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cyberrmusee · 1 month ago

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apologize | ʚɞ toji fushiguro ʚɞ |

ʚɞ — contains: crazy!reader x manipulative!toji, toxic relationship, knives, mentions of bl00d, oral (f rec.), fingering, implied humping?, implied marathons, toji thinks sex solves every issue.

you’d always been a lover girl. everything you did was driven by that big ass, soft, stubborn heart of yours. there was never any moment where something you’d done wasn’t driven by love.

even now as you held your dear boyfriend, toji fushiguro, at the end of the sharpest blade you owned, even this was driven by love, right? at least to you anyways.

the cold metal pressed against his veiny throat while you interrogated him like an fbi agent, your pupils dilated wide with nothing but adoration for him.

you might’ve been a little crazy, but how could you not when he promised you everything your little heart desired? love, companionship, trust, understanding, loyalty. and god the fucking sex was mind blowing.

but then he disappeared on you for a week, no calls, no texts, nothing, for seven whole days your boyfriend was no where to be found. you’d blown his phone up and gotten nothing in return, so you spiraled into madness til he walked through the door a few moments ago and you were on him.

“you don’t love me anymore toji?” you pouted as you pressed the knife a little firmer to his throat. he strained against you. though in reality he could flip the situation, but honestly, this was turning him on.

“course i do doll, you know that” he choked out, his voice hoarse. your eyes darted over his face as you looked up at him, searching for truth in his eyes.

“no you don’t” you said with a deep frown as you pressed the knife a little firmer to his neck, a small cut forming. “you went off the grid for a week” you whined.

“what’d i do toj’? i’m always such a good girl to you, why don’t you love me?” you pouted as you pressed the knife further into him, drawing blood, watching it trickle down his muscular neck.

toji was getting unfathomably hard. you were fucking psychotic and he adored every bit of it. his pupils were blown wide with lust and he had that stupid fucking smirk on his face.

“i do love you baby girl, promise.” his voice was rich, thick and sweet, like honey and molasses. the same tone he always had when he was about to fuck you silly.

you huffed at his words, full of shit he was, at least to you in this moment “no you don’t… you fuckin left me here by my fuckin self for a week!” you were yelling now, and he was grinning, a wide shit eating grin.

the slow trail of blood down his neck was nothing to him, he couldn’t even feel it. but what he could feel? was how fucking hard you were making him. he loved seeing you all riled up, all upset in his name, cause you loved him so damn much.

sure, it was definitely toxic, but it was so enthralling, so addictive, so.. enticing.he couldn’t help himself. his hands flew to your waist and his verdant irises were on you, swirling with so much lust and admiration.

“let me apologize mama” he said. voice all low and gravelly, filled with sincerity, and something else you didn’t want to acknowledge.

“just drop the knife for me pretty girl, i’ll fix it all, promise” you narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously. yeah you were fucking furious with him, hurt as hell too, but you did miss him, a lot.

“fine.” you sighed out dropping the blade. his eyes lit up like a christmas tree, and it all happened so fast. you could’ve swore he was on you before the knife even hit the floor.

you were on the couch, no shirt, no panties, no sanity either, and he was in between your legs looking at your pussy like it was the worlds most expensive diamond and he was a jewel thief.

“fuck i missed you so much.” he breathed out as he kissed your inner thighs. you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or your cunt.

you opened your mouth, set on responding to him but the words died on your tongue when he flicked his on your clit, pulling a gasp from you.

he worked you over in a way you’d never felt him do before. this was different, really different. it was like he was glued to your pussy. his strong arms wrapped around your thighs holding you in place as he feasted on you like he’d never tasted you before.

you line of vision blurred the different hues of the living room together as you reached for his hair, tugging on it to get him to ease up.

“b-babe wait fuh-fuck.. t-too muchh mmf!” your breaths came in short pants. your head was spinning and the sounds that left you were next to screams.

his tongue swirled around your bud like a mad man, it was quick and precise, pulling you to the edge of your orgasm while he grunted into your core, rutting his hips into the couch like the desperate man he was.

