty—soft at first, but gradually grew in intensity. The warmth of his mouth sent a slow ache curling down your spine. His tongue moved with careful intent, easing your lips apart, slipping past them with a kind of reverence that made your breath catch.

His hands framed your face like something precious, thumbs stroking your cheekbones, anchoring you even as the world narrowed to the heat between you. You shivered—not from the cold, but from the sheer tenderness of it. The way he touched you wasn’t rushed. It was like he already knew what you needed.

And maybe he did. Caleb always knew. You just wanted to feel safe. Caleb knew what was best. Maybe it was better this way...

As the night stretched on, everything blurred—the taste of him, the sound of your name murmured like a promise, the way sweat clung to your skin as your bodies clung to each other. You knew, deep down, things had shifted.

Nothing would ever be the same again.

[iheartyuyu]

5 times sukuna was heavily yearning + 1 time you finally noticed.

oblivious, lonely reader who’s used to doing things alone x downbad!sukuna. jealous!sukuna. gn!reader. reader wears glasses. uncle!sukuna. sukuna calls reader angel. he’s so down bad bro. ooc sukuna as usual. mentions of nsfw contents.

— ☆ —

1. movie nights.

you had a specific, detailed, high maintenance routine for watching movies. you had slowly perfected the process— a mental to do list popping up every time a new movie dropped that you needed to watch.

first, you needed to be in your designated ‘movie night pajamas’, the most comfortable you owned. your favorite blanket had to be there, along with your favorite pillow for support. you liked watching in your home more than cinemas, because you disliked the idea of not being able to pause the movie for whatever reason. who decided to make bathroom breaks that short, anyways?

for snacks, chips poured into your favorite bowl, your favorite niche flavor. a chocolate bar sat beside it just incase the movie got intense enough for you to crave it. your favorite drink was set beside them in a thermal cup, allowing you to drink it as slow as possible without it melting too quickly.

your phone had to be on dnd, blocking out every notification. the room had to be cold, and you avoided any distractions because pausing the movie on piracy websites meant three minutes of closing ads to turn it back on.

tonight, everything was perfect.

you were perfectly wrapped in your blanket, eyes wide as it watched the screen perfectly, chips tasting perfect, drink perfected, everything absolutely perfect—

bzzz.

you immediately groaned. who could possibly be showing up? you hadn’t ordered food. no one was invited over. it was late. what could possibly be urgent enough to prompt someone to ruin your little routine?

you paused the movie (which took three minutes of pressing ‘x’ on ads urging you to ‘text hot, single ladies in your area’, and ‘ai bots who can make you cum in three minutes!’), pushed the blanket off, and pulled the door open with a soft pout you didn’t even register, just to pause when you saw sukuna standing there, eyebrows furrowed, frowning.

you and sukuna weren’t that close, really. you were in the same friend group, but you always felt nervous around him. he was intimidating, scary, too cool for you. he always stared at you blankly, and you decided he was judging you for… everything. you were awkward, nervous, a little odd.

so, him showing up to your home at midnight was a little… nerve-wracking. his red eyes slowly scanned your comfortable, worn out pajamas, messy hair, tiny pout that faded as your eyes widened, before he blinked blankly. “sorry for showing up unannounced.”

he didn’t sound apologetic. at all. his tone was monotonous, almost unamused.

“can i come in?”

you slowly blinked, before realizing how dumb you must look. you grimaced internally, stepping aside, letting him in. immediately, his eyes landed on your little set up, and he arched an eyebrow. “movie night, huh? watching part two of your little movie series?”

“how did you know?” you mumbled, genuinely confused. much to your surprise, his lips twitched up in something that looked like admiration, amused, and it was the closest you ever got to see him smile.

holy fuck, he was so gorgeous it felt unfair. now that you were actually focusing on the man towering over you, dressed in a black shirt and gray sweatpants, tanned skin peaking from under his clothes, muscles on view—

“it’s your favorite series, and it just dropped. i can recognize the sketchy ass website because you hate netflix. you have your little movie night routine, pajamas, chips, and drink.” he murmured casually, nonchalantly, as if it was normal that the guy you thought disliked you knew this much about you. “i listen, you know.”

your jaw was slack, eyes wide. he only snorted, arching an eyebrow. “don’t tell me fucking gojo was right and you really think i hate you.”

you paused. “well…”

“are you serious?” sukuna scoffed. “you’re my fucking favorite in the group, dumbass.”

“what?” you mumbled back, more confused. “you always glare at me. you never talk to me. i was starting to think you didn’t even know my last name.”

he stared at you, almost as if you were insane, then sighed. “you really are oblivious, huh?”

“hey—“

he shook his head, still looking mildly amused. “here’s the notes suguru said he would drop by to give you and forgot. i know you like studying early.”

“oh. you didn’t have to—“

“i wanted to.” he immediately stated, face serious. “‘ll leave you to it, can’t have someone ruining your perfect night. goodnight.”

with that, he was out, leaving you even more flabbergasted.

what. the. fuck.

2. hangouts.

you were still getting used to the idea that sukuna told you that not only did he not hate you, but that you were his favorite in the group. to you, the idea was unbelievable. flabbergasting. maybe even a little more scarier than being hated by him for some reason, but you managed pretty well.

at least you were more comfortable hanging out with your group now.

however, you had a tiny little habit. you hated the coffee at the place your friends loved, so often, you just walked away to the place next to it to buy your own coffee. it provided you a break, making the little pit of your stomach that grows when having to be around people, even your best friends, for too long reset, and you just get a chance to catch your breath.

today wasn’t different. in the middle of the hangout, you grabbed your wallet and slipped out, enjoying the tiny walk in fresh air before you stepped into your favorite cafe.

the familiar barista immediately lit up at the sight of you, boredom fading from his face. he was your age, friendly with a cute grin that grew whenever you two chatted— something that made you feel at ease when ordering.

“my favorite customer,” he immediately greeted, grinning. the bell at the door chimed, and you both didn’t pay any mind to it. “i wonder what you will order this time.”

you snorted. you both knew you ordered the exact same thing every single time. “yeah, i wonder too.”

he chuckled, eyes flickering to the screen. you could feel a figure stopping behind you. “well, you know your total.”

you hummed, about to pay, when the familiar scent of sukuna’s signature perfume finally registered in your mind as he moved to step beside you, eyes narrowed, jaw slowly twitching. “make it two.”

you slowly glanced up. the barista looked up in surprise, before he nodded calmly. “of course.”

before you could register it, sukuna’s card was pressing against the machine, paying for you both. your jaw went slack for the second time this week, flabbergasted once more, but sukuna was already pulling you out of line so that the people behind you could pay.

and, more unfazed that he should be by his own actions, he casually held out the receipt. “here. you take the code and collect points on their app, right?”

“…how the fuck do you even know that?” you mumbled, utterly confused. “why are you here? how did you find me— did you even know what you ordered—“

“easy there, angel.” he murmured, calm. “you always carry the receipt and i see you type something from it on your phone often. ‘m here because the coffee in the other shop is ass. you always come here, so i figured i would try my coffee with you. i know what i ordered because i know your order.”

you openly gaped at him. he only reached over, grabbing both drinks, arching an eyebrow. “are you gonna gape at me forever or drink this sweet shit?”

“…did you just call me angel?”

his amusement immediately faded, ears turning red as he shoved your drink your way, looking away. “absolutely not. hallucinations. let’s go.”

that was what he chooses to deny? not that he knew your movie night in details? that he knew your exact drink? that he knew you secretly collected points from your favorite coffee shop?

you let out a tiny chuckle, amused, following behind him. that somehow managed to make his ears even more red, a scowl pulling on his pretty lips.

fuck. he was gorgeous, and adorable.

how horrible for you.

3. aquarium.

you laid face-down on shoko’s bed, face showed between the pillows, eyes shut in pure horror. “‘m so screwed.”

she sighed for the nth time from where she sat on the ground, studying. “you quite literally could not be more not screwed.”

“i have a crush on him, shoko. i never have crushes. and now i have one, on fucking sukuna. the guy once punched a guy for breathing ‘his’ air. he fucking hates people. i am so utterly fucked. he will kill me.”

she glanced up, as if she knew something you didn’t. “he won’t kill you. kiss you? maybe.”

“stop being delusional.” you mumbled, voice muffled as you buried your face into the sand further. “‘m so fucked.”

she sighed. “you’re delusional too if you don’t realize what’s happening. anyways, isn’t it the twenty seventh? your monthly aquarium night?”

you jumped up, gasping. “it is! fuck!” you quickly grabbed your phone to check the time, before opening the aquarium’s instagram page just in case there were any updates.

and, unfortunately, right there on their instagram story, posted twelve hours ago, was a simple statement.

‘couples only day!’

“oh, fuck my fucking life.” you mumbled, eyes on the story, shoulders drooping. “shoko, be my aquarium date.”

“couples only, huh? if only these weren’t the conditions,” she mused, almost flirty, before tilting her head.

“yes.”

“ask sukuna to go with you.”

you blinked once, twice, before pulling up your phone, nodding, serious. “good idea. ‘m asking gojo or geto.”

“that is quite literally not what i said.”

“you’re a genius.”

you sent off a quick text to geto and gojo, jumping off her bed to head to your own apartment to get ready. after dressing up all cute for the sake of your loved marine animals, you glanced down at your phone, where a vague text from gojo said he couldn’t, followed by maybe three million crying emojis (which was maybe because he had begged before to accompany you said no. aquariums were a single, you-only trip), and geto sent back a simple ‘he’s almost there’, and a thumbs up.

what kind of reply was that? you frowned, sending five questions marks, about to ask who the fuck ‘he’ was, when your doorbell rings.

you pulled the door open, and freeze when your eyes landed on the one and only sukuna. he glanced at you, eyes blank, and nodded once. “let’s go.”

“…where?”

he raised an eyebrow. “the aquarium. date night. let’s go.”

“…are you sure?” you immediately mumbled, voice uncharacteristically low. “‘m, uh, kind of enthusiastic about this. nerdy. geeky. um, annoying.”

his lips twitched up into an endeared smile that he immediately pushed back. “i know what ‘m getting into. let’s go.”

you grabbed your jacket, eyebrows furrowing. “suguru could have just said he couldn’t come. i’m sorry he sent you instead.”

“oh, he could come.” sukuna stated blankly, stepping into the elevator behind you. you glanced up at him, confused, and he stared back blankly, as if waiting for you to collect dots you didn’t even see. he only sighed after a few minutes, shaking his head. “this is both cute and infuriating. so, which stupid creature is your favorite?”

you expected a night with sukuna to be awkward. tense. uncomfortable. a night where you had to hold back so you don’t become labeled as talkative, or annoying, or too much.

you didn’t expect for him to be a good listener. nodding at whatever you said, asking questions at first to keep you talking until you were comfortable rambling. you didn’t expect him to hold your things so you could comfortably get closer to the glass, or stay longer at your favorite animals, or ask you about ones that seemed interesting, his eyes soft and lips twitching upwards just the slightest. you didn’t expect him to disappear at one point and come back with a few limited-edition items from the small gift shop either, dumping them in your arms wordlessly as you two were walking out.

“thank you for being my fake date for the night, kuna.” you mumbled as he was dropping you off, sleepy, eyes soft and voice slurred. he paused at your words, lips twitching into a frown before he eyed how sleepy you were and only sighed.

“of course, angel.” he muttered, reaching over and nonchalantly pressing a kiss to your forehead before he turned around, walking away. “…sleep well, goodnight.”

gaping at him seeming like a new routine, except this time, your sleepy eyes were set on his back as he left, almost getting distracted by his muscles showing through the fabric. oh, you were so, utterly fucked.

