lazy ass bum toji worms his way into your life by way of your widowed mother. your father, having left behind generous savings and a lavishly furnished house worth enough to call your abode “comfortable” to guests, couldn’t have foreseen your mother moving on mere months after his death. and neither did you.
perhaps that’s why you’re such a bitch about it. you come home for the holidays just to snap at him, pushing his buttons in front of your mom to see if he’ll crack. if he’ll show her enough of his money-grubbing ego to have her disillusioned.
naturally, he’ll get booted out. and then, you reason, things will go back to normal.
but, weirdly enough, your behavior doesn’t deter him. if anything, the more irritable you get, the bigger his god-awful simper spreads.
what you’ve failed to account for is that toji loves a challenge. even more so if it means getting a one-up on stuck-up brats like you—pretty ones that lounge around in cute cotton camisoles and sleep shorts so tight he swears he can see everything, brows furrowed as they pout up at him.
he fantasizes about bending you over the knee and slapping your pussy for every time you’ve called him a broke old man. hooking his fingers—two, and he’s sure you’d already be crying out his name—inside your cunt and spreading you open, scissoring, targeting your most sensitive areas. calloused thumb working at your clit until your toes curled and your eyes rolled back with a gasp.
no, no… he’d start slow, first. he’d pull down that wretched camisole and give your pretty tits some love, swirling his tongue just shy of your nipple before closing his lips and sucking. and because he’s a generous man, he’d fondle your other breast, pinching and rolling the nipple between two fingers. so neither one is lonely.
maybe he’ll do it in your sleep, someday, so you can wake up and whine his name like you do when you complain. he wonders what expression you’d make.
on the days you’re particularly bratty, he dreams of harsher things. taking you from the back, sinking into you so you feel his dick like a weight pinning you to the bed. thrusting in and out slow, painstakingly so, broad hand just below the nape of your neck to press you into the mattress. he knows you’d be sopping wet. your glares can’t hide the way your thighs shift at the rumble of his voice.
if you asked him to pull out, he’d comply with a snort—slipping out slow and pressing his tip flush against your clit. your hips would jolt into the mattress, trying to escape from the pleasure, and he'd sneer. you've always been flighty.
then, to deny you the grace of getting away, he'd spread your slick up and down your folds with his length, before notching right back at your entrance. sinking in slow to feel the way your walls milk him in, cunt fluttering as you struggled to take his length. he'd fuck you so thoroughly you’d be ruined for anyone else—and sure, you’d take some stretching out... but you’re a strong girl. you could take it.
when he’s in the living room and you’re down for breakfast, he seriously considers coming up behind you and reaching for a glass, just to slot his thigh between your parted legs. he’d be mean about it, too—raising just high enough that you’d have to rest your weight on him. he’d run his warm hands down your sides, to your hips, sliding you up his thigh and grinding your twitchy clit against hard muscle until you got your sleep shorts niiice and soaked.
what would you do, then? bite your lip and glare? moan? the idea is so enticing he nearly follows through.
alas, toji would rather not go back to living paycheck-to-paycheck, and feeling up his benefactor’s daughter is a surefire way to get dumped. so he resigns himself to watching from afar. and perhaps snatching the occasional lingerie here and there, for purposes he surmises are glaringly obvious.
power play, age gap, nonconsensual touching, harassment, public setting. this is for @pervile <3
it wasn't the military that hardened sukuna into the man he is today. but rather, sukuna joined the military because of who he always was.
strong and loud, but most of all selfish. those were traits that sent him flying to the top ranks, and they were traits that only became more prominent with age.
sukuna never pretended to be a nice guy, he knew he wasn't and he didn't care if other people did too. it wasn't his fault that you were too sweet for your own good. or maybe stupid would be a better word.
but he loved cute little things like you because of that.
all bright eyes and wide smiles because you couldn't imagine an old man like sukuna would be a pervert. even with the wrinkled tattoos, the rugged scars, and the muscles that hardly shrunk, you saw nothing more than another senior citizen.
that's why when you squeezed your way onto the subway after work, scrambling to find a place to stand, you hardly paid attention to him. or how close you were to him. practically standing between his legs, unaware of the way he'd leaned in even closer to you.
you had to run from your office to the station, worried that you would miss your commute. you were sweating, out of breath though clearly trying to look like you weren't. still, sukuna could tell. he could see the glisten on your forehead, and when he took a deep breath in he swore he could smell the heat between your thighs.