“let me apologize properly mama” was all he grumbled into your folds as he probed one of his thick, muscular fingers into your hole, working it bsck and forth, his scarred lips wrapped around your bundle of nerves while he sucked on it like a lollipop.

you could’ve swore you saw stars, the way your back arched off the couch, legs locking around his head, and your moans transitioning into high pitched, breathy whines, and just like that, that ball of heat in your stomach snapped.

your juices were all over his face, chin, lips, and cheeks. the couch cushion was soaked and the opening of his shirt too as your poor legs trembled, releasing his head, while you made the attempt to catch your breath.

he pulled his head from between your thighs and smiled up at you lazily, his face glistening with you all over it. “i’m sorry baby, i’ll communicate more next time” he said soft and sincere.

you rolled your eyes at him, finally catching your breath as you pushed yourself to a sitting position on the couch as you flicked your eyes away from his. “whatever, i forgive you, i guess” you muttered stubbornly.

he raised a brow at you, a sly smirk spreading across his face as he rose up to his knees, beginning to unbuckle his pants. your eyes flicked to the motion and up to his face.

“toji.. what the fuck are you doing?” your voice was laced with confusion and suspicion. he only chuckled as he worked his pants down.

“about to earn your forgiveness, even if it takes me all night.” he mused with a smile that bordered on sinful.

“now lay back and spread those pretty thighs for me ma, let me earn it” he spoke as his snatched off his boxers.

and yes, he kept you there all. fucking. night.

a/n: made this for my moots ten desires event! @merakidoll thank u for letting me participate boo bear! <3 mwah!!

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cyberrmusee · 2 months ago

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raw. that’s all.

hihi love your work in filthy with dante! wondering if I could request a tattoo artist!dante x fem reader? no specific request other than pure filth :))

excited to see what you cook up!! >;)

Hello my love!!! Thank you so much im so glad you liked it, and of course I can!! When I tell you I had so much fun writing this. I hope you enjoy xxx

FIRST TIME

Dante Sparda x reader SMUT MDNI

You were already regretting wearing a short skirt.

The leather of the couch stuck to the back of your thighs as you shifted, trying to sit like a normal, composed adult while he leaned back behind the counter, spinning a pen between his fingers like he had all the time in the world.

Dante Sparda.

He wasn’t what you expected when you called the studio asking for an appointment. The rough, husky voice on the phone matched the image in your head—sure—but seeing him in person? Way worse. Or better. Depending on how many brain cells you had left to rub together.

Silver hair tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed. A cigarette behind one ear. Tattoos peeking out from the open collar of his black button-up. One ring on his thumb, one on his pinky, and a cocky smile that was probably illegal in several countries.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he said, voice like velvet-coated sin. “What are we thinkin’? Name? Flower? Something cute to match the lip gloss?”

You blinked, nearly choking on your spit. “Um—wha—no. Not a name. It’s… it’s just a little symbol. Something small. Meaningful.”

“Mysterious.” He grinned, sliding a notepad toward you, long fingers brushing yours. “Show me what you’re thinkin’.”

You handed him your shitty sketch, and he nodded like it wasn’t the most amateur thing he’d ever seen. His thumb dragged slowly along the edge of the paper, gaze flicking from the design to your bare thigh as you tried not to fidget.

“Inner thigh, huh?” he asked, like he already knew the answer. “Pretty bold placement for your first.”

You swallowed. “I wanted it… close. Private.”

“Mm.” His smile widened, eyes sharp beneath those lashes. “Let me guess—you like the thrill. Somethin’ that gets your heart racin’. Little danger, little pleasure.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out except a breathy “maybe.”

His chair creaked as he leaned forward, all inked arms and hungry eyes.

“Come in tomorrow night,” he said, tone lower now. “After hours. We’ll get it just right. Take our time.”

Your heart skipped. “After hours?”

“Sure. You’ll be my last of the day.” His eyes dropped to your legs, a glint in them you couldn’t ignore. “I like takin’ my time with pretty things.”

You left the studio twenty minutes later, heart pounding, thighs pressed tight, and your name scribbled in black ink on the studio calendar.

Friday, 8 PM. Dante—after hours.

You already knew this tattoo would ruin you.

The bell above the studio door jingled softly as you stepped inside, your sandals clicking against the worn hardwood. The place was dim, cozy—lit mostly by warm overhead lights and the glow of a neon devil sign hanging in the corner. The air smelled like clean leather and something smoky, something expensive.

“Evenin’, sweetheart.”

Dante’s voice floated from the back room before he even appeared. You barely had a second to prepare before he stepped out, stretching like he’d just woken up from a nap. His black tee clung to him like a second skin, revealing the sharp cut of his torso, and his silver hair was messy in the artfully fucked-up kind of way.

“Y-you’re here alone?” you asked, setting your bag down on the little couch in the corner.

