God I Absolutely Love Gojo X Reader X Geto Where Reader Gets Dragged Into Whatever Fucked Up Relationship

Love Me Wrong [05: Muddle]

content: amnesia, manipulation, corruption, yandere themes, violence/death, blood, dubcon, smut, use of adult toys, overstimulation, fauxcest, exhibitionism

featuring: mikey x reader, koko x reader, sanzu, kakucho

note: okay im really excited about this update! the story continues to unravel and more memories are recovered. heavy bonten violence in this part so proceed with caution. like always dark content ahead so minors can not-so kindly fuck off! feel free to reblog, drop me an ask, and comment <3

words: 4.7k

other: masterlist ; @tometpd ; @hanayanetwork ; @tokyoredlightdistrict

While others chose to place their faith in relationships, people, or some celestial being, Hajime Kokonoi only believed in money and lived his life in pursuit of material gain. It was what had kept him tethered to Mikey’s side after the fall of Tenjiku and Koko had yet to find reason enough to leave Bonten; a treasonous act that he wouldn’t hesitate to commit the moment Bonten blood money stopped lining his pockets and Mikey finally succumbed to his demons.

Something that would happen sooner rather than later thanks to Mikey’s obsession with Kisaki’s amnesic sister.

Like the other ex-Tenjiku members, Koko had known the girl when her real brother had still been alive. She’d been a bright and tenacious young thing, stubbornly trailing behind her brother and Hanma, with sheepish smiles for all of Tenjiku whenever she was caught and berated harshly by Kisaki. A memory that felt like a lifetime ago whenever he saw her shrink away from Mikey during his bouts of rage or stare off into space with that blank look of hers.

Koko had by no means been close to her the way Kakucho had, but his stomach sank regardless when the broken woman hugged her knees and rocked back and forth, trying to understand why her brother abhorred the sight of her one day and worshipped her the next.

Maybe it was some sort of fondness he had for the girl she had once been or maybe he just had a soft spot for sisters, but where had Koko failed to acquire the means to pay for Akane’s surgery, he found himself showering Y/N with gifts using his money rather than the money Mikey wired him; that money was used for the gifts from Mikey.

Gifts that a real brother would never get their younger sister; a sentiment shared by everyone including the recipient. Mikey had Koko order racks of lingerie and revealing clothing in various pastel colors and cases of adult toys that consisted of vibrators, dildos, and plugs of all shapes and sizes. They might have been for his so-called sister, but no one enjoyed them more than him.

Koko could still picture her confused shock when she opened his gifts and the tears she blinked away when he asked her to use them. He could still hear her muffled protests that, after a while, turned into cries of pleasure. A length of time that shortened after each session until her protests stopped altogether.

Mikey’s corruption of Kisaki’s sister made Koko sick, but the real tragedy was his inability to stop his Boss’s perversion. Instead, he made himself feel better by buying everything her heart desired no matter the price. The sheer amount of joy on her face whenever she opened a new gift was worth the expenditure–even if it only lasted for a while before he caught her looking off into space again with that disenchanted look on her face.

Koko could’ve sworn that money was the key to happiness, but as the elevator doors opened and he stepped into the penthouse bright and early with a newly arrived gift from Mikey, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

The pristine home was silent except for the laughter coming from the kitchen. Crossing from the foyer to the living room, Koko found the sender and recipient of the gift at the breakfast bar, perched on two side-by-side high chairs. Y/N leaned toward Mikey and smiled as she fed him a forkful of what appeared to be his favorite fluffy pancakes.

Koko awkwardly cleared his throat and two sets of eyes fell on him as he approached the duo. Mikey appeared displeased with Koko’s presence until his eyes trailed to the box and his lips twitched with the beginnings of a grin. Kisaki’s sister was warmer in her reception, sheepishly offering Koko a plate of pancakes as she stepped down to greet him; a courtesy that was hindered by Mikey’s arm that snaked around her waist and pulled her snug between his parted legs.

“Mikey!” She squealed, twisting her head to shoot him a disapproving look that he ignored.

It had been two weeks since that trip to eliminate Chairman Morita and two weeks since Mikey started fucking his so-called sister. The other Bonten members had assumed they’d crossed that threshold already, but Koko knew better. Instead of using his dick, Mikey had used toys or other methods to condition her into what he wanted.

Koko believed Mikey had enough restraint to not fuck the woman he claimed for a sister, but something had changed during that trip and whatever invisible force had kept him at bay dissipated.

Ever since then, Mikey had made it a habit in taking her whenever and wherever. Sometimes he’d drag her to her room and lock the door behind them, the obnoxious sounds of their coupling loud enough to carry to the living room. Other times he would simply take her wherever he found her, be it the kitchen or the living room, and in front of whoever. He’d harshly bend her over the nearest flat surface, bunch up her skirt, tear off her panties, and fuck her raw like an animal in heat. While most of the Bonten members present would flee the scene, Sanzu and, on occasion, Rindou would stay behind to watch. Sanzu would be the most shameless out of the two, stroking himself to completion as he took in the salacious sight. Rindou, on the other hand, kept his hands off his dick and just watched, leaving as soon Kisaki’s sister orgasmed.

“Bring it over and open it,” Mikey said, gesturing toward him with the hand that wasn’t buried underneath his sister’s shirt.

Placing the box on the table, he cut off the tape with his pocket knife and opened the tabs to reveal the set of restraints Mikey had ordered. Releasing the flustered woman, Mikey took out one of the adjustable black cuffs. They were leather, lined with fur, and had a metal ring. Mikey eyed the cuff and traced a finger over the adjustable strap while Y/N watched with a perplexed look.

“What is that?” She asked only to gasp when Mikey took hold of her wrist and put on the cuff.

“Your new toy,” Mikey replied with a hint of amusement. Before she could ask for clarification, he thrust the box into her hands. “Now, go to the room, put these on, and wait for me just the way I like you.”

While Koko didn’t know for certain what Mikey meant, it wasn’t hard to discern from her reaction. She flushed and lowered her head before clutching the box against her chest and fleeing to her room, not sparing Koko another glance.

Mikey took another bite of his pancakes while Koko made his way to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water to put some much-needed space between himself and his boss. Away from Mikey’s direct field of vision, he sipped his water as slowly as possible, waiting for the other male to join his so-called sister.

“You haven’t had a turn with her, right?”

Koko was between sips and set the glass on the counter, knowing where Mikey’s question was leading up to. “No, I haven’t.”

“Hmmm… let’s change that,” Mikey replied and Koko could make out the clank of the fork against the ceramic plate and the chair legs sliding on hardwood. “Join me.”

Koko had thought he knew the extent of Y/N’s corruption, but walking into her blindingly white room to find her in the middle of her bed, straddling a pillow and rutting against it with her head thrown back, eyes closed, and a series of whiney moans falling from her lips went beyond Koko’s expectations. Her wrists and ankles were cuffed and she’d even fastened the chains to her wrists, rattling as her hands trailed up her stomach to her erect nipples that she played with.

“Good girl,” Mikey purred and palmed his growing erection as he made his way to the bed. She let out a pleased hum and peered at them, her eyes widening slightly at Koko before shifting her attention to the man that played the role of brother, lover, and captor.

“Need your help, Mikey,” she whined, tossing her slick covered pillow to the side and crawling toward him. “Doesn’t feel good without you.”

She nuzzled against his tented pants and Mikey gently combed his fingers through her hair as his breathing grew strained.

Koko watched the scene unfold with a mixture of revulsion and desire. He didn’t approve of the woman’s corruption but even that staunch sentiment was not enough to stop his innate response to her nice tits, bare ass, and wet cunt just begging to be stretched and filled.

“Koko,” Mikey hissed, drawing out the man from his conflicted thoughts to find Y/N already sucking him off. “Pick out two toys to use on my pretty sister’s pussy.”

Her thighs clenched together at Mikey’s demand and her mouth eagerly took in more of her brother. Tearing his gaze, Koko shuffled into the walk-in closet, pulled out the nearest case, and haphazardly picked the first toys he saw: a wand and a large dildo.

Back in the room, Mikey had joined Kisaki’s sister on the bed. He had her seated between his legs and pressed against his chest as he leaned back on her cushioned white headboard. The two chains dangling from her wrists had been connected to the cuffs around her ankles, forcing her legs open and limiting her mobility. Her mouth hung open and let out a series of incoherent noises while Mikey’s slender fingers worked her aroused nipples, tweaking, rolling, and rubbing her sensitive nubs.

Koko tore his gaze away from her and rounded the bed to set the toys next to Mikey who fixed him a cold look.

“What are you doing?” Mikey demanded and gestured toward the items. “You’re the one that’s gonna use them on her.”

Swallowing his protest, Koko picked up both toys and walked to the foot of the large bed, waiting for Mikey’s shallow nod of approval before joining them.

He settled between the woman’s trembling legs and inhaled sharply when his eyes settled on her sex. Slick coated her slit and folds. The bundle of nerves at the top was already engorged and just begging to be touched. Her cunt twitched and leaked even more slick with each jerk of her hips.

It was only then that Koko understood why Sanzu begged Mikey to let him fuck her one more time. Why Rindou locked himself in his room and furiously jerked off after watching Mikey fuck her. Why even Mochi–who’d never cared for Kisaki’s sister, occasionally voiced his desire to fuck her throat again.

Her entire body was begging to be fucked and Koko found himself unable to resist–not that Mikey would’ve let him anyway.

Koko swallowed as his hands ran up her soft thighs before stopping at her folds. A high-pitched whine left Y/N’s lips and her hips bucked forward.

“P-please, Koko,” she begged, and he looked up to find her teary gaze already fixed on him. “Wanna feel good.”

Despite knowing that the pleading woman wasn’t in her right mind, Koko turned on the wand to its medium setting and gently pressed the head against her clit.

Kisaki’s sister jolted forward with a gasp but her restraints and Mikey’s hold on her chest kept her in place. Koko kept the vibrating head against her clit for a couple of minutes before lowering it to her fluttering hole and coating it with her slick. When he saw her body relax slightly, he promptly raised the head back to her clit and worked her up again.

While no stranger to toys, Koko couldn’t say he had a penchant for them. He’d only used them a couple of times on his partners and the only one who actually enjoyed them had been Inupi but seeing Y/N react so enthusiastically to the wand made him want to reconsider his stance. He wanted to draw out all sorts of sounds and expressions from her and watch her come undone from his ministrations.

After a while, Koko turned up the vibrations to the maximum setting and pressed the head lightly against her clit while he grabbed the dildo next to him. It was longer and thicker than the average dick with exaggerated veins and a defined head. Holding it by the base, he rubbed the length along her slit and coated it with her creamy cum as she gasped from the sudden contact.

Koko could tell Kisaki’s sister was close to overstimulation and wasted no time in pressing the head against her cunt and easing it in. A lengthy moan left her lips while Koko watched her greedy cunt swallow the girthy toy inch by inch.

Curious about her reaction, Koko looked up hoping to see her pretty eyes on him only to find her looking back at Mikey, eyes lidded and swollen lips parted.

“That’s it. Stick your tongue out and I’ll give you a reward, pretty girl.”

Mikey’s jaw moved for a couple of moments before tilting his puckered mouth over Kisaki’s sister’s and letting a stringy wad of saliva fall on her waiting tongue.

Disgusted and insulted by her disregard for the man making her cum, Koko pressed the wand head harder over her clit and grinned when she let out a choked gasp. He then adjusted the position of the dildo to press against her forewall and proceeded to thrust it in and out of her messy cunt at an increasing pace.

Guided by her bodily reactions and encouraging sounds, Koko didn’t let up on his ministrations even when her creamy essence gathered on his hand and spurts of clear fluids coated her inner thighs and soaked the sheets below. He only stopped when his name rang out in a high-pitched whine.

“Koko, please! S’too much– I-I can’t!”

Koko switched off the wand and looked up to find Kisaki’s sister peering down at him with teary eyes and the beginnings of a satiated smile forming. It was a moment during which Koko forgot all about Mikey until the wand was plucked out of his hand by said man and thrown against the full-length mirror across the room, shattering it into pieces.

At the loud crash, Koko jerked backward and Kisaki’s sister screamed. None of the deranged glee remained on Mikey’s face. In its place was that barely subdued fury of his that terrified most and unnerved everyone else. And when his lips parted and a forced laugh echoed in the room, neither Koko nor Y/N dared to breathe.

“Oh no, looks like we’ll have to buy another one.” He turned to Koko. “Let Sanzu know we’ll be making a shopping trip today.”

Despite making a trip to one of Tokyo’s most luxurious department stores, Koko couldn’t help but think it was more of a punishment. Whether it was Sanzu’s pissy mood after coming down from his high, the shitty Tokyo traffic, or the fact that Mikey was in the backseat fucking his fake sister, Koko wasn’t sure–maybe, it was a combination of all three.

“Mmmm! Ah- s’good Mikey! Gonna cum- Nghhh!”

Koko spared a glimpse at the duo through the rearview mirror and averted his gaze immediately when he found Mikey’s eyes already on him as he bucked into Y/N. He tried focusing on the road, on the idiot in front of him riding his breaks, on Sanzu fidgeting with his handgun, on anything except Mikey’s grunts and Y/N’s moans that made him want to drive the sedan off a fucking bridge.

It was through a sheer miracle that Koko made it to their destination, and he wasted no time in exiting the vehicle, handing off the keys to a lower Bonten member, and waiting for Mikey to finish with his sister before also exiting the car.

They were accompanied by eight other Bonten members as they entered the department store. Like all of their other trips in public, the establishment was bought out for their private use and only a selection of paid-off workers were allowed to service them. Tired of dealing with Mikey and his sick powerplays, Koko strayed to the back of the Bonten hoard, away from the trio of Mikey, Kisaki’s sister, and Sanzu who led the way.

What originally was supposed to be a simple shopping trip for a new mirror quickly turned into a shopping spree thanks to Mikey’s desire to spoil his “sister”. They spent hours browsing the massive building as Y/N shopped to her heart’s content. Every item she admired for more than five seconds was collected by a suited Bonten lackey and brought along for purchase. Apart from Y/N and Mikey, the entire experience was boring to the point of being almost torturous. Even Sanzu, who worshipped the ground Mikey walked on, looked like he wanted to choke Y/N every time she wandered to the next display with a serene Mikey in tow.

A serenity that was cut short when they made it to the beauty section and the female employee there called out to Kisaki’s sister by name.

