Dollz Doll

Which made standing here—outside Professor Hargrove's office, heart hammering against your ribs, waiting to beg for a grade mercy was anything but perfect.

The hallway was quieter than usual, a few students passing by, but none paying you any real attention. The last thing you needed was someone asking you what you were doing.

Your posture straightened once the door opened. The professor, who was in his mid 50's, who always had a look of boredom on his face, glanced at you over his reading glasses before gesturing for you to come in.

"Thank you for seeing me, Professor."

He didn't return the smile.

It would have been easier if he were a bit younger and attractive at that. Yes, it would have been unethical, but it wouldn't be the first time you slept with a teacher or TA to help with your grades.

You sat, crossing your legs carefully so the skirt didn't ride up too far. "I wanted to talk about my last exam. The grade—"

"Was failing," he finished flatly, sliding a printed sheet across the desk. Red ink everywhere. A big, circled 58 at the top.

Your stomach dropped, but your face stayed composed. "I know. And I'm willing to do extra credit, rewrite sections, anything. My presidency—"

"I'm aware of your extracurriculars. They're impressive. But this course isn't a popularity contest. You need to pass, or the dean will hear about academic probation. Which means—"

"Suspension of leadership positions," you finished quietly. The words tasted like ash.

Your chest tightened at the thought—your title, your influence, everything you’d built slipping out of your hands over something as stupid as one class.

No.

Absolutely not.

“Professor,” you tried again, leaning forward slightly, voice softer now, more urgent. “I’m willing to retake the test. I just… I can’t let this be it.”

For a moment, he just looked at you.

Long enough to make the silence uncomfortable.

Then he pinched the bridge of his nose with a quiet sigh, like you were exhausting him, and leaned over to his drawer. Your brows drew together as he flipped through his papers before pulling one out and handing it to you.

"This is Armin Arlert, 4.0, current TA and tutors other students for extra credit. He won't mind one more, but don't take this as leniency, he won't tolerate slacking."

A small photo was clipped to the left-hand corner, a professional headshot, probably from his TA application. Blond hair slightly tousled, like he'd run his fingers through it one too many times during a late-night study session. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, slipping just a fraction, giving him that unintentionally endearing, slightly dishevelled look. He wore a soft grey sweater that looked cashmere-soft, the collar of a button-up peeking underneath. The kind of face that blended into the background until you really looked.

You couldn't remember seeing him much around campus. Maybe once or twice in the library, tucked in the far back corner with headphones on, highlighter cap between his teeth, completely oblivious to the world. Your circles had never overlapped—loud parties and Greek Row glamour on one side, quiet study carrels and all-nighters on the other.

"So he's going to tutor me?"

Hargrove cleared his throat. "I've already emailed him about you. This is your last chance, y/n."

You folded the paper carefully, tucking it into your bag. "Thank you, Professor."

He waved you off, already turning back to his computer screen.

You stood, smoothing your denim mini skirt one last time—though the autumn chill had made the short hem feel riskier than usual—and walked out with your head high, heels clicking down the empty hallway.

Outside, the late-afternoon sun slanted golden across the quad, warming your deep brown skin despite the bite in the air. Gold hoops caught the light as you tilted your head, replaying the photo in your mind.

A slow smile curved your glossy lips.

He might not tolerate slacking. Fine.

But that didn't mean he couldn't be... persuaded.

Nerds were nerds after all.

You squinted your eyes at the girl in front of you as she tried to give you a half-ass reason as to why she wasn't wearing her sorority colours. Her pastel pink crop top and ripped jeans were cute, but they were not the required hot-pink-and-white uniform you'd drilled into everyone's head for weeks. The annual fundraiser was in full swing behind you: carnival lights strung across the quad, the sharp crack of the dunk tank bell ringing every few seconds, laughter and squeals mixing with the bass thump of your curated playlist.

You’d outdone yourself again this year—every detail perfect, every game profitable, every dollar headed straight to the women’s shelter downtown.

“Chloe,” you said, voice low and sweet in that dangerous way that made pledges freeze, “you had one job. Pink top, white shorts."

“I—well, I thought since it wasn’t that hot out, maybe—”

“Maybe what?” you cut in, voice smooth but edged just enough to make her shrink. “Maybe the rules don’t apply to you?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, tilting your head as you looked her over.

"Go fix it. Now.” You cut in smoothly, stepping closer so she had to tilt her head up to meet your eyes. Your own outfit was flawless: fitted hot-pink tank that hugged every curve, high-waisted white shorts that made your legs look criminal. Your locs in a firm bun ontop of your head with pink butterfly clips, heels swapped for white sneakers only because you’d be running around all day.

Chloe swallowed. “Of course, I'm sorry, prez.”

“Good girl.” You flashed a smile—bright, approving, but edged with warning—then turned on your heel, already scanning the crowd for the next fire to put out.

The fundraiser was hitting its peak: lines at every booth, frat boys yelling bets on who’d get dunked next, girls shrieking as water balloons exploded overhead.

You walked over to the familiar faces you loved seeing every day, two of your sorority sisters were posted up near the cotton-candy stand, giggling over something on a phone screen. Historia—tiny, golden-blonde, and always looking like a doll, wore a pink bandeau top that showed off her toned midriff, paired with micro white shorts. Sasha, tall and curvy with her messy ponytail, rocked a fitted pink tee that hugged her chest perfectly, the hem tucked into high-waisted white shorts.

“And pray tell, what are you two over here doing?” you asked, voice laced with playful suspicion as you stopped in front of them.

Historia squealed the second she saw you, her phone slipping right out of her manicured fingers and tumbling into the grass. You couldn’t help the soft giggle that escaped you.

“Oh my god, you scared me!” she laughed, bending to snatch her phone back up, cheeks already pink. "We were just checking on the TikTok highlights. People love the dunk tank and the wet T-shirt contest."

"Of course they do, boys are easy to please."

"Prez, I think if we wanna beat last year's mark, you should participate in getting wet." Sasha had stuffed half a corn dog in her mouth, her words mumbled.

You arched a perfectly groomed brow, arms crossing under your chest. “Excuse me?”

Sasha shrugged, completely unbothered as she licked mustard off her thumb. “I’m just saying. You, getting absolutely soaked while the guys line up to throw balls at the target? You can't tell me that's not every guy's wet dream."

You blinked at the girl; you hadn't gotten 'dirty' since you started running for president. It's what got your numbers up, but now the other girls did most of the work.

You were gonna shoot Sasha down, but something—someone caught your eye.

You almost didn’t notice him.

Armin Arlert stood as he watched Eren and Connie try to dunk another sorority sister into the tank. The blonde looked exactly how he did in that file, his hair framed his face, but his glasses seemed to hide most of his freckles. He looked weird standing next to the two frat boys. It was weird that they were friends—that they even ran in the same circle.

Your head tilted slightly as you watched him, he looked bloody helpless. This was the guy your professor said takes no nonsense? A smirk reached your lips as you thought back to what Sasha said.

"Fine."

Historia squealed as she rushed over to the dunk tank as you followed behind her. You had gotten a lot of things in life and all you needed to do was to pass this test to keep your pesidency, boys were easy, and nerds are far more easier.

"Hey Ren, Connie."

"Ah, the president has graced us with her presence." You rolled your eyes at the brunette, trying to ignore the way his eyes raked down your body.

You looked over at Armin, who had already been looking at you, shooting him a smile.

"Hey, I haven't seen you around before."

Armin blinked as he looked at you, the blonde didn't expect you to talk to him. He didn't even think you would look his way, especially knowing that you were almost failing one of your classes and he was supposed to tutor you.

"I-uh yeah, I--"

"This is Armin,” Connie cut in, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Friend of ours. Way too buried in his books, so we dragged him out for some actual fun.”

"Well, Armin, I'm about to get up there, how about you try and dunk me. Does that sound like fun?"