4. the beach.

you sat quietly on the sand, wrapped tightly in a towel, eyes ahead as you watched gojo, geto and shoko shoving each other in the water. choso was on a towel beside you, deeply asleep and snoring. toji was playing around with megumi and nobara and yuji, who was yapping about how his uncle dropped him off and disappeared. everyone was enjoying themselves.

you were freezing.

you had gotten there earlier, having known they would all show up too late. you liked swimming alone with no eyes on you, so with too much sunscreen, you stayed in the water under the sun in what you knew was the perfect time for you. by the time everyone else arrived, you were already drying in the shade.

oh, how you wished you had a dry towel—

a dry towel dropped into your lap before the thought even finished. you froze, glancing up at the sky, before immediately closing your eyes again and wishing for a million dollars just in case.

“don’t stare at the fucking sun.”

ah. your genie.

you peaked through your lashes at sukuna, who glared at you, a hand going to shade your eyes from the sun. he was dry, holding a small bag which you assumed was for his wallet and phone and car keys and towel, the sun kissing every spot on his perfect body, as if purposely teasing you.

fuck. how could someone be so pretty?

he sighed, pulling a cap out of the bag. he pushed it on top of your damp hair, shading your face, and slumped beside you. “switch towels. mine is dry.”

“hi.” you mumbled dumbly, blinking a few times to snap yourself from the daze seeing his beautiful red eyes in the sun put you through. his lips twitched, face softening, and he only pulled the cap down further. you finally remembered how to think. “don’t you need your towel dry?”

“‘m not going into the water this late.” he stated. his eyes flickered to choso asleep, and he rolled his eyes, standing back up. you watched shamelessly as he effortlessly pulled the heavy umbrella so it was covering the sun kissed stoner, sighing, voice lower. “that dumbass.”

“i spray him with sunscreen every two hours. flipped him once.” you mused, taking the chance of sukuna being distracted to switch towels, sighing in relief once the warm, dry, soft towel wrapped around you. “thank you, kuna.”

“don’t mention it.” he grunted, then frowned once he registered your words, “you rub sunscreen on him?”

“oh, no, it’s a spray.” you hummed, pulling it out. “isn’t it cool?”

he glanced at the spray bottle, shoulders slowly relaxing. “mhm. it is. can you spray me?”

you nodded, moving to stand up, immediately stumbling in the towel. firm fingers immediately steadied you, and you deeply hoped he couldn’t feel the warmth radiating off you from being flustered as he slowly let go.

you slowly sprayed him, the sunscreen leaving a shiny coat that made him look even more beautiful. after making sure every part of him was covered, you slowly sat back down. “try to rub it to make sure it’s even.”

he hummed, eyes shut, slowly spreading it out, spreading it out on his tan skin.

what a fucking sight, really. he was so, unbelievably gorgeous. you were so fucked.

“…you went early, huh?”

“…yeah.” you mumbled, eyes still on him, hoping he keeps his eyes closed.

“tell me next time. ‘ll go with you.” he sighed. “these idiots always come when it’s already too cold.”

you nodded slowly as he finally finished, slumping next to you on the little beach mat gojo had gotten, so close that his thigh was pretty to your covered figure. he frowned. “your lips are pale. still cold?”

you grimaced. “‘ll be okay. thank you for the towel—“

he sighed, an arm wrapping around your shoulder before he was pulling you towards him. you missed the way his body relaxed, lips twitching into a repressed grin, the face of a man finally achieving one of his long lost goals.

holy fuck. you were pressed to his side, his body oozing warmth. he smelled great, and you could feel his muscles every time he shifted. as you stared ahead, trying to pretend like you weren’t malfunctioning, your eyes landed on shoko, gojo and geto staring back at you guys from the water, jaws slack.

well. at least it wasn’t you this time.

5. studying.

as much as it seemed otherwise, studying with gojo actually helped you. you both kept each other in check— you stopped him whenever he started yapping, and he distracted you whenever you were spiraling. you both were a team when studying— having been one since the first semester, when you both met.

during breaks, however, was when you really liked studying with gojo. you both sat with thirteen expensive pastries in front of you, gojo’s treat, and he grinned excitedly. “oh, this will be so good. you go first.”

“you don’t have to tell me twice.” you mumbled, picking one up. you immediately moaned in delight, holding the rest to gojo, who reached over and took the rest from between your fingers. “fuck. this is so good.”

gojo let out an even louder moan. you both ignored the disgusted glares from the people around you, happily chewing. “oh, these are fucking godsent. thank you for being my taste buddy.”

“thank you,” you mumbled, grabbing another one. “you’re the one spoiling me with these. you’re, like, my dream man right now.”

gojo let out a loud laugh, before pausing, shivering in horror at whatever he imagined. “do not let sukuna hear you saying that. he’ll have my head.”

“why would he have your head for that?” you mumbled, mouthful, and distracted by the heavenly taste of these. you weren’t even a fan of pasteries, but these were on another level. you tried another, and immediately groaned. “fuck. try this one.”

you immediately extended your hand out to gojo. he, as usual, ate half of it off your fingers instead, and dramatically melted in his seat. “ten out of ten. perfect. stunning. i will marry whoever made these.” he swallowed, and quickly ate the rest off your fingers to. “and he will because he’s, like, in love with you.”

“you flipping liar.” you mumbled, unamused with the obvious fake news. “he doesn’t. he’s just a good friend.”

“he’s not a good friend,” gojo snorted. “he almost shoved my head into the toilet bowl yesterday because he was bored. he likes you.”

you did not believe him the slightest. “uh-huh. wanna try the red one?”

“yes, please.”

later that night, you were curled up in bed— going over everything you had studied earlier to lock the information into your mind. the groupchat was blowing up after choso was caught kissing someone (you already knew the news. choso blurted about his ‘secret’ crush to you before when he was high, and forgot.) and you just shot back a sticker laughing, said you were studying and you needed more caffeine to deal with this, and shut your phone off completely.

you really needed caffeine.

everytime you shut your eyes, all you can see is a cold, cup of your favorite coffee from your favorite shop. the condensation running down, the inviting taste, everything—

fuck. you needed one so bad. you frowned, turning your phone on to glance at the time, and paused when a notification stood out from between the ones on the groupchat.

sukuna: pick u up for coffee in five?

you stared at the message, then slowly glanced down at the sweatpants and oversized hoodie you were in, your hair messy, broken glasses on because you were too lazy to get these specific ones fixed and you lost the other, before sighing. you needed caffeine too bad to worry about how you looked in front of him right now.

you: please :c

a car honked downstairs a few minutes. you quickly grabbed your wallet and your half-dead phone, rushing downstairs, grabbing an oversized jacket on the way so you could tug it on top of your thick hoodie, grimacing at how much of a mess you looked. you slid into the passenger seat, and sukuna only stared at you, eyes slowly taking in your appearance, lips softly pulling up.

“don’t say anything.” you immediately mumbled. his smirk widened, but he didn’t speak, immediately resuming to drive, eyes ahead. “‘m so sleepy.”

“uh-huh. let’s get some caffeine in you.” he murmured, turning more serious. “don’t overwork yourself tonight. did you have dinner?”

you nodded, ignoring how your heart felt like it was twirling in your chest. “i did. ate and drank and slept well.”

he hummed. “good.”

in the coffee shop, he got the same as you, paying despite your complaints. once the drinks were out, he grabbed both, wrapping yours in tissues to keep your fingers from being cold before handing it over, humming.

you were looking over notes in your phone, too tired to register his actions. you only quietly took the cup, immediately sipping, shoulders slowly rolling down, tense muscles relaxing. “thank you, kuna.”

he clicked his tongue. “don’t mention it.”

in the car, you focused on sipping the coffee, and he cleared his throat. “gojo said you two were on a study date this morning. pastries and shit. said you called him your dream man.”

you snorted. sukuna glanced over, utterly unamused, almost pouting. “i love gojo.”

his lips immediately formed a scowl. “you love him?”

“not like that,” you snorted. “he’s just… he was the first person who was nice to me in university, you know. the first person who made sure i never felt like a burden. he means a lot to me, platonically.”

he was silent for a while, then nodded, pulling up in front of your building. “good. you deserve to never feel like a burden. you… mean a lot to me.”

was he trying to kill you? you immediately shuffled out, heart beating like it was trying to escape your chest, cheeks burning. “you mean a lot to me too, kuna. um, goodnight. thank you for picking me up.”

“don’t mention it, angel.”

+1.

against your will, you were dragged to a party.

you would have been enthusiastic, really, if finals hadn’t just ended— leaving you too sleep deprived that you couldn’t even walk straight. gojo had came over to force you out and picked your outfit out for you, keeping in mind your pleads for it to be something warm, and you ended up in the passenger seat of his car, asleep soundly, vaguely aware of his whining about you needing to be awake as he drove you there.

you could only remember little snippets between your tiny naps, really.

gojo having his arm around you as he dragged you in.

you slumping down beside choso, immediately falling asleep on his shoulder.

sukuna crouching down in front of you, concerned, eyes worried.

sukuna covering you with a blanket.

sukuna sitting beside you, pulling your head into his shoulder instead.

geto replacing choso. you shifting, head falling into his shoulder because he was warmer.

sukuna immediately pulling you back towards him, an arm falling around your waist to keep you close, bickering with geto.

after that, you drifted into deep sleep— the kind that only came after a week straight of pulling all nighters. and, when you woke up again, you were wrapped in a blanket, on the roof, on a tiny couch with your head on sukuna’s lap and a cigarette between his lips.

the second he registered you awake, he pushed the cigarette into the ashtray, eyes soft, fingers on your shoulders to help you sit up. “you okay, angel?”

“mhm. sleepy.” you mumbled, blinking slowly, still half asleep. you yawned, rubbing your eyes. “thank you for watching over me, kuna. you’re, like, my angel.”

“…don’t mention it.” he whispered— although, it sounded more like a pained whimper. “i… yeah. don’t mention it.”

it was silent for a few minutes. you both stared up at the sky, lost in thought, before sukuna cleared his throat.

“…the stars are pretty.”

“mhm.”

he paused, before speaking again. his voice was low, soft, but it was laced with quiet frustration that you could tell wasn’t pointed at you. “we’re, uh, done with the semester.”

“…mhm.”

he clicked his tongue, and sat up, like he’s restarting. “…we’re good friends.”

“we are.” you mumbled, still dazed from your delicious, needed nap. he let out a small groan, face buried into his palm.

“fuck.”

“…kuna?” you murmured, voice soft, sleepy. his eyes finally flickered up, frustrated and almost disappointed in himself, and you only gave him a small, sleepy smile. “i like you too.”

and finally, it was his turn for his jaw to go slack, eyes widening, before he turned to you quickly. “you’re not fucking with me, right? you like me?”

you nodded, sleepy, but focused. “i like you.”

he didn’t hesitate before dropping to his knees in front of you, eyes soft and almost pathetic. “say that again. please.”

“i like you, kuna.” you repeated, quieter, softer, more serious.

he let his head drop, face pressed against the blanket covering your thighs briefly, voice muffled when he spoke. “…you have no idea how many years i have been dying to hear this, angel. fuck.” when he lifted his head back up, his red eyes were almost glossy. “‘m marrying the fuck out of you one day.”

that managed a sleepy laugh out of you. “take me on a date first, at least. we haven’t even kissed yet.”

his eyes lit up at the mere thought— before you watched him visibly holding himself back, trying to appear more relaxed, probably to not scare you off, despite his reddening ears at the idea. “right. dates. i will date you so fucking good, i promise, you will never think of anyone but me again. not even that stupid barista who clearly wants you so bad. only me.” he nodded, serious, scowling, before his eyes softened again. “best dates of your life. where do you want to go? dinner? coffee? aquarium? your little movie night routine at my place? do you want me to make it a surprise? i will be the best boyfriend— wait, fuck, not that yet—“

you reached over, softly pressing your lips to his,

he froze, eyes probably wide, then immediately melted the second your fingers gently cupped his face to pull him closer, letting out a soft, little sound into the kiss that had his face flushing further.

once you pulled away, your eyes met his dazed ones, and he slowly sucked in a deep breath. “….fuck.”

“dinner sounds good.” you whispered back, thumb brushing over his bottom lip, and he shut his eyes, as if it took visible effort not to groan. “next week?”

