Which Was More Culturally Significant? The Renaissance Or

Title: Cherry Red.

Pairing: Yandere!Gojo x Reader x Yandere!Geto (JJK).

Written in conjunction with this ask from @eevwrites.

Word Count: 1.9k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Nonconsensual Drug Use, Implied Stalking, Kidnapping, Obsessive Behavior, Overstimulation, Biting/Marking, and Slight Dehumanization.

Really, your only mistake had been choosing the wrong savoir after Satoru had slipped something into your drink.

Satoru was obviously, visibly, undeniably a creep. That much was obvious from the second he approached you, neon pink cocktail in-hand and that degenerate grin plastered across his lips. He was sketchy, but he was also rich, and fun, and willing to dance with you hours after the rest of your friends had called it a night. Suguru wasn’t a creep – or, he didn’t look like one, at least. When your vision started to darken, when it became harder than it should’ve been to put one foot in front of the other, it was his chest you stumbled into, using what was left of your consciousness to beg an imposing, aloof stranger to get the bartender’s attention and help you. It was what anyone else would’ve done. It was what you would’ve done, if the roles had been reversed.

It wasn’t until you felt his arm wrap around your waist, until you heard him call so lovingly to Satoru, that you realized how badly you’d fucked up.

Still, stumbling halfway across the club and throwing yourself at a total stranger must've attracted some attention. As Suguru gathered you in his arms, the bartender rounded towards you, eyeing your limp form and Suguru's slight smile warily. “Someone had little too much to drink,” he explained, nonchalantly. “It’s fine. Her boyfriend and I are going to take her home and make sure she gets tuck her in.”

‘Your boyfriend’ being Satoru, apparently, judging by the way he clung to Suguru’s side as you were carried out of the club entirely and piled into the backseat of an inconspicuous black car. Suguru drove and Satoru hovered over you – gnawing hickeys and bruises into your throat until you were too far gone to care.

Whatever they’d dosed you with, it was strong. You were strung out for most of the ride, only vaguely aware of passing scenery, Satoru’s keening whines, and Suguru’s gentle reminders to ‘wait, ‘toru’. By the time you felt your body being lifted, you were beyond the point of deliberate movement – your mind hyperactive, eager to latch onto every little sensation and spiraling thought, but unable to do much more than remind you to breath as you were hauled through a shrine courtyard and into a small, dimly lit backroom; the priest’s personal barracks, if you had to guess. Satoru babbled while Suguru lowered you onto a large, plush bed, and despite your best efforts, you caught most of it. “—and that’s when I knew it had to be you.” Suguru spared you an apologetic smile, his nimble hands moving over your body as he carefully removed your dress, then your shoes, then your panties, stripping you bare with all the care and all the tenderness of an avid collector undressing his favorite doll. “I mean, it took a few months, but I wanted it to be romantic, y’know? Suguru doesn’t get it. He thought I’d be happy with just anyone.”

“It took me a while to come around the idea. I might’ve gotten a little jealous.” You could only wish he would’ve stayed that away. “Come here, I need to show you what you’re doing.”

Suguru dragged you into his lap, keeping your upper body propped against his chest while spreading your legs apart in front of him. Satoru took his position eagerly between then, his eyes fixed on your cunt. “This,” he started, using two thick fingers to spread the folds of your labia apart, “is what you’re gonna fall in love with. Make sure you’re always paying attention to her clit – aw, look, it’s already poking out.”

It was humiliatingly clinical – how he touched you while explaining your anatomy in-detail, using the pad of his thumb to show Satoru how to play with your clit, dipping two fingers into your entrance while extrapolating on the importance of proper preparation, gathering your arousal up to make sure Satoru knew what it would look like when he was doing a good job. “Remember to be gentle. She’s going to be a lot more delicate than me,” he said, while curling two fingers inside of you, filling the bedroom with a rhythmic, humiliatingly wet sound. Your couldn't seem to open your mouth, and yet, little whimpers of discomfort and mewls of pleasure escaped your parted lips without resistance, each new noise drawing Satoru that much closer. “You’ll just be using your mouth, for now. We can talk about hands once you’ve shown some restraint.”

And yet, Satoru’s hands still found their way to your thighs, kneading mindlessly while Suguru split you open on his fingers. You tried to shake your head, to squirm against him, to tell him to stop, but the closest you got to anything coherent was a pitchy, keening sound not totally dissimilar to the whines Satoru would let out every now and then as he ground half-consciously into the mattress. You tried not to feel anything, either, but Suguru’s hands were so big, and his chest was so warm against your back, and with Satoru all-but drooling over your pussy, it would’ve been impossible not to come undone the second his palm ground against your clit and he spread his fingers apart inside of you, nursing you through your orgasm while making sure you were on fully-display. “See how she’s clenching down? That means she’s trying to milk your cock – you’ll get what I mean, once your inside of her.”

If only for a moment, your panic overshadowed your paralysis. Thrashing to either side, you did your best to fight against Suguru’s ironclad hold and finally spit something out, even if your voice was still barely stronger than a whimper. “N-No, don’t, you can’t—”

It was Satoru who cut you off, this time, albeit without breaking his nonverbal streak. His mouth crashed into yours with enough force to bruise, teeth clashing against yours as he shoved his tongue down your throat in less of a kiss and more of a prolonged attempt to choke you to death. It hurt, and you tasted blood, and if you hadn’t known better, than you would’ve thought this was his first—

Oh, god.

As if this couldn’t have gotten any worse.

He didn’t stay focused on your mouth for long. His attention drifted downward – first to your throat, then your collarbone, then your chest, latching onto one of your nipples and sucking harshly. You hadn’t realized how sensitive you were, not until his teeth dug into the plush of your breast and you let out a fractured sob, tears blurring your vision. Suguru’s response was instantaneous. In a fraction of a second, his slick-stained fingers were tangled in Satoru’s hair, prying him off of you entirely. “Gentle,” he repeated, his tone strict, authoritative. “Before I decide you need to be muzzled.”

For what it was worth, Satoru seemed apologetic. After Suguru loosened his hold, he nuzzled into your chest, lapping over his past love bites with the flat of his tongue. “’m sorry, just got excited.” And then, smiling up at you, “You didn’t mind, right? I mean, she definitely doesn’t.”

You had no idea what he was talking about, not until his head dropped to your cunt and he buried his face between your thighs, his attention suddenly solely dedicated to your pussy.

There was no attempt made to use his hands. Despite Suguru’s instructions, he ate you out like a starving animal – his tongue fucking into your cunt as the bridge of his nose ground mindlessly against your clit. Suguru kept his hand in Satoru’s hair, petting gingerly over his scalp as he watched Satoru drool and lap at your cunt. “Use your entire tongue, and don't inhale. She’s not going to be impressed if you manage to drown yourself in pussy.” Suguru tugged lightly, and Satoru let out an unabashed moan, the reverberations going straight to your core. “Don't get distracted, either. Don’t you want to know what she tastes like cumming on your tongue?”

Another moan, another rough buck of Satoru’s hips into the now disheveled sheets. He was terrible, and messy, and loud, and it was humiliating how quickly you lost control of yourself – going stiff against Suguru as Satoru all-but tore your second climax out of you. Suguru grinned against your throat, almost purring with satisfaction. “Good boy. So dedicated, so sweet.” He let go of Satoru’s hair – cupping your face, instead. It was only as his thumb traced over your cheek that you realized you were crying in-earnest, now. “She’s tearing up, ‘toru. That means she wants you to keep going.”

A mix of your arousal and his saliva stained the inside of your thighs, dampening the sheets underneath you, but he didn’t pull away – too caught up in your taste or Suguru’s praise to stop. It might’ve been the overstimulation, or the drugs, or some impossible, nebulous factor you couldn’t so much as begin to guess as, but time seemed to blur together, reality buckling under its own weight as Satoru wrung another orgasm out of you, then another, then another, as Suguru continued to shower him with praise and affection and promises that you liked him, that you wanted this, that you were only crying and thrashing and trying to snap your thighs shut because you felt so good. At some point, you lost the will to keep your eyes open, and minutes later, the harsher edges of your consciousness began to soften. For once, you couldn't be mad at your own body's instinctual submission.

You knew you were going to black out, but you weren't scared. By the time your vision flickered out and everything went black, the only thing you could think to be was grateful that you’d be fortunate enough to miss the main event.

~

You woke up what felt like days later, still lying on the bed you’d blacked out in. Their paralytics had worn off, but trying to make a run for it was out of the question. Every part of your body ached – from your hickey-painted chest to your aching hips to your poor, abused pussy – and even if you’d been able to move, it wouldn’t have done you much good. Familiar bodies caged you in on either side, Suguru’s chest still pressing into your back while Satoru clung to your chest, his arms wrapped around your midriff and his nails embedded in your sides. As if you hadn't already been thoroughly marked.

Suguru stirred first, predictably. It wasn’t hard to tell who was in charge between the two of them. “Our little sleeping beauty,” he muttered into your hair, kissing the top of your head as he sat up and shook Satoru away. “We were starting to get worried – must’ve pushed you too hard last night. You almost missed the most important part.”

Something caught in your throat. “…almost?”

“Yes, princess, almost.” With a groan, Satoru sat up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Immediately, his gaze fell to you, and just as quickly, he was on top of you – pinning you to the mattress, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “You should be thankful that Satoru had the patience to wait. I wouldn’t have been so nice.”

You felt Satoru’s hands paw at your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist as he aligned his stiff, leaking cock with your entrance. He moved enthusiastically, but mechanically, like a trained dog. Like he was following instructions. Weakly, you tried to push at his chest, to get him away from you, but you gave up quickly.

You’d been wrong to be grateful. It would’ve been better to get this over with last night.

At least, then, you might’ve been out of it enough to miss the twisted, blissful, lovesick grin painted across Satoru’s lips as he buried himself inside of you.

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . satoru gojo is needy and rlly likes to cum inside!!

18+ MDNI

satoru gojo is one needy, pussy drunk, fuck. he’s quite literally the ceo of not being able to shut the fuck up—especially during sex.