Armin’s mouth opened, then closed. His blue eyes widened behind the glasses as they flicked down to your body for half a second, before snapping back up to your face.

You walked towards the dunk talk, a little sway in your movements as you climbed up to the seat. The white shorts rode higher on your thighs as you sat down on the seat, legs crossed slowly, letting him get a good, long look at the smooth curve of your calves and the way the denim hugged your ass.

Armin had taken the ball from Eren as he looked over at you. A crowd began to gather, but he was focused on you. Your smirk deepened, thinking of how you'd have him wrapped around your finger very soon.

But you could have swore you saw a little glint in the blondes eyes as he drew back his arm and threw the ball, dead centre.

The seat dropped out from under you, cold water crashed over your body in a sudden, shocking wave.

You gasped sharply as the icy rush soaked you head to toe—your hot-pink tank turning dark and clinging obscenely, nipples tightening instantly against the wet fabric. The white shorts darkened and moulded to every curve of your hips and ass like a second skin.

The crowd erupted in cheers and whistles.

Your locs had come down from its bun, long strands rolling down your back as they became heavy with water. Your hands pushing the wet strands out of your face as you stepped out of the tank, your nipples perking against the fabric of your top as water droplets ran down the rest of your body.

The cold clung to your body as you ran a towel through your hair, your eyes glancing over to Armin who hadn't taken his eyes off you.

You, of course, always got what you wanted. You knew damn well that you would from him soon enough.

Your brows furrowed as you looked at the closed door in front of you. You were currently in the library, a quiet room had been booked for you and Armin for your tutoring session.

It had been two days since the carnival, and Armin had reached out to you about your tutoring. You remembered you were confused at the number the other day, thinking someone was stalking you.

Hey, uh, hey.

I booked a quiet room for tomorrow at 6PM

Oh, sorry, it's Armin, btw.

Now here you were, standing in the library, even though you would much rather be somewhere else.

Your matching Juicy Couture tracksuit hugged your body perfectly, soft fabric sitting just right against your skin.

You sighed as you opened the door, half expecting to see it empty as it was still quite early. But to your surprise, Armin was sat at the desk, his notes spread across the table, his hair was pushed back out of his face, he was wearing a sweater vest and probably some jeans, you couldn't really tell.

Armin’s eyes widened for a split second before he quickly looked back down at his notes, adjusting his glasses with slightly trembling fingers.

“You’re early,” he said quietly, his voice just a little rougher than usual. “I booked the room for six, but… I wanted to get everything set up.”

You stepped fully into the room, the door clicking shut behind you as you made your way to the other side of the table.

“Well,” you said, crossing your legs as you leaned back slightly, “I’m quite punctual. And the quicker we do this, the quicker I pass, right?”

Armin blinked, looking up at you properly this time.

“Erm…” he hesitated, glancing briefly at the stack of notes in front of him. “It’s a lot of material, so it might take a while.”

Your lips pressed together for a second before you exhaled softly, tilting your head.

“A while as in…?”

“A while as in you’ve missed more than you think,” he said, more certain now, though his tone stayed calm. “We’ll have to go back further than just the last exam.”

You stared at him.

“…You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

Of course, he wasn’t.

"So it looks like you had a problem with the society section, brought down your score by a lot--"

"Wait, what?"

Armin looked back up from the papers, his eyes boring into yours with a look that you were not familiar with. The blonde sighed, actually sighed like you were a hindrance to him.

“I read what you wrote,” he said, voice still even but firmer now. “And you missed key components.”

Your brows pulled together instantly. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

The quickness of his response made your spine straighten.

“I wouldn’t have written it if I didn’t know it,” you shot back.

“And yet you still got it wrong.”

Silence.

Your jaw tightened.

Because no one talked to you like that.

"Your answers felt surface-level rather than addressing the structural impact. The professor was generous, giving you a 58. It could’ve been worse.”

You felt heat rise in your chest — part embarrassment, part irritation.

Your fingers curled slightly against the table. Who the fuck was this guy?

“See here?” He tapped a circled paragraph. “You mentioned the economic factors, but completely ignored the social hierarchy and power dynamics that actually drive the changes. That’s why your arguments fell flat.”

"You think I don't know the difference-- I'm not stupid, Arlert—"

"If you knew the difference, you wouldn't have failed."

Your mouth dropped open in complete shock. No one has ever spoken to you like that, no one. And the fact that some fucking nerd had the audacity to was like a slap in the face.

"I'm not here to spare your feelings, I’m here to help you—"

“By talking to me like I’m incompetent?” you shot back.

“By being honest.”

You let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, leaning back again as you crossed your arms tightly over your chest.

“This is crazy,” you muttered. “I didn’t come here to be insulted.”

“Then leave.”

You blinked at the blonde. Armin had stopped highlighting passages as he looked up at you. You could have sworn you saw that glint in his eye again—the same one from the fair. It was a twinkle, like he had you exactly where he wanted you.

"It's not my presidency that's on the line, you wanna leave. Leave, it's no harm to me."

You couldn't believe what was happening. Who the fuck was this guy? Wasn't he supposed to be a shy fucking mess? Since when were nerds this fucking bold!?

If it were anyone else, you would have called them every name under the sun and walked out of the room without looking back. But being president was your life, your stepping stone into the real world. You couldn't lose it just because you failed one fucking test and because of one fucking nerd.

Armin watched you for a long moment, those clear blue eyes steady behind his glasses. Then he sighed softly, almost like he was disappointed in you, and slid the practice sheet closer.

“Alright,” he said, voice low, controlled. “You’re probably not stupid, so let’s not act like this is beyond you.”

Your jaw tightened slightly at that, but before you could snap back, he slid the practice sheet closer to you—positioning it directly in front of your hands, like he was guiding you without asking.

“Start with the first question.”

You hesitated for half a second, then glanced down at the paper.

It didn't take you long before your pen moved across the page, writing out what you thought was right. You finished, dropped the pen against the table, and leaned back slightly.

“There.”

Armin didn’t immediately respond.

He leaned forward instead, eyes scanning over what you wrote, quiet for just a second too long.

“No.”

Your head snapped up. “No?”

“You skipped the same step again,” he said, tapping a specific line.

Your irritation flared instantly. “I literally just--"

"Do it again." Your mouth gaped at the blonde who leaned against his chair.

"I'm not doing that shit again."

Armin shrugged his shoulders, his expression blanked as he pulled out a notepad as he started writing down notes.

You swear you could have swallowed blood with how hard you were biting your tongue.

Just get through this, just get through this.

Armin watched as you started to rewrite your answer, his eyes on your frame as you carefully thought it through.

“…Okay,” you muttered, your voice a little soft. “Now what?”

The blonde picked up the paper between his fingers, scanning your answer with a thoughtful expression. His brows lifted slightly as he read. You didn’t know why, but your heart was suddenly hammering against your ribs as you waited, breath held, watching his face for any sign of approval.

“Better,” he said finally, calm and measured.

The single word hit you harder than it should have. You let out a shaky breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding, a small, relieved smile tugging at your glossy lips as your shoulders relaxed.

Armin noticed. Of course he did.

“Want a chocolate?” he asked gently.

“Huh?”

He gestured toward the open box of dark truffle chocolates you somehow hadn’t fully registered before. He popped one into his own mouth first, then tilted the box toward you.

“Have a little treat,” he said softly, almost like he was coaxing a stubborn kitten. “You earned it.”

Your brows knitted in confusion as you took one, popping it into your mouth without thinking—completely missing the way Armin’s eyes lingered on your lips for just a second too long before he looked back down at the page.

You didn’t notice.

You didn’t notice a lot of things.

Like how he only slid the box closer when you got something right.

Or how his tone shifted—just slightly—when you were on the right track.

Or how you’d started leaning forward before he even told you to.

