#mmachifics

[daryascurse]

𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐦 - 𝐄𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

“The casualty list,” he says, groaning the ghastly words in a rasping way that shouldn’t bring heat below your belly. You flush with shame, with desire, and jerk your hips into his hand. He pushes, extends his middle finger to stroke. It opens you to the arid chill of the prison. Your skin prickles; his finger is cold too as he bends it upward. Eren makes another sound like a hiss. You groan.

“It’s my fault, they say. Don’t you hate me for that?”

ɴꜱꜰᴡ | ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅɴɪ

pov : second person, AFAB reader, feminine pronouns; post-Liberio battle canon (~S4E10 / ~chapter 107) ☆ tags: Domιnant Eren Jaeger, angst, smuτ, fιngering, oraI, overstιmulation, taunting, mentions of deaτh ☆ word count: ~4.2k ☆ ao3 link ☆ recommended mood playlist: almond cake

I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please read the byf in my pinned post.

The emblazoned wings of freedom are made of two sets of interlocking feathers – one dark, one light. The way he stands, braced against the firm iron, disheveled and broken, you have to hold him up with all of yourself. Eren Jaeger shoulders the dark wing. He lets you carry the light.

Some old, long-forgotten saying... birds of a feather... something?

But all that surrounds you now is that darkness that he's swallowed and spat back with mouth hard on yours, fingers knit back against the jail bars, and knee between your thighs. The stolen key burns in your pocket, as heavy as his touch. Your spine arches hard against the metal, at the anxious presence of his body. It feels so familiar, and yet so strange. Kissing the one you know the best, and finding a stranger's lips.

“Don’t,” you pant, his saliva dripping down your lips and smearing your chin as he kisses his way across your jaw, “think this is… some chance for…”

“Escape?” Eren groans, something so painfully sardonic in the way he steals the word from you. His breath is warm at your neck when he opens his mouth to lick and suck at your skin. You rock your hips forward, knees trembling, body trapped between the bars and his flush hips, bare chest so hot on you.

“For now, this is right where I want to be.”

He had been expecting you when you made your way down the rows of cells with that stolen key. Yes, really - when you reached the dimly-lit place called his own, Eren had been sitting like he had always been expecting you, relaxed and waiting at the end of a small bed. His pulse drummed easy and slow in his throat under barely fluttering skin, his voice smooth, bold, rasping- “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Strictly speaking, it wasn’t true. Time blurs these days, but of course you had seen him towering into the sky with those terrible snarling jaws- yet indeed it was almost impossible to say when you had last seen Eren’s human, almost painfully human, face. That familiar face is now pallid, with cheekbones high and bags dragging below his eyes. Behind those cell bars you unlocked with trembling hands, he had been framed almost as too small for the room, dark and yawning in the empty underground jail. In that moment, it had been so easy to see him the way you had always known him, bright, eager, in this moment, small. As if it was a mistake. He didn’t belong here. There’s no way everything whispered is true, that Eren is capable of such treasonous treachery. Of such destruction. That’s what you came to see with your own eyes, to understand it’s not true. Not Eren. Not that much darkness.

But when he had risen to pad slowly across the room to you, those bare walls closed in with every step, swallowing Eren, swallowing you.

“Is this a joke?”

“There’s nothing to joke about.”

Swallowed you in darkness.

You make one last attempt to reach for reason, shaking as you wrest a hand free, to lift it and force between your body to his chest. Your fingers splay over his skin, intimate, pleading. “Eren, please. Please. I’m not here to play some kind of game with you.”

“Do you hate me now too?” he asks, some dark sick laughter right at the edge of his voice. He straightens, chasing your movements to lock his fingers over yours. In contrast to the rapid beat of your own heart in your ears, his thrums easy under your hand.

Hate?

Not exactly.

You don’t respond, but when he takes a step backward, you follow.

“I’m going to fuck you like before,” Eren says. He speaks slowly, fingers stroking the side of yours, eyes gleaming down. “I’m going to fuck you, and I want to hear you scream.”

Your hands are already moving again, reaching under his hold and up to cradle his face. He’s too close now, too large, to take in at once, and you flit desperate eyes across his face. You read him in pieces, from stray brow hairs arching high toward his temple. And down. The cupid bow curve of his lips, parted with even breath. Those dark eyes, shadowed, hidden when he presses his hands against your waist to pull you back to his mouth and you close your eyes in surrender.

Eren brings you down dizzyingly to that hard bed, your foot stumbling across the prison floor and calf slamming into the side of the mattress as you clamber up. You straddle him, his hands curving down to the back of your thighs to keep you high even when you break the kiss to sit up and run your hands down his chest.

“Eren,” you whisper. “Why?”

He doesn’t respond, lifting his hips to grind against you, his cock hard against your inner thigh. You push yourself down to meet him, hands tense at his abdomen.

“Eren.”

“Do you hate me?” he asks again.

And once again you trade his silence for yours.

Eren’s hands tighten at the back of your thighs. He pulls himself up, directly to you, and hisses in your ear - “I can so easily make you hate me, if you need the justification.”

He curves his hand across your hips and bends his arm between your bodies. He reaches so easily into the waistband of your pants and you gasp, arching your back into him. You grab at his forearm, muscles thick and turning over bone as he shifts his hand, brushing fingers down over your cunt. He lets out a sound close to a smirk, withdrawing to unfasten your pants, and runs his fingers across again. It’s clumsy, slow, but the soft brushing sensation is not for lack of skill.

You moan again.

“Does it feel good?” Eren says, and you close your eyes, unable to look into those eyes, that hungry sneer dashed across his lips.

“Eren…”

He spreads his hand still at your hip, coaxing you closer again, an anchor over the fabric of your shirt. Below your open pants his index and middle fingers spread in a V, pushing at you, framing you between his grasp.

“Do you want me to touch you?”

“Yes,” you choke out in pitiful surrender, and he shakes his fingers. You pathetically grind your hips, straddled over his thighs, rubbing yourself into him. Eren's breath is loud. He widens his fingers, pinches them closed, and you rut into him.

Eren grabs your shirt at the back.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So with your friends dead and a city in ruins, this is where your priorities lie?”

You open your mouth to cuss him out as your blood runs cold, and it’s when Eren spreads his hand wide to cover you. The protest dies on your lips, a wordless moan sliding high. He pulls your bodies close, heel of his palm against your clit, breath coating your neck with hot, rapid air. The passion rolls, cold, down to your stomach, anger and lust mixing together in a confusing grey. 

“The casualty list,” he says, groaning the ghastly words in a rasping way that shouldn’t bring heat below your belly. You flush with shame, with desire, and jerk your hips into his hand. He pushes down, extends his middle finger to stroke down through your folds. It opens you to the arid chill of the prison. Your skin prickles. His finger is cold too as he bends it upward to just barely tease at your entrance. Eren makes another sound like a hiss. You groan.

“It’s my fault, they say. Don’t you hate me for that?”

Eren’s lips brush on your neck as he speaks, a gentle kiss so foreign in this moment, before he settles down on his back once more. He tugs at your shirt again in command, and your elbows bend awkwardly, spasms of pleasure shivering through you as his finger circles you. It takes a clumsy moment to rip it over your head, sighing into the darkness and taking your bra with it. You squirm over Eren’s hand, and he lets you move your hips up, high, keeping his touch tethered to you.

“Did you forget I sent them to their deaths? Or do you want me to fuck you so badly you can simply stop caring about your friends?”

“Eren…”

You whine as he pulls his hand away without ever fucking his fingers into you. He grabs the open bends of your pants, pushing them as far down as your spread thighs allow, before letting his hand fall to his own clothing.

“I told you,” he says. “I want to hear you scream.”

Your knees ache against the too-firm mattress as you shift down his thighs. Despite closing your mouth, swallowing and inhaling deeply for a clear deep breath, your nostrils flare as the air comes panting from you. Eren undoes his pants with ease, the same casual fluidity as his breathing, as his words.

You have to look at those hands to keep from those dark eyes, that dark, triumphant mouth. Those hands that tore that city to ruins.

Was it this easy for him to walk away, to forge the path of destruction already slicing through our people and tearing them apart?

You think of them, and of those left behind, as Eren uses one hand to stroke himself hard. Of the casualties of psychological war, more countless than the headstones. 

Jean. How those kind eyes had steeled over and gone completely slate.

Conny. What you, what you all would give, for his loud laughter to roar through the halls again.

“Suck me first,” Eren says, lazy and shameless.

Sasha. Sasha, Sasha. 

A headstone. 

You grab his thighs as you clumsily lower yourself, hard enough to bruise - you find yourself practically praying it will mark. The “no” withers in your throat before you can force it out. And it would be a false fight.

Your fingers brush against his in your first hesitant, experimental tug, and Eren falls away with a groan. He settles himself into the bed, leg muscles shifting as you straddle them on splayed knees. Opening your mouth to him brings the immediate taste of musk, salt, the flat of your teeth against him as you spread your lips wide to close at the tip of his cock.

He groans again, pushes his hand in a harsh cradle at the back of your neck.

“Yes…”

You move fast immediately without even intending it, saliva smacking from your mouth as you take him in. There’s too much urgency in your actions and Eren takes delightful triumph in it. His hand curves right at the base of your skull. You try to slow, you try to loll your tongue out, to lick him long and take reign of the pace as you sprawl crouched over him. Eren doesn’t allow for it. His hips turn in the bed, arching up and forcing down your throat.

You whine, pulling yourself up and off before the gag reflex threatens to lurch forward. And even in this, when his hand skates down your back to allow you a momentary break, Eren’s other hand comes down to wrap over your loose hold and keep stroking him. You screw your eyes closed, tight and shielded in the dark, and with one last hesitant breath lower back down.

“Fuck,” he says thickly, “oh fuck- your mouth.”

Your moan is a betrayal, muffled around his cock as your throat begins to close with the further you take him. The urgent sense to gag comes back, but you push your head down. Each loud, strangled jerk of your head shoved more bitter cock down your throat. It’s almost easier to move faster.

Eren’s hand moves up again, cupping the back of your neck. You choke, and he lets go.

“Come here,” he says. “Take off your pants and sit up this way.”

You keep your hand sliding up and down, fingers tacky with saliva and pre-cum, as you rock back on your heels.

“No,” Eren says impatiently. He extends his hand out to the bed beside him. “Here.”

You hesitate, letting go to peel the pants from your shaking legs. You crawl on your knees. Even in the dim corner of the cell you can feel Eren’s eyes on you, his hand finding the curve of your thigh easily as you turn to face his body.

“Yeah. Come on.”

It’s a strange angle, your tongue finding the side of his cock a new texture, the way to arch your hand in delicate balance something new and a little awkward straight between his thighs- but then his hand skates up and oh-

“Oh!”

You can’t keep back the cry, your body contorting at how he slides his fingers right back up into your swollen, teased, wet cunt. It’s two fingers, it’s three, it’s stuffing you hard and forcing your body high. You sit up, and then higher to your knees, hands falling off his body with another cry.

“Fuck!”

Eren moans, and your own cries turn less and less coherent as the breath catches with them. It’s so much, it’s too much to feel him. His fingers are relentless. He doesn’t care that you can’t keep your body low and mouth to his cock anymore; or, this is a punishment for it as he keeps his hand between your knees no matter how you twist and jerk against him. His hidden eyes track you, watching every bent elbow, agonized part of your lips, ripple of your chest and ass as you move.

You let one hand down to your stomach and lower, feeling right where he pushes it through you, right at the epicenter of the shaking and trembling your body moves through. It feels so hot, so hot, like you’re burning from the inside and so close to exploding.

“Eren…” The whimper is high pitched and broken.

He scissors his fingers open as he drags out of you, leaving you dripping down the side of his hand. You hunch your shoulders forward, and Eren slaps your ass, fast, hard.

“That’s right, down.”

He sits up, the bed dipping beneath your palms as he does, pulling off his pants. You melt down in turn, neck aching as you tilt your head back and shudder for clear breaths. Your legs ache as he straddles you, a hand hard on the small of your back when you begin to drag yourself up on hands and knees.

“No,fuck,” he says. “Down.”

And he smacks your ass again. You whine in your throat and reach forward to grab his pillow in your arms.

“Ah.”

Eren keeps his hands right at your hips and splays his fingers. He grabs at your ass and you twitch your thighs between his legs, spreading yourself for him.

“Eren - fuck me,” you’re begging before you can hear yourself.

He laughs. It bounces off the cell walls, and his knees are pressing into your legs as his cock comes to your entrance.

“Do you hear yourself?” he whispers, hands kneading your skin to pull you apart. “While we die, this is what you’re asking for. You’re asking to get your pretty little brains screwed out here at the end of the world.”

Eren’s body shifts, elbows bending into your skin, and he bites right at the curve of your hip. You drop your head to the pillow and moan.

"So I want to hear you - scream in your shame.”

He sits up again, and pushes his cock straight into you.

You wail, reaching out wildly for the wall, pillow in the crook of your arm, as he stills, so hot, so perfectly fitted to you, that you can feel the slick rush from you and blood beat in your veins when he begins to move. It’s slow at first, more control in his body than yours. You twist, struggle to sit up on your forearms, and despite yourself, turn your neck to look for him in the dark.

And there Eren is, part of the darkness, sweeps of his hair falling over your shoulder as he leans forward to meet you in perfect time. You whimper, mindlessly tilting your chin up to his for a kiss, arching your back to grind your hips against his down against the bed.

His eyes are shining.

“What would they think of you, if our precious comrades saw you strung out like this?”

Your pace stutters. Eren leans fully into you.

“Conny? And Jean, so wrapped in grief and mourning?”

The muscles in your neck tense. “Please,” you choke out.

“Sasha?”

You try to look away, but can’t until Eren breaks the lock of your eyes himself. He leans away from you again, hands back to spreading you as you shudder and drop back to the mattress with straining arms. It’s slow again now.

“Scream. If they hear, if they come running, they’ll just see what a favor they’ve done to lock me up, where you come crawling to me to do all the work.”

Your body quivers. Eren’s hands tense, and he exhales as the lewd smack of slick skin on skin rises past the beating of your heart in your ears. He holds you open and fucks you slowly, his cock ribbing you swollen around him and you can feel the suction when his thrusts pull your body just so barely back with him. You whimper.

He’s watching as he fucks you deep, slow, eyes burning on you.

It’s what makes you scream at last.

Eren groans your name, pressing his body down flat against yours at your cry. He bends a knee and it pushes into yours, forcing your leg high as he starts to thrust harder, harder, faster.

“Oh, oh, oh!”

“Yes,” he snarls.

You grab frantically at the sheets. His cock is there, harder, thicker than his fingers, sending that fire through your restless body. When it proves less than satisfying, you reach first out, scraping at the brick walls, and then back, desperate to fit your nails into his arms. He could be saying worse, moaning defiling curses and disrespect, but the sound of your own breath and heart are too loud to let any other sound through.

You force yourself up for a moment and his head slides sweaty besides yours again for another quick, wet kiss, before pushing you back down. His hips are steady, driving his cock through you as his body forces the air from your lungs. With the sweat of his chest glued to your back you moan and pant into the bed, letting out another cry strangled by Eren’s weight.

“That’s it,” you can hear, and your toes curl as his cock just seems to drag right against your walls with every thrust. His forehead rubs against your shoulder and his lips are wet and hot as he opens his mouth to deliver another love bite.

Your breath catches in your throat at the sensation of it, hips leaning up as high as you can under the command of his body. You twitch in your own rhythm, tilting up to his body, and down to grind again into the bed as every muscle tenses.

“Eren - Eren- ” you inhale raggedly, unable to force out the plea. You buck your hips up and whine wordlessly again.

His breath hisses above you. “Cum. Do it for me.”

Your fingers grab back at his forearm, elbow bent as you moan into the cell’s darkness. Eren lets you find his arm, your fingers tracing into the lines of muscle with rivulets of sweat dancing under your touch, and then shifts. He forces his arm down below your body as you lift your hips high to fuck back into him. He flattens his hand on your thigh and rides up, brushing over your dripping cunt split open to cup you, fingers splayed on your clit.

It earns him another scream, “Eren!” ricocheting clear and high against the cell walls. Your shoulders press into his chest, you prop yourself up on a forearm and wail and moan as you shake under him. Eren rubs you more frantically than he fucks you, leaving you trembling and wildly moving your hips back in ragged rhythm to seek that perfect point.

“Come,” Eren says, breathing your name.

You’re flooding his threadbare sheets, knees chafing raw at the push of your body into the bed over and over. All the strength in your body threatens to quit, just fully collapse and let Eren pound you and rub you and touch you into ultimate thoughtless bliss. That’s when it hits, when something in his incessant motions and your feverish ruts are enough to push you over, and you gasp as you come. You freeze, straining below his body as he fucks you through it with painful fingers fast and slick with your arousal.

And as you moan his name and clench your inner walls in pulsing orgasm, Eren shudders above you at your own release. He drags his hand away, smearing up and over your hip to lean up and push you down again.

“Oh, Eren, Eren,” you say guttural and half-delirious as it fully ripples through you.

“I’m here. I’m right here. I’m right behind you,” he says through clenched teeth and with anxious breath.

His voice sounds, at last, like Eren.

You shudder at the words and bend an elbow back. His fingers find yours, wet with your own mess as he knots his hand into an embrace with yours. His pace slows, his breathing heavy. You bend your back slightly to push back into him, and he exhaled with a shudder.

“Fuck -”

Eren comes with your name strangled on his lips, the tendons of his hand pressing into yours so hard your fingers are close to snapping, the weight of him splayed over your thighs pinning you down senselessly. His cock throbs with it, still thick and stuffing you with each beat of his cum shooting up into you. You twist your back under him and moan again.

It’s perfect for a moment as you lie there with sticky thighs and every inch of his body glued to yours.

But Eren lets go of your hand to sit up. While you curl in an exhausted heap in damp sheets half- ripped off the bed, he gets up and stretches, an audible sigh of satisfaction echoing through the room. You turn your head to the side to look at him. He leans against the bars, light hitting him from the hallway. It shrouds his face in darkness, but you can see the grooves of a smile break his face.

He looks glorious.

Eren’s seed weeps down your thighs as you force your fucked out muscles to stretch, to sit up and rest your feet on the floor.

“I was thinking of them,” he says.

“Who?”

“Have you forgotten so soon?” Erin shakes his head and looks to the side. His nose is upturned and shadowed in the silhouette, his eyes a smeared bruise. “I just mentioned them, didn't I? Your friends. Poor Sasha.”

“I never stop thinking about them,” you say, fighting the urge to curl up and hide your naked self.

“When I fucked you,” Eren says in a terrible voice, “I saw their faces when I came.”

You shake your head.

“Eren. Please. Please.”

He grins, broad, horrible.

“This isn’t you. You don’t say things like that.”

“But they’re true.”

You stare at him in the dark gloom of the cell. In the silence, you could almost swear you hear his heartbeat across the room, so even, so controlled, even as yours continues to gallop.

“Eren. Why would you say things like this. Why would you say things like this to me?” you ask softly.

The question comes again.

“Do you hate me now?”

You’re standing before you realize it, naked bones shivering in the dark as you walk slowly towards him. Already your fingers reach, to touch his lips. And again, you give no answer but a gentle kiss. Even when Eren grabs the back of your head with sweaty hands and forces it heavy and rough, it doesn’t make you slap him away, doesn’t make you dig for the key and lock him back away.

You wonder, for a moment, if part of it is that Eren gets off on giving this pain. On the way he plunges into the darkness leaving little choice but to chase him down into it.

His fingers dig into you, nails blunter than yours but curved in a way as if he seeks to draw blood, to rip out a piece of you to keep with him. You shift your dripping thighs, finding his knee between yours as he kisses you with his back at the bars, back to the light beyond.

And you kiss him back, with one whispered word, chasing him into the darkness to strip it away and let that light in.

“No.”

fin.

[daryascurse]

𝔗𝔥𝔬𝔲 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔱 𝔑𝔬𝔱 ℭ𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔱

Commandment Part X: Mei Mei x Reader [nsfw] [2.5k wc][minors dni]

POV: second person, AFAB reader, feminine pronouns

tags: submissive reader, dominant Mei Mei, femdom, edging, teasing, orgαsm delay / denial, light bondage, oral, mαsturbation, fingering, finger sucking

Mei Mei covets. Mei Mei is the definition of one who covets, greedily, shamelessly, with no secret of it. You can practically visualize her in the Louvre, an oil painting of shimmering silver, caricatured with fistfuls of jewels and a haughty smile playing across her lips. But then, it wouldn’t even be a caricature.

Here she is before you as you sit, bound with ropes of gold in a grotesquely exquisite chair, coaxing almost another orgasm out of you.

“I’m so proud of you,” Mei Mei says, her voice sultry, a tinge of a laugh in her words. “You’re holding on so well so far– really, so, so well. You should be proud of yourself.”

keep reading below the jump or on ao3 ||| set the mood with Mei Mei's spotify playlist

I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please read the byf in my pinned post.

Mei Mei covets. Mei Mei is the definition of one who covets, greedily, shamelessly, with no secret of it. You can practically visualize her in the Louvre, an oil painting of shimmering silver, caricatured with fistfuls of jewels and a haughty smile playing across her lips as she raises a diamond to lick against scarlet lips. But then, it wouldn’t even be a caricature.

Here she is. Just as regal as your fantasies, in the flesh before you, before you as you sit, bound with ropes of gold in a grotesquely exquisite chair, coaxing almost another orgasm out of you.

“I’m so proud of you,” Mei Mei says, her voice sultry, a tinge of a laugh in her words. “You’re holding on so well so far– really, so, so well. You should be proud of yourself.”

You, tied naked and panting, can say nothing but just let your eyes follow her fingers. They move back as alabaster shadows, ghosting away from your body, teasingly slowly. Mei Mei’s fingers are slick with you. She spreads them into a V and back together, as if admiring how your wet arousal strings out into a web between her, silver gossamer shining almost like her hair in dim light. You already feel sore, already pulled to the edge and stopped, and she’s just done it again. It’s tiring.

But your silence isn’t appreciated, and Mei Mei lets you know that. She squats fully down with her hands on your knees. She pushes them as far apart as your ankles, tied to the bottom of the chair, will allow. You let out a strangled sound in the throat as your thighs strain in response. The thick braid over her eye slides as she glowers up at you, the pleased smile draining from her lips as the laughter dies.

“How many?”

You pant for breath, and the edges of her manicured fingernails dig into the skin of you knee. “Oh, you haven’t cum yet, have you?” she asks scornfully. 

“I haven’t,” you moan, finally finding the words. Your muscles stretch as you gasp out the response. You feel the urge to struggle against her grip and push your knees together, as the fire roaring below your belly gets dim again. You can practically feel your skin pulsing, the faint fluttering of muscle beating away again. “I haven’t cum, Mei Mei, I swear.”

“Very good,” Mei Mei says, and she practically purrs the words.

She leans closer, platinum blue glossy over her face. You blink, almost wincing, feeling the stark contrast of your bodies – you, sheening with sweat and furrowed brow as you strain to keep it together, and her, eyes passive and face kept porcelain smooth with matte powder. Mei Mei smells like almond and pear, the scent wafting at you with luxurious challenge. She smiles. It's sweet and dainty.

But her hand is strong as she turns, clamping on your knee to slowly inch up your thigh. It feels like she moves a mile up sensitive skin, and your feet jerk up in reflex.

“How many have you come close to?” she asks again.

You feel an ache as the last of the build dies, even as her hand comes closer. Her thumb pushes into the soft flesh of thigh. “T-two,” you say.

Mei Mei digs her other hand into your knee and repeats the slow push up your leg. You feel your hips roll forwards, even as your arms tied together behind the back of the chair strain at the pulling motion.

“Hmm. Two. I haven’t decided how many I want to take from you yet,” Mei Mei says, stroking her finger up right at the outside of your folds. You shiver at the feeling – velvet, and hot, so hot, enough to bring the blood rushing under her touch. “But you know the rules. And I want you to really keep track. Don’t get sloppy on me.”

“Yes, mmm – ”

Your response is cut off with a groan as Mei Mei pushes her face between your thighs. No, pushes – delicately somehow. You feel your heart begin to pick up speed again, the tingling and warm sensation coming back down somewhere below your belly. But Mei Mei moves slow, achingly slow. She kisses your inner thighs, giving a wide-mouthed bite to the soft sensitive skin, and you whine.

She’s greedy, and she plays with her treasures to her satisfaction. Each time she comes between your thighs, with fingers, with tongue, with toys, it’s something different, trying something new at her leisure. The last orgasm she built you to was fast and fiery before ripping it away. And now, she goes slow, achingly slow.

She gives one long, unhurried lick against your folds, up, and down, before drawing away again without even coming to your entrance. You let out a gasp as your heartrate stutters. The teasing is cruel.

“No.. please, Mei Mei, please touch me,” you say in a whimper.

She slaps her hands down across your thighs in sudden surprise, causing you to jerk up as your body automatically fights against the restraints. Whatever next words you had to say melt into a yelp. The warmth pools below your belly, coming faster again, encouraged by her lingering touch.

“You taste like you need it,” Mei Mei says.

You shudder, trying to breathe deeply. Your legs bouncing up and down as best as you can as your heels knock against the chair, unable to touch each other and rub together to sooth the throbbing. The desire for friction pounds harder without having any of Mei Mey’s touch against you. “I… do,” you say. You’re pleading now.

But Mei Mei isn’t easily swayed. She smirks those plump lips, as if it’s funny that you’d think begging might work to convince her. The cherry gloss of her lipstick beams in the light. She pushes back on your knees again, standing up before you. She tosses her braid back with a flick of her wrist, looking you square in the eyes with that faint smirk still playing across her mouth.

“You want me to touch you… how? Like this?”

She pulls her ribbed black shirt over her head, and pauses as she bends her elbows back to delicately unclasp her bra. It falls, . She watches you as you watch her trail those currant gelled fingers down tight stomach muscles. There’s a pause of anticipation as her fingers tease at the lace black border of underpants just peeking out at her hips. With a smirk, Mei Mei smoothly undresses herself to display her body almost tauntingly in front of you, to show what you can’t have.

But she can have anything she wants. She’ll take it with a wink and, here, a private strip.

“Like this?” she asks again, voice dangerously soft as she brings one hand down to her bare cunt, using her index and ring finger to spread herself open to show you. Her middle finger strokes down gently, slowly with that red nail polish twinkling, coming up to press against her clit. She shines with slick, already aroused and wet from teasing you before, a precious pearl.

Beautiful.

Mei Mei moans, and you shift in your seat, trying to press against yourself and ease your urges, as the electricity in you begins to jolt harder and harder.

She moans again, another “like…this?” and she doesn’t demand an answer. It’s loud, theatric, just to make a point. You watch, eyes unable to move from her hands as she moves her ring finger down to join her middle in stroking herself in little finger bends of pleasure, up and down, rubbing hard and moving steadily faster and faster. As the tempo increases, so do her moans, and you hear yourself, whining again and again, begging for her touch as your voices crash together in breathless, pleading pants.

“Mei… Mei…”

Mei Mei closes her eyes, her other hand moving up to cup her chest, moving anxiously as if she can’t comfortably settle. She pinches her nipple and pushes, massaging herself before changing to the other. Her hips rock back and forth into the air, and her moans turn breathy, somehow even more lewd, more erotic. Standing becomes too much as she arches her back, almost thrusting her hips towards you, and she drops to her knees, leaning back, presenting herself directly to you as her hands move faster and faster over herself, pressing harder and moaning louder.

Fuck, she can put on a good show.

But it’s hard to tell if this is still just a show to tease you.

You feel your body pulse with roaring blood under your skin as you grind back and forth against the chair. The very heat of your cunt begins to burn hotter, aching for something. It’s wet between your thighs. You might even be dripping onto the seat, but you can’t look, can’t tear your eyes away from Mei Mei lasciviously displaying herself.

And your muscles and very bones begin to ache too. Your wrists strain behind you, sore against the ties, unable to touch yourself and satiate your arousal. You feel so dirty, like a pervert, getting off watching someone even if you can’t touch your own body. But Mei Mei opens her eyes, staring right into yours, just as she lets out a loud, vocal moan, and everything self-conscious flies from your mind leaving only lust.

“Mei Mei, fuck, come on!” you hear yourself cry out, your voice rising. “Please – let – me!”

Mei Mei slows, letting her eyes droop into a heavy-lidded gaze. She just barely sticks the tip of her tongue out of her mouth in a girlish tease, head tilted, before leveling it to stare at you again. The braid falls heavy from behind her shoulder to settle over her forehead once more as she straightens her back. She drops her hand from her chest, then lifts her hand from her cunt.

She drips diamonds from her fingertips.

She leans forwards, crouching between your legs again, and raises her wet hand to your lips. You lean as far as you can and catch her fingers in your mouth, licking the taste of her clean. Mei Mei is musky, sweet as honey. She reaches further, sliding her fingers around your mouth, giving you the chance to feel the texture and slick heavy on your tongue.

“Good girl,” Mei Mei says, smiling deviously again and withdrawing her hand. “How did that feel? Did you come close? You seemed to like what you saw.”

“God, Mei Mei, I really fucking need you,” you say hoarsely, feeling the sides of your mouth still wet with her arousal. Saliva pools below your tongue. The taste of her is still heavy.

“So, was that three?”

“Yes,” you say, rocking back and forth in the chair as the heat subsides again without the same force of external stimuli.

“And you liked that?” Mei Mei asks, her voice dangerously sweet. “You liked what I showed you? Is that how you want me to touch you?”

“Fuck, Mei Mei, yes, please, fuck, any way you fucking want, just please touch me.”

“Well, since you asked me so nicely,” she says sardonically.

Manners may be just a tool to Mei Mei to get what she wants, and she humors you with a sweet smile when she comes between your trembling legs again. You gasp as her tongue moves straight into you again, licking enthusiastically, fingers coming to tease against your entrance and rubbing together against the slickness of your arousal. Your feet flex and bend against the chair legs, spreading as wide as you can for her.

You feel Mei Mei’s grip adjust, left hand coming over to spread your folds from the top. Her shoulders push at the inside of your legs, and her tongue runs along you, up and down. She looks up through heavy silver hair and the apples of her cheeks rise in a smile, rolling her tongue up and flicking quickly against your clit.

“Ah!”

You groan, almost finally actually satisfied, feeling the heat rise again, the tingling spreading all through you. You flex your fingers in their binds, hands sore and almost numb behind you. You fidget and push your knees together as close as you can around Mei Mei’s head, and her free hand comes up to grip your thigh. She pushes into you, holding so tight you feel you might bruise little amethyst crystals in the morning. Her eyes dart up to you to keep contact again, just as her tongue dives up, curving and curling to find your clit and hold that pressure.

“Mei Mei - ”

She licks slowly and gently first, her tongue tracing across your sensitive pearly nub, and your hips jolt, moving up. She runs her tongue over it once more before starting to slowly, gently, suck against your clit, and her name turns into a howl as it comes out of your mouth again and again and again.

You’re so close, so close for yet another time, your heat beating in your ears and the heat pulsing from her touches beginning to ripple across your body. Your legs tense, and Mei Mei digs her hand harder into your thigh in response. Her tongue takes on a pattern of circular movement across your clit, and her fingers slip into your entrance. She moves, first one, then two fingers into you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, unable to keep her steady gaze.

“Ah – ah – ah – fuck – ”

It just becomes swift nonsense.

She curls the fingers up inside you. It feels amazing, it feels so good, and your breaths come closer and closer, desperately close to the climax, and desperate to find the words to tell her.

“Mmm..Mmmei Mei…”

Your cunt clenches, inner muscles tensing to pull her, draw her deeper inside. Your clit begins to ache and beat in time with your heart, almost overstimulated by all her touches. The need to come is throbbing against Mei Mei’s tongue and lips and fingers. It’s all too much, and not enough at the same time.

The release is so close, so close, and then Mei Mei withdraws. You open your eyes, and she’s learning back again, smiling, playing with her wet fingers as they sparkle with glistening diamonds again.

Déjà vu, déjà vu.

“Four,” Mei Mei says, almost a song. “I want to get to five.”

You fall, limp against the chair as your heart begins to slow evenly again and the fire flares frustratingly in a familiar feeling. You stare into her gleeful topaz eyes, wondering wildly if you’ll get a release tonight at all. But it’s up to Mei Mei and what she wants. And Mei Mei takes whatever she wants.

fin.

