the sexualisation of ‘mommy,’ ‘daddy’ and ‘puppy’ reflect how male fetishes get pushed onto women until degrading, infantilising dynamics are sold back to them as something they should enjoy
sukuna likes to degrade you in more ways than just sex.
having him on top of you during sex simply isn't enough. the mean words and name calling don't do it anymore, you were unaware of the monster you'd created when you let him take it further. if you give an inch, sukuna is the kind of man to take a mile.
he forced you onto your knees what feels like hours ago, the cold floor etches into your skin and it hurts. interrupted you in the middle of your cleaning to make you throat his cocks. air is sparse in your lungs, your open mouth is forced around both of sukuna's cocks, your nose meanly plugged by his fingers. he doesn't want you to breathe, so you won't.
you cry and sputter and gag around him, begging for a breath, for a moment of mercy. how stupid you must be to think sukuna is able to grant mercy on anyone, especially the woman who gets on her knees to clean for him. the woman who submits to him in every form, has the ring around her finger to prove it, too. he barely respects you, let alone is nice to you.
when sukuna gives you a moment to pull away, you retract so quickly, throw your head back so hard it almost bashes against the side of the porcelain tub. the way you look up at sukuna is so pathetic. big, pleading eyes, bloodshot and so, so wet with tears. you are not asking to be embarrassed more, nor degraded, or anything of the sort. you know that inside your head, you just want it to end, have him leave you alone so you can go back to whatever time-consuming task you were doing beforehand.
sukuna does not see that, not like he cares, anyway. try as you might to crawl away from him, and he's dragging you by the roots, brusing you to the bone with the porcelain of the tub as he pushes you over the side. he thinks he is being nice, so you won't have to clean up this mess straight from the floor. sukuna could make this a lot worse if he wanted to.
you whine and try to pull his hand away from you, struggling against the unhuman strength the man above you exudes. four arms, two faces, two cocks—he is a huge, overbearing piece of man. sukuna makes that known every time he interacts with you. he is above you in every way, looking down into your watery, petrified eyes, and you just look so terrified of what's next. truly, a sight to behold—sukuna wishes he could have a portrait painted of your face in this moment, one that encapsulates every etch and wrinkle, because this is his favorite look to recieve.
it is hard to read sukuna like this. you sit there, unmoving from how sukuna laid you in the tub, like pathetic roadkill, freshly hit and not shriveled up. he pumps both of his cocks with one hand, keeping the blood rushing to the organs, and he points them at you, in a way. something he has done before when he cums all over your face, covering your features in thick, milky white.
but you know all too well he's not even near finished. with that shitty blowjob, how could you expect him to even come close to the cusp of an orgasm with that? sukuna wants to laugh when your face drops, realization coming over your features before he lets the streams of piss layer atop them.
you are too quick to cower away from it, disgusted as he releases all over you. it's coming from both cocks, you notice, making twice the mess of what would've been. one of sukuna's lower arms comes to your face, shoving two fingers into your mouth and hooking them down harshly, opening your mouth and bringing you closer.
his fingers on your tongue hurt, not allowing the muscle to move and push out whatever piss trickles down into your mouth. the warm liquid covers all of you, seeps into your hair and your clothes, darkening the fabric wherever it lands. there is so much even a good amount of excess spills into the drain, long forgotten along with your dignity, as if you had any more left this far into your marriage.
the minute it takes sukuna to empty his bladder feels closer to an hour. you go back to sputtering and gagging and gargling, a retched noise that sukuna hates from you. not because he feels bad, but more so because it is the equvalent of nails on a chalkboard to any normal human.
as soon as his fingers leave your mouth, you spit as much piss out of your mouth as you can, the disgusting taste already burned into your tastebuds. sukuna looks displeased, you can feel it, imagine the frown he carries like armor as he glares down at you.
you feel degraded to the lowest form like this, human filth, contorted that way by the hands of your husband. what a mean, mean man.
idk shit ab frank castle but i think he’d get you on your back n smack your lil face telling you to “lick my ass, bitch” bcos u wanted to experiment with rough face fucking
tags ; degradation, spit kink, blood, corruption kink a lil bit, kisaki kills someone off screen, fem!reader, use of fem gendered petnames, hair pulling, oral (m receiving)
reposted from my old blog! bringing it out of retirement for @jozhenji
Adrenaline– it’s not every day that he has to do the dirty work himself, but there’s something about the rush of a job well done that makes his skin itch, fills him with a restless energy that he needs to release.
It’s never easy when it’s one of his own that he has to kill. However, traitors are not tolerated, and this particular case was a good one to use as an example– a kind of ‘show and tell' for any other underlings that might get any bold ideas.
There’s an uncomfortable twitch in his left eye as he removes his glasses, fruitlessly attempting to wipe the still warm blood from the lenses with his stained dress shirt. It smears along the curved glass until he manages to wipe the spot away, readjusting the frames in time for the elevator to signal his arrival to the private entrance of the penthouse he shares with you.
You always manage to calm him.
Kisaki Tetta values loyalty. He demands it, in fact. He takes great pride in knowing that you are devoted to him, and at times like these- whether consciously aware of it or not- he needs you to remind him of exactly how loyal you are.
