#tw.mommy issues

[shokobuns]

“see”

in which you warm up to your stepdad while your mom’s not home.

prequel to feel.

pairing: stepdad!sukuna ryomen x reader

genre: smut, taboo

word count: 1.4k 

warnings: smut, parental stepcest, mutual masturbation (f/m), taboo, daddy kink, scenes (sex, overstim, size kink), slight mommy issues (only if you squint tho)

“behave while i’m gone, i gotta get something at the store.” she says sternly.

you nod, putting the last of your plates on the rack before turning on the dishwasher. “is sukuna coming with you?”

“no,” she replies, scrolling through her phone before slipping it in her purse, “he’s taking a nap right now. you better leave him alone.”

“i will.”

“alright. i’m not planning on leaving him any time soon. you need to warm up to him somehow, darling.”

after you hear the click that signified she was out, you groan exasperatedly.

sukuna.

he’s the only thing your mom had paid all her attention to these past few months. you want to be happy for her, you really do, but it almost feels impossible and you can’t pinpoint the exact reason why. you don’t know what it is about the man. the cocky expression on his face that never falters, his tanned skin clad in tattoos, his piercing gaze that always radiates an aura dominance, it all made you feel uneasy.

of course, your mom would notice. it wasn’t uncommon for you to keep your interactions with him short and limited despite the fact he had been living with you for months. it wasn’t uncommon for you to retire to your room once he came home from work. and for your mom, it was all translated to one thing; you simply just did not like him. at all.

if only it was that simple.

you truly wish it was that simple because you’ve been repulsed by people before. hell, you’ve disliked tons of people and still continue to do so. you know the uneasiness that hits you whenever you’re near them. you know how hard your teeth clench, how your chest burns, how your eyes roll to the back of your head at the sound of their voice.

but that wasn’t it. this uneasiness came with fast heartbeats, fluttering feelings in your stomach, and flushed cheeks. this uneasiness came with the inability to form sentences, unconscious stares, and invaded thoughts. this uneasiness came with imagination, slight jealousy, and damp underwear.

so, no. it wasn’t that simple and it would never ever be that simple. you don’t know who you should feel sorry for. maybe your mother. your dear, flawed mother who decided that you needed a father figure after eighteen years of its absence. maybe sukuna, who probably was just looking for a wife or some fun, not a family. maybe yourself, your own clouded mind betraying you with sinful lust.

nonetheless, here you are.

here you are, chores done, bedroom door wide open, pulling your shorts down and throwing them off somewhere on your bed. he’s in the master bedroom right across from yours in the hallway, sleeping soundly. you can just barely make out the little snores leaving his mouth which is enough just for you.

you can’t help but admire him while he’s in this peaceful state. he’s handsome with structured cheeks, black ink that adorns most of his skin, and big hands that can completely cover yours in his fist with ease.

your panties are damp, sticking to your wet cunt. they become more and more ruined the more you think about him and you sigh. it happens every time. it starts with a thought, some kind of seed that sows in your head, and your mind elevates it until the thought progresses to something dirty, something shameful, something that is so wrong.

you should be happy for your mom.

it all goes out the window when you think about the large hand that steadies your waist every time you almost fall, one with a tight grip that brings back that fluttering feeling in your stomach. more black ink that compliments the veins running through them and silver rings that decorate his fingers. you’re sure, positive, that they’re thicker than your own, able to reach deeper than you ever could by yourself.

your hand travels down to your clit, rubbing slow circles on the small bud as you sigh in relief at finally being able to touch yourself after weeks. you travel lower, your finger prodding at your hot core before slipping in until you’re knuckles deep. starting off with slow strokes, you build everything up until you’re ready for another finger. you squeeze your eyes shut, an image in your mind forming as it always does when you’re in this state.

and it’s sukuna.

it’s sukuna and his fingers that would fill you up nicely, stretching your hole to the point where the line of pain and pleasure is difficult to decipher. and he’s looking at you with that piercing gaze again, the one that demands control and submission. he’s pumping his fingers at a painstakingly slow pace and so are you. when you imagine him hitting that sweet spot, you curl your fingers.

your shirt is pulled up above your breasts, one hand massaging your tit as you get lost in your own pleasure. it all feels so good, the knot in your lower tummy forming and tensing while your pussy drools all over your sheets. you’re letting out involuntary squeaks, your senses being overcome by the impending wave of bliss.

a groan from the other room interrupts the scene in your head.

