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kingkaisen · 1 year ago

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“WHERE IS MY WIFE?”

♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: curses & curse users have discovered satoru’s greatest weakness, and it’s you, satoru’s sweet, ordinary housewife. after getting kidnapped by gojo’s enemies, he’ll do whatever it takes to get you back.

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ only - mdni - slightly dark content // brief smut, fem reader, feral gojo, canon-typical violence, reader gets kidnapped, reader is wounded/has injuries, angst, fluff/comfort

♡ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 5K

♡ —𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I’d count grains of sand if it meant I could spend one minute alone with feral gojo (:

As evening fell, and after a delicious dinner was eaten at the dining table downstairs, Satoru was in the mood for something else now — you.

His pretty housewife would be his dessert.

The apple pie you baked was sitting on the dark marbled counter of the kitchen island, two big slices missing — and the vanilla ice cream tub in the freezer had, of course, two hefty spherical digs in it where the cold treat was scooped out — but, even after his stomach was stuffed after a hard day of fighting curses and teaching his students, Satoru’s head was buried in between your soft thighs, satisfying his other craving.

As your husband moaned softly, his tongue danced around your aching clit. His large hand massaged your thigh. The moonlight pouring in through the big bedroom window shined upon his wedding ring, making it glisten as he rubbed your delicate skin.

“I’ll never get tired of tasting you,” Satoru smiled a bit, his warm breath patting against your wet folds.

“You were made just for me. God, I love it. I love you.”

Two long fingers sunk into your awaiting hole. He attached his soft lips to your clit, sucking on it.

One of your hands gripped at the luxurious pale-cerulean sheets, while your other hand gripped his hair, fingers getting lost in his white locks.

“Satoru!” A sharp moan escaped your dried throat.

Every little noise you made — every moan, every squeak of the thick mattress — it all boasted his desire to please you.

He didn’t stop his licking-sucking-fingering combo until your legs were trembling around his head and he was satisfied with tasting your juices.

Only after devouring your pussy like a starving man feasting on a buffet-style dinner did he rise from his position and make his way across the bed, hovering over you.

With a smile, Satoru leaned down and planted a soft kiss against your lips. But, when he pulled away, he was met with an amused look of disgust.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, furrowing his brows a bit.

“You just kissed me after eating me out,” you said with a little, playful grimace. “That’s nasty.”

“Mrs. Gojo, I mean this in the most respectful way possible, but hush.” Satoru lightly tapped your forehead. “You have swallowed plenty of my-”

“Ah, ah, ah,” shaking your head, you cut off your husband’s naughty sentence, pressing your hand against his lips.

The corners of your mouth burned as you tried to fight off a smile. His latest affectionate nickname was Mrs. Gojo — although it truly wasn’t a nickname due to it technically being your name now — and at every given opportunity, he addressed you that way.

Even after two years of marriage, he was as excited as a freshly wedded man. Your love was a never-ending honeymoon.

You stared into Satoru’s striking blue eyes. He darted his gaze across your gorgeous face, illuminated by the moonlight, and as you ran your fingers through his white hair and he ran his thumb across your cheek, both of you close enough to feel the gentle pats of each other’s breaths on your mesmerizing faces, you both fell in love with each other just a bit more — if that was even possible.

“Can I fuck you now?”

Satoru’s question made a sudden chuckle spilled out from between your lips. He couldn’t help but laugh too.

“You’re a buffoon. I’m trying to admire your beauty and that’s what you open your mouth to say?” You playfully frowned.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard a human being call another human being a buffoon out loud before.”

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes humorously. “We need to do our skincare routine first. We have to do it an hour before we go to bed or else we might just rub all the product off. I read that somewhere.”

“Why didn’t we do it before we got into bed in the first place?” Satoru buried his head in the crook of your neck, pouting, but taking a moment to press a little kiss onto your skin.

“Because you were acting as if you were dying of poison and eating me out was the antidote, so I forgot.” you giggled softly.

“Fine, fine,” your husband slowly rolled off of you in defeat. “Skincare routine, nothing more. Please don’t start trying to organize the bath towels.”

“I’m not making any promises,” you said, getting out of bed and following Satoru into the master bathroom.

There, you and your husband stood in front of the big mirror, cleansing and moisturizing your skin as you both chatted about his students, a movie you watched three days ago, and your breakfast plans in the morning.

And it was those sweet little moments that made Satoru’s heart skip a beat. As he flickered his eyes over to your reflection, watching your smother smooth white cream all over your face as you rambled on about a new egg recipe, he couldn’t help but think about how much he loved you.

—

6:00 A.M.

That night ended with soft sex and gentle kisses.

That morning, Satoru’s white eyelashes fluttered open to the early morning sun starting to rise, casting rays through the drawn window curtains and across his comforter.

He squinted his eyes and yawned.

Typically, he was the sort of man who would never wake up at the ungodly hour if he could help it, but the tantalizing aroma of fresh coffee and sizzling eggs had traveled from the kitchen downstairs to right underneath his nose.

Tossing on his blue house-coat, the grumpy-faced man dragged himself into the kitchen, greeting you with a slightly gruff morning voice and a messy head of hair.

“Good morning, baby,” Satoru walked around the kitchen island and loosely wrapped his arms around your waist, hugging you from behind. “How’d you sleep? I had a nightmare.”

With a spatula in one hand, you flipped the omelet in the skillet on the six-burner stove. With the other hand, you rubbed his arm, enjoying the warmth his hovering hug had brought.

“I slept alright,” you said. “Did the smell wake you up?”

“Always does,” he smiled lazily although you couldn’t see it.

“Well, your drink’s ready,” you gave a nod in the general direction of the silver espresso machine, which hummed as it brewed Satoru’s steamy beverage.

“I don’t deserve you,” Satoru’s arms hugged you tighter, and he showered the side of your head with kisses.

“Stop it,” your sweet laughter only egged him on as you clenched the spatula and leaned back against him even more. “No fooling around when we’re this close to the stove.”

Satoru eventually backed away after giving you one final kiss against your forehead temple.

“If all goes well, I should be back home tomorrow before dark, then we can check out that new restaurant. What do you say? I personally think it’s time for a date.”

The image of you and Satoru sipping on wine and as you wore your favorite dress flashed in your mind, and you smiled. A date night was certainly something to look forward to in light of Satoru’s overnight trip.

Sorcering duties had often taken him on distant work trips. Truth be told, you were lucky his departure would only last around twenty-four hours and not twenty-four days. Although you missed him whenever he would leave, you understood his choice of career. He was a hero.

You happened to be an ordinary human being. You couldn’t see curses. You couldn’t use cursed energy or cursed techniques, but you were fine with that.

“A date sounds fun! I’m excited now.” You took the omelet out of the skillet and placed it on a nearby plate. “And we’re making time to try out that new pottery class too. It sounds like such a cute date idea, don’t you think so?”

“I’m with you. I’ll make the reservations for the restaurant, you can schedule us for pottery-making.” This time, he was the one blissfully picturing you and him spinning messy clay with him sitting behind you and reaching around your body for the pottery wheel, your fingers intertwined as you both created a pot. Satoru smiled at the thought. “Anyway, now that you’re done cooking, can I kiss you?”

You nodded with a cheeky grin, and your husband pressed his lips against yours sweetly.

It was as if some part of him was frightened that he would never get the opportunity to kiss you again.

—

8:37 P.M.

The bright light far above your head flickered briefly as you stood in the pasta aisle at your local grocery store, but you hadn’t noticed it, too fixated on the different brands of spaghetti noodles lying on the shelf above you.

Shopping at night wasn’t preferable, but only after tossing together a simmering pan of sauce did you realize you hadn’t started boiling your noodles yet.

And, with your pot of simmering water ready, you opened the cabinet to see no noodles.

So, here you were, making a last-minute, unplanned trip to the grocery store.

By now, the only sort of pasta noodles left were the ones that a person of average height couldn’t reach. Every box was too high.

You turned your head to the left and to the right.

You even bothered to walk down a few aisles to search for an employee or anyone who might have been tall enough to reach your needed item, but the only other person staggering around was an older blonde-haired woman who was shorter than you were.

Frowning in frustration, you returned to the pasta aisle.

If you had to climb the shelves, so be it.

Suddenly, a kind voice spoke over the calming public-friendly background music playing softly in the store.

“Need some help?”

Whipping your head around, you saw a person — a taller person, thank goodness — who had a smile that was just as sweet as his voice.

“Yes, thank you!” You found that his grin was rather contagious, as you ended up smiling as well. “I just need the spaghetti noodles on the top shelf. Any brand will do.”

The beaming man with long, dark hair stepped forward, and you moved to the side, letting the apparent hero save your day.

He pulled down your desired spaghetti noodles with ease.

“Thanks for your help. My spaghetti sauce won’t go to waste now,” you said politely.

Your eyes darted up to the stitched scar across his forehead, then quickly, you glanced away.

“You’re welcome. Have a good night.”

The man walked down the aisle and left.

There was something familiar about him, oddly enough.

That hair . . . that smile . . .

He reminded you of an old, deceased friend of Satoru’s, one that you hadn’t ever met due to his villainous behavior before his death, but you had seen an old picture of him that he and your husband took during their second year at Jujutsu High, years ago.

As you placed the pasta noodles into your cart, making your way around different aisles to collect a few more items since you were already at the store, you decided that you’d take another look at that photograph once you arrived home, just for peace of mind.

The brown paper bag stuffed with groceries felt rather heavy as you walked down the street, which was brightened by light pouring out of the windows of local businesses that hadn’t yet closed.

You sighed softly.

The dark sky was sparkling with stars. The air was cool and comforting. Soon, you’d have pasta, and perhaps, you’d watch a few episodes of your favorite binge-worthy Netflix show.

If only Satoru was with you.

Chatting with him on the phone a few hours ago only made you miss him even more, but, at least his trip would be a quick one, and soon, you could have dinner with him and listen to his hilarious commentary as you watched television together.

After walking for around five minutes, you were no longer close to the local businesses that made you feel a sense of comfort during your evening stroll.

Now, you had to rely on the occasional streetlight to guide you home.

But that cold air was no longer comforting. It was a chilling breeze that made you clench your grocery bag a bit tighter.

Your footsteps suddenly halted — you could hear something moving in the nearby bushes.

Turning around, you were greeted with nothing but darkness and streetlights. No one else was with you. You kept walking.

However, something wasn’t right.

You might not have been a sorcerer, but you weren’t a fool.

And you had a gut-wrenching feeling that right now, as your wobbly legs guided you home, you were being watched.

You heard that noise again.

The grocery bag crinkled against your chest. You were certain that the bread you purchased was squished by now. If someone was following you, did you really want to unintentionally lead them to your home?

Where should you go? What should you do?

A tear rolled down your cheek from fear.

You were scared. You only wanted to go home, finish your pasta, and watch television.

You didn’t want to deal with such a potentially terrifying situation.

Pulling out your phone, you opened your dial screen.

Your trembling thumb hovered over the buttons, but before you could press anything, a black, disfigured curse appeared in front of you, screeching loudly enough to make you drop everything in your hands and cover your ears, more tears falling as the horrifying monster started to charge at you.

You tried to run in the other direction, but it was too late.

The last thing you saw before you were engulfed by darkness was that man from the grocery store standing on the sidewalk, that same sweet smile on his familiar face.

—

12:27 A.M.

Satoru’s eyes snapped open. He couldn’t remember falling asleep, as he had spent most of the night tossing and turning because you weren’t lying next to him. But, apparently, he did manage to catch a couple of hours of shut-eye.

When he awakened, there was a terrible ache in his heart. Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach, and beads of sweat decorated his forehead. His throat was dried to a crisp.

He was all alone in his dark hotel room.

He couldn’t hear you.

He couldn’t see you.

And yet, somehow, someway, thanks to his great power, he knew that his wife was calling for him.

—

The overwhelming scent of old, wet, musky wood and dust would never be forgotten by your memory. A lifetime of therapy would never be able to erase the paralyzing fear you felt, sitting on the cold, hard ground of an abandoned cabin with your hands bound behind your back.

Maybe the fear wasn’t completely paralyzing, though. Your body seemed to tremble with terror just fine.

The sight of it made Suguru Geto — no, Kenjaku chuckle.

He kept his eye on you for no other reason besides his entertainment, as watching you himself was pointless considering he had two frightening curses looming over you.

Once, Satoru shared a fun fact with you: regular human beings cannot see curses unless they are about to die.

That fact was certainly interesting when the two of you were strolling through the beautiful park, a red and white striped blanket in your hand and a picnic basket in his. But, now, that fact only made sweat drip off of your scarred forehead, because you could see the two, black, disfigured curses.

It was a telltale sign that you could die.

“I haven’t had the displeasure of meeting him myself,” Kenjaku suddenly spoke, relaxing in a chair he had positioned a few feet away from the corner you were trapped in. “But I have seen memories of Satoru Gojo that belonged to this body I’ve inhabited. And, I must say, I couldn’t imagine that his wife would be such a weakling. It’s truly pathetic.”

Even if you wanted to reply to him, fear had snatched away your ability to speak. It created a lump in your throat that couldn’t be swallowed down.

“My best guess is that he needs someone boring and ordinary in his life to keep house while he’s busy saving the world. You’re just the cook and maid with a ring on her finger, hm?”

“He loves me.”

Your voice was small — it was a painfully perfect reflection of how you felt on the inside. Weak and pathetic.

“Oh?” Kenjaku raised his eyebrows, smiling slightly. “Believe it or not, I hope you’re right, or else kidnapping you was a waste of time.”

Your chains rattled as you shifted in your spot on the floor, scooting as far into the corner as you could get. An ache shot up your spine from the wall pressing into your back. Pulling your knees to your chest, more tears slipped from your eyes.

“Aw, don’t cry,” he falsely cooed. “Surely you’ve wondered why the world’s strongest sorcerer would settle for someone who forgets to double-check all of their ingredients before they start cooking, haven’t you? It’s not because of love, or anything of the sort. It’s because those who are deeply insecure would do anything to please anyone who looks their way. Only an ordinary, desperate housewife with low self-esteem and no ambition would waste time caring for a man who risks his life saving strangers. What would make you think he cares for you when he spends more time with curses than his own wife? Helping strangers more than his own family? Think about it.”

Kenjaku’s hurtful words were met with silence, but he didn’t stop speaking.

“I bet you’re nothing but a burden to him. Someone like him probably hates being tied down, but marrying a fool who contributes nothing to society is the only way he can get someone else to handle his laundry while he’s busy working hard, hm? He must carry around divorce papers, ready to serve them to you the day you forget to buy detergent from the grocery store.” Kenjaku’s smile brightened. “Oh, that reminds me. You dropped your detergent and other groceries on the road earlier, by the way. Looks like you’re useless now.”

“You . . .” your teary eyes flickered from him to the hovering curses. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. None of that’s true.”

“You have to believe that I’m speaking honestly, Y/N.” Kenjaku sighed with fake sincerity. “My entire plan rests on the hope that Satoru Gojo is foolish enough to try to rescue you. You see, when you want to lure someone out, the proper way to do it is by discovering their weaknesses. When I found out about you, I was hoping that you would be his weakness. That I could use you to lure him out. Then I met you, and, well, you’re simply disappointing. Sorry to break it to you, but I have memories of the old conversations Satoru used to have with Suguru, and being tied down to a powerless housewife was certainly not how he imagined his future. But, I figured I’d try anyway, and so here you are, and he’s not here to rescue you. What a shame. I bet he’s hoping I’ll kill you so he’ll be free.”

He was lying. He had to be. Satoru loved you more than anything . . . right?

The thought had crossed your mind before; why did Satoru want to be with someone powerless? And this villain’s plan to lure out your husband relied on his hope that he’d come to rescue you out of love, so how would it benefit him to convince you Satoru didn’t love you?

Maybe he was right.

After all, if Satoru cared for you, he would have saved you by now. Where was he?

You couldn’t help but cry even harder.

“Please let me go home,” your tears clouded your vision. “Please let me go.”

“Well, you should know that I hate wasting time,” Kenjaku rested his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow pressing into the arm of the chair he sat in. “I can’t let you leave. I won’t let the effort I put into kidnapping you be a total waste.”

Kenjaku’s smile widened, and suddenly, the curses started to move towards you.

—

1:45 A.M.

The subway station was isolated. No ordinary human beings were lurking around, and Satoru was relieved. Right now, he’d kill anyone who looked at him the wrong way.

His shoes gently shuffled against the ground as he made his way into the middle of the big, bright opening, and he clenched his fists, his nails digging into the skin of his palm, hard enough to draw blood.

Two special grade cursed spirits emerged. He recognized them both from a previous fight in the woods.

Volcano head. Asparagus.

“Satoru Gojo,” Jogo suddenly said. “We didn’t think you’d be foolish enough to-”

“Where is my wife?”

When Satoru interrupted the curse, his voice was low. Dark. Startling.

Blood dripped from his palms and splattered onto the ground.

“I was drawn here, but she isn’t here, is she? Where is she? Tell me now, and I’ll kill you quickly instead of slowly.”

Jogo chuckled a bit. Satoru dug his nails into his palm even more.

“Bring us the vessel, Yuji Itadori, and we’ll return that worthless-”

The two curses didn’t have time to blink — weren’t able to register in their minds that Satoru had moved from his previous spot until Jogo was lifted off of the ground and thrown into the flickering light fixture above, shattering it and causing sparks to rain down onto the ground below, where he then fell.

Satoru stepped on Jogo’s head, squishing it underneath his black shoe.

“I remember you. You’re stubborn, right?” Satoru gritted his teeth. “Who the hell do you think you are to take her from me? Whoever you work for must want you dead if they’re stupid enough to send you on a suicide mission. You think I’ll let you leave here alive after this?”

“If you kill us, you’ll never see her again,” the other cursed spirit, Hanami, suddenly spoke up. “Bring us the vessel, and she lives.”

When Satoru suddenly stopped moving, it was only to ensure that he had heard the cursed spirit correctly.

“Did you just threaten . . .” Satoru removed his blindfold, “to kill my wife?”

It was only a matter of time before the branches attached to Hanami’s head were ripped out, and Jogo was beheaded. The subway was reduced to nothing except crumbling walls and darkness. While the cursed spirits were teetering dangerously between life and death, there wasn’t a scratch on Satoru. Instead, there was a smile.

This was simply the consequence of their actions. This was what happened to anyone who laid a hand on his girl.

Hanami’s body was on the brink of collapse as it was forced to come in contact with Satoru’s cursed technique — a blue shield-like piece of infinity that distorted and manipulated both time and space, protecting the sorcerer from attacks and rendering Hanami powerless.

Hanami’s eyes darted over to their beheaded ally — they couldn’t help him.

“I’m going to ask you one last time,” Satoru’s eyes widened. His smile grew. He slowly turned, facing Hanami, and blasted him back against the nearest wall without lifting a finger. “Where is my wife?”

—

2:39 A.M.

Kenjaku had never understood the concept of love, and, perhaps, that was why he failed.

Satoru’s love for you was his weakness, that was true, but it also turned out to be his greatest strength, and this was a fight Kenjaku couldn’t win.

Not today.

One of his curses, which had been traveling to and fro to observe what was currently taking place in the subway station and reporting it back to Kenjaku, had informed him that Jogo and Hanami were on the brink of death.

He couldn’t lose them yet. They were too powerful, and he needed their help for his future plans.

Kenjaku left the cabin, taking his curses with him.

And, without their cursed energy purposely making it difficult for Satoru to find you, he was able to pinpoint your exact location.

It appeared in his powerful mind as he was ripping Hanami apart limb by limb, and he wasn’t a fool. He didn’t know who was behind all of this, but it was clear that the mastermind had suddenly decided to let your whereabouts be tracked down in order to save Hanami and Jogo.

He didn’t want to make that deal. He wanted to kill these two, bring them back to life, and kill them over again. Their pain brought him joy, all because they took part in your capture.

But Satoru didn’t want his bloodlust to backfire. After all, if he killed the cursed spirits now, the person who held you captive could change their mind and move you someplace else and hide your location yet again, or, worse — they could kill you.

That wasn’t a chance he was willing to take.

Satoru stopped using his technique. But, as he left the subway station, he promised himself that eventually, he would kill those two. He would kill anyone and everyone involved.

But you came first.

You would always come first.

—

He found you.

When Satoru kicked open the door belonging to a raggedy, abandoned cabin, the scent of blood overwhelmed him. It dirtied his boots as he kneeled by your side. Your unconscious, bleeding body was lying there, simply left on the ground as if you were nothing.

“Y/N . . .” Satoru called out breathlessly.

He took the chains off of you instantly, his bloodshot eyes darting over every gaping wound.

It was indescribable — the anger he felt. He wanted to return to the subway and finish off those cursed spirits, to make them suffer and suffer and suffer.

But tending to you took priority right now. Satoru scooped up your broken and bruised body, holding you as softly as he could. A tear fell from his eye, splattering against your cheek.

“I’ve got you, it’s okay,” he spoke gently.

Your eyelids fluttered as you awakened. An overwhelming sense of pain slammed into you once you regained consciousness, and hot tears streamed down your cheeks. Prior to this, the only pain you had ever known was the wholesome body ache from tripping and falling while playing outside with your friends as a child. But this level of misery took away your ability to speak. Left you wondering if you were going to die.

You could make out stains of your blood on Satoru’s clothes.

Even so, you could tell based on the pained look on his face that he was suffering even more just from seeing you in such a condition.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he mumbled, slowly getting off the ground as he carried you. “This is all my fault. They did this to you because of me. I’m so sorry.”

Satoru raised you a bit, gently pressing a soft kiss against your forehead.

He’d give anything to switch places with you right now — to be the one in unspeakable pain. Why couldn’t they have kidnapped him? Tortured him? If he had the power to take away your suffering and give it to himself, he would. For you, not only would he kill, but he’d die, repeatedly and without a second thought or a moment of hesitation.

As Satoru took you to the nearest hospital, his tears spilling onto your body, he said, “We’re almost there, okay? I promise I’ll make them pay for this, and no one will ever lay a hand on you again.”

Arriving into the uncomforting white halls of the emergency room, Satoru handed you off to the nurses and doctors who rushed up to him. But, before they placed you on the nearest stretcher, Satoru kissed your forehead once again as unconsciousness claimed you, and he whispered, “I love you, Y/N.”

—

10:02 A.M.

Two days later, you awakened in a hospital bed. This time, pain didn’t greet you, but grogginess and blurred vision. The gentle beeps from the nearby machines certainly didn’t help your pounding headache.

Your sight started to clear up after blinking a few times.

Soft strands of hair tickled your arm, and when you looked to your left, you saw Satoru slumped in a chair, his head resting in his arms on the side of your bed. You reached over and ruffled his messy white hair a bit.

He shot up, startled. His blue eyes were wide with alarm, then they softened with gratefulness, but, lastly, they darted down with sorrow.

“Y/N . . . thank god, you’re awake.” Satoru croaked out in his morning voice, clearing his throat a bit. He was dehydrated — too focused on your recovery to worry about himself. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m so . . .”

Satoru got out of his chair, sat on the side of your bed, and leaned over, resting the side of his head against your chest.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated.

“It’s not your fault,” you mumbled weakly. “It’s mine.”

Satoru pulled his head away from you, staring at you with furrowed brows and a confused gaze.

“What? No, it’s not.”

You couldn’t find the courage to look him in the eye. Kenjaku’s words replayed in your mind. They hurt just as much as getting attacked by curses.

As if reading your thoughts, Satoru cupped your chin, turning your head back in his direction.

“Look at me,” he said. “What happened wasn’t your fault. I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t care if you can’t fight curses-”

“You’re just saying that . . . because I’m kinda useful to you. But I’m easily replaceable. Speaking honestly, I’m a burden. You had to come save my life, and put yourself in danger. I’m not worth it.”

“You think I married you because you’re useful?” Hurt flashed in Satoru’s piercing eyes. “I’m in love with you, and you’ll never be a burden. I don’t care if you can’t fight curses. You’re my wife for a reason, and that’s because there’s nothing greater than seeing you get excited over finding your favorite snack at the grocery store or seeing the way you smile when your favorite scene from a show comes on, and you sit there and watch it as if you haven't seen it a thousand times. I love the way your eyes light up when you find a new activity in town for us to try, or a new book to read, or a new recipe. God, I just . . . I love you. I love you more than anything. I don’t know how you’re able to put up with someone like me. Every day I wonder how I got so lucky because I don’t deserve you. You’re too good for me, and I haven’t met anyone as loving as you are. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Do you understand me? I’d kill and die for you.”

Satoru gently wiped away the tear that fell from your eyes with his thumb.

“I love you too,” you smiled softly, leaning into his touch. “I’m sorry we missed our dinner reservations and the pottery class.”

Satoru couldn’t help but lean in and kiss your cheek.

“I’ve already rescheduled two weeks out.”

Moving away from your cheek, your husband softly kissed your lips. And while he had spent time rescheduling your date night and making sure you were receiving the excellent care you deserved while in the hospital, he was also hard at work, tracking down the monsters that dared to lay a hand on you.

He would make them suffer.

🏷️: @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @luvvmae @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @levisfavoriteteashop @insomniacbehaivour @preciousamethyst @kxmorrx @iwanttohitmyself @shoyosdoll @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @sonarspace @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @dolphin1135 @nnasv @hyunorue

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onlypinkslut · 3 days ago

Text

warning 18+

bulking season bf!toji fushiguro x f!reader🍫 ─────────────────────────── you should’ve known better than to bake aphrodisiac-laced chocolate for a man whose cock is already this heavy on a rest day.

cw: aphrodisiac use, dubcon energy, intense size kink, morning-after continuation, heavy creampie detail, degradation + praise, light choking, possessive, rimming, piss kink, thick cock worship, finger sucking, spit

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you didn’t even mean for it to get nasty. you were just playing around, honestly. the aphrodisiac chocolates had been sitting in your drawer since that one dumb tiktok trend went viral, and you bought them as a joke, more curious than anything. they were shaped like hearts, barely smelled like cocoa, and supposedly made with some obscure herb that increased sensitivity and blood flow. whatever. they’d probably do nothing. but it was a boring saturday, his stupid team was losing again, and he was in one of his bulking moods always grumbling about macros and how his legs were sore and how his back felt tight even though he spent the entire day sprawled on the couch. so you figured, why not. you crumbled up three of those little hearts and stirred them right into the muffin batter, along with his favorite chocolate whey protein, flaxseed, a little oat flour, and that fake sugar he liked. they looked innocent. smelled good too. you even sprinkled dark chocolate chunks on top so they felt indulgent.

you were still mixing when you felt that big fucking hand smack your ass, the sting warm and sharp.

he walked by without looking at you like it was nothing, wearing nothing but his black compression shorts and one of those old tournament tees that clung to his back. his arms looked thicker than usual he’d been on some mass phase that turned his triceps round and full and his stomach into that heavy, firm softness that made him feel dangerous when he pinned you down. his thighs were beefy and slow-moving, and when he bent down to grab a beer from the fridge, you watched the fabric strain around the curve of his ass like it owed you something.

he popped the can open and took a long drink, foam sliding down the corner of his mouth. you laughed, swatting his arm as he kissed your cheek.

you smell like powder and beer. move.

he grinned, grumbled something about the game, and walked back to the couch.

you baked the muffins. pulled them out golden, warm, fluffy, dark chocolate bleeding from the tops. you left them to cool on the counter and slipped away to the bathroom to rinse the sticky batter off your hands. maybe three minutes, tops. when you came back, the tray was empty except for one.

he didn’t even hide it. he was leaning against the counter with chocolate crumbs on his lip, chewing the last bite of the second-to-last one, like he didn’t just eat five muscle muffins in under three minutes.

you stood there in silence.

toji.

he looked up, mouth full, blinked slowly.

hmm?

you pointed at the tray.

what the fuck, babe. you ate all of them?

he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shrugged, tone smug.

i left you one.

you stared harder.

wow. thank you. king shit. leaving me one of the muffins i made from your expensive ass protein powder.

he smirked, walked past you toward the living room again.

could’ve eaten that one too. i was nice.

you followed him.

you’re a fucking jerk sometimes, toji. greedy ass.

he turned, and his face looked different. not defensive. flushed. like the heat hit him late. his eyes were a little too half-lidded, that casual post-meal glow a little too glassy. he leaned back against the counter, beer still in hand, and you noticed the way he adjusted his waistband. the compression shorts weren’t hiding anything. his cock was already thickening, heavy and outlined, hanging to the side and rising slow, fat from the bulk, veins showing along the shaft like he was halfway hard without even trying.

he blinked at you again.

you say that like it’s not sexy watching me eat.

you squinted.

you high?

he looked confused, then smirked wider.

nah. i just feel good. what’d you put in those muffins?

you crossed your arms.

