cw : free use, non/dubcon, somno

I am a firm believer that Nanami has a need for near total control in his relationships. That could show up in small ways, like always planning your dates. Yes it's the gentlemanly thing to do, but it also means he knows exactly what you two will be doing and where, he can tell you what to wear and when he'll pick you up, ensuring that you arrive and leave with him. I think he'd also make sure that once things are serious enough, you'll be the one to move into his place. He knows that it feels different than picking a place out together—this is his home, and you're living in it.

That also means that you adopt his living style. You eat when he does, you go to bed when he does, you don't touch the thermostat, and you let him use you when he needs to. He used to have to take care of himself every time he got worked up, but now he has you.

I can see him needing you on nights when you have a nice date planned. Because you're walking around in whatever dress you picked out for the night, effortlessly drawing his attention to you and you look incredible. It's not his fault that his dress pants are now too tight, his cock straining painfully against the fabric and just aching to be set free. Not when you look like that.

Before you lived together, it was different—you'd send Nanami a picture of yourself all done up and ready for him to pick you up, but then you've have to wait longer because you got him hard from that one innocent photo. He’d fist his cock, pretending it was your hand instead as he stared at your pretty face until he made a mess of his phone screen.

But now you can be the one to relieve his need, even if you're not doing anything.

You just have to stand where you are, in front of the bathroom mirror as you add the finishing touches to your makeup. Just let him sneak in behind you and drag your dress up over your hips, simultaneously pulling your panties down. He always presses a kiss to the shell of your ear, promising to be gentle because he knows how much time you spent getting ready. Still, he can't help but fuck you harder when he gets close to his climax, bending you over the sink and pounding into you until your face is ruined. He just shushes you when you start to complain, reminding you of how good you made him feel and how you actually look better like this.

I also imagine that Nanami would use you while you're asleep. Especially after a long day at work, when he gets home so late that you've already gone to bed. He slowly tugs the covers off of you and nudges your legs apart so he can crawl between them. He buries his face in your cunt, licking long stripes along your slit, his tongue flicking at your clit. You twitch and sigh from his ministrations, but he's so soft that your eyes remain closed even as you become soaked.

Those nights, he only eats you out so that you'll be prepared enough to take his cock without waking up. The poor man is worn out and he doesn't want to talk to you or deal with you. He just needs to feel your warm walls tightening around his length until he releases all of his stress when he cums inside you with a quiet groan.

The first time he did that, you confronted him about it in the morning after finding the sticky mess that he left you. You were new to this part of living together, but he'd make sure to train you well, teaching you how to behave for him.

His lessons often bloom from moments like that anyways—when you're angry with him for whatever reason you may have. He hardly listens, choosing instead to placate you by fucking you so well that you forget what you were even worked up about.

Sometimes you’d resist in the beginning, shouting at him about how you're not in the mood, hitting him in the chest when he forces himself onto you. But how else are you supposed to realize how nice it is to let him have you like this? Doesn't it feel so good to just be there for him no matter what you're doing or feeling? Letting him press his cock into you whenever he pleases, stretching you out so wide and deep that you can't fight off the inevitable orgasms that crash over you.

Eventually you’ll stop pushing back, slowly molding into his perfect girl and contentedly handing over all control to him.

bkg being so vulgar in public but in private referring to having sex with you as making love. they don’t make loverboys like that every day

hakari bets on his girlfriend

Whenever Hakari is tight on cash, he knows that he can rely on you—his money maker. You are the prettiest little thing and his friends make sure he knows it, constantly commenting on how good you look, how well they'd treat you, how rough they'd fuck you if they had a chance. 

He'd never let anyone have you, but he's willing to share if it means he can get something out of it too. Besides, Hakari knows that none of his friends can handle you the way he does. And that's exactly why he started this whole thing.

Late friday nights when he invites his friends over for a little gambling. They expect cards or dice on a table with some beers, only to be surprised when they go downstairs to find you. 

Your wrists are handcuffed behind your back as you sit on your knees in front of a worn couch, nothing on except a cute pair of panties that Hakari picked out himself. 

The rules are simple: they bet against Hakari, on what they can make you do—cum, squirt, cry, piss, tap out. It doesn't matter, as long as they don't mark you. 

Tonight's victims are Yuji and Megumi, two boys who you've seen hanging around your boyfriend countless times. 

Their expressions light up when they see you restrained on the floor, awaiting them. Their excitement only grows when Hakari explains the game to them. 

And when Yuji nearly jumps out of his seat, ready to bet on how quickly he can make you cum around his cock, Hakari just grins and accepts the offer. Your boyfriend knows your body, and he can tell that Yuji doesn't have what it takes to make you cum before he does. Not even when he manhandles you on the floor so you're bent over in front of him, ass and pussy on display so he can eat you out from the back.

He holds you open for him while his tongue laps at your cunt hungrily, getting you so wet that you're making a mess of his face. You’re dripping so much that Yuji just can't help but fuck you now. He tries to reason that you'll cum when you feel his entire length stuffed inside you, since he knows how big he is. 

