I Guess You Fell In To The Wrong Hands

post-game | miya atsumu

pairing: atsumu x reader

warnings: 18+ smut, pwp, unprotected sex, sex in a locker room, dirty talk, creampie 

word count: 362

author’s note: based on the ask: daily Astumu milking (◡‿◡✿) 

“someone could walk in on us any minute now… you’d like that though, wouldn’t you?” impatient as ever, he starts bouncing you, all the way up and all the way down, easily guiding your movements as the squelch of your pussy fills the locker room.

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❝ The lights are on, there’s no one here. Puffing with the dragons, I’m livin’ for the thrill, formula. ❞

— Formula, Labrinth

KINKTOBER 14: kita shinsuke — quickie.

notes: 18+, nsfw, aged up, established relationship

wc: 1121

“How’s your grandmother, Kita?” Your mother smiled, her eyes twinkling at the sight of your boyfriend beside you. The look that your parents gives him has never failed to make your heart flutter. They do love him for you.

Kita settled his utensils on his plate. He dabbed the sides of his mouth with a tissue before answering politely. “She’s been well, Mrs. Y/M/N. However, her doctor advised us to keep her confined in her room for a while, so she could regain her strength.”

“Oh, is that so?” Your mother frowned. “The next time you visit, please don’t forget to bring her. I have so many things to ask your grandma.”

Kita chuckled, soft and virile. “I will.”

The dinner went on with your parents asking Kita about anything under the sun. They sure like to hear his voice. You couldn’t blame them, though. Kita knows how to speak to elders, given that he’s been taken care of by his grandmother ever since he was a kid. His politeness just comes out naturally— an attitude you always take pride in whenever you tell stories about him to your relatives and friends.

“So, how’s your relationship with our daughter going so far, Kita?” This time, it’s your father who spoke.

You tensed on your seat as Kita placed his palm on your inner thighs, a little bit higher than he’d normally go to whenever you eat dinner with your parents. By the action, you look at him, widening your eyes as a warning. Kita gave you a sideway glance, a ghost of a smirk adorning his pretty lips.

“We’ve been well, Mr. Y/F/N. She’s been lovely since day one,” he said, squeezing the skin of your inner thigh. You suddenly looked down to bite your lower lip. He knew too well how touching that part of your body would make you feel. What is he planning to do?

Your father hummed in approval. “Is that true, Y/N?”

Snapping your head towards your father, you sucked in a breath inconspicuously. “Y… yes.”

Across from you, your mother clapped her hands together. “Aren’t they lovely?” she cooed. “Brings me back to the time your father was still head-over-heels with me.”

Your father chuckled and leaned closer to her. “I still am, love.” They giggled and chuckled.

“Kita, have you tasted the salad—” You came in a halt as he leaned closer. His breath fanning your ear, tickling you. The feeling left electric shocks down your stomach.

“You looked good in that dress,” he whispered, “I can’t wait to fuck you in it.” Then his hands traveled up to your clothed cunt. Kita brushed his pinky against the soft material, earning a small gasp from you. You couldn’t help but squirm, therefore locking his hand in your inner thighs. However, Kita yanked your leg open as he continued to rub your clothed pussy.

“Oh, darling, we’ve totally forgotten about our visitor,” your mother suddenly gasped, making you jolt in your seat. Kita pulled his hand away, once again flashing your mother his infamous well-mannered smile.

“It’s alright, Mrs. Y/M/N. I don’t really mind.”

“You’re always so sweet, Kita,” your mother fawned. “Now, why don’t you show him around, Y/N?”

“Alright, what was that?” Upon closing your bedroom door, you sauntered up to Kita with the question leaving your mouth.

Your boyfriend smiled before pulling you towards him. Kita cupped your cheeks as he stared at your eyes. “Damn,” he cursed. The word made your stomach tingle. Cursing isn’t one of his characteristics. He only does that whenever he’s agitated… or whenever he’s going deeper inside you. “I wanna fuck you so bad.”

“You know, we can’t. They’re downstairs,” you teased him, brushing your nose with his.

In one fluid motion, Kita turned you around so your back was pressed against his chests. He placed a firm grip on your waists as he pushed his clothed bulge into your ass. “We don’t have to be loud, though.” His hands traveled to your thighs, and up to your waistband. “We’ll be quick,” he says as he pulls your panties down. Your cheeks automatically heated up by the feel of air against your wet cunt.

“Kita,” you breathed, anticipation high up on the roof. You could feel your cunt throbbing in utter lewdness. And having Kita’s dick buried in you would make it shut up. “Fuck,” muttered you as he slid his cock inside your wetness.

Kita reclined his forehead on your shoulder blades as he picked up his pace. “You’re so wet.” The slicky sounds of your pussy being penetrated by his hard member resonated through the room. You had to brace yourself behind the door as he plunges into you deeper.

“Kita— ah!” you squealed as Kita reached for you clit from behind. He started to rub your bud as he fucks you from behind. “Ah, slower!”

He panted, grip on your waists tightening. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

“But…” you exhaled, “If you— ah— continue like that, I won’t— ah— contain myself!” Your cheek was pressed against the door, your back bending to give Kita the opening he wants so bad. He was pounding into you now. The slap of skin to skin audible in the four corners of your room. “Kita!”

“Yes,” he whispered as he leaned closer, “Louder. Let your parents hear how dirty you are for me.” His rubbing turned harsh and his pace didn’t slow down. At this rate, you would have a hard time containing your moans. And the crudeness really didn’t help.

“I— I’m coming—” you choked, feeling the orgasm building up to your abdomen.

“How would they—” Kita puffed out breath, “react, if they caught you drooling while I fuck you?”

“Please, Kita!” you cried. He was stretching you even more. His dick solidly pumping in and out of you. Kita put a finger inside your mouth, you drooled as you have no more control over it.

“I’m gonna cum so hard,” Kita breathed with a chuckle. “Your pussy’s squeezing me, babe.”

“Oh, oh, oh,” you exhaled as the orgasm washed through you. Your legs trembled by the feeling. Hand shooting up to your mouth to contain the sounds you were making.

Kita pressed you further to the door before he stilled, your name leaving his mouth in a hiss. “Fuck, your cunt couldn’t even take it all.” You realized his statement as you felt hot liquid pouring down legs. You shuddered as Kita pulled out, the emptiness inside you wrapping you up like a blanket.

He left kisses along your shoulder and up to your cheek as he combed your hair with his fingers. “Let’s go back?”

taglist: @dearsakusa @tanakipple @uneffervesscent @atsunakaashi @galagcica @urbasicaveragegirl @momoinot @tsumshoe @legendaryoikawa @sarcastickaigan @simplesammyx

lev with an oral fixation ☝️😩 he can’t sleep unless he’s sucking your tiddies or anything tbh. and when y’all are doing the nasty he’s always sucking on your neck or when your in control he’s sucking on your fingers🏃‍♀️

Lets just say when you and Lev first started to dating you noticed it 

but you didn’t say anything simply because he was always sucking on a lollipop or whatever was in his hand 

It really didn’t take a huge notice until you two started sleeping together 

He seemed to focus more on your tits than anything else and finally you brought it up one night 

“Lev?” You ask twisting your fingers in worry, that maybe mentioning it will end badly 

“Yeah baby?” He asks turning to look at you that stupid candy hanging from his lips 

“Why are you always sucking on my tits and that candy all the time?” The question was a silent one 

The silence that filled the air after that was one that almost made you retract the question 

“Oh…well.” He blushes and laughs nervously while rubbing the back of his neck 

You drop your gaze but you hear the loud sigh and look up seeing the lollipop was gone and a wobbly smile was there instead 

“I…I have an oral kink..or fixation whatever you want to call it and i like having things in my mouth, fuck i can’t even fall asleep without something in my mouth.” He admits 

Yeah…that wasn’t the answer you were expecting and the images and behavior of everything starts to play back in your mind 

“Really?” You ask making him nod and walk over to you towering over you in a domineering kind of way 

He smirks and reaches out his fingers crazy your tits causing your nipples to harden 

“It get’s especially hard at night to control, even more so when you’re next to me at night. It’s so hard not to suck on your tits….god.” He groans and you feel your self clench 

“Bed?” You ask breathless 

His eyes snap up to yours making him nod fast as you both rush to bed clothes being thrown off 

After that he always had your tits in his mouth when he could, whenever they got sore he would switch it off for the lollipops 

Of course, you had a switch dynamic where he would either suck on your tits or when you were in control he would suck on your fingers 

and god if that wasn’t a pretty sight you don’t know what is 

Lev also loved to suck on your neck and leaving marks, it was a sense of pride but he got off at the fact he could remember sucking that mark into your skin 

He was able to control it in public, there was one instance where he couldn’t take it 

you were wearing a tank top and he could see the faint marks on your neck but also the tank top did wonders for your breasts 

he dragged you into an empty bathroom and ripped your top down and went to fucking town 

let’s just say, you didn’t go back for lunch and went straight home 

Lev has this polyrod pictures of your tits and neck with his teeth, tongue and mouth marks all over and those are his comfort pictures 

Don’t ever ask about them if you see them in his wallet he will just smirk and wink 

CHARACTERS. hanma, ran, izana

AUTHOR’S NOTE. a cherry chaser is someone who pines after someone’s virginity. first time writing for izana!! let me know how you feel about it :-) 19 and below, ageless, and blank blogs DNI!