"you need a seat, kid?" his voice was raspy, a result of too many cigarettes and too much shouting over the years.
you hesitated, staring at him with your mouth slightly agape like you weren't really sure he was talking to you. "me?"
sukuna sighed. "course. who else?"
yeah, you were sweet alright. you brushed off his condescending tone with a smile and an apology, as if he was the one who deserved one. "o-oh, sorry! it's okay, you don't have to get up. i can stand."
he huffed, rising from his seat anyways and your eyes followed him up and up and up… widening slightly as you were made aware of just how big the old geezer really was.
"i've been sitting all day," he insisted with finality.
the subway jostled, messing with your footing as you tried to swap places with sukuna. you blamed it on the rush hour crowd and the subway car suspension when you stumbled backward and straight into him. but you knew that the subway wasn't to blame when his hand wrapped around your waist, firmer than needed just for stability, thick fingers splaying out across your lower stomach.
you felt his hips press forward until they were flush against your ass. and the subway definitely wasn't to blame when you felt an unmistakable hardness poking you.
but as quickly as you were pulled into him, you were pushed away to fall into your new seat. and that was enough time for you to begin doubting yourself.
you were too young, too naive, too hopeful to fully admit to yourself that whatever had just happened was the will of an old stranger on your evening commute home. and the best part about you, in sukuna's mind, was that even if you could admit it, you were still too sweet to say anything.
it was ridiculous how despite your obvious nervousness, the fidgeting with your hands and the bouncing of your leg, you still smiled politely up at him. your expression only faltered when when he stepped closer to you, his knees bumping against yours as his feet slotted themselves between your own. your eyes jumped down, staring straight ahead where your gaze was met with nothing but the tent in his jeans.
it was right there, just inches from your face. the obvious boner that the man old enough to be your grandpa was sporting as he stared blankly down at you. or rather, at your tits that he could now see through the top of your blouse.
the subway rattled again. the movement was minimal, but just enough for sukuna to take advantage of it. he allowed his body to sway further than it should have, his hips jutting forward.
of all the things he's seen over his years, the way you squeezed your eyes shut to fight back your tears and crinkled up your nose as the crotch of his jeans brushed against it was by far the best.
he’d be sure to take the same line again the next day, because sukuna wanted to see just how much you'd let him get away with before the sweet girl in you finally had enough.
but even that wouldn't deter him, he was selfish after all.
CW DUBCON SPIT AGE GAP TEACHER STUDENT RELATIONSHIP SLAPPING BALL SUCKING
four fingers come down harsh on your cheek, your professor glaring down at you disapprovingly. the scars along his left side should've told you all you needed to know about him; the eye patch only added another layer to what he'd been through. he was rough inside and out, violent and mean and downright nasty.
professor nanami had no time to think about anyone other than himself. an infamously tough professor, he'd only chosen education as a career around his 50th birthday when he was supposed to 'settle down'. he was thankful that a college would even hire him with his looks and personality—the other things he did during his tenure were just a bonus.
a violent gag erupts from you around the head of his cock, hands tapping his thighs to tell him to let you go, but he chooses otherwise. he likes how repulsed you are by this, by him, and he looks forward to how much you'll hate yourself after it's over.
you are unfortunately his favorite type of person to pick on—bright students who've never had a challenge until his class. girls who look at the world with big eyes and optimism because they don't know the reality of how fucked so many people around them are. he likes to toy with girls like you. sick fuck.
he found it humorous how you'd desperately shown up to his office, the only person brave enough to do so, asking how to improve your grade before the semester ended. he couldn't gauge how you'd feel about his request—with some of his former students feigning disgust to some who didn't think twice about sucking his cock, dropping to their knees and begging pretty please, dont let me fail. however, if god has graced with the ability to keep his job this long despite his digusting habits, why would he get fired now?