He smirked, locking the door behind you with a loud click. “Course. Told you this was a private session. You nervous, princess?”

Your stomach flipped.

“A little,” you admitted, smoothing your hands over the hem of your skirt. It was too short. You knew that. But you also knew exactly what you were doing.

Dante’s gaze dropped for a second—slow, deliberate—before he turned and headed for his station. “That’s normal. I’ll take good care of you.”

You swallowed hard, watching him move around the space with lazy confidence, setting up the machine, pulling out fresh needles, arranging the ink caps. He whistled as he worked, glancing over at you every so often.

“You bring the design?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, stepping over and handing him the refined sketch he’d drawn up at the consultation. Your fingers brushed, just for a second, and his eyes caught yours with that same sharp, hungry glint.

“Perfect,” he murmured, lips curling. “Let’s get that stencil prepped.”

He took his time, dragging the design through transfer paper, swiping alcohol onto the inside of your thigh where the tattoo would go. His fingers were warm, gloved, but the touch was intimate—his thumb lingering longer than necessary as he looked up at you from his crouched position.

“This okay?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded, heartbeat rattling in your ears. “Yeah. Just… sensitive there.”

“Mm. Lucky me.” He smirked again, standing back up and tossing the stencil paper to the side. “Lay back when you’re ready. Won’t bite.”

You weren’t so sure about that.

As you climbed onto the chair, lying back with your leg bent open just enough for him to work, you caught his gaze flicking back to your mouth, your throat, your thighs.

And when he leaned in with the stencil, brushing it carefully onto your skin, he whispered, “Gotta keep real still for me now, sweetheart. Wouldn’t wanna mess up my art.”

The air crackled with tension. Every breath felt too loud. And you knew—deep down—you were already in so much trouble.

You laid back on the leather chair, thigh slightly turned to give him access, breath catching as Dante sat between your legs, gloves snapping on with a smirk that sent heat straight to your core.

“You okay, baby?” he asked, flipping the machine on. The low buzz filled the room, making your spine tighten.

“Y-Yeah,” you breathed, trying to look anywhere but at his face. His stupidly hot, sharp-jawed, half-lidded face.

“You’re doing good already, and I haven’t even touched you,” he chuckled, eyes dropping to your thigh. “This’ll sting at first, but I promise I’ll make it quick and clean.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. Your heart thudded, and not just from nerves. The position—the way his body brushed against your knee as he leaned in, how his breath ghosted over your skin, how close his hands were to everything dangerous—was making it impossible to breathe.

And then—

The needle pressed in.

Your fingers clenched the edges of the chair as the buzz crawled up your leg. It wasn’t unbearable. But it wasn’t nothing, either. Especially not with the way Dante was holding you still, his free hand firm on your thigh, palm wide and warm.

“There we go,” he said, voice lower now, something smooth sliding beneath it. “Takin’ it like a fuckin’ champ. Told you you’d be perfect for me.”

A whimper crawled up your throat—choked down fast.

The buzz continued, dancing over your skin in a steady rhythm. Every time he shifted, every time his arm brushed your leg, you felt it. The vibrations weren’t just in your thigh now. They traveled. Warm. Deep. Aching.

“You’re shivering,” he noted after a minute, tilting his head without pausing his work. “That nervous still?”

You opened your mouth—yes, that was the safe answer—but he cut you off with a quiet hum, like he already knew.

His fingers tightened just slightly on your skin.

“Feels kinda good though, doesn’t it?” he murmured, not looking up. “Little vibration. Little pain. You’re squeezin’ that seat like I’m doin’ something worse.”

Your face flamed. “I-I’m fine,” you lied, breath coming quick.

Dante smiled lazily, tongue grazing his teeth as he glanced up at you. “Mmm. Sure you are.”

The machine kept buzzing. His hands never stopped. But now he was watching you more than the stencil, gauging every flutter of your lashes, every sharp breath, every twitch of your thighs.

And beneath it all, that cocky, teasing glint stayed in his eyes—like he knew.

Like he knew exactly how wet you were getting from this.

The buzzing finally stopped, leaving the room in a heavy, weighted silence. Your pulse still throbbed in your thighs, heart hammering in your chest as Dante leaned back to admire his work, tongue pressed to his cheek in approval.

“You killed it, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick, like he’d just smoked you in.