“Y/N!” A mousy woman blurted as she approached them. The shift in the mood was almost palpable and Koko could see Sanzu and Mikey stiffen as Kisaki’s sister hesitantly stepped toward the worker.

“It’s been ages since I last saw you! How are you?”

At the woman’s words, Koko let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and his response rippled across the rest of the Bonten men–except for Mikey and Sanzu who were as still as tigers ready to pounce on their unsuspecting prey.

“Oh, umm… I’m doing great.” At the hesitation in her answer, it was clear Kisaki’s sister hadn’t recognized her acquaintance but even that didn’t change Mikey and Sanzu’s demeanor.

The mousy woman appeared bewildered by the response. “Really? I just expected you to still be mourning Hanma. Especially since it was on the anniversary of Kisa–”

The deafening gunshot cut through the tension, reverberating off the walls and into Koko’s ears. For a moment, he didn’t know who’d fired the shot and who’d received it until Kisaki’s sister let out a blood-curdling scream, and Koko spotted the other woman bleeding out on the floor with a bullet hole through the center of her head.

While it was hardly the first lethal gunshot he’d witnessed, Koko still found himself in shock. His muscles tensed, jaw clenched, and heart hammered painfully in his chest as a sharp ringing echoed in his ears. When he did manage to avert his gaze from the blood bath, he saw Sanzu trembling violently and still pointing the gun he’d shot.

The only one who was unphased by the violent act was Mikey. Koko would even venture to say Bonten’s boss was more at ease than he had been with the mousy woman alive.

Kisaki’s sister collapsed on the blood-soaked floor and sobs wracked her body. Her face was covered in a spray of her friend’s blood, arms hung limp at her sides, and wide trembling eyes remained glued on the corpse.

Koko carefully approached her when no one else stepped up, avoiding the blood and crouching next to her. Despite her silent cries, her shock had only worsened in the moments after and all she could manage were rapid shallow gasps that seemed to do more harm than good.

Koko was about to comfort Kisaki’s sister when Mikey suddenly sauntered over and knelt beside her as well. His face was devoid of all emotion as he reached out for her; something Koko had not seen since she’d woken up.

“Y/N, we need t–”

There was a collective jolt of surprise among the Bonten men as everyone witnessed Kisaki’s sister scratch Mikey’s cheek in defiance. He also appeared just as shocked as his men, black eyes wide and mouth slack-jawed as three thin crimson lines surfaced across his pale skin.

“G-Get away from me!” She shrieked, recoiling from him when the gravity of her actions dawned on her.

With a growl, Sanzu lurched forward, gun in hand, and fixed the shaken woman with a murderous glare.

“You little bitch!”

He lunged for her but stopped dead in his tracks when she stared up at him in horror and pointed an accusatory finger.

“I-It was you!… you’re the one… y-you killed Hanma!”

For the first time, Koko saw genuine fear flash across Mikey’s face as the woman he’d come to care for glared at the man who’d now murdered two of her friends. Blood pulsated in Koko’s ears as he desperately tried to gather his thoughts amidst the chaos around him.

Were all of her memories back?

Would Mikey order her death?

“Yeah, I killed that fucking rat.”

Koko snapped his head up to find Sanzu sneering down at Kisaki’s sister. He let out a humorless chuckle before aiming the gun at her head. Faced with the black gun barrel, sobs ripped from her chest but she stood frozen in place, whether it was out of terror or resignation Koko couldn’t tell. All he knew was that for all of Sanzu’s twisted interest in Kisaki’s sister, his loyalty to Mikey was far greater and he wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone that laid a hand on his King.

“Sanzu!”

Mikey’s reprimanding roar resounded with everyone but none more so than Sanzu, who flinched and obediently lowered his gun, tucking it into his pants pocket.

Once the gun was out of sight, Y/N’s muscles relaxed and she visibly deflated. It wasn’t until her eyes rolled to the back of her skull, however, that Koko realized she was passing out and caught her before she joined her deceased friend on the floor. He cradled her bloody, tear-stained face and held her close to him, not caring if it ruined his clothes.

“Take her back home, Koko,” Mikey’s emotionless voice eventually rang out, killing the heavy silence that had permeated the room since his earlier outburst. “We’ll take care of this mess.”

“But Mi–”

Sanzu’s protest died on his tongue with a single threatening look from Mikey and his mouth closed with a click.

“Understood,” Koko replied with a nod, wondering if he’d witness the death of another innocent sister that just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Like all of your other memories, your recollections of Hanma came back in fragments. You remembered his appearance, the intensity of his gaze, the pull of his lips, and the languorous manner in which his body moved. You remembered his scent of lingering cigarette smoke, earthy soap, and musk, and the calming effect it had over you. You remembered tidbits of his likes, dislikes, and habits. But above all, you remembered your final moments with him. The walk you took through a snow-covered path as you brainstormed lunch spots together. The chilling encounter with Sanzu that caused Hanma to stiffen and protectively pull you behind him. The desperation in his voice as he ordered you to run.

The entire process of recovering your memories reminded you of the sheltered life that had been created for you. A life that was full of half-truths, non-committal answers, and furtive glances exchanged by your caretakers. The one you’d woken up to where your days were spent completing meaningless tasks that only distracted you from the helplessness that plagued you. A disheartening feeling that was the direct result of your missing memories coupled with the disapproval from Mikey and the rest of Bonten when you tried to recover them.

But instead of making up excuses for their reasoning the way you usually did, you came to a different conclusion after waking up pressed next to Koko in a moving car–maybe their lies weren’t as white as you’d once believed. Maybe they were a more sinister color like the scarlet blood that had spurted out of the woman who had sealed her fate the moment she tried telling you about your past. Or perhaps their lies were darker like the tacky, russet red blood that now coated your legs and made your stomach turn.

Swallowing the bile that had risen, you stirred and felt Koko’s breath hitch.

“Why did Sanzu kill Hanma?” You asked, putting some distance between the two of you. After the horrific events that had transpired and the conflicting nature of your recovered memories, you couldn’t continue to live oblivious to the discrepancies. You needed answers and Koko would have to give them to you.

He let out an exasperated sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. As expected, your question seemed to trouble him, but you didn’t back down. You kept your gaze steadily fixed on him and waited for his answer.

“He… betrayed Mikey,” Koko replied, his eyes sharp and carefully gauging your reaction.

“Then why did it seem like– no, why was he protecting me?”

His eyes widened slightly but he quickly schooled his face. “Hanma was lying to you. He was planning on using you against Mikey but Sanzu found you before he had the chance.”

Koko’s confession left you dumbfounded and hurt. You buried your head into your hands and closed your eyes, struggling to remember the aftermath of that encounter only to find yourself with a throbbing headache and hot tears burning your eyes.

“That can’t be true.” You gripped your hair in frustration. “H-He was my friend and my brother’s… it- it just doesn’t make sense.”

An arm wrapped around your shoulders and drew you in. “I’m sorry, Y/N, but you have to believe it. Hanma was a traitor and you know what happens to traitors.”

“W-What about that woman?” You demanded in disbelief as you wriggled out of his grasp. “Why was she killed after mentioning Hanma?”

His face twisted into that familiar look of pitying reproach most of the Bonten members wore around you. It made you feel foolish and small compared to them.

“She was also working with him. Why else do you think she mentioned him?”

You hated how logical his explanation was because, even if there was lingering doubt, you had nothing to offer as a counterargument; your memories had already been declared tainted. Left with nothing but frustration bubbling in your chest, you balled your fists and blinked away your tears before Koko drew you into his chest like a parent comforting a child.

And much like a child, you didn’t argue with him. You didn’t even fight him off. You just buried your face in his chest and let the helplessness sink back in as he once again warned you against discussing your missing memories with Mikey.

“It’s best if you don’t bring this up to Mikey. He won’t like it, especially after that scratch you gave him.”

Filled with shame over your violent outburst, you remained wordlessly still in Koko’s arms the rest of the way home, and for the first time since you’d woken up, you dreaded seeing Mikey again.

The entire elevator ride up to the top floor, you mulled over various ways to apologize to your brother. Would he prefer a nice dinner, a decadent dessert, or would letting him fuck you any way he wanted be best?

Upon deciding on a combination of all three, the elevator door opened and you followed Koko into the penthouse, making out voices from the living room. Burying your doubt concerning your past, you braced yourself for Mikey’s reception by plastering a smile on your face.

But instead of focusing on Mikey, your eyes traveled to another figure in the room you didn’t recognize until he turned around. Standing between Mikey and the Haitani brothers, you locked eyes with a face from your past that brought upon an onslaught of memories. It was the boy-turned-man with the jagged scar that ran across his handsome face. The one with a rough exterior that had once made your heart flutter from his unexpected caring gestures and awkward but comforting words.

Forgetting about Mikey and the other Bonten members present, you ran into Kakucho’s arms and broke into tears from the overwhelming emotion of recovering more of your missing memories and reuniting with a dear old friend.

𝟔:𝟏𝟖

‣ Gn!reader, smut, bonten au, time-skip characters, biting, mentions of marking, desk sex. EIGHTEEN YEAR OLDS, MINORS, AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

❥ @harufilms @em-plosion

Bonten!Izana that runs the gang alongside Mikey. Both formed it after Shin's death at the hands of a rival gang. Running an established criminal organization this early in his adult life has made Izana more mature, more grounded.

Bonten!Izana with his gang tattoo in the middle of his back. It ripples as he delivers ruthless blows to Bonten's enemies, it's surrounded by a littering of scars fresh and old that mar tanned skin.

Bonten!Izana who's always dressed to the nines in the finest of clothes. Well tailored suits that fit his lithe frame, evening wear woven from the softest silk and jewellry that glitters even under the lowest of lights.

Bonten!Izana with his long locks of stark white hair, it falls to his shoulderblades and curls at the end. He tries his best to keep it out of his way during altercations, keeps it secure with hairties varying in different colors and sizes. Definitely not a stranger to spending nights with a bottle of conditioner and a comb getting out blood from silken tresses.

Bonten!Izana with all of West and South Tokyo under his thumb, his to control. Likes to drive one of his many cars down the streets whenever he can to keep an eye on things. He's even slightly friendlier to the kids that run up to him; Ran tells him it's because his eyes get softer around them and he always takes the little gifts they give him.

Bonten!Izana who found a family in his gang. He finds peace—though he'd never admit it—in the once mandatory but now pleansantly routine breakfast meetings and sporadic nights off. Takes quiet joy in replacing the strawberry syrup candy sticks Mikey keeps in his office, with celery sticks. The soft spot that continues to grow for his younger brother let him allow the younger to occasionally eat it with peanut butter.

Bonten!Izana who spends countless sleepless nights in his office, the stunning view of the city never failing to remind him why this was all necessary. He enjoys the silence sometimes; he loves and respects his men, grateful for the deafening quiet they always fill but there are times he likes hearing himself think.

Bonten!Izana who's definitely not afraid to get his hands dirty in order to reach his goal, stumbles into your private practice late one night. Keeps his sharp eyes trained on you as you suture his split knuckles and apply ointment to his bruises. Then he keeps coming back.

Bonten!Izana who leaves a gift basket and card on your desk for you to find the next day then shows up again later that night. He comes alone and doesn't say much, just likes looking at you. He smirks when he sees that it makes you nervous having him so close especially when he smells really good.

Bonten!Izana who can't get enough of you, tries to see you at least once a day. His chest squeezes whenever he comes to your practice after a brawl and sees the worried look on your face the entire time you patch him up. Couldn't resist kissing your frown away.

Bonten!Izana whose kiss threatens to steal the breath from your lungs, lets you grip onto his coat to keep your knees from buckling. Ring clad fingers grip your chin as his lips connect with yours, drinking down your whines as your tongue licks at the seam of his mouth. He didn't think he'd ever have a favorite flavour of lipgloss until after he met you.

Bonten!Izana who takes you for the first time at your office, bending you over your own desk. He kicks your legs apart and drags the crown of his cock over your twitching centre, relishing in your impatient whines for more. He's groaning into your ear at the way you clutch around his length while begging for him to go faster.

Bonten!Izana whose teeth sink into your shoulder when your tight little hole threatens to drain him dry. The veins on his shaft rub against your velvet walls, drawing pleasured gasps and quiet whines from his throat as his very long and pretty cock nails your sweet spot.

Bonten!Izana whose signature earrings and pretty gold chain dangles in your face when he flips you onto your back. Orchid purple eyes dazzle at the way you come apart underneath him, all shaking limbs and quiet pleas to keep going.

Bonten!Izana who needs your gentle touch to clean his wounds and scratches but loves when you leave your own marks. "Gonna fuckin' kill me, sweetheart." He cursed into your ear the first time you dragged your stiletto nails down his back, drawing red welts to the tanned skin as he fucked into you with a pace that stung when your skins met.

Bonten!Izana who was admittedly afraid you'd turn him away when you found out he was in Bonten. But, he was pleansantly surprised when he felt your tongue trace the outline of his gang tattoo, couldn't stop himself from grinding his hips into the mattress while your pretty mouth sucked hickeys around it.

Bonten!Izana who loves showing you off. He'll take you to any event the first chance he gets, will take you shopping himself and even let you choose something for him. He knows you have money, loves getting you more of it and loves helping you make your own, will spend his own money on you without question.

Bonten!Izana loves that Kakucho and the others treat you like one of their own and loves that you've welcomed them all with open arms. They got suspicious of his whereabouts and followed him to your place, where they saw him bringing you flowers and food as an apology for missing a date. The gang was too stunned to speak.

Bonten!Izana who can't get enough of the fact that you want nothing else but to love him and be loved wholeheartedly in return. He lives for the happiness in your eyes when he agrees to spend five more minutes in bed with you.

Bonten!Izana who would burn cities down to keep his empire warm for you.

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good puppy!

puppyboy! Bokuto x f!chubby reader

heavily inspired by this https://twitter.com/0wl_lord/status/1390416163729862658?s=21

I started writing this weeks ago and stopped but picked it back up today so it might be hella choppy. wrote it and posted it so no editing hehe. also, I am so scared of posting this. this is my first time writing hybrid/puppyboy content hehe

warnings: knotting, oral (m and f receiving) puppyboy, dry humping, solo m!masturbation , kinda subby!bokuto, slight somno, praising, vaginal penetration, nesting I guess?, pussyjob is you squint, nipple play, bokuto’s ahegao face, crying during sex (pussy too good hehe), creampie, unprotected sex

word count: 2.6k

after months and months of your friend telling you about how happy she was for kitty kuroo, you decided to adopt your own puppy. when you saw him in the shelter, he was sitting there wagging his tail back and forth with his tongue out and his ears perked up. he had a goofy smile and one ear stood straight up as the other one flopped down. he was cute and playful. but what really enthralled you was his size. he was big. he had broad shoulders, thick arms, chiseled abs, and pecs that were big enough to lay your head on at night.

he was perfect.

