Chapter 1: day 1 - somnophilia with toji
Chapter Text
toji isn’t supposed to touch you like this.
he tells himself that when he comes home late, muscles aching from a job, pulling the door shut quietly behind him. the place is dark and silent, except for the faint sound of your breathing coming from the bedroom. you’re already asleep, curled up under the covers, soft and peaceful.
he should leave you be. crawl in beside you, maybe sling an arm over your waist and pass out. that’s what any decent man would do.
but toji’s never been decent.
he lingers at the bedside, unmoving. unable to peel his eyes away from you.
the way your chest rises and falls. the way your shirt’s ridden up, showing the curve of your hip, smooth skin calling to him like a beacon.
“fuck,” he says under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. he knows better. you’re asleep, dead to the world. touching you now—shit, it just isn’t right.
but his cock is already stirring, half-hard from nothing more than the sight of you. it’s infuriating. addicting. you, spread out so innocently while he stands here fighting the urge to ruin you.
he kneels down at the side of the bed, resting an elbow on the mattress, just watching you for a moment. your lips part faintly with each slow breath, lashes fanned out over your cheeks, completely oblivious to the storm brewing above you. you twitch in your sleep, a soft sound leaving your throat, making his jaw clench.
“no, i can't…” he breathes.
but before he can stop himself, he’s tugging the blanket down, just enough to bare you. your shorts are thin, leaving little to the imagination. he palms himself through his pants, cursing quietly, then pushes your legs apart gently, slow enough not to wake you.
“just a taste,” he tells himself, his voice a harsh whisper. “that’s all.”
his hands are calloused but careful as they slide up your thighs, thumbs brushing over your skin. he feels the warmth of you, the faint tremble in your muscles even as you sleep. you shift slightly, but don’t wake, and he exhales a shaky breath of relief.
the sight of you spread open like this—soft and unguarded—makes his head spin. he hooks his fingers in your waistband and eases your shorts down, baring the curve of your ass, the heat between your legs.
he groans faintly when he sees your cunt, already glistening with slick. “jesus christ,” he whispers. “you’re fucking perfect.”
he shouldn’t go further. he knows he shouldn’t. but then he leans in, mouth hovering a breath away, and all his resolve crumbles.
the first drag of his tongue over your folds is slow and deliberate. he licks up through your slit, closing his lips around your clit in a wet pull that makes his cock twitch.
"toji…" you stir, a blissful whimper slipping out, and he presses a kiss to your mound like he’s soothing you. “go back to sleep, beautiful. i've got you,” he rasps, before diving back in.
his tongue pushes past your folds, teasing your walls, then circles back to flick your clit with steady strokes. his big hands hold your thighs open, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin like he’s comforting you even while he desecrates you.
a lazy whine escapes your throat, your hips shifting, and his cock throbs at the sound. “mm, that’s it,” he mutters against you, “atta girl. just take it.”
he spits, spreading it with his tongue, messy and obscene. the wet sounds fill the room, slick mixing with your sleepy noises.
each twitch of your thighs only drives him hungrier. he nuzzles your clit, tongue dragging rougher now, panting into your folds like he can’t stop himself.
he groans, pulling back with his chin shining. then two thick fingers sink inside, curling until your thighs tremble and a moan breaks from your lips.
“hush, s'okay” he soothes again, eyes fluttering shut as he ruins you. “i know, i know. it's good, huh?”
his nose brushes your mound as his lips place hot, open mouthed kisses on your sex. his fingers pushing deeper and his grip on your thigh tightening every time you try to squirm away.
your body betrays you, hips shifting toward his sinful tongue, little sounds spilling out of you—half-whimpers, half-sighs—that make him feel insane.
he pulls away with a wet smack, your slick coating his nose, his chin, his stubble glistening. he pants against your hip, breath hot and ragged as he drinks in your clueless face.
“shit, baby. look at you,” he mutters, voice wrecked. he spreads your folds with two fingers, biting his scarred lip at how messy he's made you. “dripping all over my mouth, and you're none the wiser.”
his thumb presses to your clit again, tracing slow circles that make your hips jerk helplessly. your mouth falls open, a shaky whimper slipping past your lips.
toji swears under his breath, forehead dropping against your thigh for a second. he shouldn’t be doing this. shouldn’t be touching you like this while you’re dead asleep, using you to scratch the itch in his disgusting mind.
but then you whine again, a soft, sweet sound, and his cock jerks, leaking pre against the fabric of his boxers.
“jesus,” he grits out, dragging his tongue harder across your swollen nub. “can’t stop now, can i?”
he pushes your legs open wider, settling between them, his free hand tugging at his belt until it clatters loudly in the silence. he pulls himself free, cock thick and heavy, leaking at the tip.
lining himself up against your entrance, he drags the head through your folds, coating himself in your arousal.
you stir at the contact, a sleepy hum leaving your throat. your lashes flutter, brows pinching as your body registers the intrusion.
toji freezes for a moment, teeth gritted.
then you blink blearily, eyes hazy. “...toji?” your voice is rough and half-asleep.
his big hand covers your mouth before you can say anything else. “don’t say anythin',” he looks down at you, brushing the head of his cock against your entrance, the pressure steady, unrelenting. “just… let me make you feel good.”
your eyes widen, but then his his tip glides over your clit, and your confusion melts into a groggy moan.
“yeahhh,” he growls, voice hoarse and gritted, sinking the tip into your heat. his head falls back, a guttural groan tearing out of his throat. “so tight… fuck”
you gasp against his palm, hips shifting instinctively as he pushes deeper.
“that’s it,” he bites out, bottoming out with a sharp thrust that makes the bed creak. “fuckin’ knew it. i knew you wanted it.”
his hand covers up your wails, fucking into you slowly, each stroke dragging his cock against your gummy walls.
“you love this shit, don’t you?” his eyes lock onto yours, eyes blazing as he watches your dazed face twist in pleasure. “getting used like a fuckin' toy while you sleep.”
you moan against his palm, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the stretch.
“hah—don’t even try to deny it,” he sneers, leaning down until his lips brush your ear. “you’re soaking my cock. squeezing me like you’ve been waiting for it.”
his rhythm picks up, hips snapping into you harder. a hand pinches your nipple, reveling in how you arch into his touch.
“god, i’m a fuckin’ monster,” he snarls, biting at your neck. “using you like this. and you—” he thrusts harder, hitting deep enough to make you arch, “—you’re getting off on it. aren’t you, sweetheart?”
you sob into his hand, nodding weakly, and his laugh is dark, breathless.
“knew it,” he grunts, fucking into you with sharp, punishing thrusts. “knew my baby couldn’t resist me. you love it when i ruin you.”
his words drip with mockery, but his hand strokes your hair back gently, his lips pressing hot, frantic kisses to your temple.
“why the hell do you even love me, huh?” he asks, hips slamming into yours. “i’m nothing but a fucking savage. and still—you're cryin' on my dick like a bitch in heat.”
and the worst part? every inch of you agrees. he is a savage.
so why does he feel so good?
his thrusts get rougher, each one dragging a filthy, wet sound from your sopping cunt. his palm is still over your mouth, his thumb rubbing your nub in tight, merciless circles. you’re fully awake now, eyes glassy, lips trembling under his hand.
you manage to mumble, voice muffled against his palm, “t-toji… mmph!—please…”
he leans down until his nose brushes yours, eyes dark and wild. “please what, baby?” he hisses, hips rolling deeper, the head of his cock hitting a spot that makes your whole body jolt. “use your words.”
you let out a soft, wrecked whimper. your words muffled against his palm. “p-please… slow down!”
he laughs, the sound rough and sharp against your ear. “slow down? you were dripping for me in your fuckin' sleep, sweetheart. you don’t want slow.” his palm slips from your lips to wrap around your throat, fingers spreading over the column of your neck. his thumb strokes your jaw almost gently while the rest of his hand holds you still. “look at you—squirming like that. you can't tell me you don’t like it.”
your nails dig into the sheets, head tilting back into his grip. “i—i don’t—”
“liar,” he grunts, slamming his hips forward. your breath catches, a loud moan spilling from your lips as your walls flutter around him. he bares his teeth into a crooked grin. “yeah, that’s what i thought.”
he pulls almost all the way out and snaps his hips forward again, skin meeting skin with a wet slap. “you love it, don't you?” he breathes. “tell me you love it.”
you’re panting, drooling, half-choking as your hips buck back against him. “i’m— i love it!” you whine, voice cracking. “please, tojiiii!!—”
his eyes flutter shut for a moment, a groan tearing from his throat. “you sound so pretty when you beg.” he locks his eyes onto yours, watching you arch and shake under him.
your moans spill out louder now, breathy and broken, your tits arching into his chest. you claw weakly at the sheets, legs trembling as he keeps working you, his cock relentlessly dragging slow and deep inside you.
“t-toji!” you scream, voice cracking around his name, “s'too muchhh!!”
that’s all it takes for him to snap. he surges forward, dropping his full weight over you, the warmth and size of his body crushing you into the mattress. his hand leaves your hip to slap over your mouth, palm sealing the sounds spilling from you.
“shhh,” he huffs in your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “shut the fuck up. you’re gonna wake the whole fuckin’ building.” his words are harsh, but the deep rumble in his chest is pure hunger. “just shut up and take it.”
he rolls his hips deeper, pinning you harder with his weight, and you whine into his palm, eyes rolling back. the sound you make vibrates against his skin and he groans, biting down hard on the side of your neck. not enough to break skin, but enough to make you gasp, the pain sparking against the pleasure already building.
his teeth scrape your pulse point, his lips dragging over the mark before he bites again, rougher. your whole body shudders under him, your hips moving helplessly to meet his. your muffled cries come out high and needy against his palm.
“just like that,” he mutters, voice hoarse, grinding his cock in deep and slow, the wet sound of you both obscene in the otherwise silent room. “take it. fuckin’ take it. feels good, yeah?”
you nod frantically against his hand, eyes glassy, drool seeping from the corner of your mouth. your thighs are shaking, clamping around his hips, your nails digging into his shoulders as he drives himself harder inside you.
“you're makin' such a mess, i wish you could see yourself,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to see your face. he bites at your throat again, dragging his tongue over the mark, his hips snapping in sharp, punishing thrusts that make the headboard knock the wall.
your muffled mewls get louder, and he tightens his grip on your jaw, thumb digging into your cheek as his palm smothers your sounds. “didn't i tell you to shut up?” he snarls.
you’re not fighting it at all — your hands clutch at him, your body arching up, pushing forward into every thrust. the warmth of his weight, the pressure of his palm, the scrape of his teeth — it’s everything, and you’re melting under it, your lips parting as another sob escapes your throat.
it feels too good.
he moans into your neck, his voice breaking. “you're close, aren't you? you gonna cum? cum like some cheap slut?” he drives in deep, bottoming out, grinding against your clit with every push.
your muffled, frantic nod is all the answer he needs, and his laugh is dark and smoky, vibrating against your skin. “fuck— such a good girl f'me,” he murmurs, hips starting to pound a relentless rhythm.
you can feel it—your orgasm building, curling hot and sharp in your belly, ready to snap. your thighs squeeze tight around his waist as you squirm beneath him, whimpering against his hand, eyes screwing shut from the overwhelming pressure.
toji notices instantly. “no,” he grits out, voice rough and dark, pulling his head up from your neck. his pace never falters, cock pistoning in deep, heavy strokes. “don’t close your eyes.”
you shake your head weakly, eyes still squeezed shut, unable to fight the wave washing over you.
he rasps your name, lifting his hand off your lips only to grip your jaw instead, thumb and fingers digging into your cheeks as he forces your face up to his. “open them,” he snaps, his black eyes sharp and wild above you. “lemme see those pretty eyes of yours.”
a wrecked moan tears out of you the second his palm leaves your mouth. “toji—oh god—s'good!” your voice is high and broken, your throat raw from holding back.
he thrusts harder, the bed creaking beneath his weight, sweat dripping from his temples. “thaaat’s it,” he snarls, watching your eyes flutter open, glazed and teary but on him. “look at me. i wanna see that pretty face when you break.”
your whole body seizes up around him, back arching, mouth falling open on a strangled cry. “fuck—fuck!—”
“yeah, go on,” he chokes out, eyes locked on yours, hips slamming deep. “cum on my cock. let me see it.”
your climax rips through you, walls clamping down so tight around him that his rhythm falters. you sob, trembling under his weight, clinging to his shoulders as wave after wave rolls through you.
your mouth hangs open, moans tumbling free now, raw and unfiltered. “so good, toji, it’s so good—”
his chest rumbles with a low, broken groan as he watches you fall apart, your eyes wide and wet, staring right back at him. “fuck, you’re beautiful like this,” he grits out, still grinding into you, chasing his own high against the clutch of your body.
his hand clamps your jaw again, forcing your gaze up to meet his. “don’t look away,” he snarls, breath hot against your lips. “keep those pretty eyes on me.”
you’re dazed, overwhelmed, but you obey nontheless, staring up at him with trembling lips and flushed cheeks. “i—I’m trying—”
he shuts his eyes, his hips stuttering as the pressure in his gut coils tighter. “you're doin' so well. takin' me like a champ, baby.”
his thrusts grow uneven, his cock throbbing, and his mouth crushes against yours in a bruising kiss. he swallows every moan, every cry, his tongue hot and messy against yours.
then he rips his mouth away, growling deep in his chest. “gonna fill you up—fuck—gonna pump you full till you’re leaking,” his breath shudders against your ear, voice guttural and desperate. “you’ll take it, won’t you? you're a good girl, right?”
you babble, “yes—yes, toji, please—”
his head falls back, a curse tearing out of him as he buries himself to the hilt. his cock twitching inside you, hot spurts spilling deep, and he holds you down against the mattress, grinding in to make sure every drop stays buried.
“fuck—” his voice cracks, body shaking with the force of it, “fuck, i love you. i fuckin' love you.”
your eyes widen, locked on his as you feel the flood of warmth inside you, "i— i love you too!!"
he watches your face twist with overstimulation and pleasure, his own gaze feral, hungry, but softened with something dangerously close to devotion.
he rides it out with heavy, ragged thrusts, slower now, shamelessly panting into your mouth as he kisses you again, sloppy and desperate.
when the last wave finally ebbs, he collapses against you, his weight burying you deep into the sheets. his cock still jerks inside your twitching cunt, buried to the base.
for a moment, all you can hear is the heavy thud of his heartbeat against your chest and the ragged sound of his breathing in your ear.
then he tilts his head, mouth brushing over your damp cheek. loving, fleeting kisses press along your face, dotting your temple, your jaw, the corner of your lips.
