#inky.mikey

[inkykeiji]

always wear your cutest pair of undies to your best friend’s house; you never know when her cooler, hotter older brother is gonna want to fuck you ♡ and yes, he’ll be keeping your panties for later use, thank you very much ♡

don’t be stupid, manjirou laughs in your face when you shyly ask for them back, your palm curled around the knob of his bedroom door. these belong to him now. in fact, you better bring him an even prettier pair next time (and that’s an order, not a request—or else he isn’t going to give you a single drop of his cum!) ♡

[inkykeiji]

character: bonten!mikey x fem!reader notes: a day or two ago teddy and i were daydreaming about sucking on our Daddies’ fingers and i genuinely haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since!!!! warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, hair pulling, oral fixation (finger sucking), somnophilia + minimal prep, mention of drugs words: 1.3k

If he’s being truthful, Mikey doesn’t really mind when you suck on his fingers—kind of likes it, actually; likes feeling useful, likes the way your tongue pulses and jumps just a bit as you draw him in a little further, suck around him a little harder, likes to pacify you—provided that it’s feasible.

You know when to ask, know that if Daddy’s busy cleaning his guns or cutting his drugs that he needs both hands, that his pretty girl can’t be greedy, now, just because she needs something to suck on. No, on those days you can usually be patient enough, can usually wait until Daddy’s finished with whatever important business he has to take care of. But sometimes, if you’re really needy, and you’ve been extra good, you might get lucky—he might let you stick his cock down your throat, let it sit all heavy and hard on your tongue as you kneel sloppily between his spread thighs, chin on the edge of his chair, hands planted between your folded knees and palms pressed flat to the floor, all conscious and intentional, since Daddy has a rule against touching during times like these, claims it distracts him, and we can’t have that, now, can we, sweetheart?

No, Daddy. Of course not, Daddy.

Daddy has a rule against sucking at times like these as well—this isn’t about getting him off or making him feel good, after all, he had told you. This is just about giving his whiny little baby something to fill her mouth with, something to fill her mouth up, to keep her occupied and quiet while Daddy works. If he feels your tongue start to curl around his shaft, if he feels your lips begin to pucker and your cheeks begin to hollow, he’ll be yanking you off his cock in one harsh, swift motion, with his knuckles rooted at your scalp and a growled curse spit through his teeth—and then you’ll be in real trouble, and you definitely don’t want that! 

But it’s when Daddy’s sifting through boring paperwork and poring over mind-numbing files and notes—full of gruesome photographs and disturbing details—that the perfect opportunity arises to lend you his hand, to let you wrap both palms around his slim wrist and take his fingers into your mouth.

He knows that’s exactly what you want when you curl up next to him on his plush office couch, gazing at him with glittering eyes and your bottom lip siphoned between your teeth, but he won’t give it to you; not until you say it, of course, not until you explicitly ask for it—because good girls ask for what they want, don't they?—keen stare veiled by feathery lashes and voice trembling with a desperate sort of humiliation. 

But he’s sweet as syrup when he nods and allows you to suck two of his fingers into your eager, waiting mouth, silky praises falling from between smirking lips. Because you’re so good for him, swallow so well for him, take his index and ring finger all the way in for him, right to the third knuckle, the edges of your teeth gently scraping the sharp protruding bones. 

The metal of his rings clacks against the back of your teeth, platinum and white gold warming in the heat of your mouth as your tongue coils and curves around the bony digits, laves over the bumps and ridges of each knuckle and joint. Foamy saliva pools in all of the dips and crevices of the jewellery, coats the surfaces all slick and slimy and leaves the gems encrusted in the metal gleaming. 

The underside of the rings feel smooth on your tongue, tip tracing around the arc of each one, slow and studious, almost as if committing them to memory. The metal has a slight tang to it, smearing the zest of sweat across your tastebuds, bitter and salty with a hint of the rusted blood still caked beneath his nails and lining his cuticles.

The pads of his fingers stroke your tongue in slow, rhythmic motions, petting the slippery little muscle in a tender caress—mindless, soothing, habitual—as tired onyx eyes skim the pages crumpled in his free hand. Delicate fingers hook around the bangles encircling his wrist and tug, begging for more and whimpering nonsensically around his flesh—more, Daddy, more, more, gimme more, pretty please.