A couple of hours had passed. The clock on your phone now read 9:07 p.m., and you were starting to get seriously irritated. You wanted to be anywhere but here — preferably getting drunk with your sisters or buried in bed with a tub of ice cream. Instead, you were still stuck in this tiny study room, letting some nobody nerd boss you around like he owned you.

“You did it wrong again,” Armin said calmly, circling another mistake on your paper.

You kissed your teeth loudly and pushed the notepad away from you. “You keep fucking talking to me like that, Armin—”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he cut in, his voice soft but dripping with obvious sarcasm. He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you.

Your brows pinched together. That tone was going to send you into a spiral.

Before you could snap back at him, Armin sighed and slowly closed the notebook. The sudden silence made the room feel smaller. He adjusted his glasses, then looked at you with that same steady, unreadable expression that was starting to unnerve you.

"You look kinda pretty when you're mad."

You blinked, caught completely off guard.

“W-what?”

“Hurry up and do this last bit—”

“You think I’m pretty?” The words tumbled out before you could stop them. You hated how surprised you sounded.

Armin tilted his head, watching you with quiet intensity. He had to bite back the small smirk threatening to form as you shifted in your seat, suddenly self-conscious. He knew exactly why you’d shown up dressed like this. The baby-pink Juicy Couture tracksuit was supposed to be casual, but it clung to every curve of your body. The zipper was already pulled dangerously low, and the thin tank top underneath was doing a poor job of containing your full breasts.

Yes, you were hot. Armin wasn’t blind. But he wasn’t stupid either.

"How about this? Do this part for me, and I'll tell you all about how pretty you are."

A loud tsk left your lips, "I don't need you to tell me that I'm pretty--"

"Okay then, do your work and stop bothering me."

You don't know how much more of Armin you can take. How could he be so rude and passive-aggressive?

With a heavy sigh, you bowed your head and forced yourself to focus on the paper. Armin watched you the entire time, eyes sharp behind his glasses. Every time your pen moved across the page, the corner of his mouth twitched upward in quiet satisfaction.

You had the look of a kicked puppy as he handed the blonde the paper, your knee bouncing as you waited for something.

"Good girl."

Heat immediately flooded your lower belly and core at the sound of his voice. The words hit you harder than they had any right to.

“W—what?” you stammered, eyes widening.

Armin looked up from the paper, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. "I said, ' Good girl, you finally listened and used that brain of yours."

The praise twisted inside you, sweet and stinging all at once, flooding your cheeks with heat while your core clenched in response. How did he do that—turn a simple acknowledgement into something that made your body ache? You shifted in your seat, the chair creaking under you, trying to hide the way your nipples tightened against the fabric of your tank top. His gaze didn't waver, drinking in your reaction like he knew exactly what it did to you.

"What's the matter with you!?" The words burst from your lips before you could stop them, your voice cracking with a mix of fury and frustration. You shoved back from the table and stood up abruptly, your chair scraping against the floor in the quiet room. Your brows pinched tight, cheeks burning hotter than before, and your chest heaved with each ragged breath, pushing your breasts up against the clinging material of your top.

Armin watched you as you stood up from your seat, your brows pinched together, your cheeks flushed, and your chest heaving. He didn't know what amused him most, the fact that you were angry at him or that it took you so long before you snapped.

"Where the fuck do you get off hitting on me!?

Armin leaned back in his seat, completely unfazed.

“Hitting on you?” he repeated, voice low and even, almost innocent. “I’m not hitting on you. I’m rewarding you. There’s a difference.”

He stood up slowly, rounding the table until he was standing right in front of you. Even though he wasn’t particularly tall, the way he carried himself made him feel like he towered over you in that moment. His eyes dropped openly to your exposed cleavage, then slowly dragged back up to your flushed face.

“You’re the one who came in here dressed like this,” he continued softly, almost gently. “Just looking for my attention. And now that you have it… You’re mad?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he stepped closer, backing you up until your ass hit the edge of the table.

Armin placed one hand on the table beside your hip, caging you in without even touching you.

“Be honest with yourself,” he murmured, voice dropping into that dangerous, velvet tone. “You’re not angry because I’m ‘hitting on you.’ You’re angry because you're so used to pulling the strings with people, but I pulled yours ever so successfully.”

His free hand came up, and he lightly traced a finger down the centre of your chest, following the line of your gold chain until it rested between your breasts.

"Fuck you," you managed, but your voice came out breathy, lacking conviction as his hand came up to brace on the table beside your hip, caging you further. The scent of him filled your senses, making your head spin. You could feel the dampness spreading between your legs, your clit throbbing with every heartbeat, betraying how his rudeness twisted into something intoxicating.

A dark chuckle left the blonde's lips, his fingers tracing on the exposed skin of your hip. "Is that a suggestion?"

He didn't wait for your response; his mouth crashed down on yours, devouring you in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, dominating without mercy. You moaned into it, hands flying up to rest on his chest, you weren't even sure if you were trying to push him away or not but you knew you didn't have the strength to.

His tongue pushed through your mouth, claiming every inch as his other hand slid down your side, gripping your hip hard enough to bruise the soft flesh.

A gasp left your lips as he broke the kiss, his lips trailing along your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck. "Good girl," he breathed against your pulse point, the words sending another gush of slickness to your folds. "See? You respond so well to praises."

Your head was clouded with thoughts; you couldn't really understand what was happening. You had always gotten what you wanted, and for the first time in your life, you didn't, and it left you stunned.

His hand slid from your hip to the front of your open jacket, pushing the pink velour further apart. He palmed one of your heavy breasts through your thin tank top, thumb brushing over your painfully hard nipple.

A broken whimper escaped your lips.

Armin chuckled softly against your neck, the sound sending shivers down your spine. You shook your head, your frustration boiling over as he continued to touch you, but not where you needed him.

A whine broke through your lips as the blonde pulled away from you. Armin didn't give you any time to adjust as he placed you on top of the study desk. Your eyes widened as he stood between your legs, his hand pushing on your chest lightly, your body leaning back slightly on your elbows.

The blonde's eyes stayed on you as his fingers hooked in the waistband of your tracksuit bottoms and panties. With a slow, deliberate tug, he dragged them down your legs, exposing your bare pussy to the air-conditioned chill of the library room. Your folds glistened with arousal, clit swollen and peeking out.

 He spread your thighs wider with his knees, settling his hips against the desk's edge for leverage. One hand trailed up your inner thigh, fingers brushing teasingly close to your entrance before pulling away, making you squirm.

Your lips parted as a soft sigh left you as he slipped a finger inside you, your walls clenching around the intrusion as he curled it against your inner spot. Armin watched as your eyes fluttered, the small gasps and whines leaving your lips as you started to hump his hand.

The blonde raised his brows before they pinched together as he watched you chase your orgasm.

Armin chuckled at the curse that tore through your as he pulled his finger out of you.

"I'm still not convinced that you'd pass, answer a few questions for me, and I'll let you cum."

You blanched, chest still heaving, pussy clenching around nothing from the ruined orgasm.

“Y-you’re not serious?”

Armin shrugged, casual as ever, before dipping two fingers back into your soaked cunt without warning.

You squealed, back arching sharply as he buried them deep and immediately started curling them against your g-spot again.

“Oh I’m very serious,” he murmured, thumb brushing lightly over your swollen clit — just enough to keep you on edge, never enough to let you tip over. “You want to cum on my fingers like a desperate little slut? Then earn it.”

"F--fuck you." A gasp tore through you as he pumped his fingers slowly, deliberately, keeping you right on that agonising edge while he reached for the notebook with his free hand.

Your slick coated his fingers, his lips between his teeth as he looked down at you. “Explain the relationship between social hierarchy and economic disparity in the period we covered. Be detailed this time.”

You could barely think, let alone form coherent sentences. Your hips kept twitching, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, but every time you got close he slowed down or pulled back just enough to ruin it.

