⚘. summary Ꮺ You ordered a custom dildo that perfectly matches your big-brother-figure Caleb’s dick. Caleb ordered a pocket pussy that perfectly matches your's. Neither of you knows the toys are synced to the real thing. Now every time one of you fucks your toy, the other feels it—like ghost sex on steroids. You’ve both spent months thinking you’re being haunted by the supernatural while secretly fucking each other senseless through the wall. The feedback loop goes haywire. No one is surviving this vacation with their sanity intact.
⚘. content warnings Ꮺ pseudocest, og cn gege/meimei trope, heavy dubcon, masturbations, unsolved sexual tension, zero communications, guilt, denial, forbidden desires, sexual frustration, mutual yearning, usage of sex toys, magical sex toys that secretly link to other person's body(portal panties), mutual fucking, semi-public/public, double penetration, extreme tightness + involuntary orgasms, excessive cumming/squirting, porn with little no plot . . .18 + ★ MINORS DNI !
⚘. wc Ꮺ 6k+
⚘. cherry’s note Ꮺ this is probably the weirdest scenario I've written so far... took me some real good TIME to finish...
“And that’s the last box,” you huff, letting the cardboard thud against the scuffed hardwood near the doorway. You straighten up straight, rolling your shoulders, wiping the sheen of sweat from your forehead with the back of your wrist. The tiny apartment looks like a warzone of luggage and flat-pack furniture Caleb swore you “absolutely needed”—his credit card, his orders, his quiet, stubborn way of still taking care of you even when he’s hundreds of miles away.
Linkon City air tastes different. Sharper. Lonelier.
You’ve been here three weeks and it still doesn’t feel like home. Maybe it never will without him barging through the door, scolding you for leaving dishes in the sink or for forgetting to eat again.
A sigh slips out as you kick off your sneakers. Shower first, chaos later.
Clothes hit the floor in a careless pile. The bathroom is barely big enough for one person, but the water pressure is perfect—hot, punishing, exactly what your sore muscles crave. Steam fills the cramped space, fogging the mirror, swallowing every reflection that isn’t you.
You tip your head back, letting the spray pound against your throat, your collarbones, sliding down between your breasts. The heat loosens something inside your chest.
Caleb’s face flashes behind your closed eyes uninvited. Always uninvited, yet always there.
Sharp jaw. Tired eyes that soften only for you. The way his pilot uniform hugs his shoulders now that he’s filling out, taller and broader every time he comes home on break. The way he still calls you “little pipsqueak” even though you’re not little anymore.
You shouldn’t.
You really, really shouldn’t.
But your hand is already moving, gliding over slick skin, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your navel, lower.
“You must’ve felt this heavy too, gege…” you whisper to the steam, voice trembling with guilt and something darker. “All alone in Skyhaven… in that big empty house with no one to—”
Your fingers slip between your thighs, parting swollen folds, finding yourself already soaked and it has nothing to do with the shower.
A broken little sound escapes as you circle your clit, slow, teasing, the same way you’ve imagined he would if he ever—God—if he ever let himself unravel like this.
“Mmh… gege, are you worried about me?” The words come out filthy, breathless, wrong in the best way. “Do you… think about me when you’re alone too?”
You press two fingers inside yourself, curling, pumping, thighs shaking. The heel of your palm grinds against your clit and your hips jerk forward like you’re fucking your own hand, like you’re chasing a ghost that wears his face.
You’ve never touched each other. Not once. Not beyond lingering hugs that lasted too long, not beyond his thumb brushing your cheek when you cried after graduation, not beyond falling asleep on his shoulder during long flights home and pretending both of you didn’t notice how neither moved away.
But you know.
You both know.
“C-Caleb—” His name cracks in your throat as you come undone, clenching hard around your fingers, knees nearly buckling. Water pounds over you like it’s trying to wash the sin off your skin, but it can’t reach the stain inside your chest.
You stay there until the water starts to cool, forehead pressed to the tile, panting, ashamed, and still aching for him.
Because even an entire city apart, even with new lives and new rules and the Hunter Academy waiting to swallow you whole tomorrow—Caleb is still the only home you want to go back to.
And you’re terrified he wants to come back to you too.
You step out of the bathroom wrapped in nothing but steam and guilt, skin still tingling, cheeks flaming hotter than the shower ever got. Droplets race down your neck, your spine, between your ass cheeks; every trickle feels like a reprimand. You don’t even bother with clothes. You just belly-flop onto the bed, wet hair fanning across the pillow, and immediately start flailing like a dying shrimp.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” you hiss, kicking the sheets, punching the mattress, rolling side to side until the towel finally gives up and falls open. You lie there spread-eagle, panting at the ceiling like it personally offended you.
You miss your stupid, overprotective, stupidly hot gege this much.
It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic.
You need to do something about it before you lose the last shred of your sanity.
With a groan you drag the laptop Caleb bought you—matte black, way too expensive, has a little fighter-jet sticker he slapped on the lid as a joke— onto your stomach and flip it open. Fingers hover over the keys for half a second before shame loses the fight.
You type: “best sex toys for beginners”.
The screen explodes with color and silicone and words like “thrusting” and “suction” and “10 vibration patterns”. Your eyes go wide.
“Oh WOW…”
You scroll, jaw literally on the floor, until you hit the prices and wheeze. Eight hundred dollars for a rabbit vibrator? Who has that kind of money? Certainly not a broke freshman hunter living off instant noodles and Caleb’s guilt-money transfers.
You slam the laptop shut, fling yourself backward again, and whine at the ceiling.
“Too broke for that… damn, I can’t even get a proper dildo shoved up into my pussy, life is unfair—”
Ding ding.
Your phone lights up on the nightstand. Unknown number. A link.
Normally you’d ignore it. Today you’re desperate and dumb, so you squint, see “70% OFF FLASH SALE!!” in screaming red letters, and click before your brain catches up.
The site that loads is… questionable. Neon pink, flickering banners, probably one virus away from stealing your soul. But front and center is a product that makes your heart stop.
“Upload a photo, choose vein pattern, pick warmth settings; experience the exact cock you’ve always dreamed of.”
Your mouth goes dry.
There’s a little heart icon that says “Most Wishlisted Item of the Year”.
You shouldn’t.
You really, really shouldn’t.
But your finger is already over the “Customize Now” button and your thighs are already squeezing together remembering how your own fingers felt pretending they were his.
Ten minutes later you’ve uploaded the clearest photo you have of Caleb—him leaning against the cockpit of his fighter, flight suit half-zipped, smirk sharp enough to cut glass. You pick the length you’ve definitely never measured in your head while hugging him goodbye, the exact girth your dirty imagination has circled back to for years, the upward curve you’ve caught a glimpse of once through his sweatpants and never recovered from.
Veins: raised, prominent, just like the ones on his forearms when he carries your luggage without breaking a sweat. Warmth setting: “always hot, like he just worked out”. Internal texture: “tight but yielding, the way you bet he’d feel if he ever snapped and pinned you down.
The total, with the sketchy discount, is suspiciously low. Delivery: 3–5 days, discreet packaging.
Your finger hovers over “Place Order”. Morals scream. Pussy throbs harder. You hit the button before you can talk yourself out of it.
Order confirmed. You drop the phone like it’s on fire, roll facedown into the pillow, and muffle a scream that’s half horror, half unbearable anticipation.
In three to five days, you’re going to fuck a perfect replica of the cock belonging to the one person you’re never, ever supposed to want.
And you already know you’re going to call it gege while you do.
Five days of checking the mailbox like a lunatic. Five days of that stupid website 404-ing every time you tried to track the order. Five days of punching training dummies with your entire soul while screaming internally about getting scammed out of your last paycheck for a ghost dick.
“FUCK, IT WAS A SCAM!” you snarl, slamming an uppercut into the dummy’s throat so hard the stuffing starts leaking, “WHAT WAS I THINKING!”. Your squadmates give you a wide berth, whispering. Whatever. Let them think you’re unhinged. You are unhinged.
Then your phone buzzes against your hip. Package delivered.
You don’t even wait for the instructor to dismiss you. You just bolt, boots pounding pavement the whole way back, lungs burning, sweat cooling on your neck in the evening air. The second the apartment door slams behind you, you spot the box.
Plain brown. No labels except your name in printed font. You drop to your knees like a woman possessed, nails clawing at tape, ripping cardboard like it owes you money. The lid flies off. And you stop breathing.
Nestled in black satin is the most obscene, perfect, terrifying cock you’ve ever seen.
It’s huge. Stupidly, ridiculously huge. Thick veins snake up the shaft, only these are flushed dark, pulsing faintly with the built-in warming tech. The head is that deep brownish-pink, flared and glistening from whatever hyper-realistic coating they used. Heavy balls hang low, weighted, shifting slightly when you nudge the box.
You don’t remember setting the length slider this high.
You don’t care. Your mouth actually waters.
“Oh wow…” It comes out strangled. You fall back onto your ass, legs splayed, staring at the thing like it might stand up and walk over to you itself. “Oh my god.”
Your pussy clenches so hard you feel it in your throat.
You haven’t even taken your sweaty training gear off and you’re already dripping down your thighs.
You pick it up with both hands—jesus, it’s warm, heavier than expected and the second your fingers close around the shaft it pulses again, like it knows who it belongs to.
Like it’s been waiting for you just as long as you’ve been waiting for him.
You press the thick head against your cheek without thinking, dragging it down to your lips, breathing in the clean, new-silicone scent mixed with whatever insane tech makes it smell faintly like his cologne.
“Fuck, gege…” you whisper against the tip, voice cracking.
The toy throbs in your grip like it heard you.
You have never sprinted to lock your bedroom door faster in your life.You don’t make it to the bed.
The second the lock clicks you’re already peeling off your sweat-soaked clothes, sports bra flung somewhere, shorts kicked aside, panties dragged down your thighs and left dangling off one ankle. The toy is still in your grip, hot against your palm, veins pulsing faintly with the internal heater like it has a heartbeat.
You drop to your knees on the rug, legs spreading wide without shame, back hitting the edge of the mattress. The thick head nudges your lips and you open instantly, greedy, tongue flattening against the underside as you take the first few inches into your mouth. It’s too big; your jaw aches immediately, drool already spilling down your chin, but you force yourself deeper, gagging softly, eyes watering.
You pull off with a wet pop and a broken moan.
“Need you inside me, gege… please—”
You flip onto all fours, ass in the air, face buried in the sheets that still smell like the detergent he used to buy for both of you back home. One hand reaches back, guiding the fat tip through your soaked folds, coating it, teasing your clit until your thighs shake.
Then you push.
The stretch is obscene. Your pussy flutters, resists, then gives all at once. A strangled cry rips out of you as the first half sinks in, thick veins dragging against your walls, that perfect upward curve kissing spots you’ve never reached with your fingers. You claw at the sheets, hips jerking back on instinct, taking more, more, until your ass meets the heavy silicone balls and you’re stuffed so full you can’t breathe.
“F-fuck—Caleb—”
You pull forward until only the head remains, then slam back. The impact makes you scream into the mattress. Again. Harder. Faster. Your tits bounce with every brutal thrust, nipples dragging against the rug, thighs slapping against silicone like they’re slapping against his hips.
You lose count of how many times you fuck yourself on it. You lose language. All that exists is the wet, filthy sound of your cunt swallowing him, the burn in your thighs, the way your clit throbs every time the base grinds against it.
You flip over, legs thrown wide, knees hooked over your elbows so you can watch. Watch the way your pussy lips stretched thin around his cock, watch it disappear inside you again and again, slick coating everything, dripping down your ass, pooling on the floor.
“Look what you do to me, gege,” you sob, voice wrecked. “Look how wet you make me—how empty I am without you—fuck, I’m such a slut for you—”
Your free hand flies to your clit, rubbing frantic circles, and the orgasm barrels into you like a freight train. You squirt, actually squirt, a gush that soaks the toy and your thighs and the rug beneath you. Your walls clamp down so hard the dildo almost slips out, but you shove it deeper, riding the aftershocks, grinding, crying his name like a prayer.
You don’t stop.
You can’t.
You pull it out only long enough to flip the toy around and shove the slick head against your ass, teasing, not quite brave enough yet, but the thought alone makes you come again, smaller this time, a full-body shudder that leaves you gasping.
When you finally collapse, the dildo is still buried to the hilt, your pussy fluttering around it in lazy pulses. You’re trembling, sweaty, ruined. Tears and drool and cum smeared across your face and chest.
You reach down blindly, fingers brushing the base, and give it one last slow thrust just to hear yourself whimper.
“…come home soon, gege,” you whisper to the empty room, voice hoarse. “I don’t think this is gonna be enough anymore.”
The toy stays inside you the rest of the night. You fall asleep clenching around it, dreaming of the real thing finally splitting you open.
—
—
Skyhaven, DAA parade grounds, 18:47 local.
Caleb is standing at parade rest, flight jacket crisp, medals gleaming, trying to look like the perfect poster boy for the Deepspace Aviation Academy while the brass drones on about honor and vigilance. The formation is dead silent except for the wind whipping the flags.
Then it starts.
A faint tingle at the base of his spine. He shifts his weight, ignores it. Probably just nerves.
Gideon elbows him from the left. “Dude, you good? You’re sweating bullets.”
Caleb forces a laugh, teeth clenched. “Yeah, just hot in this jacket.”
The tingle turns into heat. A slow, syrupy, pooling right behind his balls. His cock twitches once, then again, harder, like someone just wrapped a fist around it and squeezed.
He locks his knees to keep from swaying.
The sensation climbs. Something slick and impossibly tight slides down his shaft, inch by inch, swallowing him whole. His breath stutters. The wet spot blooming at the front of his dress pants is impossible to hide now; he angles his body behind the guy in front of him, praying nobody notices.
Another squeeze. A rhythmic drag. Something soft and spongy kissing the tip over and over and over.
His vision whites out for half a second. He breaks formation without permission, muttering a choked “bathroom” to Gideon’s startled face, and bolts.
He barely makes it to the nearest restroom, slamming the lock, back hitting the door as his trembling fingers rip his belt open. The second his cock springs free it’s flushed angry red, leaking like a faucet, veins bulging exactly the way you spent hours customizing.
He doesn’t even touch himself.
He doesn’t have to.
The feeling slams into him again: tight, wet heat clenching around him, riding him hard, fast, merciless. Invisible hips slam down, grind, pull up, slam down again. His balls draw up so tight it hurts.
“F-fuck—!” The moan tears out of him; he slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes rolling back, hips jerking into empty air like he’s fucking someone bent over the sink in front of him.
Every thrust feels real. Too real. He can feel slick walls fluttering, a cervix nudging the head on every brutal stroke, the phantom slap of skin on skin he’s never actually heard but somehow knows by heart.
His knees buckle. He grips the porcelain with white knuckles, forehead pressed to the cool mirror, panting like he’s running a marathon.
“Ah—shit—stop—please—” he doesn’t even know who he’s begging.
The pace only gets rougher.
He comes without warning, a broken cry muffled against his own arm, thick ropes painting the sink, the mirror, his dress shirt. His cock jerks and jerks like it’s being milked by a throat, a pussy, something greedy and possessive and familiar.
The orgasm doesn’t stop. It rolls straight into another, smaller but sharper, and his legs finally give out. He slides down the door until he’s sitting on the cold tile, cock still half-hard, twitching with aftershocks, cum dripping down his fist even though he never stroked himself once.
Chest heaving, he stares at the mess in dazed horror. “What the fuck was that…?”
Three hundred miles away, you’re still sprawled on your bedroom floor, impaled on the toy, whispering his name like a prayer while it throbs inside you.
Neither of you has any idea the link goes both ways. Yet.
Every night for the past ten days it’s the same ritual.
You stumble through the door still in your sweat-drenched hunter uniform, kick off your boots, and don’t even bother with the lights. The second the bedroom door shuts behind you, clothes hit the floor in a frantic trail. You’re already soaked before you even touch the toy, thighs slick, pussy throbbing like it’s been counting the hours until you get home to it.
You keep the dildo in the top drawer now, wrapped in one of Caleb’s old flight academy T-shirts like a dirty little secret. The moment your fingers close around the warm shaft it pulses, eager, like it missed you just as badly.
And three hundred miles away, Caleb starts sweating through whatever he’s doing.
Day 4
You ride it reverse on the desk chair, feet planted wide, rolling your hips slow and deep just to feel every vein drag inside you.
In Skyhaven, Caleb drops an entire tray of coffee in the cadet mess, doubles over the table with a choked gasp, thighs clamping together while his cock leaks helplessly into his boxers. Gideon has to drag him out by the elbow while Caleb stammers something about food poisoning.
Day 6
You’re on your knees in the shower, toy suction-cupped to the tile, slamming back onto it until your ass is red and the water runs cold.
Caleb’s in the middle of a night-flight simulator run. Mid-loop his whole body locks up; he yanks the stick too hard, fails the exercise, and spends ten minutes curled in the cockpit seat coming untouched while the instructor screams over the headset.
Day 8
You can’t wait anymore the second you get home. You don’t even make it to the bedroom. You drop onto the hallway floor, legs over your head, fucking yourself with both holes now—the replica so slick from your pussy it slides into your ass easy. You scream his name until your voice cracks.
Caleb’s in the barracks laundry room folding clothes. One second he’s fine, the next he’s on the floor, biting his own forearm to stay quiet while his cock jerks and feels violated by invisible forces. He comes so hard his vision blacks out. When he can move again he finds the crotch of his pants soaked front and back and has no explanation.
Day 10
You’re greedy. You strap the toy to a pillow, mount it like you’re riding him for real, hands braced on the headboard, hips snapping down so hard the bedframe slams the wall in rhythm.
“Gege—fuck—harder—please, I need—”
You sob it into the dark, tears streaking your cheeks, pussy gushing all over the silicone balls.
In Skyhaven, Caleb is supposed to be asleep. Instead he jerks awake in his bunk with a wounded sound, sheets twisted around his hips, cock so hard it hurts. The sensation hits like a punch: tight, wet heat swallowing him to the root, grinding, milking. Something inside him —his ass—clenches around nothing and everything at once. He shoves his face into his pillow and comes instantly, whole body convulsing, biting down so hard he tastes blood.
When it finally fades he’s shaking, drenched in sweat, heart hammering like he just ran ten miles.
He drags a trembling hand down his stomach and finds his cock still-hard cock slick with his own release and something else—slicker, warmer, smelling faintly smelling like you.
For the first time, real fear cuts through the haze. Because whatever is doing this to him isn’t random. And it’s getting stronger every night.
Caleb hasn’t slept properly in twelve days. Every night the “ghost” comes back. Every night it rides him harder, tighter, wetter, like it’s learning exactly how to unravel him.
He’s stopped trying to fight it. He just locks his door, shoves his face into his pillow, and lets the phantom cunt milk him dry while his cock leaks and his ass clenches around nothing and his brain short-circuits with the same voice that’s haunted him since puberty.
Your voice.
He’s started jerking off to the memory of it in the showers, biting his own fist so his bunkmates don’t hear him whimpering “pipsqueak” like a prayer.
He’s losing his fucking mind.
So when he’s alone in the dorm common room at 0300, half delirious, cock still half-hard from another unsolicited orgasm, he does the stupidest thing he’s ever done in his life.
He googles the symptoms.
Ends up on the same neon-pink, virus-looking website you found weeks ago.
The banner screams: FEEL LIKE SOMEONE YOU LOVE — NOW WITH REVERSE SYNC!
He doesn’t read the fine print. He’s too tired, too desperate, too turned on.
He uploads the clearest photo he has of you—last summer, you in that sundress, laughing at something he said, hair sticking to your sweaty neck.
He customizes everything with shaking hands,outer lips soft and plump, exactly the way he’s imagined a thousand times when you walked around the house in tiny sleep shorts. Inner walls textured like crushed velvet, tight at the entrance, then fluttering deeper. Clit hood pronounced, sensitive node swollen —because he’s spent years pretending he doesn’t notice how you squirm when he hugs you too long enough. Warmth setting: “always soaked, like she’s been thinking about you all day.” Scent module: the exact peach-and-vanilla body wash you’ve used since you were fifteen.
He pays triple for overnight shipping. The box arrives two days later while the entire barracks is out on a weekend training hike. Caleb locks himself in his room, heart hammering like a jet engine.
He tears the packaging open with his teeth. Inside, nestled in black satin, is the prettiest pocket pussy he’s ever seen.
Soft, dusky outer lips, flushed pink inside, already glistening with the self-lubricating gel. It’s warm to the touch, pulsing faintly like it’s breathing.
He exhales a broken “fuck… so pretty…” and runs two fingers down the seam, parting the lips gently. The toy quivers. A bead of lube rolls out like it’s already wet for him.
He doesn’t make it to the bed.
He drops into his desk chair, sweatpants shoved down to his hips, cock springing out thick and flushed and already dripping. He drags the head through the slick folds once, twice, coating himself, groaning at how realistic it feels.
Then he pushes in.
The sound that rips out of him is inhuman.
Tight, hot, velvet walls clamp down instantly, sucking him deeper like they’ve been waiting years. The inner texture ripples around his shaft exactly the way he’s fantasized your pussy would—fluttering, squeezing, dragging over every vein.
He bottoms out in one brutal thrust and his vision whites out.
“Fuck—pipsqueak—” he chokes, hips jerking helplessly. “Is this how you’re supposed to feel? So good—so fucking real—”
He starts slow, savoring it, pulling out until just the tip kisses the entrance, then sliding back in with a wet squelch that makes his balls draw up tight. The toy makes obscene sounds—soft, wet, exactly like a real cunt taking cock—and every noise goes straight to his spine.
He loses control fast.
Hands gripping the desk, he starts pounding into it like he hates it, like he loves it, hips snapping hard enough to rattle the chair. The pocket pussy sucks him back in on every stroke, walls fluttering wildly, clit hood bumping his pelvis on the downstroke.
“Take it—just like that—fuck, you’re so tight for me—”
He doesn’t notice the way the toy seems to clench harder when he says your nickname. Doesn’t notice the way it gushes fresh slick every time he groans “good girl” under his breath.
Three hundred miles away, you’re in the middle of a lecture at the Hunter Academy when your body suddenly locks up. A phantom cock—thick, burning hot, veiny—slides into you from nowhere. Your pen clatters to the desk. You slap both hands over your mouth to stifle a scream as invisible hips slam forward and bury something huge to the hilt inside you.
Your pussy spasms around empty air. Your clit throbs like someone’s grinding against it. Your chair creaks as your thighs snap together, trying to trap the sensation that isn’t there and is there all at once.
The “ghost” fucks you right there in the lecture hall, in front of thirty other cadets, relentless and deep and merciless.
You cum biting your own wrist so hard you leave teeth marks, tears streaming down your face, soaking through your panties and the seat beneath you while the professor drones on about wanderer migration patterns.
Back in Skyhaven, Caleb’s losing his mind in a different way.
He’s hunched over the desk now, one hand braced, the other brutally fucking the toy up and down his cock, chasing the edge.
“Gonna—fuck—gonna fill you up, pipsqueak—take every drop—”
He comes with a guttural shout, hips stuttering, cock pulsing so hard the toy overflows. Thick ropes of cum spill out around his shaft, dripping down the silicone lips, painting his fist, the desk, his thighs.
The pocket pussy keeps milking him through it, walls fluttering like it’s trying to drain him completely.
He slumps forward, forehead pressed to the cool wood, panting like he’s run a marathon.
The toy gives one last gentle squeeze… almost affectionate.
And somewhere far away, you’re curled in the academy bathroom stall, legs shaking, pussy still twitching with aftershocks, a flood of cum you didn’t make leaking out of you in thick, warm pulses.
You both whisper the same thing at the exact same second, voices hoarse and wrecked and terrified,“What the fuck is happening to me?”
—
—
The entire summer break is a slow-motion torture.
You arrive at Bloomshore first, two hours early because the Academy let out sooner than DAA. Grandma hugs you so hard your ribs creak, pinches your cheeks, stuffs you full of peach cobbler and gossip. The childhood house smells exactly the same: sun-warmed wood, sea-salt breeze, the faint lavender sachets she still keeps in every drawer. Your old bedroom is untouched, posters curling at the corners, the same twin bed you used to share with Caleb when thunderstorms scared you.
You dump your suitcase, unzip it, and there it is: the dildo, wrapped in one of his old flight-school hoodies like contraband. It’s been two days since you last used it and your body is already twitching, thighs pressing together every time you remember how it feels.
You shove it under the mattress and try to be normal. Then the front door opens downstairs and you hear his voice.
“Gran squeals, “Caleb, my handsome boy!”
You freeze halfway down the stairs.
He’s… bigger. Shoulders filling the doorway, hair longer and tousled from the wind, sunglasses hooked in the collar of a white T-shirt that clings to his chest. He’s grinning at Gran, but the same crooked smile that’s been haunting your wet dreams for months.
Then his eyes flick up and find you. “Hey, pipsqueak… and Gran.”
Your stomach flips so violently you almost trip on the last step. You launch yourself at him anyway, because that’s what you’ve always done. He catches you mid-jump like you weigh nothing, arms banding around your waist, laughing low in his chest as you collide.
“Yup, gege’s here. How’s my meimei doing in Linkon, hm?”
The second his palm settles on the back of your head, petting like when you were kids, every filthy memory slams into you at once—the toy stretching you open, the way you sobbed his name into your pillow, the phantom cum that leaked out of you for days afterward.
Your face ignites. You feel the heat of his body through his shirt, the flex of his biceps as he holds you, the faint cedar-and-jet-fuel scent that is just him. You jerk away like you’ve been electrocuted.
“Huh… me? …oh… uh… good! I’m doing… good!!!”
Your voice cracks on every syllable. You practically sprint past him, suitcase banging against your leg, and disappear into your room so fast you almost take out the coat rack.
Caleb stands there frozen, arms still half-raised, cheeks flushed crimson for reasons he refuses to examine.
Gran raises an eyebrow. “You two are acting mighty strange.”
He clears his throat, grabs his own duffel, and mutters something about needing a shower.
That night neither of you comes down for dinner.
You lie in your childhood bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars you stuck on the ceiling together when you were ten, thighs clenched so tight they ache. You can hear him moving around in the room next door, the creak of his old mattress, the low thud of his bag hitting the floor.
You wonder if he brought it too. You wonder if he’s touching it right now. Across the wall, Caleb is wondering the exact same thing about you.
Both toys are hidden under respective mattresses, pulsing faintly like they know they’re finally under the same roof as their match.
The air-conditioner rattles. Crickets hum outside. The house is asleep.
Neither of you sleeps a wink. And somewhere in the dark, two identical warming circuits kick on at the exact same moment, waiting for someone to break first.
The first night back home, the dam breaks at 2:17 AM.
You’ve been tossing in your childhood bed for hours, sheets tangled around your ankles, thighs slick and aching from the constant low thrum of need that started the second you heard his laugh downstairs. The house is silent except for the distant crash of waves on Bloomshore’s cliffs and the faint creak of floorboards in the next room.
He’s right there.
Walls so thin you can hear him breathing if you press your ear to the plaster.
And under your mattress, the toy waits, warm and heavy and calling to you like a siren.
You give in with a muffled curse, fishing it out, fingers trembling as you drag it between your legs. No prep. No teasing. You’re already dripping, have been since that hug, so you just line up the fat head and sink down in one brutal slide.
The stretch is immediate and vicious, your pussy clenching around silicone veins like it’s starving. You bite your pillow to stifle the moan, hips rocking slow at first, savoring the drag, the way it kisses your cervix on every grind.
In the next room, Caleb jolts awake with a strangled gasp.
His cock—already half-hard from dreams of you—suddenly feels like it’s being strangled in velvet. Tighter than ever. Hotter. Wetter. The phantom walls clamp down so hard his vision spots, every ridge and flutter magnified tenfold, like whatever’s fucking him is twice as desperate tonight.
He scrambles for his duffel under the bed, yanking out the pocket pussy with shaking hands. No way he’s enduring this alone. He shoves his boxers down, spits into the toy’s slick entrance, and thrusts in without mercy.
The second he bottoms out, you scream into your sheets.
It’s like a second cock slams into you alongside the first—thicker, hotter, splitting you open from the inside. Your walls flutter wildly, stretched beyond reason, the dual sensations overlapping in a filthy symphony: the toy’s familiar curve grinding one spot while the phantom one drags against another, both pounding in perfect sync.
“F-fuck—gege—what—” you whimper, confused and wrecked, hips jerking up to meet nothing and everything. Your clit throbs like it’s being sucked, your ass clenches around air that feels full. You shove the dildo deeper, faster, chasing the burn, tears leaking down your cheeks as your body tries to process being double-fucked by ghosts.
Caleb’s teeth sink into his own bicep to keep from roaring loud enough to wake Grandma.
The toy is a vice. His cock feels like it’s being crushed in the best way—walls so tight they might snap him in half, rippling and milking with every brutal thrust. It’s wetter than before, slick gushing out around his shaft like the thing is coming alive, and every time he pulls back it sucks him in harder, deeper, the inner texture fluttering like a heartbeat.
“Pipsqueak—shit—too tight—gonna break me—” he growls through clenched teeth, one hand braced on the headboard, the other fucking the toy up and down his length so fast his arm burns. His balls slap against silicone with every snap, heavy and aching, the pressure building so intense he’s terrified he’ll black out.
You both lose track of time, separated by one flimsy wall, fucking your toys in frantic rhythm without knowing you’re fucking each other.
For you, it’s endless—the dildo splitting your pussy while the invisible cock mirrors every move, stretching you to your limits, making you gush so hard the sheets are soaked beneath your ass. You come once with a muffled sob, clenching around both, but it doesn’t stop—the sensations only amp up, phantom veins dragging inside you, a second head nudging spots that make your toes curl.
“More—gege, please—fill me up—” you beg the dark, fingers flying to your clit, rubbing frantic circles while you slam the toy home again and again.
Caleb hears something—a faint, wrecked whine through the wall—and it snaps his last thread.
He flips onto his back, legs spread wide, and fucks into the pocket pussy like a man possessed. The tightness is agonizing now, walls constricting so hard around his cock he swears it’s going to cut off circulation—hot, pulsing, fluttering like it’s alive and greedy and his. Every thrust sends sparks up his spine; his free hand claws at the sheets, hips bucking off the mattress.
“Take it—fuck, just like that—my good girl—” he rasps, voice hoarse, imagining your face, your body, the way you’d look split open on him for real.
The orgasm hits you both at the same instant.
You arch off the bed with a silent scream, pussy spasming around double fullness, squirting in thick arcs that drench your thighs and the toy. The phantom cum floods you—hot, thick, endless—leaking out around the dildo, pooling between your legs, making everything slicker, messier.
Caleb comes with a guttural “fuck—pipsqueak—” bitten off against his fist, cock jerking so hard the toy overflows instantly. Cum spills everywhere—his stomach, the sheets, the silicone lips stretched thin around him—but the walls keep milking, squeezing tighter than humanly possible, wringing every drop until his balls ache and his vision tunnels.
You both collapse in sweaty, trembling heaps, toys still buried deep, aftershocks rippling through you like shared electricity.
The wall between your rooms might as well not exist.
But neither of you moves. Neither knocks. Neither dares whisper the truth.
Instead, you pull the covers over your ruined body, the dildo still twitching faintly inside you, and pretend your heart isn’t pounding loud enough for him to hear.
Next door, Caleb does the exact same, cock softening in the vice-grip of the toy, a single thought looping in his wrecked mind,
𓏲ּּAbout𝄢 A pocket pussy synched to you falls into his hands. What's the worst that could happen?
