𝟔:𝟏𝟖

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. 

. ۫ 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’.

SHARING’S CARIN’

FT. mikey + draken, sanzu + rindou, wakasa + senju, izana + kakucho

+ your girl’s mine too, yeah?

CW. threesomes. afab!fem!reader. cucking. fingering. creampie. squirting. blowjobs. degradation. slutshaming. cum eating.

AN. 18+, minors dni.

mikey & draken

“how is she?” chewing on some gum with loud smacks of his lips and a nonchalant glance over his friend’s shoulder, mikey’s dark eyes zoom in on draken’s fat cock thrusting into your tight cunt. he knew he’d like it—your pussy’s fucking divine—but there’s a churning in his stomach when he sees the way draken looks at you—the same way he looks at you.

“good—fuckin’ amazing.” draken grunts with each roll of his hips—what started as quiet and almost muted touches quickly became bold and frantic once he got a taste of your cunt that he’s been thinking of for god knows how many nights.

he’s been fucking you for hours, completely drowning in the feeling of emptying himself in you—fat tip bullying its way into your throbbing walls and his cream coated length disappearing into your squelching cunt with each desperate thrust. it’s annoying. while mikey agreed for a bit at first, that was before he started fucking his third load into you, cum seeping out each time he slips into you and stretches his pussy out.

“he’s not better than me, right?” mikey’s knees sink into the mattress and his hair fans over your face, tickling your skin while he cradles your face in his hands. don’t look at draken, look at him! “.. right?”

just as you’re about to answer, draken pushes your thighs up to your chest so he reaches impossibly deeper into you. loud, wanton moans fall from your lips with each smack of his balls against your ass. you squirm in mikey’s hold and he can’t help the glare he gives his second in command.

“don’t go getting jealous, now.” draken smirks at him before furiously rubbing at your clit and it’s disgusting how easily he gets you to squirt all over his pelvis, sprays of fluid sticking to his flexing abs with choked moans into mikey’s palms. “can’t help it when she’s squirtin’ all over you ..”

mikey clicks his tongue in irritation before getting up to slap at draken’s biceps. “move,” he palms at his wet underwear before pulling his twitching cock out with beads leaking out of the slit. “‘s my turn.” spitting his gum out, he grins when he hears draken huff in discontent and pull out—leaving your hole gaping, begging to be filled with his warm cum.

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THIS WAS SO GOOD

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Day Twenty: Lactation + Bukkake | 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Tomura Shigaraki x Dabi x Twice x cow hybrid f!Reader Genre: Smut Notes: this is a sequel to this... enjoy 🐮 (you can probably read this without reading part one but... part one is bomb and u should totally read it 🤪) Warnings: 18+, noncon, pseudocest, lactation, bukkake, rough touching, nipple play, degradation, praise, group sex, cumplay??, fingering, masturbation, dacryphilia, slapping, spitting, kicking, hair pulling. Words: 3.7k

“Nii-San! Too rough!” you cry. “Too rough with me!” you continue.

“Shut up,” Tomura hisses. “They’re fucking broke, why doesn’t it ever work when I do it?” he complains.

“Because you’re a fucking incel and have no idea how to touch women.” Touya teases.

The light provocation is more than enough to rile up your brother. And who is lucky enough to be at the receiving end of his frustration? You. He slaps you, spits in your face and shoves you further into the ground. That slinky tail of yours waves around in the air as you try and pick yourself up. It was like you were begging for Tomura to yank it. You screech eerily, it’s jarring enough to cause everyone to cover their ears.

This would not be happening if your daddy wasn’t away on business. Touya was right, Tomura didn’t have a clue how to touch a woman. But your daddy was perfect. You miss him. He’d keep you safe; he always does.

If only Tomura and his friends hadn’t stumbled across your little indiscretion with your daddy. If only Tomura hadn’t discovered that your tits leak milk when you’re aroused.

You wouldn’t be in this fucking mess right now.

Jin drops to the ground. He can be just as mean as the others, but he has a sweet side too. There’s no doubt that he’s your favourite of Tomura’s friends. You curl your body away from him, still sceptical of his intentions. But he looks at you with pleading eyes. He’s begging for you to trust him. And maybe you’re dumb for having faith in him; but something is telling you to believe he won’t hurt you.