“Answer me, baby,” Armin cooed, leaning down to kiss the side of your neck. “Use that pretty little head of yours."

You whimpered, trying to focus through the haze of need.

“I— fuck— social hierarchy created… barriers that… limited access to resources…” you gasped out, barely getting the words right as his fingers curled again.

Armin hummed in approval, speeding up his thumb on your clit for a few blissful seconds before slowing right back down.

“Good girl."

He added a third finger, stretching you open as he continued the cruel game.

"How did power dynamics within the elite class influence political stability?"

Your head fell back, locs spilling across the desk, moans spilling freely now as he edged you mercilessly. Every time your walls started fluttering around his fingers, he eased off, keeping you right on the brink.

Tears of frustration pricked at the corners of your eyes.

“Armin— please—” you whined, hips grinding desperately against his hand.

He leaned over you, lips brushing your ear, voice soft and cruel.

“Answer the question properly, and I’ll let you cum."

"I--I don't know-- Armin!"

The blonde frowned at you before pulling his fingers out of you.

You cried out in raw frustration, a broken sound that echoed in the quiet study room. Fresh tears rolled down your flushed cheeks as your empty pussy clenched around nothing, aching so badly it hurt.

“No—no, please—” you whimpered, trying to reach for his hand, but he caught your wrist gently and pinned it to the desk above your head.

He reached down and tapped two fingers lightly against your swollen clit, making your hips jerk violently.

"Answer the question."

You moaned as your walls clamped around his fingers again, your walls clamped down greedily around the intrusion, sucking him in as he curled them against your G-spot again.

“M-market failures... in social economics,” you stuttered, mind fracturing under the haze of arousal, tears welling in your eyes from the ache. “Private markets fail to allocate resources efficiently... monopolies, externalities, public goods not provided...”

"Go on,"  he mumbled, his eyes bore on how three of his fingers fucked into your soaked pussy without preamble, stretching you savagely.

“They… they used marriages and alliances—” you gasped, words stumbling out between moans, “—to consolidate wealth and… fuck— and limit access to resources for lower classes—”

You gasped, hips jerking to chase the brutal rhythm.

You teetered on the brink, vision blurring, body tensing for release—but Armin yanked his fingers free mid-thrust, the sudden void making you scream in frustration. “No! Fuck—please!” Your pussy fluttered wildly, clenching on nothing, a pathetic dribble of arousal leaking out.

You felt embarrassed as the tears streamed down your face. Your mind was gone, clouded with the orgasm you were denied over and over.

You wanted to get up and leave, but you knew that you wouldn't. Not only would your legs not allow you, but you wanted to cum, you wanted to cum so badly you would do whatever he asked you.

Armin sent you a wicked smile as he brought his fingers up to your lips. A silent command for you to open your mouth, and you did, you moaned around his fingers as your tongue wrapped around the digits as you swallowed the taste of your cunt.

His eyes darkened behind his glasses as he watched you clean his fingers.

He pulled his fingers free with a wet pop, then finally shoved his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his cock. It slapped heavy against your inner thigh — thick, flushed, and already leaking at the tip.

You whimpered at the sight.

Armin gripped your hips, yanking you to the very edge of the desk so your ass hung off it. He lined himself up and pushed in with one smooth, relentless thrust, burying himself to the hilt in your soaked, fluttering cunt.

A loud, broken cry tore from your throat.

“Fuck— so tight,” he groaned, eyes fluttering shut for a second before locking back on your face.

He didn’t give you time to adjust. He started fucking you hard and deep, the desk creaking beneath you with every powerful snap of his hips. The wet, obscene sound of your pussy taking his cock filled the small study room.

It was almost embarrassing how fast you felt your orgasm come crashing down on you. But all the edging and denials had your pussy clenching around Armin's cock.

Your back arched violently off the desk, locs spilling everywhere as a sharp, overwhelming pressure built deep in your core.

"Armin—” you sobbed, tears pouring down your face.

He gripped your thighs harder, spreading you wider, pounding into you without mercy.

"Do it,” he growled, voice strained but still in control.

Your whole body seized, a loud, guttural scream ripping from your throat as you squirted hard around his cock. Clear fluid gushed out of you, soaking his stomach, his thighs, and the desk beneath you in messy, pulsing waves. Your pussy clamped down on him like a vice, milking him as you shook and cried through the longest, most intense orgasm of your life.

Armin groaned loudly, but he didn’t stop.

He fucked you straight through it, hips slamming into you even harder, chasing his own release while you kept squirting and sobbing beneath him.

Your palm came up to his chest in a weak, shaky attempt to push him away, but there was no strength behind it. Your fingers just curled into his soft grey sweater, holding on instead as another broken cry left your lips.

“Too much— Armin, please— it’s too much—” you whimpered, voice hoarse and wrecked.

He pushed your hand away, pulling your legs up as he pushed them against your chest. A squeal tearing through you at the new position.

“Shh, good girl,” he breathed against your ear, voice rough but still so fucking calm. “You can take it. You’re going to take every inch while you keep making such a pretty mess for me.”

He didn’t slow down. If anything, he fucked you harder, grinding deep on every thrust so the head of his cock kissed that oversensitive spot inside you over and over. Your squirting had slowed to weak, twitching spurts, but your pussy was still pulsing around him, fluttering wildly.

Armin’s thrusts started to lose their steady rhythm, becoming shorter and harder as he chased his own release. His breathing grew ragged, blond hair sticking to his forehead.

“Fuck— gonna cum,” he growled low in your ear. With a final, deep thrust, he pulled out suddenly. His hand flew to his cock, stroking himself fast and rough until thick, hot ropes of cum shot across your stomach.

The blonde let go of your legs, your body limp against the table as he stood between your spread legs for a moment, catching his breath as he admired the sight.

"You did so well, Ms President. "

You normally get everything you ever wanted. Maybe that made you spoiled and had high expectations about everything, but Armin Arlert just ruined everything for you.

And fuck did you enjoy it.

You kissed your teeth as you grabbed your tote. "Sounds like you're pimping me out."

You ignored the girls' laugh as you left your dorm. It was no surprise that you were failing in one class; you had a lot on your plate. As president of events and a member of your college cheer team, you barely had time for school.

You were almost done with your freshman year of college, and you had sprouted wings quickly, growing the social ladder faster than you could have imagined.

You didn’t even hate school. You were actually doing good. Your year had gone way smoother than anyone expected.

And because you refused to let one requirement mess up your GPA this early, you did what any slightly desperate freshman with pride issues would do.

You got a tutor.

And not just any tutor.

Satoru Gojo.

Everybody knew Satoru Gojo.

He was campus famous in the most annoying way possible. Debate team, top of the class, Valedictorian of his highschool and a perfect GPA. Saturo was the best option for you to get your grades up.

It wasn’t long since you left and you could already feel your phone buzzing in the pocket of your joggers. Pulling it out, you frowned at the message.

Hey, it's me, Toru. Can you come by my place instead of the library? I woke up late and think it'll be better.

The address he sent you was across campus, closer than the library but still a little weird. You shrugged, not really caring as you turned up the music in your headphones.

It hadn't take you long until you got to the address, you didn't even look up until you sent him a text and rang the doorbell.

"And who are you?"

You blinked as you looked at the person standing in front of you, the person who looked like the Saturo you were coming to see, but wasn't him at all.

Your brain was short-circuiting. You knew what Saturo looked like; you had seen him on campus before. He always wore sweater vests and these black rimmed frames that made him look cuter, but this guy standing in front of you was not Saturo Gojo.

He leaned against the doorframe in a fitted black tee and grey sweats. He had the same white hair but more messy, like he’d just woken up, eyes sharp and amused as they dragged slowly over you from head to toe.

"You're not Turo."

The look-alike smirked down at you. “I mean, you can call me Gojo if you want sweets."