HANMA SHUJI

CONTENT WARNINGS. female!reader, reader gets slapped, weed, blood gets drawn (not from reader), reader’s kinda dumb, noncon

There was no way you weren’t a virgin.

From your doe eyes to the way you attempted to maintain your modesty by pulling down at the hem of your skirt in a den full of lecherous men, Shuji was nearly convinced that this was too good to be true.

“You a virgin, sweetheart?”

Snapped out of your own little world, you cautiously look over at the bespectacled man who then promptly took a hit from his joint.

“And what if I am?” you dare to ask despite the unsettling feeling Shuji Hanma gave you. He chuckles before blowing the smoke into your unsuspecting face. You cough and splutter rather ungracefully.

“No need to get so defensive. S’just a question.” He smiles at you, all pearly whites and danger.

Blinking, you tentatively answer. “Yes.”

This, of course, was no surprise to Shuji. This time he laughs and you feel your eye twitch. “How precious,” he drawls, golden hues shamelessly traversing your stiff posture. As virgin as they come, he thinks to himself before passing the joint in the hand that was inked with ‘sin,’ which soon joins its partner ‘punishment’ as he steeples his fingers together, resting his elbows on his knees as he regards you curiously. You break eye contact quickly to study the marbled floor.

“Ever cared for a creampie?” he asks.

“No, I was never one for sweets.”

The boisterous cacophony of laughter that joined Shuji’s makes you shrink back into yourself in burning embarrassment. Had you said something wrong?

Shuji gestures to you as he rises to his full height. “Well, let’s change that, yeah?”

You were more confused than ever, and it must’ve been sprawled across your features because the loan shark before you shifts over to you in two short strides. He takes your smaller hand into his ‘punishment’ hand, grinning all the while.

“Follow me.”

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┌─ “ ! „ CADAVER

tw. wound fucking, blood, gore, don’t read this if you’re squeamish!!, somnophilia, oral, noncon, megumi is delusional in this, yandere, belly bulge but gross! , cannibalistic thoughts wordcount. 6.4k

a/n. this one,,, was me pushing myself to just go buck wild, and channel my inner junji, and i think i got somewhere with it... a select few of you will understand me when i say that ,, this is like my love letter to megumi fr ♡ like i said though, this one might be the one that has people a little yucked out but! it's basically my halloween fic, for the spooky month

fushiguro megumi x fem!reader

When the rattling of the stretcher finally quiets in the halls and the rising rate of adrenaline starts to flatten out, Megumi’s lost on what to do. Any of the other sorcerers can’t decide what the next step is either, it seems. Yuji with his back pressed against the glass and staring off into the empty part of the hall they just came from, and principal Yaga a stern quietness and arms crossed. Ieiri-san will do her best work today of any days if there’s anything to be done about it, but Megumi can tell. That uncertainty hangs over all of them as the faint breathing of a collapsed body grows more pitched and panicked.

Megumi always sort of hated you. He didn’t like you from the second he first met you, and it just grew and grew and grew from there. He hates your stupid demeanor with your higher-than-thou morals and your sky-high milestones and that grin that could make even the coldest heart split in two. It doesn’t escape him that this is the same reason he always did enjoy Maki, but you were — more recognizable to him, and yet somehow much further away.

He always hated the way he’d catch himself watching the soft motion of your lashes, or how your mouth would form words, the heat that would carry color to your face. He always hated the quiet moments you’d sit by his side, rattling his heart out of his chest and laughing at him for his hot cheeks; and he always hated how you’d be the thought on his mind right after he’d made sure his own limbs hadn’t yet been blown to bits. But standing with his hands covered in a coating of blood that isn’t his, dripping onto the panes of the old flooring, he wonders what that hatred ever really got him. It never helped him understand you better, that for someone so alike himself, you were so much better at everything.

His chest is rising and falling too fast.

Gojo’s too late, always is when it comes down to the wire, Megumi thinks as the lankier man rushes through and stops a few feet away from them. Yaga’s brow pinches, before he lifts his head the slightest bit to acknowledge the white blond. “What’s the status,” Gojo has to ask, and before he has another conscious thought, Megumi’s furiously rubbing his hands over his sweater in an attempt to get the blood off while his teeth clack with how hard he’s clenching them. There’s a thickness between his ears that makes everything sound far off. The blood stains his fingers the more he rubs, and his face gets hotter and hotter as it lasts.

But he thinks he hears the principal explain.

How you had been pinned down and knocked clean out, head bashed against the concrete pillars. How Megumi had been too busy trying and failing to keep the uglier curse from blasting you both to shit, to notice. How the other special grade had picked you up by the neck and unceremoniously shoved something into your mouth and pushed until it went down your throat - until you started convulsing, spitting out blood and bile before he could reach you. Megumi hadn’t taken the time to look then, but he knows now what it was, slimy, decaying contents of a little vial that had gone missing a few months ago.

“The girl must’ve been a real good match.” Yaga pushes his fingers to his brow, as if forcibly trying to push the frown down. “Ieiri’s doing what she can.” It doesn’t make any of them feel better when Gojo clicks his tongue and aims his eyes at the door, before casting a quick glance at Megumi under thick, blond lashes. He wants to puke. He’d shoved his fingers down your throat for what felt like hours, trying desperately to get you to throw up the curse. Had carried you all the way back while you were sobbing and wailing in pain. Nothing.

If even the worst case repeats itself, they’ll have another incarnation on their hands, and the noose will be tightened around your throat. Yuji must have already realized this, because he’s yet to say anything since you’d been tied onto the stretcher with blood pouring out of your nose and ears and coughing up grime. Megumi’s not even sure if Ieiri would hesitate to put you down without a second warning before it gets to the same turning point. And he is pissed. At the situation, his friends, himself, you. He’s so angry his hands shake, and so angry tears start stinging behind his eyes, feeling like any motion might cause him to throw up. He hates you.

+

Your chest’s rising with big motions up and down, up and down, as you drum your feet on his bedsheets like an excited rabbit. Megumi grunts, snatches the book from your hands and tosses it back down with the others that were not-so-neatly stacked on his desk. Your shape on his bed makes a dent in his mind that he’ll have to keep replaying over and over when he closes his eyes, and it has a frown pulling his eyebrows down automatically. “So grumpy,” you yawn, and also roll over onto your stomach to tuck your legs to your core, lifting one hand to rest your face into it.

“This isn’t your room.”

“Might as well be,” you giggle back, and he watches for a moment as your hair falls along your shoulders in a gentle brush, making you look even more enchanting. You’re soft and parts of you are shiny like silk, seemingly oozing your rosy, peachy aura all over his stuff. You catch his eyes for just a few breaths, still rising your chest too distractingly, before you push yourself up and slide off the bed to walk up to him. He pivots to thumb through the notes on his desk again, to be farther away from your face probably, and his shoulders rise into an uncomfortable pinch when you approach, feet patting on his floor. “Megumi.” You say his name with a clear pout.

Then heat covers his skin at the base of his throat and he freezes, letting the way you drag your soft lips over his pulse fill him up entirely. His hands shake too hard to keep a grip on the paper, so he spins you around and shoves you back against the desk as you hiss at the sudden painful grip, his fist wrapped into the collar of your shirt. “I already told you to stop doing that.” He hisses, and your eyes are wide and glittering like diamonds, beautiful color peering up at him.

