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ficsforgaza · 7 days ago

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kinktober day 31: maki + stepcest

w/c: 2.9k warning/s: f!reader (wearing a dress, referred to as woman), stepcest/incest, characters are referred to as sisters/use of honorifics, masturbation (r!receiving), panty sniffing/stealing, degradation, oral (r!giving), semi-public sex, maki's kinda (read: very) mean lmao notes: this is part of @ficsforgaza kinktober event!! ffg kinktober masterlist — please enjoy and check out the creators who helped raise over $400 usd for gaza aid!! this is my first time writing maki and i think i've gone blind from horniness so i think i did well LMAO inspo/acknowledgements: co-written with my lover @cottoncalicoes

crossposted to ao3 • masterlist • wip updates & voting • kofi • askbox

“congratulations again to the happy couple!” swallowing thickly, you take the opportunity during the applause to clear your throat, “and i’m so excited to be an honorary zen’in.”

you hate your cognisance of the weight of the microphone in your hand, your sweaty palms sliding against the metal no matter how nervously you adjusted your grip on the cylinder. you feel like you’re going through withdrawal, your lips too tight in your smile, showing too many teeth, your fingers twitching at your side, sweat beading on your brow as you stood at the centre of the dance floor in front of your new family on the best day of their lives.

for them, it looks like it is; mai, mingling with everyone in her stunning bridesmaid’s gown, dark green hair framing her pretty face, glitter sparkling on her eyelids in the low light, the blushing bride glowing at the centre table, her white slip dress rubbing against her grooms leg as he inched their chairs closer, both of them beaming with lovesick smiles. and maki, in a matching dress with her twin, the gown ruching, plunging and bunching on every addictive curve of her body, like your mother had chosen the dresses just to torture you. you, in comparison, look miserable with your flushed cheeks, darting eyes, clammy fingers attempting to pull the clinging fabric away from your searing skin.

you can’t do it. you can’t. you can’t even last a day without it.

your lewd vice. an unintentional habit born the week you moved in with your new family. you’d all settled into a routine quickly; family dinner, tidying the home, showering and bathing, and then slinking back to your bedroom for some peace. any apprehension you may have felt about the change melted from you when you’d stepped into the bathroom on your fifth night, the walls still sticky with humidity from your step-sisters shower, the faucet dripping against the porcelain tile rhythmically. only after stripping down to your underwear did you notice it; your downfall served to you on a silver platter. maki’s underwear strewn carelessly across the floor.

the fabric was plain. black. a boy short cut, curved to complement the shape of her ass. everything you'd expect from your new step-sister.

shame bubbled in your stomach, a pit of trepidation building the more you stared at the garment. moving on autopilot, hot water spouted from the shower, noisily hitting the tile and glass opposite it, steam billowing to the ceiling, your fingers snatching the panties before you can think about the repercussions, your left hand slipping between your thighs to furiously fuck yourself, your garbled moans and pants muffled by your right hand, holding her panties over your nose and lips like a depraved version of a mask.

each and every single day since had been no different. you and maki crossing paths, her hair still damp, droplets trailing down the skin of her neck, and you, refusing to meet her eye, hurrying into the bathroom after her, needing to huff and suck and lick at her underwear while they still tasted like your oneesan.

wetting your dry lips, you pass the microphone along to the next, family members rushing to pass along their well wishes to the happy couple, you only hope your new family doesn’t notice the way your eyes glaze over, meeting maki’s across the room. your (now official) step-sister stares over the top of the round frames of her glasses, tawny eyes studying you like she’s watching the memory replaying in your mind, too, hearing the wanton call of her name.

with a polite smile to a cousin who’s name escapes you, you slip from the banquet room, ducking your head past ornate decor, white, gold and a muted emerald green to match the bridesmaid dresses, the train of your own billowing after you as you rush toward the end of the hallway, near sprinting by the time you reach the door.

swinging the door open, your chest heaves, lungs tightening each time you try to catch your breath, too preoccupied with hiking the length of your dress up to focus on your breathing, too impatient to even hold your underwear aside when you press your fingertips to your aching clit, only just managing to slam the stall door shut before you breathe out an airy sigh.

the bathroom door swings open, the hinges creaking, a noise that should send your heart to your throat. instead, you only feel a frustrated scream build in your oesophagus, willing your unwanted guest to take care of themselves quickly, to let you take care of your issue.

their steps echo ominously toward your stall, each click in time with your erratic pulse before stopping outside your door, their shoes eerily similar to the heels maki adorned for the event.

“you're pathetic.” the familiar, bored voice rings from the opposite side of the stall, icy blood rushing in your ears nearly deafening you, “what’s it been, hm? not even an entire day without stuffing yourself full?”

your cunt aches at her tone, disappointment laced through every syllable, disappointed in your weakness, about to lecture you on self-control.

when you don’t answer her, she knocks sharply against the door, demanding your attention with the jarring note, “come here. now.”

reluctantly, you obey, a painful jolt shooting through your spine to your neglected clit when you drag your hand away, clenching your fists between your thighs, trying not to release a petulant groan, willing yourself not to whine and cry to your step-sister about your addiction, your debauched habit, the wail catching in your throat before it can be free. easing the door open, you attempt to steel your features, letting your dress fall back into place, hiding the slick on your thighs when you meet maki’s wolfish gaze.

“look at you,” she sneers, tilting her head to take in your dishevelled appearance — your dress creased at your hips, the angry marks your nails left in your palms, your swollen, bitten lips, “can you even get off without your nose stuffed in my underwear?”

your stomach drops at her words, eyes darting around the confined space, trying to find something to look at other than her face. feeble excuses tumble past chapped lips, stuttering over every word that comes to mind, finally landing on a complete sentence, “i-i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

picking nervously at the bed of your nails, painted to match hers for the special day, you still avoid her sharp eyes, your gaze landing on her lips as she laughs at you.

“perverted and an actor,” crowding into the already cramped space, she’s sure to slide the lock into place behind her before she continues, “you really thought i wouldn’t notice your little habit?”

cowering under the heat of her stare, maki easily backs you against the wall, the tension thick enough even the dullest blade would slice through it; a heat blossoming anywhere she touches you, one hand at your shoulder, the other your waist, her hips pressing into yours to trap you beneath her patronising sneer.

“how long?” her slender fingers move to grasp your jaw, calloused fingertips squishing the fat of your cheeks, pressing them together until your lips parted dumbly, tilting your head to look into her shining eyes. the glass atop her nose flashes, a fierceness reflected back at you.

although, the longer you stare, the sooner you realise it’s her pupils swimming with the wickedness.

“what?”

“how long did you think you could get away with it?” pressing herself harder to you, she studies every minute reaction: the flutter of your eyelashes, the pucker of your lips, the whine in your throat, the wiggle of your hips, chasing the euphoria she was willing to give you with every adjustment of her hips.

“using me to get off like that,” leaning closer like she’s going to kiss you, she continues clicking her tongue at you, her voice dripping in vitriol, “stealing my underwear, getting yourself off to the smell of me like some pervert, and all i get is a selfish little sister and stained underwear.”

digging her fingertips into your side to halt your wiggling, you bite back a moan, a small part of you worried you’re going to stain her dress with your slick.

“christ, and you’re getting off on this, too?” looking down her nose at you, there’s a pang of humiliation blooming at the nape of your neck until she grins, as evil as the glint in her eye, “you fucking freak.”

“i’m not a freak.”

maki laughs, no, snicker at your weak voice, sounding more like a frightened child trying to stand up to its playground bully, 'sensei said you're not allowed to snatch,', dropping her hand from your waist, she slips it between your thighs, allowing you to wiggle and grind into her hand, your body still screaming to cum, here, like this, with your sister’s fingers inspecting the slick drooling from your pussy, the voice in your head screaming at you to leave growing quieter and quieter, silenced for good when she swipes her thumb over your clit.

“you have a different word for getting this wet for me?”

heat rushes to your face, stammering like a poor little victim again as she strokes your dripping slit painstakingly slowly, “you know what i think?”

you only whine in acknowledgement, reaching for her wrist in an attempt to get closer, to feel her weight pinning you, her heat, for more.

tightening her grip on your jaw, she sadistically draws her fingers away from you, “when your oneesan asks you a question, freak, you answer.”

“w-what do you think, maki?”

“show some respect,” she goads, “what do you moan when your fingers are stuffing your greedy cunt? say it.”

“what do you think… oneesan,” you sound pathetic moaning the honorific, the taste of it on your tongue enough to make your cunt pulse and gush, your empty hole clenching around nothing when maki rewards you with her thumb stroking circles on your clit.

a predatory smile graces her lips, still glossy with makeup, her feminine features twisting as she taunts you, “i think you owe me.”

it doesn’t take much for maki to get you to your knees, pushing at your limbs until you’re fumbling to kneel on the frigid tiled floor beneath her, your face level with her crotch. even maki’s hands tangling in your hair can’t stop you from pressing your face between her thighs, the dull pain of her tug at your scalp nothing compared to the ache in your stomach, a hearth burning and smouldering with each prod, pinch and spit from your step-sister. the scent of her like gasoline, your kindled hearth quickly growing into an uncontrollable flame.

she was right, you can’t get off without this anymore, without the taboo, the scent of her, the taste of her on the cotton.

your eyelids flutter, dazed when you dip your head beneath the hem of her dress, sucking in a deep breath with your face pressed to her cunt, already addicted to how much better it is like this – the heat of her muscular thighs around your head, the strength of her smell, the way you can trace the shape of her cunt while sucking her taste from the material, more and more of her cum starting to drool from her cunt the more you tried to lap it up, greedily drinking everything in.

hot blood rushes in your ears, into your cunt, pressing your face harder into her cunt, bruising your nose against her pubic bone while mouthing desperately at her pussy. as if remembering yourself, you bring your hands up to join your ravenous mouth beneath her dress, a whimper torn from your throat when she snatches you away from her soaked underwear.

“still so greedy, aren’t you?” maki’s eyes match yours, a debauched need burning in the depths of her dark eyes, “use your manners. ask for a taste.”

“oneesan,” you don’t hesitate like you did moments ago, too caught up with the desperation to taste her firsthand, instead of your face buried in her panties trying to taste the minute amount of her through the material, too caught up in your sister’s gravity to bring yourself to care about the humiliating position she had you in. with a broken voice, you plead, “please, let me taste you, oneesan.”

hazel eyes flash at your eagerness, hardly moving an inch in a nod before you're pouncing on her — pawing at her underwear like a woman starved, tugging the material down enough to curl your tongue around the string connecting her to the fabric before you abandoned them in place of spreading her thighs apart, conscious of every precious second that could be spent with your nose bumping against her clit.

if you thought you were addicted before, tasting maki like this had you hooked, euphoria swimming in your veins when your tongue connected with her flesh. you didn't think you could sink any lower than suckling your step-sisters underwear clean in the shared bathroom, but stuffed and kneeling in a bathroom stall at your parents wedding, you realised you had miles left to sink for her. moaning against her skin, you press forward, crawling on your hands and knees to impatiently suck at her skin even as she stumbled into the stall door.

saliva slips down your throat, your lips wet with it when you keen, curling and swirling your tongue over every inch of her cunt you can possibly reach like this, desperately pawing at her thighs to get more, taste more, touch more, just more.

“god,” crossed eyes meet hers, expecting her to look even half as debased as you do, instead eye to eye with her glare, one dark brow quirked, there's only disinterest reflecting back in her pupils, “i finally let you eat my cunt, and this is the best you can do?”

gripping the hair at the base of your skull, she steps over you until you’re stretching awkwardly to keep your head comfortably in her grip, one of your hands holding her ass to stay upright while she positions herself to fuck your mouth, “maybe you should just stick to licking my cum off my underwear. seems that’s all you’re good at.”

tightening her hold on your hair, maki manoeuvres you beneath her, tugging your hair — and subsequently your head — where she wants you. she's slow, deliberate, at first, tortuously so, your tongue tracing sensuously along her slit, dipping into her cunt to taste the cum beginning to drip from her, before she’d drag you backward to her clit.

while pushing and pulling you, her hips grind in a perfect rhythm to soak her pussy, working herself closer and closer, using your tongue like some toy; grinding harder on your face when she wants to let you have a taste, tugging you back by the hair when she wants to watch the way your lips are connected to her cunt with a silky white string, studying how your eyes roll into your skull, hazy with lust when it snaps back onto your bottom lip.