Author's note: Just a note that I don't think Mei Mei is like, the best person ever, especially not with what is alluded to in the series, I just think she's hot. And her scent is inspired by the perfume Burberry Brit.

[daryascurse]

𝔗𝔥𝔬𝔲 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔱 𝔑𝔬𝔱 𝔐𝔲𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔯

Commandment Part VI: Megumi Fushiguro x Reader [nsfw][5k wc][mdni]

POV: second person, AFAB reader, nongendered pronouns

tags: aged-up!Megumi, feral Megumi, jealously, public sexual activities, over-the-clothes fondling, fantasizing, oral, fingering, biting, spanking, choking, dirty talk, doggy style, vaginal seχ

Megumi slams the door shut, shaking the residence even louder than the restaurant. As soon as you step into the hallway, he cups your face in broad hands, leaning you against the wall, and kisses you none too gently now. His lips are fervent on yours, fingers strong at the back of your neck and holding you tightly to his mouth, tongue against yours hotter than the last of ice water at your cheeks.

“You’re jealous, you’re still jealous,” you say in a gasp when Megumi's next kiss, so eager with fingers twitching at the back of your head, misses and his lips open on your chin. You take a staggering step to the side, and he follows you, sliding further down the hallway.

“Of course,” Megumi says, and there’s a snarl in his voice, the beast rippling just under the surface. You push your hips forward, back flat against the wall and knee between his.

“Do you really think I was flirting with him?”

“That doesn’t matter. It’s that he was flirting with you. And if he made a move… I swear I would have killed him.”

keep reading below the jump or on ao3 ||| set the mood with Megumi's spotify playlist

I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please read the byf in my pinned post.

The water is cold at the back of your throat, as cold as Megumi Fushiguro’s frosty glare radiating across the table. It doesn’t normally unsettle you; it normally isn’t even worth commenting, on how that impassive cobalt gaze cuts straight through you. You shift your feet together on the hardwood restaurant floor. But normally, his thoughtful glower simply has – nothing to do with you.

But today, his knuckles are tense and teeth are bared as he speaks through tight lips, and his eyes turn to you.

“Letting him flirt with you like that is embarrassing,” Megumi says, and you twist your lips before speaking.

“How am I letting him flirt? I’m just being nice.”

“I don’t like the way he’s looking at you,” Megumi says, not for the first time. His glare moves to the true source of this tempestuous outburst somewhere behind you.

“The waiter’s just being nice also,” you say, keeping your voice low. “You know, hospitable. Part of his job.”

Megumi's nostrils flare as he presses his lips together. “Well, he clearly thinks you’re cute. What do you think?”

You take advantage of the glass still in your hand to take another sip, to brace yourself. And just at that moment, footsteps approach your booth and the waiter – and, look, if asked (anywhere out of earshot of Megumi), you’d have to admit he is handsome – places his hand on the back of your seat to lean over, water pitcher in hand.

“Would you like a refill?” he asks. The arm holding the water flexes in front of your face, and Megumi’s jaw pulses in the framed space of the waiter’s dress shirt subtly separating the two of you.

Handsome, but so corny. “Yes, please,” you say politely.

He pours with a too-white smile, gaze never leaving your face, and only turns his hand to refill Megumi’s as well as he continues speaking to you. “Please, let me know if you need anything else. Your dinner should be right out.”

“Thank you,” Megumi says coldly before you can. The waiter leaves.

Megumi watches him go with narrowed eyes, and it strikes you that there’s something familiar about the way he’s sitting. He’s not outright flexing. He’s not moving with the ostentatious peacocking display the waiter used with every interaction, from ushering you to the table to each beaming smile. But the strength is present in his muscles, in the tightening of his neck, of the shifting of tendons over knuckles.

Oh, like a guard dog, he sits possessive.

And then he stands, hands clenched against the table as if it were clay he could rip apart.

“Scoot over.”

He doesn’t give you much time to move across the smooth vinyl bench before taking a seat, his hip hard against yours.

“I’m going.”

He can’t see the kitchen either from this side, and after a moment to let the last of the irritation out of you, you sigh and lean your head on his shoulder. Sitting on the same side of a booth is such a painfully couple thing to do. But it’s cute, and the warmth that begins to settle through you from the touch of Megumi’s body heat is comfortable. And because he can’t see the waiter now, he should be calmer, controlled. It’s amazing to recognize it, amazing to see Megumi a truly mature adult practicing restraint.

Right?

Megumi sighs in turn, his body rising and falling below your cheek. Your head tilts with it as his arm moves, down against yours, and you reach forward for more water. His hand rests on your leg, elbow pressing into your rib as he moves closer still.

“Stop, stop,” you choke out over your sip in a giggle when Megumi squeezes. You’re still coughing when you almost slam the cup back to the table and he squeezes again higher. His touch is warm even through your pants fabric, and the tease against your reflex jerks your knees.

“What?” Megumi says, low, and he leans his other elbow on the table, casually creating a box of your bodies.

“We’re in public,” you say, clearing your throat.

“That’s the point.”

You reach with a hand, damp still from the cup’s condensation, down to his own, as his curving grip comes to sensitive inner thigh. Megumi deftly escapes your fingers, turning his palm up to grab your hand.

“People will see – ”

“I want him to see,” Megumi says, his grip guiding your hand higher between your thighs. “That’s the point.”

When he pushes, it’s hard, rocking your hand along the seam of your pants. He pushes again and your hips roll forward despite yourself. And – oh, fuck – it hits just at the right part, with just enough pressure to make you close your legs and shift forward again. Megumi’s fingers move against yours in a dance of pressure stronger than the constraint of your thighs. Every muscle clenches in response.

Keeping your knees together is a strain, everything rippling hot and tight up through your cunt at Megumi’s touch against you. The ache is present when you relax, when you exhale shakily and let your legs fall apart, but Megumi’s fingers slip through your puppeteered hand to push at you himself. The heat of his touch, so teasing, so dense through your pants, forces your thighs to tense up again, anxiously pushing together for friction.

Have his fingers always been so strong? Has his touch always been so hot, so shocking? You find yourself wishing Megumi would just claw through your pants and rip the fabric aside, to fuck his fingers right into you, roll his thumb against your clit and smear your arousal against your skin, to have his hands hold your hips down instead of the cold chrome of the table’s underside.

“Stop,” you gasp out again, weaker.

“Why?” Megumi’s breath is hot in your ear, hair tickling your cheek as you turn your face into his shoulder and back, writhing in the booth and practically humping his hand now.

“It’s not enough.”

Footsteps approach, barely perceptible over his chuckling breathy response.

“I am so sorry for the delay once more, your food will – ”

“We’ll just take it to go,” Megumi says crudely. His hand curves between your legs, thumb coming up against the top of your thigh to stroke lightly as the side of his fingers keep pushing. It’s hard enough that your body begins to ache as the desire starts burning even more.

Go, go, go, go.

“Oh. Of course.” The waiter hesitates, and in your hazy periphery you can see him bend down, try to break through the cage of Megumi’s protective lean over the table. “Um, are you feeling – ”

“Fine, we’re fine,” Megumi interrupts him again. “We’ll take the food to go.”

Another pause. “Right away.”

As the footsteps recede, Megumi’s thumb strokes gently, and he turns his hand down to squeeze your thigh once more. It’s disappointing when that’s all he does before withdrawing. The jostle of his arm forces you sitting upright again. Megumi places both hands politely on the edge of the table, drumming with totally relaxed fingers.

You, on the other hand, find yourself still shifting your knees together, the throbbing of his touch quickly subsiding with nothing you can do yourself under the table to bring it back. “Really?” you ask, your voice close to cracking.

“You asked me to stop,” Megumi says. He’s so satisfied you can hear the smile in his voice.

“You know what I meant,” you say.

“Mmmm. Yes, you were worried someone would see.”

“Someone did see.”

“Exactly.”

You push your lips together and blow out the air exasperatingly just as the waiter returns again, holding two white paper doggie bags crisply folded around your food.

“We apologize for the wait,” he says, and Megumi reaches with one hand to take them both.

“That’s fine. Let’s go.”

Standing is hard, your pants feeling heavy against your weak knees. Megumi should be happy, you can’t even look at the waiter who follows your quick steps with as much eagerness as he has all night, only faltering when Megumi reaches back with his empty hand to take yours. The emptiness in your body is apparent, your skin buzzing as the fabric shifts against your legs with each frantic step out the door into the night.

Megumi squeezes your hand as the waiter shouts out, “Thank you, come again!” and lets the door slam so loud the windows rattle.

“That was so rude!” you gasp.

“I know,” Megumi says, and slows the pace to squeeze your hand again. You look at him, and his teeth are bared now in a smile. “It was very mean of me to tease you. Sorry.”

You try to scowl at him, but the blood is still rushing through you too hard to be really embarrassed or angry. Megumi pulls you close to him, arms brushing together, and kisses you right on the street.

Going home, back to his home, is a speed-walk with his hand still tight against yours, and a few more kisses interrupting giggling words under lanterns and before the entrance of alleys. Megumi kisses you quickly, with teeth scraping your bottom lip. As if making sure more than the one waiter, that everyone in town knows his claimed territory. But below the brightness the heat still rolls in both of your bodies, something you feel at your hips and in the way his grip gets harder the closer you come to his doorstep. When he unlocks the door, the doggie bags are thrown to the foyer floor. Shoes are kicked off.

Megumi slams the door shut, shaking the residence even louder than the restaurant. As soon as you step into the hallway, he cups your face in broad hands, leaning you against the wall, and kisses you none too gently now. His lips are fervent on yours, fingers strong at the back of your neck and holding you tightly to his mouth, tongue against yours hotter than the last of ice water at your cheeks.

“You’re jealous, you’re still jealous,” you say in a gasp when Megumi's next kiss, so eager with fingers twitching at the back of your head, misses and his lips open on your chin. You take a staggering step to the side, and he follows you, sliding further down the hallway.

“Of course,” Megumi says, and there’s a snarl in his voice, the beast rippling just under the surface. You push your hips forward, back flat against the wall and knee between his.

“Do you really think I was flirting with him?”

“That doesn’t matter. It’s that he was flirting with you. And if he made a move… I swear I would have killed him.”

Megumi releases you. You sigh, rolling your hips again to lean for his body, and he slams his hands hard into the wall on either side of your head. It shocks you enough to shiver and eyes widen, coughing out a gasp.

“And you seem to find it funny!”

“No, no, not funny,” you say. You reach forward with open palms, splaying your fingers pleadingly across his chest. His heart hammers. “But – Megumi – don’t you get it, that it doesn’t matter to me who flirts with me or not? I only want you.”

Your hands slide down, his pulse beating below his skin, down his chest, down his stomach, and finding the hard bulge clear in his pants. You can feel the heat of his exhales as his arms on either side of your head begin to weaken, just as you brush over his crotch and palm at him with a gentler touch than his had been on you.

And you’re kinder, soothing his aching fire instead of dragging the teasing on. Stroking again, feeling the perfect curve of his cock rise to prominent outline, you move for the fastening. Megumi’s hands fall with a slight moan as you tug his pants down and come to your knees.

Megumi’s already hard, the rage and adrenaline and boiling jealously making him hot and thick to the touch. You wrap your fingers around him softly, and he twitches in your palm as you stroke from the tip down to dark coils of hair, a gentle waving motion. He moans almost like a growl, unsuppressed, and even in the dark of the foyer you tilt your head to look up at his flushed face.

“Only you,” you say again, softly, and your hand circles up once more. You rub, feeling a sheen of precum already bead against your fingertip. Megumi closes his eyes.

Your own face is beginning to burn, the dim arousal stirring as you shift on your ankles and feel that rub of fiction again. You flex your fingers around his cock involuntarily, the pulse fluttering through you.

Megumi’s hips tilt forward, and you open your mouth to spread your tongue around him. The licks are fat and lazy, slow as you work your tongue over your teeth in short motions. Your lips close briefly, saliva already sliding. The next sound is a slurp from your own mouth crashing into Megumi’s groans coming again from above.

You move around him, tongue rubbing his cock as you go low and then higher to the tip once more. Megumi growls your name, and his hand comes hard to the top of your head when you lick the underside. His grip slides down, another cupping caress at the back of your neck when your tongue withdraws to let your lips close in a pressing kiss.

Megumi’s thumb strokes your neck harder than back at the table, coming to your jaw and forcing a whimper through you at the strength of him. It comes through you wet and lewd, and you break away for a gasping breath. You close your lips again to suck, trapping that air in your chest, and your tongue slides forward in a dip.

Gasping and slobbering and you haven’t even forced him all the way back your throat yet.

“Fuck!”

Megumi’s body rocks up, his hand cradling you into his hips as you go lower, faster, and you choke.

The air in your lungs burns the further you press, saliva at the corners of your lips and congestion growing at your nose. Your tongue, heavy now at the bottom of your mouth, presses lightly up against his cock as you suck your way down. Megumi makes it easier – or, maybe worse – by pushing your head further again.

You need to breathe now, but he pulls you down. Your nose presses against him, jaw aching, as he holds you and fills your airway with his cock. Digging your nails into his bare thighs only elicits a wild groan in response. Megumi’s cock is thick and pulsing, and your weakly curling tongue finds a hard vein along the underside. You strain to stroke it. Megumi’s fingers flex and press at the back of your neck, as your face grows hot.

It’s unbearable now. You dig nails into Megumi’s legs again, and with one last tense of his hands, he finally lets go. You gag, throat convulsing as you lean on your heels to lean against the wall again with panting-open mouth breaths and drool stringing down your chin.

“Is that what I get for teasing you before?” Megumi pants.

“No,” you say, wiping your mouth with the back of your hands and grinning up him from the floor. “It’s what you get for being a jealous, half-homicidal ass.”

Megumi’s down with you before you realize it, the fire roaring in his eyes exuberant, yearning delight. You reach for his face and he kisses your smirking mouth, a growl slipping through his lips as he slides you from the wall and to your back to rest over you. He pushes at the floor next to your shoulder, elbow bending when he breaks the kiss to reach with his other hand down to your waistband. As if he knew your foolish restaurant desire, he almost rips the pants from you in that feral haste. You arch your back over the floor and groan as his hand flattens against your bare thigh, his body swaying over your twisting form as you kick outstretched legs to help him peel the pants from you.

The hunger building in you too, you wrestle with your shirt, your bra, as Megumi strips you naked on the floor. His hands leave your body with legs spread around him as he sits up to pull his shirt off. In the moonlight cascading from the windows when your eyes focus up through the darkness, his hair spikes wild across his shoulder, jaw dropped and bare chest rising and falling with the force of his breaths.

“Touch me.” Your voice cuts harsh and desperate in the night.

The hard floor is cold at the small of your back as Megumi roughly grips the back of your thighs, just as cool as the rush of air down at your flushed skin. He pushes, rolling your hips and forcing your legs apart. You kick at the wall with one foot as he spreads you further to make space for his body.

Maybe it was all the previous ministration against rough fabric instead of bare sensitive skin, but you can feel how swollen you already are. You twist on the floor as Megumi brings his mouth down, scraping his teeth along your skin and biting your thigh somewhere that feels miles long. You moan, turning your knee in an effort to bring yourself together, hips bucking up for that friction. With breath hot on you, Megumi’s fingers pull together at the back of your thigh and pinch you. You gasp as it jerks your legs apart again.

Megumi’s mouth comes first, tongue immediately, impatiently tasting you and opening your folds. It’s so easy, with how slick you already are, and your knee jerks. You kick the wall again. He makes a harsh breath, something close to a laugh, sending that hot air from his mouth directly to your spread cunt. Even more teasing? You reach down, about to rub yourself frantically, but flex your hands and push Megumi’s hair back from his sweaty forehead instead, giving him a chance.

“More.”

He lets go of your leg closest to the wall. Your muscles suddenly struggle, pressed on the wallpaper to keep your angle high. Megumi’s tongue spins lazily through your folds, and pulls away to replace with his free fingers.

You moan his name, breaking at the third syllable. His thick fingers slide down through you to stroke at your entrance. You gasp in anticipation, but Megumi doesn’t push inside. He turns his hand, thumbnail scraping your inner thigh as he comes back up to give attention there, right where you wanted it. His fingers coax, stroking against your folds until he finds your clit, and he pushes so hard it almost feels like another pinch. It almost hurts, and you jerk your hips up helplessly, slamming back down to the hard floor when it proves fruitless. He just comes back to do it again, moving his lips back down with a groan that hums through you.

“Oh, oh!”

But for his wild touch, Megumi remains receptive, well-trained, moving to find patterns that elicit your loudest moans. He repeats motions when you whisper, “yes, ‘Gumi, fuck, fuck yes,” and twine your fingers urgently through his hair. So simple, so precisely exactly what you need, tilting your hips to the ceiling as your very skin grows hot. You grasp his hair in a fistful, coarse at your palms. His lips move faster, his tongue pushing saliva and your own arousal through you in a slick mess. He comes back to your clit to suck, and your eyes waver, half-crossing at nothing.

You’ve been babbling, moaning, flexing your feet and rocking your hips urgently into his face, and the pressure hard and heavy behind your stomach is beginning to make you tremble. You’re sweating, uncomfortably hot. Every sensation starts to heighten– every lap of his tongue, every shifting of pressure of his touch, every beat of your heart in your throat and ears.

Megumi pulls his fingers out of your body and rocks back on his knees, one hand drawing himself up over you again. He cups your cunt roughly with the other, pushing at you with thoughtless, rough motions as hard as the restaurant. You clench your thighs around him, clumsily humping his hand to keep it, keep that concentration, that friction that burns down to the bone. You part your lips, and “Me-gu-mi” comes cracking from you again.

He hunches, hair slipping back across his shoulders as he leans down and kisses you again, warm, open-lipped and intoxicating. Megumi smells like sweat, like sex, and he tastes salty, sweet, remnants of you a mouth-watering, heady flavor. When he pushes once more and pulls away, he wipes your slick on the top of your thigh, leaving you once more pulsing around nothing.

“Fuck me, come on, come on,” you say, whining and kissing down his neck, sitting up against him. Your back aches, and head spins, and you bring your hands back to his chest, spreading fingers across him in a pleading grab.

“Then turn around,” he whispers, tilting his head over yours.

It aches to pull yourself away, legs just as heavy as they had felt on the walk home, and the floor is just as harsh under your palms and knees as it had treated your back. You rock back, extending your arms in a long stretch and resting on your heels. Megumi's hands are on your waist, moving with you as he pants in your ear, trying to place his knees around yours. Restlessly, you lean forward on hands and knees again.

He slaps your ass.

“Keep that up and I’ll spank you sore,” Megumi says with a growl.

You moan, an invitation in itself as you rock back just slightly. “Sorry,” you breathe without sincerity. He knows it, and when he spanks you again, it stings.

“Oh, oh.”

He breathes your name when his hands grip your hips and the heels of his palms push your ass to bring himself higher, his hard cock sliding against your skin, and you want to turn around and kiss him just for that.

“Just - fuck - ”

Megumi lets go with one hand, spanks you again, and the drag of his cock on you finds direction as he positions himself to your entrance. The thick, blunt tip, easily slick with your throbbing arousal, pushes in, and your joints go weak as the heat behind your stomach begins to boil again. Your elbows bend, about to let yourself completely kneel back once more, but Megumi slaps you harder as promised.

“Ouch!”

“What did I - say - ” he pants. There’s only senseless vigor in it, just as the prick of fingernails on your skin digs harder. He pushes in completely, and you almost melt at it again, at every pulsing ridge and vein of his cock thoroughly filling you. You buck your hips, and Megumi growls.

You move with him as he fucks into you, squeezing with your inner muscles and whimpering in loud gasps. He’s pounding hard immediately, giving into the hunger that’s been consuming the both of you for far too long to be decent. His fingers are strong, streaking against your skin as his grip slides, something to discolor and bruise you as dark as his blue eyes tomorrow morning. But it feels so fucking good.

You toss your head back, finding a glimpse of his face in this aching position with back arched, teeth shining in the moonlight and eyes burning on you. He’s so beautiful, so wild, and his fingers bend on your skin.

“Fuck, fuck, look at you,” Megumi pants, and you moan.

He grabs your throat with stroking fingers, forcing your head back to him, spine bowed as his chest comes to your shoulder blades. It aches, the push of his cock lighter at this angle, somehow not reaching so deep but still making you clench your muscles and move your hips back to feel him in you. Your fingertips strain at the floor, and Megumi keeps hissing in your ear.

“I want him to see you like this, I want everyone to see you like this, splayed over my cock as I spread you open - mine - everyone to know, look at you, fuck – ”

You’re barely holding on, air beating out of you when he squeezes your throat, eyes rolling back and unable to find him, just flashes of flexing fingertips and strands of falling hair when he tosses his head and pulls back at your hip. You groan, feeble, grating, half-choked, and gasp when he lets go to place both hands firmly on your hips again and pull you fully back to him.

With that, his cock is driving deep, right to your core, and you cry out. Your hand flat against the ground for balance, you reach down, desperate to rub yourself for impatient release. But Megumi feels it somehow, and at the shift of your back against his sweat-streaked chest, he grabs your wrist and pulls the errant hand to just below your stomach.

“No,” he groans, as his fingers fan against yours to feel the push of his cock just barely swelling under your skin, “I don’t want you cumming like that. I want to be the one, I’m the one, scream my fucking name.”

And you’re so close, coming closer still with those words growled in your ear. You claw at his hand, out of your own desperate lust, and he brings his hips flush against yours and holds you tight with the next stroke in.

“You’re mine,” he says, the possessive wildness a simple crude truth.

He lets go, but you keep your hand there, feeling him in you in every way fucking possible as he thrusts. Despite the snarling bravado, you can feel the urgency in the bruising grip on your hip, in the quickening of his strokes. You tense your thighs and push yourself down, letting him fill you and spread you until you’re barely holding yourself up.

For a flash you can imagine it in the restaurant, so clearly in your mind’s eye, with that same infectious feral urge to have him rip your clothes right off in public – but he’s fucking you with your hands gripping the table for balance instead of this floor; both of your pants shoved down to the ankles as Megumi moves into you with wild haste, forcing the waiter to watch him mark his territory and claim you with his cock right there -

You cry out, hips twisting and convulsing. “I’m so close! Fuck!”

“My name, my name,” Megumi repeats through clenched teeth, saliva flying against the back of your shoulder with the force of his words.

“Megumi!”

He grabs you, reaching forward and knees bending into yours as he urges you flat to the floor with the earnest fervency of his strokes. He’s pulsing, so thick and large in you, and – there – just there, with his words and touch and your own fevered imagination, everything goes static. You slip down and let the orgasm take you. Megumi’s hands are the only anchor you have as the floor slides below you, your heartbeat drumming through your head and you hear yourself barely able to spit out his name - 

“’Gumi, ‘Gumi, I’m – cumming!”

Megumi, with the last of his control shredded to ribbons, cums with a harsh cry of your own name too, something that makes you whimper as the ripple beats through you and your legs shake again. He shoots hot, palms scrambling flat against your skin. His mouth opens again, biting at your shoulder so sharp you yelp, arching your back and bucking into his body.

“Oh…my god,” you whimper, as he moans your name again into your skin and rocks his hips forward, pushing his seed to flood through you. When he pulls out at last, his own peak subsided, it leaks hot to the swollen folds of your cunt. You shiver again, a weak moan, and then the dark is silent, cut only by two cascading sets of lungs struggling to breathe smoothly.

You lie for a moment, Megumi panting above you as he rocks back on his heels, the reverberating thud of his hand slapping against the wall for balance. The floor is no more comfortable now than it has been, but you gather yourself, heart pounding into the floorboards and slick cold on your cunt, your thighs.

“Let’s make it to the bed next time,” you say, muffled in the wood. Megumi hears you, and lets a weak barking laugh through his heaving exhales.

“I just couldn’t wait.”

“Very impatient tonight.”

“You have no idea,” he says, and there’s something half-serious in his tone now. “I didn’t even want to wait for the food to be ready. I just wanted to get you out of there.”

You laugh, a sound just as exhausted as his own. “Well, look, even if that takeaway is delicious, I never want to go back there. Never, not after the way you treated that poor guy.”

Megumi reaches for you, his hand gentle on your sweaty, aching body. “No, I know,” he says with a voice just as soft as his touch. “Because if he gives me reason… I will kill him.”

He gathers you in his arms as you sit up too, leaning against the wall with him. The gesture of possession is kind this time, and he kisses your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, before cupping your face with strong fingers and moving your lips back to his. You let him move you, kissing you back, smiling against his mouth. Yes, you’re his, and he’s yours.

fin.

[daryascurse]

𝐔𝐧𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐈𝐈: 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐮𝐛𝐮𝐬

Ryoumen Sukuna x Reader // ♡ follow #ULSukuna for updates ♡ // ⁿˢᶠʷ mdni

POV: second person, AFAB reader, feminine pronouns Chapter tags: dominant Sukuna, submιssive reader, themes of dubcοn, οraI, rough sεx, chοkιng, masturbatιon, true form Sukuna Chapter length: 2.7k

And then your pained hiss turns into a moan, your hips angling without thought, grinding yourself against the side of his hand, harder, harder.

“You ... so needy, so desperate,” he says, guttural silk in your ear. “Did you touch yourself before falling asleep? Are you lying between the sheets with your hand still between your thighs? Show me how you do it.” The hand withdraws.

You whimper, swallowing forcefully.

“Show me how you left yourself so dissatisfied in your sleep, enough to bring me halfway to you,” he growls.

Read after the jump or on AO3 // set the mood

I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please read the byf in my pinned.

Dreams are strange things.

They aren’t quite real. It’s simple to say there’s nothing real about them, and strictly speaking, that’s true. But they do have tangible effects, the cold sweat that breaks across your brow when you wake, the dreadful sense of falling that makes your heart hammer, the drained energy left to drag yourself through the next day – those are real, even though the dreams aren’t. They can’t be.

This is a dream.

Tongues are ghosting around you, innumerable limbs that are somehow familiar. Lips butterfly across your shoulders as if from mirror mouths, desecrating your skin with unholy kisses. There are hands everywhere. Too many hands to be everywhere at once and yet they are everywhere. Grasping at your hips, and groping down your chest and sliding up your thighs simultaneously, the hands cover your body. You feel them in multitudes, but when you blink, focusing on the endless wrists with black tattooed bands, deadened fingernails, four is the only concrete number you can count.

Are you lying down or sitting up? Are you standing or propped against soft pillows or hard headboards? Are you floating? Are you under him, lying above him? Who - is - he?

Everything is black. It seems there’s something just out of reach in the corner of your eyes, that if you turned your head you could see it clearly. Yes, some vermillion glow in the shadows, but turning your head just smears the light further back in your periphery, swallowed by the overwhelming blackness. And the arms – they don’t support you, but they’re holding your naked body with restless gripping, keeping you together. Or pulling you apart.

You are alone, but he’s there.

There’s a laugh behind you, also impossibly familiar. You turn your head, craning for it - him - but a hand snakes up to your jaw, drumming down against your throat, keeping you still. You swallow. The pressure feels real.

“Not quite our bargain,” the voice comes rumbling, low and amused. “You’re clean now – well, as clean as a slut like you can be. You haven’t let some other man inside you. And yet you are dancing on that edge of euphoria now, aren’t you, even in your dreams?”

A hand squeezes down your thigh, a thumb strokes against your folds, and a tongue licks slow and hot against the back of your ear, a heavy wet weight.

“Your cunt throbs in memory of me even in sleep, and that’s been enough to bring me to you in some way,” he muses. “Interesting. You’ve brought me to you this time, so it really isn’t the same as our terms – so this isn’t the time for our last little race.”

You open your mouth, and the hand cupping your jaw digs a thumb right into your lip, pulling it open against your chin and rendering you speechless. Exposed like an equine examined for sale.

“Dreams, so real, yet so fictional, are not quite bound by the rules of the corporeal world. So I might as well use you while I’m here.”

Your breath is gargled. Saliva at the back of your throat traps your words before they can come out, even when he releases your mouth to spread his fingers down over your throat. He squeezes lightly and you cough, a strangled choke.

Fingers run through the slick already leaking out of you, slender and deadly strong. A fingernail catches against your sensitive skin and you wince. The hand continues, turning to the side and rubbing fully through you. And then your pained hiss turns into a moan, your hips angling without thought, grinding yourself against the side of his hand, harder, harder .

“You needy, desperate little whore,” he says, guttural silk in your ear. “Did you touch yourself before falling asleep? Are you lying between the sheets with your hand still between your thighs? Show me how you do it.” The hand withdraws. 

You whimper, swallowing forcefully.

“Show me how you left yourself so dissatisfied in your sleep, enough to bring me halfway to you,” he growls.

You hesitate, but when you move your hand down over your stomach, there’s no interruption, no fingers ghosting over your skin to take back the command. He’s watching, multiple eyes burning on you in the darkness, entertained, curious, breath hot at the back of your neck.

It’s somehow strange to feel your own fingers instead. This is the hand you’ve known the touch of for so long, instead of his, and yet your own body feels unfamiliar. Your fingers gently curl, the slick arousal gathering up and smearing up to your unattended clit. You know he’s watching. It brings a nervousness to the half-automatic motions. Down, and up again, bringing more, something that makes your thighs shake, your head tilt back as much as the cradling hands allow and the eyes stare. 

A hand on your ribs moves with you as they expand and contract, wider and wider with heavier breaths as your fingers move. You scoop down with one finger, drawing up inside, an angle that just doesn’t reach satisfaction on your own, but brings that wet rushing aching with it.

“ Oh ,” you gasp. Your own voice seems distorted. 

Thumbs roll up under your nipples. The touch barely skims up over you. You shiver as they pucker in response, and he squeezes down in a pinching motion. It makes your fingers stop for a moment.

“I didn’t say it was enough.”

He pinches again, and the sensation is a lingering jolt right there, even as the push of his hands cradling your chest sends warmth down through you. You gasp, and your finger tightens, moving in circles over your clit in a pattern. You’re matching his speed as he spreads and pushes into your nipples, groping you in rough massages.

It makes it easier to move, the sensitivity growing as you touch yourself in the same movements as he does, wet and hot and pulsing around your fingers. You curve your arm, desperately reaching for the soft sensitive spot right out of reach, an angle impossible to reach through masturbation but fuck you’re trying, with every pump of your fingers and grind of your hips. His pinches are tugs now, hard handling of his little plaything as your nipples harden with each rubbery roll of his fingers over you. Your clit is swollen and almost painful, and yet you keep moving, pulling forward that slowly burning orgasm below your belly. Your legs stiffen as the ache grows closer and closer to a tensing release.

“Oh, no, no,” he says, and the hand cupping under your jaw squeezes against your throat. Your eyes roll back, hands stilling, as the wind is pressed from you. You gasp, short and shallow, and he releases back to that gently scratching hold. “Not that far, you eager little slut. I can feel your heartbeat grow, and you won’t outpace me. Practicing like this would be cheating .”

Hands wrap over yours, pulling you away right on the edge, and you gasp again, a short, broken, “ oh! ” as the thudding throb inside you slows.

“Put that great fervency of yours to use,” he says, and the endless hands grasp all over you, thighs, arms, chest, waist, those black-banded wrists still somehow only counting one, two, three, four , and fingers at the corners of your mouth force your lips open. You gag as his cock thrusts into your mouth, thick, long, strange, familiar.

Your tongue strives for agency, and when he pulls out you drag your tongue with it, a wide, flat stroke from the base up the shaft. He pauses in the thrusts, and you do it again, tongue lolling wildly between your spread lips. The salty taste is not new, the tightening of these thousand fingernails into your skin so real and intimately known. Drool slides from you over him as he hardens on your tongue.

With a groan, he thrusts back into your mouth, thumbs digging into the inside of your cheek and nails scraping, breaking that sensitive skin and bringing the metallic, wild taste of blood to the bitter mix of saliva, musk, and precum. He’s thick and hard at the back of your throat.

He slides deeper, down your throat, and the moan it pulls from you vibrates all through your mouth. He pulls back, slightly, thrusts in harder. His speed grows, and you gag again, jaw aching at the harsh use of your body. Your tongue is useless now, just heavy at the bottom of your mouth, head bobbing – or maybe the hand at the back of your head is moving you – all around, endless hands and sneering, drooling lips, burning eyes, and this cock, hot in your mouth.