…chocolate.

his hand reached down and adjusted again. his cock twitched under the fabric.

mm. you put steroids in that shit? ‘cause i feel like i could fuck you through the wall right now.

you rolled your eyes but your thighs clenched.

you’re so full of yourself. big back.

he laughed, deep and slow, took another sip of his beer and tilted his head.

big back that’s gonna fold you over the sink in five seconds if you keep mouthing off.

you stared at the outline of his cock fully hard now, straining, the tip pressing high, the shaft wide and curved with the kind of bulked-up heaviness that made your mouth ache just thinking about it. he was flushed down to his chest, neck pink, voice deeper. the aphrodisiacs were kicking in hard, and he had no idea why just knew he was turned on and looking at you like you were a cheat meal and a challenge all in one.

his beer hit the counter with a loud clink.

you still mad about the muffins?

you didn’t answer.

his eyes dropped to your thighs.

yeah. thought so.

he didn’t give you time to run. didn’t even pretend to play nice. one second you were glaring at him, hands on your hips like you were gonna keep arguing, and the next, he had both your wrists in one of his hands and your body bent clean over the kitchen counter, your cheek pressing into the still-warm granite like it was punishment. the tray clattered next to your face, one lonely muffin left behind, and his beer bottle rolled sideways, forgotten. his grip on your wrists tightened just slightly firm enough to hold you still, loose enough to tease. his other hand slipped under your shirt, palm dragging over your stomach, and you felt the weight of him behind you, chest hot and solid, that firm bulked-up belly pinning your hips down like he was built to keep you there.

you felt it before it hit. his hand lifted, then cracked back down on your ass hard, a full open-palm slap that made your hips jerk forward and your mouth fall open with a breathy yelp. the sting bloomed fast, heat spreading, and he leaned over you, lips against your ear as he growled low.

that’s one muffin.

you twisted your face against the counter, half-laughing, half-squirming, the ache spreading deeper with every second. your skirt was already pushed up, your thighs open, panties crooked and damp from how hard your heart was beating. you wanted to be mad. you were mad. but your ass lifted again, greedy and twitching, and he noticed. his hand came down again. same cheek. sharper this time, more of a slap than a spank.

two.

fuck you, you overgrown glutton.

he chuckled dark against your neck and licked a slow stripe up the side of it. you felt the curve of his cock pressing against your ass, thick and full and leaking into his shorts now, the head wet and bulging against the waistband. his body felt like a furnace, bulking-season heat turning his whole chest into something heavy and suffocating as it dragged down your back. his hand reached around and shoved your panties further to the side, two fingers sliding through the slick between your thighs.

mm. you’re wet. you like being punished for chocolate, huh?

i liked the part before you opened your mouth..

another slap. harder. lower. made your clit jump from the vibration of it.

three.

you hissed through your teeth, but your ass stayed up, back arched like you needed more. he grabbed the side of your jaw, turned your face toward him, and shoved two fingers past your lips sticky from your own slick, the taste already faintly sweet. you sucked them in slow, dragging your tongue along the pads, teeth brushing just barely.

he looked down at you, smirking, and started moving his fingers in and out of your mouth like he was testing depth.

four.

you moaned around them, lips popping, and he shoved your face back down onto the counter, fingers dragging out wet. he spanked you again, same rhythm, a little higher this time, making your whole body jerk forward from the impact.

five.

you giggled breathlessly and rolled your hips back into him.

can you count without losing breath?

he grabbed your hair and yanked your head back just enough to make you gasp, your spine bowing beneath him. his cock pressed harder against your ass now, twitching visibly through the fabric.

don’t make me count with my cock instead.

you moaned louder than you meant to. your pussy was dripping, your thighs sticky, clit swollen and throbbing from the slap-rub rhythm he kept grinding into you with that brutal body weight. he was sweating now too, heat radiating off his skin, mouth hot against your neck as he whispered—

six.

you didn’t even feel the slap before you felt yourself twitch. your clit rubbed up against the edge of the counter. your mouth dropped open in a low gasp.

seven.

he kissed your shoulder, still smirking, and dragged his fingers between your legs again, then brought them back to your lips, slick and warm. you sucked them without hesitation this time. your body was swaying, rolling back into his grip like instinct, ass high and cunt dripping while he lined himself up behind you, rubbing the thick head of his cock between your folds like he was testing how far he could stretch you before you even said a word.

eight.

you heard yourself laugh and sob in the same breath. he didn’t let up.

the whole thing stopped when your phone started ringing loud and shrill, cutting through the heat like cold water. you jumped off the counter fast, pulling your shirt down and stumbling into the hallway while muttering something about it being your friend and how you’d deal with him later. he grunted something but didn’t follow, probably still standing there half-hard, flushed, and foaming at the mouth. you shut the door to the bedroom and answered the call like your face wasn’t red and your thighs weren’t sticky with your own slick. tried to focus. nodded through the updates about someone’s breakup and how the group chat was dead without you. you were just starting to feel normal again, legs still sore, when you heard the door creak open.

he didn’t say anything. just walked in like he had every right to interrupt. sat next to you on the edge of the bed, shirtless now, that thick bulked-up body warm and sweaty, the smell of chocolate and protein powder still clinging to his skin. you tried to keep your voice steady, but he leaned in close and started pressing soft kisses to your cheek like he was innocent. like he wasn’t the same man who spanked you eight times in a row like a delinquent five minutes ago.

you ignored him.

he licked the shell of your ear.

you wet right now?

you flinched, elbowing him off, mouthing shut up, i’m on the phone, but he just grinned and pulled you closer by the waist, mouth dragging along your jaw.

did you touch yourself today?

you hissed through your teeth and turned away from him, still nodding to the phone, but your eyes rolled when you felt the shape of his cock through his shorts pressing to your side.

do you like my cock?

he said it with a straight face like he was asking you about the weather. you shoved him again, whispering you’re disgusting and i’m tired, and he just blinked, offended.

you stood up, phone still to your ear, and said you were going to shower and do skincare. tried to escape. told him to wait for you, literally begged him not to be a freak for ten minutes. but he followed you down the hall like a damn animal, dragging his feet, head tilted low, big arms hanging loose, shorts tenting with the outline of his thick cock already half out the waistband. you were halfway into the bathroom when he yanked them down to his thighs and slapped the heavy thing against his stomach with a loud thwack, the sound echoing off the walls.

you turned around with wide eyes, still holding your cleanser bottle.

you need help. what the fuck is wrong with you tonight?

he was sweating. hard. chest flushed, lips parted, cock twitching thick and veiny with that full weight. he gripped the base lazily, stroking it slow like it owed him answers.

lemme have your panties.

you laughed like you were being pranked.

no. they’re gross. literally sweaty and full of discharge. stop being weird.

he growled, eyes locked on your hips like you were already undressing.

that’s why i want them.

you looked at him like he needed a hospital. you rolled your eyes and tossed them at him from the doorway, half expecting him to joke except he didn’t. he grabbed them like they were sacred, wrapped them around his cock and started stroking harder, groaning under his breath as the fabric dragged slick down his shaft. he smelled them first. then kept going.

baby, come back.

you stared, stunned, jaw dropped, laughing as you backed into the bathroom like he was possessed.

you’re actually disgusting tonight. i’m scared.

he grinned like it was a compliment. still stroking. cock gleaming with spit and your old discharge. voice low and hoarse like he was pleading now.

just come back. five minutes. c’mon, let me fuck you up a little.

you shut the door before he made you say yes.

but you were smiling.

you walked out of the shower with wet hair, a towel wrapped high around your chest and steam still clinging to your legs when you saw him on the bed legs spread, back against the headboard, one hand stroking his cock slow while your panties were on his fucking face. not just held there. stretched across his mouth, the fabric pulled tight under his nose like he was breathing in the scent of you, huffing hard while his palm glided up and down his thick shaft. he was already flushed. drenched in sweat. eyes glassy and wild like he’d been edging himself with your name in his head the whole time you were gone.

you stopped cold in the doorway, one leg still in the bathroom.

are you serious right now?

he looked up slowly. didn’t move the panties. didn’t even blink.

you took too long.

you rolled your eyes and turned back toward the closet, muttering under your breath, already reaching for a shirt. your towel was still clinging to your hips, and the moment he saw you grab anything, he growled.

don’t put that on.

you ignored him.

toji, shut up.

he stood. fast. his cock still in hand, hard and leaking, bouncing with every step as he moved toward you, thighs thick and full and loud against the floor. his shadow covered you in one step. your towel was gone in the next. yanked clean off and tossed straight over the balcony like he had no sense of reality left.

you screamed.

what the fuck?!

he didn’t answer. didn’t care. just stood there staring at you like you were made of gold and filth and his name written on skin. his cock twitched in his hand again, a string of slick still connecting his thumb to the flushed tip, the whole thing fat and swollen and angry looking, like it had been waiting too long. he started stroking again, eyes dropping straight to your tits and lower. your stomach. your thighs. your pussy still damp and shiny from the shower. his gaze slowed down, mouth hanging open a little, lips pressed into your soaked panties again as he moaned like he’d been starving.

you’re fucking insane. what is wrong with you?

he didn’t flinch. his eyes stayed on your pussy. his hand stroked harder. faster. your insults didn’t even register. he was jerking off to the way your thighs rubbed together when you shifted your weight, to the curve of your ass from the side, to the way your nipples perked from the cold air. he kept moaning low, soft, not loud but desperate. the kind that scared you. his chest was rising fast. face flushed, forehead damp. the chocolate definitely hit too deep. and the way he looked at you wasn’t romantic or sweet. it was deranged. feral. the kind of hunger that had no language.

you’re a fucking psycho tonight, oh my god.

he dropped the panties. grabbed your face with one hand, rough, fast, and kissed you like he was dying. not gentle. his lips crashed into yours and his tongue shoved in immediately, messy and hot, licking over your tongue and sucking on it like it was wet candy. you tried to pull away but he held your jaw tight, chest pressed against yours now, heavy and hot and huge, cock still rubbing up against your belly as he ground against you, growling like a man who hadn’t cum in a year.

you tasted the sweat. the chocolate. the spit. your own slick.

his other hand grabbed your thigh and lifted it, shoving it between his legs so he could grind on it, cock dragging across your skin, wet and heavy, the head leaving smears on your inner thigh as he humped it slow, panting harder.

baby. baby fuck. you feel so small. so soft. so tight.

you whimpered when his hand wrapped around your throat, thumb pressing up under your jaw, not squeezing hard but firm enough to make you feel it when you swallowed. his kisses didn’t stop. he was biting now. licking the corner of your mouth. pulling at your lips with his teeth. his whole body was crushing you against the closet door and you could feel the thickness of his arms pressing in from either side, his back broad enough to block the hallway.

you dug your nails into his shoulders, scratching, hissing between gasps.

you’re fucking disgusting tonight, jesus—

he humped harder. his cock twitched. he slapped it against your belly again with a thick wet thud and groaned into your mouth.

he didn’t ask. he picked you up. your leg still caught around his waist, his arms under your ass, that towel long forgotten, your clothes gone, his body hot enough to steam glass.

you weren’t escaping. you didn’t want to.

your back slammed against the wall, chest heaving, breath caught halfway in your throat as his cock rubbed slick and hot between your thighs. he was still grinding on you like he couldn’t think straight, his sweat mixing with the water on your skin, his lips open against your mouth, panting like an animal that couldn’t stop pacing. you pushed against his chest just barely, enough to give yourself space to breathe, but not enough to stop him.

i gave you something, you muttered, almost breathless, voice shaky as his mouth trailed down your collarbone.

he didn’t stop.

something like what?

your hand pushed weakly at his shoulder. you weren’t even sure why you said it. maybe guilt. maybe pride.

in the muffins. they had… like, aphrodisiac shit in them.

he froze. only for a second. just long enough for his eyes to flick up and look at you with something new hunger wrapped in something sharper. his jaw clenched. the muscles in his arms flexed where they held you. then he grinned.

you dirty fucking girl.

he grabbed your thighs and hoisted you up like you weighed nothing, your back thudding against the wall again as he shifted his hips and lined his cock up with your entrance. he didn’t tease. didn’t ask. he just pressed in raw and thick, your walls stretching fast around him as he filled you in one long, punishing stroke. your nails dug into his shoulders, mouth open in a gasp, the pressure dizzying. he was too big like this, too warm, his cock fat and swollen and harder than it had ever been, the aphrodisiac still burning through his bloodstream like fuel.

he fucked into you like he was chasing something down, every thrust heavy and deep, his hips snapping forward fast enough that your whole body bounced up the wall with each one. the air got knocked out of you every time he bottomed out. he grunted into your neck, the sound low and guttural, his words hot against your ear.

you feed me that shit just to get fucked stupid like this? you wanted this cock that bad, baby?

you didn’t answer. couldn’t. your head rolled back against the wall, legs locked tight around his waist, cunt clenching around him so hard it made him groan. he kept fucking you through it, through the twitching, through the tight squeeze, through the way your slick dripped down his balls and hit the floor. he didn’t slow down until your whole body started to go limp.

then he dropped to his knees with you. laid you out flat on the floor and spread your legs wide with both hands, fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs like he was bruising ownership into you. he didn’t even wait to kiss. he dove in like a man gone mad, his tongue flat against your folds, dragging up and down through the mess he left inside you, nose bumping your clit, jaw grinding against your pussy like he was trying to pull another orgasm out of you just by sucking.

he licked like it was work. like he was mad about it. tongue shoved into your hole, fucking you open, then licking his way back up only to slap your clit with the tip of it over and over until you were jerking under him, your legs kicking, hands fisting the sheets.

fuck, toji, you’re gonna make me—

he didn’t let you finish. didn’t care. he moaned into you, tongue curling and dragging, mouth open and messy, chin soaked, his whole face buried between your legs like your pussy was the only thing keeping him alive.

this what you wanted, huh? you wanna drug me, make me lose my fuckin mind?

you slapped at his arm, still shrieking, but laughing now too, twisted and gasping.

you’re fucking gross, jesus christ—

gonna fuck this apology out of you. you wanna feed me sex drugs and then leave me hard? thought you were gonna shower and sleep and not let me breed this pretty pussy?

he had you bent over the balcony railing with your tits smashed against the cold metal, breath fogging up the night air, thighs trembling and slick. his cock was already buried halfway in you and he hadn’t even moved yet, just grinding slow against your ass like he wanted to remember how tight you were before ruining it completely. his body was hot behind you, chest soaked with sweat, the bulk of him weighing down every inch of your spine. his stomach rested on your lower back, firm and heavy from the bulking phase, and the thick stretch of his cock had your cunt fluttering before he even pulled back. he exhaled against your ear rough, panting, jaw clenched so tight you could feel his breath shudder when he spoke.

you think this shit’s funny? you fed me some nasty little pussy drug and then ran away to do your skincare like i’m supposed to sit there hard as fuck and not take it out on you?

you shook your head, voice breaking as you tried to form a sentence, the pressure too much already. your hands scrambled for grip, your hips jerking forward when he shoved in deeper, the base of his cock pressing up against your puffy lips and the weight of his balls slapping hot against your clit. you moaned, loud and unfiltered, thighs already sticky from a mix of sweat, slick, and his spit.

i-it’s not a drug, i swear, i just— it was stupid, i saw it online, it said—

he cut you off with a loud grunt, hips snapping forward, dragging a cry out of your chest as your cunt swallowed him to the root. his cock throbbed inside you, so thick and stretched from bulking it felt like you were stuffed with a hot pipe, every ridge of his length dragging against your walls with slow, deliberate friction.

it’s not a drug, huh? then why the fuck does it feel like i’ve been edged for three hours straight with my cock full and my brain empty except for how bad i wanna watch your pussy leak?

you choked on your moan, your body trembling under him. he pulled out halfway, then slammed back in, hard, so loud it echoed across the balcony and bounced off the buildings across the street. you barely noticed the air. barely noticed the night. all you felt was the weight of him, the rage, the obsession, the way his hips snapped like it was punishment.

he started fucking you harder, rougher, and mid-thrust he suddenly paused, grabbed the base of his cock and pulled out, spit dripping from the head, thick veins bulging. you gasped and tried to turn, but his hand was already in your hair, pressing your face down to the rail as he shifted his weight and growled low.

don’t move. fuck shit, baby, i gotta piss.

your whole body tensed, panic crawling up your spine, and you cried out, struggling under him, your voice sharp.

toji—no, the fuck is wrong with you—

he laughed, soft and low, teeth showing in a grin you couldn’t see, voice hoarse.

nah, this is what you get. you feed me some slick little chocolate pussy poison and leave me like a fuckin dog? you get all of it.

he gripped the base of his cock with one thick fist and let go, piss splashing hot against the top of your ass, between your cheeks, running down over your pussy and inner thighs. your back arched and your moan broke into a sob, the sound caught somewhere between disgust and overstimulation as the heat of it soaked you and dripped past your clit. you thrashed once, gasping your voice cracked and hitched.

you’re fucking sick—oh my god, you’re disgusting, what the fuck is wrong with you—

he moaned louder than you, hand stroking himself through it like it was pleasure, not releases, hips jerking with each squeeze.

mm. you like it. feel that? feel how my cock’s still hard even while i’m marking you? fuck, look at that pussy, twitching while i piss on it. can’t believe you thought you were gonna sleep tonight.

you sobbed again, shaking, cunt clenching involuntarily from the humiliation and the heat of his body, and when he was done he didn’t even give you a second. he gripped your hips and shoved his cock back inside raw, sliding through the mess he left like it was lube, his thrusts wet and vicious, his balls still dripping, the slap of skin on skin louder now, filthier.

he grabbed your throat from behind and yanked your back into his chest, voice rasping into your ear.

you don’t feed me shit like that unless you wanna see what it does, yeah? look what you did. look how fuckin big you got me. made me this way. now take it.

you couldn’t even speak anymore. only sounds. gasps. wet moans. tears on your cheeks while he kissed your jaw with too much tongue, licking your face, biting your earlobe, rutting into you like a dog in heat while one hand slid down to rub your clit fast and messy.

that’s it. let me fuck it out of you. cry about it. you don’t get to come until you learn.

you nodded fast, mouth open, drooling now, body convulsing every time his cock kissed your cervix.

i said cry about it.

you sobbed harder. said sorry. begged. not for forgiveness—just to come.

he let you. and when you came, it was so hard your vision blacked, cunt squirting around him like a faucet, legs giving out, and he held you there, fucked you through it like he wasn’t done.

because he wasn’t.

you woke up sore. not just sore wrecked. your thighs ached deep in the muscle, your cunt was tender and raw, still sticky where it rubbed against the sheets, and your whole lower body pulsed like something had been pulled too far open and left that way. your skin smelled like sex. your breath tasted like his spit. your arms were limp, your mouth dry, and for a second you thought maybe he’d finally stopped.

until you shifted. and felt it.

his cock. still heavy. still thick. pressed to the curve of your ass under the sheets like it had been sitting there all night waiting for permission.

you groaned, tried to roll away, but his arm slipped around your waist and held you there, one big hand splayed over your stomach, pulling you back against the heat of his chest. his voice was low and rough in your ear, sleep-wrecked but alert.

where the fuck you think you’re going?

you sighed, already annoyed, already tired, but he didn’t loosen his grip. just slid his hand down over your hip and cupped your bare pussy from behind, fingers dragging through the dried mess between your folds like he was checking inventory.

you’re still soaked. feels like you leaked in your sleep. maybe we didn’t finish.

you elbowed him weakly, face hot, cunt clenching involuntarily against his palm.

shut up. you’re disgusting. that shit wore off hours ago.

he laughed, deep and low in his chest, cock twitching harder now where it rested against your ass.

nah. i still feel it. still fucked up over you. you think you can drug me, get used like a toy, and then act shy when the sun comes up?

his hand slipped back up to your tits, squeezing one lazily, then back down between your thighs, rubbing slow circles into your sore clit. your body jerked, half-flinched, half-needy, and he kissed your neck.

ride it out. burn off the rest of the dose. sit on it and make it go away.

you turned and stared at him, annoyed, blinking against the light, but the look in his eyes was already glazed over, half-lidded and waiting. he looked like he hadn’t even gone soft in his sleep. you threw the sheet off with a huff and swung your leg over his hips, straddling him. your cunt dragged against his cock, both of you still sticky from the night before, and you rolled your eyes as he groaned under you.

you’re nasty. i should make you apologize.

he grinned, arms behind his head, cock thick and upright between your thighs.

do it with your mouth then.

you paused, breathing heavy, and dropped your hips down, taking the tip in slow, your body already twitching from the stretch. he was hot. swollen. too much for the morning, too much for your still-aching pussy. but you sank down anyway, inch by inch, cunt stretching open around him like it was made for it. when he bottomed out, you gasped, hands planted flat on his stomach. he reached forward and gripped your waist.

now say sorry.

you started riding. slow at first, the slide messy and loud, your thighs smacking against his with each bounce. you felt everything. the weight of him inside, the slick of old cum and dried slick, the sweat that never left his chest. he watched your tits bounce, watched the way your stomach pulled tight with every roll of your hips, his cock dragging up and catching on your clit at just the right angle.

you said nothing.

he sat up. grabbed your face. kissed you full on the mouth, licking your teeth, spitting into your mouth as he growled against your lips.

say sorry, baby. say you’re sorry for getting me addicted to your fuckin pussy.

you whimpered. hips rolled faster. the slap of your skin against his thighs louder now, filthier, the sound of your breath tangled in moans and curses. his cock pulsed inside you.

then make me forgive you.

he didn’t let you clean up. didn’t let you pull your legs together or roll away or even think about the mess between your thighs. you were still catching your breath, chest sticking to the sheets, cheek smushed against the mattress and your whole body soft and fucked-stupid when he pulled your hips back toward him and slid a pillow under your stomach. you barely moved. just let him do it. your arms were slack, tits resting heavy against the bed, lips parted and eyes half-shut as he pushed your thighs apart again and settled behind you.

he was still hard.

you moaned when he pushed back in. not loud, not shocked just a slow, tired moan, your voice almost sleepy from how full you already were. his cock slid in with a wet glide, pussy fluttering open from how wrecked you were, the stretch not sharp now, just deep. aching. familiar. his hips moved slow, shallow thrusts that rocked your body forward gently against the mattress. his hands stayed on your ass. never left. he massaged it in slow circles, thumbs digging into the softness, fingers spreading you apart to watch how your pussy stretched and swallowed him all over again.

good girl. so warm like this. open for me even now.

his voice was low, almost lazy. not teasing just full. like his mouth couldn’t help it. one hand slid lower, fingers pressing between your folds to spread the mess there, the mix of cum and slick and sweat still dripping from where he’d been in you all night. his other hand gripped one cheek and spread you wide, thumb brushing up between your ass slowly, slow enough for you to feel the anticipation build before he dragged it down again. your rim twitched.

you whispered something, slurred and soft, but it came out as a moan when he pressed his finger there just resting the pad against it, not pushing yet, just rubbing slow. he leaned over you, spit pooling in his mouth before he let it drip down between your cheeks, warm and thick, landing right where his finger was. you gasped and arched your back, more from the feeling than the surprise. your thighs trembled.

don’t tighten up, baby. it’s just me. relax for me.

his finger circled again. then slipped in.

not all the way. just the tip. just enough to stretch your rim a little, his finger slick with spit, his cock still dragging in and out of your pussy slow and heavy. your ass clenched and he moaned under his breath, fingers flexing as he pushed a little deeper, then pulled out. he brought it to his mouth and licked it clean like it was natural. didn’t rush. just sucked it slow, tongue dragging over the tip, eyes half-lidded as he groaned.

you taste like sin. i swear to god, you were made for me.

you whimpered into the sheets. your breath stuttered. your cunt clenched.

he leaned over your back, his belly warm against your spine, one hand still stroking the cleft of your ass, his other sliding under to rub your clit slow with two fingers.

pussy’s still milking me. like it doesn’t know we’re done. look at you, twitching like you want more even while you’re falling asleep.

you whispered don’t be gross under your breath but your hips pushed back into him, slow and instinctive, your body chasing the rhythm even if your brain had clocked out.

he chuckled against your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin softly as he whispered against it.

you say that but this messy pussy says otherwise. you want it even like this, all quiet and stretched out and tired. good little fuckhole. can’t help it, huh?

you moaned again, louder this time, breath breaking as his hips met yours harder now, slow but deep, each thrust rocking you into the bed.

you clung to the sheets, fingers weak, nails dragging lazy against the cotton.

he parted your ass again and spit one more time, rubbing it down between your cheeks before sliding the tip of his finger back in, slow and deliberate, while fucking you with his cock at the same time. your body shook. your mouth dropped open.

good girl. let me keep you open a little longer. just like this. just like you were made for it.

he fucked you slow and didn’t stop until you came again. barely able to breathe. moaning into the sheets, cunt tightening, ass twitching around his finger, his cock buried deep while your whole body pulsed around every inch of him.

and then he pulled out, kissed your spine, and licked your hole one more time. slow. wet. his tongue dragging low and filthy as his breath shivered over your skin.

you tasted like something he’d never stop wanting.

(๑･̑◡･̑๑) thank you for reading, you nasty little angels. this was unhinged, sweaty, and absolutely necessary. reblogs keep me fed, filthy comments keep me harder. see you next sin🎀

onlypinkslut

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gojosconsort · 3 months ago

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STEP-BROTHER!SUGURU’S so deperate for you because he’s got this thing—he can’t cum unless he’s buried deep inside you. hands, mouth, nothing else works. he’s panting, desperate, rutting against you like, “please... please, let me in—i’m fuckin’ dying here,” hands trembling as he presses against you, begging ‘til you cave.

“okay, b-but don’t cum inside, like last time,” you say, already dripping down the sheets with how much he’s been teasing your clit with his tongue before. he nods fast, too desperate to argue, sliding in with a groan, “ahhh... you’re perfect,” thrusting hard, whining your name.

but, like always, he can’t hold back—cums hard, his sticky cum filling your cunt, gasping, “fuck, felt too good—couldn’t stop.” he’s all sheepish but smirks, kissing your pouty lips, muttering, “sorry, you’re just too fuckin’ tight... had to fill you up,” staying buried, while his cum leaks out around his cock.

#—amy writes : suguru geto ★#—amy writes : dark content ★#cw stepcest #cw incest #cw dark content #suguru smut #suguru geto smut #geto smut #geto x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #divider by cafekitsune

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lcvkth · 2 months ago

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Don’t Cry

Content Warning: NSFW/Smut, Noncon/Dark Content, Yandere male x Female reader

Thinking about Yandere who breaks into your house through the window, quietly making his way through your house observing every detail. Picking up framed pictures here and there, slowly making his way through to your bedroom.

Yandere who slowly opens the door to your room making sure not make a single noise. Yandere who quietly walks around the room making sure not to wake you. Sniffing your perfumes, looking and smelling your clothes, then finally resting his eyes on your asleep body.

Yandere who slowly creeps towards your bed, while keeping his eyes on your asleep frame. Finally reaching your side and leaning in close to place a gentle kiss on your hair, then your neck, going lower and lower till he reaches your thighs. Yandere who looks up towards your face, savoring your peaceful face. Looking back down towards your bare thighs and places another kiss. Going back up to your face and places a gentle kiss on your lips.

Yandere who starts to touch and roam your body with his hands, getting lower and lower with each touch. Yandere who finally reaches your hips and goes to remove your underwear filled with little heart shapes. With each tug lower he stills for a moment to make sure as to not wake you.

Yandere who finally tugs your underwear down and is completely enamored with your bare cunt. You shift a bit due to the cold air hitting your cunt, causing him to pause for a moment making sure you don’t wake. Yandere who spreads your legs over to get a better angle at your cunt. Moving closer to give clit a small but gentle peck. Then licking your cunt languidly to get a better taste of you.

Yandere who decides that isn’t enough and delves straight into eating you out in a messily but constructive way. Yandere who feels his pants tighten around his cock as he listens to your whimpers and small whines as they escape your mouth in breathes. Looking up towards you to see each reaction you give him, smiling into your cunt and finally looks away and continues eating you out.

Yandere who doesn’t realize you’re starting to stir awake up wondering what that sensation is on your cunt. Your eyes flutter open looking around the room then setting down towards him. Your breath starts to pick in quick paces and you go to let out a scream only to be stopped by one hand roughly covering your mouth and the other going to your throat. Yandere who mumbles out apologies and how ‘it wasn’t supposed to go like this.’

Yandere who tells you to ‘stay quiet’ and how ‘this will all be over soon. Hearing these words cause tears to flood down your cheeks and attempting to break free of him, only to be stopped by a hand striking you in the face. Yandere who leans down to you and tells you to ‘stop struggling or else he slit your pretty little throat open.’

Yandere who uses the hand that was once covering your mouth to untie his belt and unzip his pants to let his cock be free. Then quickly using both hands he grabs the belt and uses it to tie your hands above your head. Grabbing your throat with one hand again and one hand to grip his cock he lines it up and pushes himself inside you till he’s fully inside. Tears continue to stream down your face, as well as grunt of pain and whimpers from the painful stretch.

Yandere who begins to thrust at a deep and rough pace. Tightening his hand around your throat he lets out small moans and grunts because of how tightly your warm cunt is squeezing him. Your tits start to bounce with each thrust inside you. Yandere who notices and leans down taking a nipple in his mouth and gently bites your nipple while looking into your eyes as tears continue flow from down. Gently letting go of one nipple, he leans towards the other and does the same then finally letting go.

Yandere who moves one hand down to your clit strokes it in languid movements. Yandere who listens and smiles at the small moans and whimpers that slip out of your mouth.

Yandere that starts to thrust at a rougher and sloppier rate as he gets closer to finishing. His moans and grunts start to get louder, as well as your tears and whimpers coming out more. Yandere who says ‘he’s gonna cum inside’ and ‘fill your sweet cunt with his cum till you’re pregnant.’ Which only spurs more tears to spill from eyes, as well you starting to thrash away from his touch from the overstimulation of his thrusts and him stroking your clit at a faster pace.

Yandere who leaned down to your lips and kiss you roughly in a way that will leave your lips bruised. With one final stroke of his fingers you finally cum in a strangle cry.

Yandere who thrust a few more times before finally stilling inside you and cumming deep inside. Yandere who lays down on top of you and thrust a few more times lightly to push the cum deeper inside you.

Your tears start to slow down as you stare at the ceiling above as you feel him rest his body on top of you. Yandere who looks up to your eyes and kisses you in a deep but somewhat gentle manner. Pulling away he lays his head in your neck giving you few more kisses before whispering ‘that he loved you and you were gonna stay with him forever.’

(Sorry for the terrible ending 💔 and sorry if the smut was bad cause this was my first time ever writing it lol, but I hope you enjoyed 🌺)

#Spotify #tw: noncon #cw: dark content #yandere noncon #yandere #x reader #female reader #yandere x reader #yandere x female reader #smut #yandere smut #dark jjk #yandere jjk #yandere chainsaw man #yandere oc x you

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vampyr-ss · 5 months ago

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yes, daddy | t. fushiguro, s. kong

summary: your daddy’s tired of you distracting him during the game & uses your uncle shiu to teach you a lesson

pairing(s): step-dad!toji x reader x step-uncle!shiu

warnings: dark content (18+) + stepcest + double penetration + creampie + throatpie + degrading + no real prep + squirting

wc: 3.6k (unedited)

others: happy post-super bowl & happy valentine’s day!! this was originally supposed to be on sunday but a lot came up. not particularly proud of this, but i’m happy to finish it! anyways, go birds!! fly eagles fly!!! 🦅🦅🦅

toji’s done his absolute best to be patient with you. you’ve been acting differently lately, more rambunctious and seductive. he can’t trust himself to be alone with you because of how you look at him when you are alone. he knows what you want, and he’s willing to give it to you. more than, actually. before today, toji has given you plenty of warnings and plenty of chances. he’s told you that he can’t do this, that you need to be outright or you won’t get what you want.

he should’ve known you’d only get worse when he invited shiu over for the super bowl. your eyes had always lingered on shiu when he came to visit. he recognized those lip bites and the gentle flutter of your lashes when your uncle spoke to you. you used the same tactics on him. you always wore the smallest amount of clothes around the house. your ass would barely be covered by your shorts or your shirt would be tight enough for him to see the outline of your nipples through the thin fabric.

toji believes this is his fault. your mother’s gone to get more food and you immediately disappeared upstairs, giggling as you went. you’d returned in your panties and an eagles shirt, leaning over the couch to speak to him. “daddy have you seen my philly sweatpants?” your voice is soft and low, eyes shifting over his face as toji glances over the couch. his eye twitches when he spots your thong—the smallest thing he’s ever fucking seen. there’s no way your cunt is fully covered. “haven’t seen them, baby.” he murmurs, though his attention hasn’t slipped from the thin material covering your pussy.

“you don’t need ‘em sweetheart.” shiu chimes in, eyes glued to your ass. he smiles at you as he pats the space between them on the couch. “come watch the game, baby. your daddy’s been waiting for this.” he emphasizing the silly title you use for your stepfather, raising his eyebrows at you. your face flushes, clearly not expecting this response, but you round the couch to sit anyway. the leather’s cold against your bare ass and goosebumps begin to rise on your skin.

more often than not, toji has impeccable self control. he restrains himself every time you come prancing around and damn near nothing with shy smiles and wide eyes. but right now? the game’s going to half, the eagles are losing by a field goal and irritation is beginning to claw at his chest. he clenches his jaw as his eyes stay glued to the tv purely to prevent himself from acting on instinct. “what’s wrong, daddy?” you purr sweetly from beside him. your hand rests on his thigh, chest pressing against his arm.

shiu huffs a quiet laugh from beside the two of you. “the game’s not going well, sweetheart. but, didn’t i tell you,” he pauses to grab you by your jaw, squeezing your cheeks so harshly that it forces your lips to pucker. “didn’t i tell you days ago not to distract us during the game? and here you go in your tiny fucking panties showing your ass off to the world.” you pout your lips at him in return the best to your ability, whining softly when his grip tightened on your face.