He sits with his back to the wall and spread legs, inviting you between them. You accept. You shuffle along, doing your best to prevent the swishing of your tail. If any of them must violate you like this, desperate for their milky reward, you’d rather it be Jin. He hooks his feet around your ankles, spreading you open for your brother and Touya to see. You nestle your face into the crook of his neck. You’re embarrassed, ashamed. He doesn’t mind. He wants to help.

Two thick fingers plunge into your already sopping hole. You mewl from the stretch, his fingers are a lot bigger than your brother’s. He lightly rolls a nipple between his finger and thumb. You instantly feel at ease. It’s obvious he has experience, something your dear brother severely lacks.

“Just relax sweetheart, gonna make you feel good.” he whispers as his face turns to you. A grin forms on his face when he sees your cute little ears twitching from the positive reinforcement. “Cum already! I’m getting bored!” he adds, the risen volume making you jolt.

You wrap an arm around his neck, pulling your face closer into him. For some reason, it’s irritating Tomura. He’s never been protective of you before. He hates you, after all. But seeing Jin be so kind to you and seeing how affectionate you are with him. He’s worried. Is he, jealous?

“You’re doing great baby, sorry I shouted. I didn’t mean it okay?” Jin hums. You nod, tears pricking at your eyes. It’s so unusual for boys your age to be nice to you. Tomura had made it very clear that you would never be allowed to make friends at university, he easily turned everyone against you. So, to have Jin be so sweet with you, almost like a friend. It was foreign, but it was nice.

“Stop being fucking nice to her, makin’ me feel like I shouldn’t be watching.” Touya interjects. Jin snickers but ignores his friend. Much to Tomura’s chagrin.

“Come on bitch, cum for me already!” Jin repeats in a similar vain to his previous outburst. How could you possibly cum when you were so nervous? But because of his irritating secondary voice, he’d mastered the art of speaking whisper quiet when he needed to. He lined his mouth up with your little, twitching ears, so he could help move things along. “I think you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my whole life,” he murmurs. “even your cow parts, in fact, I think they make you even prettier.” he confesses. You pull your face out of your hiding spot and look at him.

“Yeah?” you whisper back.

“Yeah.” he assures you. The feeling of his big fingers fucking your insides all of a sudden feels a lot more enjoyable. “Think you can cum f’me? Wanna make you feel good, gorgeous.”

Tomura has had enough, he’s not about to stand around and watch while you have a private conversation with his friend. Slut. Ugly cow slut. He begins to approach to drag you away from him, but Touya has noticed something he hasn’t. He holds his arm out to prevent him from moving any further. Your cute little face scrunches up and your mouth falls into an ‘O’ shape as your brother’s blonde friend batters your insides. The squelching is obscene, you’re desperate for this to be over so you can get on with your day. You’re close, so close.

“Jin!!—Nggh!” you moan.

You feel embarrassed as you cum in front of an audience. Touya and Tomura are lording above you while Jin holds you gently against him on the ground. You’ve done what they ask. So, you know what’s next.

“Make her do it, Jin.” Tomura commands. So Jin gets to work, pulling gently and carefully on the nubs of your breast. It’s so tender, loving. It reminds you of how daddy is with you. “Hurry up.” Tomura orders. With the right pull and a perfect pinch, your breasts are leaking. Tomura scrambles to the ground and hurries towards you, not wanting to waste a drop. He latches onto your breast and suckles greedily.

“Fuckin’ freak.” Touya hums. It’s ignored by your brother, he’s too drunk on the treats from your teats.

He wipes his mouth breathlessly as he takes all that you can give. He looks up at Touya, unashamed of his behaviour. He just pants, and pants. Until finally, he smiles.

“Make her do it again, you both need to taste it.” Tomura commands.

Jin gets to work on rubbing your swollen clit, eager to make this nightmare end for the both of you. It’s a relief that you’re so sensitive already, it takes no time at all to have you on the verge of cumming again. Jin stares intently into your eyes as you come closer and closer to the precipice. He’s telling you that you can do it. You’re amazing and you can do it. So, you do. God, you do. Jin begins tugging on your nipples again before Touya objects.

“I’m not an incel like this freak, I got it.” he tells his friend.

You’re yanked away from Jin and pulled onto Touya as he sits comfortably on the ground. He has you straddling him. He bites his lip as he admires the changes of your face. You must like it when your nii-san’s friends touch you. Whore. Stupid cow whore.