“you think ‘ll make it to next week?” he let out a sharp laugh. “you have me fucking kneeling for you, angel. tomorrow. 8. please.”

“okay.” you murmured, voice soft. “now, come back up, i will want to continue napping on you.”

“…anything you fucking want, forever.”

[dollgxtz]

Shattered Birdcage

Word Count: 9.5k

Summary: Sylus loses control due to the Frenzy Enhancer and you don't find the activater in time...causing him to become sexually aggressive and desperate to claim you for himself :3

Tags: praedator!Sylus x fem!reader, predator x prey, noncon, intense choking, rough sex, forced orgasm, degradation, biting, blood, injury, cunnilingus, creampie, threats, mentions of breeding, nicknames like little bird, near death experience (no one actually dies don't worry!!), fluffy ending to soften the blow :33

Taglist: @magpie-the-goblin-girl @sxremmie @lem-hhn @silverbrain @sizzlingtigerkitten @msslytherin00 @letharue @yu-irene @poptrim @monster-effer @ditsynddotsy @size0forhollywood @its-regretti @queenofstresss @reiheis @valentinared

AN: Hiii guys!! Are we enjoying the new banner? I AM! This is literally a dream come true for me. So I decided to write a fic based on it with a little twist hehe. Please heed the warnings guys, this is a very intense fic and I tagged it accordingly. This is legitmately straight up noncon, not cnc. If you asked for a tag and weren't tagged its cause I couldn't find your age on your profile anywhere, sorry! Enjoy!

You exhale slowly, fingers brushing over the edges of the movie tickets still tucked in your pocket before letting them go. The paper crinkles softly, a fragile reminder of something almost normal. But it doesn’t belong to you anymore. Maybe it never did.

Then, the world shatters.

The fire alarm shrills, a piercing, agonizing wail that erupts through the hospital like a banshee’s scream. Panic spreads instantly, as sudden and violent as a tidal wave crashing over an unprepared shore.

The chaos begins.

Screams.

Heavy, frantic footsteps thunder down the halls. The sterile walls of the hospital, once cold and quiet, now tremble with the desperate energy of fear. The mechanical beep of heart monitors, the faint hum of fluorescent lights—all of it drowns beneath the raw, unfiltered sound of survival.

Somewhere outside your room, a woman’s voice splinters the air.

"Fire! Help!"

Her cry is swallowed by the deafening roar of the alarm, by the clatter of overturned medical carts, by the stampede of bodies flooding the halls. A shadow streaks past the glass window of your door, her silhouette vanishing into the growing plumes of smoke curling along the ceiling.

Then—movement behind you. You turn, locking eyes with Sylus. He doesn’t flinch.

He leans casually against the wall, utterly unbothered by the pandemonium unraveling around you. Smoke licks at the edges of his leather top, but he remains still, red eyes gleaming with something sharp, knowing, entertained. The ghost of a smirk plays at his lips.

"They’re right on schedule," he murmurs, his voice smooth, unaffected, like this is nothing more than a carefully executed performance.

He extends his hand toward you, as if inviting you into a dance.

Your pulse kicks up, but you don’t hesitate. You take his hand.

His fingers curl around yours—strong, steady, warm despite the growing heat. With a single pull, you propel yourself forward, slipping past the threshold of the hospital room and into the chaos beyond.

Smoke greets you first, thick and curling, its acrid tendrils slithering into your lungs like a living thing. The air is already changing—heat warping it, bending it, making it heavier. The moment you inhale, your throat burns. You clamp your sleeve over your mouth, but the effort is futile. The stench of burning plastic and antiseptic chemicals invades your senses, clawing at your eyes, your nose, your lungs.

Outside, the scene is worse.

Patients in hospital gowns stumble through the smoke, their movements disjointed, frantic. Some clutch at IV stands like lifelines, others trip over their own feet, disoriented by the blaring alarms and the thick, suffocating haze.

Doctors and nurses shout over the chaos, their voices lost in the hurricane of fear. Someone grabs your arm—a patient, her face streaked with sweat and panic, begging for help—but you pull away. You don’t have time.

You aren’t here to run.

You and Sylus move against the current, pushing past the flood of bodies surging toward the exits. The sheer force of them is overwhelming, a sea of desperation crashing around you, dragging you under. A body collides with yours their fingers tangling in your sleeve—but you break free, heart hammering as you surge toward the stairwell.

"We’ll lead them to the rooftop!" you yell, the words raw in your throat.

Sylus doesn’t answer, but he’s right beside you, his presence like a gravitational pull you can’t escape.

The stairwell looms ahead, doors thrown open as black smoke pours inside, bleeding into the emergency lights like a living shadow. The second you reach it, you don’t hesitate.

You take the stairs two, three at a time, Sylus still close behind you.

The heat is worse here. It rises from below, clawing at your legs, your back, the nape of your neck. Your breath comes in ragged bursts, your lungs searing, aching, screaming for fresh air. Each step feels like an eternity, each turn of the stairwell winding tighter, suffocating.

But you don’t stop.

Then—light.

A final shove against the rooftop doors, and you break through.

The moment you stumble outside, the temperature drops violently.

The cold slaps you across the face, stealing the breath from your lungs, shocking your overheated body into momentary stillness. The wind howls, slicing through the thick sweat on your skin, tangling through your hair, but it does nothing to mute the screams below.

And these screams are different.

Not panicked. Not desperate.

Dying.

A sickening weight drops into your stomach. Sylus steps up beside you, his stance tense, rigid, watchful. He doesn’t need to say it. You already know.

Ever’s assassins are here.

Your skin prickles as you scan the rooftop, the smoke too thick, the night too quiet. You can feel it in your bones—something is waiting.

Then—a shadow moves.

Then another.

Then—

Gunfire.

The first shot splits the air like a knife through silk.

You react instinctively, twisting your body out of the way as the bullet slams into the concrete near your foot, sending a sharp spray of dust and shattered stone into the air.

Another shot.

Sylus shoves you sideways, his movements lightning-fast, the force of it throwing you just out of the bullet’s path. Another impact—a bullet embedding itself into the rooftop behind where you had been standing only seconds before.

A crack split the air, followed by another. Sparks erupted as bullets ricocheted off metal pipes and rooftop vents, spraying embers into the night. Instinct kicked in before thought—you dropped low, rolling to the side just as a round zipped past your ear, embedding itself in the wall behind you.

Sylus moved with effortless precision, dodging fire as if it were choreographed. His jacket billowed as he twisted, reaching for his blade. A flash of steel. A wet gurgle. One assassin crumpled before he even realized he was dead.

You pivoted on your heel, raising your own weapon. A pull of the trigger—a sharp crack through the air. The man before you barely had time to react before the bullet found its mark. His body jerked violently, blood misting into the wind before he collapsed.

Another shot. Another fall.

They kept coming.

More shadows emerged from the darkness, gunfire tearing through the night in an unrelenting onslaught. You both wove through them like ghosts, striking fast, striking first. Your heart pounded as you ducked beneath a swing, countering with a sharp jab to the ribs, twisting your opponent’s wrist until his own weapon turned against him. A single shot. A final breath.

Sylus barely broke a sweat, his movements fluid, brutal, decisive. He drove his blade into one assassin’s chest, twisting just enough to make it agonizing. The man gasped, a short, choked sound before Sylus wrenched the blade free and let him drop.

"Pathetic," he muttered, stepping over the body without a second glance.

More gunfire. More bodies dropping.

Silence.

The last assassin twitched once, then stilled, his fingers curling in the pool of blood spreading beneath him. The night was thick with the scent of gunpowder, metal, and death.

And then—sirens.

A chorus of wailing alarms grew louder in the distance, flashing red and blue bleeding into the night sky.

The battlefield of bodies lay still, the chaos settled into an eerie quiet. The stench of gunpowder and iron filled your lungs, coating your throat with the acrid tang of death. The last spent cartridges hit the concrete, rolling in slow, uneven circles before finally resting among the carnage. Smoke lingered in the cold night air, twisting in delicate tendrils around the lifeless figures strewn across the rooftop.

You pushed out a slow breath, feeling the adrenaline still burning in your veins. Your fingers flexed around the grip of your weapon before you finally holstered it. The police would be here soon, their sirens growing louder in the distance, but they weren’t your concern. These bodies—the nameless, faceless pawns of Ever—would be cleaned up. Their presence erased. Their deaths categorized as classified in some sealed document, buried beneath bureaucratic nonsense.

"Sylus, we're clear! Let's move!" your voice came out sharper than you intended, urgency overtaking you.

He didn’t respond right away.

He was standing unnervingly still, his usual cocky demeanor replaced with something unreadable. His expression was neutral, but there was an intensity in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, a glint of something dark that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. His movements were slow as he wiped away the smear of blood on his cheek, his fingers leaving faint streaks of red against his skin. The way he stood—too relaxed, too quiet—set off alarm bells in your mind, though you couldn’t yet pinpoint why.

Something in his expression made your gut clench. His usual amused arrogance was absent, replaced with something darker. His pupils were slightly blown, the faintest edge of something feral lurking in his gaze. The air around him felt charged, electric. Wrong.

Then a sound.

A wet, strangled cough.

You both turned.

The last assassin—one you had assumed was already dead—was still moving. Barely. He lay twisted on the ground, one arm stretched toward you, his fingers twitching, curled like claws. His chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath rattling, wet, his lungs failing him.

But his lips—coated in blood—were curled into a grotesque smile.

"Even though..." he wheezed, a broken chuckle rattling out from somewhere deep in his ruined throat. "We can't kill you or him..." He spat a thick glob of blood onto the ground, his grin stretching wider, his yellowed teeth bared like a rabid dog. "Both of you...can rot in hell!"

His fingers twitched, curling weakly around something small, something you hadn’t noticed before. Then, in one sharp motion, his fist clenched, and a sudden crack rang out. Glass shattered, the sharp snap almost lost in the cool air, but the moment you heard it, your stomach dropped. A dark, viscous liquid seeped between his fingers, mingling with the blood pooling on the rooftop floor.

Then you caught the scent.

It was faint at first, nearly masked by the coppery stench of death, but the moment it hit the back of your throat, your entire body locked up in realization. The chemical tang was sharp, bitter, something that curled into your lungs like acid. It was distinct. Familiar.

Your body reacted before your brain fully processed the danger.

"No—!"

Your pulse thundered in your skull.

The Frenzy Enhancer.

A biochemical compound designed for one thing: triggering an uncontrollable transformation in Praedators. The LCBI had confiscated hundreds of these vials from underground labs, tearing them away from illegal deals before they could be sold to the highest bidder. But no matter how much of it was taken off the streets, more always surfaced. It was unpredictable. Uncontrollable.

It worked fast—too fast.

You turned, heart pounding in your chest. Sylus had gone rigid, his muscles locking as though every nerve in his body had seized up at once. His breathing was deep, too deep, pulling in the scent like his body was craving it against his will. His head tilted slightly, nostrils flaring, a shudder running through him from head to toe.

A low, guttural growl rumbled from his chest, barely human.

Your blood turned to ice.

His pupils dilated until the irises nearly vanished, red pools swallowing the color in his gaze. His lips parted slightly, sharp, elongated canines catching the dim rooftop lights. He was salivating. A slick sheen of moisture gathered along his lower lip, his body trembling with the effort to hold himself together.

But he was losing the battle.

The Frenzy Enhancer wasn’t just a stimulant—it was a detonator. It bypassed control, restraint, morality. It didn’t just enhance what he was—it unchained it.

And right now, it was unraveling him.

"Sylus," you said carefully, your voice firm but measured. He twitched at the sound of his name, his head snapping toward you with a sharp, unnatural movement. His muscles trembled as if barely keeping himself together, but his gaze was locked onto you now—not as a comrade.

As prey.