“my girl,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, almost tender.
his big hand drags up to your face, brushing back sweaty strands of hair stuck to your forehead. his thumb strokes lightly over your cheekbone, and his mouth quirks in a faint, crooked smile.
you’re exhausted, hazy, still trembling faintly around him, but you lean into his touch, eyelids heavy.
he smirks, kisses your nose, then settles his forehead against yours, eyes half-shut. “go to sleep,” he says, his voice soothing now. “i’ll keep you warm.”
and with him still buried inside you, his hand gently cradling your face, you do.
Chapter 2: day 2 - knifeplay w sukuna
Summary:
his thumb strokes lazy circles over your hipbone as he tilts his head back, baring more of his neck to you, practically daring you to press harder.
“sukuna—” you whisper, nerves and arousal tangling messily in your chest. “what if i hurt you?”
his laugh is low, dangerous. “that’s the idea, sweetheart.”
Chapter Text
his thumb strokes lazy circles over your hipbone as he tilts his head back, baring more of his neck to you, practically daring you to press harder.
“sukuna—” you whisper, nerves and arousal tangling messily in your chest. “what if i hurt you?”
his laugh is low, dangerous. “that’s the idea, sweetheart.”
sukuna has never been a merciful man.
it just isn’t in his nature. cruelty fits him like a second skin, and tonight, you’re the one caught beneath his gaze—sharp, red, and unblinking. the dim lamp in your bedroom throws jagged shadows across the walls, but it’s the glint of steel in his hand that makes your breathing stop.
“relax,” he drawls, pulling a folding knife from his pocket like it’s nothing. like he hasn’t just dropped your heart into your stomach with the casual click of the blade snapping open. “you trust me, don’t you?”
your lips part, but no sound comes out. his grin widens at the silence.
“thought so.”
the mattress dips as he prowls closer, and you swear you can feel the knife before it touches you. he holds it so casually between his fingers, tracing the air above your throat like he’s sketching a line only he can see.
“look at you,” he murmurs, pressing the flat edge against your skin, right where your pulse jumps frantic. “you're trembling. you want this?”
your nod is small, cautious, but clear enough to show consent. sukuna hums, satisfied.
the blade drags lower, scraping gently down your collarbone, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. you’re pinned in place not by force but by his presence, that overwhelming, suffocating aura that makes you afraid to move.
“don’t flinch,” he warns, voice low, almost amused. “if you do, you’ll bleed. we don't wanna scar that pretty skin of yours, do we?”
the tip of the knife circles your sternum, then slides down over the curve of your breast. he leans in close, his breath hot against your ear as the cold steel teases your skin.
“such delicate flesh,” he whispers, kissing the shell of your ear before pulling back. “you’d be so easy to carve up.”
you whimper, your thighs pressing together. he notices, of course he does, and his laugh is deep, cruel.
the blade drifts lower still, down your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts. with a flick of his wrist, he slips the tip beneath the fabric, not cutting, just toying.
“spread your legs.”
it’s not a request. your body obeys before your mind catches up, and sukuna’s grin sharpens like the edge of the knife itself.
“good girl.”
he drags the blade lightly over your inner thigh, just enough pressure to leave a pale line that stings when he goes back over it. he doesn’t cut—yet—but the promise is there, gleaming with every shift of metal.
“hold still,” he orders, pressing the knife flat against your thigh, his free hand sliding up to squeeze your jaw. “let me see how much you can take.”
your breath snags when his grip suddenly tightens on your jaw. he doesn’t hurt you—he doesn’t have to. the weight of his stare alone pins you down harder than any hand ever could.
then, without warning, he shifts. you’re yanked forward, straddling him, thighs spread over his lap. the knife flashes as he twirls it in his hand, casual as ever, before pressing the cold handle into your palm.
“your turn,” he says simply.
you blink at him, fingers stiff around the knife. “...what?”
his smirk deepens. “don’t play dumb. go on.” he curls his bigger hand over yours, guiding the blade up until the cool metal kisses the side of his throat. his pulse beats steady under it, utterly unbothered.
“no way.” your voice comes out shaky, but he only chuckles.
“oh, relaaaax,” sukuna scoffs, repeating the way you he it earlier when he’d had you twitching under the blade. “what’s the matter? you wanted to play with fire, now hold the fucking match.”
the knife feels impossibly heavy in your hand, even though you’re not the one in danger. his hand stays steady over yours, forcing you to keep it there against his throat. your pulse is frantic, and he feels it when his other hand clamps tight on your waist.
“you’re crazy,” you breathe, eyes wide.
“yeah,” he agrees easily, grin wolfish. “lucky for you.”
his thumb strokes lazy circles over your hipbone as he tilts his head back, baring more of his neck to you, practically daring you to press harder.
“sukuna—” you whisper, nerves and arousal tangling messily in your chest. “what if i hurt you?”
his laugh is low, dangerous. “that’s the idea, sweetheart.”
you shake your head, the knife trembling in your hand. “i can’t.”
he tsks, leaning forward until his lips brush your ear. “you can. you will. because you like knowing you could end me with just a slip of your wrist.” his voice drops, hot and gravelly. “don’t you?”
a shiver runs down your spine, and he feels it. his smirk grows.
“you’re shaking,” he notes, his hand sliding down to squeeze your ass. “is it fear? or are you wet already?”
your cheeks burn. “shut up.”
“oh, you're soaked.” his tone is smug, cruel, and when he rolls his hips up into you, you gasp.
the knife wavers dangerously against his skin, but he presses your hand firmer until the blade just barely indents his throat. not enough to cut, but enough to make your stomach twist with the thought of it.
“see?” he whispers, eyes locking on yours. “it's not so scary when i’m the one bleeding.”
“you’re insane.”
“but you're not pulling away,” he bites back, sharp and fast.
he licks his lips, eyes half-lidded, almost blissed out at the tension in your hand. “go on. press harder. cut me.”
your grip tightens, but you don’t push down. your voice comes out hoarse. “i don’t want to hurt you.”
“then don’t.” he shrugs, grinning up at you like he’s already won. “just keep it there. keep me right on the fucking edge. you always were a tease, weren't you?”
your thighs tremble around him, the position forcing you close, every grind of his cock under his jeans making you dizzy. the blade sits against his throat, gleaming, as if waiting for you to choose.
he hums, chest rumbling. “that’s it. that's my girl. hold the knife while i fuck you stupid, yeah?”
your stomach flips, breath stuttering. “kuna—”
“what?” he tilts his head, mocking. “scared you’ll like it?”
it’s true. you are scared you’ll like it.
because the thought pulses hot in your head—sukuna, king of curses, all that rage and power and cruelty—and yet he’s sitting beneath you, smiling like a devil while your wavering hand holds a knife to his throat. it’s the kind of image that should make you feel powerful, but instead it makes your stomach twist and your thighs clench.
you shouldn’t enjoy this. shouldn’t feel this alive with steel in your hand and his vein thrumming under the edge of the blade.
but you do.
and he sees it. of course he does.
“there it is,” sukuna says triumphantly, his grin feral. “that look in your eyes. you’re starting to get it.”
your hand twitches and the knife shifts—just enough to poke his skin. he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t even blink. he presses your hand down harder, just a fraction, until the point teases the surface of his flesh.
“fuck—stop,” you whisper, panic spiking. “i’ll cut you—”
“then do it” his voice is low, dangerous. “show me you’re not afraid. or are you shaking because you like knowing the king of curses is at your mercy?”
the air stutters out of you, your thighs tighten around his hips, and he laughs because the answer is obvious.
“look at you,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue over his teeth, eyes burning into yours. “wet just from holding a knife to your boyfriend's throat.”
“fuck you,” you hiss, but your voice cracks, betrays you.
he tilts his head into the blade, the edge sliding just enough to nick. a thin bead of red wells up, slipping down his throat. your breath snags at the sight of it. his eyes flick to yours, sharp and searching, as if asking without words whether you’re still safe.
you nod, and he smirks.
“shit,” you whisper.
"owww, baby." he teases, only smirking wider. “look at what you did to me.”
and then, slow as sin, sukuna reaches up to wipe the blood with his fingers, then drags his tongue across his digits, licking up the thin line of crimson like it’s nothing. he groans low in his chest, savoring the metallic taste.
“fuckkk.” his eyes darken as they snap back to yours. “you’re shaking harder now. wanna taste?”
you shake your head quickly. “no—”
but your body betrays you, leaning closer, your lips parting before you can stop yourself.
he notices. oh, he notices.
“baby,” he chuckles, pressing your hand firmer against his throat, the blade biting lightly again. “you’re addicted already.”
“m'not,” you breathe, but it’s weak. pathetic.
his grip on your waist tightens, dragging you down until you feel him hard beneath you. he grinds up once. your gasp is sharp, and his grin stretches wide.
“keep telling yourself that.”
the knife gleams between you, his blood drying dark against the edge. you’re caught—terrified of liking it too much, terrified of what that means. because if you like this—if you like him like this, at your mercy—what does that make you?
his lips ghost over your ear, his voice hot and cruel. “don’t bother pretending you’re pure. i know exactly what filthy things you're into.”your throat works, words caught, but your body… your body is already answering.
you don’t even notice his hand leave your hip until you hear it— the slow rasp of a zipper sliding down.
your stomach drops. “wait—”
“shh.” his voice cuts through the air, calm and commanding. his other hand is still over yours, pressing the knife to his throat, forcing you to keep it there. the sharp edge digs lightly into his skin, a reminder of the power you shouldn’t have but do.
and then you feel it—his cock freed, thick and heavy, brushing hot against your thigh.
your breath hitches.
“move these,” he commands, yanking your panties to the side with a single rough tug. the fabric bites into your skin before snapping free, baring you to him. his grin is sharp, merciless. “fuck, look at you. dripping already. knew you’d get off on this.”
“i’m not—” you start, but the words die on your tongue when he drags the head of his cock through your folds, smearing slick over your clit.
your body jerks, thighs quivering around him as a whimper escapes your throat.
he laughs, deep and cruel. “you're not, huh? then why’s your pretty pussy begging for me? look, she's cryin' all over my cock," he pouts mockingly at you, reveling in how your slick drips down his shaft.
“s-stop—”
“stop?” he echoes, grinding against you, pushing just enough to part your folds. “do you want me to stop?”
your nails dig into the handle of the knife, breath ragged. “n-no…”
his grin widens. “there’s my good girl.”
and then he pushes in.
slow and steady, stretching you open around him until you can’t breathe. the knife shakes in your hand, the blade trembling against his throat as your body tries to take him.
“aahn— 'kuna…” the sound rips from your chest, half-moan, half-whimper.
his eyes darken, and he groans low in his chest, head falling back against the blade. “yeah. that’s it. take it all.”
your thighs quake, the air ripping out of you as he buries himself to the hilt. his free hand grips your ass, holding you down, keeping you stuffed full while you squirm.
“feel that?” he taunts, grinding his hips up into you while a hand presses against your stomach, feeling it bulge with each thrust. “feel how deep i am? you think anyone else could ever fuck you like this?”
you whimper, head tipping forward against his shoulder, and the knife digs a fraction deeper into his throat.
“careful,” he chuckles, voice tight with restraint. “one slip, baby, and you’ll paint me red.”
he thrusts up hard, forcing a cry out of you. your pussy clenches around him, the stretch unbearable and perfect.
“fuck,” you gasp, your voice breaking. “it’s—too much—”
his grin turns wicked. “too much, she says, while squeezing me like that.” his breath is hot against your ear. “you love it. admit it.”
he snaps his hips again, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the room. you whine shamelessly, your body shuddering, and he groans.
“say it,” he demands, biting your shoulder hard enough to bruise. “say you love it.”
your voice is shaky, raw. “i—i love it.”
his laugh is dark, triumphant. “good girl.”
the knife trembles in your grip, your hand aching from the tension, but he keeps it there. every thrust forces it to press against him, the danger of it only making you wetter.
he thrusts again, harder, sharper, his teeth dragging down your neck. “don’t stop. keep it right there. cut me if you want. make me bleed if it makes you cum harder.”
your whole body feels like it’s vibrating, slick and stretched and quaking around him, the knife trembling between you both. his thrusts keep knocking you off balance, making it impossible to think.
and then something shifts.
you stop thinking. stop worrying. your fingers tighten around the hilt. you pull the blade away from his throat, a newfound confidence surging through your veins.
his eyes snap open. “what are you—”
you run it down your own chest.
just a whisper of steel, light enough not to cut, but cold enough to make your skin pebble and your nipples tighten. the blade glints in the low light as it drags over your sternum, lower, down the slope of your breast.
sukuna’s hips stutter.
“baby.” his voice drops, rougher now, losing that untouchable composure. “look at you.”
you tilt your chin up, still moving the blade. “your turn to watch.”
his jaw clenches, his eyes burning into the path of metal as it slides lower, teasing along your ribs. his cock twitches inside you.
“careful,” he rasps, but it’s not a warning anymore. it’s a plea.
the blade pauses just above your belly button. your gaze locks with his. slowly, you bring the tip up, licking a thin bead of his blood from the edge. metallic and warm on your tongue.
he makes a sound you’ve never heard from him—half groan, half growl. his hips snap up hard, shoving a broken moan from your throat.
“fuck. fuck,” he breathes, his composure shattering. “you’re gonna kill me.”
you smile through your moans, small and feral, still tasting him. “isn’t that the idea?”
he snarls, grabbing your wrist, the knife clattering to the sheets. in the same motion he shoves you down flat, his palm braced next to your head, his cock still buried deep.
“you’re insane,” he grits, but his eyes are blown wide, lips parted. “absolutely insane.”
the heat still burns in your veins, your chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, every nerve singing from the aftermath.“look who’s talking,” you manage to croak, your back arched, voice wrecked.
his hand slides up your throat, thumb brushing your jaw, smearing his own blood across your skin. “you think you can play with me like that?”
“maybe.”
he thrusts, hard enough to make the mattress creak. “keep playing then,” he snarls, but his voice is shaky now. “keep fucking playing—see who breaks first.”
and from the way he’s moving—hips snapping, breath rough, teeth bared—you know it’s going to be him.
he drives into you again, harder, the rhythm gone rough, frantic. no more perfect control, no more slow taunting. just pure, carnal need. his hands grip you like he might tear you apart if he isn’t careful, fingers digging bruises into your hips as he pistons into you.