globs of spit stain nanami's slacks and the leather desk chair below him, all from the desperate student he has in front of him, choking on his cock. nothing feels better than a tight throat and a sensitive gag reflex to him, he basks in how fucking gross he can make others. spit and snot and tears galore stain his lap and your face, scarred palm and fingers pressing down on the crown of your head, another wet retch leaving your throat, vibrating against his shaft.
black spots go in and out of your vision from the abuse your head has taken, you can't remember the last time he'd let you up for air, or to give you a break. you are dizzy and disoriented, only focused on breathing through your nose even though it burns, and your jaw aches so terribly it feels like it may rip in half.
he likes the struggle he puts you through, how your fingernails dig into his thighs, scratching against the cheap material of his slacks. nanami wonders if you'll be able to rip through them, since you certainly have the spirit—but with his dick shoved down your esophagus and his hand on the back of your head, your strength is being used elsewhere.
another sickly heave expels from you, sounding as if you're about to leave your lunch all over your professor's carpet—only then does he ease up on his hold. drops of saliva and precum and salty tears get coughed right onto nanami's crotch, covering the bottom of his button up and his dick in more of a mess. you're only allowed to catch your breath for a few seconds before his hand curls around the back of your head, pulling you back towards him, forcing you to kiss the hairy patch below his cock.
"suck."
deep, heaving breaths are all that nanami's met with, hot and humid against his balls but still lacking what he wants. his other hand goes back to the crown of your head, fingertips digging in and pushing you further against him, nose and mouth shoved into his ballsack, cutting off your airways until you do as he says.
"i said suck," nanami gruffly demands, finding sick pleasure in the way your eyes widen at him in terror, horrified of doing this for another thirty minutes. your lips finally open up and you begin to barely suckle at his balls, not nearly enough for his liking. rough knuckles grip at the hair on top of your head, pulling you back from between your professor's thighs for a moment, and a sharp smack rings through the room.
your first instinct is to cup your cheek, skin stinging from his backhand, your jaw dropping wide in surprise. when you attempt to pull from his grip, he shoves your face right back in between his legs, hoping your shocked expression can aid you in getting him off.
"fucking suck," he commands, not asking or pleading, but forcing, finishing off his demand by grumbling, "stupid bitch."
your face is partially covered by his cock, your mouth shoved against his sack—it's the prettiest you've looked so far, he'll give you that. a nasty groan leaves his throat when you begin to actually suck his balls, tongue running over the displeasing texture of his pubic hair and the soft skin beneath it. fucking finally.
"yeah," he groans, the sound coming from deep within in chest, neck bending as he lets his head fall back against his chair.
he can feel how slick he is between his legs, how little friction is against your mouth and your cheeks, and he loves it all—truly a disgusting display from someone who had such a big future ahead of her. he looks down at your pathetic expression, eyes glossy and wet and drained from all that he's put you through today, little sniffles and sobs muffled because your mouth is too busy pleasuring him.
all that hard work has only led you to the carpet of your professor's office, gargling his balls in hopes of a good grade.
that thought does him in, ropes of thin cum slowly flowing from his tip as he keeps your mouth tucked against his balls. he makes you stay there for a good while, too, letting his release get in your hair and all over your forehead. there's great enjoyment in the fact that you never stop sucking, either, keeping his nutsack nestled between your lips.
when he finally releases his grip and lets you go, he tries to get a good look at your face, tries to force you to look at him in the eye. he sees your lip quivering, sobs threatening to leave your throat, beaten down and bullied so badly there's no longer a twinkle in your eye. soon, you're running out of his office—messy face and all—somewhere that you hope he'll never be able to see you again at.
nanami wonders how disappointed you'll be in a few weeks when you check your final grades and see that you've failed his class again, and how upset you'll be because you have to take his lecture one more time. next semester, though, he'll teach you how to do something more useful with your free time instead of studying.
thinking about big brother!sukuna who catches you at a party with another boy. you're used to his temper by this point, no longer surprised when he grabs you by the arm and pulls you away.
he ignores you as you shout at him, tugging and fighting for him to let you go because “you're an adult now.” you don't need him watching over you anymore. but he just drags you along until you're alone together, tucked away near the side of the house.
you're all too aware of the fact that if anyone came outside they’d see you trapped between the wall and sukuna's broad chest. your hands cling to his biceps as he forces a hand between your thighs, two thick fingers prodding at your embarrassingly wet panties.