“so lucky your oneesan is here to teach you how to eat pussy, hm?” her cheeks are flush, the only sign of your affect on her other than the cum sticking to her thighs, to your lips like her perverted take on lip gloss. licking her cum from your mouth, you nod, your eyes darting back to her cunt in a silent plead for her to let you continue, to taste her cum as her thighs shake around your head.

she obliges your taboo request, a hiss echoing in the small stall when you dig your nails into the fat of her ass, burying your face in her once more — gently lapping at her pussy while your nose rubbed against her clit, the scent of her cunt driving you insane, her smell embedded in the hair just above her clit making you dizzy, grateful for your kneeling position, taking everything in you to be patient, to go slow, to follow her movements as she strings you along.

sucking and swirling your tongue around her clit until she cants her hips, slurping and flattening your tongue to drink in much of her as you could, mouthing along her slit when she'd cradle the back of your skull to hold you close to her.

you think she's close, her clit pulsing like yours did beneath your fingers when you'd nearly suffocate yourself with her panties to your nose, her pussy clenching around your tongue, her hips jumping erratically. her moan wavers as her hold on your skull tightens, dull nails scratching angry marks into your scalp as she holds you with both hands, using your face, spreading her cum all around your nose, lips and jaw, your tongue stuck out dumbly as she takes what she needs from you, holding your face deep into her cunt when she cums with an airy, drawn out hum — silky cream drooling straight onto your tongue while you hungrily lapped at her skin, licking her cunt and thighs clean of the precious liquid, ears perking at each of your sister's sharp inhales.

like an over excitable puppy, maki has to pull you away from her again, “you were alright.” she pants, catching her breath as you stare up at her with clouded eyes, “try harder tonight you can keep the panties to jerk off with, pervert."

© all works belong to @a-ikuoliver, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

#ffg kinktober #creator works #jujutsu kaisen

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ficsforgaza · 12 days ago

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⸻ USED TO HAVE A SWEET TOOTH, BUT YOU ROTTED ME

- Endo Yamato x Fem!Reader • Word Count: 1.1k -

Content warnings: vouyerism, mutual masturbation, teeny tiny bit of degradation, reader is kinda pervy, roommate au, porn w/o plot, italics is flashbacks

Kinktober Day 22: Endo Yamato + Masturbation in collaboration with @ficsforgaza | Full masterlist with other creators works here -> xxx

It’s wrong, the ritual you’d assumed ever since rooming with Endo. When he’d first offered up his spare room, it’d been you who was nervous of the prospect. The idea of a man like Endo having access to personal belongings made your stomach twist. But, after much convincing (and lack of other options), you’d moved in within a week.

—

“Come on,” your friend says, “living with him couldn’t be that bad. Plus he’s easy on the eyes, and you know he’s loyal. You won’t have to pull his weight.”

You groan, letting your head fall to the table with a thump, “I hate when you’re right.”

“Look,” she sighs, taking a sip of her coffee, “just give it a week or two. If you’re really that miserable then you can crash on my couch until you find a better place, okay?”

You huff at her words, curse her and her logical thinking. You allow yourself to sulk a few minutes longer before you finally concede.

“Fine,” you say with a roll of your eyes, “i hate you.”

She laughs out loud, flicking your forehead lightly, “I love you too. Now stop being such a pussy and call him.”

—

You’d expected him to creep on you, him to steal dirty laundry and bring girls home every other night. You’re not sure when it started, your infatuation with him— with his routine.

—

Loud moans echo through the thin walls between your rooms, cries of your roommates name falling freely from the lips of his latest conquest. That had been when it started, your yearning.

“Come on,” he groans, “touch yourself for me.”

Your eyes had widened at his words, breath stuttering as he continues to spit lewd words at the girl.

“Rub your clit, baby,” he snarls, “cum on my cock.”

It’s embarrassing really, how wet you find yourself. Maybe it was because you hadn’t been laid in a while, maybe you’re ovulating, maybe you’re done denying just how much you’re attracted to the man who lives with you.

—

The front door slams shut, interrupting your thoughts. Muttered curses can be heard through thin walls, and your thighs clench in anticipation of what comes next. You can hear him shuffle around his room, angrily tossing things around before he settles on his bed. You do the same, the thin wall being the only thing that separates your backs from being pressed together.

There’s a jingling of his belt, and you nearly whimper in anticipation for what comes next.

You can hear everything this way, pressed against the wall. The lewd sound of him spitting on his cock, the low moan he lets out when he strokes his over himself.

You do your best to muffle your own noise, a shirt you’d stolen from him stuffed into your mouth to hide your own sounds.

“Fuck,” he groans, the schlick schlick shclick sound of him stroking his cock growing faster.

You quickly push past the hem of your shorts, fingers moving to fuck yourself in time with him.

“Sweet thing,” he groans.

You pause, heart hammering rapidly in your chest at the familiar pet name.

“C’mon sweet thing,” he moans, “won’t you let me hear you too?”

You pull your hand rapidly from your shorts, crawling back from where you’d previously been pressed against the wall. Surely he wasn’t talking to you, you’d been so careful, so quiet.

“Such a little freak,” you hear him laugh, “you like listening to me get off? You’re not as quiet as you think, you know?”

Your stomach turns and you clench your fists, anxiety clawing up your chest.

“It’s okay,” he moans, “touch yourself for me. Need to hear how worked up you are for me.”

You stay still, fear still settled deep in your belly as you ponder your next move.

“Touch yourself or I’ll come to your room and make you.”

You whimper at his words, the imagery of him stalking to your room and watching you touch yourself has heat simmering deep.

“There you are,” he says with a laugh, “c’mon sweetheart. Make yourself cum for me.”

You find yourself pressed back against the wall, hands making quick work of your pants before you relieve yourself of the building pressure.

“Fuck,” he groans, “can hear how wet you are. Is it all for me?”

You moan out loud, fingers stuffing themselves inside of you as deep as you can.

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” you whine, free hand moving to grasp at your chest, “it’s all for you.”

Endo groans, head thumping against the wall as he strokes himself faster. You match your fingers with his strokes, clawing around the bed desperately before you find his shirt and press it against your face. His lingering scent has your eyes rolling back, your moans freely falling from your lips as your high approaches.

“Cum for me,” he gasps, “cum for me and I’ll come fuck you like you need.”

You picture the way he throws his head back, the furrow in his brow as his high approaches. His name falls from your lips again, and again, and again, your own high close to washing over you.

“Please,” you whine, “make me cum.”

Endo groans loudly, hips frantically bucking to meet his strokes.

“Yeah?” he goads, “Want me to come over there and stuff that pretty pussy full? Think you’ll be able to take it?”

“Yes,” you whine.

“Don’t stop,” he growls, voice growing quieter, “don’t fucking stop.”

The sound of his door opening is muffled by your whines, and you nearly screech when your own goes flowing open.

Endo marches over to your bed, pulling you to the end of it as he stands over you.

“I said don’t stop,” he says, hand holding you spread open for him. His own hand pulls his boxers down, stroking his cock as he looks down at you.

“Need to see you when you cum for me.”

Your hand swiftly returns to your clit, fingers circling before you press your fingers into yourself. Endo moans at the sight, weeping cock twitching at the sound of your pussy.

“God you’re so fucking wet,” he moans, “you usually get like this? Or is it all for me, sweet thing.”

“You! Just for you,” you cry, your high quickly returning at the sight of him, “gonna cum. Please.”

Endo’s eyes roll back, hand squeezing tightly at the head of his cock, “Cum for me.”

You callout his name as you cum, hips bucking up as your high washes over you. You whimper as you watch him fall apart with you, the heat of his cum landing on your stomach aiding you through the after shocks.

It’s quiet besides the sound of both of your heavy breathing, the both of you easing down from your high.

A kiss is pressed to your thigh, and you attempt to snap your legs closed at the feeling.

“W-what… what are you doing?”

Endo smirks up at you, his tongue lapping at his own release, “Cleaning my mess of course.”

#ffg kinktober #creator works

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ficsforgaza · 15 days ago

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Scenting - Beelzebub

Pairing: Beelzebub x reader (no pronouns are used, but reader has a pussy)

Genre: smut/NSFW

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: when you come to school smelling like another man, Beel strives to change that

CW: scent kink, scenting, marking, possessive Beel, size difference, Beel carries you, oral, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, some dirty talk

omg! this was supposed to be posted on the 30th but schoolwork got the best of me. this fic was in collaboration with @ficsforgaza's kinktober event! thank you for being so patient ^^

The scent of pumpkin and vanilla nearly knocks Beel out of his chair when you sit down next to him. He scrunches the nose, sniffing the air around you. The aroma is unmistakably yours—but there’s something else beneath it, too. Something warmer, something sweeter.

He frowns, sucking in a breath and leaning back in his chair.

“Good morning,” you hum.

“Morning.”

Beel can’t help but glance around the room, squinting at anyone that so much as looks your way. Surely he’s not the only one that smells it, surely he’s not the only one that’s turned on by it.

His frown only deepens when he sees the way you’re being looked at—when he sees the glazed over eyes of the demons around him. He shifts closer to you, clamping a protective hand over the back of your chair.

Not his human. Not today.

—

Beel barely manages to make it through the class. His pants have gotten uncomfortably tight and his nostrils burn with your delectable scent. He’s more than grateful when you wave goodbye to him and gather your books, shuffling out the door to your next class.

Even after you’ve retreated down the halls, the smell lingers. It’s like a taunt, beckoning him closer and closer to something he can’t have.

Beel lets himself take a few breaths, digging his calloused fingers into the meat of his thighs. He can do this. Only a few more classes—all of which you’re not even in.

But you still linger in the corner of his mind through all of his classes. The way you looked, the way you smelled, the way the others were looking at you. It’s all too much.

Beel’s leg shakes, a sour taste in his mouth as he watches the clock above the door. Just a few more minutes and he can go home. Just a few more minutes and he can see you again and reassure himself.

And then the bell rings and he’s springing to his feet, practically barrelling down the halls to where your locker is. He leans against it as casually as he can, broad shoulders resting against cold metal, and waits for you.

He smells you before he sees you, the dizzying aroma almost sending him to his knees. He watches as you skip towards him, a wide smile on your face and a hand raised in greeting.

You beam at him, “hey!”

Beel nods as nonchalantly as he can, sliding away from your locker to give you access. You’re so close to him that he can feel your warmth, savoring your scent and—he frowns.

He looks you up and down, examining every inch of your skin and RAD uniform. He sniffs again, brows furrowing. There, buried beneath your vanilla pumpkin heaven, is something new. Something unfamiliar. Something wrong.

He freezes when you rest a hand on his shoulder. “Everything okay?” You ask.

He clears his throat, subconsciously puffing out his chest. “Yeah. Fine, yeah. How were your classes?”

You close your locker, slinging your bag over your shoulder and starting the walk back to the House of Lamentation. You excitedly tell him about your day, going into detail about all of the things that happened while Beel nods along.

Guilt grasps him. Usually he loves listening to you talk about your day, chiming in with random little questions to keep you talking. But he can’t focus today—not when you look so pretty and you smell so good and some other demon’s scent is all over you.

Anger bubbles in his chest everytime he catches a hint of it. It’s him that you should smell like right now. His scent should be the one surrounding you, scaring away those scummy lesser demons. The thoughts burrow into his skull, spinning around until he’s trapped in a nauseating cycle.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts when you brush a hand down his arm. He flinches away from your touch, violet eyes baring down on you.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You’re standing in front of the door to the House of Lamentation looking at him with vulnerable eyes. You can tell something’s up—you’ve been able to tell since you sat down next to him this morning. You’re not stupid, after all.

He looks over his shoulder as if he expects someone to be listening in. “Whose scent is that?”

Your mouth falls open. “What?”

“That smell,” his tone gets stronger as he goes on, “whose is it? It’s all over you.”