Quietly moving through your home, stalking like a predator in the dark, he finds you asleep in the oversized bed. You’re wearing one of the many luxurious sleep sets he bought you, and the sight makes his chest swell with selfish pride.
You look like an angel, tangled in the downy white comforter— cheeks rosy and soft against the satin sheets, cherubic in the way you’re curled up on your man-made cloud. Innocent, sweet. He feels the incredible urge to ruin that.
You stir at the metallic thud of his gun as he places it on the nightstand, consciousness slowly alerting your senses to his presence. The sound of his belt unbuckling finally rouses you awake, and your bleary eyes can just barely make out the dark rust-colored stains tarnishing his suit as he carelessly pulls off his ruined shirt. You worry for a moment that it’s his blood, and you sit up quickly to get a better look at him.
“Tetta, are you–”
He cuts you off with a firm grip on your jaw, pulling you into a bruising kiss. The smell of his intoxicating cologne mixes with the unmistakable tang of iron, and you’re quickly swept up into his domineering presence. Your mind races with fear and excitement because you know this kind of kiss; he only kisses you like this when he’s worked up, when he needs you to bring him back down.
He pulls away after a moment to get a good look at you, fingers holding your face still. His eyes shine in the darkness, illuminated only by the city lights that glitter through the large windows. It’s so easy to get lost in their stormy blue-gray, turbulent and dangerous.
His thumb carefully caresses your bottom lip, smearing the strand of spit and blood that lingered from his kiss into your soft skin. It reminds him of his favorite lipstick that you wear for him, a violent shade of red. You’re absolutely beautiful like this, so soft and calm, concern knitting your brows as you await his next move.
Still, he thinks, you’d look prettier choking on his cock.
The hand that holds your jaw suddenly tangles into your hair, tugging just hard enough to send an excited shiver down your spine, igniting a fire in your belly. The air shifts as he tugs at your hair again and motions towards his half-unbuckled belt.
“You have hands, don’t you,” he chides, tone low and deadly. “Go on.”
You eagerly comply, working quickly to remove the clothing keeping you from him, all while positioning yourself on your knees below him. It’s an awkward movement, but he revels in the way you obey his orders without question. He revels even more in the lewd way you spit onto your palms before grasping his half-hard length and dutifully stroke him erect, your face flushed and eyes lidded.
He’s a bad man, and when he first met you he saw you as his opposite– he thought he wanted to keep your goodness to himself, but now he knows how much fun it is to see you dragged down to his level. He craves these moments where he can watch as you descend into your most depraved desires, when he sees how you want to be ruined as much as he needs to ruin you. It makes his blood boil in the best way to know that your degeneracy is mutual.
“Hands behind your back,” he commands, and you obey.
He’s achingly hard now, pre beading at his slit and coating your lips as he pulls you closer by your hair, watching with mirth as it smears across your skin. You look up at him with big doe eyes as you slowly take him into your mouth, blinking so sweetly as you feel the weight of him on your tongue. He knows that the way you act so innocent and so demure is just that; an act. It’s the kind of thing that makes him nearly lose control.
Without warning, he thrusts forward, giving you no time to adjust around his length as he begins to fuck your throat. You sputter and choke around him, bracing yourself as you try to catch your breath, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. He’s being so rough with his thrusts, yet the hands that hold you steady at your jaw are careful, occasionally wiping away the tears that stain your cheeks. You find your rhythm soon enough, and you can tell by the way his breathing gets heavier and his grunts turn into hissed degradation that you’re doing a good job.
“Look at you-” he hisses through gritted teeth, “absolutely filthy, sucking my cock like my own personal whore.”
You whimper, pitchy and strangled, and your eyes screw shut as he thrusts harder.
“You like that? You like when I use you like this?”
You can only respond with a pathetic hum, and the vibration of it sends him to the stars, his grip on your jaw tightening. The movement of his hips becomes erratic as he pulls you closer, until your nose brushes against the trim hairs at his base, and you swallow around him like you know he likes. The fire in your belly burns hotter as you watch him unravel, feel his cock twitch in your mouth.
After watching the light drain from a man’s eyes barely an hour ago, seeing the way yours glow with admiration and lust sends him over the edge, shooting a spurt of hot cum down your throat. He pulls back quickly, just far enough to grasp his length and work himself to completion, watching as his seed paints your lips and tongue milky white. You sit obediently with your mouth open, panting as you finally have a chance to catch your breath.
He tilts your head back and leans forward, examining your blissful expression before he spits into your eager mouth, then tapping your bottom lip twice with his thumb. You obey his signal to swallow, leaning back on your heels as you do so. His expression softens, and he lowers himself to his knees to your level, murmuring a soft “that’s my good girl,” as he presses a kiss to your forehead.
You know there will be time for questions later, but for now you’ll help each other down from that high, waiting patiently as he moves to start the shower. After cleaning up and a good nights’ sleep, he’ll more than make up for the lingering ache between your thighs in the morning, and you’ll be there to remind him that despite it all he’s human– and that he has you, always.