You tried to nod, tried to offer a smile, but your brain was swimming. You could still feel the echo of the vibrations deep between your legs. Still feel the warmth of his hands. Still feel how close he’d gotten—how close he still was.

Dante set the machine down and reached for the wrap, leaning back in. His gloved fingers skimmed your inner thigh, brushing just a little too high on accident—or maybe not.

But it was enough.

You gasped. Sharp. Involuntary. A pathetic little moan bubbling out before you could swallow it.

And everything snapped.

Dante froze.

Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet yours. They were darker now. Hungrier. “…You moaned.”

Your lips parted, embarrassment flooding your face. “I didn’t—”

“Yeah you did,” he said, voice low, velvet-smooth and wicked. He stood, peeled off his gloves, and let them drop to the tray with a quiet snap. “You’ve been squirming in that chair for the past hour. I thought maybe you were just a little sensitive.”

He stepped closer.

“But now I know,” he murmured, hand coming to grip the edge of the chair beside your head as he leaned over you, “you’ve been dripping wet this whole time, haven’t you?”

You whimpered, back arching slightly.

His other hand trailed up your exposed thigh again, this time deliberate. Confident. Claiming.

“Jesus,” he hissed through his teeth when his fingers brushed the damp cotton between your legs. “You’re soaked.”

Your hands flew to his chest, but not to push him away. You tugged him closer, thighs parting instinctively.

“You gonna let me fuck you right here in this chair, baby?” he asked, nose brushing your cheek. “That what you’ve been wanting?”

You nodded fast—shameless, frantic.

Dante groaned, his mouth crashing to yours. His hands were rough now, hungry, pulling at the waistband of your skirt, yanking it down as you kicked your sneakers off the sides of the chair.

“Could’ve told me earlier,” he growled against your lips. “Would’ve had you sittin’ on my cock while I tattooed you.”

He dropped to his knees, dragged your panties down with his teeth, eyes locked on your soaked core. “Fuck. Pink little pussy—so pretty for me.”

Your fingers gripped the back of the chair, breath ragged. “Dante—”

He didn’t let you speak. He buried his face between your thighs, tongue working you over with such filthy, open-mouthed hunger that your head hit the leather with a loud thud. It was messy, wet, his stubble scraping your skin just right as his hands gripped your thighs like a man starved.

And when he finally stood again, licking his lips, undoing his belt?

You already knew you weren’t walking out of that shop without at least one more mark on your body—and it wasn’t going to be the tattoo.

The chair scraped behind you as Dante grabbed your waist and spun you around like you weighed nothing. Before you could catch your breath, he had you bent over the workbench—palms flat on the cold steel, tits pressing into scattered ink caps and a few loose sketch pages.

“Don’t move,” he said, voice a rasp just above a growl.

You didn’t even breathe. His hand slid up your spine, slow, rough, until he was fisting your hair and pulling your head back just enough to whisper in your ear.

“God, look at you… still twitchin’ from the tattoo and now I got you bent over my fuckin’ table like a goddamn reward.”

You moaned, clenching around nothing.

Your skirt was already gone. Your panties? Still hanging off one ankle like some pathetic afterthought. And Dante didn’t bother taking his jeans all the way off—just enough to free his cock, heavy and leaking as he dragged it between your folds with a low hiss.

“You feel that?” he muttered, rubbing the head right against your soaked entrance. “How fuckin’ needy you are for it?”

“Please,” you gasped, the word cracking on your tongue.

“Yeah, baby? You want it that bad?” He pressed in—just the tip—and then pulled back, just to make you wail. “Then beg for it.”

“Dante, I—I need it, I can’t—”

“You can,” he growled, slapping your ass so hard it echoed off the brick walls. “You’ve been dripping for me since I turned the machine on. You can take every inch.”

And then he slammed into you.

Your cry was ragged, face twisted against the steel as he buried himself to the hilt, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise while the other stayed tangled in your hair.

“Fuck, baby—tight little thing, grippin’ me like you own me.”

He started to move, and it was vicious. Deep, punishing thrusts that shoved the table an inch every time he bottomed out. The slap of skin was obscene. The sound of you whining his name? Even worse.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty bent over my bench like this,” Dante panted, hips snapping. “Makin’ a fuckin’ mess on my floor—gonna have to mop it up later.”

You sobbed, arching, body trembling from overstimulation and pleasure so intense it hurt.

And then his hand slid down. Fingers found your clit, rubbing fast, and you nearly collapsed.

