Latest Posts by itshaetu - Page 2

HEYYY IIDK IFHOU TAKE REQUEST BUTTTT HOW WOULD THE HASHIRA REACT TO A HYPER ENERGETIC READER WHO IS ONE SECOND DOING 1 THINK THEN THE NEXT A NEW THING LIKE THEY COULD BE PAINTING AND THE NEXT SKY DIVING

I love your writing style hehe

Male pillars x Reader - the art of being too energetic

author's note: i hope this request is to your liking. truthfully, i had trouble writing it at some points.

pairing: Tengen x reader, Obanai x reader, Rengoku x reader, Sanemi x reader, Giyuu x reader, Gyomei x reader

content warning: none

Tengen:

where were you now? he swore you had been standing next to him a few moments ago. he looked around the streets, trying to spot you.

did you see a demon and moved forward without him? no, he would've heard it. he looked around the dark streets, not taking long to figure out where you went.

his feet dragged him towards the festival down the street. the area was filled with lamps and people wearing the prettiest kimonos or yukatas.

yet none of them stole his attention away from what mattered. you. you were in the middle of the crowd of dancing people. you spun around in fluid motions, a smile plastered on your face.

if it hadn't been for your uniform, you would've fitted right in. he moved forward without thinking, his hand soon grasping yours.

"now what were you thinking? we've been walking through the empty streets just a few seconds ago!" he said, his lips tugging up into a smile.

"couldn't resist, the music drew me in!" you laughed, twirling around him. he followed, both of you now dancing in sync. you didn't care for the eyes staring at the two of you. "are you mad?"

"you're too flamboyant to be mad at."

Obanai:

Obanai had been sitting on a tree, lazily watching you train. he didn't have anything better to do and you enjoyed his presence. however, when he looked down, you weren't training next to his tree anymore.

he looked to the side, flinching when you sat right next to him. "[name]!" he called out, looking at you surpised. he gave you a questioning look, waiting for your explanation.

"i found this." you answered, showing him a small acorn - or rather the rest of it. he looked at the cupule, you held it up by it's stem.

"and..?" he asked, still confused. it wasn't surprising to see you change your mood so quickly, but he found himself confused every time. especially now when you looked at Kaburamaru.

"and this!" you said, offering the snake to slither onto your arm. Kaburamu listened and Obanai watched in anticipation. the snake trusted you, just like Obanai did.

the cupule you held in hand was carefully placed on Kaburamaru's head, slowly pulling away to not knock it down. you blinked a few times and then looked at Obanai.

"it's a little hat! what do ya think?" you asked enthusiastically.

Obanai's eyes wandered between you and Kaburamaru, then back at you. "it's great. you should find him a scarf too."

"you're right!"

Rengoku:

"little flame? darling?!" he called out your name, desperately trying to find you. he had been sitting in the living room when he noticed the odd smell of smoke.

he had been worried sick, trying to find the source. his eyes widened upon seeing the clouds of smoke leaving your shared kitchen. however, when he ran inside, he was even more confused.

"darling..?" he asked, tilting his head to the side to get a better look at you. he could barely see it through all the fug, but he figured you were standing next to the stove.

when he came closer, he saw you more clearly - you were holding a bucket in your hand. his eyes fixed on the stove, hearing it sizzle quietly. it was wet and still slightly hot. he couldn't make out what had been in the pan, but it was burnt now.

"oh, Kyojuro!" you gasped, looking at the man. you hadn't heard him before. your eyes followed his gaze, your face growing red when you looked at the stove.

"i wanted to cook something, but then i remembered this book from a few years ago. i'm sure i had it somewhere around-" you babbled, stopping when you looked at him again.

you had expected him to be mad for nearly burning the whole house down, but he didn't look angry in the slightest. he took the bucket out of your hands instead, placing it to the side.

"let's clean this up first, we can search for the book later." he simply said, his motivated stance not leaving. you agreed, cleaning the kitchen together.

you only stopped when he suddenly spoke again, leaving you baffled.

"you know, i once burned my family's house down when i was smaller."

Sanemi:

Sanemi looked at you, your eyes staring back into his. his gaze hardened, daring you to move further.

"don't do it." he grumbled, his hands ready to grab you in an instant. if someone would've walked into the room, they would've surely questioned your sanity.

"i'm going to do it." you answered, giving him a mischevious smirk. his eyes narrowed, his body tensing up.

you had found a new hobby a few days ago, which happened to involve him. now he gave you his undivided attention when you were acting strange or gave him a knowing look.

in the blink of an eye you turned around and jumped backwards, Sanemi reacting immediately. he made sure to catch you in his arms, stopping you from falling and hitting the ground.

he let out an annoyed sigh, having caught you. again. he didn't even remember how many times it had been this week. "stop doing that!"

"you know you love it" you chirped, giving him a triumphing smile. he rolled his eyes, letting go of you.

but you were right, he did love it.

Giyuu:

"i want wagashi." you said, tugging at Giyuu's sleeve. normally, your request would've been completely fine, but now he was looking at you in disbelief.

"what?" he asked, stopping in his tracks. you came to a halt next to him, repeating what you've just said. "i want to eat wagashi."

he was at a loss of words. you had asked for daifuku nearly ten minutes ago. he had been walking to your favourite shop with you since then, knowing it would make you the happiest.

"we would have to walk in the opposite direction." he remarked, giving you a questioning stare. you blinked at him a few times, as if you were waiting for his answer.

he would've said no to anyone else, but he was used to your impulsive behavior. he couldn't explain why you made decision the way you did, but he thought of it as refreshing. he sighed, turning around on his feet.

"let's buy you some wagashi."

Gyomei:

"can i move now?" he asked. he had been sitting under the waterfall for about thirty minutes now. you had asked him to paint a picture of the moment, which he found himself agreeing to.

however, he hadn't heard anything from you since over fifteen minutes, making him question what was going on. the cold water of the waterfall hitting his back overshadowed most of the other sounds around him, but he managed to hear you stand up.

"Gyomei, i'm so sorry!" you apologized profusely, running towards the waterfall. he heard the splashs over your body pushing the water around you away, eventually feeling your hand pull on his.

"i completely forget about the painting. there was a cat and-" you stopped when you felt his head turn towards yours. you looked at him, wondering what could've made him forget about your mistake.

"a cat?" he asked, feeling you change the direction you were pulling him. it wasn't your strength to keep attention on one thing, but he couldn't care less.

besides, he shared your fascination over cats.

when reading smut and y/n says “daddy”

joel miller • be quiet, or i’ll make you

“Tightest pussy I ever had. Goddamn. You wanna feel good, huh? I’ll make you feel good. Just lemme’ have it nice n’ deep, and I’ll get you back later. Let you sit on my face for hours. Make you cum till’ you’re cryin.”

WARNINGS - smut smut smut mdni, porn with some plot, forced proximity, feral!joel, risky/secret sex, brutal sex, size!kink, dubcon if you squint but mostly a mutual want situation, reader and joel have an unspoken relationship, copious amounts of dirty talk, piv, creampie, daddy dom joel.

The world ended in disaster.

You’ve lived with that knowledge for years now, and you think you’ve finally come to terms with the kind of things you’ll get from it. Pain. Loss. Destruction. The same chaos, day in day out, just in different forms.

You know that at this point you’ll be lucky if you survive until tomorrow; so you take it in stride.

And it’s with that thought that you find yourself following Joel into the city, your steps just as reluctant as he was to agree to this. You don’t particularly want to be out here — and neither does he — but you’ve been wanting to look for more medical supplies for a while now and Joel wasn’t about to let you go alone. Despite how much bitchin’ he did beforehand.

You can’t tell which is more depressing; the streets covered in broken glass and littered with remnants of a life long gone, or the buildings that are nearly crumbling to the ground. Neither are very pleasant to look at, but not many things are these days, so you keep moving. You have a job to do, and you don’t have too much time to do it — the sun won’t be up much longer, and you want to get the fuck out of here before the real dangerous kinds of people come out lookin’ for their next meal.

Or, whatever Joel had said earlier. Mostly just in attempt to scare you.

Minutes feel like hours as you keep your gaze pointed forward, and when you pass a shattered window belonging to some old broken down building, you don’t dare look inside.

You’d rather not know what lingers inside death eaten walls.

But it’s while you’re doing that, keeping your gaze ahead, that you miss the fact that Joel has stopped walking. When it finally registers that the world around you has gotten quieter - and when you finally do turn around - you’re surprised for two reasons.

The first being that he even stopped at all, and the second being the fucking look on his face.

“You alright?” You ask as you edge closer, glancing at the abandoned building that’s in front of him. It doesn’t look like anything remarkable, but there’s definitely something in the way he stares at it. “Joel, you still with me?”

He isn’t saying anything, his expression is rather blank — but you know him well enough to know that he’s not just seeing what’s right in front of him. He’s seeing something else entirely. He snaps back to attention faster than you would have expected at the sound of your voice, and when his eyes land down on yours - there’s something inside them that makes your heart sink.

“Somethin’s wrong.” Is all he says before he’s grabbing your wrist, and yanking you inside.

Your heart starts pounding faster, but you try your best to stay calm. He isn’t the kind of man who would panic without cause, so you know he must have seen something - or heard something - and you’re doing your best not to let that scare you.

“Joel—shit—what the hell—“ you stumble over rubble and pieces of broken furniture. “What’re you—“

He’s pulling you deeper into the building, not giving you a chance to stand still long enough to say more. When you get to a staircase he yanks you down a few steps, waiting for the sound of the door shutting behind you before shoving your shoulders back against the wall.

“You listen to me—“ he’s panting, words spat through grit teeth. “You’re gonna’ shut up, and you’re gonna’ stay quiet. Can you do that for me?”

The tone of his voice alone forces you to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from talking. It’s been a long, long time since you’ve seen him this serious. You’d almost forgotten that he was capable of producing this kind of tension - the kind that’s so palpable it could be cut with a knife.

So, you just nod, lips pressed into a thin line, and you hope that it’s enough.

“Alright.” He doesn’t seem certain of your answer, but he nods anyway, reaching for your wrist again and dragging you down the remaining stairs.

When you get to the bottom, he opens the door slowly, eyes darting around until they land on a nearby closet - and it’s only after the first step you take towards it that you hear noises on the floor above you.

Footsteps.

And way too fucking many for you to be comfortable.

The kind of heavy, laden-boot marching you’d dread to hear on good days - nevermind while you’re out in dangerous territory, trying your damnest to flee unseen. It’s only seconds before the steps grow louder, and you can feel your heart rate speeding up again - while Joel is staring at the ceiling with such intensity you think that he might just be able to will it to break if he so much as blinked at it.

Then, in a flash, he snaps out of it - dragging you toward the closet and shoving you inside before you can even think about protesting.

And god, is it fucking cramped.

The closet is small. Small enough that you have to force yourself closer to the wall so that he has space to squeeze inside behind you. And it’s within the first second that he shuts the door, and the darkness swallows you both whole - in which you realize you have a new problem altogether.

“Joel—“ you choke out as a heavy palm snakes around your waist, pressing tight against your belly. He’s a solid wall behind you, his front flush against your back, and all you can fucking feel is his hot breath against your ear - his stubble tickling your cheek. “What’s—“

“No talking.” And then he brings his free hand up to cover your mouth, and you have to stifle a noise that threatens to explode in your chest. “Not a fuckin’ word.”

You take solace in the fact that he can’t see how flushed your face becomes, but your stupid brain is working overtime - overanalyzing the feeling of his calloused palm against your lips, the heat of his mouth way too fucking close to your ear, his free hand that seems to be sliding lower down your abdomen—

“Stop squirming.” He whispers, all heat as his fingers press a little harder against your lower stomach.

You long to bark at him. I can’t control it.

But you can’t. So instead you try to focus on the sounds of the people upstairs. You try to pay more attention to the way your heart is threatening to break free through your sternum. Anything to try and take your mind off of the way he’s touching you - but he makes it so, so hard.

You’re certain you would have a better fighting chance if you were to try and move mountains.

Without even thinking, your hand comes up to wrap around his wrist, and it’s then that his lips curve into a smile against your ear. And when the realization comes crashing down - the realization that he’s fully aware of what’s happening to you - you think you may just collapse.

Oh, god, this is torture.

If it were anyone else, you’d think this was a joke. You’d think that perhaps the way he’s touching you was some kind of attempt at making the terrifying just a little more tolerable, a little more exhilarating for different reasons - but this isn’t just anyone. This is Joel. And you know his mind never works like what. Instead, he simply acts on instinct - in ways that usually leave you reeling and your thoughts in a whirlwind.

You’ve been through this a million times with him.

Unsurprisingly, this time is no different.

And as you try to focus on the footsteps above you - desperately searching for a thought, a train of any kind to follow - his hand moves again, fingertips tracing the waistband of your dirt covered cargos - barely dipping between fabric and skin.

It’s slow, teasing, but it’s enough. And you don’t currently have enough control over yourself to stop your back from arching, pressing directly against the bulge in his jeans that’s growing impatiently despite himself.

And it’s the way he exhales in your ear, the way you hear him inhale right after before his nose brushes the shell of your ear — before his hand dips lower to trace the zipper of your fly — that you find yourself fighting for your life to swallow the moan that threatens to spill because the people on the second floor are now shouting and hollering, and the whole floor seems to quake under the force of their heavy boots.

A second passes. Then two, and then ten — there’s silence. You’re pretty sure the steps are now heading away from where you’re hiding, and you think Joel must agree because he slips his hand from your mouth, sliding it down your jaw.

“Joel—“ you choke out, the last syllables of his name sounding desperate. “I-we—“

And yet again, you aren’t able to finish, because he has a habit of taking the words you think you want to say straight from your chest. You aren’t able to process it until a moment later - when his mouth finds your neck, fingers slipping into your now unzipped cargo pants.

This isn’t what you meant.

You don’t have the chance to tell him that. You don’t have the cognitive ability to push the idea that this isn’t the time. You don’t even have enough room in your head to acknowledge how this could go so badly, so quickly. You’re too drunk on the high of his touch to think straight.

And when his fingers drag the lace of your underwear to the side - all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and pray to a God you’re sure you’ve never actually believed in that you’ll survive this without the shame over how fucking soaked you are eating you alive first.

His fingers find your clit, making slow, small circles. Just enough to make you keen. Just enough to make you forget who you are, and what you’re doing. You think if he keeps it up for any longer, the sounds trapped behind your teeth are going to jailbreak before you can get a handle on them. He knows it too - because it’s only a split second after that thought enters your mind, that he whispers gravel in your ear again.

“If y’can’t stay quiet, I’ll make you.” And it’s said with enough sternness to let you know that it isn’t a threat, it’s a promise. “Be good f’me.”

You don’t know if you can. You don’t know if you can possibly keep yourself silent. Not when his lips are teasing your burning flesh, not when his fingers are rolling your clit, not when he’s whispering promises of heaven in your ear.

But it’s then, that you hear the floorboards creak, and you know then, that you have no choice.

Either find a way to stay silent, or throw yourself headfirst into danger.

“Mm.” He hums as his fingers slip lower, sliding along your slit until they find your embarrassingly wet heat - to which you find yourself widening your feet despite yourself.

And this time, the noise that slips isn’t audible. Not to him anyway. But you can feel the sound vibrate the back of your throat. You can feel the way it glides over your tongue - and when you have the wherewithal, you bite down on your bottom lip, hard enough that it’s almost painful. He doesn’t seem to notice, and you’re glad because you know he’d only find it funny.

He pushes a finger into you, and holy fuck—

“Oh—“ the sound gets out of your mouth before you can stop it, involuntarily defying his direct order to shut the fuck up.

You hope, foolishly, it was quiet enough for him to not hear.

It isn’t, and as a result the hand that had been sitting lazily around your jaw slips firm over your mouth again, yanking your head back against his shoulder. You feel his fingers tighten as if to let you know that it’ll only get harder as his finger pushes deeper, and then retreats, pumping into you slow and steady.

“F-fuck—“ your whine is smothered against his palm, and you somehow have half the mind to realize the footsteps have stopped. Vanished. “J-joel.”

You’re expecting some type of response, some biting be quiet — but instead, all you get is a deep grunt in your ear and a roll of his hips against your ass as he slides another finger into your cunt, thumb brushing your clit.

And there’s almost no fight in you left to resist this - to resist the pleasure he’s pouring into your veins. You’d curse him if you could, if you could put more than four coherent words together to do it - but all there seems to be left in your mind is his name, which he’s using against you like he always does.

“Good girl.” He praises between slow, steady thrusts and you have to wonder what kind of game he’s playing to get you like this - to get you so undone you don’t even remember your own goddamn name.

Then again, you know better than to think there’s a game, at all. There are no games with Joel. He does what he wants and you’re either the benefit of it, or you’re the object of his ire.

But when a third finger slips into you, stretching and stuffing your cunt wider than you were mentally prepared for - you forget about any of that as you bite down on his hand as hard as you dare because it’s just too fucking much.

“J-joel—“ you try again, shaking your head. The footsteps haven’t returned. You have to believe they’re gone. You know Joel knows it too. “P-please—“

And like someone struck a match in a room full of gasoline, he seems to have decided that you’ve waited long enough. In the blink of an eye, you feel his palm leave your mouth, and move to the limited space between you. He’s unbuckling his belt.

“What’s the matter, huh?” He all but growls in your ear, still pumping his fingers deep. “Three too much for you? How d’ya think you’re gonna’ take my cock if you can’t even take my fuckin’ fingers.”

God. His voice is deep, dripping like sin. It goes straight to the center of your chest and you feel like the walls of your rib cage are cracking open. You have no idea how you’re going to be able to take him like this - especially when he’s so far gone it’s like he’s forgotten himself.

“I-I don’t know—“ and it’s the truth. You have no concept of how you’ll take a single drop of him in this state. But he’s already shifted himself free, pulling his fingers out to yank your pants down and slide his throbbing shaft into the slick space between your thighs. “F-fuck. You’re crazy.”

“Worse.” And you already know what he’s going to tell you just by the way the word drips into your ear. “M’insane.”

Truer words.

You never imagined that you’d ever find the thought of Joel Miller going insane so enticing. You imagine all kinds of ways you would have pictured it if someone had told you back when you first met - but somehow, this was never one of the things that came to mind.

“What does that make me?” You hiss as his fingers find your clit again, as he kicks your legs a little wider to slide his leaking tip against your slit.

“A goddamned fool.” He answers as he sinks into you, and there’s never been a more divine connection in the world. He groans into your ear, and you have to bite your lip again until you’re sure you might draw blood. “But you already knew that.”

And somehow, even still - you do.

Yeah. You do. He isn’t the type of man someone can ever know fully. He’s got walls and barriers built high - a fortress, impenetrable and vast - but somehow, you still manage to squeeze your way through it. It isn’t lost on you that you’re the only one who has.

“J-joel—go fuckin’ easy, please—“ you’re grabbing at the wall infront of you as he splits you open without so much as giving you a chance for breath. “It’s—been a while—“

And that stops him for a beat - but not for long, and not long enough. He still doesn’t go easy, still thrusts right to the hilt with the kind of power you’d associate with a man half his age - a man who (if the world hadn’t gone to hell) would be so close to retiring that he could taste the future on the back of his tongue - but you wouldn’t want him to anyway.

“I know, babygirl. I know. Just take it nice n’ deep, f’me. Just take it.”

And then he grabs a handful of your hair, pulling you back so he can get even deeper, your spine arching just enough.

Fucking hell.

The sound that’s almost impossible not to make threatens to rip from the pit of your chest, but you bite down in time and it turns into something between a strangled cry and an elongated whimper. You know you’re going to be walking funny tomorrow - but right now, there’s no such thing as being able to imagine tomorrow.

“You—fuck.” It’s a whisper so pained someone might think you’re actually being impaled. In some ways you are. “Oh, god, Joel. Ohmygod you’re deep—“

“There she is.” He all but growls into your ear. “There’s the tough woman I know.” If he wasn’t holding you so tightly you might’d fall at the way he suddenly slams into you. “Tightest pussy I ever had. Goddamn. You wanna feel good, huh? I’ll make you feel good. Just lemme’ have it nice n’ deep, and I’ll get you back later. Let you sit on my face for hours. Make you cum till’ you’re cryin.”

You almost bite your tongue in half at the very thought of him doing that. Your mind is a wasteland of icoherent thought - and it’s then that you know with all the certainty in the world that you’d been done for the moment he came into your life. He always had a rough edge to him - but back then, when you first met, you thought it was just the product of a shitty life. But now, you know better - now, you know he’s just a good-natured person with an innate drive to protect - and you’d go to your grave knowing that you’d go there loving him for it.

Even though, right now, it feels a lot more like he’s trying to kill you rather than protect you.

“Ohhh, fuck—“ you hiss through grit teeth as he pulls out, dragging slow at tight, wet walls. “M’close to cryin’ now.”

“Mmm.” He all but purrs. “That’ll mean I’m doin’ my job right.” There’s heat in the way he speaks that you swear would burn even the toughest person. But then again, that’s always been something you’d only ever been able to say about Joel. “M’not gonna’ be gentle. You know you ain’t deserving of it right now.”

Another time, you’d tell him he was wrong. Another time, you would have argued that you hadn’t done a single thing wrong - but right now, your thoughts are just as lost as your voice.

Still, you try your best. “W-why? Because I—mmf—dragged you outta’ bed?”

“Wrong.” You can’t see it, but you’re sure there’s a smirk on his face. “You really wanna get into it? Wanna’ make a list?”

You don’t, but you have the horrible feeling that this is going to happen either way.

“Do I have a choice?” You ask with what little breath you can find.

“No.” The word sounds so simple - but in that moment, it might as well have been a dagger. “You don’t.”

He pulls out just so he can drive back into you harder, hand sliding from your hair and back over your mouth.

“First, you dragged me outta’ bed. That right there? Shoulda been spanked for it. Next, you got yourself pinned in a goddamn closet with me after raiders chased us down. Almost got us killed.” Another painfully slow draw out, followed by a hard drive back in - smacking your cervix. “An’ for what? Cause’ you don’t wanna’ listen when I say it’s too dangerous to be out here.”

There are a million retorts you could have - most of them have something to do with you being able to take care of yourself - but none of them even find the beginning of your tongue.

He’ll take that win. Just like he takes everything else.

“Not t’mention you’ve kept this perfect ass from me for far too long.” He’s fucking you hard now, head kissing your cervix with each long thrust and you’re crying out under his palm but the sound doesn’t escape. He makes sure of it. “Mmm, yeah. Far. Too. Long.”

You want to tell him to shut up - that he’s being an ass - but you’re two broken breaths from wailing at the sting on your cervix and the pressure he’s now swirling on your clit. The only thing that’s left for you to do is the only thing you can do.

Take it.

You roll your hips, shoving back against him with every thrust just to have him hit that much deeper - and if he has something to say about it, he doesn’t say it. But he seems satisfied with just that, and suddenly, you think he’s just as close as you are.

“That’s it.” His voice is tight. “Good girl. Just like that.”

His hips snap against your ass so hard you think you might end up bruised tomorrow, but the thought only adds to the haze in your mind.

“Ffffffuck—Joel—“ you mewl, pathetic desperate and needy as a whore, against his palm. His fingers speed up against your clit. “Oh!”

“Take it, baby. Make me fuckin’ proud.” He hisses in your ear, a groan slipping out between it. “So good. Pussy feels so good.”

“Gonna’ make me cum.” You try to speak - maybe another time you’d be embarrassed by how desperate you sound, but this isn’t that time and it’s not the time to be anything other than truthful. “Mmm—gonna cum J-joel—“

“Yeah you are.” He grunts, the rhythm of his thrusts stuttering just a little. “Squeezing my cock so goddamn tight. Fuckin’ cum on it, babygirl. Wanna’ feel you.”

The sound that pushes past his palm at just the last moment doesn’t sound like you - but you know it is. It's the sound of the kind of pleasure that you’ve never experienced before that makes your entire body feel like a rubber band that’s too tight, and you have the vaguest sense of your walls squeezing the life out of him but there’s nothing you can do to stop it from happening at all - becuase your climax hits you like a goddamn freight train and its run you over hard.

You think he’s saying something - you know he is - but you can’t hear anything aside from the blood racing in your ears. Even still, you know exactly what happens next, because you’ve experienced it so many times. The way he loses himself, like he forgets every bit of control he prides himself for having and the need to empty himself inside you takes over.

He spills into you hard - and you love every second of it for the simplicity of the comedown.

It’s the kind of feeling that washes you in warmth. It’s the kind of feeling that tells you that the world is going to be okay, so long as you’ve got him and he’s got you. He groans and his hands come out to brace against the wall infront of you to hold himself up as he shoots hot jets of cum deep inside your cunt - and you can’t remember the last time you’d heard him breathe this hard. Though, truth be told, you can’t remember the last time you heard yourself breathe this hard, either.

Your mouth feels dry, your mind feels hazy, and your legs feel weak - and as he leans over you, he can surely tell all three - but he doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he drags his mouth over your ear with an inhale.

“Mmhmm.” He grumbles as he presses a kiss to your jaw. “Look what you made me to do ya.” Your cheek gets the same treatment, and a breath later as he turns your head slightly, your lips do too. “Gonna’ have my cum leakin’ out of ya all the way back to camp.”

The sound you make doesn’t even seem human, but it’s muffled before it even comes - because he’s kissing you. And it isn’t a hard kiss like you’d expect - it’s slow and steady, and you know he’s doing it in a way to say sorry, as if he realizes he might’ve gone a little too far.

You smile into it, and he does too.

“You really are insane.” You whisper as he pulls back slightly. “My cervix gonna’ need a week vacation after that.”

“M’not a good man, darlin'. If I was, I’d say sorry for that.” He whispers with a small kiss against your lips. “But I ain’t. So, I’ll just tell you I’ll take care of you later as much as you like. That good enough for now?”

There’s only one answer for you. Only one that’s ever been the answer with him.

“Always.” There is a beat of silence, and you smile in the dark. “I love you.”

He pulls out of you, finally, leaving the part of himself behind that tells you how much he loves you too without verbalizing it. Soon as he fixes his jeans, he helps you fix yours.

“And I love you.” He whispers, calloused palm finding your own. “Let’s get outta’ here. The sooner we’re back, the better.”

And that, you can’t agree more with.

With him, there’s no ‘no’. Only ‘yes, sir’.

❤︎ Synopsis. Obsession unfolds as a powerful figure locks his gaze on you, intent on bending your will and breaking your resistance. In his world, love is just a tool for control, and surrender is inevitable.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Itoshi Rin x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Itoshi Sae x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Michael Kaiser x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Isagi Yoichi x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. A Slave to His Will - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 4,056

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non con kissing and touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, degradation, verbal abuse, mature language

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.

♡ Itoshi Rin.

The air around you was frigid, oppressive, each breath you drew cutting sharp like shards of glass in your lungs. The room itself felt less like a space and more like a void—a place where shadows bled into each other and time slowed to a crawl. It wasn’t empty, though. It was filled with him. Rin Itoshi’s presence didn’t just occupy space; it consumed it, swallowing every ounce of air and light until all that remained was the unbearable gravity of his attention.

He stood across from you, his posture deceptively calm, but his eyes—those glinting, venomous teal—spoke volumes. They didn’t see you; they scorched you, flaying you open inch by inch, revealing every fear, every insecurity you thought you’d buried deep. He didn’t need words to tell you what you already knew. You were his focus now. And Rin’s focus was a weapon more devastating than any blade.

When he finally moved, it was with the deliberate, measured precision of a predator closing in on wounded prey. Each step seemed to reverberate through the space, the sound of his soles meeting the floor a dark metronome marking the seconds before you unraveled.

“You don’t understand yet, do you?” His voice slid through the room like oil, suffocating and smothering. It wasn’t booming; he didn’t need to be. Rin spoke with a low, simmering intensity that demanded silence, demanded submission.

He tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into a faint, humorless smirk as he studied you like one might study a puzzle missing its final piece. “Do you know what it’s like to burn so absolutely for something that it becomes the only damn thing that matters? To be willing to destroy yourself and everything else just to take it, to own it?”

The silence stretched as your breath caught, your lips parting, though no sound escaped. He didn’t need a response. He wasn’t asking for permission. His gaze dropped to your trembling hands, the faintest flicker of amusement crossing his face.

“You’re afraid,” he murmured, the statement dripping with satisfaction. “Good.”

Rin was suddenly in front of you, so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body, a stark contrast to the glacial tone of his voice. His fingers brushed against your jaw, soft at first, barely a whisper of contact. It wasn’t kindness, though—just a mockery of it. When his hand tightened, tilting your face upwards to meet his gaze, there was no softness left, only an unyielding grip that said everything he didn’t.

“You’ve already lost, you know.” His eyes bore into yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw something deeper—something feral, desperate, and wholly consuming. “From the moment I decided you were meant to be mine, it stopped being a choice. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

His free hand moved to your wrist, encircling it with ease. His strength wasn’t overbearing, not yet, but the implication of it was clear. He didn’t need to hurt you to make you understand just how powerless you were. That realization crept over you like ice, numbing and inescapable.

“You think this is about affection? About love?” His laugh was razor-sharp, cutting through the smothering tension like a blade. “You really are naive.”

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your temple, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver crawling down your spine. “This is about control. About devotion. I don’t care if you fight. I don’t care if you wail or beg. You’ll stay exactly where I want you until you understand what it means to belong to me.”

Rin’s hand slid down your arm, his fingers intertwining with yours for the briefest moment before pulling your hands together, binding them in his grip. There was no tenderness in the motion, only an inexorable assertion of dominance. He didn’t look at you like a person. He looked at you like an extension of his will, a piece of his identity he was determined to carve into shape with his bare hands.

“You’ll break,” he said simply, as if it were an inevitability. His tone was soft now, almost contemplative. “And when you do, I’ll revamp you into someone worthwhile of standing at my side.”

His lips hovered just above yours, tantalizingly close yet deliberately distant. He wasn’t giving you what you wanted—or what you feared. This wasn’t about the act itself. It was about the power in withholding it, in watching you crumble under the unbearable weight of his attention.

“Say my name,” he commanded, his voice as sharp and unyielding as tempered steel. “Say it like you acknowledge who you belong to alone.”

You hesitated, the words caught somewhere between your throat and the pounding of your heart. His grip tightened, just enough to remind you of how easily he could crush you. “Say it,” he growled, his patience fraying at the edges.

When you finally whispered his name, barely audible, a flicker of triumph danced in his eyes. His smirk widened, splitting his face into something cruel, something monstrous.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his tone laced with mockery and satisfaction. “Now, let’s see how far you’re willing to fall for me.”

And as he pulled you closer, as his touch turned rougher, hungrier, you realized too late that Rin Itoshi wasn’t a man. He was a storm, a force of nature that would consume everything in his path. And you? You weren’t just caught in its wake. You were the eye of it, the singular focus of his ruinous obsession.

────────────

♡ Itoshi Sae.

He watches you like a predator studying its prey, his teal eyes narrowing with the precision of a sniper’s scope. In the dim light of his apartment, the air is heavy with unspoken tension. His presence feels suffocating—an invisible hand curling around your throat. Itoshi Sae’s gaze is unwavering, dissecting every twitch of your fingers, every shallow breath, every faltering word that escapes your lips. He doesn’t speak right away. Silence is his first weapon, sharp and calculating, cutting into your composure like a scalpel. When he finally does speak, his voice is soft, measured, but each word lands with the weight of a falling guillotine.

“You don’t even realize how pathetic you look right now, do you?” he mutters, his tone devoid of empathy, yet laced with a hidden clinical curiosity. He steps closer, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the hollow quiet. “It’s fascinating, really. How easily someone can be stripped of their pride.”

You flinch as his hand reaches out, but there’s nowhere to run. His fingers trace the line of your jaw, their touch featherlight, but you can feel the intent behind them—cold, assessing, as though he’s handling a fragile object he intends to shatter. His lips curve into the faintest semblance of a smile, but it’s a lifeless thing, a grim mockery of warmth.

“Do you even understand what you’ve done to deserve this?” he asks, tilting his head. The question hangs in the air, rhetorical and cruel. He doesn’t wait for an answer. Sae doesn’t need your words; he thrives on your silence, on the way your trembling body speaks volumes.

His hand slides lower, over the curve of your shoulder, down your arm, his touch methodical, almost mechanical. Each movement is deliberate, precise, as though he’s memorizing the map of your body. When his grip tightens, fingers digging into your skin, it’s not enough to bruise—not yet—but the promise of pain lingers in the air like static before a storm.

“Weak,” he speaks, almost to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought you’d be different. But in the end, you’re just like the rest of them. Fragile. Pathetic.”

He takes a step back, his hand falling away, but the reprieve is an illusion. The distance between you is a leash, not freedom. His eyes remain locked on you, dissecting every reaction, every flinch, every unsteady breath. Sae’s control is absolute; even in his silence, he commands the room, bending reality to his will.

“Look at me,” he commands, his tone low and cutting. When you hesitate, his lips curl into a sneer. “Did I stutter?”

Your eyes meet his, and the intensity of his gaze feels like a physical blow. There’s no mercy there, no compassion—only an abyss of calculated cruelty. He steps forward again, closing the distance, until you’re forced to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. His hand rises, fingers curling around your throat, not tight enough to choke, but firm enough to remind you of the power he holds.

“Struggling would be pointless,” he says, his breath warm against your ear. “But go ahead. Try. Amuse me.”

Your body reacts before your mind can catch up, your hands pushing against his chest in a futile attempt to create space. His grip tightens in response, the pressure against your windpipe making it harder to breathe. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t waver. Instead, he watches with a detached curiosity, as though observing a lab experiment.

“Pathetic,” he repeats, his voice dripping with disdain. “Is this really the best you can do?”

When he finally releases you, you collapse against the wall, gasping for air. He doesn’t give you time to recover. His hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back until you’re forced to look at him again. The smirk on his lips is faint, almost imperceptible, but the malice behind it is undeniable.

“You should thank me,” he says, his tone deceptively calm. “I’m teaching you your place.”

The words cut deeper than any physical wound, and he knows it. Sae’s cruelty isn’t born of chaos; it’s calculated, surgical. He doesn’t just break you; he dissects you, piece by piece, stripping away your defenses until there’s nothing left but raw, trembling vulnerability.

And then, when you think he’s finished, he rebuilds you—but not as you were. No, Sae shapes you into something else entirely, something that fits his vision. His obsession isn’t love; it’s a dark, twisted form of control, a need to possess and dominate every aspect of your being.

“You’ll learn to obey,” he says one night, his voice a venomous whisper in the dark. “Or I’ll make sure you never forget the consequences of disobedience.”

The words linger in your mind, a constant reminder of the cage he’s built around you. Even in his absence, you feel his presence—an invisible hand guiding your every move, a shadow that looms over every thought. Sae’s control is absolute, his dominance inescapable. And in the rare moments when his mask slips, revealing the depths of his obsession, the darkness in his eyes is enough to make your blood run cold.

“You’re mine,” he says one night, his voice trembling with an emotion that’s almost human. But the glint in his eyes is anything but tender. “Even if I have to break you to keep you.”

His kisses are bruising, his touch possessive to the point of pain. He marks you, both physically and emotionally, until there’s no part of you left untouched by his influence. And yet, despite the horror, there’s a part of you that can’t escape him. Because Sae doesn’t just break you; he makes you believe that you were never whole to begin with.

And in his mind, that makes you his—irrevocably, undeniably, his.

────────────

♡ Michael Kaiser.

Michael Kaiser is not a man who plays by halves. Perfection, domination, and the art of dismantling his rivals—these are the tenets of his life, the doctrines by which he reigns supreme both on and off the field. Control is his lifeblood, his religion, and for as long as he can remember, the world has bent to his will, obedient to the designs of its self-crowned emperor.

Until you.

You, with your fragile defiance and trembling courage, have carved a fissure in his perfect, unyielding universe. He hates you for it, as much as he is enthralled by you. You are an anomaly he cannot ignore—a splinter lodged deep beneath his skin, festering, driving him mad.

And tonight, as the air grows heavy with the weight of unspoken words and dangerous promises, he watches you like a predator. His gaze lingers on the way you shrink back, cornered yet refusing to crumple entirely. It is infuriating. It is intoxicating.

“Do you even realize,” he begins, his voice a low snarl that echoes through the dimly lit room, “what you’ve done to me?” He steps forward, his movements slow and deliberate, a calculated menace radiating from every fiber of his being. The light catches on his tattoos, twisting chains and roses that writhe across his skin like living things. “You’ve turned my life into chaos. My life. Do you know how unacceptable that is?”

You say nothing, your lips pressed tightly together, though your trembling form betrays you. It fuels him, this tiny rebellion. He could crush it—crush you—with ease, but where would be the satisfaction in that? No, he wants to see you fight. He wants to see you lose.

“Answer me,” he commands, his tone icy now, each word a blade slicing through the silence.

When you finally stammer a response, it’s barely above a whisper. “I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” he interrupts, his laughter sharp and humorless. He takes another step closer, and the distance between you vanishes like smoke. “Didn’t mean to? Didn’t notice? Or didn’t care?” His hand shoots out, gripping your chin with a force that leaves no room for resistance. “Because I can assure you, liebe, I’ve noticed. I’ve noticed every single time you’ve made me feel—” He cuts himself off, his jaw clenching as if the very idea repulses him.

There is something feral in his eyes now, a hunger that makes your breath catch. His thumb traces the line of your jaw, the touch almost gentle, but the tension in his grip is unmistakable. He leans in, so close that his breath warms your cheek. “Do you want to know what it’s like?” he murmurs, his voice a venomous whisper. “To have everything under your control, everything perfect, only for someone like you to come along and ruin it?”

You try to look away, but his grip tightens, forcing your gaze back to his. “No,” he says, his voice a low growl, “you don’t get to look away. You don’t get to pretend this isn’t your fault.”

His other hand moves to your throat, fingers splayed against the delicate curve of your neck. He feels the erratic rhythm of your pulse beneath his touch and smiles—a cold, cruel thing that bares his teeth like a wolf. “Ah, there it is,” he breathes, his thumb pressing just enough to make your head tilt back. “Fear. It suits you.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before his lips brush against your ear, his voice dropping even lower. “You make me weak,” he hisses, the words filled with venom. “Do you understand how disgusting that is? How infuriating it is to crave something as broken and defiant as you?”

The mask of control he wears so effortlessly slips, just for a moment, revealing the raw, seething obsession beneath. “But don’t worry,” he continues, his tone softening in a way that only makes it more terrifying. “I’ll fix that. I’ll fix you.”

Before you can process his words, he moves. His hands slide down your arms, his grip firm and unyielding as he pulls you closer. His lips find your skin, leaving a trail of bruising kisses and sharp bites. Each mark is deliberate, a claim etched into your flesh. He revels in your protests, in the way you try—and fail—to push him away. “Keep fighting,” he murmurs against your collarbone, his breath hot and ragged. “It only makes it more satisfying when you finally give in.”

Your struggles only seem to amuse him, his laughter rumbling low in his chest. “Do you know what I’ll do to them?” he asks suddenly, his voice taking on a darker edge. “All those fools who think they can touch you, who think they can have you? I’ll destroy them. I’ll make them regret ever looking at what’s mine.”

The possessiveness in his tone is suffocating, the weight of it pressing down on you like a physical force. He steps back, just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression a twisted mix of adoration and hatred. “You’ll see,” he promises, his voice soft but deadly. “I’ll show you what happens to anyone who thinks they can take you from me.”

And then he’s on you again, his touch alternating between cruel and tender, his words a dizzying mixture of threats and endearments. He breaks you down piece by piece, his dominance suffocating, overwhelming, until you are left with nothing but the reality of his obsession.

