After a long mission, the only thing Toby wants is to come home to his lover. His precious, adoring, and soft hearted spouse.
Alas, your dreams have a tendency to work against his peace.
!! T. Rogers x GN! Reader !!
-> You can find out what happens in the dream here !! Dream drabble is F! Coded reader, but this can be read as a stand-alone :p ->
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Toby was supposed to be home over an hour ago.
Unfortunately for him, there had been bodies to bury and clothes to burn. It’d been a solo mission, with campers who were trespassing. The usual stuff.
He’d had to chase down the targets, and then he had to bash their skulls in, and then he had to drag the corpses back. Digging with a rusted shovel into frozen earth, pounding at the soil until it gave. He was exhausted.
But this would all be worth it. It always was. The work he did was strenuous, tough and toilsome- and recently, he’d picked up more assignments. Putting himself front and centre to prove his worth, to make sure the operator knew he wasn’t slacking.
Toby’s day-to-day consisted of violence, clean up, and the mindless in between. A schedule he never chose for himself, just one he needed to fulfill. His world revolved around how useful he could be. Yet once again, it’d be worth it, because in the middle of all the chaos—
Was you.
As close to heaven's door as he could get. Someone he didn’t deserve, but that’s why he called you “angel” so much. You were paradise in human form; at least that’s what he believed.
The reason he overworked was to solidify his position in Slender’s eyes. He had somebody to take care of now, and he couldn’t slack off, wouldn’t risk you becoming seen as a liability. You were why he woke up every morning, the sole person he thought of when he lay his head to rest.
You drove him to be better, fight harder to return home safe and sound. So really, it was the bare minimum for him to guarantee a stable life for you.
His feet dragged against the frosted dirt when he finally caught the silhouette of your cabin. A quaint setup that he’d built from the ground up. He liked providing for you- it made him feel good. Even down to the food, the gifts and leisurely spending, everything was accounted for.
He’d had sticky fingers since he took his first breath, and they were used to grab anything you could ever want. He would return with bags of snacks, hunt for meat to grill, and set aside whatever cash he’d gather from victims so you’d have enough wiggle room to enjoy yourself. Your mental and physical wellness was his top priority, after all.
You, with your gentle hands and too forgiving heart. His baby.
Fuck, he missed you.
The knob was turned, the door cracking open while he shuffled inside. Your home was dark except for the glow of the moon seeping through the windows. He locked it behind him before shucking off his boots. Toby walked to the kitchen and snagged a bottle of soda from the fridge. The juice you liked was almost empty.
Noting to stop by the corner store on his next job, he closed the refrigerator door carefully, not to wake you, the cool light dimming as he reclined.
He was planning to shower, then join you under the covers. The cap was popped off, your boyfriend about to make his way upstairs— a lamp blinded him. The harsh brightness made him squint, glass rim still hovering near his lips when his eyes adjusted.
You were sitting in a lounge chair, open floor plan giving you a direct view into the kitchen. Your hand dropped from the light switch, and you scowled. The silence between you two was oddly tense, having him beyond confused. He hadn’t seen you since early that morning, your send-off affectionate.
Wracking his brain for anything he could’ve possibly done, he opened his mouth- only to be interrupted by a very frigid greeting.
“Welcome home, cheater.”
You stared at him, and he stared back.
“Huh?”
He stood there absolutely lost, cocking his head as your frown deepened. “Typical.” You scoffed, kissing your teeth. “What? Wait, are y-you mad at me?” Toby stuttered, bewildered more than offended. He knew for sure he did not, in fact, do anything of the sort. What on earth could you mean? You glanced to the side.
“Natalie.”
“… What about N-Natalie?”
Crossing your legs, you watched him pad over to you, slumping onto a stool in front of your seat. “You know what you did, Tobias.” Irritation radiated from you, and he shook his head slightly, faltering. “What did I do?” You huffed, clicking your tongue. “You tell me.” His head was starting to hurt.
He hadn’t talked to Clockwork in months, and the times that he had, you were either with him or informed beforehand. “Did you s-suh-see her today?” He said, cautiously placing his drink onto the coffee table. You tapped your nails on the armrest. “No, but I’m sure you wish you did.” Now he was even more perplexed. “Wha- what?”
“You thought I’d never find out, hm? Bet you thought about her all day.”
“I- why would I be thinking about her?”
“Because you’re still in love with her.”
The words made his jaw drop to the floor. He gaped at you, blinking rapidly. “I’m sorry?” You rose, circling him, puffing. “You’re not forgiven. I can’t believe you have the audacity to come home after sneaking around to find your ex.” He hurried to follow you, desperately trying to make sense of the affair he’d allegedly participated in. “You- but— huh?” He held his arms out awkwardly, waving his hands in the air.
“I was at work! Natalie hates me, and the only r-reason she stopped trying to kill me was ‘cause she d-doesn’t wanna’ make you sad.”
You spun on your heel, eyes narrowed. “I know she doesn’t like you, but you like her. That’s the problem.” You finished your sentence with a sharp exhale, and he gestured to you frantically, sputtering.
“What are y-you talking about?”
“Of course, you’d say that.”
“I was literally- where is this even coming from?”
“I saw it in my dream.”
His expression dropped into a deadpan instantly. “Angel.” Arms limp by his sides, he inhaled slowly before throwing his head back, sighing loudly. “Why are you l-like this?” His fists shook with exasperation, and you turned away from him, grumpy. “You never say you love me back.”
Toby genuinely couldn’t comprehend the statement, a blue screen error flashing before his vision. He booted back up after a moment, palm up, aghast.
“I told you I loved you this m-morning.”
“… That doesn’t count.”
He stepped into your space, shoulders drooping as he tugged you into his chest. “I love you-” He pressed a kiss to your crown, touch smoothing down your spine. “So, so much. I tell everyone about you- Masky literally g-gets mad at me for it.” He mumbled into your hair. “It’s like… a problem, muffin.” His stupid pet names always got you soft, especially when you were mad at him for no reason.
Your phases never lasted long; it was too hard to stay upset when your lover was this warm.
You hummed, burrowing into his arms. “If you ever break my heart, I’m telling Tallie and Jack to jump you.” He snorted, pausing to pull back once your threat registered. “Tallie?- Since w-when were you on nickname basis with Natalie?” You smacked your lips together, still grasping onto his sweater.
“She stops by sometimes to give me cool rocks she thinks I’d like.” You explained, and he gasped, appalled. “But I g-give you rocks! You don’t n-need her rocks.” It made you pout, fluttering your lashes. “Yeah, but she’s really nice.” You were so lucky, you were cute. Toby grunted reluctantly. “I- okay.” Pecking your forehead, his thumb rubbed circles on your back.
Then the second name in your blackmail hit him like a bucket of ice water, and he withdrew abruptly.
“How the f-fuck do you know Jack?”
“Oh, yeah! I forgot to tell you, I ran into him on a walk last week. He says you’re lucky because I smell good-”
As Toby gets comfortable with you, he will progressively become more of a jackass. Laughing at you for anything, you say a word wrong he's saying it for the next two weeks just to piss you off. He just loves to annoy you, it's his love language. He'll purposely put stuff higher than you can reach if you're shorter than him, he'll put ice in your shirt while you're not looking, he just can't help himself when you get all cute when you're annoyed.
your husband lifts his gaze slowly from the newspaper he was reading.
"fun?" he indulges you, tilting his head slightly to search your face. you suggested something without a description intentionally to make him ask for an elaboration, meaning what you're about to tell him will either be very intriguing, or the complete opposite. he searches your features in an attempt to determine which it'll be. "what kind of fun?"
you pause to make him squirm in anticipation. "i was thinking," you murmur, tracing your finger along the couch's lines with your fingertip, a sign of nervousness. "we could try… being available to each other. like whenever one of us wants-" your face goes warm, "sex."
the newspaper lowers down to his lap so your husband can stare at you intently, but he doesn't move otherwise. he's seated with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows and his legs apart in a lazy manspread, looking way too composed for what you just suggested. your body is so tense right now that you feel the urge to take a cold shower before the conversation continues. why isn't he saying anything?
"available," he echoes your choice of words. "as in free use."
you nod, trying not to squirm in your seat. "mhm."
he hums, tongue running over the inside of his cheek, and his eyes drag over your body as if he's already imagining all the different ways he can catch you off guard and ruin you. just as you suggested.
"sweetheart," he murmurs quietly, folding the paper and setting it aside, "do you even know what you're agreeing to?"
you shrug, a guileless glint in your wide eyes. you couldn't seriously be asking him this. you, who cries within the first ten minutes of him fucking you and tries to crawl away from him when he's pounding into you, wants to be free use for him, constantly? "i trust you. there... shouldn't be any issues."
he leans back in his chair and lets a silence pass once more. he seems to be considering it. the longer he goes without talking the more you squirm. he lays a cheek in his palm, and continues. "and why do you want to be free use for me?"
your eyes widen and your lips press together. you're nervous but trying not to show it. "it's not just me, you know. both of us are available for each other. i just wanted to suggest it because it's been on my mind a while."
"mm. no other reason?"
you hesitate a second too long, and he notices immediately. his eyes narrow ever so slightly. "well," you fidget, toying with a thread on your shirt to break eye contact just long enough so you don't explode. "i just thought it might be exciting."
"exciting... how?"
you puff out a soft breath and try to play it off. "i dunno… like, getting dragged into a public washroom while we're out grocery shopping. or, like… in the car. pulling it over so we can go to the backseat. or while i'm doing laundry."