"'s not the whole world. jus' you and shiu." you mumble with false shyness, fluttering your eyelashes at toji. he rolls his eyes, "if you wanna be the main show so fucking bad, show me what you want." toji's words are low and angry, almost like he's been waiting for this--and he has. you freeze briefly, eyes searching his face to see if he's serious. his green eyes peer back at you expectantly, waiting for you to make your first move.

your hands almost immediately slide to his pants, eagerness rushing through your body. you didn't care if you'd come across as desperate or like some sort of slut, you just wanted toji in you and you wanted it now. toji tuts at you, his hand coming over your own to keep you from pulling his sweatpants down. "no, i want your pussy baby. don't forget your uncle's over there." he juts his chin towards shiu whose eyes are glued to your nipples poking through the fabric of your eagles tee.

shiu watches you evenly. his eyes are low and his gaze predatory, but you don’t find yourself wanting to escape. you want him to fuck your throat raw. you want this. you turn from your step-dad to his best friend, gingerly placing one of your hands on his thigh before leaning in to kiss him. shiu tastes like smoke and not the good kind. you've dated a weedhead or two, you've liked how they tasted, but the taste of tobacco is new and not entirely unwelcomed. your nose scrunches a little making shiu laugh against your mouth. his tongue is quick to press against your lips to be allowed past your lips.

you allow him in with ease while your hands fumble with his belt. you can't see toji, but you know he's enjoying this. he's possessive, but that's why he wants your pussy. shiu can fuck your throat for all he cares, but your cunt is all his. "c'mon, you're gonna kiss him to death. open wide and do what you're here for, baby girl." toji's deep and irritation-riddled voice sounds from behind you. you slowly pull away from shiu. his eyes slowly follow your movements. "show me what you had in store for your daddy, hm? let me see how nasty you are, pretty girl."

you can't deny that shiu's words send a shockwave through you. your pussy clenches and your mouth waters despite yourself. "yes sir." shiu chuckles, pressing one more smoke-scented kiss to your lips. his big hand tangles into your hair the second your lips disconnect, his eyes are low on your face but desire burns bright in them. your fingers make quick work of his zipper, desperate hands pulling at his pants and then his boxers.

shiu’s long. you don’t know what you expected, but his dick is long and curved. your heart stutters at the sight of it, mouth watering and pussy clenching. toji huffs from behind you as his palm flattens your back, forcing you to arch your ass in front of him. “go on, suck his dick. i know you want to, pretty baby.” you glance back at him for confirmation, pretty eyes narrowed in both suspicion and submission. toji may be letting you suck his best friend off, but at the end of the day you’ll be his. that was why he was getting your cunt and shiu was only allowed your mouth. this is all in good fun.

your lips wrap around shiu’s cock eagerly. your tongue slides over his tip, digging into the slit briefly before you swipe your wet muscle down and along his shaft. shiu grunts but doesn’t make any absurd noises, his fingers tightening in your hair. the pain that comes with the tug of your hair makes you moan. it’s loud and nasty, and it makes shiu’s hips jerk up and into your mouth. your tongue flattens as you move further down on his cock. toji busies himself with pulling your thong to the side though he doesn’t do anything else.

with your lips still wrapped around shiu, you wiggle your ass back towards toji. the cold air’s hitting your wet cunt and you’re starting to wish he would just touch you. you’d beg him to if your mouth weren’t full. “fuck her throat, shiu.” you look up at him through your lashes, watching your uncle look to toji with an eyebrow raised. “you sure she can take that? she’s barely taking half o’ me.” he juts his chin at toji as he asks the question and his hand grips your hair briefly before he scratches at your scalp affectionately.

“that doesn’t matter, shiu. she’ll take what you give her. ain’t that right, honey?” toji smacks your ass for emphasis, forcing a whine from your filled throat. your eyes flutter shut to relish in both the pain stemming from your ass and the brief touch of toji’s hand on your body. they open again to meet shiu’s heated gaze. you nod the best you can with his dick in your mouth, placing a pretty hand at the base to pull him out with a soft pop!. “i can take it, uncle shiu.” you purr softly, pressing his cock against your face. “i’ll be good, i promise.” you bite down on your lip as you watch him through your lashes.

shiu’s never been the greatest man, but right now he wonders what he did to get blessed with this sight. his cock twitches against your face forcing pre-cum to smear across your cheek before dribbling down to your jaw. “then don’t cry to me when it’s too much, okay?” shiu’s lips split into a shit eating grin. the hand he’s kept in your hair grips at your strands impossibly tight. he guides your now-open mouth to his dick as he practically slams his dick inside of you waiting throat. you gurgle—loudly—but neither your uncle or daddy care. if anything, toji laughs while shiu groans.

shiu watches as your eyes roll back into your head the moment he starts to roll his hips up and into your throat. his grip on your hair tightens, and toji watches with a smirk. “so fuckin’ slutty.” he murmurs. toji slaps both of your ass cheeks one more time before he spreads them experimentally. your asshole clenches out of both instinct and anticipation whilst your cunt practically drools at him. toji licks his lips, trailing a finger through your sobbing pussy. “she’s so fucking wet, shiu. i’d let you see but this is all mine,” he pauses to stick his fingers in his mouth. “fuck. she’s so sweet.”

the couch shifts under you and shiu as toji moves so one knee is on the couch. he spreads your ass once more to get a good look at your holes. he spits into your ass, watching affectionately as it’s pushed back out at him. toji finds himself mesmerized at the way your pussy glistens under the lights of the living room. you’re so fucking desperate that it’s making his cock harder than it’s ever been in his life. toji slides his tongue through your folds in a slow teasing motion. he starts at your clit, licking upwards until he finds your asshole. his tongue lingers there, sliding into your tight hole that invites his tongue in greedily. toji feels more like your ass is eating him than the other way around.

your daddy’s tongue slides out of your ass with a wet pop! but it isn’t long before his mouth is attached to your cunt. his fingers keep you spread open for him whilst his tongue assaults your pretty pussy. you groan around shiu’s cock at the sudden pleasure, gripping his thighs to keep yourself grounded in some way. shiu ignores your sounds to chase the feeling of your tight throat around his cock. your mouth’s so fucking good and he truly cannot help himself. shiu watches your face carefully as he tries different rhythms opposed to ruthlessly fucking your throat. he rolls his hips a certain way, watching the tears beginning to form in your eyes.

“fuck, toji, she’s a crier.” shiu’s voice leaves his lips airy from disbelief. there are tears sliding down your cheeks the further into your throat shiu fucks, and now that toji’s eating your cunt there’s snot beginning to dribble from your poor nose. “of course she is.” he hisses as he pulls his mouth away to shove a thick finger into your pussy. “she’s a desperate fucking slut, she’s gonna cry when she finally gets what she wants. it’s in her nature. isn’t it, slut?” toji curls his finger inside you for emphasis, and you howl around shiu’s cock. he groans, finally slipping his cock from your mouth. “how the fuck did you-shit! should’ve married this fucking mouth.”

your eyes widen at both shiu’s words and toji’s finger inside your pussy. your nails dig into shiu’s thighs to ground yourself from the pleasure thrumming through your body. you can barley see from the tears clouding your vision, you can only feel. feel toji sliding another fat finger into your pussy. feel shiu slapping his cock against your lips. feel yourself drench toji’s fingers. you’re practically blind in this interaction, but fuck is it worth it. your body feels so so good, this was better than what you were asking for with just toji. “she’s barely loosening up.” toji grunts. “just keep her throat busy, i’m not patient enough for this.”

your lips part to ask what he meant, but your question dies in your throat as toji’s tip slides into your cunt. you had an idea that toji was big but fuck does it hurt. your stomach burns at the sensation of his fat tip breaching your walls and your pussy clenches hungrily around him. “fuck, i can’t even get in her.” he hisses, spreading your cheeks to get a good look at your pussy swallowing his fat tip. “shiu, keep going. she needs to get wetter or i’m gonna rip this pretty pussy apart.” toji tuts, pressing a hand on the middle of your back to make you arch. “but, i think she wants that.”

as toji forces himself further in you, shiu stops toying with you and forces your jaw back open. he smears some of his cum across your lips. “you’re so pretty like this. i don’t know why he waited so fucking long.” you whimper softly at the compliments shiu shower you with, watery eyes darting from his face to his dick. shiu hums, sliding his dick back into your throat slowly. “should’ve been a good uncle and taken care of you and this throat, hm?” his words are strained, but you can still feel the meaning behind them. he’s been wanting to fuck you. this is just the beginning.

you can’t figure if it’s from impatience or feeling ignored, but toji shoves himself fully inside you in one harsh thrust. you lurch forward, choking on shiu’s dick as you scream the best as you can with your throat filled. shiu hisses from the vibration, pulling your head fully down on his cock to shush you. “shit, baby. you’ve been hiding this from me?” toji practically hisses his words at you. his fat cock’s splitting you open so fucking good.

your cunt squeezes hungrily around him to try and pull him in to keep him there. you can feel how wet you are, and even with that toji can barely pull back out of you. toji’s hand comes down on your ass. “not fuckin’ letting me go, huh? you this greedy? you got your uncles cock in your mouth and your daddy’s dick in this pussy but it’s not enough, is it?” his words are meant to hurt your feelings, but you clench. it’s nasty and absurd, but you like being used like this. you want them so badly it hurts. toji doesn’t give you a true chance to reply because he’s pounding your pussy as soon as he realizes you’ve heard him.

toji’s hips snap aggressively against yours, heavy balls slapping against your pussy from how hard he’s fucking into you. your fingers dig impossibly deeper into shiu’s thighs, eyes watering from how full your cunt and mouth are. shiu’s grip on your hair tightens—he ignores the choked sounds leaving your throat and the way his pre-cum’s sliding back down his cock along with your spit. you look so messy like this. there’s spit trailing down your face and neck, tears sliding down your cheeks and snot sliding from your nose. you look pathetic and it’s only turning him on more. your daddy’s grip on your hips is bruising. your hips hurt from the gee minutes he’s been fucking you, but somehow you don’t mind.

your cunt clenches at the thought of the bruises showing, that your mom will ask you what happened and you’ll have to come up with some stupid excuse. your step-daddy likes fucking you better, and you’ll be the only one to know. “she’s so sloppy, baby.” toji murmurs to no one in particular. he releases his grip on one side of your hips to rub harshly at your clit. you cry out, back bowing and eyes rolling further into your head. “i’m gonna cum.” shiu groans, shifting his grip from your hair to the back of your throat. he forces your head to stay in place, opting for jutting his hips into your throat like a dog in heat. your eyes flutter open just to see his face as he cums down your throat. you’d never describe shiu as pretty, but the way his face flushes, his lips part, and his eyes roll make you realize you want this to never end.

shiu’s cum is hot and salty as it fills your throat. you’re choking before you can think about it, sealing your lips around his dick the best you can. your tongue swirls around his tip to collect more cum the longer his orgasm lasts. you fight through the tears and the burning sensation filling your lungs and nose to take all of his cum, swallowing dutifully around him when his aimless thrusts into your pussy finally end. “fuck. toji you’re never keeping me from this fucking mouth.” he mumbled tiredly, pulling his softening cock from your mouth. “let me see, pretty girl.” you stick your tongue out for him, letting him see that you’ve swallowed it all.

“see, shiu? she’s a natural slut. born to be fucking bred.” toji chuckles, wrapping his big hand around t your throat to pull you against him. “c’mon, give me this cunt. need you to cum on daddy’s dick, can you do that, princess?” your throat hurts and so does your cunt. toji’s failed prep forced your pussy to stretch more than it had in years. you can only nod under his grip, eyes stuck on shiu as he watches through his lashes. toji pistons in and out of your cunt at a pace you hadn’t thought to be humanly possible. it feels like he’s in your stomach, his cock’s fat and long and it makes your stomach shift.

your poor pussy’s never handled anything so big before, toji almost feels bad. almost. scarred lips press against your neck hungrily. toji bites and sucks on your neck while his free hand wanders. he pinches your nipples to force a muted scream from you, back bowing from both pleasure and a need to escape. “can’t take it-oh! can’t take it anymore, ‘m gonna cum daddy.” you cry softly, voice nearly gone from the throat fucking you’d taken before. “don’t fucking tell me, just do it.” he pinches your clit for emphasis, laughing in your ear when your knees try to buckle. your cunt clenches and the knot in your stomach grows tighter with every thrust.

toji shifts his hips just slightly and it’s as if an explosion was set off in your body. your vision blurs as an unknown sense of euphoria flushes through your body. you don’t know if you cried out, if you screamed, or if you just fell limp against toji. your orgasms never been this strong in your life. you feel like you’ve been undone and put back together all in one moment. your eyes flutter open in time to see your pussy spray on the couch leaving various wet stains. shiu leans over to attach his lips to your clit, and you scream. “no! no more please!”

your stepfather and uncle ignore your cries, toji’s thrusts get harsher as he chases his orgasm. you can feel his fat cock shift in your stomach, you can feel him twitch as his orgasm nears with every thrust. another orgasm threatens your pussy with shiu’s lips still stuck on your pussy. your hands push at his head to no avail because he continues sucking. toji grunts, tightening his grip on your throat as his orgasm finally hits him. “fuck, i’m gonna get you pregnant baby.” he laughs breathily in your ear. “make sure this pussy can’t go anywhere, can’t take anyone else.” his eyes shift to shiu, who’s pulled away to kiss you again after swallowing down your second orgasm.

“i’m-‘m so full, daddy.” you whimper against your uncle’s lips though your words are aimed towards toji. shiu laughs, slapping your cheek affectionately. “if we had more time you’d be fuller than that, princess. be glad he’s the only one that came in that pussy today.” toji pulls out of you, hissing as he goes. you find yourself missing the warmth and fullness of his cock inside you. the same longing you felt for shiu’s cock in your throat. “maybe one day we’ll both get you pregnant. see who’s baby it is.” he presses one more kiss to your lips, a kiss of finality. he actually meant what he was saying. “can’t,” you trail off, “can’t do that! what if-” toji’s aggravated voice cuts you off. he shoves his fingers into your pussy to keep his cum from leaking out. “doesn’t matter if someone finds out, this is my pussy now sweetheart. your uncle shiu’s too, if i feel nice. ain’t that right?” you glance between the both of them, pursing your lips before nodding in defeat. “yes, daddy.”

#dark content #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #dark smut #jjk smut #stepcest cw #tw pseudocest #tw stepcest #jjk #toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro smut #shiu kong #shiu kong x reader #shiu kong smut #shiu x reader #shiu smut

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bunnigumi · 7 months ago

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─ FLUORESCENT ADOLESCENT

YOU KNOW HOW hormonal teenagers are. Especially the boys. They'll want to fuck anything; even their own sisters.

cw. megumi x reader , incest , porn with plot , reader described with small chest , brief mentions of drinking/smoking , Toji is referred to as dad/daddy (nonsexual) , light exhibitionism , dead dove

an. hi guys!! thank you!! for!! 600+ followers!!!!! i lowkey accidently edged you guys at the end srry in advance i didn't have motivation to write out a full smut scene and i hope theres no typos in this bc ill cry if i see it too late... happy reading ^u^ ^_<

There's a lot of things Megumi can't do when Toji's around. Shower for too long and use up all the hot water, sneak his beers. Get handsy with his sister.

But he seems to do the last one all the time, whether his dad is home or not.

Toji is always too loud watching baseball or horse racing on the TV to hear the noises you make when your brother tries to shove his fingers up your virgin ass for the second time. You chickened out the first because you heard the front door open, your dad coming home for the first time in weeks.

Thought he was going to walk in on the two of you. Ask how your day was, what you've been up to. Something along the lines of what a normal dad would do. All he ever does is mope around. She's dead and you're all grown up.

But Megumi likes to humor you, Let's do it under the covers then.

Especially when you're so irrational, Wanna feel good, right? He won't hear a thing by the time I get my fingers in.

Sometimes he's too passed out drunk to see the bedroom door open with Megumi's hands groping your breasts. They're too small to be properly fondled, but he's always liked girls with small tits.

You've shared a room since forever. There's only two, one for you and Megumi, and one for your parents. But daddy spends most of the nights on the couch, never makes it a step past the living room.

It probably wasn't the best idea. Megumi started touching you all inappropriately at night, your stuffed dolls from family friends facing away when he fingers you, fucks you, kisses you.

You know how hormonal teenagers are. Especially the boys. They'll want to fuck anything; even their own sisters.

Your brother liked to kiss you a lot when you were younger. Regardless of where you were, who you were with. Simple, fleeting kisses on the lips. Your mom and dad would do it all the time.

Grown ups would fawn over how cute you were as children. How well you two got along. How they wished their children were as well behaved as you two were.

It's not all weird for their age. Shiu said it's just what kids do, kids are parrots, not that he has any. But'chya better teach ‘em it's not normal, or you’re gonna have inbred grandbabies. He says it with a quirked lip, chuckling, and a cigarette in between his fingers.

Your dad, unfazed, gnawed on his own, the sliding door open, summer on your face. Puppy stickers trailing up on the glass that don't make it past the handle.

On a good day, Toji's got a Playboy magazine in one hand, a cold bottle in the other. C'mere, boy. He likes to call Megumi from your room to taunt him. Don't she look just like your sister? Flat out drunk. Well, with that rack, it's more like your ma. See, now this one's more like your sister. Isn't that funny?

He tears out the page, careful to not cut through the model's hips, and tosses it in Megumi's direction. His eyes never leaving the magazine. Not even when he takes a swig of the bottle.

Don't fucking talk about your daughter like that. The hell's wrong with you? Megumi says it partially under his breath. And he says it like he isn't hard in front of his dad, like it's not because of the thought of his sister.

His face twitches with mock disgust. It's as if he isn't folding the page and slipping it into his pocket when he heads back to your shared room.

It all went through one ear and out the other—television static. Toji doesn't look up, doesn't notice Megumi leave. The daggers stabbed into his hollow head. The hard on his son’s got at the mention of his sister. He never notices anything at all.

And it's whatever. You're waiting for him. You want to show him the new panties you bought when you were out with your girlfriends, the money courtesy of your brother. Not in exchange for sex, of course. He loves you more than to treat you like a prostitue. Plus, you'd do it for free, so that makes you a good sister slut.

Megumi doesn't like his new part time all too much. ‘Part time’ means being away from you, leaving you alone. Government code to keep families apart. Buy whatever you like. You're a people pleaser.

Your dad babies you a lot. He still doesn't understand how teenagers work. Coddles you to death like you're still five when his breath smells like spearmint.

It's about the same for Megumi, that kiddy treatment. Still offers runs out to the nearby store to buy ice cream, loitering for the air conditioning on days when cold baths with you aren't enough to kill the heat. Sticking their faces in freezers, your mom twirling you in circles. Letting you go like a wind up doll, spinning and spinning ‘till the world was dizzy.

You inherited her smile, her upturned eyes when you laughed.

And you hate the way Toji let himself go. The person he became. The safety, the warmth. Detached too early from nurturing. Spiraling all the way down from the tree, the nest.

You, me, your sister. Like we used to.

He never got his ass off the couch. Not for those recreational things at least. Everyone knows that, but Toji still tries.

Not to say that Megumi isn't a fan of tradition. Cold baths with you, having you warm his dick while he washes your hair with strawberry, 3-in-1 kid shampoo. Sucking your little tits and biting down on your tender neck. Rubbing your needy clit in circles, your hips bucking, water sloshing. Suds popping and flying in the air. Soapy residue clinging to tile walls.

Your dad doesn't question why you still do it together when you're in your teenage years, or how you two should have outgrown baths already. It's a win-win situation.

He never has a reason to leave; no wife to nag him about remembering to buy fabric softener at the store with the groceries because he forgot the last time. It's not that important, only sissies need soft clothes to survive.

When he does leave, it's for days on end. And you never really notice when he does until you’re on your way out the door to school in the early morning, and there's no one on the couch, not a note on the counter.

Tugging at the hem of your uniform shirt, slipping on your shoes and leaning on the door handle you’d drill holes into the Toji-shaped spot and the door is quietly shut behind you, your brother still asleep.

He's gotten into the college near home and has been taking on more night shifts. Most of his classes start in the afternoon and you miss walking with him to school.

Megumi's the one paying attention to you more, and even extra attention on nights when dad isn't home and he's back from work.

You can be as loud as you need to be, fuck as much as you want. You've grown to be one spoiled girl, that's for sure.

Toji saw him feeling you up once in the kitchen when he went to grab leftover takeout from the fridge. You thought he wasn't home. Turned out he hadn't left the house since yesterday, passed out in his room. Still smelled like a bar, nicotine, and a skank.

You think it's the first time he actually slept there since, well, you know.

The hell you kids doing. It wasn't a question. He said it with a yawn, with glaring indifference in the base of his tone. Megumi ignored the way his shoulders were slumped over. How he rested his weight on the fridge handle.

And you could act like it didn't happen, like your older brother wasn't pressing up against your backside, trying to stick his junk inside of you.

Nothing, daddy. It's all in your imagination. Just playing. You've just been watching too many pornos. By the way, are you hungover? Your breath reeks of cumsluts and prostitute whores.

Megumi finds that Toji tends to only register the sound of your voice rather than your words. He'd gotten pretty good at that thing with your mother. When you hit puberty, you started to sound like her.

And it's easy for Toji to turn a blind eye. To forget and be at ease. Megumi could really just have continued to go and fuck you right there over the kitchen counter. You're real good at quick and dirty. There’d be the high pitch of your moans and Toji could care less.

It's what happens when you have a dead mom, a college roommate of a dad, and a touchy brother for a family.

Shiu managed to lure Toji out of the house tonight with the promise of girls and booze. Like a dog hearing the words ‘park’ and ‘treat’. Pathetic, is what it is.

You’re wrapping your hand around your older brother’s cock. Pressing your cheek against his thigh. Pleading eyes staring up at him because you’re unsure of how to start. Red knees on scratchy hardwood floor. It's been a while since you had time for foreplay more than kissing and fingering.

“Suck it like a popsicle. Careful with your teeth,” He says in a low voice. “Yeah, exactly like that.”

You've always been a quick learner. Daddy doesn’t know that. Grey rings on unopened report cards turned coasters.

But your brother sure does. He likes to encourage your learning with a hand tangled into your hair. And he’s not all too strict of a teacher, relenting in his grasp when you dig your nails into the side of his legs. Pulling off with saliva dripping down your chin. Lips pouty and shredded like paper, your jaw aching. Thighs rubbing together, always desperate for something more.

Megumi lifts you up onto his lap so that you're straddling him, and taking the initiative, you throw your arms around his neck—pressing your bodies together, grinding down on him and zealously chasing after his lips.

You love like it's second nature.

Intimately to the ideal of union. Crossing lines just to hear the way they snap, it's more satisfying from the other side. In privileged rebellion; the temptation that comes with this taboo of want.

He can taste himself on you, with notes of sugar from home baked cookies and cheap frosting on your tongue.

Megumi has to force you still, his hands squeezing tight around your waist.

Petulant like a child, a whine leaves your mouth at the halt of friction. He manhandles your position so that your back is resting on his chest. Legs dangling off the edge of the bed, kicking and making a soft thumping noise against its side.

Lifting up the hem of your shirt, his shirt that you’re wearing, reveals nothing but white panties soaked wet from the way your brother nips at your bottom lip when you kiss, from humping him, the way he loves you, too.

He shoves your panties to the side, smearing your slick all over your cunt with his fingers, onto your clit. He rubs light circles, eliciting breathy moans from you before abruptly stopping to pull your underwear down the rest of the way, letting it fall carelessly to the floor.

Resting his chin on your shoulder and marking the dip between your neck and shoulder with red indents of his teeth, the sting of his canines, he slips his middle finger into your cunt. The ring, to stretch you out. Then the index, to see how much you can take.

Facing the open door, no one's on the couch while your big brothers got a hand between your thighs. The other sliding under your shirt, agonizingly slow up your chest in a way that sends shivers up your spine, translating into hunger for your brain.

You don't wear bras at home, but you enjoy wearing frilly, lacy ones. Little white bows on the center of your chest. Dolly and cute to the point it was sexy, but not overly so. In blue and pink pastels bordering white.

Megumi was always poked fun at for hanging out with you during lunch and breaks in middle school. Always badgered by his rag-tag group of friends.

C’mon, Fushiguro. Hang out with us. Just for today at least. That pink haired one was always so whiny. Cute, maybe, but whiny. Or what about after school? You always go straight home. He got on your nerves. You hated him.

Only sister fuckers hang out with them at school. The brunette was fairly pretty. Skinny legs, good tits. Glossy lips when she said her snide remarks. You always had this fear that Megumi would leave you for her. Irrational, did he mention? You shot her a glare, and hated her too.

You’d ask Megumi to follow you to the girls bathroom after lunch. Undoing the buttons of your blazer. The first, second, third one of your dress shirt—flashing starstruck eyes with a new bra. Arms pushing your breasts together, offering him a sweet smile. Lustful persuasion.

Then you would leave him for class and he'd have to jerk off to get rid of his boner. In a stall over the toilet, quick so no one hears him. Grinding his teeth together, biting down on his lip, chewing the side of his mouth to muffle the noise until it all hurt.

You’ve always liked to rile him up. To leave him high and dry, no hand holding on the way home, then give him all of you the second you step into the door without so much as a glance to see if anyone's in the house.

You like to tease him, even whenever Toji is near.

Simulating the tent in his pants with your feet under the table while daddy is smoking with Shiu.

Staring at your brother from across with a glint of mischief in your eyes.

Waiting for his cool composure to break until he’s got only two options: Bend you over the table and fuck you right then and there, or play his little sister’s game, her rules. Puppy dog eyed, exhibitionist freak.

Your hips continuously grind up to meet his knuckles. Clutching his wrist, whispering as he curiously stops his attack on your neck, “More. Want more,” and you hold your breath.

You feel him smile on your skin. Without a word, he flips you onto the mattress, and knows exactly what you want, exactly what you need by the way you hook your legs over his back, locking your ankles together. Pulling him in closer. Effectively caging him in. The world can't have him. You've claimed your stake on him a long time ago.

And the words that leave your mouth feel nothing but natural. Your voice is airy, breathy. This insatiable desire tugs harshly at your heart.

Your lips purse together for a moment, just a single moment before the words seamlessly roll off your tongue.

“I love you," like you were born to do.

#cw: incest #megumi smut #megumi fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen megumi #cw: dark content #tw: dark content #tw: incest #megumi x reader

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quarterlifekitty · 7 months ago

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Simon as the embodiment of that bullshit saying about boys only making fun of you when they like you.

He doesn’t know how to deal with what he’s feeling, never got naturalized to affection. The problem is that the shit he says can, in no way, be called making fun.

He says shit that digs deep. It fuckin’ hurts. Not where anyone else but you can hear, but they can all see the way you cautiously regard him like he’s a fuse ready to be lit, turning tail when he enters a room.

He’ll crowd you if he finds you alone. Remind you of all the strength and build he holds over you. How he could crush you like an oyster cracker, and in his eyes, you’d deserve it.

So why, why does his scowl deepen when you put into the request to transfer out of the task force? You figured he’d be cheering, or as close as his gloomy ass can get to it. That he’d tell you not to let the door hit your ass on the way out.

You didn’t think he’d be waiting in the dark of your room with a chest heaving in anger, throwing an arm around your waist to keep you still as he shut and locked the door behind you.

#writing #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cw dark content #cw dubcon #cw noncon

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prettyboykatsuki-moved · 6 months ago

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yuuji (20) begs and begs and begs for you (37) to have sex with him because he wants to prove himself being all grown up. he’s putting all of his bets on making you give in cause he wants you to take him serious. he likes you after all. can’t use anything but his body and pretty face.

#aristotle.txt #age gaps cw #dark content cw #HOOOOOOOO BOY

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sleep-0-deprived · 9 months ago

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Yandere CEO who is serious and strict but becomes a real puppy at the reader's feet, he gives everything the reader wants and kneels before him asking to be able to touch and give pleasure to the reader.

Yandere CEO x male reader imagines~! ૮꒰ྀི ⸝⸝․․⸝⸝ ྀི꒱ა

A/N (I did the Yandere as a sub top and I thought of the Yandere being mid forties while reader being late twenties because I thought it fit best anon!) <33

Just imagining Yandere CEO being a complete heartless man to the world, old and cold as they say. Until he seen your resume running across his desk and if you told him of love at first sight he would scoff at you and kick you out but oh my, when he seen the small picture of you next to your resume he didn’t even care to read it because this man was going to have you. The only words he could think of was “he must’ve been crafted by the gods, I bet Adonis himself spent his life carving those lips” shivers went through him dialing your number trying to get a interview with you.

Just imagining Yandere CEO who hires you at first for your pretty face making you his assistant putting you a desk in his office wanting all eight hours of your days to be spent close as he can get to you, being soft and sweet for you unlike his mean and cold demeanor with the rest of his employees. he’d glance over at you typing something on your computer quietly asking “are you alright? Did you need a break, your hands aren’t sore are they?….i can get you into a nice spa if you’d like. I don’t want my best employee burnt out”

Just imagining Yandere CEO who gets you gifts on the daily nearly pouting if you tell him not to, all he wants is for you to cling to him! He’d beg and plead asking you to let him suck you off whispering in your ear “let me help you out, boy?…I wanna ease you up a bit, you deserve the best so just let me give it to you” he’d mumble getting on his knees and massaging your thighs nice and gentle getting your cock out of your slacks worshipping it nuzzling his face into it peppering your angry tip with wet kisses.

Just imagining Yandere CEO who sends you flowers takes you on fancy trips. Sending you to Rome with him when he goes to sort out business you’re sitting somewhere in a fancy restaurant holding his black card telling you “buy anything you want, I wanna spoil you baby..” and by the time he gets back to your five star hotel room all he asks os for all your affection groaning into your ears holding you by the waist bucking and thrusting his hips up into you from beneath murmuring on and on rambling having you on his cock sending shivers through him “oh you’re so perfect~ pretty little thing~ hng oh fuck moan a little louder you sound angelic like that—“ he’d whimper spilling into you nibbling on your shoulder softly.

Just imagining Yandere CEO who asks you all sweetly if he can have you cock warm him while he manages files, pleading just wanting to please you wanting to have you all sprawled out like a happy cat with his chubby tip pressing and massaging your walls just bullying your prostate while he tugs at your cock like its glass having you orgasming more times than you can count pleasing you like it’s his life’s mission “c’mon baby boy, one more for me? I know you can push it out shhh doin perfect there’s a good boy”

Just imagining Yandere CEO who loves your chest, worshipping them as his holy grail sucking at hurrying his fave in your pretty s/c pecks. Nibbling at your nipples pressing little kisses to your peaks using his hands to massage them while he rotates back and forth making sure each one gets the perfect amount of attention “they are so beautiful sweetheart, god your skin tastes so divine” it was like sex polling with your skin covered in the finest nectar for him driving him insane hazily looking up at you with complete and utter infatuation.

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kingkaisen · 1 year ago

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ALONE || SATORU G.

♡ — SUMMARY: Yuji goes to Satoru for relationship advice, not knowing that the only love his teacher has ever known has been lost forever.

♡ — CONTENT: angst, mentions of reader’s death/dying during childbirth.

♡ — WC: 1.1k

“Are you busy?”

Yuji’s worrisome voice caught Satoru’s attention. The white-haired man, who sat on an outdoor bench, lost in thought, curiously looked up at the teenager standing in front of him.

“Hm?” Satoru paused. “Nope, I’m not busy at all. Something wrong?”

When Yuji didn’t answer immediately — his brown eyes glaring at the concrete ground as a telltale sign that something was bothering him — Satoru nodded at the empty spot on the bench, inviting him to sit.

Without hesitation, Yuji sat down and slumped over.

“I’m having girl problems.”

“Oh?” Satoru raised his eyebrows. “Do you need pads or-”

“Hey! Not like that,” with a frown, Yuji buried his face in his hands, the tips of his ears turning red from utter embarrassment.

Coming to his teacher for advice in general was humiliating enough for him, but he couldn’t imagine that anyone else would have been able to help him out.

Satoru was one of the very few people he knew who seemed to think about life outside of being a jujutsu sorcerer and could potentially offer him some advice.

“There’s a girl I’m interested in. I really like her, ya know? But I’m not sure how I should ask her out. I wanted to go see Human Earthworm 3 with her, but Nobara said that most girls aren’t into stuff like that. But if I ask her to see a chick flick, then what if she gets mad at me for assuming she’d wanna see that stuff because she’s a girl? But if I ask her to pick a movie, then it might seem like I’m putting pressure on her to make all the important decisions because I don’t care enough or something. What should I do?”

Satoru smiled softly. Looking at his dear student was like looking at his own reflection. Years ago, he too was a teenager, frustrated and flustered over a girl.

“Well, there are a bunch of movies that aren’t chick flicks or creepy films that you could take her to see. You could suggest three films and have her pick one. That way, it shows that you care, but you don’t make the mistake of assuming what she’d like. Also, I’d recommend going to dinner after the movie instead of before, that way you both have something to talk about.”

Yuji glanced up at his blindfolded teacher and blinked, taking in the valuable advice.

“Right! Good idea!” Breaking out into a smile, Yuji said, “I knew I made the right decision by asking you!”

“You sure did. I’m an expert, you know.”

Yuji laughed softly. Suddenly, the upturned corners of his mouth slowly fell into a frown, and his eyebrows furrowed as a thought crossed his mind.