“Do my fingers feel good, sweetheart?” he asks you. You nod. He pinches a little harder, making you wince. “Words, doll. Tell me how good my fingers feel.”

“G-Good, Touya. Feels good.” you admit. It wasn’t a lie. It was obvious Touya had the most sexual experience out of Tomura’s friend group, and yet, you much preferred it when Jin was touching you. He pulls you closer to him, lacing his fingers through your hair and pulling you downwards. The skin of your neck is completely exposed, he nibbles lightly on your pulse point which makes your cunt clench around nothing. He lets you go, resuming his tender rolling of your nipples. And soon, they’re leaking once again.

“Taste it.” Tomura instructs.

Touya latches on, not offering Tomura a verbal response but feeling more than comfortable to flip him off. He’s devouring your essence. It is good. He supposes he understands why Tomura can’t get enough. Shit. He can’t get enough, either. He pulls away, he isn’t breathless like Tomura, but it was certainly an awakening for him. His lips are parted, they’re decorated with speckles of white milk. The upper and lower lip are connected by a milky, webbed string. He smirks at you, pursing his lips and making kissy noises.

You know what he wants.

You lean down to kiss him. And it’s weirdly intimate. Passionate, in fact. It enrages Tomura. He tries to intervene, but Touya sharply kicks him away. He huffs and groans. He’s furious. But what can he do? It’s Jin’s turn, anyway. He’ll just have to keep getting jealous until he makes his friends leave.

“Let Jin try,” Tomura speaks. But Jin shakes his head.

“Not interested. Let me taste your tits babe!” both of his friends were confused. Two conflicting points, but they always know which voice to believe. Why didn’t he want a turn? “You guys… You’ve skeeved me out. Freaks, both of you. I don’t wanna do it.” he confesses.

“Suit yourself.” Tomura responds.

“Aw, I think Jin’s in love. Tryna take the fuckin’ high road and make us look shitty?” Touya torments.

Jin huffs, searching for his cigarettes and lighter in his jacket pocket. He nods along with Touya’s statement, anything to placate him. He doesn’t love you, obviously. He doesn’t know you. You’re just Tomura’s little sister. He thinks you’re cute, but love? Tch. In any case. As cute as he thinks you are, he isn’t going to miss out on the finale.

Jin stands to his feet, as do Tomura and Touya. The sound of three zippers coming down whirrs through your mind and sends a disgusting, unexplainable feeling through your senses. You can’t handle getting gang banged. Not today, not ever. But that isn’t what this is. Don’t you worry your slutty little head about that.

Three menacing glares were fixed on you. Glowering down at your frightened, confused form. Jin was different, like he’d become a new person. The sweet, caring whispers were a thing of the past. All three of them had removed their hardened cocks from the confines of their trousers and are pumping away.

“T-Tomura-nii?”

“Sit nicely for nii-san.” he tells you, the familiar slit of his cock looking you dead in the eye. “You’ve been a good girl for us today, so we’re going to give you our milk now.”

Tomura ordered you to stay on your knees until they were done with you. The hard, cold flooring was less than comfortable for your aching legs. It was upsetting that zero of the three men standing before you thought to offer you some comfort in the form of a couch cushion or a blanket. But you aren’t surprised. They’re only out for themselves.

“Who’s first?” Tomura questioned.

“Probably you, right? Two pump chump, fuckin’ virgin.” Touya remarks, smirking once more as he finds himself so damn amusing.

“’m not a fucking virgin anymore!” Tomura argued.

“Why is that again? Oh yeah, because you bullied your little sister into fucking you and she agreed so that you’d like her more.” Touya continued.

“Shut up, Touya.” Tomura seethed, “You go first, fucking asshole.”

It was odd, really. That they were snapping and staring at each other while they had their dicks out. It was like they were threatening each other with their erections. A standoff, almost. It was even weirder that they didn’t seem to notice it was an unusual thing to do with friends. Maybe they’ve done this before, another innocent girl in the exact same position you are. But Touya shrugged. He was happy to go first. He’s been aching for a while now, and he couldn’t wait to see what you looked like covered in his pearly white cum.