𓏲ּּFeaturing𝄢 Rafayel ホムラ
𓏲ּ CW𝄢 NSFW | MDNI | porn no plot, onahole, usage of actual sex toys, a little of Professor!Rafayel bc hell yeah, F!squirting, technically double penetration, cervix fucking, clit stimulation, some exhibitionism, overstimulation, tears, creampie.
🪽Dove's notes: im back on my bullshittt !! Three down, two more to go!
Rafayel is a born tease. Not the light-hearted, goofy type, no, what gets him off is watching people— Specifically you— squirm because of his words and actions. He knows every tell and nervous tic you have and soaks it in when he is all up and personal in your business. There is truly no greater joy to him than knowing he's stuck in your mind 24/7, making you pout and frown all cute. Gods, he could just gobble you up whole.
And, well, when he's given an all access pass to play with your body anytime and anywhere he wants? He may just start believing he's blessed again.
"Then sit in today's lecture, we can grab dinner together after I'm done." The suggestion had slid in smoothly during the morning discussion about plans for later. Rafayel have been awfully well behaved for the last week despite the new found power he received, which had the exact opposite effect of soothing your nerves and instead has kept you on edge all day, every day. You knew he was planning something— Long used to his mischievous self by now— and the radio silence only meant one thing when it came to him: Absolute and guaranteed chaos.
The lecture hall was full as always. All eyes on the pretty professor in front of the class, explaining something you weren't actually listening to because the feeling of something pressing against your clit since the beginning of class has kept your mind busy. It, whatever it was, wasn't doing anything— Not vibrating or sucking. Not even pushing into your entrance. It was just... there, which drove you insane with both curiosity and frustration.
Rafayel noticed you growing progressively more antsy, gaze flickering when you crossed and uncrossed your legs multiple times like you couldn't quite find a comfortable position.
"I'll be reviewing your projects next so pay attention." He spoke clearly to his students, calmly walking over to his bag to look for the papers he'd need, and in addition also use the chance to push the bullet vibe inside your cunt, catching in the corner of his eye the way your entire body jumped in your the seat and feigning ignorance when he returned with the paperwork in one hand, the other tucked in the pocket of his pants. Throughout boring speeches his finger would play with the intensity, completely ignoring the burning glare coming from the back of the class and containing his smile at the sight of you pressing your knees together— If it was to somehow make it less intense or to chase your own orgasm Rafayel doesn't know, and to be honest, he doesn't really care either way.
Because now he has complete control and you can count on your pussy being abused and left puffy from the many games he intends on playing with you during the most inconvenient of times. Whenever he texts "Where u at" or "Whatchu up to" and you fail to respond within the next thirty minutes he will make sure you remember his existence by stuffing you with random objects of varying sizes (and shapes) throughout the hours, leaving you completely drenched and weak at the knees by the end of the day.
Needless to say, Rafayel has a preference of doing it when he can watch you, of course. His pleasure comes from how you squirm and struggle to maintain your composure while in public when his fingers join the dildo pushed all the way to the rim inside your dripping cunt, biting his lip to keep himself from laughing the sight of of waddling next to your friend, barely capable of keeping your legs from trembling when his thumb circles your swollen clit, feeling the way your walls tighten around his digits, about to come, only for him to pull everything out at once and leaving you hanging.
Not to worry, he has a treat reserved strictly for you later.
"Well, if that's the problem..." He drawls out when you come complaining about his earlier antic, tracing your folds with the tips of his fingers before spreading the silicone mold, pushing one of his bullet vibe inside unceremoniously, not sparing you a glance as he grabs the largest dildo he had at his disposal (shopping has always been a passion of his) and shoving it alongside all the way to the hilt. One of his legs crosses over the other as his eyes flicker to your shaking form over his reading glasses, tutting his tongue at your reduced form in front of him.
"N-Not all at once—" You struggled to say it as your knees buckled and a strained whine escaped your throat, squirting all over his carpet as the stubborn dildo was pushed deeper inside of your gummy walls, hands clutching the fabric under you as you panted like a bitch in front of him.
"I don't give you what you want, you complain. I give you what you want, you complain." He leaned his head against his hand, keeping his expression stern and bored, the same one he uses with the bad students in his grade. "You're making this so hard for me. I have feelings too, you know?" He went on, sighing dramatically while standing up from his chair, stopping right in front of him, hovering above your poor self with a hand on his hip. The other reached down, pulling your chin up to look at him then slowly he let his palm slide down, wrapping around your neck gently and pulling you up and closer so his lips brushed against yours, "You certainly seem satisfied in my eyes. Should I just leave you like this for the rest of the night?" he threatened, words laced with a cruel mock consideration.
"Raf', please...You haven't touched me in over— Ah, a whole week, c'mon.." You finally found your voice again through your fifth orgasm just today. The glint in his eyes after you said is all the answer you needed and perhaps it was both hell and heaven wrapped in a single man.
The wet and obscene sounds of his thighs slapping against yours filled the dimly lit office, one of his hands clutched tightly into your hair as he kept your chest pressed against the desk while the other held up one of your legs. "If you're this loose maybe I did take it a little too far." He murmured cynical, watching the tears roll down your face and mouth hang open dumbly as the nth climax wrecked through your trembling body. The dildo was pushed right into your cervix still, not to mention the constant buzzing of that dammed vibe as his cock took the opportunity to reach even deeper than usual— You were being spread out so good it made your vision blur, thighs dripping with slick as he dragged himself out slowly just to make you feel each burning inch of him before he buried himself all the way into and through your actual cervix, pumping you full of his seed.
You won't dare to leave him out to dry so soon once he's done with you, of that he is sure.
“Hi, Toji!” you call out after the man who’s just stepping into his apartment. You’ve been Toji’s neighbor for a year and a half now, and it’s easily the best thing ever. Toji has a son who, though he can be grumpy, is also the cutest thing alive—you just want to pinch his cheeks every time you see him, and thankfully, he seems to like tolerate you too. You’ve had the biggest crush on his dad, but you made him promise not to tell him. Your secrets are definitely safe with him!
Toji stops abruptly, keys already halfway in the lock, and turns to face you. You swear you hear him sigh, but that might just be your imagination. He loves having you around—you know he does.
“Hey, baby,” his deep voice rumbles out. That was another thing: you and Toji had grown so close that little endearments like that felt like second nature.
You smile at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. He loves that smile. Completely forgetting about the drinks in your hands, you rush toward him—only to trip over your own feet. The drinks you’d gotten for yourself, him, and Megumi slip from your arms and spill across the concrete.
“Shit!” Toji rushes over to you. Your shirt is damp from the spill, but luckily it wasn’t much. He checks you over quickly, and when he sees you’re unhurt, he turns to you with furrowed brows. “Y’need to be more careful. So clumsy,” he mutters under his breath.
You frown up at him, eyes stinging. You’d been so looking forward to those drinks—and you’d even gotten Megumi’s favorite, the one he’d been begging for. “That was for all of us! I’m so mad right now,” you huff, clearly annoyed.
“It’s alright. C’mon inside—let’s get you cleaned up.” He pulls you toward his apartment, unlocks the door, and leads you inside. “Take the shirt off.”
The grin that spreads across your face is impossible to hide, even standing right in front of him.
He kicks off his shoes, already sensing exactly what you’re thinking. “Stop,” he warns you.
“Stop what?” Your smile only grows, wider than ever.
“I know what you’re thinking. Stop it.” He tries to sound stern, but he can’t help but find your teasing funny. He turns around to find you’ve already taken off your shoes, standing there grinning up at him.
“Maybe you’re just thinking that, and you’re blaming it on me so you don’t feel guilty,” you say, folding your arms and giving him a knowing look.
He shakes his head and sighs. “Take it off.” He raises an eyebrow, hands resting on his hips—and that look makes you obey instantly. You pull the damp shirt over your head, leaving you in your pink bra. You roll your eyes at his serious expression and mutter, “Who does he think he is?” under your breath.
You look him dead in the eye and hand over your wet shirt. “I’ll wash this and bring it back. You can borrow one of mine while I do it.”
“I could wash it myself, y’know. I live right next door,” you say, almost laughing at how silly that sounds.
You expect him to remember—after all, you’d just reminded him. But the confused look on his face leaves you confused in return. Wait, you’re supposed to be the one confused here.
“Y’told me it was broken, baby,” he says, and the look in his eyes tells you he’s not surprised at all. “Said y’ wanted me to fix it when I got back from work.”
Oh shit.
Caught in your own lie.
You’d told him that story this morning, just hoping he’d let you come over since nothing else you’d tried had worked to get closer to him.
“Right… well… oh well… mhm,” you mumble, shrinking back a little.
This wasn’t your first trick. You’d always come up with the most random excuses just to talk to him about anything else other than needing help with anything around your house. And every single time, it failed. Toji just wasn’t the type to drag out a conversation. You and Toji according to your words have talked and kissed on the cheek enough to be friends.
What was you even thinking?
You end up in a staring contest: you looking bashful, him waiting for an answer.
Finally, you throw your hands up with an irritated sigh. “Fine, it’s not broken. Now what?”
Toji shakes his head and walks away with your shirt in hand. In the meantime while he does what he does you decide to take a look around. You’d never been in here before. Although you’d caught glances of his apartment.
It was the total opposite of you. The whole place leans into the dark, muted tones no bright colors, no frills, just solid, worn comfort.
His apartment is plain, simple, and practical. There’s nothing extra, flowery, or decorative. No cute cushions, no posters, no little trinkets, nothing fancy. It’s exactly how a man like Toji would like it: straightforward and uncluttered.
How his son survives here is a total mystery. But then again, Megumi is just like his father—he probably thrives in this quiet, no-nonsense space.
You wander to the living room and sit down on the spacious couch. A moment later, Toji walks in holding a fresh shirt. “You do know I live right next door, right?” He avoids looking down at you in your bra. “I could just go home,” you say, nodding toward the door.
You stand up and step closer to him. “Or do you just love having me around?” You look up at him slowly, batting your lashes. Toji doesn’t seem like the type to get flustered, but you swear you see a tiny hint of it now.
When he doesn’t answer, you take the shirt from his hands and pull it over your head. It’s way too big—hanging loosely on you, barely fitting like a proper shirt at all. “It’s fine. I’ll stay. I was going to ask anyway.”
“For Megumi,” you clarify quickly.
“Anyways… I’m hungry, Toji.”
“So when I went up to take my order she’s like looking at me like I’m a big back (which even if they were all mine it’s none of her business.)” You say taking a bite of the steaming bowl of noodles in front of you.
Toji had started regretting letting you stay “for Megumi”. It’s been an hour and a half and you have not stopped talking. Even when he was making food for you you had been talking non-stop, folllowing him around the kitchen then proceeded to sit on the counter to talk some more.
Now the two of you are eating, and even with your mouth full, you chatter away, then take another bite, then talk some more. He knows you’re like this—you’ll find any reason under the sun to talk to anyone. He swears the old lady who lives one floor up has stopped sitting outside for fresh air just to avoid you.
As for what you were doing up on that floor? Only the universe knows.
“Toji.”
The sound snaps him out of his thoughts.
“Mmm,” he hums around a mouthful of food.
“Did you hear?”
Toji stretches his long arms over his head, his joints popping softly, and leans back in his chair, one arm resting along the back of your seat. “Heard what?”
You lean in, elbows propped on the table, eyes filled with worry “Who’s picking Megumi up?” “Cause I swear if you leave him waiting—”
He rolls his eyes, but there’s no bite to it just the faint, familiar tug of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Gojo’s on it.”
He see’s the immediate dissatisfaction in your faces, and the slight pout of your lips. “Oh.”
“That one.” There’s a clear dislike in your voice.
Toji can’t help but chuckle at that. The clear dislike you have for the man was humorous to him— though Satoru feels quite the opposite. He’d make up any excuse just to flirt with you, and Toji has caught onto that.He’s never worried about it, though, considering you hate his guts. Said he’s ‘extremely arrogant and annoying’ your own words.
Just then, the front door creaks open.
“Hey,Toji! got your little one.” Gojo’s voice rings out, loud and cheerful, before he even steps all the way inside. He leans against the doorframe, grinning. While little Megumi trails behind him, heavy backpack behind him and a lollipop between his lips.
You glance over no real excitement in your face. Standing up you step right past Gojo and bend down so you’re eye-level to Megumi.
“Did you have fun at school?” You ask softly, brushing a stray lock out of his face. He immediately shakes his head no.
“Oh.”
“Hey. I bought you something! Wanna see?” Gojo’s voice sounds from above you were you’re still talking to Megumi.
You keep your head tilted towards Megumi, doing your best to ignore Gojo.
But you really do wanna know what he go you. Shit. He knows gifts are your weakness. You’d been hoping to ignore Gojo.
Hesitantly you get up from your squatting position and face a grinning Gojo. You fold one arm across your chest and hold the other one out to him, looking everywhere but at him. Trying to play it cool.“Yeah.. whatever. Hand it over.”
He pulls the bag out of reach. “Not with that attitude.”
“Fine then I don’t want it.” You grip Megumi’s hand and turn to leave.
Before you can take another step, Gojo laughs and swings the bag right in front of you, still holding it just out of reach to tease you.
“Okay, okay, no need to run off with the kid! You’ve been craving this.. just letting you know.”
You pause, glancing between the bag and him like you’re still debating whether it’s worth it. But before you can answer, Toji’s low drawl cuts in from across the room:
“Give her the damn thing, Gojo.”
Gojo blinks, then chuckles and finally holds the bag out properly. “Fine, fine! The bodyguard speaks.”
You take it quickly, still not looking right at him, already peeking inside. Your eyes light up instantly. Gojo grins, leaning in a little. “Told you I pay attention. Now say thank you nicely.”
You huff, shifting your weight back and forth, then mumble soft and fast,“…Thank you.”
“Good girl.” He says it light and teasing.
Toji just shakes his head, leaning back in his chair, but you catch the faint, proud little tug of a smile on his face.
You turn right back around to Megumi like you didn’t hear him at all, pulling a tin out of the bag and handing it to him.
Inside the bag there’s two disposable spoons and napkins. Megumi pops the tin lid open and the sweet smell hits you instantly. You could almost scream out of excitement.
Scoopable cookie!
The last time you saw Gojo, you’d rambled on and on about how much you wanted this exact treat. You could almost drool just looking at it. This with a scoop of vanilla ice cream would be absolute heaven. You bite your lip and rub your tummy just thinking about it.
“It’s right in front of you, you know,” Toji says, leaning in from his seat a little closer.
You don’t even blink, still staring at the tin like nothing else exists.
He huffs a laugh, and repeats it a little louder. “It’s right there. You can have some if you want.”
You finally glance over at him, blinking slowly like you’re just now registering he’s talking to you. “Oh. Right.” Then you turn right back to Megumi, already reaching for the spoons. “Wanna try the first bite?”
Megumi nods eagerly just as excited as you are.
“Alright. Here’s one for you,” you say, handing him a spoon, then take the other for yourself.
You both take a big bite at the same time, and you hum so loud. It tastes even better than you remembered.
“Ah, hate to cut this short,” Gojo says, already turning toward the door, “but I’ve gotta go meet up with some friends.”
You pause, spoon halfway back to your mouth. You feel a little twinge of guilt, so you set it down and step over to him, wrapping your arms loosely around his middle. “Thank you for the cookie.”
He leans into it immediately, grinning and squeezing you back like you just gave him the best gift in the world. “Aww, you do care! I knew it—this is the sweetest moment of my whole life—”
“Shut up,” you mumble, pulling away quickly, though you don’t sound mad at all.
Megumi shuffles over too, and gives Gojo a quick, quiet hug around his legs. “Bye.”
Gojo laughs, ruffles both your heads one last time, and slips out the door. The second it clicks shut, you’re already back at the tin, scooping up another bite. “Okay, Dig in!”
You hum happily around your spoon, and even Megumi’s lips twitch into the tiniest hint of a smile as he takes another bite.
It’s only when you pause to lick a crumb off your thumb that you glance over at Toji.
He’s leaned deep into his chair, legs spread wide and one arm draped lazily over the backrest, watching you both with that quiet, heavy focus only he has. There’s no smirk, no teasing remark—just that soft, unguarded look in his eyes, like he’s seeing something he never thought he’d get to have. He’s always known how closed-off Megumi can be, how hard it is to get even that much warmth out of him… but you talk to him like he’s the most precious thing in the world, and it comes so naturally to you you don’t even seem to notice how special it is.
Without a second thought, you scoop up a big bite, walk right over to him, and rest your free hand lightly on his spread thigh. You lean in, pushing the spoon gently past his lips.
“Here,” you say simply.“It’s really good.”
Toji blinks, surprised for only a split second before he opens his mouth and lets you feed him. He keeps his eyes locked on yours the whole time, and the corner of his mouth tugs up in that faint, rare smile only you get to see. He doesn’t pull away—just lets you stand there close to him, warm.
A few hours later, the cookie tin is long empty, and the floor is scattered with storybooks and little toys.You’ve spent the whole time laughing, playing, and showing Megumi how to fold paper cranes until the sun dips low outside the windows.
When it’s finally time to go, you kneel down in front of Megumi first, cupping his little face in your palms. He’s already looking down at his socks, shoulders slumped just a little.
“Hey, none of that,” you say softly, pressing a warm, lingering kiss to his cheek. “I’m not going far, remember? I live right next door. Just through that wall! I’ll be over first thing tomorrow, okay? We can make those paper birds fly then.”
“I have school tomorrow.” He mumbles, his lips in a pout you could almost see the tears about to slip out. “Okay. Then after that!Alright?”
He nods slowly, even if he doesn’t lift his head right away. You ruffle his hair gently before standing up and turning to Toji.
He’s leaning against the doorframe, watching you with that quiet, steady look he always has. You step close, one hand resting lightly on his chest, and lean in to press a soft, tender kiss to the corner of his scarred lip— dangerously close to his lips lingering just a second longer than you did with Megumi, in a way that says more than words ever could.
“See you tomorrow,” you murmur, your thumb brushing over his jaw.
He nods, his hand coming up to rest over yours where it still sits on his chest. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”
——————
The next morning, you bounce right up to his door and knock hard. Bright like you’re carrying a pocket full of sunshine.
The lock clicks, and the door swings open. Toji stands there, hair all messy and sticking up in places, that slow, heavy, just-awake look still lingering in his eyes—he’s already washed up and freshened off, you could smell the after shave of of him. He’s wearing a loose, low-slung sweatpants and a plain white short-sleeved shirt that fits just tight enough to show every line of him: broad, solid shoulders, thick corded arms, the deep curve of his biceps, and the strong, sturdy build that makes him seem so much bigger right there in the doorway. You blink and go quiet for a whole second, completely distracted, just staring like you’ve forgotten what you came here for.
Then you shake your head a little, lift the paper bag of honey buns and warm bottles of coffee you’re holding, and beam right up at him. “I don’t have work today! So you get the absolute pleasure of hanging out with me all day. Lucky you, right?”
You don’t even wait for him to answer—you step right in, wrap your arms tight around his middle, and press a quick, soft kiss to his cheek. He huffs a quiet laugh, big hand resting light on your back, and steps aside to let you pass. “Megumi’s already at school,” he rumbles, closing the door behind you. “So yeah. Guess I’m stuck with you.”
He says it like it’s a chore, but the way he looks at you says he’d never call it that.
You set the food down on his kitchen island, opening the bag to let the warm steam curl out. “Have you eaten breakfast yet?” You turn around—only to find Toji standing right behind you now, his hands resting on either side of the counter, boxing you in gently. “You’re still gonna eat it, right? I bought it just for you…” You blink up at him, pulling out your best, most dramatic sad puppy eyes.
But Toji isn’t even listening to your words. He’s looking at you so intently, so softly, like he’s about to do something he’s been wanting to do for longer than he can remember.
“Oh!” You gasp, pressing a hand to your chest like you’ve been truly wounded. “So we’re ignoring me now? Got it.” You wave your hands playfully in front of his face, hamming it up completely. “That’s fine. I’ll just… go eat all the good stuff myself then. No big deal.” You flash him a bright, overly dramatic thumbs-up, fighting a smile the whole time.
Before you can even turn away, his hands come up to cup your face, slow and sure. “Quit actin’,” he rumbles, his voice low and warm. “Wasn’t ignorin’ you. Was just thinkin’.”
“Thinkin’ about what?” you ask, tilting your head, still half-teasing.
“What you need to think about is how we are gonna devour this food.” You point toward the food.
“Nothin’.”
“Whateva.” You roll your eyes.
“—that’s how you know my ass is fat for real.” You finish your sentence, then lean right back in to keep kissing Toji.
How you got here? Only the universe could say… okay, fine, you do know. After finishing that very filling breakfast, things got heated... And now here you are, straddling his lap on the couch.
And the worst part for Toji? You still haven’t stopped talking—even when your mouth is pressed right to his, tongues tangled together, you still mumble little comments right against his lips.
He doesn’t even answer you. He just huffs a quiet laugh, slides one big hand up to cup the back of your neck, and pulls you right back down to him.
This time the kiss is slower, deeper. His lips are warm and firm against yours, and when he brushes his tongue gently against your lower lip, you open for him without even thinking. He tastes like the sweet bun you shared and the warm coffee he drank, and he moves slow, like he’s got all the time in the world. His other hand rests heavy and steady on your waist, holding you right there against him.
You still try to mumble some silly comment against his mouth, and he just chuckles low and deep, kissing you a little harder to quiet you down. You can feel the faint scar on his lip brush against yours, familiar and warm, and for once you forget what you were even going to say.
He moves his lips down your neck sucking on your sensitive places inciting a moan out of you
He presses one last lingering kiss to your mouth before pulling back just enough to trail his lips slowly down your throat. His teeth graze lightly over soft skin, then he soothes the spot immediately with his warm tongue. He moves with slow, sure ease, finding every sensitive little spot along your neck—nipping gently, then sucking softly until you arch against him, letting out a shaky little gasp you can’t hold back.
His other hand finds the hem of your short, flowy pink sundress and slips beneath it. He caresses your smooth thigh gently, his palm moving slow back and forth, until he finds the soft, lightweight cotton of your panties.
He hooks a finger under the band that sits snug against your hip, tugs it back just a little, and lets it snap softly against your skin. He doesn’t even seem to realize what he’s done—until you let out a sharp little yelp that melts right into a soft moan.
“Sorry,” he mumbles low against your neck, his warm breath fanning over your skin. “Can I take this off?”
You nod eagerly, fingers curling tight into his shoulders. You’re sitting sideways across his lap now, turned so your legs drape over one of his thick thighs, and the steady, overwhelming pull of his mouth on your neck has stolen every other word right out of your throat.
He doesn’t rush. He slides his hand down, hooking his fingers under the soft cotton and pulling it slow and easy over your hips and thighs. You shift your weight and lift your hips to help him a little, still shaky and clumsy, and he guides the fabric all the way down your legs before tossing it aside without even looking.
You feel so flustered you tuck your face right against his shoulder to hide it. He rests his big, warm hands back on your bare thighs, his thumbs brushing slow, steady circles over your skin.
“Easy,” he rumbles low, his voice rough and soft all at once. “I got you.” He leans down to press a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Just tell me if you want me to stop.”
You nod into his neck.
Toji’s thick fingers slide slowly over you, gathering the warm, slick wetness before he glides them carefully over your sensitive bud. You twitch involuntarily and suck in a sharp, shaky gasp, your fingers digging a little tighter into his shoulders.
He doesn’t rush or speed up, keeping that same slow, steady rhythm as he rubs gentle circles that make your hips stutter and roll against his hand. He feels how you tremble, how your breath catches every time he brushes just right, and presses another kiss to your temple.
“Still okay?” he asks low, his voice rumbling right against your ear.
You nod frantically into his shoulder, trying to muffle your whimpers against his shirt. He clicks his tongue softly, shifts his hand just so, and makes you cry out before leaning close to your ear. “Nah, don’t do that,” he rumbles. “I wanna hear every sound you make.” Then he goes right back to that same slow, careful rhythm, he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.
You can’t hold back your sounds anymore, not when he keeps that slow, deep rhythm, hitting every sensitive spot just right. Your hips roll against his hand without you even thinking, your fingers twisting tight in the back of his shirt.
He feels you start to tremble, feels your breath come in short, sharp little gasps, and presses a warm kiss right below your ear. “That’s it,” he rumbles low. “Just like that. You’re doing so good.”
You whimper and press closer, hiding your face again even as you arch into his touch. Then he slips two thick fingers inside you, and a soft, wet squelch fills the quiet room. “So fuckin’ wet for me,” he murmurs rough and low.
He curls his fingers slow and deep, finding that spot that makes your whole body jolt. The wet, soft sound fills the quiet space between you, and he doesn’t rush—he keeps a heavy, slow pace like he’s got all the time in the world to unravel you.
You gasp sharp and cling tighter to him, your hips rolling to meet his hand without you even meaning to. He feels you start to shake, presses his forehead right against the side of yours, and rumbles low in your ear, “Tight little thing… squeezin’ my fingers so good. You like that, huh?”
You can only moan in reply, too far gone to form words, and he huffs a dark, satisfied laugh before moving just a little faster.
He picks up his pace now, pushing his fingers in and out with a firm, steady rhythm. “Toji,” you cry out, wrapping one arm tight around his neck while your other hand curls around his wrist—half trying to pull him closer, half pushing him away because it’s all becoming too much. “I’m gonna—”
“C’mon, baby. Cum on my fingers. You got it,” he encourages, never slowing down. You can feel yourself squeezing tight around his middle and ring finger, your body pulling him deeper. “That’s it. Feels so good, doesn’t it?”
You hum a soft, shaky “mm” against his shoulder.
Your words dissolve into a broken cry right after, your whole body tensing up then shaking hard as the pleasure crashes over you. He keeps moving slow and gentle to help you ride it out, murmuring low praises right against your ear the whole time. “There she goes… that’s perfect. So good for me.” He keeps going until you go limp and pliant against his chest, your breath coming in short, shaky gasps.
He slowly pulls his fingers out, and you whimper softly at the sudden loss of warmth. He brings his glistening fingers to his mouth, tasting you, his dark eyes locked right on yours. “Tastes even better than I thought,” he says low.
Then he brushes your hair back from your damp forehead, pressing a warm kiss to your temple. “Easy now, good girl. Just breathe for me,” he rumbles, shifting you a little closer in his lap. “You okay?… Y’ ready for more?”
You turn to look at him, and catch that familiar glint in his eyes. Maybe you were just being weak, but that genuinely felt like it sucked the soul right out of you.
“No,” you say deadpan, keeping your face perfectly straight.
“Toji—please, slow down,” you moan out, your fingers tangling tight in the black locs atop his head. He’s settled between your legs, eating you out like a man starved. He’s already pulled two orgasms from you, not counting what he did with his fingers, and he hasn’t slowed down once. He seems to take pleasure in every sound you make, and in watching your cum drip slow and thick out of you.
Every time he makes you cum, he pauses just to stare—at first it made you self-conscious, but now you know: this is just how Toji likes it. He watches it flow, gathers the slick between his fingers, licks it clean, and dives right back in.
He’s made you cum so many times now you swear you might pass out any second.
“It’s okay, baby. Just relax.” he rumbles against your skin. One hand keeps your legs spread wide, while the other slides up your body to find yours, weaving his fingers through yours to give you the green light. You grip him back hard, your nails digging into his thick, rough, calloused hands—the same hands that were just in you, gathering your release, only moments before.
He doesn’t rush, doesn’t let up. He presses his tongue flat against you, then licks slow and deep, and your whole body arches off the couch. You whimper and squeeze his hands tight, clinging to them like an anchor to ground yourself through the overwhelming feeling. Your hips jerk and tremble, and you try to squirm away, every nerve ending raw and over-sensitive. “Too much,” you gasp, your voice all wobbly.
He just soothes the sensitive skin with soft licks before glancing up at you for just a second, eyes dark and hungry. “I know,” he rumbles low. “Just a little more. You can take one more for me, can’t you?” Then he buries his face right back where he was, working you steady until you finally break again, crying out his name, your fingers digging hard into his hands to ride through it.
He doesn’t pull away right away. He licks you clean, slow and thorough, like he’s savoring every bit he can get. Then he presses a final, lingering kiss to your inner thigh, and looks up at you with lips glistening, that dark, satisfied look in his eyes. “There we go,” he says. “Perfect.”
Slowly, he climbs up your body, his weight settling heavy and warm over you, and leans down to kiss you deep— the taste of you warm against your tongue, letting you taste every bit of what he just did.
By now your eyes are already closed from pure exhaustion. When he pulls back, he climbs off you and disappears for a moment, returning with a warm damp cloth. He presses it gently to your thighs and between your legs; the soft warmth soothes your overly sensitive clit instantly.
When he’s finished, he steps away again, then comes back to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “You did so good, baby,” he whispers right against your skin.
“Gimme that dick,” you mumble back, completely out of it from the overwhelming number of orgasms.
Toji chuckles low. “Next time.” He brushes the damp strands of hair away from your forehead, his touch gentle.
ᴀ|ɴ: I have soo many Toji fanfic ideas especially dad!Toji fics I’m so excited to write! Anyways this is my VERY first smut fic so I hope it was good. I enjoyed writing it and I got butterflies. Toji is so fineeee. I saw a figurine of him on my fyp and he looked so fineeee I had to write this. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed and i’ll shake some ass☻︎.(≧◡≦) I haven’t created a taglist before but I’ll create one and if you want to be added just comment or dm me!
spam texting valko when you're drunk about how sad and lonely you are, and how you've been sad and lonely for years. and how you always lie when people ask if you're okay, and you're so sorry for lying to him. and then you fall asleep.
you wake to the smell of your favorite breakfast and a very clingy, determined wolf. he doesn't leave you alone ever again. you're his now.
It’s the night before the exam and Satoru can’t focus. So, you spread your legs and touch your dripping pussy right over his precious notes, forcing him to keep reading out loud ♡
CW: NSFW. Perv reader x Perv Satoru. Masturbation. Dry humping. Power dinamics. Humiliation.
cr: @/koramiarts on X
The tension between you and Satoru Gojo had been building for months. You were study partners in quantum mechanics, always tucked away in the quiet corners of the library or lingering over half-finished coffees in dimly lit shops.
Truthfully, you liked him. But there was a darker edge to it. You were a total perv for him. But the best part was that he was just as guilty as you were.
He was painfully shy, but he wasn’t as subtle as he thought. In the lecture hall, you’d constantly catch him staring. His bright blue eyes would linger hungrily on your legs, the curve of your ass, or your lips. But the moment your gaze met his, he’d snap his head down, desperately scribbling nonsense into his notebook to hide the flush creeping up his neck.
Tonight, you’d finally bridged that gap. You’d invited him to your dorm, promising a quiet night of studying for tomorrow’s exam.
Satoru arrived exactly on time, in his usual oversized cardigan and slacks, his backpack heavy with textbooks and binders. He looked adorably rumpled, like he’d been bracing himself for this all day.
Now you were sitting on your bed, legs crossed, wearing a short pleated skirt. He was kneeling on the floor, leaning forward onto the mattress to arrange his notes. As he hunched over, his elbows resting on the bed, he looked completely focused. Or at least, he was trying to be.
For the first twenty minutes, it was normal. But beneath your skirt, you were bare—and you were already dripping, wet and aching just from the way he breathed. It didn’t help that his gaze kept wandering. Every time you shifted your weight, his eyes would inevitably flick toward the hem of your skirt, his pupils dilating as he caught a glimpse of skin.
You knew exactly what you were doing. You wanted to corrupt this beautiful, sweet boy. And by the way his hands trembled, you knew he wanted to be ruined just as badly.