You had seen this before as an Enforcer, watched it unfold in others who had been exposed to the drug. The Frenzy Enhancer didn’t just bring out what they were—it unchained them. It severed the link between logic and instinct, driving them into a state of raw, uncontrolled bloodlust. But this wasn’t just any Praedator—it was Sylus. He was already dangerously close to the edge even on a normal day, always teetering between control and destruction. Now, with the drug coursing through his system, you weren't sure how much time you had before he lost himself completely.

You had to move.

Reaching forward, you grabbed his arm, fingers locking tight around his wrist. His skin was hot, too hot. His entire body was trembling with need, his breath shuddering against his clenched teeth. The growl rumbling in his chest vibrated beneath your palm, every muscle in his arm wound taut like a spring waiting to snap.

"Come on," you gritted out, pulling him forward with force. He resisted, his stance firm, as though something inside him was battling whether to follow or attack. Your pulse thrummed in your throat.

Then he staggered.

It was slight, barely a misstep, but you used it. Yanking him forward, you dragged him across the rooftop, forcing his unsteady body toward the stairwell. His breath hitched in a ragged snarl, his movements twitchy, erratic, but he followed.

For now.

Each step was a battle. He stumbled against you, his balance skewed, his instincts fighting him at every turn. By the time you both reached the underground corridors of NightStrix HQ, his breathing had become ragged, his body burning up from the inside out. His restraint was slipping fast.

You shoved open the heavy steel door, dragging him inside. Deep within the base, hidden away from the rest of the world, the reinforced cage ready to hold the beast that was about to be unleashed.

Sylus grunted against you, his breath coming in hot, ragged bursts as you dragged you both into the containment cage. His body was burning up, his muscles twitching violently under your grip, every fiber of him trembling with the overwhelming need to break free. Each second that passed was a countdown to catastrophe. The Frenzy was about to take full hold, and if you didn’t restrain him now, you might not get another chance.

You fumbled with the heavy iron chains, fingers slick with sweat as you worked to loop one around his thrashing limbs. The muzzle. You needed to get the muzzle on first. Your heart pounded as you grabbed it from the steel hooks on the wall, forcing it over his mouth while he snarled, his body lurching violently against you.

"Sylus, stop—!"

He thrashed hard, nearly knocking you to the floor. His strength was unnatural, monstrous, and it was only getting worse. With a final shove, you managed to secure the muzzle around his face, locking the metal straps tightly at the back of his head. But before you could reach for the second chain, he bucked with terrifying force, sending you stumbling backward. You barely had time to clasp the restraint around one of his legs before you were forced to scramble out of the cage.

The second you slammed the heavy door shut, he lunged.

The impact rattled through the metal bars as his shoulder slammed into them, the force sending vibrations into the floor beneath you. You jumped, heart hammering in your ribs, your breath coming too fast. He slid down slightly, panting, his chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven gasps.

Then, without warning, he laughed.

A dark, guttural chuckle, low and mocking, twisted through the air like poison. His pupils were blown slightly wide now, black swallowing the color of his irises as he tilted his head toward you. Even through the muzzle, his teeth gleamed, sharp and lethal.

"Won’t you help me?" he rasped, his voice thick with something twisted—half-growl, half-seduction.

You froze.

He was still partially unrestrained. That single remaining chain wasn’t enough—if the Frenzy fully took hold, he could snap it in seconds. If you waited too long, he would be too far gone.

You had to finish restraining him now.

Swallowing the tight lump in your throat, you slowly stepped forward into the cage. Your pulse roared in your ears, your body screaming at you to run, but you forced your limbs to obey. You kept your eyes on him, watching every twitch of his muscles, every flicker of movement. You knelt, reaching for the second chain, moving with deliberate slowness so you wouldn’t startle him.

"I’m not going to watch you turn into a monster, but I—"

You never got to finish.

Sylus lunged.

A blur of motion—heat, strength, raw power.

You barely had time to react before white-hot pain exploded in your neck.

A strangled scream tore from your throat as his teeth sank into your flesh, piercing deep, his jaws locking down like a predator making its first kill. Agony shot through your nerves, the sharp burn of torn skin flooding your senses. Your vision whited out for a second, pain so intense it nearly stole your breath.

Then instinct took over.

You snarled, swinging your fist up hard, your knuckles cracking against his cheekbone with enough force to send his head snapping sideways. The impact jarred his teeth free, a sharp burst of pain ripping through you as he tore away from your skin. Blood dripped from the wound, warm and wet, seeping between your fingers as you clutched your neck in blind panic.

For a moment, all you could do was breathe through the pain.

The air was thick with the scent of your own blood, sharp and metallic, mixing with the sweat and heat that clung to you both. Your hands trembled as you pulled them away from the wound, your fingers smeared crimson. The realization sent a sickening chill through you.

He had bitten you.

Not just attacked. Bitten.

Your gaze shot back up to him.

Sylus was licking his lips.

He ran his tongue slowly over the blood staining his mouth, eyes fluttering shut for a brief second as though savoring it. Then his pupils snapped back open, razor-sharp hunger gleaming in them.

"You taste delicious." His voice was thick, dripping with need, his words slurred with the edges of something inhuman. His breath came in heavy, fevered bursts, chest rising and falling as his restraint frayed further.

A shudder ran through his body, muscles twitching beneath his skin. His fingers flexed, nails digging into the concrete floor as his entire frame shook with the need to consume more.

"Come...just a little more..." he purred, voice dropping to something low and lethal.

Then he lunged again.

You dodge just in time, barely avoiding the brutal force of his lunge. The heat of his breath scorches the space between you as he snarls, his entire body moving like a coiled beast just barely restrained by human skin. The instant he gets too close, you strike—your fist colliding with his cheekbone in a sharp, jarring impact that sends a jolt of pain radiating up your arm. The force of the hit knocks his head to the side, his body twisting under the sudden blow, but even as he stumbles, something in your gut tells you it isn’t enough.

Your heart pounds wildly, your breath coming in uneven gasps as you prepare yourself for whatever comes next. But Sylus doesn’t fall. He doesn’t even cry out. Instead, he slowly turns back to face you, a sluggish, almost lazy motion, as if he’s savoring the sting of your hit. And then—he smiles.

“Oh…I like when my prey puts up a fight,” he purrs, his voice slithering through the air like something alive. His eyes gleam with raw, unhinged hunger, pupils swallowing what little color remains. The way he tilts his head, the way his lips curl over the metal of his muzzle—it sends a sickening chill down your spine.

The Frenzy has him now. Completely.

You swallow hard, trying to suppress the shudder threatening to wrack your frame. Every inch of your body is screaming at you to run, but you plant your feet firm against the cold concrete, refusing to let fear consume you. If you let him see weakness, if you let him smell it, you’ll lose control of the situation entirely.

"Sylus! Stop it!" you shout, willing your voice to be strong. "Please, I know you're in there somewhere! I just need to—"

He lunges again.

The movement is blindingly fast. One second he's still and the next, he’s twisting, lunging toward you with a violent, predatory force. You barely manage to throw yourself to the side, feeling the rush of displaced air as he snaps at the space where your throat had just been. You seize the opening, grabbing hold of the second restraint with trembling hands and slamming it onto his other wrist. The sharp clank of metal follows as his chains yank him back, keeping him from reaching you—but only barely.

Your pulse slams against your ribs. If you don’t finish this now, he will get free.

His body writhes violently in front of you, hot with fever, drenched in sweat, trembling with animalistic hunger. He’s caught. Fully restrained now, arms suspended in place, unable to do anything but snarl and thrash.

Your arms shake as you stumble backward, breath ragged. You barely register your own hands drifting to your neck, fingers pressing against the torn skin where his teeth had sunk in only moments ago. The wound is deep, hot, raw, but you won’t die from it. Your body is immune to a Praedator’s venom—it’s one of the only reasons you’re even still alive right now. But that doesn’t stop the sick wave of nausea that rolls through you as your fingertips come away stained with more blood.

Sylus laughs.

The sound is low, rough, and dangerously amused.

"You scared?" he murmurs, voice still ragged with the aftershocks of his transformation, his breath coming in heavy, uneven bursts. His eyes flicker over you, roaming your body from head to toe, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing every tiny tremor in your stance.

Your stomach tightens. You don’t answer.

His gaze lingers at your neck, at the place where his teeth had torn you open. His lips part slightly behind the muzzle, and his tongue flicks out, running along the bloodied edge of his mouth as if tasting the remnants of you still clinging to his skin. His chest rises and falls heavily, as if trying to restrain himself, but there’s something else lurking behind his eyes. You watch as his eyes roam up and down your body, seemingly lost in thought. He's thinking about something.

Something dark.

"Your idea of help is heartwarming," he muses as he staggers towards you a bit, his voice softer now, mocking, but no less dangerous.

You force yourself to hold his gaze, even as your breathing refuses to steady. Even as something deep in your gut tells you that Sylus isn’t as trapped as he looks.

Because despite the chains, despite the restraints keeping you apart, he’s still in control.

And he knows it.

"When you approach your prey, you must ensure your own safety first. You taught me this, Sylus."

Your voice is calm, controlled, but the pain radiating from your neck betrays the lie. Each breath you take feels like a blade dragging against raw flesh, a sharp pulse of heat throbbing beneath your skin. You try to ignore it, pushing past the discomfort, pushing past the rising tide of fear that threatens to anchor itself in your chest. There’s no time to waste. You need to find the activator—now. It’s buried somewhere in his body, a trigger designed to override the Frenzy and pull him back from the brink. If you don’t locate it soon, he’ll break free, and there will be no reining him in after that.

Sylus lets out a low scoff, but there’s no real amusement behind it. His breathing is heavy, uneven, his chest rising and falling in quick bursts as though he’s barely holding himself together. Sweat beads at his temple, strands of hair clinging to his skin, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if there’s any part of him left fighting from within, if the Sylus you know is still buried somewhere beneath all that raw, seething hunger.

"Prey?" he murmurs, rolling the word slowly across his tongue like he’s savoring the taste of it. His voice is hoarse, thick with something not quite human, something that sends an instinctual shiver down your spine.

You don’t answer. You can’t. The way he said that definitely indicated that he is not the prey here.

Instead, you move carefully, methodically, circling behind him. His arms are still suspended above his head, iron restraints locking him in place, but you know better than to let yourself feel safe. Chains mean nothing to him. They’re a hindrance at best, a mere delay in what will happen if you fail. Even now, his muscles flex, the sharp ripple of movement beneath his skin a silent warning of what he’s capable of. The heat coming off him is unnatural, feverish, almost suffocating.

You steel yourself, steadying your breath as you press your fingers lightly against his back. Your touch is slow, deliberate, barely there as you search for the small, embedded activator. It should be beneath the skin, nestled somewhere between the shifting planes of muscle. But finding it means keeping your composure, means moving carefully enough that you don’t trigger a reaction.

Your fingers glide along the ridges of his spine, trailing lower, feeling for anything out of place. Every shift of your hand feels like balancing on a razor’s edge. Sylus flinches under your touch, his body tensing hard before he exhales, a low, guttural sound vibrating through his chest. You feel it under your fingertips, the tremor of restraint, of struggle.

A bead of sweat slips down your temple. Nothing. No scar tissue, no ridge of foreign anything beneath the surface that you can find.

“It’s not here…” you murmur under your breath, your stomach twisting as unease settles deep inside you.

Sylus lets out another breath, but this time, there’s something different about it. A chuckle—slow, deliberate, curling like smoke in the thick air between you.

"Do you think I’m putty in your hands?" he asks, his voice low, teasing, laced with something dangerous.

The sound sends a flicker of unease racing up your spine. He’s getting antsy. The patience he had been holding onto—if he had any at all—is unraveling quickly. His muscles are shifting beneath his skin again, his fingers twitching, testing the strength of his restraints. You don’t need to see his face to know he’s smiling.

Your heart stutters. You need to hurry.

Just as you reach toward his ribs, he jerks violently.

A metallic snap rips through the air.

One of the restraints—one of the goddamn chains—breaks free.

