26 yrs old

Wakasa chuckles softly, reaching over to the dresser by his bed and pulling out an already rolled up blunt. “Wouldn’t you be if I was lying naked in your bed and texting another girl?” He questions, putting the blunt in his mouth and lighting it up.

“I guess I would.” You replied and Wakasa only hummed in response. Afterwards, there was a comfortable silence between the two of you as you passed each other the blunt, that was until you spoke again, breaking the silence.

“Are you falling for me, Waka?”

“Heh,” he chuckles, “guess I am.” He smiled at you and you swear he’s so pretty, like a rare majestical beauty.

You then crawled on top of him, naked. “I knew you couldn’t handle me.” You said, leaning forward to place a kiss upon his soft lips, but out of nowhere Wakasa flips you over on your backside. His hand caressing and holding up your thigh, and his face dangerously close to yours.

“Are you saying it’s wrong of me to want you to myself?” He questions.

“Says the guy that was so adamant on keeping things casual and no strings attached.” You replied, wrapping your arms around Wakasa’s neck and kissing his lips. “Do you remember the first time we did it?”

“Like yesterday.” Waka muttered.

“Did you really mean what you said, or was that a way to get into my panties?”

Wakasa chuckled softly and licked his lips, “I meant every word, pretty thing.” He murmured in your ear, nibbling and licking your earlobe.

You used all of your energy and strength to flip Waka over on his back, straddling him in the process. “Don’t tease me, Waka!”

Wakasa began to laugh as if it was the funniest thing he’s ever seen. Such beauty, you thought. He then started drawing circles on your hips, “g’nna ride me? I’m pretty tired from earlier.” He smiled.

You rolled your eyes once more. “You’re always tired.” You said, moving your hips slowly back and forth on his cock. You’re still wet from earlier activities, so you’re practically leaking.

You grabbed his cock and began to stroke it before sliding down on it, moaning in the process of being stretched out. Before you could even start moving, Waka stilled your movements with his hands on your hips.

“Don’t go too crazy, a’ight princess.” He said with a smirk.

You leaned forward, kissing his jaw and lips, “but I want to make you feel good too.” You whispered.

Wakasa chuckled, “heh, you’re so cute, y’know that..” he stated, “but I’m still sensitive from earlier, baby.” He’s now caressing your cheek with his thumb.

There goes that funny feeling in your stomach again.

You grabbed his hand and placed it on your stomach. “You give me butterflies all the time,” you said smiling softly, “so is it okay to say that I might’ve fallen for you as well?”

Wakasa licked his lips, his cock started twitching inside your wet warm cunt. “I feel like the luckiest man in the world right now,” he said, “so say it, say that you’re my girl.”

You bit your bottom lip, “I’m your girl.” You murmured.

And that was it — instead of you going crazy, Wakasa was the one that lost himself inside of you, completely falling more and more for you every time his cock slid in and out of your cunt — milking him for everything he’s worth and honestly, he wouldn’t have it any other way. <3

“aang—” you sigh, instinctively clenching around him. the thought of you swollen with his child makes him grow harder inside you. he wants to fill you up until it takes.

“mmh need it so bad” he whimpers, “need to — hah —make you completely mine”

the thought of you carrying his child consumes him. his thrusts are desperate and sloppy, driven by this singular goal. each time he drives into you, the force of it jolts your entire body up the futon. your hips shift, just an inch, but it’s enough for him to slip out with a wet, frustrating sound

“nonono stay still” he whines, a sound of pure anguish against your collarbones. as if the fault isn’t entirely his. his hips jerk forward to no avail, “please baby, just—mghh— let me stay inside you”

his voice betrays how close he is to tears

“aang” you murmur, reaching up to cup his face. your thumb brushes away the moisture gathering at the corner of his eye, “i’m not going anywhere”

you shift your legs, wrapping them around his waist to tether him to you. his grey eyes are dark and hazy, clouded by the vision of you round with his child, leaving only a ring of silver around his dilated pupils. he fumbles between your bodies, hands shaking ever so slightly as he lines himself up again. he pushes back in with as much self-control as he can muster, and for a moment, it’s perfect.

then his hips snap forward again, and the same thing happens. you’re jolted away, and he slides free. it’s a deeply frustrating cycle. your hand traces the blue arrow on his forearm tenderly, “i’ve got you” you whisper, “i’m right here”

“please please please” he cries. he wants to hold you down, to pin you in place and take what he wants, but his hands are already occupied. his right holds him firmly above you while his left hand is laced with yours, fingers intertwined and pressed into the pillow above your head, a connection he refuses to break. he won’t let go. he can’t. not now. not ever

his hips falter again, slipping free with a squelch that has him whimpering against your throat. he keens forward, trying to maintain the shallow angle that will keep him buried inside you. but his need is too potent and his control is too frail

“relax aang” your voice a soothing balm against his fervor. he lifts his head and you can see crystal tears trickling through the sweat on his flushed skin. your free hand, the one not trapped in his grip, comes to rest on his shoulder. rubbing circles on his slick skin

“i can’t . .” he trails off, his breath hitching, “can’t i can’t mmh . . i keep losing you” his fingers tighten around yours, his chest rising and falling with ragged gasps.

for a moment, you think his overwhelming need has shattered him completely. his expression is one of pure anguish. then, within seconds, it shifts from frustration to something you can’t quite place your finger on.

“aang are you okay?” you ask softly, trying to offer what little comfort you can. he takes a shuddering breath. silver eyes dropping to where your bodies are joined, or rather, where they should be joined. he swallows thickly, “can i” he starts, then lifts his eyes to yours once more, “need to try something but i don’t want to hurt you”

even now — in the most intimate of moments — his fear of his own power and the destruction he’s capable of looms.

“you’ve never hurt me before,” you whisper, voice unwavering. it’s the honest truth. aang holds you with a tenderness that contradicts the power that hums beneath his skin. he’s always been so careful with you, so gentle.

he shakes his head miserably. he can’t quite meet your eyes, gaze darting away to the pillow beside your head.

“i can’t think straight anymore” he mumbles, voice barely audible. “feels like all my control is gone. s’much noise in my head right now, i just need you so bad”

he shifts his weight restlessly. the blush dusting his cheeks and the tips of his ears is a testament to his utter mortification at having to admit this.

he takes another shaky breath, “i was thinking. . . i c-could use my bending.” he pauses, and the blush deepens, if that’s even possible. he looks utterly humiliated. “to. . . hold you still”

he finally forces himself to look at you, silently begging you to not be disgusted by him, to not be afraid. “i’ll be careful just. . need you to stay still. s-so i can . . .please. i won’t be rough, i p-promise, i. . i—”

aang is the most powerful being in the universe, yet the weakest in your arms. you nod, you trust him with your life, with the universe.

a shaky exhale leaves his lips, and you feel the wind shift. the air in your room grows heavy, pressing against your skin. you feel a caress against your skin that isn’t his hands. a soft, swirling current of air that traces the curve of your waist, the dip of your hips. it's like being held by a pair of strong, invisible hands, one on each side of your pelvis, anchoring you in place.

it’s unyielding but it doesn’t hurt. you test it, trying to shift your hips, and find you can’t move more than an inch

“hold on” he murmurs, eyes screwed shut in concentration. the blue arrow on his forehead seems to glow faintly. you feel the air pressing against your back, your shoulders. a man-made cocoon that prevents any further movement of your lower body

he opens his eyes, watching your face intently, searching for any sign of pain. “is that okay?” he asks, voice tight with restraint. “does it hurt baby?”

“no” you shake your head, “it’s fine aang, can barely feel it”

“good,” he breathes, relief washing over his features, “that’s really, really good” he doesn’t waste another second, lining himself up at your entrance and pushing in slowly. this time when his hips snap forward, the air holds you steady

“ohhh,” he chokes out, his pace immediately becoming more confident, more stable. “yesyesyes, you feel so g-good. you’re so perfect for me.”

the blue arrow tattoo trailing from his temple, seems to be pointing right at you, marking the path of his lewd intention. his forehead presses against yours. huge hand never letting go of yours, silver eyes fixed on you. even as his hips pound into yours with a brutal rhythm. “take it. all of it. gonna fill you up so good.”

his words are pure filth. they make your whole body clench around him. you’re completely at his mercy, “aang please,” you whimper, the only word you can manage. you’re not even sure what you’re begging for. but he seems to understand anyway.

“i know, baby,” he murmurs, “i know what you need.” he unravels your grasp from his, thick fingers sliding down your side and leaving a trail of fire in their wake. he traces the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, before coming to rest on the soft swell of your stomach.