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when setters do The Thing

THIS WAS SO GOOD

I'm Locked In This Space

Day Twenty: Lactation + Bukkake | 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Tomura Shigaraki x Dabi x Twice x cow hybrid f!Reader Genre: Smut Notes: this is a sequel to this... enjoy 🐮 (you can probably read this without reading part one but... part one is bomb and u should totally read it 🤪) Warnings: 18+, noncon, pseudocest, lactation, bukkake, rough touching, nipple play, degradation, praise, group sex, cumplay??, fingering, masturbation, dacryphilia, slapping, spitting, kicking, hair pulling. Words: 3.7k

“Nii-San! Too rough!” you cry. “Too rough with me!” you continue.

“Shut up,” Tomura hisses. “They’re fucking broke, why doesn’t it ever work when I do it?” he complains.

“Because you’re a fucking incel and have no idea how to touch women.” Touya teases.

The light provocation is more than enough to rile up your brother. And who is lucky enough to be at the receiving end of his frustration? You. He slaps you, spits in your face and shoves you further into the ground. That slinky tail of yours waves around in the air as you try and pick yourself up. It was like you were begging for Tomura to yank it. You screech eerily, it’s jarring enough to cause everyone to cover their ears.

This would not be happening if your daddy wasn’t away on business. Touya was right, Tomura didn’t have a clue how to touch a woman. But your daddy was perfect. You miss him. He’d keep you safe; he always does.

If only Tomura and his friends hadn’t stumbled across your little indiscretion with your daddy. If only Tomura hadn’t discovered that your tits leak milk when you’re aroused.

You wouldn’t be in this fucking mess right now.

Jin drops to the ground. He can be just as mean as the others, but he has a sweet side too. There’s no doubt that he’s your favourite of Tomura’s friends. You curl your body away from him, still sceptical of his intentions. But he looks at you with pleading eyes. He’s begging for you to trust him. And maybe you’re dumb for having faith in him; but something is telling you to believe he won’t hurt you.

He sits with his back to the wall and spread legs, inviting you between them. You accept. You shuffle along, doing your best to prevent the swishing of your tail. If any of them must violate you like this, desperate for their milky reward, you’d rather it be Jin. He hooks his feet around your ankles, spreading you open for your brother and Touya to see. You nestle your face into the crook of his neck. You’re embarrassed, ashamed. He doesn’t mind. He wants to help.

Two thick fingers plunge into your already sopping hole. You mewl from the stretch, his fingers are a lot bigger than your brother’s. He lightly rolls a nipple between his finger and thumb. You instantly feel at ease. It’s obvious he has experience, something your dear brother severely lacks.

“Just relax sweetheart, gonna make you feel good.” he whispers as his face turns to you. A grin forms on his face when he sees your cute little ears twitching from the positive reinforcement. “Cum already! I’m getting bored!” he adds, the risen volume making you jolt.

You wrap an arm around his neck, pulling your face closer into him. For some reason, it’s irritating Tomura. He’s never been protective of you before. He hates you, after all. But seeing Jin be so kind to you and seeing how affectionate you are with him. He’s worried. Is he, jealous?

“You’re doing great baby, sorry I shouted. I didn’t mean it okay?” Jin hums. You nod, tears pricking at your eyes. It’s so unusual for boys your age to be nice to you. Tomura had made it very clear that you would never be allowed to make friends at university, he easily turned everyone against you. So, to have Jin be so sweet with you, almost like a friend. It was foreign, but it was nice.

“Stop being fucking nice to her, makin’ me feel like I shouldn’t be watching.” Touya interjects. Jin snickers but ignores his friend. Much to Tomura’s chagrin.

“Come on bitch, cum for me already!” Jin repeats in a similar vain to his previous outburst. How could you possibly cum when you were so nervous? But because of his irritating secondary voice, he’d mastered the art of speaking whisper quiet when he needed to. He lined his mouth up with your little, twitching ears, so he could help move things along. “I think you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my whole life,” he murmurs. “even your cow parts, in fact, I think they make you even prettier.” he confesses. You pull your face out of your hiding spot and look at him.

“Yeah?” you whisper back.

“Yeah.” he assures you. The feeling of his big fingers fucking your insides all of a sudden feels a lot more enjoyable. “Think you can cum f’me? Wanna make you feel good, gorgeous.”

Tomura has had enough, he’s not about to stand around and watch while you have a private conversation with his friend. Slut. Ugly cow slut. He begins to approach to drag you away from him, but Touya has noticed something he hasn’t. He holds his arm out to prevent him from moving any further. Your cute little face scrunches up and your mouth falls into an ‘O’ shape as your brother’s blonde friend batters your insides. The squelching is obscene, you’re desperate for this to be over so you can get on with your day. You’re close, so close.

“Jin!!—Nggh!” you moan.

You feel embarrassed as you cum in front of an audience. Touya and Tomura are lording above you while Jin holds you gently against him on the ground. You’ve done what they ask. So, you know what’s next.

“Make her do it, Jin.” Tomura commands. So Jin gets to work, pulling gently and carefully on the nubs of your breast. It’s so tender, loving. It reminds you of how daddy is with you. “Hurry up.” Tomura orders. With the right pull and a perfect pinch, your breasts are leaking. Tomura scrambles to the ground and hurries towards you, not wanting to waste a drop. He latches onto your breast and suckles greedily.

“Fuckin’ freak.” Touya hums. It’s ignored by your brother, he’s too drunk on the treats from your teats.

He wipes his mouth breathlessly as he takes all that you can give. He looks up at Touya, unashamed of his behaviour. He just pants, and pants. Until finally, he smiles.

“Make her do it again, you both need to taste it.” Tomura commands.

Jin gets to work on rubbing your swollen clit, eager to make this nightmare end for the both of you. It’s a relief that you’re so sensitive already, it takes no time at all to have you on the verge of cumming again. Jin stares intently into your eyes as you come closer and closer to the precipice. He’s telling you that you can do it. You’re amazing and you can do it. So, you do. God, you do. Jin begins tugging on your nipples again before Touya objects.

“I’m not an incel like this freak, I got it.” he tells his friend.

You’re yanked away from Jin and pulled onto Touya as he sits comfortably on the ground. He has you straddling him. He bites his lip as he admires the changes of your face. You must like it when your nii-san’s friends touch you. Whore. Stupid cow whore.

“Do my fingers feel good, sweetheart?” he asks you. You nod. He pinches a little harder, making you wince. “Words, doll. Tell me how good my fingers feel.”

“G-Good, Touya. Feels good.” you admit. It wasn’t a lie. It was obvious Touya had the most sexual experience out of Tomura’s friend group, and yet, you much preferred it when Jin was touching you. He pulls you closer to him, lacing his fingers through your hair and pulling you downwards. The skin of your neck is completely exposed, he nibbles lightly on your pulse point which makes your cunt clench around nothing. He lets you go, resuming his tender rolling of your nipples. And soon, they’re leaking once again.

“Taste it.” Tomura instructs.

Touya latches on, not offering Tomura a verbal response but feeling more than comfortable to flip him off. He’s devouring your essence. It is good. He supposes he understands why Tomura can’t get enough. Shit. He can’t get enough, either. He pulls away, he isn’t breathless like Tomura, but it was certainly an awakening for him. His lips are parted, they’re decorated with speckles of white milk. The upper and lower lip are connected by a milky, webbed string. He smirks at you, pursing his lips and making kissy noises.

You know what he wants.

You lean down to kiss him. And it’s weirdly intimate. Passionate, in fact. It enrages Tomura. He tries to intervene, but Touya sharply kicks him away. He huffs and groans. He’s furious. But what can he do? It’s Jin’s turn, anyway. He’ll just have to keep getting jealous until he makes his friends leave.

“Let Jin try,” Tomura speaks. But Jin shakes his head.

“Not interested. Let me taste your tits babe!” both of his friends were confused. Two conflicting points, but they always know which voice to believe. Why didn’t he want a turn? “You guys… You’ve skeeved me out. Freaks, both of you. I don’t wanna do it.” he confesses.

“Suit yourself.” Tomura responds.

“Aw, I think Jin’s in love. Tryna take the fuckin’ high road and make us look shitty?” Touya torments.

Jin huffs, searching for his cigarettes and lighter in his jacket pocket. He nods along with Touya’s statement, anything to placate him. He doesn’t love you, obviously. He doesn’t know you. You’re just Tomura’s little sister. He thinks you’re cute, but love? Tch. In any case. As cute as he thinks you are, he isn’t going to miss out on the finale.

Jin stands to his feet, as do Tomura and Touya. The sound of three zippers coming down whirrs through your mind and sends a disgusting, unexplainable feeling through your senses. You can’t handle getting gang banged. Not today, not ever. But that isn’t what this is. Don’t you worry your slutty little head about that.

Three menacing glares were fixed on you. Glowering down at your frightened, confused form. Jin was different, like he’d become a new person. The sweet, caring whispers were a thing of the past. All three of them had removed their hardened cocks from the confines of their trousers and are pumping away.

“T-Tomura-nii?”

“Sit nicely for nii-san.” he tells you, the familiar slit of his cock looking you dead in the eye. “You’ve been a good girl for us today, so we’re going to give you our milk now.”

Tomura ordered you to stay on your knees until they were done with you. The hard, cold flooring was less than comfortable for your aching legs. It was upsetting that zero of the three men standing before you thought to offer you some comfort in the form of a couch cushion or a blanket. But you aren’t surprised. They’re only out for themselves.

“Who’s first?” Tomura questioned.

“Probably you, right? Two pump chump, fuckin’ virgin.” Touya remarks, smirking once more as he finds himself so damn amusing.

“’m not a fucking virgin anymore!” Tomura argued.

“Why is that again? Oh yeah, because you bullied your little sister into fucking you and she agreed so that you’d like her more.” Touya continued.

“Shut up, Touya.” Tomura seethed, “You go first, fucking asshole.”

It was odd, really. That they were snapping and staring at each other while they had their dicks out. It was like they were threatening each other with their erections. A standoff, almost. It was even weirder that they didn’t seem to notice it was an unusual thing to do with friends. Maybe they’ve done this before, another innocent girl in the exact same position you are. But Touya shrugged. He was happy to go first. He’s been aching for a while now, and he couldn’t wait to see what you looked like covered in his pearly white cum.

His fingers laced through your hair yet again, forcing you to look up at him. He was smiling, really smiling. A cheesy, skin crawling smile that sent fear from the tips of your ears to the edge of your tail. Touya didn’t seem to be embarrassed that he had the shortest length in comparison to his friends. It wasn’t short by any means. Easily six inches. A nice length, not too thick either. It didn’t bother him at all. He has the most experience. He has the record for girls he’s made cream themselves. The size doesn’t matter, he knows what to do with it.

The blood pumps through his cock as he continues beating his length. His eyes fluttered closed as he focuses on his impending high. Memories race through his mind of girls he’s fucked and orgasms he’s experienced. His teeth grit. God, you’re so cute. You’re better than any of them. His eyes open again, and he bites his lower lip, harsh enough to draw blood. It’s your eyes, you see. Your sweet, innocent eyes all blown to hell. It’s like you’re pleading with him to not do this to you. But he has to. He needs to.

“Gonna look so pretty, painted with my cum.” he croons. You feel slick dribble out of your sloppy cunt. If there’s one thing you like about Touya more than anyone else, it’s his voice. And now, with the way you’re squirming on the ground, he’s picked up on it. “D’ya like my voice princess? Like it when I talk dirty, and low?” he wonders. You nod.

Your eyes are watery. The way his tip leaks doesn’t go amiss, so wet and ready to cover you in his wasted kids. He feels himself getting hotter. His forehead coated in a thin, sheen layer of sweat. Inky black locks sticking down against him. He’s running out of air, out of resolve. He can’t last. He needs to give it to you.

“Gonna cum, doll. G-Gonna— Ah, oh – fuuuuuck – take it.” he growls. Watery, white sperm lands on you. It’s hot, boiling almost. It’s warmed your entire face. You feel sick when you realise he got in your hair. It seems endless. Has it been a while for the resident stud? “Thaaaat’s it. Fuck, looks so fuckin’ good babe.” he groans, forcing out the last of his release.

You feel filthy. And it’s only going to get worse, two more scumbags to go.

Tomura wants to be last, process of elimination dictates that Jin is next. He lights up another cigarette in his mouth before forcing you to look up at him. It’s erotic, somehow. It certainly makes you more aroused, seeing his cigarette latched between his lips as he jerks himself off in front of you.

He can see the adoration in your eyes, too. Fuck, maybe he does love you. It’s undeniably a sight he can get used to. You still trust him, don’t you? That’s sad. That is real sad, actually. Simply because he showed the tiniest bit of kindness to you, you’re giving him more credit than he deserves. He meant what he said, but he only said those things to make you cum.

Jin is the biggest of the three, by far. Thick and long. Veiny, too. It didn’t surprise you at all. He’s the tallest of the three and it’s easy to see he’s got the biggest build. You knew the blonde would have a monster betwixt his thighs.

The cigarette is giving away how close he is, how desperate and needy he is to cum. With each inhale, the smoke comes out of his nostrils in shaky, erratic breaths. You’re perfect. You’re perfect. Yes, you’re fucking perfect. He loves you. He loves you, has he always loved you? He doesn’t love you, yes he does! He can’t love you. He’s been through this; he doesn’t know you. But look at you. So obedient, so beautiful, so willing. You love his cock, don’t you? Better than Tomura’s and Touya’s. He’s hoping you think you might love it more than your daddy’s.

“Say you love me,” he speaks, orange embers on the tip of the cigarette flickering playfully as he talks. “say it, say it darlin’. You love my fat cock, don’t you skank?!”

“I- I-“

“Fucking say it.”

“I… I love you Jin. I love your… your…” you gulp. The little bob in your throat makes his eyes roll over white momentarily. He wants to see his cock shoved down there, he knows it’d choke you. But you’d try your best for him, wouldn’t you? You love him after all. You’d take his heavy cock down your throat. That’d prove you love him alright, if you let Jin fuck your tight li’l throat. Next time. And away from these degenerate freaks.