"Seriously, what fucking universe did I get wharped into--"

"I told you not to answer the door."

Gojo stood up straighter at the voice that came from inside, the lookalike flashed you a smile before side stepping, giving you a perfect view of inside the house.

The space seemed familiar for some reason, but your eyes wandered over to Toru as he came down the stairs in a hoodie and jeans and his black rimmed frames.

"How could I not, little brother, I mean, I knew she was cute, but not this cute."

Your eyes had finally caught up with your brain.

Of course, they were fucking twins. How did you not know this?

Your gaze drifted past them, scanning the living room while your brain tried to reboot.

Your eyes landed on the banners on the wall.

The letters.

The couch.

The stupid neon sign near the kitchen.

Your brows furrowed slowly.

“Wait…”

You pointed toward the wall.

“This is Kappa Five—”

Both of them looked at you.

Your eyes widened as the pieces clicked together faster.

“This frat throws parties every Friday. I help plan half of these. I literally picked the theme for last month—”

“Oh yeah,” the twin said, grinning. “Thanks for the luau idea, by the way. Crowd loved that. Thinking of doing '90s vibe next week.”

He pushed himself off the wall and walked closer, holding his hand out.

“But let’s get introductions out of the way,” he said smoothly. “Gojo. Frat president. Campus favourite. Better-looking twin.”

You stared at his hand.

Then at his face.

Then at Satoru.

“…You didn’t tell me you lived in a frat house,” you said slowly.

Satoru adjusted his glasses, completely unfazed. “It’s technically off-campus housing.”

Gojo watched the way your brows furrowed, his smirk widening as he caught the look his brother gave you.

"Don't let me interrupt you two, go study. I'll see you around, sweets."

You wished you could say the twins didn’t take up most of your mind for the rest of the week.

But they did.

That one study session with Toru had your brain running laps around itself ever since. You kept replaying little moments you hadn’t thought about while you were actually there.

The way he leaned over your shoulder when he explained things.

The way his hand brushed yours when he passed you the pen.

The way his voice dropped when he told you to focus.

Satoru seemed like a sweetheart. Every time he saw you on campus, he’d give you that small nod of acknowledgement, the one that felt oddly personal even when other people were around.

Sometimes he’d stop you to hand over a sheet of notes.

Sometimes he’d text you reminders about assignments.

It was annoyingly thoughtful.

And yeah… you’d admit it.

You had a tiny crush on him.

Which, honestly, was the whole reason you asked him to tutor you in the first place.

You told Shoko it was about your grades, and technically it was. But it was also about getting an excuse to spend time with the quiet, ridiculously pretty nerd who looked like he belonged in a campus brochure.

That was before you realised he had a twin.

A twin who looked exactly like him but carried himself like he’d never heard the word no in his life.

They had both taken up permanent residence in that pretty little head of yours.

You heard about Frat president Gojo, you weren't stupid, you knew him by name, not what he looked like, not that Gojo was even his last name and certainly not that Saturo was his twin.

It was a miracle that you managed to pass your assignment; you don't even remember studying, but somehow you did, and now you were treating yourself by going to this party.

You added the finishing touches to your outfit, dabbing one last swipe of glossy berry lip stain across your bottom lip before smacking them together in the mirror. 

The drink you’d taken earlier — a little liquid courage courtesy of Shoko- had definitely influenced tonight’s wardrobe choice.

Your top was smaller than you normally wore out, the fabric hugging your chest in a way that made it impossible not to notice. Your skirt sat high on your hips, short enough that every step showed off your legs.

90's theme was done perfectly, the pink leather skirt paired with a white tee that you had tied at the front had pushed your boobs up sky high. Your hair was sleeked back, half up, half down, showing off your big gold hoops, your neck bare except for the dainty gold chain with your initial sitting against your skin.

You had even taken it up a notch by adding shimmer to your skin, the cocobutter making the melanin in your skin pop.

“Yes. Just… yes.”

Shoko’s voice carried from where she was sprawled across your bed like she owned the place.

“You,” she declared, “are absolutely hopping on some dick tonight.”

“Shoko!” you screeched, whipping your hairbrush at her.

She dodged easily, laughing as it bounced harmlessly off the wall. Taking a slow drag from her cigarette, she exhaled a thin stream of smoke, her eyes glittering with mischief.

“What?” she said innocently. “I’m not wrong. You’re telling me you glittered your entire body just for a party?”

“It’s called taking pride in my appearance, Shoko,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “I like to look pretty.”

“Yeah,” she said flatly. “For dick.”

You groaned, grabbing the hairbrush off the floor and tossing it back onto your dresser.

“It’s a 90’s party.”

“Mhm.”

“That’s the theme.”

“Mhm.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Stop ‘mhm’-ing me. And you’re the one to talk—you look like you’re about to go prowling for females.”

“Oh, I am,” She said without missing a beat, flicking ash into the empty can on your nightstand. “Trust me, I’m doing body shots off someone’s tits tonight. But at least I’m open and honest about it. I’m not gonna judge you if you waxed your pussy for Gojo or Saturo—or oh my God. Both!?”

“W-what? No! Why would you say that?”

“Oh my God.” She sat up straighter, cigarette forgotten as her eyes lit up like Christmas lights. “It’s both. You want twin dicks. I have raised you right.”

You groaned, snatching your tiny crossbody purse off the dresser. The heat in your cheeks was probably visible from space, but you prayed the dim dorm lighting and your shimmer highlighter were doing their job.

You kissed your teeth as you told the brunette to hurry up and get out of your room. Shoko laughed behind you as the two of you made your way to the fraternity.

Your brain was fogged about the night; you didn't really know what to expect, you didn't know if Toru would be there, but he did live there.

Was it even his scene? He was the opposite of his brother; you couldn't understand it really. He lived at the frat house, but you couldn't remember seeing him at any of the parties, or maybe you were just too drunk to notice the difference before.

Toru was cute and smart, and Gojo was sexy and annoying. They looked exactly alike—same snow-white hair, same piercing ocean-blue eyes, same unfairly sharp jaw—but they couldn’t have been more different.

You barely had time to dwell on it before Kappa Five came into full view.

Music was already blasting out onto the front lawn, bass rattling the windows and spilling into the street. Clusters of people stood outside with red cups in their hands, laughing, shouting over the music.

“Oh look who it is,” a familiar voice called from the doorway. “Hey, pretty. Hey, Sho.”

You looked up to see Geto leaning against the doorframe, acting as the unofficial bouncer for the night. His long hair was pulled back into a loose bun, black tee stretched across his shoulders while he lazily checked people coming in.

You smiled.

“Hey, Geto.”

Shoko gave him a lazy two-finger salute as he stepped aside, letting you both through.

Inside, the house was already alive.

‘Scrubs’ blasted through the speakers, people singing along loudly as bodies moved through the living room. Someone had hung glow sticks along the banister, neon lights reflecting off the walls while the dance floor was already forming near the couch.

Your eyes immediately drifted toward the kitchen. Sure enough, a handful of frat boys were already gathered there, laughing over a half-set-up beer pong table. The counters were covered in bottles, mixers, and plastic cups.

You needed a drink.

“C’mon,” your friend said, gripping your wrist again, pushing through people as you reached the kitchen.

The moment you stepped in, you could feel people staring at you. It wasn't new; you always outdid yourself when it came to these parties, but for some reason, you felt a little self-conscious.

You couldn’t help it, your eyes scanned the room as you ignored the looks and they landed on him almost immediately.

Gojo was standing by the counter, white tee that looked absolutely slutty on him, blue jeans that hung low on his hips showing off the band of his Calvin Kleins. His white hair was buried under a black baseball cap that he had flipped backwards, and if it didn't make it harder, he was wearing that damn silver chain.

Your brain stalled for a second; it didn't take long for his head to turn, his blue eyes locking onto you across the kitchen.