"so you mean you want me to be so desperate i can't wait and have to have you. right then, right there."
you fidget again, but nod. "mhm."
he laughs once under his breath. "that's cute. so if you're half asleep," he says, "and i want to wake you up with my cock inside you, you won't mind? or if we're on a hike and you're in one of those pairs of leggings i really like, i can put you up against a tree?"
you nod, but look away bashfully. "i said whenever."
he hums and looks away for a moment in an attempt to stay calm while he processes. then he looks back at you, tutting with a pitying look on his face. like you're a lamb up for the slaughter.
"you don't know what you just agreed to," he says affectionately, like he's sorry for you.
you frown, feeling like he's underestimating you. "yes, i do."
he smiles. "you really don't."
-
the first time he tries out your new agreement is when you're brushing your teeth with him the next morning. you're standing at the sink in just one of his old t-shirts, groggy, hair messy, toothbrush hanging from the corner of your mouth as you blink blearily at your own reflection. he's behind you, pretending to brush his teeth too, but he's just looking at you.
your thighs are bare. the shirt rides up when you lean forward to spit into the sink, and he can see the crease where the back of your thighs meet your plush ass. he's entranced by the quiet way you operate when you're still half asleep and unaware of how good you look.
he swishes some water in his mouth and spits, setting his toothbrush back in the holder while watching you. you didn't notice he was ogling until you look up to meet his gaze in the mirror reflection to see him reaching around to pull you flush against his chest, lifting his hands under your shirt from behind to cup your tits. you don't wear a bra around the house, much to his convenience.
"just trying something fun," he murmurs into the curve of your neck, kissing the soft skin there. you tip your head a little, a pleasant feeling washing over your body as his thumbs roll over your perked nipples. he then wraps his hand around your throat to tip your head back. "aren't you so pretty?" he coos, one hand toying with your breast while the other gives your throat a light squeeze. it does nothing for your sanity. your brain might as well be slipping out of your ears.
you try to respond, but all that slips out is a helpless little whimper, the toothbrush still dangling from your lips.
"you're already shaking," he says softly, letting go of your throat only to glide his hand down the front of your shirt, past your navel, and into the waistband of your thin cotton panties. "and it's not even been a minute since i started. why're you acting like some helpless little virgin?"
you slip the toothbrush out of your mouth and drop it in the holder, using both hands to hold his wrist to keep yourself steady. "you're being mean," you breathe, embarrassed by how quickly he's unraveled you.
he hums, slipping his fingers inside your tight pussy to find you warm and wet. your hips jolt, but you don't move away. "i'm doing what you asked of me," he corrects you, his tone patient. "you said 'whenever,' remember?" he begins to lift up your shirt and tosses it onto the counter beside you, and your panties come off right after. then he pushes you forward so you're bent over onto the smooth marble in front of you.
he leans over your back, palm pressing down gently between your shoulder blades to keep you in place. "you know what your problem is," he murmurs, breath hot against your ear, "you get way too ahead of yourself. then you ask for things you're not ready for."
"baby please," you whine, grinding your hips back, only for him to pull away. he's teasing you. you look back at him with frustration, wanting friction against your sopping core, but he's not allowing it.
you feel him hook a hand under your knee to prop your leg up on the edge of the sink for a better angle, and he tuts at how messy your little pussy is so soon. he spreads you as much as you can go, then nudges his clothed bulge against your core, listening to your breath hitch and breathy pants to leave your mouth. "hmmh... that spot... do that again,"
he hushes you patronizingly, tugging his pj pants just low enough for his cock to be free. you're completely bare in contrast. with a hand pinning you down and the blunt press of his cock between your thighs, he slowly, maddeningly starts to slip it inside with a purposeful roll of his hips, and the stretch immediately hits you. you feel so full with just the first few inches of his fat cock in you.
your mouth opens around a silent moan, eyes rolling back. your grip on the counter tightens while he rocks into you steadily, holding you firmly while his gaze flits from your hole sucking him in and the lewd look on your face in the mirror.
"you wanted this. look at yourself. look how pretty you are when you're being used."
you try. you really do. your eyes flutter open just long enough to catch sight of your own flushed, wrecked reflection, your hair a mess, mouth parted, as he slowly fills you up to the brink, tip kissing your womb. his hand gathers a fistful of your hair to tip your head up.
your head spins as he thrusts into you roughly, flesh slapping against flesh making nasty sounds that echo off the bathroom walls. "y-you're... haaa gonna be late f'work," you moan as he fucks into you deep and rough, his thick cock curving just right inside you to keep bumping against your sweet spots.
"shit... y'wanna talk about that now?" he tugs your hair a little to make you squeal, using it to keep you in place like it's a handle. "i'll grab breakfast on the way there," he says into your skin. "this is more important."
you reach behind blindly because you're desperate to feel your husband or hold him, but he pushes you back down, then leans down to push his chest flush against your back, his skin hot against yours. he nudges his cock deeper in you at the new angle, moving a bulky arm to wrap around your neck and fuck you in a chokehold.
he groans against your ear, rutting harder now, his rhythm starting to lose control while your back arches for him, trying to take more even though you're so full. his hips snap forward with more force and he chuckles into your ear when you let out a garbled, " 'm gonna cum..." followed by a loud mewl. he groans, slamming into that one spot that gets you to tighten up around him each time his mushroom tip gives it a kiss.
"hmm, ask nicely, sweetheart," he nips your ear and bottoms out with an obscenely wet squelch. "mmmm.... c-can i... fuck, c-cum? please, 'm gonna..." your eyes screw shut and your pussy gushes around his thick shaft, leaving your thighs slick and shaky.
he slams into you one last time, burying himself deep inside you so his cum can shoot as deep inside you as he can. he doesn't pull out right away. arms wrapped around your middle, nose pressed into your hair like he's anchoring himself.
"god," he mumbles, still pumping you full, and there's now a creamy ring where his cock enters your cunt. "filled your little pussy all up, didn't i? now i'll feel bad leaving you like this."
you're too wrecked to answer, slumped forward against the sink, letting him hold you up. he reaches for a washcloth by the towel rack and dampens it so he can clean you up, giving you little kisses the whole time while you cling onto him. he keeps praising you, too. "did s'good for me, pretty baby."
he leaves you with a soft peck on your cheek. "ill see you later tonight..."
-
it doesn't stop after that morning in the bathroom. that was just his warm up, after all; his first taste of what you gave him. the second the floodgates opened, there was no closing them. poor you.
there's the time in the gym changeroom, right after your shared workout ends. you're both sore and sweaty, and you duck into the locker room so you can grab your stuff and head home with him to shower. however, the second he sees your flushed skin and damp chest through your sports bra, he doesn't hesitate to tug you into one of the showers and sit down on the bench, tearing off your clothes and tugging you into his lap.
he'll stuff your panties in your mouth so your moans are muffled, and fucks up into you hard and fast with no shame, even as he hears people talking and shuffling about behind the flimsy shower curtain. "you're gonna make a mess on me, aren't you?" he murmurs against your ear. "you like knowing someone could walk in right now and see you like this? my sweet girl, cockdrunk in a gym shower?"
he makes you cum on his cock, stuffs you full of his seed and leaves with you once the coast is mostly clear.
next was the hike. you're halfway up the steep trail with him, on a quick break on the grass off the main path. you'd just bent over a little to re-tie your laces since your boots had been far too tight, when he'd come up behind you, grinding against you and palming your ass through your leggings in broad daylight.
"shouldn't bend over in front of me unless you want me to do somethin' to you," he mutters, voice low and warm at your ear as he presses himself closer, fingers kneading into the backs of your thighs.
he doesn't give you a second to argue before he's guiding you face first to a tree and dropping to his knees. he pulls your leggings down just enough to get what he wants, and the air hits your slick folds pleasantly. you whimper, bracing yourself as he spreads your ass to have your pussy fully presented to him.
"gonna be quick," he whispers, "just a little taste." he mumbles, before shoving his face right into your cunt.
you gasp loudly and your hands shoot up to brace against the tree bark right in front of you and dig into the wood. you tremble and let out a shaky breath when he licks a slow, nasty stripe from your pussy up to your clit, shaking his tongue a little so it slobbers over every inch of your drooling pussy lips, occasionally prodding your hole.
his hands are firm on your thighs to spread you open wider, dragging your hips back toward his mouth while he eats you out filthy and sloppy. his nose nudges your clit, tongue flicking in and out of you, then slipping deep inside.
you bite your lip and your eyes, wide and panicked, glance toward the trail. anyone could walk by since you're not that far off the path, hidden, but not well. if someone wandered off long enough, they'd find the two of you.
"god," he moans into you, closing his mouth around your pussy lips and sucking gently, then going back to make out with your pussy. "taste so fuckin' good, babe. made for me." your orgasm hits so fast that you barely have time to warn him, pushing back against him so you cream right into his mouth.