You raise an arm, sniffing yourself. You cock your head at him in confusion. “Do you mean my deodorant? Or my body spray?”

He swallows hard and shakes his head. He finds himself wishing he hadn’t said anything, that he’d ignored it and gone to his room and jerked off until the thought of you melted away. Because now you’re looking at him expectantly as if this is something he can just explain.

“No, just—” He shakes his head, “nevermind.”

Beel moves past you, muttering something to himself and throwing open the door. You follow after him, brows still knit together in confusion. You’ve never seen him like this—all frustrated and high strung.

You grab him before you can even think about it. Your fingers wrap around his wrist, clutching and tugging him back towards you. His head whips around, eyes wide and confused as they focus on you.

“What are you doing?”

“You seem upset,” you murmur.

Beel’s eyes stay locked on yours and he doesn’t bother to move your hand off of his. The rise and fall of his chest grows faster with each passing second, each breath a torturous inhale of that unfamiliar scent.

Your voice shakes when you speak again, confusion and embarrassment coiling in your stomach. “I want to help you. Let me help you.”

You’re not sure who initiates it but suddenly you’re pressed tight against him, lips pressed against his. His arms are tight on your body, holding you to him like he’s afraid you’ll leave at any minute.

You reach around his shoulders, hands clawing at the fabric of his jacket while your lips move against his. Each shallow, gasping breath only leads to more kissing, more intensity.

He inhales you with every passing second, only driving his desperation further. He crouches down, hands sliding down your body as he does, and then he’s tossing you over his shoulder.

You squeal at your world turning upside down, your legs hanging limply down his chest. He hoists you up with one arm, his warm hand on the small of your back as he carries you up the stairs to his room.

Anticipation sets your nerves on fire, an unbearable heat coursing through your body. Nerves bubble up like soda pop in your tummy when his door comes into view.

His grip on you only tightens as he kicks his door open and slams it behind you, dropping you on the bed in front of him. You land in his pile of blankets and pillows with a squeak, scurrying back towards his headboard.

He crawls up the bed towards you, crouching between your legs. “Still wanna help?” He rasps.

You bite your lip and nod, your knees lazily falling to either side to give him more access.

He rubs a hand up and down your thigh, getting closer and closer to the waistband of your pants with every stroke. You let your eyes flutter close, focused only on the feeling of his touch.

His fingers lock into the hem of your pants and then he’s tugging them down, your underwear coming down with them. As soon as your pussy hits the cold air, you gasp, trying to close your legs.

Beel catches your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders so he can stuff his face between them. He inhales, eyes flicking up to meet yours, “damn, you smell so fucking good.”

You look away shyly, your legs shaking in anticipation. Soft breaths roll over your sensitive core, each one sending shivers down your spine.

Beel stays poised between your legs, breathing in that hot, sweet scent of your dripping cunt laid out in front of him. You smell so sweet, so pure—so his. And yet, that other bitter demonic smell still lingers in the air. He’ll have to change that.

A moan escapes you when he spits on your pussy, rubbing it in with his index finger. He traces circles up and down your slit, collecting the slick that pools onto his sheets and bringing it up to his mouth to taste.

And then he’s diving into your pussy headfirst, lips locking around your clit. His hair tickles the sides of your thighs, orange strands bobbing with each moment. You reach out and tangle your fingers in his hair, using it to tug him further into you.

The pressure only drives him to keep going. His tongue circles around your entrance, a finger sliding inside of you with ease. The sudden fullness has your eyes rolling back, thighs clenching around his face. He continues to pump in and out of you, teeth gently grazing against your swollen clit.

You cry out for him, pulling on his hair so hard that it leaves his scalp tingling. He doesn’t care, though. All he cares about are your thighs shaking around his shoulders and the way your pussy is drooling on his tongue.

“So fucking good,” he moans. “So fucking mine.”

Tears build up in your lashes, a white hot knot forming in your stomach. Through your wet eyes, you can barely make out the sight of Beel’s face shoved between your legs, his hips grinding into the mattress in desperation. He lets out a soft whine into your pussy, and that’s all it takes to send you over the edge.

You cum so hard your vision goes blurry. Your thighs shake, clenching and unclenching around his face as you ride out your high. He keeps his tongue lined up at your entrance, greedily drinking up your juices.

You’re panting when you come to, your head spinning from the pleasure. Beel pulls his face away from your pussy, blinking at your disheveled form on his mattress.

He smirks at you, mouth glistening with your juices. “Think you can keep going, sweetheart?”

“Y-yeah,” you say weakly.

He smiles at you, quickly discarding his jeans on the floor. His boxers are stained dark from precum, his cock bulging through the fabric. You reach out, fingers gently brushing the outline of it.

He tugs down his boxers, letting his cock swing free. It’s almost painfully hard and drenched in pre, his whole length glistening in desperation.

You pull your knees up to your chest, letting him situate himself between your legs. His tip grazes your entrance, just barely brushing against you.

“Please.” You whine, “put it in.”

You hardly have any time to react before he’s pushing his cock inside of you, his thick tip stretching you in a way that has your eyes rolling back. You gather a fistful of his sheets, fingers curling around them to ground yourself. Each inch of his cock is a stretch, driving him deeper and deeper until you can feel him everywhere.

Beel’s teeth graze the side of your neck, his hips stilling inside of you to give you a minute to adjust. He leaves marks in his wake, making his way from your neck, to your jaw, and finally, your lips.

His kisses are wet and sloppy and desperate, leaving both of you panting and dizzy. And then he starts thrusting and you come undone beneath him. Whimpers and whines and the sounds of skin on skin fill the room, Beel’s hips snapping violently against yours with each thrust.

With each kiss, with each thrust, his scent washes over you—covering the scent that had marked you before. The sudden change only spurs him further, his motions getting more and more desperate.

“Smell so nice,” he groans, “gonna make you smell like me. Gonna make sure all these demons know who you belong to.”

You babble in acknowledgement, your head spinning from the delicious way his cock fills you up. Each thrust drives you closer and closer to the edge, his filthy words only adding onto the pleasure.

“Gonna fill this pussy up so everyone can smell my cum inside you.”

Your muscles spasm, your pussy clenches and suddenly you’re coming undone once more. You reach for his shoulders, tugging him down on top of you while you unravel.

Beel keeps going, getting closer and closer to his own high. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He pants, “if everyone knew how good you are for me. If everyone knew I claimed you like this.”

You manage a soft little ‘yes’ and that’s all it takes to have him cumming inside of you, hot ropes of cum filling you up. He drives his hips as deep as possible, bottoming out so he doesn’t waste a single drop.

He stays inside of you even after he finishes, his sweaty body caging yours beneath him.

“Are you gonna move?” You say.

He considers it for a moment, inhaling the scent of your skin. He frowns—you don’t smell enough like him. At least, not yet. But a few more rounds should change that.

(if you like content like this, likes, comments & rbs are greatly appreciated! ^^)

#creator works #ffg kinktober

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ficsforgaza · 16 days ago

Note

Hi, I don't have a credit card and don't get paid in dollar, thought i could donate to the federation, it's legit?

https://fepal.com.br/arrecadacao-para-os-brasileiro-palestinos-de-gaza/

Hello, I tried my best to navigate the site (I speak Spanish but not Portuguese, so I could only understand a bit) but I could not find link for donation. But this organization does seem legitimate, their socials have been around for years. I would not have doubts to donate to their cause.

#answered asks #donation links

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ficsforgaza · 17 days ago

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꒰ DUTY-BOUND ꒱ AKAGAMI NO SHANKS X READER

warnings ⟢ minors do not interact—i will block you! very suggestive. alcohol use. period talk. foot worship. scent kink. female reader. reader and shanks are married, and shanks uses a few pet names—some silly, some serious—including: “lady love” / “ma’am” / “my love” / “my wife.” please note that shanks only has his right arm.

word count ⟢ 1115

notes ⟢ this is part of @ficsforgaza’s kinktober event! my prompt was shanks + period sex. this is my first time writing shanks, and truthfully, it reignited my lust for him... i hope i did him justice. please enjoy!

“What’s running through that pretty head of yours?”

It’s late; you lost track of time when the sky was still an azure ocean, the sun floating peerless in its splendor. An expensive—now empty—bottle of spiced rum lies at your feet, its warmth eddying through your veins, limbs steeped in honey. Swathed in night’s royal velvet, your hotel room is illuminated only by shivering candlelight and stray moonbeams. You left the balcony door ajar. Outside, the balmy breeze stirs palm leaves, and the sea’s siren song plays, ebbing and flowing with the tide.

For the first time in months, you’re on a real bed. Swapping your trusty hammock for a down-filled mattress feels like a luxury—one you refuse to take for granted. While your earlier beachside dinner left you satiated and wooed, your date led you to a nearby bar for drinks and dancing. Laughter rang in your ears as you draped your wrists over his broad shoulders, a thick arm anchored low across your hips, chin kissing the top of your head. The merriment concluded with what he insisted would be a “borrowed” bottle of rum.

(“Cap’s favorite,” he whispers conspiratorially against your temple, cradling the stolen cargo inside the billowing fabric of his cape.)

But as you lounge in bed together, your mind wanders. Shanks rests on his side, head propped up with his right arm. You’re curled against his bare chest, the vitality of his battle-worn flesh and the ardent beat of his heart setting your nerves alight. His hooked nose is buried in your hair, lips pressed to your crown.

“Nothing much,” you belatedly reply.

“Hmm…” He pulls back to study your expression, playful gaze narrowing, mapping the contours of your profile as though he’s navigating an uncharted island. After a few beats of silence, he finally announces: “I think you’re hiding something from me.”

“Oh, is that so?”

He hums. “You always have something to complain about.”

(That earns him a swift smack to the shoulder.)

“Ouch!” he gasps, face contorting in mock anguish. “My lady love wounds me.”

“If you must know,” you huff, ignoring his antics to instead twirl a delicate finger through his chest hair, “it’s my time of the month. So I’m not exactly feeling my best and brightest.”

“I see…Is that it?”

You indulge the petulant urge to roll your eyes. “If only I could ball up my pain and force it upon you, Mr. Can’t-Leave-His-Hammock-All-Day-When-He-Has-A-Mild-Cough.”

“No—you misunderstand me,” he sighs.

Slipping his arm beneath your waist, he shifts to hover above you, the ring hanging from the golden chain around his neck gleaming with reflected moonlight. His frame is almost comically large; almost. The way he so effortlessly maneuvers you, his body eclipsing yours, trapping you in place—forcing you to stare up at him: your captain, your lover, your husband—has heat blooming in your belly.

“What I mean is that there are ways to deal with this sort of pain.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, craning your neck to brush your lips against the ring; his jaw flexes. “Enlighten me, then,” you challenge.

You’ve fallen right into his trap and you know it. His grin is devastatingly radiant. Vast and blinding as the horizon on a cloudless day, it holds a sly promise. He leans down, lips grazing yours, breath so sweet your teeth ache. “Yes ma’am.”

Shanks considers himself lucky that you’re mostly undressed: your frame drowns in one of his old, sun-bleached shirts, the excess fabric pooling at your thighs. Underneath it, a simple pair of cotton panties is all that separates him from what he desires most.

Sliding down the length of your form, his excitement is apparent as it strains against his breeches. He nudges the hem of your makeshift nightgown with his nose, teasing it upward, careful to scrape the stubble on his cheeks and chin across your tender flesh. Continuing until the garment reaches the apex of your thighs, he then bites down on the soft linen, dragging it up to your hips with his teeth.

When you raise an eyebrow—Leaving your work half-finished, Akagami? he can hear you goad—he rasps, “I quite enjoy this view. As long as my love doesn’t mind, that is.”

(If the quickening of your pulse is anything to go by, you don’t mind in the slightest.)

Sitting back on his heels, he skims his fingers along the sinuous outline of your leg, supple hip to the arch of your foot. He splays his palm across your ankle, rough thumb stroking the bone. Gingerly, he raises your foot to his mouth, blotting a kiss against the sole before lifting his lips to your toes, slick pink peeking out, messily dragging his tongue across each digit. His eyes never leave yours, stormy with lust—fresh ichor seeping onto the salt-damp deck of a pirate ship: sublime.