tears prick your eyes as you scramble to get away when you hear footsteps approaching, panic coursing through you at the realization that someone is outside.
but relief hits when you see the familiar outline of your big brother!yuji making his way toward you.
yuji was always sweet. he was always comforting, protecting you when sukuna was mean and making you cry. you expected him to do the same for you now, saving you from sukuna’s cruel punishment.
you never expected that big brother!yuji would've been the one who encouraged sukuna to do this in the first place.
guess you didn't know just how much yuji loves you!
he cares about you so much that he’s only willing to share you with his twin brother.
cw; large age gap. fem reader. groping. old man smells. this fic is just an excuse for me to be weird about men who can't get hard. <- impotence. m receiving oral. toji calls reader a bitch. and a slut. this is a rewrite from my inactive blog. 2.1k wc
When you became a nurse, you knew you wouldn't change the world. You wouldn't get a medal, or many thanks in general, for the late nights and double shifts and mountains of abuse you take on.
So sue you for taking pleasure in your career when you can! Eyeing the older client you've recently taken on is your only vice during his visits; he's a gropey asshole who thinks with his dick and talks out of his ass.
And older is an understatement — he's just plain old. He holds it well, at least. Wrinkled, sure, but he's got a constant scowl etched onto his face that somehow softens his lines of age. His hair is a beautiful gray, hands veiny and arms still huge despite the atrophy that comes with old age.
Come to think of it, he's big for his age. Held onto those muscles of his, even though all you've seen the man do is sit in his damn chair and watch shitty old action movies.
His retained strength isn't a point in your favour, either. Toji likes to fight his cares. And grab. You haven't yet seen a shift through without getting groped or fondled or spanked in some way or another. You've told him off enough for his near-demented mind to hold onto, but you figure a man like Mr. Fushiguro never cared much for the comfort of the women he felt up on in his youth. He seems the grimy type, which makes you feel grimy for enjoying it so much — you also haven't left one of these home visits wearing panties that aren't soaked through.
Eh, you like the attention. He's hot for being old enough to be your grandfather.
"Get me a beer when you're done," his voice is gruff as you prick his finger to check his blood sugar levels, sitting on an unsteady stool by his armchair, listening to gunshot after gunshot coming from his old TV. "Should have some left if that fucker didn't take 'em. Hey, don't have kids, doll. They'll steal all your shit."
You glance up at him with knitted brows. "I'm your nurse, not your caterer, Mr Fushiguro."
The wrinkles in his forehead deepen as he narrows his eyes at you. Just as you move to wipe the blood beading at his fingertip, he wrenches his hand from your grip and brings it to his lips instead, sucking his finger clean. "Says who?"
"The pretty piece of paper I have that says 'nursing licence'," you shrug.
"Whatever. I'll get the damn thing myself."
Toji's attempt to get out of his chair is futile. You watch with your bottom lip drawn between your teeth as his strong arms move to push himself up, but his back groans and his lungs empty with a huff as he drops back down into his plush recliner. The entire thing swings back a little, and just as you're convinced he's going to topple backwards, he's upright again, crossing those massive fucking arms over his heaving chest.
God, how much bigger was he in his prime?
"Quit starin'," he grumbles, the faded scar on his lip pulling downward. "Ain't as spritely as I was. Have trouble getting up."
You snort before you can stop yourself. "Well there's a little blue pill for that. I mean — shit. I mean..."
Oh, to lose your job over a boner joke.
"Mouthy bitch," he raises his chin. "Think I can't keep my dick up?"
For some reason — morbid curiosity, perhaps — you double down. "Keep it up? No, I don't think you can get it up in the first place, Mr. Fushiguro. With old age, certain bodily functions stop working as well as they used to, and—"
He cuts you off with a 'tch' that makes you want him to prove you wrong. It'd be a violation of ten million different things to strip down and ride him there in the big recliner he spends his days in...
Still, it crosses your mind, and sticks. You wonder how he'd grunt and groan in response to the drag of his cock inside such young pussy. How long would he last? How long has it been? Would he even want to break his dry spell with his nurse?