-
you intended to have one wholesome weekend without your man ravaging you on any available surface in the vicinity. a family gathering that your parents are hosting. you enter the countryside house with your husband's hand on the small of your back to guide you inside, smiling politely as your relatives greet you both with warm hugs and laughter. everyone is in a good mood, sipping drinks, chewing on appetizers. there's music playing, and scents drifting from the kitchen.
he lasts about twenty minutes into the evening before he leans down to whisper filth into your ear while everyone else is distracted in the dining room. "you keep looking up at me like that and you're not leaving this place without my cum dripping down your thighs."
you stiffen, body heating up with arousal instantly, even as your face stays composed for the sake of your family standing two feet away. your husband knows exactly what he's doing. he brushes his lips just under your ear again, letting his breath brush over your skin while his palm subtly slides down to squeeze your ass through your dress, making you yelp.
he's all over you most of the evening. hands holding your hips from behind, cupping your ass, arms around your waist, smelling your hair... blatant public displays of affection. he keeps whispering things. "you're dripping through this dress," he murmurs while you're getting drinks in the kitchen. "do you even know what you look like right now?"
you try to push him away, but he's already behind you, brushing your hair over your shoulder as if he's helping, just to kiss the back of your neck. he's all over you right up until you take a break to get away from the party for a bit before dinner. you choose your childhood bedroom as an escape, needing one second away from him before he decides to finger you at the dinner table or fuck you in one of the bathrooms, but he follows you shortly after.
you just entered your old room, not realizing the door didn't click shut behind you. you make it two steps before he grabs you and pins you down onto your back in your old twin bed.
you jolt. "baby! where did you- what are you- "
"shhh," he murmurs, lips already brushing your neck. "just missed you. five minutes."
your body reacts before your brain can catch up. you tip your head to the side for him, breath catching as he kisses behind your ear and tugs the straps of your dress down your shoulders and pushing it under your tits so he can cup your bare mounds. his thumbs brush over your nipples until they stiffen under his touch, and he groans at your soft whines, pinching and rubbing them with his fingers while he kisses down to your chest, laving his tongue over the swollen peaks. he's practically slobbering on them, one bulky hand playing with one while his mouth works on the other, sucking sharply and then releasing with a wet pop.
he drags your panties down and off your ankles, spreading you into a shameful position to get a good look at you.
"fuck, look at this mess," he thumbs over your pussy with light pressure, teasing you. "this for me?" you whimper a soft yes, causing him to chuckle softly. he leans over you again, playing with your hole while his other hand wraps around his cock to stroke it slow and firm from tip to base, aligning himself with your hole. he doesn't make it easy for you and put it in straight away, instead tapping his cock against your folds and listening to the nasty little squelches that come from you. he slides it up and down, delaying your pleasure to make you desperate.
you gasp and mewl, thighs already lifting for him as he lines up and starts to press in slowly. your body clutches around him immediately, the stretch making your head spin. "ohhh my- fuck," he groans, pushing in all the way until he bottoms out. "tight as ever. made to be fucked in."
you moan breathlessly and tip your head back, letting him start to plow into you. he doesn't waste any time in putting one leg up over his shoulder and thrusting so deep that his balls squish against the curve of your ass and his shaft forms a faint print in your belly from how huge he is. your head lolls back with each of his deep, grinding strokes.
"look at you," he whispers, eyes trained on your filthy expression. "getting ruined in your childhood room. all the innocent memories, corrupted by this one." he mocks you while fucking into you harder. you moan loudly, hands fisting at the sheets, then clawing his biceps, then running down his torso. you have no idea what to do with yourself right now. he's fucking you into oblivion and now you're completely out of it.
"bet your parents think you're still their good little girl," he pants, rocking into you, stretching you out with his fat shaft with every drag. you can feel every vein and the exact angle in which his cock curves inside you. "they don't know you're upstairs getting your pussy wrecked like this."
"please what?" he taunts, slowing his thrusts to an unbearable pace. "please fuck me harder?" he punctuates the question with a sharp thrust so deep inside you your vision swims. "or please fill me up in my little princess bed?" he coos, grinding his pelvis against yours. your mouth falls open in a silent scream as a particularly deep thrust hits your sweet spot, sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine while your back arches off the bed, pressing your heaving tits more firmly against his chest. you can basically feel his heartbeat against yours, thudding in time with his sloppy thrusts.
" 'm gonna cum inside you," he grits, pounding into you hard, cock scraping against your plushy walls and the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every inward thrust. "goddamn, look at me. want you to -haa- remember this." your nails scrape his back. you're crying out softly, trying to stay quiet, but you're so close. you clamp down on him so hard when it hits that he chokes on a groan, hips stuttering as he starts spilling into you with a harsh jerk of his body.
his cock jerks and pulses as he hilts inside you, the thick head flaring inside you as he releases ropes of hot cum pumps into your greedy cunt, your womb quickly filling to the brim.
within seconds, excess semen is already bubbling out around his shaft, dripping down onto the sheets beneath your ass. your pussy clenches and ripples, desperately trying to milk every last drop of him, and he continues rocking his cock inside you as he cums, fingers moving to play with your clit, and you cum shortly after, gushing around his cock and adding to the mess on the bed.
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Synopsis: Toji, the TA, won't bump up your latest essay a couple marks, not with just some begging at least, so you try a different method:
good ol' pussy persuasion
Warnings: toji art by @/youKa.i on insta, smut, porn with a lil plot, nerd!toji, a couple years older than reader but both students, reader harasses him but don't save him he's right where he wants to be, some comedy aspect, college au, non curse au, f!reader, blowjob under the desk, unethical behaviour, fingering, cunnilingus, p in v, briefest choking, sex against the window, pússy inspection, belly bulging, overstimulation, spitting, a little fisting I guess or almost, Toji's poor so this is canon compliant jkjk, creampie and unprotected sex, brief pussyjob, size kink/difference, hidden sex, not proofread
Word Count: 10.7k
“For the last time,” he drawls, “I’m not bumping you up a grade.”
You groan, pushing your legs to catch up to him faster.
“Come on, I need this. I’m not asking you to break the rules. All I want is for you to reread my essay and find extra marks, which you will!”
Toji Fushiguro is a tough nut to crack, though he doesn’t look it — one glance at him and one would think he’s a laidback TA. He’s the exact opposite; he takes his job a little too seriously.
For days now, you’d been hounding him, pleading with him and degrading yourself all for him to ‘remark’ your last paper and ‘coincidentally’ find a few extra marks that would push you to the top performing spot you’d been eyeing since forever. Each time you rushed into his office, waited for him after his classes, and followed him to his apartment, he’d shrugged you off with the same ‘I don’t get paid enough for this’ look in his eyes.
Rounding the corner, his long legs making no accommodations for your shorter ones, he says, “No. If you wanted better results, you should have put in a better performance. Surely you’re smart enough to work out that that’s how life works.”
Hands grab his arm, yanking back with all your strength only to be dragged along with him and his burly body. Your heels scrape along the floor. People stare. You don’t care. “Don’t be an asshole. You know my essay was good. It was really good. Just give it a read. A proper one, and not the rushed job you do because you’re overworked and underpaid.”
He stops.
Your face bumps into this back, forehead nearly bruised by the hardness.
His brows rise above his glasses as he fixes you a look. “Kid, your essay was good — decent introduction, clear structure, sufficient evidence — but it’s not good enough for the extra marks to push you into the top band. Your closing argument fell flat ‘cause of your wishy-washy writing style, you didn’t adequately humour the counter arguments and undermine them to strengthen your thesis, and, worst of all, you misspelt ‘complement.’”
A frown graces your features.
“No, I didn’t. C. O. M. P. L. I. M—”
“No. With an I, it’s to flatter someone. With an E, it’s to enhance, pair well, or complete another thing.” Toji explains rather robotically, eyes still dead and voice monotone. “For example, if I said you’re a pretty girl, that’s a compliment. And if I said, your essay goes well with the trashcan over there, that’s a statement that suggests the two complement each other. See the difference?”
He’s already stalking off again, hands in his pockets, huge stature unwilling to accommodate the people walking down the hallway.
You break into a jog, panting embarrassingly by the time you reach him. “Dude, we’ve known each other for three years. We’ve gone through a lot together. We’re basically friends. Can’t you do your best pal a solid?”
Toji glances down at you. He pushes a door open, holding it a second longer than he needed to. You follow behind him. Somewhat amused, he replies, “We know each other because we’re on the same course, not by choice. And I don’t know what you mean by the whole ‘we’ve gone through a lot together’ thing — the most dramatic thing we’ve faced is when the projector didn’t work and we had to go into a different hall. And we’re definitely not friends.”
Well, fuck, you’re running out of rope.
“Then, let’s officially be friends,” you offer, elbowing him gently. “If you ever need help, buddy, I’ll always have your back.” Then, in an act of complete desperation, you begin shakily singing, “You’ve got a friend in me. You’ve got a friend in me. When the road looks tough ahead—”
A heavy hand shoves you away by your head. You stumble into a bulletin board.
“Enough,” he gruffs. “My day’s already fucked because the prof lost his papers and wants to blame me. I don’t need to lose my hearing on top of that.”
Your head flits around. “Did you guys see that?” People give you weird looks. “He just shoved me. The TA just shoved me. We need to protest his violent behaviour by demanding he remarks our papers. Who’s with me?”
Everyone walks past without another look at you.
Toji, on the other hand, lifts his glasses and runs a hand down his face. Muttering something under his breath, he pushes a door open and holds out a hand before you can mindlessly follow. “It’s the men’s bathroom. Tell me you’re not shameless and stupid enough to come in here.”
“I’ll wait outside.”
His eye twitches.
As though an idea comes to him, he straightens ever so slightly. “I’m gonna take a dump; you’ll be waiting a while.”
“That’s okay — I have no more classes so take your time but make sure you don’t stay sitting down longer than you need to,” you tell him, smiling innocently and standing aside to let a guy walk out, ignoring the freaked out face he makes at you. “You can get hemorrhoids."
He groans. “Jesus fucking Christ, woman.”