Even in the throes of worship, crimson strands marring his vision, he looks every bit the Emperor he is.

Soon, he works his way back between your legs, wasting little time as he shoves his face into the seam of your underwear, inhaling deeply with a groan. You want to harass him for acting like an ill-trained mutt, but the knowledge that he’s getting off on your scent—that after a day of exploring and sweating and bleeding he still yearns for you—makes your head fuzzy.

You clear your throat. “Shanks. You don’t have to…you know.”

He doesn’t move even a hair’s breadth, eyelids heavy, the low rumble of his voice resounding in your core as he drawls, “I’m a big boy; a bit of blood isn’t gonna hurt me.”

His hand creeps downward, slowly—purposefully—until it rests atop your final layer. His fore and middle fingers sneak past the waistband and tangle in your pubic hair. Meanwhile, he stretches his thumb out to stroke your aching clit, featherlight, still not touching you directly.

“Besides,” he adds, no mirth in his manner for the first time all evening, “it’s my duty to help my wife.”

#ffg kinktober #creator works #one piece

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ficsforgaza · 18 days ago

Note

It's pretty confusing that this blog is called "Fics for Gaza", but it's only buried in the FAQ that the primary scope is for "animanga and video games". When a new person first visits this blog, they expect they can sponsor or produce fics for any medium. Couldn't you put it in a much more visible place that the primary scope of this project is for animanga and video games? It should be right at the top of the blog, one of the first things we see.

A majority of fics aren't written for animanga and video game fandoms. The combined popularity of fics for books, podcasts, Western comics and cartoons, and live-action TV and movies easily exceeds the combined popularity of fics for animanga and video games.

We do not have the resources, staff, following, or reach for fandoms outside of our stated scope. This project was specifically started by animanga fans, and—frankly—has never reached fans of other media types despite several blaze campaigns, social media accounts, and special events. We don’t even have the audience to cater to the fandoms you mentioned. If you are part of a fandom that is so much more popular than the hundreds of fandoms we encompass—which is a bit hard to believe—surely you can find specific fundraisers with the right audience and the right creators involved. If these fandoms are so massive, surely such initiatives would be easy for you to find; they’d certainly be larger than this blog.

You can try checking the Gotcha for Gaza Carrd if you can’t find them yourself. Good luck!

#answered asks

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ficsforgaza · 19 days ago

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#donation links

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ficsforgaza · 21 days ago

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We wanted to take a moment and thank everyone who participated in our Kinktober event! A few prompts have yet to be fulfilled, but they should go up within the next few days, and we will update the Kinktober master list as they’re posted. We are incredibly pleased by the turn out, and hope that you all have enjoyed the wonderful stories!

As always: please continue to support Gaza in any way you can ❤️

#ffg kinktober #announcements

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ficsforgaza · 21 days ago

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the taste of you — choso kamo

your loving husband choso would do anything to make your pregnancy easier - and yes, that does include drinking your breast milk.

pairing: choso x fem!reader

warnings: lactation kink ✦ pregnant reader ✦ intimacy during pregnancy ✦ reader is referred to as “beautiful” ✦ wc: 1.3k

a/n: hello, and happy halloween! this is my prompt for @ficsforgaza kinktober event! i am very happy to have been chosen to participate! here is the ffg kinktober masterlist, where there is so many wonderful stories i recommend y’all to read :) i hope you enjoy!!!!!

A moan, high and wanton, tore through the darkness of the house.

Even in the throes of sleep, Choso still heard you and felt his heart skip a beat at the golden bell sound of your pleasure spilling like a river from your lips, a pretty song. It was instinct for him, to wake up and automatically reach out for you, wanting to feel your warmth and find solace in the gentle swell of your growing baby bump under his fingers.

What Choso saw was not only surprising but also concerning; you were writhing, your body enwrapped in the silver of the moonlight. As you abruptly sat up, jolting awake, he placed one hand on the baby bump and slid the other underneath your shirt, clinging to you with sweat.

Choso grumbles in concern. “Hm? Love, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” His voice was dark and gravelly, still crackling with sleep - creating an effect that, unbeknownst to him at the moment, made you flush and rub your legs together, a tender fire kindling in your belly.

And made your breasts feel…strangely heavy.

“I’m fine,” you say softly. Joining his hand rubbing your bump, you smile to reassure him. “I guess this little one is making me extra sensitive these days”

Choso returned your smile before leaning down to pepper some feather-light kisses on your belly. “You gotta give mommy some rest now, little guy.” His voice against your stomach made you feel warm all over, the pleasant grit of it wrapping snug around you like a blanket.

Choso pulled you close to him, resting a chin on your shoulder, and brushed strands of hair out of your face still shining with sweat. He traced comforting, circular patterns on your lower back, but it felt as if the pads of his fingertips left behind a trail of sparks on your skin, and another moan tumbled from your lips.

Choso paused for a moment before a sheepish smile curled on his lips. “Are…are you sure? You don’t look fine. And you feel hot.’’

He nuzzled into you, sweet and tender, much like a cat seeking affectation, and God, you felt your nipples harden with pleasure, his sleep-laden voice and soft caresses sinking hot and heavy like a star to the core of you and you pressed your legs tighter and tighter and tighter together.

“My breasts,” you mumbled, “they feel kinda sensitive.” Your nipples brushing against the fabric of your t-shirt sent shudders down your spine, and in the carnal part of your brain festering with hormones, you wanted your husband’s large hands to be the one covering them instead.

Choso’s brows furrowed in concern, eyes sharpening with focus and roving over your body, looking for what he could mend. “You’re hurting?”

You shook your head, trying to ground yourself. It was difficult to put into words how your strange body feels now, carrying a baby, feeling as if the slightest brush of Choso’s flesh on yours could have stars shooting across your vision and your cunt throbbing with arousal. “No, no, they just feel…heavy? And sore.”

Your husband’s hand on your back moved upwards before settling warm and secure on the underside of your breast, aching with need. In the dark, Choso smiled, the light of his smile brightening the room around you both. “...Can I massage them?”

You smile at the shyness in his voice. “I would love that.”

Flicking the bedside lamp on, Choso helps you slip off your sweat-drenched shirt, and for a couple of minutes, you let yourself unwind under your husband’s touch, melting at his measured fingers finding their place at the base of your breast, caresses light as a petal fluttering across your skin but still loving and purposeful. You felt content.

And…wet.

Very, very wet. Not just between your thighs but at your nipples, something hot and sticky and sliding down your body like rain drops and you glance down -

“Oh, Choso!” you gasp, watching as little cloudy white droplets weep from your nipples. Choso startled, eyes wide with worry…until he looked down too, and his tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip, almost subconsciously.

Even though you expected to lactate eventually, you didn't expect it to be like this - with white rivers cutting a path down your body, collecting at the crest of your thighs. You went through phases of surprise and embarrassment and irritation at the mess you made, unintentional or not.

“I’m sorry,” you sputter out, feeling like the heat of the wild breast milk wetting your body, “I-l’ll get a towel - “

“It’s beautiful,” Choso breathed, and you paused. Choso watched the milk lather your chest like soft snow gathering on the swell of a lovely hill. You saw the light dusting of pink on his cheeks as he pulled you closer.

There was a heat in his dark eyes that made them glow like black gems as he stared at you. “You’re beautiful.”

His fingers massaging your breasts were still gentle yet firm, but they sought out a new target: one of your sensitive nipples, taking one between forefinger and thumb and rolling it.

You whimper, watching as more of your milk leaks out, dusting his fingers in white. Choso chuckled. “Look at you,” he cooed, “so sweet and sensitive, all for me.”

You didn’t understand it, but just seeing droplets of your breast milk was sending Choso into a spiral; how he wanted to lick a reverent path from your weeping valley of breasts to your navel to your cunt, to have the taste of you rich and sweet on his taste buds, a precious reminder of the beauty your body is creating for the child growing in your stomach.

He couldn’t help himself; his tongue lolled out of his mouth, licking up all the milk that has already formed. You moaned softly, watching Choso kiss your tender breast before latching onto one nipple and sucking it deep into his mouth.

Shivers raced up your spine and you arched your back, pushing more of your breast into Choso’s mouth. Your husband sucking your nipples was something you were used to, but having him suck them with the intent for milk to coat his tongue was an entirely new, exciting experience that had you unraveling, undone by the powerful passion of your love’s mouth.

You could feel the pressure mounting up again, as Choso sucked harder, groaning as he greedily drank whatever milk he could get. He brings his other hand up to play with your other nipple, pinching and rolling it to get more milk flowing. All you could do was cry out and moan, tangling your own hands into his hair.

To Choso, you were the sweetest thing to ever exist - the sweetest thing that could ever grace his tongue.

He could drink from you forever if you were gracious enough to bless him with the privilege. When Choso drank your milk from the altar of your breasts, it was the closest thing to heaven for him, the bliss of your pleasure coating his mouth and sliding a glowing path down his throat to his stomach. Nothing else mattered at that moment, save for the warmth of your nipple throbbing against his lips with love, your eager fingers twisting among the strands of his hair as you showered him praises, ever so needy and whiny and desperate for him him him, only him.

Cloudy droplets dripped down Choso’s chin once he let your nipple go with a resounding, wet pop, trails of saliva and breast milk connecting his cherry red swollen lips to your tender nipple like wispy white ribbons.

“You always taste so sweet,” Choso murmured, “so sweet and perfect.” As if to prove his point, he surged upwards to kiss your panting lips.

The taste of your milk was saccharine and cloying, and as you moaned into the kiss, one of Choso’s hands caressed over your baby bump and your thighs, until he reached your soaked panties.

“But I know that you taste just as sweet down here too.”

tags: @houseofsolisoccasum

#ffg kinktober #creator works #jujutsu kaisen

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ficsforgaza · 21 days ago

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you're the reason (i got a weakness) | miya atsumu

wc: 2.9k

summary: it’s not that atsumu doesn't like you dressing up like this—in fact, he loves it. just not when you're fighting. not when he can't even call you "baby".

contains: post-timeskip atsumu, arguments and atsumu feeling really sorry, flashbacks, uses the nickname “baby” & “my love”, reader is described as “pretty” and wears heels, hurt/comfort.

a/n: atsumu isn’t a sucky boyfriend he just gets carried away sometimes. song inspo: can you blame me? - kehlani, lucky daye.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: making yourself look good to feel good (your partner has something to say to you)

sponsored by @itskilau and @tasoyoru for the @ficsforgaza initiative. please check it out and support if you can!

“Bab—”

Atsumu lingers by your bathroom door, eyes drooping lower and sadder than they ever have. The steam makes the bleached strands of his hair cling to his forehead, his thick eyebrows now damp and flattened.

You sigh, the big, heavy, and deep kind, shoulders dropping as you clasp the lock of your necklace.

He stares.

That’s his job. You always ask him to do it the moment you step out of the shower.

His lip trembles, eyes watery.

“Not now, Atsumu.”

You walk past him as you adjust the towel around your chest, your arm brushing against his. It’s a small thing, a sensation ingrained so deeply into the past two years you’ve been together, but he feels it like it’s the first time you ever touched him—and in a way, it is. Since yesterday, at least.

The silence that trails after you is so deafeningly still, he thinks he can hear his heart breaking.

“Atsumu,” your voice rings.

Who the hell is “Atsumu”?

He’s not supposed to be “Atsumu” to you. He’s “Tsum.” He’s “baby.” He’s “my love.”

Anything but “Atsumu.”

When you close the door of your walk-in closet to change, the metaphorical volleyball of hope floating right into the palm of his hand misses and drops straight to the floor.

It started with volleyball, as all things with Atsumu do.

You’d met him at the rise of his career, just a few years of him being pro. You were friends first, but if you ask anyone around Atsumu, they’d tell you you were never just a friend to him; he’d invited you to all his games and practice matches, spent a bit more time in the locker rooms before going out for dinner with you and the rest of the team.

Osamu has the receipts of all the extra orders of onigiri Atsumu started adding to his regular weekly subscription since meeting you.