Stupid question. You've been pawed at enough times to answer that one on your own. His trying to cop a feel is like clockwork—a smack to your ass whenever you lean over him to change a dressing. A harsh squeeze of your tits through your scrub top when you're cleaning him up. Wrapping his lips around your fingers when you're checking the fit of his dentures...
And you're wet. You ignore the urge to squeeze your thighs together like you usually do, and instead turn on your heels to grab the man a beer.
His kitchen is a mess. Empty beer bottles and containers half-finished clutter the countertops, and you're pretty sure the floors aren't just sticky with spilt booze. Whoever the carers are that come in to handle his ass-wiping and dressing don't do a very good job of keeping the place clean. Then again, you think Toji would bite your head off if you were in here 'touching his shit', let alone someone being paid to do it.
You have to take a moment to steel yourself. Deep breath in, deep breath out... he's a patient, not a prospective tryst you can throw yourself at like spaghetti against the wall. A few stains on the backwash allude to such things happening in here, and you wonder if Toji was ever laid back enough to teach his kids how to cook.
If he was, they didn't stick around long enough for him to reap the rewards of it anyway.
You turn and pull his fridge open, grab a cold beer and start searching his cluttered kitchen for a bottle opener.
But a loud groan from the living room rips your attention away. You bolt back out, expecting Toji to be on the floor or in the throes of cardiac arrest, but the medical event that greets you instead is a very frustrated-looking Toji fisting at his soft cock.
Oh.
"Shut the fuck up," he bites before you can say anything.
Your eyes are stuck on his hand, moving up and down as he tugs on his flaccid length. He's so big, even soft. You've never had to do those kinds of cares, the CNA that comes in twice a day is responsible for washing him down. You wonder if she's ever struck with the same thoughts you're having now — you could start a sisterhood of perverted fantasies.
"Impotence is nothing to be ashamed of, Mr Fushiguro," you touch your lips absentmindedly, and imagine the tang of his taste. "It's natural, even. You... your penis wasn't going to work forever."
"Shut the fuck up," he repeats. "And bring me my damn beer."
You tilt your head, challenging the old man in emasculated distress. Is this really who you are now? "Say please," you hum. "And I'll give you your beer. And a blowjob."
He quirks a gray brow. "Fuck, you're a slut."
"That's unprofessional."
"That right?" he snorts. "Please."
You are nothing if not a nurse of her word. You've said a few oaths to back that up, too. You hand Toji his beer, which he takes with the hand that was fisting his cock, and opens it between his handy false teeth. You kneel next to his outstretched recliner, your scrub pants thin enough for you to still feel the scratch of his unvacuumed carpet.
Toji's cock has kept nicely into his old age. It might not work like it used to, but the sight and smell of it in front of your face is keeping your libido strong. He's got that odorous old man musk to him, which you're plenty used-to in your line of work, but there's something layered to Toji's smell that has you dizzy.
"Gonna suck me or what? Not getting any younger here," he barks, ever the impatient man. You remember the agency warning you about his temper. And his wandering hands.
"Keep ordering me around and I'll catheterise you," you warn, taking his soft dick in your hand, which is cold from holding the beer, and giving it a few pumps. It twitches in your grip, but doesn't harden.
Toji makes himself comfortable, taking a swig of the booze that is rotting his liver black. You look up at him, and then back down to his dick, before leaning down and sucking it easily into your mouth. He's salty, and wet at the tip where his inviscid precum leaks out. Your nose tickles against his coarse pubes, and you can't help but moan around his member.
The sound that he makes is guttural. A groan straight from his soft belly that leaves no doubt in your mind that it's been a very long time since someone has throated Mr. Fushiguro's dick. You wonder if he's aching to act twenty years younger, to thrust his hard cock deep into the back of your throat and make you gag on his obscene length.
You think you like him better like this, with one hand nursing his beer and the other on his nurse, gripping into your hair with an audacious sense of possession that he has anything but earnt. It won't take long to make him cum, considering his balls are tightening already. You swirl your tongue around the sensitive head and soak his cock with your spit.
"Off," he grips at your hair, pulling your mouth from his length and looking down at you with a cocksure grin. "Take that stupid fuckin' top off. Wanna see those tits you've been hiding."