That seems to be as much of you he can tolerate because he walks in without another word to you. Opposite the door, you lean against the wall, whistling and coming up with alternative lines you can pull on him.
God, he’s so stubborn.
It’s not like giving you the marks docks his pay or lowers the professor’s opinion of him. He’s clearly just being an ass.
If he wasn’t such a good TA, a genuinely intelligent man, you would have gone above his head and asked for the prof’s personal assessment. But no, he has to be knowledgeable, a helpful source of information when you’re lost, someone who seems to know everything about any topic, who knows the exact pages of a textbook you should read to further your understanding, and who’s never declined a meeting for clarification on something you wrote.
For years now, you two have had a friendship-like relationship, often sharing snacks and exchanging brief words before or after lectures and classes, despite what he says.
Everyone gets along with him, though you’ve never actually seen him hang out with friends or go to parties. Maybe he doesn’t have any. Word on the street is he works part time in a couple different places. Some say so he can afford drugs, some for tuition.
The rumours never interested you, apart from any that mused about his love life, which seems to be nonexistent except for the many girls who hit on him. Not that you’re especially interested.
It’s just fun to be in the know.
Who knows how long has passed since he went in there. Your phone says fifteen minutes. Is that a normal amount of time for someone to be taking a dump?
Hesitantly, you push the door open and yell out, “Fushiguro? You doing okay? Is it stuck? For a couple extra marks, I’ll give you a hand.”
No one replies.
Brows furrowing, you bend down, looking through the stalls. No feet. What the hell?
Ahead, a window is ajar. Big enough for a man to squeeze through. Well isn’t that convenient? The kind of convenient that exists only in fiction.
Aggrieved and feeling bamboozled, you stomp back to your dorm room, slamming the door, jumping face down on the bed and screaming into the pillows. You’d feel better if you knew he had a grudge on you, if you bumped into him the first day and spilled his coffee all over himself and he’d never forgotten it. Instead, he’s just like that: does things by the book, does his job well, and achieves the best grades with ease.
Naturally, he’d become the professor’s assistant, a coveted position that seemed like it was made for him from the very beginning, and made your life a living hell because he won’t ever make concessions for you.
Sure, you shouldn’t ask him to, but it’s not like you’re asking for much. You’re generally a high performing student — punctual, hard working, ambitious — but you had one bad day which resulted in one bad essay and it lowered your average and now the internship you’d been eyeing could be snatched from your hands in a blink of an eye.
“It’s just not fair,” you cry out to your teddy bear. “It’s three marks. Three! Would it kill him to reread my essay and find those three marks?”
Mr. Teddy stares back at you and says, “He’s a grumpy man. Don’t take it personally.”
You sit up, blinking and processing his reply.
“Teddy…you’re right. He is a grumpy man, a TA with broad shoulders, yummy arms, and thick thighs with a bubble butt, but a man nonetheless. If he won’t pull favours for me, student to student, maybe he’ll pull favours for me man to woman.”
The plushie falls to the bed as you stand, staring at yourself in the mirror and formulating a plan.
With that you decide to seek him out the next day, sporting a new outfit and a different attitude.
.
.
.
“Hi.”
“Fuck off.”
The cafeteria’s busy. It always is. It’s loud enough that most people wouldn’t even hear the exchange — chairs banging on tile, trays clattering, someone laughing too loudly at a table nearby.
Toji’s hunched slightly over a bowl of udon noodles, chopsticks moving lazily as he slurps them down. Some sports clip plays on his phone, propped against his dented metal water bottle. Commentators yell about something you don’t understand. His sleeves are pushed up over his forearms, revealing ropey muscle and the faint silvery line of an old scar running across his wrist.
An old hoodie hangs off his shoulders over a plain white T-shirt. Distressed jeans, worn sneakers. He’s too big for the plastic chair, long legs spread under the table. When he saw you approach, his feet had hooked onto the chair legs, forcing you to fight to remove it from his clutches so you could take a seat.
So damn rude.
His glasses have fogged slightly from the steam of the noodles.
He doesn’t look up. But he knows it’s you. You can tell by the way his mouth tightens for half a second before he goes back to eating.
You snatch his phone away. His green eyes flick up, annoyed. You smile, arms pushing your breasts together so they spill over your tight top. Toji’s gaze doesn’t waver. He continues to stare at you like you’re a pest.
“You can’t take no for an answer?” he asks though it’s not a question at all. “Might want to retake the consent course.”
Manicured fingers walk up his bare forearm before scratching down from his elbow. His skin is warm. Light dusting of hair tickling your fingertips. “Oh, Toj, have I ever told you how handsome you are? Because you really are. You’re so damn hot I can hardly focus on the lectures.”
He snorts, still eating his noodles and still refusing to look at your cleavage. “That’ll explain why you’re missing marks.”
Jaw dropping, you force yourself to recover quickly. A heeled foot brushes against his calf, sliding his jeans up. You bat your lashes, sultrily saying, “The only thing I’m missing is your cock in me, big boy.”
Toji meets your eyes again. His scarred lips twitch. “I don’t need to tell you that was bad, do I?”
You cringe, foot dropping and whole body slumping back into the chair. “Yeah, I heard it as soon as I said it.” Then you sit up, handing him his phone, and asks, “Are the noodles good? I’ve never had them.”
Phone pocketed, he shrugs. “They’re just the cheapest deal on the menu. Growing girl like you should get something more filling.”
The menu’s extensive, and the only thing sticking out to you is the chicken burger and chicken tenders meal deal. It seems to be especially popular today but you’re not sure you can finish the whole thing.
“Hey, if I get the Meal Super Cluck Blaster, will you share it with me? I’ve got dinner plans later so I don’t want to fill up.”
That finally gets a reaction. Toji leans back a little and gives you a slow once-over. Tight top. Lacy bra peeking up. Glossy lips. More jewellery than usual. His eyebrow lifts. “That why you’re dressed like a hooker?” he asks lazily. “Hot date?”
“Nah,” you reply, waving him off. “Wore this for yo— Wait.” You lean forward, staring at him wide eyed. “Are you jealous? Are you in love with me already? Because for extra marks, I’ll cancel my dinner plans and promise myself to you for all eternity.”
Toji rolls his eyes. “Go get something to eat; you sound insane.”
You hop up. “Okay, but stay there, alright? Take my burger because I only want the tenders. Oh, and will you share a pot of cheesecake with me? I’m lactose-intolerant but I really want cheesecake right now.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
He’s still here when you come back.
As soon as you hand him the wrapped up burger, he scarfs it down the way big men do, like they haven’t eaten in days. You push him the tenders too. You’d actually gotten a double serving of everything so you have your own portion of tenders and he gets to eat another burger. There’s no way a man his size could survive on udon noodles.
“Also, let’s not act like you didn’t leave me hanging outside the men’s bathroom yesterday,” you bring up after sipping your juice. “Can’t believe you left through the bathroom window just so you could get away from me.”
“I didn’t,” he says, mouth full and adjusting his glasses.
You frown, dipping a piece of chicken in hot honey. “No, you definitely did. I peeked and there were no feet in any of the stalls. Unless you’re telling me you can grow invisible.”
“Just lifted my legs when I heard you come in, which I knew your crazy ass would do, so I could finally leave in peace. Didn’t think it’d take you fifteen minutes though.”
A laugh escapes you. “You were waiting me out? Does that sound like the mature thing to do? Jeez, you need to act your age.”
Toji’s eyes meet yours. Your smile falters for the briefest second. “I’m not that much older than you,” he reminds you. “Only by two years.”
“And yet you call me kid or kiddo,” you retort, clearing your throat. Have his eyes always been that green and deep? And is his voice usually that husky and masculine? Because you could have sworn guys your age don’t sound like that.
He shrugs again, second burger finished in a blink of an eye. “Never hurts to remind yourself.”
“Remind yourself what?”
The legs of his chair screech as he pushes it back. He stands, picking up his tray, and answers, “Forget about it. Enjoy your dinner plans. And I’m taking the cheesecake — no one wants a gassy date.”
“Wait,” you call out before he can turn away. “My marks?”
A pat on the head ruffles your hair.
“Still a no, kid.”
.
.
.
“What if I suck your dick?”
Toji lifts his glasses to rub at his eyes. “I’ve got a ton of papers to grade for another class; I don’t have time for you.”
The door shuts behind you. His office is bare, not a single decoration littering the place, not a plant nor a picture.
His office is exactly how you remember it — disappointingly, aggressively empty. The walls are a dull institutional beige that makes the overhead fluorescent light feel even harsher. No posters. No photos. Not even a sad little plant struggling for life in the corner.
Just a desk. A filing cabinet. Two chairs that look like they were stolen from a waiting room. It’s the kind of office someone occupies temporarily, like he expects to leave at any moment and doesn’t see the point in settling in.
Leaning against the desk anyway, your fingers drum lazily along the edge.
You’ve been here before: once to argue about a paper he’d shredded with red ink, once because you’d missed an exam and needed him to sign a form, and once because you’d sworn you heard him swearing loud enough to be heard halfway down the hallway.
You grip his shoulder, squeezing as you scan the fat stack of papers on his desk — the prof’s particular about handwritten essays. There’s so much to read through; you do not want to be him.
“God,” you mutter, flipping through a few pages of the stack. “There’s like fifty here.”
“Seventy-two,” Toji corrects without looking up. His handwriting is sharp and aggressive, red ink slashing through entire paragraphs like he’s committing academic murder. You wince in sympathy for whoever wrote the paper currently being dismantled.