“Yeah,” he hissed, “that’s it, baby. Come for me. All over my cock. Right here, where anyone could walk in and see you bein’ such a good little slut.”

You shattered.

Legs shaking, mouth open in a silent scream as you came around him, thighs soaked and body limp—but Dante didn’t stop. He chased his own release, slamming into you harder, filth pouring from his mouth.

“Gonna fuck you stupid—gonna ruin that new tattoo—god fuck, I’m close—”

And with a low growl, he came deep inside you, holding you down to the workbench as he pulsed, cock twitching, breath hot against your neck.

For a long second, there was nothing but the sound of heavy breathing and tattoo ink bottles rattling from the aftershocks.

Then his lips pressed to your ear.

“So… when you comin’ back for your second piece, sweetheart?”

#dante sparda x reader #dante sparda smut #dante smut

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cyberrmusee · 2 months ago

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yes, i’m an attention whore, yes i love having internet friends, yes i love when ppl comment, and reblog my stuff, yes i love when people send requests or ask, yes yes yes yes! :3

#cybersmind #cyberrspeaks #cyberrmuse #cybersworld #cyberrmusee

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cyberrmusee · 2 months ago

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“nah mama” yeah ima have his kids

stalker sugardaddy!choso who nearly commits a murder when he spots someone your age trying to hit on you. he was quick to rush over to the guy and make his presence known, not caring how embarrassing it was for you.

half your classmates cornered around to see what was happening, and all you could remember was thinking how the hell he even knew where your university was?

you made sure to never tell him too much about your personal life— strictly for reasons like these. feelings were never supposed to get involved, you both had established that on day one, but somewhere down the line that pact faded..

now choso was dragging you back to his place, refusing to let you out of his sight until he’d drilled some sense into you.

“the fuck?” the man spat as he tugged on your hair, turning your head to face him. your vision was blurry from the tears welling in your eyes, but you could see well enough to know he was pissed.

“y’thought i would let that shit slide? nah mama…” his question was low but piercing, and you could tell by the tone that he wanted an answer. “you must like gettin’ fucked up.”

your shaking hands pushed at his waist in attempt to slow him down. “w..wait cho! mm ‘s too much for me,” his dead eyes met yours, and he was quick to shut you up by filling your mouth with his thumb, moving it back and forth.

his free hand pinched at your pulsating clit as he gently flicked it, watching you in awe. “what’d i tell you about those boys your age? that they’re not good for you rightt?”

the more your legs inched out of his grip, he yanked you closer “im gonna show you just who the fuck you belong to, even if it means fillin’ you til you’re dumb and round with my kids.”

©rissouu 2025 (heh..)

#choso x chubby reader #choso smut #i love choso

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cyberrmusee · 2 months ago

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i love that this is so many of you guys favorites loll thank u for all the loveee <3 mwah!

thinking about college au bully!suguru

bully!suguru who always picks on you for your cute and overly girl outfits "what? you think you're in a fucking fashion show?"

bully!suguru who purposely invades your personal space and looms over you like a storm cloud every time he's in close proximity just to bother you.

bully!suguru who finds any and every excuse to antagonize you in any form possible, even just 'bumping' into you and making you drop your morning coffee.

bully!suguru who wont let anyone else treat you the way he does, only he is allowed to tease you like that. "say some shit like that to her again and ill f*ckin kill you, got me?"

bully!suguru who snatches your hair ties from you every time he sees them on your wrist. "you don't need it anyways, baldy. i've got more hair, i need it more."

bully!suguru who secretly saves them and wears them under the sleeves of his sweaters and jackets.

bully!suguru who cant stand to see you within the vicinity of a man that isn't him and is jealous and bitter at how happy you look without him.

bully!suguru who sucks at verbally expressing to you how he feels about you, so he expresses it by stretching your pretty pussy open in the janitorial closet between classes.

he had you bent over the janitors desk, giving your sopping cunt deep, powerful thrusts as he placed his hand over top yours and worked his hips. his fat mushroom tip going straight the hilt of your warm, dripping pussy, cock abusing your cervix.

all of your colorful hair ties he'd previously stolen, adorned his wrists. a flutter of bright colors flashed through your vision blurry, tears spilling from your eyes from how his girth bullied your cunt, stretching to make you fit alllll of him and mold your walls for his dick, so that's what he did with em'? your pussy swallowing his fat cock whole as a ring of your creamy slick formed at the base of his cock, which only served to make him harder.

god he should've done this ages ago.