Hotter still when he comes, thick and cock throbbing down your throat.

There’s a symphony of groans around you, rumbling from one chest and out every mouth.

“Just like that,” he says, and his cock pulls out before his fingers do. The fingers cup your jaw and trap your mouth closed, letting you – or forcing you to – swallow. Bitter, metallic. Your lips turn in a grimace at the residue of it all, inside of your cheeks throbbing.

He lets go. Your teeth have almost cut into the inside of your mouth at the force. You tongue at the location, swollen, sharply painful, and whimper.

“Following my direction so easily. You really are getting boring. Can’t you think for yourself?”

You’re shifting from hand to hand as he adjusts his hold, tugging and pulling on a dangerous black water sea.

“I can,” you say, automatically, and he roars with laughter at the irony.

“Maybe not in a dream, hmm? I can make you do anything. Maybe you’re not aware you’re in a dream. I’ll admit that the rules of this realm are strange to me. It may be even more your realm.”

In some sense you can feel that he’s over you now. The arms are ever moving, the burning sensation of those watching eyes directly on your face, but you refuse to look directly as something begins to take firmer shape against your skin. Innate dread pounds through you, entwined with raw lust, at the gently hovering touch. There’s the heat of muscle over you, a more corporeal body pressing to yours. A hand, another, keep your legs wide apart, and a tongue rolls down to where your fingers have abandoned. The touch is light, hot and wet, pressing into your clit as he flicks up.

Euphoria braids with the fear and desire now, the electric jolts sparking through you again and again with the movements of the mouth there, even as the hot breath of another leers over your face.

“Fuck, fuck,” you force out through the hand over your throat, and a thumb skates down the side of your neck in response, nail scraping against your skin. 

He moves on and on. You throb right against his touch, hotter in the moments where he pauses. There’s a slurping sound as he flicks up, pushing past the swollen folds of your cunt, and the tongue withdraws with a shining stream of saliva connecting those shadowed lips to you before he spits down.

A hand comes down, claws gleaming against his stomach as he wipes at his lips curled triumphantly against the muscles, and eyes shine above you. You close yours, refusing to look closer, and the laugh comes again.

“Cowardly, greedy little whore. You won’t be sleeping well tonight.”

The curled knuckles of a hand brush against your folds as his shaft comes curving down to your entrance, but he pauses. He guides it slowly back up, then down again, dancing the head of his cock teasingly over you, but not into you yet. Heat burns beneath your skin, saliva and arousal cooling as he spreads it across you. You whine weakly.

One hand on your throat, two holding your thighs apart, and one guiding his cock against you, wholly at his mercy below him.

One, two, three, four.

That’s corporeal.

He rubs your clit now, as his cock grows slicker and slides faster, and your body jerks upward, straining into the clawed hold on your thighs. Your muscles tremble at the sensation, the thickness coming closer and closer to coming right down and fucking you and moving back up again. So close.

“Please,” you hear yourself say, again, and again, slurred under the weight of his hand. “Please, please.”

“Useless words, you should know that by now,” he says, and he pushes inside you.

You’re wet, rushing immediately at the intrusion. Your cunt was made ready from your fingers, from his tongue, from his endless fingers, and his cock goes in fast. It stretches you. Your cry is shortened by the tightening of his hand, hands, as the one that guided him into you joins the other at your neck. Thumbs stroke down your throat to the hollow and he squeezes. Air leaves your head for a moment, coming back with a cough and the thudding, flooding sensation of his cock fucking up into you.

It’s what your body has been craving, your blood roaring, hips humping up against him as best as you can and thighs trembling below his hands. It’s a steady rhythm. His weight, so real against your skin, pins you back into him, the thrusts slamming into your body. The friction reverberates up behind your stomach, shockwaves coming in faster and faster rhythm. Your inner muscles clench over him. He hits right at that sweet spot you helplessly reached for before, rubbing against you with the urgency of his thrusts.

“ Oh! ”

The arms mix and multiply now when your eyes flutter open, too many black bands to count, red eyes shining down, and you close your eyes again, a rattled, hoarse, desperate cry thundering from you.

A hand cups right under your chest, one strokes against your back, somehow both bracing you back and pulling you forward. Teeth connect against the back of your shoulder, against the curve of your ass, into your upper arm, and you cry out, the pain and the pleasure shooting through you from opposite directions as he pounds up through you. You are leaning against him and leaning forward into him, at once fighting him and eagerly entwining him further.

He fucks you hard, harder than he has before - than he has before - riding you rough with your thighs left trembling, breath hitching and erratic. The sensations flood you, burning hot, ready to snap, as he bottoms out and pushes higher up into your body.

“ Look at me ,” he says, a seething, power-drunk command, and your eyes open as he comes once more, hard inside you. He’s hot and throbbing, the pricks of his claw-like nails painful down your skin, hands clenching and holding you down as he fucks you with final thrusts, wild and harsh, through the last of it. He pulls out, interrupting your own building orgasm again, something that makes you cry and your eyes roll as you spasm, suddenly empty. You blink, and force your gaze to the face above you.

And you see him totally, and know him. Sukuna , two-faced and all teeth, lips spread so wide in a raucous, gleeful laugh that almost splits at the corners of his mouth. Blood trickles from the chapped cracks of his skin, dribbling down the black markings streaking across his chin, and he rasps, a chilling, cursed cry that eats at the world around you.

You convulse, wrenching yourself out of his grasp. The scream is snatched from your lungs. Cold terror knocks the breath out as you tumble. Sukuna’s glittering ruby eyes are fixed on you, two, four, a kaleidoscope, exploding into the surrounding blackness, and the laughter echoes as you plummet through this infinity…

Waking up is hard to believe at first. You squeeze your eyes closed, burying your face into the pillow, unwilling to open and see that demonic face again. Your heartbeat makes your entire body shake, terror and the last dregs of elation twisting together through your veins. And with each passing second, it all fades into nothing.

That monstrous face.

What face?

“Fuck,” you say aloud, and your voice cracks.

The dream is gone, smoke slipping through your fingers even when you try to remember. What a strange fucking nightmare it must have been. You open your eyes at last, a few bleary blinks to face the morning light. It feels like you haven’t slept well. You swallow.

The back of your throat is thick and bitter, your skin aching, your cheek sore as if you’ve bitten the inside of your mouth in your sleep. And when you shift your legs, rolling out beneath the sheets to rise, there’s a sticky, hot, dampness against your thighs.

chapter iv

[daryascurse]

𝐔𝐧𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐈: 𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠

Ryoumen Sukuna x Reader // ♡ follow #ULSukuna for updates ♡ // ⁿˢᶠʷ mdni

POV: second person, AFAB reader, feminine pronouns Chapter tags: dominant Sukuna, submissive reader, themes of dubcon/ seduction, spitting, violence, blood, degradation, orαl, fingering, sex, αnαl, orgαsm control Chapter length: 4.5k

He descends on you, the kiss open and hot. Like his kisses are drawing out snake poison, the pain ebbs away. You’re melting into him, hands up and pressed against his chest before you realize it. He lets you cling to him as you kiss him back, the smooth skin of his muscles hot under your palms, even as something cold slides down your cheek, tacky and sticky against his fingers.

Blood.

He draws back and spits right into your still-open mouth.

Read after the jump or on AO3 // set the mood

I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please read the byf in my pinned.

Author's note: If anal is unappealing to you, I would advise skipping to the last ~7 paragraphs / lines for plot purposes or, at least skip when it comes up in the last 1/3rd. (From the line "Half-lidded eyes shoot open, and you slide your hands across the floor to prop yourself up on your forearms. 'Sukuna – no, wait – '" -> to the line "'Me first,' he says, ragged and raw, and thrusts again, again.") Also, I have been scouring the canon material and at this time I cannot find anything saying that the terms of Binding Vows cannot be changed if both parties agree to it (as would be the case with real life contracts). If I'm wrong... whatever.

It comes back in a feeling similar to the delicious satisfaction when you remember a word that’s been dancing on the tip of your tongue. A forgotten word just out of reach, clouding at the back of your mind and fogging up the rest of the conversation. And then – a burst of clarity when you least expected it. “ Oh, ” comes the cry in those moments, interrupting whatever dialogue has continued, but basking in the revelation when it’s there – “ that’s it! I knew it!”

But this feeling, this here, this now, is the inverse of that delightful eureka. When the burning ecstasy strikes, it’s dark and sickening, the sudden familiarity of your surroundings turning to dread. The yawning jaws around you, the rancid puddles at your feet, the ghostly blue shrine and the smirking man sitting in it, elbows on his knees and eyes fixed on you.

That’s it. I knew it.

Sukuna pushes his fingers together, letting them fall through each other. He props his chin on the collapse of his hands. “Well, well, well. The little slut is back again.”

You swallow, and notice shamefully that you’re naked.

“You just came as you were. Was it good?”

You raise your hands to cover yourself wordlessly.

“Ah, did you come at all?” He laughs once at his own joke. “So was the body in your bed worth messing your sheets for? Is your throat raw from his cock, is your cunt satisfied?” he asks in a slow voice dripping with sarcasm, shifting his hands and cracking his knuckles to enunciate his words. The second pair of eyes rolls forward to you, blinking out of time with the first. “It must have been something, my dear. You’re dirty, and here you come to be cleansed from another’s touch. That is our vow.”

Sukuna pauses, but you do not offer any words.

There’s nothing you can say. Your mouth is dry. You can faintly hear your own breath as it escapes from you in shallow, sickly puffs.  This place is familiar , you recognize Sukuna, but - memories do not come flooding back. It’s like a recognition of deja vu but an inability to trace it. And when you try to follow that thread back, back in your mind, it snaps like gossamer. 

But you do remember the night you were just living. When you blink, you see the dented pillows, the shoes left by the front door. You can’t see who was in your bed, just elbows, just feel the sense of coarse hair pricking under your fingers. 

He’s right. 

Sukuna drops his hands to his knees and leers closer to you. Your legs go weaker. He doesn’t stand from the steps of the shrine, doesn’t approach you down among the bones and filth, but his eyes – all four – are locked keenly on your shy gaze.

“Nothing to say? I remember when we first met you were so determined, so desperate to escape. Where’s that fighting spirit gone?”

Now he stands. The folds of his kimono swing open, his bare chest exposed more and more with every step closer to you.

You can't avert those eyes.

“Yes,” you say, your voice soft and stunned. “I remember.”

You don’t - quite, though. The thread reaches forward again, and snaps. But, it sounds right.

The black markings highlighting his bone structure ripple with the movements of his face, a devious smile that shines in the cut shards of cold light. “Do you? I'm well familiar. Do you remember how desperate you were for my cock, how you rutted right over my hand, your mouth greedily sucking me down, all the begging and pleading just rambling from your whore mouth? So desperate for your own pleasure you bound yourself to me.”

He’s beautiful, horribly beautiful.

“You wanted it,” Sukuna continues, and when he looks down his nose at you, the light of his eyes fall away into shadows. “You entered this vow of your own free will, you said ‘ yes ’ – this is what you desired.”

You lift a foot, skating the top nervously against the puddles as you prepare to take a step away.

“Sukuna, I can’t -”

And then pain strikes you, when you open your mouth. The weight of the words contradict the binding contract of the vow and ripple heavy down your shoulders. Your ribs sting, suddenly, sharply, as if cracking, and you interrupt yourself with a painful gasp. You grab at yourself and almost collapse, desperate to hold yourself together. It feels like you’re being torn apart, though no blood gushes from your midsection, right where your shaking fingers grasp at an invisible wound. 

“Can’t ?”

You stare helplessly at him.

Sukuna’s lips part in a sneering smile, and he raises a hand to your face. You shudder into his grip. The point of his nail pricks against the back of your skull, and then he digs in. The pain comes washing, nauseating, drowning out the panic.

“Free will is such a fickle human thing. But irresponsible to wield it thoughtlessly when you’re signing yourself to a contract, hmm ?” Sukuna strokes his thumb against your temple, the side of his nail cutting into your face now too, and you let out a strangled sound through gritted teeth. “You know what you have to do to make that pain go away. Submit willingly. Fulfill my terms, and I’ll fulfill yours and let you free again.”

Sukuna slides his hand down, and it slices your face right at the jaw, forcing your mouth open in a gasp. He descends on you, the kiss open and hot, tongue coming right into your mouth and wrapping on yours. It slides and tangles between you, barely letting your mouth close in response.

Like his kisses are drawing out snake poison, the pain ebbs away. You’re melting into him, hands up and pressed against his chest before you realize it. He lets you cling to him as you kiss him back, the smooth skin of his muscles hot under your palms, even as something cold slides down your cheek, tacky and sticky against his fingers.

Blood.

He draws back, lets his lower lip fall, and spits right into your still-open mouth. Your stomach drops, rolls, and he draws you back for another sloppy kiss. His lips lock onto yours, that hand still bracing against your face, the other coming to press right into your hip. A sick embrace that he breaks with one last caress against your cheek.

“Your thighs are shaking, you’re already clinging to me. If I touch your cunt you’d be wet, am I right?” Sukuna says in a hoarse murmur. His finger shines with blood, your cheek stinging sharply.

“I…” you struggle for the words to defend yourself. He smirks, lolls out his tongue, licks your blood from off him. Bright red liquid webs into the ridges of his finger.

“Still so needy. How arrogant of you, to just come crashing back in, disturbing my rest and violating the terms of our arrangement, and just expect your pleasure satiated once more. You have to earn it this time.”

He lets go of your hip, letting his hand drop and squeeze against your skin as he does, before turning and walking back up into the mouth of the shrine. The water slides cold against your feet as you follow, like a dog to its master. Light breaks through the cracked bones caved around you, that blue glow just out of sight.

Sukuna disrobes as you walk up into that yawning entrance, almost carelessly, his elbows dancing to the side of his body as the obi comes untied and the kimono falls to the ground. He turns to you, flicking the last of dried blood from under his fingernails and regarding you with a haughty expression in those four gleaming eyes.

“Get on your knees. I prefer looking down on you like that.”

You sink to the ground, a position of pious supplication before him. He strokes his cock before you take it in your own hands. 

“I know you just had a visitor,” Sukuna repeats. “But do better for me, yes?”

He’s hard under your fingertips as you stroke down his shaft, wrapping your fingers down at the base, and harder in your mouth when you part your lips for the head of his cock.

You let out a “mmph” as you taste him, so familiar. 

Sukuna sighs in pleasure, hand on the top of your head as you suck gently. You let go to keep moving and run your mouth over him, more of him, tongue working against him. The ridges of his cock, of the veins, the flattened slit at the tip, you explore them all, saliva spilling from you. You open your mouth again, to take him in at the top and down your throat. He lets out a groan that reverberates right at his stomach against your forehead, hands tightening on you.

“Yes.”

Your jaw tires out almost immediately, lips stretched wide over him. As if you’re just too tired from earlier - but you keep going, building a rhythm and picking up your speed, smacking and rolling your tongue. Your one hand still braces against his groin, thumb stroking down under, slick and then tacky with drying saliva before your finger drags more down. The other is tight against your knee, your own fingernails digging into your skin as you hold yourself up, keeping your mouth busy on him.

It shouldn’t feel so good just to suck his cock, just to have him heady and thick on your tongue but it still pulses through you, throbbing behind your stomach and settling in your core. You shift on your ankles. Your heels dig into your thighs as your legs shift, hunting for some sort of friction that your lower body needs. The sedulous, busy work of your hands and your tongue isn’t distracting enough from the rising urgency of your own body.

“Mmm...”

But it does make you move faster, moaning over him, opening your mouth and licking Sukuna’s cock sloppily. He groans above you, only slight movements of his own hands controlling your motions, turns of the wrists to angle you. He raises your head just enough to make you take his cock deep down your throat, a quick thrust of his hips into your face and stilling the motions.

It gags you, muffles your moaning cry of half-protest, but his pleasured grunt is gravelly and loud. Your throat closes and convulses, feeling him down you, and the thick fingers tightening his grip. It’s only a brief push before he lets go, pulling his cock out of your mouth with strings of saliva following.

“Enough,” Sukuna says, his breath gasping at the end of the word, and a pause to collect himself. He looks down at you again, with an expression almost like pride. “That whet your appetite, didn’t it? Let’s see how desperate your body is now.”

He keeps a hand on the back of your head as he circles you, the nail tracing down the column of your neck and between your shoulder blades, and evoking a slight shiver from you when he slides away. His hands lock around your ribs as he kneels behind you, cock hard and wet with your own saliva against your back. His knees come splayed on either side of your own, a light dusting of hair on his thighs silvery in the sickly blue light.

Sukuna’s hands slide down your ribs to your waist and down, spreading over your own legs and you shudder again, a light “oh” when he squeezes the sensitive skin right at your inner thighs.

“How does your cunt feel?” he asks, his breath right at the back of your ear when one hand comes up to feel for you.

“Oh,” you say again, harder this time, when his finger slides between your folds. You’re slick and part for him easily. The throbbing inside you rises again, thick and hot. It feels like you’re pulsing over his finger, and then fingers, when his wrist flicks up and he pushes two into your entrance.

“That was easy,” Sukuna says, his voice thick and syrupy. He kisses the side of your cheek, a wet, drooling smack, and he laughs without humor. “My whore is ready and waiting, aren’t you?”

You moan, a wordless whimper, desperately tightening and fluttering your muscles over his fingers as you compose an answer, anything close to intelligent. “Sukuna, I, it… feels so good.”

“I know it does.” He pulls his fingers out of you, wiping your own arousal across your hips and thighs. “Forward, right on your hands and knees.”

You almost lurch into the yawning blackness of the shrine, beyond the fangs and jaws, as you move forward on your hands. The heels of your palms scratch against the ground, and you rock your hips back when his hands slap across your ass in a brief spanking. The tip of his cock comes to your entrance, nudging you open, teasingly as your thighs shake, your body already primally searching for more.

And that’s when something else, something stronger than deja vu and memories, unlocks – being bent over here, the floor hard and cold under your hands, Sukuna’s breath right in your ear before he leans back, the rough touch of his skin on you – this has happened before . And before . And before .

The dark realization hits again. It’s sickening, it’s cold.

Oh. That’s it.

“There it is,” Sukuna grunts, his fingers drumming against your hips as your gasp echoes through the shrine with a sharp clarity. “I told you, any time, any time you were dirtied by another, you’d return. I told you, I’d clean you with my cock. I told you, you’re mine. But you never seem to really remember the full thing until I do the work for you. And I’m sick of reminding you - every time. Again, and again. ”

He thrusts hard inside as his hands come down, a sharp slap, and you cry out. The jerking dance of your bodies pushes himself immediately inside you. 

Sukuna pauses before moving, his cock slowly pulling out over the immediate fluttering squeeze of your inner walls. And then - again . The next strokes are faster, his rhythm building. Moans begin to slip from you as he picks up the pace.

This is familiar. You know this feeling. You know his cock.

Sukuna’s hold on you moves, gripping at the back of your shoulders, up to your neck, and the angle shifts his cock higher and deeper up in you. His hand moves again, sliding to your face, and his fingers flash in front of your eyes.

“You’re just my fucking toy wasting my time. Tell me you’re sorry for disturbing me.”

You scramble to speak through lips suddenly spread painfully wide, words that cannot come out coherently. Two of his fingers are hooked in your mouth, salty, coated with the drool spilling involuntarily from your lips.

“I – can’t – hear – you – !” Sukuna jeers, snapping his hips into you with an aggressive force. The back of your thighs sting with the slap of his skin against yours. His other hand clenches down on your own grabbing desperately against the shrine floor, nails digging into the skin of your fingers. One slips right into the nailbed of your middle finger, and you scream sharp and shrill enough to cut glass. The pain ebbs away, cold down the back of your fingers as he adjusts his grip, and your cry peters out. Your tongue lolls over your bottom lip, and you struggle to swallow with an open mouth. He’s still waiting for you to speak.

Yes. All you are is a fuck toy at his whim.

But fuck. His cock feels so good, so good. The words are babbling, rubbery and half-formed, out of you – “so good, so good,” – slurring “ shooo guuud ” for a moment - and when his fingers slip, first one, then the other, out of your aching lips, you spit the gathered drool onto the floor and keep speaking, singing his praises in hymns. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry , I’m sorry I disturbed you, forgive me, Sukuna, it’s so good .”

“Begging and pleading,” Sukuna says in a hiss, and he puts his hands back over you as his body collapses into yours, pushing your crouched position as flat to the ground as he can, chest falling over your knees. Your elbows bend, splaying, and you grab at your ankles, wrapping around the width of his thighs. His hands press into your waist, shoulders into yours, and his sweat smears down over your back.

He hisses in your ear, with a thrust that doesn’t move back down, and you moan and clench over him, thighs trembling: “You actually enjoy how I fuck you, don’t you? Getting treated like an object like this.”

You whimper, unable to deny or fight him. He rolls his hips up, the angle so tight inside you and you try to shift your hips down in response. The oil of sweat and arousal across your thighs tacks you to the floor. You’re drenched, something hot and burning behind your stomach aching as you try to shake and meet him.

“You’re mine, you little slut,” Sukuna says. “Every part of you, every part is mine.” His tongue flickers down to your shoulder, cold and sticky as he relishes the taste of your sweat, and then bites sharp against your bone. One clawing hand against the back of your arm, the other groping at your chest, his touch is hot and electric. You cry out again.

“Sukuna! ”

“Ask me – if you want – to come,” he pants before scraping his teeth again down your skin.

“I want to come, I need, please, please, let me come,” you say in a broken whimper, repeating over and over when his hips slam faster against yours and his grip moves again. His hands spread, fingers pushing under your stomach, and down, searching.

“Every part,” he says again, a growl, and then he pulls out of you. “Not just this filthy dripping cunt.”

You have no strength to move, to force your elbows up, but the pressure on your ankles slips as he leans away from your body, breaking out of the tangle of limbs. It throbs as he leaves you empty. You shift, rolling your hips slightly, then harder and harder in a desperate attempt to feed yourself friction even as you drip on the floor. His hands come hot and strong to your waist, pushing down to your ass, a spitting sound, and then it’s cold as something dribbles down onto your skin.

Half-lidded eyes shoot open, and you slide your hands across the floor to prop yourself up on your forearms. “Sukuna – no, wait – ”

“I said, mine,” he says, a triumphant crowing claim. His hand scoops up from your sore, dipping folds, dragging your hot arousal past your cunt and up with it. The sounds are wet and almost disgusting behind you, and you whimper, muscles clenching as he smears it over your body. His fingers press, squeezing in and spitting again when he spreads you.

You jolt, every nerve in your body a live wire. “Sukuna, please , please , I can’t – ”

“But I can,” Sukuna says in a terrible voice, and his finger slides in. It urges your body to the ground and you slide into a pained whimper. “A tight little ass, and it’s mine, as much as the rest of your pathetic body.”

The problem is, more than that he’s right, is that it feels good. Even as you clench over his finger and cry when the edges of his nail slip down your ass on the way out. He comes down to your cunt again, finding more of your own slick to bring up, and leans back over you. His smile spreads across your shoulder, teeth rubbing into the grooves of his previous bite marks, as his cock comes grinding against the curve of your ass.

“Just my own little whore,” he says, his breath so hot in your ear your eyes screw up and your neck cranes back, meeting his gleaming sets of pupils. You’re just too full of thrill to relax so it hurts, it hurts so fucking badly, when he presses against you and pushes in.

You scream.

“Please!”

“Oh,” Sukuna groans, and he acutely shudders as he sinks slowly into you. He grunts, easing inside as your body clenches, neck jerking forward and head dropping back down. Your mind reels, and his hands move, one at your hip pulling you wide and eliciting another sound of anguish from your aching lungs.

The screams spur him on, and you feel more than hear the rumble of laughter in his chest so close against your back. “Cry out, you stupid little whore, scream and yell,” he taunts, and the other hand grabs at the back of your neck, pushing you into the floor.

Your sounds taper off into a shuddering groan, your body going limp beneath his, squeezing your eyes shut and blinking teardrops away. He moves, a thrust out and another slowly in. The movement somehow helps. More and more now it’s feeling good as the pressure melts away, your back arching and body starting to relax in response to his pace. Sukuna’s moving slow, mercifully slow, if you were so foolish to think he’s being kind. He’s rocking almost gently, stretching you open and moving just a little faster each time.

All you are is his fuck toy. Just used for his desires.

And it’s – so –

“… so… good… ”

He lets out a groan, and he must know he’s being too kind, because then he picks up the pace, hips slamming against yours and hand so tight on your neck it could snap the bones. Blood rushes through you, the slice on your cheek throbbing in time with your heart. The sounds coming out of you are grating messes, your legs trembling even as your knees rub against your ribs, crumpled in two below him.

“Sukuna,” you let out again, his name little more than a breath, pleading now not for him to stop, but to keep going.

“Your ass is gripping my cock,” he says, his voice slipping low and mumbling. “I just entered you, and I’m going to come. What an excellent toy you are, you fucking slut.”

“Sukuna, please,” you start. The words taste thick in your mouth. You’re trembling as he thrusts again and again, every part of you flushed and strained. “Please, let me come.”

“Greedy – fucking – whore,” Sukuna grunts, giving no indication he’s either heard you or plans to heed you. “Can’t – control – yourself?”

“Please, please let me come! ”

“Me first,” he says, ragged and raw, and thrusts again, again.

He pulls out and it makes your stomach drop, your hands scrambling against the floor. It’s hot when he comes in long spurts across your back, dirty and slick and claiming you once more. But he’s still moving, right over you, hands clamped at the top of your thighs as he breathes heavy and hot in your ear.

“You need to ask me, ask me, beg me,” he’s hissing as his hands move, one spreading you open and the other just so gently right over your clit. Your legs shake.

“I need it, Sukuna, I need to come, please let me come, please.”

“No. You don’t need it,” Sukuna says, his chin digging into your shoulder as he speaks. His fingers dance down, pushing over you, so sore and over-stimulated when he begins rubbing over your clit. The fire burns under his touch, rocketing up somewhere behind your stomach, thighs trembling and squeezing together erratically.

“Greedy, selfish, demanding, I need to do it all for you, don’t I? You stupid little slut, you can’t come without my cock, without my fingers, you just so desperately want to feel pleasure.”

Sukuna moves faster, pressure down and off you, harder again and again with his words. Your lower back spasms, arching, wet against his stomach when you meet his body. “Please,” you whimper, his finger rubbing tight circles faster and faster, your hips rocking and pushing into him.

His jaw slides down, teeth biting into your shoulder again, and he moans into your flushed skin. The finger at your clit slides down, fully over you, and back up again, pressing on and off faster and faster.

“Then fucking come,” Sukuna says at last, a snarling edge in his voice that fades into a guttural growl, and it rockets through you. The climax soars overwhelmingly as it hits, dizzyingly, your heart racing and head pounding as it peaks. You cry out, an incomprehensible sound.

He rubs you through the orgasm, the hand spreading your folds sliding down and releasing you, the nails nicking the inside of your thighs and drawing another cold thin trickle of blood across your skin. You barely feel it when he fully lets go, his body off of yours, your shoulders trembling and cramped legs rolling out as you slide down, panting.

Sukuna is silent as you lie shaking against the ground, heels of your palms scraped with the pulls against the floor. Your shoulder throbs where he bit you, your face hot and aching, every muscle weak. Your vision begins to blur, eyelids sinking heavier with each blink.

“Are you satisfied?”

His voice is flat, and you let out a weak sound of agreement.

“Then let me offer you a new deal, before you leave my Domain again.”

You force your eyes open, the swimming blackness beginning to descend from the corners of your eyes once more. Sukuna is sitting, one knee drawn up with his elbow resting across it, turning his head to the side. Two eyes roll down to regard you as he speaks.

“You tire me, if we’re going to repeat this song and dance struggle every time. If I need to remind you what’s going on. If I’m doing all the work to make you heed the terms of this arrangement. Frankly, you’re close to boring me.”

You open your mouth, and close it again, uncertain. 

“So let’s change the conditions. I’ll bring you back here once more, in fact,” – he barks out a harsh laugh, eyes glittering down at you – “I’ll offer you a race again, too. Next time you come here, if you can come first, you’re free. Completely free. But if it’s me, you little whore, then you’re all mine to break and dispose of when you no longer entertain.”

One more time. Another race. Another impossible race, a lying chance. But he’s waiting, and as your body thuds in time with the swirling blackness overtaking you, you say that word to agree and to bind it:

“Yes.”

chapter iii

[daryascurse]

Chainsmoking His Love 1: The First Cigarette

Zeke Jaeger x Reader // follow #CHLZeke for updates // nsfw mdni

POV: second person, AFAB reader, feminine pronouns Chapter tags: smoking, mild dom/ sub (Zeke dom is the overarching theme of this honestly), oral, fingering, sex Chapter length: 6k

The coils of his beard are highlighted in the moon, more ginger than blonde in the darkness, tobacco wafting down at his breath. With his other hand he gently takes the half-burned cigarette from between your lips, flicking it over the edge without bothering to put it out.

“I should break such a bad habit.”

Your mouth wavers to speak, though no words come to mind, and that’s when he kisses you.

♡ read more after the jump or on ao3 ♡ // ♡ spotify playlist♡

I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please read the byf in my pinned post.

Author's note: This takes place between seasons 3 and 4 / more towards the end of that 4 year time jump. With that, I am writing from the perspective of a fully-finished manga reader. There are no outright spoilers past the canon from the start of season 4, but there are references and hints to Zeke's plan/ overall character at the end of the story, because this piece is as canon-compliant as possible. Be warned!

Night in Marley is accompanied by whipping winds off the sea, the salt still tangible in the air even high above the Liberio city limits. It stings when you lick your lips, but you do it again and again until your skin is chapped, mouth and eyes watering against the breeze, somehow soothing on sleepless nights such as this. The wind has been picking up all day, the aroma of ozone coming thick. A storm is soon approaching this city.

A grating comes sharp behind you, wood scraping and striking, and your heart leaps in panic at the sudden sound. No one has ever interrupted you on the roof, drinking in the cold clear air behind the sweeping curtains of laundry. And you turn slowly, ready to explain yourself to any Marleyan authority, but the tall, lean, sandy haired man with a wiry beard and glasses that glint in the moonlight is not who you expected to push through the sheets.

The bravest, the boldest, the one who vanquished the island devils as best as he could. The one who stands above the sinners, encouraging good conduct, camaraderie, redemption against the injustices of history. You’ve met him a handful of times before, but never alone. And he speaks, remembering your name in greeting when you spring to automatic attention.

“It’s late,” Zeke Jaeger says, as he takes a long drag from his lit cigarette.

“Sir – I’m sorry, did you expect privacy up here?” You relax, slightly, when he shrugs.

“Nothing to apologize for, don't look so tense. It’s just a good place for a smoke.”

“Oh.” Oh. It explains the broken rolls that litter the stone ground and gutters, black circles of ash stamped into the ledge, things you’d seen nights before but hadn’t given much thought to until now. You turn back to the ocean as he steps besides you, resting his elbow so close to yours against the half-wall of the roof that you can almost feel the warmth of his skin.

“Do you smoke?” he asks, lifting the packet to you.

You consider for a moment, how you should answer. “No, thank you, sir,” you say.

“Suit yourself,” Zeke says. It was a satisfactory enough choice, and he lowers his arm. The profile of his face is shadowed, nose pointed out to the sea, crow’s feet deep against his eyes cutting black lines in the moonlight. “Storm clouds on the horizon.”

It’s merely a literal observation, but there’s a tinge of amusement in his voice, as if there’s something funny about the incoming tempest.

“How was the weather there? On – that island?”

The words sound lame, and you hear it as they come out of your mouth, but you can’t think of any way to continue this rare chance of conversation. Zeke pauses, reaching for the cigarette and spinning it between his fingers.

“If I say that the people were the true storms, does that sound impressive?”

You laugh, before wondering if it seems rude, mocking the trauma of war. “Sorry. Sir. I didn’t mean to make light of it.”

Zeke waves his hand in silence, keeping his face towards the horizon, but not bothered.

Your pride can't let the potential offense slide. “Thank you,” you say, feeling it inadequate words for the war chief of Marley, but better than leaving it at a laugh. “For protecting us.”