When he finally pulls away, his hands still lingering on your skin, he smiles. It is not a kind smile. It is the smile of a man who has won. “There,” he says, his tone almost gentle. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

But you know, deep down, that this is only the beginning. For Michael Kaiser, love is not a gentle thing. It is a war, a game of control where surrender is the only acceptable outcome. And you are his trophy, his prize, his victim.

You may have defied him once, but in the end, there is no escaping him.

────────────

♡ Isagi Yoichi.

The room was steeped in silence, heavy and oppressive, broken only by the faint, rhythmic ticking of a clock buried somewhere in the shadows. It was the kind of silence that amplified everything else—the quickened hitch of your breath, the faint rustle of fabric as you tried to edge back, and the subtle scrape of his shoes against the wooden floor as he closed the distance. Isagi Yoichi was nothing like the boy you thought you knew, the one with the eager, boyish grin and the kind of enthusiasm that made people underestimate him. That version of him had been shed, discarded like dead skin. What stood before you now was something raw and unrelenting, a creature shaped by obsession and honed by the cold, unyielding weight of his own ambition.

His presence was suffocating, a wall of quiet menace that pressed down on you, leaving no room for escape. He tilted his head slightly, watching you as one might a trapped animal, his sharp blue eyes reflecting a glint of something darker, something that thrived on your fear. There was no anger in his gaze—no fiery outburst, no theatrics. It was colder than that, infinitely more chilling. Isagi didn’t need to raise his voice; the intensity of his silence spoke volumes.

“You don’t get it yet, do you?” His voice was low, almost gentle, and that softness made it infinitely more terrifying. Each word felt deliberate, precise, like the ticking of the clock—unavoidable, inescapable. He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing you whole. “You think you have a choice here? That there’s some world where you can walk away from me? What are you? A damn idiot?”

Your back hit the wall, the cold surface biting through your clothes, and you realized you’d run out of space. His body was too close now, towering over you, his scent invading every breath you took. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was overwhelming, a mix of sweat and something sharper, metallic, like adrenaline distilled into a tangible form. His hand reached out, skimming along the edge of your arm with a touch that wasn’t quite gentle. It wasn’t cruel, either—it was assessing, clinical, as though he were studying the tension in your muscles, savoring the way your body betrayed you.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth curling upward into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. It wasn’t the kind of smile that reassured—it was cruel, mocking, the kind of expression that turned the air around him icy. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “What is it? Fear? Shame? Or are you just starting to realize what this means for you?”

You swallowed hard, but your throat felt dry, constricted, as though even that small act of defiance might provoke him further. His fingers moved upward, brushing against your jaw, and your body froze under his touch. It wasn’t a question of whether you could fight back; it was the knowledge that resistance would only make things worse.

“You think I don’t see it?” he asked, his tone sharper now, though his voice never rose above that measured, calculated calm. “The way you look at people. The way you laugh, like it’s nothing, like I’m not standing right here, watching you give them parts of yourself that don’t belong to them. That don’t belong to you.”

His grip tightened, his fingers curling under your chin to force your gaze upward. Those blue eyes—sharp, unyielding, like frozen shards of glass—bored into yours, peeling away every layer of defense you might have built. “Look at me,” he demanded, though the command was almost a whisper. “I said, look at me.”

You obeyed, if only because there was no other option. The intensity of his stare was suffocating, like standing on the edge of a cliff with the ground crumbling beneath your feet.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this?” he asked, and there was something unnervingly reverent in his tone now, as though you were the culmination of some grand, twisted dream he’d nurtured in secret. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to need something so badly it fucking hurts?”

His hand moved again, this time skimming down your side, his touch possessive, leaving behind an invisible trail that burned like a brand. When he kissed you, it wasn’t a kiss—it was a claim, raw and feral, a battle for dominance you’d already lost. His lips were demanding, his teeth grazing your lower lip hard enough to draw blood, though you couldn’t tell if it was intentional or simply a byproduct of his hunger. When you tried to push him away, your palms pressing weakly against his chest, he caught your wrists with ease, pinning them against the wall above your head.

“Don’t,” he warned, his voice dropping to a growl, the sound rumbling through his chest like the distant echo of a storm. “Don’t fucking fight me.”

His weight pressed against you, his body a cage as much as his words were. His breath was hot against your neck, his teeth dragging along your skin in a way that made your heart lurch violently in your chest. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again, his expression dark and unreadable.

“You think this is love?” he asked, his voice dripping with something bitter, almost mocking. “Love is weak. Love makes people hesitate. And I don’t hesitate. Not when it comes to you.”

He tilted his head slightly, as though considering his next move, his eyes never leaving yours. “No, this isn’t love,” he said finally, his tone softening, though it only made the words more chilling. “This is something better. Something stronger.”

When he moved again, it was with deliberate purpose, his hands rough and unapologetic as they claimed every inch of you. His touch left no room for doubt, no space for protest. He wasn’t gentle—not because he couldn’t be, but because he didn’t see the need. You weren’t something to be coddled, not in his eyes. You were his, and he was going to make sure you understood that in every way possible.

“You’ll thank me for this one day,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow. But eventually, you’ll see. You’ll see that you were always mine.”

When he pulled back, his grip still firm on your chin, he studied you like an artist admiring their masterpiece. His thumb brushed against your lip, smearing the faint trace of blood he’d left behind, and his smirk returned, darker and more dangerous than before.

“You’re perfect,” he said, almost to himself. “And I don’t lose perfect things.”

Then, leaning in so close that his lips barely ghosted against yours, he whispered his final, bone-chilling promise: “And I don’t fucking share.”

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. Thank you.

General TAG LIST: @uniquecutie-puffs , @ikevampharem , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk , @xileonaaaa , @acacia-koi , @purple-obsidian , @waterfal-ling

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution

♡ Book 6. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.

♡ Notice #2. This masterlist is strictly for non-con smut and serves as an exercise in refining erotic horror writing. Comments that reduce my work to mere sexual gratification, thirst, or casual simping will not be tolerated. If your response is primarily thirst-driven, keep it to yourself—repeated violations may result in blocking. Read the RULES before engaging. The tag list is reserved for followers I trust to respect my boundaries; being included is a privilege, not a right. You may request to be added, but I will decide based on trust and adherence to my guidelines. I also reserve the right to remove anyone at any time if their engagement becomes inappropriate.

JJK MEN TWITTER LINKS PART 2

Part 1 here M!list here

Note: added yuki and shoko 😗

○ Gojo Satoru ●

Up against the wall

Loves when you ride him

Movie night turned into smth more

○ Geto Suguru ●

He loves ur ass

Perv!geto loves public sex

Geto loves easy access

○ Toji Fushiguro ●

Fingering and fucking your pretty pussy

Morning sex w toji

He enjoys ur pretty cunt

○ Nanami Kento ●

Bent over his lap

Cumming thru ur panties

soft and sensual sex w Nanami (this is a p-hub link) I love it sm please I just had to add

○ Choso Kamo ●

You let him cream pie you

Professional titty sucker

Choso just learned how to finger your pussy

○ Yuki Tsukumo ●

Strap 😗

She eats ur pussy

Slapping ur cunt

○ Shoko Ieiri ●

Fingering ur pussy after a long day

She loves to try new things on you

Rubbing 😽

"Go ahead. Keep flirting. Just remember who you belong to when I fuck the attitude out of you."

❤︎ Synopsis. They’ve never been the jealous type—cool, composed, untouchable. But the moment they see you smile at someone else, something inside them snaps, something dark, something dangerous… and now, they’re going to make sure you never forget who you belong to.

♡ Book 6. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Soft! Modern AU! Various x Fem. Reader (separate)

♡ Characters Include. Nerd! Gojo, Biker! Soft! Sukuna, Professor! Half-Dragon! Rex Lapis, Academic Rival! Alhaitham, Older Brother! Sunday, Father! Human! Boothill, Step Brother! Caleb, Bully! Soft! Bakugo, Fuckboy! Atsumu, Virgin! Barou

♡ Kidnapper x Captor Series. The Thirsting - Part 3

♡ Word Count. 19,504 (about 1.5K each character)

♡ TW. dom + top + older + soft sadist yanderes, non-con + rape, BDSM + DDLG + slight masochistic reader, incest, language, forced orgasms, overstimulation + raw fucking, inappropriate use of kinks, food play, degradation + humiliation, implied blackmail, semi-public sex, physical assault, slapping + spanking + biting + choking + punching, fingering, general manipulation + gaslighting + abuse + trauma, abuse of authority, fingering, fear + primal play + dacryphilia, needles + drugging, slight omegaverse inspiration, breeding + knotting, stalking, forced infidelity, revenge pornography, slight brat taming

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐍𝐞𝐫𝐝! 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 ✦✧✦✧

He’s never been jealous before.

Not once in his entire life. Not when his classmates paired off in high school, not when his friends bragged about their conquests in college, not when some girl he fucked once or twice found someone else to warm her bed.

Because why the fuck would he? He’s Gojo Satoru.

There is no competition.

But then there’s you.

And there’s Ryōmen Sukuna—the leather-clad, cigarette-smoking, law-breaking bastard who somehow got his claws into you first.

Sukuna, with his wolfish grin and blood-stained knuckles, who does whatever the fuck he wants whenever the fuck he wants, dragging you along for the ride. He treats you like you’re his little doll, something to dress up and fuck rough and parade around like a prize, and you—

You love him.

It drives Gojo fucking insane.

Not that you notice, oblivious little thing. Always so focused on whatever book you’re burying your nose in, sitting pretty in class, and looking like you don’t belong anywhere near someone like Sukuna. Like you belong somewhere safe. Somewhere quiet.

Somewhere with him.

It’s not that Gojo wants you in any particular way. That’s what he tells himself. He just hates seeing you wasted on someone like Sukuna. You’re too intelligent to be following around a fucking brute. Too soft to be caught up in that bastard’s world.

He tells himself that’s all it is. That the slow burn under his skin whenever he sees Sukuna wrap a hand around your throat is nothing but disdain. That he doesn’t think about it, not really, when he watches you leave campus on the back of Sukuna’s bike, gripping onto him like your life depends on it.

And then one day, it happens.

You walk into class with bruises on your thighs. A few peeking out beneath your skirt, just barely visible when you shift in your seat. Sukuna’s marks, no doubt. The realization slams into him like a freight train.

You let that bastard fuck you raw last night.

And Gojo feels something new. Something ugly. Something that tastes like fire and blood and mine.

And it only gets worse. Because you’re happy.

You sit there, twirling a pen between your fingers, a small, barely-there smile tugging at your lips. And for the first time, Gojo wants to ruin you.

You don’t get to smile like that over another man.

Not when he’s right here.

So, he waits.

Because Gojo is patient. He can bide his time. He can play his game. You don’t even realize what you are to him yet, what you’ve always been. But you will.

It starts with little things. The way he blocks your path in the hallway, leaning down close to murmur something about how pretty you look today. The way his fingers brush over yours when he hands you a paper, lingering just a second too long.

The way he talks about Sukuna.

“Can’t believe you’re still with that asshole,” he says one day, watching you pack your bag after class.

You don’t even look up. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

His grin is sharp. “Like what? Like he’s a thug who treats you like a fucking accessory?”

You glare at him. He loves the fire in your eyes. Loves how defensive you get. “You don’t know anything about us.”

“I know enough.”

“And I don’t care.”

You snap your bag shut and move to brush past him, but he catches your wrist. It’s the first time he’s ever touched you with intent, and he can feel the pulse beneath your skin jump. Can see the way your breath hitches, just for a second.

It makes him want to tear you apart.

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low. Intimate. “I’m just looking out for you.”

You yank your hand away. “Stay the fuck out of my business, Gojo.”

He watches you walk away, the heat from your skin still lingering on his fingertips.

Oh, sweetheart.

You don’t get it, do you?

You are his business.

And he’s only just getting started.

✦✧✦✧

It starts with a drink.

Sugary, sickly sweet, laced with something invisible to the eye but potent enough to make your limbs go loose, your breath slow, your thoughts grow thick and sluggish. You barely register the way he watches you as you take another sip, tongue peeking out to swipe the remnants of syrup from your lips, a movement that makes his fingers twitch around his own glass.

"Atta girl," Gojo murmurs, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "See? I knew you could have a little fun."

You blink up at him, confusion flickering in your gaze, but it doesn’t last. The drug is already sinking its claws into your nervous system, dulling your instincts, numbing your resistance. You sway, and before you can even think to catch yourself, he does it for you. Hands smooth, deceptively gentle, gripping your waist like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

"Oops," he chuckles, breath warm against your temple as he steadies you. "Looks like you need some help, sweetheart. Good thing I’m here."

You try to push him away, but it’s useless. Your limbs don’t listen, fingers barely managing a weak grasp against the fabric of his hoodie before slipping away. Panic flutters in your chest, but even that feels distant, like you’re experiencing it through layers of cotton. You know something’s wrong. You know this isn’t right.

But Gojo is already moving, already sweeping you up in his arms like you weigh nothing, already carrying you somewhere quiet, somewhere away from prying eyes.

Somewhere Sukuna won’t find you.

✦✧✦✧

The first thing you notice when consciousness fights its way back is the smell of sugar.

The second is the weight pinning you down.

Something sticky smears across your stomach, a mess of syrup and melting cream dripping between your thighs, coating your skin in a way that makes your stomach churn. The sheets beneath you are ruined, stained with streaks of something viscous, something pink, something white.

Something sweet.

And then there’s him.

Gojo is above you, one knee pressing between your legs, forcing them apart. His glasses are gone, his eyes bare, sharp and hungry, filled with something terrifying and possessive and hot. His hands are coated in the same sickly mess, fingers smearing remnants of some dessert along your inner thighs, his thumb dragging along your folds in a slow, lazy stroke.

"Knew you’d look good like this," he muses, tilting his head as he watches you try—try—to move, to resist. "Covered in sugar, begging to be tasted."

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out beyond a soft, broken noise. You feel like you’re drowning, every nerve slow to respond, every movement sluggish. He notices, of course he does, and his smirk deepens.

"Don’t worry," he coos, fingers dipping lower, pressing, pushing, spreading. "You don’t have to do anything. Just lay there and take it like a good girl."

"Gojo—"

"Mm, nah," he muses. "Think I like it better when you call me Satoru."

Your breath comes fast, ragged. You can’t think, can’t breathe past the lingering fog in your brain. "What—what the fuck are you doing?"

He laughs. Actually laughs.

"Sweetheart," he murmurs, leaning down until his breath fans over your lips, the scent of sugar thick between you. "What do you think?"

And then he kisses you.

It’s slow, deep. His tongue parts your lips effortlessly, sliding past them to taste the remnants of chocolate he forced down your throat. He groans against your mouth like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, like he’s been starving for this, for you.

You try to turn away, but he fists a hand in your hair, tugging you back into place. "Nah, baby. Don’t be like that. You’ve been teasing me for months." He nips at your bottom lip, sharp enough to sting. "Time to take responsibility."

You barely have time to gasp before he’s shifting, yanking your camisole down to expose your breasts. The cold air makes you shudder, but the heat of his mouth replaces it instantly, lips closing around your nipple as he groans, sucking deep.

"Fuck," he mumbles against your skin. "Taste even better than I imagined."

Tears sting at your eyes. "Please—"

"Oh, we’re getting to that part," he says brightly, grinning up at you with sugar-slick lips. "Begging already? Cute."

His hands roam lower, hiking up your skirt, fingers slipping beneath your panties. He finds you dry—of course you are, this is sick, this is wrong—but he only hums, unfazed.

"Don't worry, baby. I got somethin' for that."

You hear the crinkle of plastic before you feel it. Something cold presses against your clit, sticky and thick, and then he's rubbing it in, spreading the sweetness over your skin. The scent hits you immediately—strawberry syrup.

"Told you I had a sweet tooth," he murmurs, before dipping his head down and licking a long, slow stripe up your slit.

You choke on a sob, body jerking against the silk restraints, but he just presses you down harder, pinning you in place as he feasts.

Your body jerks as he sinks in, one digit first, then another, twisting and stretching as something wet and humiliating drips between your thighs, mixing with the syrup and cream. You want to fight. You want to scream. But all you can do is whimper, your limbs useless against his weight, your body betraying you in the worst way.

It doesn’t take long for your body to betray you. The drugs still lingering in your system make everything hazy, pleasure and disgust blurring at the edges. He moans when he feels you getting wet, tongue pushing deeper, lapping up the mess he made.

You’re shaking when he finally pulls back, lips and chin glistening. He licks them clean, eyes half-lidded with something almost like reverence.

"Fuck, look at that," he breathes, eyes locked on the way you shudder, the way your walls clench around his fingers despite yourself. "See? I told you. You were always meant for me."

The camera clicks.

Your stomach drops.

Your head lolls to the side, and there it is—his phone, propped up, recording everything. Every sound, every movement, every twitch of your body beneath him. Gojo leans in, his breath hot against your ear, his fingers still moving, still fucking into you in slow, deliberate strokes.

"You know, sweetheart," he murmurs, nipping at your jaw, "I think Sukuna should see what you look like when you’re with a real man."

Terror crashes over you like a tidal wave.

"He thinks he owns you, but he doesn’t. Not like I do." His tongue flicks out, dragging along the shell of your ear. "Not like I will."

And then he’s pushing inside you, tearing you apart, stretching you too much, too full, too deep, his weight pressing you down, trapping you beneath him as he starts to move, each thrust dragging a broken, unwilling noise from your throat.

You scream—or try to. But it only comes out as a choked gasp as he snaps his hips forward, splitting you open with several deep thrusts.

"Fuck, you're tight." His voice is rough, strained. "Like a fuckin' vice, baby. Gonna ruin you."

He means it. He pounds into you like he’s got something to prove, like he needs to brand himself into your skin. He keeps the phone steady the entire time, angling it to capture every detail—the tears streaking your cheeks, the way your breasts bounce with each brutal thrust, the raw stretch of your cunt around his cock.

"Bet Sukuna thought he had you all to himself," he pants, biting at your throat hard enough to leave a mark. "Bet he thought you were his."

He fucks you harder.

"He’s wrong, baby." His teeth scrape against your ear. "You’re mine."

✦✧✦✧

And worst of all—you can’t stop him from filming every second of it.

Hours later, when your body is sore and wrecked and trembling, when your voice is hoarse from crying, when your skin is marked and ruined with his touch—

The video sends with a simple press of his finger.

A message attached.

Your little doll looks better in my hands.

And then Gojo grins, licking the last traces of sugar from his lips.

"Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted."

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐁𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐫! 𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 ✦✧✦✧

There wasn’t a single soul on the block who didn’t know the name Ryōmen Sukuna.

The man was a legend. Or a menace, depending on who you asked.

With ink crawling up his neck, silver piercings glinting under streetlights, and a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips, he had the kind of presence that choked the air out of a room. Sukuna didn’t ride a motorcycle; he owned the road. His name was etched into asphalt, into the bones of men who had crossed him, into the terrified whispers of those too weak to hold his gaze. He didn’t do relationships, didn’t believe in love, and certainly didn’t give a damn about anyone other than himself.

Until you.

You weren’t supposed to be here.

This world—his world—was a warzone of fists and gasoline, of blood and engine oil smeared into pavement. You didn’t belong anywhere near it. But somehow, some way, you had stumbled into the orbit of the devil himself, and instead of burning, you had stayed. You were a contradiction, the kind that pissed him off because he couldn’t figure you out. Small, quiet, way too smart for your own good. You never reacted to his taunts the way others did. He’d call you names, push your buttons, just to see how you’d crack—only for you to blink up at him like he was nothing but white noise.

He should have crushed you. Broken you down into something small and trembling. That was what he did to people who didn’t know their place.

But you had this strange habit.

You cared.

Not for him—fuck no, you weren’t that stupid—but for things that had no business surviving in a place like this.

Stray cats. Limping dogs. That one scrawny little brat who hung around his nephew, Yuji.

It started with the kid. Some dumb punk, maybe thirteen at most, all gangly arms and scraped knees. Sukuna hadn’t given him a second glance—wasn’t his fucking problem—but then he saw you crouched in front of the boy, voice soft, brows furrowed in concern as you pressed a bandage over a wound that wasn’t your responsibility.

“Hold still,” you had murmured, not even sparing Sukuna a glance as you focused on the boy’s bleeding hand. “You’re blessed it’s not deep.”

The kid had blushed like a damn idiot. Sukuna almost ripped him off the curb right then and there.

But the worst part? That was only the beginning.

Because it wasn’t just one kid.

It was all of them.

Yuji. His quietly sassy friend, Megumi. That bratty girl with the sharp tongue, Nobara. Stray kids, teens with nowhere to go, the ones no one gave a shit about—you had a soft spot for all of them, and Sukuna hated it. Hated how easily they flocked to you, hated how you spoke to them like they mattered, hated how you let them steal bits and pieces of your attention that should have belonged to him.

Hated that he cared at all.

✦✧✦✧

It came to a head one night at the shop.

The garage reeked of oil and cigarette smoke, engines grumbling as Sukuna’s boys worked on their bikes. The door was open, summer air thick with the scent of asphalt. He was leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you talk to Yuji and his little band of idiots.

His nephew was grinning, the usual dumb, wide-eyed expression on his face as he listened to whatever you were saying. Megumi looked mildly disinterested, but he was paying attention in that brooding, quiet way of his. Even Nobara, brat that she was, had softened, hanging onto your words with an expression Sukuna didn’t like.

They looked at you like you were something holy.

And you? You let them.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. His cigarette burned low between his fingers, the embers crackling like a warning.

“Oi.”

You turned, blinking up at him. There was no fear in your gaze—there never was—but he saw the way you stiffened, the way your fingers curled slightly at your sides, bracing for whatever storm he was about to bring down. The kids went quiet. Yuji’s smile faltered.

Sukuna flicked his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his boot.

“You got a fucking job here, or are you running a damn daycare?”

You exhaled slowly, but you didn’t flinch. “They’re just hanging out.”

“They’re a fucking distraction.”

“They’re kids.”

Something sharp crawled up his spine. He took a slow step forward, crowding into your space, forcing you to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes. “They ain’t your fucking responsibility.”

Your gaze flickered—just a flicker, but he caught it. A crack in that perfectly composed exterior. And fuck, he hated that he noticed, hated that he wanted to peel you open and see what made you tick.

“They’re not yours either,” you murmured, voice even.

His lips curled. “You sure about that?”

You said nothing.

He scoffed, stepping back. “Get back to work.”

The kids scattered, taking the hint. But Sukuna didn’t move, didn’t take his eyes off you as you finally turned away. He should have been satisfied. He should have let it go.

But he wasn’t. And he didn’t.

Because as much as he hated it—

He wasn’t the only thing you gave a damn about.

And that? That pissed him off more than anything else.

✦✧✦✧

The heat of the garage clung to your skin, thick with the scent of gasoline, metal, and the faintest tinge of nicotine. The rumbling laughter of Sukuna’s crew faded as you stepped inside, the weight of his gaze already sinking its claws into your spine. You barely had time to register the shift in the air before a rough hand clamped around your wrist, yanking you past the workbenches, past the half-built motorcycles, straight into the dimly lit back room.

The door slammed. The lock clicked.

A slow, dragging inhale came from behind you, the burn of cigarette smoke laced with something darker, heavier. "You got a fucking death wish, sweetheart?" Sukuna’s voice slithered down your spine, low and sharp.

Your pulse stuttered, but you didn’t shrink. You knew better. Showing fear only made him worse.

"I don't know what you—"

"Don’t fucking play with me. That little shit outside—the one sniffing around you like a damn dog. You like that? You like letting these punks think they got a shot?" He was behind you now, heat bleeding through your clothes as he loomed close. His fingers grazed your neck, featherlight. "'Cause I don’t fucking share."

Your breath caught. "He's just a kid."

"Bullshit."

Fingers curled in your hair, yanking your head back, forcing your gaze up to the ceiling. The stretch burned, your scalp prickling where he held you in his grip. He wasn’t gentle. He never was.

"I see the way they look at you. The way you let them. Walking around here like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. What kind of fucked-up game are you playing, huh?"

You swallowed. "I’m not playing anything."

"Then why the fuck are you shaking?" Sukuna’s lips ghosted against the shell of your ear, his breath scalding. "Not so tough now, are you?"

A sharp pull dragged you backward, your body colliding against his chest. His grip shifted, fingers closing around your throat—not squeezing, not yet, just holding. A warning. A promise.

"Tell me to stop." His voice was velvet wrapped around barbed wire. "Go on. Say it."

Your nails dug into his wrist. Your body locked up. The air between you crackled, an electric storm of defiance and something far more dangerous.

You didn't say a word.

His chuckle was a slow, lethal thing. "That’s what I fucking thought."

The world spun as he shoved you forward, your palms smacking against the cold surface of the metal workbench. You barely had time to catch yourself before he was on you, his body caging yours, heat radiating off him like fire licking at your skin.

"You wanna act like a fucking tease? Letting those little shits think they got a chance?" He ripped at your waistband, the rough fabric of your jeans dragging against your hips as he wrenched them down. "Fine. Let’s see how much you like attention when it’s mine."

A choked sound caught in your throat, your fingers scrambling against the metal as his hand pressed down between your shoulder blades, forcing you flat against the workbench. Cold steel bit against your stomach, a stark contrast to the feverish heat of his body.

"Sukuna—"

A sharp slap across your ass made you jolt. "You don’t get to fucking talk."

Another strike, harder this time. Your breath left you in a shuddering gasp, humiliation curling in your gut. He was reveling in this—the way your body responded, the way you couldn’t stop it.

"See, this is the problem with you," he mused, dragging his fingers along the curve of your ass, down to where you were embarrassingly slick. "You walk around here, thinking you’re untouchable. Like you’re better than all of us. But look at you now. Bent over my fucking workbench. Dripping."

You squeezed your eyes shut, heat burning through you. "Fuck you."

His laughter was dark, razor-sharp. "Oh, you will."

The sound of his belt unbuckling sent a fresh wave of dread slamming into you. Your stomach twisted. You tried to push up, to scramble away, but his hand pinned you down, fingers tightening around your throat. Not enough to cut off your air. Just enough to remind you who was in control.

He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "You're mine, sweetheart. Every fucking inch of you."

The blunt press of his cock against your entrance made you freeze, your breath catching as the reality of the situation crashed over you. This was happening. There was no stopping it.

Sukuna didn’t wait. Didn’t ease in, didn’t let you adjust. He was cruel, relentless, pushing in deep with a low, guttural groan that sent a violent shudder ripping through you. The stretch burned, every inch forcing your body to accommodate him, to take him whether you wanted to or not.

"Fuck, you feel good like this," he rasped, his grip bruising as he held you still, his hips snapping forward in sharp, punishing thrusts. "So tight. Bet none of those little shits could ever fill you like this. Bet you wouldn't let them."

Your nails clawed at the metal, your body trembling as he fucked into you with a brutal, single-minded focus. There was no tenderness here, no gentleness. Just raw, unchecked possession, his jealousy bleeding into every vicious snap of his hips.

"Gonna ruin you, sweetheart. Make sure every time you fucking walk, you remember who did this to you. Who you belong to."

The worst part?

Somewhere in the haze of pain and shame, a tiny, treacherous part of you believed him.

His pace quickened, his breathing ragged against your ear. "Tell me," he growled, his fingers tightening around your throat, dragging you upright so your back was flush against his chest. "Tell me who fucking owns you."

You clenched your teeth, refusing.

He let out a dark chuckle, his free hand dipping between your thighs, rubbing tight circles against your clit. "C'mon, sweetheart. Say it. Or I swear, I won’t let you fucking come."

Your body betrayed you. The pleasure coiled, white-hot and unbearable, the cruel rhythm of his fingers forcing you closer and closer to the edge. Your breaths turned ragged, your body trembling.

"Say it," he snarled.

You bit down on a whimper, your pride warring with the overwhelming sensation that threatened to consume you.

His teeth scraped against your throat. "Last chance, baby."

The coil snapped.

Your body convulsed, pleasure tearing through you with brutal intensity, and the word slipped past your lips before you could stop it.

"You."

His groan was raw, triumphant. "Damn right."

His pace turned erratic, his thrusts growing rougher, deeper. His grip on your throat tightened, his other hand branding your hip as he chased his own release, his body tensing before he buried himself deep with a shuddering groan, claiming you in the most primal way possible.

The room spun.

The only sound was your ragged breathing, the slow, languid drag of Sukuna's fingers over your skin as he pulled back, tucking himself away like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn't just shattered you.

Like he hadn't just marked you as his.

A rough hand gripped your chin, tilting your face up. His eyes burned into yours, dark and possessive.

"Next time," he murmured, his thumb dragging over your lower lip, "you remember who the fuck you belong to."

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you slumped against the workbench, wrecked and ruined, with his name carved into your very bones.

And the worst part?

You knew this was only the beginning.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫! 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐟-𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧! 𝐑𝐞𝐱 𝐋𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐬 ✦✧✦✧

There was a time when you were obedient.

That was the only way he had ever known you—an intelligent woman with sharp wit but the necessary restraint to respect his word. You were raised well, crafted under the precise structure of discipline he so generously offered. His lectures, his lessons, his expectations—what you were, what you knew, what you excelled in—were all by his design. Your education, your intelligence, your success belonged to him.

And now, you're ruining yourself.

He does not react, not at first. That has never been his way.

As the professor of history, a strict and authoritative figure, he does not succumb to the petty whims of lesser men. Rex Lapis has lived countless lives in countless forms; he has ruled, destroyed, built, and endured. He has been the father of nations, the warlord of centuries, the god of unbreakable contracts. Mortal pleasures are fleeting distractions.

And yet—

He sees you, his precious, obedient girl, transformed into something unrecognizable. You used to listen. You used to lower your gaze in his presence, used to nod obediently when he assigned you readings, used to hang onto every word like scripture. You used to understand your place.

Now? Now you dress yourself in sin.

Short skirts, tight blouses, jewelry that catches the light like bait. Your nails are manicured like talons, your lips glossed, your scent laced with something wickedly sweet.

You smile at men. You let them touch your wrist, your shoulder, your waist. You let them speak to you, let them lean too close, let them believe—foolishly—that they could ever deserve your attention. And worse than that? You encourage it.

He watches as you laugh at some dull, brainless boy’s attempt at wit. Watches as you tilt your head, watches as you slide your fingers along your own exposed throat in a thoughtless, meaningless gesture, something unconscious, something only an observer as keen as himself would ever notice.

A lure. A trap.

Rex Lapis was never meant to feel the things he does now. A god does not succumb to the venom of jealousy. But when he sees you flirting, your body language betraying every sharp, calculating game you play—he knows you’re not just naive. You’re choosing this.

You’re choosing to act out, choosing to defy him. And he will not allow it.

✦✧✦✧

The first time he speaks to you about it, it is a warning.

“Sit.” His voice is measured, controlled. The very sound of it, low and commanding, makes the air in his office still.

You hesitate, and that hesitation alone sparks something primal in him, something he does not allow himself to feel.

“Now.”

You sit.

His office is quiet, save for the rhythmic ticking of the antique clock on his desk. You fold your arms, cross your legs, and regard him with feigned innocence.

“Do you think I don’t see what you’re doing?”

You blink, and he knows you’re considering your answer. A lesser man would be fooled by your performance.

“I don’t know what you mean, Professor.”

Lies.

His fingers tap against the desk in a slow, deliberate cadence. “Your grades have not faltered. Your academic standing remains pristine. And yet, your behavior has… changed.”

You lean back, entirely too confident. “Is that a problem?”

His jaw tightens. You smile. You’re goading him. He knows it, and yet, that knowledge does not lessen his ire.

“You’re dressing like a slut.”

You don’t even flinch. Instead, your lips curl, as if amused. “And?”

Rex Lapis has never been a man to act on impulse. His control is absolute, honed through centuries of war and diplomacy. And yet—

You are testing him. Deliberately. Consciously.

Why? What changed? What made you so reckless, so insubordinate, so eager to provoke him?

He leans forward, his golden eyes locking onto yours.

“You are an intelligent woman.” His voice is smooth, sharp as a blade. “You are capable, cunning, and perceptive. So tell me, little one—why are you acting like a cheap, brainless whore?”

Your breath catches, just slightly.

And there it is.

The subtle break in your performance, the flicker of something beneath your confident facade.

But you recover too quickly, tilting your head in mock curiosity. “Oh? You disapprove?”

A taunt.

The heat in his veins surges. Rex Lapis is not a man who allows disrespect. His patience is legendary, his composure unshakable—but the moment you choose to play this game, to behave as though his word, his presence, his influence no longer holds dominion over you—

Something inside him shifts. He lets the silence stretch. Lets the weight of his presence, the gravity of his authority, press against you.

“You will cease this behavior.”

You laugh. It is a quiet, dangerous thing.

“Or what?”

His grip tightens against the desk. There it is—the line you have drawn, the challenge you have issued. You are waiting, watching, daring him to prove that he still holds control over you.

And Rex Lapis? He is not a man who tolerates defiance.

You have made a grave mistake, little one.

He will not be ignored. He will not be disrespected.

And most of all—

He will not allow you to forget who you belong to.

You realize your mistake too late.

The door slams shut behind you, locking the two of you inside his office. The sound is final, inescapable, ringing in your ears like the toll of a death knell.

Your breath hitches. A lifetime of instinct screams at you to run, to escape, to do anything but remain under the weight of his unrelenting gaze. But you don’t move. Not because you don’t want to—but because his presence roots you in place.

Rex Lapis—Professor Zhongli—does not look human in this moment.

His golden eyes are slitted like a predator’s, his sharp features even sharper in the dim glow of the antique lamps lining his office. His long fingers press against the heavy mahogany desk, tightening just enough that you hear the creak of wood under his strength. His posture is composed, still, the control of a man—a god—who has never known jealousy until you forced it into his veins like poison.

He was never meant to feel this way.

And now, you will suffer for it.

Your back hits the wall before you can even think of fleeing.

A sharp gasp leaves your lips as he is suddenly there, his presence overwhelming, too much, pressing against you like a force of nature. His large body cages you in, his scent wrapping around you like an inescapable fog—amber, sandalwood, dragon’s breath.

"You think this is a game?" His voice is quiet, but no less terrifying.

His fingers slide along your jaw, tilting your chin up. His touch is deceptively gentle—but there is a dark promise behind it, a warning that should send you to your knees in terror.

You try to shake your head, try to deny, but his thumb presses against your lips, silencing you.

"Do you know what you have done, little one?" You swallow hard.

"You—" Your voice breaks. "—are my professor."

He chuckles. A deep, dark, humorless sound.

"I was never just your professor." And then he's kissing you—if you can even call it that.

His lips crash against yours, brutal, consuming. His large hands seize your waist, yanking you against his unyielding body. There is no tenderness, no softness—only raw possession, only a claim being forcibly carved into your flesh.

Your fists slam against his chest, a pathetic attempt to push him away. He doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even acknowledge your resistance.

"You wear the scent of another man." His breath is hot against your ear, his voice dripping with venom. "Tell me, did you think of me when you let him touch you?"

You try to speak, try to deny, but it’s useless.

His grip tightens. "I should tear you apart for this."

And then he does. Fabric rips.

A sharp gasp tears from your lips as he shreds your blouse like it’s made of paper, leaving your exposed skin to the mercy of the cool air. You barely have time to process it before his hands are on you again—searing, possessive, everywhere.

"Pathetic," he sneers, fingers bruising your waist. "All this effort to make yourself desirable. Do you think it gives you power? Do you think batting your lashes makes men weak?"

You cry out as he yanks you forward, bending you face-first against his desk. His large hand presses against your back, keeping you in place as his other hand rips away the remainder of your clothing—until you are bare, exposed, completely at his mercy.

"You are nothing without my approval."

You tremble, "You— You can't—"

But you already know the truth. He can. He will.

Something presses against your entrance—thick, inhumanly thick. Your breath falters, a sob choking in your throat. The sheer size of it is impossible, terrifying.

"You will take it." He gives you no choice.

Your scream is muffled by the wooden surface of his desk as he buries himself inside you in one devastating thrust. Your walls stretch, burn, struggling to accommodate the sheer, monstrous girth of him. It feels impossible, like he’s splitting you apart, too much, too much—

"Hah… still so tight."

His voice is ragged, strained, but there is no mercy in his movements. He pulls back only to slam back in, forcing your body to take every punishing inch of him.

"Struggling?" His chuckle is cruel, mocking. "How quickly you forget—I made you. You exist to serve me."

Your fingers claw against the desk, desperate for purchase, desperate for relief. But there is none. There is only the merciless pace he sets, each thrust harder, deeper, forcing the air from your lungs.

He grabs your hair, yanking your head back. "No more games, little one. You will remember your place—beneath me. Belonging to me."

Tears slip down your cheeks. He thrusts, forcing a shattered moan from your throat. And he laughs. A dark, guttural sound—victory.

"That’s it… you feel it now, don’t you?" His hips snap against yours, filling you too deep, stretching you too wide. "No other man will ever satisfy you now. No one else will ever reach this far."

Your mind is breaking, slipping into a haze of overstimulation, of helplessness.

And he knows it.

He leans down, his lips brushing your ear. "Say it."

You shake your head, refusing—

He thrusts deeper.

A broken scream rips from your throat.

"Say it. Admit it."

Your body is betraying you, pleasure writhing through your veins despite the pain, despite the degradation. You are losing. You are his.

"You…" Your voice is weak, trembling, a ghost of resistance—

His claws dig into your waist, his hips snapping harder.

"Say it."

And finally—

A whisper, choked, shattering:

"I— I belong to you."

A satisfied growl rumbles in his chest.

And then—

The knot swells.

Your eyes widen, realization slamming into you too late.

"No—!"

But he doesn’t stop. He forces his knot inside you, locking you in place, keeping you stretched around his massive length. Your body convulses, a scream wrenched from your lips as the overwhelming sensation breaks you.

And then—

Heat floods your core.

His release bursts inside you, filling you too much, too deep, spilling into every crevice of your body. You shake, panting, spent, ruined. His arms wrap around you, holding you there, keeping you trapped against him.

And then, a whisper against your temple—

"Now you will never forget."

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐀𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐜 𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥! 𝐀𝐥𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦 ✦✧✦✧

He has never been jealous before. Never needed to be.

Emotions were nothing more than mild inconveniences—obstacles that lesser men allowed to cloud their judgment. He prided himself on his logic, his detachment, his unshakable rationality. There was no need for frivolous distractions like lust, love, or petty human possessiveness.

And yet. You have proven to be an exception. An aberration. A crack in his carefully curated world of control.

You.

The same sharp-tongued, insufferably intelligent girl who has been a constant thorn in his side since your first year at the university. You, who challenged his theories, defied his logic, and matched his wit blow for blow. A perfect foil, an exquisite rival—one he should have discarded as nothing more than another intellectual adversary.

But you were never just an adversary, were you? Not to him.

He watched you. He studied you. He cataloged every detail of your existence with the same precision he applied to his research. He knew the cadence of your voice when you argued, the way your lips curled when you called him an asshole, the way your hands trembled when he leaned too close during debates.

And yet, despite all his meticulous observations, despite all his efforts to remain detached, you still managed to slip through his defenses and plant something insidious inside him. Something irrational. Something dangerous.

Something he didn't recognize until he walked into the campus library and saw you sitting across from Arataki Itto.

The brute. The fool. The brain-dead delinquent who barely scraped by on assignments.

You were tutoring him. Your head tilted as you explained a concept, your expression patient. The same patience you had never once afforded him.

That should have been enough to irritate him. Enough to make him scoff and walk away, dismissing you as a fool wasting your time on someone so beneath you.