“babyyyyy” he whines into the glistening skin of your neck, prodding your swollen, fucked out pussy with his cock. 

this is the fourth time satoru’s pushing into you tonight, whining and muttering in your ear about how it’s just not enough. for you, one round with satoru is all it takes to have your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and your breathing to quicken into shallow, shaky gasps. but for him? four times? baby, this is just the start.

“s-satoru—” you gasp at the sweet stretch, feeling him fully slide in his lengthy cock. “fuck baby—s-so tight” he stutters against your skin, placing soft, wet kisses along the stretch of your neck. he’s got you trapped in his favorite position—missionary—legs pushed back, hips locked in place with nowhere to escape.

“ ‘toru please s’ too much, n-no more” you whimper pathetically—nails desperately digging into his back, as he starts moving his hips, pushing himself in n out. 

“hah baby— feel s’good—gonna fuck you s-stupid on my cock” there he goes again, drunkenly slurring his words in your ear, ignoring your stupid pleas while he mercilessly overstimulates you with his cock.

“mmm ‘toru” the moan escapes your parted lips, your shaky breath ghosting over the now red, scratched up skin of his back.

“shh—shhh baby, take it, c’mon, take it for me” he groans, pairing each word with a deep, pleading thrust. and of course you will. how could you be so heartless and deny him like that?

“g-gonna let me cum in you baby?” he whispers against the shell of your ear, his warm breath sending a warm tingle of pleasure down your spine. 

“d-didn’t you already—”

“please baby cmon—fuck you feel s-so fucking good, let me just one m-more time” he cuts you off, mumbling against your skin and fucking you at the most deliciously agonizing pace. 

too fucked out to reply, you close your eyes, giving him a light, approving nod. no matter how much you deny it, in reality, you’d do anything satoru asks.

“mm yeahhh— good girl” he replies, coating your tight wet walls in his cum, ‘just one more time’.

you can always take more than nothing

character: bonten!mikey x fem!reader

genre: smut

notes: here’s my halloween piece, only half a month late! still, i hope you can enjoy it! as always, please heed the warnings and stay safe! | title cred: alice in wonderland

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, public sex/exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, size difference, biting/marking, blood, minimal prep, rough sex, teasing, begging, dacryphilia, humiliation, a lil bit of degradation, drugs, toxic relationship

words: 8.6k

synopsis:

Those few remaining scraps of decency you’d both been clinging to have been devoured by Mikey’s growing selfishness, no longer caring about what others might see or think or say—it’s not like anyone’s dumb enough to do anything about it anyway; it’s not like anyone has enough of a death-wish to try. He’s the motherfucking Boss. And the Boss gets what he wants, where he wants, when he wants, always. 

The music is loud, so loud the walls seem to be breathing with it, bleeding with it, flashes of neon pouring over the frosted mosaics of glass and marble. 

A party, thinly veiled as a corporate event. 

There are people everywhere, scattered across every surface, crystal glasses filled with expensive liqour and cocktail concoctions glittering in their palms. You barely know any of them. 

They’re all supposed business partners, allies and associates, ‘friends’ of your Daddy. Not that it matters all that much to you; they aren’t allowed to say a word to you anyway. 

Your eyes scan the expanse of the club, on the hunt for a familiar face. Takeomi is in the corner, obnoxiously blowing smoke into some of the higher end girls’ faces. He’s really taking his role of The Caterpillar earnestly. 

Good. You told him it suited him.

At your request (AKA at Mikey’s demand), the top members of Bonten have dressed up as Alice in Wonderland characters, donning an impressive group costume. You’ve been taking the whole thing pretty seriously—beginning your extensive planning in August, drafting up designs and taking everyone’s precise measurements to have each outfit custom made to their exact frames—which means the rest of Bonten has been taking the whole thing pretty seriously, too. 

Not that any of them mind. 

What Mikey’s little angel wants, Mikey’s little angel gets. It’s standard protocol, really; you’re merely an extension of the Boss and thus must be treated as an extension of the Boss, and Mikey’s best men have no issues complying. 

Sighing, you rest your chin in your palms, sombreness souring your features. An ache, dull and dense, settles in the pit of your chest. It’s a desolate sort of longing, a gentle but constant gnawing that cannot be sated by anyone or anything other than it’s creator, something that weights your lungs and heavies your heart and stalls your breath, a vital part missing.

You miss Mikey.

You miss Mikey, but you know this ‘event’ really does have some sort of business significance; that, while it’s mostly an excuse to get drunk and high on Halloween night, it also serves as the grounds for some sort of meeting or negotiation or proposition—you can never be sure which, with Bonten. 

You aren’t allowed to know. You’re lucky to be here at all.

But you miss Mikey.

You shouldn’t be selfish. You know you shouldn’t be selfish; he’s already stretched so thin between so many obligations and obituaries, and you shouldn’t add to that strain. You won’t add to that strain. You’ll sit here, pretty and perfect like his precious little princess should be, and you’ll wait, patiently, until Daddy has a moment to spare you. 

He always finds a moment to spare, no matter how many duties and commitments he has. He always finds a space for you in his day, even if he has to carve it out with his bare hands.

So you mustn’t be greedy. You will be good. For him, you’ll do anything, no matter how difficult. 

“No frowning, miss Alice,” Sanzu chastises through a stretched grin, wide and carved into his cheeks—a smile so sharp, so sinister it puts the true Cheshire Cat to disgrace. 

He swims into your vision, teeth glinting with teals and fuchsias, an intricately wrapped box in his palms. Tugging on the ribbon a little, he unboxes it to reveal a wealth of small confections, individually wrapped in colourful foils.  

“Look, your favourite kitty brought you some chocolate.”

That brightens your mood a little—a sugar fiend, just like your Daddy is—and your mouth drops open expectantly, cute tongue unfurling in invitation. 

Sanzu rolls his eyes but places a truffle on your tongue anyway, pressing it down on the slick muscle and forcing your lips to close around his first knuckle to suck the treat free from him, laughing at the way your face twists.

Pervert. 

His nails taste like blood—not that you’ve come to expect any less—but the rusty copper is quickly eradicated by sugar, a content little hum vibrating around the melting chocolate.

“Good, huh?” Sanzu asks around his own chocolate, shuffling a gold box of expensive Italian truffles in his palm as he picks through them, confections jumping perilously with the motion, shimmering wrappers catching in the flashing neon strobes. “They’re imported.”

“Where’d you get those?” you ask through strings of caramel and cocoa, welding to your molars. 

“A little Halloween treat courtesy of Mikey,” he says dutifully, jostling the box in emphasis. “And an apology, for taking longer than expected.” 

Warmth blooms in your chest, swelling with your heart and stretching your ribs. The last few remnants of displeasure fade from your face, giving way to a small smile.

How very Mikey of him, to send his second in command armed with artisan chocolates and a short, sweet explanation; something he knew would make you smile, something he knew would alleviate some of your impatience, a reassurance that he misses you too, that he’ll be back soon, that he’s thinking of you. 

“There’s our pretty girl,” Sanzu teases, but his own grin has softened a little, the glint in his eyes dulled to a twinkle. “No more pouting, ‘kay? Your trusty Cheshire Cat will be by your side until your Hatter returns.”

Ah. A polite way of saying that you’re stuck with him until Mikey’s finished his work, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

That takes longer than either of you expect, though, Sanzu’s plan of entertaining you by leading you, hand-in-hand, around the club to assess each Bonten member’s costume not nearly as lengthy as he had anticipated. 

Because it only takes a mere twenty minutes or so to examine all of them, with you near instantaneously deciding that the Haitanis have won the make-believe costume contest you and Sanzu had been holding between yourselves. 

Sanzu had agreed—everyone looks impeccable in their custom-made costumes, tailored specifically to them at your behest, but no one had any hope of eclipsing the Haitanis in their form-fitted pinstriped suits, each stitch and thread molded flawlessly to their frames, perfectly pressed collars embroidered with Dee and Dum in shimmery purple thread, powder blue bowties immaculately symmetrical around their tattooed necks. 

Now you’re back at the bar, Sanzu’s shaky fingers sifting through the box of truffles as he searches for something, anything, to distract him from the way the blood in his veins is beginning to dry up, the way his capillaries are withering, brittle and thirsty, the way his skin is beginning to itch.

Because he can’t do a goddamn thing about it. Not yet, anyway.

No narcotics when he’s chaperoning you; that’s a hard rule. That’s a rule that’s been sewn into the tissues of his brain so tightly it’s interwoven with his synapses. That’s an execution rule; a one time only rule—breaking that rule will get him fucking killed. 

But you’re both starting to become a little bit restless. 

“Come on,” you’re begging, word dragged across your tongue in a petulant whine. “Just one more chocolate?”

“I said no,” Sanzu snaps, eyes hard. “Mikey said three. Mikey’s the Boss. Whatever Mikey says goes; Mikey’s girl, Mikey’s rules!” 

“You’re no fun,” you huff, forehead scrunching with a pout. 

“Yeah, and that’s why he sticks me with you,” Sanzu says, though he sounds almost proud, as if it’s an honour to babysit you, a title of high esteem. “Because I can resist your tricks.”

“My charms,” you correct.

“Whatever,” he waves a hand. “It’s all semantics. Point is, I know how to say no to you, unlike a few certain someones.” 

Unimpressed ice blue eyes sweep across the venue, hovering pointedly on the faces of his colleagues—Kakucho, the Dormouse; Kokonoi, the White Rabbit; Rindou, Tweedle-Dum.

Your eyes follow his, and you smirk to yourself. Kakucho is the easiest out of those three; Kokonoi sometimes deceives you, allowing you to do as you please only to tattle to Mikey later, and Rindou always demands some sort of payment, claiming it’s only fair that you give him something he wants in return. 

Turning back, you’re about to respond, something bratty and bitter simmering on your tongue, when a pair of hands and a smooth voice cuts you off. 

You’d know that touch, that tone, anywhere.