And he does, of course, his sweet, greedy little girl, permits you to draw him further down your throat, copious amounts of drool oozing from the corners of your mouth as your lips tighten and your tongue squeezes—so much so that it’s trickling down your chin and dripping off your jaw in heavy, viscous cords, drizzling all over your chest and clavicle.  

It leaves behind the prettiest streaks of shimmering spit, and Mikey can’t help but press down on the back of your tongue, enraptured as another tiny torrent of saliva seeps past his fingers to spill down his hand and collect in the lines of his palms.

The action earns him a pitchy yelp, sound vibrating around the tips of his fingers, and he snorts a little, fingers rubbing your tongue in a crude sort of apology. 

Sorry, baby, sorry, he’s murmuring in response, though that smug, sadistic little smirk toying with the corners of his lips tells you that he’s not sorry at all. 

His fingertips are pruned by the time he’s finished shuffling through his documents, soaked and soggy with your saliva. Your mouth’s finally gone slack, a telltale indicator that you’ve fallen asleep, dribbles of drool rolling down the side of his hand and his wrist as you breathe, calm and even and soft, around the digits lodged down your throat. 

Your teeth have left cute little indents in his knuckles and the underside of his fingers, but he doesn’t mind, running the tip of his own tongue over the jagged little craters carved into his skin and humming softly to himself.

It always has his cock twitching in his trousers, straining against the thin material, and on the nights where he really needs it—when the day has been abundantly challenging, excruciatingly exhausting, full of collecting debts and deaths—he’ll rearrange your pliant body, push your head down and hips up and panties aside and use his already sopping hand to wet you just enough to comfortably take his cock, burying himself to the fucking hilt in one swift, sharp thrust and revelling in the gorgeous little gasp of surprise that claws its way past your sleepy lips. 

Stay sleeping, sweetheart, he always tells you, murmured into the skin behind your ear and punctuated with a chaste kiss. Just let Daddy take what he needs.

And so you do, every single time, ever his good girl, his best girl, nodding into the corduroy couch cushions and mumbling out some garbled sentiment of affirmation. 

It’s never graceful, always shameful, lacking his usual skill and subtlety as he pathetically ruts into your sweet cunt, flush hips grinding into your thighs gone sticky and slippery with desperation, humping away unevenly at you until his cock is pulsing viciously and he’s breathing out a curse against the damp nape of your neck, filling you with thick cream.

He always takes a moment to admire you after, too; to admire the mess he’s made of you, the masterpiece he’s made of you, calloused thumbs spreading your fucked-raw lips and watching as his cum cascades out of you slow and sticky, using the hardened pad to smear it across your cunt—glazing your clit and your slit and your inner thighs; painting you in him, pressing into the splotches of navy and grey those sharp hipbones carved into soft flesh—before he hoists you up, collects your boneless body in a heap in his arms and decides it’s time for bed, finally, for the both of you.

[inkykeiji]

in an effort to get him to pay attention to you, you send bonten!mikey photo after photo of every single sweet you’ve eaten throughout the day (at an alarmingly increasing frequency) until he finally replies with ‘have you eaten anything other than sugar all day?’ to which you cheekily retort ‘have you?’

(;¬_¬) fair point. baby wins this one :)

[inkykeiji]

oh, to be yakuza mikey’s sex slave…he’ll never let you let him…or his house

why on earth would you ever want to leave his mammoth, monstrous mansion in the middle of nowhere? it has everything you could ever need, and then some, he’s absolutely sure of it—tennis courts and skating rinks and indoor pools and bowling alleys and state of the art appliances + electronics and a multi-acre garden complete with a greenhouse—what more could you possibly ask for, honestly? and all for the low, low price of allowing him to use you whenever he pleases, however he pleases, and wherever he pleases, no questions asked? all for the downright menial cost of belonging to him, solely and completely; of being owned by him—which is to say, of being taken care of by him, all of your needs met and all of your decisions made for you, none of that pesky thinking required? that’s not too high a price to pay, is it? that’s not a bad trade off at all, right? he certainly doesn’t think so.

nevertheless, yakuza mikey understands that you’re ‘bored’ all alone here—he does work such long, taxing hours, and there are some times where he doesn’t get to see you for a full forty-eight hours or so (those instances are always the worst, in his opinion)—so he agrees to let you out every once in a while, provided that you agree to some slight ‘modifications’ on your cell phone. it’s nothing major, nothing huge, he promises you. they’re so inconsequential, he claims you won’t even notice anything has changed at all.

his adjustments to your device are security related, safety related, or so he tells you, sternly insisting that you don’t need to know any information beyond that, for your own good, he says. that’s because they aren’t for you, they’re for him; tracking devices that alert him of your every minor movement and full access to your camera and microphone, so he can keep you monitored wholly and completely, in all ways, at all times.