His cigarette almost drops from his lips, but he catches it skilfully with his teeth. The way you jump and quickly close your eyes as he shoots his cream onto you is the cutest fucking thing he’s ever seen in his whole entire life. He grunts loudly, it’s manly and so erotic. He seems older than the other two. More mature. Touya may have fucked more girls, but Jin seems more grown. He doesn’t care to argue with them when they start. He isn’t interested in comparing dick sizes and he has no desire to get into competitions over girls. He’s here to cover you in his cum, and that’s all that matters.

His head droops backwards while he orgasms. Smoke from his cigarette dances and twirls upwards towards the ceiling. His contribution to your skin is both better and worse than Touya’s. It’s thicker. You prefer thick, creamy cum over runny. Although in this instance, you can’t stand it. It already felt disgusting to have one person’s essence on your skin. And now, they’re mixing. You’re sticky and gross. And you still have one more to go.

Your dear nii-san.

And what a pretty nii-san he is. The skinniest guys always have the longest cocks. Though he was still beat in length by Jin, he had a skinnier shaft too. Each of the men above you had something different to offer, and you were more nervous than ever now it was your brother’s turn. He jerked himself off with one hand as he ruffled his hair momentarily with the other. No wonder he’s so well liked and popular. He’s just so handsome. You still couldn’t believe he was a virgin until he fucked you. How weren’t girls throwing themselves at him?

“You’ve n-never looked better.” he smiles, observing your features. “All of this cum is covering that ugly face of yours.” he taunts, Cheshire grin taking over his face as he snickers at you.

“Tomura-nii… ‘m not ugly.” you sniffle, unable to hide your hurt feelings from them. Touya laughs lazily down at you. But Jin turns away. He can’t stand to watch, to listen. But he’d never defy Tomura or challenge him. Maybe he doesn’t love you as much as he thought. It was pre-orgasm hysteria.

“You are, though.” he replies to you. “An ugly little cow. You should be grateful my friends and I are giving you the honour of our cocks. No one else will, you know. No one wants to be with a freak of nature like you.” he spits.

“P-Please, stop…” you beg. Your fat tears roll down your face and mix with the copious amounts of cum covering you already. You truly have never, ever felt so disgusting and so used. But this is what Tomura wants, you don’t realise it. But there’s something so arousing about seeing you cry.

“Aw, poor little bitch. Did nii-san upset you?” he asks, and you nod. “Good. Ugly whore. You look even uglier when you c-cry.” he stammers. Voice betraying him eventually as he climbs towards his release.

He rubs his forehead with the back of his hand, eliminating the glossy sweat that’s making his icy blue locks stick to him just as Touya’s hair had been. Tremoring fingers begin to scratch at his skin, his neck. He’s anxious suddenly. Why are you fucking looking at him like that? You know how. Like you always do. So fucking needy and upset. He yanks your right ear, and you yelp woefully.

“Open your mouth for me.”

And you do. And for some reason, that is what makes him lose it. Your willingness to please your nii-san in any way that you can. The immediate enthusiasm to open your mouth if it means it will gratify your brother. And it’s wet. Your mouth, it’s so fucking wet. Your pink muscle vibrating in your mouth as you wait for him to deposit his load inside. Spit strings between your teeth. He feels stupid now, too. Because like Jin, he wishes he’d fucked your ugly little face instead. Give you a real reason to cry. He only spurts a little into your mouth. The rest squirting across your cheeks and into your eye. It stings, fuck, it really stings. As if you needed any more of a reason to cry.

“Good girl, stupid cunt. Y’hear me? My stupid cunt, nii-san’s ugly little cow.”

They’ve all tucked themselves away now. Ready to move on and head out somewhere for more fun. They aren’t sure what could be more fun than that. They can’t wait up to meet up with Kai and tell him how badly he missed out. Tomura has forbidden you from moving from that exact spot until they’re out of the penthouse. You’re cradling your bloodshot eyes. Praying desperately that they leave quicker. You want a shower; you want an ice pack. You want to be alone.

Jin halts as Touya and Tomura enter the elevator. He explains he forgot something, and he’ll meet up with them in a few hours. He’s gotta go home and pick up some things. They shrug their shoulders and bid him farewell. Tomura has known Jin long enough now, he trusts that he won’t try and steal anything. He trusts that he’ll retrieve whatever it is he’s forgotten and get out.

But he won’t.

He won’t, because he hasn’t forgotten anything.

He approaches you. Jin crouches down on the balls of his feet and offers you a hand. He’s smiling. Not menacingly. Not with an ulterior motive. He’s just smiling, earnestly.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

© 2021 fuwushiguro

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"It's All Your Fault, Isn't It?"

Yan! SatoSugu x Reader Sum: You've had the chances, why didn't you take them. In the end you'll always just lose the purest of love. Last part of: Can my friend join?, This is Love, Right? ** Can be read as standalone fics** TW: Yandere Behaviors (Obsession, Manipulation, etc), Death of Child Character, Blood, Toxic Relationship Dynamics, Depression, Dubcon, Lactation, Pregnancy themes, SatoSugu, Angst No Comfort. MDNI WC: 7.7k

A/n: I got supperrr stuck in the loop of editing, so I am just gonna post it, I feel like rereading it after the tenth time. I almost just pressed delete lol. :) enjoy!

It’s all your fault, isn’t it?

You did this to yourself. You should have walked away when the chance was there, when the door was still open, even just a crack. You should have screamed, fought, run—anything to reclaim a sliver of your freedom.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

Was it the security? The comfort of knowing you’d never struggle to pay bills or scramble to find work? Was it the way Satoru promised, over and over, that you’d never go unloved, never feel the ache of loneliness again?

Or was it something darker? Something you couldn’t quite admit to yourself?

You told yourself it was love. You told yourself you were lucky. How many women could say they had someone who’d give them the world? Someone who, with a flick of his wrist, could bend the rules of life itself to ensure you had everything you could ever need?

So, you stayed.

Even before Suguru became part of the equation, you stayed. You even stayed when Satoru would come home in the dead of night, his footsteps a faint echo through the silent halls before his hands found you. You’d stir from your sleep as he pulled your panties down with barely a word, his breath hot against your neck.

There was no tenderness in those moments, no love—just need. A raw, consuming need he claimed you had to fulfill. And you let him, didn’t you? You let him push inside you with barely any preparation, your body yielding to him because he knew it so well.

Satoru knew the places that made you crumble, the spots where your body quivered, the way your breath hitched when his fingers grazed just right. He knew you better than you knew yourself, didn’t he? His movements were deliberate, practiced, the wet noises filling the room a cruel testament to how thoroughly he’d mastered you.

You’d given him permission. He reminded you of that often, didn’t he? That you’d said yes. That he worked so hard, carried so much, and that this was his right. That he had needs only you could meet.

And you understood. You always understood.

After all, he was the strongest, wasn’t he?

So, you let him use you.

Like a doll.

You’d lay there, staring at the ceiling, as he buried himself to the hilt one last time, his loud groans of release cutting through the stillness. A pathetic little whimper followed, muffled by the darkness, as he spilled himself inside you. And then, as if the act meant nothing, he pressed a sweet kiss to your temple, murmured something soft and indistinct, and rolled over to his side of the bed.

You stayed there, silent and unmoving, the lingering heat of his body beside you doing nothing to warm the cold ache between your thighs.

That’s when the thought would creep in. A sick, unwelcome whisper:

You didn’t even climax.

You hated yourself for thinking it. For letting it matter.

But still, you stayed.

Was it fear that held you there? Or was it hope—a desperate, foolish hope that one-day things would change? That one day, every day would feel like those rare, sweet moments when he pressed teasing kisses against your lips before dragging you out to get sweets. That he’d touch you with love, with the tenderness he so effortlessly showed to others—when he wasn’t breaking them apart piece by piece with that same teasing grin.

And now, looking back, you can’t decide what’s worse: that you didn’t leave when you had the chance…

Or that part of you still doesn’t want to.

You stayed, even when the small arguments started. The little spats about wanting him to open up more, to share pieces of his life with you, the pieces he always kept hidden. Perhaps it was selfish—maybe even naïve—but you wanted to know why he loved you.

Really, truly loved you.

But you never asked.

You saved that question, tucking it away deep into your heart, right alongside the cracks that had already started forming. You told yourself it wasn’t the right time. That maybe he wasn’t ready. That you shouldn’t push. Instead, you focused on the good times, clinging to them like lifelines.

Because they were good, weren’t they?

What other guy would give you the world like Satoru did? What other guy would bring you flowers every week—a different color each time, sometimes traditional, sometimes exotic, but always beautiful? What other guy would shower you with affection so openly, so shamelessly, pressing kisses to your skin, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as though you were the only thing keeping him grounded?

Satoru had told you he loved you. And maybe he did—in a way that wasn’t entirely built on desire, the need to keep you within his grasp, or the insatiable craving to hold you close for the rest of your days.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

That’s why you stayed.

Even when Suguru came into the picture—when those dark, calculating eyes lingered on you just a moment too long when his quiet, honeyed words wove themselves into your life like threads binding you to a tapestry you couldn’t escape—you stayed.

You had the choice, didn’t you? You could have said no. You could have walked away.

But you didn’t.

You stayed, and now there was no one else to blame.

So, truly, it is all your fault.

However, your heart’s at fault too, isn’t it? For leaning into Suguru's touches, craving his warmth, even when you knew deep down that he was a cruel and awful man. A man who veiled his darkness in sweetness, wrapping it in gentle words and tender caresses that made you doubt your own truths. He was a master of contradiction—soft hands and sharp edges, honeyed lies hiding an iron grip.

You could have left.

You could have said no to the whole relationship, shut the door before it ever opened.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

You told yourself that maybe this was the best you could hope for, the best kind of love someone like you deserved. Because it was love, wasn’t it? They loved you. Even if it was conditional. Even if you had to give and give, piece after piece of yourself, just to receive a sliver in return.

Love comes in many forms, after all. And this was love.

Or so you continued to convince yourself.

This is what you deserve. That you should have listened to your gut, back when every touch felt too heavy, too lingering, too much. Back when their words seemed to wrap around you like chains instead of promises. You should have left before the walls around you closed in. Before you realized that leaving wasn’t just difficult—it was dangerous.

You had your chances, didn’t you? If only you’d taken them.

You knew Satoru would tear the world apart to find you if you ran. He’d find you, no matter where you went, no matter how far. But… would he really?

If you’d left early enough, maybe it wouldn’t have been like this. Maybe it would have been nothing more than a bad breakup, a lesson in heartbreak you’d recover from in time. Maybe, if you’d left after Suguru’s return, Satoru would have leaned on him instead of spiraling further into obsession.

But you didn’t leave.

You stayed.

Such a stupid, stupid girl.

And yet…

It was never just about them, was it?

Because you craved love too, just as much as they did. You wanted it desperately—so much that you ignored the warnings in your heart, the creeping dread in your chest. You wanted to be loved, to feel wanted, to belong to someone in a way that was absolute, undeniable, and unshakable.

And that’s exactly what they gave you.

But love like that—it came with a cost.

And you paid for it in silence, in submission, in the pieces of yourself you’d never get back.

So now, here you are, locked away in the beautiful Gojo estate. A place so grand it should feel like a palace, yet it suffocates you like a gilded cage. Every corner gleams with wealth and power, every surface reflects the life you’re supposed to be grateful for.

The maids don’t meet your eyes.

To them, you aren’t Satoru’s wife. You aren’t a partner. You’re something lesser.

A pet.

Because you aren’t the one ensuring the estate runs smoothly while Satoru is away on his endless missions. That responsibility doesn’t fall to you—it belongs to Suguru, doesn’t it? He’s the one in charge. He holds the reins, commanding the household with a quiet authority that leaves no room for question.

And you?

You remain.

The pet. The wife. The child-bearer.

Barefoot and pregnant, with a swollen belly to show for it, you shuffle through the estate like a ghost. Your body aches, weighed down not just by the child growing inside you, but by the chains of a life you can’t escape.

Suguru sees to it that the estate runs like a well-oiled machine, all while maintaining his title as the second strongest. His responsibilities never seem to tire him, never seem to dull his devotion. If anything, they only make him more overbearing.

He adores pampering you.

He drapes you in the softest blankets, ensuring you’re always warm. He dresses you in the finest clothes, silks and satins that cling to your growing belly, showcasing the proof of your usefulness. He loves the way your independence has been stripped away, loves the way you’ve been forced to rely on him for everything.

When did you become so dependent?

When did you start accepting his affection like a loyal dog, start leaning into the way his rough, calloused hands would trace the curve of your stomach? When did you start craving the way he’d gaze up at you with that lovesick smile, his voice low and honeyed as he murmured sweet words about the future?

“I hope the baby looks like Satoru,” he’d say, his eyes dark and soft as they met yours. Then, after a pause, “I hope it’s a girl.”

The words always made your chest tighten, made your stomach twist.

You know he must miss the twins.

It’s not just the weight of their absence—it’s the way he’s filled that void with this child, this unborn life. You can see it in the way he touches you, the way he watches you. He’s more excited about this pregnancy than you are.

And that’s the cruelest part, isn’t it?

Because to him, this isn’t just a child. It’s a legacy. A purpose.

To you?

It’s another chain.

And yet, you hate how loving he is. How he’s always there to hold your hair back when you’re bent over, heaving in the dead of night. How his large, warm hands find every knot in your aching limbs, massaging away the tension with a tenderness that makes your heartache.

It’s cruel, how gentle he can be. How he disarms you with care just when you think you might muster the strength to fight back.

There’s a constant mantra in your mind, a desperate hope that the baby won’t resemble either of them.

Because the thought of seeing their features reflected back at you stirs a fear too heavy to bear.

The thought of seeing their features reflected in those tiny, innocent eyes is terrifying. It brings the fear that every decision will feel like a mistake, that allowing any of this to happen will become an unbearable regret.

You tell yourself you hope, but it’s hard to ignore the possibility, isn’t it?

What if the child inherits Satoru’s piercing blue eyes—so crystalline they seem otherworldly, glowing even in the faintest light? The same eyes that burn and freeze you all at once, stripping you bare and exposing every secret, every hidden part of you.

Even his grin—boyish, sharp, too wide—lingers in your mind. A grin that could charm and cut in the same breath, leaving you unsure whether to lean closer or step away. What if that grin appeared on a smaller, softer face, just as devastating?

Or worse—what if the baby inherits Suguru’s gaze?