“god—” his head drops to your neck, teeth scraping hard, breath puffing against your skin. “you don’t even know what you do to me.”
you whimper, clinging to his shoulders, your nails raking over his skin. “s-sukuna—”
he cuts you off with a groan, hips slamming into yours, the wet slap of your bodies filling the room. “listen to you—” he laughs, but it’s broken, harsh, like he’s choking on the sound. “moaning for me while you’ve got my blood on your tongue.”
your thighs tighten around him, dragging him deeper, and he curses viciously against your throat.
“i should hate this,” he grits out, his thrusts stuttering, sloppy with urgency. “should hate you for making me lose it like this.”
his hand slides up, cups your cheek almost too roughly, tilting your face so he can see your expression—glassy-eyed, lips parted, skin flushed. his cock twitches deep inside you.
“but fuck—” his jaw clenches, his eyes burning, “i can’t stop. i can’t fucking stop.”
you moan, your body clenching down on him, and he groans so loud it rattles in your chest.
“so perfect—” his words tumble out now, raw and unfiltered. “so perfect like this. letting me ruin you. making me—” he cuts himself off, biting down hard on your collarbone, leaving teeth marks.
his rhythm falters again, hips jerking, every thrust sharp but uneven, desperate.
“—making me forget who the fuck i am.”
your breath saws out of you at the words, your heart flipping, because for a moment he doesn’t sound like sukuna the untouchable king of curses—he just sounds like a man undone, losing himself inside you.
his forehead drops against yours, sweat dripping down his temple. “stop. don’t look at me like that.”
you blink up at him, dazed. “l-like— mmnh!— like what?”
he growls, snapping his hips so deep you cry out. “like you’ve won me over.”
you bite your lip, watching the way his face twists with every thrust, sharp features drawn tight like he’s barely keeping himself together. and then you think, maybe you don’t want him to keep it together. maybe you want to see just how far you can push the king of curses before he breaks.
your nails drag down his back, slow at first, then harder—long, stinging scratches that leave red trails down his skin. he moans low in his throat, hips bucking forward harder.
you moan loud, wanton, tipping your head back so the sound rings out, every ounce of you playing it up. “oohh—god, sukuna!!”
his thrusts falter for a second, then slam even rougher, ragged and angry. “you think that’s funny?”
you arch against him, pressing your soft breasts against his chest just to feel him lose his rhythm again, your nails digging into his shoulders. “mmh—fuck me harder, then.”
his eyes narrow, glowing with that terrifying, beautiful fury. and then his hand snatches the knife from where it was discarded on the sheets. in one fluid motion he’s pressing the flat of the blade to your throat, the cold metal biting at your skin, earning a gasp from your kiss-swollen lips.
“lose the attitude,” he snarls, voice so low it rattles through your chest. his thrusts don’t slow, but the threat in his tone pins you still.
your lips part, breath shaky—but the heat in your gut only coils tighter. you squeeze around him on purpose, whining softly, defying him even as the knife presses harder.
his gaze flickers between your mouth and your throat, that unhinged edge creeping back into his expression. “you don’t know when to quit, do you?”
you smirk through your panting, reckless. “maybe i just like seeing you lose control.”
for a second, he’s silent—just staring at you like he can’t decide whether to kill you or worship you. then he lets out a broken, furious laugh, and pushes the blade harder into your throat, his hips slamming mercilessly into yours. earning a scream of ecstasy from you as you arch your back and dig your nails into the back of his head.
“then shut up and fucking take it,” he growls, teeth bared. “take all of it until you can’t even breathe without thinking of me.”
the edge of the blade digs just enough to sting, a thin line of heat blooming against your throat—but you don’t flinch. you can’t. not when he’s fucking into you like this, each thrust slamming so deep it rattles your bones. your nails claw at his shoulders, your thighs shaking, and still you moan louder, on purpose, just to see that flicker of madness burn brighter in his eyes.
"fuckk! k-kuna! shoooo good!!"
“fuckin’ brat,” he spits, chest heaving, teeth bared like an animal. the knife shakes in his grip, not from weakness—no, from restraint. you can tell he wants to carve his name into you, mark you until no one could mistake who you belong to.
your lungs stutter when he presses the knife a little deeper, not enough to cut, but enough that you feel the bite of steel against tender skin. “hold still,” he murmurs, voice fraying at the edges, raw and dangerous.
you whine, squirming anyway, arching into him. “mm—sukuna!—harder!!—”
and that’s it. that’s when he fully cracks.
he snarls, shoving you down into the mattress with his weight, knife still poised at your throat, hips pistoning into you like he’s lost to the need. every thrust is brutal, punishing, his control obliterated. his breaths turn ragged, desperate, a moan tearing out of him with every wet slap of skin.
“you think you can drive me fuckin' crazy and get away with it?” he hisses, the tip of his nose brushing yours, his mouth twisted in a feral grin. “look at you—shit—taking me like you were made for it. like you want me to ruin you.”
your body convulses around him, pleasure winding tight, every thrust sending sparks through your veins. you can’t stop the broken moans tumbling out of your mouth, can’t stop the way your body clings to him.
"hhgnh— ah! k-kunaaa!!…"
sukuna pants against your lips, almost unsteady now, his chest crashing into yours with every brutal snap of his hips. “fuck—fuck—yeah, that’s it—” his voice breaks, sharp and guttural. “you’re mine—you hear me? mine.”
your orgasm rips through you, sudden and violent, your body shuddering hard beneath him. you cry out, back arching, eyes rolling—and the sound, the sight, sends him spiraling right after.
with a strangled groan, he slams home one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you, his cock twitching deep, deep where you’re still spasming around him. his forehead drops to yours, sweat dripping, breaths harsh and uneven, his hand finally lowering the knife from your throat.
for a moment, all you can hear is the ragged sound of his breathing, the echo of his release still pulsing hot inside you.
then, a hoarse laugh shakes out of him, dark and satisfied. “fuck… look at the mess you made.”
the weight of him lingers, heavy but not crushing; his arms on either side of your head, his breath warm against your lips. you’re panting, the aftershocks still making your muscles jump beneath his hands. sukuna’s eyes, still dark but no longer feral, flick down to where the knife rested against your collarbone.
he shifts, pulling out of you slowly, and you whimper at the loss. he chuckles under his breath, a low rasp of a sound. “easy, baby,” he murmurs, voice now a strange mix of rough and soft.
the blade glides down your sternum, the cold metal a shocking contrast to your flushed skin. you tense instinctively, but his thumb strokes your hip in reassurance. his movements are slow now, careful—almost tender.
“look at me,” he says quietly. you do, and he smirks faintly, tracing a small, deliberate shape over your chest with the tip of the blade. you glance down and realize it’s a crooked little heart.
“there,” he drawls, eyes flicking up to catch yours again. “that’s mine too.”
your lips part, a weak laugh slipping out despite yourself. “a heart? really?”
he grins, wicked but softer than you’ve ever seen it. “what? you think i don’t have one?” his free hand brushes your hair back from your damp face, tucking it gently behind your ear, thumb smudging a bit of sweat from your cheek.
the knife clatters softly onto the nightstand. sukuna leans down and kisses you once more—slow and tender, a contrast to everything he’s just done—before resting his forehead to yours again.
Chapter 3: day 6 - overstim + praise with suguru
Summary:
“what a sweet sound,” he murmurs, voice rough with amusement. “you like this, don’t you? making noise for me, squirming under my touch.” his other hand moves to your hip, pressing you flush against him. “look at you. you're so tense. what's wrong, baby? don't feel good?”
"i feel too gooddd!!" you moan again, louder this time, thighs tightening around his wrist. your hips roll instinctively, chasing the sensation, but he only keeps his movements lazy, drawing it out until your breathing becomes laboured. he hums softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss against your temple.
“there,” he says softly, “there we go.” his thumb strokes harder now, fingers curling just enough to make your hips jerk. “atta girl, you’re so close, aren’t you?”
Chapter Text
you shouldn’t be so easy to unravel.
that's what suguru thinks when he sees you there, waiting for him with nothing but the way your heart skips when he enters. it’s quiet, too quiet. your legs curl slightly under the sheet, shoulders slack — but his mind knows the truth. you’re not trying to sleep. you’re waiting for him.
and suguru? he’s never been the kind to say no, especially not to a pretty thing like you.
you're laying back on the bed, breath hitching already, the heat of the day still clinging to your skin. suguru is leaning against the doorframe, watching you with that lazy smirk — the one that always sends a shiver down your spine.
without a word, he steps closer, fingers brushing against your thigh before settling at the edge of your hip, dragging a teasing line toward your centre.
“you look desperate already,” he murmurs low, voice dripping amusement, as his fingers curl around the waistband of your underwear. you gasp softly when he presses a thumb over your clit through the thin fabric, his touch slow and teasing, as if savoring your reaction.
his other hand trails up your body, sliding under your shirt to cup your breast. he kneads gently, thumb brushing over your nipple until it peaks under his touch, smiling when you whine. “such a good girl,” he breathes against your ear, his lips grazing your skin. “already so needy.”
you try to speak, to protest, but the warmth pooling between your legs makes your voice falter. he chuckles softly, leaning in until his breath is hot against your neck. “it's okay, beautiful. you don't need to say a word.”
his fingers dip beneath your underwear, finding your wetness with ease. he strokes slowly at first, letting you writhe beneath him, the teasing touch making your hips arch without your control. every gentle sweep of his fingers has you gasping, shivering, desperate for more.
"s-suguru…"
“you like it when i touch you there, yeah?” he murmurs, thumb pressing harder against your clit. his other hand keeps a steady hold on your breast, squeezing and rolling your nipple with careful precision. “look at you— already dripping for me and i've barely done anything.”
his words make your thighs tremble. his touch quickens slightly, fingers curling just enough to make your back arch. he leans down to kiss your shoulder, whispering soft words that have your toes curling. “such a good little thing for me. want you to remember how good you feel with me. no one else can touch you like this, isn't that right, baby?”
you arch toward him instinctively. he smirks wickedly at that, finger pulling away for a moment before replacing them with two, curling gently inside you while his thumb rubs circles over your clit. the sensations have you trembling, breath quickening.
"n-nnngh.. sugru— please—"
“shhh… stay right here,” he says softly, pulling back to watch you. “i want you on edge for me.”
his fingers slow even more, barely grazing you, and it feels impossibly cruel.
you need more.
you whine softly, stuttering forward and trying to push against him, but he keeps you pinned in place with just enough pressure to stop you from pulling away. your thighs clench instinctively, your breath puffing in quick pants.
“please…” your voice cracks, low and needy, and it makes his smirk deepen.
“hm?” he hums, watching you carefully, fingers still resting against you without moving enough to give relief. “tell me what you want.”
“more,” you whine, hips shifting under his touch. “please… i can’t— suguruuu!” your words trail into a breathless moan as he leans down closer, pressing his chest lightly against you.
his thumb drags slowly over your clit in lazy circles, making your legs jerk involuntarily and eliciting a loud moan from your lips. “you’re so desperate already,” he murmurs softly, his voice warm and gentle. “look at you. fuck, i love it when you say my name like that. you’re so cute.”
you whine again at his teasing, your breath stuttering as his thumb keeps circling, slow and steady. your body trembles, thighs clenching around nothing, your hips arching toward him. he hums approvingly, leaning down so his lips are brushing your ear.
“shh,” he says softly, his breath warm. “don’t fight it. let me take care of you, my beautiful girl.”
he presses a kiss to your neck, his tongue darting out to lick a broad stripe up your throat. his fingers move with a precision that makes your toes curl, dragging you further toward the edge you’re desperate to reach. you squirm, every movement pleading for him to give you more, but he keeps pulling you back with teasing patience.
“that's my girl,” he murmurs, voice low and soft, and it makes your knees go weak. “look at you. you're so tight for me.”
you whine his name again, softer this time, and his thumb brushes harder against your clit, enough to make your breath stutter. “yes… yes, suguru…” you beg quietly, your voice almost a whimper. "i-i need more!"
he strokes you slower, deliberately drawing out your need. he was well aware of your growing frustration, he just didn't care. “shhh, my baby,” he soothes, voice velvet. “you don’t have to say anything, okay? be quiet n' just feel.”
his words wrap around you like a warm blanket. you can’t help it — you’re squirming, whining, your hips rolling instinctively toward his touch. his free hand moves to cradle your jaw, tilting your head gently so you look up at him. his eyes are soft but intense, and it makes your chest tighten.
“god,” he murmurs again, thumbs stroking and lips brushing your skin. “such a good girl, aren't you? so sweet. so needy. all for me.”
you whine again, louder this time, your voice breaking, and he hums softly in approval. his thumb moves faster, but still gentle, keeping you on that sharp edge where every nerve burns.
“that’s it,” he whispers, voice thick with praise. “come on, baby. let me hear you.”
your body shudders under his touch, hips squirming, fingers clutching at the sheets as your breath catches in desperate pants. he keeps you there — gentle, teasing, praising — letting your need coil tighter and tighter without giving you release.
his thumb circles hard over your clit againwhile his fingers move deeper inside you, curling in ways that make your back arch. the noise you make — a sharp, desperate cry— only earns a soft chuckle from him.
“what a sweet sound,” he murmurs, voice rough with amusement. “you like this, don’t you? making noise for me, squirming under my touch.” his other hand moves to your hip, pressing you flush against him. “look at you. you're so tense. what's wrong, baby? don't feel good?”
"i feel too gooddd!!" you moan again, louder this time, thighs tightening around his wrist. your hips roll instinctively, chasing the sensation, but he only keeps his movements lazy, drawing it out until your breathing becomes laboured. he hums softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss against your temple.
“there,” he says softly, “there we go.” his thumb strokes harder now, fingers curling just enough to make your hips jerk. “atta girl, you’re so close, aren’t you?”
you can only moan and mindlessly nod in response, hips bucking, breaths uneven. his hand moves faster, but his touch is still calculated, keeping you on the edge longer than you can stand. he hums again, low and approving, watching you writhe beneath him.
“that’s it,” he whispers, voice thick with praise. “let go for me. give it to me. fuck, you're doing so well. takin' my fingers like a good girl.”
your moan breaks out, loud and unabashed, and he doesn’t stop. he keeps going, coaxing another orgasm from you even as your body shakes beneath him. your thighs clench hard around his wrist, nails digging into the skin of your hip. he hums softly against your ear, voice warm and teasing, “there we go. such a good girl.”
his words wrap around you, making your breath hitch again, even as your legs tensed. he doesn’t ease up — his fingers keep drawing circles over you, coaxing every ounce of pleasure from your body until you’re crying softly, tangled in the overwhelming sensations.