“You’re going somewhere else again, Satoru” you said softly, tilting your head to catch his eye.
He jolted, his glasses sliding precariously down his nose. “I—I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice stuttering with that familiar, endearing fluster. He looked down at his binder as if it were a shield, but he couldn't help himself. “It’s just… you distract me” he confessed, the admission barely a whisper.
You offered him a smile—sweet, but laced with a dangerous, knowing intent. “Mmm, that’s a shame. We really need to get through this, Toru. The exam is tomorrow.”
“I know… I’m trying,” he murmured, his hands trembling slightly as he reached up to adjust his glasses.
Watching him struggle, you decided right then that if he was going to be distracted anyway, you might as well make it impossible for him to think about anything else.
Without warning, you stopped pretending to study. You uncrossed your legs, and scooted forward, spreading your knees wide right in front of his face. You leaned in close enough that your bare thighs brushed the scattered pages of his notes, effectively trapping him between your legs.
You watched his breath hitch, his entire posture freezing as the reality of what you’d done—and what you were offering—settled over him. His eyes went wide, pupils blowing huge behind the lenses as he stared at your dripping cunt, inches from his carefully handwritten notes.
“Just a bit of encouragement, Toru” you murmured. “Read.”
Your hand slid down as two fingers parted your slick folds, circling your swollen clit with obscene wet sounds. He remained frozen, his eyes glazed and lost as he watched.
“I said read, Satoru”
He swallowed hard, his throat tight as he forced himself to look at the textbook. He needed this—he needed the rigid logic of the math to keep from losing his mind. His voice was thin and shaky as he started, his eyes desperate to stay on the page.
“‘The—the Schrödinger equation for a—a particle in a box’” He took a shuddering breath, his hips twitching involuntarily against the edge of the mattress. “In this model… the particle is… it’s free to move inside the box but—’”
His words faltered completely as you sank two fingers deep, the wet sound of your slick skin filling the space between his sentences. A thick, heavy drop of your arousal escaped, landing right over the paragraph he was reading.
He couldn't finish the sentence. His eyes were wide and glazed with pure, unadulterated need. The academic lecture died in his throat, replaced by a desperate, strangled whimper.
The sound was so helpless it made you throb. More of your slick fell, spotting his neat handwriting and colorful annotations until the ink began to blur in tiny, darkened patches.
His cock was painfully hard. He tried to keep reading, but his voice cracked and faltered with every wet sound your fingers made.
“It is described by a… a wavefunction… which represents the probability…ah—’” Another drip landed on a paragraph about wave functions. Then another. Your pussy was dripping steadily now, small shiny puddles forming on his precious notes.
Satoru’s breathing grew ragged. He was grinding against the mattress now, slow, desperate rolls of his hips like a needy puppy, rubbing his clothed cock against the bed while he tried so hard to focus on the book.
He tried. God, he tried to keep going “The boundary conditions imposed…Jesus—’” His hips moved faster, humping the bed with shallow, frantic thrusts. The shy boy who could barely look you in the eye was falling apart right in front of you. “Please…” he whispered, voice hoarse
“Look at you” you moaned softly, fingers speeding up. “Humping my bed like a desperate dog while my pussy drips all over your notes.”
A broken whine escaped him. “Please… I need— you’re so wet” he said, voice trembling, his eyes glued to the way your fingers disappeared inside your glistening cunt again and again.
“You’re such a fucking perv” you said, close to the edge “How many times did you imagine this?”
Satoru’s hips stuttered. A wrecked sob left his throat. “S-so many… every night,” he confessed, voice cracking. “After study sessions… I’d go back to my room and stroke my cock thinking about your legs… under your skirt… fuck— I’m sorry”
His honesty sent a fresh rush of heat through you. You rubbed your clit faster, fingers plunging deeper as your pussy clenched.
His hips moved desperately now, grinding his hard cock against your mattress like a pathetic, needy puppy, his movements making the bed frame creak softly in the quiet room.
“I wanna cum, Toru,” you groaned, your hips bucking, “but you’re going to have to rewrite every single one of these pages.”
“Please— please cum,” he begged shamelessly, voice hoarse and broken. “Cum on my notes… I don’t care— I’ll rewrite everything”
His desperate begging pushed you over the edge. You cried out, back arching as your orgasm crashed through you. Your pussy pulsed hard around your fingers, your thighs shaking with the intensity of it. A thick, clear rush of slick gushed out, dripping directly onto the center of his open binder.
Satoru whimpered loudly, hips jerking erratically against the bed as he watched every second of it, completely transfixed. The sight of you shivering, your pussy pulsing and flooding his notes, was finally too much for him to bear.
A sharp, guttural cry tore from his throat as he bucked upward one last time. His hips seized, shuddering violently against the mattress as he came, a dark, growing stain blossoming across the front of his slacks. He went limp, his forehead dropping heavily against the mattress, gasping for air as his body continued to twitch in the aftermath of his release.
You slowly pulled your fingers from your dripping cunt, letting the last few drops fall onto his ruined notes.
You looked down at him with a wicked, satisfied smile.
“Do you wanna fuck me, Toru?”
His head snapped up so fast his glasses nearly flew off—a desperate, pathetic sight. His pupils were blown wide, black voids drowning out the blue, and a ragged, needy sound tore from his throat.
“Y-yes— please—” he stammered, his composure completely shredded.
“Okay then,” You spread your legs wider for him and grabbed the messy, stained notes from beside you. Pressing the open binder firmly against your chest, you smiled.
Exam stress leads to a late night horny decision. Everything is going great, until the guy in the video starts sounding a little too familiar
part 2 here!
CW: NSFW. Masturbation. Watching porn.
cr: 3vangel1ne_ on X
You were sprawled on your bed, laptop glowing in the dark dorm room, fingers lazily scrolling through video after video.
It was one of those nights—stress from exams, and a long day of pretending not to stare at that tall, white-haired nerd from your chemistry class who always claimed the front row. The one with the quiet voice who answered questions with effortless precision while wearing the same white oversized hoodie every class.
The hoodie that somehow made his broad shoulders look even wider, the fabric hanging loose on his lean frame. You had spent far too many lectures tracing the strange structural formula printed across its back with your eyes, wondering what molecule it represented and why it suited him so perfectly.
The memory of him leaning over to borrow your notes earlier that day, offering that soft, shy smile, had lingered. Combined with the crushing stress of exams, it naturally led you to a late-night horniness that had you deep in the tags until one thumbnail catched your eye. A lean, pale torso filled the frame, a large hand wrapped around an absolutely obscene cock. The title was simple: “Needy boy whimpering.”
Below it, the description read: If you want more content, please consider subscribing. I’m a broke uni student 🙏🏻 Thank you!
You smiled faintly. It sounded so polite, almost shy, despite the filthy image attached to it. Without thinking twice, you clicked.
The video opened in a dimly lit room. The guy was already flushed, sitting on the edge of a messy bed with his long legs spread wide. His face remained carefully out of frame, but the camera angle gave a perfect, shameless view of his toned body. His abs were faintly defined, his skin glowing with a light sheen of sweat. One large hand was slowly stroking his thick, veiny length, the head flushed dark and already leaking precum that caught the low light with every lazy pass of his fingers.
A soft, breathy whimper floated through your headphones as his thumb circled the tip.
“F-fuck… ahh—”
Your breath hitched. That voice. Sweet, boyish, and trembling with need. It sounded painfully familiar, the same voice you had heard muttering answers under his breath during lectures.
No. You were imagining it. You had to be. You were just that desperately horny.
Pushing the thought aside, your hand slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, fingers gliding over your already soaked folds. On screen, his long fingers tightened around his cock, stroking a little faster. Another broken whimper escaped him, higher this time, sending a sharp throb straight to your clit. You circled the sensitive bud in time with his rhythm, thighs trembling as heat pooled low in your belly.
You pushed two fingers inside yourself, curling them just right, eyes never leaving the screen. His breathing grew ragged. The wet, obscene sounds of his hand moving along his slick cock filled your ears, filthy and addictive.
The camera shifted slightly as he adjusted his position. Your gaze drifted for a moment over the background, taking in the cluttered desk, the scattered notebooks. And then—
Your fingers stilled.
Draped casually over the back of his chair, right in the corner of the frame, was a white oversized hoodie. And there, clearly visible even in the low lighting, was the distinctive structural formula printed across the back — the strange, intricate molecule you had stared at countless times during morning lectures.
It was him.
Satoru Gojo.
The quiet, annoyingly hot chemistry nerd who always borrowed your notes with that shy boyish smile, and thanked you in that soft voice that now whimpered so prettily for the camera.
The realization crashed over you like lightning. A loud, broken moan tore from your throat as your fingers resumed their frantic pace, pumping harder, your thumb pressing desperately against your swollen clit. On screen, a high-pitched, needy whimper spilled from his lips as his hips bucked into his fist.
“Mmnh—gonna cum… fuck, I’m so close—”
His voice cracked on the last word, just like it always did when he laughed nervously in class. You imagined him sitting there, stroking himself stupid, his pretty glasses perhaps fogged up from the heat of his own pleasure. The thought made your head spin.
Your thumb pressed hard on your clit, the coil in your belly tightening unbearably.
On screen, Satoru’s abs flexed, his thighs shaking. Thick ropes of cum shoot across his stomach and chest as he kept pumping through his orgasm, whimpering softly with each spurt.
You came hard at the same time, back arching off the bed, a broken cry leaving your lips as your pussy clenched around your fingers. The orgasm dragged on, wave after wave of intense pleasure washing over you while you watched him pant, breathless and flushed, lazily smearing the mess over his skin.
When the video finally ended, you lay there in the dark, chest heaving, heart hammering against your ribs. The image of that white, oversized hoodie with the weird structural formula lingered behind your closed eyelids.
Tomorrow in class, when Satoru slid into his usual seat you weren’t sure you’d be able to look at him without getting wet all over again.
Or without wondering how much prettier those whimpers would sound in real life.
synopsis . How watching a movie with your roommate goes wrong. pairings (separate) . Toji x f!reader, Choso x f!reader, Gojo x f!reader, Nanami x f!reader.
content . afab!reader, non-curse au, unprotected sex, dry humping, degrading, praise, dirty talk, filth, pussy slapping, tw: spitting, they’re all pervs, heavy tension, pet names, pining, men losing their confidence once they feel you, submissive men, taunting, cockwarming, manhandling, rough sex, teasing, begging, etc.
word count . 9.6k || author's note: doja release the full song pls </3 banner art from “Kubitsuri Danshi to Nikushoku Joshi” (this is a slightly revised repost)
☆ Toji Fushiguro — "There's a sex scene coming up."
The first thing you do is laugh at the man. He told you that as if you hadn't seen a thousand sex scenes before.
Rolling your eyes, you barely move in your seat, "So?" You huff back to your awfully smug roommate.
Now, you and Toji get along relatively well. The attraction between the two of you is noticeably mutual so it doesn't fully surprise you that he felt the need to announce the next part of the movie to you. The two characters were already slopping each other's faces up so it was pretty obvious where things were going.
As such, that doesn't exactly prepare you for the next thing your roommate decides to say to you.
"We should recreate it," Toji suggests, completely catching you off guard.
You and him have done… things before but, never sex. Or at least, you’ve never had his cock inside you. Maybe you’ve sucked him off once or twice and maybe he’s returned the favor two or, six times but—who’s keeping track of all that? The point is, you’ve never had traditional sex with the guy.
He was more of your roommate-with-benefits at the end of the day, if you needed someone to help you get off after a long and stressful day, Toji was offering himself to you and the same vice versa.
So when he suggests recreating a sex scene with you, the last thing you expected was what the actual scene itself was…
“Well, what is it?” You ask curiously, turning your head to look up and the man who was already right beside you.
Toji tips his head to the side and keeps his eyes focused on the screen, “Watch it and see for yourself.”
Feeling slightly annoyed by how he suggested something to you only to not explain what it is he wants to do, you just turn back to the TV and do just that—watching as the movie plays out.
You think you’re turned on rather quickly once the two character on screen start fucking like goddamn rabbits—position after position, moan after moan, and noticeably rough sex occurring onscreen. There’s one position in particular that Toji nudges you at, to which your eyes widen and you tense up.
The man on screen has his partner in a headlock as they fuck them from behind. All you can do is bat your lashes as the scene with that position plays out far longer than the others, words of filth being muttered and the moans sounding awfully real.
Your mouth opens to ask your roommate something but he’s already in your ear before you get the chance to, “Yeah, I wanna try that with ya’,” Toji whispers.
A wave of heat flashes over your entire body and you’re squeezing your legs together at the thought alone. Toji behind you like that, shoving his fat angry cock inside you while his beefy arm constricts around your throat, limiting air from you and—
Yeah, you weren’t shying away from that offer, even though you had your fears.
“T-Toji, you wanna-, hah, you wanna put me in a headlock?” You sputter out in surprise, “We’ve never even had sex in a normal position… I don’t think I can take-”
“You can,” He cuts off rudely, “Jus’ gotta let me prep you. And I’ll be gentle,” He murmurs to you, even though you know that’s a lie, “…’Til you get used to me.”
You chuckle nervously, “I dunno… You-,” A sigh slips from your lips, “You wanna do this now?”
He nods, “Mhm,” Then his hand is moving to yours and he pulls your touch over to his crotch, “Got hard jus’ thinking about it.”
Instinctively, your hand moves to feel around and your fingers shape around his erection, cupping his stupidly hard cock and feeling him throb beneath your touch. You gulp before you glance down at your hand and the way it looks sliding down along his length against his sweats, outlining his shape with your touch and pulling your lower lip into your mouth at the thought.
You remember how difficult it was to fit the guy in your throat so you could only imagine him stretching your pussy open, giving you long and deep thrusts just so you could get used to him, and the way he’d force you to feel every thick inch of his.
“You’re droolin’,” Toji points out suddenly as he brings a hand to your face and swipes his calloused thumb across the corner of your lips, bringing his finger to his mouth moments later, “Figured you’d like this just as much as me but look atcha’,” He licks whatever taste from your mouth he got off of his thumb. “A mess already, tsk.” He teases.
You’re just sitting there with your eyes still on his cock straining against his sweatpants, trying to mentally prepare yourself to have that inside you. You swallow thickly, “Toji…”
“Hm?” He hums lowly with a slight cock of his head.
You bring your gaze up to him and his green eyes are already low on yours, “I wanna do it.”
Famous last words…
The smirk that stretched across his scared lips was probably one of the most sexy looks you’ve ever seen on the man. Not to mention the immediate jump of his cock in reaction to your agreement.
And in God knows how many minutes, your clothes were scattered on the floor and he had you bent over on the couch as he prepped you with his fingers. Toji knows how big his dick is– hell, he’s a little too aware of it, so he had to make sure you were extra soaked for him.
Talking to you in that rasp and deep tone of his, “I think you can take me jus’ fine,” He murmurs to you, fucking his fingertips deeper inside yo u with each passing second, “You’re already takin’ three of my fingers so, what’s the difference?”
You moan against the couch cushion your cheek is currently resting against, “Mgh, your cock i-is waaay bigger,” You admit in a horny little slur.
Of course he smiles at that, glad you can’t see his face right now because your words only stroke his ego more and more, “Is it?” As Toji asks you that, he drags his fingers out of you, moving to suck your most recent orgasm off of them before repositioning himself behind you. Then he shrugs, “I dunno, I don’t think there’s that much of a difference..”
He’s still talking but you’re refusing to believe a thing he says. You’ve had your fair share of studying his cock up close so you already knew how he’d feel inside you. Even so, you feel a glob of spit land on your cunt and it makes you flinch out of your thoughts. After that is followed by something fat and hard pressing in between your folds.
The arch in your back furthers and your lips part, “Toji?” You whisper.
A big hand comes down on your ass before he’s gripping onto you, “Mhm, that’s me you feel,” He teases, his other hand busy rubbing his cockhead up and down your sopping slit.
You think a moan leaves your lips already at the mere tease of his cock, “I don’t think-”
“You’ve been doin’ a little too much of that lately,” He huffs, lifting his tip from you before letting it smack against your pussy a few times and then smiling to himself at how wet you were, “Just let me take care of ya’, I'm not gonna hurt you unless you want me to, silly girl.”
A little mumbled curse is heard coming from your mouth but Toji’s only response to that is easing his hips forwards, squeezing his tip inside you slowly as he watches the way you turn your head to stuff your face into the cushion and your hands gripping onto the couch. Toji takes it slow at first, easing his tip in and out of you a few times until you relax a little.
Then he’s pushing an inch or two inside you and he can hear your muffled moans against the couch. Not to mention the way you move a hand back as if to push him away already.
Toji just rolls his eyes at that point, “I’m not even halfway in,” He chuckles, “Relax f’me.”
You try, you really do. It is a bit difficult but you try not to be so tense as he continues to push into you. It’s the first thrust that really had you gasping and holding onto the couch for dear life because after that, Toji repeats the action—drawing his hips all the way back before thrusting himself in fully, all the way to the hilt of your cunt. You’re practically clawing at the cushion below you and your eyes are tearing up from the sheer stretch of his cock.
You could feel him in every corner of your dripping cunt, his thick shaft leaving you gasping for air and his sharp hips clashing against your ass. You hardly register the groans he’s letting out or the curses about how tight you are.
His hands are everywhere on your ass as things start off slow, a few thrusts in and he feels your walls clamp around him before you’re cumming already. He hadn’t even gotten you into the position he wanted you in and you were already whining his name. Toji grips onto the fat of your ass, spreading you further for him as he watched his bulging angry cock ease in and out of you, your sloppy juices coating his veins and dripping all over the damn place.
The mess makes him smirk, “Fuckin’ filthy,” He hums. Then he’s leaning down and you feel your heart sink because after that, a surprisingly gentle hand is creeping around your neck before he lifts your face up. Getting a good look at you, he meets your gaze with a smirk before whispering, “You okay?”
The way he checks on you had your cunt squeezing around him again. “M-Mhm,” You mumble, mouth messy with drool and lashes coated with tears that’d yet to fall yet.
Toji tips his head to the side, still gently rocking his hips into yours and barely humping his cock in and out of you, “Ready to keep goin’?”
It takes you a second to agree to that but when you feel his tip brush against somewhere particularly sweet inside you, you nod eagerly, “Uhuh,” You murmur almost dumbly.
All he can do is smile and lean back up, “C’mere then,” Toji instructs. You follow suit and lean up with him. “Tip ya’ head back for me, here,” He’s still buried inches inside you but he’s instructing you with no problem, moving a hand to your chin to tip your head back, “Just keep lookin’ at me for a second, m'kay?”
You let out a shaky breath of air before keeping your eyes back on his, feeling and watching him lean closer to you and then slowly wrap an arm around your neck, making your breath hitch slightly.
“You sure you're ready for this, doll?” Toji asks as he soon has you take your eyes off of his so he can lock your head into place, “Might break ya’,” He teases.
Your hands move to feel his arm around your neck, caressing his skin before you smile a little, “That’s okay,” You whisper in response, your excitement getting the better of you, “You can break me a little, Toji.”
His hold on your head isn’t the tightest yet, since he doesn’t literally wanna choke you out but, it’s tight enough to where you can’t move and his next thrust has you gasping again. And then it all goes downhill from there because Toji swears you’ve only gotten tighter since he’s put you in this position and you’re so soaked that you’re drippin’ down your thighs.
He can’t help but get a little rough with you. The first few movements were merely experimental but the second you’re comfortable and start moaning for more, Toji’s pouring out a heavy groan right into your ear as he starts to really fuck you.
The couch creaks and your cunt is so loud and messy as his heavy balls smack against you with each bruising thrust of his angry cock. You could feel him throbbing and pulsing deep inside you every time you uttered his name in pleasure. The position had you weak, your legs shaking within minutes and your nails scratching at his arm.
All as he whispered filthy things in your ear, “So fuckin’ messy for me,” He huffs, earnig a whine from you, “You like this, huh? Like bein’ my messy lil’ thing?”
“T-Toji, oh fu-uck, s’too much-,” You choke, feeling his arm tighten around you just to shut you up.
“You're takin’ it juuust fine, baby,” His tone is far to sweet for the way he’s bullying your pussy right now, stretching you and fucking you so full that it was getting hard to think.
His hips were harsh against yours, smack after smack, making your moans come out in a stutter and a slur as he murmured degrading little nicknames into your ear seconds later.
“Gonna cum for me again? I’ve already gotcha’ folded up like some whore-, mgh… it's the least you could do for me, doll,” Toji grunts into your ear, his swollen cockhead pounding right into where you need him most.
Your eyes practically roll to the back of your skull and you’re spasming, “Tojii, I c-can’t-, ah, hahh-, hnngh.. p-please,” You mewl, dewy slicks from your cunt glistening all over his fat cock that it even has him panting and losing his breath.
His lips are right against your ear, breath warm and dick throbbing wildly inside you with the way he doesn’t let up on you for even one moment, “One more, pretty. Jus’ gimme one more,” He whispers.
Your breath hitches and you can feel your orgasm building right back up, you were so close and he was fucking you just right. His hold on you gets a little tighter and he pinpoints his thrusts deeper against your sloppy pussy, the filthy squelches only growing louder and louder before you’re whimpering his name.
Toji kisses the tip of your ear softly—feeling the way your cunt just sloshes around his cock and making his eyes go back. You were squeezing him so tightly that it was almost hard to cram his cock into you. Your pussy was so damn heavenly that Toji felt lightheaded for a moment, despite you being the one getting choked out right now.
Before he knows it, he’s fucking a thick creamy load of cum inside you while grunting your name out through slightly gritted teeth. The way you were moaning and whining in return drove him crazy, the sight of your jaw dangling open, drool sliding down your chin, tears rolling down your face—the entire sight and feel of you had his head spinning in pleasure.
Which is exactly why he’s emptying himself into you while you milk him for all he’s worth. He doesn’t even realize he’s released you from that headlock until the sounds of your moans are muffled again. Toji barely remembers shoving your face down and pressing a hand into your arch before ramming whatever's left of his cum deeper inside you.
Then there was the way your legs were shaking and how filthy it was to watch his cum drip out of you as he pulled out. Oh, he was definitely having sex with you again after this.
☆ Choso Kamo — He's too attentive.
You're too focused on the way your favorite actor's busy on the screen going down on the love interest of the movie to realize that Choso's got his eyes everywhere except the TV.
He notices the way you're shifting in your seat, the thumb you bring up to your lips and the nail you nibble on anxiously as the sex scene ahead continues. Choso zones out from the fake slurps and forced moans from the TV, his eyes and ears completely focused on you and you only. Even when you let out a sigh as your thighs squeeze together, he notices.
And he doesn’t mean to stare at you but he couldn’t help it. What about this particular sex scene had you so squirmish? He’s watched them with you before but it was obvious this one was different. Was it the actor? Choso can’t help but glance at the TV to remind himself of who was in the movie, wondering if the big muscular pink-haired man on the TV was your type.
You were practically drooling at this point, hanging off of every word the man said all while Choso quickly put two and two together.
Clearing his throat, you flinch as if you’d been caught doing something you had no business doing, “You alright over there?” Choso hums.
You slowly turn your head to him and your lashes flutter as you pull your thoughts away from where they’d been previously, “U-Uhuh, yeah… Why?” You respond hesitantly.
You were far too caught up in the movie to have noticed how much Choso was paying attention.
He shrugs, “You keep moving,” Choso points out before looking at the TV, “Is the scene making you uncomfortable or something?”
Your brows twist up, “What? N-No, not at all! It’s actually uh,” You had to pause for a second before you decide to tell him the truth, glancing back at your favorite actor on screen, “Well, that’s one of my favorite actors and the scene is pretty hot.”
“Oh,” Your roommate responds, nodding in acknowledgment, “You like guys like that?”
You snort, “Guys like what?”
“Tall, muscular, face tatts….” Choso lists carefully as he narrows his eyes on the actor ahead, “...Pink hair?”
You roll your eyes, “N-No, I just… Well, okay maybe that is kinda my type.” You’re slow to admit that because as soon as the words leave your lips, you’re looking at your roommate and realizing that aside from the hair color, he pretty much fits that description.
Choso turns his head to you and lifts his brows, “Yeah?” He huffs, smirking a bit, “You do know I basically just described myself, safe for the pink hair…”
“O-Okay… so?”
“So, I kinda resemble your type and your favorite actor.”
“Y’know, now that you mention in,” Your head tilts and you lean a bit closer to Choso, studying his facial features closer, “You two do look like you could be related.”
“Wait seriously?” Choso lets out a laugh, “If so that’s kinda funny since, just like him in this movie, I’ve never given anyone head.”
“You’ve never-,” You choke on whatever it is you were about to say as you realize what he just said. “Huh? You’ve never given anyone head?”
He shrugs, “No?”
And your curiosity practically spirals from there, “Have you had sex before?” You ask.
“Yeah,” Choso smirks at the immediate questions you have for him. “I’m not a virgin. But, well, my mouth is, I guess,” He explains steadily before looking to the TV again.
Your eyes remain fixated on his face, “Do you want to?”
“Want to,” His eyes trail right back over to you, “What?”
You lean in again, “Give someone head?”
“Are you offering?” Choso replies casually, licking his lips seconds afterwards.
A smile spreads across your face and you try to flip it back onto him, “Nono, are you offering.”
He stares at you for a long moment, trying to figure out the right way to go about all this. Every muscle in his body was telling him to say yes because, technically, he was offering. He’d been offering silently ever since he first said something. You looked so focused on the damn TV that it almost irritated Choso, he could do whatever that actor’s doing ten times better.
…Even if he’s never done it before.
“Yeah,” Choso breathes out, not wanting to pass up on this opportunity in the slightest.
You gulp, “You-”
Before you get to finish, Choso’s shifting against your bed—maybe movie night in your room wasn’t the best idea. He’s moving closer to you and soon placing his hands on the bed at your sides as he brings his face close to yours. Your eyes are all wide and you’ve sat up completely, heart thumping in your chest at how close he’s gotten.
“Cho,” You whisper, watching the way his gaze changes, “You actually wanna-”
“I can do it,” He utters carefully as he places one hand on your thigh and slowly parts your legs for his body to fit in between, “I saw the way you’ve been looking at the screen anyway so, I know you’re worked up.”
“I-I’m not-,” You’re cut off yet again when Choso leans in and his lips brush over yours for a split second before he shifts to kiss your cheek.
Then he trails those soft little kisses over to your ear, “I’ve always wanted to try, y’know…”
“Try what?” You breathe, feeling his breath caress the crown of your ear.
“Pleasing someone with my tongue,” Choso explains, one of his legs sliding up in between yours up until he brushes against your core and you instinctively move a hand to hold onto his arm. To which he smirks, “And you’re needy for it so, just let me try.”
“I’m not needy for anything, I-” Again, he cuts you off. This time he just pushes his leg forward a bit so that he’s fully pressing against your clothed cunt, earning a pathetic little gasp from you.
“You were saying?” Choso taunts as he tips his head down to your neck.
You scoff, “Shut up.”
“Shut me up,” He huffs back before kissing your neck.
“Fine,” Is the last thing you said to him before the two of you started acting on your whims.
He doesn’t even remember what he was thinking or how he got to this point by the time he’s got his face buried between your thighs. He can hardly think of anything else aside from the glistening slick drooling out of your exposed cunt moments after he’d tugged your panties down. Choso swears he’s never seen anything this wet in his life, his eyes hungry as they study your pussy closely before he even thinks about touching you.
All while you lay before him, your legs held open by his big hands and your eyes low on the way he looked, staring at you so lewdly. For someone who’s never even done this before, he damn sure looked as though he were about to devour you like you were his last meal.
“Shiiit,” Choso whispers as his head tilts along with the excessive dripping from your hole. He’s just watching your cunt twitch and ooze without him even touching you yet. Was his staring doing this to you? (It was).
You gulp, “Don’t just stare, Cho…”
“But she’s so pretty,” He mumbles, almost in awe at the way your cunt only gets wetter, “And responsive… haven’t even touched her yet ‘nd she’s leaking for me.”
He feels the way your thighs try to closer together out of embarrassment but the steel grip he has on you wasn’t allowing that to happen anytime soon, especially as he finally leans in and does nothing more than plant a sloppy kiss against your even sloppier pussy. The wet little mwah that emits into the air as he pulls away slightly makes both you and him gasp.
“Choso,” You practically whine, “Please don’t tease.”
He licks his lips and glances up at you, “You gotta remember, I don’t really know what m’doing,” Choso mumbles in response while he presses his lips against your cunt once more.
Then, his tongue lulls out and he keeps his eyes on yours as he gets that first raw taste of you. His brows immediately twist up and his tongue slicks upwards as his lips shift to cup your cunt. Choso has no idea what he’s doing but you spasm a bit when he slurps your taste into his mouth and lets out a groan against you.
Completely clueless, Choso just does what he thinks would feel good for you after that and for whatever reason, it fucking works. He swears he’s never given head before but the way his tongue was lapping against you said something entirely different. He swirls the slipper pink muscle upward and he’s at your clit within a few moments, flicking the tip of his tongue against it before just toying with you using his mouth.
All as his eyes remained fixated on you and the way you moan whenever he does something right. It’s so sloppy the way he fucks his tongue inside your drooling hole, digging more and more of your taste out of you so he can get it all inside his mouth. Muttering small, “Tastes s’sweet,” against you as he works his lips and tongue.
Even whenever he pulls away for a few seconds, he just spits on your cunt to watch it get messier, smiles at the filthiness of it all, and then dives right back in. Your hand is soon to get lost in his hair and his usual messy ponytails come aloof with the way you tug and pull at him.
Choso worships your cunt, kiss after kiss, lick after lick, and groan after groan. At some point his hands move away from your thighs just so he can feel your legs close around his head as he shoves his tongue in deeper and the tip of his nose rubs against your clit.
“Mmmgh,” Choso grunts against your sopping hole, his eyes flickering back for a moment as you lifted your hip against his face.
He soon tugs his face away for a second just to slap his tongue against your pussy, making you whine in pleasure and call out his name, “Cho, oh fuck… are you sure y-you’ve never-”
“Uhuh,” He’s cutting off as he latches his mouth right back onto you, slobbering all over your cunt like it was the only thing keeping him sane and moaning against you.
It’s a filthy mess in between your legs—hickies you hardly remember him leaving decorating your inner thighs, a bite mark or two spotted, sweat and saliva left just everywhere, a few splatters of his spit mixed with your juices, and most importantly, a very disheveled Choso feasting on you with not a care in the world.
You don’t even know if you cum, or how many times you do so because Choso doesn’t stop until you’re trembling underneath him. And because it was his first time, that took quite a while but he didn’t care. His jaw had started to hurt and he thinks his tongue was going numb for a second with how long he’d been in between your legs, slurping your pussy, and using nearly all of his face to please you.
You may not have known if you came but Choso did—swallowing everything you gave him down without a care in the world, letting out a whiney moan every time the slick slithered down his throat, and groaning in pleasure each time you came for him.
He wasn’t even talking as much as he thought he would be because he was too focused on your taste and getting more and more and more of it from you.
Maybe next time you let him do this he’ll be a little more talkative but, for tonight, he had a secret intention of making you squirt—no matter how many hours that may take.
☆ Gojo Satoru — "Why're you sitting so far away?"
The moment you were hit with that infamous question, you knew things were going to go left. Of course, if anyone's hitting you with something so cliche mid-movie, it's Gojo freaking Satoru.
You give your roommate nothing more than a side glance from your eyes, noticing how all his attention is on you, "I'm not that far away, am I?"