His fingers laced through your hair yet again, forcing you to look up at him. He was smiling, really smiling. A cheesy, skin crawling smile that sent fear from the tips of your ears to the edge of your tail. Touya didn’t seem to be embarrassed that he had the shortest length in comparison to his friends. It wasn’t short by any means. Easily six inches. A nice length, not too thick either. It didn’t bother him at all. He has the most experience. He has the record for girls he’s made cream themselves. The size doesn’t matter, he knows what to do with it.

The blood pumps through his cock as he continues beating his length. His eyes fluttered closed as he focuses on his impending high. Memories race through his mind of girls he’s fucked and orgasms he’s experienced. His teeth grit. God, you’re so cute. You’re better than any of them. His eyes open again, and he bites his lower lip, harsh enough to draw blood. It’s your eyes, you see. Your sweet, innocent eyes all blown to hell. It’s like you’re pleading with him to not do this to you. But he has to. He needs to.

“Gonna look so pretty, painted with my cum.” he croons. You feel slick dribble out of your sloppy cunt. If there’s one thing you like about Touya more than anyone else, it’s his voice. And now, with the way you’re squirming on the ground, he’s picked up on it. “D’ya like my voice princess? Like it when I talk dirty, and low?” he wonders. You nod.

Your eyes are watery. The way his tip leaks doesn’t go amiss, so wet and ready to cover you in his wasted kids. He feels himself getting hotter. His forehead coated in a thin, sheen layer of sweat. Inky black locks sticking down against him. He’s running out of air, out of resolve. He can’t last. He needs to give it to you.

“Gonna cum, doll. G-Gonna— Ah, oh – fuuuuuck – take it.” he growls. Watery, white sperm lands on you. It’s hot, boiling almost. It’s warmed your entire face. You feel sick when you realise he got in your hair. It seems endless. Has it been a while for the resident stud? “Thaaaat’s it. Fuck, looks so fuckin’ good babe.” he groans, forcing out the last of his release.

You feel filthy. And it’s only going to get worse, two more scumbags to go.

Tomura wants to be last, process of elimination dictates that Jin is next. He lights up another cigarette in his mouth before forcing you to look up at him. It’s erotic, somehow. It certainly makes you more aroused, seeing his cigarette latched between his lips as he jerks himself off in front of you.

He can see the adoration in your eyes, too. Fuck, maybe he does love you. It’s undeniably a sight he can get used to. You still trust him, don’t you? That’s sad. That is real sad, actually. Simply because he showed the tiniest bit of kindness to you, you’re giving him more credit than he deserves. He meant what he said, but he only said those things to make you cum.

Jin is the biggest of the three, by far. Thick and long. Veiny, too. It didn’t surprise you at all. He’s the tallest of the three and it’s easy to see he’s got the biggest build. You knew the blonde would have a monster betwixt his thighs.

The cigarette is giving away how close he is, how desperate and needy he is to cum. With each inhale, the smoke comes out of his nostrils in shaky, erratic breaths. You’re perfect. You’re perfect. Yes, you’re fucking perfect. He loves you. He loves you, has he always loved you? He doesn’t love you, yes he does! He can’t love you. He’s been through this; he doesn’t know you. But look at you. So obedient, so beautiful, so willing. You love his cock, don’t you? Better than Tomura’s and Touya’s. He’s hoping you think you might love it more than your daddy’s.

“Say you love me,” he speaks, orange embers on the tip of the cigarette flickering playfully as he talks. “say it, say it darlin’. You love my fat cock, don’t you skank?!”

“I- I-“

“Fucking say it.”

“I… I love you Jin. I love your… your…” you gulp. The little bob in your throat makes his eyes roll over white momentarily. He wants to see his cock shoved down there, he knows it’d choke you. But you’d try your best for him, wouldn’t you? You love him after all. You’d take his heavy cock down your throat. That’d prove you love him alright, if you let Jin fuck your tight li’l throat. Next time. And away from these degenerate freaks.

His cigarette almost drops from his lips, but he catches it skilfully with his teeth. The way you jump and quickly close your eyes as he shoots his cream onto you is the cutest fucking thing he’s ever seen in his whole entire life. He grunts loudly, it’s manly and so erotic. He seems older than the other two. More mature. Touya may have fucked more girls, but Jin seems more grown. He doesn’t care to argue with them when they start. He isn’t interested in comparing dick sizes and he has no desire to get into competitions over girls. He’s here to cover you in his cum, and that’s all that matters.