Your first ‘date’ was Atsumu treading the very fine line between teaching you how to play volleyball and teaching himself self-control. Keeping an eye on the ball is hard enough, what more when he has to resist staring at you in very cute volleyball shorts too?

As MSBY’s success skyrocketed, so did Atsumu’s—brand deals left and right, solo work trips during off seasons, commercials; the whole thing. When Atsumu wasn’t training, he was either traveling or attending events and photoshoots. Always on-the-go. Moving.

And he knew you understood, knew you knew him and his tendencies to overwork; knew him, and his habit of getting stuck inside his own world. You’d driven to late practices with bento boxes to share, and you’d packed his gym bag more than a few times, brought in extra clothes without him having to say a word.

You’ve managed his lifestyle better than anyone could.

But, Atsumu has a bad habit of promising more than he should, of serving white lies just as easily as he does volleyballs behind the service line.

“Won’t take long, baby. Swear it,” he holds on to the wall by your door, slipping his feet inside his dress shoes. “Pick ya up at 6:00?”

He’d winked at you then, kissed you between your eyebrows and nose before sneaking one more right at that spot underneath your ear.

What he’d give to be able to do that right now.

“Okay,” you giggle, swatting his chest as you nod, “better hurry then, you might be late.”

When Atsumu remembers that moment, the way you’d agreed so doubtlessly, he hates himself even more. You trusted him, have trusted him so wholeheartedly this entire time, so maybe you’re right—

“Would it hurt for you to just be honest?”

—Atsumu has no excuse standing you up on the date he promised you weeks ago all because he lost track of time in some brand event, listening to a potential collaboration on volleyball shoes. Atsumu has no excuse agreeing to “some drinks” right after just to meet the executives of the company.

There are meetings for those things, ones that can be scheduled and agreed upon. Ones that don’t compromise or add on to the already long list of missed dates with you.

“I know you’re busy and I understand,” you sigh, turning the knob of the kitchen stove as you heat up the kettle, “you know I do.”

He stands before you a quarter past 11:00 p.m., cologne long faded and the smell of alcohol spilled on his sleeve. The kitchen island stands like a net on the court, the ball being sent over to his side.

“Baby, I—”

He passes it back.

You turn from the stove, face fresh and hair tied into a messy low bun as you look at him—how could he have ever stood this–you–up?

You take the ball, “Can I finish what I have to say first?”

He nods. The kettle begins whizzing.

“I’m happy and so, so proud that you have all these opportunities,” you reach for the cupboard above head to grab a mug. The box of tea bags sits to your right, a mix of Lemon Balm and Chamomile that Atsumu swears keeps his anxieties at bay during the night. “But at least tell me if you can’t make it.”

You tear open a tea packet, dangling it inside the mug. The kettle whistles, and he feels the onset of a spike.

“Please don’t keep my hopes up every time.”

You turn back towards the stove, turning the burner off as you pour in the steaming water inside the mug.

“Baby, I swear, they just–they started talkin’ ‘bout these shoes, ‘n I thought t’was cool, ‘n the execs–they said the execs’d be there in the afterparty, and—” he breathes, “won’t happen next time, baby. ‘M so—”

“Can I really believe you next time?”

You approach the kitchen island slowly, holding the piping hot mug carefully as you set it down in front of him.

Atsumu stood you up on your date, and you still made him tea.

You hold his stare for a brief moment before you walk away, sadness and disappointment all-in-one.

It is now that Atsumu knows, he’s fucked up.

The ball lands on his side of the court.

And so, he’s spent this entire day trying to make it up to you—breakfast in the morning, right before training (which he absolutely tanked because all he could think about was how sad you looked the night before); flowers that he brought home after lunch time, just to find the apartment empty. It’s only after a full text thread and three missed calls to your phone that he finally gets a response.

“Nail appointment. Going out tonight,” is your reply (using speech-to-text too, he suspects, with how formal it sounds).

Which is fine and dandy to him; you should do everything that makes you feel better after he practically took you for granted. It’s just—he hasn’t even said sorry yet, can’t even call you “baby”, can’t even touch you even though he really, really, really wants to.

And now, with you closing the door on him while you’re changing—there’s nothing else he can do, really, but to walk away and give you some space.

He shifts his feet, dragging them lightly against the wooden floors of your bedroom.

The moment he hears the door of your walk-in closet slide open, he hurriedly sits down on the edge of your bed, acting as if he wasn’t just anxiously pacing, waiting for you to come out.

He feels like shit, if he’s being honest—like how he does when he misses a serve; if not, worse.

You look good. Make-up done to only emphasize the features he loves (which is your entire face, really), and your outfit perfectly accentuating the dips and curves of your body.

He follows you as you exit the room, tailing after you like a lost puppy. When you stop by your entryway, all he can do is watch as you bend down to put on the straps of your heels. And it sucks, because if you weren’t fighting, Atsumu would be right by your feet, crouched low so that you wouldn’t have to.

It’s pathetic and a little helpless of him to just stand and stare in the middle of your living room. He should say something at least, but, you just look so good, and his throat feels dry; his heart all achy and stomach twisty.

He doesn’t want to be away from you.

And it’s not that he doesn’t like you going out looking like this—he loves it. But as soon as you step out the door with a soft “don’t wait up for me” mumbled from your glossed lips, Atsumu can only taste bitter regret at the fact that he wishes he were coming with you.

He couldn’t even give you a goodbye kiss.

The blond groans, pulling at his hair as he rests his elbows down on the kitchen counter.

“Don’t wait up for me,” you said. As if he can even sleep without you around.

The hours go by but they feel like days. Atsumu’s done every possible thing he can do in this apartment and it still hasn’t breached 11:00 p.m.. He’s cleaned down the kitchen (twice!) and arranged the food inside the fridge like those ‘stock up my fridge with me’ tiktoks he’s seen on Sakusa’s phone. The clothes on his side of the closet have been arranged by color and length, with all the ones in his dresser refolded, Marie Kondo style. He’s also pretty sure he’s scrubbed the bathroom down enough that you can probably see your reflection on the tiles of the damn thing. The laundry baskets for both your clothes are now empty, and he’s changed the bedsheets too and—

He’s still restless. The numbers on the clock taunt him, moving up agonizingly slowly. He can’t stop looking at the time, itching for you to come home.

Atsumu is sorry, so so so incredibly so, because you’re right―he hasn’t been fair to you at all, and he needs you to know that he knows it, too.

His eyes go over the clock again, only a minute having passed since the last time he checked it.

Is this how you felt? Every time you waited for him to come home for a date he promised you?

He squeezes his eyes; it hurts him just thinking about it.

That’s it, he decides, grabbing his phone and wallet as he walks out the door.

Atsumu doesn’t check your location often (maybe only a few times). It’s not a trust thing, he swears; it’s just for when he wants to make sure you’re somewhere safe, or in a place he can reach you should you need him there.

And, you clearly don’t need him right now, but, Atsumu is a little selfish, he admits.

Sitting at home with all his regret feels worse than seeking you out to beg for your forgiveness, whether you want him to or not.

He’s barely dressed for the venue as he steps inside the bar, a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt with those fashionable Birkenstock clogs on. A few people seem to recognize him, tilting their heads and murmuring among themselves as he walks through door, but none of them approach him, thankfully, except for a server asking if he needs assistance.

His eyes scan the tables first, searching for any semblance of the outfit he’d seen you leave in earlier. The dim lights make it increasingly difficult for him to look for your properly as he squints his eyes some more, narrowing his vision to the people at the front bar this time. It’s after the fourth person he dismisses that he feels himself getting desperate, nearly turning towards the server beside him to ask for help.

Until he spots you—tucked in the corner of the front bar, sitting on the barstool with your legs crossed as you swirl around your drink.

You look bored, and a little sad, chin resting in your hand as you lean your elbow on the table.

He frowns, thanking the server on the side as he makes his way to you slowly. You barely notice him as you bring out your phone, tapping on the screen as you stare at it almost longingly―a photo of you and him some time ago after one of his games. He knows it well, can still remember that day so clearly: when he became a PR nightmare because he couldn’t help but announce your relationship by kissing you in front of everybody.

It makes his chest hurt.

Then, you swipe it open, and he’s close enough now to be able to catch a glimpse of what’s on your screen: your text thread with him, his last message being, “Did you make it safely?”

(You pout, eyes pricking with tears. You didn’t reply to him then because you weren’t ready to fully talk to him yet, still upset and disappointed.

It was easy to make yourself feel better by dressing up and stepping out of the apartment earlier, the promise of good drinks and good company awaiting your arrival; you couldn’t think about how you felt if you were busying yourself with others. But now that all of those feelings have died down and most of your friends have started chatting up other people they’ve found, it’s beginning to hit you all at once just how much you still prefer Atsumu’s company more than anything else.

Your fingers hover over your text box, typing and deleting. Typing and deleting.)

He’s two stools away from you now, and he can barely contain it―

“Baby,” his voice trembles, unsteady.

Recognition fills you as you turn to the sound, half-confused at whether you’re hearing things; whether―

(“Tsum,” you mutter, eyes catching a pair of familiar warm brown staring back at you. His bottom lip quivers, the embodiment of a dam starting to crack, vibrating.

Your emotions are a mess, your breath on hold as you feel tears welling up in your lashline too. You still feel upset, still a little sad, and a tiny bit disappointed, but what coats them all is a sense of relief because—)

―he’s here, standing in front of you like he just rolled out of the house with barely enough time to get dressed (which, you’re sure is exactly how things went), and you’re sliding off the bar stool in the prettiest outfit, looking like the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“‘M so sorry,” he breathes out, stepping closer as he grabs your hand, “Don’t ever wanna make y’feel like that again.” His knee gives way as he starts sinking to the floor, “I won’t do that anymore―”

“Tsum,” you try to call his attention.

He’ll beg for your forgiveness whether you like it or not.

(The interaction is causing nearby tables to look, murmurs and whispers in your periphery as you catch vague sentences here and there. He still is a public figure, after all.)

But Atsumu is unaware, looking at you and you alone as he pleads, “No, please hear me out first. I promise I’ll tell ‘em they can speak ‘ta―”

“Tsum,” you squeeze his hand, whispering more firmly as you try to pull him up.

“Baby, please. Gimme the chance ‘ta show ya that I―”

(You look around and notice even more eyes on the two of you, fond looks on their faces as they prepare their phones for what seems like something momentous. Then it hits you, how this looks―)

“Tsum, please stand up,” you tug at his hand strongly, urging him to stand. His eyebrows furrow as he obliges, only comprehending why when you explain it to him softly, “people were starting to think you were about to propose.”

He pauses for a moment, a slight, “Oh,” as he ponders on it. “Well, if that’s what’ll prove it t’ya, then—”

You roll your eyes, the corners of your lips curling slightly as you hit his shin with your foot and squeeze his hand again, “Don’t joke about things like that.”

Well, it’s not the first time it’s crossed his mind, if he’s being honest.

He sighs, sitting on the stool beside you as he rubs his thumb over your hand again, bringing it close to his lips to kiss softly.

“‘M really sorry, baby,” he mumbles against your skin before moving your hand over his heart. “Don’t ever want ya feelin’ like this again.”

“I know,” you give him a small smile, patting down some of the strands of his hair that stick out, “you didn’t have to come out here though, you know. I was about to go home soon, anyway.”

“Can ya blame me? Seein’ ya off like that?” he grips your hand tighter as his voice softens. “Y’re too pretty to be sad,” he plays with your fingers, intertwining them with his.

You hit his shin again, feeling shy. You always do when Atsumu likes to sweet-talk you.

“Do ya forgive me?” he asks after some time, as you take the last few sips of your drink.

You hum, looking him in the eyes as you nod, pouting, “I don’t like being mad at you, you know.” He lights up, beaming, but you add on, “We still have to talk about it properly, though. Later, when we get back.”

He nods in agreement, holding your hand as you slide off the barstool, guiding you out of the bar and into the car.