Those dark, soulful eyes that pull you in like the tide, gentle at first glance, inviting even, but hiding endless, churning storms beneath their surface. Eyes that promise escape is not an option. Unlike Satoru’s, Suguru’s smiles are quieter, softer—but no less dangerous. His smiles feel deliberate, like they’re slipping past every defense you didn’t even know you had.

Would the baby inherit Satoru’s arrogance? Suguru’s patience?

Or worse—would the child inherit both of their possessiveness?

The thought makes your skin crawl.

But the fear doesn’t end there.

Because it’s not just about the baby, is it?

It’s about you.

About how they’ve already carved themselves so deeply into your soul that you can’t even imagine a world without them. You hate that truth. Hate the way it festers inside you, a bitter root growing into every part of you.

You hate Satoru’s smirk when he strides into the estate after a mission, brushing off the exhaustion and blood as if it’s nothing. How he towers over you, his white hair catching the light in a way that seems almost ethereal, his fingers tilting your chin up with a mock tenderness that makes your breath catch.

You hate how he always knows exactly what to say to make you crumble, his voice dipping into that teasing lilt that makes your heart flutter in spite of yourself.

And Suguru—oh, you hate how he lingers. How his touch lingers. His hands are always warm, always deliberate, tracing paths across your skin as if he’s claiming you, piece by piece. Every stroke of his fingers feels like a silent reminder that you are his, that you belong to him. His voice, low and soothing, is a cruel contradiction—a balm against your nerves, even when his words are laced with quiet threats you pretend not to hear.

You hate them.

You hate the way they consume you, the way they’ve woven themselves into the fabric of your life so tightly that even your thoughts feel tangled in their presence.

And yet, as you sit in the vast, lonely expanse of the Gojo estate, the weight of your belly grounding you, you know the truth.

You’re not just afraid of the baby looking like them.

You’re afraid of what that child will mean.

Because if they look like Satoru, with his arrogance, his fire, his brilliance, how will you deny the pride swelling in your chest? How will you stop yourself from feeling that flicker of awe, even when you know you shouldn’t?

And if they look like Suguru, with his quiet strength, his steadfast devotion, how will you deny the love? How will you stop yourself from melting beneath those familiar eyes, from imagining them crinkling with joy or softening with affection?

You can’t.

And that's horrifying.

You won’t be able to ignore how Satoru has changed, how he’s become softer, more attentive in ways that make it harder to hold onto your resentment. How he lingers closer to you than he ever did before, as if the mere distance between you might undo something fragile inside him.

How he’s started resting his head in your lap as you sit together in the serene gardens, his white hair catching the sunlight like spun silk, almost ethereal. His long lashes cast soft shadows over his cheeks as his half-lidded gaze flickers up to meet yours, brimming with a tenderness you don’t know how to process.

He murmurs lazy words of affection, his voice low and warm, the kind of sweetness that drips like honey and sticks to your skin. His fingers trace absentminded circles on your thighs, soft patterns that feel far too intimate, far too easy.

And you hate how much you crave it.

You hate the way his presence soothes something raw inside you, even when you tell yourself it shouldn’t.

You hate how he’s begun helping you with the small, intimate things you wish you could keep to yourself. Like the unbearable ache in your swollen breasts, the pressure building so much it leaves you trembling, whimpering in pain. How he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even ask.

The way Satoru's lips wrap around you with loud, deliberate suckles, the sound echoing in the quiet as he eases the pressure with almost clinical precision. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t falter. His hands grip your hips to steady you, his thumbs pressing reassuring circles into your skin.

You hate the sound.

You hate the warmth of his breath against your skin, the way it prickles, a constant reminder of just how close he always is—too close.

When he’s finished, he pulls back with a satisfied hum, his lips brushing against your collarbone with a lingering kiss. His voice low, almost tender, as he murmurs, “I love this version of you.”

The words settle into you like stones. His lips, still soft from the milk, press against yours, and the faint sweetness lingers, almost cloying. Satoru murmurs more words—gentle, saccharine things that would feel kind if not for the way his hands start to roam as they wrap around your waist.

“How nurturing you’ve become,” he whispers, his tone carrying a dangerous sort of reverence.

That’s what he loves. That’s what he says.

And the way he looks at you when he says it—those bright blue eyes glinting with something dark, something that sinks its claws into you—makes your skin crawl. Because you know exactly what he means.

He doesn’t love the nurturing in and of itself. He loves how it ties you to him. How it binds you to this role, this life, this carefully constructed world where you are his and only his.

The version of you he loves is one that has no room for defiance, no space for resistance—only the space to give, to sacrifice, to bend under the weight of his love.

And that’s what makes it so much worse.

Because even as you hate it, even as your stomach churns and your skin prickles, there’s a part of you that leans into his touch. A part of you that longs for the softness, for the fleeting moments when it feels like love instead of control.

And you hate yourself for that, too

Because you know how it goes. You’ve seen it now. Lived it.

How one pregnancy ends and another begins.

The cycle repeated itself after your firstborn, didn’t it? Barely a year after you gave birth, they had you pregnant again. You didn’t even have time to recover, to heal, before they decided it was time for another.

But they love you, don’t they?

Satoru’s affection is impossible to miss—the way he grins at you, almost childlike, as he cups your face with hands that can destroy worlds but hold you as though you’re the most delicate thing he’s ever touched. How he showers you with gifts, flowers in every shade imaginable, rare treasures that sparkle as brightly as his endless energy.

How many times has he told you, in his low, teasing voice, “You’re my world, you know that? I could do anything, have anything—but none of it would matter without you.”

It sounds like love, doesn’t it?

And Suguru—Suguru loves you too, in his quiet, steady way. You see it in the way he watches you, his dark eyes softening when you enter the room, the weight of his gaze feels suffocating. He’s the one who stays calm when you cry, wrapping his arms around you and murmuring, “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

And you believe him, don’t you?

They love you. That’s why they insist on keeping you close. Why Satoru kisses your forehead every morning, why Suguru runs his fingers through your hair as he whispers sweet nothings you’re too exhausted to resist. That’s why they ensure you’re taken care of, why they never let you lift a finger, why they promise they’ll always protect you.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Satoru once said, kissing your swollen belly as he grinned up at you. “Just stay here with us. That’s all we need.”

“It’s not just for us,” Suguru added, his voice softer, more measured. “It’s for you too. We want you to feel safe. Loved.”

And in moments like that, when the weight of their words settles in your chest like a lullaby, you almost believe them.

You tell yourself that no one else would love you this much. No one else would care for you so completely, so unconditionally—because this is love, isn’t it?

The maids barely acknowledged your struggles. Their gazes were cold, dismissive, even as your body ached and your mind screamed for reprieve. They would gently pry your child from your arms with hushed whispers.

“You need more rest,” they’d say, their voices soft but unyielding. “We’ll take care of them. Don’t worry.”

And what could you do? You’d watch helplessly as they carried your baby away, leaving you empty-handed, empty-hearted. As if you were nothing more than a vessel, an incubator meant to bear and birth heirs for the Gojo family.

Your firstborn was a boy.

A son.

An heir.

He looked just like Satoru.

Those piercing blue eyes stared back at you from his tiny, cherubic face, wide and curious, already holding a glint of brilliance and confidence you couldn’t deny. His hair was the same stark white, impossibly soft beneath your trembling fingers as you brushed it back, memorizing every perfect strand. Even the little smirk he gave in his sleep mirrored Satoru’s—a playful, almost mocking curl at the corners of his mouth that made your heart ache with emotions you couldn’t unravel.

You loved him.

You hated that you loved him.

And when Suguru would cradle him in his arms, his dark eyes soft and filled with a devotion that seemed to crack the carefully constructed walls around your heart, you couldn’t deny the warmth blooming in your chest. He’d whisper promises to the child—vows of protection and guidance.

When Satoru would swoop in, effortlessly spinning the boy around with an energy that filled the room with light, the sound of your son’s uncontrollable laughter echoing like music, that warmth would return. It would swell in your chest, suffocating and undeniable, a cruel reminder of the chains you wore willingly and unwillingly all at once.

This is what they wanted, wasn’t it?

This is what they’d planned all along.

And now, with another child growing inside you, you realize something that terrifies you more than anything else.

You’re not sure if you stayed because you had no choice.

Or because you wanted to.

Again, it’s all your fault.

For trying to run, again.

For thinking, just for a moment, that you could escape them.

You were far too pregnant. Belly too far swollen, body heavy and slow, every step a reminder of how deeply tethered you were to this vast estate. But the thought wouldn’t leave your mind. The desperate hope of freedom burned too brightly, too wildly, even as your body betrayed you.

Even as you were dragged back to that sickening place, back to the people that you convinced yourself—desperately, foolishly—that this was love.

You’d screamed at Suguru, the words spilling out like a torrent you couldn’t stop. You told him the child was yours too, that you had the right to hold them, to sleep in the same room, to be more than a vessel. Your voice cracked, raw with frustration and desperation, as you hurled your defiance at him.

You remember the way his gaze darkened.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t snap. That wasn’t Suguru’s way.

Instead, he stepped closer, his movements slow, calculated, as though he were approaching a frightened animal. He tilted his head, his expression calm, disarming, the warmth in his dark eyes a stark contrast to the undercurrent of control they held.

“You’re upset,” he murmured, his voice soft, soothing. His hand reached out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears streaking your face. “And that’s okay. You’ve been through so much, haven’t you?”

The quiet warmth in Suguru's voice made it hard to breathe, made the frustration clawing at your throat turn to something else—something like shame.

“You need to calm down,” he continued, a warm calloused hand slipping down to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb pressing lightly against your pulse. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I don’t want you to hurt us.”

His words lingered, heavy with meaning, as he pulled you closer, his forehead pressing against yours.

“I know it’s hard,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “But I love you. We love you. Everything we do—everything I do—is for you.”

You wanted to push him away, to scream that it wasn’t love, that this wasn’t love. But as his arms wrapped around you, strong and unyielding, pulling you into his embrace as though Suguru could shield you from the very world they had trapped you in.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmured, soft lips brushing your temple. “Don’t you see that? You don’t need to run. You don’t need to be afraid. I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you.”

A voice that was so tender, so achingly sincere, that it almost broke you. Suguru's words were enough to extinguish the fire of defiance burning in your chest, to leave you standing there, trembling and helpless in his arms.

The maids saw it, didn’t they? They whispered about you, their quiet voices slipping through the halls like ghosts. They called you ungrateful. Sick. They said you didn’t understand how fortunate you were.

“You should be enjoying this,” they murmured, their words laced with thinly veiled judgment. “No responsibilities, no struggles. A carefree life. Everything is taken care of for you. What more could you want?”

What more could you want?

No choices.

That’s what they meant, wasn’t it? No choices. No freedom. No you.

Was something wrong with you? Maybe.

Maybe there was something wrong with wanting more. For wanting to feel like a person again, instead of a vessel, a doll, a beautifully dressed incubator meant to carry their legacy.

It really is all your fault, isn’t it?

Because when labor came, it dragged you into hell.

Thirty-three grueling hours. Each contraction ripped through your body like a punishment, an unrelenting reminder of every fleeting thought of rebellion, of every moment you dared to imagine a life beyond them.

The emergency c-section was chaos—a flurry of hands, sterile lights, and voices rising above the incessant ringing in your ears. You were losing too much blood. Fever scorched your skin, your body trembling as the edges of the world blurred, your thoughts slipping between consciousness and darkness.

You couldn’t make sense of what was happening. You weren’t even sure whose tears streaked your skin as they fell—were they yours? Satoru’s? Suguru’s?

You didn’t know.

You didn’t know what happened after that.

All you remember are the words.

Suguru’s voice, low and steady, cutting through the haze. He leaned close, his hand resting on your clammy cheek with an almost painful tenderness. His dark eyes bore into yours, soft yet heavy with something that made your stomach twist.

“You shouldn’t have run,” he whispered. His tone was calm, soothing even, but the edge beneath it was sharp enough to draw blood. “Look at what you’ve done to yourself. You should’ve listened.”

And for a long time, you didn’t have the strength to argue.

The days that followed blurred together. Feeling like a ghost in your body, too weak to move, too tired to speak. Satoru and Suguru hovered, their gazes flickering between concern and something you couldn't quite place. The maids continued to whisper on with their rumors, their eyes darting to you with pity or disdain, as though you’d done this to yourself.

In their eyes, you were lucky.

Lucky to have survived. Lucky to have them.

And lucky, in their eyes, to not have another pregnancy until your first two boys turned five.

Five years of peace. Or something that resembled it.

Five years of watching your sons grow, of hearing their first words, of feeling their small, warm arms wrap around you as they giggled into into your neck. Five years where it was almost believable that this was normal, where you could almost convince yourself this was love.

Because it did feel like love, didn’t it?

Until the day you overheard Suguru speaking to them.

His voice was hushed, but not hushed enough.

“Mommy is sick,” he said, tone calm and soothing like he was explaining a simple fact of life. “Sometimes she says things she doesn’t mean. Sometimes she gets confused. But that’s okay. We love her, don’t we?”

A pang sent through your chest, breath catching as you froze in the hallway. Those cruel words lies carved like knives, each one slicing deeper than the last.

He was planting seeds, wasn’t he?

Teaching them to see you the way he wanted them to see you. Fragile. Dependent. Broken.

However with fists clenched, nails pressing into palms with a sting sharp enough to ground the swirling emotions within. The urge to scream hovered at the edge, to cry and storm into the room, demanding explanations with the desperation of a cornered animal. Words burned on the tip of the tongue—protests that it wasn’t true, that sickness and confusion weren’t the chains binding this existence.

But what would they believe?

Suguru’s steady, patient voice, rich and even, always laced with quiet authority? The father whose dark eyes always seemed to understand everything, who carried himself with calm, unshakable control, even when his smiles didn’t quite reach his eyes?

Or you?

The mother who had tried to run, who had collapsed and bled and screamed, who had been scolded for her defiance. The one they saw as weak, frail, and ungrateful.

You wanted to run again. The thought burned in the back of your mind, relentless and wild.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

Because, in the end, what choice did you really have?

But by the time your third child—a sweet boy who looked like a perfect blend of you and Suguru—turned three, the illusion of peace began to crack.

Suguru was already leaning close, his voice soft and coaxing as he murmured into your ear, “I think it’s time we try for a girl.”

Satoru, of course, was on board almost immediately.

After all, your third child was different. A nonsorcerer, just like you, showing none of the abilities your first two boys possessed. Those two had cried in the dead of night, their small voices trembling with fear as they described the horrors only they could see—things you couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

But that wasn’t why your husbands looked at Kiyoshi with quiet disapproval.