But then Itto laughed. Loud and carefree, like he had every right to bask in your attention. And then—then he saw the way Itto looked at you.

Like you belonged to him.

A noise he didn’t recognize slipped past his lips, something low and guttural, something wrong. His fingers twitched, and for the first time in his life, his own thoughts were incomprehensible—disjointed, a mess of static and white-hot noise.

You noticed him then, your gaze flickering up in that way that always made his breath hitch, the way you always felt him before you saw him.

“Hey, asshole,” you greeted flatly. “Need something?”

Yes. You.

His eyes darkened. His jaw clenched. “We’re leaving.”

You blinked, expression turning annoyed. “Excuse me?”

He didn’t acknowledge you. Didn’t even spare a glance at Itto—he wasn’t worth it. His hand wrapped around your wrist, his grip tight, final.

“Now.”

✦✧✦✧

He doesn’t speak as he drags you to the apartment you both unfortunately share, his grip unrelenting, his pace unforgiving.

You’re seething. Your protests are sharp, livid, but you might as well be screaming into the void. His mind is already made up.

The moment the door slams shut, his patience snaps.

He pushes you up against it, one hand gripping your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” he murmurs, voice quiet—too quiet. A stark contrast to the unhinged glint in his eyes. “Did you think I’d tolerate it?”

You glare. “You’re insane.”

He hums. “That’s not an answer.”

You try to push him off, but he catches your wrists, pinning them above your head. His breath is hot against your ear, his voice dropping into something nearly affectionate.

“You’re mine.”

It’s not a declaration of love. It’s a fact. An irrefutable, undeniable truth.

Your body stiffens. “I’m not—”

His lips brush the shell of your ear. “Say it again.”

Your stomach twists.

“I-I’m not yours—”

The moment you refuse him, his grip tightens just enough to make your breath hitch. His laugh lingers, low and vibrating against your skin like a terrible promise. "Wrong answer," he murmurs again, savoring the way your pulse quickens beneath his fingertips.

You barely have time to struggle before he hauls you deeper into the apartment—past the living room, past his bedroom, straight toward the one door you’ve never been allowed to open. His private sanctum. His domain.

The sex dungeon.

A sharp click of a lock disengaging, and the heavy door swings open. The sight within is both horrifying and meticulous. Leather, steel, chains—everything gleaming under dim, ambient lighting, arranged with the kind of obsessive precision he dedicates to his research. It is clinical. Cold. And yet, it pulses with something raw and violent.

Your stomach twists. “You—you fucking psychopath—”

He doesn’t respond. He simply pulls you inside and lets the door shut behind him. The finality of it is suffocating.

The first thing you feel is the cold bite of metal as he fastens a collar around your throat—tight, unyielding. He takes his time, securing each buckle with slow, deliberate movements, drinking in the way your body shudders beneath him.

"You always fight," he muses, brushing his lips against the shell of your ear. "That’s what makes this fun. But let’s see how much fight you have when I break you."

The bindings come next—your wrists locked above you, pulled taut by an overhead chain. Then your ankles, strapped apart with a spreader bar, leaving you exposed, vulnerable. The way he looks at you then—like a prized specimen under a microscope—makes your skin prickle with equal parts rage and something else you refuse to name.

"Do you even understand what you’ve done?" he asks, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. "Do you know what it felt like to see you with him? Laughing, indulging him like he had the right to breathe the same air as you?"

You grit your teeth. "He’s my friend, you controlling freak."

His expression darkens. "Friend?"

His hand strikes your thigh, the sharp sting making you jolt. He watches the way your breath stutters, the way your body instinctively reacts. His smirk is knowing.

"That was a warning," he says. "The real punishment starts now."

What follows is merciless. A methodical deconstruction of your resistance. He tests your limits with cruel efficiency—flogger, riding crop, clamps, vibrating toys that push you to the edge only to deny you release. Every gasp, every involuntary twitch is studied, analyzed, exploited.

“You look so pretty like this," he muses, tracing the welt blooming across your thigh. "All this defiance—it’s adorable. But we both know how this ends."

Your body betrays you. Humiliation burns hot in your cheeks, but he revels in it, drinking in every reaction like a man starved. His hands, his voice, his relentless control—it consumes you whole.

By the time he finally takes what he wants, you are too wrecked to fight. His possession is absolute, branding itself into your skin, your bones, your very breath.

✦✧✦✧

The first thrust knocks the breath from your lungs.

He doesn't give you time to adjust. He doesn't give you anything except the overwhelming force of his cock slamming into your cunt, the brutal stretch forcing a choked scream from your lips. The chains above rattle as you jolt, wrists tugging at the cruel metal, body writhing against the bonds that keep you helplessly spread open before him.

Alhaitham watches with clinical detachment, like he's studying the way your body reacts, the involuntary tremors, the way your walls clench and struggle to accommodate him. His grip is unyielding, fingers digging bruises into your thighs as he holds you still, his pace punishing. The wet slap of skin against skin echoes in the dimly lit dungeon, each thrust deliberate, methodical, precise.

"You always fight," he muses, voice smooth, cold. "And yet, here you are. Helpless. Spread open for me."

Your breath hitches at the sick pleasure in his tone. It’s not lust—not entirely. There’s something deeper, something darker in the way he drinks in every quiver, every choked sob. He’s reveling in it.

You squeeze your eyes shut, turning your head away, biting down on your lip to suppress the sounds threatening to escape. It’s humiliating. The slick wetness betraying your body, the way he forces pleasure and pain into the same unbearable space. Your defiance only fuels him.

"Still trying to act stubborn?" he scoffs. "Even now?"

A sharp slap lands against your inner thigh, the sting making you jolt. His other hand slides up your stomach, fingers curling around your throat, squeezing—not enough to cut off air, but enough to remind you of his control. His grip tightens just as he angles his hips, hitting that devastating spot inside you that sends white-hot electricity shooting through your nerves.

Your body betrays you.

A strangled moan escapes before you can stop it. He stills.

Then—

He laughs.

It’s low, cruel, dripping with triumph. He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs, "There it is. The sound I wanted."

Your nails dig into your palms, the bite of your own restraint almost enough to ground you. Almost. He resumes his pace, faster now, sharper. Every thrust forces a new sound from you, a broken whimper, a stifled gasp. He drinks them in like they’re proof of his victory.

The collar around your neck digs into your skin, tight enough to remind you that you belong to him now. The cuffs securing your wrists creak as you thrash, but there’s nowhere to go, nothing to do except take what he gives. And he gives you everything.

"This," he breathes, voice dark with satisfaction. "This is what happens when you push me. When you let another man think he has a chance with you."

His fingers find your clit. A cruel, slow circle.

"Was he better than me?" His tone is light, mocking. "Did he make you feel like this?"

You hate him.

You hate the way your body responds, the way heat coils low in your stomach, the unbearable tightness building with every stroke. You hate the way he knows, the way he sees through you, the way he never lets you hide. His control is absolute, orchestrating your pleasure and your suffering with the same meticulous precision he dedicates to everything else.

The coil snaps.

Pleasure rips through you violently, too much, too sharp. Your body seizes, back arching, toes curling, a shattered cry breaking free from your lips.

And Alhaitham—

He doesn’t stop.

"Look at you," he breathes. "So desperate. So weak. You break so easily."

You barely hear him through the haze of overstimulation, the unbearable sensitivity as he continues thrusting, fucking you through the aftershocks, prolonging the agony of pleasure turned cruel. Your throat is raw from the sounds you can’t hold back, tears burning hot at the corners of your eyes.

"Good girl," he murmurs, voice smooth, condescending. "Now let’s see how many more times I can make you come before you break completely."

He doesn't stop.

And you are left with no choice but to endure.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐎𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫! 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 ✦✧✦✧

The champagne flute trembles in his hand.

Not enough to draw attention—no, never enough for that. His grasp remains firm, his smile impeccable, his demeanor as polished as the diamond cufflinks at his wrists. But the tremor is there.

He watches you from across the grand ballroom, golden light bathing your delicate frame as you twirl in the arms of your fiancé. Phainon. A man of high status, of prestigious blood. A man your parents deemed worthy of you.

A man who is not him.

Sunday has never felt jealousy before. He doesn’t entertain such base emotions, much less let them control him. He is above such vulgar impulses—always has been. But now, as he watches you tip your chin up at Phainon with that demure little smile, as his gloved hand settles against the bare skin of your lower back, something curdles in Sunday’s chest.

He does not move immediately. He takes his time, swirling the golden liquid in his glass as he sips, assessing. Analyzing. He is nothing if not meticulous.

His sister, Robin, tugs at his sleeve playfully. “You’re awfully stiff, brother. You look like you’ve swallowed something foul.”

His eyes flicker to her. She is beaming, utterly oblivious. Sweet, innocent Robin, who has never needed to question the things he keeps from her.

“You approve of this match?” he asks smoothly, voice betraying nothing.

Robin grins. “Of course! They look perfect together, don’t they?”

Perfect.

Something in his chest twists, tightens. He sets his glass down, offering his sister a small, tight-lipped smile before excusing himself. He does not make a beeline for you immediately—no, that would be foolish. Instead, he moves with grace, lingering along the edges of the crowd, watching, waiting, calculating.

Phainon leans in, whispering something against your ear. You laugh—soft, shy, utterly unlike the way you are with Sunday. You never laugh like that around him. You only look at him with wary, sharp eyes, as if trying to decipher what lurks beneath his poised exterior.

You are so cautious. So careful.

And yet you have failed to consider the most important thing: He is a patient man. But not a merciful one.

Radiant and oblivious, smiling up at your fiancé as he leads you in a slow, poised waltz. Phainon, the golden boy, the heir of another prestigious family. He holds you with the ease of a man who believes he owns you. His gloved hand lingers at the small of your back, fingers curling ever so slightly. It is possessive, almost territorial.

It makes something in Sunday snap.

The realization is an ugly, monstrous thing: You're mine.

Not by blood, not by law. But something deeper, something primal, something that makes his fingers flex around the stem of his wine glass.

She does not belong to another man. Not like this. Not when she has always been his to mold, to shape, to control.

The moment the dance ends, Sunday moves. He is a shadow in the lavish crowd, gliding towards you with unshakable intent. Your eyes widen when he appears, your lips parting slightly as if sensing the shift in the air, the creeping wrongness clinging to him.

"Brother," you greet, voice hesitant.

His smile is kind, affectionate. A perfect deception. "May I steal the bride for a dance?"

Phainon hesitates, but he is polite. Foolish. He steps back, offering a gentlemanly nod.

Sunday takes your hand. His grip is firm, almost bruising.

"I thought you didn't care for these things," you murmur, trying to read his expression.

"I don't," he replies smoothly, leading you to the center of the ballroom. "But I care about you."

The waltz begins, and you are trapped. Sunday moves with a precision that makes your heart race for all the wrong reasons. He guides you effortlessly, his grip just a touch too tight, his presence suffocatingly close.

"You looked beautiful with him," he muses, voice deceptively soft. "So radiant, so peaceful."

Your throat tightens. "I—"

"I almost believed it. That you could belong to someone else." His fingers dig into your waist, his breath warm against your ear. "But you wouldn't do that to me, would you?"

The dance slows, the air thick with something unspoken, something suffocating. Your heartbeat hammers against your ribs.

"Sunday, let go."

His smile remains, but his grip tightens. "Not yet."

His free hand glides down your back, tracing the dip of your spine through the thin fabric of your gown. It is too much, too intimate.

"You're trembling," he notes, voice almost amused.

The waltz ends, but he does not release you. Instead, he guides you away from the ballroom, seamlessly slipping through corridors unseen.

You struggle. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere private. We have much to discuss."

Your pulse is frantic. "Let go."

He doesn't.

✦✧✦✧

The first thing you notice when you awaken is the cold.

The second is the sensation of silk, smooth and cool against your bare skin.

Your breath hitches. You try to move, only to find your wrists bound above your head, your legs spread apart by soft, unyielding restraints. Panic blooms in your chest, violent and immediate. Your head whips to the side—and there he is, seated beside the bed, his elegant frame bathed in the dim glow of candlelight.

Sunday.

He does not speak at first. He merely watches you, one leg crossed over the other, the very picture of composed authority. But his eyes—his eyes tell another story.

“Phainon must be disappointed,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “Losing his precious fiancée on the night of their grand celebration.”

Your stomach twists. “Sunday—”

A gloved finger presses against your lips. “Shh. Not so loud, little wife.” He exhales softly, almost as if amused. “Or have you already forgotten your place?”

Your place.

Your mouth goes dry. “You’re insane.”

He hums, trailing his fingers down the length of your jaw. “Am I?” He leans in, breath warm against your cheek. “And yet you let him touch you. Let him hold you.” His voice hardens, sharp as a blade. “Tell me, did you enjoy it?”

You recoil, struggling against the restraints. “Let me go.”

He sighs. “You’re making this difficult.” He reaches for something beside him—a knife, gleaming under the candlelight. Your heart stops.

“You don’t listen,” he murmurs, dragging the flat of the blade against your throat. “I give you everything. And yet you still act as though you belong to someone else.”

He leans down, lips brushing against your ear. “Shall I remind you who owns you, little wife?”

The blade disappears. His hand replaces it, wrapping around your throat with just enough pressure to make you gasp.

Then he kisses you.

It is not gentle. It is not kind. It is a punishment, a claim—a searing, possessive thing that steals the air from your lungs. His other hand drifts down, grasping at your thigh, pushing it further apart.

“You’ve always been so obedient,” he breathes against your lips, pressing his hips against yours. “And yet you disobeyed me tonight.”

A gloved hand trails down the curve of your stomach, slipping between your thighs.

You jerk against the bindings, breath coming in panicked gasps. “Sunday—don’t—”

His fingers stroke, slow, precise. “Do you know what happens to disobedient little wives?”

Your body betrays you. He is cruel, measured—he knows exactly how to unravel you, how to coax the reactions he desires.

“You let him touch you,” he murmurs. “You let him put his hands on what is mine.” His fingers press deeper, his grip on your throat tightening. “Tell me—did you wish it was me instead?”

You shake your head furiously, eyes burning with fury and shame. “I hate you.”

He smiles. “I know.”

His gloved fingers trace absent patterns against your stomach, a featherlight touch that makes you shudder. "You're shaking," he murmurs, almost curious. "Are you afraid?"

Your breath hitches. "Sunday—please—"

"Please?" He exhales a quiet chuckle, his other hand reaching for your face. He cups your cheek with a tenderness so at odds with the sharp glint in his eyes. "You begged him like that too, didn't you?"

The mention of Phainon sends a fresh wave of dread through you.

You shake your head frantically. "No—I didn’t—"

"Liar."

The silk of his gloves drags down your throat, down to your collarbone, teasingly slow as he watches your every reaction with surgical precision.

"It’s cruel of you," he muses. "To make me feel this way. Do you understand what you've done to me?"

His hand slips lower, ghosting over the curve of your breast. Your back arches involuntarily, the restraints biting into your wrists. He watches the reaction, inhales softly, then presses his thumb against your nipple through the thin fabric of his glove.

"You make me ugly," he whispers. "You make me cruel."

You whimper, turning your face away. But his other hand grips your chin, forcing you back to him.

"No, no, little wife. No running away. Not when I’ve finally claimed what’s mine."

His gloved fingers pinch, roll, tease with an agonizing slowness. Heat coils in your belly, shame burning under your skin.

You grit your teeth. "I hate you."

His lashes lower, a delicate flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. Then, suddenly, he moves—leaning in, lips brushing the shell of your ear as his fingers slide lower.

"Such wicked words from such pretty lips," he murmurs, the barest hint of a smile in his voice. "But I don’t believe you. Not when your body sings for me so sweetly."

His hand drifts between your thighs, fingers pressing against the slick heat there. You jolt, thighs instinctively trying to close—but the restraints keep you spread, exposed, helpless.

Sunday clicks his tongue, featherlight strokes parting your folds. "So wet," he notes, voice deceptively gentle. "And yet, you claim to despise me. A contradiction, don't you think?"

He slides a single finger inside you, slow, controlled. You choke on a gasp, body arching as he curls it just so, just enough to make your stomach tighten.

"You’re trembling," he observes, pleased. "Do you remember how you looked at him? That sweet little smile? Did you think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t care?"

He adds another finger, scissoring them, stretching you open with patient cruelty. Your breath stutters, heat coiling unbearably tight.

"I care," he breathes, pressing a kiss to your throat. "I care so very deeply. More than you could ever comprehend. And yet, you still insist on testing me."

His fingers withdraw, leaving you empty. Before you can protest, he’s undoing his belt, the soft clink echoing in the quiet room.

Your stomach twists in fear—and something else.

Sunday notices. He always notices.

"Look at you," he murmurs, stroking himself with unhurried grace. "Already shaking, and I haven't even begun."

You squeeze your eyes shut. "Please—"

His fingers thread into your hair, jerking your head back. "Look at me."

You do.

His expression is serene, beautiful even. An angel carved from marble. But his eyes burn, his restraint fraying.

"Say it," he orders, voice softer now, coaxing. "Say that you belong to me."

You shake your head, tears spilling down your cheeks.

His grip tightens. "Say it."

His hips press forward, the thick head of his cock nudging against your entrance, teasing, pressing—but not yet giving you the relief you dread and crave in equal measure.

Your pulse hammers against your ribs, breath shallow, body betraying you in the worst way.

"Say it," he breathes, rocking forward just enough to make you whimper.

You choke on a sob. "I—I belong to you."

He exhales softly, pleased, and then, without further warning—he sinks into you.

The stretch is unbearable. He is slow, deliberate, pushing inch by inch, watching your every reaction with rapt fascination.

You cry out, wrists pulling against the bindings as your body struggles to accommodate him. But he only hushes you, stroking your thigh, whispering sweet nothings that do nothing to mask the cruelty of his claim.

"There you go," he soothes. "Taking me so well. Just like you were made for me."

A single thrust, deep and unforgiving, robs you of breath. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust—he sets a punishing rhythm, each snap of his hips forcing sobs from your lips, forcing pleasure into your unwilling nerves.

"Mine," he breathes against your skin. "Always mine."

You don't know how long it lasts. Time becomes meaningless, reduced to the obscene sounds of skin against skin, of your own traitorous cries, of his measured breaths as he claims you over and over.

Your body gives out before your mind does, pleasure crashing over you in a humiliating wave. He watches you unravel, drinks in the sight of you breaking beneath him.

His lips press against your temple, deceptively tender. "Good girl."

And then he ruins you. Again. And again. And again.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫! 𝐇𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧! 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 ✦✧✦✧

The bar reeks of whiskey, sweat, and desperation. Ain’t nothin’ new. Ain’t nothin’ Boothill ain’t used to. He’s been sittin’ in joints like these since he was old enough to throw a punch, old enough to fuck, old enough to carve his name into the world with blood and bullets.

And yet, tonight, somethin’ gnaws at him deep. A slow-burnin’ rage, coiled tight in his gut like a rattlesnake ready to strike. It ain't the booze or the sorry-ass excuse of a jukebox croonin’ out some sad, forgotten tune. Ain’t the busted floorboards or the smell of stale beer stickin’ to his clothes.

It’s you.

You, sittin’ all sweet and soft, laughin’ at some fucker’s joke like he’s got the right to make you smile. Like he’s got the right to be anywhere near you. And it don’t sit right with him. Don’t sit right with him at all.

Boothill’s watched you grow up in the shadow of his sins. Watched you turn from a wide-eyed innocent little thing, to a woman with a smile that could ruin men. And Lord help him, he knows what kind of world you’re livin’ in. Knows it like the back of his damn hand. Knows what men see when they look at you.

Knows ‘cause he’s one of ‘em.

He’s kept his distance. Fought like hell to keep his hands clean where you’re concerned. But you—

You’re makin’ it real damn hard tonight.

The bastard next to you leans in, whispers somethin’ low, and you—hell, you tilt your head just so, give him that look like you ain't got a care in the world. Like you don’t see Boothill sittin’ across the room, eyes cuttin’ through the dim light, fixin’ to murder a man where he stands.

He ain’t never been jealous. Ain’t never had reason to be. But tonight, he knows what it feels like. Feels it in the tightness of his jaw, the way his fists curl ‘round the neck of his beer bottle, white-knuckled and near crackin’ the damn glass. Feels it in the way his blood runs hot, his cock half-hard just from watchin’ you toy with another man like he ain’t sittin’ right there, like you ain’t been his since the moment you took your first breath.

And then that bastard touches you.

Fingers draggin’ slow over the inside of your wrist. Familiar. Too damn familiar.

Boothill’s on his feet before he even registers movin’. One second, the fucker’s grinnin’ like he’s just won the damn lottery, the next, his face is meetin’ the table with a sickening crack. The room goes silent, all eyes on Boothill as he presses the bastard down harder, watches the blood trickle from his busted nose.

“Git,” Boothill spits, voice like gravel. Ain’t loud. Ain’t a need for it to be. It’s the kinda command men listen to.

The bastard don’t argue. Don’t even look back as he stumbles out the door, one hand clamped over his face.

Then it’s just you and him.

You’re starin’ at him, wide-eyed, breath caught somewhere between shock and somethin’ else. Somethin’ that makes his cock throb against the seam of his jeans, makes his hands twitch at his sides, itchin’ to grab hold of you and make sure you never pull some shit like this again.

You done fucked up, darlin’.

And you’re about to learn just what that means.

✦✧✦✧

Boothill ain't never been a good man. Ain’t never claimed to be. Grew up mean and wild, fists first, questions never. Ain’t had no mama worth a damn, just a father who taught him that the world don’t give a shit ‘bout weakness. Taught him how to fight, how to fuck, how to take what’s his and never let go.

Then came you.

A mistake, some might say. A product of a night he barely remembers, a woman whose name he don’t give a damn about.

But when he first saw you—so small, so damn helpless—somethin’ inside him shifted. Weren’t love. Weren’t nothin’ soft. Just a realization.

You were his.

And Boothill don’t let go of what’s his.

Raised you the only way he knew how. Taught you to shoot, to stand your ground, to never let no man take what ain’t his to take. Kept you close, closer than he should’ve. Closer than was right. But you never questioned it, never pulled away, just looked up at him with those big eyes like he hung the damn moon.

But you ain’t a little girl no more.

And tonight? Tonight’s proof you need a reminder of who you belong to.

✦✧✦✧

The truck’s cabin smelled like whiskey and smoke, thick with the scent of leather and old blood. The weight of his glare pressed against your back, heavier than the boot he propped on the dash, rattling the empty beer cans that littered the floor. The neon lights of the bar you’d just stepped out of still flickered behind you, casting slashes of color against his weathered face.

He hadn’t spoken since dragging you from that dive, his fingers leaving bruises around your wrist. Boothill never got jealous. Not once in your life had he ever reacted to the men you flirted with. You’d spent years pushing, provoking, knowing how much he hated seeing you giggle at some dumb bastard’s joke. But tonight was different.

Tonight, he snapped.

You felt it the moment his fingers dug into your skin, dragging you through the lot like you weighed nothing. Felt it when he threw you against the side of his rusted-out truck, the door creaking open with the force of his shove. The cold leather of the seat bit into the backs of your thighs as he climbed in after you, slamming the door so hard the frame shook.

The silence crackled like static between you.

“You real proud of yourself, sugar?” His voice was slow, syrupy-thick, the drawl edged with something rough. His cowboy hat sat low, shadowing his gaze, but you could feel the weight of it, feel it tracking every twitch of your breath.

You didn’t answer. You never did. That was part of the game.

His nostrils flared as he exhaled, the scent of cigarettes and bourbon hot against your skin. “Ain’t gonna say nothin’?”

Your lips barely parted before his hand was on your throat, squeezing just enough to steal your air. Your pulse hammered against his palm, and your fingers clawed at his wrist, useless against the solid heat of him.

“Nah, you ain’t got to,” he muttered, leaning in until his lips nearly brushed yours. “I get it, baby girl. You think you’re real smart. Think you can fuck with me.” His grip tightened, his breath heavy against your cheek. “But you just made the biggest fuckin’ mistake of your life.”

He released you so suddenly you gasped, your hands flying to your neck as you sucked in desperate lungfuls of air. Your victory was short-lived. Before you could shift, before you could scramble for the handle, he had you flat on your back, his massive frame caging you against the cracked leather seat. His knee wedged between your thighs, prying them apart, while his fingers snapped the buttons of your blouse one by one.

“Lettin’ some little shit put his hands on you,” he hissed, his teeth grazing your ear as he wrenched your top open. “Let him think he could touch what’s mine.”

Your breath hitched, your body thrashing as his hands moved lower, tearing through the fragile fabric of your skirt like it was paper. His calloused palm pressed flat against your stomach, pinning you in place as he loomed over you, eyes dark with something primal, something possessive.

“You think this is funny?” he snarled. “Think I won’t fuckin’ ruin you for that?”

You barely managed to shake your head before his belt unbuckled, the metallic jingle swallowed by the low rumble of his growl. His cock was already hard, thick and pulsing against your trembling thigh. The realization sent a fresh wave of panic through you, your nails biting into his forearm as you struggled.

He only laughed.

“Oh, sugar,” he drawled, voice thick with condescension. “You picked the wrong fuckin’ man to piss off.”

His hand gripped your hips, dragging you down the seat, positioning you exactly where he wanted. The truck’s frame creaked as he pressed closer, the heat of him branding your skin even through the layers he hadn’t torn away yet.

His fingers traced the curve of your jaw, almost gentle, before tangling in your hair and yanking your head back. His lips ghosted over your throat, lingering at your pulse point, relishing the frantic flutter.

“Gonna fuck you right here, baby girl,” he murmured. “Right where any bastard passin’ by can see.”

Your stomach lurched, shame burning hot in your chest. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Except he would.

The first push stole the air from your lungs. He was too thick, too big, stretching you open with no warning, no mercy. Your nails scrabbled against his chest, your body arching, trying to escape the overwhelming intrusion.

“Fuckin’ tight,” he groaned, voice ragged. “Knew you’d be. Knew no worthless piece of shit’s ever been where I am.”

Tears burned your eyes, a choked whimper slipping past your lips. He only grinned, his grip tightening, keeping you exactly where he wanted as he pushed deeper, filling you until there was no space left between your bodies.

“That’s it,” he rasped. “Take it, baby. Take your daddy’s cock.”

Your stomach twisted, revulsion and humiliation warring with the relentless sensation of him inside you. Your body betrayed you, slick growing against your will, easing his brutal thrusts as he set a punishing pace.

“Fuck, shit,” he gritted out, his cowboy hat tipping back as he rolled his hips, dragging every inch of himself against your unwilling walls. “Ain’t never lettin’ you tease me again. Ain’t never lettin’ some sorry bastard think he can have what’s mine.”

His fingers wrapped around your throat again, cutting off your weak protests. His free hand slid between your thighs, his thumb pressing cruel circles against your clit, forcing your body to react, forcing pleasure through the horror.

“You feel that?” he whispered against your lips. “Feel how fuckin’ good I make you feel?”

You wanted to scream, wanted to deny it, but the pressure coiled tight in your gut, your body betraying you in the worst way. His thumb pressed harder, his cock slamming into you with brutal precision, and the pleasure cracked through you like a whip.

The orgasm hit you like a betrayal, leaving you shaking beneath him, gasping, shuddering. His laughter followed, low and dark, filled with cruel satisfaction.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

His thrusts grew erratic, harder, sharper, until with a final groan, he buried himself to the hilt, his release spilling inside you, marking you from the inside out.

The silence that followed was deafening. His breath was ragged against your skin, his weight still pinning you down. Your body ached, every inch of you raw and used, slick with sweat and shame.

Slowly, he leaned back, dragging his fingers through the mess he made between your thighs. He lifted his hand, spreading his fingers, smearing it across your stomach with a smirk.

“Now,” he murmured, voice dark with satisfaction. “Now you know who you fuckin’ belong to.”

He pulled back, zipping his jeans like nothing happened, like he hadn’t just destroyed you in the cab of his damn truck.

You barely registered the door opening, barely registered the sharp night air kissing your ruined skin.

But you felt his hand on your ankle, dragging you toward him.

“C’mon, sugar,” he said, his voice thick with amusement. “We ain’t done yet.”

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫! 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 ✦✧✦✧

You never noticed his eyes on you.

Caleb had always been your older stepbrother, the reliable, easygoing one. The towering giant with a lazy smirk, always ready with an arm slung around your shoulders and a dry, teasing remark at your expense. You never thought twice about the way he looked at you, how his eyes followed your every move, how he lingered when you left a room. It had been years of patience, years of carefully curating the role of the harmless, goofy brother.

Until now. Until this.

Your lips, swollen, wet—tainted by someone else.

A kiss. Not his.

Your fingers curled around the front of your dress, oblivious, adjusting the hem, smoothing out creases like nothing had changed. Like you hadn’t just shattered the careful, painstakingly built restraint he’d held all these years.

Caleb stood just beyond the club’s exit, breathing slow, measured breaths. His fists clenched inside his jacket pockets, nails biting into his palms.

You didn’t know he had been watching.

You didn’t know that your crush—the man you’d been pining for—had been nothing more than an insect under his shoe, a passing amusement, one he had tolerated because you had never acted on it. Until now.

His jaw ticked. A muscle twitched beneath his cheek.

You would have gone home with him. Caleb could see it in the way your body had swayed, unconsciously leaning closer, in the half-lidded gaze you had given the bastard. The fucker wouldn’t have needed to work for it, wouldn’t have needed to carve his way into your life the way Caleb had for years.

No. He wasn’t letting that happen.

It had taken him this long—too long—to realize that waiting was a fool’s game. That pretending to be patient, that pretending to be the ‘nice guy,’ had only given you time to slip further away from him.

Never again.

✦✧✦✧

The first time Caleb realized you were his, you were six years old.

He had just turned ten, and his mother had sat him down, voice soft, hands gentle, and told him he was getting a little sister. He had scowled, kicked at the leg of the coffee table, and declared that he didn’t want one.

But then you arrived.

Small. Fragile. Helpless. You had stared up at him with wide, unblinking eyes, and something in his chest had shifted. You had reached for him, tiny fingers curling around his thumb, and it had clicked.

Mine, his young mind had whispered.

He had taken the role easily, instinctively. No one picked on you. No one got too close. He was always there, hovering, watching, ensuring that no harm ever came your way. At school, on the playground, at home—his presence was a constant shadow, an unshakable force. You had looked up to him. You had trusted him.

But then you grew up.

And suddenly, he wasn’t the only one in your world anymore.

At fourteen, you had your first crush. Some idiot kid in your class, some faceless, nameless little shit that had made you blush and giggle in a way that made Caleb’s teeth grind. He hadn’t understood it, hadn’t been able to place the slow-burning anger that festered in his stomach. He had shoved it down, convinced himself it was just overprotectiveness.

At sixteen, you had your first boyfriend. Caleb had hated him on sight. He had never been cruel, never outright told you that you were making a mistake—but the guy never stuck around long, did he? None of them ever did. A comment here, a well-placed insult there, a few carefully crafted rumors whispered into the right ears, and they would be gone, scurrying off like frightened rodents.

You never noticed the pattern.

You never noticed that the common denominator was him.

At twenty, you had your first heartbreak. He had watched, expression unreadable, as you curled into yourself, as you moped around the house, as you swore off men altogether. It had taken everything in him not to smile. He had comforted you, held you, whispered reassurances into your hair, all the while knowing that this was for the best.

He could wait.

He could always wait.

But then tonight happened.

And now? Now he was done waiting.

✦✧✦✧

The night air still clings to you, the last remnants of the club’s heavy bass rattling in your bones, your body still warm, still buzzing from the heat of the dance floor. You don’t notice him. Not at first. Not when you step out onto the street, not when you inhale deep, reveling in the cool relief of fresh air, not even when you shift your dress over your thighs, fingers smoothing over the fabric without thought.

But he notices you.

Caleb had always noticed you.

His fingers twitch, tightening inside his jacket pockets. His heartbeat is slow, measured, calculated, but the muscle in his jaw ticks, his temple throbbing. It’s a mistake, isn’t it? Letting you out of his sight. Thinking you were still the good girl, his good girl, untouched, untainted. That you would never stray. But here you are, skin flushed, lips swollen, kissed by someone else.

His stomach knots, his lungs empty, a deep, burning pit opening in his gut.

It’s not jealousy. It’s not.

It’s rage.

He follows you home.

You don’t realize it. Not when you fumble with your keys, not when you slip inside, humming softly under your breath, not when you lock the door behind you, confident in your solitude. Caleb has always been good at waiting. Good at biding his time. But tonight, the patience he has cultivated for years has finally snapped.

And you will know it.

Your bedroom is warm, the air thick, the lingering scent of perfume and alcohol clinging to your skin. You don’t hear him enter. Don’t hear the door ease open, don’t hear the soft sound of the lock clicking back into place. But you feel it—

The shift in the air. The sudden, stifling presence behind you.

“Did you have fun tonight?”

The voice is low, smooth, almost lazy. Familiar.

Your blood runs cold.

You whirl, eyes going wide, breath stuttering in your throat. Caleb leans against your door, the barest hint of a smirk on his lips, but there’s something else, something unreadable in his gaze. Something that makes your stomach twist.

You take a step back. “What are you—?”

“Answer the question.” His voice is sharp, cutting through your feeble protest, his eyes pinned to you like a predator, like he’s already decided something you aren’t privy to yet.

You swallow hard. Your fingers clutch at your dress. “Y-Yeah.”

His smirk doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens, slow and knowing, curling at the edges with something dark, something dangerous. “Yeah?”

You don’t notice the movement. The way he closes the distance between you in one smooth stride, the way his hand grips your jaw, tilting your face up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“That why you let him put his hands all over you?”

Your breath hitches.

You barely have time to react before he shoves you back, the force knocking you onto the mattress. Your vision spins, the world a blur of movement and heat, but before you can scramble up, he’s there, a knee pressing between your thighs, pinning you down.

Your hands push against his chest, weak, useless. “Caleb—!”

A hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back, exposing the delicate curve of your throat. His breath is warm against your skin, his lips barely ghosting over your pulse, drinking in the way it hammers wildly beneath his mouth.

“You let him touch you.”

A shudder wracks through you. “I—”

“Did you let him fuck you?”

Your breath stutters, horror clawing at your chest. “No!”

His fingers tighten, tilting your face, his eyes burning into yours. “Did you want to?”

The heat of his body is unbearable, suffocating, his presence swallowing you whole. Your silence is enough of an answer.

Caleb clicks his tongue. “Slut.”

Your gasp is swallowed by his mouth. It isn’t a kiss. It’s a brand, scorching, claiming, his teeth dragging against your lower lip before sinking in, the sharp sting of pain forcing a whimper from your throat.

His hands are everywhere—gripping, tearing, claiming. Your dress is bunched up around your hips, your panties tugged down, and there’s no hesitation, no pause as he presses a knee against your stomach, keeping you down as his fingers slip between your thighs.

“So fucking wet,” he breathes, almost laughing. “You really are a whore.”

You thrash, panic surging through you, but he’s stronger, so much stronger, and the weight of him pressing against you leaves no room for escape.

“Caleb, stop—”

A sharp prick at your thigh. A sting, barely noticeable at first, until—

Your body ignites.

A slow, pulsing heat unfurls in your stomach, blooming outward, spreading like wildfire through your veins. Your skin tingles, too sensitive, your limbs suddenly weak, boneless. Your breath comes in short, shallow gasps, and the realization slams into you, cold and unrelenting.

The needle. The drug.

Terror claws up your throat.

“Shh,” Caleb soothes, brushing damp hair from your face, his fingers light, almost gentle. “It’s just to help.”

Your body betrays you. Heat pools low in your stomach, your muscles twitching with need, your thighs trembling beneath his weight. Your mind screams, begs, fights against it, but your body—

Your body begs for more.

Caleb hums, watching you, fascinated, delighted. “See? So much easier when you listen.”

His hand grips your hip, flipping you onto your stomach, his palm pressing between your shoulder blades, pinning you down. There’s no preamble, no hesitation. His cock drags against your slick folds, teasing, tormenting, before—

A sharp thrust, a brutal stretch. A broken cry rips from your throat, your fingers clawing at the sheets, at anything, but there’s nowhere to go, nowhere to run. He’s too big, too deep, the burn of it splitting you open, wrecking you.

Caleb groans, his fingers digging into your waist, holding you in place as he pulls back, only to slam into you again, setting a brutal, punishing pace. “This is what you needed,” he breathes, voice thick, strained. “Not him. Me. Always me.”

Your mind fractures, pleasure and pain a twisted, tangled mess, the drug dulling the edges of your resistance, leaving you pliant, shaking, helpless beneath him.

He fucks you like he’s branding you, like he’s making sure there will never be another, that no one else will ever touch what belongs to him.

And you know, deep down, that he’s right.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐁𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲! 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨 ✦✧✦✧

You think you're clever about it. Discreet.

You're not the type to scream and flail like some mindless fangirl, throwing yourself at the feet of some celebrity or fictional character with doe-eyed devotion. You don't prattle about your obsessions in public, don't gush to your friends, don't leave a visible trail of your affections for just anyone to follow.

But you're obsessive. He can tell.

You hoard. You hyperfixate. You dedicate yourself to the things you love with an intensity that borders on madness, a quiet, insidious fixation that no one notices because you keep your voice down and your hands still. The signs are subtle, but he sees them. The methodical way you collect merchandise, the careful way you arrange it. The deliberate ritual of your mornings when you check the forums, the auctions, the new drops. The way your fingers linger on the edges of your phone screen, scrolling through the latest art of your precious prince charming—your perfect, fictional man.

And fuck, it pisses him off.

At first, he doesn’t care. He barely notices. It’s just some dumb little hobby of yours, another quirk of your quiet, weirdo personality. He’s known you forever, sat next to you in class, tormented you when you least expected it, because you were easy to push, easy to rile up. Even when you didn’t react, he could feel the tension in you, could sense the way you seethed beneath the surface. He liked that about you. Liked getting under your skin, even if you pretended he didn’t.

But then he starts to see it.

See the way you linger at the bookstore, fingers ghosting over the limited-edition hardcover of the latest volume like you’re touching something sacred. See the way your lips press together in concentration when you're hunting for merch, tracking down obscure, expensive collectibles with a drive he never thought you were capable of. See the way your eyes—your unreadable, guarded fucking eyes—go soft and distant when you stare at the screen of your phone, transfixed by some new voice line, some stupid romantic scenario featuring him—that prince of yours, that perfect, spineless little fantasy you keep feeding into.

It starts to get under his skin.

It starts to make his blood boil.

He’s never been jealous before. Never needed to be. He doesn’t do jealousy. It’s a useless emotion, a fucking weakness. And besides, who the fuck would he be jealous of? No one in this goddamn world is better than him. No one.

But then there's you. And your stupid, childish obsession with him.

He sees it all, piece by piece, and it grates at him like a fucking wound that won’t close.

You don’t even like guys like that in real life. That’s what pisses him off the most. You’re quiet, but you’re not naive. You don’t buy into the bullshit, the fake romance, the perfect gentlemen with their fake-ass smiles and their pretty, empty words. You don’t trust people like that. He knows you don’t.

So why the fuck is he different?

Why the fuck does this goddamn, nonexistent, pretty-boy bastard get to have your fucking heart in the palm of his hand?

He starts watching you closer. More than before. More than he should.

You don’t notice, of course. You never do. You think you’re so damn careful, so subtle in your affections, but you’re not subtle at all, not to him. He sees the way your fingers tremble when you finally win a limited-edition figure off some overpriced auction site, sees the way you press the box to your chest, inhaling shakily like it’s something precious to you. He sees the way you handle your collection, dusting each piece meticulously, arranging them just so.