(You both do talk about it properly, and the next time Atsumu promises you a date, he blocks it out of all of his calendars, sending the date to his manager even, just to be extra sure.)

a/n: this has been such a long time coming, i'm sorry to those who waited! i hope you enjoyed even though this simmered with me for way too long 😭 i love writing atsumu a little lovesick but i also think he deserves someone who is equally as in deep as he is 🥺

thank you notes: to 🍧 anon for helping me figure out "what would make you mad at atsumu?" and to @ceroseis and @mieiri for always listening to my shenanigans pre-writing!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#creator works

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ficsforgaza · 22 days ago

Text

! 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐟𝐭. 𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚

+ synopsis. you should’ve known better when you reached out to your ex 1 year after your break up to get your stuff back, especially when the both of you have so many unresolved feelings. of course discussions are bound to get heated very quickly, and getting pressed up against the wall was definitely not according to plan

+ cw. no curse au, kabedon, light angst, lots of reminiscing, ex! sukuna, he’s incredibly lovesick and jealous, you and your ‘new guy’ are broken up but he doesn’t know that (yet), lots of pent up frustrations, hatefucking, wall sex, cunnilingus, standing prone bone (?), biting, pet names (babe), making up, creampie, soft ending, 2,100+ words, MDNI

+ aki's note. this is part of @ficsforgaza's kinktober event (again, tysm for letting me join uwu). this is my first time writing sukuna this way and I’m ngl I kinda dig it!! thank you so much for the request @unheavenlypacked and for being so patient <3 ++ I know I went over the word count too but I couldn’t help it :’) hope you like it!!!

+ masterlists. general ┆ jjk ┆ kinktober ┆ ffg kinktober

In hindsight, maybe you should’ve just accepted his offer to drop off your things. After all, it has been a year. You’re almost certain he’s already moved on by now. But you were very particular about not wanting him to go through the trouble, even if he says it’s no big deal.

You should have thought this through.

He opens the door to the apartment you once shared, and you realize a mental note would have to suffice for now. Because of course he just has to be shirtless like he usually is whenever he stays home, body decorated with black intricate lines stretching and scattered everywhere. And you mean everywhere, including places only you and very few others are acquainted with.

He’s as pretty as ever.

To top it all off, he wears that all-too-familiar scowl that frequented his face whatever the emotion — whether he’s happy, sad, angry, or even horny. Something you’ve always found endearing.

You huff a heavy sigh when you realize the last time you saw each other, you were at each other’s throats. A quick mental pinch reminds you what you’re here to do and what you’re not here to do.

You know they lay of the land, you know where everything should be. There’s absolutely no need to delay things. You take one step to the open space to his side.

“If you’ll excu—”

An arm blocks your way and cuts your words off.

“Do you have to?” He lowers his head, face inching closer to yours.

You refuse to meet his gaze, eyes dead fixed on his taut muscles instead. This doesn’t help your case at all. You’re reminded of how much you used to run your fingers across every dip and mound, you’ve practically mapped his body like he’s done with yours.

“It’s about time.” You shift your gaze to the concrete wall before you start to get deeper into your thoughts. “Don’t you think?”

Sukuna clicks his tongue, clenching his fist before dropping his arm, finally letting you pass. He runs his fingers through his hair in defeat, something he usually does out of frustration.

“Suit yourself.”

…

You rummage through what used to be your side of the closet, shocked to find he’d kept all your things tidy. Like you never left.

“Find everything?” He comes up behind you close enough, you’re certain you’ll bump into him and areas you shouldn’t be. He runs his knuckles along the small of your back, a sense of hesitation in his touch sending shivers down your spine. Even now, this man has very little regard for personal space.

“Almost.” You lightly twist your body, enough to make him withdraw his hand.

Sukuna leans on the edge of the closet as he watches you empty out your belongings.

“So this new guy…” He gestures to the air. “Jo… Joso— what’s his face—”

“Choso,” you correct him. Your brows furrow upon realizing one of your shirts is nowhere to be found.

“Yeah, whatever,” Sukuna snickers. “How’s— uh… how’s that coming along?”

“You really care to know?”

“Fuck no.” Sukuna answers hard and fast, almost spitting to the air.

“Then don’t ask.”

Suddenly, you think to reach behind one of the neatly folded stack of clothes, and you hear him cuss under his breath. And lo and behold, you find your old, worn out, fitted shirt - one that used to make him absolutely go crazy when you wear it.

“Wonder how this ended up there?” Hooked on your finger, you wave the garment around while a guilty Sukuna looks away.

“Fuck.” He clicks his tongue, mumbling. “Can’t even imagine you wearing that in front of him.”

“Wha—” You jolt back, taken aback by his words. “Why do you even care?”

“You seriously going to ask?!”

You blink in disbelief, unable to wrap your head around what you’re hearing.

“You seemed to have no problem when I left, where was this attitude back then?!”

Sukuna jaws clench, taking a deep breath as he throws his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s clearly holding himself back. Slowly, he draws near you, looking into your eyes straight on.

“You told me you fucking needed space.” His voice is low but he emphasizes his words. “But…” His eyes dart to your lips and you don’t miss the way he licks his. “I didn’t ask you to go fuck someone else after 2 whole fucking months!”

“So it’s my fault now?” Your heartbeat thumps against your ribcage as he inches closer and closer to you. “You think I’m gonna sit back after 2 whole fucking months of radio silence?!”

“No!”

“So, then what did you expect me to do?!”

You subconsciously take a step back for every step he takes forward until your back hits the wall.

“I didn’t mean for any of that to happen! I—”

“You what?!”

“Fuck!” he cusses, and the last thing you see is the fist he throws back before you close your eyes and flinch. After that, you hear a thump over your head.

Your eyes flutter open to the sight of him looming over you, arm propped above your head, face just inches away from yours.

His chest heaves.

His eyes are fuming.

And the space is suddenly non existent.

He kisses you so fervently, as if a whole year without you has been torture and your lips are the remedy.

You want to scream at him, pull away and make him pay for what he’s done. The skin on your knuckles thin from how hard you’ve balled them into fists.

You press your knuckles flat against his abdomen, trying pushing him away. But the second your skin meets his, your hands flutter open, roaming his body as you instantly melt into his kiss. It’s ridiculous. This is ridiculous. It’s like you hadn’t just been on a rampage telling him what a big ass he is for how he treated you.

Your hands instinctively try to cup his face but are quickly caught by his, pinning them above your head.

Sukuna pulls away, making you whine at the abrupt separation. Your eyes are drawn to his lips like a moth to a flame. They look shiny from the kiss, and you try to lean forward but he’s got you nailed to the wall.

“Are you being serious right now?” You utter, putting a dirty smirk on his face. “Let me go!” You try to wriggle free off his hold. “Need to wipe that fucking smile off your face.”

Sukuna scoffs. He uses one hand to hold both of yours in place while he cups your chin, thumb glossing over your lower lip.

He takes a deep breath, smug dropping as he scans your face. “I’ve missed you.”

Those words hit the final nail in your coffin. At this point, you know there’s no turning back.

Before you get to answer back, he turns you around, cheek and chest flat up against the wall, entwining his fingers as he presses both your hands on either side of you.

Sukuna grunts, burying his face into your hair as he grinds his erection on your ass.

“Gonna make you forget all about him.”

“Actually, we’re not—” Sukuna doesn’t let you finish, capturing your lips once more.

He lifts your shirt above your tits, smiling in the kiss upon finding you bare underneath. Then he works your pants, pulling them down to your knees, locking your movements.

You hear him shuffling on his knees. You try to turn around but he stops you dead in your tracks. “Keep those fucking hands on the wall.”

Sukuna spreads your ass cheeks open before letting out a hot huff on your pussy. He draws a stripe on your slippery slit, and a moan escapes from your lips.

A soft, wet muscle flicks wonders on your clit, a sensation you’ve missed over the course of a year. You try your hardest not to break but he’s got you so weak in the knees with how good he licks your pussy.

“Sh-it!” You whine. Sukuna sucks your clit and buries his nose in your entrance, making you hold onto the wall for dear life.

A thumb enters your pussy, curling and hooking inside you as his tongue fiddles with your sensitive bud, and at this point you’re a crying mess. He pumps your pussy with two digits as his tongue flicks your clit so fast, you start shaking in your high, doing your best not to fall over.

“Fffuck, Sukuna!”

“God, I’ve missed that sound.”

You catch your breath. The familiar sound of his belt shuffling plays in the background. His pants drop to the floor and you feel his cock spring on your ass.

His wet tip leaves a trace of slick on your ass. His knuckles run up and down your ass as he pumps his cock behind you.

“Oh!” You flinch, mouth forming an ‘o’ and Sukuna chuckles, catching you off guard when he gathers slick from your pussy to lube his cock.

Head ducked, you press your forehead on the wall in your anticipation, feeling your hot breath fan your face as it hits the wall. You’d forgotten how big he is — jaw dropping when just the head of his cock stretches your pussy wide open.

“Sukuna, please— fuck!” Right on cue, his cock slides into you with ease, making you mewl like a kitty.

“Missed your tight pussy, babe.” Sukuna groans as he bottoms out, hand cupping and kneading your tit while he peppers kisses on your shoulder. “Fuck, babe, I’ve missed you.”

“S’kuna~” You tilt your head back and rest on his shoulder, humming his name in a tune that just scratches the itch in his heart and on his cock. “F-fuck me!”

He picks up the pace, practically ramming your body into the wall. His cock feels so good, stretching you out in ways no one’s ever been able to since you broke up. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this — Sukuna whispering the nastiest nothings in your ear, mouth always preoccupied with yours, your tits, your skin, every part of you, fucking you like it’s always the first time.

“Say my name, babe. Fuck! I’ve missed you so fucking bad.” A hand finds your clit and rubs hard and fast and sloppy circles till you’re creaming on his cock.

“Sukuna! Don’t stop— ffuuck!” Your heart beats out of your chest as he fucks your high. Tears prickle your eyes and you’re reminded of a familiar euphoria — one you’d so painfully missed all year long without his company.

You feel a mix of pain and pleasure when teeth sink into your shoulder. You run your fingers through his hair, grabbing hold of his locks when he fucks you so deep his balls start to stick to your pussy. He releases a low grunt, shoving his cock into you a couple pumps more till he starts to fill your insides.

When his cock slides out of you, and his cum begins to drip from your pussy down to your legs, the realization hits the both of you of whatever the fuck just happened.

“I—” Sukuna breaks the silence, “I want you back. Please? Come back to me.”

You turn around seeing his pleading eyes. You weren’t even sure that was ever possible.

Sukuna waits for an answer, but you kiss him instead of giving him one.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” You wrap your arms around his waist, his softening cock pressing against you.

He lets out a low chuckle, corners of his lips upturned as he pulls you closer to him.

“Also, he and I… we’ve broken up months ago.”

The look on his face is priceless. He definitely feels cheated but that slowly turns into relief.

“You idiot. You could’ve told me that sooner.”

“Sorry.”

“Do me a favor,” he mutters. “Wear that shirt for me, please?”

In hindsight, it was a good idea to do this after all. You’ve got your stuff back, and your boyfriend. Plus it’s back to fucking like bunnies for an entire week straight.

pspsps. reblogs and comments are appreciated ♥︎

#ffg kinktober #creator works #jujutsu kaisen

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ficsforgaza · 22 days ago

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𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ bound by lust

@ficsforgaza's kinktober day 10 (suo hayato & shibari)

✎: NSFT/NSFW/MDNI. 1.2k. fashion designer!suo hayato x model (afab)!reader (referred to as 'pretty girl', 'sweet girl', 'my love', etc). shibari/bondage. fingering. cunnilingus.

TY EVIE (@stunies) AND PARADIS (@blueparadis)! this could not have been done without your encouragement and support, i love y'all to pieces <3 truthfully, this is my first time writing this kind of thing so i tried my very best to be as accurate and realistic as i could, but i recognize that it may not come off that way! please forgive me! and remember, consent is hot and safe sex is sexy! :D

His dick throbs at the sight of you, protesting angrily, as if the blood was pounding at him from the inside, clouding his mind with a sweet haze. Your skin spills beautifully from each tied section, enough to make him cum on the spot. He squeezes softly at the plushness of your thighs, enjoying how you fit perfectly in his hands. Holding your arms behind you, he nuzzles into your skin, keeping your wrists together as the rope goes this way and that, binding them together.