the sound causes you to freeze, eyes suddenly widening as you turn in its direction. there’s a smirk plastered on sukuna’s face as his eyes follow your figure intently. from what you can make out, it’s possible that he’s been awake for a while now. your heart pounds out of your chest, body shaking from the amount of guilt and embarrassment. does he know you were thinking about him? can he sense the lewd scene you’ve put together to get off?

a million thoughts race through your mind, but the most prominent one is louder than the rest; why was he looking at you like that?

he folds over the blanket, revealing an intimidating imprint that pokes through his boxers, all the while staring straight at you. your cunt still stuffed with your own sopping fingers and you take it as a silent demand to keep going.

you obey, something that any good girl would do.

“come on, princess,” he calls out from his room, his cock springing up to his stomach as he pulls down his underwear and it’s better than anything you’ve imagined. the pink tip drips with precum and like his fingers, he’s thick and long. he spits in his hand and you gawk at the sight, saliva spilling at the side of your parted lips and he returns with his usual cocky expression.

three fingers thrust into you, knuckles deep, while he pumps his pretty cock in his fist, eyes following your every aspect of your current position. you pinch your nipple, letting out a small mewl, while attacking the spongy spot that never fails to have you squirting all over your sheets.

but you wish it was his thick cock filling you up instead.

you know that if you ever got the chance to have him stuffing you full, it would ruin the sensation of your fingers. you know that your little digits would never be able to compensate for something that huge. and seeing him fuck his fist makes your walls convulse because you know that this isn’t one sided. any crumb of guilt that was there before is wiped from your mind.

the only thing you can think about is his cock splitting your little cunny in half, pounding into your cervix while you struggle to take his full length. he wouldn’t be gentle, you know that, but you’d prefer it that way. he would pin your knees to your chest, caging your body with his arms, balls slapping against the skin of your plush ass. he’d hit every spot that you couldn’t, driving into you ruthlessly. and it wouldn’t end there because he would want to ruin you. he’d want you cumming over and over again on his cock until you’re a ruined, babbling mess begging for him to stop.

“oh- oh fuck, daddy!” you breathe out between moans, feeling wet liquid coat your thighs as your walls clamp down on your fingers. he’s almost there with you, streams of sticky white spilling onto his stomach at the sound of your sweet voice. your back arches of the bed as you cream all over your fingers, panting exhaustedly while bringing them up to your mouth, sucking softly. he’s practically staring holes through your body, his cock twitching once again.

but your mom can be back anytime with the groceries. and he really needs to clean those sheets.

[meowdarame]

love being home for less than 7 hours and already getting into an argument with my mom 😍😍😍

[iwaasfairy]

nONONO but imagine this atsuko running an erand, leaving his bff alone with you. BAM you seduce him in aTSUKOS ROOM. he's like "this is so wrong" but you're such a milf. he'd do anything to spend multiple- a night with you. he treats you so well and he's fucking you so good (the stamina of this man though) 👀. wanna know what makes it better? atsuko arrives, hearing all this sinful shit and hearing his bEST FRIEND MOANING YOUR NAME. he's like wtf and just as he's about to barge in he hears his best friend call you "𝓶𝓸𝓶𝓶𝔂"! aAaaa. as he's cumming inside you pull him close stroking his hair and planting kisses all over his face "you came so much inside mommy, good boy. " aND HES JUST WATCHING IT ALL HAPPENING. #cuck4lyfe #bestfriendtodadtrope😓

RHI LOOK AWAY you don't see anything

pKJHDufrght this is for all you hornies out here trying to get them both i really,,, can't believe,, I MEAN I CAN believe you're all that whore knee but ( -̩̩̩͡˛ -̩̩̩͡ ) i feel bad for atsu pLSSSS he'd literally lose his shit he cannot handle this

[shokobuns]

“taste”

in which you and sukuna worry about what to eat for dinner.

pairing: stepdad!sukuna ryomen x f!reader

genre: smut, taboo, dark

word count: 1.9k

warnings: dark content, stepcest, fingering, oral (f receiving) during period, drug use (marijuana), blood, bloodplay, idk mans eats her out while she’s on her period, dubcon (if you squint), slight mommy issues, manipulation (kind of), overstimulation, daddy kink, high sex

note: characters are aged up

“What’s got you all grumpy?”