“Pray, tell me, Miss Alice,” Mikey murmurs in your ear as he slinks up behind you, palms curling around your hips and pulling you back toward his chest. “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

“Because it can produce a few notes,” you answer dutifully, head tipping back against his shoulder to glance at him through the corner of your eye. “Though they are very flat.”

“Correct,” he responds. “My, what a smart little girl you are.”

It’s soaked in condescension, compliment drawled out through a supercilious smirk, breath wafting across your face sweltering and saccharine. 

“Do I get a reward, Mister Hatter?” you ask, sweeter than sugarcane, batting eyelashes framing hopeful, dewy eyes. 

A hum vibrates on his tongue, onyx gaze apathetic and appraising as it glides across your features slowly, thoroughly, pulling each of your thoughts apart and putting them back together again. 

Your head rolls to the side, over his protruding collarbone, to stare at him more resolutely. And God, it’s the way you’re looking up at him, eyes glazed with dedication, with devoutness, like you want to fucking devour him. 

Like you want him to devour you. 

Hips pushing back, you rub your ass into his cock in inconspicuous little motions, lashes fluttering a little, back arched in a perfect curve and tits on full display. 

From this angle, there’s no way he can’t see right down your dress; there’s no way he can’t see the red lace of your bra straining against supple skin as your chest rises and falls with gentle breaths, no way he doesn’t notice the very tips of your nipples, cheekily peeking out from beneath the delicate material with each swell of your breasts. 

Bony fingers flex on your waist, and he huffs out a smirk.

His ebony pupils are enormous, blown wide and gaping, gnawing away at the whites of his eyes. 

He’s high. 

It’s evident in the milky film of artificial ecstasy lacquering his gaze, doped up and hazy, but it does nothing to dilute the potent love he has for you, melting his stare to something soft and sticky, pouring past his lashes.

He’s feeling good tonight.

“I think I know what my little girl wants,” one hand flattens against your stomach, holding you flush to his body as the other slides up your ribs to cup your breast, filling his palm with it and kneading, slow and deliberate, simply enjoying the feeling of you. “And it is very naughty of her.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mm,” he hums, head drooping to nose along the curve of your neck. “Really.”

His lips brush along your skin as he speaks, his voice barely more than a gentle vibration along the column of your throat, and you whimper a little, fingers curling around his wrist and pressing him closer.

“A-And what’s that?”

“Aw, can’t you guess?” he tuts his tongue. “And I thought you were smart. Must’ve been mistaken. Where’s my smart little girl gone now?”

Grip firm on your waist, his hips rut forward, hard cock prodding at you through the layers of tulle. A discontented little sound vibrates in your throat as you squirm a little—and oh, he knows what you’re whining about, greedy girl, knows that you can barely feel his cock through the thick petticoat, knows you want more—and he presses his hips further forward, grinding harder into your ass.

“Daddy—Da-Daddy, it’s—” 

“What?” he shoves again, stronger this time, teeth nipping at the skin below your ear. “Hm?”

“Your cock is hard,” you nearly whine, pushing back against him in a pitiful little wiggle, desperate for more friction. 

“And who’s fault is that, huh?” 

The hand massaging your breast gives a final squeeze before his fingers find your nipple, pinching it through the material of your dress and bra, then rubbing the heel of his thumb over it in hard, rhythmic motions. 

“Is your pussy wet?” he huffs the question into your ear, his hot breath procuring shivers. “I bet it is, naughty girl. Daddy wants to feel it.”

“Please, please,” your hips buck a little, punctuating your pleads, chest pressing into his touch.

“Please? Please what?”

“Touch me, Daddy, touch me, touch me.”

Slender hands slip beneath the puffy layers of lace, calloused fingertips rough as they skim up your smooth thighs, outlining the silk ruffles of the bloomers he bought you specifically for this costume. 

Your hips twitch slightly, legs spreading instinctively as his fingers trail along the scrunched hem to the apex of your thighs, pressing two into the rapidly dampening material. Pensively, they caress your slit through the material, prodding your hole just a little before rubbing two slow, hard circles into your clit.

“Christ,” he breathes out, curse splintering at the end. “You’re so fucking wet baby, and I’ve barely done anything yet.”

His palm flattens against you, all four fingers dipping into your core nearly to the first knuckle and then curling, the heel of his hand grinding against your clit, and your pelvis cants reflexively, almost as if you’re attempting to draw his fingertips further in. 

“How are you this wet already, huh?” he keens, voice straining beneath his own desire. “Been thinking naughty thoughts?”

“Jus’want your cock,” you slur out honestly, hips gyrating in pathetic little circles, an embarrassing attempt to follow his touch. 

“Oh, yeah? That’s all it takes, eh?” he rolls your clit between his thumb and his forefinger, nonchalantly toying with it as he mulls. “Just my cock?” 

“Uh-huh,” you nod blearily. “Uh-huh, uh-huh.”

“Cute,” Mikey spits, the compliment sheathed in venom, “how utterly stupid just the thought of my cock makes you.” 

His fingers clamp down on the swollen nub and tug, your whole body jolting with the pain, a yelp hitching in your chest. 

The arm wrapped around your waist tightens in response, holding you close, holding you still as he humps away at you, sloppy and uneven.

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, fingers tweaking your clit in rhythmic motions, sparks of pleasure chased by shocks of pain. “You’re so fucking easy for your Daddy, aren’t you? So quick to get soaked for him, so quick to get ready for him, such a good little slut for him, yeah?” 

His voice is gravelly, letters wispy around the edges despite fact that he’s nearly shouting over music. Another rush of heat surges between your thighs, and he laughs, dark and dangerous. 

Your clit throbs in his touch, the silk of your panties drenched all the way through, aiding his fingers in their slippery motions—several small, fast S gestures, followed by a few firm strokes of your slit, fingertips gliding over your folds with ease. You’re so soaked, whole cunt now outlined by the shimmery material, molding to your folds and enabling him to feel every dip, every bump, every crevice, another chuckle dripping from his lips as your little hole clenches around nothing.

“Daddy,” you whimper, thighs squeezing together tightly as you attempt to fuck his fingers. “Daddy, I—I can’t—I need—” 

“Shh,” he hushes you, lips caressing the curve of your ear. “I know, baby. Daddy knows what you need.” 

A palm wraps around your wrist as Mikey mutters something about going somewhere a little more private, pulling you along behind him and leading you toward those purple velvet VIP couches, empty and roped off in a darkened corner. 

“What are we—” you begin as Mikey collapses heavily on the couch, knees spread wide open, hips shifting up slightly as he forces his feet even further apart, getting comfortable. 

C’mere, his lips mime, voice drowning in heavy bass, his chin jutting in the general direction of his straining cock, yearning against pin-striped pants. 

Strong hands curl around your hips and yank you backward, the abrupt motion punching a sound of surprise from your chest as you tumble into his lap, spine pressed tight to his sternum. 

The hinges of his jaw hook over your shoulder, a crude way of keeping you from squirming as he manhandles you into straddling his thighs, hard cock pressing into your core. 

“Holy fuck,” he pants out, the curse damp against your skin. “You’re so wet I can feel you leaking through my pants.”

“Daddy,” you say, and although it’s meant to be a warning, it comes out as a whine, stringy and petulant.  

Because it already feels so good, and he’s already so hard, and you just can’t help but rock your hips back, slow and firm, whimpering a bit as the head of his cock glides over your clit, teasing as the slick, swollen little nub jumps beneath the dull pressure. 

He laughs a little, nothing more than a deep, dark rumbling within his ribs, reverberating against your back.

“You’re so fucking nasty, baby,” he chides lowly, though you can hear the self-satisfied smirk sewn into his voice, tinged with sadism, as he rolls his hips up twice, grinding his cock into your drenched core. “You’re so fucking needy, baby, trying to get yourself off in the middle of this crowded club.”

You are, you are, another little sound escaping your lips as you rut back against him, already beginning to speed up, rubbing the head of his cock over your clit in quick little strokes.

“It’s really precious, y’know, how pathetically eager you are for me,” he murmurs, notes of fondness negating the sting the insult should bring, words gone melty and sweet. “But you gotta stop humping Daddy for a moment, so he can get his cock out and give you what you really want.” 

A disgruntled little whine sounds in your throat, motions stuttering a little as you attempt to stop moving. But it all feels so incredible, greedily unable to quell your hips completely as they rotate in messy little circles, tummy starting to ripple with each graze of his blunt head against your clit.

“Hey,” he warns, sharp and stern, a palm colliding with your bare thigh and leaving a burning handprint seared in its wake, the impact of the slap loud enough to draw a few pairs of eyes. “Don’t get bratty with me, or you won’t get anything at all, you understand?”

Your head’s nodding before the words are even finished leaving his lips—yes, Daddy, of course, Daddy, brats don’t deserve to be filled by Daddy’s cock—desperate to be good for him, to be the best for him.

Because you know he isn’t fucking around; Mikey’s threats are never empty threats, each and every word plucked from his brain with superlative care, heavy and infused with meaning.

It’s terrifying and tantilizing, how easily and instantly he can switch from one mode to the other: from playful to imposing, from Daddy to Leader, a pleasant shiver skittering up your spine, your hole clenching and pulsing as your stomach plummets, gut weighted with a tingling pressure.

It’s a bit of a task, freeing his cock and manoeuvring yourself as you try to inconspicuously sink down on it, but you both manage, your fluffy petticoat of crinoline and tulle providing a decent amount of privacy. 

A hiss slips through the gaps of your gritted teeth as it begins to tear you in two, cute little hole stinging as it strains around his cock, struggling to accommodate his girth, delicate skin splitting itself open for him. 

“That’s it, that’s it,” he breathes lowly, voice vibrating against your ear. “There you go, good girl.” 

An airy little moan spills from your lips as he bottoms out, cockhead pressed snug to your cervix, and you melt back into him, skull knocking against his shoulder, eyes slipped shut. 

“Feel better, princess?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you mumble out dreamily. “S’good, S’right.”