“Hey,” Yuji turned his head to face Satoru, his eyes squinting from the afternoon sunlight. “You’re not really an expert, are you? I’ve never seen you with anyone before. Are you in a secret relationship or something? What goin’ on?”

A gentle, sad smile graced Satoru’s face, his voice soft and tender as he spoke. “Nope, I’m all alone.”

“Oh.” Yuji dropped his gaze to his red shoes. “Wait a minute, what about that one lady you went to go see?”

“What lady?”

“Uh . . .” Scratching his cheek awkwardly, the teenager mumbled, “I kinda overheard you telling Nanamin that you were gonna buy flowers on your way to see . . . uh . . . I think her name was Y/N. That was about a week ago. What about her?”

Typically, Satoru wasn’t the sort of person to find himself at a loss for words. But, right now, his mind, body, and soul seemed to have disconnected, caused by a broken spirit.

He was quiet only for a moment, but it was long enough for Yuji to innocently look up at him with great concern.

A lump formed in Satoru’s throat, but he spoke anyway.

If there was one thing he excelled at, it was being able to function through his pain. He had years of experience with that sort of thing.

“You misunderstood. That’s what you get for eavesdropping,” Satoru suddenly removed his blindfold, ignoring the ache in his head when he did so. He brought the soft black fabric to his lips, and gently kissed it. You had given it to him. “Y/N was someone I was in love with. I met her when I was around your age. She died five years ago, and I was getting flowers before heading to her grave.”

“Oh man, that sucks. I’m really sorry,” A flash of guilt washed over Yuji’s innocent face. “I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s fine,” Satoru interrupted, locking eyes with his student. “It’s not like it’s a big secret or anything.”

The soft buzz of insects bouncing around in the nearby grass filled the silence as the sky darkened, the sun kissing the world goodbye. Satoru’s eyes flickered down to Yuji’s fidgeting hands, his fingers toying with the sleeve of his hoodie as he stared at the ground.

“What’s wrong?” Satoru questioned. He knew his student all too well and could tell that the younger boy was biting his tongue, quite both figuratively and literally.

“I was just wondering . . . how did she die? If that’s an okay thing to ask. You don’t gotta tell me if you don’t wanna. But I won’t lie, I’m curious, ya know?”

Satoru hummed, thinking about how death was a peculiar topic that the kind sorcerer was wholesomely interested in.

“Childbirth.”

“What?” Yuji’s spikey strands of hair shifted as he whipped his head in Satoru’s direction, eyes widening. “Seriously? That’s . . . I thought . . .”

“You thought she might have died in battle?” Satoru placed his blindfold back on, not to ease his aching eyes, but so Yuji wouldn’t see the tears starting to brim in his reddened waterline. “Sometimes we forget that sorcerers can die in other situations as well, don’t we?”

“Yeah.” Yuji didn’t know if it was okay to ask another question or not. Satoru spoke with misery coating his words. But curiosity was a thirst that couldn’t be easily quenched. “What was she like?”

A heartbroken smile graced Satoru’s face.

“Well, she was shyer than most. Kind. A good person. It was pretty funny, because she could kill curses and take down enemies, but she was always too nervous to ask for oat milk instead of whole milk in her lattes whenever we’d go to a local coffee shop. And she was lactose intolerant too, but still wouldn’t ask. She was a hugger, but really only towards me. Couldn’t stand pollen. Loved watching TV and reading short romance stories about fictional characters. She was so . . . I loved her more than I can express with words.” Satoru had to clear his throat. “I wish I could say she died peacefully, but she looked scared. Died right in front of me . . . trying to deliver my kid.”

Satoru thought about your teary, bloodshot eyes, shining with fear as you held on to him while lying helplessly in a hospital bed.

He was stroking your hair, telling you that everything would be okay when the light left your gaze, and suddenly, you were nothing more than a corpse.

Yuji was silent, but Satoru knew what his next question would have been: did the child survive?

“My kid didn’t make it either.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuji mumbled. “I wish I could fix it. I wish there was something I could do. But . . . I hope you find love again someday.”

“I don’t.” As Satoru spoke, a single tear fell. “If it’s not with her, I don’t want it. I’d rather be alone.”

🏷️: @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @luvvmae @insomniacbehaviour @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @thewondrousdreamer @levisfavoriteteashop @preciousamethyst @irisveinn @iwanttohitmyself @shoyosdoll @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @sonarspace

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onlypinkslut · 2 months ago

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“scratchy little thing” you skipped a wax, now he won’t stop sniffing you. toji’s obsessed sweaty, bulking, and hungry for the mess between your thighs. scratchy or not, it’s his.

♡ cw : sweaty bulking toji · scent kink · oral fixation · messy pussy obsession · filth themes · cockwarming · dubcon undertone

୨୧ one-shot bf!toji(bulking season)xf!reader

you’d missed your wax appointment.

twice.

and now it’d been almost a month. a soft, natural bush had started to grow in not wild, not thick, just enough to make you self-conscious. enough to trap the heat of the day between your thighs, making you squirm in your seat, enough to make your panties stick damply to your skin, enough to catch under your fingertips when you shifted and make you want to claw your own body off. it was enough to drive you crazy. enough to make you want to keep your legs clamped shut. enough that every time you caught toji’s eyes flick down toward your shorts, toward the place between your thighs where that warmth lived, you felt your stomach clench in tight, squirmy dread.

you avoided him. as much as you could. you kept tugging your oversized t-shirt down when you walked past him, kept yanking your shorts higher up your thighs like you could hide the evidence, snapping at him when he so much as bumped your hip in the kitchen. it wasn’t personal. you were just irritated. at yourself. at your body. at the way your pussy itched raw after a day in tight, humid clothes. at the way it smelled rich and heady by evening, sticky under your panties.

and the worst part?

the absolute worst, most humiliating part?

toji was obsessed.

he was in his bulking season. heavier. thicker. hotter. eating six meals a day, lifting like a monster, swallowing protein shakes like water. his body was a furnace now. his sweat smelled stronger, saltier, soaking through his shirts in an hour flat. his cock had gotten bigger too somehow thicker, meatier, so fat it left a permanent print against whatever flimsy shorts he dragged onto his body every morning. you caught him adjusting it every hour without fail, fisting the thick root under his waistband with a low, frustrated grunt when he thought you weren’t looking.

but you were looking.

and so was he.

always.

he wasn’t normal.

his arms were thicker now, veins twisting under flushed skin, muscles pumped and straining even when he was relaxed. his thighs stretched every pair of boxers he owned until they rode high and tight, the thick muscles flexing when he crouched, when he lunged, when he bent down just to watch you flinch. his cock stayed half-hard from the second he woke up, fat and heavy and flushed dark pink at the tip, drooling over the band of his boxers every time you so much as bent over to pick something off the floor.

he couldn’t take it.

he was feral.

especially not when you were sweating.

it started small. you didn’t even notice at first the way he’d casually grab your towel after you left the bathroom, pretending to wipe his neck when really he was breathing you in, slow and deep, eyes fluttering half-shut like a junkie taking a hit. the way he’d pick up your t-shirt from the bed and wipe his face with it, nose buried in the scent clinging to the fabric.

then came the underwear.

and he started collecting them.

quietly. obsessively.

panties you threw in the hamper after a long day out, soaked through with heat and sweat. panties that clung to your curls, that still had the tangy scent of your skin trapped in the cotton seams. he’d fish them out when you showered, drop to his knees by the bed with them in his fist, tongue already hanging out obscenely, nose buried deep in the damp fabric. he sniffed them loud, slurping in your scent with greedy, messy noises, the crotch plastered against his face, his cock twitching painfully against his thigh.

“fuck,” he’d groan, tongue dragging along the sticky middle seam where your slick had dried into the fibers, “how do you smell this good just from walkin’ around, baby?”

he liked the ones that caught in your curls, that stuck to your body when you peeled them off, still warm and wet when he found them. he kept them under his pillow, knotted tight around his fist at night while he jerked off in the dark, his big body creaking the bed frame every time he moaned into the fabric like a man possessed.

and when he heard you pee?

it broke him.

it absolutely fucking shattered him.

you thought nothing of it. you closed the door. locked it. sat down and let go with a soft trickle. sometimes you sighed, soft and sleepy. sometimes you shifted, the faint sound of your thighs rubbing together echoing in the tiny bathroom. toji would be on the other side, forehead pressed against the wall, cock in a death grip down his sweats, huffing against the paint like a dying dog.

your scent.

your little noises.

the heat of it all.

it was too much.

he came to it. hard. fast. biting down on the inside of his cheek to keep from whimpering, painting his own stomach with cum while he rocked against the doorframe like a drunk.

and then you caught him.

right after you flushed, opening the door, and there he was. sweaty. red-faced. panting. one fist squeezing your pink panties to his mouth like he was trying to inhale them whole, the other still stroking his twitching cock slow and filthy.

“toji what the fuck.”

“couldn’t help it,” he panted, shameless, voice cracking. “couldn’t fuckin’ help it, baby. you sound so sweet when you piss. makes me crazy. just thinkin’ about how hot and sticky your pussy gets after holdin’ it in. i had to i fuckin’ had to..”

you slammed the door in his face.

locked it again.

hid your burning face in your hands.

you didn’t talk to him for an hour.

but it didn’t matter.

because when you finally stormed into the bedroom to change, cursing under your breath, he was still there. sitting on the edge of the bed, cock hard again, leaking down his thigh, eyes locked on the dark, damp outline of your soft, sweaty bush pressing against your shorts.

he was drooling.

literally drooling.

you were done.

so fucking done.

you caught him again the next night hand shoved under the pillow, dragging the crusted crotch of your stained period panties across his face, rutting slow into his palm with filthy, broken moans you could hear from the hallway.

“you’re disgusting,” you snapped, heart hammering, arms crossed tight over your chest. “you’re fucking gross, toji. you don’t even care that i haven’t shaved you don’t even care that i’m sweaty and itchy and fucking disgusting”

“i don’t care,” he rasped immediately, voice so raw it sounded painful, “you think i give a fuck about some hair? you think a lil scratchy bush is gonna stop me when you smell like that? when you taste like that? when all i wanna do is shove my fuckin’ face in it and never come up for air?”

he stood up.

walked toward you.

cock bobbing between his thighs, heavy, angry, flushed purple and leaking.

you backed up.

he followed.

“you keep followin’ me around,” you accused, voice cracking, “keep sniffing my panties, jerking off to me pissing like a fucking creep”

“you think i’m not gonna stroke my cock to the sound of my girl’s sweet lil pussy lettin’ go?” he growled, voice going rougher. “you think i don’t wanna taste the sweat you’ve been stewin’ in all day? you think i don’t dream about it?”

you turned, tried to shove past him.

he caught your wrist.

dropped to his knees.

he dropped to his knees so fast the floorboards rattled under his weight, his thick, sweaty arms wrapping around your thighs, yanking you closer before you could even think about stepping away. his breath was hot against your belly, his face buried against the worn cotton of your shorts, inhaling you like a starving man denied food for too long.

“ride my fuckin’ face,” he rasped, voice wrecked and wild, fingers digging bruises into the soft flesh of your hips, “right now. sweaty lil pussy and all. don’t shower. don’t wipe. don’t clean a fuckin’ thing. just sit on me, baby. sit and suffocate me with that nasty, scratchy lil pussy you keep hidin’ from me.”

you blinked down at him, stunned, your chest heaving, shame clawing at your throat.

“w-what?” you stammered, voice breaking into a tiny sound that made his cock throb against the air.

“ride it,” he groaned, tongue lolling out, face flushed, slick with sweat, “ride my fuckin’ face, sweetheart. sit on me till i can’t breathe. lemme drown in it. lemme smell you, taste you, feel all that hot lil mess you’re so embarrassed about.”

your knees wobbled. your hands shook.

he was already yanking your shorts down your thighs, the sticky wet fabric peeling away from your skin with a humiliating squelch, your panties clinging damp between your thighs.

he moaned when the heat of your body hit him, when the scent of your unshaved mound, your musky, sticky pussy flooded the air between you, so thick you could almost taste it yourself.

“fuck,” he groaned low, dragging his nose along the seam of your panties, “fuck, you’re so wet…fuckin’ soaked, baby…you don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me, d’ya?”

he didn’t wait for an answer.

he flopped onto his back right there on the rug, his thick arms still locked around your thighs, mouth open, teeth flashing as he yanked you over him with a grunt of pure animal need.

“sit,” he barked, voice rough and commanding, tugging you down. “sit that messy lil pussy right on my mouth.”

you hovered.

too embarrassed.

too exposed.

your thighs trembling violently as the hot gusts of his breath fanned against your slick folds through the thin cotton of your panties.

he growled. a real, low, vibrating sound that started in his chest and rattled up into the air.

and then he yanked you down hard.

you screamed, a broken, shameful sound, your whole body spasming as your pussy smashed into his face, your wet, scratchy bush pressing hot and messy against his mouth.

he moaned. a long, filthy, wet noise like he was gulping down the taste of you, his nose buried deep, his tongue already working fast and sloppy, dragging up the seam of your panties before tugging them aside with his teeth.

and then he was licking you bare.

straight into the sweaty, swollen mess of you, tongue flattening over the curls first, nuzzling and lapping like he was worshiping every inch, slurping through your folds with loud, obscene noises that made your stomach twist with shame.

he mouthed at your clit, soft at first just heavy, smothering pressure, thick lips sucking gently around the puffy bead, his tongue flicking quick, teasing licks that made your hips jerk without your permission.

“fuckin’ heaven,” he slurred against you, spit running down his chin, soaking your thighs, “smells like heaven, tastes like fuckin’ mine.”

you tried to lift up, tried to ease the pressure, humiliated by how wet you were, by how scratchy the bush must feel against his mouth, by how you could feel your own slick drooling down your thighs onto his beard.

he growled again.

and slammed you down harder.

you sobbed, your thighs trembling, your whole body shaking as he tongued you open, thick, messy licks that made your pussy clench and your clit throb painfully.

“ride it,” he grunted, the vibration of his voice buzzing straight into your cunt. “fuck my face, baby. grind that nasty lil pussy all over me. make it messy. make it fuckin’ drip.”

you couldn’t stop yourself.

your hips started to move, slow and clumsy, grinding against his face, your swollen, wet folds dragging across his mouth, his nose, your slick and sweat painting him like a filthy masterpiece.

he moaned under you, greedy and desperate, arms locking tighter around your thighs to keep you pressed down, his tongue plunging into your tight hole with messy, sloppy thrusts that made your vision go white.

“so fuckin’ sweet,” he groaned. “so fuckin’ nasty. don’t you dare shave, baby. don’t you dare hide this from me again.”

you broke first.

you cried out, shaking and sobbing, grinding down desperately as your orgasm tore through you, your pussy clenching around nothing, spasming so violently you almost slipped off him.

and he still didn’t stop.

still licked.

still slurped.

still dragged his tongue through the sticky mess you left on his face like it was ambrosia.

he only stopped when your thighs gave out completely, collapsing against his thick, sweaty body, sobbing weakly into your own shaking hands.

he sat up under you like nothing thick arms scooping you effortlessly against his chest, your sticky, limp body sliding against the hot, sweaty slabs of his muscles.

and then you felt it.

his cock.

huge.

throbbing.

leaking against your stomach, fat and angry and flushed darker than you’d ever seen it.

“t-toji.. ”you whimpered weakly, but he wasn’t listening.

he grabbed your hips. lifted you. flipped you onto the rug like you weighed nothing.

you gasped, dizzy, your body still twitching from the orgasm, your legs trembling, your soft, sticky thighs falling open helplessly under his massive frame.

and then you saw it.

his cock.

raging hard, curved up, veiny and dripping, the tip swollen, red, leaking long strings of pre-cum onto your sweaty stomach.

he grabbed your knees. shoved them wide apart. pressed the fat head of his cock against your sloppy, abused entrance.

“don’t fuckin’ run,” he growled low in his chest, voice raw, dangerous. “you’re takin’ it. all of it. earned this. been waitin’ for this messy lil pussy all fuckin’ month.”

and then he slammed in.

one thick, brutal stroke that split you wide open, forced your pussy to stretch around his fat cock until you screamed high, raw, choking on your own breath.

he growled, teeth flashing, sweat pouring off his forehead.

“god fuck you’re tight,” he grunted, hips already rolling, already fucking into the squelching, soaked heat of you without mercy, without patience. “messy lil thing…scratchy lil pussy…fuckin’ made for me.”

you were babbling. crying. trying to shove at his shoulders, but he was too big, too heavy, his massive bulk caging you to the floor, fucking into you like he was trying to rearrange your guts.

and then he grabbed your knees.

folded you in half.

and started really rutting.

hard, deep thrusts that punched the air out of your lungs, that made the rug burn against your back, that sent wet, sloppy noises echoing through the room with every brutal stroke.

you were a mess.

you couldn’t breathe.

couldn’t think.

only feel his fat cock dragging against your swollen walls, the scratch of your sweaty, unshaven folds sticking to his heavy balls when they slapped wetly against your ass.

and just when you thought it couldn’t get worse couldn’t get more intense he flipped you.

dragged you on top of him. slammed you down on his cock so hard your vision blurred.

you barely had time to gasp, to cry out, to struggle against the heavy, sweaty weight of his arms before he was dragging you down, slamming you onto his cock so deep and so brutally you thought you were going to black out from the stretch.

his cock split you open like you were made for it, fat and unrelenting, the thick, swollen head forcing your pussy lips wide, dragging against every raw, throbbing nerve inside you. you could feel everything the throb of the veins pulsing along his shaft, the sticky smear of your combined sweat and slick coating your thighs, the wet squelch of your body trying and failing to take him properly.

you sobbed, slapping your palms weakly against his chest, but it was useless he was too big, too solid, his muscles slick and burning under your hands, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding himself back from flipping you over and just breaking you properly.

“no,” he growled low in your ear, his thick arms locking behind your back, caging you against him like steel bars, “you’re not goin’ anywhere. not gettin’ off this cock till i say so.”

you whined, tried to lift your hips, to ease the brutal stretch, but he only squeezed you tighter, grinding you down onto him until you could feel the thick root of his cock grinding against your sore, swollen clit.

your soft, sticky stomach pressed flat against the hard, sweaty slabs of his chest, your nipples dragging against his flushed skin, your thighs twitching violently around his thick waist.

you could feel his breath in your hair, hot and ragged, could feel the way his cock throbbed so hard it made your pussy spasm helplessly around him, could feel the sticky, sweaty mess dripping down the crack of your ass, soaking the rug under you.

and then he started moving.

slow at first.

a lazy, grinding roll of his hips, dragging that fat, brutal cock against every raw, overstretched nerve inside you, forcing your body to jolt and twitch helplessly against his chest.

you sobbed, little broken hiccups of noise that only made him groan deeper, dragging his nose along your sweaty neck, licking the salt from your skin like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.

“fuck so fuckin’ soft,” he muttered, voice thick and slurred with lust, “so fuckin’ sweet. made for me, baby. made to sit on my cock, keep it warm…fuckin’ smell like heaven, pussy scratchin’ up my thighs…gonna lose my fuckin’ mind.”

you whimpered, tiny, helpless noises punched out of you with every slow, brutal thrust of his hips. you were too tired to fight him, too overstimulated to think, your body betraying you completely, your pussy clenching greedily around his cock like it didn’t care how filthy, how wrong, how overwhelming it was.

he started fucking up into you harder. faster. sweat pouring down his temples, dripping off his jaw to slick your chest, his muscles flexing and rippling under your palms with every heavy, brutal thrust.

your hips jerked every time he bottomed out, your soft thighs slapping wetly against his slick hips, your stomach jiggling against the hard slabs of his chest with every desperate, brutal grind of his cock.

you sobbed, voice high and cracked and barely human.

“t-too big can’t take it..” you whimpered against his throat, nails digging weakly into his slick shoulders.

“yes you fuckin’ can,” he growled, snapping his hips up so hard you yelped, your whole body jolting against his chest, “you’re takin’ it right now. takin’ it so fuckin’ good, baby. stretchin’ open for me. just like you’re supposed to.”

he squeezed your hips harder, dragging you down to meet every brutal thrust, grinding you against the thick base of his cock, forcing your puffy clit to smear wetly against the mess of sweat and cum pooling between your bodies.

you could feel it everywhere his heat, his strength, his filth, the thick, heavy stink of sweat and sex clinging to your skin, to the rug, to the air itself like a second skin.

he licked up your jaw, filthy and possessive, his breath hot and wet against your ear.

“smell so good, baby,” he panted, tongue dragging a wet stripe along your neck, “all scratchy and sweaty and fuckin’ mine. nasty lil pussy. smell like you’ve been sittin’ on my cock all day. fuck, i’m gonna ruin you.”

you came without warning screaming, shaking, grinding down helplessly as your pussy spasmed violently around his fat cock, soaking him, squeezing him, milking him for more.

he snarled, hips jerking, cock throbbing brutally inside you.

“fuck gonna fill you up again, baby gonna stuff you full till you’re leakin’ for days.”

and he did.

he slammed up into you one last time, deep and brutal, the swollen head of his cock grinding against the spongy, battered walls of your pussy and then he was cumming.

thick, hot, endless.

you could feel it, could feel every thick pulse of his cock dumping filthy, sticky loads deep inside you, so much it forced your pussy to stretch even wider to take it, so much it leaked out around the thick base of his cock, dripping down your thighs, soaking into the rug beneath you.

you sobbed, trembling violently, your nails scraping uselessly against his slippery skin.

but he didn’t let you go.

he held you there. trapped. stuffed full.

one huge arm wrapping tight around your back, the other hand cradling the back of your head, pressing you down against his chest like he couldn’t bear to let even an inch of you escape.

you whimpered weakly, too exhausted to fight, too overstimulated to move, your pussy still fluttering weakly around his softening cock, your whole body trembling from the brutal fucking he’d given you.

he kissed the side of your head. soft. almost tender.

“stay right here,” he whispered against your hair, voice raw and hoarse, “gonna keep you plugged up all night, baby. ain’t lettin’ you go. not ever.”

you were already half-passed out against him, your cheek mashed against the sweaty heat of his chest, your thighs sticky and raw, the musky scent of sex and sweat and cum filling your nose like a brand you’d never be able to wash away.

toji was already getting hard again underneath you.

you must’ve dozed off for a minute because the next thing you knew, he was shifting under you, thick arms caging you in tighter against his sweaty chest, the rough scrape of his beard dragging against your temple as he nuzzled into you like a dog claiming a bone.

you whimpered weakly, too fucked-out and oversensitive to do anything but whine as you felt him roll his hips under you, grinding his cock still thick, still half-hard and heavy from the brutal fucking he’d just given you slow and lazy against the messy crack of your ass.

“mmm,” he rumbled, voice rough and satisfied, “sweet lil thing…still drippin’ on me…fuck, baby, you’re perfect.”

you huffed a shaky breath, your fingers twitching against the hot, sweaty skin of his chest, trying to squirm away from the thick, heavy pressure of him grinding slow and deliberate against your ass.

“toji,” you mumbled, squirming half-heartedly, “why the fuck is your cock even bigger now…?”

you heard the smug, lazy chuckle rumble up from deep in his chest before you felt it vibrate against your body.

“bulkin’, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice dripping with cocky satisfaction as he rolled his hips again, making sure you could feel the fat, sticky weight of his cock dragging heavy and slow between the mess of your thighs, “lil extra eatin’, lil extra liftin’…this cock’s puttin’ on size just like the rest of me.”

he flexed his hips again, grinding the fat, flushed head of his cock along the sensitive curve of your ass, smearing slick and sweat across your skin, the swollen tip dragging dangerously close to your sore, puffy pussy.

you whimpered, trying to nudge your hips away, but he just grabbed your waist and slammed you back down with one big hand, his palm smacking loudly against your ass, making you gasp.

“stay,” he growled low in your ear, grinding up harder, deliberately dragging the heavy, leaking head along the sticky mess between your thighs, “you’re not goin’ anywhere, baby. not when you feel this fuckin’ good.”

you groaned, rolling your eyes, your cheeks burning hot.

“you’re disgusting,” you muttered, voice weak and trembling, but the words had no heat, your body betraying you as you squirmed helplessly against the fat, grinding length of him.

he just laughed again, low and cocky, the thick muscles of his arms flexing around you as he dragged his big, rough palms up your sides, mapping every curve of your sticky, fucked-out body like he owned it.

“show me your lovely tits, baby,” he rasped against your ear, licking a hot, wet stripe up the side of your neck, “c’mon…wanna see ‘em…wanna suck on ‘em…wanna rub my fat fuckin’ cock all over ’em…”

you groaned louder, rolling your eyes again, shoving weakly at his chest.

“god, stop acting like a fuckin’ mutt,” you grumbled, squirming as he rutted his cock up between your asscheeks again, deliberately grinding the slick, fat length against your sticky, trembling skin.

“can’t help it,” he breathed against your jaw, teeth scraping gently over your flushed skin, “you made me like this. scratchy lil pussy, sweaty lil tits, soft lil stomach…fuckin’ perfect…made to be ruined by me.”

you shivered, feeling his cock throb harder against you, feeling his big, rough hands slide down to your ass again, squeezing and spanking it slow, leaving bright red handprints on your sore, trembling skin.

“lemme see ‘em, sweetheart,” he whispered, nipping at your earlobe, grinding up harder so you could feel the thick, heavy pulse of his cock between your thighs, “lemme suck on ‘em while i stuff this fat cock back inside you. c’mon, baby. be good.”

you groaned, dropping your forehead against his sweaty chest in defeat, too tired, too sensitive, too messy to fight him properly anymore.

toji just smiled.

that slow, filthy, satisfied grin.

the grin of a man who knew he had you exactly where he wanted you.

messy, sweaty, stuffed full of his cum, soft and fucked-out and trembling on top of him.

and he wasn’t done.

not even close.

you whimpered weakly against his chest, squirming as he ground the heavy weight of his cock between your thighs again, the swollen head dragging slick and slow over the mess leaking down your ass.

“toji..!” you started, voice cracking, but he just groaned, nosing into your hair, licking the salty sweat from your scalp like he couldn’t get close enough.

“fuck, baby,” he muttered, voice thick and almost broken, “smell so good. all fucked-out and sweaty and messy for me…fuckin’ love it. love when you’re like this.”

he rutted his hips up again, slow and deliberate, the fat tip of his cock sliding through the sticky mess between your thighs, smearing it all over your ass, your folds, your trembling inner thighs.

“could keep you like this forever,” he rasped, nipping your jaw, “keep you stuffed full…leakin’ down your thighs…scratchy lil pussy all swollen for me…pretty lil tits bouncin’ while i fuck the brains outta you…”

you groaned, kicking your feet weakly, trying to wriggle away.

“you’re fuckin’ disgusting,” you muttered, rolling your eyes so hard it made your head spin. “seriously, you sound like a fuckin’ caveman right now !”

he laughed, low and cocky, that filthy, rough sound that rumbled straight into your cunt.

“yeah?” he teased, dragging his tongue up the side of your sweaty throat, his big hands sliding up to squeeze your ribs, “that why you’re still sittin’ here so pretty, lettin’ me grind my fat cock all over your cute lil ass?”

you flushed, squirming harder, but it only made him groan again, rutting up into you with slow, heavy rolls of his hips.

“fuck, baby…feel that? feel how hard you make me?” he rasped, dragging one hand down to squeeze a handful of your ass, smacking it lightly so your whole body jolted against his. “all this cock…just for you…made it bigger just for you, sweetheart.”

“shut up,” you grumbled, turning your head away, cheeks burning, but he only chuckled again, pressing lazy kisses along your temple, your ear, your sweaty jaw.

“nah, baby,” he whispered against your skin, voice low and dangerous, “not shuttin’ up till i see those tits.”

you groaned loudly, smacking your forehead against his chest in frustration.

“you’re obsessed,” you muttered, voice muffled against his skin.

he laughed again, the sound full of nothing but filthy affection.

“damn right i’m obsessed,” he said, tightening his arms around you so you couldn’t squirm away. “been obsessed since the second you walked around here all sweaty and itchy and grumpy with that scratchy lil bush pokin’ out your panties…fuck, baby, i almost lost my fuckin’ mind.”

you huffed, trying to hide your face, but he was already dragging his big hands up under your shirt, rough palms dragging against your sticky, flushed skin, thumbs brushing the under-curve of your tits.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he coaxed, voice sweet and filthy at once, “lemme see ‘em. lemme suck on ‘em. been fuckin’ dreamin’ about it all day. got this fat cock grindin’ up your ass and you still actin’ shy?”

you wriggled, whining low in your throat, but you didn’t stop him when he pushed your shirt up, baring your sweaty tits to the humid, cum-thick air.

“fuck,” he groaned, voice cracking, “fuck, look at you…so fuckin’ pretty, baby…perfect lil tits all sticky and soft just for me.”

he cupped them both in his big hands, squeezing slow and possessive, thumbs flicking over your sensitive nipples until they peaked under his rough touch, his mouth watering at the sight.

you rolled your eyes again, trying to act annoyed even though you were shivering against him.

“god, you’re such a freak,” you muttered weakly.

he just grinned, leaning up to catch one of your nipples between his teeth, sucking slow and filthy, moaning low in his throat like he was savoring the taste of you.

“mmph…freak for you, baby,” he slurred against your skin, dragging his tongue in sloppy, wet circles around your nipple before biting it just hard enough to make you yelp. “only for you. only for this nasty, sweaty lil body you keep hidin’ from me like it ain’t the best fuckin’ thing i ever touched.”

you whimpered, thighs trembling, your whole body grinding down helplessly against the fat, heavy length of his cock trapped between your bodies.

“shit…toji…” you gasped, nails scraping against his sweaty shoulders as he rolled his hips up again, grinding the thick, leaking head against the soaked mess of your folds.

“yeah, that’s it, baby,” he whispered against your chest, mouthing at your tits, nipping and sucking slow and messy, “grind that soft lil pussy all over me…let me feel how fuckin’ messy you are…fuck, you smell so good…so fuckin’ sweet when you’re nasty…”

you cried out, rocking helplessly against him now, his cock sliding heavy and slow against your dripping folds, your thighs trembling violently around his thick waist.

“gonna fuck you again, baby,” he rasped, voice cracking, grinding up harder so you could feel the fat, slick head of his cock dragging against your swollen clit, “gonna stuff you full again…keep you leakin’ all fuckin’ night…”

you sobbed weakly, nails digging into his chest, but you didn’t move away.

couldn’t move away.

didn’t want to.

not when he was looking at you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

not when his fat, heavy cock was dragging slow and messy between your thighs, teasing your battered pussy, making your whole body throb with need.

not when you could still feel his cum leaking out of you, hot and sticky, pooling between your thighs, dripping onto his thick, flexing abs.

and toji?

toji just smiled.

the slow, filthy, satisfied smile of a man who knew he’d won.

who knew he’d broken you down till you couldn’t hide from him anymore.

who knew you were already his, body and soul.

“good girl,” he whispered, licking sweat from your tits, grinding the fat head of his cock against your soaked folds one last time before lining himself up with your fluttering, abused entrance, “lemme love you nasty, baby…lemme fuck you till you forget you ever wanted to hide from me…”

and then he was pushing back in.

thick. heavy. brutal.

stretching you open all over again.

୨୧ thank you so much for reading. i know this one was extra filthy but it’s written with a lot of love (and a lot of thirst). i appreciate you for letting me share the mess inside my head.

your support means more than you know. stay nasty. stay loved.💌

onlypinkslut

1K notes · View notes

gojosconsort · 3 months ago

Text

“forgot dinner again, huh?” HUSBAND!KENTO says, stepping into your shared home to find you lazing all day, no dinner ready for him once more (silly you). he towers over you, eyes dark. “promised you’d learn... guess i’ll fuck it into you.”

you barely get a word out before he’s dragging you off the bed, forcing you to your knees, unzipping fast—his cock’s out, thick and throbbing, veins pulsing, precum already smearing the tip. “open wide, now.” he fists your hair tight, and when you do, he shoves in hard, cramming your mouth, lips stretched wide, hitting your throat ‘til you gag.