#getou suguru x reader #jjk suguru #suguru smut

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cyberrmusee · 2 months ago

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sex, money, feelings, die | ᝰ.ᐟ ryomen sukuna ᝰ.ᐟ |

ᝰ.ᐟ — contains: modern times w/ true form sukuna, manipulative!reader, toxic!reader? (a lil bit i think), sukuna has some misogynistic ideologies, dual penetration, oral (f. rec), kuna’s tummy mouth, thigh slapping, slight degradation?, broken furniture.

you were truly something to behold, at least in the curse kings eyes. he’d never in all his years, met a woman like you.

you just didn’t… care, about much of anything.

your nonchalance left him astounded on multiple occasions. broken promises, forgotten dates, false hope— wasn’t shit to you.

you did, said, walked, talked and wore what you want at all times, never sweating under any pressure, no matter the situation, and by the gods was that fucking hot to him.

though he never pictured himself where he was now. never pictured himself being this upset when a woman didn’t want him, yet here he was.

“brat.” he said as more of a question than a statement. he stood over the back of your couch, watching you. you had been scrolling on your phone on some stupid app before you sighed deeply and answered, not even bothering to fully acknowledge his presence. “yes ryomen?” you said unenthusiastically.

he scowled at lack of expression and how you just subtly defied him in small ways like this, not looking at him, addressing him by his first name, defying him in ways that he thought would make him sound crazy for pointing out.

normally, he’d have your head as a souvenir for this, but he couldn’t deny that to him, it was part of your charm. besides this wasn’t the heian era and he needed to get used to women having their own mind and speaking as they wish, even if he thought it was insane.

“why do you insist on not letting me court you properly” he huffed out, trying to sound stern, but sounding more like a child on the verge of a tantrum.

you rolled your eyes and sighed “not this shit again” he furrowed his brows as he rounded the couch and stood in front of you, two hands on his hips, the other two folded across his chest as he glared down at you.

if looks could kill, you’d have died over a thousand times by now with the way he always gave you this specific look. “because ryomen, i don’t date, i don’t want to. i don’t do the whole love thing.” you waved your hand for extra emphasis.

“and neither do you, so why won’t you let this go?” you said as you finally drug your gaze up to meet his. bored. that was the expression on your face.

his blood boiled. there you were again with that fucking face, the look of disinterest as if a king stood not before you, like he was a mere mortal man. he hated that fucking look. it drove him nuts.

this was his shtick, the thing he did to women, the whole nonchalant, cold, only sex thing that got women hung up on him. how the hell could the tables have turned this quickly? how could he have let them? for fucks sake.

“damned brat, you don’t know what i desire!” he barked out as his voice rose. ah there it was, that temper, your favorite part of him. you only smirked as you stood up in front of him. your height paling in comparison to his staggering, nearly seven foot frame.

craning your neck up towards him with the biggest shit eating grin. eyes glinting with something more than just mischief. “you only want what you can’t have ryomen.” you said teasingly. “and i bet it’s fucking with your head isn’t it?” you snickered out.

you were right, and that pissed him off all the fucking more. his eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared as he snapped.

it was swift really, the way one of his hands wrapped around your neck, two on your hips and one yanking your head back as he lifted you in the air to meet his eye level.

“heed those fucking words, brat, i won’t take such insolent disrespect from this foul mouth of yours.” he gritted out through his teeth. you only smiled as you peered into his eyes with your own.

“oh, but i’ll take you, i always do, all of you, and in your words, i “take them so fucking good” don’t i, my lord?” your tone laced with mockery, while using the correct term of respect, in such a disrespectful tone as his dark red irises burned into yours.

fuck he was solid like a rock. he hated you for it. he hates that this upsets and turns him on so much. you were nothing but a smart mouthed little cunt. one he couldn’t shake off for the life of him. with your “it doesn’t matter” attitude.