“But you like it when I do that,” you whisper back ever so softly, and his head feels like it’s splitting at the seams, cracking his skull under a non-escapable pressure. He can’t think, can’t even eat normally without the ghost of you hanging over him and shaking him up. It’s unbearable even when you’re not around. His fist unclenches from the flimsy fabric to instead grip your chin with his thumb, and his heart bangs against his ribcage harder than can be normal. Harder than is healthy. A little thought in the back of his skull begs to push. Just once, deny you from digging your claws deeper into him— but he’s already melted to your shape before he can blink.

His face drops like you’re magnetic, thighs pushing you further into the desk and also into him; and it’s truly embarrassing that his hands are still shaking like they do. You lean in when he does, and let your lips meet his hungry, treacherous mouth, other hand sliding to your waist to pull you closer. Your tongue brushes his and he implodes inside, and he swears it hurts to be this close to you.

Not that you care. Your arms wind around his neck to pull him even closer, and his blood feels like it’s boiling under his skin.

+

He finds himself wandering back to the quieter wing of the school when the sun’s already dipped far past the horizon, and the cold starts picking up. He’s dragging his feet, so he won’t fucking rush back to the room he finds himself thinking about so fast he stumbles. He’s glaring at the patterns in the floorboards so he doesn’t cry. You’re stable- quiet puffs of air escaping your nose every few seconds, but you’re still under surveillance. As far as the clans are concerned, they’ll put something sharp between your eyes sooner rather than later, before whatever’s slumbering inside you wakes up. But Gojo’s fighting for you. It makes him grimace to think about.

Knocking his knuckles onto the doorframe, he enters the dimly lit room. Nanami doesn’t stand when he spots him, but does uncross his legs as he takes a deep breath. Neither of them speak for a while, and the dark haired man takes that time to run his eyes over you. You’re not as dirty as you were when you first got back, shivering and shaking. You’re no longer dripping with blood, though he’s sure if he were to look close enough, he’d still be able to see flecks of it between your cracked lips. As he walks up, he finds himself thinking that you look strangely peaceful, and that doesn’t seem entirely right.

Save for the bloody mark that seems branded into your forehead, you look like you’re quietly sleeping on the metal slab that supports your body. After all the pain and agony you’ve caused in him, sleepless nights and long days of wondering, hoping you’d be okay. Why is it that he’s the one affected by you? Why is it that he’s the one who’s going to have to say goodbye again? He stares at your unmoving form as if that’ll give him an answer, but it doesn’t. And the pit in his stomach swells again. He’s just so angry all the time. Megumi breathes out. “It’s my turn to take watch for a while.”

“You’re early,” Nanami’s deep baritone chastises, but he gets up from the seat anyway. He smooths out the wrinkles in his suit, before slowly placing a hand on the other’s shoulder. The weight is heavy, and somehow doesn’t soothe him at all. But there’s an attempt, he guesses. He’s still not entirely sure why everyone is looking at him like he’s the one who needs it most, broken and disheveled and mourning. He’s been able to finish his tasks like everyone else has, and he can banish the thought of you when he’s supposed to focus on work— at least, mostly. He doesn’t need the fucking pity. “Want some coffee? Or green tea?” Nanami asks, letting his hand slide off when Megumi shrugs.

“No. I’m okay.”

The older man seems to hesitate, simply nodding when he walks past. Before closing the door behind him, he once again clears his voice, and Megumi turns over his shoulder. The blond has this look in his eyes, of pity, as he talks. “Megumi, there’s a chance she pulls through.” Why again - that fucking pity? “Don’t give up.” Though it makes him tingle with an unbearable sort of itch deep under the skin, he grits his teeth, and his brain’s hot and irritated when he responds.

“I wasn’t going to.” Nanami doesn’t seem to believe him, but still softly slides the door closed behind him, and when the footsteps grow softer and softer, Megumi allows for a second to collect himself. He braces his hands onto the metal as he leans in, close enough to feel just the slightest bit of your warmth on his fingers, and see the way you’re still breathing, though shallow, too faint for his liking. His brows pinch when he finds himself with his forehead pressed to your stomach, hunched over like he’s praying at your shrine or something. But he can’t help it.

As much time as he spent beside you with a frown on his face, it never feels enough. He can’t stay away, like it’s an involuntary thing— you leave him no choice in the matter. Even here in the darkness, whining softly into your wheezed breaths, it isn’t enough to be beside you. He can’t do anything from here at your bedside; and that uselessness makes him feel even more uneasy. He needs to be closer to you. Wants to be so close you two get stuck together and melt together like an inseparable entity, would want to crawl inside you if he could.

His nose presses into the clean shirt that smells like your laundry, as he clenches his fists so hard along the table edge they start to ache. His eyes are pressed closed tight when he allows him just a second to nose below your sternum, and that uncomfortable stinging sensation comes back to his eyes. “Fucking idiot,” his lips brush against your covered skin, taking in the lack of heat, of your smell and the way you sounded with his face buried there, “I didn’t mean it.”

+

“Aw, ow, ow, Megumi~” You pout with a pitched whine as his hand stays screwed around your knee for a little longer, keeping you trapped under his heavier, taller body so that you start wiggling. Your head falls back against his arm, and you lean to press a few kisses to his wrist that’s holding your own to the floor. “Be more gentle.” You pout when you pull back and flash him that fucking look that sends icy shivers down his spine, and exactly nothing else. “You can be gentle, can’t you?” Every other part of him flushes with heat under your doe-eyed, pitiful look, definitely when you start wiggling out of his grasp like you’re suddenly over the game.

You started it. He wouldn’t put himself in your range on purpose. When you’re about halfway out from under his crouched form, you sit up to be face to face; and you brush your hand past his ear, down his jaw and neck and trail his collarbones, all places he’s convinced are now stained a bright, obnoxious pink from his flush. You let your fingers linger when you tilt your head aside a bit so you can slot your lips over his into a sweet, little kiss, and you pull your lips into another pout. “Swear you’re doing it to hurt me sometimes. I’m never trying to hurt you, you know.” A few strands of hair fall over your eye when you sit below him, and he has to fight every single muscle in his body not to push it back for you.

He wants to see your eyes. He wants you to see him like this, pinned under you like the attraction you render him as— his body collapses on top of you as you start giggling all fucking cutely, and his heart races more than it ever has. Your heartbeat drums into his face when he buries it into your softness, chest against his cheek, too long for his own sanity before he drags himself off you. And it is a drag. His entire body starts feeling sluggish when you’re this close to him, close enough to drown himself in your scent. He won’t ever say it, but that scent gets him hard and awfully mellow all at once, his cock coming to life in his pants before he’s moving.

You look happy. Your eyes are those bright, gentle colors that rain down on him, and your lips are quirked into a soft smile, you must know what you’re doing to him. Setting him up for failure again. He huffs and pushes himself onto his back instead, knocking his head to the floor while you’re moving from the rug - splaying your knees either side of him before you nuzzle right back on top of his chest and make it even harder to get a breath, let alone catch it. He’s sure he’s panting a little when you leave your warmth draped all over him, and you don’t do anything other than be there.

His arms are still on the floor, his body rigid under you, but you’re softly giggling into his peck before he frowns down at you again when you catch his eyes. “What?”

“Your heart is beating super fast,” you admit, not proud, not gloating - just stating the fact, and heat overtakes his neck now too. Instead of letting you wind him up any further, he bucks you off and switches positions again, now with your two wrists caught in his hands as you squeak with the ache that probably lodges in your back.

“Can you get off of me?” He sits back on his feet, not letting go of your hands yet, before your eyes flutter and you grab him back. Well, brush your fingers over the skin you can reach, pawing at him just enough to tickle. “What’s with you today?” he bites back, and also snatches his hands back to escape the onslaught of feelings that wash over him. You don’t sit up this time, and from the tilt of your head, you’re considering your answer for a while before you speak out.

“Do you like me, Megumi?” Fuck. His room seems to collapse in on itself. Or, maybe it’s his body— because he gets a little more short of breath, and his thoughts short circuit as his mouth stupidly drops open. He’s choked up for long enough that he has to clear his voice to try an answer, and even then, he gets stuck. You’re studying him so closely it must show. The blaring warmth that fills him up and makes his ears bright red. After another second, your eyes seem to dim slightly, as you push your cheek to your shoulder, opening yourself up to even more attacks. “Love y’, ‘gumi.”