It wasn’t his lack of cursed energy that made them see him as an anomaly.

It was his heart.

From the moment Kiyoshi was placed in your arms, red-faced and wailing, he clung to you with a desperation that never faded. He didn’t want the maids to hold him, didn’t toddle after Suguru’s composed steps or reached for Satoru’s strong arms. He wanted you. Always you.

He was a mama’s boy through and through, and that was love.

A love so pure it felt like a lifeline in the suffocating world you’d been forced into.

While you loved your first two boys deeply—how could you not?—there was always a distance there, a reflection of the walls your husbands had built around you. The first two cuddled into your lap, their small hands clutching yours as they whispered things that broke you.

“Mommy, we want you to get better.” “We don’t like it when you yell at Daddy to let you leave.”

They were too young to understand, too innocent to see the chains tightening around you.

But Kiyoshi understood, in his own way. Even as a toddler, he refused to leave your side, refused to let the maids or his fathers pull him from your arms. He was always on your hip, his little hand clutching your clothes, his head resting against your chest.

“Kiyoshi,” Satoru had said once, his tone laced with false amusement, “means ‘pure sadness.’ Don’t you think that’s fitting?”

He smiled as if it were a joke, but you could hear the bitterness beneath it.

And maybe it was fitting.

Because Kiyoshi only stopped wailing when he was in your arms, as if he already knew the world outside of you was too cruel, too cold.

By the time he turned three, Kiyoshi would toddle after you in the gardens, small, sturdy legs working hard to keep up. His face—a blend of Suguru’s gentleness and your warmth—would brighten with the purest smile. When his eyes crinkled at the corners, just like yours, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell.

“Look, Mommy!” he’d say, holding up a flower he’d plucked from the garden, his tiny fingers dirt-stained and clumsy. “For you!”

You’d crouch down, brushing his dark hair back as you took the flower, your voice soft and tender in a way you hadn’t heard in years.

“Thank you, my sweet boy.”

And for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you.

Like you could breathe again.

But you knew better.

As the sound of approaching footsteps always shattered moments like these. Heavy and far too familiar. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Suguru.

His softspoken voice broke the fragile silence, calm and even, as always. “Kiyoshi,” he said, warm and affectionate, though laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “You’ve been keeping your mother all to yourself again, haven’t you?”

Kiyoshi stiffened at your side, the little hand tightening its grip on your kimono as he glanced nervously toward Suguru.

Suguru stepped closer and crouched down to Kiyoshi’s level, dark eyes softening as they met his son’s. “Come here, son,” he murmured, holding out a hand. His tone was gentle, coaxing, but there was an unspoken expectation beneath it. “Let Daddy hold you for a little while. I’ve missed you.”

But Kiyoshi didn’t move. His small fingers curled tighter into the fabric of your kimono, his face pressing into your side as though trying to make himself small, invisible.

Suguru’s gaze flicked to you, lips curling into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So shy,” he said softly, his voice carrying a note of amused affection. “But you don’t have to be, Kiyoshi. Daddy just wants to hold you. You know that, don’t you?”

You felt your heart clench, torn between the instinct to shield him and the weight of Suguru’s presence. The tenderness in his tone, in the way his hand remained outstretched, made it all the harder to breathe.

“Kiyoshi,” Suguru said again, his voice dipping into a firmer edge, calm but unyielding. “Come.”

Reluctantly, your little boy let go of you, his steps slow and hesitant as he moved toward his father. Suguru’s smile widened, soft and reassuring, as he scooped Kiyoshi up effortlessly, cradling him with a gentleness that felt too deliberate, too controlled.

“There’s my good boy,” he murmured, brushing Kiyoshi’s hair back with careful fingers. His touch lingered, as though committing the texture to memory. “You love your mommy very much, don’t you?”

Kiyoshi nodded silently, his small face burying itself in Suguru’s shoulder.

Suguru’s gaze lifted to meet yours, a gentle smile, his tone almost playful. “You’ve spoiled him,” he said, a note of amusement threading through his words. “He’s too attached.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to say something, but the words caught in your throat.

What could you say?

That you were the only warmth in a world that terrified him? That his attachment wasn’t a flaw, but a desperate grasp at something safe?

Satoru appeared not long after, his presence impossible to ignore as he strolled into the garden, hands in his pockets and a grin that seemed too bright for the moment. His eyes, however, betrayed something softer—something that lingered only when they landed on you.

“Kiyoshi giving you trouble again?” Satoru's voice came out light, tinged with curiosity.

“No trouble,” Suguru replied smoothly, a hand still resting on Kiyoshi’s small back. “Just a little too fond of his mother.”

Satoru chuckled, shaking his head as he moved closer. His cerulean gaze flicked briefly to Kiyoshi before returning to you, that playful grin softening as he moved to brush a kiss against your temple. “Well, can you blame him?” he murmured, his voice low, meant only for you. “You’re hard not to love.”

The warmth of his affection made your heart twist, and your stomach flutter. For a moment, it was easy to forget the way his words often carried double meanings, easy to believe he was simply being sweet.

He straightened, turning his attention back to Suguru with a teasing smile. “But we’ll fix that soon enough, won’t we?”

They didn’t mean to hurt him, you told yourself. They wouldn’t.

But you knew better.

Because Kiyoshi was different. He didn’t fit into their world the way your first two boys did. And in their eyes, difference was something to be controlled.

For now, they let him cling to you. They let him toddle after you in the garden, offering flowers and dirt-streaked smiles that made your heart ache with both love and dread. For now, they allowed him to stay close, to hold onto the warmth you gave him, to believe he was safe in your arms.

But you knew it was only a matter of time.

Because your sons didn’t belong to you. Not really. They never had.

And no matter how much you wanted to shield Kiyoshi, no matter how fiercely you loved him, you knew one simple, devastating truth:

They’d let you have this for now.

But they would take him, too.

Because, after all, it’s all your fault.

For fleeing in the middle of the night.

The day was supposed to be perfect—a rare moment where Satoru and Suguru had taken the older two boys to the school, their voices filled with excitement as they promised to teach them more about the world they were destined to inherit. Your sweet boys kissed you goodbye with a tenderness that felt almost cruel, leaving you behind with Kiyoshi in the quiet, sprawling estate.

You had been on your best behavior. Smiling more, laughing when Satoru teased you, letting Suguru hold you a little longer than usual. You’d made them believe you were finally settling, finally accepting your role in their carefully constructed world.

And it worked.

So when the sun set and the house fell silent, you made your move.

You bundled Kiyoshi up in the softest blanket you could find, the small body warm and sleepy against your chest. He stirred only slightly as you slipped out of the estate, his tiny hands clutching onto your clothes.

He didn’t cry.

He didn’t make a sound.

It was as if he understood. As if even at three years old, he knew that silence was the only thing keeping you safe.

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his soft breaths warm against your skin, and you couldn’t help the tears that welled up in your eyes.

The highway stretched out before you, an endless black ribbon under the faint glow of the moon. The lights of the city sparkled in the distance, a beacon of hope, a promise of sanctuary.

You walked for miles, the cold night air biting at your skin, legs aching with every step. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Not with the faint echoes of paranoia whispering at the back of your mind.

Were they already looking for you? Did Satoru sense you slipping away even from miles away? Did Suguru wake in the middle of the night with the suffocating weight of intuition, already calling for their forces to track you down?

You didn’t know.

And you didn’t care.

The city limits were closer now, the glow of neon lights growing brighter, sharper. The faint hum of life and sound buzzed in the distance.

Kiyoshi stirred in your arms, his little head lifting just enough to peek out at the world around him. His dark eyes, so much like Suguru’s but filled with an innocence his father could no longer claim, glanced up at you with quiet curiosity.

“Mommy,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the soft hum of the wind.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead, your tears wetting his soft hair. “We’re almost there, my sweet boy,” you murmured, your voice trembling under the weight of hope and fear. “Just a little farther.”

Sanctuary was so close you could taste it.

But it’s all your fault, isn’t it?

Born a nonsorcerer.

Blind to the horrors that lurk unseen. Powerless to fight them off. Too weak to keep that sweet little boy safe.

You always imagined curses as massive, grotesque creatures—monsters so obvious that the very air would change in their presence. That the world would stop, that everything would smell of death and decay as they loomed closer.

But when a curse appears, nothing changes.

There’s no warning. No shift in the wind.

The only thing you feel is the sudden weight of your child going limp in your arms.

And then the blood.

And then the blood.

It coats the ground—dark and endless, pooling around your knees and seeping into the cracks of the earth. Sticky and warm, it clings to trembling hands, staining your kimono, your skin, your very soul.

You can’t move. Can’t breathe.

Your little boy—your Kiyoshi—lies limp in your arms, his small body growing colder with every agonizing second. Tiny fingers, once so eager to cling to you, now dangle lifelessly. His dark lashes rest softly against pale cheeks, unmoving.

He looks like he’s sleeping.

You tell yourself that, over and over, as if saying it enough times will somehow make it true. Shaking hands brush back his dark hair, trembling as you whisper his name. Softly at first, then louder, your voice splintering with every syllable.

“Kiyoshi… wake up, baby. Please.”

But nothing changes.

The world around you feels wrong—too quiet, too still. The city lights in the distance mock you, their glow a cruel reminder of the sanctuary you’d been so close to reaching. You’d promised him, hadn’t you? Promised that everything would be okay. That you’d make it there. That you’d keep him safe.

You lied.

“Kiyoshi,” you choke out again, pressing a desperate kiss to his cooling forehead. Hot tears streak down your face, wetting his soft hair as you clutch him tighter, as though you could anchor him to you—keep him here, with you.

A wail tears through the night, raw and broken, shattering the oppressive silence. The sound is unrecognizable, guttural and full of despair. It takes a moment before you realize it’s coming from you.

The blood stains everything—your hands, your clothes, the ground—but it’s the loss of his warmth that destroys you.

How did this happen?

Your mind races, replaying the moments in broken fragments. You’d been walking, your legs aching, his small body cradled against your chest. He’d been so quiet, so trusting, his head nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

You were almost there.

Then the air shifted—just slightly—a subtle wrongness you hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

You didn’t see it.

You didn’t even know it was there until his body jerked in your arms, a sharp, unnatural movement that stole his breath—and yours.

And then he went limp.

It doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense.

You rock him back and forth, tears falling freely, your voice hoarse as you beg him to wake up. Leaning to press your cheek against his, murmuring his name over and over, as if the sound alone could bring him back.

Because you failed him.

Because this is your fault.

Suguru’s arms wrap around you, their weight unbearable. His warmth presses against the chill of the night, suffocating in a way that makes the air harder to pull into your lungs. He cradles you like something precious, something fragile—like he cares, even as his words twist the knife deeper into your chest.

“We’ll take care of this, just like always,” he says, his voice soft, almost gentle. His lips brush against your hair, lingering, and the tenderness in the gesture makes your skin crawl. “You just need to stop fighting us. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Satoru stood frozen, head bowed, white hair catching the faint glow of the city lights. Kiyoshi’s lifeless body was pressed tightly against him, his hands trembling ever so slightly as he held him close. For a moment, you thought you saw something crack in his expression—something raw, something human.

But it was gone just as quickly as it appeared.

When he finally turned his gaze to you, his blue eyes were as hollow as you’d ever seen them. “You shouldn’t have done this,” he said quietly, his voice devoid of its usual teasing lilt. “Why couldn’t you just stay?”

The question stabbed deeper than you thought possible, the shame and guilt coursing through you like poison.

Why couldn’t you just stay?

The image of Kiyoshi’s bright smile flashed, his tiny hands offering you flowers from the garden, his laugh ringing out like music in the suffocating silence of the estate. He’d been your light, your tether to something good.

And now he was gone.

Because of you.

You sagged further into Suguru’s hold, the fight draining out of you entirely. The tears wouldn’t stop, falling silently now, soaking into the front of Suguru’s shirt as he held you tighter.

“There, there,” he murmured, his hand stroking your hair in slow, deliberate motions. “That’s better. You don’t have to fight anymore. We’ll make it right.”

But there was no right in this.

The car waited nearby, its door open like an unspoken command. Suguru’s grip on you didn’t waver as he began guiding you toward it, his movements gentle but unrelenting. Satoru followed behind, cradling Kiyoshi’s small form like he was made of glass.

Your legs moved on instinct, numb and heavy, the metallic scent of blood lingering in the air.

The city lights grew fainter as the car doors shut behind you, locking you away from the world you’d been so close to reaching.

You told yourself you’d tried. That you’d done everything you could.

But deep down, you knew.

You’d never escape them.

And as Suguru’s fingers intertwined with yours, as Satoru’s empty gaze lingered on the horizon, you realized something that hollowed you out completely.

It wasn’t just that you had nothing left.

It was that you no longer cared to try.

It really was all your fault.

‘ DEATH BY SÉX! 𝜗𝜚

𓉸ྀི sum. his fatal cause of death? op – overly pussydrunk. the prime suspect? located right between your pretty legs. toji, sukuna, nanami, gojo, choso, geto.

warnings. fem! reader, very pússydrunk men, unprotected, cunnīlingus, messy eaters, nīpple play, ab riding, sukuna kinda lactates, dry humping, sqúirting, overstim, spīt, dirty talk, praise, p spanking, fīngering, breedīng mentions, petnames.

an. when you realize everyone here's actually d-

☆ GOJO SATORU.

pronounced dead the minute he goes inside.

satoru grunts, glassy eyes widening as he’s watching his reddened swollen tip disappear between your slick entrance. panting out soft whispering ‘hooooly shit’ ‘s and ‘fuck’ ‘s, you could already tell he’s done for. he’s been inside of you more times than you could count—but it’s like every time is the first time. riding the satoru gojo was a fatality in itself. anytime you ride him he’s weak, and he’s even weaker once you’re staring him dead in the eyes—luxuriating in his lewd contorting facial expressions. it was just the way his crystalline-colored eyes would criss ‘n cross, rolling waaaay back into the dark voids of his head each time he cums inside. satoru always loses it whenever you fuck him, scraping your frantic hips against his and quite literally fucking the brat out of him. “yeah, fuck me. don’t stop baby, don’t—fuckin’—stopp, and he glues his palms against both sides of your waist. your knees rest against his bulky thighs as you’re jerking back ‘n forth, watching his jaw go slack whilst his glossed lips part into a wheezing ‘o.’

and at that moment, he knew he was pussy drunk.

the bed creaks beneath you both. it’s creaks sounded more like groans, and the entire wooden headboard was practically about to split in half.