By the time he’s completed one knot, he’s already palming the growing bulge in his pants. He presses it against you, smiling softly when you shiver. “This is what you do to me, sweet girl. What should I do with a naughty girl like you?” At the sharp intake of your breath, he nibbles against the outer shell of your ear. “Is this okay?”

You nod vigorously, soft whimpers leaving your lips as he trails his tongue up your neck.

He tuts. “I need to hear it. Use your words for me, pretty girl.”

“Yes,” you whisper, sighing when he toys with the stiffened peaks of your nipples.

Suo smiles again, continuing to wind, tie, and knot the rope around your arms. Wind. Tie. Knot. Wind. Tie. Knot. He presses a kiss against your shoulder before moving down to your legs, tracing the knots that wrapped around your chest and torso. His hands find that delicious spot on your legs again, his thumb sweeping over skin. Shuffling closer to you, Suo bends to kiss anywhere and everywhere his mouth can reach. He groans with delight, desperation flooding his senses. You squirm in his hold, searching for stimulation. Stimulation he would gladly give. Nosing at your folds, he swipes his tongue over your slit. Your hips buck from the wave of pleasure, but he holds you down. Up and down, up and down—the tip of his tongue plays with the sensitive bulb. Your head is thrown back as you’re helpless in his hands.

As if it was the most natural thing, he positions your legs the way he wants them, looking through hooded eyes to see your face, his tongue still working its way with you. His dick throbs again at the way your mouth has fallen open, eyes losing focus.

His mouth trails upwards, allowing him to sit up again. The lust in your eyes is surely matched in his as he begins the knot to tie your leg. You look away shyly, starting to get embarrassed at the position he’s put you in. Without missing a beat, he gently grabs your chin, turning your face back to look at him. “Eyes on me,” he whispers, closing his lips over yours, tongue sweeping inside your mouth and swirling with yours, “I need to see that pretty face of yours.”

“Okay,” you breathe.

“That’s my girl. So good for me.”

His hand ghosts over the base of your neck as he bites softly at your sensitive spots, relishing at the sounds he pulls out of you.

He intentionally slows the pace, taking longer pauses between tying. His mouth latches onto your breast. “Does that feel good?”

“Y- yes.” Your answer comes out breathy and Suo fears it will make him feral.

The rope carves its way onto your skin, wrapping tightly around your thigh, then calf.

He pulls on the rope, spreading your legs further, and loops it through to keep it in place. Getting onto his feet, he takes a step back to admire his work.

There you are, all pretty and fuckable for him.

His hand cradles your face, thumb sweeping over your bottom lip, as he leans in. Your mouth opens promptly, as if in anticipation of his on yours, but he doesn’t give you that satisfaction. A whine starts at the back of your throat as you reach to kiss him but to no avail. The ropes hold, and you fall back, defeated.

“Hayato…”

“Hm?” He can’t suppress his smile. He enjoys how you sound when you get like this.

“Please…”

He traces the curve of your breasts. “Tell me what you need, my love.”

You look down at your exposed body before raising your eyes to meet his. There’s a warmth on your cheeks that makes the way you look at him even more hypnotic. Quickly, he presses a thumb on your clit. “Is this,” he begins to rub small, slow circles, “what you want?”

Your breath quickens, “Yes, thank you, yes-” Your hips try to roll as best they can, and it’s enough.

Until it’s not.

Your whimpers build, each sound seeming to hold him by his collar as he topples closer to the edge. His hand softly cups your jaw, lifting your chin until you’re looking at him through teary eyes. The other traces down the curve of your neck, following the paths he’s laid down on your skin.

The pace quickens and he gradually applies an increasing pressure on the spot he knows you like best. You writhe in the rope’s hold, revealing its marks on you each time you move. He glances at the time.

An hour.

It’s only felt like mere minutes.

Keeping you occupied still, he slowly undos the rope, watching as it falls away. Your legs, now freed, spread further, inviting him closer. Deeper.

He obliges.

Sinking a finger in, he pushes through your honeyed walls, wet with slick. He’s churning you like a butter and determined to see cream. He remembers to curl his fingers, pulling a sound from you so lewd he loses his damn mind. In between your moans, begging him to go harder, faster, Suo begins to lose himself to the high.

Fuck.

He wants to throw a hand in his pants, pump himself into his fist silly. He wants to turn you over right now, press your cheek against the floor, and pound himself into you. He wants to watch your eyes roll to the back of your head; he wants to see those pretty eyes as they look up at him, your lips wrapped around his length; he wants to watch you bounce on him, desperate to cum, desperate for him. He wants to-

You cry out his name, breaking him from his desires, your walls clenching and unclenching, squeezing and unsqueezing, around his fingers. Your hips buck, and Suo can’t help but think about how it would feel with his cock in you instead. You could milk him dry if you wanted to. And then some.

When your eyes open again, he’s decided. He’s going to-

He blinks in surprise, startled to find himself on his back and you straddling him. You drag your hips slowly over his crotch, a smile lifting the corners of your mouth. A groan escapes him, and he strains to see you lift up his shirt and tug off his pants. A still angry cock springs free, slapping against his abdomen. Despite the exhaustion, you look ready to ravage him.

Good thing he’s all ready for you to.

#ffg kinktober #creator works #wind breaker

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ficsforgaza · 24 days ago

Text

made for me

nanami kento + anal

warnings: 18+ MINOR DNI, afab!reader with no pronouns used, anal (reader receiving), praise, pet names such as 'sweetheart' and 'love'

my fics for @ficsforgaza kinktober event <3 event masterlist

thank y'all for letting me join and for those who donated! i hope you enjoy this!

your chest pressed against cotton sheets, the soft threads stretch in your grip, warm under your heavy breaths, and catch the crystalline droplets of the few tears that escape past your lashes at the feeling of pleasure, fullness and loss, love, coursing through you that leaves you aching and dizzy and absolutely dripping.

you can hear it with every slow thrust of kentos hips, a lewd squelch that joins your broken mumurms of his name as his cock reaches into the deepest parts of your pretty pussy from behind. can feel it dripping down your legs when a second thick finger slips into your tight asshole, working you open and having your body reacting on its own; bowing your back deeper than you thought you could, desperate for more and yet so overwhelmed with the pleasure he brings you.

“k-ken.. please..” your voice is breathless and needy, quiet enough you wonder if he heard you at all but as always, he was hardly inattentive to you. especially in times like this.

slowing his cock and fingers ministrations inside of you, the hand that was holding onto your hip, helping you keep your ass in the air, leaves your wobbly legs to do the best they can in keeping you upright so he can brush the hair from the side of your face with tender care. and the warm tips of his fingers continue to caress your soft skin and card through your tousled hair as he removes his fingers from your ass slowly, watching the stunning expression that takes over your features at the loss of him.

“i know love,” nanami coos in reply, not needing for you to tell him what you’re begging for. he puts a comfortable weight against your back as he leans down to kiss the side of your face and ask, “are you sure you’re ready?”

you don’t hesitate to nod your head and melt against him despite not truly knowing how ready you were. you had once thought you wouldn’t be able to take his cock like you currently are, as big as it is and how small your pussy feels in comparison to it, so having him buried in any entirely new place like your ass felt nearly impossible. but more than anything, you trust your beloved and want him, need him, in every way possible. have thought about this for so long and don’t want to wait any longer.

kissing the area near your earlobe, kento speaks softly against your skin, “tell me if you need me to stop.”

the loss of his chest on your back and his cock in your cunt leaves you feeling cold and miserably empty that you can help but whine and press back to chase after him, being met with strong hands steadying your movements with a tight grip on your hips. they settle you comfortably, one of them keeping you in place while the other leaves you entirely, grabbing the base of his length.

at the press of mushroom tip to your hole, you can feel him sticky, coated with precum and your essence and the lube he had used to finger you comfortably, letting the tip slide into your ass with ease despite how unbelievably tight you are around his impressive size.

your breath catches in your lungs. too much and not enough; an aching stretch that turns into white hot pleasure that you swear could catch the drapes on fire and consume you. and you think it just might have done just that had the loving touch to your back not brought the flames of your desire under nanami's control instead.

his hand is soothing on your back, calloused fingers traveling the length of your spine and back down to where you’re joined, barely an inch past the tip and so much of his throbbing cock to go.

“it’s okay sweetheart,” kento murmurs lovingly when your legs begin to shake after taking another inch of him and then another. the thumb on his hand holding your hip swipes back and forth on your skin, feeling the goosebumps that break out underneath and the way your body loses its tension when he tells you, “i’ve got you.”

kento uses little of his strength to keep you right where he needs you but to help ensure your comfort and pleasure. to help ease the drumming beat of his heart within his chest and the way it pounds against his rib cage to try to reach you, he curls his body over yours, his soothing hand moving to feel the soft expanse of your stomach before pressing against your clit and sheathing himself fully inside of you.

at the feeling of his thick cock inside of your tight ass, the sound of your joined moans fills the room, the tips of his blonde locks tickling the skin on your back before it’s his lips that are on you, heated and full of adoration along your spine and as needy as the hand on your hip thats grip grows tighter on you when nanami pulls his hips back just so and thrusts back into you, beginning to set a pace you know you won't be able to keep up with for long.

your body tells him as much with every withdrawal of his hips and way you’re practically sucking him back in, taking him so well, and your pussy drips like honey onto his hand that plays with your clit, helping you forget about the dull aching stretch or how to take in a proper breath. your body trembles and melts underneath kento, pliant and chasing after him when he pulls out too much for what you can handle right now.

“you’re perfect, my love,” kento breathes low, followed by a groan he tries to swallow, that you feel more than hear with the way you’re practically pinned by his body into the mattress now and its not long before his praise, his love, his amazing dick, sends you over the edge; have you whimpering in pleasure as you cum harder than you think you ever have before. “made for me. and i was made for you.”

#ffg kinktober #creator works

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ficsforgaza · 25 days ago

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Hirofumi Yoshida x afab reader (no pronouns used) // WC: 1.7K // CW: use of the octopus devil during sex, kissing turned dubcon turned noncon, creampie. Implied age gap (reader is older). Reader is said to have hair down to at least their shoulders.

A/N: sorry this is late and sorry this is hot garbage pwp but. It’s something u.u also… I know octopuses technically don’t have tentacles. But we are using his octopus devil so we make do. I could not, as a man of science, conscientiously call it a tentacle but. It’s fine it’s fine. Also Yoshida’s probably ooc idk I never wrote him before </3 also he refers to you as senpai. In my head reader is older than him and is a senior in public safety. They work with Yoshida sometimes on assignments that they take on her own.

You wonder if you’d ever felt more exhausted than you do right now.

Today you’d hunted down a devil together, on the insistence of Public Safety. And this one was rather tricky. It even had a piece of the gun devil inside, a marble-sized bullet-shaped object that Yoshida now keeps twirling around his fingers like it is a curious little thing and not extremely dangerous.

“Are you still playing around with that thing?”

Yoshida, sitting on the bed in your shared hotel, instantly looks up at the sound of your voice. You're wrapped in a towel, and using a second one to dry your hair. His eyes trail up and down your wrapped body; if it were anyone else, you’d feel a sense of shame at your nudity. But Yoshida, the contracted devil hunter with whom you occasionally work with (and even more occasionally sleep with) does not inspire said shame.

“It’s not often you get to hold something like this, senpai,” he replies from below his dark mop of hair. Well, it’s all you can see of his face at this angle. Black hair, ear piercings, and lips moving as he speaks.

“And you shouldn’t be holding it, kouhai,” you tell him, stepping close to the side of his bedding. You take the piece of metal from his hands and place it onto the nightstand, away from his hands. Luckily, it’s small enough that it doesn’t instantly pull towards other, larger pieces. The tip of the bullet spins when you set it down, pointing in a direction that you assume leads to more gun devil flesh. Yoshida, once the bullet stops spinning, simply looks at you in amusement.

“It doesn’t seem so dangerous right now, does it?”

“Well—“ a surprised laugh bubbles from your lips as he suddenly extends his arm and hooks it around your waist, pulling you towards him. You topple onto the bed, squarely landing on his lap.

“I can think of a few things that are more dangerous than that tiny piece of metal.”