“It feels right, huh?” he chuckles a little, thumbs rubbing fond circles into your hips, his hands all the way up your skirt, slipped beneath the frills and fluff, forearms buried in your dress. “You like it when Daddy fills you up?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. “Stretches me out real good, makes me feel all stuffed ‘n full.” 

Whole, complete, one. Like everything feels as it’s supposed to again.

And it hurts, because it always hurts, because he’s too thick and you’re never prepped enough, never patient enough, core split open on his cock and little hole aching as it attempts to adjust to him, but it’s so fucking perfect, too. Your cunt spasms around him, hips twitching a little in desperation—like you’re trying to suck him in further, like you’re trying to bury him deeper—and he groans, fingers flexing as he holds you still, nails gorging on your flesh.

“Eager, are we?” 

“S’not my fault,” you mewl, back arching a little as you attempt to push your hips back, squirming a bit in his strong grip. “Need you, Daddy.”

“Is that so?”

Grasp tightening, his hips thrust up, grinding the head of his cock into your cervix in slow, hard motions—back and forth, back and forth, inspiring a dull pang throbbing in your gut. 

Gasping sharply, your hips jerk back in response, automatic and instinctual, pulling a hoarse groan from his chest. 

His clutch turns to near bone crushing, a fractured little cry sticking in your throat, and he forces you to hold still for a moment, muscles in his thighs gone rigid and stiff as his hips press up further and tug you down, frozen, revelling in the way your cunt pulses around him, as if it’s whining for him.

“M-Mikey,” you echo its sentiments, his name a sulky plead on your tongue, brows knit together and lips jutted in a pout. 

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

“You know,” you huff out, wriggling a little in his palms, feebly trying to fuck yourself on him.

“Tell me anyway,” he demands.  

Scalding embarrassment pricks your cheeks and you whimper, fidgeting in his grasp again, head shaking in defiance.

“Come on,” he chides, but there are notes of amusement infusing his tone. “Daddy can’t give you what you want if you don’t ask for it.” 

Sharp teeth sink into your shoulder suddenly, your half-formed response strangled by a gasp, Mikey’s jaw tensing as he burrows his teeth further into your flesh, piercing through tissues and snapping capillaries until copper explodes in his mouth. 

He holds it for a moment, all thirty-two of his teeth latched in your skin, ensuring he leaves a full, detailed outline of his mouth etched into you—a signature of sorts—before his tongue flattens against the wound, dragging over it in a single wide lick and sealing it with blood-tinged saliva. A gentle exhale wafts over the bite, cool against the searing pain, and you shudder, chills erupting across your flesh.

“You’re a big girl,” he coaxes over your whimpering, the encouragement steeped in condescension. “I know you can do it. Use your big girl words and tell Daddy what you want.”

Your eyes squeeze shut against the burn of humiliation, lids crinkling at the corners, the softest hiccup catching in your throat, and you feel his cock twitch inside of you. 

“I—I wanna ride your cock, Daddy,” you push the stubborn words from your tongue, trembling and breathy.

“Yeah?” he asks, bloodied tongue tracing along the shell of your ear. “How bad?”

“So bad,” you bleat out, striving to bounce on his cock under the firm restraint of his hands, dewdrops of annoyance clinging to your lashes, glittering in the beams of magenta and teal as you blink rapidly.

“Hm,” he muses to himself, nonchalant as he readjusts his grip, hands constringing, completely halting your pathetic little movements. “It doesn’t seem like you want it all that badly.”

“Daddy,” the word leaves your lips in a whine, scrunched and petulant through your pout, body thrashing beneath his strong grip. “Come on—” 

“Are you sure you wanna be such a naughty little whore in front of all of these people?”

Your body stops its writhing, his words like a slap to the face.

It’s a bit of a shock, to hear it spoken aloud so bluntly, cut and dry and honest, and it sends a torrent of sparks fizzing through your chest to collect dense and tight in your tummy. 

Shame and revulsion sets your skin aflame, the cinders in your gut flaring in response, an intoxicating combination. 

“Yes—”

“Huh? What was that?” he shouts theatrically in your ear. “I couldn’t really hear you over the music.”

“Y-Yes,” you repeat, trying to steady your hiccuping voice, to be stern and resolute, even as tears begin to stream down your cheeks.

“Really?” he breathes, and he sounds astonished, he sounds appalled. “You’re so fucking sleazy, baby. I wonder what all these people would think, if they knew how truly filthy my little girl is...”

“Manjirou,” you weep out his birth name, whole face saturated in frustration.

“Oh-ho-ho,” he chuckles out the word, and it’s vicious. “Graduated to using my full name, now, have you?” he licks at the steadily oozing bite, mopping up more blood with his tongue. “Christ, you do really want it.” 

“I do!” you cry out, struggling against his grasp again, hips bucking in wild, erratic motions. “I do, I do, please, let me ride your cock, please.” 

“What if I made you sit, still and straight like the good little girl I know you want to be, on my hard cock for the rest of the night? Do you think you’d be able to handle it?”

You know he won’t, know he’d never be able to, because he’s just as addicted to you as you are to him, just as desperate, just as eager, just as needy; because even as he holds you motionless, he can’t quite halt the delicate jerk of his hips, rolling up into your core; because you know he wants this just as badly as you do, gets off on the depravity just as much as you do.

Even so, the mere thought of being teased like this, of being forced to hold such a degrading position, is still enough to inspire a rush of agitated tears to flood your eyes, vision gone bleary with despairing desire and rendering the club a bleary haze of glowing neons. 

“No, Daddy, no, I—I just want to ride you, please, Daddy, I c-can’t—” 

You’re nearly wailing now, head thrown back dramatically as your neck twists into an uncomfortable knot, anguished as you try to bury your face in his throat, looking for solace. Your chest stutters as you stammer out half-finished pleads, gone garbled with spit, and Mikey smiles.

You’re starting to cause a scene. 

It’s exactly what he wanted.

“Okay, baby, okay, okay,” he’s pacifying as he feels hot tears soak into his neck, a choked sob catching painfully in your chest. “Daddy’s here, Daddy’s gonna make it all better.”  

And finally, finally his grasp loosens, stiff fingers gone lax, massaging lopsided circles into the rapidly developing bruises left in the shape of their prints. 

“Go ahead, angel,” he urges, nuzzling into the junction of your shoulder, pressing a chaste kiss to the congealing bite. “Ride Daddy’s cock.” 

Then he’s slumping back, settling into the couch cushions and spreading his thighs a little wider, pressing the soles of his boots into the waxed floor for stability and leverage. 

His hands stay on your waist, a gentle guidance, but he allows you to set the pace—a rare occurrence—patient as your hips work up a steady rhythm of quick, shallow gyrations, each swivel dragging his cock against your favourite spot.

And God, you’re so cute when you use his cock to make yourself feel good. It’s a shame that he can’t see your face in this position, can’t see the way your lashes flutter and frame the rolling whites of your eyes or the way your features scrunch so delicately; a shame he can’t hear your gorgeous noises, all your sweet little gasps and pitiful little whines consumed by the blaring music. 

But he can see how your back is bowing, spine forced into a near perfect arc by your building pleasure, bending just a hint more with each brush of his cock; he can feel your palms clutching his knees, nails digging little crescents into his shins and using them for support as your movements accelerate, as you fuck yourself harder, faster, better.

And he lets you have your fun for a little, lays back all languid and lazy and watches through lidded eyes as you play with yourself and use his cock like it’s your favourite toy—because, well, it is—but eventually it just isn’t enough and you need Daddy’s help. 

Just like he knew it wouldn’t be. Just like you always do.

Not that he minds one bit.

Yes, it isn’t enough, because it never is, because you can never manage anything more than teasing yourself when left entirely to your own devices, spritzing kerosene on the dull smouldering in the pit of your stomach as the head of his cock brushes up against that engorged spot inside of you, not nearly hard enough or fast enough to have you anywhere close to creaming on him, merely enough to have your clit throbbing, swollen and neglected. 

He knows you’re beginning to get restless when your hips turn sloppy, tempo starting to falter as your motions stutter, and then you’re looking over your shoulder at him with a beseeching pout, glazed eyes begging him to do something!

So he does. 

He’s straightening up in a split second, hands around your waist tightening as he yanks you back toward his chest, chin hooking over your clavicle again and grinding the sharp bone into your skin.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs against your jaw, mocking and mean. “Can’t even get herself off without her Daddy’s help.” 

“I can’t, I can’t,” you wail over the roar of EDM, head shaking in accentuation. “Need you, need you to do it for me.”

“Of course you do, angel,” he says, as if it’s obvious, as if it’s common knowledge. “But that’s okay—Daddy will make it feel good.” 

That’s the only warning you’re given before his hips are ramming up, rapid and rough and downright ruthless, the abrupt motion slamming a high-pitched yelp from your throat, so pure and genuine and full of lust that it rises above the music, breaks through the heavy bass beat, gathering a handful of glances from a few nearby party-goers. 

So much for being inconspicuous. 

You should’ve known that that just isn’t Mikey’s style. 

They lose interest just as quickly as they gained it, though, going back to their drinks and their drugs, unconcerned. What the Boss does at his own club is none of their business, even if it is on display for the whole venue to see. 

Still, it’s enough for Mikey.   

“Everyone can see you, you know,” voracious black eyes scan the balcony space. “Everyone can see you being such a good little whore for your Daddy.” 

The thought of being watched, of being caught, inspires a whole flock of butterflies to flit around in your tummy, another surge of heat gushing between your thighs, and Mikey laughs. Oh, he felt that. 

Because he’s right; if anyone dared to look a little closer, a little longer, cared to paid a smidge of more attention to the two of you, hidden on one of the velvet couches wedged in the corner of the VIP section with your hips rocking and Mikey’s hands buried in the lace and tulle of your skirt, they’d know exactly what the two of you are doing.

But it doesn’t matter; you don’t care. Neither does he. Why should either of you?

“Do you—Do you think they like it?” you question, and Christ, it’s so precious, that pathetic hope ringing high and clear in your voice. “Do you think they like watching me bounce on their Boss’s cock?”