“Good thing you can multitask, can’t you? I’ll suck your dick under the desk, you grade papers, and you bump me up a grade. Easy.”
He shrugs you off, hulking body hunched over and pen scratching on the papers, leaving harsh circles and comments like, ‘what the hell does this mean?’ and ‘you can’t just say perchance.’
Toji gruffs, “I’m serious. Take your jokes elsewhere.”
Nah, you think to yourself.
With a massive struggle against his weight, you yank his chair back, wheeling him a distance from the desk and clambering under before he can fill the space again. He makes some noise above you but you pay him no mind. Your hands rest on his meaty thighs through his sweatpants, marvelling at the density, at the strength you find in them.
“You’re fucking ridiculous.” His foot nudges your knee. “Get the fuck out. I’ll cropdust you if I have to.”
You call his bluff by clutching his clothed cock. He jolts, grunting. Laughing softly, you muse, “You say all that but you have a semi already — did my proposition get you hard, Toji?”
You’re rubbing his hard on, trying not to get flustered by how big he feels, and how fat the girth is. Of course he’s big. In hindsight, you really shouldn’t have been so surprised; he’s a big man so naturally the proportions will match up.
“Suck my dick, don’t suck my dick, it doesn’t matter,” he says, sighing and probably pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re not getting those marks.”
He thinks that’ll stave you off because he knows you’re whoring yourself out for a grade. What he doesn’t know is that your stupid little brain’s already forgotten about all of that the moment you felt his cock. Now all you can think about is how you’ll have to stretch your lips nice and wide to take him in, and even then, even when your throat is lax and loose, you won’t be able to take him to the base.
Toji grunts again, peering down at you. “You mouthing at my dick? Did’ya not hear what I said?”
Like you’ve been possessed, you press kisses to where his tip is, humming around it. “I heard, but your dick’s saying other things to me, and I know which I prefer to listen to.”
“My dick’s not marking your paper, so get the fuck up,” he growls.
“Don’t wanna.”
“You’re fucking killing me here.”
A heavy hand bundles your hair up, pulling but you fight against it, hooking your fingers under the waistband and releasing him from the constraints. His boxers have a hole, and yet you only find it endearing. Freeing his cock so it bounces up and smacks your cheek, it leaves a wet mark on your skin.
Tutting, he wipes away the wetness from your skin.
Oh fuck, he really is big.
With nothing between you and his dick, you can see him in all his glory in the partial shadow of under his desk — long, thick, flushed red, already shiny at the slit, veiny as hell, hairs at the base wild and unruly, with weighty balls to match. You’ve never seen anything better.
Tongue out, you lick him from base to tip, prodding at his frenulum.
“Quit it,” he commands through gritted teeth.
You moan wantonly, already addicted to the salt on his kin, to the texture of his veins, to the softness of his cockhead. “Toji, you’re so big. I don’t think this’ll fit inside me.”
The thing throbs, bobbing. A droplet oozes out and you quickly lick it up. The hand that was pulling your hair has grown slack, simply resting on the back of your head, keeping you from bumping the wood.
Voice hoarse, he mutters, “If anyone can make it fit, it’ll be your stubborn ass.”
Your eyes meet his from under the desk, mischief sparkling in them you’re sure. His cock throbs again. “I thought you had papers to mark, Fushiguro. Maybe you should get on that, no?”
A calloused thumb presses down on your lips, shushing you. It slides down, bringing your bottom lip down with it, before releasing it so it’ll bounce back in place. That same thumb holds your jaw open, hand guiding your mouth to his tip. You know what he wants. You also know that he knows that you both know that you won this time.
Wide as you can, you take as much of his length as possible. You don’t get much further than a third of the way, full beyond belief and overwhelmed by just how much of him there still is. Your nails dig into his thighs.
“If this is supposed to convince me to give you extra marks, then you’re failing real hard, doll,” he notes, gripping the base. “Can barely fit the head, can you?”
He’s acting like it’s your fault he’s so big.
Challenged, you loosen your throat to take him an inch deeper. You gag around the length. Toji curses under his breath. “Careful,” he mutters. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
You ignore him in favour of shallowly bobbing, sucking and licking what you can, as though he’s a lollipop. It’s actually kinda fun.
The familiar sound of pen scratching on paper and paper rubbing on paper echoes in the relatively quiet office. Only the wet sounds of your mouth sucking his cockhead pierces the silence.
Growing more and more used to his size, you flick your tongue around the head, letting your hands wrap around the rest of him, squeezing and tugging in time with your mouth. Occasionally, he makes a couple breathy noises — low grunts when your tongue laps up his tip, gravelly groans when you hollow your cheek to suck, and rough exhales through his nose when you grip his balls, massaging them, thumb rubbing the seam.
It becomes easier to forget why you were here in the first place; you’re just blowing him for your own entertainment now, wanting something to occupy your throat.
Then, he asks, as though he’s making casual conversation, “How was the date?”
“Hmm?”
Toji rolls his eyes. “The date,” he repeats. “How was it? He pay for the meal? Open doors, see you to your door, kiss you goodnight and shit?”
Your lips stretch into a smile. You release him with a pop! “I didn’t go on a date,” you tell him. “My friends hosted a housewarming party because they moved in together. I had a great time, thanks for asking.”
Is he pleased? Unaffected? Genuinely just making conversation? Hard to tell, except for the pushing of his hand, urging you back to his dick, and taking him further inside your throat, till his tip bumps the back of the gummy walls.
“Good,” he exhales out, thighs flexing around your body. “That’s real good.”
“My blowjob skills or that I had a great time?” you ask, words muffled and barely understandable.
“Both,” he answers. “Both, doll.”
A knock on the door has you both stiffening. Toji glares down at you and whispers, “It’s the prof. Do not make a sound.”
He didn’t need to tell you that — you’re well aware that if you get caught, you’ll both face disciplinary action, and will likely be kicked out of the university. That’s worse than not getting the internship.
The office falls quiet so suddenly you can hear the ticking of the wall clock. Toji’s hand tightens briefly against the desk as the knock comes again. “Come in,” he calls, voice steady.
The door opens before he even finishes the word.
“Ah, Fushiguro, there you are,” the professor says, stepping inside with a stack of papers tucked under one arm. “I wasn’t sure if you’d left already.”
From your position under the desk, you can only see shoes. Polished leather. Slow steps across the floor. You don’t slide his cock out of your throat, lest it makes a sloppy noise that’ll give you both away. So you breathe through your nose, being very, very quiet.
“No, I was just finishing up some grading,” Toji replies, cool as a cucumber.
His tone is annoyingly normal. Completely unbothered. He’s really convincing. Has he done this before? Is this a normal occurrence? Do a lot of girls offer to blow him for better marks, and does he take them up on it? Are you the one exception to his generosity?
“Good, good.” Papers shuffle. A chair creaks as the professor sits across from the desk. “I actually wanted to ask about the research methods essays.”
Of course he did.
You squeeze your eyes shut.
Toji shifts slightly above you — just enough that the movement brushes your shoulder — and then he leans back in his chair. “Yeah?” he says.
“I noticed something odd in the submissions this year,” the professor continues. “Half the class seems to misunderstand the section on sampling bias.”
He hums thoughtfully. “You mean where they’re supposed to explain the limitations of convenience sampling?”
“Exactly.”
A sheet of paper slides across the desk.
“You see this one here—”
From below, you hear Toji pick it up.
“—they describe the method correctly, but their conclusion contradicts their own analysis.”
There’s a pause whilst the TA reads. You stare at the underside of the desk and try not to shift your knees. God, this is like torture. Having a cock lodged in your throat and not being able to do anything with it is hell. Above the desk, they’re chatting away, talking about your fellow students, with the professor none the wiser that one such student’s under the desk.
“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “They’re treating correlation like it proves causation.”
“Precisely!” the professor says, sounding delighted. “It’s surprisingly common.” Another pause. You hear a pen tap the desk twice. “I was thinking next year we might restructure the lecture slightly,” the professor continues. “Maybe introduce a short case study before the assignment.”
“Could work,” Toji replies. “Give them something concrete, tangible, to analyse.”
Your legs are starting to cramp. Your lips tighten around his hot cock. Toji brushes your hair back from your face, a quiet act to show he hasn’t forgotten about you. The professor keeps talking, completely unaware.
“Also,” he says, shuffling more papers, “the literature review sections were stronger this year.”
“Mm.”
“I suspect the workshop helped.”
Toji lets out a quiet huff that might be agreement.
“You handled that well, by the way,” the professor adds. “The students seem to respond to your feedback.”
This is way too boring, you decide. In an act you might end up regretting for the rest of your life, your offended tongue prods his tip where he’s still leaking salty precum.
He grunts, knee crashing up on the wood.
The professor asks him if he’s alright, and Toji replies, “Fine. Sorry. Just had a cramp.”
A triumphant smile pulls at your lips, which is quickly wiped away by the sudden pinch at your cheek. You wince, unable to smack him in retaliation.
A sigh fills the room. “I fear you work too hard, Fushiguro. You ought to take a break here and there. Do something fun and wild, or whatever it is people your age do nowadays.”
“I am having fun,” Toji says, hand coming back to rest on your head, growing heavier and heavier until you’re forced to take him inside your mouth, deeper and deeper. “In my own way.”
He’s filling you up more than he was before, now more insistent, no longer so passive. You’re struggling to take him but he’s not letting up. Fuck, you’re soaked between the legs. Who knew you had an oral fixation?