+

He straightens up with enough tightness in his chest to choke him, makes his eyes sting and his head blare cold, painful warnings— he grabs some of the glasses from the small table beside him, launches it straight into the wall until it shatters into a million pieces upon impact. The loud clang doesn’t do anything to settle his anger, where he fists his hands into his hair and pulls, in hopes the worry will somehow vanish.

“Why do you always have to be such a hero?” he hisses, even though you can’t answer now, “wouldn’t it have been enough to just stay here with me?!” He tilts your face to his and drops his lips to yours, and that familiar softness is enough to have him clenching his eyes shut again against the tears. He kisses you until your mouth opens a bit, then slides his tongue up against yours and grips your shoulders, pulling your limp body towards him more. “I’ll be better to you.” He pleads. You don’t move, and the breaths going over his cheeks are so shallow.

But he can’t stop himself from tangling your tongue with his, licking into your mouth and chasing the warmth until he runs out of breath. You’re so fucking pretty still. He kisses you again, bumping teeth, and grips your hip hard as he lays over you a little more, chest to chest and feeling it brush against him with each soft pant he lets out, each gravelly moan. It doesn’t hurt so much to brush his tongue against yours, to swallow your taste on his tongue until his lips numb — but while it doesn’t ache, it’s also not enough. Before he’s able to think about the morality of his actions, his thumbs are hooking under your shirt and pushing it up, over your soft belly and ribcage all the way up until it’s over your tits, where his lips travel to as soon as the skin’s exposed. You’re so soft still, too.

He’s not sure what he’s doing other than leaving messy, open mouth kisses onto you, kneading your skin between his hands as all the warmth in his body pools into his groin. Your tits are sucked into his mouth, one then the other, as he rubs his face into the doughy skin, then he’s pulling and pinching at your tits like he knows makes you whimper. The sound’s burned into his working memory, and it drives him on to run his face down your soft body to the part where your thighs meet. The skin just above your skirt of the softest, warmest, and he full on moans when his cock twitches hard in his pants and he reaches down to grab himself.

Normally you’d be blinking up at him now, sending him that little look with grabby hands, ready to wrap your puffy lips around him— it’s different when it’s his hand screwed around himself and not even moving yet. he can’t, or he’ll cum in his pants, and he’s not going to waste his cum like that when your warm pussy’s right before him. He’s shaky when he pushes the fabric up, flipping it over your tummy; and groans again when he licks down your panties and mouths at the seat of it. It tastes so much like you his eyes roll back, and his knees give a little, while more precum leaks out of him and into his pants.

He frees his hands momentarily to slide you to the edge of the metallic table, two hands gripping your butt and squeezing, then hooking his finger in your panties to just pull them aside. He doesn’t care about the chaffing he’ll have. Not even a second thought when your little pussy is in front of him, and he pushes his mouth to you for some open mouthed kisses, down to your pussy and back up. Wrapping his mouth around your clit, he sucks hard, and rubs the bud a few times with his tongue. He swears your breathing goes more pitched and heavier when he does, when his fingers trail down your puffier lips to rub the bit of wetness around.

His cock’s painfully hard in his pants, and after a few more times licking you up and down so that your slick covers the entire bottom half of his face, he pushes the zipper down and then takes himself out to watch how red and sore the head of his cock already is, oozing pre and coating both his boxers and his shaft. He spits into his hand to give himself a few tight-wrung pumps, tighter than he likes normally- if he doesn’t, he’ll spill all over your cute, little pussy. He pushes his fingertips inside your now wetter cunt, watching it wink and beg for something to fill, and groans when one finger slides in with ease.

Your soft walls are still soft and hot around him, giving mean licks over your clit again and again in a way that would normally overstimulate you too easily. You don’t whimper or whine now, take his finger nice and sweet inside your squelching, gooey walls, only making a little noise when he slides in a second and he can feel the slight bit of stretching you need. He’s dripping onto the table now, balls tight and heavy - imagines how you moan and look when you’re sucking on them and you smack your lips with each open mouthed kiss or lick. You between his legs is always enough to have his knees giving, and it’s no different now, he has to hold himself up against you before he thinks better of it.

You’re slid back on the table too easily, making room for him when he pushes one of your legs aside— and let out a slight gasp when he hoists himself over your body. He just wants you. So bad. It’s not so embarrassing when you’re not awake to see how fucking crazy he looks, flushed, cock twitching between his legs as he strains to kiss you again, lick over your tongue for more of your taste, and breathes your name. “Baby, fuck- I need to be inside you.” He wants to hide away in your safety forever. A crystalline, fucked up thought springs up in his mind for just a second, but he banishes that with a few blinks.

Instead he lines himself up over your hot, needy pussy and pushes inside just the head at first, grunting tightly at the softness that envelops him. His whole body shudders as he pushes in deeper, feeling that pit in his stomach expand with each inch that he goes deeper, tangles his fingers with yours when he bottoms out and fills you up so well. You’re curled into his touch, and he kisses you, his thoughts blanking as he pulls back, and snaps his hips back inside you. You’re hot and wet and it feels so fucking good, clenching your hand inside his larger one. It’s not fair. He’s losing his mind, and you’re always the end of him.

His cock rubs against your swollen insides with rough, imprecise strokes — he doesn’t mean to, it’s just that trying to focus on anything other than the heat as he slides in and out of your tight pussy is too much. You’re too much; you’re haunting him even now. He kisses down your face to your neck, sucks on your skin and bites down hard enough to make a serious mark, wanting to hear you cry. Normally, you’d cry out his name so pretty, dig your nails into his back until he’s letting you go and grinding back on his cock, but you can’t do that now. His cockhead bumps your spot each time he fucks himself into you further, but it’s not enough.

It’s never been enough. He wants to be closer to you, and that horrible image that was launched into his head creeps back up before his eyes, bloody and horrible. Maybe he always told himself that he hated you because - no matter how much he fought, he would never be able to stomach actually hurting you as much as it hurts him. But now, withering on top of you as his cock thumps with how much blood rushes south, everything else falls away. He wants to claw and bite and carve his way to your insides and make you pay just a little for his sins. His body is coated in a thin sheen of sweat, thighs pumping blood through his body to his lungs, his gut, his cock.

He pulls out of you to kiss down your tits and over your covered ribs, thumbing over the head of his cock and gliding it over your puffy clit, your wet pussy lips and flicking it just in and out of your drooling cunt— before he puts a sloppy few kisses there too, tongue coated in slick. The blood pumps through his head so hard he feels dizzy, pounding behind his eyes as the heat of your cunt overwhelms him entirely. It’s too hard to stay sane -he’s never felt less sane than now- when you’re laying below him like this, ready to leave him all alone. You wormed your way into his heart when he didn’t want it, and now, now that’s all about to end.

His mouth is dry, but he’s drooling as he grips your thigh and kneads the doughy skin of your tummy— looking so soft and warm and perfectly shaped for him. He wants -needs, needs it, to feel you swallow him, ruin him- to cut you open and eat your insides out with the sick force of what he’s feeling right now— he groans your name again, desperately trying and failing to get it out of his head— the more he tries the better it feels to think it. Despite having his fist around the base of his cock, stings of white shoot over your body as he crumples in on himself and paints you with his cum. He’s still hard though, painfully so, and as soon as he’s done cumming he can already feel the building urge to do it again, trailing his shaking fingers down to your clenching pussy and rubbing your clit until your body starts wiggling back just a little too.

Megumi wants to go, bury this urge down and never think of it again. He really does— but it’s like he’s possessed, drooling over your body and flicking his cock in and out of your pussy without sliding back in. He might’ve had it wrong this whole time, but if this is love - God, he loves you, he loves, loves, loves you so much he’s not ever going to have enough. Can’t ever say goodbye, not when his entire soul’s been bound to yours, has been rotted away into nothing like this. There’s only you, and him; and he can’t get close enough to make this fucking feeling go away.