You open your eyes, the first thing you see being the man covered in tattoos standing three feet in front of you wearing an expression of slight concern on his face. His hands are in his hoodie pockets, sweatpants hanging dangerously from his hips. You resist the urge to look lower, limiting your vision to just his head as you look up at him from the couch.

“Just that time of the month. Plus, mom’s working again, so I gotta cook.”

“I could cook, too, you know,” he offers, plopping himself down next to you on the couch, “You want soup? Some noodles?”

“Yeah, sure, I’m not really hungry right now, though,” you reply, getting up and walking towards your room, “I’ll see you later.”

“Where’re you goin’?” he asks, making himself comfortable in your previous spot.

“My room.”

By the time you reply, your hand is already on the doorknob and you’re quickly making your way to your bed, hiding yourself under the covers. It doesn’t matter if anything happened or not because that uneasy warmth in your lower tummy started to bloom again and it’s embarrassing. It’s shameful, it’s not right, but most of all, it’s wrong. It’s wrong, but it doesn’t stop the feeling.

He’s probably smoking in the living room again and you know because the strong smell creeps into your room and it does every time your mom is on a business trip. Without her around, there’s no one to scold him, no one to fix him and you’re stuck with this version of Sukuna. This version of Sukuna who doesn’t hold back on his habits whether it be out of spite or the lack of self control. But everything is fine as long as there’s a wall between the two of you. At least that’s what you think.

It all starts with a soft knock on your door.

“Are you alright, princess?”

You don’t respond, only burying yourself deeper into your covers, waiting for the sound of the footsteps to signify that he’s gone.

“I know you’re awake. I just wanna help you.”

You give in, walking over to your door and opening it. You’re met with the sight of your stepdad with his hair messier than usual, the hoodie long gone and replaced with a loose t-shirt that’s a little too short on him. He leans on your doorway, scanning your dimly lit room with red eyes. He stinks of marijuana, like he always does, and you pinch your nose. “What do you want?”

“Jeez, just trying to help you,” he answers, a soft smile on his face, “You did say you were on your period. I can get you something, you know.”

“No, thanks.” you reply, attempting to close the door, but he prevents it, holding it open with one hand, “You know, if you’re having stomach pains, I can let you have a hit.”

It would be your first time. Sure, you’ve smelled, seen, and interacted with him in this state, but never got the offer to actually smoke a joint with him. And it’s not like you were opposed to smoking at all, but you were scared. You’re hesitant, weighing out each pro and con while the pain in your stomach begs you to take the offer. But the other, more rational, part of you reminds you what you’re scared of - what you might do, what you might say - and it makes the simple offer more and more complicated.

And just like that, your mind snaps back into your body. “Fine.”

“Alright, then.”

You’re back on the couch, patiently waiting for him to finish rolling up and you hate admitting this, even if it’s only your mind, but he looks good while doing it, staring right at you while he licks the paper. You don’t realize it until he’s snapping his fingers in front of your face, but you were staring back, and there’s a slight smile on his face that’s almost mischievous. “This is your first time, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. You always want to get high with someone you trust, you know?” he says, holding up the lighter.

Someone you trust, huh.

It’s one bold assumption -- the assumption that you trust him at all -- but the more you come out of your room from time to time, seeing the contrasting attitudes between him and your mom, seeing the differences in how each person treats you, you wonder who’s at fault. When you hear the screaming match, is it really him that’s in the wrong? When his hand brushes over your bare legs and those butterflies flutter in your stomach is it his fault that you feel that way? Each question is hard to answer and each feeling is hard to decipher, but you’ll figure it out at some point.

You suck in the smoke, letting it fill your lungs before going into a coughing fit while Sukuna hysterically laughs at you. Your cheeks flush in embarrassment and you let out a quiet apology for not being able to inhale more. “Don’t worry about it, it’s your first time.” He reassures you, letting his arm fall in the spot behind you before taking another hit from the joint in your hand.

By your third hit, you start to feel lighter and lighter, and your eyelids start to get heavy. Everything looks and feels hazy, so much that you don’t even register the hand trailing on your thigh, getting higher and higher. It’s a soft touch, only a caress, but you’re giggling and soon enough turning your face towards his. And you don’t realize how close you two are until your noses touch and his breath fans over your lips.

“You trust me, right? Jus’ wanna help you,” he mutters and you nod, looking up at him with half lidded eyes.

It’s one bold assumption, each question in your mind hard to answer, each feeling hard to decipher, but there’s one that stands out: Why does it matter who’s at fault anyways?