“right here,” he says, pressing his palm flat against your lower belly. “gonna put our baby righttt here.” his hips snap forward again, harder this time “gonna fill you up so much you’ll be able to feel it for days”

the thought makes your whole body clench around him, “don’t do that,” he gasps. “won’t last much—hck—longer, i want . . . want to savor this”

but you can’t help it — the way he’s talking, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the most fragile thing in the world while simultaneously rutting into you like he wants to break you— it’s too much. your body responds on its own, tightening around him again and again.

“aang” you whimper, tears beading your waterline

“baby” he curses, hips stuttering, each thrust growing sloppier, clumsier by the second. “you want it too, mmh don’t you? want me to breed you until you’re carrying my child?”

“yes,” you manage to gasp out, the word dripping off your tongue mindlessly “yes, aang. wan’ it. want you."

his hips lose all semblance of rhythm. “gonna do it,” he pants against your lips, his silver eyes wild and unfocused. “gonna make you round and full with my airbender.”

his hand presses harder on your stomach, as if he can already feel the life he’s determined to create there. “our little air nomad,” he whimpers, a sob of pleasure. “gonna have your pretty eyes. . . gonna fly before they can walk.”

your inner walls, slick and swollen from his relentless pounding, clamp down around him, milking his cock, pulling him deeper.

“ohh baby” he stutters, burying himself to the hilt as the first real wave of your orgasm hits. his cock is trapped in the vice-like grip of your release. every time your walls convulse, they drag against his length, the sensitive ridge of his tip catching on your clenched muscles. it makes his whole body shake.

you can feel him twitching inside you, a telltale sign of his own impending release, and the thought only intensifies your own.

“that’s it, baby, that’s it,” he’s chanting, words barely coherent. “take it. take all of me. mghh, you’re so tight. so perfect. my —hck— forever girl”

he’s trying to move, to keep thrusting into you, but your body won’t let him. you’re squeezing him too tight. he’s trapped, and the realization seems to push him over the edge. his whole body goes rigid, a strangled cry tearing from his throat as he spills inside you.

a hot, sticky pulse that seems to go on forever. tangible proof of his desire, making good on his promise to fill you up, to breed you. it feels like he’s pouring his very soul into you.

he collapses on top of you, his full weight pressing you into the futon, but you don’t mind. his face is buried in your hair, his breathing uneven against the shell of your ear. for a long time, the only sound is the frantic beating of his heart against your ribs and the wind still whispering at the edges of the room

then he presses a soft, kiss to your shoulder, lips gentle against your glistening skin. “are you okay?” he whispers frantically, “did i hurt you?”

you turn your head to look at him, his silver eyes full of a love so profound it makes your heart swell. “no,” you whisper back, and you mean it with every fiber of your being. “it was perfect.”

he pushes himself up on his elbows, he looks down at where you’re still joined, pulling put carefully. you whimper at the loss, at the feeling of his cum beginning to trickle out of you.

“i’ve been thinking about it for such a long time.” he shifts, settling beside you and pulling you into his arms. you rest your head on his broad chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

“hmm?” the tremors of your voice vibrating against his bare skin

“air nomads,” he says, “we’re gonna bring them back. you and me.” he kisses the top of your head, arms tightening around you. “gonna have a whole tribe of them”

“a whole tribe?” you ask. “don’t you think we should start with one?”

“one,” he agrees, his hand sliding down to rest on your stomach again. “and then two. then three. and . . .” he trails off, “we’ll see where it goes from there.”

Truthfully, you are equally at fault.

A debutante turned degenerate, you're the furthest thing from pure or lotus-like. Your true nature has stayed hidden from good jujutsu society only through your father's willful blindness—and even now, thoroughly scandalized, you can still do no wrong in his eyes. Nor in Choso's, your annoyingly overprotective half-cursed cousin.

As far as they were concerned, you'd been “corrupted against your will”.

So the blame landed squarely on Toji. And with his less than stellar reputation—to put it generously—no one dared argue otherwise.

Not that it stopped his snark every time he was scolded for it: "That garden had already been ransacked—I merely pitched a tent."

So despite being little more than glorified fuck buddies, both clans scrambled to save face. A shotgun wedding was arranged overnight. Heavens forbid a disgraced black sheep and a thot-daughter spark a war between two of the most powerful families.

The result: you and your squalling little parasite are now Zenin property.

But that alone wouldn't have landed Naoya in this mess.

No—this situation is special.

Seeing as the union only granted you and your daughter entrance to the family—not Toji.

Not that he'd return even if given the chance. He only agreed to marry you for your sake, and your daughter's. Nothing beyond that. So without any real tie to an actual Zenin, you're little more than a ward who took on the name.

Yet Toji thought enough of you not to throw you to the wolves entirely. Before leaving to do gods-know-what as an assassin, Toji asked Naoya personally to watch over you both.

Naoya scoffed at first. Playing babysitter to some woman and her infant? Technically his father Naobito's responsibility—nothing he'd have to bother with until he assumed the role of heir.

Still—Naoya wasn't about to deny a request from Toji, who made it a point never to ask his family for a fucking thing (and who could also destroy them all on a whim.)

Toji-kun said he trusted Naoya alone with the task.

And to Naoya, that acknowledgment was everything.

Fine.

However, that just means seeing to your proper treatment—it didn't mean Naoya signed up to be sleep-deprived. 

Fuck—and if even a hint of a dark shadow appeared on his flawless complexion by morning?

There. Will. Be. Bl—

The final straw arrives before Naoya even finishes the thought. 

A possessed banshee, 7th ring of hell, kind of screech—that even rivals some curses he's previously exorcised—rings out so loud his right ear pops.

That’s fucking it!

Naoya is out of bed, his room and down the corridor in only four strides. 

You had to be awake. 

Not even the dead could sleep through this.

So, why the hell hadn’t you handled it already?

How hard is it of all things to get a baby to shut the fuck up? 

You’re its mother aren’t you?!

Reaching your quarters, Naoya yanks the shoji door open.

And immediately freezes.

As he expects, you’re wide awake. 

Yet nothing could've prepared him for your silk robe to be wide open and resting at your elbows—leaving your breasts completely exposed.

Seated in the midst of tangled blankets and sunken pillows, you shift restlessly to find a position that comforts your baby girl enough to latch while she stubbornly thrashes in your arms.

You give up with a weary sigh, returning to the rocking. Her cries have lessened to frustrated whimpers now that she's moving, but they haven't stopped.

From the doorway, Naoya gives you a measured once-over.

You look like shit. Hair frizzy and damp at your temples, tired eyes, a slight tremor of exhaustion in your hands as you reposition your daughter. 

That said, somehow, infuriatingly, you still manage to look appealing.

The moonlight spilling through the slatted window ensures it as it traces your plush curves, highlighting the faint sheen of exertion on your skin catching the light like a glow.

Gaze dropping, Naoya’s jaw ticks at the sight of your swollen, milk-heavy tits—nipples taut and glistening with pearlescent drops, coaxed free by your baby's cries. 

A creamy bead falls, dotting your daughter's cheek and you gently wipe it away. 

You haven’t noticed Naoya yet, too wrapped up in cooing out the same soft mantras of comfort that have proven useless all night.

Leaning against the doorway now with his arms folded, Naoya narrows his eyes, not used to being ignored. Even if unintentionally. However, his scathing reprimands die on his tongue, something about the scene turning his mouth desert-dry.

Every second drags like an hour, and Naoya with no patience remaining, sharply clears his throat, announcing his presence. 

Your head lulls over to him without startling nor making any move to cover yourself. You just give him a drowsy, crooked smile that practically screams finally, someone capable of rational thought and basic impulse control.

"Tch. Pathetic reflexes. A curse would've killed you both by now."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. 

Technically, many would consider Naoya’s very presence to be a curse all of its own.

However, in your defense, your own senses have been greatly off kilter since your pregnancy and childbirth. Not to mention, the sheer exhaustion a newborn brings to a first time mother—you’re too concerned with your daughter, Tomie, to notice anything else. 

Of course, you don’t expect Naoya of all people to realize that though.

“See, Tomie?” you whisper preciously to your daughter as you continue rocking her, “You woke up your cousin with all that fuss. Now Nao-chan’s just as grumpypuss as you, my love.”

Nao-chan?!

The nickname lands like a slap and Naoya flinches, no longer reclined on the door.

You weren’t even that much older than him—so what gives you the right to reduce his name to something so…ugh, cutesy?

It makes him sound soft. 

Like some harmless stuffy to be cooed at alongside the child in your arms. Nevertheless, a small flush creeps up Naoya’s neck all the same.

Tutting, you shift Tomie upright so she can get a proper look at her cousin, still rooted in the doorway like he's being personally affronted.

She stills at the sight of Naoya, matching his energy.

Appraising him with tiny copies of Toji's stark emerald eyes, Tomie holds that same unsettling scrutiny packaged in a cute face that carries you both unmistakably.

Not to be outdone, Naoya sharpens his gaze, his lips set in a thin line.