His head droops backwards while he orgasms. Smoke from his cigarette dances and twirls upwards towards the ceiling. His contribution to your skin is both better and worse than Touya’s. It’s thicker. You prefer thick, creamy cum over runny. Although in this instance, you can’t stand it. It already felt disgusting to have one person’s essence on your skin. And now, they’re mixing. You’re sticky and gross. And you still have one more to go.

Your dear nii-san.

And what a pretty nii-san he is. The skinniest guys always have the longest cocks. Though he was still beat in length by Jin, he had a skinnier shaft too. Each of the men above you had something different to offer, and you were more nervous than ever now it was your brother’s turn. He jerked himself off with one hand as he ruffled his hair momentarily with the other. No wonder he’s so well liked and popular. He’s just so handsome. You still couldn’t believe he was a virgin until he fucked you. How weren’t girls throwing themselves at him?

“You’ve n-never looked better.” he smiles, observing your features. “All of this cum is covering that ugly face of yours.” he taunts, Cheshire grin taking over his face as he snickers at you.

“Tomura-nii… ‘m not ugly.” you sniffle, unable to hide your hurt feelings from them. Touya laughs lazily down at you. But Jin turns away. He can’t stand to watch, to listen. But he’d never defy Tomura or challenge him. Maybe he doesn’t love you as much as he thought. It was pre-orgasm hysteria.

“You are, though.” he replies to you. “An ugly little cow. You should be grateful my friends and I are giving you the honour of our cocks. No one else will, you know. No one wants to be with a freak of nature like you.” he spits.

“P-Please, stop…” you beg. Your fat tears roll down your face and mix with the copious amounts of cum covering you already. You truly have never, ever felt so disgusting and so used. But this is what Tomura wants, you don’t realise it. But there’s something so arousing about seeing you cry.

“Aw, poor little bitch. Did nii-san upset you?” he asks, and you nod. “Good. Ugly whore. You look even uglier when you c-cry.” he stammers. Voice betraying him eventually as he climbs towards his release.

He rubs his forehead with the back of his hand, eliminating the glossy sweat that’s making his icy blue locks stick to him just as Touya’s hair had been. Tremoring fingers begin to scratch at his skin, his neck. He’s anxious suddenly. Why are you fucking looking at him like that? You know how. Like you always do. So fucking needy and upset. He yanks your right ear, and you yelp woefully.

“Open your mouth for me.”

And you do. And for some reason, that is what makes him lose it. Your willingness to please your nii-san in any way that you can. The immediate enthusiasm to open your mouth if it means it will gratify your brother. And it’s wet. Your mouth, it’s so fucking wet. Your pink muscle vibrating in your mouth as you wait for him to deposit his load inside. Spit strings between your teeth. He feels stupid now, too. Because like Jin, he wishes he’d fucked your ugly little face instead. Give you a real reason to cry. He only spurts a little into your mouth. The rest squirting across your cheeks and into your eye. It stings, fuck, it really stings. As if you needed any more of a reason to cry.

“Good girl, stupid cunt. Y’hear me? My stupid cunt, nii-san’s ugly little cow.”

They’ve all tucked themselves away now. Ready to move on and head out somewhere for more fun. They aren’t sure what could be more fun than that. They can’t wait up to meet up with Kai and tell him how badly he missed out. Tomura has forbidden you from moving from that exact spot until they’re out of the penthouse. You’re cradling your bloodshot eyes. Praying desperately that they leave quicker. You want a shower; you want an ice pack. You want to be alone.

Jin halts as Touya and Tomura enter the elevator. He explains he forgot something, and he’ll meet up with them in a few hours. He’s gotta go home and pick up some things. They shrug their shoulders and bid him farewell. Tomura has known Jin long enough now, he trusts that he won’t try and steal anything. He trusts that he’ll retrieve whatever it is he’s forgotten and get out.

But he won’t.

He won’t, because he hasn’t forgotten anything.

He approaches you. Jin crouches down on the balls of his feet and offers you a hand. He’s smiling. Not menacingly. Not with an ulterior motive. He’s just smiling, earnestly.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

© 2021 fuwushiguro

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i like my men 6’3

my heart burns for you

I wish to see you again

just to kiss you

just to hug you

just to feel you

you’re the reason I feel.

all I want is you.

I want you so bad.