Gojo weighs his head to the side, one muscular arm relaxed atop the back stretch of the couch as he cracks that annoying little smirk at you, "You're all the way over thereee," He whines before gesturing a hand to the distance between you and him.
The couch you were on could seat a total of six people and you were roughly an arms length away from the guy so you really didn't know what he expected from you.
All you can do is laugh at his childish antics, "Satoru, you said you wanted to watch a movie with me—not cuddle and watch a movie with me."
He wets his lips before smiling at you, "Well, maybe I want a lil' more now..." To which you scoff and he scooches a bit closer to you, “Plus, the movie’s gettin’ boring.”
You roll your eyes at the guy, “No, you’re just impatient. It’ll pick up in a second, give it some time, ‘Toru.”
God, he loved it when you used that nickname with him. Neither of you remember when you first started using it but you know he likes it and he knows the nickname makes his heart race every time you say it.
“You were seconds away from falling asleep before I said something,” Gojo argues. He’s still gradually scooting closer and closer to you but you don’t even mind it at this point.
He’s always been a man who doesn’t understand the concept of personal space anyway so this doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. Before you know it, the side of Gojo’s thigh is brushing against yours and his arm is right behind you, fingertips dancing near your shoulder.
“I was not,” You protest before finally giving him your full attention. Okay, maybe you had been falling asleep on the movie but you really just wanted a regular movie night with the guy.
…Not whatever it becomes within a few minutes. Because of course the second your eyes are meeting his, his gaze is down on your lips and he’s lowering his voice as if everything was going according to his plan.
Gojo scoffs, “Yeah you were. There’s no need to lie, sweets. If you were getting sleepy, I can think of a few things we can do that’ll keep you awake…”
You swallow and it takes everything in you not to shift away from him because the masculine scent of his expensive cologne is creeping into your nose and you can feel your body heating up simply because of how close he is to you. “Like what?” You practically whisper even though you knew where your question would lead.
And y’know what, you can’t even say you’re mad at where it leads because you’ve had your eyes on Gojo ever since you moved in with him. So when he bluntly offers himself to you with a swift hum of, “We could always fuck,” You’re left speechless for a moment.
Then he’s leaning in and you’re finally looking down at his lips, your breath stuttering with each inch of space that disappears between the two of you until his lips are practically on yours and you feel his skin brushing over you as he speaks.
“You can even keep watching your lil' movie while we do it,” Gojo whispers, “Just say the word and I’ll-“
“Okay,” You huff out faster than you have time to think.
Because who on God’s green earth would deny Gojo Satoru of sex? Especially when he’s so stupidly close to you and staring down at your lips like the lack of connection is driving him to the brink of insanity.
So as soon as your agreement hits his ears, his lips are on yours, and your arms are moving to wrap around his neck to keep him close.
It’s hot, heavy, and even a bit sloppy as he tugs your lips apart for his tongue to slither in. Once Gojo gets that little taste of you, he can’t get enough. Letting out a low grunt into your mouth as his tongue swipes at the corners and crevices of your mouth, hands moving to your waist and then your thigh just to urge you to hurry up and get on top of him, and his body quickly yearning for more and more of you as the seconds pass.
Then you’re on top of him and he’s letting out a groan as you straddle him, your weight plopping down on his crotch and making his hips buck up against you instinctively. Gojo’s pale veiny hands are grabbing a hold of your waist and he’s deepening the kiss with you, feeling eager and almost starved for more.
Pulling away with a messy little cobweb of saliva hanging in between your lips, he grins, “Why didn’t we do this sooner, huh?” Before you can answer, his hands are sliding down to your hips and he’s quick to guide your body against his, making you grind against his growing erection, “‘Know how many times I thought about this?” Gojo huffs.
All you can do is let out a soft pant that fans over his wet lips, “No but, you should tell me all about it while we fuck.”
Then you’re pushing your lips onto his again and his brows are twisting up in pleasure. Things were moving a bit fast but that didn’t stop the wild twitch of Gojo’s cock as your words registered to him.
Tell you about how he’s pictured you like this while he’s buried inside you, huh? Well, whatever his cute roommate wants, she’s sure to get from him.
A few sloppy kisses and teasing grinds later and the two of you are undressing one another. The movie was almost long forgotten until Gojo told you to turn around for him, he still wanted you to enjoy the movie you suggested. As such, he soon has your hands on his knees as you held yourself up, your back facing him, and your body bare above him safe for the lacy blue panties hugging your lower half.
And lord knows Gojo couldn’t hold back his smile when he caught sight of your panites. They matched his eyes. Surely that was no coincidence? Surely you put those on with the intention of this very scenario later playing out, right?
Gojo’s behind you shirtless by this point, his sweatpants messily tugged down just enough so that he could pull his cock out from the confines of his boxers—his blushing pink tip grazing your noticeably soaked panty clad cunt as he does so. He’s got one hand on your hip and the other tightly gripping the base of his thick cock, angling himself just enough so that he can caress your clothed pussy lips with his tip.
His bottom lip gets caught between his teeth as he watches himself slip in between your folds against the wet fabric of your panties. The slick from your cunt was leaking from that pretty lace you had on, glazing and coating his tip with a sexy mix of arousal soon sliding down his cock and causing you to let out the most heavenly little sound he’s ever heard leave your lips.
The noise snaps him out of his daze and he looks up to see your head turned to the side as you look back at him with a gaze of pure need. Gojo’s fat tip slips as his eyes meet yours and you feel him brush up against your clit, making your jaw drop slightly and your hips roll instinctively.
He wasn’t even touching you raw yet and you were already a needy mess. Gojo’s slow to glance down at where his cock is leaving sloppy kisses against your cunt, smirking at the sight all over again, “So wet,” He whispers, “Fuckin’ soaked f’me…”
It sounded as if he were talking to himself, his mind in some sort of daze the longer he rubbed himself against you. The tease of it all was driving you crazy. So much so that all you could do was arch your back a bit more for the man and attempt to grind yourself against his tip.
Your movement makes him groan and you watch as he slowly retracts his hands completely just to watch you lather his cockhead up with your arousal, the small squelches from the movement making his face and ears flush with red.
“S-Shit,” Gojo breathes out. It was like all his confidence and cocky demeanor had flown out the window and, again, he wasn't even inside you yet.
You soon grow tired of the teasing and lift your hips a little, earning a whine from Gojo as your warmth is pulled away from him for less than a second. Then, his eyes were glued to your hand and the way you tug your soaked panties to the side, revealing that pretty pussy of yours to him and making his cock jump in reaction.
Gojo couldn’t even try to lift his hips up to make his cock meet you once more because he was stuck in awe as you lowered yourself once more. Watching your pussy part over his tip was one thing in itself but then how fucking soft and wet you are makes his head fall back against the couch and a groan pour from his mouth.
You watch him move an arm to hold onto the back of the couch and his other hand grips onto the cushion beside him. His abs tense as you wiggle your hips against him, his cock just barely kissing your leaky entrance.
Hell, it almost makes you flinch when he moans, “Put it in,” Gojo pants, his entire body failing to move as the need for you overwhelms him, “Please,” He lets out a whine as you inch down on him ever so slightly, “F-Fuckin’ sit on it, baby-, sit on my cock, please? Wanna be inside you s-so bad.”
His hips twitch and he nearly lifts them just so he can sink the rest of his inches deep inside you— especially when you torture him and lift yourself, causing a brush of air to graze his tip where you two had previously been connected.
“Satoru…” You utter, watching his eyes flicker up to your face. “Did you just whine for me?”
Gojo’s quick to swallow whatever weak sound was about to leave his lips again due to the sultry tone of your voice. “N-No,” He huffs, trying to play off his moment of begging for you, “Course’ not… Just,” He gulps, “Just wanna feel you, c’mon.”
Now you’re the one smirking at him, “Beg for me again,” You whisper, to which a groan gets caught in the middle of his throat.
“What?” Gojo rasps, his body going rigid at your sudden command. Yeah, sure, he just begged for you but it’s different when you tell him to.
The way you chuckle at his confusion makes his body so unbelievably hot and flushed in embarrassment, “You heard me…” You purr, easing yourself back down and riding only his tip for a few seconds, “Beg for me, ‘Toru.”
Gojo’s jaw falls and his eyes drop to his cock again— precum was dripping all down along his veins and he was twitching to feel all of you, “Please?” He breathes out as his brows twist up, “I just…” His hips lift again and he tries to force himself up inside you, “Need it, sweetheart,” Gojo grunts before tossing his head back.
At that, you find yourself satisfied and you’re finally sinking down on his cock just like he wanted you to. Your eyes remain back on his face and the way his eyes roll back as an airy groan leaves his throat.
“Fuuuck,” Gojo moans into the air, his bottom lip quivering at the way your pussy sinks down around him, your sloppy walls making the filthiest squelch the further down you go, up until you stop when he’s only half way in.
Which makes his breath hitch. All he can do is roll his head back into place and look at you, catching the gape look on your face, and the clear struggle your cunt was having. You’re so wet around him that your moisture is just oozing down what’s left of his cock that’s yet to be inside you.
“Sweetheart, please,” Gojo pants, “Need you to sit all the way down,” He hums before moving his hands to your hips.
You let off a moan, “So big, ‘Toru…”
Every fiber of his being almost snapped his hips up into you at the sound of that. You had no idea the things you did to this man—letting out a moan like that, telling him how big he is, and using that goddamn nickname…
He can only nod, “Uhuh, I know, I know,” Then, Gojo’s attempting to collect himself because everytime he speaks in that low tone of his, your cunt is gripping onto his fat cock tighter, “J-Just-, hah, just take your time, sweets.”
That’s the last thing he wanted you to do because half of his cock was feeling absurdly neglected at the moment but, he couldn’t help but want to take things slow. After all, the sex was just to keep you from falling asleep, right?
As such, Gojo tightens his grasp on your hips and helps you ease down another inch or two— a hiss leaving his lips with the way your walls squeeze down on his cock.
“So fucking tight,” He breathes, “R-Relax, sweetheart… gonna make me cum before I even get all the way in.”
You start to lift yourself again as if to escape his thick inches squeezing into you, “S’too much, I-I can’t-“
He’s cutting you off and pulling you right back down with a groan, “Shhh, yes you can-, fuck, yes you can,” Gojo coos, leaning up and helping you sink onto him once more.
A moan of his name leaves your lips at the stretch of his cock, your eyes fluttering shut. Gojo’s steady to ease you all the way down until your cunt is meeting his heavy base, and both of you moan once he’s fully inside you.
You’re both panting in sync as you sit there with his throbbing cock inside you, his hardened tip kissing your sweet spot, and your walls clamping around him with every subtle movement of his hands or your hips.
You end up leaning back against his chest and Gojo buries his face into the crook of your neck, breathing hotly against your skin. His arms wrap around you and it was like he didn’t even need you to move yet. This was perfect for him. Just relishing in the warmth of your pussy for a few minutes, feeling every twitch and every squeeze whenever he kisses you was simply perfect.
The movie that’d been playing in front of the two of you is soon remembered as you return your attention back to it and keep Gojo’s cock sitting inside you with little to no movement for a while.
He was okay with that because, hell, part of him never saw himself even getting this far with you. Although, at some point, without him even saying anything, he feels your hips roll forward and a grunt is ripped from his mouth immediately.
Given his sound, you only grow encouraged to continue and barely lift your hips to bob your cunt up and down a few inches of his cock. The movement was minimal but it was enough for both you and him. Gojo’s hands dance up and down your sides. One moment he’s holding your waist and the next he’s slumping back against the couch and holding onto your hips, watching his cock disappear in and out of you as you ride him in earnest.
“Fuck me,” He ends up moaning. That alone has you bouncing on his cock within a few minutes.
Gojo’s usually so confident and suave with his words and actions but here he was moaning so prettily into the air due to the way you were riding him in reverse. Every roll of your hips and the way your sheeny slick made his cock glisten under the dim living room lighting had him gasping at some point.
He’s pretty sure even you forget about the movie at some point because you’re just throwing your ass back on him over and over again, the constant thwack of your rear against his toned pelvis as you plopped down on him was making his moans come out in a stutter.
You’re pretty sure that if you listened closely enough, you could hear the man choking out some small whimper at some point. But he masks that by giving your cunt one experimental thrust, earning a delicious moan from you.
And of course, it doesn’t stop there. He only continues after that, matching the way your cunt sinks down on him with heavy thrusts as he holds onto your hips for dear life.
“‘T-Toru, fuck, m’close,” You soon whisper.
He hardly hears you because he’s too busy trying not to cum inside you, “You feel so fuckin’ good-, God-, fuuck… s’too good,” Gojo babbles, completely pussydrunk at this point and struggling not to finish before you.
Your pussy’s just gushing around his shaft and he swears he can hardly think at some point. Maybe it was because he hadn’t had sex in a while, or maybe it was just you in general and the way you have the nerve to look back at him again and purposefully clamp your goopy walls down around his cock but, either way, Gojo can’t even warn you before he’s shooting a thick load of cum deep inside you.
One look from you and he was losing his damn mind, throwing his head back in both pleasure and embarrassment, fingertips trembling as his hips stutter, and a shaky groan slipping out from his lips while you just keep going.
Then he faintly hears your voice, “Did you just cum?”
All he can do is give you a hard lucid lil’ nod, “Uhuh,” He breathes, still cumming inside you like he had no care in the world.
His cum is warm against your insides, making his cock a creamy mess as you slide your pussy up and almost all the way off of him just for him to catch sight of the filthy mess he’d just made.
Gojo doesn’t even care at this point because all he does is slam you right back down, the squelch louder than ever and one of his hands snaking around you. He’s quick to bring two thick fingers to your clit and lean up to your ear, “Need you to cum for me now, p-please, I'm s-so fuckin’ embarassed,” He admits right against the shell of your eat hotly.
You can feel his desperation in the way his fingers roll messy and needy little circles around your sensitive bud. Then he’s whispering plead after plead into your ear, his cock throbbing and twitching against your pussy, cum forming a ring of filth around his base, and your mind going blank with how eager he is.
You think you cum after he says something along the lines of, “Need it-, shit, need it sweetheart, need you to cum on me,” through slightly gritted teeth and his voice cracking somewhere at the end of his words…
☆ Nanami Kento — You wouldn't stop moving.
He should've known better than to let you climb into his lap like that. Each time something exciting or interesting would display over the screen ahead, your hips would roll 'n swerve about his lap and his body would tense beneath you.
From the first shift he should've moved you off of him. Hell, from the moment you asked to sit in his lap to "platonically cuddle" he very much should have told you no.
Alas, Nanami is a very simple man, and for you? He's a very simple, perverted man who couldn't pass up the opportunity to feel the weight of you on top of him.
It wasn't long before you could feel him twitching just under the soft curve of your ass, dick begging for some proper attention despite the way his mouth refused to move with the intent of acknowledging it.
And since you happened to be just as much of a pervert as he was, only a couple of his twitches went by before you were moving yourself. You were dizzy between your motions, turning around and giving him glossy fuck-me eyes for a few seconds before his mouth was on yours.
It would've been one thing to have you beside him and squirming about, but what was he supposed to do when you were sat on top of him and gyrating your hips in the most gorgeous of patterns?
Somewhere between his tongue slicking past your lips, his hands had begun to travel the expanse of your skin—leaving no tense inch untouched.
Next thing you know and you're underneath him, falling victim to the repercussions of teasing him via dragging your ass across his lap for one minute too long.
It didn't take much for you to realize Nanami likes rubbing his thick, drooling cockhead in between the syrupy slit of your cunt for what feels like forever before he slips inside you.
He lazily dragged his plump tip around your twitching clit in tantalizing lil’ circles and let out low curses in reaction to the way you drip all against him—making the filthiest mess on the couch below. His steady hands would have the meanest grip on your thighs, keeping you spread nice and wide for him the entire time.
All he’s doing is rutting his hips back and forth and back and forth, watching his fat cock slide against your pussy over and over again. It’s almost more arousing than when he’s inside you.
Nanami loves the expression you make when he does this too. The way your brows twist up right as you grow impatient, the greedy hand you shot down to try and angle him into yourself, and the honeyed whines that exit your throat in such raw desperation.
Those fawn eyes of his would soften at the gorgeous sight of you below him and his cock would throb directly against your soaked folds.
Of course he wants to he inside you, he wants to make you feel good and listen to you moan his name all sweetly but… this—the heavy draggg of his cock all over that drooling hole of yours, the feeling of you lathering him up in aroused slick, and the mix of his precum all makes him dizzy with lust. Plus, it's only fair that he gets back at you for teasing.
Somewhere deep down inside, he actually wanted to finish that movie you put on.
Eventually though, he moved one of his hands and wrapped his fingers around his girthy base, tugging his cock a few centimeters up before slapping the weight of it back down against you and causing the nasty sound to flit into the air. Then he’d do it again.
And again, and again, and again until he can feel your leg twitching beneath his palm. “You want it, huhh?” Nanami would drawl out in that stupidly deep and lust-driven tone of his. “‘Want that cock deep inside you, sweet girl?” He’d slowly angle his tip against your hole but his hips are unmoving.
All you feel is the heat of his cockhead pressing against you, the thickness of it, the fucking throb. You can’t even manage out a reply before he’s just barely pushing into you.
Nanami always stretches you so steadily when he fucks you but, after making you wait for so long you can’t help but crave for him to just thrust every inch in at once. You want that rude stretch, that mean, unforgiving spread of your cunt around every pulsing vein of his cock.
Yet, being such a man of aggravating patience, Nanami pulls back just as quickly as he pushed in. You’re left whining without thought, “Kenn—“
“Hmm?” He’d cut you off in a way that lets you know he did that on purpose.
What a tease.
Then he’s pulling back a bit more and his hand starts moving up and down the length of his dick. You think you can feel a nasty trickle of drool slithering out from the corner of your lips as you watch him selfishly jerk off in front of you.
“Kento please,” You’d breathe out all over again, as if that would get you a different result.
It doesn’t. Instead, Nanami’s hand picks up and you watch his breathing grown heavier just as his eyes flick up to your face. Then he cocks his head to the side, “Tell me how you want it, love.” He’d request all of a sudden.
You’re confused and too horny to think so all you sputter out is an airy, “What?”
Nanami lets out a heavy pant and his lashes flutter a bit. “My cock. Tell me how you want it.” He repeats ever so sternly.
Defiantly, you fight back a groan before mumbling to him, “You know how I—“
“Easyy, sweetheart.” Nanami cuts you off in that cooing voice he knows you love.
His head weighs to the left a bit and you watch the way he brings his free hand up to your face. “Look at me,” He whispers, smiling once your eyes so politely meet his own. “There she is, there’s my gorgeous girl.” The praise, uttered so huskily that you’re left dazed beneath him. “Now, talk to me nice.”
With glossed eyes and a slight pout you can’t seem to control, “Ken,” You mewl, reaching your hand down as you desperately ache to feel him.
As if to taunt you, Nanami watches your hand move with a smirk on his face—his own hand tugging at his cock faster now.
He’s all breathy for a moment as he lets your hand wrap around him and pull him closer to you. “Hm? Is that it?” Your roommate whispers, allowing himself to be guided back to your drooling cunt.
The second his fat tip slips against you again, he’s cursing under his breath and letting his hands go to the underside of your legs.
“Fuck.” Nanami breathes, “Is that how you want it?” Then he swats your hand out of the way and moves his own to your lower abdomen. “All that teasing’s got you desperate for it now, huh?”
You whine and he groans at the sound alone. God, you drove him insane. Just looking at you as you laid beneath him a complete desperate and aching mess would be enough to make him cum.
“Kento,” Your voice finally sounds a bit more steady now and you place your hand over his while sprawling your legs out all the more wider. “Just fuck me already.”
It’s rare but, Nanami flashes this cocky expression before tilting his head, “And if I don’t?”
You can feel yourself soaking his tip even more from his taunting alone. Your brows tense and you’re whining all over again, “Please-,”
He cuts you off, “Mhmm, thaaaat’s it.” Nanami praises as he finally finally starts to push his hips forward, letting his cockhead slide right into you. “Beg for it.”
The hand you have on top of his claws at his skin and your hips lift in an attempt of getting him to push deeper, “Kento, fuck..”
“Beg for that cock, c’mon sweetheart.” He teases again, tugging his hips back as he then starts to fuck only his tip in and out of you. “It’s right there, don’t you want it?” He coos—mocking you now.
“Please,” You’re gasping once he lets himself get an inch in, “Shit, Kento please keep going.”
At that, he can’t help but push all the way in. Nanami could only deny you for so long before he was stretching you nice n’ wide for him, sliding every mean inch of his in until he could feel the bulge beneath his palm.
“Fuck.” He curses sharply, appling a bit a weight to his hand just so he can hear the way you moan out his name. “Look at that,” His hips draw back just barely before he thrusts in again, “Can you really feel me in there? Am I really that deep?”
Your eyes lull on back to your skull and now you’re holding onto his wrist as he works up a mean pace. Nanami hits the spot that’s got you drooling in seconds—fucking you exactly the way he’s learned how to.
It takes you a moment to reply to that question of his since you’re too busy moaning at how his filling you up but eventually you babble a cute, “Uhuh..”
To which a fucked-out smile spreads onto his face and his hand presses down harder “Yeahh? Then cum on it,” He instructs, his thrusts beginning to match pace with the not-so-distant knocking of the headboard against the wall.
He feels the way you’re squeezing around him and sees the utterly slutty expression you’ve got on so of course he encourages your orgasm when he begins to feel it.
“Mhmm, all over me, pretty.” He huffs, letting his hand slip just to rub that gorgeous clit of yours, “Just. Like. That.” He grunts between each pounding thrust of his.
You cry out as you make the sweetest mess around his cock and Nanami can’t help but let out a moan of his own. Watching you shiver through your very hard orgasm, he just has to lean down and press his lips to your ear.
“Such a good girl for me.” He whispers with a deeper and heavier roll of his hips as if to fuck you all the way through it.
caleb just sees you as a sister figure. (he does not)
rating: nsfw/explicit 18+
category: f/m, caleb x reader
tags: childhood friends to lovers, sibling dynamic, reader is the adopted, shared home, multiple scenes, sexual tension, playfights, pseudocest, "big bro" and "sis" are tossed around as teasing, not blood-related, varsity!caleb, annoying!caleb, goofy!caleb, mean!reader, "we aren't siblings though", making each other jealous, size difference, playful manhandling, wrestling, tap out game, "this doesn't count as crossing the line, right?" grinding, dryhumping, slight oral (m!receiving), fingering, caleb is so guilty, p in v, f'ed against a door.
summary: growing up together, the both of you have always used the "sibling" label as a shield against the confusing feelings lingering between you.
PREVIEW : “do you want me to stop playing the sibling part then? do you want me to become something else?” caleb tilted his head, his voice dropping into a soft whisper. “what do you mean... something else?” you ask, and a faint little smile touched the corner of caleb’s lips. “you know, like... a guy. a guy to you.”
wc: 19k
the heat of the mid-noon always makes the wrapper stick to the cheap ice candy you’ve both bought from the corner store since you were kids. it’s a stupidly precise ritual—caleb rips the top off with his teeth, unfazed by the plastic cutting into his lip, and hands the half-melted orange block over to you before taking his own.
the walk back from granny’s nursing home is long enough for the initial heaviness of seeing her frail state to wear off, and it left just the familiar hum of the pavement and caleb’s shoulder occasionally brushing against yours.
“you're still wearing my grey hoodie,” caleb says, dropping his head back to blink up at the sun through the trees. “i almost got late to my class just looking for it.”
“wachu mean? it's mine now,” you take a bite of the ice candy, ignoring the brain freeze. “you left it on my bed months ago. soooo statute of limitations has passed.”
he snorts, shoving his free hand into his pocket. his stride is longer now, with a frame broader than it used to be when you first moved into the house, but the irritating tilt of his head is exactly the same. “that's not how the law works, kiddo. and for the record, it fits you like a fucking tent. it looks ridiculous.”
“it's comfortable.”
“it smells like you now, anyway. probably covered in whatever vanilla lotion you're obsessed with.” caleb stops mid-stride, turning his head to look down at you as a teasing smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. “actually, did you shrink it? or did you just borrow it because you ran out of laundry day options again? also, right, i swear to god, if you're wearing my boxers as shorts around the house again, i’m putting a padlock on my dresser.”
you roll your eyes, but your heart does a small trip behind your ribs. “...it was one time. and they were clean! besides, they have a better drawstring than mine.”
“they're men's underwear, you absolute menace,” he laughs, an easy sound that vibrates in the space between you. “what is your future husband even going to say when he finds out you steal your brother's underwear?”
“you aren't my brother.” you make a popping sound on your ice candy.
“hmm, alright, baby sis.”
“and i'll tell my future hubby he has to share his clothes too, if he's half as dramatic as you, i'll just divorce him.”
“nah.” caleb leans in while still walking, his eyes gleaming with that familiar mischief. “whoever you marry is going to have to deal with me first. i’m going to be the worst brother-in-law in human history. i’ll show up at your house at two in the morning just to tell him all the embarrassing stories from when you were nine.”
“you wouldn't dare.”
“try me,” he suddenly reaches out and plants his thumb right against the corner of your lip, wiping away a stray drop of melting orange ice. his skin is warm, rougher than it used to be, and his thumb lingers for just a beat too long against your skin before he pulls it back. “you've got sticky stuff on your face, as usual.”
you blink, your throat suddenly feeling dry despite the ice candy. you look away first, focusing hard on the cracked pavement ahead.
as you arrive back at home, the heavy front door clicks shut behind you, sealing out the heat and replacing it with the slightly hollow coolness of the house. without granny there, the air feels different—thicker, somehow, and much too big for just the two of you.
caleb dumps his keys on the entryway bowl with a loud clatter, already peeling off his sneakers with his feet without unlacing them. “god, i'm starving,” he walks straight toward the kitchen island, pulling a cutting board from the rack. “i'm making those wraps from the leftover chicken. you want one?”
”yeah,” you mutter, slumping against the kitchen counter, watching his broad back as he reaches into the fridge. he moves with the effortless familiarity of someone who owns every square inch of the space. he’s got his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the muscles in his forearms shifting as he grabs a knife and starts chopping lettuce like a husband material.
“hey, you watered the ferns by the window sill today, right? gran said they need a misting every morning or the leaves start turning yellow.” he says casually, not breaking his pace with the knife.
silence...
your eyes darted toward the living room window where the row of clay pots sits under the harsh sunlight. the soil looks bone-dry. fuck, you completely forgot! again!
caleb pauses his chopping, “so you didn't.”
“i-i was going to!” you blurt out, immediately spinning on your heel to head toward the sink to grab the watering can. “i'm doing it right now, see? i just got distracted by the—”
“uh-uh. too late.”
before your fingers can even touch the plastic handle of the watering can, a pair of heavy arms wraps around your waist from behind. caleb instantly lifts you clean off your feet! with a grunt of easy effort, he pivots, hoisting you over his shoulder like a literal sack of rice. the sudden rush of gravity sends your head rushing with your stomach pressing into his shoulder.
“you—?! caleb! put me down, you idiot!”
“how many times do i have to tell you, pips? gran is literally going to haunt us from the nursing home if her pothos dies,” he grumbles, totally unfazed by your squirming as he marches into the living room. “this is the hundredth time this week. you have such a short-term memory.”
“i just forgot, okay?! let go!”
“nope. punishment.”
he dumps you unceremoniously onto the plush cushions of the couch. and before you can even scramble to sit up and escape, caleb instantly drops his weight over you, pinning your thighs down with his knees and digging his fingers straight into your ribs.
“caleb—no! stop! fuck, caleb, i'm sorry!” you shriek, throwing your head back into the pillows while your entire body convulses into a breathless laughter. you twist and writhe beneath him, but he’s too heavy, his hands finding every single ticklish spot along your waist.
“say you're sorry to the plants,”
“i'm sorry! i'm sorry to them! i'll water them with my tears, just stop!” you gasp, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from laughing so hard. you try to push his chest, your hands sliding against the thin fabric of his t-shirt. but shit isn't he huge.
caleb just laughs, a breathlessly rough sound, and catches your wrists, pinning them over your head into the cushions. he traps you just to lean down so close you can smell the faint scent of the ice candy on his breath. it turns into a messy grunting wrestling match, your legs flailing against his hips as you try to dislodge him.
“aw, you're so weak,” he taunts, his chest rising and falling heavily against yours. “how are you gonna—”
but out of pure survival instinct, you wrench one leg free and drive your knee straight upward, landing a blunt kick into his stomach.
hiya!
“umf—!” a sharp intake of air cuts his laugh off, and his face contorts in genuine pain for a second, his grip tightening instinctively.
“oh my god, are you okay—?”
“you little brat,” out of sheer retaliation and to neutralize your defense, caleb reaches down and grabs your ankle in a vicelike grip. with a heavy shove of his forearm, he pushes your leg wide across the back cushion, effectively pinning your knees completely apart to lock you down.
what the fuck, wait.
the position is suddenly so intimate.
you are open beneath him, legs spread wide and hips locked under his, and the sheer weight of his frame is utterly undeniable. it's annoying how your heart thumps violently against your ribs now—no, not from laughter, but it's from a dizzying wave of ...heat.
but caleb is just blinking down at you, his chest still heaving from the exertion. his hand is still wrapped tightly around your ankle, fingers burning hot against your bare skin. he’s looking at your face with a slightly annoyed puff of air escaping his lips while he nurses his stomach with his other hand.
“you seriously fucking kick like a mule,” he mutters, ignoring—or totally oblivious to—the fact that he is holding you in a position that feels too inappropriate for two people who share a last name on an adoption certificate. but he doesn't let go. he just hovers there. “should i leave you like this till lunch is done?”
you force your voice not to tremble, swallowing down the dry lump of panic in your throat. “get the fuck off me, caleb. seriously. you’re being weird.”
caleb raises a brow, his head tilting to the side as he stares down at you. “weird? what's weird about this? the only thing weird here is that you just broke my ribs with your knee and you haven't even apologized.” he lets out a scolding click of his tongue, his hand tightening around your ankle just enough to remind you that you aren't going anywhere. “matter of fact, you need a punishment for that. you gotta learn your place, you little girl.”
“caleb, don't—”
before you can even finish the sentence, caleb leans down. without a hint of hesitation, he sinks his teeth straight into the soft flesh just below the hem of your shorts.
your breath hitches sharply, the sudden sting of his teeth sending a jolt straight down your spine. and he bites down even harder! the pressure of his jaw leaving a deep, burning ache against your skin.
“okay! okay, fuck i'm sorry!” you whimper, hands clawing futilely at the couch cushions. “i'm sorry, caleb,”
he finally releases your skin, but the playful retort you're expecting doesn't come.
he's strangely quiet.
and for a second, it feels like there is something complicated inside his head. his eyes are unreadable as they track the red imprint of his teeth on your leg.
“caleb...?”
he leans in even closer, his shadow completely engulfing you. your eyes widen as he buries his face right into the crook of your neck while his nose brush against your collarbone.
what the hell is he doing? what is he pulling right now?
how can he be so comfortable doing this? how can he just occupy your space so ruthlessly while you're paralyzed like this beneath him?
you feel the warm puff of his breath against your bare skin as he takes an inhale. his nose slides lower, brushing past your jaw, trailing a path of goosebumps down to the heat of your chest before he takes another long sniff. you can feel the exact weight of his chest pressing into yours, the hard line of his thighs pinning you open.
but the sudden groan coming from him wakes you up.