You snort under your breath at the scene. 

Looks like the infamous Zenin scowl curses another generation—and Naoya, the pompous heir himself, doesn't look remotely inclined to lose a staring contest to someone who can't even burp unassisted.

Growing bored, ultimately Tomie gives first as she blinks, babbling baby talk. A chubby arm wriggling free and batting clumsily toward him, breaking the stalemate.

"Oh?" you simper, eyes flicking from Naoya, who looks smug to have bested an infant, to your daughter. 

"Not you being the mature one, my girl."

Your giggles make Naoya bristle, his mouth opens to speak—but you're already talking over him.

“C’mere, she wants a truce.” you beckon sweetly, inviting him in. 

Frankly, you’re thrilled something has caught your baby girl’s attention long enough to distract her from crying—even if it is her obnoxious ass cousin.

Naoya, for his part, fully intended to reject the invitation. 

To snap at you to—shut that thing the fuck up and put those saddlebag tiddies away while you're at it—to be done with the whole debacle so he could sleep. But his scathing reply dies somewhere between your airy laughter and the light sheen of milk saturating your areolas. 

Conceding like he’s being called by some unknown force, Naoya crosses your threshold. He reasons that if a quick greeting would quiet the petite goblin for the night, he could comply just this once for his own sake.

Approaching your futon, Naoya sits beside you, back straight, on his knees. His posture is cautious, as if through mere proximity alone either your baby girl or your milk heavy tits could explode at any moment.

Which brings him to the point that you still haven't moved a muscle towards covering yourself for some fucking reason that eludes him entirely.

However, Naoya isn’t about to let a mere pair of tits shake him. If you don’t care, neither does he. At least that’s what he tells himself as he forces himself to keep his eyes level with yours. 

Noaya, steady with all the focused determination expected from the leader of the Hei and Zenin heir—eyes shoot to your tits again the moment you glance at your daughter.

Fuck.

Swallowing heavily, Naoya doesn’t even understand why he’s so enthralled with them. He’s seen plenty of boobs, ones that look way better than yours too. From this close, Naoya can make out the strain of them, skin stretching thin and the small veins showing from underneath. Not the delicate sight of a lady’s chest, no, yours are so obscenely engorged—not to mention leaking—more like fattened cow udders.  

So huge, in fact, that they look heavy and feverish. 

Or…maybe, that was just him. 

The room is getting kinda stuffy.

Shit. Naoya just can't seem to look away from your ginormous mommy milkers. Unable to decide if he's repulsed or utterly entranced. And he's so busy wrestling with that internal crisis that he doesn't stop you from doing something completely fucking unhinged—

—like handing him Tomie.

Realization hitting, for the briefest, teeniest micro-second, Naoya nearly yeets her. 

Not even to be an asshole. Just pure reflexes.

Naoya genuinely abhors children. He’s never held anyone’s child and he sure as hell hadn't expected you to dump yours into his arms out of fucking nowhere.

Thankfully—as that very well would have been his ass once Toji found out—Naoya’s a well skilled sorcerer. His own self-preservation instincts reduce the action to a mere undetectable twitch of muscle.

Even so, he looks far more petrified than he realizes and that you do pick up on. 

It doesn't register to him how ridiculous he looks until you're practically shaking with suppressed laughter at his statue-like posture. 

“She’s not made of glass, you know,” you chuckle at Naoya clearly being so majorly out of his depth. “Just relax, yeah? Rock Tomie a little—she likes you for some reason. You can manage that can’t you?”

Naoya looks at you like you've sprouted two heads. 

He doesn’t want to rock a fucking baby—even if it is Toji-kun’s offspring. 

Who the fuck do you think he is? 

Besides, relaxing wasn't really an option considering how close he'd come to his own death sentence moments ago. But even stranger, he realizes, he hasn't said anything cutting in a minute to remind you of your place, which is frankly weirding him out more than holding the baby is.

However…

You’re simply trusting Naoya to hold her at the moment, easy as that. 

He’s the Zenin heir—of course that’s fucking something ‘he can manage.’

To Naoya’s surprise, Tomie has actually settled—tension gone from her tiny body, that very Zenin furrow smoothing from her brow as though to say finally, another Zenin graces her prescenes. 

She gurgles up at him, blows a bubble and pats his chest with a proprietary little hand.

Naoya frowns. Why does this feel less like soothing a child and more like being evaluated?

"There—" you yawn unceremoniously, a flicker of life returning to your voice as you treasure the break. "See? She's just bored of mommy. Probably wondering where that deadbeat daddy of hers is."

Your slanderous, yet entirely accurate, remark about Toji is what finally has the venom returning to Naoya’s tongue. 

You of all people should consider yourself lucky to be married to him and birth his child.

Eyes flaring, Naoya turns to you and—

Big mistake.

You're in the middle of a stretch. Arms overhead, back bowed, the sheer weight of your tits pulling at your spine until something cracks between your shoulder blades. Milk beads at your nipples from the motion—then scatters. Futon. Blankets. Your lap.

A single drop landing square on Naoya's robe.

He braces for disgust. For his throat to tighten at the sheer audacity of your bodily fluids landing on him.

But the feeling never comes.

Just an overwhelming chemical need to lick the creamy droplet from his sleeve before it soaks in.

“Aha!” you whisper excitedly, attention still on your baby girl in his arms. “My little angel is finally asleep.”

You lean into Naoya, shoulder resting against his, your nipple grazing his arm—and a dribble of milk trails down his sleeve. The drops bleed through the fabric, faint but undeniable.

He doesn't want to notice.

But he does, along with its scent—something like warm mochi and milk buns and pure want to taste it surges so hard this time he bites his cheek.

"Aww, how sweet..." Seemingly oblivious, you dare to poke his cheek, cooing. “Tomi-chan loves her cousin Nao-Nao~!"

Nao-Nao?!

Hairs up on end, Naoya wants to hiss at you.

But your tone is too pure, too genuine.  

You’re just… like this. 

A gentle aura surrounding you while next to your newborn causes you to mother everything in your surrounding area.

And that makes it all the worse.

Naoya doesn’t need mothering. He never did, not even as a child himself.

Yet those thoughts contrast the awkward and unfamiliar warmth Naoya is so insistently trying to keep out of his chest.

Truly, he’d rather be put out of his misery than suffer it a moment longer. 

As a Zenin, Naoya had been trained to treat any affection as weakness—and weakness as a Zenin was the worst sin one could commit.

There’s an unspoken understanding in the clan: No scared cows. 

No one member valued more than the strength of the whole.

And now, as a Zenin, you'd be no exception either. Even at the risk of Toji’s or the Kamo clan's displeasure. 

The Zenin are well practiced at making consequences look like natural outcomes—be it accidental or personal failures. 

Watching you smile so tenderly at your child, Naoya tells himself what he feels isn't guilt.

It's obligation.

Toji left you and Tomie in his care. Therefore it falls to him to set you straight if you both are to survive.

That's all.

"You're Toji-kun's wife and my ward.” Naoya growls—albeit low, careful not to trigger Tomie into another hellish chorus.

“You will henceforth address me, the future head of this clan, as ‘Naoya-sama’." 

His words are cutting and to the point.

“And fuckssake, you will cover yourself when in front of men. You are not a Kamo any longer, you’re a Zenin. You will act accordingly or you will be handled.”

You retract immediately, smile dropping, wetting your lips into a pretty little pout that might have worked on a lesser man.

Naoya considers, for a moment, that he almost feels bad for you. Your lack of discip—

Then you dissolve into hushed giggles and he regrets it entirely.

"Oh my gawwwd, you're actually deadass right now, aren't you!?" Hand over your mouth, tears of amusement prick your eyes as you try to keep your voice contained.

“..or you will be handled”, you mimic, trying to sound as pompous as Naoya, although you don’t imagine anyone ever could.

Noaya growls but you pay him no mind through your amusement, so he is almost startled when you suddenly stop and crowd his space once more.

“Handled, huh?”

Naoya keeps his eyes on yours through sheer force of will—refusing to acknowledge your tits swaying in his peripheral.

“And just who is going to handle me…” You challenge, batting your eyes with a sensual pull of your lips, “...you, lil Nao-chan?”

Naoya grits his teeth, his eyes flashing. 

Here he was trying to warn you and you’re making a mockery of him?! 

If you weren’t Toji’s wife he’d teach you a lesson, he’d—

"Awe, c'mon, Nao-Nao," you purr, caressing his arm which he quickly snatches away. "I thought you'd be the fun one! Ya know…Toji said you were the only half-decent guy in the family."

He stiffens. 

"Toji-k-kun…” Naoya clears his throat.  “...he said that?"

“Mm-hmm.” You hum. Not missing how Naoya’s golden eyes catch light at his older cousins' praise of him. “Told me you were the only one here Tomie and I could count on.”