"s-sugu..s'too much!" you whimper, arching your back tiredly against the sheets.
his voice is soft now, almost soothing, brushing through the haze of your breathless whimpers. “shhh, its okay. you're so beautiful. all mine.”
you shiver under his touch, helpless and spent, your body trembling in overwhelming bliss. his fingers are still twitching against you, he smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing. his voice drops low, teasing — “you can give me one more, can’t you?”
you whine softly, blinking up at him, body jolting upright. “nooo, sugu! i-i can't,” you protest lazily, voice breathless, voice shaky. you’re so tired, so sore, so sensitive that the idea of moving makes your chest ache. your thighs twitch under him, your skin still humming where he touched you.
he laughs softly, low and possessive, like he’s amused at your weakness. “oh, but i want it. i need it so bad. you wanna make me feel good too, don't you?” his fingers drag across your hips, pulling you toward him before you can even protest further. before you know it, he’s gripping you by your waist and helping you up so your knees straddle him.
the second you’re seated above him, his cock pressing hard against you, you gasp — too sore, too tired. your clit burns and pulses, every nerve screaming with sensation. tears well in your eyes without you even meaning to let them fall.
he doesn’t give you time to recover. with that sinful smirk, he starts to pull you down onto him. you moan immediately, hips locking in instinctively despite your protests. “suguru… i’m—so tired—” you whimper, voice breaking, but he just hums softly, leaning up to press a hand to your cheek.
“that’s okay,” he murmurs, voice rich and warm. “i'll do all the work. i just wanna see my girl like this. all sensitive n' needy on my cock. fuck, you're s'pretty”
you squirm, trying to pull away, but his grip is firm. he tilts your hips, guiding you down with gentle but unrelenting pressure. your whines turn into breathless gasps as his cock slides inside you, slow and careful at first — but each movement sends sparks through your body.
"o-oh! fuck— suguru! shoooo good!"
your thighs shake violently, hips trembling with every roll against him. tears slip freely now, glistening as your eyes flutter shut. your body feels impossibly pushed to its limit— every nerve ending screaming — but he keeps you riding him, slow and steady, hands braced on your hips to keep you in place.
“look at you,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing. “you're soaking my cock. doing so well for me.”
you let out a quiet moan, hips rolling despite the ache in your legs. your voice breaks into soft whimpers, and he hums approvingly. “thaaaat's it, baby. keep going. you’re perfect like this.”
he leans up, pressing kisses along your neck, his hips thrusting just enough to keep you on edge, even though your body is screaming that you can’t take anymore. every motion sends more pleasure through your body, tears welling even harder, your thighs quaking as your heart pounds.
you gasp his name again, breath ragged, and he just hums against your skin. “i've got you... just like that.”
his hands tighten in your hair, tugging gently but firmly so your head tilts back, exposing your neck. his lips brush your skin, dragging slow, wet kisses along the sensitive curve, while one hand keeps you braced at your hips. “fuck, you feel so good,” he groans low, voice rough, and you can feel him bucking up into you, pressing harder with each movement as he moans shamelessly.
you moan immediately, hips stuttering as every nerve is alight. “suguru… please—oh god—” your voice breaks into a whine as his mouth latches onto your neck, teeth grazing lightly, sucking and nipping with just enough pressure to make you shiver violently.
he hums against your skin, hands roaming over your body, one thumb finding your clit. the moment he rubs, your back arches, and a scream tears from your throat, loud and ragged. “fuck—oh my god! sugu—too muchhhh!” you cry, clutching at his shoulders, body heaving uncontrollably as you sob.
“doesn't it feel good?” he murmurs between kisses and groans of pleasure, voice thick with desire. “look at you, trying so hard — go on, take it all for me.”
your hips roll instinctively, riding him harder even as your knees threaten to give out. he bucks up into you deliberately, making your head fall back, neck exposed, and you whimper and moan, each thrust sending a wave of almost painful pleasure through your body. “oh god, yes—right there! harder! please!” your voice cracks, breathless and ragged.
his thumb circles over your clit in lazy, teasing motions, dragging you closer to the edge again and again. you cry out, nails digging into his shoulders, tears spilling freely. “i can’t—oh god, too much! sugu, please!”
he growls softly, lips moving from your neck to kiss your jaw, then pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to your cheek. “breathe, baby… you’re doing so perfect for me.” he murmurs, tugging your hair back slightly more, making you tilt your head exactly where he wants it. “mm, you’re losing it, aren’t you? crying on me like that while you ride my cock like you need it.”
you mewl helplessly, bouncing against him with every deliberate thrust. “oh—fuck! yes! yes! suguru! don’t stop! please—oh god!” your voice is raw, body trembling, overstimulation overwhelming every sense.
he hums approvingly, thrusting up into you harder now, rubbing your clit in perfect sync with his hips. your moans shatter into screams, loud, desperate, and wet, each one echoing in the room. “nngh—wait, wait—too much, i’m gonna break!!—”
“fuck—right there,” he growls, voice low and ragged, thumb circling your clit, “just like that… take every inch for me.”
your body shakes violently with the overstimulation, tears welling in your eyes, hips moving almost uncontrollably against him. his mouth trails over your shoulder, neck, jaw, peppering you with kisses and soft bites, his hands clutching you tight, grounding you even as you ride him hard, screaming and gasping with every movement.
“you’re gripping me like you don’t wanna let go.” he murmurs, voice low and thick, pressing you down into him as he bucks again, dragging you even closer to the edge.
your screams mix with his grunts, the room filled with wet, desperate sounds, your body completely overwhelmed, every nerve ending alive, every muscle weary from how good it all feels.
he keeps his hips rolling up into you at a punishing pace, thumb pressing firmly into your clit as you ride him through the overstimulation. your breath comes in sharp, ragged pants, hips jerking uncontrollably as everything coils tighter inside you.
“oh—fuck—m'close!” you cry, voice breaking, nails digging into his shoulders. your thighs clench hard, breath shattering into desperate whimpers. your body tenses, flickering violently as warmth blooms deep inside, and you shudder with a broken, breathless scream.
“come on, baby,” he murmurs softly, voice low and warm, “let it happen, i've got you.”
your world narrows to sensation, him, the wetness, the heat — your body shivering under the overstimulation until it breaks. you come hard, shuddering on him, voice breaking into desperate whines and cries, “ahhn—oh god—i’m cumming!!—”
his thumb rubs in slow, precise circles, coaxing every last bit of release from you, and you can’t hold back your loud, shuddering moans. tears spill from your eyes, trailing down your cheeks, your body slick and clenching around his cock.
he groans deeply, leaning up to press a wet kiss to your shoulder, murmuring praise that makes your breath hitch. “you don’t even see what i see, do you? you’re stunning right now.”
you whine softly, head falling forward as you ride out the tremors of your orgasm, still gasping, still trembling. he keeps his thumb moving, not letting you rest, drawing another soft whimper from your lips.
“you’re breathtaking,” he says, voice thick. “every inch of you.”
your hips keep twitching against him, slick heat clinging to your skin. “suguuu… i can’t…” you breathe, voice breaking, but he hums softly against your neck.
“yes you can,” he whispers, voice warm, “you just did. and you’ll do it again if i tell you to, because you're a good girl, right?”
his voice wraps around you like heat, grounding you even as the overstimulation leaves you raw and breathless. your body shakes under him, and with one last firm stroke, he presses up into you deeper, letting you collapse against him in the aftermath.
“that’s my perfect girl,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb gently across your cheek, his eyes soft but possessive. "i love you"
Chapter 4: day 8 - office sex + degradation with nanami
Summary:
“you think this is okay?” he asks, softer now, almost incredulous. his fingers loosen a fraction, pulling your hair just to redirect your line of sight so you can see the table again. the cursor blinks accusingly at the missing decimal. "you must really enjoy embarrassing yourself. does it arouse you?”
"n-no—"
"get back to work."
Chapter Text
the office is too quiet. the kind of quiet that sits heavy, full of things unsaid. you can hear the hum of the air conditioning and the faint tick of the clock above nanami’s desk — the only sounds breaking the stillness.
he’s standing by the window, his back to you with his suit jacket off and his sleeves rolled up. the city glows behind him, gold and silver against the glass. his hands are in his pockets, his shoulders square, unreadable as always.
“you sent the deal to the wrong client?” he asks finally, voice low, measured. no shouting, no frustration — just calm, steady disappointment.
somehow that’s worse.
you swallow. “i— it was an accident, sir. i thought—”
he turns his head slightly, just enough for you to see the edge of his jaw. his eyes are sharp when they meet yours. “you thought?” he repeats quietly, and there’s something almost dangerous in the way he says it. “but you didn't think, did you? you were told to double-check every report before it leaves this office.”
you flinch, fingers tightening around the folder you’re holding. “i did check— i just missed that one attachment—”
nanami sighs, long and controlled, and crosses the room toward you. he doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t have to. every step is precise, heavy with authority. when he stops in front of your desk, you can smell his cologne — faint, clean, and expensive.
“you’re supposed to be better than this,” he says, his tone dropping a shade lower. “do you know how much time that mistake cost us? not to mention the deal we lost.”
you shake your head, barely able to hold his gaze. his eyes narrow, then flick to the papers scattered across your desk — evidence of your panic trying to fix things before he noticed.
“stay late,” he says simply. “you’ll redo the report. properly, this time.”
“yes, sir,” you manage.
he looks at you for a moment longer, gaze traveling over your face as if deciding whether to say something else. for a second, you think he’s done — that he’ll walk away and leave you to drown in your own embarrassment — but then he leans down slightly, his hand braced on the edge of your desk.
“when i give you instructions,” he says softly, “i expect them followed to the letter.”
your breath catches. the way he says it — calm, cold— makes your pulse quicken.
he straightens again, his expression unreadable, and smooths the cuff of his sleeve. “i don’t repeat myself.”
“no, sir,” you whisper, "of course not."
he nods once, satisfied, and turns away — back to his desk, back to his quiet control. you sit there, frozen, the weight of his words sinking in, your heart pounding too fast.
the only sound left in the room is the steady tick of the clock.
—
the office lights buzz like a mosquito in your ear. the skyline outside is a smear of headlights and late-night trains; inside, your desk lamp is the only defiant pool of light, making the stacks of paper look like small, accusatory tombstones.
you’ve been at this for hours — fingers cramped, coffee gone cold in the travel mug — and still the cursor blinks back at you like it’s mocking your existence.
nanami watches you from the doorway with that slow, dangerous calm he keeps like an heirloom. suit hung over the back of his chair, tie loosened but still perfectly knotted enough to look like a wet dream come true.
his expression is flat, almost bored, and the way his hands are folded behind his back makes your skin peel into gooseflesh.
you know that look.
it’s the one he uses before he dismantles things.
“you sent the wrong version again,” he says, voice quiet and clinical. no theatrics, no shout — just a verdict. you feel it more than hear it.
you try to explain, fingers fumbling under the keyboard, a page falling out of the printout like a confession. “i— i missed the appendix. i thought i updated it—” your voice scrambles, thin.
he doesn’t move at first. instead, he steps in, each stride measured, like he’s pacing out where he’ll plant his feet so he can corner you perfectly. the light catches the line of his jaw. when he speaks again it’s softer, but there’s a blade in the syllables.
“you were told to triple-check,” he says. “didn't i make my myself clear?”
your throat tightens. you can feel the panic rising — the kind that makes your vision narrow to the edge of the desk, the crease of the paper, the place where you messed up. you reach for the folder, hands shaking.
“leave it,” he orders, and it’s a simple word but it lands heavy. you sit, obedient, because you don’t have a better plan and because you know what happens when you don’t.
he comes around your desk and leans, palms flat on the lacquered surface, close enough that you can see the tiny scar on his cheek. he’s terrifying in the smallness of his actions. he doesn’t need to shout. he doesn’t need to touch you to make you small.
“redo it,” he says. “again. i'm trying to be understanding, but don't mistake my kindness for naivety.”
you start, fingers moving, eyes stinging with the headache of concentration and humiliation. nanami watches like a hawk. every time your cursor lags he’s right there, a cool critique: change the phrasing, tighten the data, fix the margins. his feedback is surgical and sharp, and with every correction your cheeks feel puffier with shame.
you’re halfway through the second revision — the clock on the wall like a metronome counting down your dignity — when he says, quietly, “stand up.”
you do it because you are the kind of person who values their life.
you try to keep it professional, to fold your hands, to look collected, but the fluorescent light makes the sweat at your hairline visible, and you can feel your pulse in the hollows of your wrists.
nanami doesn’t give you time to reassure yourself. his fingertips close on the band of your waist, warm and firm, and he shoves you to bend over the desk. the action is not gentle; it’s precise, abrupt enough that the chair scrapes and you gasp — a short, involuntary sound — as he positions you.
“arch your back,” he says, and you obey, palms finding the smooth wood, the scratch where someone must have dragged a pen in a hurry. the world tilts. paper rustles under your palms. the hum of the heater feels suddenly very loud, like an audience.
his hand lands at the small of your back, not soft, not kind. you feel the weight of his palm like punctuation. when he presses, it’s direct, and your breath hiccups.
“look,” he orders, voice low. “look.”
you turn your head the barest fraction, and his other hand clamps into your hair — a violent wrench: fingers threaded tight enough that your scalp tingles, enough to pull your eyes to the place on the page where the typo sits like a festering pimple.
it’s small, stupid — a missing decimal in a table — and your stomach flips, an instinctive, abject embarrassment. nanami drags your hair so you can’t look away, the motion pressing your face against the wood of the desk.
your cheek smushes against the cool table, the laminate smelling faintly of paper glue and old coffee, and for an instant all you can hear is the rasp of his breath and the uneven beat of your heart.
“this is the third time,” he says. “how many times do i have to tell you to stop being careless?”
there’s a hardness in the word careless that stings worse than any raised voice. you want to retort — to say you’re tired, to say you were up all night trying to fix the client list — but the tug at your hair and the feel of his palm on your back shrinks the words in your throat. your protests come out small and pathetic: “i-i’m sorry. i’ll fix it.”
he snorts, a short, contemptuous sound that vibrates down your spine. “apologies aren't currency here.” his fingernails press a little, just enough to remind you he could be rougher if he wanted. “incompetence costs time. it costs us reputation. it makes you look…” he pauses, as if savoring the word, letting it land like a verdict, “flawed.”
you choke on that, the word wrapping around your ribs like a band. the humiliation blooms hot in your chest, but under it is another current — a tight, confusing flare of something like arousal.
you feel exposed, raw, the way someone feels after a fever when every touch is magnified. your breathing gets shallow and fast.