“fuck, that’s it—choke on it,” he groans, thrusting deep, hitting your throat fast and rough, balls slapping your chin. spit bubbles, dripping down your neck, pooling on the floor as he keeps going, shoving deeper ‘til your eyes water. “look at you, takin’ me so well” you’re a mess, tears streaking, but he doesn't let up, fucking your face ‘til your voice is gone, just wet, nasty sounds. “so fuckin’ good for me, huh?”

you can’t breathe, gagging, and he cums hard, thick ropes flooding your throat. “swallow it,” he pants, pulling out slow, spit stringing from his tip to your wrecked mouth and cum spills past your lips. he rubs it over your swollen lips, loving how you locked will his cum all over your pretty mouth. “good girl... took me so well. next time, dinner’s on the table—or i’ll tie you up and do worse.”

#—amy writes : nanami kento ★#—amy writes : dark content ★#cw consensual non-consent #cw dark content #cw noncon #cw dubcon #<- just to be safe #cw spit #cw degradation #nanami kento smut #nanami smut #kento smut #nanami x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #divider by cafekitsune

1K notes · View notes

vampyr-ss · 6 months ago

Text

family outing | t. fushiguro

authors note: happy holidays freaks.

summary: toji decides to take his pretty little stepdaughter out for a picnic

pairing: toji fushiguro x stepdaughter!reader

wc: 4k

warnings: smut under the cut + dark content (stepcest) + public sex + spitting + pussy/ass eating + mating press + breeding kink + comparison + dumbification + dacryphilia + ‘daddy’ + creampie + overstimulation + infidelity + praise + degrading + squirting + age gap (15 years) + slut shaming + lmk if i missed anything mwah

others: inspired by these videos: 1 2, unedited

toji never really cared for your mother. she was decent, had a good job and held his attention for long enough. it didn’t take a genius to know you hated her, though. you were hostile whenever you were home and spent most of your time far away from her in the mansion you called home.

you were home for your brief holiday before you began grad school, and toji had failed to keep his eyes off of you from the beginning. when he came home to were laying on a pool chair wearing the tiniest fucking bikini he’s ever seen. you’d barely looked over your sunglasses to greet him. that was the first time he wanted to bend you over, though excitedly not the last.

you barely spoke to anyone while you were home despite your mother pestering you about getting to know toji. they got married while you were out of the country, not that you’d bothered making an effort to see her or him anyway. however, toji was enjoying watching you shift in false discomfort when your mom suggested you two go off and do something together while she works. he watches the way your legs cross and your eyes light up albeit subtly. that’s why he takes the perfect opportunity to smile evenly at your mother.

“we could go out for a picnic. it’ll be an easy way to get along. everyone likes food.” toji’s lips quirk up into something more sinister, but no one seemed to notice but you. you arch an eyebrow at him and glance down at your phone briefly for the time. “it’s almost 4, a little later for lunch don’t you think? plus, it’s getting dark soon.” excuses. toji clicks his tongue in false approval, knowing damn well you’re trying your best not to be alone with him. and you are. because you have no idea what you’ll do if you’re left with him.

“you afraid of the dark, sweetheart?” he snarks easily at you, jutting his chin slightly. you puff air from your nose, rolling your eyes irritatedly at him. oh, how he wished to make them roll differently. “no. i'm worried about the people wandering parks at night.” oh? toji smiles but decides against voicing the nasty thought that ran through his head. “listen, we’ll head out to the park and you can go ahead on to work. don’t worry about us, honey. we’ll get along just fine.” toji’s eyes cut to you briefly as he speaks but most of his words are focused on your mom.

oblivious to the rising tension between you two, she smiles and claps her hands excitedly. “good! good! okay, i really have to go but i love you two. send me pictures and be safe!” she kisses the side of your head (much to your dismay) before kissing toji. she’s out of the door faster then you can blink and you slowly realize exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into. toji watches you carefully before he decides whether he wants to make his next move now or later. your legs are tensing, he can see that because of those tiny fucking shorts you have on. you’re biting down on your lip and scrolling aimlessly on your phone.

he steps closer to the couch and hesitates, looking down at you before resting his hands on your shoulders. “i think you should go get ready,” he purrs, letting his hands slide forward just slightly. you jolt but pretend that you hadn’t, swallowing thickly. “don’t need to stay out late, you know. we don’t know who might be wandering the park at night.” suddenly you hate yourself for speaking earlier but also thank yourself because the chills running down your spine are unimaginable.

"you're right." you murmur in response. "maybe we shouldn't go at all, would be much easier." you side-eye him out of the corner of your eye. toji ignores how you're glaring at him, settling for leaning down to whisper in your ear. "i'm going to put some finger food in one of those cooling bags your mom has. by the time i'm done, you better be down here. understood?" his voice is light, but there's a certain edge to it that makes you sit up straight.

you swallow and turn to face him fully. you've given up on distracting yourself with your phone, your heart is fluttering and your pussy clenching at his tone. "whatever." your voice shakes but you ignore it for the sake of your sanity. toji's jaw clenches but he doesn't work to say much. you finally stand to push past him on the other side of the couch, glancing up at him briefly as you go.

toji felt irritated, but he decided it was all in due time. he'd have his way with you one way or another. and this stupid little date would be perfect. perfect for him to fill your cunt.

that's exactly how you found yourself on your stomach, clawing at the blanket toji had oh-so gently sat down earlier. his strong hands grip the fat of your ass cheeks, spreading them so he can spit on your asshole. you clench subconsciously, whining softly at the foreign feeling. "shut up." toji hisses as he watches the glob of spit slide from your asshole and down your already wet folds.

"you're already showing me this fucking hole in public, you wanna get caught too? fucking slut." his words go straight to your pussy as it clenches around nothing. his tongue slides around the skin near your asshole. he teases you with long slow licks nearing closer and closer to your puckered hole. he wants to ease his fingers inside your ass and threaten to fuck the tight hole, but he needs to know how your cunt feels. he needs to know how tight the pussy you've been teasing him with is.

you dig your face impossibly deeper into the soft blanket underneath you. your fingers are already clenching the blanket and if you moan any louder someone will know exactly what's going on in your little secluded section of the park. toji's ministrations don't cease at your whines. instead, he slips his tongue in your ass while his fingers dig into your ass cheeks to pull them apart further.

"pretty fucking ass." he mumbles, pulling away briefly to admire the slick forming. "you've never had this ass eaten before? tell me, baby." you tilt your head back briefly to attempt to make eye contact with him, but this notion fails when he places harsh smacks on both of your ass cheeks. your back bends as you moan with a shaky hand covering your mouth.

he watches your ass and pussy clench around nothing, begging to be filled. toji traces his fingers along your pussy lips, laughing darkly when your cunt twitches in anticipation. "don't be a slut, baby. wait patiently and i'll give you what you want." the words are ironic coming from him because if it was up to him, he'd have fucked you into the ground by now. however, you looked so fucking good and you deserved to be ruined. so he'd ruin you.

his fingers slowly slide into your cunt, eliciting a loud squish! as they enter you. somehow there's already cum sliding down his fingers and he lets out the harshest scoff. "how long has it been? barely started eating this-" he emphasizes his point by thumbing at your asshole. "fucking hole and the other one 's wet? slutty, slutty baby. should've fucked you sooner."

if you weren't already feeling the effects of toji on you you'd have refuted his claim. he shouldn't have thought of fucking you at all...but you liked it. you wanted your stepdad to take time out of his day, out of his work week to fuck you. you wanted to feel bad and be scared to get caught as he filled you the exact way you needed to be filled. you wanted to sob an cry while his cock stretched you beyond what you’re used to.

toji’s tongue returns to your ass while his fingers slowly begin to pump in and out of you. his tongue ignores the resistance of your hole, pushing through to lick sloppily at the inside. every time his tongue slips inside it comes back out with a soft pop!, and the sound mixes with the loud wet noises coming from your poor cunt. toji’s fingers start to pick up the deeper he begins to get in your ass.

toji shifts slightly from behind you, adjusting to he can use his free hand to put his thumb in your ass. he laughs at the way you clench around his fingers. you’re so fucking needy. your pussy sucks his fingers in deeper every time he pulls out to thrust back in. “you always this fucking tight? or you just been waiting for this?” you whine, freeing your hand from your mouth to grip his wrist.

“i haven’t-! no! i’m not like that!” you cry desperately. toji snorts, pulling his thick fingers out of you to watch your reaction. your hips stutter, pausing briefly before shaking back against him to search for that fullness you’d lost. “‘not like that’? this pussy’s hungry for me and i ain’ even fed her properly. do you dream about this?” you shake your head again, parting your lips to argue with him when he shoves his fingers back into you.

you cry out again, softer this time despite your lack of secrecy the second he slipped his fingers into your cunt. toji laughs, kissing up your neck and across your jaw before landing at the corner of your lips. “shhh, baby girl.” he coos, kissing your lips as his fingers begin to piston in and out of you. your moans are swallowed my his hungry lips as they move against yours, sloppy and uncoordinated kisses being exchanged between the two of you. toji’s tongue slides against your lips before finding its way inside your mouth, wrapping around your tongue sloppily. you groan louder when his fingers find that spot deep inside of you, roughly pressing at the soft spot.

your hips twitch erratically at the newfound pleasure of having your g-spot abused. toji pulls away from your mouth, watching the fucked expression on your face as he dug his fingers further in you. he watches the way your eyes water and your lips pout before parting into a ‘o’ shape. you’re so fucking pretty, he really just cannot help himself. “behave and i’ll let you cum the first time.” he purrs sweetly, pressing a kiss to your parted lips.

toji doesn’t give you a real chance to reply. by the time you’ve barely come to your senses to reply, you feel his hot tongue nudging its way back into you. his fingers pump into you in quick, short pumps as his tongue assaults your asshole. he pulls away to spit harshly onto your open hole, chuckling lowly to himself as it winks back at him. you’re overwhelmed. you’ve never had someone pay so much attention to your ass, let alone lick at it like you’re some kind of dessert. you push your ass further into his face, desperate for the feeling to continue.

you start to feel that burning feeling in your tummy, your heart’s pounding and you temporarily forget you’re outside. you’ve forgotten toji’s words about being quiet but you still find yourself covering your mouth. this feels wrong, but it feels so so good. you sob loudly as a third finger slides into your pussy, glancing back at toji who only meets your gaze. you can see the smugness in his face and it does little to nothing to deter your orgasm. your face pinches, thighs tensing as the burning sensation overcomes you. “‘m gonna- oh fuck!”

the noise that leaves your throat is inhuman. you rock forward at the strength of your orgasm as your cunt flutters around toji’s fingers. you thought he’d stop but you can still feel his fingers pumping in and out of you still. toji’s tongue somehow finds itself deeper into your ass as you cum. the sensation renders you speechless, your voice escaping you. “don’t worry baby we’re not done.” toji shifts behind you, sliding his fingers from your drooling cunt. he presses a wet kiss to your asshole before pulling away completely. he spreads his fingers to watch your slick nearly keep them together, thick strings of cum spreading between each finger.

“don’t spent too much time coming down. i still have to fuck this pretty pussy.” he slaps your pussy for emphasis, laughing when you find your voice again to whine at the pain. "no toji. can't" you mumble into the blanket. your chest moves rapidly as you try to gather yourself. despite your protests, your pussy clenches as the cold air hits you with toji moving out of the way. your hips jut much to your annoyance, hips shifting forward and away from imaginary fingers.

"shh, sweet girl. daddy's gonna give ya what ya need." he murmurs, laughing to himself when your asshole clenched. toji teases your pussy, sliding his fat tip up and down your pretty, drenched pussy. he watches as his tip starts to glisten from your slick, the way his cock slides easily against you from how wet you are. he slaps his cock against you one more time before he decides to pull away, a sly smile tugging at his lips.

he slaps your ass with a sense of finality, gripping your hips. "turn over, baby girl. c'mon. don't make me wait." you push up on shaky arms to turn yourself over. somehow, the top of your sundress had stayed up and you were hoping he'd allow you that sense of conservation. knowing toji, though, he wouldn't. and he didn't. the second you turned over his hand was on the top of your dress, pulling it down to free your tits.

toji palms your tits roughly, pulling at your nipples as he ground his cock against you. his eyes flicker over you, the way your lips are parted and drool escapes them. he watches your lashes flutter as you blink in a futile attempt to become more aware. your dress is a little damp from both of your fluids, and your pussy looks so so pretty in this position. he's won the jackpot, he thinks. if only he married this pussy.

"enough. you ready for this, pretty girl?" you grunt harshly under him, glancing up at him to nod. toji slaps his cock against you one more time before beginning to slide into you. his fat tip begins to press into you, forcing a soft sob from your throat. it's an uncomfortable feeling because he's so big. you've been fucked before—plenty of times—but toji's cock is stretching you wide enough for you to be nervous. he'd had you on your stomach so long you hadn't gotten a chance to see how big he was. clearly, he was big enough to split you in half.

"toji..” you pause to frown up at him. “‘s not gonna fit.” he's nearly as thick as a soda can and long enough for you to be concerned. still, you peek at him through your lashes to beg him to stop or slow down. toji only rolls his eyes. "we're gonna make it fit, pretty baby. can you do that f'me? hmmm?" he settles his hands on either side of you, leaning down to brush his lips over yours. your eyes shift over his face, flickering up to his eyes before slowly making their way down to his lips.

if you hadn't gulped already toji would be convinced you were joking. you were questioning the fit but the way you were squeezing him--the way you gushed, toji knew you weren't scared. his hips shift as he pushes further into you. he smashes his lips against yours before you can cry out, quieting your moans and loud pleas. he knows you can take it because you're his good girl. you'd just have to prove it. "tight fucking cunt." he hisses against your mouth, shifting his hips forward once more. "not even halfway and she's tryna bully me out. why 's that, hm? she too shy? can't take this fucking dick?"

you whine against his lips, sniffling softly as tears begin to spill. "no, no! you're too big, toji. i can't- can't take it! please!" your cries fall on deaf ears as toji presses down on your hips to slide further into you. he watches you squirm with a satisfied grin tugging at his lips. your body is warm and the tears that slip from your eyes are scorching. he watches in pure satisfaction as your cunt clenches tightly around him the further he digs into you. "bet this pussy wasn't shy when you were in college." he tuts at you, releasing one side of your hip to spank your clit.

he relishes the way your hips twitch and your back arches. you're so fucking responsive. "remember your mom said you're a sorority girl. how many times were you gettin' fucked in the bathroom? now you wanna tell me 's too big? you're my little slut, baby. you can take it." you're not gonna tell him when you can take it and, frankly, toji doesn't care. his eyebrows twitch in annoyance at your escalating whines. you've come to your senses because you're pushing at his stomach. your eyes are closed in both discomfort and pleasure, and tears are starting to accumulate on the blanket.

"fucked those college boys with no problem but the second a real man tries to take this pussy you wanna cry." he rolls his eyes in pure irritation, gripping your hips tightly so he can finally slam you down on his cock. he groans in relief as your warmth surrounds him fully. his cock twitches inside of you and he already knows he's fucked. you're so fucking wet, so fucking tight. he can't take it. he moves his hands to slide underneath your thighs, pushing them up so that he has more room.

"move...toji please." your voice is so soft he would've missed it if the wind was blowing. your stepdad tuts at you, spreading your legs further to settle between them. "please what? what's my name?" he watches the conflict in your eyes. you're contemplating if you want to give in (as if you hadn't already). your eyes flutter shut before opening again. "please," you pause, a disgusted frown pulling at your lips. "daddy please? fuck me! i need it- need you so bad."

a warm feeling starts to brew in his chest after your little declaration. toji hadn't given a fuck when your mother mentioned she had an adult daughter but now? god was he grateful he met her. he would've never found this pretty pussy on his own. "since you asked so nicely, princess. gonna take it realll good f'me, huh? slutty fucking pussy." he practically purrs his words to you. toji doesn't bother starting slow, immediately starting with pounding in and out of your cunt.

your cunt makes the nastiest, wettest noise as toji's cock slides in and out of you. he's not going nearly as fast as he wants, but your pussy gushes around him nonetheless. your back arches off the ground as his tip kisses your cervix. he keeps hitting deep inside you every time he pulls out halfway just to fuck right back into you. "oh my god.." you murmur. you shift your hips in an attempt to fuck yourself forward as he continues to pound into you.

"oh my fuck- daddy please! harder! need it!" you're practically sobbing for him to fuck you harder. your fingers press weakly against his stomach and you find yourself unable to decide if you really want him to go harder. your pussy feels so full--you feel so fucking full and you feel like you're going to explode. "whatever you say, baby. been so fucking good." toji leans over, pressing your legs back further. his lips attach to yours in the neediest kiss you've ever taken part of. it's sloppy and desperate and it's so fucking good.

your tongue slides against his in near perfection, one of your hands reaching up to grasp at his hair. you pull him closer to you, jutting your hips against his. toji's pounding is incessant, and your cry against his lips. "let go of my legs, toji. i want you to cum in me." you whine against his lips. toji releases your legs reluctantly, letting you wrap them around his waist. he grunts as you push him impossibly deeper inside of you. "fuck i should've met you sooner." his hisses, pressing down on your stomach. "should've married this fucking cunt. could be inside you for days, keep cumming inside of you, get you pregn- oh fuck!"

you press toji inside of you to keep him there. your fingers grasp his hair tightly, forcing his lips to remain against yours. he's groaning despite your attempts to keep the both of you quiet, his hips beginning to stutter and your fingers beginning to twitch. "then fucking do it. fill me up daddy, please." he laughs against you, pulling back to slam back into you. "yeah, baby. knew this fucking pussy would want me. i knew you'd fucking love this." you nod dumbly, muttering incoherently about how you need him.

toji grips your neck as his hips begin to stutter. your pussy tightens around him and flutters as he nudges your g-spot. every time he pulls back he hits it with perfection only to push forward and kiss your cervix. you need him to cum inside you. you need it the same way you need oxygen. you just want to feel the same warmth you've craved since you met him a week ago. he's right, he should've married you. you'd give him what he wants and more. "is this pretty pussy gonna cum for me?" he's whispering so close to you that you can feel the warmth against your wet lips.

you nod hard and fast, squeezing your eyes shut as the knot in your stomach tightens. you move your hips to no real avail. he's fucked you so stupid you can barely match his rhythm. your pussy almost hurts from the stretch and the overstimulation from your first lingering orgasm. you can feel your asshole flutter whilst your pussy attempts to shut around toji's dick. "ohhh i'm gonna- fuckfuckfuck." you sob your words out, nails clawing angrily at toji's back. he doesn't let up, continuing to fuck harshly into your pussy even as he feels spurts hit the bottom of his stomach. he ignores the fact that you've squirted on his dick, fucking you like he needs it.

"this is what i needed from you. knew you weren't a brat. jus' needed to be fucked." he chuckles, though the joke is lost on you. he watches the way your eyes have rolled. your pretty lips are parted, but no sound leaves them. you're done for and he's about to cum so deep in you that he knows it'll take. toji slams his hips forward, his balls slapping against your ass as he finally cums. he glances down to see the white ring of your cream at the base of his dick, now watching his own cum drip down. he can see your pussy twitch and he presses meanly on your clit just to watch you practically howl.

"too much." you murmur, eyes opening just slightly to see his face. toji presses a kiss to your lips, licking at them to let himself in. he gives you one more sloppy kiss, relishing in the after of the harsh orgasms the two of you had. "you did so good." he coos, pressing kisses to your tear-stained cheeks. "good fucking girl. c'mon, we'll go home so you can take a bath." you grunt, blinking your eyes completely open to watch his face. he was looking at you differently. softer. maybe you'd like having a stepdaddy after all.

#dark content #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk #toji fushiguro #toji fushigro x reader #toji x reader #toji x you #stepcest cw #tw pseudocest #tw stepcest #dark smut #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #smut #fushiguro toji x reader

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ccazimi · 2 months ago

Text

You Are Also Like Me

pt.1 - pt.2 - pt. 3

cw: incest (uncle/niece but there's some faux dadcest idk how to explain... either way it's only between reader and sukuna), age gap, dubcon, freudian elements, reader's daddy issues are explored in depth, reader has family issues, fluff, angst, mutual hurt, dry humping, kissing/making out, unprotected piv sex, creampies, loss of virginity, degradation/namecalling, dirtytalking, humiliation, sadism/masochism, slight blood kink if you squint, pussy eating/ass eating, blowjob, deepthroating, spit play, cumplay, fingering, mdni, DDDNE wc: 21k a/n: im sorry the if the formatting is ass, apparently tumblr only allows "1000 blocks in a post" so i had to go through and cut a bunchhhh of paragraph breaks D: it might read better on ao3

“I want you to take my virginity.”

Sukuna’s eyes flit to yours as he takes another bite of his food, not answering right away, just watching you.

Annoying.

You put down your chopsticks and refuse to take another bite until he gives you some response.

Finally, he smirks at you, speaking lazily. “That’s a big step. You sure you’re still not just worked up from the other night or something?”

“That was like four days ago,” you hiss, “So no— it’s obviously not that.”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs as he chews. “Maybe you got all horny remembering it.”

You lean forward, teeth clenched, scowling at him hard enough to kill. “Can you please just give me a useful answer, for once?”

His eyes flicker down to the chopsticks laying across your plate of food. “Eat. I don’t pay Uraume as much as I do for you to throw a tantrum and waste your food.”

God he can really be insufferable sometimes.

“I’ll eat when you answ—”

“Eat. Now.” Sukuna’s voice drops to a stern command and he stills, watching you expectantly until you finally pick up the chopsticks and shove a bite of food into your mouth, angrily.

“Good girl.” He resumes eating, and you swear he waits a beat longer just to piss you off before finally adding, “I’ll do it whenever you sign up for classes.”

You stiffen slightly.

Classes. Six months.

You know damn well what you agreed to. Logically, it's the right move—and yet, any mention of it makes your chest tighten with a dull, anxious ache. Makes you want to think about literally anything else.

But Sukuna—in the most ironic way—is actually good at getting you to do things. You know he won’t bend on this, not when it comes to your future.

“You know I’ll have to ask my parents about that, right?” you point out flatly. “Especially if you’re financing it.”

“Already spoke to them,” he says, casually.

“What?! When?”

“None of your concern. But your mom’ll probably call you later today or tomorrow to confirm, so might as well start prepping now.”

You stare at him for a second, then just huff. “Fine. You promise?”

“Of course, princess. You’ll have to show me proof, though.”

Reluctantly, you nod.

Just like he said, the call comes later that evening—your mother’s voice neutral, if a little relieved, as she runs through application deadlines and housing options. She doesn’t say it, but you can hear it in her tone—anything to get you back on track. Back to your degree, to who you used to be.

You tell her you’ll look into it.

And you do, sort of. You open your laptop that night, click through your old student portal and check a few deadlines.

But the tabs sit there open and unanswered. Because you’ve always been like this—avoidant, stubborn when it matters most.

Maybe it’s fear. Or maybe it’s something deeper, some twisted logic that if you never re-enroll, never hit submit, then the end of your six months here won’t come, and that staying will stay possible.

That Sukuna won't actually make you go.

But as the days pass, your need for him grows heavier. Hungrier. Harder and harder to ignore. Sukuna promised you ruin and while you waited expectantly for the next three days, on edge and feeling like a fool, he gave you absolutely nothing, leaving you out to dry.

His way of messing with you, probably. Making you really beg for it.

Just like now — dangling himself just out of reach, so you’ll cave and sign up for those damn classes. The day after he told you his condition, he’s definitely started playing with you more — not cruel, but deliberate.

Close touches, subtle innuendos, intense eye contact.

In the evening, when you come out of the bathroom with your hair still damp and dressed in pajamas, Sukuna calls to you from the dining table where he’s nursing a glass of whiskey.

You expect a lecture—maybe about forgetting to empty the dishwasher again—but instead, he catches your wrist as you pass. You let him pull you in, straddling his lap, pleasantly surprised.

His fingers skim your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“Make sure to dry your hair before bed. Don’t want you catching a cold,” he murmurs.

You snort under your breath, but don’t bother saying anything. In your experience, explaining to anyone your parents’ age that cold wet hair making you sick is nothing more than a myth, is a futile endeavor.

But then his lips are on yours—soft at first, then deeper. All tongue and teeth and the faint bitter taste of whiskey melting into your mouth.

Your hand slides into his hair as you tilt your head back, letting him in, sighing when he nips your lip. Your hips shift instinctively, seeking friction—pressing down against the bulge in his pants in a slow, barely-there grind. His hand slides to your lower back, holding you steady, letting you move just enough to feel it.

Ever since he taught you how to kiss, it’s secretly been one of your favorite things to do with him—making out at odd, quiet moments until you’re breathless and aching without even realizing how far you've gone.

But then he pulls back, leaving you flushed and involuntarily chasing after his mouth.

You blink up at him, frowning, your thighs still tight around him—and the smirk tugging at his lips tells you everything. Abruptly, he pushes you off his lap and stands, tossing back the rest of his drink before looking down at you, smug.

“Well, I’m off to bed. See you in the morning.”

You shoot him the dirtiest look you can manage as he turns away, clearly trying not to laugh.

“Oh, and dry your hair. I’m serious.”

And with that, he’s gone—leaving you alone, warm, aching, and seriously considering banging your head against the wall.

Two more days pass, still no progress.

You want him—crave him in the way your body always does—but your mind keeps recoiling from the one simple task that would make everything easier.

Instead, you take the long way around it.

Late at night, you drift to his room like it’s nothing, one of his shirts hanging off your frame soft and oversized, paired with the smallest pajama shorts you own. You don’t knock, as has become habit lately.

He’s seated in his bed, glasses on, looking at something on his phone, not even bothering to glance up when you speak.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

His eyes stay on the screen, reflecting on his frames. “You’ve got your own room. What’s wrong with it?”

You pout a little, speaking softly, “I just…don’t feel like being alone.”

There’s a pause as he scrolls, and you step a little closer, the air thickening.

“You said you’d do it if I signed up for my classes. I did.”

You didn’t—not yet, at least. But maybe if you keep him distracted, he’ll forget about that part.

Sukuna just cocks a slitted brow. “That’s funny. Don’t remember seeing any proof yet.”

You hesitate, but decide to push on anyway, hoping you can soon make him forget about the proof. So instead of answering you climb onto his lap.

Sukuna stiffens, jaw ticking slightly, but he lets you. You lean in, pressing a kiss to his jaw, shaky fingers coming up to unbutton the top of his shirt — in nervousness, frustration, need, you don’t know.

He doesn’t react, just watches you quietly, face impassive before quietly asking, “What are you doing?”

You swallow, trying to sound as confident as you can. “What do you think?”

His hand finally moves, up your back, till the nape of your neck, and you finally think you’ve won. You lean in slightly, but then he tilts your head up, forcing you to meet his narrowed eyes.

“You’ve gotten pretty brave…”

You gulp, and he smiles — all teeth, no warmth.

“You think this is how it works? You crawl into my lap, bat your lashes, and I forget every condition we laid down?”

Your throat tightens, despising how smug he sounds.

“It’s not like that,” you protest defensively.

“No? Then what is it like?”

You don’t answer, as his thumb brushes your lower lip. “I know what you want. You’ve made it very clear.”

Then he pulls away, leaving you sitting on his lap flushed and frustrated.

“You don’t get to change the rules just because you’re impatient. Desperate girls don’t make demands.”

“I’m not desperate.”

Your second lie of the night, and both of you know it.

He snickers. “What’s this little show then, hm?”

You bristle, and he leans in, speaking softly, just a little cruel. “Show me proof, princess. Otherwise you’re just pretending you want it.”

You’re not given a chance to retort before he lifts you off his lap, deposits you onto the bed like a doll, and goes back to whatever he was looking at on his phone.

If he was trying to get through to you, it certainly worked.

“I did it.”

As usual, he barely looks at you. “Did what?”

“My application. I signed up for classes. Check your email.”

He’s quiet for a beat—then his phone buzzes, and he opens the attachment. Your name, bold and official. All real.

He exhales, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Tch. Didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

“You said you’d stop dodging me if I did,” you say, voice taut.

Sukuna sets the phone down, gaze cutting toward you like a blade. “And you followed through,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”

Your breath catches, pulse quickening.

Then he rises slowly, deliberate, until he’s standing in front of you. His voice drops; quiet, amused almost.

“So that’s all it takes to get you to commit to your future,” he says, brushing your hair back. “One fuck from your uncle?”

You tense, but he just leans in to whisper near your ear, “I bet your parents wouldn’t be so proud of you for going back if they knew the real reason…”

You flinch, heat and humiliation mixing in your chest because of course he has to make this as vulgar as possible.

But you refuse to back down.

“You promised.”

“I did,” he says simply. Then he cups your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“Just remember,” Sukuna adds, gaze dark and steady, “You signed up for this.”

You don’t look away, not even as the air grows heavier, as you feel a certain thrum starting up between your legs.

“I know,” you whisper, throat dry.

He watches you for a long beat, eyes roaming over your face like he’s searching for hesitation. But you don’t give him any — you want this more than anything.

“Take off your clothes,” he says finally. It’s not a request.

You’ve done this before, you’ve done worse than this before, and somehow you’re still not entirely used to the feeling of undressing in front of someone — certainly not in front of him.

Your fingers tremble as you reach for the hem of your shirt, but you do it, breaking the silence with the soft rustle of fabric, the whisper of cotton slipping off skin, revealing the expanse of your skin.

Next your pants, pulling at your ankles before you step out of them. His gaze darkens with every inch of bare skin revealed but he doesn’t move to touch you, not yet.

He watches, waiting, expecting as your hands reach around back to unclasp your bra. It falls to the ground, exposing your tits, your tightening nipples. You stand there, bare under his eyes that roam your curves, heart thudding, trying to ground yourself.

And still, he doesn’t touch you.

“Are you scared?” he asks, voice quieter now.

You swallow. “No.”

“Liar.”

You step forward anyway, closing the distance between you, resisting the urge to cross your arms over your chest. “Do it before I change my mind.”

His hand slides into your hair, firm but not cruel, tilting your head back. He looks at you like something he wishes he didn’t crave as badly as he did. Something he wants to leave his fingerprints all over anyways.

“Six months,” he murmurs against your lips. “That’s all we’ve got. Then no more of this.”

“Then stop wasting time.”

That’s all it takes. He kisses you—nothing like the last time. There’s no pretense now, no power play. Just heat, and want, and something else buried beneath it all, something like the night he told you he wants to ruin you.

He lifts you like you weigh nothing, carrying you to the bedroom. There’s no hesitation in him, just intent.

You feel it in the way he throws you onto his bed, peels your underwear down your legs, the way he tilts your chin back to bare your throat to him, kissing it like something he owns. Kisses turn into something harsher, sucking, biting, and the rough scrape of teeth that stings enough to make you suck in a sharp breath. You know now there’ll be marks of his claim littering your skin for days after.

But when he pauses—just for a second—eyes meeting yours again, it’s not just control you see there. It’s restraint.

A question, silent but real. You answer it by pulling him down, mouth meeting his again.

And then there’s no more waiting.

There’s a sound that escapes you when his mouth finds your throat again—quiet, startled, and helpless. He drinks it in like it’s what he wanted all along.

Warm palms roam slowly, like he’s mapping out every fragile inch, learning you by feel, by the way you shiver under his touch as his he trails open-mouthed kisses down your neck, along your collarbone.

You wonder if this is what sex is supposed to feel like - being worshipped and ruined at the same time. His hands make their way to your tits, tweaking one of your hard nipples between his fingers, before he bends to capture the other one in his mouth.

You whimper a little at the feel of his tongue tracing wet circles over the areola, then sucking hard enough on the bud for it to sting just a bit before he releases the pressure again.

"You really went and did it,” he mutters against your skin. “All that pouting, all that begging... just to get fucked like a slut.”

You swallow, your own trembling hands making their way to the hem of his shirt, tugging at it, craving more of him, the feel of his bare skin against yours. Sukuna takes the hint, pushing off you with a low chuckle, just enough to pull his own shirt over his head. Dark markings crawl from over his shoulders, along his chiseled abs.

All muscle and sinew rippling under his flesh.