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes snapping up just as Sylus rolls his newly freed wrist, fingers flexing as if he’s testing how much control he has left. Slowly, his head tilts toward you, his eyes burning like fire in the dim lighting.

The smile he gives you is chilling.

You don’t think. You react.

With a burst of adrenaline, you tackle him, shoving him hard enough that it sends you both tumbling to the ground. A low, reverberating growl rumbles through him, his chest vibrating beneath your hands as his body tenses against yours.

The struggle between you and Sylus is a mess of tangled limbs and desperation, your bodies locked in a frantic battle against the cold, unforgiving floor. Every shift of his body beneath yours is like wrestling with something barely restrained, a predator on the verge of breaking free from its chains. Heat radiates off his skin, far too intense, far too unnatural, as if his entire body is burning from the inside out. The feverish warmth seeps into your own skin, making it harder to focus, harder to breathe.

Your hands move over his chest, urgent, searching, pressing against the hard muscle beneath you in a frantic attempt to find the activator. It has to be here somewhere—it has to be. Your fingers skim the ridges of his abdomen, feeling for anything out of place, a small foreign lump beneath his skin, a sign that the override switch is still there. But the longer you search, the more panic digs its claws into your ribs.

Your wound throbs, a dull and persistent ache pulsing from your neck, sending sharp spikes of pain through your senses with every movement. The smell of blood—your blood—is thick in the air, mingling with the scent of sweat and something deeper, something primal that radiates from Sylus like a caged animal ready to tear through steel.

"Tell me—" You swallow hard, ignoring the dryness in your throat, trying to suppress the fear that’s creeping into your voice. "Is the activator here?"

Sylus doesn't answer immediately. His breath is coming heavy, uneven, his chest rising and falling in sharp, controlled bursts beneath you. Then, slowly, he grins.

The sight of it sends a ripple of unease down your spine.

"Don’t…" he growls, his voice low and guttural, slipping between clenched teeth. His body tenses beneath you, coiled muscle flexing, veins prominent beneath the sweat-slicked skin of his arms. His hands twitch rhythmically, fingers curling like claws ready to rip you to shreds.

"Don’t press it."

You ignore him.

You have to.

You shift, dragging your hands lower, pressing over his ribs, smoothing your fingers down the hard planes of his stomach, searching for any change in texture, any break in the muscle that could indicate the activator. Your fingertips glide over his skin, past the deep ridges of his abdomen, dipping lower—

A sharp, ragged exhale.

Sylus’s entire body jerks beneath you, his spine arching suddenly, pressing into you before falling back against the ground. His breath stutters, his hands clenching into fists as a sound rumbles deep in his chest—low, guttural, something between a moan and a growl.

Your movements falter for the briefest second.

Did you find it? Did you hurt him?

Your heart pounds violently against your ribs. Your hands remain pressed against him, frozen mid-motion, fingers still splayed across the hard muscle of his lower abdomen. You can feel the way his body shudders, tense and coiled, every fiber of him locked in place, the warmth of his skin searing against your palms.

You don’t know if the reaction is pain or something else, and the uncertainty sends unease coiling in your stomach.

Sylus exhales another uneven breath, his chest vibrating beneath you. His head tilts slightly, red eyes flickering open, dilated again and dark, and he looks straight at you. Not through you, not past you—at you.

The grin he gives you is slow, deliberate.

"That-," he murmurs, voice edged with something dark, something lustful. His lips curl at the corners, his teeth flashing between parted lips as his gaze flickers lower, trailing over the places where your hands are still pressed against him. "That feels...good".

Your breath caught in your throat as the realization hit you like a freight train barreling down the tracks. Your eyes widened as you lowered your head and took in the unmistakable bulge of his erection, straining against the confines of his pants, a tangible proof of the pleasure you were unwittingly providing.

This isn’t pain.

The second he senses your moment of shock, Sylus strikes.

With terrifying ease, he yanks you upward, your feet leaving the ground for a brief, weightless second before he drives you downward. The world tilts violently, your stomach dropping as you’re thrown forward, your body twisting midair before—

Impact.

The breath is knocked from your lungs as you hit the cold, unforgiving floor, your stomach smacking against the hard surface with enough force to send a sharp shockwave through your ribs. Your arms instinctively splay out, palms slamming against the ground to steady yourself, but the weight that follows keeps you from moving.

Sylus presses down against you, his entire body covering yours, his hands locking around your wrists before pinning them flat against the floor beside your head. His hips press firmly into yours, locking you in place, trapping you beneath him.

Panic seizes your chest.

You try to twist away, to jerk free, but his weight is unmovable, pressing down hard enough that every shift only grinds you further against the floor. The heat of his body seeps into your back, feverish and all-consuming, the ridges of his toned chest molding against your spine.

You thrash, breath coming hard and fast, struggling against his grip, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t budge. Doesn’t even react—except for the slow, deep inhale that shudders through his chest.

Then, he breathes against your skin.

"You smell like fear," he murmurs, voice low and silken, curling around your ear like smoke.

Your entire body locks up.

His lips are too close.

The warmth of his breath ghosts along the side of your face, his nose grazing the edge of your jaw before dipping lower, hovering over the sensitive skin of your throat. Your pulse races, hammering so violently beneath your skin that you know he feels it.

His grip tightens.

"And something...sweet," he muses, dragging the words out slowly, tasting them like something decadent.

Your struggles escalate, knowing exactly where this is going.

"Sylus! Stop! No!"

Your fingers claw against the floor, legs kicking, desperate to throw him off, but Sylus doesn’t move an inch. If anything, his hold only grows firmer, heavier, more absolute. The pressure of his body against yours makes it impossible to move, to breathe properly, to think.

Then—he lowers his head.

The brush of his lips against your ear is featherlight, teasing. A sharp contrast to the overwhelming, inescapable strength of his grip.

And then—his teeth sink in.

A sharp, precise nip to the outer shell of your ear, quick and fleeting, followed immediately by the slow, deliberate glide of his tongue. He slides all the way down to your neck, lapping up the still dripping blood from your wound. He alternates between licking and nipping, as if feeding himself and claiming you all at once.

You flinch violently, a shudder ripping through your limbs as heat explodes beneath your skin. Your breath catches, fingers digging into the cold floor as a rush of pure, primal panic flares through your nerves.

Sylus hums. A deep, satisfied sound.

"Something very sweet," he repeats, his voice edged with amusement, hunger, something else entirely. His fingers flex against your wrists, nails pressing into your skin—not enough to break, but enough to remind you of the power imbalance.

"Makes me want to devour you whole."

A violent shiver wracks through you, your entire body locking up in terror.

Move. Move. MOVE.

Desperation surges through you like wildfire. You snap your leg back, aiming a blind, vicious kick toward his leg, his thigh—anything that will make him falter, make him let go—

But he’s faster.

Before you can even make contact, he moves. His weight shifts, his grip flexes, and suddenly—you’re being crushed, pressed even harder into the ground.

Your breath chokes in your throat as his body presses flush against yours, one of his hands releasing your wrist only to grip your hip, pinning you down even harder. His fingers dig in, securing his hold, ensuring you have nowhere to go.

"Nice try," he murmurs, voice dipping into something thick and sultry, rich with amusement. The warmth of his breath trails lower, sweeping along the side of your bloodied throat, down to the nape of your neck.

A slow, wicked grin spreads across his lips, and you feel it—feel his smirk against your skin, feel the way he’s drinking in every panicked breath, every tremor, every racing heartbeat.

"You should know better," he murmurs, his voice a low, teasing growl. "Prey that struggles only makes the hunt more exciting."

His fingers flex against your hip, nails pressing in just enough to send a sharp, prickling sting through your nerves.

"Why resist me now? You made your choice when you stepped inside," Sylus taunts, a dark chuckle rumbling from his chest. Tears prick at your eyes, threatening to spill over as the harsh sound of ripping fabric echoes ominously in the confined space. Your skirt! You cry out, trying to lunge forward, to escape, but his grip is relentless, fingers suddenly tightening around your throat with a firm command.

"Stop. Moving." His growl is a sharp command in your ear, his weight pressing down on you, pinning you to the ground with an unyielding force. The air is forced from your lungs in a rush as he yanks the remnants of your skirt away, tossing it aside carelessly. The room's cool air brushes against the exposed skin of your legs, and you shiver, fear and vulnerability intertwining as you plead with him.

"Sylus...this isn't you. Please—" Your words are abruptly silenced as he tears your underwear away, his actions speaking louder than any words could. The chill against your bare skin draws a sob from your lips, a desperate sound swallowed by the room's oppressive silence.

He's going to take you right here on the cage floor. Claim you. And there's nothing you can do. This isn't Sylus you know anymore.

"My my...this was what you were hiding underneath that skirt?" he growls, a feral edge to his voice. He leans forward, trailing his tongue along your back, the sensation a disconcerting mix of heat and cold that leaves you trembling beneath him.

"Please...snap out of it! Don't do this...!" you scream, your voice raw and desperate as you squirm helplessly beneath him. Your pleas are met with a soft, almost soothing "Shhh..." as if he's trying to calm you, but the sharp sound of his zipper coming undone is a jarring counterpoint, a grim reminder that he's too far gone.

This is it, you think, swallowed by a tide of helplessness. It could be worse...right? A gasp escapes your lips as you feel something large, hot and throbbing press against the middle of your ass. Sylus moans, a deep, primal sound that reverberates through you, sending shockwaves of dread and involuntary ache coursing through your veins. He spits, the wet warmth landing on your skin, slicking the path as he rubs his cock between your cheeks, each movement deliberate and unhurried.

"You looked divine in that uniform when we met again," he murmurs, his voice a silken thread of temptation and threat. "Would it be awful of me to say that I've been wanting to tear you apart with my cock ever since I saw you again?" His words are accompanied by a deep chuckle, a sound that seems to vibrate through your bones.

You squeeze your eyes shut, fighting against the warm, wet sensation that overwhelms your senses. No...this isn't the real him, you remind yourself, clinging to the hope that somewhere beneath the Frenzy Enhancer's influence, the true Sylus still exists. He's still in there, right? The question echoes in your mind, a desperate mantra as you hold onto the sliver of hope that the man you know will resurface, that this nightmare will end.

The moment of hope you had was shattered in an instant as you felt a sharp, piercing pain between your folds as he grips the skin of your ass, a large intrusion attempting to force its way inside you. You screamed, your voice raw with agony, as you tried to pry his hands away, your nails digging into his skin. "It hurts! Stop, please!" you begged, your pleas desperate and frantic.

Sylus grunted and moaned, his body a contradiction of pleasure and annoyance as he struggled to push his cock deeper into your tight folds, his tip breaching your entrance only to retreat, the pain searing and hot. "Hmm..." he growled, his voice a mix of frustration and desire.

You shook, your body trembling from the pain, your lower half throbbing, the intrusion gone but the ache still spreading. Suddenly, your hips were gripped and your lower half was raised up, your ass raised in the air, your hands bracing against the floor, your body now positioned for his taking.

"You just need a little...preparation," Sylus whispered, his voice low and dark, belying the wicked intent behind his words. Before you could protest, his hot tongue was sliding down your cunt, his skilled mouth working to prepare you, his touch both electrifying and unwittingly arousing, a wicked precision that left you trembling, your body betraying your mind's resistance.

"Mghn! S-stop...please, Sylus!" you pleaded, your voice hoarse and desperate, your fingers clawing at the floor as you tried to escape the pleasure-pain he was inflicting. But his death grip on your hips was unyielding, holding you firmly in place, his tongue a relentless force, licking and slurping at your folds with primal hunger. Like a beast that hadn't eaten in weeks.

If he doesn't stop soon you'll definitely-

"Those cute noises you make drive me wild" Sylus growled, his voice a low, guttural sound. You can't see his face, but you can feel his eyes roaming up and down your now soaked cunt, no doubt wishing he was deep inside you right now. "Reminds me of the sound a rabbit makes just before its eaten."

You gasp and shiver at the depraved sentence that leaves his mouth before something wet and long enters your hole, making you cry out. Sylus's tongue, hot and insistent, buried itself deep within you, his mouth working in a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure through your core.