“fucking stubborn little bitch.” those were his last words before he tore (and yes i actually mean tore,) your clothes off of you with all four hands, walking you back into a wall before he slammed you against it, working his own sweats and boxers down.

two of his hand spread your legs wide as he looked at your cunt, already glistening with clear arousal. “you find this arousing? you damned brat?” he growled.

you opened your mouth to form a witty reply but the words fell dead on your tongue as he pressed his torso to your cunt, letting his stomach mouth go to work on the needy thing. lapping at your clit and slurping your juices like it hadn’t been fed in ages.

he watched your eyes flutter and jaw drop as you gasped and stuttered. “not so much to say now, huh?” he leered at you. “i- i- mmf! fuck ryom-” WHACK! a loud smack to your thigh. hard enough to leave a handprint even. “shut the fuck up and cum” he instructed roughly.

you whined and after a few more treacherous licks to your swollen bud, you gushed on the tongue of his stomach mouth. legs trembling violently as your body tensed with the force of your orgasm.

but oh, he wasn’t done there. before you could recover, he was swabbing both cocks in your essence, using it as lube before he filled both of your holes to the brim with them in a harsh upward thrust.

you yelped and he only slapped your thigh again in the same spot “i said shut the fuck up. you can take it. you always do, remember?” he grunted as he moved his hips.

as many times as you’ve fucked him, you’d still never gotten used to the feeling of him splitting you completely open on both his dicks.

you could’ve swore you saw stars blotch in your vision, you couldn’t even moan properly, just choking out gasps of air as you reached for his forearms, shoulders, for anything that would ground you.

only for him to slap your thigh yet again and use a free hand and pin your wrists on the wall above your head. “don’t fucking touch me. you’re gonna take whatever i give you, til i’m finished, brat”

and god did he mean every word he said. by the time he was finally through with you, the sun had long gone down and he’d thoroughly fucked you into every surface of your apartment.

a leg of your couch was broken, there was a dent in your living room wall, a piece of the kitchen counter broken and missing and your poor headboard was in half.

you’d gotten what you wanted and then some, but yet, ryomen was still unsatisfied, he hasn’t gotten what he wanted yet.

it was quiet as he cleaned the house, while you laid in bed trying to recover before he carefully cleaned you up and began aftercare. just pure silence until—

“allow me to court you properly now” he said gruffly. you were almost too fucked out to tell him no, he’d never fucked you like this before, but the keyword was almost. “absolutely not.” you said barely above a firm whisper.

he couldn’t believe his fucking ears, no? again? at this point he just grunted and scoffed out a laugh, you couldn’t resist him forever “damn brat.”

now, you actually liked ryomen, but you couldn’t let him know that and have the upper hand. his ego was already swollen enough with him being a literal king.

pair that with his misogynistic tendencies and lack of empathy and it made it so much easier to watch him suffer and writhe in all his anger at the hands of his own tactics used against him.

was it manipulative? oh. as fuck. but every time this topic arose, it got you fucked hard and pampered harder afterwards. so it’s safe to say you were gonna let this go on for a little while longer until you told him the truth.

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cyberrmusee · 2 months ago

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dad’s best friend | ʚɞ toji fushiguro ʚɞ |

ʚɞ — contains: age gap (23 & 46), mentions of drinking and drunk s3x, hair pulling, slight dub con?, reader is implied to be blk, pet names (ma, mama, pretty girl, pretty baby) pregnancy mention, implied marathons, breeding.

a part of you knew this was wrong, maybe a very small part that was buried very very very deep in your subconscious, but i digress.

i mean he was twice your age for crying out fucking loud. he sorta helped raise you alongside your dad. you grew up with his son, went to school with his son, hell he even took you to prom your senior year.

this was wrong.. so many levels of fucking wrong, but you couldn’t stop yourself and apparently neither could he.

you were home visiting from uni for the summer, and you promised your dad you’d actually stay in the house with him this time, unlike usually when you’d stay in the beach house up the road like you’d done the last two summers.

what you didn’t promise although, was that you wouldn’t let his best friend of twenty plus years, have you bent over this counter, screwing you silly.

it started the summer you turned 21, you were home staying in the beach house and toji wanted to buy you your first definitely not legal drink, one thing led to another and now whenever you came home for any sort of break, it was him and you, back to back to back.

you knew this was wrong, that your dad could come in at any minute, the poor man would have a stroke if he saw the display.

you were bent over the counter, your braids fisted in toji’s hand as he pulled you back by em’ , your ass rippling against his pelvis with every lewd thwack! he gave you.

your maw hung open as you gasped for air, his angry shroomy tip giving your cervix brutal kisses. you gripped the counter so hard you swore you’d broken a piece off.

dots of black in your vision as you came for the nth time in just the short twenty minutes, screaming and wailing like you were in heat. “mmmf to-tojiii fuuckkk!”

he smirked, yanking your head back further and slapping his other hand over you mouth as he worked his hips faster, harder, deeper. “g-gah dammit ma, hush up all that yellin’ n shit. want the whole neighborhood to hear ya?” he grunted out.