It occurs to you that you’ll never want a boy after this, not after you’ve been with a real man.

“It’s rude to stare,” he comments, arms flexing as he tosses his shirt aside.

“Give me some more to stare at,” you mutter shamelessly.

Eager to see him again, all of him.

Sukuna smirks, an arrogant gleam flickering in his eyes as he steps even closer, his body hovering over yours.

“Mm, you’re getting impatient again. We’ve got all night sweetheart.”

His eyes roam down to the apex of your thighs, where they’re clenching together, trying to relieve some of the ache.

“Spread yourself.”

You take a shuddering breath as you part your legs as wide as you can, heat flowing directly to both your cheeks and your cunt. He lays on the bed, and you leak more arousal in anticipation of his face right in front of your folds.

“I said spread yourself, girl. Do I have to show you how it’s done?”

You frown at him, trying to keep your voice steady. “I d-did, can’t spread my legs any further than this—”

He clicks his tongue in annoyance, before taking your hand and using your fingers spread your inner folds open.

“Like this. Hold it.”

The flesh inside is softer, more sensitive, and you cringe when you feel it cool from air brushing against the slick skin.

“Why? It’s not…comfortable…” you mutter nervously.

“It’ll feel better,” he states simply, large hands wrapping around your thighs to pull you in closer while you try to breathe and stay calm.

You trust him and hold yourself open as he leans in, and in a moment you understand what he means now — his tongue hot and insistent against not just your clit, but the surrounding areas of your sensitive inner labia.

You can feel everything, every stroke of his tongue, every small nudge of it against your clit and your sticky flesh. Bolts of pleasure light up your spine, as he works against your dripping cunt, lapping with increasing fervor. You whimper and quiver as he licks inside every crevice of your cunt, sucking on your clit, eating you out greedily.

You pant, feeling hot from your cunt all the way to the backs of your watering eyes as you twitch and tense, feeling yourself come closer and closer.

“Mmh, j-just like that, don’t -ah- fucking stop—” you whine desperately tilting your pelvis into his mouth for more, and soon you’re cumming all over his tongue, his hands keeping your thighs pried apart as they threaten to lock in around his head.

You finish, muscles laxing into a trembling mess and he intentionally gives you one last, harsh lash of his tongue right against your overstimulated clit, making you flinch in pain. He pulls away, inspecting your sopping hole, humming in approval before standing up to slip off his pants.

Down they go, and you can’t help but watch the large bulge in his boxers straining against the fabric, a wet patch already formed. They slip off and you ogle unabashedly at his large, leaking cock, his hard length swaying slightly as he steps forward, crawling onto the bed.

His mouth latches back onto one of your tits, suckling and licking gently as he strokes himself a few times.

“You’re shaking,” Sukuna murmurs, almost amused.

“I’m not scared,” you breathe, though your voice wavers.

He smirks against the slick mess on your breast. “Maybe you should be.”

His hand trails down your waist, rough palm against skin, as he finally rests his cock between your thighs.

Warm, with a dizzying weight. Soft skin against skin.

Just the sensation of his bare cock on your folds feels oddly vulnerable and intimate, enough to make your ears burn hot. Your stomach does a flip when you peer down, finally able to gauge the sheer size of him when his length is laying across your mons like this, his swollen tip reaching all the way till your navel.

Despite it, you could stare at his cock for hours.

And then it occurs to you—

“Wait, do you have a condom? I’m…I’m not on the pill.”

The words come out like a choked gasp, as though something inside you finally gives way. Your mind stutters, the fog of desire lifting just enough for the ugly reality to sink in. The heat that was rushing through your veins turns cold, a creeping dread that coils tight in your chest.

A terrible realization of what you’re actually doing. How real this all is. Because the chance of conception would be horrible enough on its own, but with a family member?

Well, that’s what the natural revulsion to incest was supposed to prevent, right?

Your body’s response is instantaneous—an involuntary shiver that starts deep in your gut, an icy feeling that spreads outward, stiffening your spine. You thought you’d come to terms with this, but perhaps you hadn’t — not all the way, at least.

“I do, but I won’t use them,” he states coolly. “I have more than enough money to afford a plan B pill if needed.”

He’s right, but still…

Sukuna looks up at your face, taking in the hesitation written all over it.

“Having second thoughts?” he asks, voice too smooth, too knowing.

Were you? You don’t know.

Because in spite of the cold, you want this, and maybe the perversion of it all makes you want it more.

“You knew there wouldn’t be any holding back if we did this, didn’t you?” He drags his cock languidly along your glistening folds, the head of it catching on your clit over and over, as he speaks.

Cruelly slow. Like he’s savoring every inch of your hesitation, every stifled breath, every twitch of uncertainty you don’t want him to see.

You can feel the heat in your cheeks, the hesitation still curling in your chest, but it’s fading. Slowly, so slowly.

Your body betrays you, the cold tightening in your stomach transforming into something deeper, more urgent with every drag of his swollen head across your clit, pre smearing with your own slick.

Your hands, trembling but eager, make their way to his chest, pressing against his skin. A part of you wants to pull back, to stop this madness—but the other part? It’s begging for more. The thrill, the perversion, it warms you.

You want to feel him completely.

“I did,” you whisper, “So don’t hold back. Even if you think you should.”

“So you’re really gonna let me do this?” he asks, his mouth brushing your collarbone, tone low and mocking.

He wants you to want him, but he also wants to test how far you’ll go — and that contradiction is Sukuna’s affection.

You should say something. Anything. But all that comes out is a soft gasp when his fingers ghost over your inner thigh.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers. “I’ll make sure it hurts just a little. You’ll remember it.”

You hate how that thrills you. That you want him more for it.

His hand slides beneath your knee, hitching your leg up around his waist. You feel everything in that moment—his breath, his warmth, the coiled tension under his skin as he presses in closer.

“Breathe,” he says, right against your lips. “It’s just me.”

He finally pushes forward to part your lips, slow and deliberate, and you gasp. Building pressure gives way to pain, sharp and acute as you feel your walls stretching to accommodate him.

It burns.

“Uncle,” you gasp, hips reflexively trying to pull away from the intrusion in your virgin cunt.

But he holds you in place, murmuring against your panting lips, “Almost there, sweetheart. It’ll get better after this, I promise.”

You believe him, but your body reacts of its own accord — walls clamping down, trying to push out the invading length.

“It w-won’t fit—“ You start to panic a bit as you feel the burning stretch.

He hisses through his teeth at the tightening of your cunt, fighting the urge to simply slam in all the way as you wince and tremble.

“Fuck, you need to breathe, I’m serious — take deep breaths.”

“It hurts—“

“Breathe.”

You swallow and nod, forcing a deep inhale all the way into your belly. As soon as you do, he slides in all the way in one final push till he’s bottomed out inside of you.

There’s a moment of stillness, where it all weighs down on you. The feel of him sheathed inside you, the stretch, his breath mingling with yours, the gravity of what you’ve let happen. What you wanted to happen.

He presses a quick, light kiss to your lips. “Good?”

“Uh, y-yes, I think so…” you reply unsurely, trying to get used to the feeling of something inside you. “Feels a little weird…”

“Mm, well we can stay like this till you’re ready for me to move again.” His lips pepper your face in gentle pecks. “I don’t mind having you cockwarm me.”

You stay there for a second, basking in this rare show of affection from him, as twisted as the circumstances might be.

And then, another deep breath. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s gonna hurt.”

You pull your face back to glare at him, finding his lips twisted into a smirk. “You fucking sadist, can you just do i— ahh!”

You wince in pain as he abruptly pulls out, till only his tip is left inside and he grins down at you wickedly.

“Okay w-wait not so fas— Uncle!”

Your sentence once again ends in a yelp as he slams back inside of you, hard enough to make your nails dig into his back as you jolt.

He groans obscenely in response at your heat enveloping him again, clenching down on him.

Your face is contorted now as you grit your teeth. “What is your problem?! I swear you’re doing this on purpose—“

“I told you I was going to make it hurt. Or do you not listen to the things you agree to?” he snaps back too quickly. A bit too sharply.

“I—“ Your face crumples and you swear you see his eyes soften ever so slightly in response, like something akin to pity. Maybe realization that he’s being a bit too mean right now. Especially given what’s actually happening here. You trusted him to take your virginity, after all.

You must look upset—maybe even a little scared—because something in his face shifts. That awful grin fades.

“Okay, okay,” he murmurs, his hand coming to cradle your cheek, slow, almost gentle. And then, as if to make up for earlier, “You’re doing so good for me, you know that?”

You blink up at him, breathing uneven. You don’t trust the softness, not from him. But you don’t pull away, despite your trembling. His other hand strokes the inside of your thigh—too gently for someone who just made you cry out a moment ago.

“I’ll go slow,” he says, quieter now. “But it’s still gonna hurt.”

You bite your lip, nodding slowly. He watches your expression, like he’s testing how much of your fear you’re willing to swallow for him.

“But it’ll pass. It always does,” he says, brushing your hair back. “You just have to take it. Be good, breathe through it. I’ve got you.”

He grips your hips, and slowly pulls out again.

It burns still, but less.

And back in his cock goes. You try to keep your breathing even, but it’s true, he shows restraint and goes slow enough for the pain to begin subsiding.

Sukuna watches you carefully, your lip still held between your teeth in slight discomfort, though your body starts to relax.

The pain might be fading, but you’ve heard it’s supposed to be replaced by pleasure. Except you can’t really feel any — you think his fingers felt better.

You look up at him. “More. Go harder.”

“More?”

You nod.

“Finally ready for me to actually start fucking you now?”

He smirks at the slight pout forming on your lips, soothing the slight sting of his teasing with another kiss to your lips as he begins to thrust faster. You’re not sure when but soon your fingers are digging further into his muscle, anchoring yourself there as he begins fucking you with short, shallow thrusts, and soon your mouth parts around a sound you don’t even recognize.

He groans softly in response, and it’s not mocking now. It’s something raw, something real. “There you are, my pretty girl…”

His praise goes straight to your gut, coiling in with the heat slowly building there, more of your arousal lubing your silken walls making it a bit easier for him to slide in and out.

And then he stops.

You look at him confused, as he pulls away, standing on his knees, cock slipping fully out of your raw hole. It glistens in the dim light, flushed and turgid.

“Just wait,” he says as he grabs a pillow from besides you, and drags it under your legs. “Here, put your butt on this.”

You’ve heard something about pillows making penetrative sex feel better — you figure that’s what this is as you shift downward till your ass is cushioned, pelvis raised slightly higher. He kneels a bit to the side, positioning one of his knees under the crook of your bent one, and grabs your other ankle, lifting your leg straight up.

You just can’t help the snarky words from falling out of your mouth, “Thought we were having sex, not doing yoga.”

He gives you a warning glare, the same disciplinary kind whenever you purposefully annoy him, or try to protest against some mundane chore he’s assigned to you.

And then he’s positioning his cock against your entrance again, the other hand coming to toy with your clit, making you sigh at the sensation.

“You’d better shut that mouth while I’m still trying to play nice, sweetheart.”

You want to say something but you feel the round head of his cock breaching your entrance again, and instinctively you tense up as he pushes inside.

There’s still pain, but it’s tolerable now.

Sukuna starts fucking you again, harder now, and this new angle makes you moan, back arching slightly off the mattress.

“Hnngh, m-more Uncle—” you whimper.

“What was all that you were saying about yoga, earlier?”

He punctuates his words with a sharp thrust, a high-pitched noise coming out of your throat as you savor his fat cock massaging that spot in your swollen walls that makes you feel utterly gone.

“’M s-sorry, I didn’t mean it,” you babble mindlessly, eyelids dropping as he fucks all the attitude right out of you.

His pelvis snaps forward, dark pink hair brushing against your burning skin, as he tightens his grip on your ankle, pulling your leg taut with ease.

“Silly girl,” he chides you, though his lips are pressing kisses along your ankle, down the length of your calf. “You never learn, do you?” he mutters against your skin. “Good thing I’m here to teach you your lesson over and over again…”

“Ha—ah!” you mewl when he abruptly bends your leg a bit, placing his lips to the back of your knee to suck and lick at the delicate, sensitive skin there.

“U-Uncle!” You moan and gasp in ecstasy, shivers running down your spine all the way to where his cock is thrusting into your drooling cunt.

And then you take a look at him, a good look at him, in the faint warm light of the bedside lamp falling over his features.

He’s familiar. Very familiar.

The broad shape of his muscular chest, the veins that run down the forearm gripping your leg, the set to his angular jaw as he fucks you, slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

You pull your leg from his grip slightly, moving around a bit in discomfort at staying in this physical position.

“Stop squirming,” he says authoritatively, like he’s talking to some petulant, hyperactive child.

“Mh, w-wait lemme just—” Soon you’re pulling your leg from his grip, planting your foot on the other side of his body as you stand on your hands and feet, arching your back, panting in desperation to feel more of him.

Sukuna lets you change positions, wrapping his arms to support your lower back as you grab his neck with one of your hands, undulating your hips so that his cock hits you in a new place — deeper than before.

“F-Fuck, greedy fucking girl—” he grits out and you can tell he’s losing his restraint now too, slowly focusing more and more on taking his own pleasure from your body rather than just giving. He thrusts into you harshly, kissing your cervix with each squelching movement, watching your tits bouncing on your splayed out torso.

“Yes, yes, fuck yes—”

The musky smell of sex, the salty tang of sweat-slicked bodies now permeates the air as you move sensually, trying to feel him deeper inside you.

“Good girl, keep going baby, just like that,” he rasps, voice rough with arousal as he ruts into you.

The furrow of his brows, the smell of his skin, the warm, steady weight of his hands holding you, supporting you.

Familiar.

“Ah, a-again, say it again, that I’m good—”

He slows down for a millisecond, eyes flicking to yours, at the needy look all over your face as you look up at him with pleading eyes, clouded and hazy with lust.

“Do you deserve that?” he breathes lowly, taking lead and fucking you harder with an intense pace you can’t keep up with. “My dumb, needy little niece. Wonder which side of the family you got all that desperation from, because it certainly isn’t mine—”

The sound of his heavy breathing, the shape of his smirk, slightly lopsided.

“P-Please!” Something claws in you, something desperate and vulnerable to hear it from him, to hear that praise and validation, god, why can’t he just give it to you—

To your dismay he sneers, too far gone in that side of him that needs to degrade you, hurt you, control you.

“Good? You’re bleeding all over my cock like a dumb piece of meat.”

“H-Huh?” You open your eyes, realizing they’re blurry with tears as you look at where you’re connected.

And it’s true, his cock is covered in streaks of red every time it pulls out to slam back into you again. Maybe the sight should’ve alarmed you, or made you feel more cautious or whatever — what it shouldn’t have done was make you moan lewdly, clenching down on his length.

Sukuna notices your reaction, and it only sends him into more of a frenzy, gripping you so tightly he’s practically holding your nearly limp body up like a doll, as he fucks your hole.

“You like that? Sick little slut—” he growls, before leaning in to whisper in your ear, “You think your dad would still call you his daughter if he saw you like this?”

Your watery eyes widen, all the air sucked from your lungs as the words hit like a punch to the gut.

That’s what it is. Who he reminds you of, why he feels so oddly familiar.

Did you forget you were fucking your dad’s brother?

The similarities are undeniable now, a physical reminder of the genes you share.

Something twists in your gut, like a writhing serpent with the realization, yet your cunt leaks more and more, waves of shuddering pleasure only growing in their intensity.

Sukuna grins at your shock, before abruptly dropping you onto the bed, cock slipping out from your abused hole.

“Straighten your legs and turn on your side a bit.”

You obediently do as he tells you, and then he’s straddling your bottom leg, folding the top one and hitching it over his waist. You watch him, spine twisted so your torso lays supine on the mattress.

His other hand grips your ass, before he thrusts himself back into the warm, wet heat of your tight cunt, stretched perfectly in this position so that he hits you even deeper, like he’s in your lungs. He watches the pout on your lips, the crestfallen expression on your tear-stained cheeks as he fucks you so good that he’s forcefully pulling moans from you.

“Still gonna look at me like that? Well cry if you need to — I’ll still be here, fucking you through it.”

And even as he’s fucking you, losing himself in your pussy, Sukuna’s mind is sharp — he knows the reason behind this change in your demeanor. What it is that’s bothering you. It's the same reason you need him, need his validation right now, his words of praise and reassurance.

You don’t care if they’re fake.

“Mm fuck, p-please,” you pant incoherently between moans, crying out when he hits another spot that makes a rush of warm liquid drip out of you, coating his cock. “B-Be good to me—”

Sukuna snickers, reveling in the way you beg. “Why? I’m not your fuckin’ dad, slut.” He slaps one of your tits, making you jolt.

“S’kuna!” you cry his name, slurred with the weight of your tears, at how cruel he's being when you feel most vulnerable.

“I’m not him,” he repeats, hand grabbing your ass, digging his nails in till it hurts. You barely notice that pain amidst everything else right now, with the way he’s fucking you stupid. “But we are blood. That’s why you fit so perfectly around me. Your cunt was made for this, sweetheart.”

He grinds his cock inside you, making you squeal in both pleasure and shame and disgust at his downright disturbing words.

“Don’t say that! You’re gross-”

“Oh please. You fucking love it.”

“I don’t—”

Your words are cut off as a large hand wraps around your throat, pressing down onto your esophagus as he picks up the pace even more, heavy balls slapping against your skin.

“Say it and I’ll tell you all the things you wanna hear,” he whispers darkly.

You don’t have much resistance in you, not when he’s ruining you like this, when your cunt is simultaneously aching and sore but screaming in pleasure.

“I…I love it.”

“Love what?”

“How…fucked up this all is. That we’re related. And that..” you hesitate, and the grip on your throat tightens, making you wheeze a bit, the words coming out as barely more than a whisper from your strained throat. “And that you’ve been like a…father to me.”

“There it is,” he breathes triumphantly, loosening his hold on your neck though his hand still stays collared around it. “My good little girl. Finally being honest for once.”

His thrusts turn sloppy as he leans down to kiss you messily, and murmur against your skin.

“You’re so perfect, you know that? Smart, capable, pretty...”

You moan at his praise, feeling your pussy clench tighter and tighter around his pistoning length. The words go straight to your core, building and building, melting with the pleasure into something that threatens to swallow you whole.

“I’m so proud to call you my niece.”

You cum instantly, wet noises spilling out at you gush slick and kiss him messily, a thin droplet of drool running down the corner of your mouth. And then with a twitch of his cock and a guttural groan, warmth is spilling inside you, the most heavenly feeling, as he fills you with ropes of his hot seed.

A few euphoric moments of him emptying his balls into you, and then the cum stops flowing and he stills his thrusts. Warm breaths fill the silence, then he’s collapsing on top of you, careful not to put the majority of his weight on top of you. Your damp skin sticks against his, and he grabs your body as he spoons you from behind.

“You feel that?” He rolls his hips, slow and deep, his softening dick squelching inside the mess of fluids he’s plugged you up with. “This is what it means to be mine.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath as he pulls out of you, cock exiting your hole with a wet pop.

And then stillness. Too much of it.

The only sounds are the hum of the lamp and the uneven rhythm of your breathing. Your body curls in on itself instinctively, sheets tangling around your legs. You half expect him to push you away as you press your cheek to his chest, listening to the slow steady thrum.

He doesn’t. And the sound of his heartbeat is the only constant you have in the chaos still blooming inside of you.

Sukuna doesn’t speak. One arm lies draped lazily behind his head, the other wrapped around your waist—possessive, but not tight. His thumb strokes the small of your back, lazy and unthinking, like he’s petting a sleeping animal.

You don’t know what you expected after — a sharp word, a joke, indifference, maybe. But not this. Not him letting you hold onto him like this. Not his lips brushing against your temple like it means something.

“You’re quiet,” he says finally, voice low and almost too soft. “Regret already sinking in?”

You don't answer with words. Just shake your head a little against him, like you're refusing to answer something you can't explain.

Numbness. And the physical need to feel him next to you. That's all you feel.

His hand moves up to your hair, fingers threading through it. “Hn. Didn’t think you’d cling like this.”

“I’m not,” you mumble, even as your fingers curl tighter in the sheet between you.

He chuckles under his breath, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Liar.”

There’s no malice in it, no mockery. Just a strange, patient warmth that makes your throat ache. And when you finally dare to glance up at him—at the faint cut of his jawline in the soft light, at the familiar cruelty in his eyes dulled by something quieter—it aches deeper.

Not regret. Something else, something softer and more tender that feels like it shouldn't hurt.

And yet it does.

But then something shifts — imperceptible, but there. The slightest stiffening of his body under yours.

“You good?” you murmur, sleep-heavy, cheek still pressed to his chest.

He doesn’t answer right away. His hand lingers in your hair, then stills. His breathing changes—not relaxed, not calm; more like he’s suddenly aware of something he hadn’t let himself think about.

The silence between you stretches, no longer warm. You’re already half-asleep when you feel the mattress shift, his voice cutting through the haze a moment later.

“Don’t get comfortable. We need to get you cleaned up, and more importantly you should go pee.”

You groan, dragging the blanket over your head. “Are you serious? I don’t need to go.”

He tugs the blanket down with one hand, unimpressed. “Yeah, well you’re still sticky, bruised and probably bleeding a little. Get up.”

You scowl. “So romantic.”

“I’m not trying to be romantic. I’m trying not to let you get a damn infection.”

“I’ll survive,” you mumble, rolling over.

And then—before you can react—his arms are around you, and he’s scooping you up like you weigh nothing.

“Hey!” you yelp, squirming in his grasp. “Put me down! I can walk!”

“You had your chance,” he mutters, already heading toward the bathroom. “You made your choice when you started whining like a brat.”

“I am a brat,” you snap, arms crossed, glaring at his jawline. “And you like it.”

“Right,” he replies sarcastically, “Or maybe I just don’t feel like explaining to your parents why their daughter has a goddamn infection.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, but despite your annoyance, you can’t help but relax a little into his chest, finding some strange comfort in the way he holds you. Maybe it’s the fact that you know he’s right—he’s always right about these things, even when it’s irritating.

“Well actually you’d be the one explaining, in that case. Don’t want Mom and Dad to know the kinda things you’ve been up to, huh?”

You glower at him as he tries not to look too pleased with himself, dropping you clumsily to your feet in the dark bathroom. You suppress a grimace as you feel his cum leaking out of you, sliding down your inner thighs.

It’s an odd, slightly disconcerting sensation.

“Can you at least try?”

“There’s nothing!” you snap, slightly embarrassed that the topic of you peeing is still being brought up. “I went….before, okay?”

Sukuna just sighs. “Make sure you do it next time. Don’t wanna deal with a UTI.”

You make a face but he’s already pushing you with a hand on your back to step into the shower. The warm water hits your skin, and you shiver before it starts to soothe. You’re still sulking, arms crossed under the spray as Sukuna steps in behind you like it’s just another chore he has to handle.

“You gonna stand there pouting all night, or do I need to wash that attitude off first?” he drawls, already grabbing the wash towel like you’re completely useless.

You try to snatch it from him. “I can do it myself.”

“I’m sure you can, sweetheart,” he replies condescendingly sweet, though he holds the wash towel up and away. “But I can do it better.”

You glare at him, but he’s already starting to lather your arms, completely unbothered by your glare. “You’re so annoying.”

“No,” he says, deadpan, “You’re annoying. I’m just responsible.”

You let out an exaggerated scoff, but your shoulders relax under his touch. You hate how smug he is when he’s right.

“You know I hate it when you treat me like a kid.”

“You act like one,” he replies, adding more of the fragrant bodywash onto the towel, before forcefully spinning you around to face him. “Especially when you’re tired. Or hungry. Or pretending you’re not clingy.”

You sputter a bit at the sudden spray of water in your face, before finally giving him another cold look.

“Me? Clingy? Are you out of your mind?” you reply, genuinely a little offended for some reason.

He just snorts, clearly unconvinced, and drags the towel down your back with a slow, deliberate hand. “You literally cried the last time I left for more than two days.”

“That was once,” you bite back, jaw tightening. “And I was on my period.”

“You called it a ‘separation-induced emotional collapse,’” he quotes flatly, then dips the towel just beneath the curve of your ass like he’s cleaning you, though you know he’s doing it just to get a rise out of you.

You swat at his arm, but he grabs your wrist and pins it lazily against your side, still holding the towel in the other hand. The motion isn’t aggressive—just practiced, smooth, like he’s done this a thousand times before.

“Let me go.”

“No.”

“I’m going to push you and you’re going to fall in the shower and not be able to get back up because of how old you are.”

He huffs out a short laugh through his nose, clearly amused. “Sweetheart,” he says, still calmly lathering your skin, “if anyone’s breaking a hip in here, it’s you. I saw you nearly sprain your knee trying to climb on top of me last night.”

“Once again, that was one time.”

“That was this week.”

You squirm against his grip, which only tightens slightly—enough to keep you still, not enough to hurt. He lathers the soap with the cloth on your chest, then squeezes it till the foam drips lewdly down your breasts. You only notice what’s happening when he smirks, eyes trained on the bubbles traveling the curve of your chest.

You swat half-heartedly at his chest, cheeks burning. “You’re disgusting.”

He grins, utterly unrepentant. “You say that like it’s new information.”

“Sometimes I forget how unbearable you are when you get your way."

“And yet, you keep letting me have it.”

His eyes flick down again—languid, slow—watching the water and suds slide down your skin like it’s a show meant for him alone.

You roll your eyes and try to pull away. “Maybe I’m just too tired to argue.”

“Liar,” he murmurs. “You like it when I take care of you like this. Even when you pretend to hate it. Especially then.”

You stare at him like you're about to challenge him, but no words come out.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice low, fingers dragging just slightly along your waist now, “and I will.”

You look at him. He’s still holding the cloth, still waiting—for once, serious.

So you cross your arms to give him another stubborn look. "You forgot to get behind my ears, by the way."

His mouth twitches—not quite a smile, more like a warning.

“Don’t push your luck,” he says, but the way he tosses the towel over his shoulder and leans in tells you he’s taking the bait anyway.

You hold still, stubbornly proud, even when his hands bracket your jaw and tilt your head just so. He uses his thumbs first, rough pads gliding just behind your ears, then switches to knuckles as if he’s mocking the gentleness of the gesture.

“Since when you got so bratty?” he mutters. "This definitely can't be the same girl who showed up on my doorsteps a few months ago."

You glare at him, lips parting for a sharp retort—but he beats you to it, voice dipping just low enough to make your stomach flip.

“She used to be quiet. Timid. Didn’t even look me in the eye.”

You scoff dryly. "I’ve always thought you were unbearable. Difference is, now I say it out loud."

He huffs out a laugh, more breath than sound, the corner of his mouth twitching. “And here I was thinking you’d just grown attached.”

“Delusional and smug. Impressive combo.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, his fingers slide from your neck to your collarbone, slow and measured like he’s mapping you out again.

“Keep talking like that,” he murmurs, “and I’ll start thinking you enjoy mouthing off just to see what I’ll do.”

“Maybe I do.”

There’s a pause. A taut little silence between you—charged, waiting, thick with steam and something heavier than heat.

Then suddenly his grin widens, wicked and boyish all at once.

“Alright then,” he says—and then, without warning, he twists the shower handle.

A blast of cold water smacks your skin like a slap, and you let out a shriek, practically leaping backwards into him.

“Uncle!” you gasp, teeth chattering as you try to scramble out of the spray. “Are you insane?!”

He laughs—really laughs—arms effortlessly catching you as you flail, pressing you against his warm chest like you aren’t soaking and furious.

“You looked like you were overheating,” he says smugly, completely unfazed by your glare. And the ice cold water, for some reason. “Just trying to help.”

“You’re a menace,” you hiss, shivering as you try to reach around him for the handle.

His hand closes around your wrist before you can reach the knob.

“Easy,” he says, voice low but firm. “You’ll throw off your system if you change the temperature too fast too much.”

You blink at him, teeth still chattering, but he doesn’t budge. Just calmly reaches past you and adjusts the water himself—slowly, carefully—until it warms again, just enough to stop your skin from prickling.

“Better?” he asks, like nothing happened.

“You’re lucky I don’t have hypothermia.”

He raises a brow, unimpressed. “You were flushed and bratty and needed cooling off. Don’t make me explain the logic.”

“There was no logic. That was violence.”

“Soft violence,” he replies. “Therapeutic, even.”

You open your mouth to argue again, but he’s already guiding you gently under the warm spray, his touch firm and no-nonsense now. Not serious exactly, but steadier.

“Head down."

You sigh, complying, letting the water run through your hair as he works shampoo into your scalp with methodical hands—fingertips massaging a little too well for you to keep up your grudge.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mumble.

“Mm. Probably.”

He finishes rinsing you off in silence, hands steady and impersonal now—guarded, almost, like the line between teasing and responsibility has been redrawn.

Soon you’re out of the shower, wrapping yourselves in towels, drying your hair. The bathroom is silent as Sukuna brushes his teeth.

That feeling, in your stomach again. Something bitter and unpleasant. Fear? You’re not sure of what.

“Can I…sleep with you here tonight?” you suddenly ask, voice smaller than you’d like.

Sukuna pauses, eyes flicking to yours in the mirror, and there’s something unreadable in them.

Uncertainty, maybe?

You don’t want to think about it — the thought would only make you spiral. If he regrets this, if he sees you differently now. Maybe he’s even disgusted by you.

He spits into the sink, rinses, and sets his toothbrush down with a clack. For a second, he doesn’t say anything, and your chest tightens.

“Tch. You’re clingier than I thought,” he finally mutters, avoiding your eyes as he wipes his mouth with a towel.

But it’s not biting , it’s hollow. Deflection.

You flinch slightly. “Sorry. I’ll just—”

“I didn’t say no,” he cuts you off, voice quiet but firm, still not looking at you.

You freeze. “So… I can?”

He finally meets your gaze in the mirror — and for once, there’s no smirk, no mockery in his eyes. Just something tired, maybe even resigned.

“It’s your bed too,” he says after a pause. Then adds, almost too low to catch, “At least for now.”

Your eyes flit over to his toothbrush, and as quickly as you can, you reach for it. But Sukuna’s faster. He grabs it out of your hand, squeezes the toothpaste, and tilts your chin up with two fingers.

“What are you doing?” you mumble, brows furrowed.

He doesn’t answer—just shoves the toothbrush gently between your lips and starts brushing your teeth for you, slow and deliberate.

“Are you serious right now?” you try to say around the bristles.

“Mm-hm,” he hums, condescendingly calm. “Since you probably can’t do anything without me, apparently. Mouth open.”

You try to pull back, but his hand is firm against your jaw. “Uncle.”

“Shh,” he murmurs. “Open your mouth wider.”

You glare at him, cheeks puffed up, while he carefully brushes in exaggerated little circles, way too pleased with himself.

“This is so demeaning,” you mutter.

He grins. “Is it? I think it’s adorable. You’re like a spoiled little cat. All hiss, no bite.”

When he finally pulls the toothbrush away, you shove him lightly in the chest, scowling. “I hope you don’t do this with your girlfriends.”

He smirks, not missing a beat. “Well, you’re not my girlfriend, you’re my—”

"Do not," you quickly cut him off, shooting him a venomous glare.

You expect the usual smirk—that smug, needling grin he wears whenever he knows he’s gotten under your skin.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, there’s a flicker of something else—a beat of silence that lingers just a second too long. Then he looks away, the moment slipping like steam through fingers. “Go put on your pajamas,” he says quietly. “I need to change too.”

Your chest sinks. “What? Why?”

He doesn’t look at you as he turns away. “Because we’re not animals.”

That gets under your skin. Deeper maybe, somewhere more sensitive. “Yeah, except we just fucked like animals, so—”

“It’s not about that,” he cuts in, too quickly, too quietly. “It’s just… better this way.”

You watch him, frustration rising like heat under your skin. “You said you wouldn’t do this.”

He pauses, back still turned. “Do what?”

“Draw lines.” Your voice comes out sharper than you meant it to—brittle, breaking around something you didn’t expect to feel. “You promised. Said you'd give me all of you. Until I had to leave.”