With black spots swimming over his vision, he’s not sure what he’s doing until he’s knelt on the floor and shards of glass cut his knees open through his pants; he doesn’t feel it - just trembles as he gets one of the larger shards and crawls back to you, right between your plush thighs as he kisses your face over and over until he feels like he’ll be sick. “Forgive me when you wake up, baby.” It doesn’t really sound like him anymore, faint and messy as he ruts his cock against the inside of your thigh and stares at your face for a little longer. He paws at your tummy again, maybe it’s the lack of oxygen - he feels like he hasn’t taken a breath in ages - or the fact that all his blood is cleary in his swollen cock, hot and heavy.

He kisses you again, pants against your chest as he watches between your two bodies as one arm keeps him up, and the other drags the shard of glass below your belly button just hard enough to create a little cut. He just- just wants to be a little closer, you’ll let him, you’ll let him- he’s been so fucking mean to you and if he can just do this, he’ll make it up to you. Specks of blood well up that he swipes his thumb through to slide it into his mouth, get used to the taste of copper on his tongue. Sometimes he bites your lip hard enough to split it, and you tear up and whine, tangle your fingers in his hair.

He could cum on the spot when you yank like that, but the taste now isn’t enough. As he pushes the shard of glass into your skin harder, watching one layer make way for another, tougher tissue that still gives when he grids down a little- he waits for the moment where he feels bad, regrets and walks it all back- but the feeling doesn’t come. Your body looks so pretty like this, robbed of your innocence by his hands; and he doesn’t wanna cum yet, fuck. The adrenaline swimming in his head is pounding too hard to feel anything other than love for you, and the pulling, almost unbearable sensation of wanting to slide back into you. The blood pools around the hole as he slides along, hearing the skin squelch and snap, building a sweat along his neck and collar. Maybe you’d lick it up if you were awake.

The blood runs, covers his entire fist that’s wrapped tight around the glass, it creates little rivers that you’ll both be laying in soon. He coughs, before kissing you below your jaw, feeling the weak pulse beneath his lips— and righting himself to look at his work with a better angle, groaning. There’s both more blood and less than he expected, pooling in your belly button, all over your pretty pussy, his thighs and hands- his cock not yet. He drops the glass aside as he thumbs over the wound and sure enough- he’s cut through fat and muscle and sinew without too much struggle, because you’re soft all over.

He pushes the fleshy gash open more, thumbs over the clean cut he made with a strange sort of fascination before the hot, hot blood gets to be too much for his curiosity and he leans in to lick from your clit up, up, up until his tongue reaches the raised, tight skin— what has he done, what’s he doing, this, this isn’t — he can’t stand the heat that’s coming out of you for long, and it smells, but that isn’t what sticks with him right now. He’s never wanted to be closer. The gaping pouch of your belly’s drooling red for him. The head of his cock twitches when he feels the hot of your stomach coating him in blood, and coating you in turn. The cum from before’s all but washed away, but he’s sure he can give you another couple orgasms before he tuckers out.

He’s strung so high all of this feels like a dream, like his head is about to roll off of his neck; he pushes in with a garbled sort of sound that comes from deep, deep inside him. The skin doesn’t wanna give way at first, but he manages to push back hard enough before suddenly he’s inside, and it’s like nothing else. The pressure of a slab of skin taking him where it’s not meant to go— bleeding and whining out like this, it’s euphoric. He’s able to see his cock’s outline glide into you until it’s bulging your stomach, squelching and sucking him back in; feels like you’re taking him deeper than ever, letting him fuck his cock so deep he’ll hit your ribs soon. You’re so fucking beautiful, even like this, getting coated and letting him fuck it.

He doesn’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re dying, but the peace that washes him entirely clean might be close; he grinds his hips into you hard enough to rock your body under him as he laces your hands again. Both, this time, just chasing after an end that seems like it’ll never come.

He feels infinite. Your blood’s so hot it’s almost painful, and the tightness of the hole he carved into you is entirely different from your pussy, pushing back against him like you’re begging him to get out. He imagines you’d beg so pretty- but he’s inside you, finally inside and deeper than anyone’s ever been. He’s able to watch his cock blow up your belly and make it hollow when he pulls back, and God- he should feel worse than he does. He could swallow you whole if you’d let him. The feeling has him shuddering over you as he pants your name, makes your tits brush over his chest- and his balls smack against the smooth stretch of skin until he can’t feel his feet any longer.

Now he’s got you dirtied, he wants to ruin you too, leave you a mangled mess of flesh and swallow every last bit of you until he never forgets the taste. But that would require he’d stop fucking his hot cock into your bloody, little pouch, and that won’t happen. He’s panting, sweat running down his back from the effort, and his groin starts to feel a little raw too. He might’ve been going for hours by now, licking your mouth clean from his drool only to dirty you again. The head of his cock feels fucked raw inside you, and his thighs shake before his shoulders square over you.

Megumi speeds up his pace fucking into your guts -actually- until he clenches every muscle, is overcome again and reaches heaven inside you, spurting creamy white into the pouch he’s created for himself; “Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck,” his hand has to twist into an uncomfortable position to reach for your clit, but he wildly does it anyway— cramping up, until he’s collapsing on top of you and stilling inside. The stench of blood makes the entire room smell, as he thumbs over the side of your blood-coated thigh with one hand, and feels the shaking all the way up and down his spine. He pulls out so slowly, pumping the last bits of cum out with a throaty moan, before he slides off the table onto awfully shaky legs.

If he was any more lucid, he’d think twice before leaning by your side to kiss your eyes, your nose, your pouty lips as the tears that must’ve been building for a while run down your temple— and suppresses the need to actually eat you- for now, he rubs a softer hand over your exposed tummy, before folding the now blood-drenched fabric of your skirt back down to hide your puffy pussy, lest he be tempted again. He whispers his love into your ears, nuzzles at your hairline until the feeling comes back to his hands and feet and he tucks his spent cock back into his boxers, and goes about cleaning the mess he made of the floor.

It’s only when an uncomfortable scratchy sound comes that he notices the burning heat on his neck, the dried sweat painfully sticky— and straightens up beside you when you start to shake again. Immediately his worry is sky high. Even in the gross air of mixed blood and cum and the scent of sex soaking everything, his mind is just clear enough to hold your head when you thrash around a few times, and your chest rises wildly up and down. Then before his very eyes, the damage he’d done upon you slowly starts to stitch itself together, like weaving threads. Lacing you up until every bit of muscle, fat, and skin restores to it’s pristine glory before he ever touched you, with a little puff of cursed energy.

He bites his lip hard when the shaking stops, and your back lands back onto the metal with a soft clang. The noise is louder now it’s quiet in the room. Megumi waits for a bit longer before he brushes the hair from your face, and doesn't mind it that he’s leaving tracks. The darkness is filled with his tense breathing, and then — every sound at once. Your eyes shoot open with a cry, sobbing out like a baby for a few painful seconds. But then spot him thumbing your tears away devoted like he is -though he won’t admit it to you, and you let out a noise of pure relief.

It’s almost poetic, when you crash back into his arms and this time, he lets your arms wind around his waist.

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2023. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝚂𝙷𝙰𝙳𝙴

most girls your age spend their summers hanging out with friends and enjoying the sun. you have a little bit of a different summer experience when you end up needing uncle issei's help. my one of two for the deal with the devil collab,, rhi ily, thank you so much for making this collab because i loved writing it

.wordc. 5.5k+ tw incest, uncle issei, age gap, panty sniffling, a lot of spit, size kink, teeny bit of anal, oral (receiving), organized crime, blood, death mentions

“Not too scary for you, is it?” the tall man in front chuckles, low voice bouncing around the cold, dim room with too much mirth to put you entirely at ease.

Really, it is too scary for you. This place is eerie, making your blood drum through your veins hard and fast with each step. You’re not sure how long you have to work here for the thought of dead bodies not to scare you, but the truth is that this wasn’t your first choice. Or your second, for that matter. Still, you put on a smile as he looks over his shoulder, dark eyes meeting yours with a sort of curiosity that you can sniff out from a mile away.

“I’ll handle,” you just breathe back, speeding up your steps a little to stay right in toe with him as you leave the dungy cellar and walk up the stairs, cringing a little at the sound of his shoes scraping the metal surface. “I’m just not too used to the idea of having so much,” you pause, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth and swallowing, “death— around me.”

Your new boss hums, softly, deep, reaching out a hand to help you up the last step and back into the -now- much more comfortable feeling parlor that you’d been shaking in half an hour prior. Honestly, you could do worse for a boss. You’ve heard of some of the things that girls do to pay off family debts and this— this hardly seems like anything compared to that. This, you can handle. However begrudgingly. You slowly pick some dust from your sweater when he turns to you, avoiding that deep, calculating look just slightly.