“you think this is okay?” he asks, softer now, almost incredulous. his fingers loosen a fraction, pulling your hair just to redirect your line of sight so you can see the table again. the cursor blinks accusingly at the missing decimal. "you must really enjoy embarrassing yourself. does it arouse you?”
"n-no—"
"get back to work."
you sniffle and sit back down at your desk. your hands shake as you reach for the pen. you work quickly, the muscles of your forearms taut. he watches, deliberate. every small correction is witnessed. every corrected typographical sin is marked by a thin exhale from him — a sound that could be approval if you were brave enough to read it that way.
you eventually slide the paper toward him with trembling fingers. nanami’s eyes track the motion, blades of attention cutting through the fluorescent haze. he takes the page, reading in silence, that slow, unreadable way like he’s measuring you for something. when he looks up, there’s a new edge to him — a close, sharp thing that makes your skin prickle.
“good,” he says, and it lands oddly. not warm. not soft. precise. “now stand up.”
your body answers before your brain does. you rise, knees stiff, face burning. the room suddenly feels smaller, like the air is thinner near his chest. when you stand directly in front of him, you can see the faint crease at the corner of his mouth, the way his jaw tightens as if he’s holding back something more dangerous than impatience.
“turn,” he orders.
you pivot on your heel, trying to keep your voice even. “sir?”
“turn around,” he repeats, low. there’s an insistence in it that doesn’t ask for manners. you do as told, palms finding the desk edge on the other side, the wood cool under your skin.
he moves behind you with the quiet confidence of someone who owns the space. for a second his hand rests on your lower back, just to steady you, and the contact sends a current through you so quick you almost lose your breath. then, without a syllable, he pulls his hand back and delivers a sharp smack to your ass.
the sound cracks in the small room. you gasp — shocked, startled, alive. heat blooms across your skin where his palm landed. it’s abrupt and raw and it has your center humming with a new, ridiculous awareness of your own body.
“did that embarrass you?” he asks, voice flat.
“n-no,” you manage, breath hitching. a small, involuntary whimper escapes you as the sting flickers warm. your cheeks flush deeper — heat spilling down your neck.
nanami watches you for a beat longer, like he’s memorising the exact way you crumble when corrected. then, without warning, his grip on your hair tightens; he tugs, just enough to tilt your chin so you can’t look away from him. his voice is low and flat. “don’t make this a habit,” he says. “i won’t keep reminding you to do your job.”
you want to apologize again, to promise you’ll be better, but the words get knotted in your throat when his palm comes down across your ass once more. the smack lands and the air in the room fractures — you moan, breath snatched clean from your lungs. it’s hot and sharp and somehow electric, the sting blooming and melting into a humming heat that settles low in your belly.
“fuck,” you breathe, the sound small and immediate. “i’m sorry—”
“you’re negligent,” he mutters, and the word lands like a punch to the gut. “you act like you don’t respect the work.” the sting of humiliation flares, but beneath it — threaded through it — is a weird, aching need to prove him wrong. to show him you can be exact. to see his mouth pull like that. the contradiction frays something inside you.
your apology comes out ragged. “i’ll make it right. i’ll be better.”
he laughs then, sharp and humorless. “you? no, you will learn consequences,” he says. the laugh becomes a sound that vibrates straight down to your spine. “or you’ll learn discipline.”
another smack follows, this one harder, leaving a bright bloom of heat. you moan again— a raw, unfiltered sound — and his hand flattens against you not to soothe but to steady. the motion is possessive, marking the space he occupies between correction and something else.
“do you like being corrected?” he asks suddenly, almost conversational, his voice barely above the hum of the air conditioning. it’s a question, but he’s not looking for honesty so much as reaction.
“i—” you start, then break, because the answer is messy and fast. you can feel the flush under your skin, the way your pulse quickens. “i don’t know,” you whisper. the admission feels dangerous and true.
his fingers tighten in your hair at the nape of your neck, a rough, claiming tug that makes your spine arc. “you do,” he says, certain. “you like the sharpness. you like being put in your place.”
"n-no! sir… not like this! y-you're too mean…"
he chuckles, a dark sound that sends a thrill down your spine. "mean?" he repeats, tsking. "this isn’t mean, love. this… this is just a lesson." His hand moves to your hip, fingers splaying possessively. "a lesson of who’s in charge."
his tie, silky and cool, wraps around your wrists, binding them together with practiced ease. you test the bonds, but they hold firm. a whimper escapes your lips, half fear, half anticipation. he guides you back to bend over the table, his hand on your lower back, pushing you forward until your stomach rests against the cool wood.
"spread your legs," he commands, voice harsh. you hesitate, then comply, feeling the cool air against your skin as your skirt rides up. he hums in approval, fingers tracing the edge of your underwear.
"please," you whisper, not even sure what you’re begging for. more? less? his touch? his words? his cock?
he leans over you, his breath hot on your ear. "please what?" he taunts. "please fuck you? put you in your place?"
his hips suddenly snap forward, filling you in one hard thrust. you gasp, the sensation overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain. he grunts, a sound of satisfaction, and begins to move. his pace is brutal, each thrust punctuated by filthy words muttered in your ear, “look at you, taking my cock like a fucking slut,” he growls, fingers digging into your hips. “you love this, don’t you? being used, being fucked in my office like a cheap whore.”
a broken, shuddering moan tears from your throat as you pull a lewd face. “n-nanami—”
“don’t,” he cuts you off, his thrusts becoming sharper, deeper, hitting a spot that makes your vision blur. “you don’t get to say my name. not when you’re like this. understood?”
tears prick at your eyes, a confusing cocktail of shame and raw, undeniable pleasure coiling tight in your gut. “please, sir,” you whimper, the words feeling foreign and filthy on your tongue. “it feels… it feels sooo good.”
he chuckles, a dark, humorless sound. “of course it does. this is— fuck —what you were made for. to take whatever i give you.” he leans over you, his chest pressing against your back, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that's somehow more degrading than his shouts. “you’re getting close already, aren’t you? i can feel you clenching around me.”
you nod frantically, your forehead rubbing against the polished wood. “y-yes, sir, please, m'so close… p-please let me cum.”
his movement still abruptly, buried deep inside you, the sudden lack of friction an agony. “no.”
the single word is a bucket of ice water. a sob hitches in your chest. “w-whyyy? please, i’ll do anything!!”
his hand slides from your hip, snaking around your front, his fingers finding your clit with unerring accuracy. he doesn't stroke you, just presses the pad of his thumb down hard, a constant, maddening pressure that makes you buck against him.
“because i said so,” he murmurs, his lips against your shoulder. “your body belongs to me. it’s not yours to take. you’ll cum when i decide you’ve earned it. and you haven’t. not yet.”
he begins to move again, a slow, torturous grind, his thumb still applying that devastating, stationary pressure. “you think you deserve to fall apart? look at you. bent over my desk, tied up, taking my cock like a common streetwalker. you think that’s worthy of a reward?”
“sir, i can’t… i can’t stand it!!” you sob, your body trembling violently, teetering on the very edge, held there by his will alone.
“you can, and you will,” he states, his voice flat and absolute. he picks up the pace, the brutal, driving rhythm of his cock slamming into your cervix returning, each thrust jolting you forward and blissing you out. “you’ll take every inch of me, and you’ll thank me for the privilege. you’ll learn your place. it’s right here, under me.”
his free hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back, arching your spine. “now, beg for it. beg for me. tell me what you are.”
the words tumble out, stripped of all pride, raw and honest. “m'your slut, sir!! please, your— nnghh! — cock feels s'good, please don’t stop, please— i need it—”
“that’s right,” he grunts, his own control starting to fray, his thrusts becoming ragged. "go on, cum for me. make a mess on my cock.
the permission is a guillotine’s drop. your world dissolves into a shuddering, convulsing release, a silent scream is trapped in your throat as your body seizes around him, milking his length in frantic, involuntary pulses. white-hot pleasure scorches through every nerve ending, leaving you boneless and gasping against the cool wood of the desk.
but he doesn't stop.
the brutal, piston-like rhythm doesn't falter for a single second. as the last aftershocks of your climax is still wracking your exhausted frame, the sensation shifts, curdling from overwhelming pleasure into something sharp, raw, and unbearable.
a broken sob escapes you, your body instinctively trying to arch away from the relentless, grinding friction.
“n-no… nana— sir!! p-please… it’s too muchhhh!"you mewl, the words slurred and thick with oversensitivity. every nerve felt flayed open, exposed. the slide of him inside you, which moments before had been ecstasy, is now a searing brand.
his grip on your hips tightens, his fingers like iron bands holding you in place, forcing you to take it. he leans over, his chest a solid, sweating weight against your back, his mouth close to your ear.
“did you think we were finished?” his voice was low, calm, and utterly merciless. “that pathetic little report you handed in this morning cost this division a six-figure account. did you think there would be no consequences?”
he drives into you with renewed force, a punishing thrust that steals the air from your lungs. you moan out, a ragged, pained sound.
“this,” he hisses, his pace unrelenting, “is your performance review. you failed to meet expectations, and now you will learn the price of your incompetence.”
tears stream down your face, mingling with the sweat on the desk’s surface. “i’m-i’m so sorry, sir— ahhnn!!—i’ll do better, i promise, just—fuck—please, i can’t take it!!”
he reads the absolute submission in the slackening of your muscles, in the way your head finally lolls forward, your cheek pressed against the sweaty wood. a low, guttural sound of approval rumbles in his chest. “there it is,” he breathes, his voice thick with a feral satisfaction. “you've learned your place.”
his rhythm becomes frantic, losing its punishing precision for something raw and urgent. each thrust is a sharp, possessive claim, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips hard enough to leave dark, lasting imprints.
you feel the deep, internal pulse of him a moment before the hot, sudden flood of his release fills you, a stark contrast to the searing friction. a long, ragged groan rips from his lips, his body shuddering against yours as he empties himself deep inside, marking your failure in the most intimate way possible.
for a single, merciful moment, he remains still, his weight heavy and warm on your back. the only sound is the ragged symphony of your shared breathing. then, with a slow, deliberate withdrawal, he pulls out.
the feeling of his cum immediately beginning to trickle out of your spent, swollen cunt is a fresh wave of humiliation. you flinch at the sensation, a weak, pathetic sound escaping you.
you hear his soft, amused chuckle. “tsk. wasting it already?”
before you can process his meaning, his fingers are there, pressing against your slick, sensitive entrance. he pushes his release all back inside, a slow, filthy, intrusive motion that makes you moan and squirm, the overstimulation a bright, shocking pain. he works his cum back into you with a clinical possessiveness, one finger, then two, stretching you, ensuring not a single drop was lost.
“perfect,” he commands, his voice a low, final decree as he presses his palm firmly against you, holding his claim inside. “you’ll keep me there. you’ll carry the reminder of your failure with you for the rest of the day. every time you feel it leak, you’ll remember the cost of disappointing me.”
he finally stepps back, the cool air a shock against your heated, abused skin. the soft rustle of his clothing as he rights himself is the only sound, a return to normalcy that felt obscene. he leaves you there, bent over the desk, his tie still binding your wrists, his release trapped inside you, a liquid punishment slowly soaking into your very core.
the lesson is complete, and the silence that settled over the office is heavier than any blow.
Chapter 5: day 9 - gunplay with toji
Summary:
“fuck, that's it,” toji grunts, his breath hot on your neck. “taking it so good. such a dirty girl f'me.” his hips press against your ass, his own erection a hard promise behind his jeans.
the gun barrel twists slightly inside you, and you cry out, your nails scraping against the wall. “you love this, don’t you? love being fucked against the wall like some cheap whore.”
Chapter Text
you're out tonight, flirting with the first man you see. but the laughs that slip out of you don't sound real — they're too bright, too easy.
maybe that’s why you let the bartender’s fingers linger on your arm. maybe that’s why you forget yourself. for one stupid second, you pretend you’re just another girl at a bar.
then the room goes cold. the bartender’s grin fades, eyes locked on something — someone — behind you.
you don’t need to turn around. you can feel him.
your boyfriend's calloused hand lands on your shoulder. “time to go, sweetheart.” toji’s voice is low enough to rattle your ribs.
and it’s not a suggestion.
the poor bartender is already backing away, hands raised in a placating gesture, muttering apologies to the floor before he turns and flees into the back. toji doesn’t even look at him. his attention is a physical weight on you, his fingers digging just slightly into the meat of your shoulder as he guides you off the stool and through the throng of people. they part for him like the red sea, instinctual, unthinking fear clearing a path.
the transition from the loud, humid bar to the cold, silent alley is jarring. the door swings shut, muffling the music into a distant throb. the only light comes from a flickering, piss-yellow bulb above a rusted fire escape, casting long, distorted shadows across the damp brick and the stray beer bottles on the floor.
he releases your shoulder, and you finally turn to face him. toji fushiguro leans against the grimy wall, his posture relaxed, but his eyes are flat, dark pools that reflect no light. he’s wearing a simple black t-shirt that strains over his chest and shoulders, his arms crossed. he looks like a predator who’s just cornered his prey and is in no particular hurry.
“so,” he says, his voice dangerously soft. “that looked cozy.”
"he's just the bartender," you try for nonchalance, crossing your own arms against the chill. “he was just buying me a drink. it’s a bar. that’s what people do.”
“mm. looked like he was buying a lot more than a drink. his hands were doing a lot of 'shopping'.” he pushes off the wall, taking a slow, predatory step toward you. you instinctively take a step back, your shoulders hitting the cold, rough brick. “you into that? some cheap suit with soft hands telling you pretty lies?”
“it was nothing, toji.”
“didn’t look like nothing to me.” another step. the space between you evaporates. you can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint, clean scent of his soap underneath the bar’s smokey residue. he cages you in, one hand planted on the wall beside your head. “you forget who you belong to?”
his free hand comes up, not to touch your face, but to your hip, his thumb stroking a slow, possessive circle through the fabric of your jeans. your breath hitches. “no.”
“who do you belong to?”
“you.” the word is a whisper, torn from your throat.
a slow, dark smile spreads across his face. it doesn’t reach his eyes. “atta girl.” his hand leaves your hip and dips into the back waistband of his jeans. the metallic slide is loud in the quiet alley. when his hand reappears, it’s holding a gun, a matte black, compact thing that looks both brutal and elegant in his large hand.
he doesn’t point it at you. he just holds it, his finger resting along the slide, not on the trigger.
your heart kicks against your ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. “toji…”
“you see this?” he asks, his voice still that infuriating, calm murmur. he brings the gun up between your faces. the cold steel glints in the poor light. “this is real. that guy in there? his words? hissoft hands? that’s nothing. this…” he taps the barrel gently against your bottom lip. the metal is shockingly cold. “…this is the only truth that matters in this world. understand?”
you shudder, your lips parting on a shaky exhale. the taste of gun oil and cold metal is stark on your tongue.
you sink to your knees.