The light blush on Naoya’s ears creeps down his neck and just like that Naoya begins rocking Tomie as you initially suggested. Carefully, too—as if in this very moment he's made it his life’s mission to earnestly exceed all of Toji-kun's expectations for him.

Chest puffed and prideful, Naoya insists that, as future clan leader, it's ‘only natural’ Toji-kun would say such a thing about him.

You on the other hand have to perse your lips to keep from bursting into actual hysterics this time.

Why’s that?

Because you just lied through your goddamn teeth.

The only thing Toji told you was that Naoya was an easy mark.

And he is. 

Almost painfully so. 

The way his ego swells. The way his whole aura brightens just from hearing his cousin's name. 

It’s all too adorable, honestly.

Naoya is too easily charmed and you're no stranger to charming all kinds of men. Hell, that's how you got knocked up in the first place.

But this type of emotionally stunted man? 

Oh, you could definitely have some fun with him. 

With Tomie finally asleep, you feel the familiar pull of mischief tug at you. 

“Besides, Naoya-sama~~”

Your voice is all velvety compliance causing Naoya to completely miss the sarcasm underneath. He's also too distracted by your head on his shoulder and your boobs molding into his arm as you reach across him to fix Tomie’s swaddling.

"I think I'm decent enough, no?" Your lips curl deviously. "Seeing as I don't exactly count you as a man."

Naoya’s cursed energy spikes, fury bleeding through his veins—but your Tomie shifts in his arms and Naoya has to choke it back, holding his fury. 

You just cock your head, all innocence, like you haven't said something utterly slanderous.

"You shameless fucking slut—" The chill in Naoya voice drops to frostbite temps, “I know you of all peo—”

“Aye!” 

The whiplash is instantaneous—Naoya doesn’t finish the sentence before you have two fingers pinching his cheek, twisting with the particular ferocity of a momma bear who's been awake for thirty-six hours and has simply stopped tolerating bullshit.

"Watch your fucking potty mouth around my damn kid, asshole."

Naoya seethes. He wants to tear into you—the thot-daughter of the Kamo clan, standing on absolutely zero moral grounds—he really, genuinely does. But the twist on his cheek tightens and this time he doesn't even need his survival instincts to do the math for him.

Naoya doesn't know your grade but you aren’t a weakling.

Half his cheek isn’t worth it—especially if it woke the little hellhound in the process.

"...Whatever."

Satisfied at him backing down, you release him, smirking at the red blooming across his face. 

Naoya resists rubbing it. Instead he huffs, hoisting your Tomie up onto his shoulder and bouncing her there in pointed silence. She'd stirred more from your outburst than anything he'd done all night.

This is all fucking ridiculous.

Naoya thinks and the second she settles once more he thrusts her toward you.

"Here. Take her. You're welcome, by the way—since clearly it takes a real Zenin to do what her own mother couldn't manage all night."

Rolling your eyes, you stop just short of slapping the shit out of Naoya. 

The facts remain: that even as a newlywed, your ass might as well be a single mother. Your exhaustion is near biblical and your nerves are near shot and Tomie—the perceptive little thing she is—has likely picked up on every ounce of it, your nerves feeding hers in one miserable feedback loop tonight.

Yet, thanks to Naoya of all people, that loop is finally broken.

Shaking your head, you reach for your daughter—and then your body seizes. The pain hits your chest like a vice, jolting you back hard enough to steal your breath. Your hands fly to cup your breasts on instinct, fingers sinking into the weight of them.

"OH, shiiii—owwww!" You wince.

“What the hell now?” Naoya still holds the baby out to you expectantly, brow arching as you curl into yourself.

"What the hell do you think, Naoya?" You grimace, biting back at him. 

Face crunched in pain, eyes shut, you’re careful to take measured sips of air.

“She cried all night and didn't eat. My tits are fucking killing me."

Realizing this meant he’d have to hold your baby girl even longer, Naoya makes an exasperated sound as he brings her fully into his arms again.  

“You know this is your archaic ass family’s fault, right?” 

You crack an eye open at his diva-like attitude.

“I asked for a pump and the old battleaxe of a caretaker said no. ‘All Zenins are fed from the source’, you mimic in a nasally voice. “Like be so fucking for real—what damn century is this again?!”

Naoya snorts. 

You've never had house rules imposed on you—your father let you run the streets without consequence. So really, you're in no position to complain about the Zenin clinging to their traditions, insufferable as they may be, at least they had them.

"You know—Zenin wives are typically chosen for their training and poise. To think that the Kam—" Naoya stops. 

Mid-sentence, mid-thought, mid-everything—his mouth open, agape like a fish. 

Robe now pooled around your hips, you begin working one of your swollen breasts in both hands. Clinical in the way only fatigue makes a person, no couth left in you at this hour. Your thumbs knead carefully, pressing firmly into tender tissue, heel of your palm dragging across a tight knot to stimulate the stagnant flow of your milk glands.

A deep moan slips from your lips in tandem with a hard squirt spraying from your breasts as a reward for your efforts.

Another escapes, then another. 

Your oversensitive nipple is drawn taunt with the prickly pain of relief as a thin stream begins to run along the curve of your tits, painting your skin in shiny rivulets all the way to your bellybutton. 

Through it all Naoya has not even blinked, nor taken a breath for that matter. 

Oblivious to his own staring—and your haughty smile. 

"Really now, Nao-chan? You're salty I don't consider you a man—" you muse, hands still diligently working out small drops of milk, "—but how can I? When you’re drooling over my tits like a thirsty newborn."

Shaken, Naoya’s eyes lock on with yours. The flush that had been camping at his neck floods his face all at once, searing his cheeks.

“I...”

You hush him.

Two fingers find your sternum, unhurried—drifting down your chest, down your belly, tracing the streaks of milk all the way down to your navel, gathering in the soft pudge of your mommy tummy.

Fingers thoroughly soaked, you gradually lift them to his lips. You hover them patiently, like you would a treat to a dog. 

“Open.”

Not used to taking orders, Naoya hesitates—then parts his lips anyway. Your fingers slide in and the taste hits him, rich and creamy with a faint savory edge he wasn't expecting.

It's good. Dangerously good.

His brain short-circuiting, Naoya doesn't stop even when the taste fades, lapping at your fingers and sucking the remnants from your nails with an eagerness he'll hate himself for later. A low croon threatens to escape his throat—the kind of sound he'd never make consciously—and he forces it down along with the last traces of your milk.

More—he wants more.

One look in Naoya’s eyes tells you that. Dark, hooded, their usual sharp calculation completely gone—replaced by something unguarded and hungry. He's still tonguing your fingers like there might be something left to find. The needy, restless flick of his tongue stroking heat into your core.

"Good," you murmur, retracting your fingers. "Now, go put Tomie down on her futon."

Naoya doesn't move.

But this stillness is different. Every muscle is coiled, feral cursed energy strumming hot through his veins. A wire crossed. His restraint is less like surrender and more like the moment preceding a strike.

"Go on," you simper, "...and I'll let you sample from the source... you know the proper way to feed a Zenin."

Naoya says nothing. His aura speaks for him as he rises smoothly, crosses to the tiny futon, and sets your daughter down.

You simper in approval—he's not half bad at this—but you couldn't tell him that now. Not with the tension this thick.

Returning, Naoya lingers at the edge of your futon. The particular stillness of someone who's already decided how this ends—he’s just letting you go first.

"Well, c'mere—don't go shy on me, Nao-Nao."

You crook a manicured finger at him, giggling.

Poor thing doesn’t realize he’s playing right into your hands.

"I'm not shy."

He's not. But you're Toji's wife, and he's well aware of that. Somehow though, it only makes whatever this is more forbidden.

More worth taking.

"No?" Your voice dips playfully, baiting.

"Just a virgin then?"

Naoya sucks his teeth. He's never met a woman as infuriating as you he decides.

"I'm no virgin, whore."

No real bite to Naoya’s voice this time though, not as he drops to his knees in front of you like a good dog. His own annoyance betrayed only by the whitening of his knuckles in his lap.

"Gotta be mommy issues then," you murmur, closing the remaining distance with a crawl—one last barb delivered right as you sink into his lap, forcing him cross-legged beneath you.

His contained fury is the most endearing thing you've seen all night to be sure.

"Shut u-up," he grits, voice scraping thin.

You rest your arms on his shoulders, holding deliberate space between your bodies. Tilt your head and take stock—he's handsome, you'll give him that. Good bone structure, pretty mouth. 

Shame he ever has to open it.

Your fingers drift to the piercings at his earlobe, toying lazily—while your other hand works the short hairs at his nape, featherlight scratches that make him shiver.

Naoya steels himself, an unwelcome and unexplained feeling blooming in his chest as he wills himself to stay focused.