“mhm, eyes on me ‘toru,” you remind him, glancing at his icy blue eyes that wandered every direction but your face. that was always a habit of his. whenever you rode him, sometimes he’d stare off to the side . . or the ceiling . . or his favorite place, your bouncy tits. “not there, baby,” you tilt his chin up, watching the pout gloss across his lips. satoru claws a hand at your hip, grunting as your cunt sucks him in wholly. every time—you had quite the grip on him, and it’s enough to make him his blushing tip smear across your insides. you moan, feeling the hooked curve of his cock expand through your walls, zigzagging its way through your pasty entrance. “fuck, ‘toru. close again, yeah?”

“m- mhm,” he inhales, gnawing at the bars of his inclosure. your hips were killer . . and every single time - he falls in love with how greedy you slam back and forth against him. rutting hips of yours constantly clashing further into him before a hand wraps around his throat. satoru’s snowy lashes flutter as he glances at you, moaning once you give his neck a slight squeeze. “heh, kinky today, are we angel? usually i’m the one who does the choki—fuuck,” he croaks mid sentence. your squeeze around his throat tightens just a bit, not too much. it’s the right amount of pressure that makes his dick twitch inside of you, and you feel the sporadic pulse instantly. satoru starts to pant, and as your cunt’s still freely constricting around his lanky fat length, his head leans back. “goddd, such a naughty girl. you get y’r cockiness from me that’s for sure.”

“do i?” you purr, leaning in to lick a slope down his neck. satoru moans, and a barred palm of his creeps down toward the fat near heart-shaped juncture of your ass. with a stinging whack, he smacks your rear as you rut into him at a much more quicker pace. with the way your hips rolled, you were gonna hypnotize him with your pussy. you’ve still got dried splotches of cum sticking at your sides before his lips start to quiver in impatient frolic. “baby, open your mouth,” you hum, a sudden idea popping into your head.

working even thinking, the white haired man pries open his mouth before looking at you with low hooded, pussy drunk eyes. “ ‘kay,” he replies submissively, heaving each drawn out breath through his full lungs. satoru’s cock plugs you in snug ‘n fully, and each time you slam your flooding wet cunt against his lap—he’d get whiplash. “what, do i stick out my tongue too or . .” and he pauses, cocky grin fading, and within seconds—he’s growing sheepish once he sees you smugly grinning. “oh.. you’re serious, okay!”

satoru lolls out his pink clean tongue, singing out a playful ‘ahhh’ before that’s when you spit directly in his mouth. he blinks thrice, and instinctively, he swallows. after he savors your taste, a slutty moan leaves from the back of his throat as he’s squeezing your ass. “fuck, do that shit again.”

“yeahhh, more?” you whisper, wiping a thumb across his slick pursed lips. satoru broke a cold sweat, and the more you touched him—the more he started to pant like a dog. his dick ached inside of you, and every time you clamp down on him he lets out a sharp hiss. compressing his lips together again, you give him a quick chaste kiss before purring haughtily. “say ‘pretty please’.”

satoru pouts before sighing with a grousing grumble. his ego was nearly massacred, but he wanted more . . and he wanted you. “pretty . . please,” and he brings a hand toward your right breast, stroking a thumb against your nipple. satoru watches you writhe with his dick still tucked inside before his smugness shortly returns.

“spit in my mouth again,” and satoru, with his lopsided cunt-drunk grin, he puffs his lip out, giving your ass it’s final playful spank. “mommy.”

☆ TOJI FUSHIGURO

toji fushiguro’s an absolute animal whenever it comes to your pussy. straight up, and he might as well change his tittle to the ‘pussy killer.’

he practically lived between your thighs, and fuck could he eat. it doesn’t take toji long at all to get pussy drunk either—in fact, all he even has to do is just smear the buttony tip of his nose down your sopping wet clit, getting a nice whiff.

your scent – it was so strong that without even using his tongue yet, he could already taste you. his tastebuds were salivating… and with you lying pretty, legs sprawled and all, you really brought out the beast out in him. you meet his feral entranced gaze and toji’s heavily panting—already starting to drool from the cracked crevices of his lips just at staring at your cunt.

and all you knew was . .

he’s hungry, and you made him this way.

“f- fuuuck, toji,” you’d croon out a whine, wiggling your hips before he pulls your jittery legs apart from each other. your legs stuck together with such gluey sapping slick that it was cute—you felt hot the more he started to bring his face towards your teary entrance. “n-ngh,” a soft grunt leaves from you as you felt his cold stare intently focus on your poor weeping folds.

one of toji’s favorite things to do though, was to eat you out.. right after he came inside . . and oh, it was the prettiest sight he could ever see.

as toji swiftly goads a plump thumb up to your tender labia, he watches as the mess start to stream out of you – all at once.

you were putting mere waterfalls to shame with how wet you were, just profusely sopping. as he continues to have an eye contest with your sweet drenched folds for a long amount of seconds—toji finally closes the distance, leaning in and sloppily pressing a kiss your pussy.

immediately, he hears the cute ‘psssh’ ‘s your entrance makes and he darkly chuckles once he feels lustrous strings tear away from your entrance, landing onto his mouth. toji didn’t care that he was tasting himself—a sweet.. filthy mixture of you and him that’s now shamelessly coating his scarred, wry lips.

there’s a faint tang of bitterness as he starts to dip his tongue in ‘n out of your cunt—but again, he’s nasty – he’s dirty and your cunt made him even dirtier. toji made sure to thoroughly drag his tongue through every crevice, lapping up the wads of runny cum that was trying to glissade down your puffed pussy. he’s crazy, grabbing ahold of rickety unstable your hips with two bare hands. shaking his head side to side like a madman.

“toji… fuck, you’re s-so nasty,” you moan, fishing a hand through his rumpled overgrown tresses. toji groans once you give his hair a solid pull, yanking him forward. his entire face was stuffed against your pussy—and honestly, to him.. this wouldn’t be a bad way to go out.

death by pussy.

toji found it cute how you could never stay still, his tongue was that much, and you let off a sweet dragging yelp once the tip of his tongue greets itself against your pretty throbbing g-spot. “fuckkk!”

“nasty just for you, babygirl,” he hoarsely whispers against your folds. hitched hot breath waves into your entrance and you were already starting to arch toward. breathy, labored breaths of yours started to grow more ‘n more irregular as he continued eating you out. after every toe-curling movement from his tongue alone—toji moves even closer, lolling out the entirety of his long flat tongue to get an extra good enough taste. he was greedy.

verdant eyes meet yours as he creates a slow sloppy trail, starting at your fluttering hole allllll the way until he’s guiding his tongue to lick in between your slit. toji thinks it’s cute how you’re throbbing in his mouth – pulsating on his tastebuds the entire time—pulse after fuckin’ pulse. you let off a cute ‘ah!’ as you’re just shoving his head against your face and he snickers.

toji slurps you clean, creating such lewd noises from his mouth before meanly spanking your cunt, staring it dead in the entrance. “she’s my favorite girl, always” and he hums. “ ‘s funny though. she’s just like you,” and you whimper once his palm swats against your pudgy folds again, squelches getting louder. “she talks back exactly just like you, baby. wet with a smart mouth.”

your heart feels like it’s about to beat out of your chest as you watch with glossy-doe eyes whilst toji plays between your legs. each convulsion gets stronger… and by now, you started to feel yourself short-circuiting. you were so tender, and toji loved more than anything to spank your cunt raw, kiss it, rub it—then spank it again. a feral cycle.

right then, that’s when he snakes two thick fingers inside of your cunt, watching his fingertips slowly disappear. soft shrilling moans drag from your vocal chords before he licks the remnants of his cum from your pussy before a breathy ‘heh’ fans against your clit. “god, she’s fuckin’ nasty today. no manners just like her pretty owner,” and toji pulls his fingers out, licking them before spanking your cunt again with a free hand. “oooh,” he jibes, pointed ears perking at the cute popping slosh. you’re so wet—so so wet and he only wanted more. as his hand continued to smack against your folds, a few droplets of your sheeny juices splat right near the corner of his mouth. a few millimeters away from his slashing scar near his lip. toji happily licks himself clean with his eager tongue, giving your pretty pussy another spank, and another, and a-fuckin’-nother. .

the room’s filled with nothing but loud spanks of his hand going against your cunt—you moan ‘n whimper everytime, the brief occasional sting from the palm of his hand leaving a sweet dirty taste in your mouth. at his next spank, toji hears you moan out a pretty ‘oooh’ of your own and he looks up at you.

“yeah, girl? like that one, huh? fuck, can’t tell who’s nastier,” and he spits on your cunt before lapping it up before it could dribble between your slit. “messy little girl. cute how y’r pussy’s tryna compete with you,” and as he spanking it for a while, toji maneuvers soft tenderly circles against your throbbing heat.

“my messy pussy. all mine.”

☆ NANAMI KENTO

it’s rare for nanami to get pussy drunk—but when he does, watch out. he’s a eater at heart, and the moment you tell him what to do, he’s get cunt drunk within a matter of seconds.

“sweetheart, the least you could do is let me see you while ‘m between your legs,” nanami would huff, and his eyes were completely covered by his tie. tied in a neatly loose knot, he’s buried between your legs, so so close to your sopping saturated cunt. he could practically smell you, and as he spoke it was a cute pout that decorated his thin pink lips. as his glossed lips inch closer, he brings your pulsating clit a chaste kiss. “you’re wetter than usual today,” he whispers, and you let off a moan as your head tilts back, clawing a hand through his mussed blond strands. nanami looks up, his vision still blocked—but it’s almost as he’s making direct eye contact with you. as his finger gingerly peels your soddened folds apart, his husky voice pitches deeper. “does me bein’ on my knees ‘n blindfolded turn you on—”

with a impatient sigh, you give nanami’s hair a harder tug. “kennn,” and he watches as you create a wider spreading ‘v’ of your legs, glistening folds spreading apart also. “talk too much. finish eating,” and then a sly smile pulls against your lips as your eyes glance down at his unoccupied hand. “spank it too. . while you’re at it,” and you pout. “pretty please?”

“spank it?” he repeats, nearly getting lost at the sheeny stream of slick that pours down your slavering entrance. your pussy was profusely weeping from top to bottom, and nanami brings a hand up, softly caressing your tender twitching muscle. “my, where’s this comin’ from? you know i wouldn’t wanna hurt you, princess.”

you let off yet another frustrated sigh, feeling your chest heave in and out as nanami’s lips brush up against your swollen clit. pretty, ruby lips of his were all damp—along with the lower part of his jaw that was starting to water all due to your sweetened juices freely cascading down his chin. “ ‘s not gonna hurt, kento,” you reassure him, your voice getting shakier once he goes back to delving his pointed tongue in ‘n out of your throbbing heat.

there’s a coquettish simper that twists near each sides of his lips before he uses a palm to pat your cunt. “yeah? you want me to spank you here, huh?” and you whimper, watching as he starts to swirl a plethora of shapes against your sobbing entrance with his palm. immediately, you coat his entire palm with your slick and he starts to lick against his hand. with a sudden smack, you gush right on his palm a little and you whine at the abrupt contact. “ooh, how was that, my love?”

“harder,” you moan, feeling the bottomless pits of your stomach flutter with butterflies once nanami’s ethereal caramel eyes lock against yours. you hadn’t even realized he pulled his dotted patterned tie up above his eyes, getting a pretty peek of you and your sweet greedy cunt. once he gave you that look with that sleazy lopsided grin, fuck you knew it.

nanami kento’s pussy drunk, and it makes you throb just knowing only you had the power to make him this way.

with a playful snicker, he shakes his head. “ah, ‘harder,’ she says,” he whispers, giving your pussy another spank. one turns into two . . then three, then four . . and eventually, the only sounds that fill the room is nanami’s wide palm swatting against your squelching sex. if you weren’t vocal, you definitely were between your legs because your cunt continued to spat sloshes and squelches from each direction hit from his hand. “my oh my~ she’s a bit of a chatter today, no?”

still with a pout painted across your lips, you let off a sweet needy whine. “ ‘ken, spit on it,” and his ears perk up at your carnal words. you leer down at him as the corners of his lips crease inward, showcasing his dimples and he hums. “please, spit on it kento. need it.”

“no, baby. you want, not need,” nanami corrects you, the frigid silvery band of his watch brushing up against your cunt. as the coolly air of the room fans against your twitching flaps, he gathers up a nice wad of saliva before spitting down on your plump pussy lips.

nanami stares at you the entire time—openly, relishing in your expressions and you’re shivering and pulsating at the same time. seconds later, he leans in to slowly lap up the stringy trail of his own saliva while maintaining direct eye contact with you the entire time. nanami lolls out his lengthy long tongue, curling it inside of you before he gives your tender nub a niiiice long suck. he slurps literally everything out of you, and now. . he’s starting to to spell his last name with the tip of his tongue.

n-a-n-a-m-i k-e-n-t-o and as he’s tracing each letter libidinously, you feel your own hips rock and writhe into his mouth at an unsteady pace. nanami’s growing stubble tickles against your pussy and you whimper.

after a while, he grabs ahold of your hips and his head starts to sashay back and forth. he’s fast, and he softens his voice, talking over your sweet wailing whines. “fuck, use my face, honey. ‘s okay, i don’t bite,” he purrs against your clit. but as he spoke, his soft fawn irises lock against yours before he hums, teasingly nipping his teeth against your sensitive pearled nub while giving you the most pussy-drunken grin you’ve ever seen.

“unless.. you’re into that too, sweetheart—me biting your clit, i mean.”

☆ CHOSO KAMO

with choso—he gets cunt drunk the second he gets a fresh view between your legs. so pretty, just seeing you spread eagle in front of him, teasing him with that playful look in his eyes, oh you were gonna be the death of him. but in this case—not you, but your pussy instead.

“come closer baby,” you quietly coo, watching how your boyfriend’s eyes bulged wider. you look so pretty, slouched back against his side of the bed with your legs spread. he gulps as he openly stares at your drooling cunt - weeping with honey slick that creates a trail of wet molasses. you were so soaked, and choso could tell you were playing with yourself while he was out. “chosoooo,” you hum, a smile marinating against your glossed lips as you could clearly see him nearly entranced by your spread out pussy. he barely blinks, and once he starts making his way between your legs, he lets out a soft whimper. “c’mere, give it a ‘lil kiss.”