“Fuck,” the curse fragments in his throat, sharp and pitchy, and he coughs on the shards. “I know they do, sweetheart.”

“Do you think they’re g-gonna go home and touch themselves to the thought of me—of us?”

“Aw,” Mikey coos out in a chuckle, breathless and condescending. “It’s cute that you think they aren’t already jerking off to you on a regular basis.”

Of course they are, you silly little stupid thing; how could they not be? With all the sweet, short little dresses he buys you to prance and twirl around in—the ones with the sweetheart necklines that dip just a hint too low, teasing the swell of your breasts with each of your gentle inhales; the ones with the rippling hems that end just a touch too high, swishing and swaying and flashing with each of your movements, riding up and fanning out to gift them with teasing little glimpses of the lace and satin underneath. 

“You think I don’t know what my—ah, Christ—what my men think of you? How my men think of you?” He tongues a little at the bite, using his front teeth to scrape off a few half-formed scabs, blood rushing to pool in their place. “You think I don’t see the way they look at you?” 

A whine stammers in your throat, your back arching a little more as your cunt quivers around his cock, that drove of butterflies sending your stomach swooping, the organ tensing, tying itself into thick knots pulled tight and taut with each plunge of his cock. 

Mikey laughs again, the sound nothing more than a deep, dense vibration rumbling within his ribs, seeping into your back and sending tingles up your spine. 

“Would you like to see the way they look at you?” 

“H-Huh?” 

Oh, how adorably fucked out you already are, mind gone dumb and numb to everything but him, but his voice and his touch and his steadily driving cock; oh, how adorably easy it is to make you this fucking idiotic. 

“Look over there,” he presses his cheek into yours, forcing your head to turn and follow his gaze. 

Across the club, Rindou sits with an elbow resting on the edge of the bar, a glass dangling from his fingertips. His eyes are cavernous, carnivorous, a smirk smearing across his face as your stare meets his, heavy lids framing a leering look. 

Using a shoulder, he nudges his brother’s stomach, jutting his chin toward you and his Boss in indication when Ran looks down in question, redirecting his attention. 

Now they’re both watching you, with doped up violet eyes and identical sleazy smiles, toothless and worming.

It makes you want to scrub and scratch at your skin, their gazes painting you in a thick coat of grime, body soiled by their lust and left feeling dirty, feeling gross, a strong shiver crawling across your flesh.

Your head jerks reflexively, desperate to hide from their lechery, skull knocking against Mikey’s hard enough to send thorns of pain searing through your temple. 

A yelp cracks in your throat, and Mikey snorts, seemingly unfazed. 

“Aw,” Mikey tuts in false admonishment. “Don’t get shy now. Look at them. Look at them while you ride my cock.”

“M-Mikey—” your eyes shut tightly, a pitiful attempt to escape their invasive eyes, head shaking in little judders.

“C’mon,” he goads, forcing you to face their stare. “You want them all to see, right? How good my little girl is? How pretty my little girl is?”

Peeking through your lashes, you squint at the Haitanis, features teetering on the verge of a wince, as if you’re expecting them to physically strike you. 

They’re still looking at you, wide and unblinking, speaking out of the side of their mouths in laughs and murmurs to one another. 

Dressed in matching pin-striped suits and thick suspenders, Rindou has discarded his jacket, shirtsleeves rolled haphazardly up his forearms to his elbows, first few buttons of his shirt popped undone, revealing a defined collarbone. 

Predictably, Ran is still the perfect picture of poise and elegance, not a single hair out of place, suit jacket square on his shoulders and flawlessly tailored to his body, each stitch outlining his edges.

Tweedledum and Tweedledee respectively, and just as treacherous.

Whatever it is they’re saying to each other, they’re clearly enjoying themselves, amusement playing in glassy irises as Ran rests a hand around Rindou’s neck, slim fingers pressing into plush muscle. His younger brother instantly relaxes into his touch, mollifying back against his stomach and hooking an arm around his thigh, hugging it to his ribs. 

And it’s the way they’re looking at you, as if they’re peeling the clothes from your body and the skin from your bones and peering into the depths of your soul to dance with your demons and devour your secrets; as if they’re singeing your expression into their minds, the sight of your features saturated in perturbation and pleasure branded into the tissues of their brains, carved into the walls of their skulls, ensuring they’ll never forget.

Everything feels overexposed as they pry you apart bit by bit, heady mix of hedonism and humiliation hazing over your brain.

Mikey’s hips slow to a drag, thighs tensing and soles of his boots skidding across marble as he expertly angles his hips and presses up, rubbing the head of his cock over your g-spot in slow, controlled motions—back and forth, back and forth, over and over and over again. 

And the moan that claws at your throat is almost obnoxious, is definitely embarrassing, which means Mikey needs to fuck at least three more from your chest, grunting a little with the effort as his cockhead jabs against that plush spot, hard and precise.

A whine that sounds suspiciously like his title, tangled in spit and weighted with shame, spills from your lips, and you nestle your face against his own even as your hips jolt, desperate for comfort, desperate for cover.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” he nuzzles your damp cheek. “I know you do. I can feel it.”

It’s true, he can—you’re sure he can, with the way your straining little hole keeps pulsing around his length, another stream of heat cascading down his shaft, viscous and wet and so, so much, to pool in the folds of his balls, to stain the waistband of his pants and the velvet of the couch.

But you know he likes it just as much as you do. 

Because you’re both so fucking naughty, so fucking nasty, but the depravity just works to heighten it all, makes it that much better, amplifying every touch and brush and tease and fondle and making it all feel so fucking good, even as Mikey’s pace eases into something unhurried, his thrusts turned languid but powerful.

So you join in, you rise to his challenge, a sick little game the two of you play, a sick little game you force others to participate in—because you’re fucking untouchable.

“Do you think their cocks are hard, Daddy?” you ask, the question dripping with syrup as you roll your hips backwards, slow and purposeful, returning the Haitanis’ smouldering stare through fanned lashes, unblinking and tenacious. 

“Ah, f-fuck,” Mikey’s cock jolts, rhythm stammering for a moment before he regains his composure. “Yeah, baby, I bet they’re wishing they were me right now.”

You bet they are, too, mouths stopped moving and gazes gleaming with want, lips parted with uneven exhales pushed from their heaving chests, entirely enchanted by your movements.

It’s the most affected and authentic you’ve ever seen them before, and it sends a thrill of power shooting through your body, blood left fizzing in its wake. 

One of them reaches into their pocket, groping around blindly for their phone, not daring to spare a second of their attention away from you, and Mikey snarls, nose scrunched in disgust and lip curled in a sneer, baring gritted teeth.

Because that’s too much, that’s crossing a line, and Mikey swiftly redirects your face, effectively hiding your expression from the Haitanis’ hungry eyes. 

Mikey’s always liked to show off. Mikey’s never liked to share.

He swaps shoulders quickly, the defined hinges of his jaw clasped firmly over your collarbone, and smushes his face flush to yours again, skin clammy with sweat. 

“And look over there,” he steers your gaze toward the other side of the club, where Kokonoi sits with a smattering of men surrounding a tall cocktail table, littered with crystal glasses and white lines. 

The men around the table are laughing about something, sloshing liquor and cutting powder into thick, fat stripes, but Kokonoi isn’t paying attention to any of it. 

No. Kokonoi is looking at you. 

His eyes snap away when they meet your own, head whipping forward with such speed and such force it’s a marvel he doesn’t instantly give himself whiplash. A deep laugh rumbles in Mikey’s throat in response, something dark, something decadent. 

“He’s gonna go home and touch himself to you, too,” he says. “He might not even make it before he goes home; might end up jerking his cock in a bathroom stall or the front seat of his car.” 

“How can you tell?” 

“Well, look at him,” Mikey snorts. “He’s so hard he’s about to burst outta his pants.”

Following the line of Kokonoi’s body, your gaze travels downward, to the straining lump in his white pants. His hips shift a little uncomfortably as his thighs tense, hands curled into fists on his knees as he steadily trains his stare forward at the wall opposite of him, throat bobbing with a thick swallow.

Mikey’s right—Koko’s about to burst.

The thought of Koko rushing to his car to collapse in the driver’s seat, head tipped back against the headrest and hand shoved down his pants as his palm rubs frantically at his hard cock, or hastening to the washroom to lock himself in a stall, forehead pressed tightly to the rickety door and panting out stuttered, half-stifled whimpers hotly against his upper lip as he hurriedly relieves the problem you’ve created, is almost too much to bear, stomach clenching in time with the throbbing of your cunt, a torrid pressure building and burning in your gut. 

The sudden acceleration of Mikey’s thrusts snaps you out of that tangle of thoughts, effectively drawing every ounce of your attention back to him.

A mewl pries past your lips, sharp and high and cracking at the end, whole spine arching as Mikey resumes his assault on your favourite spot, cockhead driving hard and fast against plush flesh. 

“They can look all they want, but you’re mine.” His fingers tighten, his grasp rigid and unbreakable, the words nothing more than a snarl spit in your ear, wet and harsh. “I won’t fuckin’ share.” 

“Never, never, never,” you babble in time with the bouncing on his lap, head nodding in sloppy motions with each repetition of the word. 

“Never,” he growls, teeth sinking into the flesh of your shoulder sloppily, excess spit dribbling from the corners of his mouth as he breaks the skin for the second time tonight and sucks hard, drawing blood from the string of tiny wounds.

It has another cry escaping your throat, whole face crinkling in a sordid mixture of pleasure and pain, head instinctually thrown back against your Daddy, automatically giving him more room to work. Drops of watered down blood drool down your back and Mikey takes a moment to admire them, mesmerised by the way they shimmer in the strobing lights of the club, before he licks at them with the tip of his tongue, leaving crude strokes of fresh spit in their wake.

Those few remaining scraps of decency you’d both been clinging to have been devoured by Mikey’s growing selfishness, no longer caring about what others might see or think or say—it’s not like anyone’s dumb enough to do anything about it anyway; it’s not like anyone has enough of a death-wish to try.