He’s quiet. His shoulders rise and fall with a breath that sounds heavier than it should. You’ve hit something, and you both know it.

You press. “What—did you think I wouldn’t actually take it?” you sneer. “And you were the one accusing me of pretending to want it.”

That makes him turn, just slightly. His eyes meet yours, and for a flicker of a second, there's something raw in them. Frustration. Guilt. Or worse—fear.

But he doesn’t argue, just exhales through his nose, tension bleeding from his shoulders.

“Fine,” he says. “Get in bed. But don’t complain if you wake up with my elbow in your face.”

You roll your eyes, but move, letting the towel fall from your body. You’re bare, except for your panties—the liner catching the faintest trace of blood and what’s left of him. You don’t look away as you straighten the blanket and peel it back, sliding under the sheet. It’s cool against your skin, kissing your chest where you’re usually too shy to sleep uncovered.

But not tonight.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him glancing—unsure, maybe even uncertain where the lines are anymore. You don’t say anything. Just wait, still and quiet, as he kills the light and lies down beside you. The space between you feels fragile, thick with everything neither of you is saying.

At first, neither of you moves.

You lie on your side, facing the wall. He’s behind you. Not touching, not close.

You shift slightly under the covers. “Are you really gonna sleep all the way over there?”

You meant it to sound teasing—but it comes out... needy, almost.

A heartbeat passes and then the bed shifts as his warmth touches your skin, his body fitting behind yours. Not quite touching yet, but it’s much closer than before. Tentatively, you push back, your back brushing his chest, careful not to let your ass brush up against his groin. He doesn’t pull away, just lets out a long breath, like he’s been holding it this whole time.

“You don’t have to pretend it didn’t mean anything,” you whisper.

But you know that’s not the real question. The real question is what this is, now, why he’s gone distant, why the warmth of his body doesn’t quite reach the space where you needed it to.

Guys pull away after sex — you’ve heard that. But he isn’t just some guy, and this wasn’t supposed to be just sex. There’s something more to his silence than that, you’re sure.

Or at least you hope.

That maybe the twisted, complex nature of your relationship would count for something here, where it matters more than ever, perhaps.

He doesn’t reply but soon his arm is slowly wrapping around your waist, pulling you into the expanse of his broad chest, fingers resting right beneath the curve of your breast. They caress the underside so softly it almost tickles.

And then, softly—so quietly you almost don’t catch it—he murmurs against the back of your neck,

“I don’t want to miss you.”

The closest he’s ever come to a confession.

You wake up to the smell of grilled fish and miso.

Sukuna’s here this morning. You’d half expected him to fuck off to wherever he goes for work, just to avoid seeing you after last night.

And not necessarily the sex part—but the part after, where you slept tangled together, limbs knotted, his body curled around yours. You swear that at some point during the night, between dreams, you felt one of his large palms gently cupping your breast. Not sexually. More like the way a kid hugs a stuffed toy in their sleep. Something unconscious.

Possessive yet soft.

But now, there’s nothing in his place except rumpled sheets and an empty stretch of mattress. You get dressed in your pants from last night, then pull one of his oversized shirts over your head to cover your chest. You’re not in the mood to cross paths with him in the kitchen half-naked, just to grab clean clothes from your own room. Finally, you make your way to the dining table and slump into a chair.

Sukuna’s standing at the stove, hair still damp from a shower, sleeves rolled up as he plates breakfast like it’s any other morning.

“You need to talk to your counselor today. About the dorms.”

You blink. “What?”

“For school,” he says, like you’ve asked something stupid. “Next semester starts in a few weeks. You still haven’t put in your housing request.”

You frown, slowly sitting up straighter. “Okay, well—good morning to you too.”

He finally glances over his shoulder. “Morning. Now eat.”

You study him carefully. There’s no trace of last night in his expression. No warmth, no softness, just that familiar sharp-edged irritation, like you’ve already done something wrong. “You’re being kind of a dick this morning.”

“I’m being realistic,” he replies flatly. “You want to finish your program, don’t you?”

It’s true—you do want that degree. But something about the way he says it now digs under your skin. “Yeah, but—why are you suddenly on my ass about it? You’re acting like I’ve been slacking or something.”

He doesn’t answer right away, instead sets a bowl of rice in front of you with a little too much force. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” you challenge, looking up at him. “Why are you suddenly breathing down my neck about this stuff?”

Sukuna dries his hands with a towel, leans against the counter, and stares at you. His face is unreadable—annoyed, yes, but there’s something else under it. Distant and resigned.

“You said you wanted to go back,” he says simply. “I’m making sure you do.”

“Yeah, but why now?” Your voice rises before you can stop it. “We literally just—” You stop, cheeks burning. “You know.”

He doesn’t flinch. “That doesn’t change anything.”

You push the bowl away. “Right. Of course it doesn’t.”

The silence that follows is thick and bitter. “I’m not hungry,” you mutter, standing up.

“You need to eat.”

“Oh my god, can you stop acting like my dad for five seconds?”

He freezes. The words land in the room like something dropped and shattered. You hadn’t meant to say it but there it is, ugly and raw. He stares at you, jaw tight, eyes sharp. “I’m not your fucking dad.”

You cross your arms, scowling—but your insides are trembling. Embarrassed. And you don’t even know why. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did,” he says, voice going cold. His expression twists, sharp and mean. That look he wears when you push him too far—when he lets something rotting and cruel crawl to the surface just to watch it burn you. “As if your dad’s ever seen you naked. Wrapped around his—”

“Okay, stop!”

He doesn’t stop. Instead, his voice goes low, flat and weaponized. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it when someone tells you what to do. You melt for it. Like a fucking pet. Tail wagging the second someone shows you attention.”

He steps forward, slow and deliberate, letting the silence stretch between each word. “You want someone to feed you. Dress you. Tell you what’s good for you. Praise you when you behave. Punish you when you don’t. Isn’t that right?”

His smile is wrong. There’s no humor in it. “You don’t want a dad. You want an owner.”

Your stomach drops.

“And you’d rather it be me than anyone else. That’s the sick part, isn’t it?”

You clench your jaw, knuckled white around the chopsticks you grip so hard you’re surprised they don’t snap. “Don’t fucking talk to me like that,” you hiss, eyes burning.

His voice is equally low, gaze equally cutting. “Then sign up for your goddamn housing and make sure you’re out from under my roof in six months.”

Sukuna had almost forgotten what you were like before all this. Before you let him in.

But over the next few days, he remembers. He remembers how cold you can be. How distant. How easily you can withdraw behind those walls of yours, quiet and unreachable.

Polite, even — that’s the worst part. Not cruel, not defiant. Just... cordial. Impeccably so. With that measured tone and perfectly impassive face, like he’s a stranger you owe civility to and nothing more.

You don’t sleep in his bed anymore. Most nights, you’re behind the door of your own room. You wake up early, make breakfast before he’s even down the hall. You greet him with a sterile “Good morning,” eat when you’re supposed to, excuse yourself without fanfare.

And through it all, not once do you snap at him. Not once do you cry.

It’s this version of you — competent, composed, independent — that reminds him, with aching clarity, that you don’t need him.

You do the things he used to remind you about before he even opens his mouth. You fold your laundry without being asked. Clean your space, your dishes, your bathroom. You eat, on time, like clockwork. When you struggle with a jar, you don’t ask him. You run it under hot water, twist a rubber band around the lid, and open it yourself.

At first, it annoys him. Then, it sinks in.

You’ve always been capable. Always sharp, always resourceful. You could take care of yourself. You did, before him — before he inserted himself into your life. But now he sees the truth, that all those moments when you leaned on him weren’t signs of helplessness. They were choices.

You let yourself rest, let yourself be cared for, for once. Gave up the exhausting self-sufficiency because, for the first time, someone was there — and you wanted that someone to be him.

No it was never incapability; it was surrender.

And now you’re showing him that you can go back to holding it all again, alone, if you have to. And that, somehow, is worse than any screaming match, any slammed door. You even inform him one evening yourself — perfectly neutral — that you’ve talked to the counselor. That you’ve applied for housing, and the results should get back in a few weeks.

In many ways, you are certainly much more tolerable than before. And at the same time, in the most ironic twist of fate, he can’t stand it.

He can’t stand those guarded, polite smiles you give him. The way you clean your own dishes without being asked. How you only come to him, or speak to him, when it’s necessary. How you seem unfazed by his longer hours, how you barely seem to even care or notice.

Sukuna only realizes then how much you’d opened up to him, how much of you you’d let him see. That the clinginess, the neediness he used to tease you for—those weren’t flaws. They were the soft depths you’d chosen to reveal beneath that armor he now remembers all too well. The quiet trust behind it, the way you’d let him in. And he’d taken your vulnerability and used it against you.

Vulnerability—somehow your greatest strength. Because he doesn’t know how to show it himself. Doesn’t know how to be soft without destroying something in the process.

He knows—as your guardian—that whatever this is between you has to stop. That it’s fundamentally wrong, that you deserve a future untouched by this, by him. That you should go to school, finish your degree, meet someone your age, live clean and normal and free.

But as a man who wants a woman—wants you—he doesn’t want any of that. He wants to keep you close. Keep you his. Make sure no one else ever sees you the way he has, touches you the way he has, ruins you in the way he already has.

And gods, it would almost be easier if you didn’t look at him like that—like he’s worth everything. Like he’s still someone you want, even now. And that’s what makes it dangerous. Which is why he had to draw the line and set the goddamn deadline. Force you to take control of your own life, even if it hurts you. Even if it kills something inside him.

And the worst part is—it’s working, isn’t it? You’re moving on. Maybe not willingly, nor gracefully, but you’re moving on.

And he’s stuck somewhere between what he owes you as your uncle… and what he wants as a man.

He doesn’t say much these days to you.

But he starts showing up in small, quiet ways.

A freshly folded towel left outside your bathroom door. A full cup of barley tea placed by your laptop while you study. Groceries restocked with your favorite brand of yogurt.

Little things. Nothing dramatic, nothing direct.

You ignore them all. Not because you don’t notice — you do. Every single one. But acknowledging them would mean softening, and softening would mean giving in. And that strange, ugly ache still swells inside your chest every time you see him. So instead you harden.

When he knocks gently at your door one night, a quiet “You eaten yet?” slipping through the wood, you pretend you have your headphones on. He waits a few moments, doesn’t push. Eventually, you hear his footsteps retreat. You stare up at your ceiling and feel the guilt press against your ribs, dull and stubborn. But you don’t open the door. Not yet.

Because some part of you still wants him to feel it. That you were hurt and that you’re not just going to pretend like it didn’t crack something open. And until then, you keep that distance. Even as it eats at you too.

A few days later, Sukuna finds you on the balcony.

You’re small in the dark. Knees pulled to your chest, sleeves tugged down over your hands. It’s cold, but you don’t shiver.

He leans in the doorway for a long moment before stepping out. Doesn’t say anything at first, just pulls out a cigarette, lights it with a quiet flick, exhales a slow curling stream of smoke into the night.

You don’t look at him, but there’s that familiar ache in your chest. A tightness.

“You’re freezing out here,” he says eventually, like it’s casual.

Nothing.

He tries again. “Didn’t touch your dinner.”

Still no response, not even a shrug.

A longer pause this time. He shifts his weight, running a hand through his hair.

“You remember that stray cat? The one you used to leave food for down the block?” His voice is low, rougher. “Haven’t seen it in a while.”

You don’t respond but your fingers twitch. Sukuna stares at the side of your face. The line of your jaw, clenched tight, the blankness in your expression.

But inside, you’re fracturing. You don’t know what it is — this urge to hurt him, to dig in the knife and twist, even if it hurts you too. Some side of you that’s simultaneously sadistic and masochistic, that wants to sabotage everything good, that enjoys the mutual pain.

You suppose that like your uncle, you have a cruel streak somewhere within you as well.

It's been a full week now.

Sukuna lingers in the doorway of your room, like he’s debating whether to say something or leave. Hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes low. He doesn’t look like himself, not in the way you’re used to — no sharp smirk, no biting comment ready to tear into you.

Just that annoying silence again. Heavy and hesitant.

“You doing okay?” he asks, eventually.

You don’t look up from your notebook. “Fine.”

“...You eat anything?”

“No.”

A pause. You let it stretch out, wanting him to leave. Or maybe, secretly, you want him to stay and try harder.

“I made soup,” he says. “You could’ve just—”

“I didn’t want it.”

He tenses — not a lot, but enough that you notice. It makes you feel that rush of power, laced with bitterness. With hurt. And somehow you can’t stop yourself.

So instead you flip a page, scribble down a word you don’t care about.

He exhales sharply. “Look, I didn’t do it to punish you. I thought... if I didn’t give you a push, you’d never try. You’d stay here. Get stuck. With me.”

Now you glance over your shoulder, barely. “So you thought hurting me was a favor?” Your voice is flat, almost bored. It stings.

He clenches his jaw. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

You finally lower the pen, clipping it to the side of the notebook to close it and keep it down. Then, you turn — calm, composed, lips pressed tight.

“No,” you say coolly, “I think you meant every word. That I’m a burden. That I should get out of your hair.”

“That’s not—”

“You don’t have to explain,” you cut in. “It’s fine. You want me to move on, right?” You smile a bit. “I have a date tonight, by the way. Don’t wait up.”

It lands exactly where you intended it to. Sukuna goes still. A slow, bitter kind of stillness, the kind that simmers behind his eyes. You walk past him without another word.

And behind you, he doesn’t follow.

Your date is forgettable.

Some guy from a dating app you downloaded on impulse a few nights ago, during a moment of defiance or loneliness — you can’t tell which. He talks about cryptocurrency the entire time. You nod along, barely listening, more focused on finishing your ramen than the words coming out of his mouth.

When the check comes, he glances at it, then at you. "Want to split?"

You don’t even bother sighing, just slide your card forward and nod.

On the way home, the silence in the train feels more like relief than emptiness. You realize it then — the whole outing was a quiet attempt to prove something. To yourself, or to Sukuna, you’re not sure. All it proves is that he’s still the one you think about, even when you're sitting across from someone else. He would never ask you to split the bill. And for reasons you don’t want to examine too closely, that thought makes your chest ache more than it should.

You unlock the front door quietly, out of habit. The home is dark except for the low flicker of a lamp. You toe off your shoes, slip inside, and pause there for a moment — unsure why.

He’s not in the living room. Not in the kitchen. You glance toward his closed bedroom door

You expected to feel…something. Triumph, maybe. Validation. Or at the very least, distraction. Instead, there’s only that dull, familiar ache settling back in your chest as you wash your face, brush your teeth, change into pajamas..

You should get to bed, sleep it off. Pretend the date meant something, that it helped.

But you don’t.

Instead, like some quiet pull you can’t resist, you drift toward his door, knock once — barely audible — and let yourself in without waiting for an answer.

He’s in bed, half-asleep or pretending to be. The soft glow of the lamp beside him casts shadows over his face. He doesn’t say anything when you approach, just watches you through lidded eyes.

You hesitate at the side of the bed. Then, without a word, you crawl in beside him — careful, uncertain.

His body is warm, solid. You don’t touch him at first. Just lie there, facing away, the space between you sharp with tension. Then, slowly, you feel the mattress shift. A hand brushes your back, barely there.

You don't speak; you don't need to. Eventually, your hand finds his, and holds.

Not an apology. Certainly not a resolution. But something.

You wake up before him.

It’s still dark out, just the faintest grey bleeding into the corners of the sky through the window. His room smells like sleep and the faint woody aroma of whatever soap he uses. You’re curled toward him, one arm tucked under your head, the other resting lightly near his chest.

Not touching. Just…close.

For a while you just lie there, heart aching and quiet. You hadn’t meant to come to him last night but now, in this slow, blurry moment, you realize it was the only place you could’ve ended up.

He shifts a little in his sleep and a quiet sound escapes him, the kind that makes your throat tighten for no good reason.

Finally he speaks, voice low and groggy. “...You came home late.”

You don’t answer. Just breathe slowly, carefully.

His arm shifts, hand brushing your back again tentatively. “Was he any good?”

You let out the smallest breath of a laugh. Not amused, just tired. “No,” you whisper. “He was boring as hell.”

A long pause. You don’t look at him, and he doesn’t press. “Good.”

Another beat. You almost laugh again, but it catches somewhere painful in your chest. So instead, you let your eyes fall closed again and say nothing. His fingers linger on your back, warm and uncertain.

Still no resolution. Still no answers. But somehow, the silence between you feels less like distance — and more like a thread slowly weaving itself back together. You fall asleep like that, side by side.

A couple days pass.

Things don’t go back to normal, not completely, but the ice isn’t as sharp as it was before. You’re both still circling each other, careful, cautious. But the air between you is a little less brittle now.

It’s late morning. You’re in the kitchen, halfheartedly eating some toast, still in your sleep shirt. He walks in, dressed and ready to head out, keys in one hand, phone in the other. He says nothing at first, just grabs a bottle of water and downs half of it.

You keep your eyes on your plate, but then, casually — maybe too casually — you ask,

“You working today?”

His brow lifts, ever so slightly though he doesn't turn to face you right away.

“Mmh,” he hums, wiping his mouth. “I am.”

You nod once, like that was all you wanted to know. But the smallest flicker of something akin to disappointment flashes across your face, and he catches it. He leans against the counter, watching you for a beat too long. “…You gonna miss me or something?”

You roll your eyes without looking up, cheeks warm. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He grins faintly — just a hint of smugness there, but it’s gentler than usual. Almost soft. “Mm. That’s not a no.”

You snort under your breath and finally glance up at him, just for a second. He’s already turning toward the door, but there’s something lighter in the way he moves now like maybe your question meant more to him than it should’ve.

And maybe your asking it meant something to you, too.

You don’t say anything else as he leaves. But when the door closes, you sit there with your half-eaten toast and feel the quiet press of his absence in the apartment. And this time, it doesn’t feel like punishment.

It just feels like… missing.

You don’t plan to wait up. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. You clean up the kitchen after dinner. Do a face mask, scroll on your phone. You even get in bed at a decent hour, lights off, pretending you're tired enough to sleep. But you don't; instead you just lay there, staring at the ceiling, wrapped in too many thoughts and too much quiet.

You hear the front door open sometime after three in the morning. The soft shuffle of his shoes being kicked off and keys landing in the bowl.

You could stay in bed. You should. But before you can put thought into it, you're getting up and padding out into the hallway quietly, not sure what you're doing, until you catch sight of him in the living room — jacket off, sleeves rolled up, rubbing his neck like it’s been a long day.

He hasn’t noticed you yet. You hover a moment, then casually speak up, your voice quieter than you intend. “Late.”

He glances up, just a little startled. But his gaze softens when he sees you — rumpled from bed, arms loosely crossed like you’re pretending this is some kind of ambush and not the result of waiting for him for over three hours.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says.

“You didn’t.”

He doesn’t say anything right away. Neither do you. There's a quiet tension that might’ve been awkward once, but now just feels…careful — like both of you are trying to speak without saying the wrong thing.

Then, after a moment, he gestures with his head toward the couch. “Wanna sit with me for a bit? We can watch TV or something.”

You hesitate but only for a second. “…Yeah,” you murmur. “Alright.”

You curl into the corner of the couch, and he sits down beside you — not too close, but close enough that your shoulder brushes his when you shift. You just sit there silently, some late night talk show on the screen that neither of you are really watching, the clock ticking on the wall.

Neither of you says it, but you’re both thinking the same thing. That this… is better. You missed this.

The room is dim, the air thick with the remnants of the night. You can feel the weight of his presence even without looking at him. It’s strange, how the space between you doesn’t feel empty tonight.

You sit, stiff at first, then relax, just enough for the warmth in the room to seep into you. You can hear him breathing — slow, steady, and soon the quiet becomes comfortable. He’s the first to break it, his hand still lingering in the air, hovering above you, before he drops it to his lap.

“Go to bed if you’re tired.” His voice is low, almost absent, but there’s something in it — a softness you don’t expect from him.

You don’t answer at first. Instead, you just feel the weight of your own exhaustion settle in. The events of the night, the day before, everything else—all of it starts to catch up. You never realized how much you needed this quiet.

“Not sleepy,” you mumble.

“You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Then just let me.”

Your eyelids flutter, and the weight of sleep tugs at you, slow and irresistible. You try to fight it, but your body betrays you and involuntarily you lean back, just a little, and your head slips sideways.

His presence is warm, familiar, an anchor that you can’t seem to pull away from. Before you realize it, you’re not just leaning against the couch anymore. Your cheek is against his shoulder, your body curling slightly in towards him.

You don’t move. His hand is still resting near you, just close enough that you can feel the heat of his skin if you shift an inch. You want to move away, to keep that distance, but you’re too tired. Too drained. And, despite everything — despite the fighting and the sharp edges between you — you feel safer here.

You don’t notice when you finally drift off, your breathing evening out in rhythm with his. Sukuna watches you for a moment, his gaze lingering on the top of your head. He doesn’t move, even as you shift slightly in your sleep, closer to him.

His hand hovers for a beat before he rests it on your head, just a light touch, like he’s afraid of waking you. Or maybe afraid of needing you. He doesn’t let himself think about it too long. He shifts slightly, adjusting his own position to make you more comfortable, but he doesn’t push you away or force you to go back to your room. For the first time in a while, he simply allows himself to be in the moment with you, even if nothing is fixed.

Slowly, your odd relationship begins to rebuild itself. Almost like nothing’s changed. Which feels good, but you know is probably ultimately bad.

There isn’t much left for you to do regarding your college application now other than wait, which works in both your and Sukuna’s favors since he doesn’t have to ask you about it. And for a little while, you can both pretend like it doesn’t exist, like there isn’t a definitive end to all this.

You once again start bugging each other in that way, where it becomes a game to push each other’s buttons. The subtle jabs, the teasing remarks — it feels familiar, like slipping back into an old pair of shoes. Comfortable, easy.

One morning, you deliberately make a mess with the breakfast dishes, leaving them in the sink just to see if he’ll say something. He doesn’t disappoint.

“Spoiled,” he mutters, eyes flicking to the unwashed plates before he grabs his coat to head out for the day. You’re about to say something snarky back, but he catches you off guard when he pauses by the door. “I’m leaving. Don’t forget to eat. Don’t make me come back here to check on you.” His voice is sharp, but there’s something behind it that catches you off guard.

You don’t even reply, just raise an eyebrow as he walks out.

The day stretches on, and as usual, you find yourself stuck between the feeling of wanting to be left alone and the pull of his presence — a silent, strange comfort.

A few days later, you’ve had enough of your own thoughts spinning in circles. You’re lounging in the living room, scrolling through your phone when Sukuna walks in, the air shifting the moment he steps through the door.

“Made yourself comfortable?” he remarks dryly, nodding to the mess of books and papers scattered around the coffee table. You shrug, not bothering to answer, but he continues, his voice cutting through the silence. “You’re avoiding me again. Good to know I’m still that important.”

You roll your eyes but a tiny smirk tugs at the corner of your lips. “Oh? And how am I avoiding you?”

“You’re still keeping your distance. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” He leans against the doorway, his arms crossed, but there’s something different about the way he’s looking at you today. Less guarded. Almost vulnerable, though he’d never admit it.

You don’t respond immediately, the tension in the air thick. For a long moment, neither of you speaks. Then, the game kicks in. You look up from your phone, tilting your head with a feigned innocence. “And what about you? Still not asking about my college stuff? You’d think you’d care by now.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he smirks in that infuriatingly smug way. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? For me to care? But I’m leaving it up to you. All of it.” His voice softens just a bit, and for a second, the tension fades. “Just don’t waste the chance.”

It stings. Not because of the words, but because you know they’re true. And deep down, you’re not sure if you’re ready to make that choice.

Sukuna won’t admit it, but he’s secretly thrilled at the way you’ve started to cling to him again.

It begins with you sometimes crawling into his bed at night, asking if you can sleep with him. He agrees, and soon the asking eventually just turns into you announcing that he’ll be sharing the bed with you.

And then the casual, domestic bickering returns full time to your daily life. One morning you’re sitting at the breakfast table, innocently eating leftovers from last night as he opens the fridge to grab some milk from his coffee.

The carton is suspiciously light, but he tries his luck anyway, unscrewing the lid to pour some into his glass.

A single drop falls out.

He catches you trying not to look at him, clearly hoping to escape the reprimanding that’s about to come your way.

“Seriously? Can you just throw away the damn containers when they’re finished?”

You sigh. “Okay, I’ll do it next time.”

“You say that every time.”

“Okay what do you want me to do? Go back in time and throw the carton away? I just forgot.”

He narrows his eyes. Maybe he’d buy into it a bit more if he didn’t see how well you could really do things, when you weren’t talking to him. Weaponized incompetency - that’s what this is.

If you’re not acting like some poor woman’s kind of shitty boyfriend, you’re acting like a spoiled pet.

You stand in the doorway to his office, arms crossed over your chest. Sukuna is bent over his desk, scribbling something on a piece of paper. He doesn’t look up at first, but you can feel his awareness of your presence, as always.

“I’m bored,” you announce, breaking the silence.

Sukuna barely glances up. “Do I look like your entertainment?”

“Not really,” you mutter, stepping closer. “But I’m here, so I thought you might want some company.”

He doesn’t respond, and the silence stretches until you can’t stand it any longer. You move behind his chair and sit down on his lap without asking. He freezes for a moment, but doesn’t push you off. His hands remain on the paperwork, not acknowledging the shift in your position.

You lean in slightly, eyes flicking to the paper in front of him. “What’s this? Planning to buy something else you don’t need?”

“Shut up,” he says, his voice rough but not unkind. “I’m working.”

You roll your eyes, shifting your weight a little to grind—barely—against his thigh. “It must be hard to focus when you’re this uptight,” you say, deliberately lazy in your tone.

He glances at you sideways. “I’m not the one climbing into someone’s lap uninvited.”

“Don’t need an invitation. It’s my birthright as your only niece,” you reply with a half-smile.

His gaze sharpens, but he doesn’t bother responding. Pen scratching against the page like he’s willing himself to ignore you.

You want his attention, maybe something more — to get a peek into his head. But you know him; he never gives anything away when asked outright. That’s fine, you’ll go for the side door instead.

After watching him for a moment you lean in a little, voice laced with provocation. “Let me guess—you think this is annoying. That I’m clingy and that you’d rather be alone.”

He pauses just for a second, but you catch it. Still, he doesn’t say anything. Push a bit further.

You tilt your head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Or maybe you’re just trying not to care too much. Wouldn’t want to make things messy, right?”

That’s when his pen stops moving. His jaw tightens, just enough to make you smirk.

“You don’t know anything about what’s going on in my head,” he mutters, low and sharp.

There we go.

“Well, maybe you should share then,” you respond casually.

He leans back in his chair slightly, bringing his face closer to yours, and you feel your breathing quicken. Your pulse stutters—God, you’ve missed this. Missed him like this. Sukuna grins slowly, in that way that tells you he’s up to no good as his hand finds its way to the curve of your hip.

“You really wanna know what’s going on in my head?” He shifts beneath you, just enough for you to feel it—hard and rising under your weight.

“Guess I do,” you breathe, feigning calm.

“I’m thinking,” he says lowly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “That the shipping clause in the new procurement contract’s gonna screw us if customs get nosy in Kobe again.“

You blink before your face settles into a scowl of irritation. “God you’re fucking insufferable,” you mutter, looking away.

“What, did you want me to say I was thinking about you?”

You give him a dry, biting, pointed look that makes him smirk even wider.

“Well I was thinking about you too….”

You freeze for half a second.

“…And how you still haven’t bought the milk you finished without telling me. Or taken out the goddamn trash.”

You turn away, trying not to let the dejection get to you. Sure maybe you’re horny but it was more than that too — you wanted him to want you like that again. To feel that he still desires you in the way you know he shouldn’t.

So you begin to get up with a sigh, when he pushes you back down abruptly before casually adding, “Oh and how I want your pretty little lips wrapped around my cock right now-” He grabs your hips, grinding your throbbing cunt right onto where his bulge is straining against his pants, “So I can fuck your throat till you choke on it.”

Your eyes widen, breath hitching a little in surprise. Exactly the reaction he wanted, clearly, considering how it makes him smirk.

“Is that the kind of thing you wanted to hear? Huh?” he teases.

Yes, it is, but you’re feeling a bit more bratty after the way he just messed with you.

So you purse your lips, trying once again to climb off him. “Nope. Not anymore at least. I think I’m gonna go take out the trash actually since you were so concerned about that—“

His gaze darkens and before you can even catch the movement he’s gripping your wrist. “Knees. Now.”

You shoot him a glare. “And give me one good reason I should do that after that shit you just pulled?”

Of course the thought of getting to feel his cock in your mouth for the first time is more than arousing, but your penchant for demand avoidance proves to be just as stubborn.

“Because you waltzed in here practically begging for my attention—and now you’ve got it,” he says smoothly, thumb brushing along your lower lip, hand cupping your jaw. “Interrupting me while I’m working…”

His eyes drag over your face. “Might as well make yourself useful. Help me burn off some of this stress...”

You don’t respond, but you don’t pull away either. He watches you, waiting. When you still don’t move, his hand trails lower—fingers wrapping around your throat with deliberate pressure.

“Get on your knees.” His voice drops, grip tightening just slightly. “I won’t ask again.”

You swallow hard, eyes locked on his. Then you move. He releases you as you shift, lifting yourself off his lap and lowering to the floor between his legs, gaze never breaking from his. Sukuna’s eyes follow you, widening his thighs a bit more so that you have better access to the bulge now at your face level.

And before he even has to ask, you’re reaching forward, unzipping his fly to expose the swell in his boxers. He exhales softly when you finally pull down the waistband, freeing his erect cock, already flushed and leaking at the tip.

You swallow again, this time louder, the sound exaggerated in the quiet between you. He hears it, clearly, and lets out a low, amused snort.

“Nothing to say now?”

You give him another half-assed scowl, before returning your attention to his dick. His skin is tan against the dark pink of his hair, a contrast that draws your eyes before anything else. And when your hand finally wraps around him, the weight of him is undeniable—solid, warm, real.

His cock is just as imposing as the rest of him. No wonder he acts like that.

“What do you want me to do?” you murmur, giving him an experimental pump of your fist, before bending forward to lick the pearlescent bead of pre gathered at his slit.

A little salty, maybe even sweet, ever so slightly.

Sukuna breathes a bit sharply at the touch, though his voice stays composed, condescending and arrogant as ever. “Suck it? Give me a blowjob? Want me to say it in another languag— ah, fuck,” he hisses when you deliberately stiffen the tip of your tongue, firmly prodding into his slit.

Not hard enough to hurt, but certainly enough to probably feel uncomfortable. You lift away, stroking his length gently with a small satisfied smile.

“Was that good?” you ask innocently, knowing few things annoy him as much as your weaponized incompetency.

“Just open your mouth and let me fuck it since you can’t do it right yourself.”

You place one hand on his thigh, the other bringing his tip back to your lips to give it another kitten lick. “In a moment.”

You tease your tongue around his frenulum, sliding your tongue up and down with soft, almost curious licks. He lets you explore dick as you borderline inspect it, lifting his shaft to peer at the heavy balls sitting below before running your tongue along the seam with almost reverent carefulness. Sukuna’s breath deepens, as you feel his hand coming up to knot in your hair.

“What’s this all about? Never sucked a dick before or something?” he murmurs, though he stays patient, letting you go at your own pace.

“I have. Just not yours,” you mumble, as you bring your lips back up, rubbing it against his sensitive glans just to see what it feels like.

Soft, so soft, almost satin-like.

You’ve sucked dick before, yes, but never felt the need to get so familiar with another man’s intimate areas, to take your time like you’re trying to permanently imprint the memory of it in your brain. You find yourself wanting to memorize every vein you trace with your tongue, the smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him in your mouth.

Perhaps you understand now why he was so adamant on wanting to see every inch of your own pussy. Not to mention no other man’s ever leaked as much precum as he is right now, oozing from his slit as you coat your lips with it in a slick sheen. Sukuna’s muscles are visibly tensed beneath you, you can tell he’s reaching his limit from the steady tightening of the hand gripping your roots. Good.