“open,” he commands, his voice dropping to a husky register.
you obey without thought, your mouth opening wider. he slides the barrel past your lips, the unyielding steel pressing down on your tongue. it’s heavy, the weight of it foreign and dangerous. you can feel the precise machining, the subtle ridges. the taste is overwhelming—metallic, industrial, and deadly. it’s a violation and an aphrodisiac all at once.
“suck it,” he says, his dark eyes glued to your mouth, to where his weapon disappears between your lips.
a low, mortified sound escapes you, but you do it.
you close your lips around the cold steel, your tongue moving tentatively along the length of the barrel. the action is obscene, a profane mimicry of a different act. your eyes flutter closed for a second, a wave of heat washing over you that has nothing to do with shame and everything to do with the raw, deviant power of the moment.
you're on your knees in a filthy alley, sucking on a gun held by the man you love, and your body is singing with a perverse, undeniable arousal.
a low groan rumbles in toji’s chest. “look at you. such a pretty little mouth, made for my cock, and you’re sucking on steel like a natural-born slut.” he pushes it deeper, until the front sight post nudges the back of your throat and you gag, tears springing to your eyes. he pulls it back just an inch. “that’s it. take it. learn the taste of what real power feels like.”
you suck and lick, your moans muffled around the metal, a continuous, needy hum. spit drips down your chin.
you’re wet, achingly so, your thighs pressing together to try and alleviate the throbbing between your legs. he watches, mesmerized, his own breathing growing heavier.
finally, he pulls the gun from your mouth with a soft, wet pop. a string of saliva connects your lip to the glistening barrel for a moment before snapping. you gasp for air, your lips feeling bruised and used.
“stand up,” he growls.
you scramble to your feet, your legs trembling. he doesn’t give you time to recover. he spins you around to face the wall, your cheek pressed against the cold, gritty brick. his body molds against your back, hard and unyielding.
“you got me all worked up, baby,” he murmurs into your ear, his teeth grazing the lobe. his hands are at your waist, unfastening your jeans, yanking them and your panties down to your thighs in one rough motion. the cold air hits your bare skin, and you jerk.
one of his hands wraps in your hair, not enough to truly hurt, but enough to hold your head in place against the wall. the other hand, the one still holding the gun, comes around your hip. you feel the cold, slick metal of the barrel, now warmed slightly from your mouth, press against the inside of your thigh.
you whimper, a high, desperate sound. “toji, please…”
“please what?” he grinds his hips against your ass, and you can feel the hard ridge of his erection straining against his jeans. “you want this? you want me to fuck you with it? to teach you a real lesson?”
“yes,” you sob, the word ripped from you, all sense of shame dissipating along with your dignity. “yes, please.”
he makes a sound of pure, dark satisfaction. the gun barrel trails higher, leaving a damp, cool path on your skin until it finds your cunt. it’s a shocking, impossible contrast—the unyielding, cold steel against your soft, slick, hot flesh. he presses the tip against your entrance, and you cry out, your fingers scrabbling against the brick.
“so fucking wet for me,” he breathes, his voice thick with lust. “wet for this. you’re sick, you know that?”
he pushes it in.
it’s a slow, inexorable invasion. the metal is thick and unforgiving, stretching you in a way that is completely alien. it doesn’t give, doesn’t yield.
you have to yield to it.
a broken, guttural moan rips from your throat as he works the barrel inside you, inch by torturous inch. it’s cold, so cold, a deep chill that seems to seep into your very core, a stark counterpoint to the burning heat coiling in your belly.
the feeling is overwhelming, a confusing maelstrom of pain, intense fullness, and blinding pleasure.
“ohh, goddd… toji!” you moan, your head falling back against his shoulder.
“feel that?” he grunts, his own control fraying.
the cold steel slides deeper, a brutal stretch that makes you gasp. he works it in and out with a deep and purposeful rhythm, the hard metal dragging against your sensitive inner walls. each thrust is a shock, a jolt of intense sensation that borders on pain but never quite crosses the line, instead feeding the coil of heat tightening low in your belly. your moans are ragged, broken things, muffled against the brick wall.
“fuck, that's it,” toji grunts, his breath hot on your neck. “taking it so good. such a dirty girl f'me.” his hips press against your ass, his own erection a hard promise behind his jeans.
the gun barrel twists slightly inside you, and you cry out, your nails scraping against the wall. “you love this, don’t you? love being fucked against the wall like some cheap whore.”
“yes!! —aaahng!, tojiiii… yes!…” you sob, the words barely coherent. the feeling is too much, the cold metal and the burning need colliding into something unbearable. you’re clenching around it, your body trying to reject the invasion even as it craves more.
he fucks you with it for what feels like an eternity, a relentless, degrading piston until you’re trembling on the edge, your legs barely holding you up. then, with a final, deep push, he stills. he holds it there, buried inside you, letting you feel the full, impossible weight of it.
“what a mess,” he murmurs, his voice a dark caress. then he pulls the gun out in one smooth, slick motion.
you gasp at the sudden emptiness, a wet, lewd sound accompanying the withdrawal. your knees buckle, but his hand in your hair keeps you upright.
he brings the glistening, slick barrel around to your face. it’s coated in your own arousal, gleaming in the dim light. “look what you did, ma. you made it all dirty.” he taps the wet metal against your lips. “clean it up. now.”
you don’t hesitate. you open your mouth, your tongue darting out to lick along the steel. the taste is a potent mix of gun oil and your own salt-sweetness, a flavor that is uniquely, shamefully yours.
you suck the barrel clean, your tongue working over every groove and ridge, moaning softly at the depravity of the act. you’re cleaning your own wetness from the weapon he just used on you, and it’s the most turned on you’ve ever been.
“good girl,” he purrs, his voice thick with approval. he pulls the gun from your mouth and you hear the distinct, terrifyingly final click of the safety being disengaged.
before you can process it, he’s spinning you back around to face him. his eyes are black with lust, his jaw tight. he shoves you against the wall again, his free hand making quick work of his belt and zipper. his cock springs free, thick and heavy and already leaking. he doesn’t bother with foreplay. he lines himself up and drives into you in one single, brutal thrust.
"oh— fuck!!"
you scream, a raw, unfiltered sound of pure ecstasy as he fills the emptiness, the hot, living flesh a stark, welcome contrast to the cold metal. he sets a punishing pace from the start, his hips slamming into yours, the sound of skin hitting skin echoing in the quiet alley.
his large, calloused hand immediately clamps over your mouth, muffling your next cry into a desperate, vibrating hum against his palm. “shhh, baby,” he growls directly into your ear, his voice a low, possessive thunder. “you wanna bring the whole street running? you want people to see what a fuckin' slut you are f'me?”
you shake your head, your whimpers trapped against his skin. you can feel his smirk against your temple.
“didn’t think so. so you’re gonna be a good girl and take it quietly, aren't ya? you can scream allll you want inside that pretty head of yours, but the only thing i wanna hear is your cunt cryin' f'me.”
he drives into you harder, deeper, his thrusts becoming more brutal with the added control of silencing you. your moans are reduced to choked, pitiful sounds in your throat, your body writhing against his, trying to find some relief from the overwhelming pleasure. tears of frustration and bliss leak from the corners of your eyes.
“there she is,” he grunts, his own breath starting to come in ragged pants. “such a good girl for me. taking it so deep. you were made for this, weren’t you? just a perfect hole for me to use.” he bites down on the junction of your neck and shoulder, a sharp, claiming pain that makes you jolt and a muffled scream tear at your throat. “this is all you’re good for. pinned against a wall. my pretty little fucktoy.”
the pressure builds to an unbearable degree, a tight, screaming coil in your core. you’re so close, trembling on a precipice, your nails digging into the brick until they feel raw. you nod frantically against his hand, a silent plea.
“you close?” he rasps, his rhythm faltering for a second. you nod again, desperate. “yeahhh, you are. i can feel you clenching around me. shit— you wanna come, baby?”
he doesn’t wait for an answer. he brings the gun up with his free hand, the cold, circular muzzle of the barrel pressing firmly just below your jawline, pressing against your carotid. your eyes fly wide open, locking with his dark, hungry gaze.
the world narrows to that single point of cold pressure and the feel of him moving inside you.
“go on, then,” he whispers, his voice dangerously soft. his hips snap forward, a final, devastating thrust that hits your very core. “come for me. let go. with my cock buried in your cunt and my gun on your head. show me — fuck you're so tight— show how much you love belonging to a man like me.”
his other hand drops from your mouth.
the sound that rips from your throat is raw and unfiltered, a high, broken keen that bounces off the alley walls. “ahhh— nnnggh! tojiiii!”
“that’s it, scream f'me,” he grunts, his own control shattering as he feels you convulse around him. “let 'em all hear what i do to you.”
“ahnng! fuck! oh god, oh godddd!” you wail, your head falling back against the brick as the orgasm tears through you, violent and absolute. your body arches, every muscle seizing as pleasure whites out your vision.
he groans, a deep, guttural sound of pure satisfaction, and pours his release into you, his hips stuttering against yours. he holds you there, pinned between his body and the wall, as you both shudder through the aftershocks.
for a long moment, the only sounds are your ragged, sobbing breaths mingling in the cold air. slowly, he lowers the gun, the metal leaving a faint, cool circle on your jaw. he pulls out, a slow, slick withdrawal that makes you whimper softly.
he tucks himself away, then holsters the gun at the small of his back. his hands come up to frame your face, his thumbs stroking over your damp cheeks. his eyes are different now, the flat darkness replaced by a warm, heavy-lidded possessiveness.
“look at you. my girl.” he murmurs, his voice rough but gentle.
he doesn’t lead you out of the alley. instead, his hands slide down your body, his grip firm on your hips as he slowly sinks to his knees in front of you. the rough asphalt must be biting into his skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice. his eyes are locked on the mess he made of you, the slick evidence of your shared climax glistening on your inner thighs.
“toji… what are you…?” you whisper, your voice hoarse from screaming.
“cleaning up the mess you made,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “can’t have you walking home like this, now can i?”
before you can protest, he leans in. the first flat, warm stroke of his tongue against your oversensitive folds makes you jolt violently, a sharp, gasping cry tearing from your throat. “ah! nngh… no, it’s too much!!”
he ignores your weak plea, his hands tightening on your hips to hold you still. he licks a slow, teasing path through your folds, his tongue broad and relentless. you whine, a high, reedy sound, your hands flying to his hair, not to push him away but to clutch at the short, dark strands for balance. your legs tremble, threatening to give out.
“you taste like me,” he groans against you, the vibration shooting straight to your core, making you clench around nothing. “like us. fuckin' perfect.”
“please, toji!!… i can’tttt…” you sob, your body twitching with every lap of his tongue. the sensation is overwhelming, a sharp, almost painful hypersensitivity that borders on a new kind of pleasure. every nerve ending is raw and exposed.
he doesn’t stop. he eats you out with the same single-minded intensity he fucked you with, his tongue delving inside to gather his own release, then swirling around your swollen clit until you’re crying out again, not from a full orgasm but from a continuous, unbearable crest of sensation. your whines are constant now, a desperate litany of “ah, ah! ahnn, please…” as he licks you clean, his stubble scraping delicately against your tender skin.
finally, when your thighs are shaking uncontrollably and your whimpers have dissolved into helpless, shuddering breaths, he pulls back. he looks up at you from his knees, his mouth and chin glistening wetly in the dim light. he runs the back of his hand across his lips, his dark eyes holding yours with that same unwavering possession.
“there,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “all clean.” he rises to his feet in one smooth, powerful motion, his hands finding your waist to steady you. “now, let’s go home.” he smirks, a dark, promising look. "i'm not done with you."
Chapter 6: day 12 - dacryphilia with satoru
Summary:
“you’re s'pretty like this, 'toru,” you murmur, your voice low and thick with your own arousal. you lean forward, not breaking your rhythm, and catch a tear with your tongue, the salt a sharp tang on your lips. he flinches at the contact, a full-body shudder wracking his frame. “so pretty when you cry. i love it. i love seeing you come apart.”
“i c-caaan’t” he sobs, his head thrashing side to side on the pillow. his hair is a mess of white silk, stuck to his damp forehead. “it feels too good, it’s—ah! ah, please, wait, just… just a second, i need—”
Chapter Text
you’ve only seen satoru cry once before.
the first time was when suguru died, when the world cracked open and the strongest man you’d ever known shattered with it, his shoulders shaking in the downpour, the sound of his grief something raw and animalistic, a wound you simply couldn’t staunch. it was a moment of cataclysm, a tectonic shift in the universe you both inhabited.
this is nothing like that.
this is better.
he’s below you now, sprawled across the disarray of his own expensive sheets, the infallible sorcerer reduced to a trembling, pleading mess. his wrists are pinned above his head by your grip, not that he’s fighting it; his strength has bled out of him, replaced by a boneless, pliant submission that makes your heart hammer against your ribs.
his signature blindfold is gone, tossed somewhere into the dark of the room, and his eyes, those impossible, storm-tossed blues, are swimming. tears are welling up and spilling over in a steady, silent stream that tracks clean paths through the faint blush high on his cheekbones.
he looks so helpless. the great satoru gojo, the pinnacle of jujutsu society, rendered to this—a whining, pathetic man beneath you, his lips parted and slick, his chest heaving with ragged, hitched breaths.
“p-please,” he whimpers, the word stretching out, thin and reedy. “it’s… it’s too much, ah!—ngh, fuuuck…”
you roll your hips in a slow, deliberate circle, savoring the way his eyes screw shut, the way a fresh wave of tears is forced from the corners. the wet, slick sound of your cunt taking him, clenching around his length, is obscenely loud in the quiet room. each movement draws a choked gasp from him, a broken little noise that is purely carnal.
“you’re s'pretty like this, 'toru,” you murmur, your voice low and thick with your own arousal. you lean forward, not breaking your rhythm, and catch a tear with your tongue, the salt a sharp tang on your lips. he flinches at the contact, a full-body shudder wracking his frame. “so pretty when you cry. i love it. i love seeing you come apart.”