“y- you sure?” he sheepishly says, the darkened scar that runs across the bridge of his nose creasing up. as choso brings his face between your thighs, his warm breath aerates down your slit. god, he couldn’t help but get a good whiff. you smelled so sweet—and he hasn’t seen you all day. instinctively, he runs a thumb down your sobbing cunt before feeling his lips twitch. “f- fuck, princess. were you playin’ with yourself earlier?”

in this case—you’d end up making choso an ever bigger freak than you. with an impish grin, you paw a hand through his oily raven strands before inhaling a deep breath.

“maybe jus’ a little,” and you moan once you feel his thin lips pucker, bringing your cunt a soft three second smooch. “yeah- uh huh, like that,” and as your voice starts to tremor, you give his hair a light tug. “choso, use your fingers a little. can you do that too?”

“mhm,” choso replied meekly, and you didn’t have to tell him twice. as your legs continued to sprawl themselves open, he gradually pops in a finger – immediately feeling you try to clamp down on him. choso lets off a soft airy breath, watching with big marveled eyes as your cunt’s so eager to suck in the single digit.

you squelch—then you squelch again, and you let off a moan once you feel him start to scissor his finger way past the tight ring of your gummy entrance. “s- so warm inside, baby,” he murmurs, and he can’t help but lean in, sliding his tongue against your twitching sex. “mmph,” you stare as his eyes flicker back for a moment, and you knew right away that it didn’t take long before he choso kamo was fatally pronounced entirely pussy drunk.

the moment his digit’s buried deep inside of your sopping cunt—he can’t help but add in another, and he’s moaning right with you.

choso was near the side of the bed and his hips took it amongst theirselves to start rocking against the wooden edge. “c- choso,” you mewl out, feeling an eerie stir swarm around the bottom pits of your stomach. his fingers were long, and he made sure to delve them in and out of you, coating each ‘n every inch with such slimy volumes of your sweet sap. “fuuuck, keep kissin’ it too, baby,” and as he continues to obediently follow your words, your legs begin to wrap around his neck. “fuck, fuck, don’t stop. ‘s good, good fuckin’ boy.”

“m’ your good boy,” he repeats, feeling a strain at his dick that sheaths under his jeans once he hears you. your praise—choso’s number one weakness. whenever you showered him with praises, or even degrade him a bit, he’d probably cum right through his pants. choso’s thick fingers plummet deeper until they twist around, maneuvering circular shapes to make you whimper out a desperate battle cry. you slump back, gasping before you feel your leg start to twitch. “ ‘s this okay, baby?”

with another whine running past your lips, you felt a sudden pressure gradually building up. its creeping—and the curvature of your mouth forms into a oval-like ‘o’ the second you feel him rubbing his nose against your cunt.

fuck… you were so close and choso made sure to study your body’s movements. “m’ gonna cum, ‘cho. fuck, right there, don’t stop, ngh,” and as your eyes squeeze shut, you watch him briefly pull out his slick-coated fingers. you’re panting heavily. harsh-heated breaths snatch from your lungs unapologetically, and as you’re laid back with your legs spread wide – you don’t even realized you had gushed right out… a pretty shimmering geyser that sprays out your overwhelmed pussy.

your orgasm was beautiful, and choso’s ears twitched at the melodic sound of you abruptly finishing. you ended up squirting, and it makes him moan knowing he did that. “so.. pretty,” he pouts, lapping up his wet chin with his tongue. you could feel your legs still violently shaking as you were trying to get over your teetering high, your grip in his hair loosening. “hah, good girl. did so good, a bit m- messy but good,” he cheekily jibes, raven eyes flickering up at you.

choso gives your sloppy cunt one more kiss before you moan, feeling him slither both thin fingers back in.

“more… do that again f’me,” and choso playfully nibbles at your clit, hearing your cute yelps from the tenderness. “wanna see you squirt again, and again, and again.”

☆ SUGURU GETO

you’d make him pussy drunk in the most random times — he’d be working out, and you’d be straddling him, bare ‘n all.

geto grunts, feeling your soft wet cunt just laid all out, sitting against his flexing sweaty abs. such carnal thoughts roam through his brain… imagining all types of things—like him being between your legs to start, eating you out like a starved man.

“h-heh.. now m’ startin’ to get why you love watchin’ me do my sets, sweetheart,” geto slyly purrs, raising a brow once he sees you straddling not his lap—but his chest. his perfectly chiseled chest with glistening trails of sweat tearing down his sculptured v-line.

it was true . . you indeed loved to watch geto whenever he worked out, but it always made you super aroused. how his hefty tense muscles would tightly tense at each pull of his dumbbells. how his veins in his forearms would bulge from each rough pull. but the moment you peeled your panties to the side, geto hooks a hand on your hip. “oh? is my girl feelin’ a bit nasty tonight?”

“suguuu,” a cooing whine slithers past your lips as you pout, your wet cunt sitting flat against the top chiseled row of his abs. they were so hard.. and it makes your legs clench together, feeling his chest heave in and out. he’d just gotten through a bunch of reps, but you couldn’t wait—and neither could the stream that’s starting to gloss between your stick thighs. “you’ve been workin’ out all day.”

geto darkly chuckles, brushing a thumb down your drenched pussy. “babe, it’s been three hours,” and as his hooded eyes trail down at your cracked open legs, he exhales deeply. “but. . with a pussy this pretty, i gotta give you some attention too, right?”

“mhm,” you breathe, and he groans once he feels your hands slither toward his pecs. they were so big — and they glistened with sweat, beads racing down every corner. geto leans back, bringing both bulgy arms to rest behind his head as a coy grin plastered across his face. you couldn’t wait any longer, and that’s right when you started to move your sopping cunt against his rock hard abs. your hips moved slowly, and you were going back and forth, up and down . .

“fuck, look at you,” he whispers in a raspy hum, trailing a bare hand toward your the cute curving slope of your ass. geto gruffly groans, feeling his dick twitch in his black tight compression shorts. his noticeable bulge vigorously throbs and aches beneath the cottony fabric and you grinding your sweet cunt against his chest wasn’t exactly helping. geto’s sinister-dark eyes remain fixated on you the entire time, flickering towards your cunt from time to time—and within a blink of an eye, he swats a hand against your ass. “faster baby, don’t slow down now. ride ‘em good. make my fuckin’ abs just as dirty ‘n messy as you, yeah? use that pretty pussy. all for me.”

you start to pant - sharply, and as your eyes meet his, and oh, was he was feral. geto can’t help but strum a few fingers down your clit, bringing his fingers back up toward his lips for a shameless taste. as soon as he got a single taste of you, he was done for.

“sugu, m’ gonna cum,” you whimper, feeling your back starting to arch to a certain degree. slender fingers of yours rummage through his strands, tickling near his scalp before giving it a firm tug. geto groans, and you’re still jerking your cunt against his abs. it’s a lewd snail-trailing slope. you made sure to coat half if not all of his abdomen with your honeyed slick. “suguru, hng. gonna c- oh fuuuck!”

“c’mon then, make a mess. be my messy baby,” he whispers, his tone getting more and more huskier. each word he spoke in such a filthy sultry manner makes your pussy twitches. geto brings a hand down between your legs, ghosting a swollen fat thumb down your needy clit. throb after throb, you were getting closer toward your teetering edge—so much so to where you could almost taste it without actually tasting it. it was becoming inevitable, and right when you end up cumming, you let off the cutest seven-second mewl.

your jaw stupidly hangs open as you end up finishing against his core ripped stomach—geto flexes his pecs underneath you and he huffs. “fuck, good girl,” and as you’re creaming on a row of his washboard abs, geto combs a hand through his hair. your cunt pulses against his skin and he hisses out a breathy needy ‘fuck.’ glancing down with low hooded eyes, he sees your clit dilating. so cute, you were convulsing right on top of him and your hips fatally come to a crashing stop. breath after breath leaves from your lungs as you’re a mess, watching his glossy his entire lower chest glisten with your own arousal to blame. “god, made such a mess on me,” and geto reaches in his boxers as you straddle him, phewing at how hot you looked on top of him.

but right as he sits up, you lightly push him back against his cushiony weight bench, hearing him land with a gruff ‘ugh.’ you pout, dragging a finger down his sharp sculptured v-line before stopping at his black faded happy trail. “s- suguru, let me lick it off you too.”

“atta giiirl,” he croons, giving your ass once final spank. geto leans back, his eyes following you as you lean your head down, still quietly whimpering from your recent release. geto groans, giving your hair a ruffle before sighing. once your tongue starts to trail its way down his sheeny slick abs, he sucks in a breath. “fuck, lick everywhere sweetheart. don’t miss a—hah, don’t miss a drop, fuck.”

☆ SUKUNA RYŌMEN

“tch. what’s with . . the weird look, woman,” sukuna would pant, and he’s heavily out of breath. he sits back on his throne and oh, he’s flushed. you rode him to a point where he’s nearly speechless for a few seconds. you straddle on top of him with his cock stilled inside of you, feeling all various arms of his wrap around your waist. a pink slit brow furrows before he sighs. “quit looking impish, it’s.. irritating.”

“ ‘kuna,” you remain still, nearly slipping at a moan once you feel his flaccid cock rest between your folds. he’s stretching you out so good as shaky, rickety thighs of yours ached and burned. every vein within your body. he sucks in a breath once your hands feel down his bare, exposed chest. sukuna’s wearing nothing but a kimono on, it’s slit open and you felt all down his body. he’s warm, way warmer than usual and as you continue to touch the curse’s skin, you stop at his oversized pecs. “mhm.” sukuna’s got such a wide chest—but you weren’t so much focused on that, you were focused on his nipples.

his pink, perked nipples that you knew were always so sensitive. he told you about it . . once, and never again because it was well, embarrassing. even air brushing against his skin makes him shiver, including with causing his nipples to shamefully twitch. “can i suck on ‘em again?”

“suck on—oh..” his gruff voice trails, and you can see a splash of bashfulness paint his pale face like a canvas. sukuna ryomen’s embarrassed.. and oh how he wished he could wipe the smug smirk off your face. sukuna scoffs, but it doesn’t take long before he finally caves in. “fine, get it over with.”

your smile never falters, and as he’s still idly buried deeply inside your cunt with such salaciously thick inches, you bring your lips toward his pecs. sukuna inhales deeply, mentally preparing himself before fuck, you cup your lips around his right nipple. “hah, such a weird one you are,” he breathlessly groans, an arm gently clasping under your head to support it. your eyes close, and you suck on it—until he lets off another raspy groan. sukuna’s dick twitches and he’s so tender, so . . . sensitive.

the demon scrapes a few claws down his meaty thigh as your tongue lies itself flat against his perked nipples. “mhm,” your lashes flutter close, and at that exact moment, you start to ride him again. it was sudden, his eyes widen before he lets off a needy husky moan, squeezing a portion of your ass tightly before his crimson eyes roll back. he’s pussy drunk – entirely, especially since he was still trying to get over his most recent orgasmic orgasm. sukuna tried to keep up his façade, but with a cunt as hypnotic as yours, he might as well be buried six feet fuckin’ under. a vein twitches on his cock and its sporadic pulses make you pulse.

he’s just big inside, easily rearranging your insides without even having to move an inch. his lazy downward curve of his dick made you drool—sukuna reached far inside of your pussy, never forgetting to bruise and kiss against your sweet beloved g-spot. “ ‘kunaaa,” you repeat his name, and he could feel his entire body heat the more you whisper his title through those pretty glossed lips. as you briefly depart your lips from his nipples with a loud ‘pop!’ sound echoing through his eerie domain, strings of saliva detaching from your mouth. “hah, can you lactate?”

“you did not just ask me that,” the curse angrily pouts, and you feel his pecs tense. sukuna remains sat on his throne before scoffing. “you humans and your weird fantasizes. no, i don’t lacta—”

“wouldn’t hurt to try,” you titter, and he groans the second your mouth goes back to sucking against his tender skin like a leech. so good, a fang of his pokes beneath his lip as his mouth hands open. you’ve got him right where you wanted him. sukuna grunts from the sensitivity and you thought he was gonna push you away, but instead—he does the opposite. sukuna pulls you closer with one arm, digging his sharp keen fangs into his bottom pulled out lip to suppress his incoming whimpers.

your tongue swirls it way around his nipples, making sure to wet everywhere—he groans, sucking in individual sharp breaths before he feels his cock tightening. fuck, he felt something approaching quickly. his reaction time was devastatingly slow and his look of cockiness suddenly forms into . . neediness.

“ugh, such a nasty girl. but shit— don’t stop,” he snarls, one of his feet thumping against his regal glass floor. he’s chewing on salty anticipation and it’s never tasted sweeter. sukuna’s dick that stills itself inside of you aches for more, and as he watches as your own saliva lewdly race down the corners of your lips, he grumbles. “have some c- class, woman.”

oh, you’re making him stutter now.. and it’s cute— sukuna ryomen was flustered, and he’s so lost in his brief fantasm that he doesn’t even realize he’s cumming inside of you yet again. but at the same time, he starts leaking from his pecs. there’s a sweet taste that trickles on the flatness of your tongue as you hum. at the same time, a raw hot load pours into your womb deeply and he lets out a growl that echoes ‘n resounds through the soundproof walls of his domain. “fuck,” he hisses, veins prodding all through his thick neck. your cunt wholly accepts every drop, and you teasingly grind against him as your pussy flutters around him. then it dawned on him, sukuna came… just from you sucking on his nipples. you were about to say something as you try to get up, but he pushes you right back into sucking on his pecs, wrapping an arm around you.

“y’er .. a fuckin’ weirdo,” sukuna grumbled, still shuddering from his intense release. sukuna felt both of his nipples grow hot, and he’s shaking as he’s never felt more sensitive. velvety ropes shoot into you rawly and he huffs, lazily slouching all the way back on his throne.

“so you can lacta—”

“shut up, woman,” he snaps at you, but you can hear the cute shiver in his voice. sukuna’s eyes were droopy and he’s still heavily panting, moaning as you suck on his tender nipples. as you start to move your hips again, relishing the candied taste in your mouth—he’s still dumping hefty amounts of sweltering hot cum until it dribbles past your thighs. you’re overflowed, you’re overflowed and he’s undeniably pussy drunk.

“but… phew, didn’t say you could stop. do it again,” and sukuna’s vermillion-bloodshot eyes narrow at your smug grin before he curses under his breath, eyes rolling back eyes again,

“…please.”

Chimamamda Ngozi Adiche, We Should All Be Feminists

she’s a 10 but she’s secretly posting about you on her yandere tumblr blog