But you want to push him further, just a bit. So you look up at him as you collect spit in your mouth, before parting your lips to drip it obscenely over his tip. And then, you blow on the wettened skin, ever so gently.

A notch forms between his brows, jaw clenching as it does when he gets irritated. Suddenly your head is yanked back, scalp stinging from the harsh tug.

“Enough,” he growls. “Stick your tongue out like a good slut.”

You do as you’re told, and soon he’s taking his cock and rubbing it against the flat of your tongue as you gaze up at him.

“That’s it.” He slides cock off your tongue, and onto your face, slapping it against your cheek with a wet noise, your saliva sticking to you skin. “Now open up.”

You widen your jaw and take a deep inhale through your nose right before he slides his girth in, inch by inch, feeding it into your throat. Immediately your gag reflex kicks in as he goes deeper than you’d expected, sooner than you’d expected.

Sukuna only snickers meanly when he hears you choke a bit, your throat convulsing around his cock. “Too much?”

You narrow your watering eyes in defiance, inhaling again through your nose before remembering a trick you’d heard somewhere about squeezing one of your thumbs so you don’t gag.

So you ball your left fist around your thumb as hard as you can, and strangely enough, it works. With that you hollow your cheeks and push your head down until your nose reaches the coarse hairs on his pelvis, taking in how tight your throat feels around his cock sheathed fully inside.

He smiles as you still a bit, the grip in your hair loosening so that he can stroke it instead, as he murmurs pleasantly surprised, “Oh, good girl. You learn fast, huh?”

Before he can do it himself, you begin moving your head back before sliding back down again, feeling the velvety skin of his shaft brush along your tongue as you bob your head up and down. Slick, squelching noises fill the study, your throat making wet clicks as it moves around him. You can feel your saliva starting to drool out, dripping down his shaft, some smearing on your lips and chin.

It feels sloppy, even more when you hear him groan in pleasure as he grips your hair again, the noise sending an unbearable warmth down to your core while you try to focus on keeping your teeth out of the way and breathing through your nose.

“Mmh, just like that baby, your throat feels so fucking good,” he rasps.

His praise goes right to your head, feeling much better than it had any right to. It’s enough to make you push away the aching pain flaring in your jaw from holding it open, just to hear more of it, to show him how well you can please him. You unclench the fist you were squeezing to fondle his balls, caressing and massaging them delicately while you work your throat around him, rubbing your tongue along his length and letting more of your spit drip out and onto his cock as you swallow around it.

You know Sukuna. You know beyond a certain point of pleasure, his lust will morph into something worse, something vicious that likes to ruin.

And you know it's what compels him to abruptly grip your hair so tightly it stings, and thrust his hips so hard into your mouth with a guttural noise that you make a muffled squeak of surprise, losing your rhythm and feeling you gag reflex claw up your chest, trying to push him back out of your throat. He grins wickedly, cock only twitching in excitement when he feels you struggling to take him, only encouraging him to go harder, fuck your skull till tears are streaming down your face and spit froths at your lips and dribbles down. Strands of your hair stick to the mess, but he’s too busy bruising the back of your throat to care enough to peel them away.

“Hah, I think this is your birthright as my niece,” he sneers between pants, as you try and regain some semblance of control, fingers trying find some purchase on his thighs to steady you a bit. “Finally putting that fucking mouth of yours to proper use.”

You’d be annoyed normally, but in the hazy mess your mind is in right now, with nothing existing but the wet heat of your throat engulfing his cock, the musky scent of him and the stiff pain in your jaw, you’ve been reduced to a primal need to devote yourself to his pleasure. So you relax, and let him use your throat, gazing up at him through teary eyes, drinking the sight of his face contorted in pleasure, brows pulled together, bottom lip sucked in between his teeth.

Surrender.

Maybe he can sense the moment you finally do so because then his face is crumpling and you feel his hips stutter as he pulls back so his tip rests heavily on your tongue.

“Oh, fuck-“

Spurts of seed spread across your tongue as he fills your mouth, warm and viscous, as he fills your mouth. He finishes finally, pulling out his wet dick from your mouth with a satisfied sigh.

You don’t swallow; instead you keep his semen in your mouth for a bit, tasting it, feeling it, as he tucks himself back in. The texture is somewhere between saliva and diluted syrup, and under the saline taste there’s a strange sweetness — warm, earthy, almost like the smell of skin after sex. You chase it with your tongue, savoring the taste not because it’s objectively good, but because it’s his.

And then, an idea comes to mind.

Before Sukuna can react, you’re getting to your feet and climbing onto him. You tilt his jaw towards yours, muffling his surprised grunt as you abruptly kiss him, pushing your way through his lips, guiding the slick taste into his mouth with the tip of your tongue

You more than half expect him to push you away, but he catches you off guard when he kisses you back instead, deepening it and groaning softly as sucks the cum off your tongue, some of the white fluid leaking down the corners of your lips. When you no more is left, you pull away, breaking a thin strand of fluid connecting your wet lips.

You sit there for a moment, flustered and out of breath, before wiping your lips and face with your sleeve, scowling when he smirks at you completely unfazed.

“Was that supposed to be revenge? Because it kinda turned me on instead.”

“Sorry, I forgot you’re a fucking freak,” you comment dryly.

“Guess you got it from me.”

You glare at him again, pushing against his chest. “I’ve had enough of you.”

But Sukuna’s hand is trailing up your waist, coaxing you to stay there.

“Aw, and here I was thinking about rewarding you for your good work,” he purrs.

“Rewarding me?” you repeat, suspicious but a bit intrigued.

“Mhm,” he hums. “Get on the desk.”

Your brow furrows as you peek at the desk behind you, still covered in documents. “What?”

“You can move the papers to the side.”

You don’t move yet. “For what?”

Sukuna sighs. “Just do it. And take off your pants.”

And for some reason you comply, getting off him to hastily swipe the papers to the side before shrugging your pants down your legs and sitting on the desk in front of him.

He clicks his tongue. “No, I want you to turn around. I’m gonna eat you out.”

Oh.

You’re certainly not going to fight against that. Sure he’s never eaten you out from the back before and the position makes you a bit nervous, but then you remember you only get him like this for a few more months and soon you’re climbing up all the way onto the desk.

You feel a bit more vulnerable like this with your cheek pressed against the cold hardwood, your ass presented to where you can’t see him.

“Perfect. Just stay still now.”

You hear him moving and a warm palm squeezes one of your cheeks, kneading the pliant flesh before his second hand joins on the other side.

“Okay…” you mumble, “Just don’t try anything …weird.”

He doesn’t respond, but you think you catch a light laugh under his breath. Not a good sign, but you’re too far in now.

And then your panties are being pulled down your ass till right above your knees, and you can already feel how wet you are just in anticipation.

Sukuna doesn’t waste any time, and immediately his tongue is caressing at your damp folds, before slipping in and gliding through them till your clit. You moan softly as he begins lapping at your pussy, tingling heat building between your thighs as he licks you firmly, suckling on your clit in between.

Sukuna’s certainly talented at eating a woman out, you’ll give him that, because not even five minutes later you’re whimpering and shaking as the pressure in your clit builds till you cum on his tongue.

A few breathless moments and then you feel yourself loosening up again, coming down from your high, feeling much better now than a few minutes ago when you were sure he had some devious plans in mind.

“Shit, that was good,” you mumble as his tongue pulls away from your sopping cunt.

The relief you were basking in is ripped away when suddenly you feel him gripping your cheeks and spreading them apart.

Uncomfortable.

“I said no weird stuff—” Your words end in a squeak of surprise when you feel something warm and wet press against the tight rim of your asshole. Heat quickly rises to your face in indignation as you shift, trying to get away from the ironclad grip he has on your ass. “Oh my god, do not do that—”

A sharp slap to your ass shuts you up as you wince in pain instead. “You should really try new things, you know that? It’ll get you a lot farther in life.”

“Uncle!” you cry out in mortification when you feel his tongue back on your hole, prodding at it. “Do we really need to do this?”

“Yes,” his answer comes between small licks at your hole, making you flinch when he abruptly spits on it. “How else will you take my cock up here if you can’t even take my tongue?”

“What!?” You squirm, twisting your head to try and look at him. “No, no, that is definitely not happening.”

“Why not?”

“Why does it have to!? Is my pussy not good enough for you?” You can barely see him behind you from the way he’s holding your ass firmly in place, but that won’t stop you from trying, even if it makes your neck hurt a lot.

You hear him audibly sigh. “Do you always have to fucking argue with me?”

And then maybe as punishment, or just because he likes to torture you, he presses the tip of his tongue firmly enough against your puckered hole that it actually breaches through. You yelp at the odd, visceral sensation

He pulls it back out just to laugh at you. “If you can go three minutes without moving around or fucking bitching, I’ll let you go. How about that?”

“You better put a goddamn timer.”

Sukuna sighs, but he agrees, setting the time on his phone before putting it back on the desk. “Now shut the fuck up.”

It is still far from comfortable, this strange new sensation, and at first you’re still fighting to try and not squirm, especially when his tongue presses teasingly into your entrance again, before probing a little deeper. You’ve never done this before, not even with your own fingers, really.

His tongue feels delicate and invasive at once- even though he’s barely in deep, it’s somewhere untouched. Yet somewhere along the way you stop tensing and just let him play with your hole, and when his tongue pushes a bit more insistently against the tight ring of muscle, a quiet whimper falls from your lips.

Then his fingers are joining by pushing into your wet pussy, and the feeling of him massaging your walls as his tongue works diligently at your other hole is enough to make you moan and melt into the touch.

You hate it. That’s he always right. That he really, definitely, knows what he’s doing if he’s actually able to make you enjoy this despite the discomfort and your initial reluctance. And fuck, it feels good- dirty and sinful enough to make your arousal drip down his fingers and your hole clench around his tongue. But then the shrill ring of the alarm cuts through, startling you and yanking you before you can fall deeper into the haze. You don’t even realize you’re panting till he pulls away and you turn to look at him, feeling a bit conflicted.

“You can…keep going,” you mumble. “It felt kinda good.”

And to that, Sukuna looks at you with amusement as he licks his lips.

“Oh, would you look at that? My dirty little niece actually likes getting her ass eaten,” he coos as you stare at him venomously.

“But,” Sukuna leans back into his chair, grinning lazily. “The timer rang, and I promised I wouldn’t go longer than that remember?”

Irritating, infuriating man.

But you did say that, so this one’s a bit fair, even if you always feel like he’s setting you up on purpose every single time. You don’t say anything, just huff and roll over to pull your panties back up before sitting and getting off his desk, putting your pants back on.

Sukuna stands and stretches with a low grunt. “I’m gonna wash my hands. Then I’ve got work to finish.”

You nod, shifting a little where you sit, and watch as he disappears into the bathroom. The sound of running water fills the quiet room for a moment, then cuts off. When he returns, drying his hands on a towel, his gaze flicks to you—still lingering where he left you.

He drops back into the chair, spreads his thighs, and pats one. “Come here. Sit.”

“Do you always have to talk to me like I’m a dog?” you mutter under your breath, though you quickly move to make yourself comfortable on his lap, resting your head against his chest as he gets back to work like you still can’t taste the faint astringent aftertaste of his cum in your mouth, or the dampness on the gusset of your panties.

Your relationship not only returns to what it used to be, but becomes something even more—evident from the fact that you now regularly sleep with him at night. Hours of tossing and turning trying to fall asleep turn into minutes as soon as you’re next to him. But with him next to you, the restless ache that builds in your body each night has nowhere to go—and you can’t exactly handle it the usual way with him lying inches away.

After a few nights, Sukuna can’t take it anymore. You crawl into his bed again, barefoot and sleepy-eyed, and he lets you in without a word—again. You curl into him like you always do, seeking the warmth and safety he pretends not to offer. And as always, he runs his hand down your back, lets you rest your head against his chest, even pulls the blanket up over your shoulders without complaint. But then it starts- the shifting. The sighing. The squirming.

He can feel every frustrated twitch of your body, every little exhale like your skin is too tight to hold in whatever’s stirring inside. He cracks an eye open, jaw clenched. You’re on your back now, eyes open, staring at the ceiling like it’s personally offended you.

He waits. One minute. Two. Then—

“You done?” he mutters.

You glance over, sheepish. “Sorry… I just—can’t sleep.”

“No shit,” he says, voice gravelly with exhaustion. “And you’re making it my problem too.”

You try to apologize, genuinely feeling kind of bad. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what it is—“

Sukuna just sighs and then his hands are sliding to your hips, pulling you closer against him.

You don’t say anything. Words are never needed with him — he understands what you need, even before you do. How to offer you some relief. He notices how your breath hitches, thighs shifting as he slips his fingers under your top, skimming along your skin. He notices all the things you try to hide.

“What’re you…” Your voice trails off as his fingers dip lower, beneath the waistband of your pajamas.

“Shut up,” he murmurs gently, hands slipping fully into the waistband of your panties.

Lower and lower, till they brush against your slick folds.

“You really need me to do everything, huh?” he muses, his voice low and lazy. “Can’t even get yourself off like a big girl?”

“Sukuna,” you whisper, flustered now, but your legs shift again—nervous, needy.

“What?” he taunts gently, like he’s scolding a pet. “You want to toss and turn all night like a brat, or do you want to cum so hard you pass out?”

You glare at him, cheeks flushed. “You’re such an asshole.”

He smirks, leaning down, mouth brushing just under your jaw as he deliberately dips a finger into the arousal collecting at your entrance, before puling it back out to smear your slick across your folds. “Yeah. And you’re wet for it.”

You let out a breathy sigh, just giving in, relaxing your body into his and letting him take over. One of his fingers slips inside you at first, and he presses it right against the spongey part of your wall. He can feel a throbbing under the sensitive, swollen flesh there, like your heart is literally beating in your cunt.

It makes blood flow to his own cock, but he ignores that for now.

He fingers you under the sheets, your juices spilling and dampening your panties, though you don’t really care. Soft, wet noises are audible from under the blankets, amidst your small whimpers and mewls, grinding into his hand for more.

Finally you cum with a small cry, and when Sukuna pulls his hand back out his fingers are covered in a glistening glaze. And just like he predicted, your body stays lax, satiated, no longer restless and squirming, and he can feel you starting to doze off against him.

But he’s Sukuna, so right before he lets you fall asleep he sticks his cum-coated fingers into your mouth abruptly. You make a muffled noise of surprise, and agitation.

“Clean them,” he says plainly. “You made a mess.”

You’re too drowsy to really fight back anyway so you lazily suck his fingers clean, tongue licking at the crevices in between , the taste of your own arousal coating your tongue before you swallow it down.

And when you decide you’re done, you pull his fingers from your mouth with a soft pop, turning your head away in quiet defiance. He snorts under his breath, wiping the damp fingers on your cheek just to get a rise out of you.

You groan, muffled against the pillow. “Can you not?”

“Shhh,” he murmurs, unbothered, like you’re the one making a scene.

You try to swat at him half-heartedly, but your arm's too heavy with sleep, and he easily catches your wrist, pinning it lazily to the mattress.

“Such a brat,” he mutters, voice low and warm near your ear.

You don’t bother answering, just sigh, turning your face into his chest instead, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing pull you down. His hand lingers at your back, a quiet weight as you fall asleep and neither of you realize it's the first time you've addressed him by his name of your own accord.

There’s something about growing up with very little family. No buffer—no siblings to confide in, no cousins to rely on, no grandparents to balance things out. Every relationship carries extra weight.

In your case, it’s your parents. In an ideal world, this would’ve drawn you closer. A small, tight-knit family. But in reality, emotional absence from either parent creates a gaping void—whether you name it or not.

For you, it’s a paternal wound. One that only becomes glaringly obvious when Sukuna slips into your life, uninvited, into the role of a pseudo-guardian.

It isn’t some cliché Freudian desire to date your father; it’s something deeper. What draws you to Sukuna isn’t the simple need for a father figure—it’s how he fills a hollow space inside you. And the quiet resentment that he wasn’t there to do it sooner.

But there are downsides to filling a wound. You haven’t forgotten that moment—the horrible, embarrassing moment the morning after he took your virginity. When, raw and vulnerable, you snapped, calling him "your dad."

Neither of you ever brought it up again. And maybe that’s for the best, because the implication was too real. Because while the sense of protection from him draws you in, it also comes with expectations you never asked for. Sometimes, when Sukuna acts like he cares, it feels like a leash—an invisible tether you never wanted, but can’t escape.

You don’t look too closely at it. You don’t ask questions. You don’t dig into why it feels this way, because deep down, you know that if you did, you’d start trying to excuse it. And that feels worse.

So you let it haunt you quietly instead. You let it settle in your bones, a constant undercurrent of discomfort that you’ve learned to live with. And you don’t question it.

Not even when, one evening, in the middle of one of your usual bickering sessions, Sukuna announces—out of nowhere—that he’s taking you on a date. Especially since, according to him, your last one was pathetic.

You’re pretty sure it’s just his way of proving a point, another game to pass the time.

But still.

Your stomach flips. That giddiness bubbles up, childish and bright, almost shameful in its intensity—not because you crave male attention, not just because someone chose you.

But because he did. Because it’s Sukuna, and everything he represents.

The one person who never had to care, who didn’t owe you anything—but still chose you, regardless. And even if his gesture is wrapped in sarcasm and ego, it feels surprisingly pure. Like something tender buried beneath something cruel.

It disarms you.

Especially when he adds, almost carelessly, that you’ll need a new dress, proper heels, maybe even a little makeup.

“If I’m doing this,” he says, “I’m doing it right.”

Of course, you try to laugh off the part about him buying you things. You’ve been trained to never take from others, to never be the one who gets lavished with attention, and you don’t know how to accept it anymore. Or maybe it’s deeper than that. Maybe you’ve never known how to let yourself be spoiled.

Sukuna, however, just gives you that look—a sharp, unamused stare—and tells you to shut up.

So you do. You nod, face flushed, trying to hide the way your chest tightens. Not just from excitement, but from something heavier, something sharper. The ache of being cared for in a way you were never shown how to care for yourself. Something dangerously close to wanting—no, needing—to be wanted in a way you never learned how to ask for.

Sukuna means it when he says if you’re doing this, you’re doing it right.

Which is how you end up at the store that weekend, standing in front of an employee assigning you a changing room. You hold out the dresses draped over your arm—four of them—for her to count.

“Ooh, those are great choices. What’s the occasion?” she asks, smiling.

And then Sukuna appears behind you like some large, intimidating shadow, and you swear you can see her recalibrating behind that smile—trying to figure out if he’s your dad or an older boyfriend. She definitely lands on the worse conclusion when he smirks and rests a hand on your shoulder.

“She has a date tomorrow night,” he says.

You force a small smile, shifting under his touch, laughing nervously. “Yeah.”

“Lucky guy,” she replies—now clearly convinced he’s your father. "You can take that big stall at the end,” she adds with a knowing look.

You blink, eyebrows knitting as you glance between Sukuna and the girl. “Oh, he’s not co—”

“Thank you,” Sukuna cuts in smoothly, steering you away before you can finish your sentence.

The second you're out of earshot, you twist out of his grip, shoving the door to the stall open. “There is absolutely no need for you to come in with me. Just stay out here. I’ll show you each one when I try them on.”

Sukuna tilts his chin toward the bench inside the stall. “See that? That’s for uncles supervising their bratty nieces. Tradition.”

He gives you a grin so filthy you nearly combust.

“Oh my god—shut up.” You glance around, mortified. “Don’t say shit like that. People’ll get the wrong idea.”

“More like the right idea. Hope they all know you suck your uncle’s—”

You slap him before he can finish, cheeks blazing, and yank him inside by the wrist as he laughs.

“You’re the worst,” you mutter.

The door clicks shut behind you. You hang the dresses up one by one, studiously ignoring him as you grab the first one off the rack. Sukuna sprawls on the bench like he owns the place—and you. Legs wide, arms folded, eyes fixed on your reflection in the mirror.

You peel off your top, then pause at your waistband. “Can you, like…close your eyes?”

He opens his mouth—no doubt ready to say something disgusting—so you cut him off before he can get the words out.

“Ugh, never mind. Forget it,” you mutter, yanking your pants off anyway.

Now you’re hyper-aware of the mirrors. Of the lighting. Of the man sitting behind you who doesn’t even pretend not to stare. “Can you not ogle me like some creep?”

He doesn’t blink. Just watches, then slowly palms himself through his jeans.

Your mouth drops open. “Seriously?!”

You yank the dress down over your chest, catching him trying not to laugh, which only infuriates you more.

“Need help?” he drawls.

“No.” You drag the dress into place and turn toward the mirror.

At least he’s stopped groping himself. But his gaze still drags over you like he’s memorizing every inch.

“Well?”

Sukuna tilts his head, chin resting in one hand. “Cute. But the next one’s tighter, right?”

You roll your eyes—trying to ignore the flutter in your chest—and grab the next dress. The tightest one. Black, short, zipper up the back. You strip off the first dress without looking at him and step into the second.

It hugs you like a second skin. The zipper, of course, sticks halfway up. You grunt, trying to reach around.

“Sure you don’t want help?” he murmurs, smug.

“I said no.”

There’s a pause. Then you hear the soft creak of the bench as he stands. Your breath catches, as you feel him behind you before you hear him. His fingers brush your spine lightly through the fabric.

“Stop squirming,” he murmurs. “You’ll jam it.”

He tugs the zipper up—too slowly, too deliberately, the gliding motion grazing your skin like a tease.

“There you go,” he murmurs as you look up.

The dress is black silk, soft to the touch and sinfully tight. It hugs every single curve without shame, the fabric catching the light in a way that makes shadows dance across your body. The neckline plunges just enough to make your pulse quicken, and the back dips scandalously low, exposing the gentle curve of your spine.

It stops mid-thigh—short enough to tempt, long enough to tease. The sleeves are off-shoulder, barely clinging to your upper arms, adding that extra edge of vulnerability, like the dress could slip just a little too far with one wrong move.

Sukuna’s gaze is unreadable as he takes in this one, but you’re too focused on one small detail to even worry about that.

Your hands pause at your lower stomach, fingers brushing the slight bump that feels more noticeable in this lighting, in this mirror, in front of him. You tug the fabric subtly, trying to flatten it, your face twisting with discomfort.

Sukuna’s eyes catch the motion immediately. “What are you doing?”

You don’t answer, just keep adjusting, suddenly wishing the lights were a little dimmer. “It fits weird here. Makes me look—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” His voice cuts clean and low, that stern, irritated tone.

You glance over at him, and his gaze has shifted—no longer teasing, no longer just looking for fun.

“You look good,” he says simply. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Stop pulling at it.”

You try to deflect with a shrug, suddenly warm in the face. “Whatever. I just don’t like how it fits right here—”

Sukuna steps closer, towering behind you as his hands slip down to rest at your waist. His fingers settle exactly where you were trying to hide, pressing just enough for you to feel it.

“This part?” His voice dips. “It’s hot. Not sure who put those silly ideas in your head.”

His eyes meet yours in the mirror—not looking at you, looking through you, like he wants you to see exactly what he sees.

“Wear this one tomorrow,” he says, already deciding.

“What about the other ones—”

“No. This one.”

You try to argue, but the words feel thin. You just nod.

You make it out of the changing room alive—barely—and he lets you breathe for a while.

The next stops are easier. He picks out a pair of heels you actually like, lets you test them with a spin, and even hums approvingly when you twirl for him. Then he lets you drift toward the makeup section like it’s no big deal, arms crossed while you test swatches on your wrist. He even pays for everything without blinking, which should annoy you more than it does.

It’s... almost domestic. Almost.

Too domestic. Which is exactly why the second your guard drops, he grabs your wrist again.

“Wait—where are we going now?”

Sukuna doesn’t answer. Just smirks and steers you with that same annoying confidence you’ve learned to hate. And then you see the store sign. Lace everywhere. Soft light. Satin mannequins. Entire walls covered in things no sane person wears unless they plan on not wearing them for long.

Your stomach flips. “No. No, no, no—absolutely not—”

“You owe me- I sat through the whole makeup segment like a saint,” Sukuna says, voice low and lazy. “Besides what do you think we’re gonna do after I take you out to dinner? You didn’t think it was just that, did you?”

“Wh— First of all you were on your phone the entire time! Second of all, that’s not what I thought,” you stammer, heat crawling up your neck. “I mean—I didn’t think anything! And you could’ve warned me, you psycho!”

It doesn’t help that the saleswoman gives you a courteous, knowing smile.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he murmurs, already plucking something red and lacy off a nearby rack.

He starts picking things out way too fast—like he’s been here before, like he already knows exactly what he wants to see you in. A red lace set that’s mostly straps. A black sheer bodysuit with strategic cutouts. Something so small and silky you’re not even too sure what it actually is.

Your mouth opens. “Are you—seriously?”

Sukuna doesn’t even look at you. “You said you’d try something on. Don’t get shy now.”

“I didn’t say I’d try on whatever sadistic thing you pulled off the wall,” you hiss, snatching the red one from his hands. The thing barely weighs anything—it’s just lace and suggestion.

He finally glances at you, eyes flicking down to the scrap of fabric in your hands, then back up to your face. He smirks. “You’d look good in it.”

“You don’t know that—”

“I know your size.” He grabs another hanger. This one is deep wine-colored and... crotchless? You choke on air.

“I’m not wearing that.”

“No,” he says easily. “You’ll keep that one for later.”

Your entire face burns.

But there’s that spark again—the one he always knows how to strike. A tiny thrill under your ribs, curling somewhere low and secret. You hate how easily it lights up around him, how much worse it makes everything. Your parents would skin you alive if they saw you come home with things like this.

And sure, maybe the lingerie is scandalous. Obscene, even. But it’s also… beautiful. Beautiful in a way that makes you nervous. Erotic in a way that feels like it wasn’t meant for someone like you. This is what people wear when they want to be seen. Worshipped.

Adored.

You’re not used to that, not sure you believe it’s something you’re allowed to want. Maybe that’s why it unsettles you so much. Why you keep glancing away from the mirror, like you’re afraid of catching your own eyes. Why you deflect—tell him he’s a total perv for wanting to see you in all that stuff, pretending to be offended with each skimpier set he picks out.

Sukuna doesn’t seem to care. He ends up with half a dozen pieces slung over his arm—lace, mesh, satin, straps.

“You’re disgusting,” you mutter, trailing after him as he heads straight for the fitting rooms.

“Thank you,” he says, unbothered.

You glance around the store like someone might save you. The girl at the register doesn’t even blink as you pass by. Clearly, she’s seen worse.

You make it to the fitting room and try—again—to shake him off.

“I’m going in alone,” you say, palm flat against his chest, blocking the door. “You don’t need to supervise everything, freak.”

He doesn’t budge, just glances over your head toward the row of fitting rooms, eyes flicking until he finds the one he wants.

“This one,” he mutters, guiding you toward the end of the row. You start to protest again, but he’s already turning the handle and nudging the door open with his foot like he owns the place.

“There’s a seat,” he says plainly.

You freeze. “There’s what?”

He gestures inside. And sure enough—tucked in the corner like some kind of luxury upgrade—there’s a little bench. Padded and polite.

Utterly unbelievable.

“Why the hell is there a chair in here!?”

Sukuna shrugs, completely unfazed. “Probably for men like me. The ones who pay.”

You scowl. “You’re not coming in.”

But it’s already too late. He steps inside before you can close the door, brushing past you with that arrogant ease like this is just his natural territory. The lock clicks behind you, and suddenly the space feels smaller. The room is too pink, the lighting too warm, too sensual. Too many mirrors.

You stand awkwardly in the middle of the room, lingerie in your arms, staring at him like maybe he’ll take the hint and leave.

He doesn't. Instead he sprawls on the little bench like it’s a throne, legs spread wide, one arm casually draped over the backrest. His gaze is lazy, almost amused, as he watches you, and it grates on your nerves more than it should. You yank a hanger free, desperate to get this over with. You don’t even look at the tag, just grabbing the first thing that catches your eye—something black and sheer, satin and silk, its fabric soft but undeniably revealing.

You take a closer look. A chemise.

But not just any chemise. The front has an open bust, leaving little to the imagination, with two thick ribbons dangling at either side—meant to be tied over your breasts. You can't help but cringe; the ribbon looks thick enough to cover just your nipples probably, leaving everything else exposed.

“I’m not doing this,” you mutter, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, you are."

You sigh, a mix of frustration and resignation, and take off your top, holding the chemise against your torso, trying to get an idea of how it might fit.

“You need to take your bra off too," he adds smugly.

Your face burns, and you’re almost certain you can feel the heat creeping all the way to your ears. You hesitate, the chemise still pressed against your chest, the weight of his words settling heavily in your stomach. You can feel the faint pulse in your throat, and despite the sharp burn of embarrassment, your fingers move to undo your bra, almost without thinking.

Sukuna watches you, the air around him thick with that same, unreadable calm. The amusement never leaves his expression, but it feels like there’s something more beneath it, like he’s watching a very private performance.

You pull the bra off, leaving you bare chested as you pick up the chemise to put it on. Your nipples stiffen in the air, and you try not to look at the way his eyes are drawn to them, how he licks his lips.

You slip it on, the fabric soft and delicate as it caresses your skin, till the underwire sits right below your breasts. Heat prickles all across your skin, and somehow you feel even more exposed with the lingerie outlining your nakedness.

With another swallow you lift the ribbons to your chest, across your nipples, when—

“Let me,” he says, voice low and smooth.

Intense, but not biting. Soft, almost, though the look in his eyes certainly is not — closer to something much hungrier, instead.

But your beyond bound of arguing, not when you feel so vulnerable, so you turn around and timidly walk up to him till your breasts are in his face, holding the ribbons out for him. He takes them from your hands without asking, holding them gently across your bare nipples. The fabric brushes your skin—soft, deliberate, teasing. Then he slowly begins to tie them.

He pulls the satin taut until the soft weight of your breasts spills out around it, obscene and almost delicate, like a gift he’s unwrapping in reverse before finishing it with a bow, neat and centered. You stare at your reflection, heat blooming across your chest, your neck, your face.

“I look ridiculous,” you murmur, voice barely audible.

“Ridiculous,” he repeats, like the very word offends him. His tone turns low, almost lazy. “Then how come”—he takes your hand, guides it lower—“you’re doing this to me?”

He presses your palm against the growing bulge in his pants. Firm, heavy and real. Your breath catches as your thighs tense. Your panties grow damp as your mind short-circuits, shame and arousal folding over each other like waves.

“Gonna call me a creep or a perv again?” he teases, almost gently. Almost fond.

No. Because those were only reflections of your own discomfort with yourself, weren’t they? Because right now you feel desirable, so his arousal makes you want more.

Surrender.

You give in, not caring that you’re in a public changing room, as you straddle his lap and settle, guided more by instinct than thought. Your lips find his—hot, searing, desperate—and he kisses you back with that slow, claiming hunger that always makes you feel like you’re being owned.

But even in that closeness, something twists under your ribs. A voice.

Not loud, but constant, like pressure behind your eyes. It always shows up when you're too close to him like this, when it stops feeling like a game and starts feeling dangerous.

It reminds you, as it always does, that this isn’t forever. That it can’t be, even if there wasn’t that goddamn deadline.

Because what you have isn’t just complicated— it’s illicit. Unnatural. Wrong.

Something that can’t have a future, not with what he is to you and what you are to him. Because of that twenty-five percent. That shared part of you that ensures this can never become love, only shame and ruin.

It aches, sharp and splintering, like a thorn working its way deeper into your heart. You know you should pull back. That you should start untangling yourself now, before you sink too deep into something you’ll never escape cleanly.

But his mouth is like a sedative, his touch a kind of sweet anesthesia that dulls your self-preservation into a low, useless hum.

And so you don’t stop. Because in this moment, he makes you forget. Forget what’s right, what’s wrong, who the hell you’re even supposed to be.

#tw inc*st #cw incest #sukuna x reader #jjk sukuna #sukuna smut #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #sukuna fic #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jjk au #jjk dark content #dead dove fic #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #ryoumen sukuna #sukuna x y/n #sukuna jjk

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