The conversation he’d been having cut off mid-sentence.

Slowly, a grin spread across his face as his eyes scanned you, slowly from head to toe, like he was undressing every article of clothing on your body.

“Sweets,” he said when he reached you, voice low enough that it barely carried over the music.

Up close, his eyes flicked over you again, slower this time.

“Jesus,” he murmured.

You crossed your arms, trying to pretend your heart hadn’t just kicked up a gear.

"Are you guys doing welcoming shots?" Your head snapped toward Shoko, who had a shit-eating grin on her face.

Gojo chuckled in front of you, reaching over the counter to grab a clear bottle of reddish liquid.

"Open up."

Your brows furrowed as you tried to ignore the flutter in your puss, you raised your hand in front of you, the action immediately had Gojo's eyes on your chest.

"I'm not letting you pour anything down my throat--what is it?"

"My special punch, can only allow a seven-second guzzle of this, or you'll be knocked out. Trust me, you'll like it. Now open up sweets."

You eyed the bottle before turning to look at your friend, who nodded her head at you. You sighed as you stepped closer to the frat president, his finger tilting your chin up to meet his eyes as he tilted your head back.

Your lips parted before your mind caught up, your gaze locked on his as the bottle tipped forward. Cool liquid splashed past your tongue, the taste shockingly sweet, but you swallowed it down without breaking eye contact as the room counted down seven seconds.

Gojo’s eyes darkened, lingering on your mouth as the last drop slid past your lips. It didn't take long for the seconds to be over, but it felt like a lifetime in your own personal bubble.

Shoko tapped your ass as she yelled that it was her turn, but Gojo hadn't taken his eyes off your lips, and without thinking, your tongue darted out to lick the last remaining drop of the drink.

Gojo smirked at you before sending you a wink.

Yeah, you were in trouble.

At some point, Shoko had shoved a Jell-O shot into your hand, laughing when you made a face before downing it anyway.

Now the music was louder.

Or maybe you were just feeling it more.

Either way, the next thing you knew, you were standing on the ping-pong table in the middle of the living room with Shoko, the two of you laughing as you moved to the beat. The bass thumped through the floor, through your legs, through your chest as you danced together.

That was the thing about you: whenever you got drunk, you got handsy, and Shoko was always the victim of it.

Your hands were on her shoulders one second, then her waist the next as the two of you danced and laughed, grinding to the music while people cheered around you. Shoko didn’t care—she never did. If anything, she played into it, steadying you whenever you swayed too close to the edge of the table.

You could feel the stares on you, you just didn't know which blue eyes were staring.

"Alright, ladies, as much as we love to watch you two, we need the table. Beer pong game."

Shoko groaned dramatically. “You’re killing the vibe."

Choso shot her a quick wink before reaching up to help you down from the table. Once your feet hit the floor, you and Shoko immediately drifted toward the bar like magnets, both of you laughing as the crowd behind you erupted around the newly claimed beer-pong table.

“Another shot,” Shoko declared, already leaning over the counter.

She pulled out her phone, dragging you closer by the shoulder. She snapped a selfie of the two of you—hair a little messy, eyes bright, the party lights washing over your faces—right as you both tipped back the Jell-O shots.

She swallowed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Okay babe,” she said, already scanning the room like a hunter, “now we need to find me a girl to do shots off of.”

You giggled, leaning against the bar as you followed her gaze out toward the dance floor. The crowd had thickened, bodies swaying together under flashing lights.

Then you spotted her.

A petite girl dancing with her friends, glancing over every few seconds like she’d been waiting for an invitation all night.

You nudged Shoko.

“That one.”

Shoko’s eyes locked on instantly.

A slow, satisfied grin spread across her face.

“Yeah,” she said confidently. “She’s definitely coming home with me.”

You laughed and leaned over to kiss her cheek before nudging her toward the dance floor.

“Go get her.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. She slipped straight into the crowd, already moving with the music as she made her way toward the girl.

You watched for a moment, shaking your head fondly before reaching into your purse and pulling out the bottle of water you kept there. You twisted the cap off and took a long drink.

You already knew how this would go.

Once Shoko locked onto someone, she’d be drinking like there was no tomorrow. Which meant you had to at least pretend to be the responsible one.

“You know,” a familiar voice drawled beside you, “Shoko’s basically an honorary frat bro at this point.”

You froze slightly, the bottle still pressed to your lips.

“She’s probably fucked just as many girls in this house as the rest of us.”

Slowly, you turned. Gojo leaned casually against the bar beside you, one elbow resting on the counter.

The spark in his bright blue eyes gave him away immediately.

You swallowed the mouthful of water you’d been holding and glanced back toward the dance floor. Shoko had already cornered the girl you’d pointed out earlier, the brunette’s hand braced against the wall while she talked close to the girl’s ear.

You couldn’t help the smirk that crept onto your lips.

Tilting your head, you looked back at him.

“So you’re openly admitting to being a hoe?”

Gojo pressed a hand dramatically to his chest, leaning closer to you with a mock expression of shock.

"I mean, there's no denying it, but trust me, I'm not the only one."

Your brows furrowed as he pointed into the crowd. You looked over at the beer pong set-up and saw Geto playing against his brother.

"Geto? Yeah, trust me you two are two peas in a--"

"Nah sweets, not that other half of me."

You continued to watch the game as Saturo got a ball into Geto's cup, the latter groaning as he chugged the drink down.

"As much as he's the other half of you, Gojo, Toru is a complete sweetheart. I don't even understand why he lives here."

Gojo laughed next to you, your legs clenching slightly at the sound.

"Sweetheart?"

You nodded as you still watched the game.

Gojoj hummed behind you, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you felt him press himself against you.

"Toru is probably worse than me, sweets, hides his drunkenness better as well. But I know my twin. Trust me."

"I-I don't believe you." You let out a shaky breath; his hands, now running down your arms, did nothing to ease your goosebumps.

"Yeah? If he wins this game, the winner does a body shot of the person of my choice. I'll let you see first-hand the real Toru."

You watched as the game continued. Geto had one last cup, and Toru had aimed the ball, and it landed perfectly in the opposite cup. You felt your breathing hitch as the crowd cheered. Gojo chuckled behind you, his hand now on your waist as he pushed you towards the crowd.

"I'd like to say well done, baby brother, but you're the reigning champion."

You snapped your head back to the tall man who looked down at you with a wicked smirk on his lips. He set you up.

Toru pushed his glasses up his face as he sent his brother a smirk that had your breathing hitching. Yes, they were twins, but this was the first time you've ever thought they were exactly the same.

Gojo nudged you towards the centre of the table, his brother's head tilting softly as he watched you, his brows furrowed as he looked to his older twin.

"Now, house rules, champion gets a trophy, and as it goes, my little brother picked his own trophies last time, so as Frat president, I have chosen his trophy for him."

The alcohol still buzzed warmly through your system, softening the edges of your nerves—but not enough to stop the embarrassment creeping up your neck.

You folded your arms over your chest instinctively, trying to look unimpressed. Toru’s eyes flicked downward for half a second before he quickly looked away again, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose like he’d been caught.

“Now,” Gojo said, clapping his hands once. “As per usual… it’s body shot time.”

The cheers from the crowd were instant and deafening, drowning out the music completely.

You barely had time to react.

“Wait—!”

Your protest turned into a startled yelp as Gojo’s hands found your waist and lifted you onto the tabld. The wood was cold against the backs of your thighs, your pink leather skirt riding up just enough to make you hyper-aware of every eye in the room. Gojo shot you a wink before grabbing Toru by his unravelled tie, yanking him forward.

Toru’s gaze had been glued to your chest the whole time Gojo was talking, but the second he was standing right in front of you—close enough that his knees bumped your dangling legs—his eyes snapped up to meet yours.