He smiles, turns his head down ever so slightly. Moonlight reflects against the thin lens of his glasses as he regards you with a side-eye glance. His mouth opens a little wider than necessary to blow out the next puff of smoke, angled just barely out of way of your nose. It still stings your eyes, and you’re blinking furiously up at the stars even as he stubs out the cigarette and lights another, casting the match to the rocks below.

“The prices we pay to secure that future.”

Zeke speaks with soft deliberation, with the same weight as his official declarations and updates. But the quiet words are chilling right in your ear. This man, smoking so innocuously besides you as if it’s an everyday occurrence and the two of you are as thick as thieves instead of near strangers – it’s fascinating, uncannily so. His dry wit, his charisma, feels so suddenly familiar and inviting.

You could step down and leave him to his cigarette, but something in you yearns for this company, unwilling to cut it short even as the conversation slowly lulls with his strange words. In the distance, waves crash. Some sleepy gulls stir and coo once or twice in the darkness, and you shiver, turning your head directly to him.

“It’s cold,” you say.

“I have a bottle of wine in my quarters for that,” Zeke says, carelessly. “But if you want to enjoy the ocean and stars longer…” he extends his arm out again, flipping the packet open before you can let your mind dwell on that passing sentence, “have a cigarette.”

You still aren’t sure what the right choice is, but you watch your hand open, his fingers brushing against yours as he slides a cigarette into your grasp. You roll it between your thumb and forefinger as you lift it to your mouth, before realizing you have no matches. You turn to Zeke. “May I have a light?”

He says nothing and doesn’t move, casting his lashes down and inhaling deep, the red flame sparking.

Hesitantly, you press your cigarette to the end of his. Inhaling, you find it strong – remarkably so, and your throat convulses in efforts to mask the coughing as you lean back over the wall. Crumbs of tobacco coat against the edge of your tongue on the next puff. You can’t hide it when you gather it behind your lips and spit, messy, over the ledge.

You look at Zeke, and his lips twitch in a smile as he indolently lowers his cigarette. “Sorry. I rolled them myself. Go on, suck it, if you can take another drag.”

“I can, sir. Just a little strong,” you say, trying not to appear overwhelmed. You suck on the cigarette a little more lightly, and it’s less sickening just to hold the air and puff it out. Soon, your inhale is more eager than reluctant. “Remarkable, that this habit doesn’t slow you down, sir. You’re the best we have.”

Zeke leans down into the ledge, taking a step back to lower his chin to his rested elbows. He’s shorter than you at this casual angle now as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, and looks up, glasses glinting in the moonlight, as he grins. The flash makes your head spin as the smoke begins to creep through your senses. “Are you marveling at my physique despite this filthy habit?” He speaks through the roll gritted between his teeth.

Your laugh is uncomfortable now as you lower the cigarette, unsure if you should literally bend to the war chief’s level. “Sir, I didn’t say it’s filthy.”

“But it is a bad habit,” he says, almost musing.

The cigarette burns between your fingers, and you lift it shakily back to your lips, unsure of what to say.

Zeke straightens, draws himself up to his full imposing height. He drops his cigarette, crushing it into the stone with a step closer to you. You don’t realise he’s come that much closer until his hand comes down on the other side of you, and your head is tilting back in order to make eye contact. The coils of his beard are highlighted in the moon, more ginger than blonde in the darkness, tobacco wafting down at his breath. With his other hand he gently takes the half-burned cigarette from between your lips, flicking it over the edge without bothering to put it out.

“I should break it.”

Your mouth wavers to speak, though no words come to mind, and that’s when he kisses you.

His lips smear yours with tobacco, tongue disgusting with that earthy cloying taste, and he had been right even when he put the words in your mouth – a filthy habit, fucking filthy. You hate how it fills your senses, the nicotine in your own head already clouding enough, but you kiss him back, smoky saliva entwining with tongues. He pushes his deep into your mouth, the hand that had taken your cigarette returning to cradle against your jaw, thumb stroking down to your throat and traveling down again. You gasp into his mouth, almost breaking the kiss, as he slips it between your legs. It’s a reflex when you clutch his hand between your thighs, but you can’t force the muscles to relax, as pulse after pulse of heat begins to come up within you. Your head is dizzy, starved for oxygen, throbbing in time with his stroking, searching hand.

Those pulses are what bring you back to the cold rooftop, your eyes fluttering open - when had they closed? - with heat beating through you. The curve of his glasses press against your temple, the purple of his undereye bags meeting your eyes, and you break your lips from Zeke’s.

The war chief. The savior of Marley, with his hand between your thighs.

Your heart hammers. He must hear it.

“Are you – scared?” Zeke asks, tilting his head slightly as his hand creeps slowly, so slowly, higher. His tone isn’t mocking, isn’t leering, but curious, and you can hear the smile in his voice. His fingertips curl against your inner thigh.

You can’t keep your eyes on his, shaking with burning arousal and shame knit together, and look away, look down.

“No,” you force out, and it isn’t a lie when you say it. “But, sir – ”

“You know no one will come up here. If they do, I’ll bear the blame.”

His words carry a casual determination, the great warrior with his hand hunting up over the fabric of your clothes, and it’s the assurance that makes you shake with an emotion you can’t quite name. No, it’s not fear. It isn’t really shame, either. Your eyes, unable to meet his still, rest on the bulge of his crotch.

Zeke knows he’s reached your cunt when you shake harder between the cage of his arm and the brace of the ledge, and you lift your face to his with a short gasp. He brushes his hand over, and back, and he catches your lips in a kiss once more. He smiles again, hard against your mouth, beard scratching against the edge of your cheeks and down to your chin. The pace of his kisses increases slightly, just as his hand massages over your clothes, moving roughly up to find a fastening.

An indecent sound escapes you, raw in your throat and aching not from the burning remnants of cigarette smoke, but it makes Zeke break the kiss now to let out his own soft groan of satisfaction. His thighs press against yours, and he rocks his hips, pushing his hand harder against you.

“Get down,” he says, and there’s a command in the words, a military order that has you sinking to your knees. It leaves you buzzing, to be so suddenly without his touch, and you pause with your hands on your thighs, trying to anchor yourself through the smoke in your head. The shadows reel, either from the cigarette, or the murky depth of darkness. Above you, Zeke lowers his trousers.

His nicotine stained fingers stroke his cock, already half-hard as you kneel between his parted legs. When you lift fingers to it, shaking despite yourself, he closes his hand around yours. You finally meet his eyes again, and as he rubs your hand over him, there’s no trace of that warm smile any more.

“Suck it,” Zeke says, his voice low and grating, a whipping command in the cold air.

You move your hand almost experimentally, to see if he’ll let you, and he lets go as you open your mouth to take him in. He moves the hand to the back of your head in a large, open grip, as if he’s testing, waiting to see how you proceed next. You keep your hand along his shaft, rolling down, massaging along the length that your mouth can’t reach yet, even as your fingers drag more and more saliva down. His cock becomes firm, hard muscle under your fingers and in your mouth.

Your thumb strokes up along the underside of his cock as your hand stills at the base, and he groans above you, deep and guttural, something – something that you want to hear again. You move your tongue along him, around and up to find the sensitive tip of the head and flick right underneath there. Zeke’s hand tightens, not threatening, but encouraging, and as you flicker your tongue back and forth there again and again, you begin to taste heavy, bitter droplets beading in your mouth.

Inhaling through your nose is too shallow, and you try to relax your lips and hiss some breath through your smoke-smothered lungs, and that’s when Zeke’s fingers clamp against you in an unmistakable control. It forces you forward, his cock further down your throat. You do your best to match the movement of your lips and mouth to the growing rhythm of his guiding hand and hips. He grunts, a confirmation of your efforts, and thrusts faster.

But he does not fuck your mouth roughly, still letting your keep your agency. You do the work on your own as more of his bitter fluids begin to mix with your own drool, leaking down the side of his shaft and dribbling down your chin despite your efforts to keep your lips a seal around his cock. You almost choke at the effort, his cock growing firmer and bigger in your mouth, hitting right at the back of your throat. Your eyes flutter and roll in reflex.

“No – look at me.”

You force your eyes up to Zeke just as his hand pushes down to the back of your head, through your eyelashes and beyond his shirt whipping in the breeze. It makes your eyes sting and water, his cock heavy on your tongue. His hips thrust into your mouth stronger, and you gag at the movement.

Zeke looks at you, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, stray hair sliding down across his forehead, and his lips are parted, his breath as ragged as your own. The tightening of his cock in your mouth should have been your hint but his strained words show you how close he is.

“That’s – yes – ”

You’ve never seen him at such a loss for words, in all the public appearances, in any aside of conversation. You struggle to keep your eyes on his, not out of abashment now but physical strain. Your body is in acute discomfort even as you urge him to pleasure, the stone hard against your knees, your frozen hand heavy and elbow near buckling as you keep yourself upright, the hand against his base flexed back to cup his balls in short, clumsy motions. And beneath your clothes, where he had touched you, something hot and throbbing even without his hand screams for attention.

In fact, you’re close to sliding down against the stone to feed that desire with shameless grinding for friction, but Zeke’s next guttural moan is close to a cry that could rise and ricochet alarmingly through these towers, and your tongue rises against him to attention.

You hollow your cheeks and suck as much as you can in the short bursts of air you can manage into your lungs, finding the strength in your hand, tacky with saliva and drips of precum, to massage firmer against his balls. Zeke trembles, every bit of his body against you and in you shaking, his cock hot and throbbing in the vacuum of your mouth. With a hoarse sound, he holds your head down against him, and comes hard.

“Fuck,” he gasps out, and the bitter spatter floods in your mouth and down your throat. You almost choke against the taste, worse than the tobacco, but keep your lips around him until he softens, swallowing every drop. When he’s empty, he lets go of your head with a satisfied sigh, and you let him fall from your lips, your hand away from him.

Silence.

You massage the front of your knees in this swelling pause, turning your head to the billowing curtains of laundry. The thick fog through your mind begins to dissipate and allow shame to return as you contemplate your exit, begin to fabricate extravagant fantastical scenarios of seeing him again in these halls, in the city, and how you would excuse yourself, you the simple whore on your knees who just sucked him off on the roof –

And Zeke kneels, catching your chin between his fingers to interrupt the panicking “what-ifs” and coax your gaze back to him. More accurately, you look down to the dip of his collarbone and the thin wiry hair poking from between the folds of his shirt as he kisses your forehead and wraps you in a one-armed embrace.

“I should – ”

“No, no, I’m not as selfish as that,” Zeke says. The murmur is convincing, his tone so soft that it makes you close your eyes and shudder into him as his other hand leaves your face to stroke almost comforting along your back. He eases you down against the stone that way, kicking his pants fully off along with his boots. Strong fingers nimbly work at the fastening of your clothes faster than you could undress yourself, and with an attentiveness to every piece of fabric, down to the unlacing of your boots. He peels your undergarments away, already wet and clinging to your skin.

It makes you flush as the cool air hits those embarrassingly hot areas, damp right where your thighs meet, and you start to instinctually prop up on your elbows, to cover your vulnerable, exposed self.

“Are you running away after all?” Zeke asks, leaning up over you, the moon reflected in his glasses, the edge of amusement in his voice somehow sounding dangerous.

Your response of “No” comes a little too fast, too breathless, but it’s good enough to merit a quick, closed-mouth kiss against your lips as Zeke shifts his position between your legs. He pulls back, and you catch the smirk winding across his lips as he slides down your body before he’s lost in the shadows. He releases his touch on you for a moment to unbutton his shirt, leaving him as naked as you when his fingers dance across your skin again. His hands are strong on your calves, pushing your legs higher, and the kisses down your skin from your bent knees prickle with the coarse hairs of his beard moving southward with his lips, alternating from thigh to thigh.

You hiss, a broken, “oh” as your legs slink to the stone, sprawling on either side of him as he lowers himself to the ground in a show of equality and runs his tongue up along your clit. Your body jerks up.

The building, budding desire is overwhelming now, your cunt slickening and swelling from just that first bare touch. He doesn’t linger long or move slowly, letting his mouth open right there, licking over you as his fingers reach up against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs to grind against your entrance, prodding, searching again.

Zeke’s fingers move faster than his tongue, as he breaks away with a groan. He finds your entrance, but does not slip past it yet, roughly rubbing against your folds as if to find all the slickness, the sweat, the arousal, already gathering through you. He slows then, tracing the shape of your cunt entirely before moving back down and up into you at an angle that your own masturbatory explorations cannot reach, something that makes you cry out sharply.

He thrusts what feels like two fingers in so hard, so immediately, that your hips lift as high as they can and slam back to the stone. You swallow and gasp, the last sour tinges of his cum at the back of your mouth even as your mouth waters again at his ministrations.

“Oh, fuck, fuck- ”

You almost call his name, intimate, without a title or honorific, as he drags his fingers out of you, slick against your folds before the heat of his face comes again to your thighs. Zeke kisses right where your leg meets the curve of your hip and down to your cunt, the scratching of his beard teasing. When he thrusts his tongue inside, it’s not enough, not reaching as deep as you need, but you’re throbbing badly at his touch, the sensation so soft in contrast to the violent actions of his fingers.

This is more than the first licking prelude, his mouth open over all of you, tongue hungry and running in circles around your entrance before scooping back in to taste every dripping place of you. His top lip, the bristling of his facial hair, moves achingly against your clit, rubbing you swollen and raw. It’s endless, the circular motions open and sloppy and ever repeating. Your knees shake up again, almost closing against his skull, and his hands, free, fingers still damp with you, hold you there with a clamping grip at your thighs.

You could hold yourself back – just barely, but it had been possible – from screaming his name so disrespectfully at that urge, but you cannot stop your grasping hands from reaching down to knit anxiously between the strands of blonde hair you know you’ll find.

The chants of “fuck, fuck, fuck” that rock out of you mix with the whistling of the wind, coming without your own conscious desire to speak, just at the need to express your elation as Zeke brings you closer and closer to orgasm. One of your hands falls, fumbles down, when his mouth moves lower still, fucking you with his tongue as your frantic fingers take over rubbing your clit yourself. It's close, it's so close. When it strikes and the coil behind your belly springs open, hotter than you can bear, you buck your hips unevenly, unable to hold it back without any more warning to him. You come hard on his tongue with a choked cry, furiously rubbing yourself and pushing down to his mouth. It roars through you, sparking through your veins. You let go of his hair only to crash down across your forehead in exhausted spasms of euphoria, the heat rippling down from your core to Zeke’s mouth waiting to lap it all up from your cunt.

Not all. He ruins it by pulling away even as your body pulses, stomach and thigh muscles contracting erratically around nothing, your cramping hand moving up rest on your stomach. Above you, stars swim above your half-sightless eyes. The sound you make is garbled and incoherent.

When you offer nothing else, Zeke lets out a short sigh, almost of disappointment at your sudden lifelessness.

“I didn't think that was all you had in you,” Zeke says, and his hands coax your legs flat against the ground, spread achingly wide on either side of the expanse of his body. You force your eyes down to him, spinning with final dregs of nicotine and the echoes of your orgasm, to watch his dark sandy head bend over you once more.

“It’s… not,” you force out, and he lifts his face, another twisted smirk flashing across his lips. It’s a wicked smile, it’s…

Devilish, is the word that comes to mind, and the shiver that comes straight down your back is cold, uncomfortable.

Maybe his insistence of selflessness was a lie. Maybe he’s been waiting for something more since you sucked him dry the first time.

He spreads you with his thumbs, and spits. You shudder against the sharpness of it against your sensitive, raw folds, arching your back, the splaying of his hands into your thighs keeping your hips firm against the stone. The cool slick of his saliva mixes with the dregs of your arousal as he pushes it in with a thumb, moving into you before you can even gasp out, partly in elation, partly in pain. He fucks it into you with his fingers, stretching you deep.

“Fuck…”

Your thighs tremble, knocking into the ground. His thick fingers are teasingly painful, stirring you again without bringing any hint of satisfaction. You can feel it pooling from you, the remnants of your orgasm with his saliva and a rush coming anew.

He adjusts, kneeling with his twisting thumb almost dipping out of you, and the smooth head of his cock comes nudging against your inner thigh, hard again. He’s trembling too, breath heavy in the air over you, his own want so close to overtaking his actions. His thumb slips out as his cock begins to push in, keeping you open.

And then he doesn’t move.

Zeke’s hands are strong, keeping your thighs open as he rests over you, the moonlight casting long shadows over his face, and you whimper. He moves his hips, not enough to thrust inside, just edging the tip of his cock no further than his fingers have reached. Your breath catches in your throat, and it seems an excruciatingly long time before he moves out, and back. He hasn’t come any deeper, and your muscles twitch, begging for him to give in to that animalistic desire and - just fuck you now.

“Please,” you whisper, the word rough and catching in your throat.

Zeke’s eyes, glassy in the dark, shine, and he does it again, that teasing thrust that just prickles and pulses through you. He holds you down, watching you clench, breathing shallowly and struggling as your body quivers. If he just wanted to turn that arousal back on, your sore cunt is more than ready despite the thudding pain of overstimulation. He thrusts halfway once more and back out, leaving you aching, hot, and empty.

“Please,” you say again.

And Zeke almost growls, the throaty sound so gruff and raw you shake at the sound of it. Your hips move desperately back and forth, trying to push him deeper. “You’re teasing… stop…” is all you can force out, pathetic, frantic, grinding upward again.

“Your body is so impatient,” he says, hoarsely, and the sound you make in response is just that. “What happened to all your anxiety? Where did all that go?”

You whimper once more, unable to offer any argument, your dignity long gone in tatters.

He smiles, lefts one weighted hand from your hips, and pulls his glasses from his face. You can’t see where he puts them to rest, keeping your eyes now locked so firmly on his face, the shadows cutting sharp across his cheekbones and rippling when he moves his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose and exhale sharply. A waft of tobacco, stale on the air, drifts to you.

“I have been cruel,” Zeke says softly, strained and his eyes, smaller without the magnifying power of the glasses, are unreadable as they fix on you. “I suppose it’s not fair to either of us, is it?”

You let out a strangled, desperate sound, and that’s when he finally thrusts into you, sinking his body down and splaying his legs hot against yours. The hand on your hip still keeps you down, but you cry – unable to stop yourself now, a shrill, euphoric, “Zeke!” as he moans your name in familiar, dishonorable tandem.

There’s no possible way he could feel better than you do, burying himself in your core, as fucked out from his tongue and fingers as you already are. This is a new satisfaction, deeper than before, and you grind against the stone as best as you can, flexing your fingers as your arms fly up around his neck to dig down into his back. The moans, the cries, that come from you, are drawn from deep within your core, pushed out with every stroke of his cock.

All his teasing, all the drawn out agony of aching, has left you wet again, so wet that his thrusts slap loud against your skin. Zeke fucks you hard and fast, rolling his hips in perfect circles as your fingernails drag down his back, not deep enough to draw blood against your touch, but desperate, raking down again and again as your fingers slide in time with his thrusts. Your entire body ripples around him, eyes rolling up into the stars. Your sounds are almost wild. His are feral.

He’s barely holding himself over you on one arm, legs tangling into yours, and the thrusts come erratic as he fucks you hard, fast, deep, into the stone roof, against the mix of crumbled and smashed cigarette remnants. His hand slides from your hip at last, letting you move in your own clumsy circles to match him. A fresh cold sweat breaks out over your skin, and you forget to breathe for a moment right when he pulls out and thrusts so deep it aches straight down your thighs. You whine when you can gather the air again, gasping his name, so delicious on your tongue that you feel intoxicated saying it over and over –

“Zeke, Zeke, fuck – ”

Zeke’s forehead presses into yours, your neck straining up, the filthy stone ground hard beneath your skull and shoulders, and he breathes just as heavily as you, ragged into your mouth, slipping your name and curses in his own chanting mix between breaths and kisses. His hips thrust against yours, faster, deeper, and you tilt your chin up to catch his lips in a kiss as your arms knot across the back of his shoulders.

He slows for a moment, and you feel yourself throbbing deep within your core, the rising heat of a second orgasm close. You clench over his cock, spasming on your back, and when he pulls out and sinks so deep, slowly inside you, it almost makes you topple over the edge.

“I’m – Zeke, I’m – again -”

He nods, brusque, short, half-listening and really just sliding his face against yours, but after a moment, he understands and nods again, moving deep inside you with long strokes that leave you breathless. He leans up and breaks the close contact of your faces, raising his forearm to rest on his elbow. It makes him higher over you and as his thrusts slow in an exerted control that comes through hissing, gritted-teeth breaths sour across your face, you can almost rut against his body pressed up against yours.

It’s not quite enough to grind yourself to satisfaction, but your legs go limp as the sensation brings you ever closer. “Yes -”

Zeke groans, a sound that snaps vocal and rough as it comes from his chest, as if he’s at the limit of his control, but it’s the sound and the friction of your legs against his that does it as you grind into him, desperately squeezing your muscles. Your head collapses into your neck and you convulse as the second orgasm roars through you – shorter waves than the first, the ripples somewhat weaker, but your body shakes uncontrollably underneath his. And Zeke picks his rhythm up, fucking you through it, curving one hand between your head and the stone ground, pushing your face back to his.

“Me – too – ” he says at last, the words broken and jagged, and he kisses you, harsh, open-mouthed and sloppy with drool.

You moan, feeling it all subside into a dull throbbing, his cock still splitting you apart with the growing ferocity of the thrusts. He sucks on your lower lip, letting go, and with a muffled groan he leans his head back, the contours of his neck muscles tightening in the moonlight. Just as your inner walls begin to ache sharper, so exhausted, so over-worked, Zeke pulls out and leans back, kneeling and panting. His hair is fully loose, sweat pasting some strands against his cheeks and neck, and his eyes burn as he takes hold of his cock, letting out a few furious pumps before coming again, this time down across your chest and stomach, with a raw, rough, “Fuck…”

His name dies on your tongue as you let out one last broken whimper, and you wince despite yourself as the fluids across you cool uncomfortably. A gust of wind, sending the laundry billowing doesn’t help, and you stare up at the dizzying stars for a moment as everything throbs to a sobering clarity.

Tobacco and salt and sweat hang heavy in the air. Zeke rocks back on his heels, exhaling loudly. You force yourself up on your elbows, feeling the scrapes and aches now that you separate your body from the stone ground.

“Here.”

Zeke’s reaching up, tugging a sheet free of the poles, and offers it to you. You take it cautiously.

“Can – is it okay to use -”

“It’s laundry, isn’t it? What’s the difference?”

You can’t look at him as you clean your skin of his sweat and cum, but you have to turn your head back and sit up properly to reach for your clothes, wherever he’s dropped them. In this undignified moment, at least he isn’t turned to you, as he swipes his glasses clean against another of the laundry sheets.

You gather your thoughts as you feel your body throb and leak, a heavy reverie shivering in the night air. He says your name after a moment, and you blink back.

“Let me leave first,” he says as he slides the glasses on. You clutch the sheet back to you, feeling almost sheepish, but Zeke looks so placidly unbothered as he reaches for his garments, as if being naked is barely worth remarking. “Just in case there’s anyone downstairs. At least five minutes should be fine, even if I need to talk away any guards or officials.”

“Thank you… sir,” you say. The word feels uncomfortable, heavy in your mouth, but it would have felt just as strange to leave it out.

Zeke’s lips twitch, a gentle, amused smile in your direction, and he stands to pull his trousers back on. “I think in private, there’s no harm in being familiar. I’d say we know each other intimately now.”

You flush, unable to meet his eyes as he looms over you. “Yes,” you say, his expectant silence pressing in the darkness.

“Then I think I just may see you again up here some night. Or for that wine, if it proves too cold.”

He stoops to gather his boots, his shirt, and takes a step back towards the rows of laundry. Then he stops, fishing in his pockets to fling something your way.

“In the meantime, maybe I’ll corrupt you into picking up this bad habit of mine, hmm?”

You look down at what’s landed deep in the folds of the sheet still pressed around you, hidden from view in the dark. When you look up, Zeke is gone, with only one parting remark ghosting through the laundry.

“Or at least bring them back to me.”

You wait, but he doesn’t offer any other words, the footsteps receding down the steps with a jaunty whistle rising faintly on the wind. When you’re sure he’s not coming back, you let the sheet fall and cautiously dip your fingers into the folds of fabric, and pluck out a small matchbook and packet of cigarettes.

chapter 2

[daryascurse]

𝐔𝐧𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈

Ryoumen Sukuna x Reader // ♡ follow #ULSukuna for updates ♡ // ⁿˢᶠʷ mdni

POV: second person, AFAB reader, feminine pronouns Chapter tags: dominant Sukuna, submissive reader, themes of dubcon/ seduction, oral, teasing, dirty talk, rough sex, fingering, spanking, choking, biting Chapter length: 6.4k

You try to pull your head back, but his grip is strong. “See? I knew you had it in you.” “No,” you whisper through gritted teeth. But the word comes out a whimper as your eyes flutter over him. He’s handsome in a way that shouldn’t make your stomach twist the way it is. Another primal reaction, a very, very, wrong one. Your heart should've started to calm by now, but it gallops still in your ribcage. Even though his breath comes level, sweat glistens as it runs down his neck, disappearing on the black banded tattoos. The veins and muscles under his skin flex lightly as he tilts his head, the second pair of eyes closing, the other still intent on you. He moves his hand, turning your own head back and forth with strong fingers. So long and slender. Somewhere in the back of your mind, an ashamed thought flashes- they must feel good, and Sukuna breaks into a grin once more. "Well, you little slut,” he says, a terrible delight in his voice. “If you could see how you’re looking at me. You want this, don’t you?"

Read after the jump or on AO3 // set the mood (don't shuffle and start from "Exxus")

I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please see the byf in my pinned.

Author's note: This is a repost of an old work of mine that I love dearly; I think that when I originally posted it in late 2020 it was one of the first Sukuna x Reader pieces on ao3 :,) started as a requested piece. I'm cleaning it up and posting it again. My gratitude to all the original readers and commenters, and my many many thanks to anyone reading it now.

It’s the weirdest fluke, a total accident. An accident that you can’t begin to gather into a coherent explanation in your own head, let alone explain intelligibly to the figure towering over you from a colossal throne of skeletal ruin. He regards you coldly, head propped in his hand, eyes gleaming rubies in the darkness. It's how you realize that it truly is dark, that the only pale, sickly light from the tunnel of blackness - it comes from him.

The fear in your bones is primal. Feral. 

“I’ll ask again, little bitch,” his voice comes, a soft, dangerous purr, “how dare you enter my Domain?”

“Really – I -”

He sighs, crossing his legs beneath a flowing kimono. The gesture knocks something from atop the pile, and it clatters down to roll in the shallow water around you. A horned skull, the cracked sockets leering up at you when it comes to a rest at your feet. Your words shrivel and die in your throat. He adjusts himself again. 

“But - no, you don’t have the malicious aura of most trespassers,” he continues. He sounds almost curious in his musings, as if he’s speaking more to himself. “You’re not here to fight, are you?”

The intonation isn’t that of a question. In fact, he seems closer to laughter than anger, but you shake your head frantically, tearing your eyes from the horrors below to look back at him. Those eyes glitter with something unknown. “No, no, absolutely not.”

“That’s a shame,” he says. A smile curves over his mouth, and he leans forward with his chin high, gaze narrowed down at you. “I prefer women with a bit of fight in them.”

He looks hungry.

“Please, I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll get out, I’ll leave, right away.”

How?

He says it, or you think it, you can’t tell over the loud hammering of fear in your heart. You recognize him now, the black markings cuffing his wrists and streaking down his face, lining those shining eyes. The legends of Ryoumen Sukuna. The King of Curses.

Your knees shake, and you start to take a shuffling step backwards, liquid sloshing underfoot.

“How?” Sukuna says, clearly now. “I’d like to see you try." He pauses, and smiles terribly. "I’ll make a deal with you. If you can find a way out all on your own, you’re free to go. But if I catch you first, you’re mine to punish.”

“Punish?”

“I don’t like intruders.” Sukuna’s teeth bare in that grin, something deranged and wicked. “But I like a challenge. I’ll give you a head start, counting from ten.”

You can feel your whole body tremble, your hands shaking as they come together, clasping before you in a prayerful plead.

“Please, please, I promise I don’t–���

Sukuna waves his hand dismissively. He leans forward even further to rest his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. “Ten,” he says.

You find some strength, unknotting your hands and taking a step back.

“Nine. Better run, little bitch.”

Run where? You jerk your head back, wild, heart pounding in your throat. Puddles splash beneath your tentative footsteps. The walls of the cavern, cracked like a ribcage, yawn crimson and black over you, offering no open path. You turn back, the mountain of bones before you, glittering eyes in the darkness.

“Eight.”

Forward. The adrenaline pours through you, your fingertips shaking as you feel your legs move before you can consciously choose to. Forward, to the skeletal throne, and around, feeling the air move like a shockwave around you. Fallen fragments of bone crunch underneath your heels when they splash into the watery substance as Sukuna’s laughter echoes above.

“Seven!”

The call is fainter now as you run, blindly stumbling as your surroundings grow dimmer. The cavern walls stretch murky and black around you. Crunches still sound under your feet, vibrating up your legs, the murky shallow water dragging you down.

“Six!”

His voice is further, and it gives a wild burning hope in your chest. You’re running as fast as you can. Your feet are heavy. Your breath comes in cold huffs. The further you go into the labyrinth abyss, the icier the air gets, so cool it burns your lungs. You turn your head back, but the darkness extends behind you too, just as obstructive as your starting point. The next steps you take are lurching, wide leaps that almost make you fall straight on your palms. But you can’t see Sukuna now in the darkness, can’t hear him even as your heart hammers the countdown out, and it presses you forward.

Five… four… three…

Something begins to take on shape in the distance before you, an eerie blue glow that creeps across the ground the closer you approach, a dark structure like a shrine taking shape. Columns, a sloped roof, and behind it, the smooth enclosing wall of the cavern cracking red above you. More bones come into your vision as the light spreads. Maybe you could break through the curve of the wall, or maybe you could find some sanctuary in this shrine, with all these pillars, bury yourself among the mountain of bull skulls, hide in this twisted realm.

Two… one…

But as you approach, panting, your legs almost buckle with every step closer. Your pace stutters, stops, and you feel your knees give out as you fall on your hands, the puddles icy around you. The heels of your palms skid against the depths, almost knocking into the white-bleached skull before you. Despair crashes down through your body, leaving you cold.

“How…” you gasp.

Before you, Sukuna bends into a squat, the hem of his kimono falling into your line of sight as it floats in the shallow waters. His breath is hot on the back of your head. Your skin prickles, but you can’t force your body up. Sukuna reaches forward, grabbing your chin with his thumb and curling his index finger underneath, urging your gaze up to him. He stares at you in silence for a moment, a second set of eyes slanting against his cheekbones blinking open and rolling forward to meet you.

“I’m impressed you didn’t give up from the start. It was never going to be much of a chase, but you have some fight after all,” he says.

You try to pull your head back, but his grip is strong.

“See? I knew you had it in you.”

“No,” you whisper through gritted teeth.

But the word comes out a whimper, something weak and wanton, as your eyes flutter over him. Close up, seeing him clearly, he’s handsome in a way that shouldn’t make your stomach twist the way it is. Another primal reaction, a very, very, wrong one. Your heart should have started to calm by now, but you feel it galloping still as it hammers in your ribcage. Even though his breath comes level, and there’s no hint that he was running after you, sweat glistens as it runs down his neck, into the folds of his kimono and disappearing on the black banded tattoos. The veins and muscles under his skin flex lightly as he tilts his head, the second pair of eyes closing again, the other still intent on you. He moves his hand, turning your own head back and forth with strong fingers. So long and slender. Somewhere in the back of your mind, an ashamed thought flashes - they must feel good, and Sukuna breaks into a grin once more.

“Well, you little slut,” he says, delight in his voice as it slips into a laugh. It's deep, thick, hoarse. “If you could see how you’re looking at me. You want this, don’t you? You wanted to lose. You’re going to enjoy being punished.”

He grins as a yelp slides from you, still laughing. You feel your cheeks grow hot. “You – no, you - demon, no!”

Your words don’t have the bite they should. His eyes narrow on you, tongue licking his upper lip as the laughter settles back into the devious, hungry smile. “Save your breath. I don’t believe you, and there’ll be reason enough to scream later,” he says.