"I'll shut up once you help me." Your hand leaves his ears to find his wrist, guiding it to your body. "Please, Nao-chan. It hurts."

The need etching in your voice worms its way under his skin like a tick and Naoya is finding his ability to keep control greatly diminished from all the blood flowing into his cock.

"Massage from the base," you breathe, giving him instructions to stimulate the milk flow. "Pressure out, not in."

Naoya's palm flattens flush against your breast and whatever plans he had for control slip away on contact.

The heat hits first—it's swollen, much heavier than he expected. Then the give of it, firm but yielding as his fingers curl to sink deeper. Naoya can feel the subtle shift of milk tracking beneath your skin, your breath hitching when he finds the right pressure, your nipple drawing tight against his palm.

"Just like that," you sigh when his rhythm smooths out. "You're a natural."

He adjusts without being told, reading your body's responses, and soon adds his second hand—finding the knot easily, pressing with both thumbs.

Surprise flickers across his face when milk spurts over his knuckles.

He nearly stops breathing.

You don't. 

Your shaky exhale of relief punches straight through him and his cock throbs against his robes like a second heartbeat. 

Naoya shifts, trying to adjust himself without you noticing.

You do however, gaze dropping, at the motion. He's so much larger than you'd have guessed for a man with such a fragile ego.

"Hmm. Certain parts of you are definitely enjoying this, Nao-chan."

Naoya clicks his tongue but doesn't deny it. He's too fucking hard to deny it.

His hands move again—one on each breast now, thumbs circling, palms compressing—drawing a deep moan past your lips. He watches with something close to reverence as milk wells up with each careful stroke.

The less your chest aches, the lower heat travels, melting into your core. You’re pulsing at the thought of his thumbs sweeping the same circles across your clit.

Breath heavy, biting your lip, you grasp at the robe on his shoulders to brace yourself. A  momentary loss of your own control which Naoya is in no position to take advantage of.

Not when his attention is fully captured by a fat, opalescent drop welling on your nipple, shiny even in the dim light.

Eyes wild with need, Naoya’s tongue nearly pokes through the inside of his cheek.

"You wanna taste."

It’s not a question. 

"I already said you could—or would you rather lick it up again, like a dog?"

But you’re just as desperate to be drained as he is to drain you. Naoya notices, you can tell. But his jaw is clenched so tight his molars might crack, eyes still glued to your nipples, and you almost tell him to relax before he breaks something and really does require nursing.

Your tits ache too badly to wait on his pride all night.

This time Naoya doesn't flinch when you cup his cheek. You guide him forward with unhurried gentleness—the same patience you show your daughter—and something about that tenderness dissolves whatever protests he had left.

His mouth closes over your nipple and he sucks, greedy and unguarded. Your fingers card into his hair immediately, drawing him in as the first pull sends an achy relief flooding through your breasts.

Naoya moans around you, shameless. Gluttonous. All pompous pretense abandoned.

"There it is," you murmur, smiling as you stroke him affectionately.

Your touch only makes him hungrier though—his tongue flickering, writhing for more even as your milk flows steady now. You jolt when his hands grip your hips without warning.

Naoya braces himself but he's nowhere near steady. Nothing about him is. Breath ragged against your skin, his whole body carries a tremor he probably doesn't realize is visible.

"It's okay, I'm not going anywhere…" you whisper, honeyed coos finally reaching him. "You’re a good boy."

Naoya freezes.

He unlatches with a wet gasp—glossy white ring around his lips, golden-brown eyes blown wide and wild. Something just cracked open in him that he wasn't prepared to feel.

"Don't—"

Croaking on his own spit.

"Don't what? Praise you?" Your hands keep working through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp, lulling him toward a surrender he's still trying to fight. "For doing so well?"

"I'm not a child."

But his voice wavers, unconvincing even to his own ears. 

You're teasing him, yes—but there's no cruelty underneath it. No disdain he can pinpoint as an excuse to push you away and escape from whatever this is.

"No?"

Bending forward, your lips ghost against his temple as you whisper:

"You don't want to be my good boy, Naoya?"

His nostrils flare—anger, need, humiliation—all of it written plain across his face. 

Like an animal he’s cornered, unsure of his next move.

A moment passes. 

Then Naoya’s gaze flicks sharply to your other breast he’s yet to sample.

You raise a brow, but Naoya has just enough pride left to not dignify your question with an answer. Can't anyway—his mouth is already latching onto the next target—the conversation over.

Need won. Clearly.

Naoya feeds more ravenously this time—tongue rolling around your sensitive flesh, teeth scraping in a way you'd smack him for if it didn't feel so fucking good.

He's messy about it too. Milk running down his chin, neck and spilling into his collar.

Fuck—this little shithead can really work his tongue.

Your head lulls, arching into him, melting against his mouth as you let him take his fill. 

Your own lust is dampening your thighs now.

Damn. This wasn't the plan. 

You'd meant to tease him a bit—let him suck on your fingers, string him along and then duck him. Peel his pride back layer by layer, slowly, to keep yourself amused living amongst such a stuffy clan.

You had no idea how affection-starved Naoya was. 

Let alone how much seeing him like this would turn you on.

Your pussy is screaming at you, becoming impossible to ignore. You haven't seen Toji in weeks—relief is overdue in more ways than one.

"N-Naoya…?"

You call him, but he doesn't answer.

His thoughts are in disarray—walls crumbling around something long abandoned inside him.

What this is—what he’s feeling?  It’s deeper than anything he's charted. And it has nothing to do with your tits, your supple skin, or the way your milk dissolves on his tongue.

Naoya rarely finds himself lacking. 

An upbringing in the Zenin estate hones you for perfection built from very specific arithmetic—cursed technique, tradition and hierarchy. Assembled inside those walls you learn quickly that anything useless you cut out—or someone else cuts it out for you.

But now?

Your gentle words. 

You warm embrace.

Your hand moving through his hair like—like he's something worth tending to. 

Like his worth was never something he had to earn.

It's driving him mad.

Worse—he doesn't want you to stop.

“Hello? Earth to Nao-chan.” You lit, snapping him out of his daze. “Not you milk drunk already, baby?”

Pouty and petulant, Naoya’s arms snake around your waist to drag you closer until his face is buried between your tits, ignoring you.

Your hand slides between your bodies and finds him—thick and straining through his robes, the rigid shape of his cock unmistakable even through the layers. You lazily trace the outline of his long length with your palm.

Naoya's hips jerk up, gracelessly bucking into your touch.

You won’t let him go soft on you at the moment. Figuratively or literally.

"Aw, Nao-Nao," you coo mischievously. "What would Toji-kun think if he saw you like this?"

That finally gets you a reaction. 

Naoya looks up at you scowling—though not to much effect as your nipple stays lodged in his mouth like a binky, spit-slick against his bottom lip. 

He doesn't pull off—can't, maybe.

Because as much as he worships his older cousin, the realization is settling in like rot: Toji-kun, for all his monstrous strength—enough to tear apart the entire Zenin legacy—wasn't strong enough to resist you. 

Hell, could anyone? Naoya considers the strongest he knows but—pshhh—he’s seen how Gojo is around women, too—he wouldn’t stand a fucking chance against you either.

It makes him feel slightly less pathetic, if only barely.

"He'd not have any room to talk," Naoya growls against your skin as he continues to fuck himself against your palm, grinding his cock against your hand through the fabric in urgent thrusts.

You’re feeding him and unraveling him at the same damn time. Leaving him chasing release and something else he can't articulate.

“Shit—let me fuck you before I completely lose it.”

Naoya’s hands shoot to your ass, fingers digging into your flesh, gripping hard enough to bruise.

You blink, a part of you shocked he's even asking—even if it is half-demanding and half-begging.

"Oh? So now you want to be in charge?" 

Your hand withdraws and you let him roll your hips forward against his—it’s more leisurely than the pace Naoya wants though, especially as your robes spread around your thighs and your bare pussy slides against his clothed cock. 

You're so soaked, and he can feel your juices flooding through the silk, your wet heat branding him through the fabric.

Naoya grits, caught somewhere between rage and ruin. 

God, how he wants to slip his cock inside you—inside your mouth, your tits—and definitely that haughty lil cunt of yours.

See what was so good it even stopped Toji-kun from pulling out.

"You think you're fucking me, Nao-Nao?"

Cradling his head, you swipe at your own cream still lingering at the corner of his lips.

“You still have my milk around your mouth, baby.”

Naoya groans, barely controlled, like he's trying to rut through the layers of fabric. 

He doesn't even realize how undignified he looks. The sounds he makes suckling at your tit are sloppy and needy—and you know he'd be mortified if he could hear himself over the squelching of your pussy rubbing against his silk robe.

Tightening your grip in his hair, you wrench his head back, forcing him to release your nipple with a wet pop.

A string of milk stretches from your bud to his lip—then snaps.