You wipe your spit-coated lips and look down at your pink scrub top. You debate arguing him on his stance that it look stupid, but end up giving in and hiking it over your head. You let it hit the carpet, followed soon after by your bra.
You've never seen him move as fast as when he snaps his hand down to grab at one of your tits. You push yourself forward to stop him from reaching too far and straining something — because that would be an incident report for the ages — and let Toji have him fun.
It's when he starts pinching at your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger in between his kneading of the actual breast, that you notice he's managed a half chub. Nothing firm enough to fit inside of you with any ease, but a feat nonetheless.
"Hey, look," you smile at the semi-hard state of his cock. "Still got it in you after all, Mr. Fushiguro."
"Fuckin' told you. Get back to work, I'm not paying your ass to sit there and — Jesusfuckingchrist."
You return your mouth to his throbbing cock, sucking hard to shut him up as you roll his balls with one hand and use your other to break the waistband of your scrub pants and swirl your fingers over your needy clit. You wonder if he was a greedy lover in his day, if he'd pay any attention to your pleasure if he had the agency to fuck you how he'd like to.
With the half chub he's managed, you're able to bob your head up and down on his cock a little better, though it remains a slippery feat. More than once does his cock slip out of your mouth and land with a loud 'smack' against his skin. He grumbles each time, tugs at your nipple a little harder, but doesn't risk complaining about your skills in fear that you'll stop and rob the old man of an orgasm.
Your climax crests with the beautiful dual stimulation of his playing with your nipples and your own fingers on your clit, and you find yourself shaking and moaning around Toji's cock, which brings him right to that same edge.
"Fuck," he moans, managing a few shallow thrusts upwards into your mouth which, as his nurse, you'd advise against in case of injury if your mouth wasn't full. Before you can pull off and chide him, though, a few weak spurts of cum land on your tongue, followed by a stronger shot right into your mouth.
It's bitter as you swallow it down, battery acid esque, but your favorite thing you've tasted in a long time. Very Toji.
After a final flick to your now-sore nipple, and a recovery sip of beer, he groans. "I'm not paying extra for that, am I?"
You snort. "No, but I am making a referral to a dietician," you scrunch your face up. "Your cum should not be that sour."
"Whatever," he waves you off with that throw of his hand that every old man seems to have down-pat. "Get me some of those blue pills you mentioned and the next load'll be inside of you."
kento has a wife at home... a beautiful wife whom he loves very much. he's so in love, he wouldn't ever consider having an affair, the idea is so foreign to him, so unthinkable... until you start your internship at his work.
he's happy in his marriage, he really is! but there's something missing. once a week, sometimes less, kento is granted sex in missionary for as long as his wife allows it. he loves being close to her, but she wont even let him go down on her anymore. she's a busy woman... a tired one, one with no time for foreplay or dirty talk or a proper orgasm.
poor kento is left... pent up. as he's made good on taking care of himself. he fucks his fist in his morning showers, and maybe sometimes he parks his car down a quiet road to relieve himself on his way home. never to porn, always to his imagination or some old pictures he has saved of his wife....
until you 'accidentally' text him a picture of your tits instead of some files he had asked for! and sure, he thinks of deleting it. but he also thinks about how the skirts you wear are so short that every time you bend over he gets to see what colour panties you put on that morning. sometimes, if you've been teasing him a lot that day, he can also see the wet patch forming from how needy you are to be bent over his desk and—
no. he can't. he has a wife! he deletes the pic and brushes off the mountain of apologies you give him the next day.
until a few weeks later he notices your accidents become more frequent, and you start ditching the panties in favour of being able to drop a pen by his desk and bend over to show him just how pretty your pussy looks when she's able to breathe :(
and can he really be blamed? he's only a man at the end of the day, lust driven and deprived at home... he deserves some relief! at least that's what he tells you when he drags you into the employee bathroom and pushes your pretty face up against the mirror while he drives into your wet and gooey cunt over and over again. he's so big and strong and pent up after so long since having a good fuck that he manages to make you cum twice on his cock before spilling his load into you, pulling your skirt down a little and sending you to fetch some papers with his cum literally leaking down ur thighs...
he picks up some flowers for his wife on the way home <3
snowghoul
dededos
areudirty
pixelskylines