You toss your head again, failing to break from his iron grasp - but not really trying to. Sukuna just slides his body even closer to yours, forcing your face easily back to his. Your body has accepted futility before your mind is able to. His drooling jaws loom over your face, the sheer delight unbroken.

“This won’t be much of a punishment for you after all,” he says. “But don’t worry, you little slut, I’ll still enjoy myself.”

He’s kneeling above you now, forcing you back on your ankles as he leans further forward. He lets go of your chin, and reaches down to grab your wrists. His fingernails, blackened and thick, claw into your skin as he raises your hands almost to your shoulders. You writhe, but don’t try to shove him away when his chest pushes into you, the heat of his body radiating under his touch and rising to your flushed cheeks. You feel your lips part, and Sukuna brings his mouth down on yours.

His kisses are hungry, devouring the whimpers that spill from you as your lungs struggle to breathe. His tongue slides into your mouth, demanding access and claiming territory. You shiver in response. Some hot arousal begins to spread through you, coming in unintentional moans. He snarls in response, teeth almost clashing into yours as he bites your lower lip, letting go and coming back properly. It’s a hard kiss, wanting and taking, and you’re not sure when you begin returning his motions, not sure when your hips sink down, sliding your balance off your ankles and your legs into a W shape as your body starts almost grinding into the ground.

When he finally draws back, your face is burning below the skin. You reach up, straining with trembling fingers, and touch your swollen lips.

“I knew it,” Sukuna says. He wipes his lips with the side of his wrist, hand twitching. 

He stands, yanking you up with his grip still hard on your arms. You’re too out of breath, from the run, from the kiss, and you stumble after him as he pulls you in, upward over the pile of bones and into the mouth of the demonic shrine. Ivory jaws and teeth extend around you, an echo of Sukuna himself. The blue light pours from around you, giving him some twisted halo glow, the furthest thing from holy. He releases his grasp with a push, tossing you like a ragdoll to the unsettlingly soft ground. You lift yourself back to your knees, unable to tear your eyes away from his face, so cruel and so beautiful.

Sukuna tears his cowl from his neck, untying his kimono and letting it fall to the ground. He lifts his hands to his face and sighs. The broken lines of his tattoos rise and fall with the swell of his bare chest, pointing down, directing your vision to his cock.

“Oh…” he spreads his fingers apart, regarding you through the slots. “Do I really need to tell you what to do next?”

You totter, body falling forward uncertainly. He drops a hand, shoving hard against the back of your head, pushing you towards him.

“Suck it.”

He almost strokes your hair as he pushes his hand down, cradling the base of your skull as you open your mouth in response to the rough caress. The tip of his cock falls against your lips, and you squeeze your eyes closed as you open your mouth wider, heart hammering in your chest.

Sukuna sighs again. “Come on, you little slut.”

The arousal that courses through you is coupled with shame as you feel his second hand come to the other side of your head. His claw-like nails press into the back of your neck, locking your movement into forward motions. They prick against your skin as you begin to move your tongue over the tip.

“You can do better than that.”

It's hot at the back of your neck where he digs his claws into your skin, forcing you to take him deeper in your mouth. His scent is overwhelming, musky and unclean, something so disgustingly good that your mouth waters in response.

“Mmmph.” It slips out of you and vibrates around him.

“Rude to talk with your mouth full.”

Sukuna’s cock throbs in your mouth as you struggle to lick him, the strokes of your tongue thick and short and straining for space. Each push of your head forward takes him a little deeper, brushing against the roof of your mouth a little faster, and a little faster the next time. His hips have started moving into your face. His cock hits the back of your throat and you tighten your mouth in response, fighting the urge to gag as he begins to push himself further.

"Yes."

The pressure makes your mouth tight and sloppy, slurping over his cock as you suck him off, trying to take him as far down your throat as you can under his strength. Your hands reach up, searching for and fondling for the shape heavy against his legs, cupping what you blindly find and bringing the slick of your saliva down over them with gentle fingers. Above you, you hear Sukuna’s breathing become heavier. His hands tense at the back of your head.

His taste grows more and more bitter, seeping through your mouth as his cock grows hard and stiff. Tears begin to leak out of your eyes, and you force them open, blinking furiously to push them away. You roll your eyes up. Sukuna is looking down at you, all four eyes wide and wild and burning. The nails on your skin tighten, a piercing pain shooting down your neck and forcing your mouth even wider in a silent cry.

“Keep going, come on, come on, you fucking slut.”

Sukuna fully has control now, gripping you between his hands and thrusting his hips into your face as you kneel before him. You close your eyes again as the watery tears sting you. Your tongue is the only agency you have, and your movements are weak as your saliva comes choking out of you, slobbering down his cock as he thrusts it to the back of your throat and further down. You drop your hands to your knees, pressing your thumbs into your skin and leaning forward in support as your face collides with his body with every thrust.

You press your tongue blindly upward, feeling the ridge of one hard vein protruding hard along his shaft. He groans louder. You whimper around him, finding it harder and harder to breathe, but straining your tongue along it.

“Ah!”

The grunt is wordless, his hands hard around you, and Sukuna comes hot and bitter as he keeps thrusting down your throat. Your involuntary whines choke and vibrate around him, throat convulsing as you swallow. It tacks around your cheeks and lingers at the front of your tongue. Swallowing again doesn't rid the taste. 

Sukuna pulls out, pressing his hands into the base of your head, forcing your neck sharply back and up at him. His chest is heaving with panting breaths. He releases his grip, moving a thumb to smear across your lips as his mouth breaks back into that devilish smile.

“You’re such a mess,” he says, his voice raw. “A fucking pretty little mess. You like being at my mercy, don’t you?”

You nod, humiliation and lust knotting together in your stomach. Your mouth feels sticky and wet, but you fight the urge to scrub it against your hand.

“You’re mine to play with, mine completely. I already know what makes your cunt wet and your hips pop. I bet you’re absolutely dripping now,” he says, crouching down once more. He rests his elbow on one knee, the other leg folded beneath him, all four eyes keenly forward as he reaches his other arm forward. One extended finger dances down your collarbone, down your body, curving at your hips and scooping down between your clothes. Your thighs shake, threatening to take you off-balance.

“This is just in the way,” Sukuna notes dryly. “Take it off. Take it all off.”

You nod again, adjusting your kneeling position to fumble at your shoes, your pants. As soon as they’re free, Sukuna lets out a dark, disgruntled sound and reaches forward, his expression darkening.

“Too slow.”

“Sorry -” you start, your voice muffled as he grabs at your shirt. It’s like tissue to him, sharp nails scratching against your skin as he tears it off with ease. Instinctively your shoulders roll in, your hands crossing over your hips before Sukuna grabs you by your wrists again and forces your palms to the ground, squeezing your bone until you cry out before letting go. All four of his eyes roam hungrily over you, and his hands move up, locking around your hips.

“Now let’s see how wet your cunt is, you pretty little slut.”

He pushes, urging you roll onto your back. The ground is soft, but the immediate force still makes you gasp at the impact. Above, the blue light reels, the ridged roof of the shrine’s mouth cascading shadows down Sukuna as he kneels over you. Your legs splay awkwardly around his body. Shifting your knees doesn’t make it any more comfortable, and you whimper again. He brings a hand to your face, dancing his fingers over you as his other hand pushes down at your hip, forcing you into the ground. One finger trails a line from your temple, down your jaw, re-visiting the journey over your collarbone on naked skin. It leaves you sensitive and shivering, as if ghostly fingers still dance over you in the wake of his movement. Lower still, the uneven rhythm of breath from two sets of lungs echoing into the yawning cavern, and his finger spirals lazily, trailing down, down, and to your cunt. You bite your lip as he moves through your folds, collecting your leaking arousal.

“Just as I thought. You filthy little slut, you almost got off just from sucking my cock,” Sukuna says. His voice crackles with delight, his breathing getting heavier again. You can feel your face flushing, heat spreading down your body, collecting below your abdomen. Sukuna begins moving his fingers through you, teasing down to your entrance and back up. His fingertips press into you. Your hips shake under the force of his hand, knees struggling to bend and writhe.

“You’re not coming until I say you can,” he says, fingers finding your entrance and brows lifting as another moan escapes you. He moves in slow circles, just barely, just almost sneaking into your body as you shift your hips in response to the trembling heat rising below your skin. “I’ll keep you strung out until I’m ready for you.”

“Oh…”

“Tell me you understand, you fucking slut.”

“Yes,” you force out as his finger suddenly dips inside you, just barely, before withdrawing. Your eyes cross as Sukuna’s face drops behind the brilliant blue shadows, a halo shining from behind his face as he lets go of his grating hold against your waist. You try to sit up to keep him in sight, but the hand quickly pushes you back down, hard against your stomach. You choke back another gasp and fall flat on your back again.

“You’re so fucking desperate. Do you understand the rules I set before you?” Sukuna’s hand stays hard on your stomach, pushing down, lower, and lower, almost painful right below your navel. “Let’s test your intelligence. I’m not going to touch your cunt until you beg me.”

You moan, more in frustration than anything else. Sukuna’s shifting above you, adjusting his position, one knee still between your legs. He leans it forward, your thighs struggling to lift in response, hips rolling into the ground as best as you can. His fingers rest against your cunt, teasing at the folds, just barely pushing them apart.

“You want to hump my leg like a dumb, mindless animal, don’t you?” His voice is sardonic, mocking with bites of laughter. “Dumb little bitch. I told you to beg.”

His knee comes right up to you, almost grinding into you, and his hand below your stomach pushes harder, elbow digging into the top of your thighs.

“I know what it does to your body,” Sukuna continues. “I want to hear you say it.”

“S-Sukuna, it…please, I’m begging you to touch me, I need it.” You’re almost surprised to hear the words fall from you, but it’s your own sound. It babbles from you on his command, your voice growing shrill. “I do, I do, please.”

His knee sways, knocking into your thighs, just barely feeding the friction your body desires. You feel yourself clenching, his fingertips so close to you. He lightly grazes your skin, dancing over your sensitive folds. “Hmm,” he says, a toying sound, and then finally, finally, plunges his fingers into you with a sigh that echoes your own raised cry.

Sukuna’s fingers slide in easily, and after a few shallow, teasing pumps, he curls them, moving in a beckoning motion that feels as if he’s summoning you up off the ground. The sensation hooks right below your belly button, trapped by his other hand still pinning you down. His thumb swipes up, rubbing through your slit and searching lazily upward, twitching up and down over you in time with his fingers in you. Your hands fly down, searching to grab against his shoulders, to pull his hand firmly in you, but you can’t find the strength to hold him.

He laughs, guttural in his throat, moving his knee back and forth between your legs. Your thighs rise to instinctively meet his touch, body clambering for more. “Oh!”

“I didn’t say you could stop begging,” Sukuna says, his voice rasping and low. The growl sends thrills through you, and you roll your hips in response as his fingers begin to curl faster and faster. “You want me to fuck you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you say faintly, the word taking on more syllables than it should as the heel of his palm pushes down. Weakness shoots through your body, the back of your knees feeling limp as the heat begins to burn in your core, coaxed from you by Sukuna’s beckoning fingers.

“You say that, but your cunt betrays you,” Sukuna says, derisive. His thumb strokes right over your clit, and you moan. "I think you could satisfy yourself like this."

“Please!”

“Do you know how many of my fingers are in? Two, just two. Isn’t it frustrating that my fingers aren’t reaching where it feels best?”

He moves faster, pressing into you and letting go. Your eyes roll back, the sickly blue light around you going momentarily black when he brushes back and forth on your clit, your back arching. A sharp ache goes down your back as your neck convulses right where his nails clawed you before, but it’s forgotten as he moves the side of his thumb faster and faster on your clit. Your body is hurtling towards orgasm faster than his permission, and you cry out again.

"Or is this what you're used to? Little human cocks pushing you this open and no further? Maybe you would just break."

“Please, Sukuna, please, I’m begging you, I’ve been begging you, I need you, p-please.”

Words spill foolishly from you again, pushed out by his searching fingers spreading you apart, buried in you and holding you down. You strain your eyes down, searching for his gaze in front of the blinding blue light, and whimper when you find his eyes locked on you crouched low over your hips and holding you under him. He completely owns your body.

“Please,” you moan again.

He’s watching your face ravenously, the black tattoos streaking across his face almost disappearing in the shadows. He presses hard on your clit and rocks back, letting his knee slide away from the embrace of your thighs, lowering his face to your hips behind the casual barrier of his anchored hand.

“You keep saying that, but the way your body trembles under me… you like this,” he says, amused and staring at his you, his little plaything. “I knew you would. You like the torture, the slow, long, chase of pleasure, drawn out at my mercy.”

He turns his head, bites the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thigh. It stings, sending a shooting pain up through you, hot under your skin. The coiled heat gathering in your core winds tighter, and you force out another, weaker, “please.”

“Your cunt is squeezing my fingers. You desperate little slut, I didn’t tell you you could come yet.”

You blink rapidly, trying to force your gasping breaths to come smooth, to bring your body back from the edge. “Sukuna,” you say again, barely breathing his name.

Sukuna presses and lifts his thumb from your clit one last time, pulls his fingers slowly out, dragging them down across your hips. You feel the slick trail of yourself, cool against your skin, and shiver. The pounding pleasure in you begins to ebb, fading back from that hurtling ledge as his pressure withdraws.

“Your body was expecting that, wasn’t it?” Sukuna sounds almost impressed. He lifts his hand from below your stomach, coming to grip your thigh. His thumb presses right into where he bit before, and you bite back another yelp of pain. “Don’t worry, you’re going to feel good. In the end.”

Without any more resistance, you draw your elbows back and prop yourself up, wincing and using your arm strength past the aching in your stomach. He was pushing you so hard down that you wonder fleetingly if you might bruise. The “ouch” that escapes you in a breath is ignored.

“Stand up,” Sukuna says. He doesn’t help you stagger to your feet, but scoops you by the waist from behind once you’re up and begins walking you towards a corner pillar of the shrine. The pallid blue light comes behind you now, stretching out into the piles of bones beyond. The muscle of his arm digs into your stomach as he carries you off like a conquered bride. You shiver and stumble when he lets go, reaching for the support of the pillar. It’s smooth beneath your palms, and you bend your elbows, resting against it. You didn’t realize you needed rest.

“I’m going to thoroughly ruin you,” Sukuna growls. You tilt your neck back as far as the pain of his scratches allows, and lock eyes with him as his left arm comes over you to grab your right shoulder, trapping you right in the crook of his elbow. “Step back.”

Your feet slide against the ground, almost crashing into his own as you try to move against the constraints of his grip on your upper body. His chest is sweaty against your back, and his other hand palms your ass. He slaps you sharply, and you gasp, throwing your head back down, his bite mark flaring hot again.

“Come on, spread your legs.”

He pulls against you, urging your hips apart, and you try to widen your stance. You can feel his cock, hard against your inner thigh, and after another spank, he releases his grip. He guides his cock up between your legs, pushing right between the shallow valley of your thighs.

“You’re dripping. Sloppy little slut.” His fist, slick and sweaty, knocks into you, knuckles rubbing against your thighs as he moves the head of his cock through your folds. You roll your hips, breathing heavily into his elbow right under your chin.

“Sukuna, please…” you say, shifting your weight. The tip of his cock pushes against your slick folds, which achingly succumb to the pressure, forced apart and letting him slide right to your entrance.

“Greedy,” he breathes, and with his right knee almost crashing into the back of your own, he thrusts right into you.

Your gasp turns immediately into a cry as he stretches you. He grunts, moving his feet with muffled thuds behind you, and leans back as he pulls out before thrusting in again harder. His hand comes back to your ass with another smack, palming at your skin as he grabs you, adjusting his grip until his fingers are splayed over you, thumb digging into you and pushing you almost into the pillar. Your hands slip down around the smooth black stone, your vision obscured by his arm jostling with his thrusts.

“Fuck,” Sukuna hisses in your ear. His hands roam but keep you firmly in his grasp, never breaking contact with your skin. The one at your shoulder is tight, nails scratching almost into your back with each thrust. He pulls his elbow away, dragging his claws over your collarbone, and comes to rest his hand against your throat. You try to swallow, try to compose yourself, but your body is weak, melting like candle wax as he pumps his cock in and out, leaving your core aching with every stroke.

“Is this good enough for you? Your voice, your body, you’ve been begging with all you have,” he says, jagged, his voice panting as he thrusts. “You better be fucking – grateful – you – little – fucking – slut !”

His fingers drum around your throat, squeezing lightly, and you roll your head back, wildly searching for his eyes, for any of them. Ecstasy crawls down your spine, pure pleasure, or just trickles of sweat.

“Yes,” you choke out. He’s so deep in you, each thrust with his thighs colliding into yours feels like he’s pushing straight to your core. “Sukuna, yes, yes, it’s good – it’s so good.”

His teeth graze against your ear. “Good,” he says huskily, and you feel his sharp teeth close on you. He tugs, sharp on your lobe, and you cry out again.

He’s fucking you ruthlessly, and your legs are losing the last semblances of strength. You can barely arch your back, let alone move your hips back to meet him. When you try, he slaps you again, a burning sensation over the previous spankings, and your words melt into senseless yelping. His hand flattens against your throat, pushing into your windpipe, and you let out a harsh cough. He lets out a sound like a laugh, nestled next to your ear, and his hand closes right around your neck. Your eyes bulge as the blackness over your eyes.

“Sukuna…” your words gurgle, and you try again with even less success. His hands are pressure on you, the savage thrusts of his cock still pushing up through you, but it’s all muted and slipping away.

“Oops,” Sukuna grunts, still with an edge of laughter in his voice, and releases you. You gag and cough again, sucking in air, feeling his hands strong and hot on you, his cock thick and heavy as he pulls back and slams in once again. Your knees buckle, your hands sliding down across the pillar.

“Giving up?”

“No – ”

Sukuna’s hand on your ass moves, grabbing roughly at your hips and waist, and his other finally comes off your throat to the top of your back. “Then down, back down, little bitch, I’ll make it easy for you.”

The words are derisive, disgusted, and you find yourself choking back tears as your ears burn. Sinking to the ground again, your only thought is beating dim - is he disappointed? He pulls his cock from you as you collapse on your hands and knees, and slaps your ass again. You moan painfully, still gasping for a clear breath. His arms come down on either side of you.

“You’re not giving up. This filthy cunt is mine,” Sukuna says with a growl, breath hot against you. He reaches up and kneels back, crossing his arms over your chest and lifting you back with ease. You turn in his arms as he drops you on your back again, lowering his torso over yours. His arms are a cage, looming over your head as he rests on his forearms, and he easily knocks your legs apart with his knee. You whimper as his face comes looming to meet your gaze, lined with blue shadows and black tattoos and inescapable.

He’s devilishly beautiful.

You feel his cock come down to your sore and swollen entrance and he pushes inside with ease. His hips roll down, and you push your shoulders into the ground as his cock strokes into you, suffocating pressure and concentrated pleasure right to your core. Above you, his eyes glitter, lips split in a triumphant smile.

You reach up, almost automatically, and grab him by the back of his head to pull his lips to yours.

“Oh!” Sukuna squares his shoulders and rolls his head back, easily tearing away. Your hands fall back to the ground. “You’re growing bold, little slut.”

But he’s still grinning, his eyes still shining, still driving onward between your shaking legs. He’s ramming into you even harder, too hard for you to care, or get caught up in hurt feelings, trapped here beneath his body on the floor of this unholy shrine. Because it feels so fucking good, his cock filling you, his body over you. With every stroke of his cock in you, it pushes more babbling cries out of you, mindless praise and pleads.

Sukuna revels in it, adjusting his palms almost against your shoulders as he leans back. It’s a new angle driving so deeply up in you that your words turn into a scream.

“You’re mine,” he pants, swaying over you as his pace slows, each thrust deep, deliberate, making your thighs quiver and eyes roll. “This cunt is mine.”

“Yes,” you say, a dumb reply, thick and drunk with lust. Anything he says. “Yes, Sukuna.”

He leans back on one palm, the other coming down to trail down your body. He drags the back of his hand rough and lazy down your stomach, turning his wrist as he reaches your naval and pushes down hard once again. You wail, a mix of pain at the returning ache, and pleasure as his hand ribs in time with his strokes, feeling his cock pump into you over your skin. Sukuna keeps it there for a while with his eyes locked on you, trapping your body between his cock and his hand, before dragging it down again, and you gasp at the release. He stops again at your full and aching cunt, pulling tightly, almost painfully again, to find and rub at your clit. You slide into a wordless cry as his thumb comes heavy again right over your overstimulated body, and pinches hard.

“Oh!”

“Mine,” he repeats. “If another man makes you dirty with his touch, I’ll just clean you with my cock.”

“Yes!”

His thrusts are merciless, and his fingers moving simultaneously over you are almost enough to pull you apart. You’re wholly at his control, every part of you belonging to him. Your body aches under him, deliciously throbbing pain, and you moan wildly as he moves harder, faster, his eyes a hot fire.

This pleasured pain is damn intoxicating. 

“Come for me, pretty girl, come, you slut,” he snarls, and it’s as if the words break an invisible barrier, some curse gets lifted, some cord inside you snapping as the hot coil below your stomach breaks. The scream that comes from you is feral and raw as relentless waves of cramping ripple through you. You can feel yourself twitching around Sukuna’s cock buried deep in you as he groans, dimly above you, coming hard and hot at the same time. Your skin feels hot, the bite marks he’s left pulsing in time with your orgasm as it ebbs through your veins, out of time with your rapid heart.

It isn’t until he pulls his cock out and lifts his sweaty, heaving chest off you, and blinks down at you with both sets of eyes, that everything he’s said, everything you’ve responded, begins to sink in.

The silence stretches.

“Sukuna…” you start, licking your lips nervously. “Please. Please let me go.”

He blinks, barks out a sharp laugh, as if it takes him a moment to understand. “Oh. Oh, you really are just a dumb slut, aren’t you?”

His elbows dig into the ground, forearms resting on either side of your head, and you stare, wide-eyed and wild, into his unreadable face. The wicked smile fades, his four eyes focused on you.

“You’re mine, and I meant it,” he continues.

Despair and dread wash over you once more, just like the first time you collapsed before the shrine. Minutes, hours ago? Days ago? You can’t tell how time has passed. Your entire body shakes, and you’re unable to drag yourself up. You’re pushed past your breaking point and shattered in a thousand pieces, and Sukuna, crouching over you and catching your head in his hands, knows it.

You’d lost the race long ago.

“Let me out,” you whisper, your voice hoarse and desperate.

“Oh, I will,” Sukuna says after a beat. He sounds soothing, a deadly demonic promise you can’t let yourself believe even as you hear it. “For now, in exchange for your memories of this place, and a tether to bring you back, I’ll let you go.”

Sukuna’s hands are hard on the side of your face, squeezing tighter and tighter as tears run down your cheeks and reach his fingers. You reach up with quaking hands, grabbing for his wrists, but somehow not able to make contact. The mouth of the shrine seems to stretch, yawning further, turning the world around you black. His words fade as he does, the markings bridging across his face blurring together as darkness swallows him, leaving only those glittering eyes on you, the sound of his voice a ghost drifting away from you.

“You’ll forget about this in daily life, you’ll move through your world in foolish ease. But you're still mine. Oh my selfish little slut, the memories will find their way back. In your excited days, at your most euphoric moments, it’ll all come back to you, and you’ll come back to me. And I’ll be waiting.”

chapter ii

[daryascurse]

𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧

Jean Kirstein x Reader

for @the12thnightproject's reverse ask game ~ thank you so much for inviting us all to participate! prompt: Three of Hearts - Friends to Lovers

pov : second person, nongendered reader; post-timeskip Attack on Titan ☆ rating and tags: SFW: rated PG-13 for alcohol, some cursing, and implied mature situations, referenced JeanKasa, referenced EreMika, hurt/ comfort, friends to lovers, a little angst, a little fluff ☆ word count: ~2k ☆

“At the bar. Is that him?”

“It is.”

“Are you gonna – ”

“No.”

You pinch your index finger knuckles between your thumbs and crack, wincing less at the pain and more at the awkward turn the conversation took once Jean Kirstein walked into the tavern.

“Well, why wouldn’t you – ”

“No,” you say again, moving on to crack your middle fingers. In this moment, you desperately regret telling your friend about what happened with Jean in that last conversation. You regret it more than what actually happened. But then you exhale a hard, hot breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. That’s a lie.

His back is to you, the shadow of his muscles rippling with the motion of his shirt as he lifts his hand to speak to the bartender. Even across the floor his voice whisks up to the rafters. His order punctuates with a laugh that echoes through the crowd. That laugh is hard to miss.

Especially when you’ve missed it for so long.

“But it’s nice to see him in a good mood again,” your friend says softly.

“It is.”

“Not that anyone could blame him or Connie – ”

“No, never,” you say. But that’s not what you had meant in your initial murmur of agreement, even if the public moments of Jean’s jovial, biting sass had become few and far between. What you really missed were the times when those laughs and shining eyes were directed only to you.

Is that selfish?

“Oh, shit,” your friend swears, and the cacophony of clattered glasses seems to swell.

“You alright?”

You adjust your seat, the crunch under your feet answering the question as you ask it.

“No, I dropped my beer. Dammit. All over my shirt.”

“Go ahead and clean yourself up. I’ll order us another round.”

It had been an automatic offer both made and accepted half-distracted. Otherwise an objection would have been raised by one of you. But as you push through the thinning crowd towards the bar, uncertainty burns through you. He’s leaning against the counter with a boot up on the barstool’s footrest, spinning a stein between his broad palms. And if you had the fortitude, you would listen to that doubt and slip to the left, to the right, rather than walk up beside him with feet guided by naïve intuition.

“Two pints, please,” you say and fish out the coins.

Jean hears you. He kicks his foot down to the dusty straw-slewed floor, pulling the stool back to close the distance between your bodies. One of those strong arms presses into yours as you lean on the bartop with tightly clasped hands. “Hey, you.”

“Hey, stranger,” you say, and immediately close your eyes in a silent wince.

Jean laughs. It rings strong and clear, and no waft of alcohol pushes through the air to your nose. His arm brushes against yours as glass groans and grates on wood, and he spins his untouched beer again.

Even when you open your eyes down to the stained counter, you can’t bring yourself to turn to him. A shyness swallows you. Standing so close like this is too much like the last time he touched your arm. The last time you’d seen him alone, where you stood with bated breath to hear his response to your words - but I love you.

“I need to know,” Jean had said just before that, holding you tightly by the elbow.

His grip hadn't hurt, but the warmth of his touch was unbearable.

“Know what? I’ve said everything, haven’t I, Jean?” The tone had come more bitter than you'd wanted it to. “You already know. What else is there?”

“I need to know that you don’t…” He'd paused, chewing over his words. “That you’re okay.”

You were unable to meet his eyes as you lied, “I am.”

“That’s a lie,” Jean said, ever able to know.

At least he had said it gently, but the softness was almost worse. It was too easy to hear other words fall into that tone, to fill in these terrible sentences with the memories of how he’d spoken to you that way. “Come here,” that silky murmur coming late at night to exchange gossip in whispers. “Have some more,” wheedled gently over another biscuit, another cup of tea poured from his calloused hands. “Trust me,” whispered with his face to yours.

And what he must whisper to her instead, her ears tilted up and hands clutching that worn scarf.

That's when you had said the words.

He had then said, terribly gently, “I love her. I’ve always loved her. I’m sorry.”

You had been doing so good with being okay.

“How’s life?” Jean asks now, and he speaks so normally, so bright and jaunty, forcing the memories of those placid moments back down your throat. You swallow through the lump.

“Things are great. Really good. How about you?”

Jean sighs through his nose, a sharp snort like what you’ve heard in the stables. “It’s good,” he says the same way you did. You swallow again.

“How go things with the great love of your life?” you ask, and finally find it in you to look up at him. The sway of his arm stays against yours as you turn, shoulder bending into the dip of a firm bicep. He’s gotten stronger since you were last friends.

And he’s gotten more handsome. The stubble brushing the underside of his jaw, right where your lips used to caress and whisper “good night” wrapped against his chest in a secretly non-platonic hug, has grown just slightly longer. It shadows his face, his cheekbones prominent above, the thrum of his neck with each heartbeat beating below the pointed collar of his shirt. He reaches up, undoing another button, and blinks slowly. His eyelashes are long, his gaze unfocused.

“Your drinks,” the bartender grumbles, slamming the two glasses down before you. It goes ignored.

Jean tilts his head to the side before shaking it.

“Well. I…”

He pauses, looks down at his hands, and finally looks back at you. His eyes glimmer, dark grey in the dim light. He laughs again, this one sounding more forced.

“I wasn’t the love of her life. Figured that out for myself, hmmm.”

You can’t keep eye contact. You look down at the frothing amber glasses before you. “Hard to compete with that,” you say.

You can relate.

Jean makes a humored sound. “I guess it’s hard to know,” he says, and you tilt your chin back up to him.

“Know what?” you say and remember tasting those words before.

He draws his brows together, and you wonder if he too remembers that so clearly, as clearly as you do.

“Love,” he says at last.

The breath hurts coming out of your lungs. The bar swells around you, and your fingers find the condensed handles of the beer stein, curling around the cold glass like an anchor. “I don’t think we should be having this conversation,” you say quietly.

Jean turns into the bar, angling his body into yours as he towers over you. “Why not?”

You shake your head, turning the beer faster in your hands. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.”

You know he's not.

“That’s what drunk people say.”

“I’m not,” Jean says, with an earnest edge in his voice. “Trust me. You and I have always been – you and I were always honest with each other.”

“Because I did trust you. And you broke my heart.” You take the glasses in your hands, remembering the reason for coming to the bar, remembering the resolve you’d clung to for so long and that sustained you until now. “It’s been a while, Jean. I don’t even know what’s going on with you.”

You meant the words as a farewell, after already saying too much, but Jean’s hand clasps on your shoulder as you turn to walk back to your table.

“A lot of shit has been going on,” he says dryly. “But come on. You can’t tell me that you don’t remember it. Us.”

When you take a first faltering step, his hand trails down to the small of your back. The touch is so instantly familiar, overpowering as it sends a shudder clear down your body. You briefly close your eyes and exhale shakily through your nose as your heart shudders. Something burns, higher than your heart and deeper than your stomach, some weird feeling of sweet pain and hopeless desire.

Yearning. That’s the word.

At the table across the crowd, your friend watches with narrowed eyes and a satisfied smile, returned from the washroom and pleased at the show. You roll your eyes.

His hand trails away. The lantern lights shift as Jean steps in front of you, casting a large shadow.

“You have to know,” Jean says. “You have to, you know I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Can we not talk about this here?”

“Then can we go outside?”

You shake your head, unable to say what you want – yes.

“Fine. Then can I say one last thing? And can we talk seriously later?”

Jean doesn’t take a step closer to you. The beer steins, clutched in front of your body like a shield, are in his way. But he must have leaned in, because now he’s so close, he’s so close, with the crow’s feet beginning to deepen his smiles above you. His lips press together and throat bobs as he struggles to hold back a landslide of words. His shoulders square, chest rising with his breaths, and there he just is. Jean takes up your sight, consuming your whole world before you, and if you closed your eyes you’d be back there –

Back lying together in the dead hours of morning under a threadbare sheet where two drunk friends had just fallen asleep and just happened to wake up with parched throats at dawn. Your fingers had knit, either consciously or subconsciously, through the shag of his hair as he sighed with warm, hungover breath. In the crook of his arm, his muscles were soft and relaxed, a pillow for your head as his legs turn into yours, kicking you fully awake.

“Leave me alone, I’m asleep,” he’d said with eyes closed, twitching lips betraying his amusement.

You’d kicked him back, and his arms tightened, pulling you so close into him, right where your bodies fit perfectly –

The memories don’t swallow that easily when they come again and again and again.

“Listen,” Jean says before you, and you have to hold the beer so tightly your fingernails bite into your palms to keep you grounded in this moment.

Daydreaming does no good. You’ve learned that. But this is real.

“I took you for granted, and for that I am sorry. I will always be sorry.”

He speaks again in that soft voice, and your vision begins to blur. His hand, so warm, traces down to the small of your back once more, and this time you lean back into it.