You can tell that it’s ringing through his mind, knowing what brought you begging him, and how much of it makes you a good or a bad person. Everyone does when they find out that you’re this short on money, your mom is this far in debt. You’re just wondering what exactly it is that he sees when staring so intently at every twitch of your lips, every brush of your fingers. He finally drops his eyes from you when the ghost of a smile tugs at his mouth corners, picking up a pen and clicking it against the desk a few times as he moves to stand behind it.

“So, you’ve seen the place,” he catches your eye again, before running his long, pretty fingers through his curls. “What do you say? You still want to work here?” A small part of you hesitates. You know what this will entail. You know that when Kyoutani grunted under his breath that you could ask your uncle for a place to ‘work’, well meaning, it wouldn’t be one of the most savory of jobs. That there’d be a certain secrecy you’d be expected to keep. The thought of seeing it still scares you, makes rows of goosebumps break out on your arms, hidden under your flimsy sweater.

But you nod anyway, because this is all you got. And this is about as good as you’ll find the jobs, when it’s your situation. Matsukawa’s thick brow lifts just slightly, before the casual expression slips back on and he just shrugs, signing something onto the stack of papers in front of him. “‘Kay, sign here then. I need your name and your signature here and here.” And though your hand shakes a little writing down your name, the heavy hand on your shoulder is a welcome comfort.

“I won’t- see any- d-,” you clamp your mouth shut again, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks when he takes a breath, cutting in.

“Dead people?”

“You know what I mean,” you huff, looking from your wobbly handwriting on the page back to him, his hand squeezing some of the nerves out of you despite everything. Your mom’s brother is charming, he’s easy to talk to and despite his very, very intimidating appearance, there’s a joy to his expression, making him seem genuine enough. You lean into him a little more as you lower your voice. “You do the same thing Kentaro does, right? I won’t have to… shoot anybody?”

A moment of silence passes, before he laughs- really laughs, his shoulders shaking and face splitting into a blinding grin that takes you aback a little, as he continues entirely too long. You even find yourself smiling along, even though it’s mostly out of surprise at his reaction. When he quiets though, he straightens up and towers back over you to place a hand on your head, shaking his head a few times. “I don’t think you could even if you wanted to, little girl.” It’s paired with a slight narrowing of his eyes when you brush his hand off, but he smiles.

“No shooting, no stabbing, no torturing. You have my word. All I ask is that you don’t go downstairs without me. Piece of cake, hm?”

You hum back, and he smiles.

You’d never seen a lot of your mom’s younger brother, having long been shunned out of the family by the time you were old enough to understand that was something that families could do. Banish the apples falling too far from the tree, the inedible bunch. Your mom didn’t talk about him, and your dad never had anything good to say when he did. Most you’d gotten was a flash of his tall, muscular posture on a rainy day in May, his obsidian gaze meeting yours for a split second from the other side of the casket when your mom’s dad— his dad, was about to be put into the ground.

You watched your nieces and nephews, aunts, elders avoid him like the plague, whispering behind clasped palms. About his shady business, his men, a danger. When he’d come up to your parents after the ceremony, ignoring your mother’s displeased glares in favor of being civil, he leaned down to reach a tattooed hand your way with a sad smile and you shook it. “If you ever need anything,” he had mumbled, setting your mom off into a hateful whirlwind of insults, yanking your smaller hand back into hers. Matsukawa vashined from your parents’ conversation entirely after that, right up until they split and the letters kept coming, final notices, extended payments.

But you never forgot, and eventually— who else could you have gone to, if not him?

Turns out that Matsukawa’s word counts enough, to a certain degree. The pay is good, and though receiving a grieving bunch of people every few days isn’t easy, the days without much activity at all. Only sometimes he comes home with a darkness in his expression, mumbling for you to hand him a drink when he walks in, or sometimes grabbing your cheeks and pressing a drink into your hands with a grin, two opposite ends of the spectrum.

You don’t know if it is Mattsun honouring his promise or not, but it only happens twice the first month, where you have to rush to pull the curtains down as a bunch of men carry in an unmoving body from a car. They douse the floors with deep red blood, smelling of metal, sharp and pungent. It’d stain the floors if they weren’t already an ominous reddish brown, leaving you mopping up the evidence with your lip tucked hard between your teeth. Even when he comes back from the cellar and tells you to call him ‘uncle Issei’, he’s gentle with you, and you’re grateful for that too.

“Thanks, kiddo,” he only mumbles as he pats your head with that heavy, large hand that you shook once on a rainy day, and you give a tense smile in return. It doesn’t stay that easy though, and with each time more and more heavily tattooed men pass through the parlor and cast questioning glances your way, you get more and more uneasy about it. Uncle Issei clearly does as well, if the tight line his mouth pulls is anything to go by. The whispers sometimes go into full on talking about you right in front of your face— in front of the boss’ face, and it’s only a split second before that ugly, demanding flash glides over his features when that happens.

You’re just glad he doesn’t take it personally. Each time he comes back, blood splattered on his shirt and sitting stained under his nails, you can’t help but wonder if he ever will. If he’ll ever just turn around and set his eyes on you, hate you the way your mom hated him. If you’ll end up like blood under those nails some day as well. You hope not.

Days turn into months, cleaning up till late after hours, sitting in his office- next to him on the chair with his hand rubbing small circles into your back while he reads over paperwork you filled in. You paint his nails black, hands shaking slightly under his gaze in the small, cramped space of his crappy apartment bathroom. You let him drive you around the city after particularly long days, squeezing your hand in his, eventually daring to link pinkies on the drive back. Anything to pretend like he isn’t your executor as well, with his noose wrapped too tight around your neck.

The cold air breathing up from the cellar through the staircase floats your way, pulling goosebumps from your legs and arms, the echo of nothing. You got used to the soft bangs of the boiler that used to spook you, got used to the dark, damp feeling of the hallway there— of feeling trapped like a bird in a cage with no means of escape. But sometimes the feeling of that cold travelling up your spine without your consent still frightens you a bit, and you ache for the second uncle Issei peeks his head back from under those gates of Hell to soothe you, tell you you can lock up soon.

It hasn’t happened yet, the sun is starting to set. You trust him. You do, so when a nagging sense of curiosity grows heavy, doubt prickles at the back of your mind. You turn to stare at the hallway. You don’t go there. You never go there, not even now— because Issei is the one with his hands wrapped around people’s neck, you’re innocent, oblivious, naive. That’s the deal you made. But with each passing minute on that ticking clock and no sign of life from him, your heart grows heavier— your mind more curious.

Once the sun passes by the horizon and leaves only the faintest shimmer of orangey-red on the walls behind you, dusted over your fingertips and cheeks, you swallow. Thick and heavy, it sits at the back of your mouth as you turn to the hallway, now with trembling hands. “Uncle Issei?” you softly call down, not nearly loud enough to reach the back rooms. Your voice gets stuck in your throat when you stand peering down into the darkness. He probably won’t be happy to have you there, but you’ve never asked for much, right? Just a quick check can’t hurt.

You begin the descent slowly and very unsurely, your responsibilities banging in the back of your skull as you tiptoe down. If someone where to find the parlor abandoned right now, you’d get in trouble. But you don’t think as you still scoot forward more, letting your eyes adjust to the lack of light. Even with the small spots that illuminate the stone staircase, there’s so much darkness that it seems to swallow up any brightness left. You call out for him again, still not receiving an answer.

It’s eerily silent again. You’re freaking yourself out. You know you are— looking at your trembling hands, feeling the hairs standing up on all your limbs, but you really can’t help it. You tap a few buttons on your phone again, but the call goes straight to voicemail. The metal squares hiding some gruesome truths are still all closed, and the chill you feel is the freezers running on full power. Everything is fine. You make it to the back rooms only just, skittish as you yank open the door to them and hide away into it, letting yourself take a few deep breaths.

“Mattsun?” you try one last time, now louder.

Nothing. A pristine room, two empty seats and a few bottles of amber alcohol on a coffee table. No uncle Issei, no screaming, no sign of life. But across the way there’s another door, heavy and metal that you huff at when it doesn’t budge. Deciding none of this is worth the effort, you wipe your hands on your skirt and turn on your heel right when a large figure appears from behind the door.