Sylus's grunts and moans escalated into a primal chorus as he delved deeper into your folds, his tongue a relentless force, his hands digging into your hips with increasing urgency. Your body was a tempest of sensations—pain, pleasure, and ecstasy—a melting pot of conflicting desires. You tried to hold on, to keep yourself from succumbing, but your body had a mind of its own, and you went limp, surrendering to the pleasure he was delivering.

"Mghn!" you cried out, your body shaking, your hands gripping the floor as you fought against the overwhelming pleasure. "Don't cum... don't cum..." you pleaded, your voice hoarse, your lips bitten to stifle the moans that threatened to escape.

But Sylus found that sweet spot, that spongy part inside you, and twisted his tongue, sending you over the edge. You bit down harder on your lip, trying to muffle the sounds of your climax, but it was no use. The pleasure was too much, and you came undone, your body shaking, your cries echoing in the cold cage as waves of pleasure washed over you.

Sylus lapped up your essence, his tongue working feverishly, his grunts and moans a testament to his own pleasure as he reveled in the taste of your orgasm, his primal satisfaction evident as he continued to lap up your juices like a thirsty dog.

"This taste..." Sylus groaned, his voice thick with greed, as he brushed his tongue against your inner thigh, catching the drippings of your pleasure, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. You gasped for breath, your body still trembling from the orgasm, your mind racing for a way out of this predicament.

"Your scent has filled the room now...its driving me mad. I can't wait any longer".

Your thoughts turned to the activator, the key to your freedom. You needed to get turned around, to find it somehow. "Sylus, w-we should—" you started, but your words were cut off by the sudden, sharp intrusion of his cock slamming into your cunt with a force that sent shockwaves of pain and pleasure through your body.

"Agh!"

The initial penetration was rough, but easier than before, his cock sliding into your wet hole, stretching you, before he pulled back slightly and sheathed himself completely inside you, his grip on your waist tightening as he began to thrust, his hips pistoning in a relentless rhythm.

"Ahh...it hurts..." you whimpered, your body writhing in his grip, trying to escape the pain of his thrusts. But Sylus chuckled, his voice dark and amused. "Keep squirming, little bird. It only makes it feel better."

His words were a taunt as he continued to plunge into you, his cock pistoning in and out, his body a cage of pain, his grip on your waist unyielding, his thrusts relentless, driving you to the brink of ecstasy and agony, your cries and moans filling the cold cage with a symphony of raw, primal sex.

You begin to try and dissociate from everything by focusing on the concrete floor, but Sylus primal grunts and growls as he slams into you, using your body for his own pleasure, makes it hard to escape reality. Think! Just think! You've been in worse situations before, what can you do to get turned around?

A lightbulb goes off inside your head. Its risky, but at this rate...

"F-for a Praedator...I honestly expected this to be much better. A little disappointing after waiting all these years Sylus" you spat, trying to sound more confident than you truly felt. Sylus momentarily slows his thrusting, not completely stopping but definitely enough to ponder your words. You shiver as you hear a deep chuckle.

"Is that so?"

Your entire world flips around as he grabs you, spins you around and pushes you roughly against the concrete floor. Before you can continue speaking, his hand slams into your throat, squeezing slightly. Not enough for serious harm, but its a clear warning.

Sylus's gaze is dark, beastly and terrifying as he leans down to your face, as if trying to look deep into the depths of your soul. Your heart aches as you recall your last encounter with him earlier that day, when he gave you the movie tickets. He had looked so soft...unlike the beast that was in front of you now.

"I can give you rougher, if that's what you crave," Sylus purred, his voice laced with dark humor, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. "I quite like you in this position, that look of fear in your eyes turns me on" He began to laugh, a low, menacing sound, as he pushed his still-hard cock back into your aching hole, his hand never leaving your throat.

Sylus's other hand, strong and sure, reached out, tearing your top with effortless ease, the fabric ripping as he exposed your breasts to his hungry gaze. Your nipples hardened in response to the sudden exposure, the cool air on your sensitive skin a stark contrast to the heat of the moment.

Your breasts bounced with each powerful movement of his hips, the motion causing a mix of pain and fear, your body a canvas of sensations, your mind struggling to process the whirlwind of physical reactions.

You whimpered as pain, pleasure, and fear mingled within you. His hand squeezed harder with each thrust, cutting off your air supply, and you clawed at his fingers, desperate for breath, your nails digging into his skin.

"C-can't...breathe..." you gasped, your voice hoarse, your heart hammering in your chest, sensations blurring together. Despite your struggles, your body began to respond to his relentless thrusts, your muscles squeezing around his cock, a reaction you couldn't control.

"Oh, you like this, don't you?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Gonna cum while you can't breathe, little bird? I could've given you this pleasure sooner if I'd known. I'd have gladly delivered your demise, one way or another."

His words sent a shiver through you as your body betrayed your mind's resistance, succumbing to the pleasure he was inflicting, your climax building despite the pain and the fear, a testament to the twisted game he was playing with your body and mind.

Were you truly going to die this way? After everything, after fighting for so long to see him again? This is how things end between the two of you? You look into his eyes. His rabid, feral eyes and feel tears begin to prick them. You look past him, your eyes resting at the revolver still strapped to your leg.

You still have one more option.

"I-it won't be me succumbing to my d-demise" you choke out, staring into his eyes. He doesn't stop thrusting into your body, but his eyebrow does raise. "Even if you make it out of here, what do you think they'll do with you when they realize the only immune person is also pregnant with a Praedator's baby?"

Your eyes widen at his words, your brain barely processing their meaning as your vision begins to blur. No! No! You begin to thrash as the sounds of his evil laughter fills your ears, and his thrusts pick up relentless speed.

"D-don't cum in me! Please!" you choke out, your voice hoarse and gravely as your forced to continue take the relentless pounding of Sylus's cock. He's ignoring you, he doesn't care. He only has one goal now. You feel your lower half begin to ache and pulse, evident that you just orgasmed beneath him. But you barely register it, as your top half begins to hurt.

Your lungs burn as if set ablaze, the oxygen in your body dwindling, your chest seizing with every desperate attempt to inhale. A thick, suffocating haze fills your head, making your thoughts sluggish, disjointed, slipping between the cracks of fading consciousness. Your body betrays you, limbs losing strength, muscles growing weak as an unbearable heaviness creeps into every inch of your skin. Your fingers, once clawing at the iron grip around your throat, are failing you now, slipping away, no longer able to fight against the pressure stealing your air.

A dull ringing overtakes your ears, growing louder, drowning out the world around you. Your vision narrows, dark spots creeping into the edges, threatening to swallow everything whole. A strange lightheadedness overtakes you, a weightless, dizzying sensation that makes it hard to remember where you are, what you’re doing. Your body is shutting down, giving up, preparing to surrender to the void clawing at the edges of your mind.

No. No, no, no. It can’t end like this.

A spike of panic jolts through your fading awareness, but your body refuses to listen, sinking deeper into helplessness. You strain, forcing your head up just enough to look at him, to plead, to beg, but the words won’t come. Your throat is locked, crushed beneath his grip, and no matter how much you try, no sound escapes past your lips. Sylus barely seems aware of you now, his expression dazed, half-lidded, his breath uneven as he lingers on the edge of his own orgasm. His fingers twitch slightly, tightening then loosening, but he isn’t paying attention, isn’t thinking, isn't entirely here. He’s too close to the edge, too lost in wanting to finish inside you.

That’s when you see it.

A flicker of red, faint but undeniable, flashes in one of his eyes. It’s barely noticeable, a fleeting pulse of color in the red of his irises, but it’s there. Your slowing mind struggles to process it, to make sense of what it means, until the realization slams into you like a shock of ice water.

The activator?!

Adrenaline floods your veins, shoving back the creeping darkness threatening to pull you under. The sheer, primal will to live surges through you like a lightning strike, reigniting every dying nerve, forcing your limbs to respond even as they scream in protest. With the last of your strength, you move.

Your fingers twitch, barely managing to form a fist. Gritting your teeth, you summon every ounce of energy left in your failing body, pull your arm back, and slam your thumb directly into his eye.

A guttural, animalistic roar rips from Sylus’s throat as his grip on your neck vanishes, his entire body jerking back in raw, instinctive pain. The instant pressure is released, air floods your lungs, rushing in so fast that your entire chest seizes from the force of it. A sharp, shrill gasp tears from your throat as you suck in a desperate, wheezing breath, the burning relief almost as unbearable as the suffocation had been.

Your vision, once clouded and swimming, sharpens in an instant, the murky haze lifting as the world snaps back into terrifying clarity. Every nerve is raw, every muscle trembling, but you’re alive. You can breathe.

Sylus's eyes widened for a moment, a brief flicker of surprise as all the Frenzy enhancer seemed to leave his body, and then, just as quickly, the feral intensity left his gaze, his face softening. But it was too late for his body to catch up, as his hips froze mid-thrust, his cock twitching inside you, releasing a hot flood of cum against your womb.

You gasped, your body trembling from the unexpected climax, the sensation of his release filling you, an intense mixture of warmth and fullness.

Sylus’s eyes met yours, the fire in them flickering unsteadily as the weight of what just happened crashed over him. The frenzied hunger that had gripped him moments ago had drained away, leaving behind something raw—horror, confusion, and something close to regret. His breath came fast and uneven, chest rising and falling as he struggled to process what he had just done to you.

His lips parted slightly, but no words came at first. His red eyes, now normal, darted across your face, lingering on the deep red imprints, blood, and bruises his fingers and teeth had left on your throat. His grip, once unrelenting, had been torn away, but you still felt it there—the phantom sensation of his hands crushing the air from your lungs.

“Are you…” He swallowed hard, voice hoarse, like it physically pained him to speak. “Are you okay?”

You coughed, your throat burning, the rush of oxygen still too sharp, too overwhelming. But you managed to nod, your limbs still weak, your entire body trembling from the shock. You could feel the marks he had left, the lingering ache that pulsed in time with your heartbeat, but you were alive.

Sylus was still staring at you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes now—guilt, realization, something heavy and unspoken pressing down on him. His hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he should.

“Why didn’t you press it sooner?” His voice was quieter now, filled with something vulnerable, almost desperate. “The activator… you could have stopped me before—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head, frustration with himself evident in the tightness of his jaw. “Before I did this to you.”

The look on his face—haunted, shaken—was so unlike him, so different from the Sylus you knew, that something in your chest ached. He wasn’t just horrified by what had happened. He was horrified by himself.

You forced a small, reassuring smile, even though your throat still ached, even though your entire body was still reeling from the ordeal. “Because I couldn't find it. But I knew you were still in there,” you whispered, voice raspy but steady. “And I was right.”

Sylus let out a slow, uneven breath, his gaze locked on you like he was trying to convince himself you were telling the truth. Then, without another word, he moved.

Before you could react, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, the warmth of his body pressing against yours in a way that was nothing like before. This wasn’t dominance or power. This was desperation. He was still inside you, but neither of you cared to address it at this moment.

His grip was strong, but careful this time. His hands, which had moments ago been your greatest threat, now held you like you were something fragile, something breakable. His fingers curled against the back of your head, as if grounding himself, as if he needed to feel that you were real, that you were still here.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against your hair, voice rough, low, and laced with something unspoken. “I wasn’t…I couldn’t—” He exhaled, tightening his hold. “I didn’t want our first time to be like this.”

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to sink into the embrace. Tears of relief slipped from the corners of your eyes and dripped to the concrete floor. Your hands gripped the leather of his top, grounding yourself in him, in the fact that he was back now. His heartbeat, still fast, thrummed against your own, and for a moment, neither of you moved, neither of you spoke. The silence was thick, but not empty.

“It’s okay,” you whispered finally, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “You’re back now.”

And then you kissed him.

It was slow at first, hesitant, but the second your lips met his, Sylus shattered.