He’s the motherfucking Boss.

And the Boss gets what he wants, where he wants, when he wants, always. 

He’s really fucking you now, vicious and vigorous, your entire body juddering in his lap as his hips piston up, cockhead pounding against that sensitive mound of tissue buried deep within you. 

Each thrust shoves another shattered sound from your tongue, splintered moans of his name and his title pouring past your lips in a jagged stream. 

The knot your stomach has twisted itself into strains under the building pressure, growing heavier and heavier with each jackhammer into you, stretched taut and stiff and ready to snap. 

It’s all so much, the ogling eyes and the ramming of his cock and the tightening in your belly, every muscle in your body coiled and aching for the ecstasy that comes with release. Your breath mangles with the mewls shoved from your lips with every slam up, sticking to your throat and you cough, wheezing past the splinters.  It’s all too much, and—!

“M’gonna, m’gonna cum, Daddy!” you gasp, tears dotting the corners of your eyes, sparkling in spidery lashes.  

“Yeah, baby?” he breathes, voice dropping to a ragged rasp. “You gonna cream all over Daddy’s cock? Huh? Make a mess on my cock surrounded by all of Daddy’s closest and most esteemed colleagues?” 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you nearly sob out, palms curling over his wrists, nails clawing at the delicate skin, desperate for an anchor. 

“My dirty fucking girl,” he hisses out, sharp breath stinging your cheek. “Such a good—Ah—good little slut for me, aren’t you?” 

You can no longer respond, rendered stupid from the ardor, potent pleasure corroding your brain and gnawing through your synapses. It’s downright intoxicating, it’s fucking insatiable, it’s simultaneously immense and insufficient, way too much yet not nearly enough, because you need more, you need more, unintelligible pleads shattering on your tongue.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, baby, gush all over Daddy, make a pretty mess on his lap for him. Show everyone in this Goddamn club how gorgeous you look cumming for me.” 

And so you do, ever your Daddy’s best girl, body eager to obey its owner as your cunt convulses around him, copious amounts of slick cascading down his shaft to drench his thighs, sticky and sharp and so fucking sick as he continues to bounce you in his lap. 

The spasming of your cute little hole draws the sweetest whine from the back of his throat, panted out against the curve of your ear, and another bout of warmth rushes to the apex of your thighs, earning you a shuddered little curse, the exhale sweltering against your sweaty skin.

You sound so pretty right before you cum, Daddy. 

Three more pumps of his hips and he’s following, thrusts stuttering as he fucks up messily into you, cock throbbing almost violently and stuffing you to the brim with thick, hot cum. Strong hands hold you firmly in place, cockhead pressed flush to your cervix as he spills himself into you, as he forces you to take every fucking ounce of what he’s giving you. 

And you love it, you love it, you love it, you’re telling him, sentiments pouring from your mouth in a jumbled stream, singular and continuous until your lungs run out of air, voice cutting off with a squeak. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Mikey’s murmuring into your skin in response, lips leaving smears of sugary saliva just below your earlobe. 

He allows you to sit on him for a moment, chest heaving against your back with ragged breaths, sweaty forehead pressed tightly to your shoulder. Tilting your head, your rest your cheek on the back of his skull, eyes slipping shut as your own heart begins to calm, cunt still pulsating irregularly around his shaft, almost as if it’s attempting to squeeze a few more drops out of him, his cock acting as a crude plug, keeping most of his cum buried inside of you.

Finally, his head lifts, pressing a tender kiss to the blood-encrusted bite glittering on your shoulder. 

“Go get cleaned up in the washroom,” he mutters gently, pressing another string of kisses along your jaw. “Don’t wipe away any of Daddy’s cum; let it soak into your panties real nice and good, let them get really wet, and then snap a few pictures and send them to me. Can you do that for me, angel?” 

“Yes, Daddy,” you slur out, nodding in loose, liquid movements. 

“Good,” he pats your thigh twice. “Now, go.” 

A small noise of affirmation sounds in your throat, head still nodding as Mikey helps you stand between his spread thighs, hands on your waist keeping you upright while you wobble on unsteady legs. 

And the noise that you make as his cum and your slick surges out of you—something caught somewhere between a mewl and a whine, turned on and disappointed simultaneously—is the cutest thing he’s ever heard, a muted coo slipping from his own lips as your hands wrap around his, using them to further stable yourself. 

He holds you for a moment or two longer, making sure you’re sturdy and your knees won’t suddenly give out, before giving you one final squeeze and releasing you, smirking a little as he watches you teeter away on rickety feet. 

Initially, his plan was to have you capture a few naughty photos for him—pretty little things to stash away in his phone for later use, during the nights he’s forced to spend away from you, sitting in expensive cars or laying in lush hotel beds—and force you to wear the gluey, cum-drenched undies for the remainder of the party. 

But then his phone is buzzing, and he’s unlocking it to find your cunt perfectly outlined by thin silk as it sticks to your folds, little clit and hole contoured and accentuated by the slick, shining fabric, soiled by a large, irregular patch of wetness, and oh, there’s no way he’ll be able to wait until you arrive home to fuck you again. 

No, he needs to fuck you now, a sudden burst of adrenaline buzzing through his veins, little sparks and minuscule explosions that have him up and moving in under a second, cock already beginning to fill with life again.

Sheer, potent power permeates the atmosphere around him, trembling off his body in sharp bolts; dense, heavy, cracking with electricity. 

The way the crowd instantly parts for him is awe-inspiring, their gleaming eyes full of terror and worship, hastily tripping over their own toes and ankles to move from his path as he strides toward the washroom, desperate to not be stung by his brilliance, desperate to get as close to the currents as possible without being scathed. 

You’re just exiting the restroom by the time he reaches you, breath punched from your lungs as he backs you into a tiled corner, trapped between the cold wall and his scorching form, his hands splayed wide on either side of your shoulders.

“We gotta go,” he’s nearly panting out as he shoves his forehead against yours, eyes closed and noses nudging, straining cock grinding unceremoniously into your hip. “We gotta go, now.”  

And, well, Daddy always gets what Daddy wants. 

When yall say fucked out, this is what I imagine 😍😩

apparently my type is people with nice smiles (and tattoos) 

Chimamamda Ngozi Adiche, We Should All Be Feminists

✰ hypnotic dreams

the devils month - day one

featuring: nagi seishiro x f!reader

summary: you planned a night out to the casino with nagi and reo. but of course, your boyfriend has other plans...

tags: smut, p in v, thigh fucking, manhandling, petname (angel)

wc: 1.3k

nagi lays in bed, his body half-draped in blankets, watching you lazily move around the room as you get yourself all dressed up for tonight. it's been days since reo told you about the casino night he booked for the three of you, and you haven't shut up about it since. you wanted tonight to be perfect, going as far as to plan your outfit down to the last detail. but nagi? he barely stirs. he’s still half asleep, sprawled out, barely interested in anything other than the glow of his phone screen.

you’ve got one leg in your dress when you glance over and catch his sleepy gaze fixed on you, one brow slightly raised as if he’s amused by your efforts. “you’re not even going to get up?” you ask, teasingly annoyed. "reo’s picking us up in like two hours.”

nagi lets out a low groan, stretching his long limbs out. “mm... do we have to?” his voice is lazy, trailing off like he’s already forgotten what the night’s even about. he’s watching you, though, that slight gleam in his eyes telling you he’s up to something.

you laugh softly, shaking your head. "reo will kill us if we bail."

but before you can turn back to the mirror to finish dressing, nagi shifts suddenly, faster than you expected. his hand wraps around your wrist as he's tugging you closer to the bed. “c’mere.”

“nagi, what—” you let out an attempt at a protest, but it’s useless. his grip is firm and controlling, as he pulls you down onto the mattress beside him with little effort. you barely have time to react before he’s rolling over, pressing his larger body down on you against the bed as his lips find yours in a lazy, heated kiss. it’s not rushed, not urgent, but slow and deliberate—like he has all the time in the world.

his hand drifts down, fingers sliding over the soft fabric of your half-done dress. you let out a surprised gasp when he hooks his arm around your waist, flipping you over onto your back with ease. his strength catching you off guard, especially when he’s so gentle about it. the next moment, his weight is pressing you down into the mattress, his knee nudging your thighs apart as he grinds lazily against your leg.

“nagi…” you whisper, breathless against his lips. “we… we really need to get ready.”

“mm,” he hums against your mouth, barely paying attention, his large hands gripping your hips tighter, pulling you closer beneath him. “i'll be quick.”

he’s not asking permission anymore. nagi’s always been a bit possessive, especially when he’s in one of these moods. you can feel the subtle shift in him—his usual laziness replaced by a heated desire. he shifts his hips, his hard cock rubbing against your inner thigh, and you shiver at the sensation, biting your lip.

without another word, he moves, adjusting you like it’s nothing. his hand slithers under your thigh, lifting it with ease to rest against his waist. you’re completely at his mercy, the weight of him pinning you down as he rocks his hips, letting his cock glide along the inside of your thigh. the friction is intoxicating, sending jolts of pleasure through your body with each lazy thrust.

“always in such a rush…” nagi mutters against your skin, lips brushing your neck. his hands tighten on your hips as he holds you in place, controlling every movement, every subtle shift of your body. he thrusts again, harder this time, the slick of your arousal making the slide of his cock all the more delicious. “slow down, angel.”

his hand trails down your thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh, squeezing you possessively as he grinds harder against you. you arch your back, pressing closer to him, your breath coming in ragged gasps. he’s toying with you, teasing you with each slow, deliberate movement, dragging out the anticipation until your body is trembling beneath him.

“nagi,” you moan softly, your hands gripping the sheets, trying to ground yourself. but he’s relentless, his grip tightening on your hips as he thrusts again, his cock slipping between your slick folds. the pressure is overwhelming, each slow thrust sending waves of pleasure through you.