You jump so hard you slump into the wall with a choked scream, only to drop your shoulders as tears well up in your eyes. The familiar face doing little to keep your heart from slamming against its' bone cage. “I was looking for you,” you choke out, gripping your own fingers with your other hand, swallowing. Uncle Issei is — covered in blood. Head to toe, with blood running down from under his hair over his brow and eye, his shirt and pants drenched in thick, dark blood; his hands, dripping.

You’ve always had a bit of an obsession with his hands, ever since that first time. Strong and big, wrapping around yours with roughened, thick skin and keeping you close. Tattoos crawling down from his sleeves to his knuckles, covering each stretch of him in swirls or red, black and blue. Hands that wiped your tears on nights where you felt lowest, and ones that you spent too long studying when they were pressed up against your shoulders to steady you. But you’ve never seen them like this, so much blood that it drips down onto the floor, droplets looking more light claws than anything else. Rings glittering red.

Your first instinct is to worry for him, but the second is to worry for you. “Who’s watching upstairs?” he asks with a low hum, rubbing his face into the crook of his elbow. He only lifts a single eyebrow towards you when there’s no answer, shifting on your feet. You bite your lip in shame, sucking it into your mouth, before finally shrugging.

“I w- I thought that y- just wanted to know why you hadn’t come up yet.” He keeps your gaze a few seconds longer, then walks towards you and further, looking out into the rest of the cellar with a tense sigh. “I wasn’t trying to snoop, uncle Issei,” you mumble again, feeling like a scolded child. But he clicks his tongue and leans down to press a kiss at the edge of your hair, affectionately, before he stands up and motions towards the other end.

“Come with me.”

There’s a soft press to the space between your shoulders as he walks behind you, leading you into the next room with a deep breath. There’s no warning offered for what you walk into, but you don’t think there is any that would suffice anyway. You clamp your eyes shut, stopping right in place and staying pressed back to his chest, lip shaking, your heart beating like it’s trying to remember the feeling of life.

“Is this what you wanted to see?” he asks, you feel the swell of his breathing against you and the warmth of his body, but you shake your head. “No?” You shake your head harder, trying to banish the view from your memories. Blood, so much, on the table, the chair, dripped down the sink. And a heap in the chair that must be a person, but you don’t dare open your eyes again to confirm. “You didn’t let the curiosity get the best of you, brat?”

“No, no, I wanna leave,” you beg, reaching behind you to cling to his pant leg, balling up your hand so hard it aches. The fabric is still tacky, it leaves your mouth dry and your touch feeling gross. “Uncle Issei, please, I wanna leave,” your voice is high pitched and squeaky by now, betraying the full range of your distress. You almost collapse from relief as his hands wipe on his own clothing before grabbing your shoulders and leading you back the way you came, following his path until the grip loosens and he lets out a deep breath, one that betrays his frustration.

“We’re cleaning up.” He watches you as your eyes crack open again, narrowed and teary, but his own expression is just as hard. “I’m not asking, come on.” He opens the door into the small bathroom tucked all the way into the far of the room and already starts unbuttoning his shirt to place it onto the sink, paying you little mind as you follow him into the room.

The water drums hard on the surface of his skin as you wait with damp hair until he’s finished, about ready to be done and shimmy into the oversized shirt of his he’d offered under his breath. There was nothing coy about the way he pulled you into the same shower, you with your eyes kept strictly on the ceiling as you scrub the shower gel over your arms and legs and down your belly, hoping he’ll do the same.

Every time you accidentally brush against his skin you shiver, not knowing how to break the silence. You're family, and this should be fine, shouldn't be making your cheeks hot and breathing taste sweeter. It does though. Once he’s clean too, you can feel the darkness of his eyes boring into the planes of your face, brushing some hair back ever so gently.

You wonder if he’ll bring up what he sees on your face- because you're sure he does. You kind of hope he has the good will to leave you pretending. After getting dried off and back into your skirt with a clean shirt of his over top he swallows, and clears his voice. “You’ve known since the start about what you'd see in there, don’t act so shocked.”

“‘M not acting anything,” you instantly whisper back, taking place against the wall of the impeccable office, hoping you’ll sink into the wall and never be seen again. There’s a difference between knowing something bad is happening behind your back, and actually facing it. A minuscule change maybe, but enough to have your lip shake as you suckle it. “I don’t think I can do this anymore, that’s all. I don’t want to.”

A tick in his brow is all that shows his agitation, but you still feel bad. Maybe for the distance you suddenly feel between the two of you, so close yet miles and miles of distance. You never had to wonder what made Mattsun a bad person, blocked it out in your mind like it was barely an issue. “Why?” he asks, slow and deep and raising goosebumps all over your skin when his large, imposing form gets closer and closer.

You stare at him, blinking away something deep inside. There’s no way the thing you’re feeling is heartbreak, so then why do you feel so damn heavy? “I didn’t know this is- I didn’t want to see it, Issei. I could have gone my whole life not thinking about it, and I don’t wanna end up like that too.”

With just two steps he’s before you, looking down as you flinch when he raises a hand, his lips pulling into a tight line. He hovers for a second, then slowly— so slow you swear the wait almost feels unending, his fingertips brush along your cheek, face nearing. “You really think I’d ever hurt you? Me hurting you?” It’s in the way he breathes, eyebrows stitching together into a sort of confusion that you’ve never seen on him. For once, he looks lost, and you can’t help but feel like crying when he presses even closer. “I would never think about hurting you.”

“Have you just been thinking this the whole time? About when I’d lay my hands on you and squeeze,” he grunts, narrowing on your expression as you instinctively follow his hands to your throat to cling to them. Your palms are clammy as you watch him take you in, your mouth slightly cracked and glistening, still swollen and puffy from biting your lips so much. He’s so much bigger than you, biceps bulging as he keeps you trapped in place, lungs emptying into the feeble space between you two. “Is that what you think of me? Just when I was starting to think someone actually cared, accepted me.”

The way his body is pressed to yours is overwhelming, face so close you can feel the breath of him along your cheeks, the warmth of his hands as he trails a hand down your spine. It’s intoxicating, more than anything, even though it doesn’t escape you how distinctly wrong your thoughts are. Because no, you don’t, you should and you don’t and it’s messing up your mind as you try to blink through your thoughts. “And if I did, what then?” he mumbles under his breath, pressing you further up against the cold wall. “Who would help you if I wanted to? Your mom? You think Kyoutani will go against me? Who helped you more than I did?”

Your hands shake against his chest as you keep them there, looking up at him like a god in the flesh. Because that’s really what it feels like right about now, the deep darkness of his blown out pupils, the electric touch of his hands along you, like the heavy metal rings make the soft surface magnetic. “No one, uncle Issei. I wouldn’t ask anyone else.” You keep his eyes as he hums, then seems to cage you to him between his thick thighs, the smell of his cologne and just his manly scent filling you up and spitting you out disgarted. “Only you, I promised. I- I trust you.”

His lips pull into a tighter line, before he smiles tightly, looking aside. “Such a sweet thing you are, hm? Always have been too loyal for your own good.” The praise makes you feel floaty, cheeks warming as you search for words, struggling to answer anything of use. “Almost makes me believe you feel the same, kiddo. Don’t do that to me.” He breathes out a tense laugh as he makes you meet his eyes, probably at the wide, teary-eyed way you don’t dare look anywhere else. You feel like you’re drowning.

Your mom once said that you’d be wise not to trust men like him, for your own good, that you weren’t old enough yet to really understand what people’s promises held. Maybe now for the first time, you get what she means. Because looking at him licking his lips so close to you, with his hand wrapped around your throat and your breathing constricted by the proximity of his own face; you wonder what exactly he promised you. And how much you’d do to give into him anyway.

“You’d forgive me if I did something stupid, right?” he whispers, and when you blink your lashes almost brush his, your wrists gripped so tight in his hand. You don’t get the chance to agree before he dips down his lips to peck you, stealing a second kiss and a third too, before he groans and gets to his knees. “I want you to be mine,” he confesses, too easily. Your cheeks, if they weren’t already burning hard and bright, flare up with all the embarrassment in your body until you choke on your words when uncle Issei pushes his face between your legs, nudging up your skirt with his nose.