“i c-caaan’t” he sobs, his head thrashing side to side on the pillow. his hair is a mess of white silk, stuck to his damp forehead. “it feels too good, it’s—ah! ah, please, wait, just… just a second, i need—”
you don’t give him a second. you rise up until just the tip of him is nestled inside you, feeling the frantic, fluttering pulse of him, then sink back down in one smooth, devastating motion, sheathing him fully inside your heat. the noise he makes is a strangled cry, half-pleasure, half-pain.
you can feel the way your inner muscles clutch and milk at him, a series of tight, rhythmic flutters that make his thighs tremble violently beneath yours. the sounds are filthy, a wet, squelching chorus underscored by his ragged panting and your own soft, satisfied sighs.
you watch, mesmerized, as another tear escapes, tracing the line of his nose before dripping onto the pillow. you love the wrecked look on his face, the complete surrender. this is a vulnerability no one else gets to see, a prize you’ve won.
you’re doing so good f'me,” you coo, shifting your grip to thread your fingers through his, lacing them together. his hand squeezes yours, desperate for an anchor. “jus' let it happen.”
“i’m— m'gonna…” he chokes out, his words dissolving into a long, drawn-out moan as you quicken your pace, your hips meeting his with a soft, fleshy slap. his back arches off the bed, a beautiful, strained curve, and his cries pitch higher, losing all coherence, becoming a continuous, whining stream of sound as he teeters right on the edge.
you feel it too, the telltale tightening at the base of his spine, the way his entire body goes rigid, his cock twitching deep inside you as he prepares to spill over. but you don’t let him. you stop dead, clenching around him with a vicious, internal squeeze that wrings a shattered, desperate sob from his throat.
“no, no, no, please,” he begs, his voice cracking, tears now flowing freely, dripping from his chin onto his own heaving chest. “don’t stop, please, i was so close, i need it, i need to cum so bad, it huuurts…”
you lean down, your breath ghosting over his wet cheek. “aw, baby. i know it does,” you whisper, your voice a husky promise. “but look at you. you’re so beautiful like this. so pretty.” you press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the corner of his eye, tasting the salt of his despair. “the prettiest thing i’ve ever seen.”
he lets out a broken wail, his hips making aborted, frantic little thrusts into the still air, seeking friction you’re deliberately denying him. “it’s not fair,” he whines, the sound petulant and utterly wrecked. “you’re s'mean, you’re so cruel to m-me… i can’t, i can’t take it anymore, pleaaase, just let me— just let me cum, i’ll do anything, a-anything you want!”
you begin to move again, a torturously slow, shallow rocking of your hips that has him gasping, his eyes rolling back before fluttering open, wide and pleading. the wet sounds of your joined bodies are a lewd counterpoint to his hiccupping sobs.
“anything?” you muse, dragging a fingernail lightly down his sternum, watching the muscles of his abdomen jump. “you’ll have to beg a little more than that, baby.”
a fresh wave of tears answers you, his composure completely gone. “please,” he sobs, the word long and drawn out, “pleeease, let me cum. i’m begging you. i need it. i’ll be shooo good, i’ll be so good f'you, just please, i can’t th-think, it’s— ah!—too much, you feel— ngh!— too good, you’re g-going to ruin me!”
his babbling is a symphony. you watch the play of utter torment and helpless pleasure across his face, the way his pretty mouth forms each desperate syllable, the glistening tracks on his skin catching the low light.
you love the power, the power to reduce a god to a weeping, begging mess beneath you, all with the clench of your cunt and the denial of his release.
“such a good boy,” you purr, rewarding his beautiful begging with a slightly deeper thrust that makes him cry out, his head falling back. “crying jus' for me. you must love me soooo much.”
his pleas dissolve into a raw, shuddering sob that seems to tear its way from the very core of him. “i dooo!” he gasps, the words wet and broken between his hitched breaths. “i love you, i l-love you sooo much, please, oh!— please, jus' lemme cum, i can’t—i can’t hold it anymore, please, i love you…”
the declaration, so desperate and needy, wrapped in the agony of his denied release, sends a fresh, powerful throb through your own body. you can feel the slick evidence of your arousal coating his length, the tight, greedy clutch of your cunt making his eyes roll back in his head.
“how much?” you murmur, your voice a low, husky taunt as you slow your movements to an almost imperceptible grind, just enough to remind him of the exquisite friction he’s being denied. “show me. lemme see how much you love me.”
a wounded, guttural sound escapes him, half-moan, half-whine. “n-no, no, it’s too much, it’s too gooood, ah—nnngh! fuuuck…” his hips buck helplessly beneath you, a weak, involuntary spasm. “i do, i do love you, i’ll say it forever, just please—"
tears stream down his temples, soaking into his hairline, and his beautiful face is a masterpiece of ruin—flushed, damp, and utterly surrendered. you watch, captivated, as another sob wracks his frame, his shoulders shaking, his entire world narrowed down to the feeling of your body on his and the cruel, loving denial from your lips.
your hips driving down onto him with a final, punishing rhythm that shatters the last of his control. his back arches off the bed, a taut, beautiful bow, and a raw, guttural cry is torn from his throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated surrender.
you feel the hot, pulsing rush of his climax deep inside you, a series of frantic, rhythmic twitches that milk a fresh cascade of tears from his glassy, unfocused eyes.
for a long moment, he just lies there, shuddering, his chest heaving, his breath coming in ragged, hitching sobs. the aftershocks ripple through him, each one wringing another soft, whimpering sound from his lips. his signature white hair is a tangled mess against the pillows, damp with sweat and tears, and his eyes are hazy and dazed, lazily half-lidded as he stares up at nothing, completely spent.
you slowly lift yourself off him, the separation drawing a weak, oversensitive flinch from his spent body. a soft, pathetic whimper escapes him as the cool air hits his slick, sensitive cock, which lies spent against his stomach, glistening with the evidence of his release and yours.
then you bend down.
he gasps, a sharp, shocked intake of breath, as you take his cock into your mouth. he’s still soft, oversensitive, and the first swipe of your tongue along his length makes his whole body jolt, a fresh, silent sob shaking his shoulders.
“n-no… too much… it’s too much…” he slurs, his voice a thready, exhausted whisper, but he doesn’t push you away. his hands, which had fallen limp to his sides, curl weakly into the sheets.
you are meticulous and slow, licking him clean with a languid, possessive thoroughness. you taste the sharp, musky salt of his release mingled with your own slickness, a flavor that is uniquely yours. each pass of your tongue makes him tremble, his hips giving tiny, involuntary twitches.
tears continue to leak from the corners of his eyes, tracking slowly down his temples, and you pause to kiss them away, your lips gentle against his damp, heated skin.
“shhh,” you murmur against his thigh, your voice a soft vibration that makes him shudder. “you did so well. you were so good for me.”
he sniffles, a soft, wet sound in the quiet room, and his glassy blue eyes find yours. his bottom lip quivers, a heartbreakingly vulnerable tremor, before he surges up, his arms wrapping around you with a surprising, desperate strength. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his damp cheeks pressing against your skin, his whole body shaking with the residual shudders of his climax and his tears.
“thank you,” he whispers, the words muffled against your skin, his voice hoarse and wrecked. “thank you for… for letting me…”
he holds you for a long moment, just breathing you in, his grip almost painfully tight, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. then, with a gentle but insistent pressure, he begins to maneuver you, his movements clumsy with lingering oversensitivity and emotional exhaustion. he rolls you both until you’re on your back, the sheets cool beneath you, and he’s hovering above, caging you in with his arms.
his face is still a mess of tears and flushed skin, his white hair sticking up in every direction, but his eyes hold a new, sweetly determined fire. he nuzzles your cheek, his lips brushing your skin with feather-light kisses.
“my turn,” he breathes, his voice still thick with the ghost of his sobs but laced with a newfound, pleading need. “please— let me… let me make you feel good now. i need to… i need to feel you, properly. i’ll be so sweet, i’ll be so good for you, i promise, just… please?”
his begging is different now—softer, more reverent, but no less desperate. he grinds his hips against yours slowly, his cock, already beginning to stir again with interest, nudging against your slick, sensitive folds.
a slow, indulgent smile curves your lips as you look up at him, at the beautiful, tear-streaked wreck of a man pleading so sweetly above you. you reach up, tracing the path of a drying tear with your thumb. “you’re still crying,” you murmur, your voice a low, intimate caress. “even when you’re trying to be in charge, you’re still my sweet boy.”
a fresh, helpless sob catches in his throat at your words, and he nods, pressing his forehead against yours. “always for you,” he whimpers, his hips making a small, circular grind against you, his renewed hardness a promising pressure. “only for you. please, say yes. i need to hear you say it.”
you arch your back, a silent, physical permission that makes his breath hitch. “yes,” you whisper, your fingers tangling in the soft, messy strands of his white hair. “fuck me until you can’t see straight. i want to feel you lose control all over again.”
a broken, grateful sound escapes him, and he doesn’t hesitate. he sinks into you in one slow, devastating glide that steals the air from both your lungs. it’s different this time—deeper, more possessive, fueled by a raw, adoring desperation. his rhythm is unsteady at first, a frantic, whining pace as he tries to hold onto some shred of composure.
“you feel… ngh… you feel s'good, so perfect,” he moans, his voice cracking on the words. his tears drip onto your face, mingling with the sweat on your skin. “i love you, i love you, i l-love you…”
you clutch at his shoulders, your own moans joining his symphony of need. “satoru,” you breathe into his ear, driving him wilder. “you're s'deep, f-fuck!”
his control shatters completely. his thrusts become a frantic, pounding rhythm, his moans growing louder, more desperate, each one punctuated by the wet, slapping sound of your bodies joining.
a low, whiney moan escapes you as he fills you completely, the sound vibrating through your chest and into his. your head falls back against the pillows, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment before forcing them open, wanting to watch him, to sear this image into your memory.
you look up at him, at the way his face is contorted in a perfect agony of pleasure, the silent tracks of moisture still gleaming on his skin, his lips parted around ragged, panting breaths.
you clench around him, a deliberate, internal squeeze that makes his rhythm stutter, a high, reedy whimper torn from his throat. his hips jerk, losing their pace for a moment as he fights for control he no longer possesses.
“f-fuckkkk,” he slurs, his voice thick and wrecked. “d-don’t… you’ll— ngh!— you’ll make me…”
“make you what?” you gasp out, your own voice breathy and strained as you roll your hips to meet his next frantic thrust, the impact sending a jolt of pure lightning through your core. your nails dig into the sweat-slick skin of his back, urging him on, deeper, harder. “what will i make you do, satoru?”
a broken, wordless sound is his only answer as he drives into you again, his movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. your own moans rise in pitch, matching the frantic, wet sounds of your joining, a symphony of shared ruin.
you can feel the tight, hot coil of your own pleasure winding tighter and tighter, fed by the sight of his complete unraveling above you, by the feel of him pounding into that perfect, deep place that makes you see stars.
“i’m… m'close,” you manage to choke out, the confession sending a fresh, violent shudder through his frame.
“me too, me too, please, please l-let's…” he begs, his words dissolving into a series of sharp, sobbing gasps as he feels the first fluttering contractions of your climax begin to ripple around him, the final push that sends him spiraling over the edge with you.
his body collapses onto yours as he spills himself deep inside with a final, shuddering, tearful cry, his whimpers muffled against your neck as you both come apart.
for a long moment, there is only the sound of your shared, ragged breathing and the frantic beat of your hearts slowly beginning to calm. his weight is a warm, heavy comfort atop you, his face still buried in the curve of your neck, his breaths puffing hot and damp against your skin.
slowly, you bring a hand up, your fingers gentle as they slide into his damp hair. you coax his head up, just enough to see his face.
his eyes are squeezed shut, his long, pale lashes clumped together and spiky with moisture. the evidence of his complete surrender is still traced in glistening paths down his cheeks.
his eyes finally open, those blue pools of his hazy and unfocused, blinking slowly as they find yours.
there’s no trace of the strongest sorcerer, only the raw, unguarded boy you’ve lovingly unraveled. a soft, hiccupping breath escapes him, and he nuzzles into your palm, his own hand coming up to cover yours, holding it there against his cheek.
“you wrecked me,” he whispers, the words barely audible, filled not with accusation, but with awe.
a slow, satisfied smile touches your lips. “i know,” you whisper back, your thumb stroking the high curve of his cheekbone. “and you were perfect.”
Chapter 7: day 13 - manhandling with toji
Summary:
when he broke for air, you were panting, your head spinning. “toji—”
“shut it,” he ordered, his voice husky. his free hand—the one not holding your head safe—went to the waistband of your pants, popping the button with a flick of his thumb. “i'm done listenin’ to ya talk. now i’m just gonna listen to you scream.”
Chapter Text
the first sign that you were in for it was the silence.
not the shouting, not the slammed doors—you’d expected those. the fight had been a spectacular one, a real masterpiece of pent-up frustration and sharp words about his disappearing acts and your constant, gnawing worry. you’d thrown your final verbal dagger, something about him being an emotionally stunted mercenary, and braced for the roar.
it never came.
instead, toji fushiguro went perfectly, terrifyingly still. the chaotic energy that always buzzed around him like a caged tiger simply vanished, replaced by a predatory calm that was a thousand times worse.
he didn’t look angry. he looked… interested. his dark eyes, usually so lazy and dismissive, sharpened, pinning you to the spot from across the room. a slow, sinful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, all teeth, no warmth.
“that's it?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in the sudden quiet of the room. “you done talkin’?”
you opened your mouth to retort, to summon another wave of fury, but the words died in your throat as he moved.
he didn’t walk; he stalked.
three long, unhurried strides closed the distance between you, and before you could even think to step back, his shadow was swallowing you whole.
he was just so damn big. you always forgot, in the day-to-day, just how massive he was. not just tall, but broad, every inch of him corded with dense, usable muscle that felt less like a human body and more like a force of nature.
the air around you thickened, growing heavy with the scent of him—clean sweat, leather, and something wild, something fundamentally toji.
“nothin’ else to say to me?” he murmured, his head tilting. he didn’t touch you, just stood there, using his sheer presence as a cage. “you call me all those ugly names an’ then you go quiet on me?”
“get out of my space, toji,” you managed, your voice sounding pathetically small.
that earned a low, dark chuckle. “or what?” he challenged, his gaze dropping to your lips, then lower, a slow, possessive scan that felt more intimate than a touch. “you gonna make me?”
you paused.