“knew it. you used my body wash again,” he finally pulls back, sitting up on his knees but still hovering over you. there's that familiar scowl returning to his face. “i knew i wasn't crazy. ugh you're really annoying, pipsss.”
ah. oh. alright.
that was it.
the suffocating knot in your chest uncoils, a wave of dizzying relief—and a bitter sting of disappointment—washing over you. it was just because of a body wash. not because he was looking at you differently. not because he felt the same pull that you did. it was just caleb being caleb.
“it smells better than mine,” you manage to choke out, forcing your voice back into its usual defensive cadence even as your heart refuses to slow down.
“buy your own.” he finally lets go of your ankle and pulls his weight off you.
that was your life with caleb.
the house, once bursting at the seams with granny’s presence and the sweet smell of her liniment, suddenly feels too big for just the two of you. it's a stage built for a larger cast, yet only you and caleb remain to play house in the quiet.
every saturday morning is the same. you both pack her favorite soft biscuits into a tin container, ride the bumpy bus down to the bright walls of the nursing home, and sit by her bed. and then caleb would play the part of the dutiful grandson—smiling wide, kissing her paper-thin cheek, laughing at jokes she’s told a hundred times before. but then sunday night rolls around, and the silence settles back into the floorboards like dust.
then come the weekdays when college classes split your schedules into mismatched pieces. there are quiet mornings where you wake up to the smell of burnt toast and find a messy note scribbled on a napkin: leftover rice is mine, touch it and die. there are rainy afternoons where you sit alone in the living room, listening to the water hit the glass and wondering if his lecture ran late or if he’s simply loitering somewhere else.
then, your life with caleb became a collection of tiny petty wars fought in the shadows of granny’s absence. you steal his oversized socks because yours are all lost in the dryer. he retaliation-hides your favorite hair clips in the freezer. you scream at him for leaving his damp towel on the bathroom floor; he barks back at you for leaving the milk carton empty inside the fridge. it's the noisy camouflage you both wear so nobody looks too closely at the spaces where your skins accidentally linger, or the way his eyes track your movements when he thinks you aren't paying attention.
until the afternoon it breaks.
it happens on a tuesday, right in the crowded heat of the university's cafeteria hall. you're sitting across a guy from your major block, sharing a plate of fries and talking about a group project. it's entirely innocent, entirely mundane... but then a shadow falls over the plastic table, and you look up to find caleb standing there.
sliding into the seat right next to you, uninvited, he slung a heavy arm over the back of your chair and grinned a bright smile at your terrified classmate.
“so, who's the friend, (name)?” caleb had asked, and for the rest of the day, and all through the walk home, he had relentlessly poked at you.
is he your boyfriend?
does he know you still wet your bed?
should i invite him over for tea so i can interrogate him?
he laughed and nudged your shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief, but beneath the playful banter, there was... something else?
which brings you to friday night.
the old grandfather clock in the living room ticks with a rhythmic thud that echoes through the empty house.
11:03 pm.
you're curled up on the edge of the sofa, the screen of your phone casting a blue glow across your face. you’ve already sent seven texts to him. you’ve called three times, each one going straight to voicemail, the robotic operator telling you what you already know: he isn't answering.
where the hell is he?
caleb never stays out this late without a word? he's the dependable one, the good boy who always sends a quick text to let you know if he's grabbing drinks with his friends or staying late at the library. but tonight, there is nothing. just the empty house and the sickeningly dark windows staring back at you. your chest feels tight, a heavy knot of anxiety twisting in your gut. is he with someone? did he finally decide to try his luck with one of the girls who always leave comments on his photos?
screech!
you almost jumped out of your skin when the front gates sounded with a sudden noise, which means... caleb is finally home.
seconds later, the main door unlocks with a clumsy, fumbling click. and when it swings open, caleb is standing in the threshold, the cool night air rolling in behind him. he looks like a complete mess with his varsity jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder, uniform shirt half-untucked, wrinkling out from beneath a dark hoodie.
you don’t even give him a chance to step fully inside before you cross the living room, your bare feet slapping angrily against the cold floorboards. “where the hell have you been? why didn't you text me back? i called you several times!”
caleb doesn't shoot back with his usual retort. instead, he just stands there, blinking down at you through slightly unfocused eyes. a slow, crooked smile creeps onto his face, looking incredibly stupid and entirely too relaxed. as he steps closer, the sweet-and-sour sting of alcohol hits your nose.
so he’s drunk.
“hey,” he mumbles, his voice thick and dropping an octave lower than usual. “you're still awake.”
“obviously i'm still awake! i was worried sick, you absolute—”
you couldn't even finish yourself before he suddenly tilts forward, his entire upper body collapsing right against your shoulder. your breath instantly gets knocked out of you as your arms instinctively fly up to catch him, fingers digging into the thick fabric of his hoodie. damn, he is heavy. the broad weight of his chest presses completely into yours, burying his face right into the crook of your neck as he lets out a long, hot sigh against your skin.
“did you drink? caleb, are you fucking serious?” you strain against his weight, your heart doing a panicked dance behind your ribs. “get off me! where did you even go?”
“just... a house party, some guys invited me. didn't check my phone.” he muttered into your shoulder.
a sharp spike of jealousy and irritation then flares up in your gut. the thought of him surrounded by crowded rooms, flashing lights, and girls trying to get his attention makes you lose your temper. with a frustrated grunt, you plant both hands against his chest and shove him away with all the strength you have left, throwing him straight backward onto the couch cushions.
caleb hits the plush sofa with a heavy thud, his limbs sprawling out awkwardly. “fuck—!” he winces, a sharp groan slipping past his lips as he rubs his shoulder, glaring up at you through his messy hair. “what the hell? that actually hurt.”
“good! you deserve it!” you snap, crossing your arms tightly over your chest to stop your hands from shaking. “just because you’re in college and granny isn't here to monitor you doesn't mean you can just run around doing whatever you want! going to parties, drinking until you can barely walk... did you kiss someone? did you do something stupid? are you trying to get yourself kicked out?”
caleb just stares up at you from the cushions, his irritated expression suddenly melting away into an amused chortle. the sound rumbles deep in his throat, dark and dripping with that infuriatingly lazy charm.
“look at you,” he giggles, a breathlessly drunken sound as he throws his head back against the sofa. “you’re acting exactly like a mother. it’s hilarious.”
“i'm trying to look out for you, you idiot.”
“why do you even care so much?” caleb asks, his laughter suddenly cutting off. he rolls his head to the side, eyes locking onto yours. “it’s not like we're actually blood-related, pipsqueak. you don't have to keep tabs on me like i'm your real brother.”
the living room goes dead silent.
the grandfather clock ticks loudly in the background, but the sound feels miles away. you freeze in place, your tongue suddenly turning to lead, your eyes wide as you blink down at him. not blood-related. well, it’s the absolute truth, the reality you both dance around every single day, yet hearing him say it out loud feels like a line has been... crossed.
you swallow down the bitter taste of hurt and confusion, forcing your expression into a blank mask. “fine, do whatever you want. drink yourself to death for all i care.”
without waiting for a response, you spin on your heel and walk away. you march down the hallway, slip into your bedroom, and shut the door firmly behind you, clicking the lock into place before leaning your back against the wood.
back in the living room, caleb stays exactly where you left him, staring up at the shadow-drenched ceiling.
the stupid smile completely vanishes from his face, replaced by a bitter twist of his lips. “ahah...” he runs a frustrated hand over his face, fingers dragging through his hair as he lets out a sharp exhale into the quiet house.
god, he hates it. he absolutely loathes the sibling label the two of you have used as a shield for the last ten years. he hates that the only way he can get you to look at him with that much intensity, the only way he can pull those reactions out of you, is by pretending to be the very thing he wishes he wasn't.
—
by the following week, the threads holding your carefully constructed reality together begin to fray and knot in ways you can't control.
the afternoon sun is heavy and suffocating when you finally push the front gate of your house open after a brutal three-hour lecture block. your feet ache and your shoulders are stiff from carrying a backpack loaded with textbooks, and on top of that, your stomach is letting out an aggressive growl. the only thing keeping you moving up the driveway was the thought of caleb’s cooking. for all his agonizing flaws, the boy knew how to handle a kitchen and you were ready to swallow your pride if it meant getting a plate of his garlic rice.
you twist the doorknob, stepping into the familiar coolness of the entryway. “caleb, i'm starving, did you leave any—”
the words die in your throat.
the living room, usually your shared sanctuary of quiet television static and stolen snacks, is suddenly alive with noise. the tv screen flashes with the chaotic colors of a multiplayer racing game with the volume cranked up high. and there, sitting cross-legged right on the carpet across the floor, are two people.
caleb is leaning forward, jaw tight with mock seriousness as his thumbs fly across the controller, and right next to him... is hyeran.
you know exactly who she is. she’s in the same year and department as caleb’s, one of those effortlessly pretty girls who always seem to be at the center of caleb’s university friend group, laughing a little too loudly at his jokes by the campus benches. right now, she’s screaming in frustration, her shoulder bumping solidly into caleb’s as her car spins out on the screen. in response, caleb throws his head back, letting out a boisterous laugh that you rarely hear him share with anyone outside these walls.
the sudden clatter of your keys hitting the entryway bowl cuts through the noise like a knife.
caleb and hyeran pauses mid-game, turning their heads simultaneously to look at you standing there in your wrinkled uniform.
shit. this is fucking awkward.
“oh! hey, pips!” caleb doesn't scramble up or look guilty; he just offers a lazy wave of his controller. “you're home early. lecture got cut short?”
“uh, yeah,” you force out, your throat feeling suddenly tight as you grip the straps of your backpack. you adjust your expression, plastering on a polite smile that feels completely hollow against your cheeks. “hi, hyeran.”
“hi, (name)! oh my gosh, sorry for the noise,” hyeran chimes in, offering a warm smile that makes your stomach do a bitter flip. she looks so perfectly at home sitting on your living room rug, her canvas bag spilled open near granny’s favorite armchair. “your big bro told me i could borrow his notes, and then trapped me into playing this stupid game.”
you blink.
he isn't my fucking big bro.
“don't lie, you wanted the rematch,” caleb jests, nudging her with his elbow.
“i'm just going to... grab a snack.” you mutter, desperately needing a barrier between yourself and the display on the floor.
you walk past them, your eyes locked firmly ahead as you retreat behind the kitchen island counter. the kitchen layout is an open-concept, completely overseeing the living room, meaning there is nowhere to hide. you can see everything. to keep your hands busy and stop them from shaking, you pull a bowl of apples and a small paring knife toward you.
you begin peeling the fruit, the sharp blade slicing through the red skin in one continuous ribbon.
“caleb mentioned you're still a freshman, right?” hyeran asks, twisting her torso around to lean against the edge of the sofa, looking up at you over the counter with curiosity. “how is it? 'cause when i was in your shoes, i can baaaarely handle the workload.”
“it's fine. just a lot of memorization,” you cut a slice of the apple, popping it into your mouth and chewing. “you just have to manage your time. which some people in this house clearly don't know how to do.”
“hey, i heard that. (name) loves to pretend she's the responsible one, hyeran. don't let the uniform fool you. she literally forgot to water granny's plants thrice last week.” caleb interjects, not looking back as he unpauses the game.
“it was only once, you liar.”
“whatever helps you sleep at night, sis.”
hyeran giggles, turning back to the screen as the countdown for the next round starts. “you two really argue like real siblings, it's so cute. my brothers just ignore me.”
siblings. there it is again. that stupid, suffocating word.
you stand behind the counter, a half-peeled apple in one hand and the paring knife in the other, then you look at caleb.
he’s doing this on purpose, is he? you know him too well not to see the edge beneath his playful demeanor. he’s showing you what life looks like when he plays by the rules you both set—the rules that say he is just a brother, and that he is perfectly free to bring other girls into the house you share.
caleb and hyeran continue to play the last few rounds of the game, their voices rising in cheerful bursts of laughter that fill the empty space where granny used to be. and you can only stand there, chewing on your tasteless fruit, staring at the back of caleb’s head with a sarcastic scowl.
this little bitch.
if this is the game, then you're going to be a better player.
if caleb wants to play a game of boundaries, you are going to show him exactly how it feels to have the board flipped. two can play the petty game of bringing people into a space where they don’t belong. if he can bring his shiny giggling friend into the living room, then you are going to give a certain someone else the time of day.
the very next morning, you seek out valko.
valko is the kind of blockmate who has spent the last semester treating your existence like a personal challenge. he’s loud, entirely too confident, and has spent months throwing flirty remarks your way—advances you’ve always shot down with a sharp roll of your eyes or a cold shoulder. so when you walk straight up to his desk before the morning lecture, leaning against the wood and offering a small smile, the confusion on his face was almost comical.
“you're... talking to me? no biting remarks? no telling me to get lost?” valko's eyebrows shot up as he stops shuffling through his tablet.
“maybe i'm just tired of being mean,” you say smoothly, tilting your head in a way you know looks casual, though your pulse is racing for an entirely different reason. “can't a blockmate just be friendly?”
valko isn’t a fool, but he’s certainly not going to complain about a sudden miracle. by the time the final bell rings at four in the afternoon, he’s already dangling his car keys between his fingers, blocking your path out of the lecture hall with a triumphant grin. “hey, since we're being friendly now, (name), let me give you a ride home. the clouds look heavy anyway. don't want you catching a cold.”
you hesitate for a fraction of a second, thinking of the dusty pavement and the walk you usually take, but then you picture caleb’s stupidly smug face from yesterday. “sure!” you say clearly, loud enough for a few surrounding classmates to hear. “thanks, valko.”
the walk to the student parking lot earns you exactly what you wanted: stares. a lot of them. whispers ripple through the department cliques as you slide into the passenger seat of valko’s surprisingly clean sedan. word travels fast on campus, and you know for a fact that caleb’s friends hang around the same smoking area right outside the parking exit.
the drive to your house is filled with the low hum of the air conditioner and valko’s easy chatter. but as the car finally pulls up along the familiar front gates of your house, the atmosphere inside the vehicle turns... awkward.
valko cuts the engine, his hands lingering on the steering wheel as he looks at the closed facade of the house. “so,” valko clears his throat, his eyes darting toward the front door. “your, uh... your big brother. caleb. is he home?”
you blink, “probably. why?”
valko lets out a short laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “nnnothing, it's just... that guy is terrifyingly annoying. i saw that hunk staring at me in the cafeteria last week like he wanted to fuckin' dissect me. i don’t really fancy getting my head bitten off just because i drove his little sister home.”
you let out a breathless chuckle, the word sister grating against your nerves like sandpaper. you reach for the door handle, turning back to look at valko. “you don't have to worry about him, valko. and for the record... caleb and i aren't real siblings. we're not blood-related at all. his granny just took me in.”
valko’s eyebrows twitch upward, a sudden glint of renewed interest lighting up his eyes. “oh. seriously? huh. i didn't know that.”
“yep! well. thanks for the ride,” you say, pushing the car door open and stepping out into the humid afternoon air.
but valko doesn't just let you leave. he rolls down the passenger side window immediately, leaning over the console to keep the thread of the conversation tightly pulled. “hey, (name), wait—so if he's not your actual brother, does that mean i don't need his permission to take you out for real next time?”
valko cheekily smiles.
you idle right outside his side of the window, your fingers gripping the strap of your bag, keeping your expression light and teasing even as your eyes instinctively drift toward the glass of the living room window. “maybe, haha, you'll just have to ask nicely...”
“pipsqueak!”
the familiar shout cuts through the air. you immediately turn your head toward the source, only to see caleb jogging down the sidewalk toward the driveway with a bright smile splitting his face. before you can even process what he's up to, he closes the distance, throws his heavy arms around your waist, and lifts you clean off the asphalt.
he spins you around in a breathlessly joyful circle, his laughter vibrating hard against your chest.
“caleb! what's up? put me down!” you frown in utter confusion, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance. inside the sedan, valko’s eyebrows knit together, his frown deepening by the second.
“you know what's up?” caleb sets you back down but doesn't let go. his large hands stay clamped firmly onto your upper arms, his eyes wide and gleaming with pure excitement. “we won, pips! our team won the interschool championship game!”
and because of that, the bitterness from the past week evaporates. your eyes light up, a wide smile breaking across your face. “oh my god, seriously? that’s amazing!”
“i know!” he laughs, pulling you back into an another tightly crushing hug. like he's using you as a lightning rod for all his manic energy, burying his face in your hair and all that.
thwack!
the car door behind caleb suddenly flies open, the heavy edge of the metal panel smacking squarely into his lower back.
“ah—” caleb winces, a sharp groan escaping him as he stumbles forward, forced to break his hold on you. he wheels around, eyes instantly hardening into something cold when valko steps out of the sedan.
“oops, sorry about that, mate,” valko grins, pulling his lips into an awkward one. “i didn't see you standing right in the swing of the door. anyway-uh, i'm valko, (name)'s blockmate.”
caleb straightens up to his full height, his broad shoulders squaring as he looks at the guy. the warm, golden-boy smile he gives valko is entirely rigid. “right, valko. i've heard. what brings you to our driveway?”
“just driving (name) home from campus,” valko replies, matching caleb’s forced courtesy. “and making sure she got back safe. well... you must be the big brother she mentioned.”
“something like that,”
“uhm, valko was just—” you stepped between them to clear up the mounting friction, but valko cuts you off completely.
he looks caleb straight in the eye, tilting his chin up. “actually, since you're here, i think it's only fair to tell you directly. i've decided i'm going to start courting (name).”
“cough, what?”
what?
both you and caleb widen your eyes, the world going dead silent.
“and honestly, man,” valko adds, crossing his arms and offering a smug tilt of his chin before either of you can even draw breath, “you probably shouldn't be hugging her too easily like that anymore. since, you know, i’m going to start dating her.”
you internally facepalm so hard your brain rattles. oh my god. what did you just get yourself into? valko had completely, catastrophically misread the entire situation. he thought he was playing the part of the chivalrous alpha suitor, oblivious to the fact that he was currently standing in a radioactive strike zone.
but then, a part of your brain clicks into gear. you wanted a reaction out of caleb, didn't you? you wanted to wipe that infuriatingly smug, "i-can-bring-girls-to-the-house" look off his face. maybe this trainwreck of a misunderstanding was exactly what you needed.
you let out a sigh, turning away from caleb to face valko with a perfectly practiced look. “it's fine, valko. caleb is just... a guy i grew up with. really. nothing else. just two kids who happened to live under the same roof.”
valko blinks, processing this, his chest puffing out a little more. “so... like childhood friends?”
“yeah!” you nod quickly, your tone a little too casual and a little too dismissive. “yeah, exactly. childhood friends. that's the perfect way to describe us.”
from the corner of your eye, you feel the exact moment caleb’s gaze burns into the side of your face. you glance up at him, and sure enough, he is staring down at you with a sarcastic scowl—the exact, burning, “this-little-bitch” look you had given him behind the kitchen counter yesterday. the silent, petty warfare is screaming between you two.
valko, blind to the silent daggers being thrown over his head, scoffs and shakes his head. “right. childhood friends. uh, honestly, i don't really buy that whole thing. there’s no way a guy and a girl can just be friends without something else going on. it’s usually just an excuse to keep someone within arm's reach.”
your heart does a nervous, jittery little skip. you quickly scramble to patch up the defense before valko digs too deep into the truth. “no, it's not like that at all! caleb is... he's like a brother to me. we're basically siblings.”
“but we... aren't siblings though.”
caleb’s voice cuts through your sentence like a blunt blade.
you freeze, your tongue going dry as you slowly pause and look up at him.
“i'm not your brother, (name).”
what the actual hell is he talking about?
your hands go hot and sweaty against your side. this is the exact same guy who, just a few days ago while dead drunk, threw the “not blood-related” card in your face to push you away and tell you to mind your own business. he was the one reinforcing the stupid label, using it as a shield to bring other girls around—and now, right in front of the guy who just announced he wants to court you, he’s arguing the exact opposite?
you stand there completely wordless, the nervous jittery tension tight enough to snap. valko shifts his weight across caleb, looking suddenly confused by the sudden shift in the air, but caleb doesn't even glance back at him.
he keeps his eyes entirely on you.
valko clicks his tongue.
“right,” he blurted out, deliberately stepping sideways to cut off caleb’s line of sight and forcing his way back into your field of vision. “anyway! you look kind of... tight right now, (name), like your shoulders are up to your ears. there's that street-food stall down the block that sells those pork dumplings. why don't we go grab a plate? my treat. it'll help you unwind.”
your brain, currently fried from caleb, scrambles for a normal human response. “oh—uh, dumplings? i mean, i guess i could—i mean, sure, that sounds—”
“‘oh—uh, dumplings? i mean, i guess i could-’” caleb instantly parroted, his voice pitching into a ridiculous falsetto that sounded absolutely nothing like you. he slouched his shoulders, batting his eyelashes in a grotesque mimicry of modesty that made your fist twitch. “‘i guess i could eat a little dumpling, valko!’”
valko raised a brow.
“caleb, shut up!”
“i'm just saying,” caleb hummed at you, casually sliding his hand into his pocket to pull out his phone. his thumb swiped across the screen with a smirk. “i should probably just dial up gran's unit real quick. let the nursing staff hold the receiver up to her ear so i can tell her that her precious adopted granddaughter is already out here in the driveway, ignoring her chores, just to eat cheap meat down the street with random guys from the university.”
he tilted his head, giving you a look of fabricated pity.
“man, she’s going to get reeaaally upset, pips. you know how her blood pressure gets when she finds out you're being irresponsible.”
“you wouldn't dare!” you gasped, your lungs seizing up. granny loved you, but she was a traditional woman who would absolutely launch a long-distance lecture about decorum through the phone lines if caleb fed her some twisted version of reality. “give me that!”
you lunged forward, throwing your weight against his side as you reached wildly for the device. but caleb had been anticipating the movement since the moment you took a breath. with a delighted chuckle, he simply straightened his spine, extending his long arm straight up into the air. because he had grown nearly a foot taller than you over the last three years, the phone might as well have been on the roof of the house.
“come on, grab it, pipsqueak,” he was solid as a brick wall! his chest vibrating against your forehead as he laughed down at your frustration. “you’re too short it's embarrassing.”
“caleb, i swear to god, drop your arm right now or i will kick you again!”
“hey, (name).”
you paused, breathless and flushed, looking back over your shoulder. valko had stepped closer, his expression a mix of irritation at being ignored and a tryhard desire to look like the savior of the narrative. before you could scramble away from caleb's side, valko reached out and gently wrapped his fingers around your right wrist.
“don't worry about him,” valko said, giving your wrist a soft, encouraging tug toward the open street. “come on, let's just go get the food. ignore the noise.”
the physical touch sent a strange jolt of awkwardness through you, and you instinctively took a step forward, your shoes clicking against the pavement while valko started walking you down the street.
snap.
a second basket of heat clamped down around your left wrist.
you blinked in utter surprise, your head whipping back around so fast your neck cracked.
caleb had also... wrapped his fingers around your opposite wrist. your right arm was pulled toward valko; your left arm was locked tight by caleb. you were literally being pulled in two different directions like a wishbone.
you stared at caleb, your heart doing a series of unpredictable thuds against your ribs. “what is up with you today, caleb...?”
“what?” he murmured, giving your arm a tiny, playful yank back toward his chest. “i want to eat dumplings too.”
—
and then, there you were.
the plastic stool beneath you wobbles every time someone passes the cramped table, but that's the least of your concerns. the air inside the tiny stall feels thick with the steam of boiling pork broth and the sting of chili oil. meanwhile, you're squeezed into the center of a very narrow wooden bench, a literal buffer zone between two opposite poles.
to your right is valko, leaning his elbow on the table and entirely absorbed in trying to keep your attention locked on him. then, to your left is caleb. he hasn't uttered a single syllable since you all sat down, choosing instead to stare ahead like a brooding gargoyle while a single plate of steaming dumplings sits between the three of you.
“no, seriously, (name),” valko shakes his head with a wide grin while he dips a dumpling into a small saucer of soy sauce. “professor actually looked me dead in the eye during the anatomy practical. i swear the man has a personal vendetta against me.”
you let out a breathless laugh. “maybe if you didn't sketch caricatures of him, he’d give you some grace.”
valko chuckles back, his shoulder nudging yours beneath the cramped table space. “hey, that was art. it showed appreciation for his eyebrows.”
slurrrrrp. smack. clack.
the sudden loud sound of chopsticks scraping against a plastic bowl cuts right through your shared laughter.
you blink, your head snapping toward the left side of the bench. caleb has his face nearly buried in his bowl as he takes a dripping piece of garlic-chili cabbage, shoves it into his mouth, and smacks his lips together with an obnoxious noise.
valko's grin falters slightly, his eyes darting over your head toward caleb. but caleb doesn't even look back. he just reaches across the small table, his long arm deliberately cutting off valko's view of you, and stabs another dumpling with such unnecessary force that the wrapper splits open with a wet pop.
“anyway,” you say quickly, your cheeks turning a frantic shade of pink as you try to steer the conversation back before caleb derails the establishment. “so... did you fail the practical or what?”
“uh, no, i managed a passing grade," valko says, clearing his throat and trying to ignore the absolute menace sitting next to you. “but after that, i had to spend two hours in the library just trying to—”
crunch. crunch. crunch.
caleb has now unearthed a bag of fried pork rinds from his pocket, snapping them between his teeth with a crunch. he leans back against the wooden bench, long legs splayed wide under the tiny table—his knee bumping solidly against yours with an insistence that makes you grind your teeth.
you glare at him, this little bitch is doing this on purpose.
caleb finally rolls his head over to look down at you. he takes another obnoxious bite of a pork rind, chewing it open-mouthed while raising a mocking eyebrow at you, like he was daring you to say something about it in front of your new suitor.
valko clears his throat, determined to plow through caleb's warfare like a true soldier of romance. he leans in a little closer, voice dropping into what he clearly thinks is an intimate tone. “so, anyway... since the weather's supposed to be nice this weekend, i was thinking maybe we could head down to that new cafe by the harbor? the one with the outdoor seating? we could—”
shrrrrrk!
caleb hooks his shoe around the bottom rung of your stool and, with one casual yank of his leg, slides your entire body a whole foot to the left. you instantly collide with his side, your shoulder smacking right against his solid bicep.
“what the...” you gasp, your hands flying out to grip the edge of the greasy table so you don't tip over.
but caleb doesn't even look up from his plate. he casually scoops up the last dumpling, pops it into his mouth, and speaks around it with unbothered calm. “hurry up and finish eating. we have to get back. we still have to feed our pet.“
you blink, your eyebrows nearly disappearing into your hairline. “since when do you care about the turtle?”
“i've always cared about him,” caleb turns his head to look down at you. “he's a vital member of the household.”
“i'm the only one who ever feeds him? you haven't touched his pellet container since 2024.”
“people change, sis. i've formed a bond with him over the last twenty-four hours,” caleb hums, a tiny smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as his knee bumps against yours under the table again. “and right now, he's starving. we're being bad parents. so eat.”
meanwhile, valko sits on the right side of the table, his mouth slightly open. he looks at your stool, which is now physically closer to caleb than it is to him, and lets out a long defeated breath through his nose. he clearly wants to argue, but trying to debate the nutritional schedule of a reptile with a guy who looks like he could bench-press the entire dumpling stall seems like a losing battle.
so the poor guy chooses to remain quiet.
—
the very second the lock of the house clicked shut, your polite “public” face melted completely away, and you turned into a breathing volcano. “you are an actual child, caleb!” you started prattling instantly, tossing your heavy backpack onto the floor with a loud thud. your words tumbled out in a rush as you kicked off your shoes. “seriously, what was that? pulling my stool? making those obnoxious caveman noises? you were being a weirdo and an annoying prick for absolutely no reason. i feel so bad for...”
you spun around to give him a piece of your mind, but you paused.
there caleb was, leaning lazily against the doorway with his big arms crossed over his chest. he was staring down at you with a massive sarcastic scowl. ugh! he even had the nerve to look at you like youwere the one who had just ruined a perfectly good dumpling date over the turtle!
you mirrored his posture, locking your arms tight and tilting your chin up. “don't look at me like that. what is your actual problem today?”
instead of snapping back, a slow little smirk began to crawl onto caleb's face. oh, he was loving this. this was his absolute favorite game in the world, and you had just walked right into his trap. wordlessly, he unclipped himself from the doorframe and took a deliberate step toward you. and then another.
you instinctively took a step back, but clack—your hips hit the hard edge of the open kitchen counter.
you were cornered.
“my problem?“ now, caleb loomed over you, placing one palm on the counter right next to your waist to trap you in his shadow. “i don’t have a problem, pipsqueak. i was just being a protective big bro to you. isn’t that the label we chose?”
“protective? you looked like a lunatic!” you fired back, your face turning a furious shade of pink. “you were intentionally trying to ruin my conversation! for your information, you don't own me, caleb. if i want to go out and get dumplings with valko, i am allowed to.”
“with him?” caleb let out a chuckle, leaning down an inch closer until you could feel the warmth of his body. he was utterly enjoying how flustered and mad he was making you. “come on, the guy looks like he struggles with basic math. his hair looks like a bird nested in it. you seriously have zero taste.”
“huh, at least he doesn't bring random girls into our living room to scream at video games all afternoon! you had hyeran over here yesterday behaving like she owns the couch. if you can do stuff like that, why can't i?”
caleb’s smirk grew even wider, a quiet triumph gleaming in his eyes. ah, his face seemed to say, so that’s what this is really about.
“oh, so you were watching us from behind the counter,” he nudged his knee playfully against yours, anchoring you against the wood. “were you jealous, pips? is that why you let the car guy drive you home? because if you wanted to play video games with me that badly, all you had to do was ask nicely, you know?”
ah.
you had reached your absolute limit with caleb’s bottomless well of confidence. you were sick and tired of always being the one pressed against the woodwork, left all breathless and flushed while he got to stand there looking like the smartest boy in the whole wide world. you wanted the tables to turn so desperately that you could taste it, even if it meant playing a very dangerous game with your own silly little heart.
so, with a sudden narrowing of your eyes, you did something unpredictable.
yank!
your fingers reached out like little lightning bolts, wrapping tight around the fabric of caleb’s collar and pulling him downward with all your might.
oh, you should have seen his face. the teasing fool was caught off guard. his grand smirk evaporated into thin air, and a ragged little breath hitched right in the back of his throat. for the first time in a while, his polished exterior cracked into a million tiny pieces.
you didn't dare break eye contact. you leaned in just a millimeter closer, your voice dropping into a mocking whisper. “what's the matter, caleb? not so talkative now? where did all that big, brave mouth go?”
poor caleb’s brain had gone into emergency mode. inside his broad chest, his heart was drumming a frantic—thump-thump, thump-thump—so loud and violent that you could practically feel the vibration through his shirt. his large hand, still planted on the kitchen counter beside your waist, gripped the polished wood so tightly that his knuckles turned so white, as if he were holding onto the edge of a cliff to stop himself from falling over—or worse, from reaching out and grabbing you back.
seeing your victory, you decided to push your luck just a little bit further. your hand slowly traveled up from his collar, your fingertips tracing an agonizing path up the side of his warm neck, before your thumb gently tapped the very edge of his earlobe.
“look at that. for someone who acts so cool, your ears are so bright red.”
caleb swallowed hard, his throat bobbing up and down as he gulped down the dry air.
“you're such a hypocrite,” you mocked him one last time, giving his collar a playful shake. “always talking so much shit, but the second someone plays back, you freeze right up.”
and just as quickly as you had caught him, you planted both of your hands squarely against his hard chest and gave him a mighty shove.
whoosh!
caleb actually stumbled backward a couple of steps, his long legs flailing for a second before his feet caught the floorboards. he quickly cleared his throat—ahem, ahem—and rubbed the back of his neck.