His grip on you tightened even more, arms pulling you flush against him as he kissed you back like he had been waiting for this, like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. There was nothing controlled about it—it was desperate, messy, full of every unspoken thing he couldn’t bring himself to say over the years. His fingers slid up your back, then tangled into your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, to claim more of you, to drown in you.

You could feel his pulse beneath your fingertips, still racing, still alive. You weren’t sure who was shaking more—you or him—but neither of you pulled away. Neither of you wanted to.

When you finally parted, both of you were breathless, your foreheads still pressed together. His lips hovered just over yours, his hands still holding you like he couldn’t bring himself to let go yet.

It was all going to be okay.

For the first time since this nightmare had begun, Sylus let himself believe it.

[abyssyby]

“what do you think your mom does for work?”

“my— my mama works good. good job.” kyros breathes into the tiny microphone Mr. Raf handed to him.

big, thoughtful eyes blink at the camera awaiting the next prompt while his teacher tries to clarify. “no, yes. sure. but what is she doing a good job on?”

kyros opens his mouth, then closes it, unsure. after sorting through a few thoughts, he presses his lips to the mic again and says, “good job on… uh, work.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“mama fights.” lucian chews his words, speakers popping at his loud voice. “mama go hurt things.”

“hurt?”

“yes. and do good job.” lucian nods, also staring at the camera. as if to challenge anyone who thinks otherwise.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“hi, i’m lucian and kyros’s mom, and i am a Hunter for The Hunter’s Association.” you say, a little bashful at the answers they provided. “I—I hunt, not hurt. Well, I also hurt, but—but wanderers! Not people. Or— well— Rafayel, stop recording!”

“what do you think your dad does at work?”

“beez-nez.” kyros struggles to wrap his tongue around the word but relays enough to understand.

“like… stocks?”

“ya, he wear socks.”

“like what kind of business, kyros?”

poor kyros looks like his brain blast will injure him. but in a snap of memory he has heard his father sneer at people on the phone, he exclaims. “ah! none!”

“huh?”

“none-your-beez-nez!” he claps happily for remembering. “i do good job!”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“phone— and, and trinkies— and! like, drinks.” lucian lists, twisting his shirt around his hands and swinging side to side.

“does he own a bar?”

he lifts the front of his shirt randomly over his face. “bar? what dat?” Rafayel panics to pull it back down.

when lucian’s face emerges, he says, “papa has a gun.”

“what—“

Mr. Raf has never met the guy, but now he worries what these kids have to witness at home. their father, skye, will be coming to pick them up later, and so he braces for the worst.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“I’m lucian and kyros’s papa.” sylus states, deadpan into the camera in his three piece tailored armani, but radiating with pride at the statement. “and I sell fruits.”

Rafayel falters with the camera and shoots the little ones a look over his shoulder, tired. they blink up at him with identical, thoughtless red orbs that matches their strange father’s and wave.

Thomas lied. Ooh, kindergarten is an easy, fun, break-from-your-routine, might-inspire-you-to-paint kinda gig— not.

He makes that known, later that day. Loud and clear.

“Thomas, what the hell do you think I do for work?”

[kkunai]

FORBIDDEN TERRITORY ˓˓ SUKUNA R.

𝜗℘ ˖ ࣪ . ˖˙ ‎ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. after wandering onto the training grounds of the estate where sukuna’s soldiers reside, an unexpected romantic confession catches you off guard. little did you know that another concubine would tell on you in hopes of getting you kicked out of the harem or worse—killed.

tags \\ warnings. true form!ryomen sukuna x concubine!female reader. angst mostly (w/ comfort, if you can call it that). fluff-ish. suggestive. make-out session near the end. size difference. reader's body referred to as small. mentions of murder, execution :: wc. 4.2k :: ac. woshihedawei on x

sukuna has known from the start that possessing a human army would cause trouble, one way or another. technically, the overpowered curse has no need for a group of soldiers. he can take up any opponent by himself.

however, he enjoyed knowing that he has full control over some weak humans who are too scared to oppose him. humans who would die for his cause, if he were to command them.

human shields: that’s what he calls them.

“speak up or leave,” the king of curses commands, piercing red eyes glaring down at the woman kneeling before him. he sits on his throne, the aura emitting from his body being one that would send anyone into sheer panic.

he’s already pissed off due to being disturbed by one of his concubines. It isn’t you—his favorite—so he has little patience to spare for the girl at his feet.

the blond girl speaks up after taking a deep breath. she came here determined to go through with her sick plan, hoping sukuna would hear her out. she knows of his favoritism—everyone around the estate did and nearly every other concubine has been thinking of the same.

to get rid of the blatant favoritism once and for all.

the nervous woman talks fast, stuttering after every word. she spills every detail about the predicament that you had found yourself in a couple moments ago.

. . .

you were walking around the training grounds out of pure curiosity. usually, no one would be there around that hour, yet today seemed to be an exception. you averted your eyes the second you saw the soldiers training in only their hakama. their muscular chests and backs were out in the open, straight up eye candy for anyone who was walking past.

however, when they saw you—sukuna’s favorite concubine who they’ve secretly developed a crush on—they froze in their place and nearly dropped their weapons. the men didn’t expect any visitors, especially not a high-ranking concubine to randomly walk through this part of the estate. it’s a rare occurrence to have anyone but the servants and generals walk by.

you silently bowed at them out of respect. you didn’t have to due to your high rank, yet you still did. you actually respect their position as soldiers. that humble nature of yours was exactly what separated you from the other concubines. it also played a huge role in the crushes that those soldiers have on you.

out of fear for their lives, the soldiers have never directly interacted with you. they heard of what happened to one of the male servants who tried asking you to accompany him for a cup of tea. his body was reduced to nothing but a puddle of dark, red blood which took the servants hours to fully clean up.

but now that you were alone, without sukuna in sight, the soldiers were braver. one of them grabbed the opportunity and started walking towards you as you stood on the engawa, simply admiring the koi pond nearby. the group of men watched from a distance as their friend attempted to make a move on you. it was the perfect opportunity to convey his feelings for you.

or so he thought.

sukuna’s eyes are everywhere. even if you think he isn’t looking, he simply is. his informants are lurking from every corner. his concubines, chefs, servants, maids and guards. all of them are his eyes and ears. you’re never fully alone. nothing you do escapes the king of curses. if you’re not being watched by him, the people under his control are lurking instead.

in that instant, it was one of his concubines who had discreetly followed you.

you had noticed it a while ago, though didn’t say a word. it’s a usual occurrence. the other women always try to catch you off guard. to catch you doing something that you’re not allowed to do, so they can report it to sukuna, hoping that it would get you expelled from his harem. perhaps even executed in front of their eyes.

although every time they report something ‘controversial’ about you to sukuna, it backfires, and they end up with their head on the guillotine.

despite the many failures, they simply cannot stop trying. one day it will work.

the blonde woman had witnessed how the soldier put his hand on your arm to stop you from walking away. the cheesy smiles he had given you betrayed his true feelings—the words he uttered after the formalities only further confirmed the concubine’s speculations.

“i’ve been admiring you for a while now. you’re a lovely lady...”

“perhaps it’s bold of me to ask this, but i would like the opportunity to get to know you better.”

“lord sukuna does not need to know of this. i promise not to tell him, so please don’t worry.”

. . .

“...that’s exactly what that soldier told her, my lord,” the concubine concludes her story with a shaky breath. the throne room is filled with a tense and rather uncomfortable silence. the woman can’t even lift her head up because of how scared she is of sukuna’s wrath. she’s scared of the fact that she could be the first one he kills in a rampage fueled by pure envy.

the curse simply stares at the top of the blonde’s head. his expression is unreadable, but the veins in his neck and on his forehead slowly yet surely start to become visible. his blood is boiling, causing his jaw to clench and his hands to ball into fists.

without a word, sukuna stands up from his throne. the air in the room turns suffocating—the concubine could barely breathe. it’s as if there’s an invisible weight pressing on her chest, making her struggle to get any oxygen in her lungs.

a rough hand reaches out to grab ahold of her hair. sukuna’s fingers curl around the locks and roughly yanks the girl’s head back, forcing her to look up. his face is close to hers; his eyes are wide and glowing an intimidating red.

“woman,” his voice has a dangerous tone to it as he speaks up. he grips her hair tighter, until she lets out a pained sob as a few of her blond strands float down onto the cold floor, “you know what happens if you lie to me, correct?”

the blond concubine swallows thickly as the tears prickle her eyes. she nods, already aware of the risks she is taking. “yes, my lord. i… i promise it is not a lie,” she whimpers. perhaps her promise isn’t worth trusting, considering the infinite number of times that sukuna’s concubines have tried to sabotage his favorite girl, but the least she can do is try and convince him. to get one step closer to her goal.

the king of curses releases her head with a rough push that sends her onto her hands and knees. his intense gaze is focused on the big, heavy doors that lead down the many corridors of the estate. sukuna grits his teeth to the point he can nearly feel them crack— how dare a lowlife try to make a move on you, in his territory? his home?

a lowly human he has granted the privilege to even breathe the same air as him, nonetheless.

death shall await that piece of shit. everyone who has seen the situation play out and hasn’t done a thing to stop it or report it, will surely meet their demise as well. heavy footsteps and the deafening sounds of doors slamming open alert every living being around the estate. the air turns tense as they scramble to hide and stay out of sight of the one who’s currently making his way to the training grounds.

. . .

you’re sitting at a pavilion near the area you had visited roughly an hour ago. your eyes take in the beautiful surroundings: the sakura trees, the neatly cut bushes and the hint of the distant mountains that peek above the walls enclosing the estate. being here puts your mind at ease, even amongst all the chaos that you have withstood within those same walls.

you think back to the man who had spoken to you a couple moments ago. the way he spoke so bravely to you, knowing it could mean death if anyone were to report it to sukuna. it sure made you respect his courage. even if you did reject his offer—out of pure fear for his life and your own.

besides, you have developed a strange longing for the ruthless curse over the course of your stay. sukuna might still lack in some aspects, but something about him is attracting you and you cannot resist it. that connection between the two of you is something undeniable. something that will not die out any time soon.

you get up to go to your chambers. you’ve been here for too long while you’re not quite supposed to be roaming these places on your own. you lift your kimono a little, walking down the three steps and onto the gravel path. while you’re walking back, a couple noises from inside of the main building catch your attention.

sounds of struggle. you’ve heard those sounds enough times before to be able to recognize them with ease. you watch as guards step out into the engawa, down onto the pebbles that stretch over the entire yard. they’re pulling along a couple of blindfolded and tied up men. it looks exactly like what it is: an execution.

your throat dries up as you freeze in place. you’re not supposed to witness any of this. you’ve known of the executions that take place around the manor but have never seen them firsthand. you carefully hide your face, so the guards don’t recognize you and alert sukuna that you’re wandering around this part of his territory.

your eyes are downcast as you try to make a run for it from the sidelines, attempting to sneak into the building. this is none of your business. you don’t want to see it. you truly cannot do anything to save those souls—your word is not final around here.

you don’t recognize who those poor men are, until you hear one of them plead for his life. you’re about to successfully sneak past the many guards, however your head whips to the side out of pure shock once you hear that familiar voice. that smooth and charming voice. your eyes scan the bodies of the group that’s about to be executed.

those clothes. the group is wearing the same pants that those soldiers had on. the haircuts, their voices… there is no doubt about it.

“what—” you’re about to speak up – revealing your identity in hopes of getting answers and perhaps delay the execution with the little power you have - when you’re interrupted.

how could you not have noticed that imposing figure making its way towards you before eventually coming to a stop at your face?

you don’t know what to do or say. it’s like you have met a dead end. you can’t go back, nor can you move forward as a wall of muscles cage you into place. you don’t have time to react before sukuna’s fingers move up to wrap around your throat. he doesn’t hold on tight, at least not to the point that it hinders your airway. it’s a rather possessive gesture, a warning to not move or try anything funny.