"no"
then his hands were on you.
there was no gentle lead-up. one moment you were standing your ground, the next his palms—huge, calloused, and unfairly strong—were splayed against your ribs, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. with a single, effortless motion, he lifted you.
your feet left the floor so easily it was disorienting, a gasp tearing from your lungs as he carried you the few steps to the nearest wall and pinned you against it. your back met the cool plaster, but the heat of him was everywhere, surrounding you, overwhelming you.
“fuckin’ thought so,” he grunted, his face inches from yours. he adjusted his grip, one hand moving to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, not to hurt, but to hold you exactly where he wanted you. the other arm hooked under your thighs, hiking you up until you were settled against his hips, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist for purchase with your hands on each of his shoulders. you were completely suspended, your weight nothing to him, your position entirely his design.
“this what ya wanted?” he breathed, his voice a rough whisper against your cheek. “all that yellin’. just a fancy way of askin’ for this?” he rolled his hips, a ruthless grind that made you jolt.
the hard ridge of his cock, already straining against his jeans, pressed insistently against the dampening center of your own. “wanted me to remember who i come home to? well, you've got my attention, sweetheart. you've got all of it.”
he didn’t wait for an answer. he claimed your mouth in a searing, dominant kiss, all teeth and tongue and raw possession. it wasn’t gentle or seeking; it was a brand. you could only cling to his shoulders, the bunched muscle there like solid rock under your fingers, as he plundered your mouth, swallowing every weak sound you made.
when he broke for air, you were panting, your head spinning. “toji—”
“shut it,” he ordered, his voice husky. his free hand—the one not holding your head safe—went to the waistband of your pants, popping the button with a flick of his thumb. “i'm done listenin’ to ya talk. now i’m just gonna listen to you scream.”
he made quick, brutally efficient work of your clothes, yanking your pants and underwear down your thighs just enough to bare you to the cool air and his hotter gaze. his own jeans were dealt with one-handed, a testament to his obscene coordination, the rasp of his zipper sounding obscenely loud. then he was there, the thick, blunt head of his cock pressing against your slick entrance.
he didn’t ask, nor did he tease. he just looked you dead in the eyes, his own dark and burning with a feral intensity, and drove into you in one single, devastating thrust.
you did scream. a sharp, strangled cry that was torn from the deepest part of you as he filled you, stretching you to a perfect, burning fullness. you were so wet for him, your body betraying your earlier anger, welcoming the brutal invasion with a series of frantic, internal flutters.
“fuck,” he groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder, his whole body shuddering for a second as he sheathed himself to the hilt. “fuck, you feel that? feel how fuckin’ deep i am in ya?”
you could only nod, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, your thighs clamping tighter around him. he was everywhere, his scent, his heat, his overwhelming size buried inside you. he felt like he was rearranging your very soul.
“good,” he grunted, and then he started to move.
it was relentless. he held you pinned to the wall, his grip unyielding, and fucked you with a raw, pounding rhythm that stole the breath from your lungs.
each thrust jolted you against the plaster, a steady, rhythmic impact that was both punishing and euphoric. he wasn’t just having sex with you; he was taking you, reasserting his dominance in the most primal way possible.
“this is it,” he rasped in your ear, his breath hot. “this is who ya belong to. me. all this… is mine.” he punctuated the words with a particularly deep, grinding thrust that made you see stars. “my pretty, mouthy little thing. got so much to say until i got my cock in ya. now look at you. can’t even form a fuckin’ word, can you?”
you couldn’t.
all you could do was moan, a continuous, broken stream of sound that rose in pitch with every snap of his hips. your orgasm was building, a terrifyingly fast, coiling pressure in your core, fed by the sheer force of him, by the possessive words growled against your skin, by the helpless way you were being fucked.
“gonna come already?” he demanded, his pace becoming even more frantic, a brutal, piston-like rhythm that had you sobbing. “gonna come all over my cock after all that shit ya talked? do it. i wanna feel it. squeeze me just like that, yeah… fuck, jus' like that…”
his command was all it took. your climax ripped through you with a violence that matched his, a blinding, white-hot wave of pleasure that made your entire body convulse. you cried out, a raw, shattered sound as you clenched around him, your inner muscles milking his thick length in a series of frantic, involuntary pulses.
the feeling of you tightening around him shattered the last of his control. with a guttural, animalistic groan, he drove into you one last, final time, burying himself to the root as his own release flooded you, hot and claiming.
but he wasn’t done.
before the last tremor had even left your body, his hands were on you again. he pulled out with a wet sound that made you gasp, and in one fluid, dizzying motion, he flipped you over. your palms slapped against the floor, the world tilting, and then his weight was on your back, pressing you down.
he hooked an arm around your waist, hauling your hips up into the air, leaving you on your knees, ass in the air, completely exposed.
“toji—ah!” you cried out as he shoved back into you from behind, the new angle even deeper, more invasive.
“told you i wasn’t done,” he grunted, one huge hand splaying across the small of your back to hold you in place, the other fisting in your hair, not pulling, just possessing. his thrusts started again, slower now, a deep, grinding punishment. “ya think one round is enough? after all that mouth?”
“n-no—ngh!—i can’t…” you whimpered, the overstimulation a sharp, sweet pain.
“you can,” he growled, his voice dropping to a dark, intimate rumble against your ear. “you will. 'cause you're mine. this cunt is mine.” he punctuated the filthy word with a sharp, deep thrust that stole your breath. “say it.”
“yours,” you sobbed, the word torn from you. “all yours—ah! fuck!”
“damn right.” he released your hair, his hand sliding around your hip, his fingers finding your oversensitive clit. the touch was rough, direct, and you jolted, a broken cry tearing from your throat. “gonna make ya come again. right here on my cock. then i’m gonna carry ya to the bed an’ do it all over again. 'til ya forget why you were even mad at me.”
“hah… toji, please…”
“please what?” he taunted, his fingers working you in cruel, perfect circles, his hips never stopping their relentless rhythm. “use your words, sweetheart. thought ya had sooo many of 'em earlier.”
“please—ngh!—let me come,” you begged, your arms trembling, threatening to give out.
his answer was a low, dark chuckle. “atta girl. askin’ all nicely.” he drove into you hard, once, twice, his thumb pressing down hard on your clit. “come on, then. do it.”
the second climax was even more overwhelming than the first, a crashing wave that left you boneless, your vision spotting, a silent scream stuck in your throat as you pulsed around him, your body seizing.
he fucked you through it, his own groans growing ragged, until he finally stilled, burying himself deep with a final, shuddering groan, spilling inside you again. he collapsed over your back for a moment, his weight a crushing, comforting blanket, his breath hot on your neck.
then, true to his word, his arms slid under you.
he carried you into the bedroom, his steps sure and steady as if he wasn’t holding your entire dead weight.
he didn’t lay you down gently.
instead, he sat on the edge of the bed, keeping you straddling his lap, your back to his chest. his arms were bands of steel around your waist, holding you upright.
“fuck, you're so small,” he muttered into your hair, his voice a low, wondering rumble. his hands splayed across your stomach, his fingers nearly touching from hip to hip. “like a fuckin’ doll. my doll.”
before you could even form a thought, his grip tightened and he started to move you. he used the strength in his thighs and core to bounce you on his cock, which was already hardening again inside you with a terrifying, relentless vigor.
you weren’t moving yourself; you were just a puppet, your body a soft, pliable weight for him to manipulate. your head fell back against his shoulder, a weak, broken moan escaping your lips.
“see?” he grunted, his thrusts upward meeting each downward bounce he forced from your body. the wet, slapping sounds were obscene. “don’t gotta do a thing, do ya? just sit there an’ take it. just a pretty little thing for me to use.”
“toji… ngh… s'too much…” you slurred, your hands flailing back to grip his thighs, the only solid thing in a spinning world.
“nah,” he breathed, nuzzling the side of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. “it’s just enough. it’s exactly what ya need.” he shifted his grip, one hand moving to your hip to guide the bouncing, the other sliding up to cup your breast, his thumb rubbing rough circles over your nipple. “gonna fuck ya just like this 'til ya can’t remember your own name. just mine. say it.”
“toji,” you whimpered, the name a prayer and a surrender.
“again.”
“toji—ah! haah… fuck!”
“good girl,” he praised, his voice dark and thick with lust. “my good girl. now come for me again. let me feel it.”
he increased the pace, his control absolute, using your body like his own personal toy, bouncing you on his length with a brutal, perfect rhythm that chased away every coherent thought, leaving only the feel of him and the sound of your own helpless, sobbing moans as another orgasm ripped through you, your body convulsing in his unyielding arms.
as the last tremors of your climax finally, mercifully, subsided, you went completely boneless in his arms, a ragged, shuddering sigh escaping you. your head lolled against his shoulder, your body slick with sweat and utterly spent.
for a moment, he just held you there, his own breathing still heavy. then, his grip loosened, and his demeanor shifted. the brutal, demanding pace was gone, replaced by a slow, possessive tenderness. he turned your face towards his with a gentle pressure of his fingers under your chin.
his lips were surprisingly soft as they brushed against your damp temple, then your cheekbone, planting slow, lingering kisses across your skin. “there you go,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly hum against your ear. “took it s'good for me. my good girl.”
the praise, coming from him, felt more intoxicating than the orgasm. you nuzzled into the touch, a weak, contented sound vibrating in your throat.
then his hands were on your hips, gently lifting you off him. the separation was a shock, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat he left behind. you slumped forward onto the mattress, your limbs feeling like lead.
you heard him shift behind you, the soft sound of him stroking himself. “c’mere,” he said, his voice husky. a light pressure on the back of your head urged you to turn over.
you did, rolling onto your back to look up at him. he was kneeling over you, his cock, still slick and glistening with your combined release, was right there, nudging against your lips. his eyes were dark, heavy-lidded, his expression one of raw, unashamed ownership.
“clean it up,” he commanded softly, his thumb stroking your cheek. “wanna taste yerself on me.”
a fresh, weak shudder went through you, but you didn’t hesitate. you opened your mouth, your tongue darting out to tentatively lick a broad stripe from the base to the tip. the taste was musky, salty, uniquely him, mixed with the tang of your own arousal.
a low, appreciative groan rumbled in his chest. “fuck, yeah… jus' like that, baby.” he encouraged, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary thrust that pressed him deeper against your tongue. “get it all nice an’ clean for me.”
you obeyed, your movements slow and languid as you licked him clean, your mouth working over his sensitive skin. each pass of your tongue, each soft suckle, drew another soft sound from him—a sharp intake of breath, a deep “nngh,” a whispered “shit…” his hand tangled in your hair, not forcing, just guiding, his touch firm and grounding.
“so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he breathed, watching you with an intensity that made your core clench all over again, even in your exhaustion. “on your back, takin’ care of me. knew this mouth was good for more than just talkin’ shit.”
you hummed around him, the vibration earning you another throaty moan. you could feel him hardening again under your ministrations, the proof of his seemingly endless stamina. when you finally pulled away, he was fully hard once more, a testament to the relentless cycle of pleasure he seemed to exist within.
he didn’t give you a moment to recover, to process the fact that he was ready again so soon. that dark, possessive look in his eyes was all the warning you got before his hands were on you, flipping you onto your stomach with an effortless twist of his wrists. the mattress dipped heavily under his weight as he settled over you, his knees nudging your legs apart.
“one more, baby.” he murmured, his voice a low, teasing rumble against the back of your neck. his cock, hard and insistent, slid through the slickness between your thighs, not entering yet, just painting wet, possessive lines on your skin. “you think yer off the hook?”
“toji… i caaan’t…” you whined, the protest weak even to your own ears. your body was still humming, oversensitive and raw from the last two rounds, but a treacherous, deep part of you was already stirring back to life at his proximity, at the promise in his touch.
“ya can,” he stated, simple and absolute, as if his word alone could reshape your reality. one of his huge hands splayed across the small of your back, pinning you in place. he ground his hips against you, the thick head of his cock catching on your entrance
he didn’t wait for your surrender.
he pushed inside, a slow, inexorable invasion that made you gasp into the sheets. he was so deep in this position, his body blanketing yours, his weight a crushing, comforting anchor. he set a slow, grinding rhythm, a far cry from the frantic pounding from before, but somehow more intense. each deliberate, deep thrust was a reaffirmation of his claim.
“fuck,” he groaned, his forehead dropping between your shoulder blades. “still so tight. squeezin’ me like a fuckin’ vise.” his hand slid from your back, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hip, using it for leverage. “love the sounds ya make. all those little whimpers. music to my fuckin’ ears.”
"t-toji!" you were melting under him, the slow, deep friction stoking the embers of your pleasure back into a slow, building burn. your earlier exhaustion was being burned away, replaced by a drowsy, hypnotic need. your moans were softer now, muffled by the bedding, a continuous, helpless stream of sound that seemed to encourage him.
“that’s it,” he praised, his voice thick. “just take it. jus' lemme have ya.” he shifted his angle slightly, and the new pressure against that perfect, deep spot inside you made you cry out, your back arching. “ah, found it, didn’t i? right there.”
he focused on that spot, his thrusts becoming more purposeful, each one aimed with a devastating accuracy that had you clutching at the sheets, your knuckles white. you could feel your third orgasm building, not as a sharp, shocking wave, but as a deep, rolling tide, inevitable and overwhelming.
“gonna come for me again, aren’t ya?” he breathed, his lips against your spine. “gonna come all over my cock one more time. do it. i wanna feel ya fall apart underneath me.”
his words, the relentless, deep stimulation, the sheer weight and presence of him—it was too much. the climax washed over you, a deep, full-body shudder that left you limp and pliant, a soft, continuous moan spilling from your lips as you pulsed around him, your vision blurring at the edges.
feeling you clench around him so perfectly finally broke his controlled rhythm. with a guttural, choked-off groan, he drove into you one last, final time, his own release hot and deep as he spilled inside you, his body shuddering against yours. he collapsed, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, his breath a ragged gust in your ear.
for a long time, neither of you moved. the only sounds were your slowing breaths and the frantic beat of your hearts. eventually, he shifted, rolling off you but immediately pulling you back against his chest, his arms locking around you, holding you flush against the solid, sweaty wall of his torso.
“love you,” he mumbled into your hair, his voice already slurred with oncoming sleep. “even when you're bein' a pain in my ass.”
Kira (Guest) on Chapter 1 Tue 18 Nov 2025 09:41PM UTC
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Silvire808 on Chapter 5 Sun 30 Nov 2025 06:03PM UTC
Last Edited Sun 30 Nov 2025 06:05PM UTC
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mimuju on Chapter 5 Tue 02 Dec 2025 06:07PM UTC
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Silvire808 on Chapter 5 Tue 02 Dec 2025 06:27PM UTC
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