Naoya gasps. 

Lips trembling, chin sopping, eyes unfocused. Poor thing. He looks completely ruined and you've barely started.

Naoya’s fists the fabric of your robe, already working at the tie. His gasps puff against your throat, mouth grazing up to your chin as he nibbles harder—threatening meaner bites.

"L-Let me fuck y-you." 

Naoya is begging now, not even trying to mask his need.

You tilt your head, considering, pondering on it like Naoya wasn’t on his last thread of sanity, driven to insanity by the treacley taste of your creamy milk.

"Mm. No."

"I need—"

Cutting him off, you push Naoya onto the futon in one smooth motion. 

"Haven’t you realized I know what you need, Nao-Nao?" Your voice is syrupy as you straddle him, hovering.

"I-I—Fuck—" The word scrapes out of him, guttural, clutching the sheets and throwing his head back onto the futon as his hips buck up into nothing.

You stay perfectly still. Not letting him take a single thing.

"Look at you." You coo, skimming a finger along his milk-stained collar. "Reduced to humping the air? Imagine, a Zenin heir with so little self-composure."

"S-Shut the fuck up, s-slut." 

But his insults don’t stop his hips, microthrusts wanting to chase the feeling of your messy pussy sliding over his cock again.

"Why?" You swivel your hips—one deep agonizing grind that lets him feel your cunt clench against his cock through the ruined fabric. He's dripping now too, precum mixing with yours. 

"I think you like it when I make you beg. You want to, don't you? So beg me."

Naoya's cheeks burn. He could easily flip you, pin you, and have his way.

He won't though.

Even through your teasing there's a care to your touch he's never let himself experience—and resisting it has his nails biting crescents into his palms, hard enough to bleed.

"I bet you'd cum just like this…" 

Your plush lips ghosting his Adam's apple, smirking as he squirms under you. 

"...without ever getting inside. Soiling your own robe like a needy, prideful little boy who couldn't simply ask nicely."

The moan that rips from Naoya's throat is feral with need and thick with humiliation. His hips shoving upward, wanton for contact.

You don't give it, suspended just above him, your drooling cunt barely grazing his cock, watching him fall apart with all the patience in the world.

"Naoya, baby" Your hand slides up to cup his cheek, tenderly. "Tell Mommy what you want."

Naoya’s eyes go wide. 

Every muscle taut. Cheeks flushed dark. 

The Zenin composure he was built from crumbling, reducing him to this. 

On the brink, never has Naoya waited this long for something. Never has he been this turned on—and as much as he’s fucking furious about it, he’s also way past giving a fuck.

His eyes rake your body and snag on the trail of milk—smeared on your tits, your belly, all the way to your cunt where it glistens in the dim light.

His mouth waters. Whatever resolve he had left shatters.

"Please..." Naoya whimpers, tears dusting the edges of his eyes, too wound up to realize he's handing you everything. "...fuck me."

You raise a brow, waiting. 

Oh, he’s so close.

He knows it too. He knows what you want. 

Naoya can see it on your face but there's no coming back from it once he says it. But what choice does he have? He’d die if you sent him away like this.

"Please, fuck me—"Naoya’s voice cracks clean in half, a single tear running down his cheek. "—Mommy."

You push his bangs up fondly, planting a chaste kiss right on his forehead. 

"That’s my Good boy."

Naoya watches you with tears burning his eyes, chest heaving, too far gone to resist you any longer.

You tug the ties loose on his robe until the fabric falls away. His cock springs free—angry, leaking and bobbing with every shaky breath he takes.

You have to admit it's pretty. His flushed red, cockhead peeked through its foreskin. You can feel his whole body shiver as you peel it back more. 

Your mouth is watering for a taste yourself and god, if Naoya wasn’t such a fucking tool you’d gladly suck him off. 

That could come later though—you’d make him earn that too. Subservience looks good on him afterall. 

You'd be tempted to deny him longer if you weren't so hard up for it yourself, your gooey walls vibrating at the thought of a cock inside, at long last. 

Toji's been gone for weeks and you need a stress release, bad.

You position your cunt just above the swollen head of his cock—close enough for your juices to drip salaciously onto his tip, dribbling down his shaft.

Naoya squirms beneath you, and you drink it in.

"Craving to wet your cock inside Toji-kun's wife, hm?"

He can't answer—not when you sweep his cockhead through your folds, letting him glide through the mess of your wetness and the milk still coating your thighs. You're soaked enough to take him whole right now, no prep needed, and the thought makes your cunt clench around nothing.

Naoya moans, hips snapping up, trying to piston into you—and you shove him back down by the hip, pinning him to the futon.

"Behave."

"I'm—" He swallows, voice wrecked. "I'm trying."

You smile, wiping the sweat off his brow with something close to care in your touch.

"Try harder for Mommy then, yeah, Nao-baby?"

You don't wait for his response.

You sink down, pussy swallowing him whole in one brutal stroke.

The stretch punches the breath out of you—wet as you are, he's still thick enough to make your walls spasm, to make your spine bow as he splits you open. You hate how good his cock feels dragging over every ridge inside you, the fat head kissing your cervix hard enough to make your thighs tremble.

Naoya gasps like you've knocked the wind out of him. You watch his mind go blank.

Hands flexing useless at his sides. Mouth falling open, slack and dumb. Eyes rolling until you can only see the whites, lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

"Y-You're f-fuckin’ tight," he rasps, too loud. "F-Fuck—you're tight, y-you're so—"

Clamping your hand over his mouth, palm pressed to his lips, your nails curl into his cheek. You feel him arch off the futon beneath you, a muffled whine vibrating against your skin.

"Shh." You hush. "You'll wake the baby."

Naoya nods furiously, chest heaving. You smile once he settles.

"Atta boy."

Naoya whines as you start to move—hand still clamped over his mouth, bracing yourself as you ride him. A calculated wind at first, controlling the roll of your hips as you get a feel for him. The way he stretches you. The way a meaty vein throbs against your g-spot as you move. 

Shit—Not bad.

Naoya trembles beneath you, hands fisted white-knuckled in the sheets, whole body wracked with the effort of staying still. Of not fucking up into you like a desperate, rutting animal.

"Mmmm," you murmur, rotating your hips in a lazy figure-eights. "Just like that, let it all go. Let me ride you. Let Mommy take care of you."

Naoya’s whimpers bubble under your palm—pathetic, needy. He knows he’s being used. He’s maintained zero control of the situation. 

And yet? 

He can’t deny a he’s a fucking fiend for it.

Not when your cunt grips him like a fist. Not when he can feel how wet you are— slick saturating his balls, staining the futon beneath you both. Your gooey pussy squeezes him so tight he can barely breathe, silky and warm, milking his cock like she was made to ruin him.

Then you feel it—his balls twitching underneath your ass, drawing up tight. He's close. 

Fuck, already?!

“C-Cumming that fast?” you pant out. “ T-That fast? From your cousin’s wife’s tits and cunt? Do I feel that good?”

Naoya is groaning as his eyes squeeze shut, biting his inner cheek and fisting the sheets.

"Nuh-uh." You tsk, stilling completely. "Bad boy. Not allowed."

Naoya's eyes fly open as yours begin to glow—red and ancient, blood-dark lines blooming beneath your lashes. He feels it. Your cursed energy pouring into him, flooding every vein, every capillary, settling hot and heavy in his balls.

The Kamo inherited technique—blood manipulation—seizes complete control.

Instantly, he veins in his balls bulge obscenely, his cock swelling even harder inside you. But he can't cum. You won't let him.

Naoya cries out, breaking into a sweat, pleasure flaring through him to excruciating levels as every one of his nerve endings lights up.

"I may be a Zenin by name," you breathe, leaning in until your tits smush into his chest and your lips brush his ear, "but I'll always be a Kamo by blood."

You bite down on the tender tissue, feeling him shudder beneath you, cock throbbing helplessly inside your cunt.

"Don't worry." You sit up, savoring his broken whine from the loss. "I'll let you cum, Nao-baby. I'm going to milk you dry—just like you milked me—after I get my nut."

You lift up just enough to meet his wild, glassy eyes.

"Nod if you understand."

Naoya nods. He understands perfectly now—understands exactly how you wound up pregnant by Toji. Understands why a man like that couldn't stay away.

He sobs beneath your hold, tears spilling hot over your fingers, breath hitching against your palm. You clench, a methodical squeeze—and his whole body jerks violently, a broken "nnngh—!" muffled against your hand.

You ride him in earnest now. Harder. Faster. Greedy for it. Your tits bounce wild, milk spilling with every slam of your hips—they’re sore but you don't care, chasing your pleasure like nothing else matters. You're soaked, the sound of it obscene—wet squelching filling the room, your arousal and milk splashing filthy with his pre where your bodies meet.