He catches the way you react when you play the game—when you interact with him, that pretty-faced fantasy. Your breath hitching on certain lines, your lashes fluttering when he calls you princess.

Princess.

His fingers curl into fists.

The realization creeps in slow, insidious. It doesn’t hit all at once. It sneaks up on him in little moments, in the tension that coils in his gut when he watches you indulge in this stupid fucking fantasy, in the way his fingers itch to take it away from you.

Because that’s what he should do, right?

That’s what he’s always done. He’s always made your life harder, always reminded you of your place, always knocked you down when you got too comfortable, too secure. It’s practically second nature to him at this point.

So why hasn’t he done it yet?

Why is he watching instead?

He doesn’t realize he’s spiraling until he starts seeing red at the mention of the guy’s name. Until he hears some stupid fucking voice line from your phone during lunch break and feels his throat tighten, his teeth clench.

Until he finds himself waiting to catch you in the act, hovering just out of sight when you unbox some new, expensive piece of merch, watching with narrowed eyes as you cradle it so fucking tenderly, as if it’s something that actually deserves that kind of treatment from you.

Like he doesn’t deserve it more.

Like he’s not the one who’s real.

It all clicks into place when he catches himself fantasizing—not about you, not about your body, but about wrecking everything you’ve built up. About shattering every one of those delicate little figures, about deleting your save files, about ruining this for you so thoroughly that you’ll never even think about that stupid fantasy again. About leaving you with nothing—nothing but him.

His fingers twitch at the thought.

He lets himself think about it, lets the image settle in his mind: You, crying, devastated, completely and utterly destroyed. Because of him. Because he took it all away from you.

And then he lets himself imagine what happens after.

When you finally turn those unreadable, guarded fucking eyes on him—not with disinterest, not with fleeting irritation, but with fear.

When you finally realize there’s only one man in your life who actually matters.

And it sure as hell isn’t some fictional, spineless little prince.

No, he’s the only one who gets to own you.

And he’s going to make damn sure you fucking learn that.

✦✧✦✧

The destruction is methodical. Calculated.

It’s not like he flies into a mindless rage. No, that’s not how this works. That’s not how he works. He’s angry, yeah. Furious. But it’s a cold, simmering kind of wrath. The kind that spreads slow, poisoning everything it touches.

Your books, your posters, your neatly organized shelves of merch—all of it reduced to shredded paper, shattered plastic, broken fucking dreams. He tears down your shrine with his bare hands, watching with vicious satisfaction as your perfect little world crumbles beneath his fingers. The limited-edition figure you tracked down for months? Snapped in half. The signed illustration you framed and kept pristine? Ripped to shreds.

He doesn’t stop until there’s nothing left but debris.

And that’s when you find him.

Your gasp is sharp, raw.

“Katsuki—”

Your voice is tight with something unfamiliar. Something he’s never heard from you before. Panic.

And then—something else.

Anger.

It’s brief, but it’s there. A flicker of fire in your normally composed expression, a spark of real fucking rage as you take in the wreckage. For once, you don’t just swallow it down. For once, you fight back.

Your hands shove at his chest, weak and useless. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

His grip is on you before you can take another breath. Fingers tangling in your hair, yanking your head back, forcing you to look at him.

Oh. Oh.

He wants to fucking ruin you.

“Wrong with me?” His voice is low, dangerous. “What the fuck is wrong with you, huh?”

You twist in his hold, teeth bared. Good. Fight him. Struggle. Make this fun. “You destroyed my shit, you psycho—”

His hand clamps around your throat, cutting you off.

Your eyes widen. He can feel your pulse hammering beneath his fingers, a frantic little bird trapped in a cage. Your nails dig into his wrist, desperate, but he doesn’t let up. Doesn’t want to. His cock is already hard, already aching.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with something dark and insidious. “Getting all worked up over some fake fucking asshole.”

Your body jerks as he shoves you against the nearest surface—your ruined desk, your broken shrine, the wreckage of your obsession scattered at your feet. You’re struggling, but it’s useless. He’s bigger. Stronger. And he wants this. Wants you.

His knee wedges between your legs, forcing them apart. His free hand rips at your clothes, tearing fabric, exposing soft, untouched skin. The sight of it—the vulnerability, the unwillingness—sends a violent shudder through him.

“You want perfect, huh?” His teeth graze your jaw, your throat. “Some weak-ass, spineless little prince to whisper sweet nothings in your ear?”

He yanks at your underwear, dragging it down, shoving it aside.

A rough, gloved hand forces your thighs open further.

“Too fucking bad.”

He’s not sweet. He’s not gentle. He’s not what you want.

He’s what you need.

The first thrust is brutal. Unforgiving.

You gasp, a broken, choked-off sound that makes his blood fucking sing. Your nails carve lines into his arms, his shoulders, your body tensing like a vice around him. Fuck, you’re tight. So tight it’s like your body is trying to reject him, like you’re not ready, like you can’t take it.

Too bad.

He buries himself deeper, grinding against the resistance, forcing your body to mold around his.

And the look on your face—

Fuck.

Tears spill down your cheeks. Not silent ones. You’re making sounds, now. You’re whimpering, gasping, pleading.

But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. He fucks you through it, against it, into it.

Your hands push at him uselessly, your thighs trembling. The raw friction is unbearable, agonizing. His grip is bruising, his pace merciless, and yet—

Your body is betraying you.

He feels it. The way your walls spasm around him, the way your breath catches on every thrust. You’re still fighting, still crying, still shattering beneath him—but your body is starting to take it.

Good.

He forces your face to his, biting at your lips, your jaw, tasting your tears. “Cry all you want,” he growls. “S’not gonna change shit.”

Your body is his now. Your fucking soul is his.

And if you ever—ever—so much as think about another man again—

He’ll do worse than this.

Much, much worse.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐛𝐨𝐲! 𝐀𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐮 ✦✧✦✧

You never realized just how deep the rivalry ran. Not until it was too late.

Atsumu had always been a bastard. The kind of asshole who charmed his way into your friend group with an easy smirk, all swagger and arrogance, making the people around him simultaneously hate and love him. He was the type to push boundaries, to make crude jokes, to tease until it was cruel. But he never seemed to care—not about anyone, not about anything.

You never thought he cared about you, either. Not really.

His twin, on the other hand, was everything he wasn’t. Osamu was steady where Atsumu was reckless, kind where Atsumu was caustic. You gravitated toward Osamu naturally. He made you feel safe, like the world was a little less chaotic when he was around. And, perhaps most damning of all, you liked him. Not Atsumu. Never Atsumu.

The Miya twins had always been your constants.

They were your childhood, your tormentors, your so-called best friends. The neighborhood kids whispered about how you, the quiet, deadpan girl, managed to keep up with them—the golden storm and the shadow beside him. But you knew the truth.

You weren’t special. Atsumu had told you that enough times growing up.

“Yer like a lil’ pet, y’know?” he’d say, a teasing grin stretching wide, the same one that made girls' knees buckle in high school but made you feel like a bug under a magnifying glass. “Me ‘n Samu, we share ya.”

He never meant it romantically. It was an ownership thing. A possessiveness that had nothing to do with love. The twins were like that—selfish in the way brothers could be, hoarding whatever they deemed theirs. You were no exception.

But then Osamu broke the rules.

You weren’t supposed to have a favorite.

✦✧✦✧

Atsumu had always been a fuckboy. That much was obvious. He flirted with everything that moved, never meant a word of it, and laughed at anyone who took him seriously. Women adored him.

You were different, though. Not in a way that made you special. Just… separate. An anomaly he could never figure out. You never giggled at his teasing. Never rose to his bait. He’d spent years pressing all the right buttons, poking, provoking, waiting for you to crack. But you never did.

Even now, at twenty, when he saw you at the summer festival—dressed in soft colors, yukata swaying against your frame—your expression remained impassive, empty. Like you weren’t even really there.

Except—you were. With Osamu.

And that—that made something in him break.

It was instinct at first. A twin thing, maybe.

He’d been in the middle of another meaningless hookup when the feeling crawled over him—restless, wrong. He’d abandoned the girl without a second thought, following the tug in his gut.

Then he saw you. Saw his twin with you.

The two of you stood near a food stall, Osamu’s arm lazily draped over your shoulder, his hand casually brushing against the fabric of your sleeve. It was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. Not when you were letting him. Not when Osamu was looking at you with an expression he’d never worn before.

And worse—

You were looking back.

Atsumu felt sick.

He watched from the shadows, eyes trained on the tiny, almost imperceptible shifts in your body language. You never let people touch you. Even he, who had spent a lifetime testing your patience, never got that kind of softness.

And Osamu—he fucking knew that.

Because they were twins. Because he understood you just as well as Atsumu did.

So why the fuck did he think he could have you?

Why the fuck did you let him?

Atsumu had never been jealous before.

Sure, he’d fought with Osamu his entire life—over grades, over volleyball, over dumb shit that never mattered. But it had always been fair game.

This wasn’t.

Osamu had stolen something that Atsumu hadn’t even realized belonged to him.

Something he wasn’t willing to share anymore.

✦✧✦✧

You didn’t notice the shift immediately.

Atsumu had always been an asshole. That much was normal.

But there was something different now. A new edge to his cruelty. A sharper bite to his words.

When he cornered you after practice one evening, it didn’t feel like the usual teasing.

“You been avoidin’ me?”

His voice was light, casual. But his eyes—they weren’t.

You barely glanced up, unmoved. “No.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Liar.”

He stepped closer, too close, his presence suffocating. The gym was empty now, the lights dimming. Your fingers curled at your sides, but your expression remained blank.

“You pissed about somethin’?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Silence.

And that—that pissed him off more than anything.

His hand shot out, gripping your jaw, tilting your head up. Your pulse was steady against his fingers, your face devoid of fear.

“You like him that much?”

The question caught you off guard. Your brows furrowed slightly. “What?”

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, not gently.

“You like Osamu that much?” he repeated, voice dangerously soft.

You didn’t answer.

Something flickered in his eyes—something dark, something dangerous.

Your knee jerked up, aiming for his crotch, but he was faster—always faster. His hand shot out, catching your leg, shoving it back down. And then—

Crack.

Pain exploded through your skull.

Your vision blurred, the sharp impact of his fist knocking your head against the metal with a sickening clang. The world swam, and for a split second, you couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

And when the world went dark, he smiled.

✦✧✦✧

You wake up to the feeling of something wrong.

The air is thick, oppressive, pressing down on your chest before you even fully register where you are. It’s dark—too dark. Your room isn’t supposed to be this dark. Panic scratches up your throat as you blink, trying to adjust, trying to move—and then you realize.

You can’t.

Your wrists are bound above your head, the coarse bite of rope digging into your skin. Your legs are spread, ankles tied to the foot of your bed. The position is humiliating, leaving you open, vulnerable, entirely at his mercy.

And then you see him.

Atsumu, perched on the edge of the bed, shirtless, his lean, athletic frame cast in sharp relief. There’s something in his golden gaze that makes your stomach twist—something feral, something unhinged.

“Ya talk in your sleep, y’know.”

Your throat clenches. You pull against the ropes, but they don’t give. “Atsumu—”

He clicks his tongue, reaching out to grab your chin, forcing you to look at him. His touch is rough, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

“Say his name again,” he murmurs, voice low, dripping with venom.

Your brows furrow. “What?”

But then you remember.

The dream.

The warmth of Osamu’s arms, the softness of his voice, the way you whispered his name like a prayer.

Realization dawns in Atsumu’s eyes, and his grip tightens. His smirk stretches wider, crueler. “There it is.”

Your stomach plummets. “Atsumu, please—”

The slap is sudden, a sharp crack splitting the silence. Your head snaps to the side, the sting searing across your cheek. Tears burn at your eyes, but you don’t cry. You refuse.

“Don’t beg,” he sneers. “Ain’t gonna change a damn thing.”

His fingers thread into your hair, yanking your head back. His breath is hot against your skin, his teeth grazing the curve of your jaw.

“Ya really think I’d let that slide?” His voice is almost amused, but there’s something darker beneath it, something lethal. “Ya dreamin’ about my brother while yer mine?”

You shake your head frantically. “I—I’m not—”

Another slap. This one harder. Your ears ring, a whimper escaping before you can swallow it down.

He laughs. “That’s cute, sweetheart.”

His hands move lower, fingers hooking into your shirt. With one brutal yank, he rips it open, buttons flying. The cool air kisses your exposed skin, and you shudder.

Atsumu hums, dragging a finger down the valley of your chest. “Ain’t nothin’ 'Samu can do for ya that I can’t do better.”

You thrash, trying to kick, but your legs are bound, useless. Your struggles only seem to amuse him.

“Aww, look at ya.” He grips your chin again, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Fuckin’ helpless.”

His hands travel lower, skimming over your stomach before settling between your legs. You clench your thighs, but it’s pointless. He yanks your underwear to the side, exposing you. The cool air is unbearable, and you feel the heat of his gaze as he drinks you in.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

You bite your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

But he doesn’t need one.

His fingers part you, dragging through your folds. He groans, low and guttural, as he spreads you open, his touch rough, possessive.

You jerk against the bindings, but he just presses down harder.

“Atsumu, stop—”

The punch knocks the breath from your lungs.

Your vision goes white for a second, your body convulsing from the sheer force of it. Your lip splits, the metallic tang of blood filling your mouth.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he growls.

You cough, gasping for air, but he doesn’t give you a moment to recover. His fingers plunge inside you without warning, two thick digits forcing their way in. The pain is immediate, sharp, and you cry out, your body convulsing.

“Fuck, yer so tight,” he grunts, scissoring his fingers inside you. “Knew ya’d take me good.”

Tears spill down your cheeks as he stretches you open, his pace unrelenting. He crooks his fingers, pressing against something that makes you jerk involuntarily, a traitorous spark of pleasure blooming through the agony.

He notices.

And he laughs.

“Look at ya,” he taunts. “Cryin’ and drippin’ all over my fuckin’ fingers.”

You shake your head, denial bubbling in your throat, but he’s already pulling his fingers free. He shoves them into your mouth, forcing them past your lips.

“Suck,” he orders.

You gag, trying to turn away, but he grips your jaw, keeping you in place. His fingers press against your tongue, the taste of yourself coating your mouth.

“That’s it,” he purrs. “Good girl.”

When he finally pulls his fingers free, he reaches for his waistband. Your stomach lurches as he tugs his pants down, his cock springing free—thick, flushed, leaking.

“You wanna be fucked by a Miya so bad?” he growls. “Guess I’ll give ya what ya want.”

Before you can even scream, he’s lining himself up, the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

Then he slams inside.

The pain is blinding. A raw, splitting agony that rips through you, and you sob, body seizing around him. But Atsumu groans, head tilting back, shuddering at the way you squeeze around him.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he pants. “Made for me. Not him. Me.”

He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t let you adjust. He sets a brutal pace from the start, pounding into you with unrelenting force. Each thrust is punishing, every drag of his cock inside you a brutal, violating stretch.

You scream, but it only seems to spur him on.

“Mine,” he snarls, his teeth sinking into your shoulder. “Mine, mine, mine.”

His nails rake down your thighs, leaving burning red welts in their wake. His hands find your throat, squeezing, cutting off your air until your vision dots with black.

And still, he doesn’t stop.

He fucks you like he’s trying to break you, like he’s trying to brand himself into your very soul.

And maybe, in some sick, twisted way, he already has.

Because when he finally cums, spilling deep inside you with a groan of satisfaction, you know one thing for certain.

You will never escape him.

Never.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧! 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮 ✦✧✦✧

He has never been jealous. Not once in his entire damn life.

Barou Shouei does not give a fuck about people. He doesn’t need anyone, doesn’t rely on anyone, and certainly doesn’t let petty emotions like jealousy get in the way of his dominance. The field is where he thrives, where he obliterates every other weakling with pure, unshakable will. His pride is an unbreakable fortress.

Or at least, it was. Until you.

You were different. Not in the way that people throw around that word like it means something, but in a way that pissed him off in ways he couldn’t explain. You were too easygoing, too warm, too open. It wasn’t that you were an extrovert—you weren’t. You were quiet, withdrawn even, but once people got close enough, you let them in. Too much, too easily.

And they all fucking loved you for it.

Shidou, that damn freak, always found ways to tease you, dragging you into his chaos just to see you laugh. Rin barely tolerated anyone, yet even he spoke to you without that disgusted look on his face. Chigiri, Bachira, Nagi, hell, even Ego himself had a certain level of begrudging respect for you. It made no sense.

But none of them compared to Isagi.

He doesn’t understand it at first. He’s not like Isagi, he doesn’t think in complex strategies or analyze the people around him. But he knows when something is off. And when it comes to you, something is definitely off.

The way you and Isagi are together—it's different.

You’re best friends. You’ve known each other forever. You grew up together, you say, laughing when Barou throws an insult at you the same way he does to everyone else, and you don’t flinch. “Guess I had practice,” you say, nudging Isagi, who just smirks.

Practice. Like you were already used to dealing with people like him.

That thought doesn’t sit well with him.

It only gets worse from there.

You’re always with Isagi. Always talking, always laughing. You have inside jokes he doesn’t understand. There are casual touches—too casual, too easy. You’re not fucking dating, he knows that, but something about it still pisses him off.

And then, the moment that finally breaks him.

You’re on the sidelines during practice, watching the others play while Barou finishes a drill. You’re leaning against Isagi, scrolling through your phone as the bastard peeks over your shoulder, grinning.

“You still have that picture of me?” Isagi laughs.

“Shut up, it’s a funny photo,” you snicker, nudging him away, but not before Barou catches a glimpse of your screen. It’s an old photo of Isagi—one where he looks ridiculous, probably mid-blink, caught at the worst possible moment.

It shouldn’t fucking matter. But it does.

Because you’re smiling. Because you kept it. Because it’s him.

Barou clenches his jaw, forcing himself to look away. The irritation lingers like a bitter taste in his mouth. He tells himself it’s just because he hates Isagi. It’s because the guy is annoying, always yapping, always acting like he’s smarter than everyone else. That’s all it is.

But that doesn’t explain why, later that night, he can’t stop thinking about it. About you. About the way you look at Isagi, about the way you laugh, about the way you never fucking laugh like that around him.

And then it clicks.

It’s jealousy.

Barou Shouei is jealous.

The realization is as infuriating as it is undeniable. It festers inside him like a sickness, twisting, seething, growing stronger with every second. And once he acknowledges it, there’s no stopping it.

He starts watching you more. Studying you. Not in the way Isagi would, not with careful analysis or logic, but with pure instinct. He notices things he never noticed before. The way you adjust your grip on your water bottle, the way your fingers twitch when you’re thinking, the way your lips part slightly when you’re surprised.

He notices the way people look at you.

The way Isagi looks at you.

The way they touch you.

The way you let them.

And it pisses him off more than anything ever has.

You don’t notice it at first. Why would you? Barou has always been Barou—distant, irritable, impossible to deal with. But something shifts.

He starts standing closer to you. Just enough that you feel his presence looming over you, a silent reminder that he’s there. He interrupts conversations you’re having with other people, not even looking at them as he pulls your attention back to him. When Isagi cracks a joke, Barou shuts it down with a sharp glare before you even have a chance to laugh.

And then there are the touches.

They start small. A hand on your lower back when he walks past you. Fingers brushing against yours when he hands you a water bottle. A grip on your wrist that lingers just a second too long.

You think nothing of it.

Until the night he finally snaps.

It happens after another practice, late at night. You’re packing up your things when he corners you, blocking your exit with his sheer size alone. You don’t even have time to react before he’s pressing close, his breath hot against your skin.

“You’re too fucking friendly,” he mutters, voice low, dangerous.

You blink, confused. “What?”

“With everyone,” he growls, his fingers tightening around your wrist. “You let them get too close. You let him get too close.”

Realization dawns in your eyes, and for the first time, you look uncertain. “Barou, are you… jealous?”

The word is a spark to gasoline. His grip tightens, yanking you closer, his body caging you in.

“Shut up,” he snaps. “You don’t get to fucking say that.”

You swallow, your pulse quickening. “I don’t—”

“Do you have any idea how fucking stupid you are?” His voice drops lower, rougher. “The way you act, the way you let them touch you—you don’t even notice, do you?”

You stiffen. “They’re my friends.”

“They’re fucking men.” His jaw clenches, his eyes dark with something unreadable. “And you’re mine.”

Your breath catches. “Barou—”

He doesn’t give you a chance to finish.

The kiss is brutal, all teeth and possession, swallowing your gasp as he pins you against the wall. His hands grip your waist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. He’s not gentle. He’s not kind. He’s claiming you, taking what he’s already decided is his.

You struggle, pushing at his chest, but he doesn’t budge.

“You think Isagi would stop me?” he breathes against your lips, his voice a dangerous whisper. “You think any of them would?”

✦✧✦✧

Barou isn’t stupid. He doesn’t miss the way your lips part, the flicker of something—excitement?—sparking in your eyes before you shove it down. You pretend to be flustered, pretend to be afraid, but you aren’t. He can see it. He can feel it in the way your body responds, the way your fingers twitch like you want to fight him and taunt him all at once.

And that pisses him off more than anything.

“You’re fucking enjoying this.” His voice is low, disbelieving, a snarl curling his lips as he stares you down. The air between you is electric, crackling with something dark, something raw.

You blink, but your silence is telling.

Barou’s fingers dig into your hips, holding you in place, his body pressing you against the wall. There’s no escape, not unless he allows it. And he won’t.

“I should’ve known,” he breathes, tilting his head, his eyes narrowing. “You always liked pissing me off, didn’t you? Always running your mouth, always hanging off Isagi like some needy little bitch.” His lips curl into a cruel smirk, something dangerous lurking beneath. “But you weren’t doing it to be nice, were you?”

You swallow. Say nothing.

Barou chuckles darkly. “You were waiting for this.”

His grip tightens, and your breath hitches as he drags you closer, his body heat suffocating. He’s always been big, but like this, caging you in with sheer dominance, he’s terrifying.

And you fucking love it.

The realization twists something in his gut, makes his blood burn hotter. He should be furious. He should hate you for this. But all it does is make his cock throb, make his need for control snap into something more vicious, more primal.

“You think this is a game?” he hisses, his breath hot against your ear. “You think you can play me like some cheap fucking toy?”

You smirk. “Worked, didn’t it?”

Barou snarls.

The next thing you know, you’re on the ground, your back hitting the cold floor with a dull thud as he yanks you down with him. His hands are everywhere, rough and unyielding, dragging your clothes up, shoving your legs apart like you belong to him.

And in this moment, you do.

Your laugh is breathless, teasing. “That all you got, King?”

Something dark snaps in his eyes.

His fingers wrap around your throat, cutting off your next taunt as he forces you to look at him. His grip isn’t enough to choke you—yet. But the threat lingers, heavy and thick, and your body shivers with anticipation.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he mutters, shoving your legs wider, pinning you down with nothing but brute force. “Always running your mouth, always fucking testing me.” His fingers tighten slightly, just enough to make your pulse pound against his palm. “You really don’t know when to quit.”

You gasp, your nails digging into his arms, but it’s not in protest.

And he knows it.

A slow, predatory grin spreads across his face. “You like this,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. His free hand slides down, shoving aside the last barrier between him and what he wants. “You fucking love it when I treat you like shit.”

Your body betrays you. The way you shudder, the way your hips arch involuntarily against his touch, the way your breath catches—he doesn’t miss a single thing.

“Filthy little thing,” he mutters, his voice thick with something dark, something possessive. “You were never innocent, were you?”

You smirk up at him, defiant even now. “Never.”

Barou doesn’t give you time to prepare.

The stretch burns, his cock forcing you open with no patience, no mercy. You gasp, your fingers clenching around his wrist as your body struggles to take him. He doesn’t wait, doesn’t give you a second to adjust—because you don’t fucking deserve it. You wanted this, you pushed him, and now you’re going to take everything he gives you.

His pace is brutal from the start, every thrust knocking the air from your lungs. He grips your hips hard enough to bruise, slamming you down onto his cock like he wants to break you.

“You think Isagi could do this to you?” he growls, his teeth grazing your jaw. “Think he could fuck you like this?”

Your moan is involuntary, wrecked and breathless, and that only drives him further.

Barou snarls, his grip tightening. “Fucking answer me.”

Your eyes flutter, your mind fogging with pleasure, with pain, with the sheer intensity of him. “No,” you gasp. “Only you.”

He fucking knew it.

His thrusts get rougher, punishing, his dominance absolute. He’s never been jealous before. Never let himself care. But now, he understands.

Then, finally, he speaks.

"Try that shit again," he mutters against your ear, his voice still rough, dangerous. "I dare you."

You grin.

Because now, you know exactly how to break him.

Official TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @save4h , @rofkshinee , @songbirdgardensworld , @yanderedrabbles , @xileonaaaa , @neuvilletteswife4ever , @poopooindamouf

Test-Phase TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @imnotabot28 , @han11dh , @loserworld , @esthelily

Character TAG LIST of “HSR Sunday”: @yandere-romanticaa

🔞𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞. 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝 ♡ WC. 987

♡ Synopsis. In a time where the Heian era bleeds beneath the weight of curses and war-born gods, your name is spoken like a dying prayer — The Gojo Heir, the Silent One, the Pure One. But purity means nothing to monsters, and Ryōmen Sukuna, the King of Curses, decides you’re a riddle meant to be shattered. This is not a love story, nor a tragedy — it’s a tale of a monster who can’t kill the only thing in the world he’s desperate to destroy, and a girl too gentle to leave even a demon to rot.

It was almost laughable—how revered they spoke your name, how fearfully, with reverence curled beneath their tongues like a dying prayer. The Gojo heir, they whispered. The silent one. The pure one. A divine thing not born but dropped from the throat of the heavens themselves.

He heard it first through the bones of the men he broke, echoing through shattered teeth and crushed throats. Always that name—your name—tumbling from the lips of those who clung to life like it meant something.

But he saw you for the first time at dusk.

Not dressed in blood and bones like the sorcerers he’d disemboweled before, not cloaked in power or arrogance, not foaming at the mouth with blind righteousness—no. You were sitting quietly in a burned garden, pressing your palms together in prayer over a dying fox.

A fox. One whose entrails spilled like soup from its side, broken spine, caved ribs. And you—bare fingers gently gathering the pieces of it like it mattered.

It didn’t make sense.

You didn’t make sense.

So he didn’t kill you.

He stalked you instead.

✦✧✦✧

You weren’t like them. You didn’t flinch when monsters clawed the walls of your village. You walked through the ruins barefoot, sometimes humming a hymn from a forgotten god, carrying corpses like they were sleeping children.

He watched you heal with cursed energy so delicate it made his teeth grind.

You never screamed.

You never begged.

Even when the elders of your clan called you unclean for the way you spoke to curses like they were wounded dogs, even when the other heirs avoided you, even when their fear turned to hatred—

You still bowed your head and prayed for them.

Sickening.

And so very beautiful.

He wanted to know how you’d look with your face buried in the dirt and his claws digging into your back.

He wanted to know if your hymns could choke around his cock.

He wanted to see if your holiness could survive him.

✦✧✦✧

You bled differently.

He found that out during the first real encounter—when you tried to save a village cursed by one of his offhand massacres. You fought like you hated it. Like every blow was a sin you’d repent for later.

Even your cursed techniques tasted sweet.

And when he pinned you against a ruined altar—your blood warm on his tongue, your breathing ragged and low like the dying—it struck him: you didn’t cry.

You didn’t curse his name.

You whispered something instead. Soft. Too soft to hear. Too soft for someone with your neck beneath his teeth.

He came from war. From pain. From the Heian era’s endless gaping mouth of fire and decay.

But you came from something else.

Something he wanted to set on fire.

Something he wanted to break until the song stopped.

Something he wanted to fuck until the heavens turned their face away.

✦✧✦✧

He dreamed of you.

Not in the way poets did. Not gently.

He dreamed of you chained to the bones of his temple, too ruined to move. Dreamed of you walking barefoot through the blood ocean of his palace, body wrapped in his bite marks. Dreamed of you bent over altars, over stone, over his throne—your halo cracking with every thrust.

He told himself it was just curiosity. That it was only because you didn’t make sense. That it was because he wanted to see you break like the rest.

✦✧✦✧

So when you appeared again—alone, stupidly, wandering into a territory he’d razed—he didn’t hesitate.

He ripped through the earth. Split open the night with his roar. His shadow blotted out the moon.

And you… you turned around. Not with fear.

But recognition.

And worse—

Compassion.

Your lips parted like you’d seen an old friend.

And he hated that.

He hated you for making him hesitate.

He hated that your power tasted like spring water when he bit into your shoulder.

He hated that your body went limp under his, not with submission—but with trust.

He hated that you didn’t fight.

That you didn’t cry.

That you didn’t scream.

So he made you.

✦✧✦✧

The temple stank of rot and bone. You were the only living thing inside it. Soft and small, too pale in the dark. He held you down like you were prey. Ripped the back of your robes with his claws.

Your silence made him rabid.

So he whispered filth into your ear. Dragged his tongue across your neck. Let his claws draw thin lines down your spine until your body trembled.

But it wasn’t fear. Not quite.

It was something else. Something he wanted to crack open and taste.

He forced your legs apart.

The first time he pushed in, he growled.

Tight.

Holy.

Too holy.

He bit down on your shoulder as you clenched, too small for him, too human. It hurt. He wanted it to. He wanted to see you break.

You only whispered, again.

"You’re hurting."

Not yourself—him.

You weren’t even talking about your own pain.

He slammed deeper.

Over and over, he fucked that mercy out of you.

Until your voice shook.

Until your breath hitched.

Until your soft little cries filled the temple like hymns turned feral.

He rutted against your womb. Split you raw. Held your throat so tightly your body fluttered like a dying moth.

You still whispered his name.

Not with hate.

But with sorrow.

Like he was the cursed one.

Like he was the thing that needed saving.

He came with a roar that cracked the bones of the temple.

His claws dug into your thighs, anchoring himself inside you like you were home.

You went still beneath him.

Not broken.

Not ruined.

Just watching him.

Quiet.

Kind.

Too kind.

He wanted to kill you for it.

He didn’t.

He couldn’t.

So instead, he dragged your body onto his throne.

Sat with you impaled on his cock.

And watched.

Watched the angel bleed.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

♡ A/N. A one-shot series originally launched for The Red Ledger, but it's good. So, I'm expounding on it. Really enjoyed making this story.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Forbidden Fruits”: @uniquecutie-puffs , @belovedoftheanemoarchon , @mokingbrd78k , @mimitk , @xileonaaaa , @acacia-koi , @purple-obsidian , @waterfal-ling , @jjune-07 , @jsprien213 , @crimson-kisses , @sashakittycloud , @songbirdgardensworld , @monamuskay , @yandreams-storageblog , @tnsophiaayaonly , @ilyannailyanna , @starxvs , @iris-arcadia , @misscaller06 , @futuristicxie , @neuvilletteswife4ever , @takeyomikamakura

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2 [you are here]. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution

♡ Book 6. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.

♡ Notice #2. This masterlist is strictly for non-con smut and serves as an exercise in refining erotic horror writing. Comments that reduce my work to mere sexual gratification, thirst, or casual simping will not be tolerated. If your response is primarily thirst-driven, keep it to yourself—repeated violations may result in blocking. Read the RULES before engaging. The tag list is reserved for followers I trust to respect my boundaries; being included is a privilege, not a right. You may request to be added, but I will decide based on trust and adherence to my guidelines. I also reserve the right to remove anyone at any time if their engagement becomes inappropriate.

♡ Book 7. Corpus Delicti (CD): Donum Mortis.

♡ Book 8. Malum Consilium (MC): Primordial Hunger.

Heaven - N.K.

Synopsis. An aIpha? Please, your arranged husband was the perfect gentleman - soft, strong, shy to even look your way and- and damn feraI when he’s in rút?

Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! oméga! reader, secretly aIpha! Nanami, arranged marriage, OMÉGAVERSE AU, rúts, down bad Nanami, bréeding kínk, he’s FÉRAL, manhandIing, face-sítting (fem rec.), dúmbifícation, HEADLOCKS, making it fit, matíng presses, office s, breaking furniture, overstím, knots, matíng bites, cúmplay, very pússydrúnk Nanami, proposals, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 8.2k

A/N. BAD BOYS BRING HEAVEN TO YOUUU-

“Ijichi, I’m at the front desk- where’s everyone else?”

After marrying Nanami Kento, it wasn’t strange for you to become accustomed to visiting him at work - usually with one of your own business contracts, or a cute lil’ lunch for him and his bustling employees. 

But what was strange was the hollow, empty company lobby that greets you today. 

The reception, the cubicles, the elevator- you couldn’t find a single soul here other than you. Strange. 

“...e-evacuated.”

“What?” You’re furrowing your brows at the static squeak of a reply from your phone, footsteps echoing like thunder down the familiar pathway to the head office. Hissing– “Why? Is Kento okay-”

“M-more than okay, ma’am.” Your husband’s personal assistant scrambles out urgently, “He’s actually ah- y-you’ll see what I mean…” As Ijichi rapidly ends the call with its beeping tone, your hands brush the looming steel doors of Nanami’s office. 

What the hell did he mean? Fingers itching to just open–

And that’s when you smell it. Sweet.

Oh. 

Oh…fuck.

The single, slivering waft of fragrance rams into you like five semi-trucks and leaves you reeling- needily grappling for the door handle when your knees knock together and weaken. Holding on for dear life, “Wh-what the…”

And there was your first mistake, accidentally - or perhaps subconsciously - stealing a deep, breathy inhale of the saturated air seeping from underneath Nanami’s looming office door. 

It fills your lungs and makes you jolt. Makes you gasp at the fever of your body, drinking in even more, more, more—

Your tongue sizzles with a fresh syrupy layer of drool at the musky cologne of it, more heady than any other perfume you’d ever smelt. More expensive. Like the filthiest marriage between bourbon, underlying caramel, and something so-

-so Nanami. In…rut?

But wait, your hazy eyes widen, and you’re forced to shake your head clear enough to continue the thought. It was the smell of an alpha no matter how much you looked at it - this couldn’t be your husband, right?

Sure, you two had been married for a few months already - but the man hadn’t even kissed you let alone touched you to consummate the marriage, yet. 

Hell, you still found his chiselled cheekbones tinting with a light veil of pretty red whenever you simply smiled at him.

Always adorning those scent patches to cover his pheromones, and never letting out a word of his secondary gender. Though, your husband always did make sure to tend to your every need during your heats - every need except those, that is.

Perhaps it was as unconventional of a marriage as could be - what with both your parents choosing to merge companies through familial bonds, but you didn’t know that Nanami was an alpha.

An alpha.

The words clang through your very bones and send sparks of electricity skittering down your spine, you’re squeezing your trembly thighs together only to find that they’d started dampening with a shiny sheen of slick already.

Oh- so this is why everyone in the company was hastily evacuated. 

He was potent.

And he was aching for your touch– your skin hums with something sinful as you rap your knuckles on the door, and try not to utter a peep.

“Ijichi, I already told you to leave.”

That didn’t sound like your husband.

It sounded like anything but; a low, curdling growl of husky baritone that made your heart race stupidly fast. There was something so primal seeping into Nanami’s characteristically gentle voice - never raised, never sharpened at you.

But right now he sounded like he would’ve devoured you alive. 

And you wanted to see it.

.

.

.

Nanami knew he shouldn’t be here- fuck, he shouldn’t have let it gone this far.

But one flutter of your lashes - just one gorgeous smile you’d sent his way this morning - and he found himself like this. Shit, he hadn’t even kissed you yet, and you already drove him wild.

One hand furiously pumping his rock- no, diamond-hard cock, the other digging into his drawer for more of those damn suppressants as if searching for a lifeline. 

“C’mon.” He’s grunting, crumpled forehead beading with glittery sweat the longer his aching, swollen length throbbed in the clouded air. Looking through his unruly golden bangs, his sensory tips scour desperately, “C’mon c’mon c’mon c’mon-”

Only to pop one of the last prescription bottles open and find it fucking empty. 

“Fuck!” Nanami’s throat decorates with a knot of veins as his plump, blushed tip leaks with yet another thick clump of precum. He needed you, and no amount of creeping his rugged palms up n’ down his girthy shaft would ever come close to how you might have done it.

How he dreams it.

Boiling hot ears popping as the fat of his thumb roams over his bawling divot to plug it up, he barely even hears the office door opening and slamming shut.

He loosens his tie and tries not to muddy his senses with the smell of the beta man, taking everything in Nanami to not just snap– “Ijichi- I f-fucking said-”

“Don’t even recognize your wife, Kento–?”

Nanami snaps his head up, eyes wide. Glazed. 

And you think it takes him a full few seconds to register that it was actually you here and not some lecherous figment of his imagination.

Although you were starting to doubt that he was, too. 

Such a sexy picture with his favorite blue shirt unbuttoned, pants unzipped just enough, one of his hands white-knuckling the glinting ‘CEO NANAMI’ table nameplate.

But what really drew your eyes was his massive cock - all hard n’ swollen and aching, the prettily rounded top cherry-pink. Right about nine or ten inches of bulky girth pulsing so hard that even you could see it from this distance. 

Oh…he really did have big dick energy.

And he was drooling - drooling, you never thought you’d see the day where Nanami Kento drools - through great heaving gusts of gulps. His voice croaks out huskily as if disused for eons, “M-my love, why a-are you…”

Ah, it feels like your satiny blouse clings to you even tighter with Nanami’s rough tonality. And it takes everything in you to stop yourself from taking even a step closer like the betweens of your legs ached to, “Ken.”

“O-oh.” He’s immediately throwing his head back with a groan- and you don’t know where to ogle. The way his slightly plumpened lips drop with a drawled drag of your name, or the way that he’s lifting over a hand to cradle the globed top of his mushroom head to stop himself from cumming.

Failing. 

His teeth gleam with slobber, ripping viciously into one of his forearms in an instant – hot crimson trickling out ever-so-slightly. 

The attractive column Nanami’s throat bobs with the movements of his Adam’s apples as he simply pours out sultry streaks of cum. Creamy white stripes upon stripes that start dangling all the way from his sturdy wrist down to the puffy leather of his seat. Bucketloads, really.

And you find your mouth almost as wet as the sappy puddle leaking through his business suit, opening to-

“Don’t.” He’s rasping out, slouching his body forward to cover his adoring view of you - as if the mere sight of you would be enough to send him over the edge once more. Octaves higher, crazed. “Don’t s-say my name like that.”

Your goosebumps peek at the tremble in his bass, a strange thrill sprinting through your body. Experimentally, you’re exhaling out, “Ken.”

“Fuh-fuck.”

And through the cervices of his thick, wrapped digits, you’re catching the sight of that buttery mess of cum grow even more voluminous. Squeezing a few more filthy dredges out of him - truly from the way you said his name.

“You- you’re evil, darling.” He’s heaving out in strained syllables, body hunched over to pressurize his still-throbbing erection. 

The cracked corner of Nanami’s dewy eyes hone in on you as you slowly - uncertainly - take a step closer. And ever-so-sensually, he cranes over to beckon you with one of his stray hands, “C’mere, my wife.”

Shit, you couldn’t make your way over fast enough.

And he’s snickering something gruff underneath his breath the few times you’re tripping over your own unsteady feet. 

Your clammy palms eventually stick on either side of his plastic chair, and the towering man gladly manspreads to provide your hips with a place to rest on. Straddling his meaty thighs - that aching red cock between them - with your hands curling ‘round his perspired neck.

The scent of his pheromones were so thick here that it was leaving your mind pathetically dizzy, all expensive cologne and caramel sweetness for you.