“Well, good,” the professor says. He pushes his chair back. Your heart jumps in joy. “I won’t keep you any longer, I know those papers won’t mark themselves. Boy do I not envy you.” He laughs. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“You too, Professor.”
Footsteps move toward the door. The handle turns. The door opens. Closes. Silence. Two seconds pass.
Then Toji peers down, licking his scarred lips, and mutters under his breath, “You needy fucking girl. Couldn’t wait, could you? Couldn’t resist not being a pain my fucking ass. If you want cock so badly, then here you go.”
His hips thrust up, hand keeping you in place. Your eyes fly open, throat stretching to take all of him in. Oh, he was as pent up, as frustrated, as you were. The force in which he’s rutting inside your throat displays that nice and clear.
“You’ll do anything for a good grade, won’t you? Even debase yourself like this. God, you drive me crazy.”
You gag around his cock but he doesn’t pay any mind to that. No, Toji’s just rutting inside your mouth over and over again, grunting louder and louder now.
Meanwhile, your hand seeks out the heat between your legs. You grind against the heel of your palm, moaning around his length. The vibration has his balls tightening up.
“Fuck!”
Hot cum bursts inside, coating the walls of your throat and your tongue.
Toji leans back in his chair, which creaks. You pull him out, coughing at the salty burn. Damn, even his loads are big. It’s like a cream puff exploded inside your mouth.
Hands carry you up, sitting you on his thigh. One rubs your back in circles, the other wipes away the tears at your eyes, licking at the wetness he’s collected on his thumb. “You good, kid?” he asks, brows furrowed.
“Yeah,” you respond, voice hoarse and not fooling anyone. “I’m good.”
You take a sip of his water from his water bottle, not caring about the fact that you’re drinking from where he had been, and if he cared that your mouth which had been sucking on his dick and cum is on his cup, he didn’t say.
He sighs, tucking himself back in and says, “Come by my place tonight. Hand me your essay again and I’ll reread it. But I’m not making any promises about finding extra marks, alright? It’s just a second chance, and the only one you’ll get.”
Dopily, you smile at him. “Throat game that good, huh?”
His lips twitch. He shoves you away, smacking your ass as you walk away.
“I’ll text you the time and place. Don’t be late.”
Nodding, you head for the door, not leaving however till you ask, “Should I wear matching underwear, or is this a strictly keep your clothes on meeting?”
“Fuck off before I regret it.”
“Lacy thong it is!”
.
.
.
“Should I spread my legs now or do you want me to fluff you first?”
Toji’s deadpan face meets you when he opens the door. He sighs as though he’s regretting this already. Regardless, he lets you in.
You can tell he showered recently — there’s the scent of cheap soap lingering on his skin and his hair is still a little damp.
His apartment is nice and clean, which surprises you somewhat. Most guys your age tend to be messy. But you should have known the TA would be neat and organised.
“I’m serious,” you begin, snuggling up to his side and batting your lashes up at him, “what position do you want me? I’m not the most flexible but I’m not too bad.”
Shaking you off, he pushes you in the direction of the living room where the coffee table is covered with carefully laid out papers he no doubt carried from campus to continue working on. “Go sit down, you horny gremlin. Make some room for your essay and let’s get this over with.”
You do as he says, folding your legs so you can sit by the coffee table on the rug. You take the essay out of your bag, shoving all the others to the side. With a frown, you ask, “So we’re really not fucking?”
He folds himself down too, sitting beside you, knee brushing yours. “I don’t solicit sex in exchange for academic favours. Dunno why you’re so surprised by that — can’t recall having done anything to make you think otherwise.”
“Well, you did give in after I blew you, so…”
“I was gonna offer before you did all that,” he informs you, snorting. “Just never promised to give you the marks.”
Toji adjusts his glasses, taking your papers and starting his reassessment of it. His lips purses, brows furrows, and he stares at the thing like it could tell him the answers to the universe. That or it’s so bad he just can’t fathom what you were thinking.
“Second paragraph, third line, why the hell is it so convoluted?” he asks, voice returning to that grumpy tone you’re more than familiar with now.
It’s the latter, it would seem. He really meant business. You shaved and everything for nothing. What a shame.
Leaning over, you rest your head on his big bicep, and, with a pout, reply, “I thought it sounded smart; I was pretty proud of that line actually.”
“No, doll,” Toji says, sighing. “The simpler the better. Don’t purposefully complicate your syntax. Only do what’s necessary to get the point across. If I, an expert in this topic, can barely understand what you mean, how is the ordinary person supposed to?”
“Yeah, okay. Simple is better, I get it.”
He continues reading, red pen in hand and making annotations as he goes. Meanwhile, you’re worming your way into his lap: one hand resting on his thigh at first, then a leg thrown over his. He notices what you’re doing — there’s no way he doesn’t know — but he doesn’t put up a fight. Eventually, you’re sitting in his lap, his chin resting on your head, and his arms caging you in.
Toji’s warm. He’s comfy to rest on despite all the muscles. Closer now, his soapy scent envelops you. It goes straight to your head. You find yourself squirming.
“Keep still,” he reprimands, underlining a phrase twice for emphasis. “You can’t just use jargon if you’re not going to explain it. It’s bad practice.”
“Got it.” Fiddling with his spare hand, running your fingers down his and over his palm, you ask, “Are academics supposed to have calluses?”
“They bother you or something?”
“No, not at all. I’m just curious.”
He hums. “I do odd jobs here and there, some more manual than others so yeah I built up some calluses.” Without missing a beat, he pivots the topic. “Tell me again what the difference is between compliment and complement.”
You bring that hand up to your breast, imploring him to grope your tits as you reply, “With an I is to praise someone or something, and with an e is to say something matches well with another.”
A moan escapes your lips when he squeezes in approval. Toji mutters, “Good girl. Guess you do listen to me.” Thumb brushing your hardened nipple through the thin material of your top, you squirm in his lap. His lips move against the top of your head. “No bra?”
“I figured you were going to take it off me anyway so I didn’t bother,” you say, still pressing his hand to your tit, riding the motions of every grope and flick of your nipple.
Another hum.
Slowly, you guide that hand down lower. He must know what you’re doing, where you want it to end up, but he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t reprimand or put up any resistance; he’s curious to see how far you’re willing to go. And you’re curious to see how much restraint he has, how long he can hold out before his façade of nonchalance breaks and he’s fucking up inside you.
You tease yourself, and him, first — his fingers, with your guidance, tease your bare thighs, following the hem of your tight skirt. Growing breathless, you ask, “What kind of odd jobs do you do?”
Toji’s calluses tickle the sensitive skin in your inner thighs just right. He’s still marking your paper, occasionally fact-checking your ideas and his theories in a textbook on the table. Amused, he retorts, “You curious about me, doll?”
“Hmm, I want to know exactly whose cock will be stretching me out in a minute.”
He snorts, patting your clothed pussy. You jolt with every impact. “I tutor on the side. Fix up some cars in the garage in town. I’m a physical trainer for three clients at the local gym too. And when I’m low on money, I sell risqué pictures of myself. That disgust you?”
All while he answers, Toji’s blunt nails scrape your slit through your panties. He’s not applying much pressure at all, if any, and yet every skim, every travel up and down has goosebumps rising on your skin.
“N-no,” you answer quickly. “I think that’s really cool. If I had a body like yours, I’d take pictures all the time too.”
His laughter rumbles in his chest. An odd sense of pride warms your own. He says, “Your body’s more than good enough to sell too, you know. Don’t act like you don’t know guys give you double takes all the time, or that your ass could stop traffic.”
Giggling, you lean back, gazing up at him with a smile. “Do you stare at my ass sometimes, Toji?”
God, you’re soaked. You can tell, though you’re not embarrassed whatsoever. If anything, you’re just itching for him to pull your panties to the side and touch you skin to skin, to plunge inside your pussy and make a mess out of you.
“Tell me where you can, and should, insert a semi-colon in paragraph six, and I’ll give you an honest answer.”
He nudges you with his chin. “Go on. Quit thinking with your pussy and give me the right answer.” A little aggrieved, you sit up straight, holding his wrist to keep his hand between your legs. Your eyes scan the section. Tentatively, you point to a full stop on the second line. Toji shakes his head and smacks your clothed pussy again. “Try again, and don’t guess.”
“Here,” you snarl, feeling way past pent up. “Now give me my reward.”
Toji huffs. “Semi-colons help for varying sentence structures. It’s in the little ways you can convey your points compellingly. Don’t underutilise the right punctuations.”
“Yeah, yeah, smarty pants. Rub my clit and answer my question already.”
Cool air brushes against your swollen, glistening lips. You sigh when his warm hand covers the entire slit barely a second later. His middle fingers are instantly coated in your wetness. He groans. “Fuck, doll, you’re dripping.” Toji doesn’t give you a moment to respond to that; his fingers rub at your throbbing clit in tight circles, drawing it out of his hood. You moan, back arching.
Finally, he answers, “I stare at your ass all the fucking time after I glare at the losers whose eyes wander from their laptop screens . I’m a big, fucking hypocrite — that what you wanna hear?”
“Fuck yes!”
Rustling of paper reaches your ears. Then two hands are on you: one furiously rubbing the bundle of nerves and the other gripping your throat. He squeezes threateningly. Your vision spots, jaw dropping. “Look at you, all desperate to have my cock inside you. And for what? For a couple marks? You’re not ashamed?”