“feel so good like this,” nagi murmurs, his voice thick with desire as he leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “so soft... you're so perfect f’me, letting me do whatever i want…”

you feel a shiver travel down your spine at his words, and you whimper, your body arching towards him, needy for more. but nagi pace is slow, torturously slow, his movements lazy yet full of purpose, trying to savour every second.

“gonna make you late,” he mutters with a smirk playing on his lips as he presses you harder into the soft mattress. he grips your hips tightly as he rocks against you. “but that’s okay, right?”

you try to respond, but to no avail—your voice catches in your throat, your body trembling beneath him as the pleasure builds. you’re so close, so desperate, it's obvious to him. he’s pushing you to your limits as his fingers dig into your skin while he grinds against you, his cock slick with your arousal as he thrusts harder.

he’s slow as he deliberately slides his cock between your thighs with force that makes you whimper. his hips shift in a slow, lazy rhythm, dragging himself along your slick folds. the friction, especially as his cock brushes past your clit, sends jolts of pleasure up your spine. he seems to enjoy the way your body responds to the sensation—the subtle jerk of your hips, the way you bite your lip—needy for more. each time the head of his cock grazes your swollen clit, you can’t help the soft gasp that escapes you. it’s torturous, the way he presses his length against you without fully giving in, teasing you as his cock slips between your thighs again and again, building the heat inside you to a fever pitch.

suddenly, he thrusts harder between your legs, the slick sound of his cock sliding between your thighs louder now, more desperate. he grinds against you in a rhythm that makes you ache for him to enter you. you arch your back, feeling his thick length press against your clit in just the right way, sending you closer to the edge with each maddening thrust.

and then, without warning, he stops.

“n-nagi,” you gasp, your body aching for him. “please…”

he chuckles softly, his breath is warm against your neck as he leans down, his lips brushing your skin. “s’needy,” he teases, his voice low as he pushes his hips against yours, his tip nudging itself between your thighs. he lets it slip against your slick entrance, just enough to tease you, but not going further. his hand trails towards your ass before kneading the soft flesh. “so pretty when you beg f’me.”

you’re trembling beneath him, desperate for release, but he waits. his cock presses against you again, prodding lightly, but still, he does nothing. his fingers trail lazily over your skin, not giving you what you crave until you whimper, your voice barely a whisper, “please, nagi… i need you… need you so bad…”

the moment he hears those words, he finally thrusts inside you, filling you completely in one slow, painful stroke. the sensation is overwhelming, making your body arch against him in pure bliss, earning a loud moan from your throat.

“good girl,” nagi murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction as he begins to move again, slow and steady, his hands gripping your hips as he sets a pace that leaves you breathless. “just relax… gonna take care of you.”

taglist: @ryescapades @iamjellyfish @143-ilyuu @maruflix

©lumis kinktober 24' ─ do not translate, repost, copy any of my works

Haitani brother's main contribution to the story

i dont even need to spend hours making an ultra specific playlist for my bad days i can just click This Is MARINA on spotify and there we have it

late night thoughts ft. haitani brothers & sanzu h. (bimbo edition!)

haitani brothers x fem!reader x sanzu haruchiyo

warnings: fem!reader, poly, bimbo!reader, kanto manji!bonten trio, possessive behavior + jealousy, lowkey manipulation and gaslighting, manhandling, exhibitionism, cockwarming, facefucking, degradation, hair pulling, mirror sex (ish), thigh riding, voyeurism (?), slight humiliation, masturbation (m)--all characters 18+ ofc

wordcount: 3.5k

They all knew better. As much as the men of Kanto Manji loved to leer, imaginations going wild as you passed through the base in short skirts and low-cut shirts, they all knew better than to act on any of the carnal impulses that stir on your arrival at base. They knew who you belonged to--and the last one that had tried their hand at you was still comatose in the hospital.

But you were just… so fucking dumb, and you were oblivious to how possessive your three boyfriends were >:( Those poor men tried so hard to steer clear of you, they tried so fucking hard to hide how wound up they got whenever you were around but you were just clueless--bounding right toward the first person that made eye contact with you like a happy puppy, thinking that all they wanted to do was talk but were too nervous to approach you.

And these poor, poor men because what were they supposed to do? They know damn fucking well that talking to you would end up with them inevitably getting beaten half to death by Haitani Ran’s baton because how dare they think themselves good enough to talk to his girl, but walking away from you and making you upset would draw Sanzu Haruchiyo’s ire because how dare they upset his pretty little princess. It really was a lose-lose situation, and all they could do was hope and pray that they weren’t the unfortunate soul you decided to approach.

“And it was just so sad, you know?” pouting, you leaned in close to the man you were talking to, unaware of the concerned looks being sent his way by some of the others in the room, unaware of the growing horror pooling in the man’s gut as you blissfully chatted on about how you saw a dead animal on the side of the road on the way here. “Like, who would just leave it there, right? At least bury it somewhere, I-”

“What’s going on here?”

Ignorant to the way the man you had been talking to stiffened like a board, you spun around, delighted at the sight of not one, but both of the Haitani brothers standing behind you. Giggling, you threw your arms around Rindou, who was closest, burying your face into the crook of his neck as he wrapped his arms around your waist, easily lifting you up off the floor.

“Rin!” you said gleefully, legs tightening around his waist, skirt riding up dangerously causing all of the other men in the room to avert their eyes--well, except the poor guy who you had been talking to, right in front of you and far too close to move his gaze before catching an eyeful. Ran cocked his head to the side, an unkind smile tugging at his lips as considered the man.

“Pretty girl,” Ran complained, voice teasing but sharp gaze never leaving the other man, “am I chopped liver?”

“No, no,” you said, making no move to detach yourself from Rindou as he shared a look with his brother over your shoulder, “‘m sorry, Ran.”

“I’m sure you are, pretty,” Ran murmured and you giggled, lifting your head from Rindou’s neck to prop your chin up on his shoulder, Ran shifted, standing behind his brother so he could lean down and give you a brief kiss on the lips, “You go with Rindou, I’ll meet up with you guys in a minute.”

Pouting as he pulled away, you looked up at him, “Why aren’t you coming with us?” you asked, oblivious to the dark look in his eyes as he smiled at you and patted your head.

“Just got a lil something to take care of, doll, promise I’ll be right there,” you nodded, tilting your head up as you beckoned Ran to lean down for one more kiss.

He did as you wanted, of course, Haitani Ran was good at a lot of things--denying you anything was most certainly not one of them.

On the topic of being spoiled--god is Sanzu the biggest offender and he sees absolutely no wrong with it because of course his pretty princess should be given everything she wants >:(

Sanzu Haruchiyo has you sitting pretty on his lap every time he gets the chance, fingers dancing along your sides, lips gliding across your bare neck, cock filling you up--and no one dares whisper or even look twice when they see you trembling on his lap in the middle of base, face hidden in his neck, arms shaking around his shoulders, skirt hiked up suspiciously high because they know the Kanto Manji vice president had a temper that was especially short when it came to you.

But Sanzu Haruchiyo could also be mean, having you cockwarm him for hours on end, refusing to let you get yourself off because you were so, so pretty dumb and crying on his cock, begging him to please just move because you’ve been so good for him, haven’t you?

“Haru,” your voice was so soft and weak in his ear and it was like music to him, really. He already knew what you were going to ask, and his scars twitched up in amusement as he pressed his lips against your marked up neck again, reveling in how your body shuddered underneath his touch, “Haru, will you please let me cum?”

And it was so tempting, it really was, cause your cunt hugged him so fuckin’ tight, you were dripping onto his white pants and he wanted to do nothing more than bend you over the meeting table and fuck you right in front of all of the other Kanto Manji higher ups. But he wouldn’t because he knew that Hanma Shuji and Madarame Shion had their eyes on you too often already and there was no way he was going to give them more ammunition by letting them hear how pretty you sounded cumming for him.

“Haru, been good, been so long,” he could feel your nails clawing at the back of his jacket, could feel your tears and makeup staining the skin of his neck but all he did was smooth a hand over your back, rubbing soothing circles over your skin, “Please, Haru, please, please please-”

You tried to rock your hips against his, he grimaced, jaw clenching and hands flying to your waist to keep you still. A hiss of breath escaped his lips as he felt your walls flutter around him, squeezing him so tight it nearly had his eyes rolling back. Next to him, he threw Ran a filthy glare as the older Haitani snorted. You knew better than to push the limits with him or Rindou--the two of them had put you in your place more than once, but Sanzu just didn’t have the same sort of self-control that they had when it came to you and knowingly or not, you took advantage of that.

But he was not going to let Hanma Shuji or Madarame Shion have the pleasure of watching and listening to you cum around his cock.

His grip tightened around your waist to the point he was sure it must’ve been bruising your skin but instead of stilling, which he knew you knew he wanted you to do--you weren’t that stupid--you tried to move again. Temper and restraint peaking, he leaned forward, lips brushing your ear, “Keep fuckin’ testing me, princess, I won’t let you cum for a week.”

And fuck, as much as he loved the silly, dazed grin on your face when he gave you everything you wanted--he couldn’t hold back the slow smirk that crawled onto his face when noticed the genuine nervousness that spread across your expression at his words.

Cute, he noted, brushing your hair out of your face, wiping away the sweat starting to bead at your forehead. Maybe, he decided, not giving you what you want all the time would be worth it.

And Rindou. Rindou’s just so fuckin’ mean. He makes fun of you all the time for being so dumb, rolling his eyes and telling you should know better than to believe Sanzu’s shit by now, getting pissy when he has to repeat himself for the second, third, fourth, fifth time because you were too distracted by his brother’s fingers teasing up your skirt; too busy ignoring him for Ran’s flirtations as usual.

“Get the fuck up,” Rindou spat, watching as your pretty smile faltered, looking up from where you were leaning in close to his brother, running your fingers through his hair. You didn’t move, Rindou darted forward, hand curling around the collar of your shirt and yanking you right off of the couch.

“Rin!” you gasped.

“Rindou,” Ran warned, voice low, Rindou only glared at his brother--as if he would ever actually hurt you, he was always careful not to grab you too harshly or jerk you around too sharply. You stumbled onto your feet and right into him, eyes wide and pretty as you looked up at him, hands balanced on his chest.