Gojo clapped a hand on his twin’s shoulder, grinning like the devil who just won the lottery. “Go on, champ. Salt. Tequila. Lime."

You felt your stomach dip as the crowd roared, you locked eyes with the blue-eyed nerd as you leaned back softly on your elbows. Toru seemd nervous at first but it was like something swicthed in him.

His hands went onto the fat of your thighs as he leaned closer to you.

It felt like it was only the two of you in the room, apart from the cheering crowd with all their phones out.

"Lie back for me, baby—” Toru’s voice was low, rougher than you’d ever heard it. “Yeah… just like that.”

You bit your lip hard to stop the moan that wanted to spill out as you reclined fully, elbows sliding until your back hit the table. Toru’s eyes darkened behind his glasses as he leaned closer, white hair falling forward, lips hovering just above your stomach.

His tongue flicked out, slowly circling the rim of your belly button piercing in a wet, teasing loop. Your stomach clenched hard, a sharp pulse of heat shooting straight between your legs.

Your breathing laboured as you watched Gojo now lean over you and add some salt to where his brother had just licked. His smirk deepened at the sound of your gasp as he poured tequila onto your boobs and down your cleavage. The golden liquid added a shimmer against your brown skin as the rest trailed down to the waist of your leather skirt.

You looked up at the older twin through your lashes as he held a lime wedge to your lips.

"Open up sweets." That was the third time those words passed his lips

You swore you heard one or maybe both of them groan as you took the wedge between your lips as you lay flat against the table.

It didn't take long for Toru's tongue to find your skin again.

His tongue flicked in slow, deliberate circles around your belly button, lapping up every grain of salt with careful reverence. Your stomach clenched hard, every nerve lighting up at the wet heat of him. Your panties were soaked through now, fabric clinging uncomfortably, the ache between your thighs building with every pass of his mouth.

Your eyes stayed locked on him as his lips began to drift higher. Soft kisses trailed up the centre of your abdomen, tongue following the glistening path of tequila that had dripped down your sternum. He moved unhurried, savouring, breathing hot against your skin. Your thighs clenched on instinct, trying to trap the pressure, but his hands stayed firm; they somehow kept your legs from closing but also held the edge of your skirt so you didn't flash anyone.

How could he be sweet and torturous at the same time?

Your breathing turned ragged—shallow, uneven pants you couldn’t control.

It felt like forever as his face disappeared into your cleavage next. His mouth, sucking softly at the skin there, you had to hold the whimper that tried to escape your lips. The lime wedge was still clenched between your teeth, citrus burning your tongue, but you barely noticed.

Your eyes flickered up to Gojo whos ocean blues were now pitch black as he watched his brother.

You almost forgot what was going on until Toru's lips were against yours. The kiss slow but somehow sweet as he sucked on your tongue before taking the line wedge into his own mouth.

Toru broke from your lips, his glasses were fogged, white hair a mess, cheeks flushed dark red. He looked wrecked—beautifully, completely wrecked.

The crowd cheered as he helped you up. You felt dizzy, lightheaded, like the only thing keeping you grounded was the way Toru’s thumbs kept stroking small circles over your hipbones.

Gojo’s laugh was low and dark beside you. Toru’s eyes flicked to his twin—then back to you. Something raw and possessive flashed in them.

“Told you,” he murmured, leaning in until his lips brushed your ear. “He’s worse.”

You wanted to say that you let Shoko take you home, that you sobered up and got the hell out of there, but you would be lying.

Because now, now you were pressed against Toru's door with Gojo's mouth hot on yours, one of his hands cradling the back of your neck while the other gripped your hip like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

Across the room, Toru sat on his bed, legs spread wide, elbows on the armrests. His glasses on the bridge of his nose as he watched the two of you.

Gojo broke the kiss just long enough to drag his open mouth down the side of your throat—teeth grazing the spot he’d watched his brother mark earlier with a hickey that was already blooming dark. You gasped, head tipping back against the wood, and he took it as permission: his free hand slid under your knotted white tee, palm flattening over your stomach before travelling higher to cup your breast. His thumb brushed your nipple through the thin fabric and pinched just hard enough to make your hips jerk forward.

Toru shifted slightly, your eyes met his—dark, dilated, almost black behind the rimmed glasses—and something inside you clenched hard. Your thighs rubbed together on instinct, trying to ease the ache, but it only made it worse. You were clenching around nothing, slick and desperate, and the fact that Toru was just sitting there, watching his twin unravel you—made it a thousand times hotter.

“She’s so responsive,” Toru said quietly, voice low and rough, like he’d been holding the words in his throat for hours.

Gojo laughed against your neck, then bit down gently on the same spot he’d just kissed.

“She is,” he agreed, voice muffled against your skin. “Look at her thighs shaking already. Barely touched her and she’s dripping.”

Your cheeks burned, but you didn’t deny it. Not when Toru’s gaze dropped deliberately to where your skirt had ridden up, where your thighs were pressed together, trying to hide how wet you were.

Toru leaned forward slightly, elbows still braced, fingers flexing on the armrests.

“Show me,” he said—soft, almost polite, but the command underneath made your stomach flip. “Let me see how wet she is.”

Gojo didn’t hesitate. Your positions now switched, your back pressed against his chest as he kicked your legs apart before pushing your skirt higher until it bunched around your waist. Then he hooked two fingers into the soaked lace of your panties and tugged them aside.

Cool air hit you first, raising goosebumps along your thighs, then Gojo's fingers slid through your folds, parting them with ease. He gathered your slick on his fingertips, circling your swollen clit before dipping just inside your entrance, shallow enough to tease but not satisfy. The intrusion made you whine, hips bucking involuntarily toward his hand.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your ear, his voice a low rasp that sent shivers down your spine. His thumb pressed firmer on your clit now, rubbing in tight circles that had your walls clenching around nothing.

You moaned, eyes rolling back softly as the pressure built, Gojo’s teasing touch igniting sparks that spread through your core. His free hand gripped your hip, holding you steady against him while he continued to flick over your nub.

Toru adjusted his glasses, the motion casual, but his eyes burned with hunger. “You sure she likes that? Think she can moan louder than that,”

Gojo chuckled, the sound vibrating against your neck, "You telling me how to fuck a girl now?"

Toru squinted at his brother, a sharp hiss escaping through his teeth as irritation flickered across his face. He shifted like he might stand and take over, but Gojo just laughed softly and waved him off with a wink, his free hand squeezing your hip to keep you pinned against him.

Your moans spilt out louder now, filling the room with raw need as Gojo's fingers scissored inside you, stretching your tight walls with deliberate spreads that made your slick drip down his wrist. He groaned low in his throat at the feel of your warmth gripping him, velvety and insistent. Fuck, he couldn't wait to bury his cock in you—the thought flashed through his mind, making his own dick twitch hard against his jeans.

Toru couldn't help but adjust himself, the sounds of your moans and the sounds of your pussy filling the room had him straining against his jeans.

Your head spun from Gojo’s relentless taunts, each filthy word twisting the coil in your belly tighter, fresh arousal coating his knuckles as you rocked against his hand. “Gojo... oh god,” you gasped, one hand fisting his hair while your eyes landed on Toru. But the minute your high started it crashed down, Gojo removed his fingers for you, a whine tearing through your lips as he shushed you.

He had edged you, your thighs were shaky, your pussy clenching and pushing around. You were so close but he snatched it away from you.

Gojo had begun peppering kisses against your neck, your head lulling to the side. Toru clicked his tongue, your eyes snapping open to meet his.

"Come here."

You stalled at the command, your mind still foggy from the orgasm and Gojo's lips still on your skin.

“Careful,” Gojo chucked, nudging you gently forward. “My brother gets curious when he’s interested in something.”

You hesitantly walked toward the younger twin, Toru tilted his head slightly as you stepped between his thighs—his gaze soft but burning, pupils blown behind fogged glasses. His long fingers hooked into the waistband of your pink leather skirt and tugged it down in one slow, deliberate motion, taking your soaked panties with it.