Your ass is grinding back on his boner, sandwiching the hard thing between your cheeks as your own answer. How could you be ashamed when he wants you so bad too?
“I’m horny! Are you gonna fuck me or not?”
In a split second, you find your world spinning. Your back falls on something hard. You’re staring up at the ceiling, papers scattered beneath you. Rough hands tug you down by your thighs. When you peer down, Toji’s staring up at you from between your lips.
“Yeah, I’m fucking you. You already knew I was gonna. You gonna let me taste your pussy first?” A challenging brow quirks up, like he’s waiting for you to push him away.
Instead, your legs hook over his shoulders, ankles crossed. You grin at him.
Panties pulled to the side, his fingers spread your pussy for him. Those eyes scan every inch. He releases a shaky breath, cheeks flushed and Adam’s apple bobbing. “Even your pussy’s pretty. Fucking gorgeous.” Running a hand through his hair, he says, “You’re always such a pain, aren’t you?”
“I can’t help that every part of me’s pretty,” you reply, twirling your hair.
“Shut up and play with your tits — I like a show with my dinner.” Toji spits a fat dollop right on your clit. It slides down your slit but before it can disappear in the crevice of your ass, his tongue is collecting it and shoving it inside your cunt.
You gasp. “Fuck, Toji!”
In spite of his aggressive tone, you pull down your top, letting your tits bounce out. Those eyes follow every jiggle. “Good girl,” he rasps. “Squeeze them for me nice and hard. Good. Real fucking good.”
His glasses are foggy now with your own humidity, rattling with every movement. He’s eating your pussy out like he’s starved, like he’s never tasted anything better, like he’s going to make sure not a single trace of you can be found in his apartment after he’s done with you.
Growling, he spread your thighs wider. “Course you’ve got a sweet pussy,” he says, brows furrowing in what appears to be anger. “Course it’s sweeter than that fucking cheesecake. Course I’ll be craving you till I die.”
Fingers tangle in his hair, tugging for purchase. “Ngh, Toji, my clit…suck my clit!”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Those scarred lips, the very ones you’ve stared at more times than you can count, wrap around your clit, sucking hard the way you did when you were blowing him under the desk. Electricity sparks inside, sending tremors up from your lower belly to your tits to the very tips of your fingers. “Oh fuck, that’s so good.”
Filthy squelches are being wrung out of you, and you know he’s doing it on purpose, addicted to how responsive your body is to him.
Two fingers worm their way through your pulsing hole, basking in the rough textures of your entrance, stretching your gummy walls on their way to curling against that spot that has you oozing more cum out.
“You’re fucking tight,” he hisses. “You’re gonna struggle taking all of me later.” Then he barks a laugh, spare hand pressing down on your belly where the pressure builds up. Your toes curl. “A better man would take pity on you, go slow or wait another day, but I’ve already had my tongue inside your cunt so I’ll spare you the gentleman act.”
More fingers shove in, ignoring the screech that you let out. You’ve never had more than two and yet all four of his thicker, longer fingers are inside pushing your walls to their very limits.
Despite that, he remarks, entertained by the shock on your face which he studies through his glasses, “Suck it up, buttercup — my cock’s thicker than this, you know that.”
You do.
It’s all you’ve been thinking about all day. Hours after, your jaw’s still stretched out, sore and creaking after the workout you put it through. The thought of having something even thicker, longer than his four fingers has you growing dizzy, head handing over the coffee table.
“Yeah, my cock can’t wait to feel you too,” Toji says, not to you but to your pussy which is squelching lewdly and loudly. “Had to resist jerking my dick raw all day so you better make it good for me.”
Is it seconds later, or minutes, maybe hours, when you cum?
How ever long it is no one can deny it’s the strongest orgasm of your life.
Your entire body trembles, spasming beyond control. Are you screaming or silently moaning? Are your eyes shut or have you gone blind? And is he still pistoning his fingers inside you, damn near pushing all of his hand in?
“Stop,” you cry out. “No more, please!”
Mercifully, he yanks his hand out. Unfortunately, it leaves you feeling so empty you immediately crave the feeling of his hand gripping you from inside.
Lips and chin glistening, he kisses both inner thighs, which tremble.
Toji gathers you with one arm, showing off his strength as he carries you off the table and to the glass door which leads out to the balcony. It’s dark out and all you can see are the lights of people’s rooms in the apartment across. There are families lounging, dogs sleeping, TV’s blaring.
Behind you, you hear the rustling of his shirt as he throws it off carelessly. Bare skin grazes your own soon after his hands make quick work of the clothes you’re still wearing. In a flash, you’re naked. He bends down to pick up your fallen panties, inhaling the gusset deeply. Your legs cross tightly at the deeply satisfied groan he lets out.
“Next office hour,” he starts, lazily spreading your pussy lips and smearing your juices around so he can listen to the squelches and keep your squirming, “you better leave your panties with me. Consider it payment.”
You laugh. “Sure.”
Groggily, you try to keep your head up, wondering what you’re doing by the window, still a little out of it. A hand clutches your jaw, aiding you.
“I’m gonna fuck you against this window,” he announces, leaving no room for arguments. “You want those extra marks? Then you’re gonna be a good girl and take my cock like a champ.”
Ass gyrating back against the hot, heavy thing still confined in sweatpants, you wonder, “Do you have an exhibitionism kink?”
He lets go of you. You have to catch yourself by pressing your palms to the cold glass. Toji drags your hips back, foot kicking your legs apart. His cock plops onto your ass, scalding. “No, I have a ‘get my time’s worth from shameless women who waste my time with demands for better grades by humiliating them’ kink.”
“Sounds long. We should get that shortened,” you drawl.
His cockhead slides through your pussy, coating itself in your wetness. The fat thing bumps against your clit. You shudder.
Satisfied with your natural lubrication, he prods your entrance. “Yeah, we should. Let’s call it, Shut The Fuck Up And Take It.”
Then he enters you in one go.
You scream.
The window fogs up with your breath. Your eyes roll to the back of your head.
You’re taking so much of his length so quickly that it should be painful. Despite that, there’s not an ounce of pain, not one you didn’t like at least — only the overwhelming pleasure of being filled up is resonating.
Toji grunts. “Almost had to fist this cunt and you’re -hah fuck- still too tight.”
Pummelling his cock in, his hips don’t pause for a second. You gasp for breath, palms slipping and sliding on the condensation that’s built up on the glass. It’s like you can feel him in your lungs, so impossibly deep, so hot, so intimidating.
“God, it should be a crime to have a body like this,” he says, hands groping every part of your flesh he can reach. He slaps your ass to watch it jiggle for him. He’s an ass man, that much is clear.
The force of his thrusting has you pushed closer to the glass, so close now that almost your entire front is flush with the surface. The coldness grazes your nipples. You moan.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
He tugs you back to him, body sliding down the glass till your ass is jutted out. Toji carries your hips up so you can reach him, but it means your toes are only brushing the floor. You cling to the glass door as much as you can. Through the glossy haze, you see the marks you left on the glass, from the oils and sweat on your skin. You see the outline of your tits, all round and fat, the handprints you left and the smearing of them all over the place because you couldn’t grapple with one position to have them in.
Are people watching? Are you flashing a poor old man, are you reigniting a sexual appetite in a pitiful divorcee, making a housewife jealous, creating fantasies for some guy your age? Are people rubbing one out to the flashes of ecstasy on your face, to the swaying of your tits, to the rippling of your ass?
Toji’s fingers creep under you, furiously teasing your clit. You whine. “I think I’m gonna cum again.”
“Go on, gorgeous,” he rasps. “Lemme feel you cum around my cock. Make my dreams come true.”
Two fingers gather the cream that’s formed a ring at his base. He draws three letters on the glass for you to stare at. It spells out c u m.
God, he’s dirty.
Another orgasm ripples through you. Your thighs shake. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Toji!”
He growls out, hands tightening their grip on your hips, threatening to bruise, “Shit, you’re gonna make me cum early.”
Without waiting for you to come down from your high, he flips you around. Your back thuds against the door. His cock reenters you in a clean, easy slide, cunt beyond soaked and stretched out. Your arms and legs wrap around him.
Those glasses of him have fogged up so thickly now that they fail to serve their purpose. Toji takes it off with one hand, sliding it onto your head, like a headband keeping your face clear of your hair. “Don’t let them fall,” he orders. “They break and you won’t be getting that internship.”
And his lips?
They smack against yours.
He kisses you, all tongue and teeth and drool dripping down chins, like he’s been waiting weeks, months, perhaps years to do that. And you kiss him back just the same.
Inside you, his cock throbs. Toji’s hips swing back and forth, pelvis grinding on yours, rubbing your clit and wringing our more obscene squeeeelches.
“Oh god, I’m so full, Toji. You’re so fucking big.”
“You’re -hngh- t-taking me so well,” he praises, littering sloppy kisses all over your face and neck all while he pinches and rolls your nipples. “Moaning so adorably, all pretty and finally keeping this mouth quiet of smartass comments. You should be like this all the time.”
The rocking of his cock inside you is even better like this. The closeness, the warmth, the taste of him — you wonder why you waited so long to do this.
Tits squashed to his chest, your nipples scrape his skin, slipping and sliding with the sweat beading down your bodies. The hard planes of his chest feel magnificent. Nothing about his muscles are for vanity only, and the knowledge of the strength he’s holding back has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.
“You’d miss my smartass comments,” you tell him, head thrown back and hips working their way down on his cock of their own volition.
Toji groans against your neck, licking droplets of sweat. “Yeah, maybe. I definitely wouldn’t miss your spelling errors though.”