[inkykeiji]

forever pushing the mikey has a thick fucking cock agenda <3

so thick u can’t even fit ur whole palm around it <3 so thick it hurts EVERY SINGLE TIME he sinks into u or forces u to sit on it <3

[inkykeiji]

ate too much chocolate,,, tummy hurts,, ໒( ⇀ ‸ ↼ )७ send help (and by help i mean mikey, so he can rub my sore belly while gently scolding me in that sugary condescending tone because i’m such a silly lil baby and i should’ve known better than to eat that much cocoa in one sitting but it’s all okay now, because Daddy’s here to take care of me n make me feel better <33)

[inkykeiji]

sanzu’s ultimate dream is to snort coke with mikey

OHHHH ANONNN <333 i think sanzu’s the one supplying mikey with whatever he needs, whenever he needs it <3 he’s like a fucking reservoir, and he’d crawl to the ends of the earth to secure whatever fucking drug mikey wants. and sanzu is such a good friend, such a good worker, that he always samples the stock before ever giving it to his boss—gotta make sure that shit’s pure, you know; gotta make sure that shit’s the best, because it’s only ever the best for mikey, always, words sanzu absolutely lives by.

so when mikey invites him to sit down and do a few lines with him because this stuff’s incredible, truly, you’ve seriously outdone yourself this time, sanzu’s over the fucking moon, so giddy he can’t even smother the smile stretched wide across his cheeks, or the over-eager nodding of his head, or the yes, of course rushing from his mouth in a single breath. i mean, really, what better praise could you possibly receive from your superior? <3

[inkykeiji]

really just wanna get matching tracksuits with mikey 🥺🥺🥺 cute, custom made sets in baby pink (for me) and royal blue (for him), embroidered with our initials over the heart in shimmering gold thread <33 and maybe, maaaybe mine has ‘property of m. sano’ scrawled across the bum <3 and maybe, maaaybe his has a cute lil 𝒸 stitched into the hip in sparkly pink, right below the ruffled waistband <3

[inkykeiji]

i have no one else to talk to about this, so i’m dumping it here if you don’t mind…. am i the only person who finds takemichi’s gradual disconnection from the mizo middle five to be dispiriting? they were his loyal and passionate best friends, and yet takemichi drifted away from them and latched on to mikey and chifuyu instead…. it’s sad to think about since it’s such a realistic occurrence. then again, i can understand abandoning your loved ones in favor of being with mikey 🤭

no i totally get where you’re coming from!!! and yeah exactly; i think it feels so upsetting and tragic because it’s sooo realistic. i feel like we’ve all either had this happen to us, seen this happen to someone close to us, or been the one growing apart ourselves. and it hurts! it hurts to see interests change and priorities shift and people grow in separate directions, especially when it happens slowly but steadily. but it’s a part of life, i think! doesn’t make it suck any less, tho, of course.

HAHAHA it’s funny you bring that up!!! because i was just thinking about how insanely popular mikey is the other day and how so many people fall for him in this very obsessive, almost religious way. he’s treated like a god most of the time, people nearly worship the ground he walks on, and he has such an intense, imposing, awe-inspiring aura that surrounds him at least half of the time, so can we really blame takemichi for developing such an unhealthy attachment to and resulting obsession with mikey??? <3 his dedication to him is unwavering, to the point where it can actually be kind of unnerving, too (and that goes for a lot of mikey’s friends/gang members)

[inkykeiji]

i need to suck first timeline mikey’s cock right now, right this instant!!!!! it isn’t a want, or a request, it is a downright desperate, utterly urgent need.

[inkykeiji]

omg sweatpants with m. sano on them is SO CUTE. or cute little gold stud earrings one with a m and the other s

i kNOW RIGHT ANON!?!?!? i want them soooo bad :((( i rly just want mikey to make it known to every single person in the whole wide world that i am His :( and he is Mine >:) in the most obvious, obnoxious way possible <3 i want it to be bold, and loud, and flashy, so anyone who’s looking at my ass knows instantly who it fucking belongs to <3

omg i love the earrings idea!!! i also love this with the idea of a necklace/choker <3 v v v cute <333