“uh—wow,” he tries to forcefully laugh it off and turn the tension back into a silly joke. “okay, crazy lady. i- you nearly bit my nose off—”
“shut up and go jerk off to your notes, caleb.” you shot back over your shoulder.
caleb instantly went wide-eyed, letting out a dramatic cough—gack!—as he choked on his own saliva at the sheer obscenity of your remark.
you spun on your heel and marched happily down the hallway, slipping into your bedroom and clicking the lock shut with a very satisfied smile on your face, leaving the poor boy all alone in the quiet kitchen to figure out exactly what the hell had just happened to him.
serves him right.
—
and so, the great war officially began.
if you were going to be shameless about using valko as your personal human shield against your own confusing feelings, then caleb was going to be a thousand times more shameless about turning your life into a living cartoon. he became an absolute ghost in the machine, a walking disaster zone that magically appeared whenever valko so much as breathed in your direction.
on wednesday, you and valko were sitting on the low stone wall by the university quad, sharing a bag of salty chips. valko was leaning in close, his voice dropping into that tryhard smooth register again while he reached for a chip. thwack! out of absolutely nowhere, a round and suspiciously aerodynamic pebble shot through the leaves of the old oak tree, striking valko squarely in the middle of his forehead.
“ow! what the—” valko hissed, rubbing his brow as he looked around wildly.
far across the grass, standing by the sports locker rooms, caleb was casually tossing a basketball up and down in the air. he wasn't even looking at you. he was whistling a cheerful little tune, entirely innocent, though his vertical aim had been precise enough to deserve a gold medal.
on thursday, valko tried to walk you to your lab, proudly carrying your heavy medical dictionary like a true knight in shining armor. but as you rounded the corner of the science building, caleb suddenly materialized from the shadow of the vending machines. he didn't say a word to valko though. he just walked straight between the two of you like a giant solid wall, his broad shoulder subtly but violently checking valko to the side.
“oh, sorry, mate,” caleb hummed, reached down, and snagged the heavy book right out of valko’s hands before the guy could even blink. “my (name)'s got a weak spine, you know. family history. i always carry her books. thanks for holding it, though!” and just like that, he marched off, flipping through the pages of your textbook without a single care in the world.
it was a relentlessly ridiculous game of tag, a noisy circus meant to keep the terrifying gravity of that kitchen counter argument from swallowing you both whole. as long as caleb was throwing rocks and stealing books, he didn't have to think about his bright red ears, and you didn't have to think about his racing heartbeat.
until friday afternoon arrived, and the playful music finally... stopped.
the sky was the color of bruised slate when valko’s sedan pulled up along the front gates of your house. the engine let out an idling purr against the quiet pavement. you stepped out of the passenger side, but you didn't immediately walk toward the door. instead, you lingered by the open window, your shoulders slouched and your bottom lip tucked between your teeth in a rare display of genuine defeat.
today, you had failed the major quiz.
you had studied until three in the morning, your eyes burning under the harsh blue light of your phone, only to see an ugly red circle at the top of your paper. the exhaustion and the disappointment were sitting heavy on your chest, and it felt so fucking awful.
“hey,” valko seemed to catch on it, pushing his car door open and stepping out onto the asphalt beside you. he looked at your downcast face, his usual arrogant confidence softening into something genuinely concerned. “come on, (name). don't look like that. it's just one quiz. prof is a sadist anyway, everyone struggled.”
“i didn't just struggle, valko. i choked,” you muttered, staring down at the tips of your dirty shoes. “i'm supposed to be the responsible one. granny’s paying for these blocks, and i can’t even remember the difference between cellular necrosis and apoptosis when the timer's ticking.”
saying that now, it kind of makes you laugh a bit.
but little did you know, behind the glass of the living room window, a pair of eyes was watching.
caleb stood in the shadows of the house, his arms hanging loose at his sides as he looked through the pane. he had been waiting for you. he had already cleared the kitchen counter, ready to cook whatever ridiculous comfort food you wanted to cheer yourself up after a long week. but now, he was frozen. he watched the way your lower lip trembled, the way your fingers nervously twisted the strap of your bag. he knew that exact look on your face. he knew the precise flavor of your sadness because he had been the one to hold your hand through every failed exam and scraped knee since you were seven years old. every protective instinct in his body screamed at him to open the front door, to run down the driveway, to scoop you up and carry you inside where it was safe.
but he didn't move, because he didn't have the right to.
“hey,” valko murmured again, stepping closer. “hey, look at me.”
and you looked up, your eyes wide and vulnerable. before your brain could even process the movement, valko reached out. his arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling your smaller frame firmly against his chest in a sudden hug meant to chase the cold away.
your body went stiff as a board against his jacket, hands dangling awkwardly at your sides. you hadn't expected it, maybe because... you hadn't wanted him to do it.
inside the house, behind the glass, caleb saw it. of course he did.
the sight of another man's arms holding you—the sight of you standing perfectly still in the driveway while someone else tried to soothe your tears—rubbed bitterly against him.
it was one of those moments again, those moments when caleb couldn't summon a single sarcastic remark. couldn't pull out a smirk. couldn't even pretend to be angry. it was just a thick and suffocating wave of unadulterated possessiveness and grief washing over him.
his jaw tightened, throat bobbing heavily as he gulped down a painful breath. his hand, which had been resting lightly against the edge of the curtain, suddenly convulsed, his fingers tearing into the fabric. he couldn't look at it. he physically and mentally could not bear to see another second of you belonging to someone else, even for a fleeting moment of comfort.
with a jerk of his arm, caleb yanked the heavy curtains shut, sealing out the afternoon light and plunging the living room into darkness.
caleb blinked several times, trying to catch his breath, trying to keep himself calm, trying to stay where he's at and remove the ugly thoughts of doing something to that red-haired guy.
the living room was supposed to be a hiding place, but the walls inside granny's house had grown far too narrow to hold himself. his chest heaved, and his feet simply refused to stay glued to the floorboards. and the rationality he always wore like a freshly ironed uniform eventually disintegrated, leaving nothing but an itch that dragged him back toward the door.
it swung open with a bang that cut right through the hum of valko’s idling engine.
immediately, your head whipped around at the noise, your eyes still wide and startled from the sudden weight of valko's arms around you. but before you could even draw enough breath to call his name, caleb was already down the concrete steps.
with a sudden jerk of his forearm, caleb reached out and grabbed the shoulder of valko’s jacket, yanking the guy backward with enough force to break his hold on you.
“did she say yes to you?” caleb asked, “are the two of you officially dating right now?”
valko blinked, thoroughly bewildered and rattled by this guy's audacity. “no, we aren't, but i'm—”
“then you don't have any right to touch her like that,” caleb cut him off, his voice flat and freezing cold. “you don’t get to wrap your arms around her if she hasn't given you permission to be there. it's rude. it’s completely out of line.”
valko let out an incredulous scoff, the sheer persistence of caleb’s interference finally pushing past him. he took a step forward, tilting his chin up until he was staring directly into caleb’s face. he finally found the courage to say what he’d been thinking for weeks. “are you serious right now? what is your actual problem, caleb? what are you even to her?”
you blinked and looked up at valko.
“you’re always... hovering. you’re always throwing things, always splitting us up, always acting like you own the ground she walks on. you said you aren't her brother. she said you aren't siblings. so what exactly is your deal? what are you to her?”
caleb’s mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out.
so valko saw the break in the armor, and he drove the blade right through the crack. “do you like her?”
at that, your heart did a leap behind your ribs, the blood rushing to your ears so loudly it drowned out the noise of everything else. you desperately and subconsciously wanted to hear the syllables leave his lips, to know if the pull you’d been drowning in was something he was drowning in too.
what is he going to say? why isn't he saying anything?
but caleb couldn't answer.
he knew you were staring at him. he could probably feel the exact weight of your eyes tracking the rigid line of his jaw and the frantic rise and fall of his chest. but for the first time in his life, he couldn't meet your gaze back. his eyes darted nervously across valko, his throat bobbing in a gulp as he tried to find a lie big enough to save him.
until finally, slowly, caleb’s head tilted downward. his hair fell forward over his brow, before he hesitantly rolled his gaze down until his eyes locked directly onto yours.
gulp.
that look in his eyes...
it was something you had always disliked since you were kids. everytime the either of you brought up the subject of parents, of having a mother and a father, he did that face. except now it isn't because of that.
now...
“i'm her guardian.”
caleb answered.
“what?” your head tilted to the side, that familiar sarcastic scowl crawling right back onto your face.
“i am her legal guardian,” caleb repeated, nodding with a completely straight face. “since our gran is currently being held back at the nursing home facility for medical observation, the responsibility of maintaining the household and ensuring the safety of it falls entirely on me. i am the primary caretaker of this residence.”
this little bitch.
valko just stood there, his mouth hanging open so wide a family of birds could have moved in. “what?”
before you or valko could even open your mouths to scream at him for being an absolute fool, caleb’s heavy hand snapped down around your wrist.
“anyway, it's getting very close to six o'clock, which is the official cutoff time for driveway visitations,” caleb said, his voice dripping with an agonizingly tryhard politeness as he began walking backward, dragging you along like a sack of potatoes. he offered valko a little wave with his free hand. “thank you so much for the transportation, valko! drive home safely! watch out for the speed bumps on the main avenue, they’re quite treacherous this season!”
“caleb, you fucking—” you lunged backward, but caleb’s grip was absolute. you were forced to do a clumsy little sideways shuffle up the concrete steps, your free arm flailing in the air as you tried to offer valko at least a goodbye. “bye, valko! sorry! i’ll text you about the anatomy slides!”
but valko didn't even wave back. he just stood by his open car door, probably wondering if this whole situation was secretly a psychological experiment.
slam! click-clack!
the wooden door finally shut.
the very second the threshold was secure, caleb dropped your wrist like it was a hot potato. the authoritative guardian persona vanished into thin air, and he turned into a quiet giant. without saying a single word, without even looking at you, he spun on his heel and marched straight toward the safety of the open-concept kitchen.
you stood alone in the center of the living room.
this little brat is seriously getting on my nerves!
one second he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing left in the world, and the next second he’s inventing fake household rules just to avoid answering a simple question!
but you were not going to let him see how much he had rattled you. oh, absolutely not. you needed to get the upper hand back, even if you had to fake it.
you let out a dramatic cough to clear your throat, smoothing down the front of your wrinkled shirt before you marched over to the kitchen island. instead of hiding in your room like a coward, you hopped right onto one of the tall barstools, planting your elbows on the counter so you could watch him like a hawk.
“you are insane, you know that? a guardian? seriously? that is the dumbest thing that has ever come out of your mouth.”
caleb didn't answer you. he was currently busy staring down at the kitchen counter with an expression of concentration. for a guy who was usually a wizard with a skillet, he looked lost. he had a carton of heavy cream in one hand, a bottle of soy sauce in the other, and a tub of margarine sitting between them like a puzzle he couldn't solve.
“you were being so aggressive out there! valko was just trying to be nice because i was having a bad day—hey i'm speaking to you!” you huffed, your eyes narrowing as you watched him confusedly pick up a bulb of garlic, stare at it like it was an alien spacecraft, and then drop it back onto the wood. “are you even listening to me, you brat?”
“what am i to you, then?” caleb finally spoke.
oh, now, do you feel that? the air in granny’s kitchen just became so thick you could probably slice it with the very paring knife you used for those apples last week. you thought you were safe sitting on that high barstool, tucked neatly behind the counter like a judge delivering a very righteous verdict.
but you forgot one very important rule when it comes to your big bro: he always knows when you’re hiding behind a loud mouth.
you should have just gone to your room. you should have just locked the door, eaten a stale cracker, and minded your own business instead of sitting out here pretending to be brave.
but it was already too late to run.
caleb finally abandoned his study of the soy sauce bottle and turned around. and then, he took a few strides over to your side of the counter. before your brain could even coordinate a retreat—shrrrrk!—caleb reached down to hook his hands around the metal legs of your stool, and pulled you a whole foot closer to him.
the proximity was so sudden your cheeks erupted into a furiously bright blush, while he just stood towering right over you.
“tell me, pipsqueak,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips for a second before lifting back to your eyes. “what is valko to you?”
“he's my... suitor?”
“and what am i to you?”
“y-you're just—i mean, we've always been—”
with a slow lean, he brought his entire upper body down, planting his palms firmly on the seat of your stool right on either side of your thighs.
“do you want me to stop playing the sibling part then? do you want me to become something else?” caleb tilted his head, his voice dropping into a soft whisper.
“what do you mean... something else?”
a faint little smile touched the corner of caleb’s lips. “you know, like... a guy. a guy to you.”
thump. thump. thump.
your heart was no longer just beating; it was a damn throbbing thing inside your chest. your hands went completely numb against the stool, your eyes wide and your mouth slightly ajar in a look of such ridiculous shock.
caleb tracked every single ounce of your panic. he saw the terror, the blush, the absolute deer-in-the-headlights look paralyzing your face.
and then, just as the tension reached the absolute breaking point... caleb suddenly let out a boisterous laugh.
phew!
he pulled his upper body back, releasing your stool from his cage. before you could even register the sudden rush of cool air between you, caleb reached out and playfully pinched the tip of your bright red nose, shaking your head gently from side to side.
“gotcha,” he chuckled and turned back to the kitchen counter. “man, you should see your face right now, you look like a terrified little bird. i'm obviously just teasing you.”
you couldn't even bring yourself to manufacture a witty comeback. you just sat there on that stool, staring blankly into the empty space between the salt shaker and the soy sauce bottle.
caleb, however, appeared to have moved on, back to being the domestic king of the kitchen, the heavy iron skillet letting out a cheerful sizzle-hiss while he tossed the chopped garlic into the oil.
“we need to head out early tomorrow to visit gran, by the way,” caleb hummed casually over the sound of the spitting grease. “like, seven in the morning early. so don't stay up late scrolling through your phone.”
the mention of your grandmother finally poked a hole through your daze. you blinked, shaking your head slightly to clear the cobwebs as you focused on the back of his neck. “...why so early? the nursing home visiting hours don't even get busy until noon.”
“i have to be back on campus by ten. coach called a basketball practice for the championship preparations, and i can't miss it.”
“ah.” you nodded to the back of his head.
you managed to survive the rest of the evening by acting like a very polite, very quiet ghost, eventually slipping into your bedroom to endure a night of toss-and-turn sleep where caleb's whispering voice kept echoing in your dreams.
until the next morning arrived and caleb decided that the boy from yesterday was officially dead and buried.
bang! bang! bang!
“wake up, monkey! rise and shine!”
your bedroom door then flew back against the wall with a violent clack as caleb marched inside like a fucking drill sergeant. before your sleep-deprived eyes could even adjust to the morning light, caleb reached the edge of your mattress.
whoosh!
with one yank of his hand, he ripped your cozy duvet clean off your body, leaving you curled up in a shivering little ball on your sheets.
“fuck, why are you so damn loud early in the fucking morning?” you shrieked.
“ten minutes, and if you're not in up, i'm leaving you behind and telling gran you love sleeping more than you love her!”
minutes later, you successfully managed to wash the sleep from your eyes and throw on a decent pair of clothes, though the inner grump was still very much awake.
you stood at the kitchen island, furiously snapping the plastic lids onto a neat little tower of tupperware containers. caleb had actually outdone himself this time—the savory aroma of freshly stewed chicken broth and garlic rice was already locked tight inside the plastic, ready to be delivered to granny's bedside.
the downstairs bathroom door swung open, and out stepped the grand tormentor himself.
you instinctively lifted your head, only for your brain to immediately scream abort mission! abort mission! because caleb had a fluffy white towel draped lazily over his damp hair, but that was the only thing he was wearing from the waist up. his broad shoulders, the sharp line of his collarbones, and the ridiculous expanse of his chest were completely on display, glistening faintly with a few stray droplets of water.
you whipped your head back toward the tupperware so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash, your cheeks instantly sparking with a familiar warmth.
“hey,” he stopped right on the other side of the counter, smelling faintly of mint and soap. “did we run out of the extra toothpaste? i can’t find the tubes under the sink.”
“cabinet. it's behind the extra bars of soap on the top shelf. go look there.”
“right. thanks,” he mumbled, turning on his heel and thankfully retreating back into the bathroom.
you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. honestly, the nerve of this guy.
not long after, caleb finally emerged looking like a civilized human being again, with his heavy sports duffel bag slung carelessly over one arm.
“you ready to go?”
“yep,” you quickly gathered the paper bag full of food and stepped toward the front door.
but as caleb walked past the living room window sill, his eyes narrowed at the row of small terracotta pots sitting in the morning sun. he stopped, casually extending one long finger and poking it straight into the dark soil.
he paused.
he wiggled his finger, then, he turned his head to look at you, a knowing eyebrow crawling up his forehead. “brat. did you water the ferns today?”
you froze right with your hand on the doorknob, your lips twitching, and you turned around to offer him the most innocent cheeky smile you could possibly muster.
caleb let out a roll of his eyes.
“come here,” he pointed a finger at the floor in front of him.
“no.” you shook your head violently. “we have to leave early, remember? for gran, and your super important basketball practice!”
with a delighted laugh, caleb let his heavy sports duffel bag slide right off his shoulder, letting it hit the floorboards with a loud thud. and before you could even turn the doorknob to escape, he closed the distance between you in two strides.
“caleb, wait—ah!”
you shrieked when his large hands clamped firmly around your waist. with zero effort, he lifted your feet clean off the ground, turning you around while you flailed uselessly in the air. he marched two steps back into the living room and dropped you right against the plush cushions of the sofa.
“punishment time!” caleb laughed, instantly hovering over you and planting his knees on either side of your hips so you couldn't wiggle away.
“no, stop! caleb, i swear—!”
but your threats were instantly drowned out by your own hysterical laughter as his long fingers began mercilessly digging into your ribs. you squirmed and twisted beneath him, hands frantically trying to swat his wrists away, but he was too big, too heavy, and entirely too good at finding your most ticklish spots!
eventually, what started as a simple tickle punishment quickly spiraled into a full-blown war of the cushions.
the moment caleb’s fingers paused to let you catch your breath, your inner competitive spirit woke up. you weren't just going to sit there and take the defeat! with a heave, you planted your socks against the back of the sofa and launched your entire body forward, aiming a messy tackle straight at his broad chest.
“oh, so we're wrestling now?” caleb laughed, his deep voice booming right against your ear before he effortlessly caught you by the waist.
the rules of the house were completely thrown out the window as the two of you flipped, twisted, and rolled across the plush cushions, trying every single fake martial arts move you had ever seen on television. heck, you were pulling out all the stops—trying to hook your arm around his neck, aiming sharp elbows at his ribs, and trying to pull off a dramatic headlock.
you were starting to sweat, and you were putting 110% of your soul into making this giant human being tap out.
caleb, on the other hand? he was putting in absolutely zero effort. he was literally lying back against the pillows, letting out a loud, breathless laugh at every single one of your frantic maneuvers. to him, you probably felt like an angry flailing puppy. every time you thought you had a solid grip on his arm, he would casually just flex his bicep and pop right out of it.
“come on, pipsqueak!” he taunted, easily batting your hands away as you tried to pin his shoulders. “is that all you got? my teammates hit harder than this during warmups!”
“shut up and die, caleb!”
you threw your weight into one final grapple. but alas, pride can be a very dangerous thing when you're fighting a varsity athlete.
caleb decided the game had gone on long enough. and in one quick motion, he caught both of your wrists in a single hand, threw his heavy leg over your torso, and completely flipped you over.
oomph!
suddenly, you were now slammed chest-first against the back cushions of the sofa. caleb slid right up behind you, his body pressing heavily against your back to completely pin you down. he wrapped one massive arm securely around your upper chest like a seatbelt, while his other hand kept your wrists locked together near your chin.
you were utterly trapped in a textbook rear-naked choke hold.
“all right, game over,” he gave you a playful squeeze, anchoring you even tighter against him. “tap out and acknowledge me as your supreme ruler, and i'll let you go.”
“never! i will literally bite you before i tap out!”
“stubborn little girl.” caleb chuckled softly, his chest rumbling right against your back. “you can't move. just tap the couch and save your dignity.”
oh, he thought he had won because he was bigger and stronger? he forgot that you were smaller, faster, and willing to play dirty.
the competitive fog in your brain is a blinding thing, so heavy that your survival instincts completely take the wheel before your common sense can even map out anything else. you don't even know what possessed you. you aren't thinking about the dangerous lines you almost crossed together over the past few days; only thinking about the iron band of his arm across your chest, and the humiliating prospect of defeat.
so, you use the only lever you have left.
with a subtle shift of your weight, you arch your spine slightly and press back, slowly grinding your bum right against the heat of his crotch.
!
behind your back, caleb’s entire frame goes stiff as a stone wall. the boisterous laughter bubbling in his chest dies mid-breath, cutting off into nothing but a ragged hitch. it takes him three agonizing seconds to realize what tactic you’ve just deployed, and when it finally clicks...
“(name),” he groans, his voice no longer the cocky older brother but something rough, uncovered, and deeply rattled. “what... what are you doing?”
but instead of releasing you, his massive arm tightens around your upper torso, locking you so hard against his chest that you can feel the frantic hammering of his heart against your back. he tries to laugh it off, tries to maintain the upper hand, but the words come out strained and frayed at the edges. “nice try, though, pips. dirty tactics don't work on... nh... varsity players.”
the tiny stifled sound that slips from his throat was all the fuel you needed. it’s working. he sounds so tense, his breath coming in shallow puffs against the sensitive nape of your neck.
your own face is a burning mess of a tomato, but the taste of victory is too close. you want to remind him that he doesn't hold a monopoly on audacity in this house. you have it too.
you move again, harder this time, abandoning any pretense of subtlety. you press your ass firmly into his crotch, rolling your hips back against him in such an explicit way.
“hey, stop, seriously—” caleb chokes out, a helpless moan breaking past his lips before he can catch it. his fingers, still holding your wrists, lose their grip, beginning to tremble against your skin.
subconsciously, his own hips begin to tilt forward, meeting your shameless grinding with a press of his own. “this... this isn't working, you should try something else. or just tap out. because i'm still not... ah... letting you go.” he swallows hard, his thumb twitching against your wrist, his long legs tangling with yours on the cushions as he tries to find an exit from the trap you both built. “so just... tap out and stop, yeah?”
“s-shouldn't you... shouldn't you be the one tapping out, huh?” your heart is doing frantic and erratic loops behind your ribs, but you push through the panic. “isn't it... isn't it weird that someone you see as a sister is doing such a thing to you? you're the older one, caleb... you should tap out. be the responsible one.”
to prove that you aren't the one who is going to break first under the weight of this, you roll your hips back against him again harder, dragging your bum across the expanse of his crotch.
caleb doesn't answer you with words. he can't. all that leaves his throat is a series of thick, breathless moans—nh... ah—each one a helpless sound that shatters the last remaining illusion of the “sibling” shield you both spent years constructing.
and then, slowly, you feel a very hard thing pressing solidly through the fabric of his bottoms. it felt heavy and hot enough to burn through your clothes. your movements instantly slow down, your entire body going rigid as a fresh wave of red flushes from your chest all the way to the tips of your ears. is that his...? no, no, no. you don't want to point it out. you don't want to say a single word. if you say it out loud, the universe will split wide open and there will be absolutely no going back to the way things were before.
but while you are trapped inside the spinning dizzyness of your own thoughts, you were too slow to realize that caleb's palms had snapped down around your wrists, separating them from your chin. with a surge of his upper body, he pins both of your arms flush against the cushions on either side of your head.
and then, without a single shred of his usual teasing hesitation, caleb pulls his hips back—and drives them forward, dryhumping you roughly from behind.
“ah—!”
“don't move,” caleb humps you again, a rhythmic thrust that slides his heat perfectly between your thighs. “tap out now, (name).”
no, there is no way you're going to easily tap out like this. if you do, that's just going to show him how easily he can just go to his way with you. so without much of a choice, you bite your lip.
“fuck, nh...”
why is he moaning? does this feel good for him?
“just... tap out, pips,” he pants heavily, hips rolling into you in another rough stride that makes your toes curl inside your socks. “tap the couch and tell me to stop... otherwise, i'm just gonna keep going.”
“i-i hate you,” you tighten your fingers against the cushions beneath his palms, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “caleb, ngh—i swear to god, i...”
caleb lets out a chuckle, “yeah? how much?”
he doesn't let you answer and instead slides his hands down from your wrists to grip the very edges of your hip bones. with one forceful heave of his strong arms, he hoists your hips up high off the sofa cushions, tilting your pelvis back and locking you into a perfectly angled incline—before slamming his hips forward again, driving his hard erection deep into the curve of your ass.
“not tapping out yet?”
“i-i'm not tapping—!”
you cut yourself off when caleb's hips against your bum suddenly stutters. he drives into you one last time—hard and entirely too desperate—and then his entire body goes completely rigid.
“(name)—ah, fuck—!”
caleb lets out an unvarnished moan, his voice breaking into a breathless whine as his chest shudders violently against your back. he freezes, fingers digging bruisingly hard into your hip bones before a wave of heat blooms right through his shorts, dampening the fabric of your pants.
your brain, despite having zero knowledge about how men's bodies work or what exactly happens when they hit their limit, registers the sudden wet warmth and his sudden loss of strength.
oh. he messed up.
“a-are you kidding me? did you just—”
“shut up,” caleb wheezes, his head dropping onto your shoulder. “don't... don't say it.”
“oh, i am absolutely saying it!”
being an opportunistic woman, you take advantage of his jelly-like limbs and twist your torso. caleb is usually a solid brick wall, but right now, his body is too sensitive. you wrench your hips out of his slack grip, plant your hands on his broad shoulders, and shove him backward with all your might.
thud!
caleb falls flat onto his back against the sofa cushions, and before he can even think about recovering, you launch yourself over his lap, straddling his thighs and planting your hands squarely on either side of his neck, pinning his arms down.
strangely, he doesn't even fight you. caleb is easily strong enough to bench-press you off him with one hand, but instead of resisting, he just lets out a pathetic grunt and lets his arms go limp beneath your palms.
“look at the so-called supreme ruler now,” you mock him instantly, a breathless smirk breaking across your face. “what happened, caleb? you were talking so much shit about tapping out, and you couldn't even last three minutes? you came too fast that was pathetic!”
“(name), please,” caleb groans, his face turning a shade of pink as he tries to turn his head away from your gaze. “you don't even know what you're saying.”
“well, i know you're a loser.”
“you... you started it!” caleb defends himself weakly, his voice was an embarrassed whisper while his fingers nervously twitch against the couch cushion. he finally rolls his eyes back to meet yours. “what is wrong with your head? you were the one grinding your ass against me like a p-pervert... what did you think was going to happen?”
“i was trying to make you tap out!” you argue back, your face heating up again but your grip on his arms tightening.
“by making me cum...?“ caleb whines, his jaw clenching when he lets out a shaky breath. “that's a pretty lame strategy don't you think?”
“you're just making excuses because you lost,” you say, your voice trembling slightly despite the thick layer of bravado you're pouring over it. you look down at the front of his joggers where a distinct darkening patch of wetness is spreading against the fabric. “look at that. the great caleb, taken down by a simple strategy. i should take a picture and send it to your coach.”
“y-you brat, i swear to god, shut up,” caleb groans with a laugh. “you don't know what you're doing. just get off me.”
“no, i think this needs a proper inspection.”
your brain is screaming at you to stop, telling you that you are sprinting across a line you can never cross back over, but the sheer adrenaline of having caleb completely at your mercy prevents you from backing down. if you stop now, if you get off him and let him look at you with that smug smirk again, the awkwardness will literally suffocate you. you have to finish this. you have to prove he's the loser.
with a suddenly decisive movement, you reach down and grab the waistband of his joggers.
“wait—(name), hold on—” caleb gasps, his eyes going wide with panic as you pull the fabric down.
even through the cotton fabric of his dark grey boxers, his dick is thick, massive, and still remarkably heavy and hard despite having just come. it stretches the front of his underwear to its limit, a rigid outline that looks terrifying up close. holy shit. he's... he's huge.
your face is burning so hot you're pretty sure you're going to spontaneously combust. your hands are shaking, your ears ringing, but you force your fingers to move forward. you place your palm flat against the center of his boxers, wrapping your fingers directly around the pulsing length of his dick.
“ah—nh!” caleb's head flies back against the sofa cushions, fingers clawing into your waist so hard it almost hurts. “fuck, stop... i told you i'm too sensitive—”
“what's the matter?” you stammer, your voice cracking as you squeeze him slightly through the cotton, your thumb tracing the hard ridge of his shaft. “thought you said it didn't work? you're twitching so much under my hand, caleb. who's the weak one now?”
“you're... you're a psycho,” caleb pants, a strained chuckle breaking through his ruined voice. he looks up at you through his long eyelashes, jaw clenched and sweat beading at his hairline. “what about you? you're blushing like a tomato and your hands are shaking. you're terrified right now, aren't you?”
“i'm not terrified of a loser,” you lie through your teeth, sliding your hand up and down his length, the friction through his boxers causing another wet drop of pre-cum to seep through the fabric against your palm.
“fuck... ah, please,” he looks so devastatingly undone beneath you it's funny, his chest heaving while he whines against the cushions. “you're... you're cheating. this is a foul. i'm gonna tell gran you're being so...”
“granny would just laugh at you for being so weak,”
the boy who used to help you look for snails in the backyard after a heavy rain—the same boy who once gave you a piggyback ride for three blocks because you scraped your knee on the pavement—was currently pinned beneath you on granny’s floral-print sofa, stripped down to his underwear and trembling like a leaf.
it was a sacrilegious image, because for ten whole years, caleb had been the towering fixture of your childhood, the annoying older-brother figure who stole your food and made fun of your haircuts. but now, the fabric of his boxers was the only thing standing between you and a completely different world.
“you’re still shaking.” your voice was a little breathy, though you kept your eyes locked on his face to hide how fast your own heart was knocking against your ribs.
caleb let out a ragged laugh, his head tilting back against the cushions. “you aren't going to make me tap out if that's what you're planning, you silly.”
“oh, you think you're so smart?”
before he could even muster another cocky comeback, your fingers hooked directly into the elastic waistband of his boxers and dragged the fabric down past his hips.
and just like that, the angry length of caleb's dick sprang free, twitching madly in the warm morning light.
oh my god.
he was fucking huge. the thick, veins-veined shaft was throbbing with a pulse, the heavy weight of it slapping against his lower belly when the fabric set it free.
caleb’s eyes went wide as the cool air hit his bare skin, a genuine spike of panic breaking through his composure. “hey, wait, hold on, what are you planning to do?”
you stared down at the very tip of him, where a shiny drop of clear pre-cum was slowly leaking out, glistening against the skin. the sight of it made a strange spark right in the pit of your stomach.
“i'm finishing the wrestling match,” you whispered, your hand moving forward until your fingers wrapped completely around his thick shaft.
“fuck—nnggh!“ caleb gasped out loud, his entire upper body arching off the sofa as your palm made direct contact with his heat. his knuckles turned white as he grabbed the edge of the armrest. “(name)... seriously, you don't know what you're doing, stop it.”
“shut up and take your punishment.”
“you don't know shit about—oh, fuck—please... i'm gonna come again, i swear to god...”
but you weren't done pushing his limits, you wanted to erase every single ounce of that cocky exterior until there was nothing left but the vulnerable boy beneath you.
leaning down until your chest was nearly brushing his lap, you let your hand slide away from his tip—and replaced it with your tongue.
you swiped your warm and wet tongue directly over the crown of his dick, licking up the excess pre-cum and the sticky remnants of his earlier climax from the sensitive skin.