“stay,” sukuna orders. you know you cannot defy him in any way, thus you do as told. you catch a glimpse of a silhouette behind the pink-haired man. A frown settles on your face the second you notice who it belongs to. that damned woman. . . she subtly shoots you a grin, one that makes your stomach churn and your blood boil.

you had been too reckless. you should have known that she would tell on you. if only you didn’t come around this area, none of this would have happened. those poor souls would not be lined up in a row in the yard, awaiting their inevitable end by the hands of the curse everyone fears. you feel like it’s all your fault and that nearly sends you spiraling.

“’lord sukuna doesn’t have to know,’ huh?” sukuna mocks with a dry laugh. a shiver runs down your spine once you realize what he is referring to. those courageous words that have been uttered to you today. you swallow thickly as you’re forced to lock eyes with the enraged curse in front of you.

he scoffs and turns your head to look at the blindfolded soldiers who are kneeling on the gravel, “how cute. which one of ‘em said that to you?”

you’re unable to immediately answer sukuna. there’s simply no way out of this. he will know the truth one way or another. the other concubine standing behind him will surely spill the beans if you lie. your punishment will be worse if you’re caught lying and the thought alone makes you panic internally.

“answer me,” the king of curses demands. his fingers tighten the grip around your neck, his face leaning in right in front of yours. it’s terrifying, really, even if you know sukuna wouldn’t physically hurt you in any way. at least not badly.

he emphasizes his demand with a subtle threat, “and don’t you dare lie.”

it’s futile lying to sukuna anyway. your eyes fill up with tears from the pure pressure you are experiencing. you look over the group of soldiers that are on their knees, waiting to be executed. just a few moments ago, they were laughing with each other while practicing their skills, not having a clue of what would happen. you grit your teeth. life is unfair.

you refuse to point at anyone, but your gaze does linger on one soldier on the far right. that instantly catches sukuna’s attention and he makes a mental note of it. he isn’t dumb: he is aware that you’re softhearted and selfless. you wouldn’t publicly expose anyone, because you’re afraid of what he will do to them if he were to find out.

“hm.” sukuna possesses enough information. he releases you with a slight push, all four of his eyes focused on that specific soldier. an ominous silence fills the air before you’re excused with a quick gesture of his hands. the king of curses wordlessly commands the guards to draw their swords; not a single life would be spared.

why? because the other soldiers are just as guilty. not reporting to sukuna about the behavior of their follow squad member is an act of treason by itself. besides, sukuna doesn’t really need those soldiers any longer. he can always assemble another group of weak men and put them on the front lines, to play the role of human shields.

his arms are crossed as he stares each of them down. he is about to tell the first guard to start the execution when he feels you tug at the sleeve of his yukata.

you gulp as you cling onto the fabric. you’re trying your best to change his mind. as his favorite, perhaps you had that power. to stop the blood hungry curse that lives for death and chaos. “pleqse don’t—" you open your mouth, only for one of his hands to grab you by your jaw.

“y’ don’t get to tell me what to do, brat,” sukuna answers in a low, dangerous voice. he taps your cheek twice to remind you of your place. he pushes you aside, causing you to stumble backwards into the building. be may be ruthless, but not to the point where he’d force you to witness the slaughter that’s about to take place.

“i’ll deal with ya later,” he adds with a faint huff. he quickly waves you off, “now, move.”

all you can do is stare at sukuna’s back before slowly retreating into the estate. you feel sick. you feel like you’re going to throw up as you scurry past the concubine who also makes her way back to her chambers, the woman still grinning from ear to ear.

heads will roll because of you. again.

. . .

the estate is unusually quiet around this hour. not a single soul had the guts to get out of their chambers after word spread that another execution took place. this time it was a group of soldiers, all of them taken out without a warning. they fear they’re next—not even your own lady-in-waiting dares to talk to you for the time being.

you’re laying on your bed, unable to sleep your worries away. the warmth underneath your sheets gives you a sense of comfort, but it isn’t enough to drive the negative thoughts away. you only lift your head up from the pillow when the doors to your room slide open. you heart nearly stops beating in your chest as you see sukuna stroll inside like nothing happened.

his footsteps are heavy against the wooden flooring. you sit up out of habit, to greet him. your eyes are downcast, however. you know a punishment awaits you as well. you don’t think he will expel you from his harem nor get rid of you in any way. he would have done so the moment he’s seen you back at the training grounds if that were to be the case.

sukuna sits on the edge of your bed, crossing all four of his arms. he sighs the second he sees the gloomy expression on your face. his hand reaches out, fingers pushing some of the hairs back from your face.

he doesn’t speak up for a minute, simply allowing you to gather your thoughts. his index finger and thumb glide down to grasp your chin— a gentle yet firm touch. “y’ see what happens when you disobey me?”

sukuna’s reminder sure was a violent one, but that’s to be expected from a disaster curse like him. of course he wouldn’t change his violent nature for you; you should’ve expected that. you shouldn’t have become so delusional, so blinded because of the fact that you’re his favorite.

perhaps the special treatment is getting to your head. it’s making you feel like you have a chance at taming a monster.

especially now, as sukuna climbs onto your bed and leans back against the headboard, pulling your small body onto his lap. the duality is messing with your brain and making you unable to fully despise the man in front of you.

“yes, my lord,” you take a deep breath before eventually answering with those three words. you’re a weak woman, melting right into the embrace of the man you’re supposed to hate. you cannot help yourself as you feel those big hands rub up and down your sides.

“good,” sukuna’s signature smirk tugs at his lips. you’re easy to distract, easy to please. looking at you from up close like this is somehow soothing the anger inside him. he’s supposed to punish you for disobeying his orders— for going somewhere you’re not supposed to. for interacting with a man who tried to approach you romantically.

yet he cannot bring himself to continue his rough lecture. seeing you become all putty in his hands puts his mind at ease. hurting you? kicking you out of his harem? killing you? no, none of that. all those evil thoughts are thrown out of the window the second your body made contact with his.

sukuna doesn't know whether to dislike or enjoy the undeniable power you have over him. if it was any of his other concubines in your position, he would've executed them right beside those soldiers. maybe it is a sick and twisted sense of love that he has for you.

even if love is a foreign thing to a cold-blooded curse like him.

“y’re lucky i still have some use for you,” sukuna comments as his big hand moves up to rub your head, subtly ruffling your hair.

his actions are in contrast with his words. his words carry the hard 'truth', reminding you of your place as his concubine. but his actions tell you that you’re more than that to him. more than just a toy to his collection.

his fingers trace your cheek, your jaw and down to the collar of your kimono. he slips two digits between the gaps of the fabric and traces your cleavage. your heart rate picks up, which the king of curses easily senses. he shakes his head with a dry and nearly condescending laugh.

you’re easy. easy to pacify, easy to shut up with just a couple touches. that’s also what he likes about you. the fact that you’re so submissive to him when you need to be.

sukuna traces the curves of your perky breasts, “y’ should just look pretty for me like this—listen to me and not get into trouble.”

goosebumps appear on your skin from the sensual touch. a shiver runs down your spine as the tips of his fingers nearly touch your sensitive buds before retreating. it’s a tease meant to drive you crazy, to get you riled up only for nothing to happen.

sukuna leans in and nips at the skin near your throat. his breath is hot and heavy against your neck, his kisses are chaste and tingly. two of his hands pull your upper body against his until you’re chest to chest. his lips find your shoulder, fingers loosening the kimono to expose your sensitive flesh.

“none of this would’ve happened if ya jus’ listened, hm?” sukuna whispers in a rough tone. he knows it’s not fully your fault—that stupid soldier shouldn’t have made a move on you in the first place. although, he can’t help but play mindgames with you. to mold you into the perfect woman for him.

and you fall right into his trap. “sorry. won't do it again,” you reply in a quiet whisper. your own hands clench onto the fabric of his black yukata, eyes closed and head tilted to give sukuna better access to your neck. he appreciates your thoughtfulness as his teeth sink into your flesh.

“hah. that’s what y’ say every time,” the pink-haired curse clicks his tongue. one of his hands moves to the back of your head, fingers curling into the strands of your hair. he tugs at them so you can face him properly.

“. . .such a little brat,” sukuna’s eyes roam over your facial features and down to your body. he gives you a subtle grin before his lips meet yours in a bruising kiss.

you should be feeling guilty for being part of the reason why an entire group of people have lost their lives, yet here you are, shamelessly making out with their executer.

the love you share is toxic, but addictive. you find yourself crawling back to sukuna each time you promise not to fall for his tricks. and the same goes for him.

the king of curses finds himself tolerating more and more of your behavior—behavior that would have others in their grave. no matter what you say or do, he keeps you alive. he simply punishes you in other ways than death, even when death is all he knows.

sukuna bites on your bottom lip which causes your mouth to open. he takes advantage of it and slips his tongue inside, mixing his saliva with yours. he groans against your lips due to the pure pleasure he receives from your kisses.

you pull away suddenly, feeling lightheaded from the lack of air you were getting. the man in front of you scoffs and flicks your forehead for that, grumpy again because you decided to bring an end to his pleasure.

sukuna allows you a little break, however. he brings his mouth to your ear and you swear you can hear the smirk on his lips as he speaks. “y’re mine. don’t you forget,” he mutters to you in a low tone.

you nod without hesitation, “all yours.”

you will never forget that. no matter what you do or where you go— you’re still sukuna’s. in every way possible. there is no escaping him. no one can take you away from him, as you’ve been reminded of an hour ago.

not another man, nor another woman. not even his other concubines can get you out of his sight. they may continue to scheme, but they won’t succeed.

what happened today is still replaying in the back of your mind as the make out session develops into something more. you’ve pushed the guilt, sadness and shame aside for the time being, though you know that those emotions will come crashing down after this is done.

death is inevitable around this place. you’ve grown a bit desensitised to it and have accepted your fate a long time ago when you realised that you had somehow done the impossible.

now you—and the others—are actively suffering the consequences;

the consequences of making the ryomen sukuna fall in love.

[ryomenlettuce]

two crazy boys 𓇼 toji x fem!reader fluff fic ꫂ᭪݁ megumi surprises you for mothers day and might have accidentally exposed toji

you were folding laundry, megumi's specifically. he was growing out of his clothes quicker than a tornado. it seemed like he was gonna be taller than toji in no time and the thought scared you.

you wanted your baby to stay a baby.

he was already five, going on six in a few months. toji was teaching him a lot too, good and bad. sometimes he would accidentally curse in front of megumi, which earned him a glare and a happy little boy repeating his words.

you'd ban toji of kisses for the night and he would beg for a lighter punishment.

you folded the last pieces of megumi's clothes and smoothed it out. a light smile lifted on your lips as you thought of the perfect little boy.

you could hear some muffled whispering before the little boy ran inside with his hands before his back.

"mama?" he said softly. a smile appeared on his lips when you turned around and crouched to meet his eyes.

"happy mothers day!" he cheered, holding out a piece of paper and two tea packets.

you laughed, pulling him into a hug and giving him a big kiss on the cheek. after pulling away, you took the piece of paper from his hands. there was a colorful messy drawing on the paper. it was a drawing of your sweet little family.

toji had a straight face while you and megumi were smiling brightly. you laughed at the little detail before looking at the two tea bags in megumi's hands.

"what are these?" you asked while taking them from his hands.

"tea! daddy sold them to me."

you furrowed your brows. "sold them?"

megumi nodded happily. "yes! he sold them for two kisses on the cheek."

you cracked a smile, pulling megumi to your chest. "was it his idea or yours?"

megumi giggled. "daddy's!"

a deep cough interrupted the lovely moment. you looked up with a teasing smile and wiggled your brows.

"asking him for kisses now, are we?"

toji groaned. "well he doesn't have any money."

you laughed softly, holding an arm out for him. he walked over to you, sitting on the floor next to you and megumi. you wrapped your arm around his neck and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

you loved your two boys, even if one was too embarrassed to accept it.

taglist : @rocky-save-grace @gilwm @akaashiit @palanggaaa @showhay

happy mothers day! it's mothers day in the us, idk about around the world.