“S’this okay?” He’s hissing through a snarling bite of his lower lip once your snug pencil skirt hikes up just enough to snaggle the globed curve of Nanami’s cockhead. 

“Kento-” You decide to go easy on him just this once. Raising a hand to just start peeling that scent patch you usually had on during a workday, “-why don’t you let me help, baby–?”

One calloused hand comes to stop you right in your tracks, the flat of his doughy thumb coming to caress your wrist gently back n’ forth. And not only was Nanami burning hot - he was scalding, heat radiating off of him in waves. “Because…if I start now m’gonna hah- break you, my love.”

Oh.

Oh, fuck. So that was why - and looking into the molten peripherals of his stare, you’re realizing that that was why he’d avoided every kiss, every touch, every heat.

But seated and with him at your mercy like this, you hadn’t ever wanted anything more.

“What if…” You hum suggestively, bottom lip pouting out in a way that makes him collar drench with sweat. Pushing back with a roll of your hips that sets Nanami’s pearly whites on edge, murked breath drifting against his ears, “-I didn’t mind, Ken?”

And one of his hands has to clasp around the corner of his mahogany desk until it shatters, splinters of wood hitting the floor with a dull thud! thud! thud! that synchronizes with your heartbeat.

“Do- do you know what you’re asking?” He’s graveling out between pants. 

“I do.” 

And Nanami Kento will never know whether it was the way you’d echoed those two words directly from your wedding, or the way your gorgeous eyes shined with such need - but he’s never found himself moving faster. Swifter. 

So feral when he’s slipping you off his lap and shoving you down onto the sleek, frigid surface of the desk in two precise flaps of your lashes.

“Oh–!” Your shocked lips let off sweetly once Nanami’s soft palm cushions your face, he didn’t let you feel a single ounce of the striking impact of being laid out all on your front. 

Not a single thing except for the burn of your scent patch being pulled off of you with his sluggish fingers. Leaning down so his straight nosebridge hits the crook of your neck and sniffs– savoring—

“Fuck. Fuck.” Your husband spills out gutturally into your skin, and you feel the sharpened edges of his teeth coasting nibbles down your throat. He was pushed into you so close that he could practically taste your sweetly candied fragrance, “My wife…my omega–”

You’re thinking that he probably doesn’t even realize the way he’s rutting and rutting his hips repeatedly into yours, flinching bodily at even the slightest recoil that has Nanami’s curvaceous bulge breaking off even mere inches from your sodden panties. 

The wailing whimpers escaping you are so adorable that he just can’t help but suckle his mouth down your own. 

And it’s not the first kiss with Nanami that you might’ve expected - it’s sloppy, wet, and nothing more than the lazy drag of his unfastened mouth tasting like his favorite gummy. Slapping his tongue along the splattered speckles of saliva homing themselves near the edges of your lips, “So sweet- soooo much fuckin’ sweeter than I ngh- dreamt.”

Before you can ask what that meant, he’s humming along a few more wet slurps of French kisses. Leaving your lips tingling for more as he pecks down, down, down back to your swollen scent glands.

“Wanna know- why I- bought a candle that smells like- mmm honey, darlin’?” He’s whispering against that sensitive patch of skin, watching as your half-opened eyes dart to the inconspicuous candle that was always settled on top of his desk. “Because it reminded me of you-”

But Nanami wasn’t done- oh, he wasn’t done.

You could almost feel the intensity of his leering grin quivering up at the edges, your restlessly squirming hips being pinned down with his tense core. 

“-and…” He’s letting his strained voice peter away into nothingness. 

Biting down on the salivating insides of his cheeks, Nanami pushes his sagging glasses up to take a good, looong final look at the way you’re so prettily splayed out for him like this. 

Before bending at the knees–

“-and her.”

You’re just about to ask your husband what he meant when he shows you exactly what he meant. 

Diving in completely nose-deep to gift your clothed pussymound with a loving peck, the very tip of Nanami’s pert button nose shines with a beaded dollop of your slick. Slipping and travelling all down to where he glides his tongue along his lips greedily–

“K-Kento–” You hiccup out as his hypnotic scent grows twofold, the very hits of it targeting your very core. 

“Oh.” Nanami moans at the feeling of you instinctively getting wetter ‘round his mouth, you were so sensitive for him that your saturated lips were already rendering your panties see-through. A sappy drivel of sweet, sweet juices slicking your thighs like glue, “Darling, you’re droolin’ e-everywhere.”

The very crown of his index comes to trace the snaking rivers of slick decorating your legs, sensually. Signing off the cutest hearts and ‘K’s where you were the most tender-

“S’this for me?” He’s tap-tap-tapping his generous digit on the folds of your leaking pussy, tittering when you jolt with every lurid contact. “Pretty girl, are ya this- hck! wet for me?” 

Just then he leaves a full-handed, five-fingered spank straight down your slippery slit - ripping out the rawest, most moistened sluuuurp–! of gushing sap from your core. And Nanami takes this as the perfect answer, “Mhm, you are.”

“P-please, baby-”

“That’s it that’s it—” He’s nuzzling your thighs now - as if he was worshipping you. Scorched breezes of his mouth hitting you from just a few centimeters away, his glands rub up against your body and leave you completely smelling like his. You feel his drool smear as he babbles on, “-tell me. Talk to me.”

Your hips buck helplessly, “Want- want you to touch me there, Kento.”

“Where?” He knows- fuck, he knows. But he needs to hear the words directly from your beautiful mouth.

And ah, what a sight it is to be able to see them from up on his knees - twisting and puckering around the words of “Want you to touch my ngh- pussy-”

Barely out of your mouth, barely even formulated before Nanami surges up his humid face and snogs right up into your dripping cunt. 

Mazing tip dragging away the flimsy, useless scrap of fabric you call your panties, he’s treating the pursed lips of your pussy like a lollipop. Skimming the ridges of his tastebuds riiiight along your slope and back, “So- so hot on my tongue- ngh. So sweet.”

It’s like a mantra he’s spitting out every time his pointed chin whacks the tippy-top base of your cunt, your neck flaring with rays of pheromones that make Nanami grunt.

Jaw unfastening, his mouth drips open with the gluey remnants of your sap. “Can you ngh- feel it?” Opened wide enough that you could feel his hot maw engulfing all of you - every ribbony ounce of slick that puddled at the back of his throat. “Feel me- hah, can’t fucking get enough.”

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck, Ken–” Your head dangles back, clawing towards the distant end of his table to hold onto your sanity. “-m-more.”

“More…m-more?”

Fuck- you didn’t realize that Nanami was this pussydrunk. 

His husked baritone was lilting sooo much higher in volume and pitch that it made your head all fuzzy just to consider who this was. 

Hell, the man has to nip his teeth ‘round a frilly edge of your underwear and bite so that he can keep it all together. Right palm creeping back down, down to his aching cock-

And the other one of his hands paws depravedly at the plush of your dampened thighs to keep them open, he huffs out a breath into your glossy fluttering lips. “More…my wife wants more.” And it hurt- ohhh, it hurt him so much to move himself even the tiniest distance away from where he was closest to your teary pussy.

Declaring a temporary goodbye with a prolonged sniff at the saccharine scent of your entrance, he’s craning his heavy head back up to you. “Spit.”

Your breath catches, inner omega crooning. “Wh-what?”

“Spit.” And before you know it, a hand darts out to smush your puffed cheeks easily together. The mean ovals of his sensory tips digging into your flesh, it’s enough to make you whine. “Spit in my mouth, my love.”

Slowly, stupidly you do - right smack-dab onto the wide plane of Nanami’s tongue and it makes him groan, hands squeezing ‘round his drenched base.

A thin line of it overspills from the side of his lips; and your husband’s crooning coaxingly at you to wrench open your slick-stucken legs further open before he gifts a steady wad of saliva over your sloppy hole.

Brushing his thumb over the lines of juices that stick to your panties, Nanami bites the edges of his glinting teeth into the side and riiiiips–! it off of you in a nanosecond. 

“K-Ken, what are you- oh mmpf–!” 

You’re mewling, pearly tears shattering your vision just as soon as his plump, velvety lips immediately latch to your clit and suck. The handsome hollows of his cheeks cushioning your sensitive bundle of nerves, it’s all it takes for you to throw your head back and clench.

“Open- need these legs hah- open-” He’s hissing into your cunt, the vibrations of his voice making your poor clit buzz. And shit, does Nanami enjoy the viscid globs of slick this makes you let out, pumping his vein-covered shaft angrily.

“Can’t–” Your moans were his favorite song, coloring the tips of his ears all innocently pink. “-can’t even feel my n-ngh legs!”

Cooing from down under, “Awww, need me to h-hold ‘em, my wife?” It’s only a few roaring heartbeats before you feel one of his palms shuffle underneath your knees to keep them pliably steady. Scuttling you further down his table- “S’alright, s’alright m’here.”

“K-Kento.”

“Tha’s riiiight, Kento’s here.” Suddenly your hit with a wave of relaxing pheromones once the very rounded berry tip of his digit comes rovering across your outer pussy. Collecting shimmering gumdrops of slick to plop into his mouth, “Kento’s here- so be a good girl n’ let your husband take care of it allll, darlin’.”

He’s swivelin’ the chilling band of his wedding ring around your rubbery hole, stretching and stretching until you’re gulping down every solid inch. 

And if Nanami’s fingers were this long n’ girthy, it made your mouth water to think of how long he might be down there.

“Oh- you’re so g-good, can feel you in so so deep.”

Nearly five or six inches probing your gummy walls all the way down to his pointed knuckles, you hiccup every time his perfectly manicured fingernail scraped the mushy patch of your g-spot. “Please- please, baby- J-just a lil’ more.”

“Fuck! Gonna be the d-death of me…” His breath tickles the crevice of your bloated pussylips, the slimy fringe of his tongue wanders over with a last few rolls on top of your hooded clit. Sticking right where you were bulging with his barreling finger to bully dually inside, “Gonna- gonna.”

And he’s stretching you out with both his tongue and a second finger.

Pulling your soft hole taut around the circumference of both eager appendages, Nanami bustles just a few inches of his fingers inside before he curls them into the roof of your cunt and makes you yelp.

“S-so close—” Your words come out botched through tears and whines and your cunt, “Wan’ you to h-hit it- oh my god, please.”

A fatly syrupy dewdrop of sap treacles out of you, which Nanami spits out gladly back into where you were leaking the most. “H-heh, she’s talkin’.” Squelch after squelch after squelch drawn out every time he’s crashing his tongue to tug your snug channel even wider. He’s even slowing down the filthy fapping motions of his hand just to hear you louder. “Sh-she’s talking t’me- ngh! Oh, hellooo– ya want me to t-touch this g-spot, my wife?” 

You’re bubbling out spitballs of answers but all of it is drowned out by every waterlogged pump - more like thrashes. Hits piled upon hits that leave your velvety walls all bruised with the circular outlines of his two, no, now three rummaging fingerpads. 

“S’that right, hmm–?” Not even talking to you at this point - but with your pussy. He nods his unsteady, blushing features, “Y-you want me to oh…”

Just then, his fingers are so lengthy that Nanami accidentally cruises a direct hit to your g-spot without even trying. 

It makes your heated insides squeeze around his digits, laminating every patch of skin from rotund fingertip to pale knuckles with all your frothy juices. Head tumbling back, “Th-there. There there there- Ken–!”

“Here- here.”

He’s rasping out with every breath, every whack into the tenderized area where your g-spot was targeted. Pumping and pumping- shit, Nanami’s so gone on your pussy that he’s letting go of his pulsating shaft to latch onto your hips and make you grind back into his face.

In long, slobbering drags that rub your folds raw on his attractive features, his broad chest wheezes after every one of your swervin’ gyrations. 

You clench your legs, ruffling the strands of his usually-tide blond hair, and he’s only pushing your thighs together snugger. Grunting throatily, “Don’t even need hah- air when I’ve got her.”

“I-I’m close–” You’re trilling out, your nails digging deeply into the firm wood of the table. “Not gonna- ngh- last.”

“S’that sooo—” Already feeling the curve of his sleazy grin on your swollen lips, it’s as if he now can’t decide between flopping his tongue inside to tugging your perked, pretty clit. “S’she sayin’ the ngh- same thing?” Planting a particularly harsh thrust of his fingers to make your cunt quiver with a slurp, “She is. Cum f’me then- cum all over my face, darlin’.”

And you don’t just cum, you’re making such a mess.

Your hips twistin’ to push back and ride the sharp ridge of Nanami’s nose back and forth back and forth back and forth. Every snaggling catch of his fingers on your g-spot makes your toes arch adorably, your sweat-simmered spine following. 

“M’cum- hngh- fuck! M’cumming, Ken.”

“H-heh, I knowww–” Nanami feels his chubby tip twitch at the use of that lil’ nickname again, weighty balls pulsing to the very same rhythm as your cunt was right now. He’s letting out a carnal voicing of your name as he hits your g-spot deeply. “-she told me, my love.”

Ears popped, you’re barely even catching his lecherous words. The mosaic of your vision blotching with pure stars like they did in cartoons, heavy tears coating your cheeks. It just felt too good. 

And, ah, just because you’d reached your waves of bliss - was riding through those peaks upon peaks of euphoria with every passing second - didn’t mean that Nanami was going to stop.

In fact, he’s throwing his free hand tighter around your waist and pinning you dead-on onto his face, the lashing tip of his tongue drawing out more n’ more zips of white-hot electricity from your core. He was still eating you out like a man starved. 

Rendering you speechless, you cry– “Wait- wait wait wait, I-I’m so sensitive.”

“Good.”

Purposefully murmured with his spit-slicked lips wrapped precisely ‘round your throbbing clit, you’re pounding your fist down on top of the office table until its hinges ricket. 

Bang! Bang! Bang! 

Until it stops just as soon as it started when Nanami catches the knob of your clit with his sharpened canines and bites. And then you shriek, then you see white, then you’re squirting - right down onto your husband who gapes. 

“I-it feels so wet.”

“Go on—” He’s coaxing the torrenting sprays out of you with every curled thrash of his fingers, grinning. Wild. “Go on go on go on, make a mess. M-make a mess f’me.”

Splashing right onto the apples of his cheekbones, he’s flapping his eyes half-shut so that you’re drenching him all your juices. 

Your maw slacking open as your second orgasm is pulled out of you, body wracking with sensitivity, “Please- p-please.” Your glassy pupils swirl in the exact dumbified circles as he was tracing on your clit, “-Ken.” 

But even that special name of his doesn’t reel Nanami Kento out of his stupor. 

He’s so pussydrunk, so addicted to making out with every squirting splosh of your pussy that he’s overstimulating you stupid. Slurping it up in viscid, eloooongated noises which ring across all four walls and into the pheromone-fogged air. 

He thinks he could cum from this, he’s so close to cumming from just this.

Seemingly forever before Nanami leaves a final slap! of the flat underside of his mushy wet muscle on your leaking slope. Cheeks hollowing with a final sluuuuuurp–!

At least, it was meant to be final. 

But even as he’s unlatching himself, the alpha can’t bring himself not even six inches away from your spilling pussy before he presses back in with a pained growl. Snarl bared, eyes drooping- once. Twice. Thrice. 

“Can’t- can’t-” He’s rumbling out, smoky, and you sense his scent start to grow addicted all over again. Lurching you with a thorough repeated tugs to smooch your cunt some more, Nanami emits a narrowed breath through every kiss. “Can’t move- ngh- fuck.”

“Kentooo—” Your lips flap with the salted flavor of your own tears, trying (and failing) to move onto your tip-toes and remove yourself from your husband’s relentless mouth. Head turned to him, “I-I want you to fuck me, baby.”

And Nanami flinches. Breathing out a ragged, “T-to what?”

You’re blinking your tears back from your dilated irises, lips almost too wobbly to drag out the words. “To fuck- mmpf–!”

SLAM!

You don’t know if the thundering noise is from the way you’re slammed horizontally back onto your front, or the way that Nanami smashes his open palm down right beside your lolling head. 

Fingertips twitching, yearning for but a single graze of your face. You’re left helpless as all his Herculean muscles come pinning down your greedy body - firmer and firmer until he’s practically melting into you.

He was so big. 

All eight mounds of his washboard abs peeking through his torn button-up and sliiiiding down your spine. Hips pressing down on hips, scent glands brushing against yours. You still had your thin satin blouse on, and yet you could count each n’ every hammer of his roaring heartbeat.

“Watch what you s-say.” Nanami warns, the points of his teeth nibbling along where your perfume was emanating out in clouds and bursts. Needy needy needy. 

And so pretty.

“Wh-why?” You huff out, barely given the opportunity to even think of pouting until Nanami seemingly reads your mind and sinks his own teeth into the flesh. Draaaaagging. 

“Because-” Faintly, you’re feeling one of his hands straily lumber down to where his ravaged cock was sobbing. The stout end of his knobbled thumb comes to plug up his leaking orifice as Nanami’s teeth scrape your throat. Lips pulled into a snarl, “-m’got gonna fuck you like a gentleman, my wife.”

His words were dangerous. Savage. 

Looking the part, too; flushed, intense eyes all half-lidded, curtained partly by his thick blond bangs. And Nanami was glistening with the wettened remnants of your juices, all the way from the blushing apples of his cheeks to drip! drip! drip! in a translucent polish down his sharp jawline.

For the moment, you and your omega are almost rendered soundless - almost. 

“Prove it, Ken.”

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Nanami doesn’t know whether it’s the rut or those words or simply you that make his heavy, fat cock flinch in one hand. That makes him throw his head back with a groan, that makes him grind his hips deeper into yours as he cums–

“Move this-” His trembling fingers clutch urgently around where your skirt was still hanging off of your hips. Well, not for long before he’s tearing it clean off. And then follows your blouse, your bra. “Move.”

Right in time for the glittering folds of your pussy to be showered in a thick topping of his creamy white seed. The pointed mound of his tip is frosting out such candied knots of sap that cling to your leaky pussylips - so much.

You’re whimpering at the scalding hot cum that sploshes down the rim of your entrance, dripping. Leaking. “Ken- o-oh my god did you just–”

“Shut up-” He’s snarling out, trying to muffle out the animalistic tonality in his voice but fuck, does he fail. You’re turning him into more of a damn beast than a man with the way your parched pussy quavers to swallow up his glossy droplets.

One of his stocky fingers come up to smear the webbed mess of it on your outer cunt and push it in– “Shut up n’ take it. S’all y-yours anyway, darlin’.”

Before you can untrap your maw from the substantial gloopy-like texture of your spittle, Nanami slouches his weight over your squirming body. Massive, veiny hands rested on either side of your head, he sliiiiides his still-agitated, rock-hard length between your puffed-up folds. 

Making sure you feel every single one of his zig-zagging veins from reaching from his tawny golden happy trail down to where he was pinpricking your clit with his thickset cockhead. Over and over.

“All of it.” Nanami whispers eventually, as your driveling hole oils his girth with enough layers of sap that it oozes down onto the office floor. 

His sweltering pants making your bodyhairs stand on end, you shiver a single one of his palms slither down to cup your tummy. Somewhere along the way, he draws a burning invisible line about halfway across your body. 

And you’re not granted even the chance to ask what he’s seemingly measuring out before a stubby, splittening caress between your jittery legs makes you see stars.

“All- all- of it s’ngh yours– s’got your n-name on it. Yours.” Nanami’s keening out with a raspy tone above the sloppy squelches that immediately start pouring out of your wet pussy. Restraining a firm grip on the curve of your hips to hold you still while he reels back and pushes and pushes– “Every. Single. Inch.”

He was so big that he was spearheading you with every single of his ten inches, too.

Pushing your eyes all the way to the backs of your head with the spheroid crown of his fat, bulbous tip. Every tiny buck makes you streeeeetch around the incredible roundness of his circumference, rubbin’ and rubbin’ your drooling entrance with his veiny shaft.

“Heh, we’re consummatin’ our marriage, my wife.”

“O-oh my–” Your mindlessly squealing pitch breaks, squeezing your silky walls to hug his head. “-it’s so- it’s so.”

“With ngh- just the tip, huh, my love?”

And as cute as it was that you’re pushing back and trying to run away from his relentless pursuit, Nanami doesn’t have the patience right now.

Just barely hanging on with enough sanity to dig his hand thoroughly enough to bruise your poor hips, the slicked sweat of his palm dampening your skin. “Wh-whaaat–?” With a quick, shocking spank on the right side of your ass cheek, he’s traaaawling you over like you were nothing but a pretty lil’ toy. “S’it to h-hah big?”

“It- it’s so…”

You were already proving his point without even speaking. He was just so big that his core flexes with sharp, jutting strikes just to fit inside you, hissing with every recoiling resistance of your tight entrance.

You’re moaning ridiculously after every pulverizing glide that makes his probing cockhead push even deeper. A sliver of sweat trickles down the side of Nanami’s temple and hits your back in a splat!

Darting up onto your unsteady elbows, you restlessly try to fuck back into his ruthless cadence. “Please- please, baby. More.”

He tilts your face up to scorch it with a few promises, “I’ve got it- Kento’s got you.” Smacking a hand ‘round your arched throat - manhandling you into a fucking headlock, your husband urges you to sink your teeth into his heated flesh.

“Bite. Bite n’ you’re gonna take more, m’kay?” Nanami’s whispering out like a mantra, pulling you to crash your lips with his own stern ones. “Like a good girl- like my g-good girl.” His other arm softly thumbing along the outlined tummy bulge he was fucking into you, “More more more more more- Want more- y-you’re gonna get it- ohhh, you’re gonna get it.”

The sudden change in angle makes the stinging mounds of your ass hit Nanami’s sharp pelvis with a sharp thwack! Bottoming out. 

“Good girl.” He utters, sounding like a man crazed. The sensitive skin of your glands roast with a lazy lick, cold metal of his glasses slipping down until they kiss your skin. “O-ohhhh good giiiirl l-look at you taking it like a- like a champ. Kissin’ me from th-the inside, my omega.”

And the only thing you can moan are softly gasping ohs! and yes! again and again as his bulging biceps tighten around your neck, pounding the goopy ends of your cunt with a firm hit.

All with swollen, long inches. 

Nanami was so fucking massive that he was kissin’ your sweetest, most tender spots without even trying. Just the massage of his plumply swollen veins over them make your mouth slobber, counting in your head each lightning bolt - about eight of them.

And Nanami? Nanami was falling apart.

He was slurring out mix n’ matches of syllables that resembled your name every time your heavenly, hot innards were clenching around his capped crown like a vice. 

“Y-you feel so good, Ken.” You’re calling out as his toned hips position underneath your ass cheeks to push against you until you were almost dangling in midair. “In s-soooo deep.”

“Yeah? Yeah?” He’s wheezing out with a speckling pinpricks of cum from before and a few fresh spurts swashing all over your base. Your knees buckle as he hooks his chin over your shoulder and presses in, “Keep those p-pretty eyes open, okay, my love? Wanna see you watch- ngh- watch me fill ‘er up, m’kay?”

It’s all you can do to nod to his crazed whims, darting your eyes down to where Nanami was pushing on the base of your spine to make you arch curvaceously.

Straining against the swollen flex of his biceps, oh, you were burnishing his tannish skin with gluey flecks of drool. Stupidly babbling, oh-so-dumb on his massive size. “Wh-where–?”

“Here-” He thwacks his mushy, ruby-red tip in a splurge against your g-spot, “Here- here- and here.” Three repeated times to make you lose your mind just as much as he was, “S’yours. All yours, my wife.”

“All mine. Ngh– mine, Ken.” You echo, your vision blurring at the sheer force that he was pushing into these thrusts. Hell, his own bulked hilt was rubbing raw and red with the slamming impacts.

“Yeah take it. Take it, aaaatta girl.”

His pace was filthy - it was feverish. Head drooping, eyes shuttering.

And a slimy winding river of slobber was starting to fall from Nanami’s curved grin every time he’s getting so fucking drunk on your pussy. Body scorching, neck aching for you to take him take him take him–

“Kento- oh!”

It only takes two accurate swings of his grip to flip you laid onto your back when his veiny cock pulled out.

Important documents fluttering about, this time you’re getting a goood look at Nanami Kento, your husband.

Glasses completely fogged and dangling, his drenched-through shirt barely hanging off of his broad shoulders, pants discarded somewhere along the line to bare you with the sheeny expanse of his muscular thighs. Nothing of the gentleman you once knew.

Thick clumps of saliva spatter as he cranes his head down to you and growls, glassy hazel eyes at you through the rare gaps in his blond bangs. 

Your inner omega simply purrs at the glinting sharpness of his elongated fangs, the sensitive splotches on your neck stinging with the primal urge to be bitten.

Nanami’s nose crinkles at the oversaturation of sweet, sweet pheromones, his own coming out in response. And a generous helping of saliva ribbons out onto your front with a splat! splat! splatter! and he only adds to the sleek mess by slapping his weighty, extended length between your pussylips and gawking as creamy pre puddles. 

Scratching out, “M’gonna fuck ya pregnant, darlin’. Just s-say the ngh- word.”

“Kento-” Boneless arms slipping around his burning neck and lugging his hulking body even closer, “-please.”

And that’s all it takes.

All it takes for something in Nanami to snap. All it takes for him to hastily align his leaking mushroomed tip with your trembling hole and ram you full all the way to your cervix again. Cratering a French kiss there, deep.

So big that he was digging into every adhesive-slicked mass of your walls, probing and probing until your snug cunt was pulled to your limits. 

To your whining impatience, he doesn’t move immediately - instead, you jaw gapes as he’s taking the time to lean down and kiss that round, cylindrical tummy bulge he was fucking into you. Soft lips skittering right over where his bulged tip was hitting, “M’gonna m-make you round n’ glowing, my omega.”

Before you know it, rugged palms slither down the underside of your thighs and fold you like a lawnchair. And into- fuck, a mating press.

A mating press.

The realization seems to strike Nanami at the very moment it strikes you - even though he was literally the one manhandling you into this pliable position. The dimples on his chin quivering as if he couldn’t fucking believe he had his lil’ wife bent like this for him.

And the base of his thickened cock swells. Close. 

All the breath leaving his full lungs, “S-so pretty.” Every syllable followed by a harsh plap! of skin-on-clammy-skin. Every syllable. He holds your thrashing legs easily apart, “So pretty a-and wet n’ m’gonna make her even wetter. Wanna make her full- make her…oh.”

“Sh-shit–” You can palpably feel yourself growing even more damp at the way his chiselled, sharp muscles move and tense with each thrust. A hand moving down–

“Move that fuckin’ hand.”

It wasn’t even a command, and yet you find yourself hurrying to listen. 

Watching with bated breath as his smoggy, pussydrunk eyes rest on the copious glittering droplets of slick escaping your bulged pussylips, even past his girth. And he only smiles- “S’th-this f’me, darlin’? Alllll f’me–?” Greedily licking his lips, he gropes your tits. “This turns- hah! turns ya on, huh? Getting bred?”

Squealing, “Y-yessss– wan’ it so bad- want you so bad, Kento, please.”

“Hmm…boy or girl?”

“Wh-what?” 

He’s only leaning down to rasp more gruffly against your eardrums, a behemoth of his palm patting down on the jiggling pouch inflating into your tummy. “Boy or girl?”

“G-girl.” You’re whimpering out mindlessly, pulse thundering even faster at the brilliant grin that splits across Nanami’s face. 

“Mmm– was thinkin’ th-the exact same.” And that wasn’t just the rut talking. Nanami treks a hand to gift your clit with a pinch and chuckles darkly as you flinch, “Easy- easy there.” Still not letting up, still hugging every inch of his throbbing cock on your cunt. “Guess I’ll be the ngh- strict parent then, hm?”

And the zaps of electricity rushing to your brain are too much, his cadence, his pheromones - his rut. It’s all so much that with only a few more vulgar strikes to your battered, bruised g-spot your mouth gulps a dumbstruck “K-Ken, I’m–”

Not even getting out the sentence before you arch your back into a geometrical semi-circle and throw yourself into your nth high of the night.

The edges of your vision tinging with black, it’s all you can do to claw your nails in red, red trailways down Nanami’s muscular back. Feeling every muggily glissading muscle as he pounded you into the desk through every blissful peak.

“Ngh- o-oh, my l- fuck. Fuck fuck fuck–!” Nanami’s voice takes on a whiny tinge at the feeling of your scalding hot insides molding around his pillaging shaft. So tight that he had to bite his lip and push down on your tummy to pull out after every paced thrust. “S-shooo soft.”

Orgasm feeling like nothing more than tingles, your vision tinges like a black vignette once you’re ogling up at Nanami’s pretty, pretty face. “Ken- Ken”

He’s rubbing a heart over your sparking clit with love, “Yes, my love–?”

“Want it i-inside, Ken.” Mindlessly, your inner omega spurs you to teeth over the tense muscles of his neck - over that particular spot. Walls massaged raw every second, “Want you t-to cum all i-insiiide-”

“Patience.” It’s all he says before rovering his hand somewhere above your head on the flat table and grasping his favorite lucky yellow tie. 

Before you can blink your tear-stained lashes, he loops it twice over your neck and ties - dragging you back with a simple pull of his bulky biceps. You look so pretty n’ helpless like this that he can’t help but feel his mouth water, spitting the excess between your kiss-swollen lips. 

“P-promise not to miss?” 

“Never. Wh-what did I tell you- s’all sh’alllll yours.”

Slurring. He couldn’t even speak properly - barely even breathing - before snapping his hips to yours so close that your tender pussymound scratches with his soaked-through tufts of tawn. Once. Twice. Before Nanami collapses on top of you and cums—

Your knees hitting your tits, legs shoved over his shoulders, ass stinging at the shaky jackhammer.

“T-taaake it. Take it n’ get p-pregnant. Get pregnant get pregnant get pregnant–” He whispers as thick, steamy hot cum starts pooling all the way into what feels like your gut. “Want it. Need it.”

Aching, swollen, almost painful sparks of white-hot pleasure running down his spine once he’s slamming a capped knee on top of the table and angling himself to pound and pound. 

“Ngh- s-so much–” Your hips thrash, lungs heaving with the weight of his happy caramel scent. “-so much so- fuck.”

He spits into your hanging open mouth. “Ohh m’gonna make a mess of you.” And as he rests his towering body closer on top of yours, you can feel the way Nanami’s meaty thighs tremble delicately with every shooting jetstream of cum spraying inside your deepest parts. The fingers toying with your clit move to pinch your folds together, he prattles. “A-all inshide now.”

Oh, you look so pretty with your pussylips so swollen and leaky. Frothed right on top with an ivory coating of his sap that dips in and out. Moaning, “I-inside?”

“Mhmmm– I-I’m gonna be a papa- a papa. Gonna t-take care of her n’ you don’t hafta lift- lift a finger, my love. I’ll t-take care of the feedin’ n’ the late nights and- and…” 

He was daydreaming right now and you were stunned. 

“M’gonna b-brush her ngh- hair n’ you’re gonna dress ‘er up all pretty.” He’s babbling just as awe-struck as you, “A-and then you’ll- you’ll feed her breakfast I ngh- made n’ we’ll both take her to school. Spoil her- n’ ohhh she’s gonna look just like you w-with my eyes n’ she’s mine and-”

“A-and?”

“-yours.” Every declaration followed by the most determined of thrusts. One, two, three, four, five more dolloping streams of thick seed that glues to your walls and slips n’ slides straightly down your cervix. Your womb. “Y-yours. Yours yours yours y-ngh! Yours.”

Milking himself for you.

Nanami drills into you like he’s gone feral; that vice-like restraint around your throat stopping him from both biting into you just yet and helping him trawl you up n’ down to take every single drop.

It could’ve been hours, maybe even days before you find your now-shrilling voice once more. 

“M-m’yours, too–” You’re whimpering out, gliding your hands through the sweat-matted valleys of his hair and pulling him. 

But, of course, Nanami Kento loved to be used by his wife this way.

“N’ I wan’ your knot, Ken.” You bat your lashes, already having felt the massive, thick ring swelling around his base. Yet another particularly hard drive leaves you gasping, he was just so big– if you’d thought his normal hilt was wide, then this would stretch you until you were crazed. “Please?”

Ah, there it was.

That magical word. 

And how could he ever say ‘no’ to his wife?

With a knobbly thumb hooked to your fucked-out entrance, he’s arching his back and squeeezing that incredible perimeter inside. It’s so damn large that he has to slouch back and gaze as his knot slaps and slaps your outer pussy.

Wisping out a few globules of buttery cum? Pre? Nanami didn’t even know anymore, just aware that he was sobbing from the purple plum-colored, split-end of his cock.

Canines bitten until he’s tasting metal, “Gonna take it- t-take it like a good girl. My ngh- good wife.” Nanami’s fighting to keep his weighted lids from falling shut, “Get you all plugged w-with my knot. S-so full you can’t even ngh- fit. Can’t even take anymore-”

“Yes, please- please give it t’me, Ken.” You’re scrambling on the table, left hand flapping away somewhere until he clings onto it and brings it up to his spit-soiled mouth.

Tenderly kissing the band of your wedding ring as his sloppy thumb pries apart your gluey-stuck folds and siiiiiiinks his knot in. Fully. Tightly. 

And as soon as it’s all in, you’re blinking back nonsensical stars and angels in your vision - sobbing at the sheer stretch. It’s so raw, so filling having him be connected deeply inside, the tender skin of his ballsack flinching after every one of your squeezes.

Knot digging into your walls so thorough and hot. 

And it’s as if for a second, your husband stops breathing. 

Enough for you to ask, “B-baby, are you okay?”

“N-no.” Comes Nanami’s strained, cracking whisper of an answer. So hoarse you almost couldn’t hear it, “No.”

And there’s no warning before Nanami flinches - viscerally, animalistically to surge his face into the crook of your neck and bite. Hard enough to draw blood.

You let out a soundless scream, mouth dropping into the perfect oh! at the euphoric feeling of his jagged canines ripping into your scent glands. Scents melding and mixing and becoming one, it’s as if ten more orgasms hit you at full force. 

And your husband - your mate - feels it, too. 

Because the combined strength of his slamming pound and his fist on top of the table is so much that one of the sturdy mahogany legs breaks in half. 

Sluggishly, your omega reminds you that it was your turn to reciprocate the possessive marking. 

“Ken…” Being held up by none other than his tie blocking most of your airway, you lift your dizzy head enough to kiss the swollen gland where the whisked caramel was the most potent. Biting down as hard as your ruined body could, “-m-mine.”

At the sensation, he gasps–

“Marry me.” Hips driving sloppily into yours all over again and again and again even though the knot prevented him from doing anything more than swervin’ grinds. It’s like he won’t stop - can’t stop. The crimson-stained plumpness of his lips smear all over your mark, your ring, your lips. “Marry me marry me- be my wife?”

“Kentoo–” you giggle out, shortly out of breath as he accurately scratches your g-spot carnally once more. 

His foggy, half-lidded eyes watch you closely as you interlink your left hands together and reach it up to his hazy line of vision. “We’re already married.”

“O-oh.”

And it seems he was genuinely so pussydrunk that it didn’t even register - couldn’t register doing anything but gyrating his v-line into you sensually. Slow, aching drags of his plump tip stirrin’ hearts out of your insides and the splashes of cum within. 

Over and over, while Nanami takes off whatever remnants were left of his shirt and lays his head between the valley of your tits. Grabbing a sweet handful whilst he sucks like he was trying to draw milk out already.

Desk broken, air saturated. 

And only once he feels his rounded knot softening the slightest bit, tugging himself out with a few lecherously slurping tugs, does he speak.

“S-s’a good thing our hck! company’s empty.” Nanami whispers, barely audible over the squelch! of his webbed mess of cum immediately flooding out of you. Raw white and messy. Depraved. 

As you gasp, he’s cracking your legs open. Oh? 

Kneeling down down down–

Oh. 

The pinkish tip of Nanami’s tongue hits your overstimulated, weeping pussy with a damp thwack! “Because we’re celebratin’ our honeymoon in every room of this building, my wife.”

A/N. Mwahaha I told y’all alpha Nanami was next <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫 ~ 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓫𝓮𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓸 𝓶𝓮. 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓭𝓸𝓷’𝓽 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝔂𝓮𝓽.

Gojo Satoru is a fucking liar.

He acts like he doesn’t give a shit about you. Like you’re nothing. Like you’re just another bug beneath his shoe, something to step on and leave behind.

That’s why he makes your life hell.

That’s why he trips you in the halls, why he plucks pens straight out of your hand during exams, why he calls you ugly little nicknames and twists his words like a knife, carving them into your skin. You flinch when he’s near, shoulders always tensed, waiting for the next hit. You hate him. You should hate him.

But Gojo Satoru is a fucking liar.

Because the moment he’s out of your sight, he’s memorizing the way your body moved beneath that skirt, the exact shade of pink on your lips, the way your breath hitched when he leaned in too close. The moment you’re gone, he’s pulling his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through the hundreds of pictures he’s taken of you without your knowledge—hidden camera feeds, blurry shots of you in class, close-ups of your sleeping face.

He loves watching you cry.

Loves the way your brows furrow when you’re frustrated, the way your lip trembles when he rips into you, the way your eyes go glassy when you’re about to break.

It’s fucking beautiful.

You don’t realize how much of your life he’s stolen.

The cameras are the worst. They’re everywhere. In your apartment, in your showerhead, in the fucking toilet. He’s watched you at your most vulnerable—watched you wake up, stretch, rub the sleep from your eyes. Watched you undress, fingers skimming over your own skin, completely unaware that he’s breathing hard on the other side of the screen, cock twitching in his pants.

And in public, he plays the part of the asshole.

If anyone knew—if anyone even suspected—he’d kill them. Without hesitation.

You belong to him.

That’s why no one else is allowed to look at you. Why he slashed that guy’s tires when he saw him flirting with you at the café. Why he grabbed that classmate by the collar and whispered something in his ear after he asked you out, something that made the poor bastard turn pale as death and drop out of the course.

You’re his little pet. His toy. His perfect, untouchable secret.

You have no fucking clue.

Not when he watches you through your webcam as you study. Not when he follows you home at night, walking just close enough to hear your footsteps quicken. Not when he licks his lips at the thought of shoving you against a wall and splitting you open, hearing you scream.

You think he’s your worst nightmare.

You have no idea.

Official TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @save4h , @rofkshinee , @songbirdgardensworld , @yanderedrabbles , @xileonaaaa , @neuvilletteswife4ever , @poopooindamouf

Test-Phase TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @imnotabot28 , @han11dh , @loserworld , @esthelily

Sukupeach asleep shhhh don’t wake him up

“her lovely hazel eyes”

“her breasts and perky rosy, pink nipples”

“for her petite physique”

Well damn , give her a name and we’re good to go 💀 the reader having a backstory , yeah no problem it’s cool but why do you have to describe the physical traits ? Just make an OC

Back story + physical description = OC

Back story + no physical description = reader insert

✎ᝰ. OCT 22ND ★ SOMNOPHILIA - seishiro nagi .ᐟ

[CHAPTER TWENTY TWO SLEEPING BEAUTY ] once upon a time, a brave knight, destined to marry someone she’d never met, says fuck it and plans to reap the rewards of saving the prince from eternal slumber. without realising that he’s already awake… ( 8.8K ).

✧ chapter contents - minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, characters in their 20s, sleeping beauty!au, somnophilia, hold the moan, overstimulation, cockwarming, dacryphilia, outer-course, handjobs, blowjobs, pussyjobs, free use, dub con, cumplay, creampies, not beta read, knight + fem!reader, aurora!seishiro nagi.