But Hakari knows it'll take more than that—after all, you take his dick every night.

Yuji realizes his mistake the minute he presses into your tight pussy and your walls mold to the shape of him. He doesn't last long after that. Setting a pace so fast and harsh, your face is being smooshed into the floor while he pounds into you from behind for a whopping… three minutes.

The pink haired boy can't even be upset when he forks over the cash he owes Hakari because you felt so damn good, he'd pay double the price just to fuck you one more time. 

But Megumi's been waiting patiently for his turn with his mind running in circles since he heard the words "piss" and "cry." He thinks you'd look so pretty in a mess at his feet like that. 

To make things interesting, Hakari asks if they think you'll cry or piss yourself first. Of course they think that you'll pee first, because who knows how long you've been waiting down here for them. And wouldn't it be so nice if you cried after, utterly embarrassed to have done that in front of them?

Unfortunately, they underestimate just how much Hakari likes to control your bladder. Forcing you to hold it for extended periods of time until you're curled in a ball on the bed, begging him to let you go to the bathroom. So it's not a new sensation to have your andomen aching while the two boys press on your stomach and finger fuck you in a way that’s just mean, trying to coax an accident out of you.

You do so well for your boyfriend who's watching with a knowing grin on his face and a tent in his pants. Hakari couldn't be prouder of his sweet girlfriend when you finally start sobbing, glistening tears trickling down your cheeks when your bladder starts to hurt too much. 

Only then do you let yourself relax, a steady stream of piss spilling from your cunt, the relief feeling like a reward for all your hard work.

Megumi and Yuji are visibly disappointed, but they should have known better—the house always wins. 

CHAPTER 4 - Tipsy Truths and The Glass Sky Lounge

Masterpost • Ao3

Chapter summary - Satoru Gojo gave you his number and too much choice with what to do with it. What do you do? Get drunk of course.

Word count - 8.7k

Tags - Satoru Gojo x reader, Sugar Daddy Gojo, no curse au, poor college kid x silly rich Gojo, age gap, slowish burn, eventual excessive smut

Will you ever catch a break? Maybe listening to this drunk idiot in your go-to bar would be easier if you weren't preoccupied with checking the status of your bank statement on your phone and trying to ignore the wafting smell of shit while you do so.

Yes, literal shit. You'd barely had time to change after the last minute sewer gig you'd picked up to get fast cash to deposit into your bank before expenses get taken out automatically at 12:00am.

You sigh in relief when your bank app refreshes and shows that the money has been taken out and you've successfully survived another week.

"Are you listening to me?"

You glance up at the guy nursing a beer and a look of distant numb idiocy that comes with alcohol while he waits for your undivided attention. You wish you'd felt a fraction of his alcohol content right about now but the drink he bought you was watery and cheap. You're used to it.

"Yeah," you say simply, pushing your phone into your pocket and slamming the rest of the fruity drink. Accepting drinks from randos at a bar is hardly innocent, it's free unless you count paying with your soul. It comes with the expectation of mind-numbing chit-chat and what they think is their right to pursue what's hiding in your underwear in the most obvious manner known to man. You don't usually do this. But after piss and shit duty for a measly $150, you need the handout.

Your husband, Kento, is having an affair.

You've been cataloguing the signs and symptoms of infidelity in your head for a while now — the late nights at work, despite his allergy to overtime; the soft floral perfume to his skin, where you lean towards deeper tones; that same sated look in his eyes that he used to get after a long night between your thighs, is now the look he comes home to you with.

He's getting it somewhere else, from someone else.

Sometimes you fantasise about slapping down the divorce papers next to his morning coffee and leaving his ass for good. You even printed them out, but promptly stuffed them into the bottom drawer of your bedside table. Because every time you think about leaving him, you think about not having him.

And he's yours. By law. You have his last name, wear his ring around your finger, are his other half to the people you meet and greet at work functions. Hell, his business partner Higuruma once commented on you two looking straight out of the dictionary, compiled under devout. Or in love. Whatever the fuck adjective he used.

What you have is good when it's good. He's a good husband, brings you home flowers and lowers himself to his knees for you without you needing to ask for it. Maybe such acts of service come from a place of guilt, but can you really bring yourself to care?

You know he loves you. He wouldn't have married you otherwise.

He wouldn't have come home today to see you dressed up in that lace he loves and taken you straight to bed if he didn't want to fuck you stupid.

So when he lays you down in the same bed you've slept side-by-side in for years now, and slowly feeds each inch of his cock into your waiting pussy, you can't help but claw for what you want most.

"Tell me you love me."

Your husband's hips falter just a little, pushing into your warmth just to slow as he meets your eyes. "Of course I do."

"I didn't ask if you do." You shift downwards on the bed, forcing him to fill you deeper. "I want you to say it. Say you love me."