“Fu—ck, princess, ugh- you’re so pretty. Drive my fucking stupid for you.” The noise he makes is loud and rumbly, hands gripping your thighs tight and kneading the tender skin between strong fingers. He sniffs under your skirt again, pressing his mouth to the heat between your legs and placing open mouth kisses, as you rest your hand in his hair and cling to him.

“Uncle Issei, w-what are you—” your thigh trembles as he hooks it over your shoulder, mouthing at your pussy through the thin covering, obnoxious kissing noises filling you with misplaced pride. He groans as he noses at your clit and licks a long stripe up, then pulls the fabric to the side to tuck it aside. “Why?” you breathe, throwing your head back against the wall and cling tighter to his wild curls, and he hums.

“Want me to stop?” You know what you should say. Looking back down as the heat of his mouth leaves and he meets your gaze head on, he raises an eyebrow, and you almost say yes. But the way he traces his fingers along your slit, long, thick fingertips prodding where your body lets out so much heat, getting wetter by the breath- it’s too much. You slowly shake your head side to side, pouting along when he coaches a noise out of you with the incessant press. “No? You want me to keep going?”

“Please.” That’s all he asks for before burying his face back between your legs with a sigh, repeating the long lick top to bottom on bare skin now, and you shudder when he slips two fingers ever so slowly inside. It instantly feels overwhelming.

“Mhm, s’all you had to say.” He grins into your thighs and hums, then flicks his tongue hard and slow. “Though I’d like to hear you beg.” Maybe it’s the idea of how wrong it is, how wrong he is for you, but the way he pushes his tongue between your bottom lips and sucks hard and messy, taking all of you and lapping you up like he’s been starved for weeks, it feels heavenly. “Y’taste so fucking good, holy fuck.”

You can’t help yourself. His tongue is doing miracles, feeling better than anything anyone’s ever done to you. Your hands shake as you alternate between keeping him close and tugging him back to allow a breath. “Uncle Issei,” you squeak when his fingers push past the ring of muscles a few times, curling into your softness and licking at the pussy nub at the top of your slit. “U-uncle Issei, please.” He moans your name back into your pussy as he seems to press even closer, not that he can, and pushes his tongue along into the clenching hole.

You mewl again, trying not to wrap your leg around him to keep him there, the perfect pressure on your clit, stubble on your most sensitive parts. He licks you clean until you can’t open your eyes without tearing up, before he finally pulls back for breath and drops your leg back to the floor, pulling at your skirt to rid you of it completely. You sink down without his support, sitting flat and panting, wet pussy dripping as you watch him unbutton his shirt much too slow for your taste. When he finishes, you start pushing it off his shoulders and crawl into his lap, aching for more closeness, and Issei smiles.

“My pretty girl needs more, hm?” He grabs your jaw and lays a soft kiss at the edge of your lips before pushing his wet fingers up to your mouth, letting you wrap your lips around them with a soft noise of displeasure. But it doesn’t last for long when you suck on the digits and let him push far back, gagging you. Spit drips down his fingers and hand as he watches you, breathes you in and lets you roll your pussy on the bump of his crotch until you get tired. Then he circles your lips with his fingertips, and nudges them apart. “Open up. Got a present to give you.”

You do, listen so well as you drop your mouth open and let your tongue lul out, barely reacting when he tugs it and more spit leaks down your tongue, your chin and his fingers. It doesn’t have the time to cool before he swipes it up and licks it off his own fingers, then hovering his mouth over yours. “So pretty, my pretty, little niece. Who would’ve expected the little angel of the family to end up grinding herself on her uncle’s cock like a whore, hm?” The grin on his lips glitters in this light, looking endlessly perfect to you.

“Y’like that?” he coos, still pinching your tongue and having drool mess up your face, run down his wrist. You nod, can’t help it. You try to mumble his name with your tongue out of your mouth, grinding yourself on him harder, pushing the fold of the fabric to push against your clit. And he chuckles softly at your eagerness, letting a softer look pass over his face before he hums back, helping your hips along his hardening cock. “Open wider,” he says when he leans in, you do.

Only a moment you think he’ll kiss you, but then something warm and wet lands on your tongue. Spit— his spit pools on the wet surface of your tongue and runs down, and Issei raises an eyebrow. The idea alone that he spit on your tongue, degrading you with no filter whatsoever shouldn’t turn you on, it shouldn’t have you trembling in his lap with your pussy spilling more slick onto the crotch of his jeans. But you can’t help it, you mewl as you let him push the wetness around on your tongue. “Drop it and I’ll give you something worse to drink. Now be good and swallow my fucking spit before I fuck that pretty pussy of yours.”

You aren’t allowed to close your mouth as he plays his fingers in your mouth like it’s nothing, pressing against the back of your throat as you swallow around them, unable to hold the wet sounds of your mouth and your cunny at this point. It’s filthy, and uncle Issei looks so pleased. You can’t look away. This time when he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, he’s not gentle. He’s not patient. He just pushes you over onto your hands and knees and pulls your underwear down in one smooth pull, nudging your thighs apart. The sound of the zipper between your breaths is loud and makes your hole clench in anticipation, winking as he rubs a rough thumb over it again and again to spread around the wetness dripping down your cunt.

“Been thinking of you for so long, princess,” he leans down to kiss a line down the small of your back, before shuffling in between your legs as he shoves his pants and boxers down and lets you feel the thick, heavy press between your legs. So big, so heavy that you hold your breath, dropping your chin to your chest to look under your body at his cock. Swollen and flushes, it twitches against you, and you reach a hand below you to grip at him between your legs. He’s so hot and thick and heavy in your hand, feeling his heartbeat as you squeeze around the shaft, before moaning along with him.

“Holy fuck, uncle Issei, you’re so big. I- I don’t know if,” you choke, pushing yourself to rub your pussy along the top of him.

He snorts, though it’s lost in his groan when you rub your clit along his flared head, gripping your hips tighter. You don’t have much faith when he thrusts forward against you and his hips level with yours, only showing off how deep he’ll be. “You can. You can,” he whispers, letting you rub yourself along him until your slick and his precum is one wet mess between your legs. “That’s it, pretty girl. Gonna take your uncle’s cock so well, hm? Want it inside?”

“Yes, yes yes yes,” you whimper, letting go of him to stuff your own fingers into your mouth and taste your mixture of wet, taste him too. “Wan’it so bad. I wanna feel you.” Every touch to your clit makes you shiver on your knees, forgetting all about the hurt when he finally lines up and the fat head pushes against your hole, his one hand clamping down hard on your hips. “Ahgn- ‘ncle ‘Ssei, please. Feels so good.”

The press of his thick cock against you instantly stretches your walls, sinking down to rest your head on your arms and rolling your hips back against him. Tears leak out of your eyes when he pushes in more, and your voice gets even more tight and whimpery when his thumb pushes up to your puckered hole along with a shallow thrust. “Fuck, fu-baby, so fucking tight. God, you’re squeezing me so tight.” He thrusts deeper, spreading you open inch by inch as you shiver. It hurts, yet feels so good that you can’t think of anything other than his cock fucking into you, frow slow, shallow thrusts to deeper and harder, curling his thumb inside you for more pressure.

By the time he’s able to comfortably roll his hips into you, you’re a drooling, wet mess under him, pussy so full you feel him press up against your cervix and leave your legs barely supporting your weight. Your cunt and clit twitch for him each time his hips meet yours, bumping so deep into your walls you can’t even keep your eyes open. “Uncle Issei, ‘m gonna cum. Gonna cum, gonna cum, ah- ahng.”

“Yeah? Wanna cream all over my cock, pretty girl? Make even more of a mess?” You don’t get the chance to respond before he pinches your clit and sends you straight over the edge, vision going black as the wave of pleasure clashes down on you and he fucks you through it, pushing his cock so far inside you it should hurt. “That’s it, that’s it, cum for me.”

But it’s just amazing, a rush of pleasure as he fucks you open through your orgasm, walls clenching desperately around him. You feel him pull out to let some of your cum spill out and down your legs, before wrapping an arm under your body and pulling you up against his chest, pressing kisses along your neck.

“There you go, baby, so good for me.” He breathes deeply into your skin, before sliding his cock back into the mess between your legs, humming. “You’re warmed up now, right? I think it’s my turn.”

video games by lana del rey playing on an airplane 30/4/2013