You feel a hand of his graze your bare thigh, flirting with the edge of your towel. You squirm around on his lap, turning to face him. You should be annoyed when he manhandles you, but you can’t find it in you to be mad.

“Oh, and this dangerous thing is supposed to be you?” You laugh. Admittedly, he is definitely capable of being dangerous. But why give him that kind of satisfaction? Yoshida is often quite sarcastic, even crass. It’s fun to play his game, even a little.

“That’s a possibility.”

To push yourself up into a sitting position, you release your hold on the edges of your towel, letting the fabric slide off your body. Your hair’s still damp as it curtains around you, dripping down your shoulders. You drape yourself onto his lap, stark nude. He watches with unwavering interest as your warm skin begins to turn to gooseflesh, and as your nipples pebble in the cool air.

“Well, you did look really cool—and dangerous,” you emphasize the word playfully, “while fighting that devil earlier. You and your octopus… how did you get a devil to work so well with you, anyway?”

This close up, you can finally meet Yoshida’s gaze. Inky pools of black stare back at you, as his fingers settle onto your hips. He’s dressed in sleepwear—thin tee shirt, thin pants, thin enough to feel his stiffening length below you.

“Paid a hefty price,” is all he says. Cryptic.

“Hm.. does it do anything you ask?”

One of your hands comes up to fiddle with his piercings. The other rests against his clothed abs, between you. Yoshida squeezes your side, chuckling under his breath.

“Anything.” Out of sight, he makes a motion with his free hand. “Even whatever is going on in that perverted little mind of yours.”

“Little? The only one with anything little around here is—“

Before you can finish your sentence, your words are cut off as you gasp: an octopus arm, seemingly having appeared out of thin air, winds itself around your naked waist. It’s touch is quite cold, making your gooseflesh only more pronounced. The underside of the appendange is lined with suckers, and you can feel each round pronounced ring of each sucker as it grazes your flesh. You simply stare down at Yoshida, at the smirk that seizes his lips, as you shiver and tense under the touch of his octopus devil.

“H-have you done this before? Is it safe?” You ask, voice shaky. Another octopus arm winds itself around your shoulders, the tip of the arm prodding at your chest. You harshly swallow the whimper that threatens to escape your lips when the bottom octopus arm starts to poke at your mound. “Hiro??”

“Hm. Maybe,” he shrugs. “Trade secret,” he adds with a chuckle. He leans back against the headboard, and if it weren’t for his intense gaze, you’d guess him simply disinterested in this whole affair. As if he’s doing it for your amusement and not his own.

“Wait, I,” another gasp, as a third arm winds around your neck. “Hold on—“

The third arm stuffs itself inside your mouth and down your throat. And suddenly all you can do is whimper around the appendage, to Yoshida’s delight. You know he can be a bit of a tease and a sadist and maybe even a little mean, but this feels like it takes the cake of all your encounters so far. He finds himself laughing at the way your brows draw together in frustration above your nose.

“Sweetheart, relax. It’s what you wanted, isn't it?” His thumb digs into your thigh as he squeezes the fat. The second octopus arm flattens against your chest, the suckers attaching themselves to your skin. The entire row lays flush, suckers attaching themselves to your nipples and to the rest of your chest. It’s a strange sensation, the pressure undulating like a heartbeat against your chest.

You begin to move your arms, in an attempt to peel the octopus devil off your chest. As you struggle against the octopus arms, another two arms appear, coiling themslves around your wrists and forcing you to stay still on Yoshida’s lap. As the very first octopus arm begins to push itself between the lips of your pussy, you watch with disdain as Yoshida’s free hand reaches down to his pants. Is he going to touch himself to this right now?

“You don’t like it?” Yoshida asks, watching as you squirm. The tip of the octopus arm rolls against your clit, its touch cold and slimy. A loud, distressed whine reverberates against the appendage in your throat. “But look how wet you are, senpai—you must like it.”

Your pussy practically drools onto his thighs, wetness dripping as the suckers line up against your pussy. Your thighs start to squirm, but between the octopus arms and Yoshida’s hold on your thigh, you can’t move out of this position.

Your eyes widen as you watch him pull his cock out of his pants. He rubs your juices onto it, gives it a few pumps. As the suckers begin to attach to your clit, he uses his thumb to tap his heavy cock against your pussy. To the sounds of your muffled moans, he uses both his hands and the octopus arms to maneuver your body, making you sink down onto him. The octopus arms harshly suck at your nipples, your clit, any and all inches of skin they wrap around, making your body feel weird and hot and overstimulated. As you reel from the feeling, Yoshida’s cock enters you in one quick motion, aided by all the slick, and pokes at your cervix unpleasantly.

Yoshida doesn’t seem to mind the look of distress on your face; his lopsided, infuriatingly handsome smile only gets wider with every tremble of your thighs. He angles your body forward, so he can fuck into you from below. But all you can really focus on is the feeling of the slimy, textured arm rolling against your tongue and your throat. You feel like gagging, the tip of the appendage fucking the back of your throat mercilessly. Your nipples and clit, meanwhile, are sucked on with a rhythm, steadily getting harsher with each movement. Despite your reluctance, you feel a tightness in your core—the sucker attached to your clit coaxing you towards your high. Yoshida feels you get tighter as he fucks you, and asks you, “Are you close?”

Your response is a frustrated grunt, but he feels it in your pussy, the way your walls squeeze him tight as he fucks you. You come apart with a strangled cry, your pussy gushing fluid around his cock. Yoshida is not far behind, and soon you feel a warmth pooling in your body as he stills and comes inside, chest rising and falling as he pants against the headboard.

Your body feels even more sore than the fight you’d endured earlier; everywhere where the suckers had attached themselves is covered in small red rings. The arms don’t let you go, but they do relax their hold. Except for the one in your throat, that hasnt moved an inch.

As Yoshida pulls out of you, the remaining appendage by your clit slides down, prodding at your hole. With whimpers and whines of protest, the appendage pushes into your pussy, before any of Yoshida’s cum can spill out, plugging you full.

“Sorry,” he coos, thumbs drawing circles on your thighs. “My cute little senpai in a position like this… This sight’s too good… let’s play a little longer.”

Just what have you gotten yourself into?

#ffg kinktober #creator works

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ficsforgaza · 26 days ago

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꒰ FLESH OF MY FLESH; BLOOD OF MY BLOOD ꒱ KAMO CHOSO X READER — ft. itadori yuuji

warnings ⟢ dead dove: do not eat. minors do not interact—i will block you! incest. yandere elements. implied drugging. noncon. slight forced feminization (choso uses “sister” and she/her pronouns to refer to reader, but reader is nb). religious imagery. reader is yuuji’s twin, but no physical descriptors are used. reader has a vagina.

word count ⟢ 963

notes ⟢ this is part of @ficsforgaza’s kinktober event! my prompt was choso + incest. i have an au with big brother choso and twins yuuji and reader, so this was the perfect opportunity to explore their dynamic. a huge thank you to my dearest lexi—@drleggman—for requesting this (and for allowing me to go full degenerate) <3

“Yuu…” “Yuu…ji…” “Yuuji…”

Your twin’s name ambles from your petal-soft lips, voice laden with slumber, muted snores drifting through the gaps. The bedroom you share is swathed in midnight’s gloom; moonbeams peek through the cheap apartment blinds, luminous stripes cutting across the men huddled above your nude figure.

“Our baby sister seems to be having sweet dreams,” Choso states, mouth reluctantly detaching from your nipple, a silvery thread of spider silk connecting his lips to your tender flesh. “She’s naughty, though—calling out to you when I’m the one pleasuring her.”

Choso removes two thick digits from your weeping hole, examining the twitch of your jaw as he strums your clit with calloused fingertips. He experimentally increases the speed and pressure of his caresses, humming when you let out a whimper. As your breath grows heavier and your eyes flicker and dance beneath your lids, he pauses to smear your slick across your pubic hair, and scrapes his teeth up your neck to nip at your pulse point.

Yuuji lies beside you, honeyed gaze soaking in the tranquil curves of your dreamy expression. He strokes the hair at your temple with the care of a collector admiring his choicest possession; he can’t help but drag his nose across your cheek, blotting a kiss at the hollow behind your earlobe.

The reverence Yuuji treats you with starkly contrasts the way his muscular body presses against your softness, his bare cock dribbling pre onto the plush of your thigh. It’s something of a punishment that Choso doled out—not being able to indulge in you fully—upset with your twin for being secretive and possessive of you. But as far as Yuuji is concerned, to be anywhere in the halo of your presence is a heavenly gift. To merely witness your divinity, to press his lowly, sweaty skin flush to yours—it’s more than he deserves.

“Don’t be too rough with them,” Yuuji fusses when Choso abruptly presses your knees to your chest, leveling his face with your spread cunt. “W-wait—I wanna taste, too.”

After Yuuji shuffles over to join Choso, two sets of broad shoulders hunch over to marvel at your beauty. Yuuji fully expects to be chewed out again—perhaps even shoved off the bed or thrown out of the room; he swallows his pride and formulates a half-hearted apology, prepared to grovel for a chance to revel in you.

Instead, he grunts in surprise when he’s pulled into a kiss.

Chapped, chilly lips slip against his own, urging Yuuji’s mouth open, wet muscles intertwining. A shiver skitters across his limbs when he discovers the little silver ball that pierces Choso’s tongue—now bumping along the expanse of his palate, tracing the velvet of his gums. It’s a sloppy exchange of spit and teeth and tongue, too frenzied to be mistaken as purely passionate. Choso reaches over to swipe a thumb across Yuuji’s fat, leaking cock head. Yuuji keens into his brother’s mouth before ripping himself away, swollen lips parted, blooming rose from the tips of his ears down to his heaving chest.

“Let’s taste her together,” Choso rasps.

Not waiting for a reply, he pecks the fat of your hip before dipping down to lap at the arousal leaking from your hole; Yuuji watches heatedly, letting saliva pool on his tongue and drip onto your clit. He then cleans his mess with noisy sucks, occasionally tugging at your folds. Too preoccupied with coaxing your unconscious body to orgasm, the brothers don’t realize how you begin to stir, fingers and toes flexing and relaxing. They savor your eventual high, admiring your glistening release.

“I’ll have her first,” Choso announces thickly, Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallows. He’s practically vibrating—pale skin dewy with desire—having fantasized about this exact scenario more times than he can count. “You should prop her up.”

Yuuji leans against the headboard and pulls you between his strong legs, your head resting on his chest. Choso angles your hips and pumps his throbbing length a few times before nudging your entrance. Your breathing shallows and you yawn; Yuuji’s heart catches in his throat.

“Fuck—how much did you give them? Clearly not enough,” he hisses, arms tightening around your waist. “I think they’re about to wake up.”

For the first time all evening, Choso smiles at Yuuji. It’s an unsettling sight: his knife-sharp inscisors gleam in the dusk, irises black as bruised plums. “Relax,” he soothes. “She’s going to enjoy this, too. It will become a treasured memory for us all.”

Before Yuuji can respond, your eyelids flutter open. “Ch-Choso…Yuuji…” you murmur, words slow and slurred as molasses, “what are you—”

The air is promptly punched from your lungs, a strangled yelp interrupting your train of thought as Choso enters you in a single thrust—cock so deep you swear you can taste it. One of Yuuji’s rough palms rests on your belly and meanly presses down with the movement; you throw your head back and warble a moan.

“Call me ‘onii-chan,’” Choso grits out, refusing to succumb to the squeeze of your cunt so soon.

“W-what?” you sniffle. Your brain is foggy from whatever concoction they gave you, incapable of piecing together your predicament.

He grasps your chin firmly, forcing your glazed stare to focus on him. “Onii-chan,” he repeats with a harsh snap of his hips.

You squirm, trying to turn to Yuuji for help, unaware of the tears carving hot rivulets down your cheeks. But Choso won’t let you go. His heavy frame eclipses yours, trapping you in place. “We’re family,” he huffs, fucking you steadily, umber strands falling to curtain his face.

“Everything we do, we do together. You have both been—nnghhh—selfish. It’s time to make it up to onii-chan.”

#ffg kinktober #creator works #jujutsu kaisen

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