“Get on your fuckin’ knees,” he said, heat rising to his lower abdomen when you dropped to your knees for him almost instantly--dumb as rocks, yeah, but at least you were an obedient little whore. For him, at least.

His hand curled itself around your hair, gripping it tight. He watched you wince as your eyes met his, still wide, tears pricking at them. He forcibly turned your head to the side, making you look at yourself in the mirror on the opposite wall, “Look at you, dropping to your knees just ‘cause I asked. You really are just a cock-hungry whore, aren’t you?”

You shook your head, tears spilling from your eyes as you looked at him through the mirror. His grip on your hair tightened, “Said look at yourself, not me,” your eyes darted back to the reflection of yourself immediately, “How are you gonna see yourself and say you’re not just a fuckin’ slut? Isn’t that why you’re fuckin’ around with me, Ran and Sanzu--just can’t get enough with only one of us.”

You shook your head again and he forced turned your head back so that you were looking up at him, “‘s not true,” you sniffled, lips trembling, “Rin, I love you guys, ‘m not-”

He brushed his thumb over over your cheek, wiping away some of the tears streaming down your cheeks, and of course he knew you actually loved them but it was just too fucking fun to make you stress over it.

“Can prove it! ‘can prove it, Rin!” and he tilted his head to the side, waiting for you to continue. He watched as your eyes flickered down to his already half-hard cock and Rindou almost laughed. Convincing him by doing the very same thing he was ‘accusing’ you of using them for, you’re fuckin’ precious.

But Rindou was never one to turn down a good blowjob so he just nodded his chin at you, go ahead, and watched in amusement as you fumbled with his belt. Sharing a brief look with Ran, who seemed just as entertained by your choice of convincing him, he looked back down at you after you managed to free his cock from his pants.

He tapped your cheek with two fingers, you looked up at him, “Hands behind your back and open wide.”

One hand finding its way back to your hair and the other guiding his cock to your mouth, he inhaled sharply as your tongue darted out to lick the precum beading at his slit. His grip tightened, you winced again.

“Sit there pretty for me,” he said and you nodded, keeping your mouth open wide as he pushed his cock into your mouth, jaw clenching at the feeling of your warm mouth surrounding him, watching as your brows furrowed briefly as you tried to adjust to his size before he went any deeper.

He did not give you the chance.

He groaned as he pushed your head down fully on his cock, feeling you gag around the sudden intrusion, throat convulsing around him. Oh fuck, he thought, eyes trained down on you, watching as you kept your hands behind your back even as your every instinct told you to push yourself off of his cock so you could breathe.

“Good girl,” he murmured, drawing his hips back briefly before snapping them back against your mouth, fucking your throat at a steady pace, watching you choke and gag all over him, drool spilling over the corners of your mouth and down your chin, tears streaming down your face.

You were a fucking mess and Rindou was sure you’d never looked prettier.

You never knew what to expect with Ran, for better or for worse. He was always the most charming of your three boyfriends, he always had you giggling silly and blushing, but it was a matter of whether or not it was a nice charming or a mean charming. Charming in a way that had you stuttering and stumbling over your words, blushing like a fool or charming in a way that still had you blushing but also had tears stinging your eyes because there was a cruel undertone that even you couldn’t miss. It gave you whiplash, really.

“My pretty girl,” Ran cooed, running the back of his finger across your cheek, the cool metal of his ring making you shiver, “always all dolled up for us, aren’t you?”

Ran waited for you to nod before speaking again, “Are you sure it’s just for us?” he asked after a moment, voice cold as ice, and you blinked, reeling at the sudden change of tone, “I’m not sure if it is, I see the way you strut around base for all of the other fuckers here. Saw you cozying up to Hanma Shuji earlier too--while me, Rin and Sanzu were busy talking to Mikey and Kokonoi.”

“Huh?” was all you could say, staring at Ran blankly as he tilted his head to the side, lavender eyes sharp. You shifted on his lap nervously, eyes looking anywhere but at his face. His hand darted out to grab you by the chin, grip painful as he forced you to look at him. You swallowed, watching as his loose hair fell into his face, barely resisting the urge to brush it away, “I was just saying hi, Ran, he offered to wait with me until you’re done.”

His thin smile was cruel, “Oh, did he?” Ran drawled and you nodded hesitantly, feeling distinctly as if you had made a mistake, “and him waiting with you involved you feeling him up?”

What-

“What?” you gasped, “Ran, I-”

“Yes you did,” it was Rindou that spoke, and you turned to look at the younger Haitani in disbelief. Desperately, you looked at Sanzu for help but found no support as he watched you coolly. Why were they ganging up on you?! They never ganged up on you! They were always arguing with each other.

“I tripped,” you said, flustered, and you had, you had been walking with Hanma toward where Sanzu had told you to meet them and you tripped over an uneven plank in the flooring, Hanma had caught you from crashing painfully into the ground.

“You tripped,” Ran mocked, “I bet you did.”

“I did,” you said, shifting again in his lap and inhaling sharply as his leg bounced up, unintentionally grinding against your clit. His eyes sharpened in on you and you pressed your lips together, praying that missed it or that he let it go if he happened to notice, but you should’ve known better.

Haitani Ran does not miss anything, nor does he let anything go.

“Oh?” he murmured, fingers ghosting your thighs, “What’s this? Our pretty girl is needy?”

You shivered as his long fingers drifted across your inner thighs, whimpering as they brushed over your clothed cunt, “So wet already,” he clicked his tongue sharply, “and you expect us to believe it’s for us when we haven’t even touched you. Did Hanma Shuji make this wet, pretty girl? You’re sitting here on my lap still thinking of him?”

“No!” you protested immediately, “Ran-”

“Prove it,” he said, voice icy and you stared at him once again, unsure of how he wanted you to prove it. His gaze darted down to his leg, you followed it before looking back up in confusion, “If you’re this wet for us,” he cooed, “you should have no problem getting yourself off by riding my thigh, right?”

Your mouth dried up, eyes nervously shooting toward Sanzu and Rindou, both of whom were watching the two of you. You were no stranger to exhibitionism, Sanzu had you cockwarming him during nearly every Kanto Manji meeting at this point, but the thought of them watching you get yourself by rubbing yourself on his thigh had embarrassment swelling through your stomach.

“Ran-” you began but cut yourself off as he raised his eyebrows, leaning back in the couch before pointedly looking down at his leg again.

Go on, he told you.

Lips trembling, you rocked your hips lightly against his thigh. Ran’s eyes remained on you, unimpressed. You gasped as his hands curled around your hips, grinding you down so hard against his thigh that it had your back arching and hands shooting toward his shoulders to find some sort of leverage.

“Ran!” you cried out but he didn’t continue, instead hooking one arm around the back of the couch and the other working at the zipper of his pants.

“Keep going,” he told you, “and maybe I’ll let you cum on my cock after you finish on my thigh once.”

Tears spilled over your cheeks as you heard Rindou make a comment about you looking like a desperate whore but you couldn’t take your eyes off of where Ran’s long fingers were running up and down his pretty, pretty cock. You could feel your cunt aching empty as you rolled your hips against his thigh again, half-sobbing as he bounced his leg up lightly, putting more pressure on your clit.

A high-pitched moan escaped your lips as Ran bounced his leg in time with the strokes of his fist around his cock, head thrown back and lips parted, “Ra-an, Ran! Wan’ you to fill me up, Ran, want you in me,” you cried loudly, nails digging into his black jacket, “Ran, ‘lease fill me up, wan’ your cock.”

“Pretty girl,” Ran laughed, voice catching and a shameless moan slipping past his lips as he squeezed the base of his cock lightly, “You don’t deserve my cock yet, you know what to do if you want it.”

And this time you did sob, tears blurring your eyes as you continued to helplessly rock your hips against Ran’s thigh, grinding down as hard as you could in a futile attempt to push yourself over the edge but how the fuck were you supposed to make yourself cum just from grinding against his clothed thigh when you could see him fucking his fist with his cock? When you could see what exactly you were missing out on? You were too empty, too empty, how were you supposed to cum without being stuffed full after them constantly spoiling you with their cocks?

“I ca-ant,” you clawed at his jacket, “Need to be filled n-”

“If you make me help you, won’t fuck you for two weeks, will make sure Rindou and Sanzu don’t either--you'll get real used to getting off on our thigh then,” Ran threatened and a broken moan of his name left your lips as his free hand shot forward to grab your neck, forcing you to look at him. “Hurry the fuck up and cum.”

The words in combination with one last rock of your hips and one particularly hard bounce of his leg had your vision going white and your body tensing and your nails raking down his clothed chest as you came all over his thigh. Distantly, you heard Rindou and Sanzu murmuring to one another but your mind went black as Ran helped you ride out your high, grinding his leg up into you and holding your hips down against him with his free hand.

“There you go,” you barely heard him over the blood roaring in your ears, words barely registering as your mind went near-blank from the intensity of your orgasm, “That’s it, pretty girl, knew you could do it for me.”

His voice was warmer as you slumped limp into his chest, breath heavy and body shaking. He rubbed gentle circles onto your back, “Don’t tap out on me yet, pretty girl,” he chuckled, “you’ve got quite the night ahead of you, you know?”

They are bullies >:( but they love you dearly, and god help anyone else that tries to bully you because they can and will fuck them up beyond recognition.

---

taglist: @spookygeto @kennyb0y @devinsdaydreams @mortuary-ossuary @portfolio-of-dreams @sugusshi @sano-obsessed @wakasasucker @aces-high @haitanihime @bontens-cum-slut @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @crackheadwithtoes @zuuki @daiserenade @hanmascult @kisekihany @4leafcloverwithawhitecraneforyou @hollypastl @imkumichan @obsessiontoanime @thevillagehiddenintheinternet @marism @prettyiolanthe @whydohumansss @rinsie @blvebcrry @givinggoodvibes @nina-and-the-mirror-realm @rozcdust @chifuyuslilkitten