“So what do you want?” you ask, the words thick and – once more, betraying your emotions – pleading.

“One chance. One more chance.”

He’s smiling, that much you can make out through your vision clouded with those threatening tears, and you can hear it in his voice. When you blink, the tears prick at your eyes, but sure enough Jean is smiling at you. This beloved smile gone so long, that takes you back to the nights, to those mornings, to every memory between. These crow’s feet are deeper, the stubble rougher, but here he is again, your Jean.

Over his shoulder, your friend nods with clasped hands.

You feel your face break into a smile in turn, and fix your eyes back on Jean.

Your Jean.

He smiles, knowing your answer before you give it, even as you begin to nod.

“Can we start tonight?”

You blink again, and the tears fall through your nodding motions. Jean squints at you, his brows beginning to draw together again, a sardonic teasing frown that you recognize. It’s familiar. All of him is familiar.

“Are you sure you’re not drunk?” he asks, his voice rising again as he reaches to take the glasses from your desperate hands. He turns the heavy handles with ease in one palm.

“I’m not,” you say with a laugh, letting him take them from you, and taking a step back at last to your table. It feels like your first real laugh in - in weeks, in months.

With his free hand, he takes yours, and squeezes.

Fin.

[daryascurse]

𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙

a 10 part JJK x Reader series with accompanying mini playlists, each themed after, and breaking, a sacred rule prefer to read on ao3?

nsfw. minors dni. status: incomplete

10. 𝔗𝔥𝔬𝔲 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔱 𝔑𝔬𝔱 ℭ𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔱 - Mei Mei

9. 𝔗𝔥𝔬𝔲 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔱 𝔑𝔬𝔱 𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔉𝔞𝔩𝔰𝔢 𝔚𝔦𝔱𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 - Mahito

8. 𝔗𝔥𝔬𝔲 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔱 𝔑𝔬𝔱 𝔖𝔱𝔢𝔞𝔩 - Choso

7. 𝔗𝔥𝔬𝔲 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔱 𝔑𝔬𝔱 ℭ𝔬𝔪𝔪𝔦𝔱 𝔄𝔡𝔲𝔩𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔶 - Suguru Geto, Satoru Gojo

6. 𝔗𝔥𝔬𝔲 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔱 𝔑𝔬𝔱 𝔐𝔲𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔯 - Megumi Fushiguro

5. ℌ𝔬𝔫𝔬𝔯 𝔗𝔥𝔶 𝔉𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 - Toji Fushiguro

4. ℜ𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔞𝔟𝔟𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔎𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔦𝔱 ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 - Kento Nanami

3. 𝔗𝔥𝔬𝔲 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔱 𝔑𝔬𝔱 𝔗𝔞𝔨𝔢 ℌ𝔦𝔰 𝔑𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔙𝔞𝔦𝔫 - Yuuji Itadori

tbc...

I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please read the byf in my pinned post.

[daryascurse]

𝐔𝐧𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐕: 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐍𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝

Ryoumen Sukuna x Reader // ♡ follow #ULSukuna for updates ♡ // n.sfw mdni

POV: second person, AFAB reader, feminine pronouns Chapter tags: dominant Sukuna, submιssive reader, οraI, rough sεx, chοkιng, spitting, slapping, fιngering, mild bIood/ wound references, physical/ verbal abusε and degradatιon Chapter length: 5k

“The alternative isn’t so bad,” he said. His voice had changed, something velvet, persuasive, close to gentle. He sounded hypnotically sweet. “Selling your body and soul to me. To be mine forever, here.”

You looked up at that, and for a moment your stomach dropped, looking into the endless pits of his eyes. You could imagine it, as if the eternity already spent here was just a hall of reflecting mirrors, each bending into each other and refracting endlessly.

An eternity, an eternity playing this game of predator and prey, an eternity of being hunted around this temple of bone.

Read after the jump or on AO3 // set the mood

I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please read the byf in my pinned.

“Are you satisfied?”

His voice is flat, and you let out a weak sound of agreement.

“Then let me offer you a new deal, before you leave my Domain again.”

You force your eyes open, the swimming blackness beginning to descend from the corners of your eyes once more. Sukuna is sitting, one knee drawn up with his elbow resting across it, turning his head to the side. Two eyes roll down to regard you as he speaks.

“You tire me, if we’re going to repeat this song and dance struggle every time. If I need to remind you what’s going on. If I’m doing all the work to make you heed the terms of this arrangement. Frankly, you’re close to boring me.”

You open your mouth, and close it again, uncertain. 

“So let’s change the conditions. I’ll bring you back here once more, in fact,” – he barks out a harsh laugh, eyes glittering down at you – “I’ll offer you a race again, too. Next time you come here, if you can come first, you’re free. Completely free. But if it’s me, you little whore, then you’re all mine to break and dispose of when you no longer entertain.”

One more time. Another race. Another impossible race, a lying chance. But he’s waiting, and as your body thuds in time with the swirling blackness overtaking you, you say that word to agree and to bind it…

Time had never been easy to track in the rotting carcass of his Domain. It was always impossible to know how long you were strung out over him, to comprehend if time even passed in the same conventional manner of minutes, or hours. Perhaps it’s been years.

But Sukuna was working you over without pause, without break. Your wrists had been rubbed raw some time ago, beads of blood neon against your skin, and still he kept you tied with long nylon cords between each pillar. Your arms strained up as if to worship and exalt the teeth that gaped above you. Your neck ached as your head began to weigh heavy on your sore spine. 

“You’re holding up well,” he said, his voice guttural from behind, and another slap landed sharp against your ass. The sting was enough to make your knees buckle, your shoulders screaming against their sockets in the urge to slump forward. The clawed hand retreated, heat searing under your skin, and you whimpered aloud.

And he was right, you were. As much as his spanks, scratches, and lashes were agony, the abuse of his hands pinching at every sensitive area so hard that your hands twisted and grasped at nothing but constraints, it was enough to burn away the humiliation of being tied spread-eagle and naked at his mercy. It was enough to tantalize, to stir those primal cravings, to feed your inner demon – but not enough to satiate. Not even close.

“It’s not fair,” you said. The words hurt to force out, your eyes hazy in the middle distance. “You said you’d give me a chance. Neither of us are - winning - this is just - torture -”

“I never said that specifically.” Sukuna’s breath was hot in your ear, teeth teasing against your lobe as if he was tempted to rip it off. “Use words with precision. That’s what got you in this whole predicament, isn’t it? Committing to a Vow like that. I still can’t believe you just said it. Still!”

His voice was gleeful, so close to laughing at his own clever observation, and his hand came down between your spread legs. He pushed against your cunt so violently that it hurt, aching up through you behind the pubic bone. It still made you grind against his hand in response. Sukuna moved violently, but the rough caress invoked that instinct to squirm, to writhe against those subtly starting vibrations, to push them higher and harder yet.

Your memory had come back clearer than ever before, those fragmented infinities in his Domain echoing. Unbidden, you remembered his sneering words from one such re-remembered instance – “a glutton for punishment,” when he had you on your side, legs knit between yours and pinning you to the ground as he thrust his cock inside over and over.

It was impossible to count how many memories you had.

You ached at the thought of his words, and rolled your hips as best as possible down against his hand again.

His other hand came to caress your throat, elbow bent against your outstretched arm. Sukuna drummed the tips of his fingers against your taunt skin, splayed his thumb down your neck and bent the nail in just enough to prick blood.

“But maybe it’s time, if you’re getting just as bored as I. I’ll give you that chance,” he said, the words slurring and wet as he hissed. His hand smeared hard down your throat, to your collarbone, and up, a macabre dance along your arm to your bound hand, snapping the nylon with ease. You swung forward almost immediately, using the last strength in your knees to keep upright.

“Pathetic if you give up now,” Sukuna jeered, and his hand slipped away from your cunt to move back, slap your ass sharply. It almost brought you forward again, and you were nothing but a rag doll as he undid your other arm. You couldn’t stop from slumping to your knees in a sprawled M shape, and you panted, throbbing under your skin as you scrambled with trembling fingers to pick at the knots keeping your ankles tied apart. You didn’t know, there was no way of knowing, how long you had been tied up between those fangs. Each writhe and lash stripped the power from your body and left you with little.

Sukuna treaded across the shrine floor as he paced before you in your huddled, shaking state, feet caked with callouses and toenails blackened. He stooped into a squat, arms carelessly resting on his knees, his open kimono spilling from his limbs to the cold slate below. Even low to the ground, he drew himself up taller than you, four-eyed gaze burning from above, fingers laced before your still- unfocused eyes.

You took a deep, shuddering breath before looking up, over the crease of his bent knees, the markings interrupting the cut of his muscles, the even rising and falling of his chest, to Sukuna’s face. 

And said nothing.

His expression was… somewhat disappointed, more than anything else, the longer your silence stretched. The black lines highlighting his bone structure rippled with the furrow of his brow, and he brought a hand up to his chin as he leaned further, pushing his face down. “There’s no fear in you anymore,” he said as his eyes bore into yours.

You couldn’t bring yourself to do anything, to run, to scream, to strike him. There’s no point. What’s the point. You met his eyes with flat despair, just waiting for him.

And Sukuna was angry . The frown turned deep, an ugly scowl ripping across his devilishly handsome features. He curled his lips, and spat.

It barely missed your face, falling between your splayed fingers to the ground.

“I thought I made it clear. I’m sick of this cowardly shit.”

You said nothing still, and his hand lashed forward, grabbing at the top of your head and fingernails digging down into your skull. It forced your head back, your neck collapsed into your shoulders, and you gasped for air suddenly stuck in your throat.

His glistening ruby eyes were wild, teeth bared in a terrible grin.

“Come on,” Sukuna said, growling his words, “come on, you little whore, prove there’s still that fight in you. You can manage one last fight, can’t you? That’s why you’re here, right?”

Last.

You opened your mouth, about to respond, but he jerked to his knees. His kimono fell further down, draping his elbows, pooling on the floor, and with the other hand, thrust his cock forward into your mouth. The sound you made was gargled, chokingly cut off, your fingers scrabbled across the filthy ground as you tried to push yourself up. Sukuna’s hand on your head slipped back, almost cradling your skull in cruel embrace as he moved you back and fucked his hips again into your mouth.

And your mouth was just a sleeve for his cock, your lips stretched wide over it. Tears threatened to leak. Your next breath came as a gurgle as the scent of him rose, the flavor salty, sharp, overtaking your senses. Your hands curled into fists, then out again, finding an anchor.

You couldn’t stop looking at Sukuna, as the pleasure overtook the anger in his face, the muscles of his arms tense, skin pale in the sickly light. His tongue darted out to lick and lick at his lower lip. He looked wild, so beautiful and so terrible, and your throat convulsed as you hollowed your cheeks and sucked against him.

A nail broke against the stone floor in your next tense flex of fingers. Your cry was muffled by his cock, the jerking slide against the roof of your mouth in time with the vibrations of your voice causing those trembling tears to fall down your cheeks. Pain shot sharp up your arm, and your shoulders tensed, but you moved forward again on your own, taking him back in your mouth even as you lifted your unwounded hand to hold the rest of his cock. Your fingers slid, wet with saliva, and you moved them down, to cup, caress. And Sukuna laughed as he moved his hips faster in return.

“You know why you’re not fighting, don’t you?”

Sukuna gripped the sides of your head in two hands, holding you in place as he thrusted in and stilled, choking you with his cock down your throat. You whimpered, gurgled, saliva bubbling from your lips, the tightness at the back of your mouth restricting airflow.

“My special little slut. Because you know that you were made for this, for taking my cock.”

He pulled out, and you gasped for breath, the instinctual tears rolling down your cheeks threatening to turn into a sobbing cry.

“I knew it,” Sukuna continued, “I knew from the moment I saw you, before you even knew it. My perfect whore, and you’re going to stay with me forever now, aren’t you? However long I define that, of course.”

You swallowed, and your mouth fell back open, tongue pushing against the back of your teeth.

This last fight, this last race, this last part of the Vow. Here it began.

“Keep that mouth open wide,” Sukuna said, and he thrust in again, as your hand found its way back up to hold him. He was twitching, tangy as precum mixed with your own slobbering drool, and your eyes rolled with the growing strength of his motions. In the cross vision he doubled, two ghastly faces in devilish elation, and the nudging desire between your thighs returned with a nagging demand. You clenched your muscles, tried to draw your exhausted knees together, rubbed your legs against each other.

And that demand reminded you – this was a race he couldn’t win.

So you breathed hard through your nose and pushed your hand away from his cock, splayed against his stomach as you tried to wrench your head from his grasp.

Sukuna roared with delight.

“There it is!” he panted, in a voice so heavy you were so momentarily terrified that you’d done it, that he had been pushed over the edge, but he lets go of your head and you gasped through raw lungs as he knelt back, shedding his kimono completely. You rubbed your throat, gasping, and Sukuna reached forward – clapped his hand on your shoulder in a show of good sportsmanship, smiled in a jovial way that displayed all his wet teeth, nostrils flaring as he struggled to control his breath the same as you.

“That would have been too easy, wouldn’t it? I always wanted my women with some spirit. And that’s always when you’ve been at your most interesting,” he said.

You glowered up at him and shrugged away, dropping your shoulder to free yourself from his grasp. 

He narrowed all four of his eyes, lifted his hand, and slapped your face.

It wasn’t hard enough to bruise or bleed, but it turned your head, and you gasped, raising your shaking hand to hold yourself. Your skin flared, burning. It was as if you could feel the color red.

“Bit hypocritical for that,” you muttered.

“I could kill you now where you lie,” Sukuna hissed.

He wouldn’t. Would he? You swallowed, keeping your eyes diverted. No, he wouldn’t end this cat and mouse game so quickly.

But Sukuna reached forward again, taking your face in his hand, his claw-like nails digging into your jaw as he forced your head back forward to him. Your eyes blinked down, your scraped hands, your wrists banded with your own dried blood, and his knees crouched before you.

The patterns matched.

“The alternative isn’t so bad,” he said. His voice had changed, something velvet, persuasive, close to gentle. He sounded hypnotically sweet. “Selling your body and soul to me. To be mine forever, here.”

You looked up at that, and for a moment your stomach dropped, looking into the endless pits of his eyes. You could imagine it, as if the eternity already spent here was just a hall of reflecting mirrors, each bending into each other and refracting endlessly.

An eternity of fucking, an eternity playing this game of predator and prey, an eternity of being hunted around this temple of bone. 

Sukuna’s hand moved down, caressed your throat again as his thumb dragged across your lower lip, and you opened your mouth in response. He leaned down into you, and your chest heaved forward with the next breath, unable to blink or look away. The pit lurched in your stomach as you flung your arms over his shoulders to draw him closer still, looking up at him in a cursed embrace.

“There’s one other alternative,” you whispered to the tempting demon man. “That I win.”

He blinked – he blinked first – and the pupils settled with the sneer overtaking his features once more. He drew his lips back and spat again, this time directly into your mouth, and crushed your lips with his in a harsh kiss.

You dug your nails into his back, biting his lower lip as the pain from the broken fingernail shot cold back up through your arm. Sukuna growled into your mouth as he shifted forward, and he almost bit your tongue in response. He forced you further, without a bracing arm on your back to guide you down, and you broke the kiss with a gasp, turning away to settle on your elbows. Sukuna didn’t give you a moment, hand coming hard to the side of your face again as he pushed his body between your raised knees, coming to the shrine floor with you.

Sukuna moved down your body with bites, against your collarbone, opened his mouth at your nipple to bite just around it, and you arched your back to wail at the cavern walls. He repeated at the other before raking his fingernails down the side of your hip, and you screamed again.

“Get on your stomach,” he said, and you did so, keeping your legs pressed together as the throbbing spread from your core down to your cunt. His hands sunk, more like claws than ever, into your ass, and he squeezed, smacked, until you were moaning loud once more. You were rushing wet, the skin between your thighs cold when his breath touched, forcing your legs apart as he shifted down between you.

The moans only made him move more. He pressed his face against your cunt, and your eyes rolled back as the lip and teeth of his lower jaw pressed right into you, harsh, the softness of his tongue only a teasing suggestion flickering against your skin. Your hips jerked up in response, and the sounds started to come from behind, Sukuna panting as he licked you, moaned into you in turn.

Your breath grew uneven, your hands covered your face as you rolled into your fingers in shame, in elation, and a hand came between your thighs as he slipped it up, began rubbing in his harsh earnest.

And finally Sukuna’s tongue was moving up, lapping at your folds, at the arousal dripping from you, and it was so much softer than his cruel fingers as it dipped and hunted through you. He was searching for the places that made you jerk your hips, and you did, again, and again, higher and higher. Your hand slid down, under your stomach, spreading yourself apart, and his tongue found your clit with new ease. You groaned, his name sliding in a sigh from you, and your muscles clenched, thighs trembling, cunt aching for his cock deep inside.

“Please,” you gasped, eyes reeling, heart pounding in your ears.

“Please, what?” It felt like Sukuna lifted his mouth, leaving you cold, wet, glistening. His hand withdrew, even as yours began to rub harder against yourself.

“It’s not going to be that easy, you stupid whore.”

You groaned, in misery now, as Sukuna withdrew from you. But he came back, hissing wet in your ear as an arm wrapped around your stomach, lifting your hips higher as your legs began to bend, bringing you up to kneel. His fingers squeezed at the flesh over your hips as it spilled into his grasp and you shook at it. His cock rested hard against the side of your hip as he tugged you close to his chest, your sore and broken skin stinging and screaming against the heat of his body.

“Keep touching yourself,” Sukuna said, rasping and thick, and he bit your earlobe.

You rubbed against yourself, feeling so swollen, so full of pain and arousal. You used the heel of your throbbing hand to brace yourself on the ground, pushing up against his body. And the finger kept at your clit, kept rubbing at his command, was covered soon by his own as he shifted his embrace against you, giving a harder friction and strength that made you cry out again.

“More, Sukuna, please, please!”

All the rush his lashings and teasing had pushed through you boiled right under you, threatening at any moment to burst in delicious waves, and you bucked your hips against his.

“Do you want it?”

“I do,” you groaned, and he bit your ear, and you shuddered into him. Even as your fingers stilled, he persistently pushed forward. “ Fuck , it hurts, please –”

His laugh was cruel.

“This is nothing, you slut. Wait until I show you real pain.”

The feeble strength in your hips gave at that, just as Sukuna forced his knee against your legs to push them even further apart. He lowered himself with you, pulling his hand up from your cunt and wiping your own slick over your stomach as the gesture eased you to the floor again. You felt his hand come to your hip as he guided himself finally, finally, into you.

“Ah - ”

You gasped as he entered, so deep, so perfectly fitting what you needed, but your air was cut off when Sukuna’s hand slid, spreading you apart for a painful moment, to come up to your throat and squeeze.

It was strong enough to cut off your breath, your tongue forced out over your lower lip in reflex, and he squeezed again. There was only throbbing – in your head, with everything slowly dimming, in your neck, against Sukuna’s crushing fingers, and down in your cunt, the pulse as his cock drove again and again into you. You were only dimly aware of the way your body shook, your hips ground into the floor with each of his thrusts, your hands straining uselessly and scraping raw. Sukuna laughed somewhere above you, the force of it pounding through you, and his fingers fluttered as your vision started to go black.

But he had been right that time, that time he had said, “a glutton for punishment” indeed, and you arched weakly back into Sukuna, cunt clenching desperately against each thrust of his cock.

He let go then, and you completely collapsed, and he laughed again through wet teeth as you gulped air. Tears came once more down your face when you choked and coughed violently. When you found the strength in your forearms to lift yourself off the ground, even as his body caged around you, a puddle of tears and saliva had gathered on the floor.

“What a mess, you filthy whore ,” Sukuna said, and he ground his hips down against yours, his cock brutal and stretching you so deeply. He paused, straining into you with a forced stillness, as your legs twitched beneath the knot of his own.

“Sukuna…” you rasped, trembling.

He was pushing up through you, almost to every part of your body, but stopping had done you no favors, and you shifted anxiously as best as you could, hunting for that friction once more.

“Please,” you said, yet again.

Sukuna moved, at last, but this was worse , and you whimpered when he pulled completely out and did not slide back between your thighs to your needy, waiting cunt.

“On your back again,” he said. “I want to see you so desperate for air.”

But this time he didn’t wait for you to lift your own aching body. He turned you with ease. Your eyes rolled, the blue light and yawning infinite cavern of the shrine reaching endlessly above, before Sukuna settled between you and filled your sight again, leaning over you. He nudged your leg again with his knee, and slid into you with an ease that made you throb even harder, shivering against him, every muscle fluttering.

“Yes,” Sukuna said, and your eyes rolled again when his hand came back, a hard cuff against your throat. Each desperate breath, as shallow and forced as they were, pulled the strength of his thrusts through you, even as the dullness began to spread again. Your hands went numb, head went heavy, and Sukuna kept fucking you, each stroke of his cock pressing his hand hard against your airway and off again.

“I could do this forever,” you thought you heard him say, and a feeble shiver went through you because the thought rolled in allure again - oh, Sukuna, fucking against this floor forever -

Your eyes ached, bulging. You might have tried to say something as he moved with all his weight on top of you, but your vision began to grow dim right when Sukuna let go. You gurgled, gasped for air, lips and eyes wet.

“You become my useless toy when I do that,” Sukuna spat, and that evil, awful smile curved over his face.

Fucking on this floor forever, until he squeezes for a final time.

Time began to stretch again, an endless loop as you quivered below him, your body both lifted from the shrine floor and crushed back into it by the force of his own strength. The heat of him was unbearable; hotter than hellfire, and worse still was the burning of his gaze. Sukuna did not divert his four eyes from you as he fucked you with mouth open and feral groans. Saliva slipped from his lips down to your skin as he interrupted himself with quick open kisses, and you found yourself moaning in chorus.

“Fuck, oh, fuck… ”

This was not love. This was something darker, stronger, deeper, more consuming and more complete. And you wrapped your arms up around his neck, tugging him down to your mouth for a suffocating kiss, tasting yourself still on his tongue.

Sukuna moaned, and your hips shook, arousal flaring in your core with the vibration of him against you. You felt feverish, and you bucked back up into him, moaning in response as you rutted up against him and his cock hit there, right there , so deep inside you that your body began to shake, knees jerking up and feet flexing between his.

“Oh!” you screamed, the sound ricocheting as - there -

But he felt it as his breath hitched, and you felt it too, and you broke from his mouth and cried out in euphoria as the orgasm, so long withheld, roared through you. It was immediately dizzying, a spiral twisting through your core, down to the contractions of your inner muscles going faster and faster, your entire body running hot.

He had forgotten the game in his pleasure, and his teeth gnashed.

“You…fucking…whore…”

And his words were another lash, one last sweet surge of pain.

Sukuna came too, just a little too late to grab that victory. He fucked you desperately with thighs glued with sweat against yours, and he ran hot through you when he reached his own climax. His fingers tightened against the back of your shoulders just as you let go, arms falling to the floor, and he thrust hard into you as your clenching muscles spasmed around his cock, holding your body up against his.

As it roared and ebbed, you thought of it yet again, half-formed images and incoherent words, of always doing this , living some half-life here, under his thumb, under his body, for him to eternally rip you apart and hold you back together – until the day would come that he would snap your neck and kill you on this floor.

It sent a shudder through you, and you shook even as Sukuna lifted himself, withdrew from your swollen and throbbing cunt, and rolled panting to his side.

No. That infinite future was no more. 

You forced your eyes to him, just as he turned to you. He looked wrecked, his face sweaty, and it struck you – this was the most human Ryoumen Sukuna, the King of Curses, had ever appeared.

“You won,” he said in a pale disbelief, and you bit back the smile, physically sucking your cheeks between your teeth.

Won.

This was good, right? You staggered to your feet, clutching at the pillar, panting and catching your breath. All you felt was your heartbeat and the fluid sliding from between your thighs. Sukuna’s seed glistened against your skin.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, the silence deafening.

“That’s it,” you said, your voice small.

“It is.”

Again, silence, before Sukuna sighed.

“Then, farewell,” he said, an exaggerated politeness in his voice that poorly veiled his disgust – if it was disgust, if it was disdain, if it wasn’t disappointment that was so heavy in his words. You couldn’t see his eyes as he rolled his thumb and index finger together, nails flicking against each other. “Congratulations. You have completed the terms of the agreement, so we are released from our Vow. You will return forever to your life with only the memories of me.”

So this is… goodbye.

“It was... a good game, after all," he said, half-musing. 

And as your heart began to pound faster, something in you recoiled at the thought, some strange, aching drop of misery, of something close to grief. You thought again, as he closed his eyes, of the mirrored possibilities of eternity. The pit deep in your stomach screamed so suddenly, shockingly - no, no, no, - and you reached with a trembling hand for him, even as blackness began to cloud around you, even as he turned from you to walk back, away into the shrine.

Sukuna did stop, and you saw the profile of his face as he turned. Two eyes blinked back to you just for a moment, and there was a bitter laugh in his parting words.

“I never even asked your name, did I?”

And you found yourself sobbing, clutching the air as it all disappeared around you. It - disappears. And then you can’t see Sukuna anymore.

You open your eyes and meet shocking white light.

All that happened. All that, and so much more.

Your vision swims. It spins too heavily for you to keep your eyes open and take in your bright, corporeal surroundings, and you close them as nausea rolls through you. You think of his face, so permanent behind your eyelids. All the memories, every infinite one, flood your mind, coming again, and again, faster and faster like through the collapsed walls of a broken dam. Sukuna. Endless Sukuna, leaving you with the terrible parting gift of all your memories.

You’re crying.

Everything aches, everything hurts. It’s like your skin was turned inside out and forced over your muscles and then put back the right way. It’s an overwhelming motion sickness punching up through your guts. Even though your eyes are closed, you lift your fists to rub furiously at the back of your lids, sending a web of red and yellow and green sparks through the black static as tears burn and blur. It doesn’t help the queasiness. Even the pain searing across your skin, so sharp against your broken fingernail, doesn't dull the pictures. It doesn’t suffocate the visions, the memories ever-coming, of Sukuna’s body, his teeth, his voice and eyes and hands all over you.

Bile threatens to rise, and you gasp, coughing through your tears.

“It’s okay,” comes a voice.

A different voice. A new voice.

“It’s okay,” he repeats. “Take your time.”

A sheer panic beats through you with each passing pulse pounding sharper and sharper. You part your lips, but no words come out. You’re really here. Back. Out of his Domain. And someone else stands by your side in his stead.

“I’m going to be sick,” you say at last, pushing the heels of your palms into your eyes so hard you see violet.

“Go ahead,” he says. “Just be sure to roll on your side.”

Are you on your back? You can’t sit up, let alone heave yourself up on an elbow to lean to the side. Whatever you’re lying on is cold, hard, and it sends another dizzying spike of nausea through you as you think, again, and again, and again, of the stone shrine floor. Of Sukuna leering down at you from below those awful yawning jaws, time and time again. You might have spent cumulative years on that floor.

You might have spent years more with him.

But you lower your hands, forcing your eyes open. The brightness is still too much, as if you’re directly under the sun, or a focused fluorescent light, and you close your eyes again.

“Take it easy,” the voice says, and behind the static of your eyes, something darker shifts, as if a shadow has fallen over you. You wrench your eyes open again, just for another moment, and you see him leaning over you. It’s just a glimpse of a softer face than the tattooed one that appears in your mind. This man has lips that curve in a small, kind smile, and a band over his eyes.

“You’re going to be okay. Everything’s going to be alright,” he says. As you reach up to rub your eyes again, you find yourself believing his words, even as the nausea storms through you, even as something flutters, and flutters stronger, in a place lower than your belly.

You have to believe him. Because your mind is broken, and so is your heart. 

chapter v

[daryascurse]

𝔗𝔥𝔬𝔲 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔱 𝔑𝔬𝔱 𝔖𝔱𝔢𝔞𝔩

Commandment Part VIII: Choso x Reader [nsfw] [4k wc] [mdni]

POV: second person, AFAB reader, nongendered pronouns

tags: smut and fluff, seχ, fingering, choking, mild breathplay, dirty talk, rough lovemaking, body worship, overstimulation

And before you, his earnest eyes are turning lilac with a strange sweetness – boyish with affection, practically innocent – with his lips breaking into a small “o” in breath before he speaks gently.

“Are you okay?” Choso asks in a soft moment almost human.

You swallow, throat dancing below the loose cage of his fingers, and jerk your chin down in assent. With your life in the palm of his hand, so smooth, so strong above your jugular, it’s never been more okay.

“I am. Because I’m yours,” you say, offering yourself up wholly for him to take. The words vibrate as his fingers crush harder in understanding.

keep reading below the jump or on ao3 ||| set the mood with Choso's spotify playlist

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It’s not theft if you consent, but Choso never asked any sort of permission when he stole your heart. Most likely he never felt the urge to ask, never thought of the socially correct mortal confirmation, or had any reason to know of it - but when he takes you, it feels simultaneously like a willful gift and a violent robbery all at once. It’s more than infatuation. A little more complex than love.

Ah, then this is trust.

Actual trust, unlike any partner you’ve had before, unlike the partner Choso oh so easily stole you from. And then again, it’s not stealing if you gave yourself to him just as easily; and this trust, this knowing, must mean that you’ve made the right decision to abandon that old life and love. The guilt pricks sometimes, in your bitterly human heart. But it’s not worth worrying about right now. It only matters when you let your mind still, and it’s nay impossible to allow that when everything is buzzing and Choso’s hands are on you with a possessive determination.

Choso’s kisses aren’t rough, but they’re hungry. His tongue pushes its way into your mouth at your slightest gasp, grazing past your teeth and swirling to meet yours. Your breaths are shallow under his weight, but you still try to whimper out your pleasure.

“Choso – ”

He makes a sound close to a groan, his weight adjusting over you as his arms snake around your shoulders to pull you even closer. You tilt your head back, hard weight of the floor whispering under the thin futon, meeting his kiss even as you struggle for clear breaths. And your body is contoured perfectly to his, even as your fingers flutter and strain at his side, arms too pinned to fully embrace him.

“Are you still mine?” Choso whispers against your lips. His anxious question gives you no time to answer before his mouth ravages yours again.

Your fingers tense in mirrored earnest. You want to grab him and force his glittering violet eyes to yours, to insist and assure him that yes, no matter what else in this world, yes, you’re his. But you can only speak with your body and so you scream wordlessly, arching your back as best as you can to feel him pressing into you, raising your knee between his legs as your limbs knot together, and try to move your hips in stiff, small circles.

“Choso,” you say again, sighing as he begins to move down your body. He adjusts himself over you and it barely lets you breathe clearer. The air still comes shallow as your heartbeat races, as Choso trails kisses over your skin, down your jawline and neck. His arms pull away from you and his elbows pinch into you as he rests on his forearms. His hands fluster at the neckline of your shirt, tugging it aside for better access to nip at your collarbone. You gasp.

“I want you to be mine,” Choso says simply, his voice thick and full of anguish between the pressure of lips sucking tightly against your skin. His tongue rolls over the stinging areas to soothe his touch before moving again. You roll your shoulders in response, leaning into him and the blossoming purple necklace that will appear on your chest in the morning. It’ll match his eyes.

“I want you,” you say breathlessly. Your gaze goes sightless into the ceiling for a moment at the harsh thrum of blood below your skin.

“I want you,” Choso echoes even firmer and he turns his head into your collarbone, as if verbal reassurances, promises, aren’t enough.

You sigh in sweet contentment. His weight shifts over you as he sits up, straddling your body, hands hurriedly moving to the hem of your shirt. You use your elbows to push yourself up in response. Your head swims and beats even harder at the change in position, and you let him pull your shirt over you in a haze. When you reach clumsily for Choso’s flowing robe, he withdraws with thick, strong fingers to undo the vest himself.

“I want you,” he says again, the edges of his blood mark moving with the twitches of his cheekbones accompanying each word that trail off. His eyes burn, and he pauses for a moment, lips wavering. It’s like he says these words with wonder, like he’s testing them out. You nod, encouraging him along, aware of your own breath. Choso blinks, and continues. “In every single way I’ve dreamed of you.”

A nonverbal sound slips from your mouth before you clear your throat and try again. “Tell me how.”