“ah-!”
at that, caleb lets out an undignified shriek that was instantly swallowed by a deep groan. his hands flew to the sides of your head, fingers tangling frantically into your hair as his dick twitched against your lips, throbbing so hard it felt like a living thing. he was whining openly now, his chest heaving as he stared up at the ceiling with blown-out eyes.
you wrapped your lips around the very top of his shaft, sucking him gently. “(name)... i hate you... i hate you so much...”
“how much, caleb?” you mumbled against his hard skin, looking up at him through your eyelashes, your hand gripping the base of his giant length to keep him locked right where you wanted him.
“i'm not gonna last, (name). seriously, i'm gonna come in your mouth if you don't stop,”
but you don't stop. your tongue swipes over the sensitive ridge again, determined to drive the final nail into his coffin. truth be told, you have absolutely no idea what you're doing. your teeth graze his skin awkwardly, your suction is uneven, and your movements are incredibly clumsy, lacking any real rhythm. but caleb is just as clueless and inexperienced as you are, and to a boy whose body is already primed and hyper-sensitive from a first climax, the messy, wet warmth of your mouth feels like absolute heaven.
you keep going, your hand stroking his base while you lick the sticky tip. you just want to make him blow his top again. you need to see him completely break, just so you can hold it over his head for the rest of his life.
...or is that really all it is? because your heart is hammering so loud it's practically echoing in your throat, and a strange heat is pooling deep in your stomach as you taste him.
“fuck... i'm coming, i'm literally—ah, nh...” caleb whines out loud, his head thrashing against the cushions, his entire lower body trembling while his hips lift off the sofa, twitching directly into your mouth.
you tighten your grip, getting ready for the final victory—and then, the world violently flips upside down.
whoosh!
caleb’s hands leave your hair and snap down around your armpits. your mouth slips off his dick with a wet pop when he completely sat up before he hoists your entire body into the air like you weigh absolutely nothing.
“ah! what do you think you're—!”
and with one ruthless motion, caleb pivots your torso and bends you straight over the widely padded backrest of the sofa. your chest is pressed flat against the top cushion, your head dangling over the back of the couch toward the floor, while your hips are lifted high and trapped beneath his massive weight as he slides up behind you.
and then, you hear it. a breathless and absolutely insufferable chuckle bouncing right against your ears.
“you are such a gullible girl,” caleb pants heavily, his chest heaving against your shoulder blades as he lets out a triumphant laugh. he isn't coming at all. “did you really think i was gonna let you win that easily? you thought you could just suck me off and make me cry?”
“you literal piece of trash!” you yell, trying to push yourself up off the backrest and kicking your legs blindly behind you. “let me go, caleb, i swear to god—”
caleb's hips slide right back against your ass, his hard length pressing explicitly into your lower back to remind you who has the upper hand. he grips your waist with both hands, locking your pelvis into place so you can't wiggle an inch. “save all the shouting, okay?” he gives your hip a playful, firm squeeze. “we're right back where we started. you're pinned, you're cornered, and you're out of moves. so what's it gonna be, huh? are you finally gonna tap out or do i have to keep you bent over here all morning? 'cause i don't mind being late, you know.”
“shut up,” you choke out, your forehead digging hard into the plush fabric of the backrest. “i'm not... i'm not listening to a liar who fakes a climax just to cheat his way out of his loss.“
“it's called strategy, sweetheart. you should look it up sometime,” he chuckles, an arrogant little sound that rubs directly against your neck. “but you know... since you were so incredibly bold with me just now... since you decided you could just put your hands wherever you wanted... i think it's only fair that it's my turn now, right? that's how the game works.”
for all his cocky bravado, you feel a sudden tremor pass through his palms. his fingers twitch against your skin. he’s hesitating, isn't he? the heavy reality of what you've both done sinks into the quiet spaces of the room, but he doesn't pull back.
slowly, his fingertips hook into the waistband of your shorts. you let out a quiet whimper when he slides the fabric down over your thighs, exposing the bare expanse of your bum to the morning air.
and then, the teasing stops.
the living room goes dead silent, save for the uneven rhythm of caleb's breathing. he stares down at you, his throat bobbing in a gulp. even without turning around, you know exactly what he’s looking at. the thin fabric of your panties is kind of ruined and darkened, clinging, and utterly soaked through with a wetness from your own mounting frustration.
“...you're wet, (name). what am i supposed to do with you like this?” caleb whispers, his voice suddenly stripped of its malice.
“don't look at it, you brat.” you whimper, trying to hide your face in the sofa. “caleb, don't—just let me up, please—”
“no way, you started this. you don't get to run away just because you're embarrassed?” caleb chuckled.
then wordlessly, his fingers hook the side of your underwear, pulling the fabric upward to stretch it tight against your skin, using the soaked material to press firmly up into your sensitive folds.
“ah—”
“look at how you're reacting,” caleb murmurs, leaning his weight harder into you. “but you've been a really bad girl today, breaking all the rules... so i think you need to wait a little.”
he slowly lets go of the fabric, but his hand doesn't leave. instead, his long fingers begin to lightly trace the very edge of your soaked panties, feeling the slick heat of your wetness seeping through the cloth onto his fingertips. he hovers right over your center, brushing against you but not quite, giving you just enough phantom friction to make your toes curl, but entirely denying you the actual release you're starting to crave.
your body was now squirming helplessly beneath his palms as you try to force yourself against his hand to get more pressure, but he ruthlessly keeps his fingers just a millimeter away. “fuck you, either touch me or let me go, don't be a jerk—”
“oh i'm not being a jerk yet, (name).” caleb pants, another rough chuckle breaking through his serious expression while he watches you twist and writhe under his touch. his own erection is throbbing madly against your back, but he keeps his hips still. “will you admit defeat and tap out if i be a jerk to you, then?” he punctuates that sentence with a tentative press of his index finger into your hole through the panty.
your fingers are practically tearing into the fabric of the sofa cushion already, the adrenaline from earlier turning into a suffocating dread that makes your throat dry.
with a quiet tug, caleb’s fingers hook into the edge of your damp underwear, sliding the cotton fabric to the side.
“caleb...” your voice is a tiny squeak against the dark velvet of the couch. your hips instinctively try to lift, a sudden panic flaring in your chest. “what... what are you doing?”
but he doesn't stop. the cool air hits your bare folds for a fraction of a second before the tip of his finger presses directly against your entrance. you let out a ragged hitch of air as he slowly pushes past the tight ring of your muscles and sinking into your slick warmth.
“this... this doesn't count as anything, right?”
caleb’s broad chest is heaving violently against your shoulder blades, his entire frame shuddering as he buries his finger deeper inside you. “it’s just... it’s just a finger, (name). we're just playing the game. all of this... it's just about making each other tap out. it's not... whatever else it could be?”
you can feel the desperate lie he's spinning, his own mind scrambling to build a bridge back to sanity even while he’s stretching you open.
“it doesn't count,” he pants, his thumb pressing hard against your hypersensitive clit, making your toes curl inside your socks. “it doesn't count as long as i'm... as long as i'm not using my cock, right? we're still just us. we haven't crossed anything.”
you gulp, because a part of your brain screams at you to twist around and slap him, to scream what the actual fuck is wrong with you? but the guilt is a leaden weight sitting right on your chest. you were the one who started it. you were the one who put his dick in your mouth just to prove a point. you are just as dirty, just as guilty as he is.
“yeah,” you whisper, your voice thick with a dirty shame as you shut your eyes tight. “yeah... that makes sense. it's just... it's just a game.”
caleb then slides a second finger right alongside the first, the sudden invasion stretching your tight walls as he begins to slowly and deeply thrust inside you.
squelch. squelch.
the wet sounds of his fingers sliding through your excess moisture fills the quiet living room, explicit and loud enough to make your face burn a shade of red.
“(name)...” caleb murmurs, and it's the exact same tone he uses when he's giving you advice on your chores or asking about your classes, but his fingers are currently buried inside your vagina, driving you insane. “have you ever put your own finger in it?”
your lips press together so hard they turn white. you want to lie, you want to bite your tongue, but the mind-numbing pleasure of his thrusts is making your defenses completely crumble. “y-yeah, a... a few times only. when you weren't home.”
caleb picks up the pace slightly, the wet squelching sound getting faster, deeper, his knuckles rubbing against your bare skin.
“did it... did it feel like this?” he asks quietly, his voice shy, almost innocent, like a boy asking for help with his homework, even as his hips heavy-press against your backside. “does it feel better when i do it?”
the duality of this guy is completely ridiculous. it’s terrifying. one second he's caging you like a predator, and the next he’s whispering sweet clumsy questions like he's still the boy from your childhood. you can't even answer him anymore; you're just a flushed panting mess.
pop.
but caleb hooks his fingers out of your heat, making an involuntary whine escape your throat before you can even think to choke it down. your hips instinctively jerk backward, chasing the feeling of his fingers, but your hands only find the empty velvet of the backrest. why the hell did he stop?
behind you, the rustle of heavy fabric is loud. the weight on your lower back vanishes as caleb steps backward onto the wooden floorboards. “no need to tap out anymore, 'cause oh my goodness i'm going to be late,”
by the time you manage to push yourself up on your trembling elbows, your limbs feeling like melted wax, caleb is already completely upright. his joggers are pulled back up, the dark grey waistband of his boxers now neatly hidden away.
he looks down at you, and an infuriatingly soft smile touches his lips—the exact look he gives you when he’s being the responsible one.
“we should really get going, pipsqueak,” caleb says softly, as if his fingers hadn't just been swirling over your pussy. he reaches down, casually picking up his heavy sports duffel bag from the floor and slinging it over his broad shoulder. “i'm going to be horribly late for practice if we don't move right now. go adjust your clothes.”
you just stare up at him from the sofa, your mouth slightly open. you looked dumbfounded, your brain becoming incapable of processing how a guy can go from driving two thick fingers into your soaking womanhood to checking his watch like a middle-aged accountant.
—
the afternoon does not care about your identity crisis.
you had ended up having to visit granny all by yourself in the halls of the nursing home. the very second the two of you had stepped out to the car, caleb’s phone had erupted into a series of vibrations—his coach's caller id flashing like a warning flare. the muffled shouting through the receiver about missing the championship preparations had left caleb looking genuinely stressed, his fingers tapping nervously against the steering wheel. he had dropped you off at the facility with an apologetic squeeze of your shoulder, leaving you to sit by granny’s bedside alone, nodding blankly while the old woman prattled on about the hospital soup and how caleb was such a good, responsible boy for taking care of you.
if only you knew, granny. if only you knew.
by the time you finally drag your feet onto the university campus for your late-day lectures, your mind is a useless swamp of static. you sit in the rows of the amphitheater, the professor's voice about cellular pathology washing right over your head like white noise.
every time the professor speaks, all your brain can register is the memory of caleb's deep and ruined moans echoing against the walls of your shared home. your fingers keep absentmindedly tracing the edge of your desk, your lower body still feeling a ghostly throb from the wet squelch of caleb's fingers stretching you open.
and by the time six o'clock arrives, the heavy tropical heat of the campus grounds is finally beginning to cool down.
usually, this is the hour where caleb’s long shadow appears beside yours at the main gates, his heavy arm slinging over your shoulder to drag you toward the terminal while he complains about how hungry he is. the habit of him is a deeply rooted thing in your bones. instead of turning right toward the exit to head straight home to an empty house, your feet lazily, almost sub-consciously, steer you left toward the concrete structure of the university gymnasium.
as you slip inside, taking a quiet seat on the very edge of the lowest wooden bleacher, the vast space is alive with a scattering of echoing noises. on the far brightly lit side of the court, a bunch of cheerleaders are practicing their stunts, and a few stray students are still lingering on the higher bleachers.
but your eyes immediately drift to the opposite free side of the court.
there, sitting in a circle directly on the polished wood, is the university's basketball team. their coach is standing over them with a clipboard, his sharp whistle tucked between his lips as he gestures aggressively toward a diagram. and right in the center of the huddle, his long legs splayed out in front of him, is caleb. he’s wearing his dark blue practice jersey, broad shoulders glistening with a fresh coat of sweat, a giant water bottle gripped in his large hand as he listens intently to the lecture.
he looks so regular like that, so athletic. so completely like the golden boy the entire school admires. you pull your knees up to your chest, wondering how on earth you're supposed to walk home with him after what he did to you this morning.
caleb is nodding along, his hand idly spinning the basketball between his palms on the floor, looking every bit the disciplined athlete. then, his eyes wander. he’s just scanning the empty spaces of the court, a subconscious habit of checking his surroundings, when his gaze drifts up toward the lower bleachers.
and lands squarely on you.
for a long second, neither of you knew how to react. the teasing grin he usually flashes when he spots you in a crowd doesn't happen. he just takes you in, his fingers freezing against the leather of the basketball. you just stare at each other, the secret weight of the morning—the wet sounds, the moaning, the taste of his dick—crashing into the space between you like a physical wall.
caleb looks away quickly, his throat bobbing as he downs a huge gulp from his water bottle, his broad shoulders tensing up as he tries to focus back on the clipboard.
five minutes later, the coach blows his whistle twice. “all right, pack it up! managers, get the training cones back in the locker. caleb, you're on equipment duty tonight since you were late this morning. secure the loose balls and the extra jerseys from the bench.”
“got it, coach,” caleb grunts, pushing himself up from the floor.
the team starts dispersing, heading toward the showers in an echoing wave of laughter and low chatter. caleb begins gathering the stray basketballs into a mesh sack, and as he nears the bleachers where you're sitting, he just stops a few feet away, slinging the heavy sack over his shoulder.
“hey,” caleb's shadow falls over your sneakers. “(name). stop being lazy and help me carry these jerseys to the storage room. coach wants a head count before the after-party tomorrow, and i'm not doing it alone.”
you blink. “can't your co-captain do it?”
“he's already in the showers,” caleb says, finally cutting his eyes toward you, a subtle, desperate intensity flickering in his gaze that makes your stomach flip. “come on. the quicker we finish, the quicker we go home. go grab the bin.”
you purse your lips, but you slide off the bleacher anyway. you grab the plastic bin filled with damp jerseys, your heart already starting to throb a frantic rhythm against your ribs as you follow his massive back toward the dark hallway at the rear of the gym.
the storage room door is heavy iron, creaking loudly as caleb pushes it open. the inside smells like old rubber, canvas bags, and dust, lit only by the faint orange glow of the twilight filtering through a barred window. you step inside, the plastic bin heavy in your arms.
“where do you want these—”
slam!
the door cuts your voice off completely as caleb shoves it shut behind you. within a snap, his large hands snap around your waist and lifts you off your feet, pinning your back directly against the solid wood of the door.
“caleb, what the—”
and your mouth is instantly smothered.
caleb drives his lips against yours with an aggressive hunger, his head tilting sharply to lock his mouth over yours. it’s a messy, bruising kiss, completely devoid of the hesitation he had this morning. he lets out a desperate whine against your lips—nhhh—his fingers digging like iron claws into your hips, pulling your lower body flush against his jersey.
“fuck,” caleb groans directly into your mouth, his tongue forcing its way past your lips. he tastes like the cool mint from earlier and the salty heat of his sweat, his jaw working against yours as if he's been starving for this for the last seven hours. “i couldn't... i couldn't even think during our practice, you know. coach wouldn't stop screaming at me but all i could see was you bent over the couch.”
“caleb—stop, someone's gonna—mmph—” you try to speak, your hands frantically coming up to push against his broad chest, but the sheer mass of him traps you.
“let them hear,” his hips slam forward instinctively, driving his hard erection—already straining madly through his gym shorts—directly into your thigh. “i don't care. i don't care about it. you can't just... nh... fuck, you were all i could think about today—”
“you were the one who stopped,” you gasp out, your fingers subconsciously tangling into the damp hair at the back of his neck. “you acted like... like nothing happened, and then you left me alone... you idiot.”
“i was scared...” caleb cries out softly, his voice a ruined whisper before he brings his mouth back up to cover yours, thumbs tracing the bare skin of your waist beneath your shirt “i'm supposed to protect you, but all i want to do is rip these clothes off you right now and pound inside you until you can't even stand up.“ a guilty laugh slips past his lips. “shit, am i allowed to say that?...”
your heart is a wild thing, hammering so hard against your ribs it feels like it might burst through your skin. “caleb—”
the rest of your breath is completely stolen when his calloused hands hook into the waistband of your underwear. there is no gentle hesitation this time, no restraint left to save either of you. with one downward tug, the fabric is stripped away, bundling around your sneakers along with your shorts.
he doesn't even take his jersey off. his dark blue varsity uniform is damp with sweat, the rough material scraping against your bare chest as he uses his body weight to pin you flat against the wood. with a trembling hand, caleb reaches down between your laps, his long fingers finding your soaking, swollen entrance. he doesn't need to prep you; you are already dripping, ruined from hours of thinking about his touch.
he aligns the angry head of his cock right against your opening. he is so incredibly huge—a terrifyingly solid length that makes your stomach drop in a mixture of fear and desperate longing.
“(name)... look at me. just look at me,” caleb whimpers, his voice completely cracked and ruined. “i can't... i can't hold back anymore. i'm going to cross this line now.”
before you can even utter a sound, caleb grips your hips like iron vices and drives his hips forward.
“ahhh!”
a high-pitched gasp is ripped from your lungs as the stretching length of his dick forces its way inside you in one thrust. it's a tight, bruising fit, your walls screaming at the sudden fullness of him while he buries himself all the way to his hilt, his lower belly slamming hard against your pelvis.
caleb lets out a shattering groan that sounds like a sob, his head instantly dropping forward into the crook of your neck. his hot breath scalds your skin, and you can feel the wet smudge of tears mixing with the sweat on his face. he is crying into your shoulder, panting like a dying man, his entire broad frame shuddering violently against you.
“ffckk... nhhh... you're so tight, it's so hot,” caleb opens your thighs wider just so he can pound into you much, much faster. “i've... i've thought about this every single night.... every time you smiled at me... every time you fell asleep.... i've wanted to do this so fucking bad...”
caleb grips your thighs, hoisting your leg up until it was wrapped tightly around his broad waist, and begins to fuck you desperately against the iron door.
thud. thud. thud.
the heavy wood rattles on its hinges with every brutal stride of his lower body. caleb drives into you as if he is angry—furious at you for making him wait this long, furious at himself for breaking the rules, and desperate to mark every single inch of your inside. he doesn't give you time to adjust to his size; he just plunges deep, his thick shaft sliding through your tight squelching wetness.
“caleb—ah!—stop, it's too deep—nhhh!” you moan out loud, your head thrashing against the door behind you. your hands leave his shoulders and wrap around his damp hair, trying to pull him closer, trying to find some anchor as his massive cock relentlessly reorganizes your insides. you can't even think straight anymore, his dick is leaving you with nothing but the raw urge to take his size and beg for more.
“not stopping,” caleb grunts against your ear, it makes your thigh squeeze tighter around his waist. he tilts his head upward, jaw clenched so hard the tendons in his neck look like wires under his skin. his eyelashes flutter, his eyes half-closed and ghost-blinking as he loses himself entirely to the pleasure. “fuck, why didn't we d-do this sooner?”
he thrusts into you even deeper, his hips rolling with a newfound precision that hits a sensitive spot deep within your womb.
“hnggh, caleb, deeper, deeper...!”
“what was that, huh?” caleb suddenly pulls out, bringing your legs down.
“what are you... a-are you going to leave me again?”
he smirks, pressing a kiss against your forehead while you felt the wamrth of his hands grabbing your right leg to hoist it up high - up, up, and up - until you're now sideways, leg stretched open and high enough that your ankle was an inch away from caleb's face. “deeper, right?” in a second, he drives his cock back into your hole, this time making sure that every thrust he gave you was a slap on the womb.
“ahngh, caleb!—”
the orange twilight through the barred window slowly deepens into a thick midnight blue, but the desperate rhythm inside the storage room doesn't stop.
for the next few hours, the university gymnasium becomes completely empty, the lights on the court turning off one by one until the only sound left in the entire concrete structure is the repetitive rattle of the iron storage door. caleb completely loses his composure, his body moving on pure instinct while he continues to drive his length into your soaking heat over and over again.
the dynamic between you never truly changes, even as the skin of your hips turns a deep, flushed pink from the iron grip of his palms. every time he tries to pull that annoying tone to tell you to take his size, his voice shatters into a pathetically high-pitched whine the second your tight walls squeeze him. you don't let him have the satisfaction of total victory either; even when your legs are trembling so hard you can barely keep them still, you still find the breath to mock his stuttering moans, driving your fingers into his damp hair to yank him down into bruising, messy kisses.
by the time caleb finally collapses against your chest, his chest heaving as he spills his fourth climax deep inside your womb, the moon is already high over the campus grounds. he stays buried inside you for a long time in the dark, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he whimpers out how much he hates you for completely ruining his brain. you just hold onto his sweaty back, your chin resting on his damp jersey, knowing that the comfortable childhood bubble you both lived in is gone forever—and neither of you has any intention of tapping out.
synopsis: For as long as you’ve dated Toji Fushiguro, you’ve come to realize how much of a massive perv he is…
tags:perv!toji fushiguro x fem!shy!reader,smut, fingering, slightly tit/nipple play, squirting, groping, slight dub con but like not really idk
a/n:mmmmm tojiiii🤤🤤also! my requests are open! So start sending them in! If I find them interesting I’ll do it!!
You were peacefully lying in bed watching something on the TV. You were all comfy, finished showering about an hour ago, smelling like your signature scent. You were allllll snuggled up…until the other side of the bed started to dip and lean over. A mass creating a strong sigh. “hey princess.” Toji. His hand snakes over your hips, his curling perfectly into you hip bone. “All comfy?”
You love him you do! But Toji is always on a different level compared to other stereotypical boyfriends. His hand never remained at his sides. Ass,tits,hips anything, nothing is safe. He did it front of his friends, his family, your family. If you were there, bet your ass his hand was somewhere where it shouldn’t. Giving it a good squish or squeeze.
You’ve tried to keep him in control. Wearing more layered clothes and less revealing clothes, stopped bending over in front of him. The works basically but nothing would work. I guess you took it as a plus. He thinks everything you do no matter what state you’re in, is extremely sexy and hot to him.
Your underwear would even go missing for days or shirts you’ve worked out in would disappear from the dirty clothes basket. And or, they reappear all sticky or crusty. You knew who the culprit was, not like he cared enough to even care.
“Yes Toji, let’s keep it that way.” You grumbled the last part. His hips shifted against your ass, his big hands—almost the size of your head slowly slide down to your waistband of your shorts. His fingers lightly treading against your cunt. You whimpered as you gripped his wrist. The movie went on without you both. “Toji…please..”
His other hand glided towards your breast. Cupping below the hilt. His fingers lightly grazing your nipple. Your mouth began to dry up, and whimpers being clogged up into your throat. “What? Can’t love my girl anymore?”
“N-no, Toji you’re g-mhm! groping me!” You whined out. His fingers near your pussy dipped even lower beyond your shorts, his finger tips tickling your clit. You yelped out and threw your head back against his shoulder. His grin was wide, the scar on his lip curving with it. “There’s my sweet girl, yea?” You let out a grunt as your legs uncontrollably curled outward.
His hands cupping your tits flicked your left nipple, causing even more overstimulation. Your body jolted and squirmed as his fingers mingled with your clit his middle finger sssliidddinngg down to the entrance of your pussy. “ngh!Toji please!”
“Please what? I don’t get it?” Toji mocks your lonely plea.
“I want you to—fuck! I want you to finger me!” You yelped out loud. Toji chuckled deeply, you feel the baritone and the vibration in his chest. His finger snaked into your entrance. Slowly swirling around your gummy and sticky walls. You kissed his neck as you moaned into his mouth. The scar on his lips grazed yours as your hands traced his abs. “You’re such a perv you know that right?” You told him. Toji’s hand on your tits grasped your tit harsh. “Me? You’re the one screaming and crying on my fingers. You know how you get when you hop on this dick—”
You slapped his chest teasingly but, making your boyfriend speed up his finger menstruations. Your moans became harsher and longer. Your head thrown back even further in his shoulder. “I-I oh fuck! Gonna cum! G-gonna cum?!” You screamed out. Your body was warmer than ever, tears threatening to roll down your face. “You wanna cum baby? After calling me a perv? I think you owe me something, hm?”
With your orgasm creeping close within your body, your tummy churning in the right possible places. You sallowed your pride and—
“I’m—ugh! Sorry!!” You screamed
Toji’s hands moved faster as you cried out and gripped his biceps. Clear liquid squirted out your hole with your mouth let out the most intense breath and screams. “Good girl, that’s it.” Toji coos at you. After the waves of your orgasm stopped crashing into your soul, his fingers slid out of you. You laid against his shoulder, legs slightly twitching. “You ass. I just showered…fuck…”
“You’ll live princess.” Toji says as he sucks on his squirt and cream covered hand.
You ship Satoru and Suguru, your two roommates, until they get pissed and decide to fuck your brains out <3
WC: 3.6k (it was supposed to be a short fic but oh well)
smut | fluff and smut | reader's just like us
You met Satoru and Suguru at the university's orientation. They stood tall and loud, with Satoru's wide grin and Suguru's handsome composure. Ying and yang, sun and moon, fire and water, with both being complete opposites, but at the same time filling each other perfectly. Satoru was so goddamn wild and obnoxious, a rich kid knowing that most first years fell for his look the moment he entered the classroom, and Suguru smiling slyly, quietly, enjoying subtle attention from his secret admirers.
It clicked between the three of you instantly. Just like that, with Satoru inviting you to a random party and getting so fucked up, you needed to help Suguru take him back to his apartment. Their, maybe, because it turned out that Suguru lived there too.
And you've never seen a flat as big as that one, with three separate bedrooms and two bathrooms, a spacious loft with high ceilings and sunny windows. It looked quite homey, tho could use a bit of womanly touch.
So when you helped Suguru drag Satoru to his bedroom and leave his heavy, snoring body on a queen bed, both of you were panting heavily as if you'd just finished a marathon.
"Satoru, you fucker, I hope hangover will eat you alive tomorrow," Suguru murmured, and you laughed quietly, never taking your eyes off the sleeping beauty, spread comfy on his white sheets.
And somehow, you have no idea at what point and why, but words spilled from your lips about how difficult it was to find an apartment as a freshman, with enough money in your bank account to live on instant noodles for the next week and rent so high you wanted to dig a hole and bury yourself in it.
"Just move in here."
The world almost stopped when he said, voice so casual you asked if he had drunk too much.
Suguru rolled his eyes, taking you for a tour around the house. "No, seriously. We have one room available, you're fun, Satoru rolls in money, and I'm sure he would be happy to have someone more enthusiastic here."
You weren't sure of it, considering that you've known each other for what, three days? They seemed like nice, fun guys – also hot, but not in a normal way, but more like I think I just started ovulating type – so living with them maybe wouldn't be that bad.
You stopped pondering when Suguru showed you the bedroom. Spacious, neat, with a bed twice as big as the one you had back home, a lovely desk and a TV – hello?? – so you immediately struck a bargain.
"Good, you can move in tomorrow."
You considered that maybe Satoru should also give his permission, assuming that it was his apartment after all, but Suguru waved his hand and called a moving company to take your stuff.
And Satoru? He couldn't be happier to see you the next day, jumping around like a pup, helping you happily with hanging posters on the walls, and even buying a small chair where you could sit comfortably and write your silly stories.
Ah yeah. Right.
So through the next months of living together, tightening the bond and getting closer than you've ever thought you'll be, with you feeling comfortable enough to roam around the apartment with just panties and a short top, tight around your plump tits – there was one thing you had noticed.
And you would rub your hands like a little devil, biting lip slyly and chuckling under breath, every time you had a chance to sit down with your cute, pinkish laptop and a Word displayed on a screen.
They didn't have to know about the stuff you were writing. They didn't even have to know about things you were reading, with all limbs spread on a shared sofa and soft giggles escaping once in a while. Satoru would look at you with a raised eyebrow and try to steal your phone, but you were always quicker, sleeker, pushing him away with a foot and locking yourself in a bedroom.
"It's fine babe, I know you're reading your fairy porn," he would laugh, because both you and Suguru were using his Amazon account linked directly to his supposedly never-running-out-of-money card.
So, once in a while, he would get a notification, such as "Mating with an Alien will be shipped to you soon!" or "Based on your latest research of fairy smut, monsters & aliens, and cowboy romance, these are your recommendations for this month!" Suguru would receive them from the deliveryman with a chuckle and throw on your bed with "You're getting off to it, aren't you?"
They also knew that you were quite a famous online writer, with a stable and freaky fanbase, just waiting for the next deliciously clenching smut of their favourite characters fucking in every possible scenario. They would even tease you, asking whether you needed a reference material and if a story about sucking off your roommates would sell well.
What they didn't know, however, was that it would. And it was.
But it wasn't a story of the three of you. Nah.
It was about them.
About their secret glances, so feverish and exciting, you were getting wet just by looking at the way their fingers accidentally brushed while reaching for the remote.
The way Satoru would help Suguru brush his hair or sprawl across the sofa like a lazy cat, head shamelessly placed on Suguru’s lap. He wouldn't even react – just automatically threaded his fingers through his white locks.
In the kitchen, Suguru cooked like a man possessed, apron on, sleeves rolled, moving between stove and counter while Satoru leaned against the doorway, stealing bites and getting scolded half-heartedly.
He would also wake Satoru up in the mornings and let him sleep in his own bed, because "Satoru doesn't like to sleep alone."
When you shared a couch, you would usually sit between them, thigh to thigh, hottish, feverish, with their muscular arms behind your back, grazing your shoulder blades in circles.
But to confirm your theory of their secretive love story, one evening you decided to move to the corner.
Satoru looked at you with furrowed brows. Suguru asked if you're on your period and want to lie down, but after saying that, "It's so fucking hot outside and both of you are like walking heaters", they snorted slightly and sat next to each other.
So you observed giggling and kicking your feet like a teenager who just discovered One Direction gay fics, seeing how Satoru rested his head on Suguru's shoulder and how Suguru murmured something to his ear, which made white-hair man chuckle.
At some point, you couldn't handle it anymore. They needed to know. You wanted them to know.
So you asked.
"Have you ever fucked each other?"
Well, yeah, okay, maybe it wasn't the smoothest, the most delicate way you could put it into words, but at least you were forward.
But the world suddenly stopped, together with a movie playing in TV and Suguru's hand gently massaging your calves.
They looked at you with almost no expression, as if their brains tried to process the question you've just asked.
"Have you hit your head?" Satoru asked.
"Aren't you reading too much of this gay porn you've been buying like crazy?" Suguru followed.
Oh, okay, so that was it.
You snorted, almost offended, when you looked back at the TV and filled mouth with another portion of caramel popcorn. "You would make such a good duo, tho. Acting like an old married couple already, get a room, hm?"
They were left speechless, and you tried to keep smile flat, feeling the heavy gaze of both of your roommates. "Not even a kiss, tho?"
Suguru's eyes widened, and Satoru snorted with his mouth full of jellies. "Baby, what's your problem?"
Baby, kitten, sweetie, were used daily, and you didn't even notice the way your name was finally forgotten by both of them, with only cute words slipping from their dirty mouths.
You shrugged, eyes glued to the movie. "You know, there's a chemistry between you two, so I thought that maybe you experimented a bit."
Suguru rolled his eyes, and before he could state that he's definitely not gay and loves (your) pussy dearly, Satoru hummed quietly. "I mean, do you remember when in high school we jac–"
Before he could finish, Suguru closed his sugary lips with his hand, eyes almost burning him through. "Don't feed her fantasies!"