✧ fairy godmother's note - this is so late i'm so sorry, i think i might start posting kinktober towards the end of the week and into november, enjoy me loves. miss u loads! - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ☆

you hardly remember the day that prince nagi was born — despite most definitely being there for the ceremony that commemorated it. at the time, you were hardly out of your own leading strings, still babbling dumbly and clinging to your mother’s garments whenever someone poked their nose in your face. obviously far too young to remember the curse placed on him by that wicked witch maleficent. 

prince seishiro nagi was beloved by all and affection for him was widespread throughout the kingdom. he was born deep into the night, at a time where the sky had been painted with deep blue and midnight hues, with hair as silky and pale as the silver moon and eyes like the glittering starry sky. so they said. at least that’s what your been told. while present at the time, you would hardly know — you were too young to remember how he looked nor the very moment you were promised to him as a baby yourself. 

from the moment you were born, your fate was signed away before your very first breath and once you arrived and took two steps you were instantly reared to become prince seishiro’s future wife. to help join two kingdoms in harmonious union. from the moment you could talk, you’d spent your entire life training to become the wife of a man you hardly knew. there were lessons in perfect posture, dainty dancing and simple sewing. not to mention how to serve a king and please a husband  — who apparently had unnatural beauty, the softest voice and the kindest of hearts. outside of nagi, you hadn’t a single hobby or interest that didn’t concern him, solely born and bred for his best interest. how were you supposed to know if any of those spoken traits were really true and not just word of mouth when nobody had any idea where the prince actually was. 

rumour had it, that the silver haired royal had been whisked away to the woods to be raised by the very fairies that blessed him — with hopes of avoiding maleficent’s malevolent curse in which seishiro was destined to prick his finger on a poisoned spinning wheel by age twenty three. in an attempt to undo the wicked spell, the fairies had combined their magic and made it so that only a true love's kiss would be able to wake up their beloved prince. which soon became your duty, by the time you came of age too. 

since then, and for twenty two years after, there was not a peep from the prince — to his people and his kingdom, he’d practically vanished overnight, becoming one with the moon and stars they prayed to each night. holding out hope for his return to the throne. 

in turn, you had no idea when your duty would come to fruition. maleficent's thunderous mountain, shrouded in a thick layer of green, jealous smog that was sure to suck the life from any innocent soul still raged on — meaning her curse hadn’t come true. she still hadn’t found the prince. no one had.

no one except for you. 

unknowingly, you’d met nagi humming amongst pointed shrubbery and wild flowers deep in the forest — absentmindedly complaining about tne berries he was forced to forage for his uncles back home. for you, it was instant, as though an invisible force had drawn you two him like the the two poles of a magnet. prince seishiro was a sight to behold, even before you knew who he was, the timbre trill of his voice filled you with a wave of unfamiliar butterflies that battled their way into your throat — trapping your voice. his eyes were an enchanting pool of riches, frightened of your presence at first, but filled with stripes of silver you were sure had to be stolen from the moon. 

for you, it was love at first sight. a powerful urge to be near him building up in your lungs like fluid in a sick person. you were sure he felt the same — the emotion obvious in the way he tentatively touched you as you talked about nothing and everything at all. the way he swooped down to your height to listen to tales of land and fortune he could only have dreamed of.

in those hours that you spent alone together; pressed into one another’s side’s amongst intertwined tree branches like two lovers' limbs after a night of improper passion  — you’d felt the most seen you had in all your life. for the first time in forever, someone saw you as more than just a bargaining chip or a trophy to be paraded around royal courts in honour of union. someone saw you as a whole, read your story from start to finish and still wanted to know more. you weren’t just a knight made to save a prince. to nagi, you were so much more.

and to you, nagi was a breath of fresh air — someone who craved a more exciting life rather than being banished to a life of greenery and foliage. despite his charming air of laziness and naivety, he expressed to you a burning sense of eager deep within. it was innocent, inquisitive but nagi’s thoughts called out to you like the bird song of two mates. the worlds you came from were different, clearly, but you just made sense to one another.

but back then, in those quiet moment with your head on his shoulder and nothing but the sound of oak leaves swaying in the gentle summer breeze — you’d had no idea that the silver haired stranger was just prince seishiro living under a different name. you thought him a commoner and he thought you a random huntress on a horse. no one had any idea that he was the crown prince, that he’d been snuck back into the castle on the day of his twenty third birthday to regain his title and his crown… only to be lulled by the cruel call of a sinister stranger  shortly — pricking his finger just like maleficent had planned. 

you were meant to marry. you were supposed to go back for seishiro and run away together, live apart from the expectations bestowed upon you as children. unfortunately, you wouldn’t find out until returned to the spot where you’d first met him, and were met with the face of the villain herself. instead of your lover. that’s when you realised the gravity of it all. who seishiro was. who you were meant to be. 

deep down, you knew this was a love too sacred to pass by, and with the white haired prince counting on you —  you would do everything in your power to save him. save the prince and the kingdom from sleeping soundly for the next one hundred years.

with the help of the fairies who raised nagi, you were able to take down the terrible maleficent — grateful that your parents had at least made you handy with a sword. through the flames of the beast above you, you wielded your weapon with a strength and bravery that would go down into the history books of lands far and wide. killing maleficent in the form of the dragon had been no easy feat but you fought, with screaming muscles and a bloody face — fulfilling the duty you had been born to do. trained to do. for nagi and for your kingdom. 

the difference was, this time, you were doing all of this for love. not just for honour.

after winning the flaming battle, you staggered your way through the kingdom despite your burns and free bleeding wounds, making your way up to the tower where your silver-moon haired lover slept. part of you felt envious of the slumbering kingdom, the eternal rest they had slipped under while your body burned and ached with every step that you took… but as soon as you laid eyes on your handsome prince — sleeping like a fallen angel crowned by scattered lights. the glinting particles of dust forming a shining halo over his sleep the steel hair. 

the beat of your heart quickens as you approach the bed tucked deep within his quarters — rivalling the speed of the finest royal race horse and the world completely falls away until the all that remains are you and seishiro. your prince. your love. even while he sleeps, he’s unfairly handsome, grey lashes dusted with starlight just barely brushing the apples of his milky-toned cheeks, his hair curls against his forehead and his lips, rose-tinted, part with each gentle exhale his body takes to keep him alive. without even thinking, your finger trails the slopes and contours of nagi’s delicate features, brushing over his Cupid’s bow that seems damp with the condensation of his warm breaths. the sensation stokes a fire within you while your mind wanders to less than pleasant thoughts.

how would his lips feel if you were to kiss him? how would they taste? how would seishiro kiss you back? the questions swirl around in the calcium cage of your skull like a storm untapped, fuelled by the remnants of adrenaline that simmers in your veins from the fight. it would be wrong, to do what you’re thinking of doing — to press your lips to the seam of his and run your tongue every inch in his hot mouth, behind his teeth and over his own pink muscle. maybe even to cup his throat and feel every breath he takes. it would be so wrong… and yet, your moral compass and previous duties seem to be out of working order, thus, losing the war the flickering desirous flame within you. one that rivals the breath of the dragon slaid outside.

no one would really care if you were to have the way with the crown prince. after all, you would need to be rewarded for your self sacrifice and service to the kingdom that could have very well been burned to the ground if it hadn’t been for your bravery. you deserved this, you deserved him and the chance to appease your growing appetite for the sleeping beauty before you. right now, there were no barriers… no servants and squires and maids or men to tell you what was proper of a knight or of a promised woman, and there certainly weren’t any barriers to the body of the silver haired prince. without any blankets, there wasn’t much to stop you from trailing a hand over seishiro’s clothed stomach and over the hills of his princely dress pants.

your fingertips grazed the taut muscles of his thick thighs as you teased yourself. teased the slumbering royalty. daring tug at the belt loops and thick leather her bound his trousers to his unfairly slender waist. with your lip caught between the sharp edge of your teeth, you unbuckle his belt and pull down his pants inch by inch, a tidal wave of goosebumps erupting over the surface of your body like freshly plucked chicken skin as you reveal more and more of his milky, toned flesh. he’s smooth all over, blueish veins apparent as they spiral underneath his skin, but nagi is just as soft as you remember, as warm brushing up against you as he was the day you first met in the woods.

saliva spreads across your tongue like a sheet of rain during a storm or a flash flood when his undergarments come down with the hem of his trousers, revealing a snow white path of pubic hair that curls prettily against his pelvis. there’s a craving for more that sloshes into the dips and deficits of your brain, like a dark haze that shrouds your brain in nothing but lust — so you act on the feeling, pulling more and more fabric away from seishiro’s most intimate parts until his cock, half hard and already leaking, is able to spring free. 

the sleeping beauty’s breath hitches and catches on the edges of his throat as his hard-on first hits the cool air shrouding his chambers. whatever preconceived notion you’d had of the prince’s body beforehand is quickly tossed away when you finally set your sights on his girth — he is as long as he is thick, chubby against the softness of his tummy with a pink tip that already oozes a thick stream of cream caused by the ghost of your touch over him. a warmth spreads through your entire body, an urge to taste him washing over you in a poor attempt to cool your need down. if you taste him, would that be part of your reward? would it matter to anyone if you put your mouth on the prince while he innocently slept… especially after you’d saved everyone?

you still cannot find it within yourself to care. 

perhaps the wounds maleficent inflicted upon you have left traces of her bad energy, for you continue to disregard your own morals and good intentions by crawling onto nagi’s bed ( careful with your movements while he shifts in his slumber ) and you keep your touch tender when taking him into your hold, the supple pads of your fingers wrapping around the length of the prince’s shaft while you smooth the pad of your thumb into the slit on his cockhead. rubbing the precum into it sweetly. now up close and personal with his most intimate parts, you’re able to catch the scent of nagi… which only worsens your hunger for him. he smells so good, the musky scent of his arousal almost sending your eyes into the back of your skull — acting like fumes of a pretty wildflower in the forest you once met. 

it hypnotises you, takes over your every thought and action in the heat of the moment. every sensation you once felt is now heightened by your own arousal, the feeling of your tongue behind your teeth and the silken sheets against your knees and the blistering temperature of seishirou’s girth in your palm. adjusting your grip on him to something more firm, soft little hands dwarfed by the sheer size and thickness of him, and accidentally pull a tiny moan from your sleeping lover. any trepidation mingling with the air in your lungs is quickly eradicated once you finally give in, flicking your tongue over the cream gathering at nagi’s mushroomed cockhead that burns a painful shade of deep red.

opening your mouth, you take seishiro down your throat as though it’s the easiest thing in the world, your tongue flexing against the bluish purple forked veins that spiral down his heavy shaft. all you want to do is make him harder, feel the blood rush from his slumbering brain to his balls so you can take him properly, elsewhere, later on. what doesn’t fit past the seams of your chapped lips, you continue to palm, setting a steady pace to the rhythm of your hands jerking the silver-haired prince off. its slick and easy, aided by the thick globs of precum that spill over your knuckles and sink into the lines in your palms — seishiro may be asleep, but his body reacts, hips bucking into your closed fist while he squeaks and sighs lazily. 

his head remains tacked to the pillow tucked behind it, starlight locks splayed out across the cooling silk fabric — perfectly tousled despite being slightly out of place as he writhes under the sinful prison of your hot, wet mouth. even you have to moan as you sink down on him, his heavy and pulsating balls meeting your chin while your nose nudges the prickliness of his happy trail. if he were awake, you wonder if nagi would be the type to coax you through giving him head — soft whimpers glossed in his lips while those moonshine grey eyes hold your gaze. or would he push your head down on him and fuck your mouth lazily as though it were another hole to fill with his cum.

part of you wants to rouse him right now, with the kiss of true love the fairies said would work on him, but only to hear how much louder he’d cry and moan for you. you want to hear how the Prince would praise you for taking him so well, slurping the early seed from his tip and hollowing your perfect pudgy cheeks as you gargle him down your eager throat. your imagination runs ahead of your actions as you bob your head faster and faster without regard for your lover sleeping soundly above you lewd slurping sounds echo throughout the room as you picture him looking down at you with flushed cheeks and lidded moonlit eyes — coaxing you to take more of him. 

the heat between your thighs returns, an unbearable searing ache pulsating through your clit as blood carrying lust and other happy hormones shoot straight to it. in one swift motion, you shove a single hand past the waistband of your own pants and undergarments to toy with the sensitive bud, smearing whatever remained of his precum and pre-release against your awaiting cunt. your eyes flutter shut at the taste and heaviness of nagi on your tongue, his viscous arousal flowing down your throat in saltine waves. the flavour was addictive and you found yourself bobbing your head faster, and faster — matching it to the pace at which you stroked your own sticky slit.

lavishly, you run your tongue back and forth over the opening of seishiro’s bulbous cockhead, humming happily around his thick shaft when he involuntarily bucks into the hellish fire of your mouth — it makes your heart swell to know that his body is reacting to you and you alone, how it could very well be this way for the rest of your lives. while you hump your own fingers, their tips pruning with how wet you are as you circle your clit, the sleepy beauty’s balls batter your chin as his taut hips thrust upwards instinctively to chase your dripping tongue and mouth.

drool pours from the corners of it, just as you leak against the seat of your panties — your juices hot and viscous while you finger fuck yourself and get off to the sensation of blowing the sleepy prince while he rests. everything is so sloppy, so messy and wet and you can’t help but to spit down on nagi as his dick swells against your tongue, the frothy mixture clinging to the prominent blood flushed veins that sprinkle from the tip down to his base. 

your release sneaks up on you like a silent figure in the night; hiding from the moonlight and a dirty moan slips from between your lips as you let go of your lover with a lewd pop, your jaw aches deliciously and your tongue is sore from running circles over his tip — as is your wrist from being down your pants to bully shapes into your clit but you don’t mind the pain, it’s all worth it to make yourself feel good. to make nagi feel good so you can use him later on, turning him from a prince into a sex doll. dopamine continues to spark across your brain as you switch from sucking to jerking nagi off, keeping the rhythm of your slick palm wrapped around him in tune with the one that rolls your clit between your fingertips and pinches your swollen folds. 

you don’t last much longer, not when you’re able to watch the moonlit prince fall apart above you even when the depths of sleep cling to the fine lines of his soul. the last remaining thread of your sanity snaps before you’re cumming against your own digits, gushing through the gusset of your panties and straight through the layer or your pants — even while you shiver and shake from the force of your own orgasm, you manage to find a the mobility to tap nagi’s cockhead lewdly against your pink tongue, grinning with an open mouth as his own orgasm rips through his unconscious form. 

warm and viscous seed paints a pretty picture against your strawberry tastebuds as it spurts copiously from his ravaged, fully erect cock. even hitting the back of your throat. 

but it’s not enough, it’s still not enough. a fire of desire still burns bright inside of you and nagi is still as hard as a rock in your hand. so you don’t see a point in stopping, not when you still want him and he clearly still wants you. 

in a whirlwind of fabric, you quickly abandon the lower half of your clothes — even though your legs are violently shaking and there’s a fizz in your brain that makes your vision go blurry from your orgasm, you find the strength to clamber into the prince’s lap and straddle him. a pulse of excitement runs through you as your bare ass meet his half dressed thighs and you set your palms flat against his chest to steady yourself above him. you’re barely able to contain the wavering moan that rumbles in the back of your throat as seishiro’s erection jumps against your sluice sex, as if coaxing you to lower yourself down onto him.

without an air of guilt, you do just that; indulging your sleeping lover’s underlying plea as you slip a hand between your temperate bodies to position his creamy cock at your weeping entrance — you run it back and forth over your slit a few times whilst holding back a quivering hiss, letting him dip in and out of your unused hole. you can’t help but squeak adorably when you start to rock your hips down, sucking him in and stretching over the thick circumference of his tip. you even manage to clench down on seishiro, trapping him inside with each inch you manage to take.

your head hangs low and you steady yourself against nagi again; nails forming pink crescent moons against his pearlescent skin because you’re not sure how much of this burn you can take. he’s so big, yet his cock is so helpless against your sticky walls — it’ll take a lot of work just to reach the hilt. “oh, fuck,” you whimper to yourself quietly, not wanting to be caught taking advantage of the kingdom’s slumbering royalty. you try to stablwlisw your breathing, hold onto your sanity by only fucking yourself over his tip because right now… it’s all you can manage. getting used delicious stretch to your pussy and the resistance of your hole as nagi slips into your tightness. 

in order to ground yourself, you press yourself against the moonlit prince until you’re both chest to chest — allowing your body to relax against is as you slide further down his cock. and, with this change in position, you easily dot feather light kisses from the pale skin, unmarked skin of seishiro’s neck up to his jawline — licking the light layer of perspiration that added diamonds to his skin. his pulse is slow, languid under your lips, just as the rise and fall of his chest is. nagi still sound asleep as you bathed his cock in all of your syrupy wetness. eventually, you reach his lips and hardly hesitate in kissing them, lapping over the seam of them with your tongue as if you’re asking for entrance when you don’t really need to.

not when his body is so willing to give into you, even while seishiro rests.

you swear you feel his lips twitch apart against your own, parting specifically for you to pour your withering moans into him and breathe life into his unconscious soul — your tongue licks at his, relishing in the flavour and slight sweetness to his mouth, letting it distract you from the twinge between your thighs as you finally seat yourself on his girth fully; breeders balls nestled comfortably against the curve of your ass. a feeling of content washes over you, feeling the chubbiness of his girth press hotly against your ribbed walls that catch on his prominent veins there. 

panting lightly, a ripple of desire is the next sensation that you feel, experimentally clenching around the prince below you — bottoming out as your cunt drools down on him. somehow, you find the strength in your thighs to lift your hips and thrust back down, a wet slap bouncing off of all four walls in response. it’s insane how tight, warm and wet you are — how thick, heavy and nagi is, constantly pressed up against your g-spot before you’ve really even moved. you splutter and hiccup as you begin the slow bounce of your hips and allow yourself the grace to accommodate for your sleeping lover’s size, his bright red and possibly overstimulated cockhead nudging feverishly against the pleasure spots that decorate your temperate silken walls. 

“…gods,” comes your shaky voice, trapped behind the prison of your teeth in a weak attempt to hold in your moans. “s-seishiro, f-feel so good…” though you speak to no one in particular, using the sound of your own wailing voice to get yourself, you can feel the white-haired royal underneath you buck upwards as though he wants to fuck you back — driven by tired strings of lust and desire as though he’s a puppet on a set of strings for your own pleasure. collapsing forward, you nestle your head underneath his chin so that the only part of your body moving is your hips working up and down on nagi’s pulsating cock at break-neck speeds. in this position, your murky breaths of exertion coast over his pearlescent skin and your eyes grow misty at the perfect angle. your stream of thrusts are constant like a rushing river, allowing his bulbous leaky tip to barrage into your sex and pull squelching, lewd noises from your poor pussy.

you’re already so sensitive, it’d be a miracle if you last much longer riding your lover like this and to your heart’s content. slumped over him, chewing on your chapped lips to hide the debauched noises that slosh over your tongue and are churned up in your mouth with the drool there. it’s pathetic, really, but your mind is too hazy and high on the drug of ecstasy to care. to pacify yourself and the growing fire that burns the butterflies in your tummy, you switch from bouncing on his fat girth to grinding against it, dancing with your partner in a sensual sticky grind where only you are able to lead. every stroke of his cock within your sluice, pulsating walls makes it harder for you to keep quiet or keep still — the bed creaking beneath the weight of your movement becomes a loud wail and harmonises perfectly with the tune or skin slapping on skin and your pathetic bleats of bliss. 

sweat from the exertion of pounding your mound down on the curve of his cock begins to bead at your hairline, pearling in opaque orbs that form your own halo. one that belongs to a fallen angel. it drips down the side of your face onto the prince below you, another way that you mark him, just as your juices do — droplets of it trailing down his shaft, balls and even his ass. if someone were to walk in now, they’d set their sights on an obscene display of sin, their perfect prince defiled by his knight to be, but you don’t care, your mind and exhausted limbs buzzing with wanton. you’ll use him until cum, claim your prize and work your selfish pussy over him until you know every constellation by heart because of how many times you’ve used seishiro to make yourself see stars.

every sensation overwhelms you, the creamy and tackiness to his cock between your slicked up thighs and the pressure of his purpling cockhead as it digs disgustingly against your g-spot in the most perfect of ways because you clench down on him every now and again. static rings loud in your ears that burn with both shame and lechery for taking advantage of your sleeping lover, the notes from the tune your fat pussy pap-pap-papping as it connects with stitchers of nagi’s bare flesh has a tingling sensation spreading under your skin too. even when he bucks instinctively into you, your entire body jolts in response because there’s no greater relief than knowing that you are yearned for… even within the clutches of unconsciousness.

when nagi whimpers in his sleep, you have to bite his shoulder — keeping your wailing mouth occupied even if you’ll leave teeth marks against him in place. someone could hear the way you beg him to fuck you, muffling yourself as you whisper dirty fantasies to yourself and split your swollen nether lips open on his drippy dick. you’re not sure if that is a good or bad thing to want, to be heard.  “f-fuck me sei… p-please my prince,” everything feels so depraved and so wrong, while you whine sweetly against saltine skin. however, you don’t see yourself stopping — not until you can no longer feel your legs from riding him and your cunt aches from cumming so hard. “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!”

the back and forth of your sluice sex over nagi’s lap tampers with your system, sending orgasmic shockwaves down your spine and happy hormones into your bloodstream. you alternate, once more peeling your soaked thighs away from his and lift your fluttering entrance higher and higher up his shaft until there’s barely an inch of the white haired royal left inside of you. the emptiness makes you miss him, a choked sob weaving its way like a vine through the gaps in your ribs as it claws its way out of your throat. it’s a shuddering noise that you suppress by locking lips with seishiro again, wet on the seam of them as you lift your head to kiss him. 

“i wanna cum, nagi!”

the words are just about to melt in his mouth but…

…but euphoria is quick to slip into your veins like a welcomed chill on a hot day when nagi suddenly rouses from his slumber — following a natural compulsion to snap his hips upwards with a powerful force and filling you in one fluid motion. he’s awake. one of his hands, extremely strong and veiny and firm takes you by surprise as it clamps down on the back of your neck  so that he can keep you in place too. it was almost as if he was chasing the snugness of your oozing, squelchy mound. an incredulous gasp drifts warmly from your mouth and condenses in nagi’s, for a second you worry that he might push you off and yell for help… but recognition registers on the slope of his handsome features. 

he’s awake…how long has seishiro been awake? 

moonlight lashes flutter against your face from your proximity and murky grey eyes, littered with exhaustion between their flecks, light up with a sprinkling of hearts as then open to look at you. slowly but surely their gaze drifts downwards, honing in on the point at which his milky cock repeatedly disappears into your puffy pussy, the glaze of your essence on his rock hard cock and clinging to his pubes put on display. 

groaning hoarsely and deeply, nagi’s freehand shoots down to the bouncing flesh of your ass without a lick of hesitation and pulls you the rest of the way down his pulsing girth. then up again. then back down — giving him all of the control to pummel your pussy to the high heavens. hard and fast. “i thought… thought you wanted to cum,” the moonlit prince mumbles, voice still puppeteered by the last strings of sleep. “don’t make it a hassle by holding back now… fuck your self down on my cock ‘n cum…”

he’s awake… how much of this has seishiro been awake for? 

nagi builds up a formidable momentum inside of you, dragging his seedy tip along your ravaged walls, shocking for someone who had essentially just woken up from a curse of eternal slumber. he doesn’t seem to mind that you’ve been using him like a toy for your own sexual desires, but how could he? not when you’re dousing him in your sweet nectar, slapping your soaked sex down on him and squeezing his aching shaft just like that. how can a man, no less a prince, whine about waking up to such a good fuck?

all you can do is reply with a high pitched squeal, your body jerking and jolting on top of nagi as you struggle to keep up with thrusts. “come now, don’t make me do all of the work,” white starts to froth at the base of his cock, bubbling up while it streaks over your ruined pussy lips and clit. “after all, you started this… took advantage of me while i slept. s’only fair, angel,” he adds nonchalantly and makes you gush unbelievable amounts of arousal at the condescending air about his words.

he’s awake and now seishiro wants you to cum for him.

you do try your very best to do as nagi says, selfishly squeezing down on him and locking his precum bleeding tip inside your gummy walls, but your hips fumble their rhythm as soon as he looks up at you — sweaty hair splayed out in the sheets like an angel, lips parted in both curiosity and awe, cock bulging in your lower stomach. you’re choking the life out of seishiro and he likes it, feeling like he’s been rewarded for just being a pretty prince. 

all you want is for him to make you scream and squirt — your clit smears against his pelvis while you buck down on him feverishly. he barely lets you lift of his erection at this point. “‘m close… s-seishiro, please! c-can’t…”

it’s the first time you’ve spoken his name directly to him since your love-at-first-sight encounter in the woods and it flips a switch in the peaceful prince of the night. “y-yeah you can, angel. of course you can…” with a breathy, almost whiny moan, seishiro uses his newfound energy to assault your cunt with a barrage of wild thrusts. jackhammering into you, jerking you about on his throbbing length, coated in a milky mix of your shared arousals. “had no problem… fixing yourself on my cock before. ‘m sure you can make yourself cum on it now that i’m here to help,” he adds through gritted teeth, never letting up on his incredible speed. “shouldn’t be a hassle.” 

that’s all you really need to hear before you’re thrown into the deep end, the dark abyss of the night. while the ropes in your tummy unravel and unwind, the tune of sinful sex reaches its final crescendo and the world around you fades away as you’re thrown over the edge and temporarily black out — you practically squirt in an aggressive, clear stream and renders you a cum soaked mess in the prince’s lap. he forces your head into the junction between his neck and jaw, utilising his hold on you to help muffle the scream that burns at the sore edges of your voice as you cum for him. practically drowning nagi in everything you have to give. 

as if chasing something, your lover speeds up his thrusts, trying to make sure he isn’t left behind while you cum for him. growls and grunts spill over his lips, nagi’s pink tongue darting out the flavour you’d left on him as he slept. he buries himself deep inside of you, lunging into that one special spot nestled deep within your walls so that he can prolong your release — working hard even though he was just roused from what seemed like an eternal night.

the aftershocks of your high and heavenly spasms of your hole around nagi simply aren’t enough to satisfy him however — whatever remains of an orgasm he had coming fade away like embers of a dying flame while you come down. in fact, before you can even collapse on the white haired royal fully, he uses a strength you were unaware that he possessed to immediately flip you onto your back — manhandling you into the position he desires most. your thighs pushed together, knees pushed into your chest and him… towering over you menacingly.

only now do you realise how… large seishiro is. how much more dominant he is over you. how it may have been a mistake to think you could steal pleasure from him while he slept as a personal reward and not expect consequence. or at least a consequence you might enjoy too. “such a waste,” he comments groggily, pulling his cream soaked cock from its home within your pretty pussy with a hiss. using one hand, nagi grabs at his ravaged shaft and taps it against the swell of your thighs pushed together. “how can you use me like that…and still fail to make me cum? i’ll have to do it myself. what a bother, angel.”

your breath catches in your throat, indicating your surprise. “seishiro…w-wait,” you plead, lips parting in a quiet moan at every squeeze of your flesh and tug of hips to get your body into place. you don’t even know what you’re asking for or why you’re asking him to stop, you still don’t care about the consequences. all you want is for the sleeping beauty above you to fall apart, to hear your name on the tip of his tongue, to feel him cum wherever that may be. “‘m sorry…i-i didn’t know you were awake!”

“don’t care darlin’,” seishiro’s breathy words hang between the pearliness of his teeth, shaggy hair tickling the skin on your calves as he positions them over his shoulders instead of in the air. “don’t r’member much… just my finger gettin’ pricked ‘n then you… using me. on top of me…” his cock makes a home between your plush thighs, pushing back and forth against the flesh to relieve his painfully hard erection. the action itself paints the canvas of your body with remainders of your arousal and essence — thick stringy globs of white forming tracks against soft skin. “f-fuck angel, you put in all this work to make yourself cum using me… now it’s my turn.” 

eyes that mirror the silver light of the moon flutter shut and nagi’s nose judges against your ankle — lips grazing the pointed bone and in their wake leave a trail of inflamed bites from where he leaves his mark on you, hoping that they’ll be present on the morning to remind you of who you belong to. his pink tongue peeks out to lick, loll over and soorje what he nips at, but the wet sensation doesn’t distract from curious finger tips that dance their way down and pinch your arousal soaked, fat folds together. neediness streams into your tone as you whimper out for more and your hips arch up to chase the feeling. 

in response a lazy grin twitches at the corner of your prince’s mouth, playing with the tackiness your cunt leaves against his hand before he spreads it over his bright red tip as lube. “quit squirming angel, s’too much of a bother to keep you pinned down,” seishiro then adjusts his knees on the bed and his hips begin to brutally rut into you, dragging his sloppy length back and forth, back and forth through the makeshift pocket pussy he’s made out of your quivering limbs. his precum loaded tip prods at the softness of your tummy and earns you a symphony of high pitched moans and heaving pants, harmonised with heavy balls slapping wetly against your clit over and over again. to the point where you fear you may be overcome with another orgasm all too soon.

being used like this, it feels humiliating, shame burns like paper held to a flame underneath the surface of your skin and tears begin to sting in your lower lash line as your entire body jolts up the bed — nagi throwing you about like a rag while he plunges his hips against your doughy thighs. his stamina impresses you too, but you find it hard to dwell on how quickly your lover was able to be riled up after rising from the constraints of an all powerful curse. you don’t mind the aching pulse to your untouched pussy when you get to watch nagi hang over you and hungrily hump your shaky legs — his usually kind eyes are swamped with darkness of lust the back of his pupil practically eclipsing the grey colour. 

his head darkens at the roots from how much he’s sweating, droplets crowning his head and running down his back like water on a glass windowpane. he’s a sight to behold, he makes your holes drool and mouth water, the both of you completely wrecked by a little thigh fucking and humping. between his merciless pace and the creaks from the bed, nagi jams a veiny hand between the sensual bump and grind of your bodies to grasp at his thick, temperate shaft — pulling it down to run through the entire length of your slippery before tapping it greedily against your puffy clit and snack between your thighs.

the sweet squeak you release has the prince repeating his action over and over, blood rushing through the purpling veins that spiral down his chubby cock. you’re the perfect sticky little fleshlight for him to fuck, to hold and love, and he hisses, jutting his hips forward in order to chase the euphoria coursing for his veins like the next best drug — all while he pounds your thighs to the starry heavens and back. 

juicy, wet sounds fill the room to the brim, a concert and performance of moans and whimpers to match and accompany nagi pounding away at your thighs, grinding against your sex. the white haired man leaks copious amounts of precum, milky like his hair and loose from his sore and sensitive rouge tip, that can’t stop weeping, oozing. his arousal makes each of his movements easier and more fluid, slipping and sliding between your legs and just grazing your sobbing mound. this way; you’re reminded of the sheet sheer size of your lover from the woods — be throbs, swollen and fat with an oncoming orgasm, with the seed that weighs down his balls that swing with each rut of his hips.

a hearty sob escapes you each time they press against you, dragging over your clit that begs for attention. the visage of your prince above you — flushed at the cheeks ( if they’ve been kissed by the petals of a rose), white brows knitted together st the centre of his forehead while ruby lined lips appear bitten and bruised  — begins to blur from your saltine tears. you can no longer hold back, raw and rough desire washing away your ability to control your body and your voice.

the way you cry wracks your body with the case of the shakes because of the wild whines resounding from deep within seishiro’s hard chest. each sound makes your cunt quiver, your juices darkening the sheets below and clinging to his snow while pubes, all the while, the prince ravishes you pulling you apart molecule by molecule before he pieces you back together with just a lazy shape drawn against your hardening clit. 

“w-what a waste of tears, i thought you wanted to use me,” nagi stutters out, breath condescending against your ankles. it makes him pulse between your thighs, knowing that he’s the one able to reduce you to a mess of cum and tears — even if you did half the work for him while he slept soundly. the fact that you threaten to break, still holding onto your inhibitions and desperate moans, only serves to make home rut his creamy cock against you faster. “you should give it up angel, m-much less of a hassle if you give into me.”

and with that, seishiro leans down to kiss you, his swiftness akin to a starved man. he manhandles your thighs to sit either side of his unfairly slender waist, granting him the room to swoop down until you’re chest to chest — his wide, large frame hiding your shaky one away from the world underneath him as his teeth sink into your bottom lip. he licks into your mouth as you open up with a shy mewl, devious tongue wrapping itself around your own as he tastes himself there. “thank you for waking me up, angel,” spit slings between your eager mouths, movements a little out of sync and languid since they’re so driven by a raw passion that simmers underneath the sleepy fog clouding the prince’s brain. “wakin’ me up to do this,”

he settles back on his haunches after coming up for air, laughing tiredly at the pout on your lips from the loss of contact. 

but now that you’re spread eagle with your cunt drooling openly on the bed and glistening under the moon’s light — the white haired royal angles his hips just right, shuddering from head to toe as his sex soiled girth slots between your swollen folds perfectly. his bulbous tip peeks out against your clit and he circles it against you, desperate to hear you wail like the wind again. “feels so good against you, s’not fair how good you feel,” he says under his stuttering breath, using a thumb and forefinger to spread your pussy lips apart — groaning at the strings of clear slick that tie them together. ““later on, when i’ve got more energy, i’m going to fuck this pretty hole. make sure i really have my turn.” nagi promises and swallows thickly at the raunchy sight of you, viscous drops of your treacle like nectar running over your slit and down to your puckered asshole.

you’re grateful for his touch, the friction you’re about to receive… but you miss seishiro’s lips and his tongue so deep in your mouth he might as well have been fucking it too. why do you miss those luscious lips? because they keep you quiet, muffle your embarrassingly high moans and withering screams of pleasure, cover up your glass shattering cries that accompany your teary face. he’s so heavy and raw against you, grinding his shaft that shoots tiny spirts of precum onto your cunt while you match his rhythm — it’s a wonder why you’re crying right now. not to mention the rounds of overstimulation he’s put you through. 

“you were so quiet before, angel, what happened?” a condescending tone fills out the weight in nagi’s voice, punctuated by the harsh lunges of his hips forwards as he smothers his girth in the juicy offerings from your folds. part of the prince wants to selfishly keep you writhing against his hot and heavy dick for all of eternity, adoring the way you bleat and cry for him through bleary Bambi eyes. hes sure you wouldn’t mind it either, but he’s too far gone to keep edging you both forever. “does it feel that good? so fucking good that you can’t help but whine and whimper for me… s’too much of hassle to hold back, angel. go one, cry pretty f’me, pretty girl…”

you burst into tears, letting your emotions overwhelm you. “feels so, so good, my prince,” you slur back as that familiar twinge of pleasure begins to rapidly mount within your tummy once more — throwing an avid, heated look his way. “s-sei, ‘m close,” one of your shaky hands take purchase in the silvery roots of his hair while the other grasps him shoulder so that you have the leverage to grind into him — rocking your hips in a fluid motion like a boat on rapid waves. sanity slips away from you under nagi, his energy completely unmatched as you struggle to keep up with his pace. the way he chases your sweltering, souse sex with the speed of the kingdom’s finest race horse. he pushes forward when you pull back and it goes both ways — one moment can’t happen without the other. 

nagi simpers above you, smirking lazily as he pushes back the sweaty snowy white roots of his hair — drinking in the sight of you. “that so? you’re close? wanna feel it’s, s’too much effort to have you hold it…not when you sound so wet…” both of you move with increased vigour the closer you get to cloud nine, seishiro cooing to you like over the crude sound of your sexes slipping over each other. “…y’should be embarrassed, yanno,” he presses against you, whimpering happily at the feeling of your breasts bouncing against his chest with each thrust, his breath hot against the tips of your ears and weakly grinds against you clit now — his own orgasm on the horizon.  “taking advantage of me like that. using me. s’naughty princess. such a hassle.” 

he tucks his face against your neck, teeth grazing over the skin while he listens out for your hiccuped sobs and heaving chest — you’re so loud when you’re close and it pleases nagi. he can’t stop tapping your clit and nipping at your flesh — desperate to hear how much louder you can get without holding back. a gargled gasp from you has his cock twitching and threatening to burst with release, while the condescending gripes that vibrate in his chest shoot straight to you’re swollen clit. 

listening to you cry and settling his greyed gaze on your puffy eyes is more than enough for nagi to cum, the string of his own sanity snapping as you scream for him. “you look like you’re about to cum, angel,” he purrs lowly, panting between each word. “mmmh, don’t you think i deserve to go first? fuuuuck i’m close…so close. do you want it inside? i won’t ruin the bed that way… wont need to clean it up…” seishiro rambles over the spit pooling pathetically on his tongue, bucking faster and harder against your slippery cunt with each syllable he manages to get out. “…wanna put it inside you as you cum.” 

you barely have it in you to respond and you can hardly make sense of it all, brain running a mile a minute. the feeling of your orgasm twists in your lower stomach, stacking painfully in your pelvis at a rapid pace you can’t even comprehend. “yes…! want it inside, gods yes!” you sigh out, voice rising several octaves. “want you inside!”

though it’s entirely selfish of you to make demands in the moment, after how you so sinfully used the sleeping prince as your prize — nagi relents, slipping the delicious curve of his cock past your puckered, fluttering entrance just as he reaches his peak. it makes him shake as though the gods have stepped down from the heavens and set foot on earth and he really can’t help it, how much he cums. there's so much of it, white hot seed that spews into you hotly, so pent up from all the pleasure you’d given him while he slept. his heavy load pulses against your sensitive, ribbed walls and sticks — lubing up your insides while he pushes his milky cock deeper into your bare cunt. 

“f-fuck!” the white haired prince curses loud enough to rouse his loyal subjects within a ten mile radius with one final swing of his hips. “f-fuck angel… gods!”  strings of opaque seed tie the veins on his shaft to your precious hole and as he twitches with the last spurts of his orgasm — your own high is triggered.

white flashes behind your eyes and the dam breaks for the third and final time — your release trickles out of you in small waves and you let out a borderline pornographic moan. nagi hums happily at the feeling of you squirting around him, Essen e clinging to his pubic hair too. 

for a second or two, seishiro relishes in the way you convulse around him, giving you a moment to calm down while he pacifies your high pitched squeals with gentle kisses along the side of your head. you’re still quivering when he collapses on top of you exhausted — neither of you having the capacity to speak properly. “d-don’t move… jus’ lay here with me,” he murmurs, tripping on his words. “‘m tired… don’t wanna move,”

you hardly have the strength to deny seishiro or push him off, snuggling into him as the pair of you roll onto your sides. “you’re tired… you almost slept for an eternity!” a laugh escapes you in reply.

“and guess who woke me up and made me work to cum. s’on you not me. fair is fair.” nagi quips back, burying his face into your neck.

you suppose that he has a point, nuzzling him from below as the two of you drift off without the fear of never waking up, of succumbing to lifelong sleep  — content, happy and fucked out by your sleeping beauty.

the end.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai & recommend elsewhere.

meanboyfriend!toji fucking his innocent virgin girlfriend :3

your ruffled lace socks are on either side of his head as he rolls his hips against your plush ass, thick cock stretching you past your limits. he looks down at your soft belly, eyes gleaming with amusement as he watches the way his cock bulges through it. "am i too big for ya' baby?" he coos, there's so much mock softness in his voice it’s almost sickening, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand like he actually gives a damn. "i can see myself inside of ya'."

a choked whimper is all you can manage to respond with, your fingers dig into his muscular arms as he leans over you to steady himself on top of you, caging you in beneath his heavy body. you squeeze your eyes shut as you feel his fat cock sinking itself deeper from the new position, splitting you open and it burns. the stretch forces a high, broken whine from your throat, your walls fluttering helplessly around him.

clinging to his strong arms, your eyes flick nervously to the plushies lined up on your shelf—those innocent little stuffed animals with their glossy plastic eyes all pointed your way. they’re watching.

it makes your face burn hotter.

toji notices. of course he does.