Choso shrugs the robe down his shoulder and leans down over you again. The strands of hair poking out of their unruly fastening sways down, past his ears, closer to your face as he lowers his crouch. You slide further back on your elbows, feeling the strain in your already tight core muscles as you almost meet the bed again. His glinting gaze of smeared twilight almost hypnotizes as he speaks, each word emboldening him further and faster.

“I want you on your back, on your stomach, on this bed, on the floor, as I pound into your tight, wet, hot body. I want to hear my name sob from your lips as I take you over and over again. I’m going to fuck you until you’re raw. And then I’ll take you some more.”

His pupils dilate as the last words burst from him. You feel your lips crack into a grin. “Yes, Choso. Yes.”

You lean your face towards Choso, flushed and mouth already swollen from kisses yet still craving more. But his head dips down, broad fingers tense as they come to the waistband of your pants. He grabs at the fabric and sharply turns his head back up to you. You squeeze your thighs together under his body and whimper again; he’s found your cunt already hot with arousal.

“Against the walls. In the kitchen upon the counter. I want you.”

He’s moving his hand roughly, and you feebly twist your hips to meet him. Your thigh muscles tense and twitch uncontrollably.

“Yes, Choso, take me,” you whisper. The words catch hoarsely.

His face is starting to darken ever so slightly, thin brows furrowing, a familiar uncertainty growing in his eyes. His thumb presses against the nub of your clit and rubs, and even through the pants fabric, it makes your eyes roll and shut as your hips strain.

You hear him, a growl flavored with tinges of anxiety. “Tell me like you mean it.”

“Oh, oh,” you say, your voice slipping into a whine as his hand moves faster. It forces your eyes open to meet him again. “Please, please touch me. Choso, please. Choso. I need you.”

Your babbling gets shrill as he moves his hand up, fumbling at your waistband and slipping beneath your pants. His knees shift, letting your legs free. You feel for your button and unzip your pants, helping him push them down your thighs, keeping you from spreading your legs totally apart. You moan, letting his name fall from you again, and close your eyes. Choso’s knuckle comes against your panties, moving more forcefully. You can feel how wet you are, your panties rubbing and sticking as you move your hips to meet him. A shift as his hand flexes, and scoops below the fabric and his fingers are on your damp bare skin.

“Please,” you say again.

Choso knows what you’re asking for, and suddenly two fingers are pushing up into you, almost painfully fast before he starts moving up and down. It’s tantalizingly slow at first when he retreats, and you roll your hips up restlessly. He moves in and out steadily faster. The pleasure inside you jolts, lightning prickling to your core every time he curls his fingers back and forth. There’s a heavier pressure on your clit as his thumb comes down again, sliding at an angle against the strain of your panties.

“Ah!”

He pushes fingers deep into your cunt with every thrust in, and you cry out wordlessly. Every part of your body begins to ache and clench, your legs suddenly so hot and knees jerking, begging for more room between his kneeling position. His other hand, keeping him up over you, balls into a fist at your side. He still moves over your clit clumsily, thoughtlessly and out of rhythm with his fingering movements, but the jagged motions still build the heat below your stomach.

You moan, moving your hips in circles as he fucks you with his fingers, and open your eyes. Choso’s looking at you, watching the look on your face, studying your pleasure as it builds. You part your lips slightly, raising your head. Choso tilts his chin forward and gives you a soft, chaste kiss, before tilting his head and giving you a small smile below heavily lidded eyes.

“You’re going to come on my fingers,” he says. “Come on my fingers for me.”

It’s the rough velvet croon of his voice that brings you closer. Your hands sprawl down and find his to push down and bring his touch even closer, fervently gluing your skins together. Choso doesn’t hesitate, thrusting in deeper and thumb pulsing under your hold on him. Your orgasm builds hot under your hips, and you bite your lip hard to keep from screaming.

“Nnnn…” the sound comes from your throat, and Choso breathes louder.

“No,” he says. “I want to hear you.”

Your eyes roll slightly as your jaw goes slack, and the whimper turns to a vocal moan as he pulls you close. The heat explodes in your core, everything flooding electric through you as Choso continues to move. His touch turns too raw, too sensitive, without warning.

“Ah, ah,” you gasp. “Choso…”

It feels sore when he does pull out of you, moving down the bed over your body to tug your pants fully from your ankles. You sit up with weak legs, clutching at the pillows behind you and panting as the orgasm comes down. Whines still echo from your throat.

“Choso…”

But Choso is unceasing, grabbing you by the waist and urging you forward onto his lap as he sits up on his heels. His face is almost flushed. It’s almost like the blood mark stands out with a different contrast than usual when he stares up directly at you. Heat rises back through you, straddling his bare shoulders over the drapes of robe fallen across his lap, your own panties still pushed awkwardly to the side and rubbing uncomfortably rough against your slick cunt. His finger curls around the fabric at your hips, tightens, rips it with ease. You gasp with indignation.

“Not enough,” he says. “I said, I wanted to hear you.”

One of his hands crawls up your bare back to brace against your shoulder blades, the other still tight around the scraps of panties left at your waist even as you begin to move over him. It feels like your hips begin to grind of their own accord. You can feel his erection when your thigh brushes against his hard cock below the robes. Your hands push flat against his chest, a very light dusting of hair like pepper prickling under your fingertips as you use the leverage to rock back and forth, picking up your pace as the heat of arousal begins to grow inside you again, even when your lips droop into involuntary winces at the soreness at your clit.

“I’ll scream your name,” you say, a breathless promise as his hands move to hold you tight against your lower back. “I’ll scream for you.”

“You will.”

“I promise.”

Choso smiles, weak and breaking into a groan. He grabs you so tightly it feels you might bruise, and buries his head against your collarbone again. “Stand up,” he says.

His voice is a low whisper against your skin. As you feel your way clumsily off the bed and let him guide your steps backwards, his tongue flickers below your ear. The scraps of your underpants fall to your ankles, and you kick it free. You shiver into him. Then your back hits the wall, trapped between it and Choso all at once as his hands rise to your chest. He gently massages, thumbs coming up to your puckered nipples before closing his index fingers over them in light pinches that makes you arch your back. The sensation rushes down between your legs, hot, aching, good.

“Yes…”

Your hands press flat against the wall and you sigh loudly as he grabs you roughly, a sigh that gets cut off when he finally presses his mouth to yours again. His hands move up still, and you feel his grasp settle on your throat even as you deepen the kiss and move your tongue against his. He brushes his thumb against your neck before he breaks the kiss to move down again, over the sore love bites he made earlier. You reach out to him, fingernails so hard in his back you know you’ll leave your own marks, when his thumb reaches the hollow of your throat and presses lightly.

“Mine,” Choso says. “I want you.”

You nod, breathing labored and so aware of his hot hand over your pressure points. You move your hands down, tugging at the loose drapes of robe, and finding the last fastening to free them. Looping your fingers around the band of his underpants as well, you tug, trying to free him of the last of his clothes. They fall to the floor, his knees bending between yours as he kicks them free to stand as naked as you.

He breathes shakily, thumb skating over your throat, and blinks. Your tongue wavers speechlessly, and you wonder for a moment what he must see of you like this. A mess, disheveled and sticky. You find the strength to reach forward and wrap a hand around his cock. You stroke him, slowly, moving on one, two, three circles over him as your wrist turns. The breath catches in your throat, and tears almost prick at the corner of your eyes.

And before you, his earnest eyes are turning lilac with a strange sweetness – boyish with affection, practically innocent – with his lips breaking into a small “o” in breath before he speaks gently.

“Are you okay?” Choso asks in a soft moment almost human.

You swallow, throat dancing below the loose cage of his fingers, and jerk your chin down in assent. With your life in the palm of his hand, so smooth, so strong above your jugular, it’s never been more okay.

“I am. Because I’m yours,” you say, offering yourself up wholly for him to take. The words vibrate as his fingers crush harder in understanding.

He leans into you, his cock heavy and smooth in your hands and moving more than your stilled hand as you swallow and struggle through the pressure of his hand on your throat. The wall is cold and firm at the base of your skull. Choso loosens his hold for a moment, and you inhale with a gasp. You arch your back into him and lean into the wall even harder as you lift your leg to hook around his waist. The head of his cock comes between your legs as Choso rests his forehead on the wall over yours as well, staring into your bleary eyes with an urgency.

“I want you to take me,” he says. His voice is ragged. His cock rubs between your inner thighs and you moan.

“I need you,” you say, pleading.

Choso smiles, moving his hips. You can feel his cock, teasingly moving right against your entrance, too slow to be satisfying. You whimper, and he moves forward again, letting go of your throat fully to brace the wall. He tilts his chin up slightly, and the head of his cock comes forward again as his other hand comes to your hips to tilt you up in this one-legged embrace. He pushes just slightly into you when he finds your entrance, just enough to push you open. Your muscles tense, and you grimace, staring into his eyes for a hint of mercy, trying to plead with your expression.

“Choso-”

With a single, hard thrust, he pushes into you, grabbing hard at your ass. It’s almost too much, so sudden, and you yelp the last syllable of his name. His dark grin widens, black spiked hair stabbing into your forehead as he adjusts his stance and keeps a tight hold on the back of your hip. You almost melt into the wall, if such a thing was possible, as he stretches your sore cunt, pushing right back to that throbbing heat again. You tighten your leg around his waist as best as you can, hips leaning up.

“Yes… yes…” you force out with every thrust up into you.

Choso’s other hand comes back, back around your throat, and you lean your head to the side. He grunts, part commanding, part ecstatic, and wraps his hand around your neck.

You gag lightly, choking immediately. The side of your head begins to rub against the wall with his thrusts. The pressure builds almost painfully as, simultaneously, the pleasurable jolts of electric heat continue. They come with every thrust of his hips as Choso fucks you. Every stroke of his cock brings you higher, every tense of his fingers around your throat a dull tense pulse through your body that grounds you steadily into the floor, no, the wall, no – the bed? No, the wall. Your sense of direction is haywire. He looks down on you, lids heavy over his eyes, but his pupils are fixed with intensity. He’s studying you again, your lips parted as you struggle for breath, strung out over his cock as his hips move into you again and again.

“Could anyone fuck you the way I can?” Choso whispers harshly, eyes glimmering dark shadows. “They couldn’t fuck you properly. They can’t make your hips shake, couldn’t fuck your cunt so hard you forget your own name. They can’t make you come like I can. They couldn’t even keep you. They – didn’t want you!”

Choso lets go of your neck and you shudder, coughing as you gasp for cold air. The blood tingles as it rushes through your body and your limbs lose their strength, leg slipping from his waist. He pulls out of you and you cry out at the sudden aching absence.

But he just grabs your limbs again and urges you to the floor as you melt. You slide down the wall as Choso kneels too, pulling you back on his lap as he eases you to the side, down on your back before moving to crouch over you again. The floor is just as cold and hard as the wall, but it’s easier when he pulls your knees high, urging your legs over his shoulders before collapsing back in you.

“Choso!”

You’re gasping for breath as he pounds into you, his cock the only sensation through your body. Each stroke is deeper now as he fucks you into the floor. His hair shakes, the white tips almost transparent in the light, his face contorted and sweaty over you as the blood mark threatens with a waver.

“Is that – deep – enough?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“Yes - yes fuck, it’s so good, it feels so good,” you cry. “Choso, Choso – take me!”

He moves hard and fast and merciless, holding onto your ankles like an anchor at his shoulders as his cock moves punishingly into you. This is a fevered pace, stealing all of your strength, all of your motions. Your own attempts to roll your hips back up to meet him are futile, totally trapped under the weight of his body, the back of your thighs screaming as your bent legs twitch helplessly over his shoulder. His teeth are clenched and eyes burning purple fire, and you whimper wordlessly at him, urging him on as your pleasure begins to rise to climax again. You’re going to go crazy from his cock.

“I – need – you – ”

Choso lets go with one hand and leans forward, closing off your windpipe once more as he chokes you again. Your eyes roll, Choso’s concentrated expression blurring from your sight and turning into a mess of black and white and violet. You can hear yourself, breaths gurgled and muffled and pushed out of you with every thrust of his cock. You can feel it, you can feel his cock pushing to your core as his skin slaps against yours, going so deep you’re taking all of him. You feel so close to a second release, the hot electric ripples pulsing out of time with the heartbeat in your ears. Your eyes roll, flutter closed, force open again, and still Choso is relentlessly fucking you even through black-spotted vision.

The pressure is gone, and the deep breath you take is almost enough to take you overboard when he lets go. Your head goes hot, your entire body limp, and you can barely force out any words besides slurred, “yes, yes, yes!”

Choso’s breaths are heavy, and he leans into your body, pushing your legs against you with the weight of his own strength.

“Come again, come on my cock, come for me,” he says, and he’s pleading in a broken, begging voice – asking, more than commanding.

You feel it, the pleasure exploding as your muscles seize. You feel yourself clench over Choso as his cock pounds erratically fast into you. Everything is tumbling, the walls around you stretching infinitely high and Choso’s face far above you, but you scream it, weak as it is, because he demanded to steal your air and voice from you.

“I’m coming!”

It’s almost unbearable when you come for a second time. Your head is buzzing and thudding with the pressure of the release and still struggling for clear oxygen. It’s only the weight of Choso’s body that keeps you aware of your surroundings as the orgasm roars through you.

And Choso is roaring too, suddenly thrusting so hard that you see the static black spots again as he holds still, straining inside you with his grunts. He completely collapses on your chest, just as boneless, as he comes right behind you, hot and throbbing.

Your throat is raw, even when he pulls out of you and rolls to the side, sitting up and gasping hard. He makes his own heaving breaths that your lungs are almost jealous of. You raise your hands, shaking and prickling from blood loss, and push your palms into your face in a stretch. You take a shuddering breath. You want to say something, but all that comes out is a light hum.

The next sensation is numb against your skin, but it’s Choso as he reaches out, gently massaging your thighs as he helps roll you up into a sit. You hunch into his side, still shaking. He moves his hands up, calming you, bringing you back, even as his own grip trembles and slides with his own sheen of sweat.

“Don’t,” you say, almost laughing, almost embarrassed. “I know I’m all sweaty and disgusting, don’t stare at me like that.”

“You’re not disgusting,” Choso murmurs, sounding completely shocked at the concept. “And I don’t care how sweaty you are, you’re beautiful, completely beautiful.”

His hand moves up to stroke your cheek, and you glance away, flushing. It doesn’t help control your heartbeat. Choso’s fingers close at your chin, turning your face back to him, that earnest purple gaze. Even as his ring finger and little finger slip, press under your tongue and makes your heart race in primal anticipation, you rest your face into his hold. Love. Trust.

“Completely beautiful. And completely mine.”

"Yes," you whisper after a moment of staring into his eyes. "Yours."

fin.

[daryascurse]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐙𝐞𝐤𝐞 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

20 cigarettes in a pack. 20 vices to share with Zeke Jaeger. Corruption by corruption, the further he takes you down, the harder you fall. 【ＮＳＦＷ 】 mdni

[1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20]

status: incomplete, unscheduled updates POV: second person, AFAB reader, feminine pronouns tags: specific tags per chapter; recurring themes of dom/sub, sub reader, control

follow #CHLZeke for chapter updates

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[daryascurse]

𝐔𝐧𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝 // 𝐑𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Somehow, you're at the mercy of a cruel god. And it's getting harder to discern if this is reality, if this is a nightmare - or worse yet - if this is a dream come true. 🄽🅂🄵🅆 // minors dni

[i] [ii] [iii] [iv] [v]

status: complete POV: second person, AFAB reader, feminine pronouns tags: specific tags per chapter; recurring themes of dom/sub, sub reader, mildly dubcon, control, rough sex

♡ follow #ULSukuna for updates ♡

prefer to read on ao3? || accompanying spotify playlist

I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please see the byf in my pinned post.

[daryascurse]

ℌ𝔬𝔫𝔬𝔯 𝔗𝔥𝔶 𝔉𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯

Commandment Part V: Toji Fushiguro x Reader [nsfw][4k wc][mdni]

POV: second person, AFAB reader, feminine pronouns

tags: daddy kink, praise kink, dirty talk, vaginal seχ, fingering, counter seχ, teasing, choking, love bites

Toji makes a sound like a laugh against your skin. “Do you like it when I hurt you?”

You whimper, the “yes” breaking into another mess of sound when he thrusts his fingers back inside, and another “ouch!” as your hands fall.

“Good girl.”

“But… I want…”

“Hmm? Is my little brat complaining? ”

Your fingers splay helplessly. “No, daddy.”

“Then if you’re not screaming for me, I don’t wanna hear it,” Toji mutters into you, and his hand closes around your throat. His thumb strokes right below another harsh kiss, another love bite painting and bruising your skin, with his fingers strapped across your throat and cutting off your breath. Your hands reach, feeble, for him, your hips heavy under the shove of his hand, the aching curl and press of his moving fingers as your body and vision takes on a heavy static. How many fingers? Impossible to tell, to count, just feel.

You roll your eyes and slur a garbled, strained, “daddy.”

keep reading below the jump or on ao3 ||| set the mood with Toji's spotify playlist

I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please read the byf in my pinned post.

Toji Fushiguro came crashing in your door last week with a scar and sneer cutting through his mouth. Yes... a week. It's been a week. You almost check the calendar, double-check. Though it’s only been a week, it somehow seems that he’s always been here, a storm blown in from the windows. A swirling, brooding tempest here to stay.

It’s okay, though, as these days cycle onward, because you knew what you were inviting when you let him in your bed. You had known from earlier that night in the bar, when you’d somehow gotten entangled with the one man not holding a glass. “ I don’t get drunk, so I don’t drink,” he’d said it so simply. He hadn’t seemed to mind in any particular way that you were slurring your words; neither put off by it nor eager to take advantage of your inebriated state. Not that the worry hadn’t jumped to your foggy mind almost too late when he volunteered to walk you home, patiently pausing with every heave of your stomach and panicked jumble of speech.

“I don’t want to hurt you," he’d said with a scoff. He wasn’t offended at your fear, merely dismissive. Not you .

“Then why did you follow me out here?” you’d asked, spitting the last of bile through your teeth.

Toji’s eyes had moved up, from your shaking knees and fingers still clutched for balance against the brick of the alleyway, to the falling neckline of your shirt. “You sleep this off. Then I got a few ideas.”

He’s got a few somethings - ideas, maybe. More like… fetishes. Like words snarled in the dark and slapped across bare skin. That’s what you learned the next few days of this weird arrangement stretching the days forward, as your lounge clothes slowly turned into a never ending array of his long threadbare shirts. Toji likes it when you wear just those shirts. 

But none of this has been ever unwelcome. In fact, the first morning after, it had been you who threw the covers back to expose your thighs just a little lower than necessary when he knocked on the doorframe to thank you for letting him stay night and say he would just be on his way after a quick shower. And you who volunteered to show him how the shower worked. Toji likes to stand there with you, one hand out with fingers splayed on the wall, just as much as you like to look back at him with water streaming through his hair.

And something else - he likes to be called daddy, in the shower, in the bedroom, here in the kitchen, where you wrap arms around his strong, scarred frame from behind. Something urged in a teeth-clenched breath, something whined back in your tight throat. It’s something you’ve also quickly gotten used to.

“Daddy,” you whimper in need. 

It tasted foreign on your tongue at first, strange, blushingly awkward, but it's strange how easily and how quickly he coaxed that fear from you. And now it sits sweet like cotton candy, bitter like a red apple, just like his kisses taste. 

Toji’s arms press against yours as he turns you, urging you back against the counter. You jerk his shirt down with your grasp of the fabric half-forgotten in the consumed eagerness of this hot stolen evening moment. His forehead is on yours and his lips are hard, catching your bottom lip between teeth to bite you and tug at your skin. It also tugs a moan out of you, your body barely twisting away from him in this narrow space. You palm your hand to the empty counter as Toji’s hands drag down your neck, fingers splaying across your collarbone and pushing into your chest before locking around your waist. 

“Yeah, baby girl, getchu - up” he groans, and you push both hands down to the edge of the counter to pull yourself just as Toji’s arms tighten, hoisting you in tandem.

His hands are on your thighs before you could even feel them move. You knot your hands in his shirt once more, head back against the high cabinets and panting. Your breath is tangy with his taste, and Toji’s lips are still parted.

“Come on,” you whisper with a yank of the black shirt. Toji lets go, the warmth of his handprints still burning through your skin, and lets you act as though you help him pull the shirt over his head. Your spread legs tighten around his hips, knees pressing into him, and bite your bottom lip as he whisks it to the floor with a toss of his head.

Your own shirt - his, old, stained, a hole gaping at the collarbone - is treated with even less dignity. Toji locks his fingers firm through the hole below the neckline and tugs. It rips with as much ease as a knife, and you suck in air audibly through your teeth as he draws it easily to tatters. The motion rocks you backwards for a moment and your breath catches. Toji’s mouth is on yours before you can let out the “oh ” trapped in your lungs.

His hands gather the fabric and pull it away as you shrug the remains off. His mouth moves fast this time; letting you gasp when his lips travel down your jaw, to the soft swell of your chest as his mouth opens over you.

“Oh, ” you say again when his tongue flickers and flattens across your nipple, air hollowing his cheeks. He sucks, smacking skin against skin in release, and comes back. You weave your fingers through Toji’s thick spike of hair keeping him there, below your chin as your head leans back against the cabinets again.

He smacks at it, his teeth hard against your skin as he grins into your chest. His breath heaves hard between your breasts and he nuzzles for a moment with a muffled sound that might be - “good girl.” 

You arch your back into him, his thick fingers rolling across your other nipple until you ache and buzz at his touch. The sensation lingers when those broad fingers dance down your stomach, to the bare fold of your hips. It’s already throbbing between your legs. 

“Hnggg… ” you whine. 

Toji lifts his face from your chest, leaving you shining with his saliva and a string of drool cracking at the border of his scar. You roll your hips up impatiently with your hands trailing across the valley of his broad shoulders, finding more scars, scratches, a map to an unknown land between his shoulder blades.

And your hands keep going even as Toji moves between your legs. You trace silver scars down his skin, the grooves of muscles so neatly cut across his body, to wrestle the zipper of his pants with trembling fingers. He plants his hands back on your bare thighs as you strain within the cage of his body to yank them down, his mouth falling open with a moan of your name and palm beating with a second pulse on your leg. 

“You’re really impatient, huh?”

As if he can pretend he isn’t.

His cock is already hard, hot in your hand, and fingers are skimming up your thighs with a touch so light it makes you shiver, makes you whine, when he presses his thumb right against your slick folds. He slips between them, glistening and wet as he oils his fingertips. 

It slips, no, bursts from your lips, unbidden in a sinful impulse – “Come on, daddy, come and fuck me!”

Toji’s hand stops, the curve of his thumb just barely spreading you. You rock your hips from side to side, lowering your head and letting out a sharp exhale into the sudden silence. “Fuck, ” you say, and hear your voice drop, strangled. Toji’s staring at you, unblinking, and you slowly open your hand, letting his cock drop back against the half-fastened pants just barely sloping around his hips.

“Don’t worry,” Toji says, croons, and his finger slides right between you easily. Your voice breaks into a gasp. “Don’t worry. Slow down. Daddy’s gonna fuck you so good. ”

You lift your knees higher, ankles crossing across the small of his back as he moves, a second finger joining to angle down, lower and lower through your wet cunt to find your entrance. The heel of his palm rests flat and hard, and he pushes, grinding until your hips are shaking in response to ride against his hand. It hurts, it aches through your bones just how hard you’re throbbing for him, the teasing pressure on your clit only leaving your jaw tense with teeth close to chattering in the heat of the kitchen.

But Toji’s fingers inside have started moving, curling tight and pressing right against you and coaxing you open and wetter around him. You throw an arm across his shoulder, desperately grabbing at the scarred, rough expanse of his back when he starts curling faster. The bent pressure of his other two fingers keep your folds apart, knuckles clenched between your body and the countertop.

You writhe into him, grabbing at his back, turning back the crumpled waistband of his pants and yanking the fabric closer to you. The cry from your mouth is senseless, his name coming wrangled, leaving you moaning nonsense.

“Fu- fu – To… Toji…daddy, daddy, daddy… ”

Your back arches, chest pressed into his as sweat slicks between your bodies. The heat isn’t coming from the orange sun setting beyond the windows, it’s from within you, with each ministration of Toji’s hand. You bend your fingers, nails scraping into his back. His head pushes into the side of yours, scalp beaded with sweat and hair matting as his body jerks and your skin rubs together. His fingers spread, scissoring inside you, working your body.

You bite your bottom lip hard, and your mouth waters.

Toji’s breath stutters, an exhale into your shoulder. His fingers tighten, as if cramping up. He grinds the heel of his palm in fat rubbing circles as the pace slows, fingers extending. You push your hips back down into the countertop, but he pulls out – slowly, agonizingly, leaving you clenching around nothing with a heartbeat drumming wildly in your ears. It’s good to be fucked by his fingers, it’s so good, it’s not enough.

“Oh…”

You whine in your throat, wet, hot, burning, every part of you restless even as he wipes his hand down your thigh, glistening with you. He takes a step back, your weakly locked legs slipping down from his hips.

“Please,” you say, your voice thick and grating with breath still coming too fast from your lungs. “Please, I want you now.”

“Me?” Toji tosses his head back and looks down at you, trailing his hands back down your thighs.

You tremble, letting your hands fall limply back to the counter. “Daddy.” It feels raw, foolish, too loud coming out of you as you pulse and slick empty, waiting for him, but Toji only smiles cruelly.

“You know what I wanna do first? Before I fuck this cunt?”

He pushes his hand back between your thighs, and your legs completely collapse, kicking against the counter. You clutch his hand with strained leg muscles, knees still too spread by his body to push together.

“I’m gonna make you come. I’m gonna make you come hard," he says, biting at the words.

You stare at him, mouth agape, lips dry without his kisses. “Daddy, please . Then fuck me - harder.”

Toji’s own mouth spreads wider, saliva coating his teeth in a smile broken by the scar at the edge of his mouth. There’s a manic, wicked glimmer in his eye that burns brighter as he slips his hand higher. “Nuh-uh, little brat," he says. "Don’t tell daddy what to do.”

There’s no teasing ease this time, no slow slide of his fingers against you and into you. He just rubs you so roughly your knees shake, and your legs would have buckled if you had been standing up. Toji leans back, tilts his head to the side with lips still broken in that smile. You lift your chin to him, but instead of kissing your mouth, his lips trace down the side of your neck to open in a harsh, sucking bite across your throat. It’s so sudden, so sharp, you can barely hold back a yelp.

“Ow! ”

But you grab for him weakly. A wounded animal still turning with trust to the hand that slapped. Toji makes a sound like a laugh against your skin. “Do you like it when I hurt you?”

You whimper, the “yes ” breaking into another mess of sound when he thrusts his fingers back inside, and another “ouch! ” as your hands fall.

“Good girl.”

Your skin beats.

“But… I want…”

“Hmm? Is my little brat complaining? ” He scissors his fingers.

Your own fingers splay helplessly. “No, daddy.”

“Then if you’re not screaming for me, I don’t wanna hear it,” Toji mutters into you, and his hand closes around your throat. His thumb strokes right below another harsh kiss, another love bite painting and bruising your skin, with his fingers strapped across your throat and cutting off your breath. Your hands reach, feeble, for him, your hips heavy under the shove of his hand, the aching curl and press of his moving fingers as your body and vision takes on a heavy static. How many is he fucking you with? Impossible to tell, to count, just feel.

You roll your eyes and slur a garbled, strained, “daddy. ”

It earns a release, a gulp of air, and Toji smears his hand up over your chin to your gaping mouth. Your tongue lolls fat from your lips, and you taste the salt of his skin. 

“You gonna cum?” Toji growls, pumping his fingers in and out, faster, fucking you faster . “You gonna cum for me?”

He’s going to make you, his fingers pulling right below your stomach to find that anxious, tender core that pulses through your veins. You can’t even nod, just twine your arms across his shoulders again, hands crossing and knotting back into his hair as you shudder to take a deep breath, coughing on the inhale as your thin lungs struggle between the pressure of his body. “Yes, yes, daddy, I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum…”

You do as promised, as Toji demanded, with shaking hips and light exploding from within you, shooting sparks up behind your eyes. The heat bursts, flooding your entire body hot with each thunderous beat of your heart. Your hips rock, against his hand, against the counter, tensing across his fingers and trembling into his body. You cum on his hand, his fingers persistently curling into you.

“Daddy,” you say again, and the word slurs from your tired voice. 

“Now, ” Toji says, and kisses against the blossoming bruises he’s left at your throat as he pulls away. “Now, I’m gonna fuck your little cunt until I come.”

Your hands trail down his chest, back down to his forgotten waistband, but he beats you to it and kicks his pants completely down. His cock is strained, standing hard, glistening in the beams of sunset, and he sighs in throaty satisfaction as you wrap your fingers around him once more.

“Spit.”

Toji cups a hand below your chin, and you do so. He moves it down, entwining with your fingers to stroke himself with your own hand and saliva. He sighs again, and his body shudders, goosebumps rising on his arm in the light.

“Good girl. Now come a little closer. Help Daddy out.”

You feel the heaviness of your thighs, the throbbing swollen slick of your cunt as you shift forward on the counter, sliding your hand to brace yourself on his hip. Toji’s arm snakes behind you, anchoring in the small of your back as his body spreads your legs further apart. He breathes heavily at your face, and lifts your hand away from his cock as he guides himself finally to you.

Toji uses the slick of your orgasm to slide in, and locks his hands back on your hips. The head of his cock nudges into you with ease, stretching you more than his scissoring fingers, and then the rest of him goes even deeper than they had teased and thrust. You lean into him, fingers splaying on his skin and the gasp urged from your lungs with the shuddering sensation of his cock sinking into you.

The soreness . The absolute soreness, as if he pulls on every inch of your insides, as he drags through the puffiness of your body without a hint of soothing mercy. 

“Oh, fuck …”

Yes, yes you’ve been fucking him all week, but never have you had to grab onto his forearms like this, your grip riding a jagged rhythm up to his shoulders with the force of his cock hitting an angle such an angle right up in you. He feels thicker and longer in your swollen mess between your thighs, forcing you to roll back and deeper on him with a taunt strength, driving himself deep as he moves you, a helpless, fucked-out rag doll.

Your body is too wired, too pushed across the edge of orgasm to even try to sink back into that space, but your muscles are clenching in response. The memory of an orgasm makes you writhe and shudder on his cock. You pulse below the skin, desperately grabbing at Toji, at any and all of him as you reach a grabbing hold on his shoulders.

He tenses his arms, pulling your spine straight up, jolting his cock deep on the next thrust. You shrink at it, shoulders hunching, begging to slump down and just let him fuck you senseless, but he leans in to kiss you with lips parted and mouth hot. It’s a short kiss, and when he leans away with a ragged, grunting sigh, you bury your face in his shoulder. Moaning, you taste the sweat on his skin.

“Yes – yes – oh yes, daddy, yes! ”

He grunts, the sound of a satisfied smile as his arms cage into your ribs, pulling you further into him. You whine and shake, flexing your foot so hard your leg almost kicks straight. His strokes hit deeper, pulling out and slamming back. Your legs ache as you tremble, split around him. Nothing has made you yearn and break like this before, every inch of your skin so hot and crawling and desperate to feel him on you. You tense, rabid, anxious, grabbing for anything.

Toji sucks in a breath. He can feel it too, something different, stronger. 

“So this is what you wanted?” Toji groans, his muscles coiled against you. “None of that shit between the sheets at night, nothing sweet and slow in the shower, hmm? That wasn't good enough? This is what your tight fucking wet cunt wants best. Look between your legs.”

You whimper, and you don’t need to force your head down, you can feel that you’re dripping in marbled strings across his cock with every thrust in, out, slamming back in. Toji isn’t fucking you with any care for anything other than chasing his own climax. There’s no regard to the pleasure you just happen to be pulling from it as well. But he chuckles low and grating, a sound purring from his chest and vibrating into your skin.

“Good… girl…”

He grabs your hips harder, canting you closer to him, closer to the edge of the counter. His grip digs into the curve of your ass, and you cry out “Fuck!” at the sharp prick of his fingernails, almost breaking the skin as he pulls you apart. You try to fuck him back, to force yourself back onto his cock, but Toji’s stronger, setting a rhythm impossible to match, and you’re finding your power ebbing with each thrust he makes into you. Completely a rag doll now. Your arms move in loose embrace with his body, his heart pounding louder than your own. You throw your head back. His lips trail wet across your throat, tongue circling a love bite and making you writhe and tilt your neck back down.