He leans in, lips meeting each other in a messy kiss. It’s wet, rough, and his teeth nibble on your bottom lip, causing your mouth to open as you let him in. You let him help you and he gets right to work, pulling down your shorts until the only thing separating your wet heat from his hand is your underwear. And your pad. Panic shoots through your veins once you realize it. “Stop! Wait!” you hold his hand, weakly keeping it away from your crotch.

“I’m on my period, remember?”

“Gonna help you. Don’t care if it’s messy.” he replies, settling himself between your legs, breath practically blowing over your clothed core.

He pulls down your underwear, paying no attention to the pad sticking on the inside. One well manicured finger prods at your entrance, slipping through your slick cunt and curling in the process before he adds another. You’re already hypersensitive from the high and your monthly, the states intensifying every movement of his two fingers and you’re already close, walls fluttering and the knot in your tummy unraveling. “Now? It’s only been a minute, babygirl.” he chuckles, watching your body squirm.

“Give me another,” he commands and you nod weakly, dark pink and red arousal dripping onto the white couch, staining the pure material. Your hands tangle themselves in pinkish blonde hair, letting out tiny mewls while his fingers thrust into you at a rapid speed, his thumb rubbing against your little pearl. He hits the spongy spot inside of you, the stimulation of both places bringing you more and more and waves of pleasure, whines filling up the entirety of the living room.

“C-Close, daddy,” you pant out, your hole squeezing tight around thick fingers, the feeling of ecstasy reverberating all over your body.

“I know, babygirl,” he coos, one hand prying your legs apart. He watches you come apart, a look of admiration in his face, his lips curving upwards in an evil grin, “But you’re gonna have to give one more.”

“I-I can’t, daddy. I’m sorry-”

“I said, one more,” he growls, a clear shift from his loving tone, “So selfish.”

His fingers don’t stop, only fucking into you harder and faster from his previous pace. His fingers are covered in blood, but he doesn’t care, burying them deep into your overstimulated cunny, curling them as your back arches and your hands grip the cushions. “I can’t do it, please-”

“Sure, you can,” he replies before his mouth latches around your clit, a slight metallic taste on his tongue. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you lose the ability to form coherent sentences while the tip of his tongue teases the little nub. The lewd sound of his mouth sucking onto the pearl joins in with your moans and the squelching from him fucking into your little hole. He’s ruining your pussy with his mouth and his fingers alone, waves of pleasure crashing onto you, your pink release coating his digits.

“D-Daddy,” you whine, pressure building up in your lower stomach, your period long forgotten.

“I know,” he smirks, feeling your walls pulsate, rubbing against all of the right places, “I know, babygirl.”

As you come down from your high, you look down at the mess, paranoia flooding your mind, but Sukuna’s hand trails down your thigh, a silent form of reassurance. You’re slowly calming down until you see red slick on his fingers and you feel the need to apologize profusely. Though, he reads you like a book and smirks, bringing them up to his lips and licking it all off, sucking them as if they tasted like honey, savoring the taste of your bloody cunny.

“I said I was gonna help you. You should trust me more, yeah?”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“You should be sorry,” he replied, his breath fanning over your pussy, “But you can make it up to me by letting me eat this sweet pussy, hm?”

Your body is floating, your sense of judgement and humiliation foggy from the high of your orgasm, unable to form a coherent form of refusal. You’re already flustered from the way he’s been treating your bleeding cunt, but there’s a sense of hunger in his eyes and that’s when you know he doesn’t care either way. Sukuna takes this lack of response as approval and suddenly his tongue is diving into your overstimulated pussy, licking up all you had to offer.

He licks up from your hole before sucking his clit into your mouth, slurping up your folds like he was a starved man. It’s clear he doesn’t care about the red that covers up the lower half of his face. In fact, you’d think he enjoys it, cherishes the metallic taste on his tongue. Every time your hole clenches around nothing, he moans into your cunt, sending vibrations throughout your entire body.

“You taste like the sweetest fucking candy, princess,” he comments, pulling away from your cunt before diving back in.

You’re overcome with bliss and he keeps on lapping at your folds, trying to take in the entirety of your release, barely even allowing for your recovery, walls convulsing with every movement of his tongue. His hands support your shaking thighs as you look down at where his lips meet your core and he’s looking right at you, watching your pretty face as you come down at the sight. When he pulls away from the final time, he gives your inner thigh a kiss followed by a hard bite and a hickey.

“Thanks for the dinner.”