“what is it, princess?” he teases, slowing his thrusts just enough to draw your attention back to the deep ache between your legs. “your little friends seein’ you get fucked for the first time?”

you squeeze your eyes shut, hiding your face in his arm. “d-don’t look at them…” you mumble, humiliated.

he laughs, a low, breathy sound, and leans down to press a kiss to your temple. “you’re so fuckin’ cute.”

then he shifts, hips snapping forward, forcing another whine from your throat as your gummy walls flutter around him, trying and failing to accommodate all of him.

toji clicks his tongue, leaning down to press a firm kiss to your damp forehead. "does it hurt, baby?"

"n-no... keep going." you huff softly, biting your lip.

you're a mess beneath him, cheeks flushed, sweat sheening your skin, hair sticking to your forehead in damp strands. your lips are kiss-swollen, puffy from the way he's been biting at them. your tits bounce with every sharp thrust, every punishing grind of his hips, pulling ragged cries from your throat.

he knew it was your first time, and he'd actually debated wether he'd be sweet to you, do that cheesy romantic shit he hated, whisper pretty words and take it slow—play the role of the perfect boyfriend only for tonight. or if he should fuck you hard, that would he fuck you so good, so deep, until then only word you could babble was his name. now that he's inside of you, it's starting to feel like a mix of both.

grunting, he hooks his arm under your back and lifts you off of your bed, hugging you against his chest tightly as if you weigh nothing. your arms wrap around his neck, legs locking tight around his waist as he keeps bulling his cock into you, hitting your cervix so hard you swear he's gonna break you.

his breath his hot against your face as he inhales your sweet perfume sharply, furrowing his brows as he keeps fucking you until you start going limp in his arms.

“i’ll love you forever, you hear me?” his voice is rough, almost strained.

a weak, breathless “yeah.” is all you can say.

but toji smirks, knowing you'll remember this for the rest of your life.

scar/ baseball gojo

lol

I made and posted this on tiktok and disappeared. I have no idea how to use the app. I'm a loyal instagram user and refuse to be a tiktok immigrant. Let's see if it can blow up here 😭

Edit/video © me

I will never forget that 2021 Kuroko in Wonderland Aomine and Kagami because---- 🫦💙❤️💥💦

it's wild that I draw these two better this time... is because they're in uniforms...???

❝ 𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐘 𝐃𝐔𝐊𝐄𝐒, 𝐁𝐈𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐏! ❞

jamms : twenty three . libra . enfj . she/her . join my taglist ! also on : wattpad . ao3 . discord . spotify . networks : @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi

━ 𝐉𝐔𝐉𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐍 ━

sex therapy (complete | ao3 . wattpad) :: when your husband can’t please you, so someone else does ⌗ characters: toji, naoya, sukuna, geto, choso, f!reader.

daddy’s girl (complete | wattpad) :: when you lose your stripper job while supporting living costs for your son, you turn to your protective sugar daddy for support and baby daddy for help ⌗ characters: nanami, gojo, f!reader

━ 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 | 𝐊𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐍𝐎 𝐘𝐀𝐈𝐁𝐀 ━

my demon husband (complete | wattpad . ao3) :: he’s not your typical husband, he’s your demon husband ⌗ characters: muzan, giyuu, f!reader

━ 𝐒𝐏𝐘 𝐗 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 ━

international superspy (oneshot) :: nothing more interesting than some mysterious eye-candy dressed up to the nines ⌗ characters: loid, f!hostess!reader.

© 2025 Jamms | All Rights Reserved | No portion of the author’s works may be used or adapted in any way without the author’s explicit consent.

i just know irl nanami would have the FATTEST ass guys pls back me up on this😠😠

he does and i confirm it

JAILBREAK. — SUGURU GETO. ☆

synopsis. you hate your job as a part time correctional officer. things change once you have to “babysit” one of the dangerous criminals of the a-block floor, suguru geto. but girl, maybe sleeping with an egotistical cocky ass inmate might have been your biggest mistake yet.

wc. 5.5k

warnings. modern au, fem!reader, pwp, inmate geto, corruption kink, degradation, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, geto has a tongue piercing, hair pulling, praise, overstim, reader’s kinda delulu

an. thank uuu @osaemu for beta readin someee!! inmate geto is my new hyperfixation omge

it was as if each shift became longer and longer, your daily occupation, nothing special, nothing fancy, just a correctional officer at some high maintenance prison near the city.

the stench of musk and sweat wafted around you, such a reoccurrence that it was practically normal. it was around midnight, as how most of your shifts were, and as you trod towards the secluded darkened space for only the inmates dangerous to themselves and others, you intake a breath before swiping your key near your hip, preparing to unlock the glass-like metal steel door.

“oh,” you close the door behind you, and that familiar deep voice does something to you.

what…?

you don’t know, but it had such bass in it, you turned to face the inmate, no one other than suguru geto. “…yo,” he mocks, giving you a sly head nod, his eyes scan up and down your body, your uniform and then your own meets his pursed lips. somehow, he managed to find a cigarette. again. “hmpf. they got the newbie watchin' me again? you do know that gun on your hip isn’t a toy, right?”

your eyebrows twitch, and your facial expressions formed into a deadpan as you walked towards him with his daily meal in hand. “yeah and i’m not afraid to use it on you if necessary.”

“ooh. rookie’s got jokes, that’s cute.” he grins.

you murmured, and he only smiles, he knows you didn’t mean that, he pissed you off, even if he wasn’t saying anything exactly. pulling out your staff notepad checklist of where you usually kept track of all the inmates attendance and meals, you uttered, “but anyways…” you blowed, “no one fed you today, suguru. you must be starving.”

“yeah, 'm starvin’ ‘n more ways than you can imagine, princess,” geto hums, and you suddenly freeze once the inmate stands up firm and tall. he’s just so damn big—broad wide shoulders, long slight shaggy dark toned hair, and with a split-second gaze, you look near geto’s orange jumpsuit. the bulge, yeah you spotted that immediately, but his tattoos…

his fucking tattoos.

“can you at least try to behave for a few minutes.” you sighed, and he's already getting on your last nerve. he could tell too…and damn was he was just getting nothing but pure amusement from your sheer irritation.

“eh, depends,” he speaks in a low gruff, his attention was on you and only you, raising his darkened thin arched brows before his lips converge into a witty smirk. “ya gonna feed me my food, babe? oh, you should know. poor inmate like me can’t feed myself when i’m all,” and he pauses while speaking, placing his hands in his lap — giving his wrists a slight shimmy and you hear the metal dance against his skin. “…handcuffed.”

it took everything within you to not smack this arrogant suave bastard, geto flirted with you whatever chance he got, with no shame either. you’re a pretty girl, well mannered, yet never took anyone’s shit, he liked that about you.

your job wasn’t to be taken lightly, it could be considered scary at times with the various inmates you have to deal on a day to day basis, but simply, you were just a girl with an attitude. but he wasn’t fond of brats, especially brats like you.

“…fine,” you mumbled, making your way towards him. he sat on the steel uncomfortable bed that was as usual, never made. geto practically lived in solitary confinement, they don’t call him the suguru geto for a reason. his name was known amongst many, he was feared worldwide. geto wasn’t exactly a good guy, far from it actually.

he’s a criminal and his record was… definitely spine chilling to say the least. “don’t try anything, just open your mouth.”

“hm, alright then.” he happily complies, his demeanor changes just a bit, and he’s more playful. geto opens his mouth just slightly and you spot tiny dimples form near the corners of his lips, and you gradually stick the spoon into his mouth, feeding him whatever food was made for the inmates of the night.

baked mash potatoes, geto stated it was one of his favorites and you just so happened to remember. a smile forms on his lips as you feed him. your eyes darted towards him, and now he’s just staring intimately at you.

that smirk that forever rested against his pink thinly parted lips.

“m-mhm.” he grunts, and your eyes widen just a bit, he was messing with you, and you don’t even realize geto’s got his hand gripped on your waist. stroking a thumb against your belt, you felt the feeling of him rubbing all against the firearm that was strapped tightly on you.

before you could smack his hand, geto swiftly brings you on top of his lap, stealing out a gasp from you at how quick he was with his movements. the silver spoon sticks out his mouth before you take it out, only to return him with an irritated glare.

“what do you think you’re doing?” you uttered, growing quite embarrassed yet trying to maintain a level-head.

“told ya,” he grumbles, swiping a tongue against the excess mash potatoes that remained near his lips. “i’m hungry, babe. that was good, but i’m not satisfied. i need more.”

“inmates in solitary confinement aren’t allowed to have seco—”

“pretty girl, you know what i’m talkin’ about,” geto chuckles, and you shiver a bit from feeling the soft pads of his thumb brush against the belt of your waist again. you were in uniform but this entire position was so dirty. not to mention, it’s not like this place of the prison was exactly secluded. it was, but there was bound to be people were walking by. “i’ve been seein’ the way you stare at me.”

he was just infuriating, but you didn’t know how to reply so…you didn’t. you just sat there on the inmate’s lap, with a quite dumb expression and he’s just eating it up. “geto—”

“it’s just you ‘n me, girl,” he slyly whispers, and his voice drops just a bit as he stops you from speaking. his touch against your waist just gave you more and more goosebumps. all the way up until you felt it. geto infamous boner that hid beneath his jumpsuit. he’s been incarcerated for at least three years now, in and out. he was for sure horny. you could just tell from his seductive gaze. “don’t gotta be shy. was waiting for you to show up if ‘m being honest. you’re not like the rest, y’know?”

that’s when you gasp, realizing his handcuffs were off — he must have took the key from your pocket, because he was just feeling you up now. you let off a surprised noise once you felt geto starting to make you grind against his lap, feeling his hefty bulge.

“sugu-” you mumbled, and he’s just staring at you with a sly grin pressing onto his lips, only before he leans directly up close to your neck, giving a part near your collarbone a soft deep suck.

you whine from feeling the near sharp edges of his teeth lightly dig into your skin, playfully.

“mhm, pretty thing like you isn’t fit to be workin’ here. cutesy little prison guard,” he sung, his warm breath wafts against your skin, “crushin’ on your inmates is real unprofessional, ya know. you could get fired.”

he was right, you could get fired. and perhaps he wasn’t lying about the second part too—you’d be a liar if you said you didn’t find suguru geto the slightest bit of attractive. because he was, he and you both knew it.

“don’t be stupid. i’m not crushing on you,” you denied, yet embarrassingly enough, your eyes widen at feeling geto air your words — his thick stubby fingers, two of them specifically runs down between your legs and you gasp again. “are you…crazy? there could be cameras in here.”

“so.”

“so? you’re trying to get me fired?” you raised your eyebrows, sitting up from his lap, and he’s playing with you entirely. stroking a rough scarred hand down your back. if it was any other inmate, you’d barely give them a second glance.

geto gives you direct eye contact, and he looks so handsome and lean back, but his messy long black strands of bangs nearly covers his eyes, making him appear to be ten times more feared.

“maybe,” then he chuckles. “it’s okay, if it makes ya feel any better. i fantasized about you at least once or twice while being secluded from the other inmates in this hellhole. i prefer you over the other annoying officers who’re always givin’ me shit.”

you were about to speak but suddenly you couldn’t—you realized how close you were to geto, propped up on his lap, propped up on his bulge. were you really throbbing right now? oh you definitely were.

pulsing, itching, aching.

“soooo, when was the last time you got laid?”

this guy.

“excuse me?” you stammer, entirely being taken aback. such smug fell off his tone, he cocked his head a certain way to let you know he was being genuine. in his own way, of course.

geto’s always been one to flirt with you whenever it was your shift to supervise him. his comments were always so bold. he’d purposely pitch his tone a bit low whenever he spoke to you, no one else. perhaps it was the incarcerated felon crushing on you.

“you heard me,” he mutters, giving you a sly glance. he ghosts a few fingers against your waist. you still don’t know why you’re happily sitting on his lap, but you were comfortable to say the least. “with your long hours i pretty much figure you don’t even have time to finger yourself, let alone get laid. poor baby.”

“…just shut up.” you chastised, his soothing warm words, the way he delivered those last two words as a form of mockery. it made you throb, you pinched yourself, feeling yourself grow out to be hot. 

“make me, girl.” he faked a pout on his lips, almost as if his speech was purposely dumbing you down, solely from the tone. geto teasingly cocks his head towards the right and a teeny smile stretched against his lips. 

and you did. 

he was just poking fun at you—you loathed it, the tension between you and geto, his expressions were relaxed and smug like you won’t do anything. 

so, what did you do? 

you silenced him…with a kiss. 

he’s taken aback, you’re taken aback, you don’t know what came over you but you just couldn’t stand him talking. 

his sly grin, you desperately wanted to wipe it off his face. geto leans back against his bunk. his breath gets caught in his throat with the way you initiated the lustful kiss, parting your mouth open just a bit. 

you can feel geto reaching for the firearm near your hip but with quick reflexes you smack his hand, and he chuckles, pulling you closer towards him. 

he tasted sweet, with a tang of spice. leaning his head forward, he felt your warm breath shudder against him which makes him let off a low grunt once he feels you start to rock against his lap.

geto didn’t expect for you to trail a finger down his jumpsuit. the soft nearly wrinkled fabric, unbuttoning it and he shudders at how you’re all frisky and bold. 

“easy now officer,” he whispers before pulling away, lips pink and glistening with a bit of spit. his voice was a mere rasp and it made you throb. “when i said make me, that’s not what i meant,” and then he smiles, tugging on your work pants. “but you’re something else. take off those pants, i’ve been meaning to show you something.”

geto wanted to show you his tongue, specifically his tongue piercing. not necessarily show you but make you feel it. 

when you kissed him, you felt it tickle against you. the tasteless titanium rubbing against your tongue. it left you all hot and bothered. 

he had you currently laid flat on your back, an entire needy mess, despite it only being a few minutes. how embarrassing…

it was just the way he curled his tongue, flicking it against your pussy, he’s sloppy. two big hands squeeze and grip against your inner thighs, long strands prickling against your legs as he swirled his tongue against your slit. 

“f-fuck,” you’d gasp out, tilting your neck down to stare at geto. he’s already returning your eyes with a coltish glance, puckering his lips briefly to create kissed everywhere between your legs. your hands rummaged through his long silk hair. giving it a firm tug, that earns a low grunt from geto that makes you pulse even more. “tickles, suguru.”

“does it?” he purrs in a cheeky tone, slowly flicking his tongue against your clit—you jounce, a gasp gets caught in your throat at the way the piercing shifts against your folds. the slight coldness of it makes your thighs ache for more “mhm. can’t get enough.”

you pant, tugging and gripping roughly on his hair, geto’s nose deep, his tongue was so greedy. it was just the way he grazed and moved his tongue against your labia. your two sweet flaps, you grew more whiny by the second. 

“s-suguru,” you’d squeak, biting down on your lip. you knew how wrong this was, so why did it turn you on even more? “think…think ‘m getting close.”

“yeah yeah, keep your legs open.” he cuts you off, and you stare down at him. he’s so nasty with his tongue, taking a brief second to spit right on your cunt, dragging a thumb between your slit. “do you get wet like this for all your other inmates?”

you stared down at him, feeling yourself grow more and more aroused by the second—your response was just giving him a subtle head shake. “no, just you.”

“just me?” he repeats, lowering his voice and it’s so attractive. “maybe you really are crushin’ on me.”

“shut up..” you hissed. your breathing started to become more and more erratic, your ears rang and you pulsed from how close you were starting to approach towards your orgasm. 

geto’s entire chin was polished with your sweet slick—covered in nothing but all of it. such a messy eater, each time you tug on his long strands of hair. his husky pitched groans continued to make you pulse.

his piercing slowly lapped against your cunt, and you gasped at the feeling of him inserting a finger inside slowly. 

“ooh, ‘s close isn’t it?” he teases, peppering kisses near your thighs now, nibbling on it playfully with his teeth. “you gonna make a mess for me? slutty prison guard?” 

“y-yes.” you squirmed, your hands idly dragging him closer against your pussy. he chuckles, his technique snatching your breath away quite literally. “suguru… gonna come. wanna cum.”

he lays his tongue flat, lapping and lapping against your clit, giving it a long sweet suck to where his mouth starts watering from the taste and you moan. “ask nicer. where’s your manners huh?”

“p-please,” you whined, growing frustrated, so pent up—your walls clenched around the two fingers he now had buried deep into your cunt. you whimper from the mere stimulation, the way he toys with your g-spot with his lengthy slender fingers had you throbbing pathetically. “let me cum please, s-suguru.”

“oh but i don’t know,” the inmate teases, using his free hand to pry open your thighs a bit more. the cute pout that spread across your lips at his words was so adorable, “aw poor baby,” he hums, playfully blowing against your pussy to watch you writhe in pleasure and utter desperation. “you’re so cute when you’re desperate.”

“suguru, please, please..” you whimpered, not even caring how you sounded. your sweet voice reverberated against the walls of the secluded kept room, own words coiling at your throat. 

he smiles. “how about this,” and for a terse moment…he stares right at you. with his tongue going over his lips, savoring your taste. “i let you cum, you promise to get me out of here.”

….

help him break out? 

all this so you could orgasm….

you swallowed, chest heaving and your legs felt nearly nonexistent. geto looked serious though, brushing a thumb against your sloppy clit. he awaited your answer and you were deep in pondering thought.

you’d for sure get fired, then again you did hate your job. 

the fact that you were even contemplating letting an inmate break out just to cum. you just wanted a release so bad, the way his tongue lapped against your pussy, the smooth texture of it flicking back and forth to where your toes curl. you wanted more, and maybe it was a bit concerning that you started to not even care about your profession anymore. 

“promise..”

“oh..?” he slyly remarks, for sure you were gonna at least deny or call him crazy, but a straight answer. he was amused—and the needy look on his face was all he needed to see. “hm, it’s a deal then. go ahead ‘n cum, pretty girl.”

your back arched in ecstasy, he’s holding onto your hips departing his fingers from inside you, and just his tongue’s doing the main finish. you shuddered as you felt yourself vibrate and twitch. the build up had you clenching around nothing but air. “f-fuck…” 

scorching, your body radiated and carried so much heat around it, your eyes started to roll and roll towards the very depths of your head. once you came, you slump back against the rickety mattress, one hand still firmly maintaining its grip on geto’s hair. 

“there there, ‘s okay,” he slyly purrs, making sure to clean you with his tongue. for a split second his eyes close, and geto brings a few kisses against your folds before sitting up to stare down at you. “c’mere.”

you sit up, giving geto a cute needful glance, you craved more and he knew that. you leaned in to kiss him, and he returns it with such filthy passion. geto’s handsy, his slick-smeared lips ghost against yours before he deepens it. a groan gets caught in his throat, and you whine once you feel him lay you down on your back.

he leans up against you and eagerly, you give the orange fabric pants of his jumpsuit a cute tug, a sign for him to take it off. 

“such an impatient little thing,” he murmurs right into your mouth. you whined, wanting him to keep kissing you but he keeps breaking away purposely, watching your lips quiver in desire. “how bad do you want me?”

“s-suguru.” you pouted, your hand finding its way towards his bulge. the strain in his pants, all because of you. 

“don’t ‘suguru’ me,” he rasps in a mocking tone, his body pressed against yours. and only then did you realize the size difference, how buff and well toned geto was. he was an inmate after all, he always had a consistent workout schedule. geto’s dark eyes stare into yours before he brushes a thumb against your glossed lips. “talk to me nice in that pretty voice of yours. you want me? say it then.”

the disappointed pout you had displayed on your lips remained there as you spoke, only to hear how whiney and desperate you were. 

“i want you suguru, please.” you sigh. 

“girl…you’re so unprofessional,” he snickers, a swift snicker leaves from his lips before you hear him shuffle in his suit. pulling down his matched set pants, he tugs near the edge and it goes down. “feel how hard you make me, officer.”

and you let out a soft gasp. 

geto lightly grabs you by the neck, and you let off a needy moan once he starts to rub your face against his boxers. the very imprint of his bulge. “all your fault. got me throbbin’ for you...”

“suguru,” you whined, a small pout spreading on your lips each second he continued to tease you. “suguru, s-stop teasing me.”

“just jokin’,” you plop down on your chest, the moment he lightly shoves you forward against the plush-cushioned bed frame. it creaked from the movements, quite rickety. “oh wow,” he utters in a low voice — quickly averting his eyes towards your work pants, briefly pulling them down to come full-view of your ass. “do correctional officers just…not wear panties or…?”

you let off a moan, feeling him skim a few fingers against your ass, holding back a noise once he presses the leaky fat tip of his cock against your throbbing entrance. 

“i…i forgot.” you whined, mouth watering — you wanted more than anything for him to be inside already. “i was rushing.”

“uh huh,” geto rolls his eyes, and you stared directly at him. the plump fat head of his swiped against your wet folds, a few taps and you were about to go crazy. “ooh. look at you trying to rush me.” 

he was such a tease, you could hear the playfulness in his tone. as geto hovered over you, he took a few moments before slowly easing his way inside you. 

his jaw clenches, and it’s sexy…

the way his muscles would tense all because of you. you were panting, legs just dumbly sprawled out. maybe it was unprofessional, participating in sexual activities with an inmate—yet, you just couldn’t help yourself. all the built up tension surrounding between the two of you. perhaps it was bound to happen. 

“fuck, ‘s warm..” he grunts, and he’s just barely halfway in. you chewed near the inside of your lip, nails clawing down his buff arms and he starts to pant himself. geto was huge. emphasis on huge. 

his happy trail was mesmerizing to look at, the way he had slightly black curly hair coating near the lower half of himself. it was well trimmed, yet much visible to see. the more he gently makes his way inside your cunt, you felt every mean inch. the curve geto had—it was hefty, you felt yourself starting to drool. 

a single vein throbbed, and you felt it. geto bites his tongue marginally. and once he’s fully in, he gives you a coy expression. 

“may i move, officer?” he snickers. 

“p-please.” you whimpered. 

“okay.” he hums, and the bass to his voice was just enough to get you wet. far wetter than you already were. such smoothness dripped from it, it was a deep pitch that always made your heart flutter and sink. 

once he starts up just a single thrust, your body jolts back and you gasp—finding your arms to suddenly grab onto him. 

geto chuckles. “dramatic thing, aren’t you.” you moaned, nails continuing to drag down how skin as you’re laid flat against your back. the angle was so deep and thorough, each hit against your pussy had your kind spasming. in an entire frenzy of you will. 

he leans in to pepper kisses all over your face, strands of his hair that was out tickled against your skin. by this point, he’s buried deep. your head goes back a bit and…oh, that same curve that he had, it continuously made an appearance. 

geto was buried between your legs, hefty sack just thwacking against you. your legs were perfectly bent, shoulder width apart. “f-fuck,” you’d stammer, suddenly clamping all around him. it took a few deep vigorous thrusts, but at this point he’s got your pussy memorizing his lengths size. geto spreads his knees for a more thorough base, his movements were so sloppy you could barely think straight. let alone process anything. “suguru, ‘s right there.”

“right there what?” he teases, leaning in to nibble near the bottom of your lip. the thin fabric of his jumpsuit brushes against your skin—you were just a mess. pulse after pulse, you wouldn’t be surprised if your brain was short circuiting. “i can’t hear ya when you mumble, baby.”

“fucking-” you spat, and he chuckles once you’re cut off with a deep kiss. geto vary’s his stance against you, and slides his tongue all throughout your mouth. it’s a rough and passionate kiss—so much so to where, he has you catching his breath. once you pull away, you moan, being brought back to reality from his ruthless smacks he’s making with his dick. “keep…keep hitting me there.”

he hums, giving your bottom lip a slow playful bite again, still ramming his hips against you at such a filthy pace. “is that an order?”

he was so annoying, that two second glance he’d give you—a smirk pressing against his lips, he definitely knew how to get under your skin. “please,” you corrected yourself, nails still running down his back. it pierced against his skin, earning a low husky grunt from him. “keep hitting me in that s-spot, suguru.”

“since ya asked so nicely,” he purrs, sneaking another kiss. this time near the very corner of your mouth. the taste was just glacé, sweet and all. simply divine.

you moaned into his mouth, and as his body weight pressed against yours — you shivered. he’s such a tease, geto starts to lightly ghost your cell keys against your bare tummy. your back arched immediately, the coldness of it just grazing against your skin. “you’re so sensitive.”

his soft, teasing words rang throughout your ears, and as you clung onto him—you felt yourself coming closer and closer. he gripped onto your legs, slightly raising them upward and you moan from the deep deep angled. “o-oh my god.” 

geto’s shallow mean strokes had your eyes rolling all the way back….way back to the very depths of your skull. if you weren’t drooling then, you certainly were now.

the moment he sees you pouting from how he cockily starts to slow down—geto pushes a bit more deeper, grinning from your legs now locking around his waist. 

moments later though, you both freeze at hearing the sound of footsteps approaching near the solitary steel door. 

right when you about to orgasm, you both stare at each other — and it’s another officer. you could tell by the loud echo of the keys dangling against their hips. 

“officer, you alright? been in there a while. we’re finishing up roll call then it’s time for the inmates to sleep.”

shit. 

you couldn’t stay quiet, that’d be suspicious, and you knew you had to say something. geto chuckles, still buried balls deep inside of you, leaning in to give your neck a long suck. your hands ran through his hair and you bit your lip, trying to muster up what to say. 

“your subordinate’s talking to you,” geto teases, and you gasp from how he suddenly pistons his hips, such sloppy ruthless thrusts your breath was merely taken away. “don’t be a rude girl.”

“s-shut up,” you whined, putting a hand in his face and he playfully kisses it. you stop a moan from escaping your lips before you project your voice lightly. “uh, yeah. everything’s good. inmate suguru geto’s asleep. i’m just—just finishing up then i’ll take care of his dishes.”

“alright,” the lower rank replies, and your legs start to shake and jostle against geto. he’s staring at you, just wanting for you to slip up. a few awkward seconds pass before the officer continues to speak. “are we still on for tonight?”

you gulped, and geto raises his brows before whispering into your neck. “…oh, tonight, yeah?”

by all means, you felt so embarrassed, heat rises up to your cheeks as if your entire body wasn’t already burning up from his weight pressing down against you.

you ended up cumming mid-convo, and had to cover your mouth to not be so noisy. you clenched all around geto, just a twitching and spasming mess. 

“y-yeah, we are.”

“good, good,” he speaks through the other end of the closed steel door. poor officer, he sounds so ecstatic, a bit of confidence running through his tone. “i’ll see you then, pumpkin.”

geto blurted out laughing and you had to slap a hand against his mouth. the moment the coast is clear and he walks away, you glare and he simpers. 

“pumpkin,” he repeats, mimicking your co-workers accent. “i didn’t know you had plans. have me looking like a fool, hmpf.”

“my private life isn’t your busin—” and you get cut off once geto abruptly sits you upright, to where you’re just straddling him. you moan, your cunt still being stuffed full of his thick inches — and for a moment, you felt his vein prod against you. 

geto groans, seeing how your pupils were all dilated from your recent release. “yeahhh, it isn’t,” he says, grabbing ahold of your waist. you’re rocking back and forth and he’s so thick that you’re just completely cockdrunk and dizzy. “but ‘m having too much fun with you.”

you gasp once you feel the back of geto’s hand roughly smack your ass again, and again, and again. he loves the recoil — you hiss from the sting as your hips roll and maneuver against his lap. “you’re such a dirty girl. i don’t want you to go on that date. stay with me.”

“y-you can’t be serious.” you muttered, arms thrown over his neck. and for a brief moment, it was almost as if you heard a faint of jealously lingering on his tone. it made you throb, this high and mighty notorious inmate feeling this way…for a nobody like you. 

“dead serious, baby,” he utters, and you can sense geto’s close too from the way his jaw tightens. his head tilts back and he bites down on his lip. “that way i won’t be less lonely. talking to the wall ‘n everything.”

oh right, he was in solitary confinement. purposely secluded from the other guards and inmates. geto was considered a danger, yet here you were — stupidly bouncing on his dick. 

“but ‘m not so lonely now that you’re here,” he coos against your ear, and you whimper once he drags a hand down between your legs. he gives your pussy a few mean spanks and you whimpered. “fuck, keep moaning in my ear like that ‘n i’m gonna give you so much of my cum.”

“i need it.” you pleaded, tears swelling up in your eyes, you genuinely didn’t know what got over you — your body was so achy, each time he traced his fingers down your body, you whined. you didn’t care anymore, you just wanted to be filled. 

geto groans, and his hefty base kept smacking back against you, your hips jerked as you tightly held onto him, marking up the very inner part of his neck with soft bite marks. 

“f-fine,” he grumbles, and his voice gets a bit high, he’s growing out to be sensitive from the pressure building up. he even gets a tad bit whiney himself. the constant skin smacking makes him kiss his teeth, and his head throws back yet again—long pretty hair flowing against his shoulders. “god, you’re so fuckin’ nasty. riding me this g-good.”

you even start to tug on his hair, and that makes him moan even more. not like he minded. it turned him on, needless to say. 

once geto came, it was thick, so much that it instantly spilled out of your cunt. you paused your hips, and he silenced his groans by grunting against your neck. he’s shaking just as much as you were — and it came out in velvety ropes, spurting and spurting. 

“take it all,” he hisses, gripping onto your waist tightly. you whimper, grinding against him just for a few seconds and he’s for once speechless. “damn, those hips of yours is so deadly, fuck.”

you whined, sitting up and he pulls out of you, watching his own cum spill and drip out. geto brings a thumb towards your clit to smear it all over your pussy, an image that was a something he’d never erase from his mind. 

you panted, hitting your back against his bunk while geto leans in to kiss you deeply. you kissed back, dragging your tongue against his, feeling his warm breath fan against yours before he pulls away with a weary expression. 

“good girl,” he murmurs, peppering a soft kiss near the side of your mouth. “remember my promise?” 

“yeah.” you exhale, trying to catch your breath. your legs felt like jello — head clouded and entirely empty, not a single thought in your mind. 

he smiles. “good. because i forgot to tell ya something else,” and you stare at him, a soft confused head tilt, watching him re-adjust his jumpsuit, pulling his boxers and pants part up. “have fun being in solitary by yourself.”

“wait w-what?” you stammer, and reaches the door, your own keys in hand — and you couldn’t have felt anymore stupid. geto chuckles, with a sly shrug. “princess, you were so gullible. letting me take your keys,” and he unlocks the huge latch before grinning. “but hey, don’t feel too bad. you have a date tonight.”

you glare, overwhelmed with emotions before spitting out a, “fuck you.”

“you literally just did,” he wriggles his eyebrows. “don’t worry. i’ll come back for you,” and then he opens the steel door.

yet before slamming it, he gives you a wink and that same sly grin. “nah i’m just kidding, no i won’t. sorry.”

𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐆𝐄, 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒! •°. *࿐

Summary: As an infamous half-curse assassin, you never thought you'd find companionship, much less in the equally infamous pink-haired 'King of Curses' ...

Pairings: HeianEra!Sukuna Ryomen x male!powerful!reader

Content. Mentions of child abuse, gore, murder, blood, angst, fluff, crack, fucked up found family, uraume mention hell yeah, gn!reader

A.N. Reader is an assassin and is a bit unhinged as well, but I adore it!! They're somewhat spider-based, with their own extra pairs of arms and eyes +a defense based CT.

W.C. 3.7k

MINOR AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI. Masterlist

The village was silent. Too silent. Not the eerie hush of a place where people slept, nor the somber quiet of a mourning home, but the absolute absence of life. The kind of silence that only follows death.

You knew before you stepped past the crumbling torii gate that your pay had been stolen from you.

The air smelled of blood. Thick, metallic, and cloying, it clung to your skin as you stepped through the ruins of what was once a grand estate. Red lanterns hung askew, their paper bodies torn and stained, still flickering with dying light. The cobblestone courtyard was slick with fresh carnage, and the walls, once pristine, were now painted in crimson streaks. Corpses lay where they had fallen—guards, servants, and the nobles who had once ruled this place.

Your employer, a pitiful man with too much wealth and not enough sense, lay among them. His eyes, frozen in horror, reflected the flickering torch light from the shattered lanterns around him. His throat had been torn out, the wound jagged and messy, as if done in passing, without care.

You clicked your tongue.

No payment, then.

Annoyance flickered through you, but it was distant, dulled. All that effort. Days of tracking. Weeks of maneuvering through the shadows, making kills in silence, setting the stage for a perfect strike—gone. The man you were meant to collect your pay from, dead.

You had lived too long in the shadows to expect fairness. You killed for money, nothing more, and you had learned long ago that the world owed you nothing.

Born of human and curse, you had been despised from the moment you took your first breath. Your mother had made a mistake, and you had been the consequence—a child too human to be a true curse, too monstrous to be accepted by men. They had feared you, hated you, tried to kill you before you were even strong enough to fight back. But you survived.

You always survived.

Your extra limbs had been a curse in your youth, proof of your inhumanity, but they became your greatest weapon as you grew. Strength, speed, precision—six hands worked better than two. And when you learned to hide them, to pull them close and pass as something almost normal, the world became your hunting ground.

Assassination had been the obvious choice. No morals, no allegiances, only the cold certainty of coin. You did not care who died, only that they did.

But now, your target was already dead, and yet you gain nothing. And there was only one man who could be responsible.

A shadow moved within the ruined estate. Slow, unhurried footsteps, the deliberate kind that spoke of confidence, of amusement. Someone who had never once feared death, because they had never needed to.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to acknowledge his presence without giving the satisfaction of immediate attention.

Sukuna Ryoumen.

A demon. A calamity in human form. His legend reached your ears long before this day—stories of the King of Curses who razed villages for sport, who devoured men whole, who fought gods and won. You’d always found such tales exaggerated. No one could be that monstrous. No one could be that untouchable.

But seeing him now, standing amid the ruin of his own making, you had to admit the stories had barely done him justice.

He was taller than any man you had ever seen, broad and thick with muscle, with skin inked in cursed markings that coiled around his arms, chest, and throat. Four arms—an anomaly, an abomination, yet he carried them as if they were his birthright. The left side of his face was something not meant for mortal eyes, warped and grinning with unnatural delight. Blood dripped from his claws, pooling at his feet as if the earth itself bled for him.

He turned, sensing you. And when his four burning eyes met yours, something twisted in your chest. A deep, primal instinct screamed at you to run. But fear was not something you entertained.

Instead, you sighed. Loudly. Dramatically.

“Well, there goes my payment,” you muttered. “What a waste of time.”

His crimson eyes found yours, and you felt it immediately—the weight of his attention, the way his gaze lingered, as if trying to place you.

"Another rat," he murmured, voice low, edged with amusement. "I thought I was done with you vermin tonight."

You smiled. Not a kind smile. Not a warm one. A slow, knowing curl of the lips, the sort that had sent men to their graves in fits of paranoia, wondering if they had just met their end before your blade ever touched them.

"If you were," you said, "I wouldn't be here."

A flicker of something crossed his face—amusement, curiosity, something sharper underneath. Interesting.

Most people quaked at the mere mention of his name. They fell to their knees, begged, pleaded, cried. The ones with a sliver of backbone tried to fight and died screaming for it. But you? You were calm. Unshaken. Unimpressed.

He took a step forward, tilting his head slightly. His presence was suffocating, heavy in the air like a storm waiting to break. "And who might you be, boy?"

You glanced down at the bodies strewn around you, at your employer's lifeless face, the blood soaking into the dirt. "Someone who was supposed to get paid tonight."

A chuckle. Low, rumbling. "Ah. And now you won’t."

You shrugged. "No."

"And what do you plan to do about it?"

You met his gaze and held it. "Haven’t decided yet."

The truth was, you had decided. From the moment you saw the carnage, from the moment you realized who had caused it, you knew there was only one path forward. Sukuna had wasted your time. Had stolen your prize. It wasn’t about money anymore—it was about principle. Sort of, not really.

You did not let things go unanswered. And neither did he, you imagined.

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words, unreadable thoughts. And then, slowly, ever so slowly, Sukuna grinned.

"You’re not afraid of me," he said. It wasn’t a question.

You exhaled, long and slow. "Should I be?"

His grin widened, sharp and wicked. "Yes."

For the first time in a long, long while, something stirred in your chest. Not fear. Not anger. Something that made your fingers twitch with anticipation.

Your heart beat steady, unfazed. You took a step forward, just enough to challenge, just enough to provoke. His grin didn’t falter. If anything, he looked pleased.

"You’ve killed my employer," you said. "So now, I suppose I’ll have to settle for a different prize instead."

Sukuna's laughter rang through the night, rich and full, the sound of a man who had not been entertained like this in centuries.

"And what would that be?" he grinned, blood coating his teeth before he licked it off. 

“Your head.”

The first strike was fast. Not fast enough to be unexpected, but fast. A blade aimed for his throat, smooth and silent. Sukuna leaned back just enough for it to miss, feeling the edge of it whisper against his skin. No hesitation, no wasted movement. This wasn’t some arrogant fool swinging wildly—this was a trained killer, someone who knew how to strike to end a fight, not prolong it.

Sukuna’s grin widened. Good.

His own arm shot forward, one of four, grabbing at your wrist. He expected resistance, a twist to break free, maybe a counter—what he didn’t expect was for the stranger to step into his grip, moving with him instead of against him, using the momentum to spin a dagger toward his ribs.

Clever. Sukuna barely avoided the stab, using a second hand to shove him back. He was enjoying this. A rarity.

Sukuna grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “You’re quick.”

You smirked. “You’re slow.”

That wiped the grin off his face—a scowl replacing it. Then, he lunged.

His elbow slammed toward your ribs, but you twisted, feeling the heat of his skin just barely graze yours before you ducked low, shifting your weight to avoid the claws swiping at your throat. You countered with a kick, aiming for his knee, but he caught your ankle mid-strike, twisting your leg to throw you off balance.

You didn’t fight it. You let him pull you off your feet—because as he did, his grip loosened, and that was all you needed. You bent at the last second, twisting unnaturally in the air, and slammed your palm against the side of his head as you used the momentum to break free. Sukuna staggered back half a step. Just half a step.

But you saw it. His eyes gleamed in the dim light, his sharp grin curling wider. “Not bad.”

“I know,” you said easily. And then he hit you.

The pain of the stab hit your entire body like a death knell, making you hiss in pain. You felt the bones beneath your skin break, felt the heat of torn flesh, but it didn’t matter. Because it put you exactly where you wanted to be. You grinned, lips parting just enough to whisper, “Got you.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d been struck in this fight, and it wouldn’t be the last.

His hand shot into your ribs, raw power ripping through your flesh and organs like paper. But instead of pulling away—like anyone with common sense would—you leaned forward.

Sukuna’s eyes widened, the briefest flicker of surprise.

You dropped your blade before using your first pair of hands to grab Sukuna’s arm and pulling it into you, until his hand went through you, blood coated his hand as it emerged from your back. Right before your extra limbs surged from their hiding place, bursting forth in a blur of motion. The additional arms wrapped around him, slamming into his flesh with the precision of a predator finally sinking its claws into its prey.

You felt flesh tear beneath your fingers, watched as his blood splattered against the ground. It was like two rabid dogs, two survivors, ripping each other apart by their necks. A perfect pair, no?

He snarled, not in pain, but in exhilaration. You could see it—the raw thrill in his expression, the unhinged excitement of someone who had finally found a fight worth having. But you didn’t let up.

You pressed forward, extra limbs moving in perfect harmony with your own, a seamless blend of attack and defense. You were faster now, stronger, your movements unhindered by the usual limitations of human anatomy.

Sukuna adapted quickly. He fought like a beast, like a demon given flesh, and yet there was intelligence in his strikes, a predator’s cunning in the way he shifted.