“Daddy, fuck, daddy, please!”

Toji growls right in your face, pushes his body against yours, so filthy and human and helpless to the erratic groans and tense thrusts overtaking his body. You whine his name. The pleasure is undeniable even through the pain, the clenching of your weak muscles over him, his claws digging into the side of your hips, the entire weight of him thrown into you.

“Fuck!” he snarls, wild.

You cry out as he cums, his body hot and tacked with sweat to yours, shooting through your swollen cunt. There’s pain in it, the soreness undeniable, but the thick swell of his cock still splitting you open, draped pathetically over his body, makes you pulse in response even as the last dregs of ecstasy flare and fade away.

When he pulls out, panting and leaking his cum down your thighs, you moan again. He tosses his head, closes his eyes, and lets out a snorting exhale of satisfaction. He tosses his hair back again and opens his eyes directly at you.

“Should have fucked like that earlier,” Toji says.

You lean back against the cabinet. It earns you another snorting sound from him.

“Oh, no, little brat, don't act like you did all the work here.”

Your responding smile is weak, your body just throbbing too much, but Toji doesn’t look for an answer as he kneels to scoop his clothes up to the table. He shakes out his pants, his shirt, and begins to dress.

The fading smile wanes across your lips. "Getting dressed so fast?"

"Well," Toji says, some malicious joy crackling through his voice. “I’m heading out.”

You loll your head on the back of the cabinet, tilting your head in curiosity. “Are you picking up dinner?” you ask in a touch of uncertainty, even as a pit begins to grow in your stomach.

“No,” Toji says, giving you a withering look even through the curtain of sweat-glossed black hair. “I’m leaving. Tonight.”

“Tonight?” you echo.

“Now, actually. Was just gonna come tell you goobye, uh, before. Got a new job, gotta get outta town.”

“Oh,” you say, your voice suddenly small. The pit opens without warning, threatening to suck you into it, a black hole. The kitchen floor seems miles away from the counter. Your very skin feels weak, stripped from the bones. Leaving. Tonight. "Um. Well. Let me... pack you a dinner, or something."

"Nah," Toji says, zipping up his pants and shrugging his elbows. "I'll grab a bite somewhere on my way out. Just gotta grab my bag and I'll be gone."

The black hole dips, somehow rises to a lump in your throat. Something dry and hot at the back of your eyes, where if you blink, you know you'll cry. You stare straight ahead, trying to somehow look past him, bidding the feeling to pass. Threatening yourself not to blink, not to cry.

Toji looks at you fully, turns to you, and sighs. Even as he takes that stride back to you, hands palming next to yours on the counter, something seems different even in this simple posture.  The terse weight hunching his shoulders seems more relaxed. Some good humor moves through him, some new purpose running through his veins. Something genuine in that dark delight. He’s ready to move on from this week, this fever dream that he turned your life into. 

And it’s not like you wanted him to stay forever, fuck, or would let him stay forever. That's just... unrealistic. 

All storms pass. 

You swallow. Toji reaches out with one finger, skating lazily against the back of your hand. You force yourself to meet his eyes, challenging yourself further - don't cry. His eyes are a bottomless darkness, and his scar splits over his lip in another sneering smile.

"Be a good girl, and give Daddy a kiss goodbye."

fin.

Author's note: This setup is based off the Volume 9 character insert that says Toji goes from woman to woman between work - and also says that he doesn't get drunk which is a fantastic detail to me. Thank you so much for reading, this is one of my favorite things I've written. Everyone's done a daddy kink Toji fic, but I wanted to too!

[daryascurse]

ℜ𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔞𝔟𝔟𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔎𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔦𝔱 ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶

Commandment Part IV: Kento Nanami x Reader [nsfw][3.5k wc][mdni]

POV: second person, AFAB reader, nongendered pronouns

tags: fluff and smut, hαndjobs, mutual mαsturbation, teasing, begging, foreplαy, pull out method

"Relax. So uptight, huh? Wonder what you do to release some of that stress on your days off.”

And now he’s whispering it back in your face below the blanket made hot by late Sunday afternoon sun coming straight through the window. The thought crosses your mind dimly, half-formed and only half-concerned, that one of you should close the curtains. Kento’s elbow is bent over your heads, grasping at the end of that thin sheet in threadbare shelter as his nose presses to yours with each word.

“You think I’m going to do any work on a Sunday? I’m not going to touch myself. You’ll do it for me.”

keep reading after the jump or on ao3 ||| set the mood with Nanamin's spotify playlist

I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please read the byf in my pinned post.

“You don’t touch yourself often, do you?”

It had been a throwaway comment among jabs. It had been innocently nestled into a series of taunts exchanged with quick, smacking wit, each expertly slapped from you to him and back across offices and hallways. Now, thinking back, you don’t even remember why it had even sprung to mind among other quips and bites that probably would, in any other workplace, merit a write up at Human Resources. But you hadn’t known especially at the time why exactly it made Kento Nanami’s eyes tighten more than any other teasing comment. This was something he had internalized, calculated, placed away for later. This was something he could use. 

“Relax. So uptight, huh? Wonder what you do to release some of that stress on your days off.”

And now he’s whispering it back in your face below the blanket made hot by late Sunday afternoon sun coming straight through the window. The thought crosses your mind dimly, half-formed and only half-concerned, that one of you should close the curtains. Kento’s elbow is bent over your heads, grasping at the end of that thin sheet in threadbare shelter as his nose presses to yours with each word.

“You think I’m going to do any work on a Sunday? I’m not going to touch myself. You’ll do it for me.”

The ends of his hair are curling into his forehead, the beading sweat coaxing stubborn platinum waves against his skin. His voice is hoarse, and though the words tease, they lack the dry, biting smirk he tosses your way over coffee. They pop from his lips. They ache. And that guttural groan is worse, that goes straight between your thighs that already twitch and slide under smooth sheets.

“Ha - “ you start, and interrupt yourself when Kento knots his fingers in yours and drags your hand down across taunt stomach muscles to the bulge of his cock. The past minutes of grinding and twisting under the sheets has made him stand hard, your fingers brushing against the smooth curve trapped up between his waistband and soft, flat skin.

“Touch you?” you whisper back almost dumbly.

Kento turns his face, nose angled against your cheek, his exhale soft and sharp. His hand moves, up to wrap around your wrist for a brief moment, and slides down. A mute duh answering you, with a pause to check if this is something you can play along with – if this is something you’ll do.

You can put your money where your mouth is, and you gently skate fingers over his skin in response.

There’s a muffled snap of elastic, of fabric moving against fabric as the sheets slide. His knees bend up, swimming into yours between the sheets. Your hand travels down, finding more to grab as he pulls his pants off.

Kento’s throaty sigh as bare legs bend into yours is the first sign he’s already begun to unravel. His hand rubs down your forearm in a broken rhythm, urging you to do it, touch him - and he curls his fingers, crescent moon nail tips just barely pushing into your skin.

“Show me how well you can work,” Kento says, crooning the words.

Your hands have touched him before, your hands have wrapped together below the sheets on lazy Sunday afternoons, but never in the name of a challenge, some joke like this where laughter has died and it’s not funny, meaningless conversations anymore. The way you’ve both touched each other has just been stops on the way to an eager final destination.

Every inch across his body feels a mile as your fingertips brush down slower, finding expanses and dips of muscle and bone neither of you had had the patience to discover before. And every inch of skin is warm, the flush slowly rising to ruddy his cheeks and fluttering pulse against your body hints that Kento is barely keeping his cool composure together. He moves his shoulders, and you look down at the mess of blond turning into your collarbone. When you slide your fingers around him, his lips part, the breaths kissing your skin.

He twitches in your hand when you touch him, almost jumping into your palm with an eagerness reserved for you and only you. You run your fingers along his length for a moment, barely touching, fingers adjusting to a perfect hold before wrapping around him. Kento exhales, and you turn your fist. The sheet barely rises as his cock twitches again.

“Mmmm,” Kento manages to say. He turns into the hollow of your neck, his head beginning to nod against you as you slide your fist up, slowly traversing all of him, and back down. The sheet shifts above you, a pocket of cold air gaping in and gone again. You run your thumb up along the tip of his cock and circle there, right where your touch slides at the first slick beads of pre-cum.

He's moaning now, any words melting on his lips as his hips rock into your hand, dying before they can properly form and leave his mouth. You let go for a moment and his breath catches, eyes suddenly wide and desperate and body twisting into yours. You lift your fingers to your mouth and spit, bringing it back down to his cock as delicately as you can, and Kento sucks in a breath, his knee sharply turning into yours as your skin smacks against his.

Each detail of this is different from the late nights and dark rooms you’ve stumbled into together. This afternoon is golden, warm, bright. No fumbling, choking back drunk laughter, shushing in late abandoned corridors. This moment is calculated, was calculated from the moment Kento loosened his tie to rest on the bedside table, and you lifted the sheet high over two purportedly napping heads. From the moment you made that comment about overtime work and he became determined to make you eat those words. Who’s putting in the work now?

Kento never works on Sundays.

He makes an unintelligible sound deep in his throat, rumbling through to your body. Your fingers loosen, wrist turning, and adjust your grip.

“Yeah,” he says, forming the lazy word at last. “Oh - more.”

You flex your fingers and move up again. The saliva is already tacky and drying below your touch. Circling your thumb across the head once more finds more pre-cum, and Kento actually makes a sound like a whine, muffled by sheets and your body. Experimentally, you do it again, slower. Your fingers are slick against each other as you move back down, letting the gathered slick lend speed. The sound comes lewd from below the sheets.

This must be how he touches himself, but do his eyes tighten the same way as they do now, shadowed below the sheets? Does he spit on his fingers, or does he find it filthy? Does he arch into his hand with each stroke, making the same whimpers at the back of his throat? Does his forehead crease, the glistens of sweat highlighted in his turning head – and what does he reach for, what does he nestle into, without your body here to embrace him?

Does he do it on the weekends? Does he do it in the office?

Does he think of your hands?

“Ah,” you say, feeling him shiver. It reverberates into you, with your heart echoing his own. Your hand tightens again, moving up and down with that hot ease.

Kento’s moving too, long restless arms colliding against yours as his elbow comes down with a focused determination. Something’s come to his mind. His hand is so hot when it comes between the sheet and your extended arm, clumsily, blindly, moving down beneath fabric to brush against your pants with a heat that pushes urgently into you.

“Your turn,” he says, groaning so thickly you can barely hear the words.

“You – don’t work on the weekend – ” you start, regaining some of that veil of teasing, but Kento flutters his hand over you. Your barriers of power begin to fall.

“I don’t mind a little overtime after all. For a good cause."

Your pants. You’d forgotten they were on and now it’s impossible to forget with how heavy they are, how they pin your legs down to the mattress when all you want to do is twitch your hips and grind into Kento’s hand just so barely against you. You arch forward, feeling for the friction, and he just barely pushes his hand up in a response too inadequate to satisfy. But it makes you turn your hips forward into him again.

“Ah – oh – ” you say. The air pushes from you in the sounds, high-pitched and as broken as his moans, and Kento makes a familiar sound, a brief clearing of his throat, rumbling with satisfaction and security. He’s managed to get back on equal ground.

“Does that feel good?”

His eyelashes flutter against your cheek, and your hand pauses unbidden. Kento’s narrow stare is intense, right against your face when you force your eyes to meet him. You nod in response, lips parting in another attempt to speak. His helplessness is transferring from body to body, and it’s your turn to shudder and cant into his touch.

“It… yeah…”

You hadn’t anticipated this in your haughty daydream of stroking him off into submission.

“Do you want more?” Kento asks.

You barely nod, pushing your legs into him in response. “I,” you say, and pause when his fingers spread, gently skating down over the thick fabric. The layers keep him from a direct touch, making his movements awkward, but somehow it’s almost better to feel the teasing brushes. He lingers in the wrong places on his way up to find the groove below your clit just aching for more, pausing, and moving away. You close your eyes and let the words die. He’s bringing a second pulse below your belly to life with each twitch of his fingers, each ministration and pressure shift. It’s not your pants that feel heavy, it’s your hips themselves.

“Well, what do you want?” Kento asks, kissing the side of your face with each word.

“I want… mmm…”

“Can’t you say it?” Kento says with a taunting laugh. He kisses your forehead, and the mattress dips below you as you feel him sit up over you. The sheet slips away, down to your knees, and your shoulders prick with the new chill. He’s regaining the strength you had almost snatched from him, and when you roll your eyes open again, he’s looking down with a thin smile of pride. Good job, is what that look says, a rare gesture of approval. This is a look you’ve seen in those conversations tossing barbed exchanges back and forth; when he’s on the phone with that stress-inducing white haired maniac but actually gets some good news in turn. Good job.

You didn’t even notice that your hand had completely stilled on his cock until he reaches down with his other to wrap fingers around yours and urge you back to motion. His fingers are long and thin, almost sliding between your grasp, but he turns his hand against you and over you.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, and his words slip back into that raw aching tone when you tighten your fingers around his cock.

“I want you to touch me,” you say.

“But you were making fun of me earlier,” Kento says, turning his head in a tableau of mock confusion. Blond wisps of hair fall over the shell of his ear in the first throes of dishevelment. He has it all back in his grasp again, and he fucking relishes the position. He just barely pushes his hand into you, and you jerk your hips up. “You think I’m too uptight. You think I don’t know how to relax.”

“I wasn’t,” you say. The words whine petulant and begging. In any other situation, you’d be embarrassed to sound like that, to have him hear you. But Kento twists his lips, pretending to think, closing his thumb right over you. Your hips twist, down to the mattress, back up to his hand.

“Maybe you don’t think I can do it,” he says. “So tell me what you want me to do.”

You feel the flush rise to your face. Even without the blanket, everything is too hot.

“Take off my pants,” you whisper at last.

“And then what?”

Your hand has stilled again, but Kento doesn’t put his over yours to urge you moving again. His eyes are tight, watching your parted lips press together, the wheels in your brain turning and scrambling to keep up. Touch me is the simple answer if you had the strength for it. Begging in broken moans - oh, he’s sliding his fingers right below your pants, oh, he can feel that you’re wet even through the fabric - , but that would disappoint. Kento started this - work. You’re going to get it done.

“Touch – me,” you say, gasping through the word when he drums his fingers against you. “Please touch me – more – harder.”

Your words break in another gasp, and Kento curves his thumb up, pressing right there, waiting. “And?”

“Mmmm…” You move your hips in pathetic circles, flexing your fingers below his, and squeezing desperately at him again. “Fuck me.”

Kento moves his hand, gripping against the soft inner of your thigh, and squeezes right there. Of course. He smirks when your knee jumps up. “But keep going first,” he says.

He pulls your pants off so slowly that your skin burns without his touch, and your thighs clench together desperately as the fabric skates off your burning body. Kento looks down his nose at you with heavy eyes.

“Please,” you say, lifting your hips and letting them fall helplessly.

It doesn’t urge him to move faster, but when he adjusts over your legs, you reach down to wrap your fingers around him again. He’s gotten stiffer, skin hard under your moving fist, in those few moments without your touch. Kento groans. He palms at your shaking thigh, and when you whimper again – “please” – he splays his fingers. In a slow crawl of his hand, the heat of his skin is over your cunt again, and your next moan is of satisfaction.

Kento’s thumb pushes directly over your clit, with no pants to stop him. Your breath pauses, shudders into a moan. He hesitates a moment; rubs his thumb in a slow half circle, then stops, and rubs harder in the other direction. Your fingers flex, and he turns his wrist.

“Ah!”

You almost scream when he slides his middle finger inside you, warm, wet, instantly clinging to his touch. You squeeze your muscles together and shiver, anxious to feed that friction coming to you at last. Kento moans, and your shoulders melt back to the pillows. A second finger is added and Kento curls them, curling again when you arch your back and moan – “Right - there…”

Again, your hand paused, but Kento keeps going. His fingers push further inside, his thumb curving fat to cover your clit with broad, firm pressure. Your back arches and your hands push down against the bed in futile squirms to urge his motions faster.

“Kento...”

“Right there?”

You can barely nod, and Kento cages across your body, the heel of his palm pushing against your folds to split you open across his fingers. He moves faster into the side of your walls where it makes you tremble and move so sloppily in a hunt for more.

More, more, more than his fingers can give. You grab to him with a whimper, and Kento groans in response. The two of you are drunk on the desperation now, your legs sliding apart for him as he bends his body over you. When his fingers pull out of you, the absence makes you ache harder, bending your leg up into him. He presses his mouth to yours and kisses you hard. Your lips open, tongue dancing across the heat of the breath you exchange.

“Fuck me,” you say again, the words breaking shamelessly into his mouth, and Kento groans as he pushes himself between your legs.

It’s like every breath hiccups out of you. Kento’s revealed impatience roars, his hips rolling into yours, and you push it back at him with a frenzy. Your hands move, as restless as he, down his spine to bend your fingers into his back and up again. His breathing whines into your ear, and when your hips roll up, he hits deep –

“So - deep!”

“Fuck” he groans.

Another one, and one of your hands falls limp to your chest to ride with the rhythm of his thrusts. Kento moans again, and reaches out as you let your hand slide to your shoulder, to the bed. He pulls your body close to his anchoring arm, dipping into the mattress as he knits fervent knuckles into yours. The bones of his fingers are hard, and you cry out, squeezing right back and finding a shivering pleasure in the pinch.

Again, the way he fucks you here is - different, new, better. As if you’d ever been able to think that was possible before, but there’s an earnestness to it now. The way he touches you in the Sunday afternoon has a weight to it you feel through your skin, into your veins, and the only thought you can form is to fuck him right back the same way. Your thighs strain against his, rolling your hips to match as best as you can, to press this strange, lovely feeling right back to him.

It always feels good. It’s never felt this good.

Kento slumps to your body, and your body trembles with the urgency of his motions. Every teasing touch and grasp has pushed nudged him to this point of sensitivity, and you squeeze his hand again – another mute communication, another reassurance. Me too, me too, it’s okay.

“Come,” you whisper, “come on, Kento, cum for me.”

It slips, the words sounding more like a pleading question than command, but Kento’s shoulders shudder into your body in eager response. His moans come broken, and when he lifts his head with heavy-lidded eyes to press his lips to yours again, it’s when he breaks. He groans your name through jagged breath when he cum, just barely pulling out in time to splash against your hips and stomach.

The emptiness leads you sore again, swollen and clenching around nothing, but Kento reaches down again. His hand is heavy and sweaty, and he can barely keep himself lifted on shaking elbows over your body as his fingers trace your sensitive cunt.

“Oh,” you whimper, and feel the slick rush at his probing fingers.

“Come on,” he says, heavy and repeating your words. “Cum for me.”

You’re almost too overstimulated to do so, aching with each push of your clit, but it comes from below your stomach. That fluttering and clenching over nothing picks up, and you arch your back, feeling the viscid honey of his cum cool across your skin. The sensation of it, of his fingers, of his intermittent breath –

“I’m – gonna – cum… Kento, I’m… coming!”

The waves of it ripple through you to his coaxing fingers, leaking between your thighs with each shaking motion. You cum hard, harder than you’ve ever done with him before, the blood rushing through leaving your head spinning and starry.

Above you, the moon of Kento’s face rises as he lifts himself up, withdrawing slowly, gently this time.

“Wow,” you say, and he cracks a thin, warm smile.

“Wow,” he says, and it almost sounds like he’s mimicking your breathless tone if it weren’t for the honest, eager gleam in his eyes. “You made me work on a Sunday after all.”

“I should get a raise for being able to do that. Make the great Kento Nanami work on a day off,” you say, but the joke lacks real bite through your laboring breath. You raise your hand to cradle his face, slender cheekbone smooth against your sweaty palm. Kento just barely tilts his head to lean into it.

The warm silence stretches comfortably. 

“I didn’t think it could – ” You start to speak again, and stop. But Kento shakes his head, and shakes again, closer to your hand.

“It could be this good?”

You nod. “Can it be better?” you ask rhetorically, and feel the corners of your lips twitch into a smile.

Kento blinks, and his pupils slide into a familiar look when he focuses on you again. It’s the cool consideration, the calculation, the determination to make you eat your words someday.

“Bet you can’t make us cum together, hmm?”

Absolutely, you will eat your words.

fin.

[daryascurse]

𝔗𝔥𝔬𝔲 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔱 𝔑𝔬𝔱 𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔉𝔞𝔩𝔰𝔢 𝔚𝔦𝔱𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰

Commandment Part IX: Mahito x Reader [nsfw] [2.3k wc][mdni]

POV: second person, AFAB reader, nongendered pronouns (gender-neutral use of "pretty" and "whοre")

tags: toxic relationship, submissive reader, dirty talk/ degred, teasing, orgαsm control, implied / referenced mind control, consented control, fingering, rough seχ

If it was love, as your brain seemed to so insist it must be, it’s a toxic love. Mahito cherry-picks the parts of a “relationship” (even the lies swimming through your head can barely convince themselves – yourself – that it is one) and leaves you with the pits. That would be funny, if he weren’t so possessive, demanding, yet careless; monopolizing your time when he wants it, and cuts you off when he doesn’t.

The nights are getting warmer as the year inches towards the medietas.

And sometimes, at his most mischievous, at his most sickly-sweet lies, Mahito can’t even wait for nights. When his hands brace over your hips as he pulls you down to the bed, rolling your panties straight down with ease, neither can you.

keep reading below the jump or on ao3 ||| set the mood with Mahito's spotify playlist

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It’s not the hunt that gets Mahito going, not even the conquest, the drum of his fingers on your skin as the bones curve, nails pushing and clawing to prick the surface. It comes before that, even before his legs twine on yours and trap you beneath hot sheets. It’s the promise of it, and if you could delude yourself into thinking he really had blood, it would be boiling below his skin every morning and palpable, fucking palpable when he trails his hand away from you, the dancing danger in his words that he’s ready, he wants you.

How did he delude you into thinking this was love?

No… this must be love.

If it was love, as your brain seemed to so insist it must be, it’s a toxic love. Mahito cherry-picks the parts of a “relationship” (even the lies swimming through your head can barely convince themselves – yourself – that it is one) and leaves you with the pits. That would be funny, if he weren’t so possessive, demanding, yet careless; monopolizing your time when he wants it, and cuts you off when he doesn’t.

The nights are getting warmer as the year inches towards the medietas.

And sometimes, at his most mischievous, at his most sickly-sweet lies, Mahito can’t even wait for nights. When his hands brace over your hips as he pulls you down to the bed, rolling your panties straight down with ease, neither can you.

“Come on,” Mahito says in a laugh, teeth grating against the back of your neck with the words. You struggle to keep your back straight, your posture up, as you shake across his lap. With each thrust, with every crawling inch of his hands as he spreads his fingers wide to grab at your ass, it’s harder. Mahito palms at the give of your skin, and you wail as it stretches you even wider, his stitches grating against soft sensitive flesh.

“Come on,” he says again. “You can take it, you can take my cock.”

It’s almost too much, and you press your lips together, bracing yourself to say so. All your mouth can produce are feeble, breaking consonants, utterly nonsensical. “I…Puh…buh…”

And it breaks into a sharp “mmm!” when Mahito’s hips tilt, dragging his cock so slowly out of you. The pull of his hands strains your body as he pauses. The stitches are so taunt your heart flutters at the fear of snapping. His lips part in a sardonic smile, teeth wet and hard at the back of your neck.

“Maybe you can’t?”

His voice is as thoughtful and mild as usual, but it’s a foreign language snarled through teeth not used to clenching.

“No,” you gasp out.

“No, maybe you can’t,” Mahito says slowly. His hands are keeping you up, keeping your twisting hips from sliding back down and feeling him inside you again. It’s not fair that he’s so strong when he doesn’t look it. It’s not fair to suddenly leave you like this. You had been so filled and stretched, whining with every thrust up, and now –

“Now look at you,” he croons. “Wish you could see this. How pretty you look, split and shaking over me.”

His hands relax ever so slightly, and you lean forward, aching to feel him again. The words make your thighs shake, even if the complements are lies.

“Please,” you finally say, finally able to form the whole word as you gasp again for breath. “Please, please.”

“Not yet,” Mahito says after another pause of agonizing silence. “I don’t think you can.”

“Please – fuck me…”

His foot slides along your leg, hooking around the front of your ankle and trapping you down as you squirm, trying again and again to push yourself down onto him. But Mahito is just so strong, horribly strong, and he only opens his mouth to lick slowly along the back of your neck.

“Show me, then. Show me you can do it, but no touching.” He flicks the skin below your ear and presses his mouth against you in a humorous smile again.

“Huh – ”

Every sensation is clouding your head too much to form real words again. Mahito’s hands slack a little more.

“Fuck yourself on my cock. No hands, or I’ll break this pretty little neck.”

You clench your hands down onto the crumpled bedsheets as they slip off the edge.

“That’s right,” Mahito says, and his hands slide. It pulls you apart again at first and you moan from the back of your throat, but it’s your own shaking leg muscles that bring you back down on him. You gather at the sheets again, suddenly sweaty and unsure below your palms as you lift yourself up, leg pushing against his calf as you stay pinned against him.

“You can do it, can’t you? Ride my cock. I want to feel how well you can do it,” Mahito says, but the sweet words are too mild to be true, nothing encouraging as your muscles strain to move. It feels so good, so good when his cock rubs into you, and you just want to keep him there, right there. You whimper as you move back up, muscles aching, and moan when you meet his lap again, driving his cock into you.

“Deep. Feel how deep I can reach, how deep I can fuck you. Is that good enough, is that deep enough? You feel good.”

He must be lying. It mustn’t matter to him. It’s impossible.

“Mmm...” you try. Mahito’s teeth bare at your neck in a grin once more.

“I can’t hear you.”

His hands move up against you, gripping your ass and letting go when you yowl. They travel, first up again to lock over your hips. You slow your hips for a moment, but Mahito doesn’t take control of the rhythm. He wraps his arms over your chest, trapping you against him. You gasp at the pressure, but when your fingers reach up to curl around his forearms and skate over rough patchworks of skin, it’s not to pull him away.

“Please – ”

“You want to touch yourself, hmm?”

It would be easier. It would feel so much easier. Mahito grabs at your upper arm, tightening his grip, threatening. It would be so much easier for his brutal strength to see the hunt all the way through – for some cursed thing to just devour you, if he didn’t feel it worth his energy to snap your bones himself.

“You can’t do it? Poor little thing. You want to touch yourself, don’t you? You’re so desperate,” Mahito says.

His breath is hot. You moan, flexing your fingers, dragging your nails down his forearms. He only tightens his grip in response.

“I bet you could make yourself come right away. I bet your body wants it. You want to come, don’t you? But I’m going to make you do it. Keep your hands to yourself, your greedy little self.”

It’s messy now, your slick coating your thighs, wet and cold down where your bodies connect and part and meet again. You groan. Mahito slides his tongue along your neck again and breathes hot at the back of your ear. “Are you close? You want to come?” he says in that too-gentle voice, sticky sweet like syrup.

It’s like he’s making sure to fuck his hips up faster now, legs cold and slick with sweat against the back of your thigh. You whine wordlessly again, squirming beneath the coiled wrap of his muscle. You can just feel the blood rushing through you, hot and rolling down your back where his chest slides behind your skin. The ridging edge of patchwork skin hits at the small of your back and you arch forward.

Mahito tightens his arms again at your movements, and when he speaks again, it’s colder than you’ve heard him before.

“Do you want me to touch you?”

You roll your eyes back, whimpering, jerking your hips back to feel the pressure of his cock slide just where you need it, and whimpering again when you’re unable to find it. One of his arms trails down, unhurried by the tense ripples of your body.

“Do you like it when I play nice?” Mahito asks in a way somehow taunting in its cool snarl, and his finger traces across your wet, swollen skin. You just moan back at him.

He finds your clit and pushes his finger down, smearing your slick across your body. Mahito moves sloppy and fast as you feel yourself get even wetter at the touch, legs straining against him as your rhythm breaks. That aching delicious feeling, the blood hot under your skin, keeps you grinding down on his cock. And harsh, breathy words, keep you going.

“No one fucks you like this, do they? Don’t you love this? That’s it. Come on my cock, that’s what you want, that’s what your pretty little cunt wants.”

Your mouth is wet too, lips breaking apart with each moan and saliva wet and gathered below your tongue.

“Oh, fuck…”

Leaning forward makes you scream, his cock hitting some spot so deep that it feels almost out of place, as if he could break you to pieces with it.

“It feels good, doesn’t it? You just love it, you just love falling to pieces over me. Look what I can do to you. You should see what a mess you are right now. I want you to come for me.”

You close your eyes, rolling them back when your lids fly open again. “It – fuck – so – ”

“Deep, hmm? I’m fucking you so deeply, fucking this greedy little cunt.”

“M- hmmm…” You lick your lips, only able to moan when his arms tighten and he tilts his hips up. The last dregs of your control slip, left totally as his rag doll, only for him to fuck.

“Come on my cock,” Mahito says again. His teeth are nipping at your neck, the cool saliva teasing your skin.

“I – I – ”

“I thought you could take it. You and your greedy cunt,” he says, flattening his hand over you, so hot and heavy and trapping you down against his hips. You arch your back again, helpless against the bracing bar of his arm across your chest, and slump back to his body. The ridge of his muscles, of his rough stitches threatening to rub you raw, ride against your sweaty skin. “Liar. Come for me.”

“Fuck…”

“Come for me, come for me,” Mahito demands, his voice breaking and heavy with breaths as his orders come louder, betraying his own eagerness. He grabs at you hungrily now, the hands on your body close to painful, and almost enough to break you out of this high even as you hurtle closer and closer to the edge. The stitches chafe against the small of your back as you twist anxiously, hips grinding for that release.

“Ahh..”

“I want to feel it,” Mahito drawls, the saliva spattering at your shoulders with his words. He closes his lips on your skin and kisses, sucking harshly until you cry out again at the pain of the love bite, lying in its adjective. “Your body is as desperate as you are, you fucking worthless stupid little whore. And you’re going to come for me, only for me. Come for me, now.”

“F-fuck!”

He does, fucking up into you with hand rubbing hard on your clit. Your knees jerk up as high as they can, nails clenching into his arm as your body desperately convulses together just as Mahito says. And you come, hard, with a cry of his name. It rolls down hot through you, inner muscles weak and fluttering around his cock as he keeps moving up into your helplessly writhing body.

“Fuck, oh, fuck,” you say again, and again, weaker every time. You roll your shoulders back, struggling once more to sit up and keep your posture.

“No,” Mahito croons. “I’m not done yet. We’re not done yet.”

You whimper, the aches of pleasure beginning to turn into something just too much as his cock continues. Your skin is oiled. The slickness is loud. Mahito fucks up into you harder and harder, the pressure hard and hot below your womb.

“Oh – ”

“You can do it,” Mahito says, groaning the words and hissing them through bared teeth. “You love me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you say in anguish.

Is it true?

“Little whore. Make me come. Make me come.”

He holds you so tightly, hand smearing down to grip your thigh down to his lap even as you buck feebly against him. Both your bodies are so hot and smacking with sweat, your hips shaking despite your own exhaustion. You can feel it, you can feel when he comes, the shudder that betrays him even through his strength.

“Fuck,” he snarls, and your legs twitch and shiver as it rises through you, shoving himself higher and deeper with each open-mouthed gasp. You moan, rocking hips from side to side as Mahito thrusts again, and again, until he finally stills.

“Oh…oh...”

“Just like that,” Mahito says. His voice is harsh and low, strangled honey, as he wraps his arms both back around you. “Just like that. You feel good, don’t you?’

His arms carry you back down to the bed as he slides out of you, your come still beading down your thighs as his wet cock smears against your skin. You turn to him at last, still trapped in his hold, and body sore and heavy.

Those eyes, as patchwork as his body, as his words, burning with lust, with hunger, gleam unsettlingly back at you.

“I do,” you whisper, the heat beating from your swollen cunt as slick rubs against the sheets.

Is it true?

You don’t know who’s lying anymore.

Mahito only smiles, broad, toothy, and wholly for himself, as he closes his eyes.

fin.