But it was too late. You already caught on.
And a sly smile slipped your lips, when you moved on the couch closer, breast brushing Suguru's biceps. His breath hitched, but you didn't notice, resting hand on his thighs, dangerously close to throbbing dick.
"You did what, Toru?"
He mumbled something into Suguru's skin before giving it a quick, wet lick.
"You jackass!" Suguru hissed, wiping his hand on Satoru's hoodie.
Your eyes burned with a fever, so intense and clearly lost in obscenity, Satoru's throat bobbed, and he immediately regretted spilling out their secret. "N-nothing, actually. I-I must've made a mistake."
And if they thought that it was the last time you mentioned this topic, dropping it on that night with a smack of your plump lips – they were wrong.
Because you would follow them with your eyes, every-fucking-day, observing closely, with your panties tight around your ass and nipples perked under the material of your almost transparent top.
They knew summer in Tokyo was sizzling, but dear god. Let them breathe!
How could you ever think of them being into each other, when Suguru would smell your panties while doing the laundry, and Satoru used every occasion possible to lay his head on your plush tits?
Were you stupid or just not interested in them?
If the first one, well, they would fuck you stupid then.
If the second one, they needed to somehow make you look at them as men and not one of those gay couples you wrote your stories about.
Because the moment both of them have laid their eyes on you, they couldn't stop thinking about fucking their pretty roommate in every corner of the apartment, feeling like men starved every time you would greet them in the morning with messy hair and those obscenely tight pyjamas.
You were smart, funny, so fucking gorgeous, freakishly perverted in all the best ways, and could have them down to their knees if you asked to.
But you didn't!
Instead, it turned out you were more persistent than they thought, attacking them with random questions when they didn't expect, or glancing at the way Suguru would fill the kitchen's shelves with Satoru's favourite snacks.
"Stuffing full for your boyfriend, aren't you?" he wanted to erase this shit-eating grin from your face, but his eyes couldn't leave the droplets of water that rolled down your chin, down to open cleavage when you took a large sip.
"And you're a delusional pervert, aren't you?"
You laughed heartily, leaving him with a smirk and a shake of his head. "Baby, these stories twirl wrong gears in that pretty head of yours."
You sat on the barstool while he prepared pancakes for your Saturday morning breakfast. Satoru was still sleeping, snoring softly in Suguru’s bed. "I'm not the one sleeping with a man every night."
He stopped mixing the cake mass, glancing at you.
And this time, he didn't know what to say.
"Boom," you puffed, already feeling like a winner. "You're not beating boyfriend's allegations."
You did it constantly.
Not only with Suguru, but with Satoru too.
You would go out to do the shopping and, how accidentally!, the only shortcut would lead through the park, with a huge pond stuffed with koi fish. And although Suguru told you to buy ingredients for dinner quickly and get your asses back home, both you and Satoru stopped to look at cute fish swimming peacefully in circles.
"Oh god, Satoru, look!" You gripped your fingers on his bicep and showed a pair of white and black fish, floating together closely, as if synchronised. "It's literally you and Suguru!"
And Satoru would snort and drag you away from this pond. He promised himself to never go through this fucking park again.
"Can't men be just very good friends?" he asked once, sprawled on a sofa with his face deep in your plump thighs.
It was a hot summer night, with a fan humming softly in the background and crickets singing outside your balcony. You would wear those obscenely tight shorts, showing a bit of ass and sitting low on your hips. And because you were already used to his clinginess, he would put his arms around your waist and lie down innocently, sniffing your freshly washed body in a secret.
Wet hair was dripping down your shoulders, with droplets sliding down the chest.
"Not on my watch. Anyways, neither you nor Suguru is convincing enough to beat the fruity accusation."
Another time, while once again sitting between them both, unaware of the glances sent towards your bare legs and plump thighs touching theirs, you asked them one of those stupid questions again.
"Would you prefer to be Batman or Superman?"
Suguru sighed, while Satoru furrowed his brows, as if thinking about the correct answer.
"Have you read another fanfic?" Suguru asked.
You shrugged, bending over to the table and taking a sour jelly from a bowl. Your top rolled slightly, showing a part of back, with soft skin glimmering under the TV's glow.
"Don't underestimate me. I wrote it," you chuckled, seeing Suguru's face twisting in agony. "So? Which one?"
"Which one is a top?" Satoru wondered, getting a murderous glance from your other roommate. "What? I don't wanna be the bottom!"
And then both you and Suguru looked at him. Too quickly, too synchronised, with raised eyebrows and eyes falling down his pretty, whiny lips, before Suguru grinned. "Satoru, have you ever looked in the mirror?"
The white-haired man scoffed, hitting you with a sweet ball of caramel popcorn. "I'm not a fucking bottom! Let Suguru take it up his ass."
"Yeah, and forks are in the kitchen, come on Toru." You said, taking another sweet ball from between his fingers, twirling your mouth around his milkish skin.
You had truly zero idea about the way you worked them up, hadn't you?
At least that's what they thought, but...
But actually, you knew.
You noticed their hungry glimpses, gentle touches, and Satoru purring like a cat every time you hugged him to your chest. One evening, when you went quietly to the bathroom, you even saw Suguru, with his lids closed, breathing a bit ragged and a pair of your sleeping shorts pushed tightly against his nose.
Oh!
How exciting it was to see him on his knees, nose deep down your dirty panties, the one you slept in for probably the last few days. His cock was sitting heavily in his hand, while he pumped it quick, raw, with a head dripping with precum and veins popping out every time he took a fresh sniff.
So, well, at some point, you stopped shipping them, although you loved how pissed they got when you suggested that gay allegations were still there.
That's why you shouldn't be too surprised when, a few nights later, your fanfiction – and quite explicit it was, worth mentioning! – somehow got into Satoru's hands. And he somehow deduced that the doomed duo you were writing about was him and Suguru, because "Why the fuck Superman has white hair, and Batman wears a bun?!"
And considering the tension between the three of you, that hung in the air like a gallows ready to fall on the traitor's head, you really shouldn't be surprised with Suguru lying between your legs, thighs pushed to your bare breasts, and back pressed against Satoru's chest.
"His huge cock caught on Superman's tight hole? Give me a break, sweetie, the only hole my cock can fill is this one," Suguru murmured, putting his tongue flat against your folds, slurping and drinking the slick that rolled down his chin.
"And why, the fuck do you think I wouldn't like a blowjob, hm?" added Satoru and a moment later, you felt something heavy, sticky, warm on your lips, with a musky scent filling your senses. It smelled so delicious, manly and made your hole tighten around Suguru's lapping tongue. "No one ever told you to shut your mouth, and it shows."
You only managed to moan softly before his feverish tip with precum dripping down its fat shaft, pushed through your lips. "Mhmmmm."
Suguru put one finger in, twisting it, bending, looking for this spongy button that a second later made your thighs squeeze his head and a deep moan escape your throat.
"S-shit, Suguru, careful. She squeezed me so hard I almost came." Satoru's breath was already jagged when his fingers slipped into your hair and grabbed it fully, tightly, leaving you no option but move your throat according to his wishes.
"Fuck baby, it smells even better in real life," Suguru mumbled with furrowed brows and blushed cheeks, when he took a deep, long sniff of your syrupy folds, stuck by your juices. He circled your clit with his tongue, sucking in gently with hollowed cheeks, until your head spun and eyes rolled back.
Satoru's cock felt heavy in your mouth, going deep down your throat and stretching in deliciously, hitting it back with his hottish head. "Are you gonna let Suguru fuck you? Hm? Will you be a good whore and open your pretty legs for him?" he fucked your throat deeper, grinning at the sheer look of your teary eyes. "You can use it as a reference for your silly stories, huh?"
With how busy and full your mouth was, you could only nod quickly, feeling Suguru's long cock tapping on your folds. "As much as I want to taste your pussy, you need to learn a thing or two, sweetie," and then he pushed it inside, scraping your walls and drenching his shaft in your slick, until you felt it in your lungs. "For example, I really fucking love how your pussy clenches on my cock. Fuck, loosen up, or you'll snap it in half."
He shrugged slightly, feeling your walls tightening around it even stronger, juicier, seeing a wide grin pushed on the lips and eyes of a true fucking perv, enjoying being manhandled and fucked stupid by your two rommates.
Satoru's pulled out for a moment, letting you catch your breath.
And, oh, you really used this moment.
"Stop talking and fuck me sensles, you perv. Imagine my pussy's those pinky pants you cummed into last night." Suguru raised his eyebrow, pupils almost dilated, seeing your shit-eating grin once again spreading on your lips. "And you," you turned to Satoru. "Why don't you ask your boyfriend–"
But you didn't finish, because Satoru pushed his cock inside your throat once again, so brutally, your nose was buried deep in his white pubes.
"Whores have no right to speak, sweetie," he murmured, seeing fat tears running down your cheeks and eyes rolling back.
And Suguru, oh dear, he took out his cock, until only the tip was caught on your sucking walls, and a second later, thrusted it back inside raw, knocking the air out of your lungs. You felt his heavy balls on your ass, pelvis right against yours, pubes grazing your clit when he pinched it and laughed, seeing shock going through your body.
"You really are a lost cause, baby."
Squelching, slapping, soft moans were spreading through your bedroom, with Satoru fucking your throat and cutting of acces to air, while your cunt gripped Suguru's cock, milking him dry and soaking in your saps. He put your leg on his shoulder, going in even deeper, brutal, rearranging your pussy with a delightful smile on his face and head lulled back, completly lost in pleasure.
"Mmm baby, this pussy, ngh– walking around in this short and nipples out, like a fucking whore." Long, dark hair covered his blushed cheeks when he looked down, seeing fluttering walls around his pulsing grith. "You're gonna let me cum inside, right? Have a reference material for your next creampie or breeding kink fic. Tell me you're ovulating and I'm gonna put a baby into you."
But you only whined, scratching Satoru's thighs when he set a brutal pace and fucked your throat senseless. He bucked his hips hard, swollen tip scratching the back of your throat with a weak moan escaping his lips.
"You better swallow everything, baby." thrust, thrust, thrust, with both men working in a synchro. "If I knew your throat was this tight we could do it sooner, huh?"
And a moment later, when you felt warmth pooling in your lower belly, head spinning, and Suguru pinching your clit, circling nerves with his wet finger, you clenched both pussy and your throat. Warmness spilled down your throat, back deliciously arched, and Suguru thrusted his tip right against your cervix, pumping it full of his cum. It was hot and heavy in your stomach, with your throat wet and sticky from Satoru's white ropes. You cummed together with them, spilling hot juices all over Suguru's pelvis, feeling shivers down your spine.
Satoru fell back on cushions, wrapping his arms around your wet body and pressing you back against his chest. He was breathing heavy when Suguru laid down on your bare belly, feeling your fingers going gently through his dark locks.
There was a moment of silence before you laughed softly and shook your head.
"Next time, maybe you can suck ea–"
"Oh shut up," both of them growled, putting their palms on your grinning lips.
I swear it was so funny and hot when I was writing it at 3 am last night
ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - next door neighbor!gojo x reader
ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency department, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.
ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, some choso x reader, some suguru x reader, some crippling debt x reader; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s
ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!
ᰔ status. ongoing
ᰔ word count. 113.9k
ᰔ taglist. open
☾·̩͙꙳ ao3 link :: playlist :: header art by @/3aem
chapter index.
ch1. he said yes! congrats!
ch2. you may now kiss the bride
ch3. domestic encounters
ch4. in a mother's eyes
ch5. child's play
ch6. the in-laws
ch7. if you wanna get groceries
ch8. two steps back
ch9. counting sheep
ch10. what if?
[end of season one]
headcanons.
official headcanons pt1. fluff & crack | link
a note from the author. hello! my name is ellie, and this is my second long fic series called 'in holy matriphony' which i began posting in april '24! this started off as such a small lil concept idea trashing on the american healthcare system, and now it's a fullblown fic. i have sooo much planned for this series, so admittedly it will be a long one, but i am so grateful to anyone that tags along for the ride :””) please let me know if i missed any tags or warnings! and for those who may want to know before reading, this series will have a happy ending <3
MDNI/18+ only, nipple sucking
Roommate!Gojo x fem!reader
The heat is getting to you—it has been getting to you, but just yesterday you had AC to survive this horrible, horrible weather. Now that fuckass thing is broken and you have to sit here in the heat, sweating your ass off.
You’ve already put your hair up and away from your neck, a cold bottle of water being currently pressed against your skin, helping you cool down slightly.
It doesn’t work, though. Sure, it’s a nice respite, for two second, before another wave of absolute heat makes you sweat even more. Groaning, you close your eyes.
Satoru walks into the living room, where he sees you sit. A bottle of water awkwardly held against your overheating skin, little droplets of water and sweat beading down your neck. Not just your neck, but your entire body is covered in a sheen of sweat, glistening in low light.
A droplet of sweat beads down from your chin all the way to the valley of your breast, disappearing where he can’t see.
Fuck. Of course you would wear minimal clothing with this heat—just a small tank top, which has your tits almost spill over, and the shortest shorts known to mankind—but it just overheats him more.
Pushing his white locks from his forehead, he walks over to where the AC isn’t blasting.
“Please tell me you can fix it,” you groan from the couch, opening an eye to see your roommate look at the AC with a frown on his face. Sweat is beading down his temple as he stretches, giving the thing a quick tap—as if that would do anything.
There’s a faint reply from him, but you aren’t even listening anymore. While he’s trying to work on the AC—arms outstretched, muscles flexing, more sweat dripping sinfully down his body—his shirt has ridden up just enough for you to see that V-line and a portion of his abs.
Licking your lips, you let your eyes linger for a second longer, giving him some hums in reply to what he’s saying.
Sure, you’ve seen Gojo walk around without a shirt many times, but that doesn’t mean you get tired of the sight. It’s not like you normally get to have a good look. If your eyes so much as wandered down his chest, he would give you a small smirk, subtly flexing his abs, before you turned around with a scoff.
He’s hot, so what? And now he also has it hot, sweat dampening his shirt, clinging to the outline of his body. Maybe he should just take it off. To battle the heat, of course, nothing else!
Your mouth is getting parched by now. And just in time, too, because Gojo turns around with a pout on his face, lower lip jutted out dramatically. “Can’t get it to work.”
“That’s because you can’t get anything to work,” you grumble before taking a sip of your cold water that has warmed up by your skin slightly. Still, the cool water slides down your throat, a little bit spilling from the corner of your mouth, trailing down your neck, leaving behind a wet trail of goosebumps.
Suddenly, Gojo leans into your personal space. The heat of his body is unbearable right now, but you can’t lean away any further, the couch behind you preventing it from happening.
Before you can even say anything, his tongue darts out of his mouth and onto your neck. He licks a broad stripe up your neck where the water trailed down—no doubt tasting all the salty sweat as well—and even onto your chin, before he leans back slightly with a small smile on his face.
“What the fuck, Gojo?! Why would you do that??” you grumble, swiping your hand over your neck which is all wet with saliva now. It’s honestly not a nice feeling, especially with this heat, and it makes you all the more cranky.
“What? I’m sweating too, and we can’t let any of the cool water go to waste!” he easily replies, still leaning in way too close. There’s a hint of amusement visible in his eyes as he looks at your bottle of water before his eyes trail down your neck again, licking his lips when they trail even lower, having a perfect view of your boobs now.
“Just because we’re in a heatwave doesn’t mean we don’t have any cool water. Wasting one drop of it wouldn’t mean we’d die. There’s plenty more in the fridge, so get your lanky ass up and get yourself some.” You end the sentence with bringing the bottle up to your lips again.
Wrong choice.
One of Gojo’s large hands wraps itself around yours, and squeezes. The water that was supposed to go into your mouth is now everywhere—your face, neck, chest, legs and onto the couch.
“Oops. Sorry, it just looked like you were feeling a bit hot, so I was trying to help you cool down—” his words trail off when he looks down. Your tank is now clinging to your body, nipples hard because of the cold liquid seeping into the fabric. And what a fucking sight it is. “But my mom always said I should clean up my own mess.”
His lips descend onto your chest, slurping some of the water that’s still on the hollow of your throat. Gasping out, one of your hands find the back of his head, fingers tangling in his white locks that are absolutely soaked with sweat.
He peppers some kisses onto your skin, tongue occasionally flicking against your skin as he looks up at you with those bright blue eyes of his.
Biting down onto your lower lip, you look down at your roommate now situated between your legs as he absolutely laps you up. You wouldn’t have guessed this actually happen in even your wildest dreams. Sure there have been some where he was in, but even your mind kept cock-blocking you.
Hovering just before your your nipple, he looks up for permission. Giving him a small nod, he surges forward, lips wrapping around the hardened peak through the fabric, absolutely sucking and biting on it.
Moaning, you arch your back for him, hand pushing him further into your chest. His tongue circles around the bud a few times before he sucks again, a wet slurp of which you have no doubt also makes his entire fill with water and sweat, that was seeped into your top.
Your other hand tightens around the bottle of water. The crinkling of it has you snap your eyes to it, and a small smirk immediately stretches your lips.
There’s still a bit of water left in the thing, and without thinking too much about it, you pour the remained down Gojo’s back. The liquid drenching his shirt, the white fabric becoming transparent, clinging to his back muscles.
He gasps as he jolts slightly. Detaching his lips from your chest, he looks at you with wide eyes. “Oops.” you do not sound sorry for even a little bit. “Maybe you should take that off.”
Huffing a laugh through his nose, he shakes his head a little, but easily complies. His hands find the hem of his shirt, and he slowly takes it off. Taking his time with it, you let your eyes wander once more—his abs now fully uncovered, strong biceps flexing as he pulls the shirt over his head, and of course his back rippling with the motion.
Tossing the shirt somewhere into the living room, he notes the way your eyes wander. Smirking he slowly leans forward again, lips trailing wet kisses all the way from your pretty tits all the way to your cheek.
Just as his lips hover centimeters from yours— BZZZTTT. The intercom rings through the apartment, making the two of you look over to the tiny box hanging near the door. “I’m here to fix the AC.”
neighbor!toji who always seems to step out onto his balcony the exact second you go out to water your pink petunias, lazily leaning over the railing in his worn-out gray sweatpants just to watch you chat with your plants.
neighbor!toji who effortlessly carries all your heavy grocery bags up three flights of stairs in one trip, holding them easily with his fingers while using his free arm to keep you steady against his side when you trip over your own long cardigan.
neighbor!toji who lets you use his massive, worn-out leather jacket when the radiator in your apartment breaks down, smirking when it looks like a literal dress on your small frame and pulling the hood up over your eyes to gently tease you.
neighbor!toji who notices when a creepy delivery driver stays a little too long at your door, suddenly appearing in the hallway looking absolutely massive and intimidating until the guy scampers off, only to turn to you and completely soften, asking if you're okay in his low, quiet voice.
neighbor!toji who holds your umbrella for you when it rains, tilting the entire thing over to your side so not a single drop hits your outfit, completely ignoring the fact that his own broad shoulder is getting soaked in the process.
neighbor!toji who always mutes his TV the second he hears you fumbling with your keys in the hallway late at night, cracking his door open just an inch to make sure you get inside your apartment safely before he locks up his own
neighbor!toji who always takes out your trash bags for you because he claims they're "too heavy for someone your size," leaving a little note or a piece of candy on your welcome mat afterward just to make you smile.
neighbor!tojiwho notices your favorite pastel mug sitting on his counter from the last time you visited, carefully washing it by hand and putting it away in a special spot so it's ready for you the next time you come over for coffee.
neighbor!toji who lets you drag him into the local craft store to help you carry big bins of yarn and fabric, standing patiently in the middle of the pink aisle looking completely out of place but carrying everything with an amused look.
neighbor!toji who pretends he hates the sweet, flowery perfume you always wear, but you notice he always leans in just a little bit closer whenever he takes a package from your hands at the door.
neighbor!toji who notices you shivering on the balcony one chilly evening and steps over the low divider separating your apartments, wrapping his giant arms around you from behind to pull you against his chest to warm you up, his heart beating loud and steady against your back.
neighbor!toji who starts finding excuses to come over every single night, whether it's bringing you a sweet treat he "accidentally" bought too much of or asking to borrow a cup of sugar he definitely doesn't need, just so he can sit on your couch and watch you talk.
neighbor!toji who blocks your doorway with his massive frame when you try to say goodnight, trapping you against the wall with his arms on either side of your head. he looks down at you, completely breathless, and whispers that he can't keep pretending he's just your neighbor when he's completely in love with you.
neighbor!toji who finally cups your face, his palms warm as he pulls you into his space, his green eyes completely dark and serious. he whispers that he's tired of just being the guy next door and wants to be your boyfriend.
dom!Sukuna who’s fine with you touching yourself, so long as you don’t put anything inside... nsfw 18+ mdni.
──── ୨୧ ────
“You’re soaked. Really gave her a workout, hm?”
His thumb swiped between your legs slowly, lazily. Just enough to graze over your clit, still perked and twitching with residual little sizzles of pleasure.
He paused a moment just to watch you clench around nothing, to indulge in the feeling of your clit pulsing beneath his thumb before his touch dipped lower. Calloused fingertips traced around your entrance, smearing the slick left drooling there in the wake of your nth orgasm.
“But not here, right?” He questioned, voice nothing but a deep rumble as he teased at your rim.
You shook your head slowly, feeling dizzy and a little breathless. Brain fuzzy now with the delicate brush of his fingers tracing your neglected entrance, and the way his voice felt over your ears - silky and utterly decadent.
“Of course not,” he soothed, voice still low, painfully intimate, “because only I’m allowed inside, isn’t that right, pet?”
As the last word left him, his wrist finally moved. Two thick fingers slipping inside with an ease that made your stomach drop and your pulse leap to a frenzied thrum. Your body welcomed the contact, sucked the length of him inside greedily until you felt the heel of his palm grind against you.
“Yes sir…” you breathed, nothing but a whisper as you watched the muscle in his forearm jump from beneath half-lidded lashes. Listening to the slurry of wet noises he was beginning to draw from you, and huffing out a choked little gasp each time his palm kissed your sticky clit.
His fingers curled with an obscene ‘squelch!’, petting somewhere deep and tender that had your lashes fluttering closed and a shaky breath escaping from between your parted, raw-bitten lips.
“That’s a good girl,” he purred, savouring the sight of your chin hitting your chest as you began to melt into the mattress, the feeling of your pussy clenching desperately around his digits - blindly chasing a pleasure only he could provide.
"ngh- i can't do it anymooooree..!" you whine, tears trailing down your heated face, accompanied by sweat dribbling down your forehead.
your wrists are tied to the headboard of your bed: the originally cozy, plush quilt, gradually reduced into a stifling pressure that constantly rubbed against your warm skin.
torn between pleasure and pain, your sweet, pitiful whimpers echoed continuously throughout the humid room. satoru pants, the veins of his neck slightly bulging—clearly from his desperate attempts to hold back.
"one more time baby," he presses a moist, lingering kiss on your forehead, arms draped across your waist, with two fingers stuffed into your slick cunt. his other hand held a small, vibrating device against your throbbing clit, tracing focused circles around it.
you sob, "p-please.. please jus' let me cum.." you gripped the sheets with your trembling hands, trying to ground yourself amidst the blinding sparks that fried your senses.
he chuckles, delighted by your pleas. he moves the vibrator close to the folds of your entrance, merely teasing instead of providing you that sweet release you've been chasing. "c'mon baby.. you can hold it, right? aren't you a good girl?"
a cry tears itself out from your raspy throat, "i can't—mmh..! c-can't, can't do it." your ears are ringing, eyes rolled back. the vibrations are ruthless against your sensitive pussy, his fingers stimulating that plush spot within your velvet walls.
"naughty." his eyes darkened, cruelly withdrawing the toy and stopping his own movements altogether. whimpering, your hips mindlessly shook, thrusting against nothing. you shiver, helplessly gazing into his deep blue eyes.
retaining eye contact, his fingers; wet and sticky, caressed your twitching thighs, moving up, up, uppp—placing his palm directly against your abdomen, exerting just enough pressure to make you squirm.
"poor, poor girl. you really want to cum, don't you?" he coos, peppering chaste kisses against your tear-stained cheeks. "want me to stuff my dick into your drooling pussy, yeah?" you hurriedly nod, oblivious to his manipulation.
he grins, "i just don't think you deserve it." your swollen lips wobble, a pout ever present. you hate being denied, yet you feel yourself clenching around air, the absence of being filled frustrating you immensely.
"please, please, please—i'll do anything..! i promise, i'll be good.." your voice cracks, teeth biting down your own bleeding lips.
he smirks, "really? anything?"
you nod, letting out pathetic cries. pleading oh so sweetly. his cock throbs in his pants, adoring the control he has on your mind and your body. the mere sight of you sobbing, slobbering against yourself, skin sticking on skin; rubbing your thighs together like a bitch in heat (though he'd rather die than think of you that way)—it was addictive.
so, so obsessively addicting, that he really wanted to eat you whole. to consume you completely, and merge as one, complete being with your soul. it sends tingles up his spine, shaking with enthusiastic pleasure.
he swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth, licking his drying lips. "then i suppose you can definitely hold on for another hour, no?"
and when you whine, indignant, wanting to oppose—he stuffs a finger into your mouth, pinching your tongue. subconsciously, you obediently close your lips around the singular digit, gagging; effectively shutting yourself up in the process.
he turns the vibrator back on, watching as you try to run away from the pleasure that he forcefully places against your puffy clit. with pride, he licks your ears, whispering, "that's my girl."
꩜ – FRAT PRESIDENT SATORU GOJO (and the shy girl he's obsessed with!)
(18+) HEADCANONS :: – frat!gojo x innocent!reader, college au, smut, dom!gojo, handjobs, praise, corruption kink, manipulative behavior, slight dub-con
frat president!satoru, who’s used to every type of girl at his party except you, all big eyes, wandering around his house like you didn’t know what to do. he’s asked suguru to offer you everything under the sun in the last thirty or so minutes — a drink, a smoke, a joint. you just politely decline, shaking your head so prettily.
frat president!satoru, who swears he’s just got an ego when he decides he’ll be the one to show you all of that and more. he could do it if suguru couldn’t, if no one else could.
he starts off all nice, walking you to all your classes, offering his sweaters in the lectures you had together (which he only started attending for you), buying you lunch and listening to your cute little rants about your worst profs.
frat president!satoru learns that you like being held when he’s the first one to find you after an exam you swear you’d failed. he doesn’t get it ‘til he’d realized your eyes are all glassy, so shiny as you peered up at him with wobbling lips, trying not to cry in front of him.
frat president!satoru loves the way you’d just melted into his arms after that. he calls you easy to his friends for it, but something inside him never wants to let go whenever you’re willing to press yourself into his chest, wherever you’re willing to do it.
frat president!satoru, who asks you what you’re wearing all the time and sends even prettier things to wear to your dorm when he thinks you can do better.
frat president!satoru, who’s spiraling at night, jerking off to your contact photo, wrapping his large hand around his dick and pretending like it’s that sweet mouth of yours engulfing his length. he imagines how shy you’d be, lips parted wide, smearing pre-cum and replacing your candy lip balm. he wants you tasting like him, those soft cheeks drenched in his cum, eyes screwed shut until he’s all you can think about.
frat president!satoru likes making you need him, doting on you and driving you around like a princess, spoiling you until you frown whenever his hand isn’t on your hip, or whenever he dodges your calls for fraternity meetings. he likes the idea that you might become obsessed with him (like he is with you).
frat president!satoru, who’s grinning cruelly the minute you finally tell him, “you know, you do so much for me, I feel like I’m not doing enough for you.” in that nervous voice of yours one day, while you’re tucked into his side at your apartment.
frat president!satoru, who’s never missed a meeting or a call until that day, when he’s finally got you whimpering shyly in his lap while he gently mouths at your neck, tasting that perfume he’s been searching online for for weeks, whispering about how he’s so grateful you wanna help him out, how sweet you are for making it up to him too even when you didn't have to.
but he’s been waiting for weeks, you’re all soft and impressionable on him, and he’s not letting a moment of your kindness go to waste.
frat president!satoru guides you with a husky voice when he teaches you to spit in your own palm and wrap your hand around his cock, nearly shivering at the contact — “make me feel good, pretty girl, it’s the least you can do.”
frat president!satoru, who just chuckles at the fact that you’re all nervous, looking up at him as if asking what to do next, just for him to wrap his palm around yours, engulfing it entirely. he groans lowly as he moves your palm up and down on his already-hard length, bottom lip catching between his teeth at how warm your hand feels against his dick.
“shit, just keep it like that, baby, up and down…”
frat president!satoru, who kisses you slow when you gasp at how he bucks up into your hand, keeping his own wrapped around it while desperately attempting not to just use you, jerk himself off with your tiny little fingers, maneuver you down and slam himself deep into your tight cunt. “hah — fuck, gorgeous, y— you’re good at this, huh? so good for me, so fucking cute…”
“i’ve never done this before,” you admit into frat president!satoru’s mouth, hushed and breathy like it’s a secret. he wants to fucking laugh, but he’s cut short by a low hiss as you thumb at his slit without him having to teach you, making him lose his mind piece by piece. shit, you’re just perfect, aren’t you?
“am — am I doing okay, satoru?”
frat president!satoru has nearly had enough of patience when you say that. shit, he bites down into your lip without even realizing, hand tightening around yours when you whimper. and it’s barely enough to notice at first, but he pumps your hand around him faster, growling into your mouth at the way your fingertips flex around his length, making a slick! sound that echoes across the room.
“you’re — shit, just like that — doing perfect, baby. so perfect.” frat president!satoru groans into your throat, even though he’s using your hand like a fuck toy now, smearing his own pre-cum mixed with your saliva all over his huge dick, bucking his hips up into your plush skin like a glorified fleshlight.
the only one he’s dreamed of in the past few weeks, at least.
frat president!satoru gets off on how eager you are to match his pace, his other hand cupping your cheeks to purse your pretty mouth open for him as he spits down your throat and relishes in your confused little whine. he doesn’t even realize how tightly he’s gripping your hand now, forcing you to jerk his cock faster.
“that’s it,” he pants into your lips, “just let me have you, okay? hah— so good, shit, you’ve been wanting this too, haven’t you?”
“satoru—” your voice is a wet dream, how it feathers off around the edges and breaks like you’re not sure.
frat president!satoru groans at the sound of your confusion. “been, fuck, thinking about this, baby. want you creaming on my cock next, yeah? or maybe it’s — haah! — too big for your first time. gotta — shit — prep you first.”
frat president!satoru spills into your hand with one last rough stroke of both your hands around his length, gasping low with his tongue down your throat as he finally lets your hand go. he watches the way your palm shakes, eyes dark, lifting your cum-covered fingertips to your mouth without thinking. and he thinks you won’t do it, until—
your sweet fucking tongue darts out to lick experimentally at your own fingers, and satoru thinks he’s gone to heaven.
frat president!satoru, who can’t help himself when he’s grabbing you by the waist now, laying you flat on your back and coming up to slot his knee between your thighs, committing the way your face scrunches up in both confusion and pleasure to memory. he thinks you’re the cutest fucking thing in the world, and he wants you broken in every way possible until you can’t fuck any other guy without imagining his dick.
“thank you, baby,” he grins against your neck. “can i make you feel good now?”
frat president!satoru, who decided he’d never let you fuck anyone else anyways the moment you'd nodded.
@ ttakdoll, 2026
inspired by an anon request for a shy reader!!
Dont Mind Me, Just Reblogging Smut To Read Later @renssecretstash - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