Blow after blow, you clashed. The estate around you had long since faded from thought. There was only this moment, this fight, this exhilarating, intoxicating rush of battle.

Until finally—

His attacks met your defenses, his strikes clashed against yours, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you reached an impasse.

Neither of you could land a fatal blow.

The taste of blood lingered in the air, thick and heady, as Sukuna rolled his shoulders. His wounds were already knitting back together, flesh stitching itself back into place with unnatural ease. It had been a long time since he’d bled like this—longer still since anyone had managed to hold their ground against him.

And yet, despite the thrill of the fight, his amusement had started to wane.

He clicked his tongue, shaking off the blood from his fingers before turning on his heel, stepping over the ruined bodies that littered the ground. The estate was nothing but a corpse-strewn ruin now, silent save for the crackling of fires still burning in the distance.

"Annoying," he muttered under his breath, not bothering to glance back at you.

You hadn't died, which was already irritating enough. But beyond that, you had the nerve to grin at him, to tease him mid-fight like this was all some kind of game. The sheer audacity. He exhaled sharply, already deciding it wasn’t worth his time anymore.

"I'll kill you next time," he called over his shoulder, his tone almost lazy, as if this was a mere promise rather than a threat.

And then he walked away. That should have been the end of it. It wasn't. Because not even a few steps later, he heard something that made his brow twitch.

Footsteps. Light, almost soundless. But they were there. Following him.

He stopped.

The footsteps stopped.

He resumed.

The footsteps resumed.

Sukuna’s jaw tightened.

Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head just enough to catch sight of you out of the corner of his crimson eyes. There you were, walking at a perfectly casual pace, the first pair of arms behind your head as the other two pairs were tucked into your yukata, as if you hadn’t just been fighting him to the death minutes ago.

Annoying. That was what you were.

Not impressive. Not worthy. Just a nuisance who had managed to worm his way past his usual boredom, wriggling there like a splinter he couldn’t quite dig out. Yeah, that was it. Definitely. (not)

He stared. You smiled. Multiple pairs of eyes blinking right back at each other.

His fingers twitched. Then, without a word, he swung a fist toward your face.

You tilted your head—not even hurriedly, just a small, effortless shift—and his strike missed by the barest margin, passing through empty air. Your smile grew impossibly wider, eyes crinkling.

His eyes twitched.

He tried again. A quick, sharp jab toward your ribs. Blocked. You blinked as an almost imperceptible shield ebbed around you, reacting to Sukuna’s punch.

"You done?" you finally asked, tilting your head at him.

Sukuna hated how unbothered you looked. He hated how naive you looked, he hated how much you two were alike.

His teeth ground together. His irritation swelled. So he struck again. And again. Each attack was dodged or softened before it could land, and through it all, you didn’t stop smiling.

"Quit dodging, bastard."

"Then stop trying to hit me."

Sukuna let out a low growl, his patience officially gone. His hands blurred in rapid succession—right hook, left jab, a strike from his lower set of arms, followed by a quick kick—each one aimed to throw you off, to catch you when you least expected it.

And yet, every single strike either missed or failed to deal any real damage.

You grinned. "This is fun."

"It is NOT." Sukuna bit out. This was ridiculous.

He had carved through entire armies, crushed the strongest warriors, slaughtered men like they were insects beneath his heel. And yet, here he was, brawling with you in the middle of a dirt road like some petty street fight—and losing, if only in terms of patience.

At this point, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to kill you or just throw you into a river and see if you floated. He stopped abruptly, his shoulders rising and falling with controlled breaths. "Fine."

You tilted your head. "Fine?"

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "Do whatever the hell you want. Just—stop talking." Your grin widened.

Sukuna grumbled something incomprehensible under his breath and resumed walking, pretending you weren’t there. But he knew you were.

And somehow, despite everything—despite the irritation bubbling beneath his skin, despite the exhaustion creeping at the edges of his mind—he found himself almost entertained. Almost.

The wind was sharp tonight, cutting through the trees like a whisper of ghosts. It carried the scent of blood and frost, mingling in the crisp Heian air, yet despite the eerie quiet of the frozen village behind them, the warmth of the crackling fire in front of them made the night feel almost… peaceful. Almost.

A child, barely more than a wisp of a thing, pale as the frost that still clung stubbornly to their clothes. Silent, observant, and eerily composed for someone their age, considering the way Sukuna and you had found them—crouching in the center of an entire village turned to ice, their expression as blank as the frozen corpses surrounding them.

Most children would have screamed. Ran. Cried for their parents. But not this one, not as if they had any more parents to run to.

No, they had simply blinked up at the two of you, completely unaffected by your presence—the two most dangerous men in the Heian era standing before them, drenched in the remnants of battle, destruction lingering in the air around you like a storm.

Sukuna, ever the skeptic, had initially deemed them useful only for their abilities. "Would keep the meat from spoiling," he had muttered with a smirk, clearly pleased with the idea of a walking icebox. But you? You had seen it immediately—the spark of something familiar in Uraume’s gaze, the way they looked at you both like… like you weren’t monsters. This kid was just like you and Sukuna.

And somehow, against all logic, against the natural order of things, the two of you had kept it. Uraume, it told you its name.

A ‘demon’. A half-curse. And a child who had slaughtered an entire village without meaning to. Sounds like a start to a very, very bad joke.

Somehow, it was… oddly domestic.

At first, Uraume had been quiet, following orders with a cold efficiency that reminded you of yourself when you were younger. It wasn’t surprising—survival demanded obedience. They had likely learned that early on.

But, as time passed, something shifted.

They clung to you when Sukuna got too loud, hiding behind your back when he roared in frustration at something trivial. They sat beside you at night, close enough to steal warmth, but never quite touching. They watched the two of you bicker with the quiet amusement of a child who understood far more than they let on.

And then, one evening, they called you “Father.”

You had choked on your food. 

The Heian Era was a golden age—for the strong. For those who could carve their existence into the bones of the weak, who could leave a trail of ruin in their wake and call it a legacy.

And for you, for Sukuna, for your little Uraume—it was nothing short of a playground.

The village burned behind you, flames licking at the sky, thick black smoke curling like a dying beast’s final breath. The air was heavy with the stench of charred flesh, metallic with the scent of fresh blood. Corpses littered the ground, torn apart, their bodies split open in jagged, grotesque displays of what had once been human. Some still twitched, struggling to hold on to the last vestiges of life. A mistake.

You stepped over a writhing man, his guts spilling from the gaping wound in his stomach, his trembling fingers trying in vain to push them back in. The look in his eyes—desperation, horror, confusion—was intoxicating. He hadn’t even seen the strike that felled him. He hadn’t even realized he was already dead.

"Pathetic," Sukuna scoffed, his voice thick with amusement as he leaned on a collapsing pillar, watching the dying man like one might watch an ant struggling underfoot. "You’d think after hearing the screams, they’d run. But no. They stay, they pray, they beg." He rolled his eyes, red gleaming in the firelight. "Like insects waiting to be crushed."

Uraume crouched beside the man, tilting their head as they observed the way he trembled, the way blood bubbled from his lips. "He’s still alive," they noted, voice devoid of sympathy.

You met Sukuna’s gaze, a slow, knowing smile tugging at your lips.

Uraume didn’t hesitate.

"Then fix that."

The ice formed instantly, blooming from their fingertips like a creeping frost, delicate and beautiful in the way it spread across the man's skin. He gasped, choked, his body convulsing as the ice crawled over his throat, sealing his lips shut, freezing the blood in his veins. Within seconds, he was motionless—an intricate, crystalline statue, forever locked in the throes of his last, pitiful moment.

"Good," You hummed, patting Uraume’s head with the same affection one might give a favored pet. "Quick. Efficient. You’re learning!"

Uraume beamed, a glint of pride flickering in their cold eyes.

And then the slaughter continued.

You moved like a specter, slipping through the shadows, striking where the light could not reach. They never saw you coming. You were the whisper of death against their ear, the last thing they felt before their world went dark. Blood spattered across your skin, warm and slick, soaking into your clothes.

Sukuna was chaos incarnate, tearing through bodies with the same ease one might rip through parchment. Limbs flew, heads rolled, entrails spilled like ribbons unfurling from a torn gift. He laughed, gods, he laughed, the sound of it low and rich, a song of bloodlust and madness.

And Uraume—oh, they were the perfect student.

"Not like that," you chastised like a mother, stepping behind them as they struggled to drive their icy blade into a flailing woman’s throat. "You’re hesitating. Don’t. Hesitation makes you weak."

Uraume nodded, adjusting their grip. You guided their hand with a firm but gentle claw, twisting the blade at just the right angle before pressing down. The woman gurgled, her body seizing before falling limp, her blood spilling in thick waves over the dirt.

"There, much better, no?" You beamed, wiping a stray droplet of blood from Uraume’s cheek with your thumb.

Sukuna watched, arms folded, a smirk playing at his lips. "Sweet," he mocked, voice dripping with amusement. "Teaching them so gently. You’d make such a kind parent."

You shot him a look over your shoulder, sharp and knowing. 

The dance of death continued, bodies falling like leaves in a storm. You killed when Sukuna told you to, and Uraume followed suit, obedient and precise. But Sukuna too—he killed for you. If an enemy managed to get too close, if a blade even dared to graze your skin, they were erased. Their screams barely had time to leave their lips before they were torn apart.

You were exactly where you belonged.

turning seasons 🌸🌻🍁❄️

. .

start of new cycle of spring, time to finally posting the full sets!

Idk what to caption

‘ I JUST WANNA HEAR YOU (S)CREAMMM ! ’

ᡴꪫ sum. what’s your favorite scary movie? is it carrie? psycho? or maybe nightmare on elm street? perhaps picking up the phone was a bad idea, but you don’t scare easily! or do you?

wc. 6.0k

warnings. fem! reader, ghostface geto & ghostface nanami, college au, threesōmes, unprotected, brief phone sēx, roleplay, dirty talk, praise, overstim, implied multiple ōrgasms, spit, manhandling, brēeding, hair pulling, oral (f & m receiving), cowgirl dp.

an. from this ask!

“hello.”

“hello?”

“what’s your favorite scary movie?”

you deadpan, almost as if you’ve seen this movie before. it was around close to midnight. you were the only one sober at some random frat party you got dragged to. everyone besides you were probably wasted or shoving tongues into mouths. sitting up on a cushioned bed, you hold the landline up to your ear. “mean girls two. bye.”

“….girl what? that’s not a—”

you hang up, averting your eyes back towards the tv screen that displayed some cheesy soap opera. about precisely thirteen seconds pass before the landline screeches a loud deafening ring again.

sighing, you answer it. “stop calling this number. prank calls aren’t funny.”

“no.” the voice replies, and it’s very deep—you swear you’ve heard something like it before. a best way to describe it was that it had a gruff pitch to it, baritone running all underneath it. his voice was also a bit sly too. “i just wanna talk to you.”

“bother some other girl. bye.”

“don’t hang up on me.”

for whatever reason, you don’t hang up. his voice sounded a bit stern—you sit up before growing quiet. you’re fully alert now.

“good girl. now, i’ll ask again. what’s your favorite scary movie?”

pressing your back against the comforter, your thighs squeeze together. with another vexed sigh, you say the most random movie that comes immediately to mind. “halloween.”

“pft. basic.”

“wha— you’re the one who asked.”

“oh, doll i’m just joking. but anyway, you like slasher movies, yeah?”

for whatever reason, the more you talked to this total stranger, you start to feel a sudden uncanny stir delve around your stomach. you weren’t scared, yet at least, but it was oddly peculiar. his voice sounds a bit familiar the more you listen to it. with how teasing the caller on the other line appeared, it was strangely intriguing. you kind of didn’t wanna hang up anymore, besides this party you were at was quite … not the best.

“not really. i am a jamie lee curtis fan though, i only watched because i make fun of the deaths.” you mumble.

“hmmm,” the voice hums through the other end. it’s as if he’s pondering what his next choice of words will be to you. “so…you got a boyfriend?”

you were taken aback by how abrupt the change of subject was. the man on the other end laughs at your awkward silence before you finally speak.

“no, and it’s not like it’s any of your business.”

“easy, girl. i’m just curious. besides, what if i wanna ask ya out?”

you grow quiet again before rubbing your neck, you were growing a bit hot.

“whatever. no, i don’t have a … boyfriend.”

“ooh. you hesitated there.”

you grumble. “shut up. i’m hanging up.”

the man immediately replies with a chortle.

“wait, wait. heh, serious though. you never told me your name, doll face.”

with an eye roll, you utter, “why do you wanna know my name?”

“because i wanna know who i’m looking at.”

“what?”

“what?”

each word he spoke breaks through the phone due the deep mess of his voice. a few rough sparks from his dialogue punctures through the soundbox of the device. again, he did sound oddly familiar. you just couldn’t put your foot on it.

the man chuckles before responding in a more sly tone—changing the subject again.

“you know doll, you sound kind of out of breath. call me crazy, but before i called you, were you playing with yourself?”

your legs suddenly squeeze shut, you were wearing one of your borrowed hoodies and shorts underneath. any sane person would have hung up eons ago, but for whatever reason—you felt your heartbeat start to race. the more you listened to the deep voice on the other end, the more you started to grow more curious. what’s wrong with playing around for a little bit? besides, what’s the worst thing that could happen—you dying?

you scoff, thinking this was nothing more than a dumb prank call—you decided that playing along wouldn’t hurt. you had nothing else to do anyway.

“so what if i was playing with myself?”

“i bet you didn’t even make yourself finish, doll.”

his voice, the more it spoke in that rough pitched tone—you couldn’t help but press the landline up to your ear just a bit further. you furrow your curled up brows, lowering your guard a bit. probably foolish, maybe you’d regret this later, but alas, reality wasn’t on your mind at the moment.

“are you saying you can make me finish?” you mutter, growing amused now.

“oh i know i can. i can make you get off from just from my voice alone.”

he was toying with you, but it was too late to back down. you intake a honed breath before humming.

“okay, prove it then.”

he chuckles.

“mhm. take those panties off first. actually no, slide them to the side for me.”

you really felt like you were in a movie, shamelessly at this random guy’s beck and call. as the show played in the background, you press the middle part of your thumb against the volume button to turn it down four notches. the room was practically silent now, the only noises heard were from the blaring beat drops of edm music downstairs. sprawling your legs out, you creep a shaking hand between your thighs.

the voice grows quiet, you finally move your panties toward the side before slouching back against the pillow.

“you must be really bored. talking to a random girl at the m-midnight.” you exhale.

“heh, m-maybe,” he mocks your falter. “but i’m sure you’ll keep me entertained with that cute voice of yours.”

he was so smooth. smooth as if he was prepared for every word that flew out of your mouth. as your fingers glide against your now exposed entrance, you let off a shaky breath.

he was right, out of boredom you tried to play with yourself— yet, that didn’t work out because you could never make yourself finish. your attempt was basically useless. with a frowning pout, you reply. “now what?”

“finger yourself, silly. and i wanna hear, put the phone up against that pussy for me, doll.”

he was filthy.

you felt yourself start to throb before removing the landline from against your ear and placing it right against your doused entrance.

with heavy jagged breaths becoming more irregular, the person on the other line hears the wet sloshes of your cunt up against the phone. again, he grows quiet—it’s almost like you can make out his deep attractive breaths and it makes you pulse even more.

“bet you’re so nice ‘n soaked. sounds so sloppy.”

gnawing on the softness of your bottom lip, your thumb briefly skims past the nub of your clit and you whine. you were already a bit sensitive from before, starting to stroke your fingers against it. bringing the phone back up to your ear, you ease a single finger inside. it feels warm—you were slick, coating your own finger with a nice amount of your obscene arousal. it doesn’t take long for you to start to pant, slithering another finger inside of your cunt before moaning. it fits nicely, nice and snug.

“you sound so pretty. i want you to imagine those are my fingers, pretty girl. can ya do that?”

“y-yeah,” you start to stammer, feeling a sudden spongey texture inside of you—you gasp, not expecting to reach your sweetened g-spot so soon. it was a mere bumpy texture, gloopy gummy walls involuntarily accepting your two slender fingers with an open gesture. “fuck, ‘m still a bit sensitive.”

he guffaws lowly.

“yeah, i bet you are. poor baby can’t even make herself cum.”

you swallow, the playfulness in his voice making your thighs start to tremble a bit. with relaxed fingers stretching throughout your walls, you focus on your breathing. each pant that came out of your hot breaths seemed like it was gonna be your last. after a while, your toes start to curl up in pure pleasure—you moan, feeling a sudden rush of weightlessness nirvana overtake you.

“find your g-spot for me. tell me when you do.”

“i- i already found it,” you whine, a sheaf of nerves that store inside of your pussy pulsating at a rapid speed. your head throws itself back as you’re just moaning melodically. “fuck, why don’t you just come over ‘n finish for me already.”

the voice laughs again.

“yeah? you want me to come over instead? maybe i should use my tongue since your fingers are so useless, dollface.”

at this point, you didn’t really care. maybe making simple rational decisions today just wasn’t in your favor. the eerie voice, each second you spent listening to it the more aroused you became. maybe getting off to a pure stranger’s voice was embarrassing but you were feening. the air felt suddenly thick. so thick you could cut it with a knife. with your bottom lip being chewed on like gum, you briskly shiver. cold, wintry air wafts against your skin and you moan for the nth time. an unforeseen chill runs down your spine before you hold back yet another whine.

“f-fuck, just come ‘n finish for me. i can’t do it. please.”

he grows quiet for a solid good four seconds before replying in a cheeky tone.

“okay. turn around.”

your panting stops and instantly, you turn your head the other way—of course, no one was there. figures, the only things your eyes were met with was the wooden headboard. with a disappointed grimace, pulling your occupied fingers out of your cunt, you turn back around. as you’re about to speak into the phone again, you open your mouth before pausing.

there, you’re met face first with what appears to be some guy in an infamous ghostface costume. he was tall, staggering inches on him before you don’t see one but two. they both had the same getup, ghoulish ghost mask, a long black robe, and the same spectral, tilting head-stance.

one of them takes off a mask and it’s suguru geto, your roommate.

your eyes concisely widen. once he yanks off the mask, his silky well-kept black strands fly loose. no wonder the voice sounded a tad bit familiar. the other removes his mask and it was nanami, two of them—now you really felt like you were in a movie. “you always did say how much you liked scream,” and then you glance at nanami who had a sheepish expression. “don’t be shy now, someone’s gotta help ya finish.”

“o-oh,” you remember, sitting up against the bed. now you were embarrassed. just a few seconds ago, you were getting off to your roommate’s voice. suddenly, you felt even more hot. you did end up talking their ear off about your adoration for the beloved franchise, ranting about your cute little ghostface obsession.

truth be told though, you didn’t know they’d make it a sheer reality for you. the two of them get on the bed towards you before nanami brings a gloved hand to your chin. he strokes your chin softly, and geto moves underneath.

“sorry princess,” he whispers. “suguru wanted to scare you but i told him we should just show ourselves,” and as he’s speaking, you get lost in his soft, honeydew eyes. such gentle compared to geto who was a bit more—crazed. “he didn’t scare you too bad, did he?”

you moan once you feel geto run a thumb against your already exposed cunt. with a firm head shake, you huff. “no, n-not really.”

“aw what. i thought i was pretty scary,” and you whimper out once he blows against your folds. for a concise moment, geto stares up at you—dark eyes keeping a strong gaze on you. “tell us what you want, pretty girl. you want us to help you finish?”

you nod, feeling geto spread your legs apart further.

nanami, with a gloved hand purses your lips together, forming them into a tight squeeze before humming. “words, princess. use them, okay?”

the more you feel geto’s breath fan against your clit, teasing you—you were about to go feral. you stare up at nanami before letting off a sweet whine. “i- i want you both to help me finish,” you stutter out, stumbling over your pathetic words like you’d stumble with an untied shoe. “make me cum, please kento.”

he leans in to kiss your forehead and you hear geto scoff underneath. “i’m the one between your legs but whatever,” and you feel his soft lips kiss against your pussy. “kento, keep her distracted for me, will ya?”

“you’re so pretty,” he mutters, lightly lifting up your chin. as he wore black gloves—the fabric gently brushes against your lip, popping a thumb into your mouth. he doesn’t expect for you to happily take it in his mouth, sucking on it. “oh,” he breathes, a bit speechless. you stare into nanami’s eyes, swirling your tongue around his thumb in such an erotic way. lowly hooded eyes stare at him the entire time, you moan once you feel the flatness of geto’s tongue run against your sweet clitoral hood. his tongue—the texture of it was so cold, the moment he digs in he makes you know the pure definition of sloppy. all with his tongue, he slowly flicks it against your nub before delving his tongue deeper between your soddened folds. nanami pulls your chin to face him again before softly purring, “don’t look at him, look at me pretty girl.”

as your eyes focus back towards nanami, you could already feel your legs quavering. you felt hot, the lewd way geto drags his tongue against your pussy makes you gasp out three strained second puffs of air.

“k-kento,” you moan, pawing your hands at the low part of his robe. he watches, lowering his head at you before you reach there. nanami’s bulge, he has an abashed expression as he realizes what you were fondling at. “take it off.”

“ah, ask nicely,” he coos. your lips were now glossed with your own spit he smears against you as he pulls his gloved thumb out of your mouth. even though nanami was more tame than geto, his voice had a bit more dominance in it. he grabs your chin gently, cocking his head toward the side. “tell me what you want ‘n i’ll give it to you.”

your legs felt like they were standing on its last few hinges—geto’s tongue runs down your slit, taking a moment to depart his lips and spit on it, only to then lap it up again. a few annoyed grunts escape out of him partially due to his long strands of hair getting in the way. “so sweet,” he mutters, you whimper once he prods two fingers against your outer entrance. every few seconds he’d kiss near your thighs, leaving a few bite bite marks before focusing back towards your folds. “mhm.”

barely even able to keep focus, you gaze back up at nanami who’s standing near the edge of the bed—you’re laid back against the pillows with geto between your thighs. finally, a sweet mewl of words leave your glazed lips. “i- i wanna taste, ‘ken. wanna suck you off,” and he gives you a playful eyebrow raise, prying his pink lips open a few inches apart before you correct yourself. “pretty please.”

“better,” he murmurs, a hand of his reaching towards your head to give it a good pat. “good girl. go ahead, lift it up ‘n enjoy the meal.”

with a soft slackened sigh, you lift up the obsidian black robe. you’re met with ripped jeans, for some reason you just figured he’d already be sprung out for you. as geto’s still lapping up every drop of your taste, you unzip his fly before yanking down his pants. you were so impatient— and with geto’s demented pace, you were getting close. he chuckles, watching you struggle with the zipper for a bit before finally reaching near his boxers. they were a cerulean blueish color, his bulge was just appetizing. the entire shape of it, you felt yourself starting to drool the longer your eyes made direct contact against it. so rounded and full. with clammy hands, you tug them down before his thick cock springs out.

“it’s okay,” he whispers with a nod, watching you glance up him—a silent gesture as a way of asking if you could go further. nanami brings a hand towards the crown of your head, gingerly massaging his fingers through the crevices of your scalp. “you can be a little messy for me.”

a wretched whine that was raw rips from your throat once you feel geto’s tongue latch against your cunt. by now, he was sucking against your folds. the squelches were so sloppy, a hand of yours grab onto his hair for leverage and he shoots you a sly smile.

“don’t be shy girl, yank on it.”

dark pooled irises linger into yours for a long time before you get a good grip of geto’s hair, dragging him closer towards your entrance. over and over and over.

he giggles, hot breath ghosting against your folds and you throb even more. with dilated irises staring back towards nanami, you wrap your free hand around his length—he was so thick, such full balls that you just wanted to run your tongue all across it. he had a few veins skim down his beige, weighty cock. you could make out a few drops of lustrous pre-cum that decorates near his very tip. “u-ugh,” he shakes, the warmth that your tongue provides has him smothering his lips together. nanami watches, you’re slow but deadly.

pursing your lips together, you gradually start to sink him into your mouth.

geto’s still between your thighs, shoving two fingers in and out of you now—he surrounds your clit with his mouth, the suction he creates with just his lips was brutal. you’re moaning, even whilst your noises were pretty much muffled due to nanami’s fat cock. “easy,” he whispers, tapping a thumb against your cheek. “no teeth, okay? you’re doing s-so good.”

nanami groans, goading the same thumb against your cheek before you inch yourself further and further down. he has a shy smile at the way your hair forms in musses due to his tight grip. within no time, your throat’s already stuffed and few droplets of your own saliva trickles down the sides of your mouth. geto’s still making sure to thrust his gloved digits in and out of your soaked cunt and you don’t know which roommate to focus on.

“m-mphm,” was all you could manage out, your legs in a swift spread-eagle position. as you’re outstretched, you feel yourself about to cum. you’d recognize that feeling anywhere—the feeling when a swelling pool of heat residing inside your stomach tickles throughout your entire abdomen. that same feeling of nirvana courses through your veins as you’re now leisurely bobbing your head. every time you pull on geto’s long hair, he grunts—spanking your clit in response and that only causes you to whine for more. nanami strokes your face as he starts to feel his dick prod against the roof of your mouth. for a split second as you’re breathing through each nostril—you gag, long lashes fluttering in sync together.

your legs couldn’t hold still, geto’s continuously pushing you towards your limit before you whimper out. your tongue lathers over the splotches of pre-cum that paints nanami’s tip a pretty shade of snowy white.

he just couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, especially not with a face like that.

low eyes, sheepish smile, furrowed eyebrows. you’re convulsing profusely all in geto’s mouth, the sides of your thighs occasionally hitting against his face and he titters. “such a sloppy m-mouth,” nanami inhales deeply, and he starts to gently drag your head against his cock. he’s got your mouth filled with so many inches—your cheeks were all puffed up from his immense length, sheeny slobber emanating all down the sides of your mouth before he pants. “gonna make such a mess ‘n your mouth, princess. ‘s that what you want?”

you nod, feeling the vein that runs down his girthy cock twitch in your mouth. you moan, he’s feeling weightless—you’ve got his knees trembling, a hand’s still attached to your head like velcro before gyrating your tongue all over the crownhead of his shaft. “such a pretty face,” he gruffs lowly, swiftly pulling your hair side to side to take every inch. “s-shame i gotta ruin it a little.”

even nanami’s dirty talk was tame— it was cute to witness, the way his blond brows would tug into a furrow. he’s so pent up, and out of nowhere—you feel a sudden rush erupt within your cunt. before you could even react, you end up cumming hard. it shoots out of you like a rough wave, it’s such pure bliss that it takes you a few seconds to realize. geto’s making out with your pussy, slowly sliding his two protected fingers in and out of your sopping wet entrance and you shudder. “what a fuckin’ mess,” he hums, taking sight at how saturated you were. as geto laps his tongue against your folds once more, he stares back up at you and nanami. “aw. look at you two,” and he leans down to kiss your forehead. “slobbin’ everywhere, messy girl you are.”

your eyes go back up towards nanami, he’s sweating.

he felt as if the fabric of his robe stuck against his skin. while he’s holding it up with one hand, you sneak a stare at his abs, perfect washboard abs that looked quintessentially sculpted against his body. “g-gonna cum,” and he stares at geto, growing a bit flustered once all attention’s on him. “suguru, don’t just stand there. p…praise her.”

geto scoffs, kneeling beside you on the bed before moving a few strands from your face. “so bossy,” he grits before giving you your second head pat. he leans up close to your ear, grabbing the voice changer again and brings it up to his lips. “c’mon, doll. make ‘ken cum, yeah. doin’ so good for us. you’re gonna make him whine for you, heh.”

nanami’s legs felt like mush, he throws his head back, his long black robe syncing with his movements before he’s gently pulling your head against his thick cock. he shudders, welts of twinges close in on the undersides of his thighs before he finally finishes. it builds up gradually before you find him pouring into your mouth with a nice amount of parching hot cum. it’s hot, a good mass of satiny ropes coat the flat middle part of your tongue and you moan. “f-fuuuck,” he heaves through heavy lungs, it’s still trickling, you savor the taste. it’s bitterly sweet. he pulls out of your mouth before letting off a tremulous sigh. “good girl, f-fuck.”

“aw. don’t hog her, give me attention too,” geto sneers, softly grabbing you by the neck, making you face him. with his right hand, he squeezes your lips together with a rigid grip. “ah, don’t swallow yet. c’mere.”

with half-lidded eyes, you do—leaning into his touch before geto plants his warm lips onto yours. you’re caught by surprise for the umpteenth time today, prying your mouth open for him and he lolls his tongue down your throat. you let off a whine, feeling his gloved hands rub against every inch of your body. immediately, he tastes the candied flavor of nanami’s cum and it makes him groan. he didn’t even bat an eye—you return the kiss, feeling geto’s hand slither further down towards your ass. he caresses it, giving it a mean spank to make you moan out in ecstasy.

after a while, he pulls away, humming at nanami. “ken ken, don’t be so shy. you want a taste too?”

“yeah,” he mutters, needy eyes staring at your lips that were lubricated with your own sheeny spit. “can i?”

you nod, and he’s so gentle with you. a hand nimbly wraps around your throat before he brings you into a deeper kiss. geto’s still for his hands on you, strumming his fingers near your pulled to the side panties. you let off a soft pant, feeling the spiral of nanami’s tongue go against yours. he tastes sweet — savory even, his flavor was purely mouthwatering. a thumb drags down the passageway of your throat before he pulls away. it’s slow, a polished concoction of saliva departs from each mouth and you whimper. you were throbbing, desperate for more and they both knew that. if this— whatever this was was some sort of movie, you never wanted it to end. you never wanted the credits to roll because you felt like you were floating on cloud nine.

with the two of them, you were stretched in every way possible. if you could compare who was bigger, actually you couldn’t. throughout multiple positions, you felt as if you were gonna snap in half. they had you so stupid. pink tongue rolled out, full lungs of oxygen departing out such hot breaths of air, you were the definition of stupid.

cockdrunk at its finest. each orgasm that got ruthlessly snatched out of you had your head spinning, heart racing entirely.

you felt like something was creeping up behind your shoulder, chills. whenever you’d coax out yet another teeth-shattering orgasm, all you felt was stone cold chills. time after time, it felt like pure bliss—you thought you were in a whole new world, barely even able to move your thighs an inch. being sandwiched between the two of them, perhaps you were a little greedy but you just couldn’t get enough. geto’s degrading you whilst nanami’s whispering sweet pleasures into your ear, you’ve never felt more soaked.

you didn’t wanna stop—

currently, you’re straddling nanami. he’s got two rough hands gripping your waist, intaking every inch of your pretty physique. his stare sends you butterflies, his shaft was underneath you and only then pulls out. with a cute, “phew,” he swipes a sheet of sweat that expands across his forehead. you rode him so good that he couldn’t even figure out what to say. he was so flustered, tips of his ears a reddish hot before he watches geto creep behind you. “think she wants more, suguru.”

“bet she does,” he whispers, bringing a few sweet kisses near the inner corners of your neck.

you’re promptly sat up straight. the brief sounds of booming speakers roar from downstairs as you wrap your arms around nanami. geto licks near your collarbone before purring seductively. “say, doll. how ‘bout you try to take us both? would ya like that?” and with a gloved hand he gives your ass a squeeze. “wanna be the final girl ‘n prove your worth? our final girl?”

without an inkling of hesitation—you nod, mewling out a sweet, “yes, yes jus’ hurry up, sugu. ‘m still c…close.”

“so wet, so impatient,” he whispers once more, and with two hands he makes you sit up from nanami. you gulp—swallowing whatever sanity you had left, preparing to be quite literally double stuffed with your roommates. you aren’t so sure why, but the fact that they both still had on their ghoulish costumes made you pulsate a bit more. geto’s helping you slide back down onto nanami’s length before slowly making his way into you also. “god, you’re so hot in here. gonna fuckin’ swallow me whole.”

you moan, everything goes so slow—your cunt was a ticking time bomb. you clamp down on each before slumping into nanami’s chest. you’re met with kind eyes, he strokes your forehead before kissing the bridge of your nose, panting in a hushed voice. “eyes on me, princess. just relax.”

you wriggle a bit at the positioning—being on nanami’s lap, geto directly behind you, you’re quite literally being filled in every orifice by thick inches of cock. nanami’s words were soothing, filling up your tummy with a pool of fluttering butterflies. you keep your eyes on him, clenching down on geto a bit before you hear him hiss in response. “ugh. doll open up for me a little m-more, yeah.”

his voice was deepened heavily—you let off a cute gasp once they’re both finally in and a few shaky breaths exit past your lips. “hold my hand, i got you,” nanami coos, and that’s when geto starts to rock. he had more control between the two of you, the grip on your hips was firm and you let off a sweet babble. each individual entrance was stuffed, you swallow the invisible lump in your throat as you start to feel the sweltering friction of your thighs slap against nanami. “you’re so pretty like this,” and he kisses the temple of your cheek.

every kiss presented from nanami makes your heart race—being sandwiched between nanami and geto, you really did feel like the main character.

your lip tremors, grinding back and forth between each of them, you feel geto wrap his thick fingers around your neck.

whilst you’re still straddling nanami—you moan again and again, feeling a free hand of geto’s spank your ass. the stretch that you continuously felt had your mouth watering. you heard the harmonic pap pap pap’s until it rang throughout your ears. “fuck, ya like being stuffed don’t you, pretty girl? feel full enough?” geto rasps, pressing his body right up against you. you felt his hot temperature go against your skin. making you feel every amount of his heat. your brain’s swelling up with fog. giving him an inert nod, you hear him click his tongue. “didn’t say to nod your head, doll. i wanna hear that sweet voice.”

whenever geto lowers his voice a bit, you feel the abrupt tension arise between your legs. leaning against nanami, you whine out a, “hngh y-yesss, ‘m so full, sugu. want more, stuff me more.”

“let me stuff your mouth too then.”

and before you could come up with a reply, geto removes his glove—shoving your mouth with two fat digits. he grunts, watching as you’re so compliant with your throat being filled with his fingers. nanami stares at the entire scene in front of him, his dick idly twitching inside of you. your tongue runs down his fingers before your own spit starts to seep down the corners of your lips. it was messy—you were messy. your hips jitter and judder and you knew with having both holes stuffed you weren’t gonna last that much longer. it was probably the dozenth orgasm your pussy’s been introduced with and you could feel the creeping pleasure brew up inside your abdomen.

“suguru, ‘m gonna cum.” nanami groans, bringing his own hands to wrap around your waist. you lessen your tense from his touch before gagging a bit from the prodding of geto’s fingers way back into your throat. “she’s s-squeezing me so good.”

geto snickers, making eye contact with nanami. “are you? ‘ken, you’re more whinier than usual today.”

“shut up.” he grumbles, slapping a hand over his face in embarrassment — nanami wasn’t so known to be all flustered and abashed, but whenever he was, it was so cute.

you’ve still got a mouthful of geto’s fingers before he pulls them out only to shove them into his own mouth. he hums, sharp hips snapping into you repeatedly as his other free hand tightens its secured grasp around your hip. “mhm,” he groans, feeling himself reaching his peak also. “you taste like a final girl. so sweet like candy.”

with the piston of geto’s vigorous hips, you’re so loose that you feel the fleeting sensation of your cunt gaping.

its cavernous, you jerk forward against nanami before seconds later — geto groans, abruptly finishing two seconds early. even his moans were pretty, he tugs his fingers out of your mouth to wrap them around your neck. strands of black hair glue to his forehead and he puffs out a single breath. licking a stripe near your neck, he feels thick volumes of his cum ooze into your hole. it’s so sticky, you bring your hips to a slowing halt before nanami shoots inside you too.

“f-fuck, sugu,” nanami grunts, feeling his thighs stick underneath you. he was panting heavily, each breath that ran from his lips sounding more and more wearied. “damn, so m-much.”

everything spurts into you at once. they mirror each other inside of you perfectly. callused stubby fingertips of geto’s squeeze your neck softly, watching as you’re just being filled with bulky strings of cum, it floods your cunt until it drizzles further into your womb. you’re drooling, it feels so hot, sweltering hot. it sticks against your entrance before your arms wrap around nanami. “so f-full,” you whimper, and he returns the gesture by brushing his thumb against your waist. droopy eyes hang low before nanami pulls you into another deep kiss. you decided—this was far better than some dumb party. the cottony fabric of the ghostface robe pricks against your skin as you lean into his heinous touch.

you shift your weight against nanami’s lap, feeling geto pull out before he leans down between your legs. “spread your legs,” he mutters, and in the midst of your tongue roaming down nanami’s throat, you part your thighs—gasping once you feel geto’s own tongue lap against the freshly created mess. he makes little tiny licks, tasting the ropes of crisp cum that’s sloppily easing out of every entrance—you pulsate before he chortles, warm breath ventilating against your sobbing pussy. “so messy. don’t want any spillin’ out. gotta push it back in.”

you’re moaning, after a while you break away from nanami’s lips before he strokes your cheek lovingly, a cute drowsy look before he huffs, “did you hear me, pretty?” and he gently pokes your cheek. “you always do this..”

confusion hits you before your eyes suddenly open—you jolt up, both of your roommates beside you, gawking at you with a look of deadpan. you’re leaning against geto, the third movie of scream playing in the background—it was near the ending where the killer was being revealed. you sit up, staring down at your legs and you were fully clothed—there was no geto eating between your legs, no being stuffed with nanami, nothing.

“hellooo, earth to roomie,” geto waves his hand in your face, you stare at him before furrowing your brows. “you okay? you fell asleep on me again. what’s got ya so spooked? looks like ya seen a ghost.”

so it was a dream?

a mere glimpse of your lewd imagination—?

you have a sudden sheepish look, running your fingers near the nape of your neck. “huh. oh, i’m fine. i thought the movie would be over by now.”

nanami rubs your back. “we still have like twenty minutes left,” and then he looks at you with a concerned look. so gentle—so tender. “are you sure you’re okay? we can watch a rom-com if you want.”

“i’m okay,” you insist, slumping your head back against geto.

that was weird, out of all the dreams you’ve had throughout your life—none of them ever felt as surreal as that one. for some reason, you were still aroused though. you were a bit out of breath and felt chills run all over your body.

abruptly, your phone rings,

“sugu, can you pass me my phone?” you sigh, trying to relax. you were pretty bummed you weren’t at that party getting stuffed with your two roommates but instead—in your generic dorm watching a scary movie.

he hands you the phone, grabbing the remote to turn it down a few notches.

once you take it, succinctly, your eyes scan across the screen—it reads that it’s from an unknown number. not really thinking much, you decide to answer, swiping the green button to answer. “um, hello?”

“hello.”

“hi,” you rub your eyes. “can i help y-”

“what’s your favorite scary movie?”

rolling your eyes, you peer at your two roommates beside you, nudging them and peeling the phone away from your ear for a moment. “very funny, suguru.”

geto gives you a look of confusion and nanami mimics the same. he shrugs, averting his eyes back toward the movie. “very funny what.”

and suddenly you’re laid back, an unbelieving expression was expressed on your face as you were left with a weird feeling. if it wasn’t them then who—

that same chill eerily creeps up your spine before you put the phone back near your ear. it’s that same low voice you heard from before, each word it speaks pitches deeper before you grow quiet at its final haunting response,

“oh baby, i’m not suguru or nanami..”

finding solace 🌼

hi 💓 very very sorry for being inactive my beautiful squirtlings, i’ve been recovering from a bad leg injury but i am ALIVE. partially. also, THANK YOUU guys for 50k that’s insaaane. thank you guys immensely for giving me this platform and i hope you all are having a good tuesday !! ☆

karaoke session

karaoke session

crying

if you choose to run away with me...