Naoya’s cock hits that gushy, spongy spot inside you over and over and your rhythm starts to falter.

"F-Fuck—"

You're getting sloppy. Losing focus. Your thighs burn from exertion but you can't stop, can't slow down, bouncing on his cock like you'll die yourself if you don't cum on it. Your pussy greedily convulsing around him—shit, you could easily fuck your own self stupid if you aren’t careful. 

You learned well enough not to underestimate Zenin dick fucking around with Toji.

Thankfully, however, Naoya is ruined. Flushed crimson from chest to ears beneath you, his tears streaming and his cock so engorged inside you that he looks like it must hurt. His hips spasm with aborted thrusts, toes curling as he is fighting his body's urge to rut even now.

He’s still trying so hard to be a ‘good boy’ for you and that thought alone almost makes you cum.

You consider, through the haze of your own pleasure, appraising his pathetic form beneath you, that you might accidentally give him a brain aneurysm if you keep this up much longer.

“P-Puulease—Mommy” he gasps out when you lift your hand from his lips.

"Wait your turn," you moan, brows furrowing as you try to concentrate.  

You're close. So fucking close. You use him like a toy now, hips rolling carnally, chasing the tingling friction. building white-hot at the base of your spine. Your nails dig into his abs as you tilt, angling yourself so his girth scrapes against your g-spot with every bounce. 

Quiet sobs tumble over your lips as you tense, fucking yourself on him until—

"O-oh—oh fuckfuckfuck—"

You shatter, orgasm ripping through you, pussy fluttering wild around his length and gushing to coat his balls as you ride it out. Vision edges white, as your thighs quake, your hips rotating in stuttering circles as the waves crash through you.

Chest heaving, when you regain your senses again, Naoya is barely there himself, sanity hanging by a thread with eyes blown—watching you cum so erotically on his cock like a man witnessing something holy.

You bring your face centimeters away from his, your lips ghosting his own as you release your technique.

"Cum."

And he does.

With a broken moan Naoya busts inside you—cock pulsing thick and hot, spurts of cum flooding your cunt white as his hips stutter up helplessly. You let him pull you down, let him clutch you like you're the only thing keeping him tethered to earth as your lips smash together.

You seal your mouth over his, devouring every ragged cry. Your tongue sweeps sweetly against his trembling one as you steady his face in your hands, thumbs brushing his tear-damp cheeks, kissing him quiet.

All the while his cock continues to pump you full—and you’ve kept your promise. 

This is the most Naoya’s ever cum in his entire life.

When he comes down enough, Naoya rolls onto his side, taking you with him as he curls into you—face buried in your chest, sucking in breaths, completely undone and still twitching inside you. 

A bit overspent yourself, not having activated your ability since Toji got you pregnant in the first place, you don't move yet. You keep him buried inside of you, pulsing with the aftershocks of what he just let himself become.

His arms wind tight around your waist like he's afraid you'll disappear. You cradle the back of his head, stroking softly.

He doesn't speak and you don't rush him. Not eager to test for any remaining snark you failed to fuck out of him.

It feels good just being needed like this, you are a mother afterall.

Eventually the heat between your thighs starts to cool, and you shift—peeling him off slowly, feeling the thick spill of his cum leak out of you. He shudders at the loss, an inaudible sound catching in his throat.

You ease him onto his back, robes rumpled beneath him, face still ruddy. He watches you through heavy-lidded eyes—quiet, stunned, like he doesn't recognize himself.

And then—

A single, involuntary whimper escapes him when his gaze catches on your breasts again. 

Still heavy and still leaking—milk beading at your nipples.

You smile.

"Still hungry?"

He turns his face into the pillow, ears burning.

You laugh—not mocking this time. Your voice is warm, almost fond.

"Poor Nao-chan," you murmur, settling beside him as you reach for a baby wipe nearby. "Your first time letting someone take care of you, and now you don't know what to do with yourself."

"I didn't say I wanted—"

You wipe his chest clean of milk, sweat—all of it with a tenderness that makes him forget what he was saying. Naoya’s throat bobs as he goes silent.

Unhurried, you wipe yourself off next. Then once satisfied, looking over to confirm that Tomie is still sleeping peacefully, you secure the discarded blanket over you both, effectively tucking him in, before gathering him in your arms.

"You don't have to say it," you whisper against his hair. "Mommies always know."

Sure, you certainly aren't his mother.

Yet something in your heart still aches for the broken little boy inside Naoya all the same. His cruel upbringing was hardly his fault, although it's been everyone else’s problem since. 

Plus, you're fairly certain you just did more for his mommy issues in one night than years of therapy could ever achieve—even if someone managed to drag Naoya there, against his will.

Sigmund Freud couldn't have even accomplished this. Someone should really give you a nobel peace prize.

You hum a low lullaby against his temple as Naoya’s eyes close. He doesn't fight it. Between your soothing song, warmth and the exhaustion your technique left behind, he doesn't have the strength to fight you—nor does he want to.

Naoya’s lips are at your nipple again. He's not sucking this time—just holding you on his tongue, lavishing slow and kitten-soft licks, nursing you like a pacifier.

"You did well, Naoya."

It's the last thing he hears as sleep pulls him under.

⟡

Hours later, Naoya wakes to the sound of your voice.

His eyes squint against the harsh morning light pouring into the room. As they adjust, he makes out your shape—sitting on the edge of the futon, knees tucked beneath you, fully dressed, bouncing Tomie in one arm while you chat on the phone.

A dizziness hits him all at once. Naoya finds himself sluggish, bodily functions recalibrating as the effects of your technique linger. 

He feels like he got hit by a goddamn truck. 

A truck that happened to also fuck him stupid and then tucked him in after.

Grumpy, the loss of your warmth pulls a low growl from him.

Naoya hauls himself across the futon and plants his head in your lap, nuzzling into you like you owe him now.

You try to ignore him, continuing your conversation, but Naoya is persistent. His nose keeps traveling higher—nudging toward the apex of your thighs and burying his face into your mound. The lingering musk of sex is still strong through your kimono and Naoya's cock stirs, already half-hard at the thought of tasting how well his seed has marinated inside you.

Naoya hums petulantly into your pussy, clearly territorial of whoever has your attention.

You roll your eyes at the display. 

Give men an inch and they will always take a mile. 

You threw him a crumb of affection and now he's acting starved for it.

Shifting your daughter to one arm and wedging the phone between your shoulder and cheek, you card your fingers through Naoya's hair. It's enough to soothe him—for now. He sighs against your thigh, using your plush lap as a pillow, and drifts back toward sleep.

"Huh? Say that again—" You grit, more irritated now at the man on the other line than the one in your lap. "Ugh, fine. I'll spot you this time, Toji."

Even half asleep, Naoya goes deathly still.

You smirk, feeling him tense in your lap as you continue to speak.

"But that’s only on the condition you visit Tomie this weekend, you oaf. She'll forget your face if you keep this up, ya know."

A pause. Then snort.

"Hm? Oh yeah. Yup, uh-huh.” You smirk amused by whatever Toji's saying on the other line. "Yeah, yeah, Ji. I'll let him know—and jeez, I got it, okay…I'll do the transfer now. GOODBYE."

You hang up with a huff, mildly annoyed—until you glance down and see your daughter happily cooing, her tiny hand patting Naoya's head alongside yours as you reluctantly transfer Toji the money he asked for.

Naoya, mortified, had been holding his breath this entire time—just in case Toji could sense it over the phone—sighs in relief.

"Shit... that was close," he mumbles, wincing as your daughter's pats turn into enthusiastic slaps against his temple. 

Toji-kun told him to take care of you, sure. 

He's fairly certain this wasn't what he meant.

"Huh? Oh, you mean Toji?" You blink down at Naoya. "I already told him."

Naoya shoots upright like you just announced a curse had just blown up half of Tokyo.

"Relax, Naoya, my god." You wave a hand, dismissing him. "Toji's cool about it. We were never exclusive or anything, ya know."

Naoya exhales, exasperated, and flops onto the futon, on his back, his hand over his face as you rise shuffling elsewhere in the room.

He knows his cousin—this won't be the end of it. Toji will definitely expect something in return.

But Naoya can't think about that now. His head is throbbing, it's early as hell, and he's gotten maybe two good hours of sleep.

He knows he should return to his own sleeping quarters—but this is his wing after all and he honestly can't be arsed to move for anything right now.

"However," you add lightly, when you see Naoya's body bracing for blow, "he did say you have to bankroll a parlay for him every time you fuck his wife."

And there it is.

Naoya doesn't even lift the hand over his face, just grunts.

"Sure."

"Anddddd, he's charging you by the ounce for—and I quote—'sucking up all his tiddy milk like a pansy lil b-i-t-c-h.'"

You spell out the word in lieu of saying it now that Tomie is awake.