Kento's eyes are soft, but wary, as he leans down and presses a kiss to your nose. "I love you." His voice is low. "I have loved you since the day I laid eyes on you. Anything else, my love?"

How honeyed. You almost roll your eyes, but his words coil in your stomach and have you tightening around him. He loves you.

You bring a hand up, caress the back of his neck, trace your fingers over a bite mark at his shoulder that you certainly didn't leave. He smells floral, and his hair was mussed when he came home, like he's had fingers through it. You wonder if he's passionate with her, whoever she is. If he gives it to her rough and mean, or slow and lovely.

You slap him across the face. Your wedding ring catches against his cheek.

FLIRT

Your husband, Kento, is having an affair.

You've been cataloguing the signs and symptoms of infidelity in your head for a while now — the late nights at work, despite his allergy to overtime; the soft floral perfume to his skin, where you lean towards deeper tones; that same sated look in his eyes that he used to get after a long night between your thighs, is now the look he comes home to you with.

He's getting it somewhere else, from someone else.

Sometimes you fantasise about slapping down the divorce papers next to his morning coffee and leaving his ass for good. You even printed them out, but promptly stuffed them into the bottom drawer of your bedside table. Because every time you think about leaving him, you think about not having him.

And he's yours. By law. You have his last name, wear his ring around your finger, are his other half to the people you meet and greet at work functions. Hell, his business partner Higuruma once commented on you two looking straight out of the dictionary, compiled under devout. Or in love. Whatever the fuck adjective he used.

What you have is good when it's good. He's a good husband, brings you home flowers and lowers himself to his knees for you without you needing to ask for it. Maybe such acts of service come from a place of guilt, but can you really bring yourself to care?

You know he loves you. He wouldn't have married you otherwise.

He wouldn't have come home today to see you dressed up in that lace he loves and taken you straight to bed if he didn't want to fuck you stupid.

So when he lays you down in the same bed you've slept side-by-side in for years now, and slowly feeds each inch of his cock into your waiting pussy, you can't help but claw for what you want most.

"Tell me you love me."

Your husband's hips falter just a little, pushing into your warmth just to slow as he meets your eyes. "Of course I do."

"I didn't ask if you do." You shift downwards on the bed, forcing him to fill you deeper. "I want you to say it. Say you love me."

Kento's eyes are soft, but wary, as he leans down and presses a kiss to your nose. "I love you." His voice is low. "I have loved you since the day I laid eyes on you. Anything else, my love?"

How honeyed. You almost roll your eyes, but his words coil in your stomach and have you tightening around him. He loves you.

You bring a hand up, caress the back of his neck, trace your fingers over a bite mark at his shoulder that you certainly didn't leave. He smells floral, and his hair was mussed when he came home, like he's had fingers through it. You wonder if he's passionate with her, whoever she is. If he gives it to her rough and mean, or slow and lovely.

You slap him across the face. Your wedding ring catches against his cheek.

— ⋮ MADE FOR ME

ryomen sukuna x reader

— ⋮ in short, sending your dad a video of you getting fucked might not be the best idea :(

3.2k ⋮ — [ 18+ ] warnings : dad-daughter incest, daddy kink, situational & verbal degradation (slut, whore, etc.), blow job, anal, dubcon, cheating, age gap, slapping, breeding kink & non-consensual creampie, sadism & masochism, obsessive thoughts & behavior

navigation ⋮ masterlist

The apple didn't fall far from the tree when Sukuna had you. A girl version of the brooding man, you were equally as confident and attractive, though maybe even more fucked up. 

It was hard to know for sure.

thinkin about Sukuna who doesn’t let you suck him off, doesn’t even bother fucking your mouth at all. he just slaps his thick cock against your cheek before he starts to rub it over your face all slow and lazy like. rutting back and forth in long thrusts, grinding each bumped vein over your brow bone until your cheeks are slippery and pearly little threads of pre are strewn over your face from your chin to your forehead. You peer up at him through clumped lashes, eyes glassy, winking whenever his heavy balls nudge at your chin. You lick and suck at whatever slip of skin your greedy mouth can reach just to hear his breath hitch above you, low rumbled groans just as unhurried as the slow rock of his hips. sometimes he drags the blushed tip over your lower lip, lets your tongue dart out to steal a proper taste before he lifts again just to rest his balls over the hollow point of your eye socket while he dribbles ropes of pre cum into your hairline.

dad toji who stumbles in your room, watching mindlessly as you sleep with a beer clutched tightly in hand. he thinks you look so cute with your mouth hung open, drool trickling out of the corner of your mouth. your tank tops rolled up over your tits and he doesn’t give it a second thought as he rolls one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

he pulls his cock out, using the tip to poke between your parted lips. his head lolls back, alcohol and need mixing disgustingly as it muddles his mind. you pretend to sleep as his length stretches out your cheek and rubs against your gums.

that stupid gas station pill you’d crushed up and slipped in his beer was working like a charm.