your cries were muted and muffled as your eyes rolled back and tears pricked the corner of them. it was his favorite sight. “mhm, i know those lil— hah- college boys can’t give it to you— fuck- l-like this mama..”

you could only whine in response against his hand, tears spilling over your pretty lashes, making them clump together as you mushy walls squeezed around his dick, warning him of another impending orgasm.

he hissed and let go of your hair to grab one of your legs and toss it up on the counter, opening you up wider, splitting you open on his dick, watching the way your greedy pussy sucked him in, a cute lil creamy ring of your cum circling round his dick.

your little cries and whimpers were music to his ears as he hummed “mmm i know ma, i know. cmon, give it to me. s’okay pretty girl” he cooed as kneaded the doughy flesh of your ass, stretch marks on display everywhere as he worked his hips. fucking delicious.

his thrusts were getting sloppy as your cunt kept fluttering and convulsing around him, your tears streaming your face as you practically begged him to cum.

“p-please.. t-toji..” you whined. “please what pretty baby?” he groaned as he tried to refocus on not cumming inside you. “cum.. p-please” you whimpered as your wet lashes fluttered.

hearing you beg like that… for him.. especially begging for him to cum, he snapped. he rocked his hips forward sloppily a few more times before he roughly pressed his hips flush against your ass and came, thick, hot, sticky essence painting every crevice of your pretty walls white.

his orgasm triggered your own as you came again and your greedy pussy choked his dick, pulling every last drop it could out of him as he groaned and hissed “fuck ma— y-y’gotta stop doin’ tha shit, gon’ fuck around and get your lil ass pregnant” he grunted.

but you couldn’t give less of a fuck, your biggest concern right now was the fact that you heard your dads car beep and his door shut and lock.

fuck.

a/n: nothing could stop me from older toji, i #needthat. immediately.

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cyberrmusee · 2 months ago

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thinking about ceo!nanami

cw: dub con, drunk s3x, breeding

ceo!nanami who has several different business type degrees, the number one stock company in the east and spent the better part of what he calls his “younger years” in college, so he could build his dream life. (he’s not old now, his soul just is.)

ceo!nanami who never had the time to think about love and romance after high school, he was too busy building a stable future, so he only ever had his fist and a bottle of lotion :(

ceo!nanami who grew accustomed to being single, heart practically non existent, ruling his company with an iron fist.

ceo!nanami who looked like a deer in headlights the first time he ever saw you, his temporary secretary, while his main one was gone on maternity leave.

ceo!nanami who tries to play it cool and pretend to be unaffected by your bright aura, your little jokes and your sexy yet somehow appropriate work attire.

ceo!nanami who hates to admit that after two months of you by his side, he’s enjoying it, you’ve made him smile a little more and took his heart off ice.

ceo!nanami who now has to have you with him at every meeting, no matter how minuscule, if he couldn’t see you, that little high cheekboned smile, and make eye contact with you, he’d flail in the meeting.

ceo!nanami who nearly throws a fit when his secretaries extended maternity leave is over and you have to give her, her job back, he just can’t have you disappear like that, not after the last six months.

ceo!nanami who blushes and smiles like a fool when you give him your number and tell him you’d love to go out for drinks some time, the tips of his ears scarlet red with embarrassment.

ceo!nanami who gets plastered with you and has to have a car take you both back to his place, because neither of you can properly walk a straight line, led alone drive.

ceo!nanami who can’t keep his drunken gaze off of you as you slip your shoes and jacket off out of respect for his house. his gaze lazy and hungry as he looks you over.

ceo!nanami who now was pushing your head down into the couch cushion with one hand, while his other gripped onto your hips for dear life as he sloppily pounded into you from behind with the lewdest wet sounds imaginable.

his vision blurred and distorted but he couldn’t mistake the way your snug walls hugged him so tight. the way you were soaking his dick and moaning into the couch cushion so prettily.

he couldn’t mistake the way you looked back at him over your shoulder with your mouth open through every thrust, gasping out “ri-righ th-there ken..” plap! plap! “please.. d-don’t stop” plap plap! “mngh.. god you’re gonna make me cum ken!” plap plap plap!

and he definitely couldn’t miss the way your spongy walls wrapped around him so fucking tight it almost hurt when you came, hiccuping and moaning out “cum inside ken.. w-wan’ it inside!” and who was he to deny the woman he wanted to make his wife?

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