Naoya groans, wishing he'd woken up earlier. He's not sure what kind of narrative you fed Toji, but he's too exhausted to argue about it now. 

"...Fine." Naoya replies, wincing at your giggles prickling his skull.

Toji's money schemes don't matter much to him anyway—he's rich, he can afford whatever bullshit ‘tiddy milk tax’ this is.

Naoya just needs you to shut up about it now.

Every chuckle out of your mouth drives another rusty nail into his skull.

"Oh, one last thing," you call over your shoulder, smirking as you scoop Tomie's diaper bag and head towards the bathroom to change her.

"Toji says if you get me knocked-up, you’re raising that one too."

You laugh hardly, leaving the room with Tomie happily cooing in your arms.

Whatever.

Naoya sighs, smashing two pillows over his face. 

He'd just pull out next time.

Simple. Problem solved. 

It's a small price to pay for your soft creamy tits and that sweet, gooey mommy puss—

...

Hold on.

What the fuck did Toji-kun mean by 'too'?

𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚍. 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚜. 𝚋𝚕𝚔𝚔𝚒𝚣𝚣𝚊𝚝 © 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟹-𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟼

♡ hope u enjoyed! i hope to see a lot more recruits in the naoya army after this fic lol! also i loved writing in tomie here. i didn't name toji's and your's baby in the previous one but i really like this name so i decided to use it. shes so sassy shes def gonna give noaya hell. hsjdfbvjshdbfvhsd. read my other naoya fic here

Status updates: Caracal!sukuna p4 (20% done), invisible man!gojo (35%), stepdaddy!nanami (60% done), nerd!geto p2 (45%), 69 choso fic (30%) [y'all remember caracal sukuna won the poll so freddy!sukuna and elevator will have to wait!] stepdaddy!nanami next

Violet Twilight

member: zodyl typhon

age: 23

Net worth: 37 billion ¥

Current head of the Typhon family firm, the top business conglomerate in all of Tokyo.

no one dares to deny him, the club’s most infamous and influential member. he gets what he wants, when he wants. and he has his eye set on you.

→ Enter

Emerald City

member: enjin

age: 28

net worth: 15 billion ¥

a bodyguard that’s on thin ice with management. he’s rough and unpredictable

for some reason, this bodyguard has his eye set on you. and when he claims something as his, he won’t stop until he gets it.

→ Enter

Rose Tinted

member: bro santa

age: 35

net worth: 25 billion ¥

An established lawyer at a top law firm who hates going out, preferring to stay home with his son, but is often dragged out with his coworkers

he seems quite irritated by the club scene, and keeps to himself despite the constant attention he receives from the other waitresses. perhaps you can break his shell.

→ Locked

Azure Skies

member: corvus arkha

age: unknown

net worth: 32 billion ¥

heir to the Corvus family conglomerate. A rather quiet individual who is new to the luxury scene.

he seems somewhat out of place and is quite the mystery when you first meet him at the club’s bar. why don’t you show him a good time and help him relax a bit?

→ Locked

Vermillion Hearts

member: tamsy caines

age: 23

net worth: he’s stopped counting

The owner of The Sphere who demands nothing but perfection from his toys

though he appears to be charming, money and desire drive his motivations. he demands nothing shy of the best from his employees and he’s tired of your little mishaps.

→ Locked

𝓙𝓸𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓒𝓵𝓾𝓫 —taglist here

disclaimer —the original work, Gachiakuta, belongs to Kei Urana. I do not claim any of the characters, photos, or storyline as my own outside of any additional content I include

note — this used to be a series I had planned for JJK, but decided to revamp instead for Gachiakuta; this list may be subject to change

you stood there like a sinful vixen. wearing nothing but those heels he had given you. the ones he liked a little too much. the soft click of them against the floor as you stepped forward sounded louder than anything semiu was saying through the choker.

enjin blinked once. then blinked rapidly.

his whole posture went tense, something dangerously close to unraveling. his hand came up, dragging down his face like as he needed a second to process you, like you’d just shortcircuited his brain.

“you still there?” semiu’s voice crackled faintly.

enjin didn’t answer as you took another step. yeaaah, he was shamelessly staring now. his gaze dragged from your face, down to your swinging tits, lingering on your shaved center before they settled on the dark red heels.

“enjin,” semiu snapped.

he straightened, clearing his throat, but his eyes didn’t leave you. “yeah. we’ll finish this later,” he muttered. “i’ll handle it.”

no wait for an answer as he just cut the call.

a charged silence filled the room.

his hands flexed, like he needed that split second before he did something impulsive. he exhaled slowly to ground himself.

“you’re playing a risky game,” he said raspily.

“yes, and i can’t play it alone.”

something close to a growl escaped him as he took off his shirt. dark eyes found yours as he slowly slid to the floor and spread his thighs.

you took another step forward and his composure cracked completely. the shift from controlled to needing was almost violent and left him dizzy. his cock strained painfully against his sweatpants.

“those heels,” he swallowed harshly. “you knew exactly what you were doing.”

you just smirked as you stopped in front of him. with precision you dragged the heel across his thigh, up to his throbbing bulge and pressed against it. enjin’s breath hitched, a ragged sound that cut through the the room. the pressure of your heel against him sent a jolt straight up his spine, his hips twitching involuntarily under the tease. sweat beaded at his temple as his dark eyes locked onto yours, pupils blown wide with that raw hunger he tried so hard to leash.

you held the contact, feeling the heat radiate through the thin fabric of his sweatpants, the rigid length pulsing against the sharp point. his hands gripped the edges of the bed behind him, knuckles whitening as if anchoring himself to the mattress kept him from lunging forward.

the air thickened, heavy with the musky scent of arousal, every inhale pulling you deeper into the moment.

“fuck,” he rasped.

his thigh muscle jumped under your foot, tense and trembling, betraying how close he was to breaking. you eased the pressure enough to drag the heel in a slow circle, watching his chest heave with controlled breaths that weren't fooling you.

he reached out then, fingers brushing your calf with a touch that started feather-light but gripped firmer as you pressed back down. the contrast of the cool heel against his heated skin made him groan, deep and guttural, his head tipping back for a beat to expose the corded line of his throat.

but his gaze snapped right back, intense, devouring every inch of you standing there naked except for those heels.

“you think you can just walk in like this,” he said, words edged with strain, “and i won’t make you pay for it?”

his free hand slid up his own thigh, palm flattening over where your heel tormented him, pressing it harder against his cock as if daring you to up the ante. the friction drew another choked sound from him, his lips parting on a silent curse.

“how about a little deal?” you purred.

reaching out you slid your hands into his hair to pull his face closer to your cunt. all while you rubbed your heel up and down his length.

the heel digging in just right, and his entire body arched subtly, a shiver rippling through his tattooed shoulders.

enjin's tongue darted out, tracing a line along your inner thigh, tasting the salt of your skin. his hands clamped onto your hips now, thumbs digging into the soft flesh with enough pressure to bruise, holding you steady as your heel ground down harder against his cock.

the sweatpants tented obscenely, the damp spot spreading where precum soaked through.

"deal's on," he growled, voice muffled as he nipped at your clit.

his mouth latched on then, sucking with a hunger that made your knees buckle as you moaned loudly. you rocked forward, smearing your wetness across his lips, the slick sounds mixing with his muffled moans.

he bucked up into the press of your heel, chasing the bite of pain laced with pleasure, his thighs quivering under the torment. one hand slid between his legs, shoving the waistband down to free his cock - thick, veined, flushed dark and leaking.

the cool air hit him, but your heel found its mark again, scraping lightly along the underside, drawing a hiss from between your thighs.

your core clenched as his tongue plunged deeper, lapping greedily, fingers spreading you open for better access. the room spun with the scent of sex, heavy and primal.

he throbbed against your foot, rigid and desperate, hips jerking in shallow thrusts.

you ground your heel firmer into the base of his shaft, twisting to make his cock twitch wildly against the sharp edge.

enjin's mouth worked faster, tongue flicking your clit in frantic circles while two thick fingers curled inside you, stroking that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids.

pressure built low in your belly, coiling tight as his groans vibrated through your folds, his free hand squeezing your ass, pulling you flush against his face.

your thighs trembled, breath hitching into sharp gasps. the heel dug in deeper, scraping along his pulsing length, and he shattered first.

hot spurts of cum erupting over your foot, slicking the dark red stiletto as his hips jerked erratically. his muffled cry hummed against you, tipping you over.

waves crashed through your core, pussy clenching around his fingers, juices flooding his tongue. you yanked his hair harder, riding the pulses, body shuddering as aftershocks rippled down your legs, heel still pressed into his spent cock.

slowly let go and he allowed you to collapse on his lap. his arms engulfed you tightly while you panted against each others mouth.

“did i hurt you?” you asked softly, and he instantly shook the head.