You held his stare the entire time, legs trembling but refusing to buckle as you stepped out of the crumpled fabric. The air felt cooler against your slick skin, but the heat radiating from his body more than made up for it.

It didn't take long for him to place his lips onto yours, the kiss soft as he pulled you closer to him. His hands slid up the backs of your thighs, guiding you closer until your knees sank into the mattress on either side of his hips. You straddled his lap naturally, your bare pussy settling against the hard ridge of his cock still trapped behind his jeans. The friction made you both groan into the kiss.

You rocked against him, needy rolls of your hips that dragged your clit along the length of him through the fabric. Toru’s breath hitched against your mouth; his fingers flexed on your ass like he was fighting not to flip you over and take you right then.

He broke the kiss first, a thin string of saliva stretching between your lips before snapping. His eyes were dark as they locked on yours.

Then he pulled you higher.

“Sit,” he said simply.

Your breath caught. “Toru—”

“Sit,” he repeated, softer this time, almost pleading. His fingers dug into your ass, spreading you open. “Please. Want to taste you.”

How could you deny him? Your thighs shook as you went to lower your pussy over his face. He quickly turned you, your body facing Gojo, who was sans shirt, his jeans unbuckled and pushed low enough to free his hard cock, which he stroked lazily as he manspread wide, eyes locked on you with that fucking smirk.

The first touch of his tongue against your clit, drew a broken cry from your lips as your hips bucked forward on instinct. He groaned into you like he’d been starving, the vibration ripping another whimper from your throat. His tongue pressed flat and broad, lapping from your soaked entrance up to your throbbing clit in one long, deliberate drag, savouring every drop of your arousal. Then he zeroed in, circling the swollen nub with rapid, insistent flicks that made your toes curl against the mattress.

Your head fell back, eyes fluttering shut for a second—until Gojo’s low, amused voice cut through the haze.

“Eyes on me, sweets.”

Your gaze snapped to him, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you ground down against Toru's face. A fresh whimper escaped when his nose bumped right against your clit, his tongue swiping broad and messy through your folds, while you watched Gojo keep fisting his thick cock, veins bulging under his grip, precum beading at the tip and dripping down his knuckles.

"Don't hide those pretty noises, sweets," Gojo drawled, "Toru's a quick study—tell him what you like. Moan it out so he can bury that tongue deeper in your sloppy cunt."

Your eyes rolled slightly as his hands clamped down on your thighs, spreading you wider, holding you pinned over his mouth. He sucked your clit between his lips with a wet pop, rolling it gently at first, then harder, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp and buck. His tongue plunged inside you next, fucking in and out with filthy, twisting strokes that stretched your walls and hit every sensitive ridge. You could feel his chin slick with your juices, his breaths coming hot and ragged against your skin as he devoured you, alternating between spearing deep and lashing your clit until your thighs quivered uncontrollably.

It didn't take long for Toru to bully his fingers into you, squealing. You leaned forward, your back arching, he pumped them in sync with his licks, scissoring to open you up, the squelching sounds obscene as your arousal coated his hand. The pressure built fast and brutal in your gut, coiling tighter with every thrust, every flick, your hips rolling wildly now as you chased it, moans spilling free and loud just like Gojo wanted.

"Yes—fuck, Toru, right there!" His fingers hooking harder, his mouth sucking your clit like he aimed to bruise it. It hit you like a freight train—your vision whiting out, body seizing as the orgasm shattered through you, walls clamping down on his fingers in violent spasms. You screamed, gushing over his tongue and hand, your release soaking his face and dripping down his neck. He didn't stop, lapping and fingering you through it, drawing out every pulse until you were a trembling, sobbing mess, oversensitive and boneless.

Toru finally pulled back, lips glistening, glasses fogged and crooked as he licked his fingers clean with a satisfied growl. "Taste so fucking good," he rasped, your body felt lightweight as you came down from your orgasm, but they didn't even give you any time to adjust.

Tour slapped your ass, red blooming your brown skin as you groaned, he turned you over to face him, your back arched as he put you on all fours--knees sinking into the sheets.

Your eyes adjusted softly as you watched him unbutton his shirt and pull his jeans down. Your eyes widened as you caught the size of him. He smiled down at you, his fingers coming to run in your hair, almost like he was comforting you.

"Don't worry, baby, I'll fuck you later-- but you gotta be good for Gojo, yeah?" A needy moan slipped out as you felt Gojo behind you, gathering your slick on his cockhead, rubbing it teasingly through your soaked folds. He dragged the fat tip up and down your slit, bumping your oversensitive clit until your hips twitched back, begging without words.

"Such a greedy little hole," Gojo chuckled darkly, his hands spreading your ass cheeks wide to expose you fully. "Still dripping from Toru's tongue—bet you're aching to get stuffed full." Without another warning, he lined up and slammed in, burying every inch of his throbbing cock deep inside your clenching pussy. The stretch burned so good, your walls fluttering around him as he bottomed out, balls pressing flush against your skin. You cried out, the sound muffled as Toru guided your head forward, tapping his cock against your open lips.

"Open up," you wrap your lips around his girth and sucking him in with a wet slurp, your tongue swirling over the pulsing veins as you bob forward, taking him deeper until he hits the back of your throat. Gojo didn't hold back, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he started pounding into you from behind, each snap of his hips jolting you forward onto Toru's dick, forcing you to gag and drool around him.

"Fuck, listen to that—" Gojo groaned, leaning over your back to nip at your shoulder. His cock dragged against every ridge inside you, the head kissing your cervix with every deep plunge, while his fingers dug into your ass, spreading you wider for the filthy view. Spit trailed from your mouth as you hollowed your cheeks, sucking Toru off with sloppy, desperate pulls, your hand wrapping around the base to stroke what you couldn't swallow. He tangled his fingers tighter in your hair, fucking your face in shallow thrusts that matched Gojo's rhythm, grunting as your throat squeezed him.

"That's it, baby," Toru growled, his free hand reaching down to pinch your nipple, twisting until you whimpered around him. The dual assault had your body on fire—Gojo's balls slapping wetly against your clit, building that pressure again, your pussy gushing around his length with every withdraw.

Gojo's dark chuckle rumbled through the room, echoing the wet symphony of skin slapping skin—the relentless plap, plap, plap of his hips driving into you, mixed with the obscene shlurp of your mouth working Toru's cock. Fuck, the noises you made were so pretty.

"You want to cum again, sweets? Milk my dick while you swallow Toru's load?" The words sent you spiralling, your moans vibrating up Toru's shaft as the coil in your belly snapped. You shuddered around Gojo's cock, walls convulsing in tight spasms, soaking his thighs as you screamed muffled cries, body shaking between them. He didn't stop, fucking you through the waves, chasing his own release with harder, erratic thrusts.

Toru came first, his hips bucking as he flooded your mouth with hot spurts of cum, holding you down until you swallowed every drop, excess dribbling down your chin. "Good girl—fuck, so obedient," he panted, pulling out to smear the last bits over your lips. Gojo followed seconds later, pulling out as he spilt over your ass. The contrast of his white cum against your brown skin had him groaning at the sight.

Your limbs gave out, body crumpling into the sheets, mind lost in a thick fog of bliss and exhaustion, every nerve humming from the overload. Toru shifted, scooping you up against his chest, his glasses still crooked as he pressed lazy kisses to your temple. One hand stroking down your back while the other cupped your breast, thumb circling the pebbled nipple in soothing swirls.

You could hear Gojo moving around behind you, but you were to exhuasted to open your eyes. The soft hum of Toru's voice murmured against your body.

"Go back to the party, wanna fuck my prize in peace now."

You could hear his brother's laughter, his hand coming down onto your ass, "Don't break her lil bro."