Smiling, you tug his head up by his hair, and bite his bottom lip. You pull and let go so it’ll snap back into place like he’d done with your lip when you were under his desk. “Maybe if you taught me like this, I wouldn’t -hah- make so m-many mistakes— deeper, Toji! Fuck me deeper.”
His hips plough deeper inside, like you wanted, hitting that spot inside you till you’re sure it’ll be bruised in the morning. Moans after moans are fucked out of you; his neighbours will give him an earful tomorrow, you’re certain.
“Book more office hours just to see me and not because you want something from me, then we can see if I can fuck your stupidity out of you,” he retorts.
You peck his lips. “Aw, does poor, needy Toji want me to give him more attention? Does he miss me when I’m not there? What a cute little baby.”
“Yeah, he does, actually,” he says, smirking. “That a problem?”
“It will be if you don’t make me cum.”
Toji reminds you, “You’ve been cumming around my cock this entire time; you still want more? Greedy girl.”
He pulls away from the window, stalking over to the sofa instead. Each step burrows him deeper inside you, kissing your cervix and pushing out gasps from your lips, all of which he swallows.
Carelessly, he throws you on the sofa. You bounce with an oomph!
Ankles held by one hand, he keeps your legs upright, hips lifted up to meet his. Toji presses a kiss to your ankle bone before he pushes his cock back inside. Your back arches with a mewl. Like this, his huge body becomes even more glaring — he’s casting a shadow over you, completely dwarfing you, reminding you how easily he could break you, how he could take whatever he wants from you.
Every time he buries himself to the hilt, a bulge pops through your tummy, right under your belly button.
“Look at that,” he mutters, brushing a thumb over it. You whine. “Feel me deep inside you? You’ll be feeling me inside for days, won’t you? Once it starts to fade, you can always come back for another fill, you know.”
“Promise?” you ask, grinning ear to ear.
Toji pulls out, leaving just his tip before he slams back in, jostling you down on the sofa. His abs contract, cock throbbing at the sudden clenching of your walls around him. “Fuck, yes, doll. Promise. I fucking promise.”
His glasses have slid off, rattling somewhere on the sofa with the impact of every thrust. He doesn’t seem to care about them anymore. You’re nearing another orgasm, head whipping around at the intensity of the pressure building in your core. He’s bullying his cock relentlessly in your cunt, chasing after his own high and sending you to yours.
When your eyes clash with his piercing, green ones, unobstructed by his glasses, you explode with a scream.
“F-fuck,” he grunts, following soon after.
Searing cum spurts inside you, cock pulsing, cum painting your walls. His thumb rubs your clit, aiding you through your orgasm. Your moans are vibrating against the walls, definitely disturbing his neighbours, but so are his groans.
He slumps over, rolling the two of you on the sofa so you’re resting naked on his heated body, his heavy arm preventing you from falling off. Your pussy’s sore, a mix of your cum and his dribbling out and creating a sticky mess on your inner thighs.
Absentmindedly, as you both catch your breath, he rubs your back. You draw shapes and letters on his chest. Toji combs his hair off of his forehead, chest rising up and down with his breathing. The dirty marks you two left are still on the glass, though it’s no longer foggy.
Reaching up above him, he gracefully finds his glasses, sliding them on his face. You like him with and without them.
“So,” you begin, “about those extra marks.”
Toji lifts his glasses up to rub a hand down his face. “Jesus, yes, you’ll get the marks.”
“Thanks!” you chirp.
“God, you’re a pain in the ass.”
.
.
.
“Fuck, Toji,” you moan. “I already came three times. It’s too -hic- too much.”
Your TA ruts his cock inside you, face buried in the crook of your neck. His glasses are on your nose bridge, blurring your vision; he gets so frustrated when the thing gets in the way of kissing you or eating you out.
“Shut up,” he rasps, hand pressing down on your lower belly so you can feel him even more. “You’re the one who dragged me here. Take every orgasm I give you and be grateful.”
That’s true — you were supposed to have an office hour with him, which is really an excuse to see your boyfriend before you have to attend the internship induction session, but then you took one look at him and his amazing body and started soaking through your panties so here you two are.
Oh yes, you did say boyfriend.
After he blew your mind out, you’d been visiting his apartment after classes so often, you were practically living there, and he didn’t mind. It started out casual, but after realising you two would go grocery shopping, watch movies together, and text each other practically every day, you decided to just seal the deal and make it official.
In short, he fucks good, and he can tolerate your personality, so you two stuck together.
A month in, neither of you are really regretting it. At least, if his desperate thrusting and sloppy kisses to your neck’s anything to go by.
“Missed you so much, Toji,” you whine, hips fucking back into him.
Toji groans, hand groping your tit from under your shit. “Yeah, baby?”
“Mmm.”
“Missed you too,” he confesses, licking a stripe up your neck and scraping his teeth down. Goosebumps rise on your arms. “Been wanting to see you all morning.”
You giggle, holding onto the stall for purchase and so his thrusting won’t make you smack face first onto the door. “You’re so cute w-when you’re needy.”
“Fuck off,” he says with no real heat to his words.
In the near distance, the door to the men’s toilets opens with a dull metallic creak, the sound echoing faintly off the tiled walls. Feet pad in—slow, unhurried. The steady rhythm of someone who expects the place to be empty.
“Fushiguro?” a voice calls out. “You in here?”
The two of you go very, very still. Toji’s entire body stiffens behind you, muscles locking. His hand clamps firmly over your mouth for extra measure, warm palm pressing tight enough that you can feel the tension in his fingers.
Your heart slams against your ribs, loud enough that you’re half convinced it might echo under the stall. What the hell is the professor doing here?
“Susan told me she saw you walk in this direction. You got a minute?”
Toji releases a tense breath through his nose, annoyed at the interruption but left with no choice but to answer. He lifts you up so your feet hang over the floor and won’t be seen by the outsider. “Yeah, prof. But I’m kinda in the middle of something.”
The professor laughs. “Yes, yes, I’m sure. I do apologise for interrupting you. I was just locked out of my account and can’t send emails for the next hour. You know how terrible I am with technology.” He enters the stall next door. He unzips his pants. You cringe. “I only wanted to ask if you’re prepared to host the internship induction later.”
You go still, this time for a different reason.
Your boyfriend releases your mouth. Fingers creep over to between your legs, where you’re still connected to him, where he’s still throbbing inside you. He slowly rubs your clit, keeping you from squirming in complaint with his strong arms. Toji responds, “Yeah, got all my notes ready.”
The bastard’s trying to distract you…
“Ah good, good,” the older man joyfully responds. His stream hits the water, and you fight the urge to face palm. “I had a look over the plans and the schedule. Very well organised, I must say. The competition was fierce, which is a testament to the success of the event, so props to you.”
Do men hold conversation so casually in the toilets?
Toji carefully begins moving in slow and shallow thrusts, prodding your g-spot over and over with his fat cockhead. You bite your lips to keep from moaning. Your nails dig into his thick arm. He ignores you.
“Don’t mention it, Professor.”
The man zips himself back up and flushes, exiting the stall. Outside, the tap runs, and you’re both still as quiet as rocks, afraid that any sudden movement will out you both as sexual deviants.
He adds, “Oh, and thank you for handling the applications for me; you know I hate all that paperwork nonsense.”
Your jaw drops.
Beyond tense, Toji replies like he’s aware of the weight every word exchange carries, “I do what I can do to help out.”
“I couldn’t do what I do without you,” the professor continues, sincere and ignorant to the fact that you’re there. The rustling of paper towels echoes. “Well, I’ll see you later. Apologies again for interrupting.”
The exit door swings open and you relax, but then his voice fills the space again.
“Do say hello to your pretty, little girlfriend for me.”
Your heart?
Drops to the fucking floor.
Toji’s grip on you tightens just slightly, barely noticeable unless you’re pressed this close to him.
Your mind races. Did he see you come in? Did someone tell him? Did Susan, whoever the hell she is—
Toji speaks before you can spiral further, his tone sharper now, suspicion threading through it. “What do you mean, Professor?”
“Oh, you know, the girl you’ve been eyeing for a while now — she’s on the internship, yes?” Then he laughs the kind of laughter old men do, all paternal and wise. “Don’t worry, son, I’m not accusing you of pulling strings; I know she’s a very intelligent young woman. Ambitious too. Almost as ambitious as you. I hope you two work something out.”
Your heart slows its beating but you’re not any less tense.
Sighing, Toji responds, “I’ll let you know if we do.”
“Yes, yes,” the professor says before he leaves for good.
Finally, it’s just you two in the men’s toilets again. The silence and emptiness is maddeningly relieving. Although, you’re seething, practically vibrating with accusations and anger.
Toji lets you down. Your feet touch the ground again. You pull him out, whirling on him with a disbelieving glare. You snatch his glasses off your face with one hand and smack his chest with the other. The man doesn’t budge.
“You sneaky piece of shit!”
He gathers both of your wrists with one hand, rolling his eyes. Toji takes his glasses from you and slides it on his face. Seeing you clearer now, he guides his cock back to your pussy, re-entering with ease. You moan, allowing him to hike your leg over his hip so he can press in deeper.
Kissing your lips, he mutters against your lips, “I did what I had to to get your attention. Sue me.”
“God, you’re the worst,” you breathe out, chest jutting out to his, nipples aching and clit throbbing.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “I’m the big, bad wolf, and you’re creaming all over my dick right now. Let’s not act like you got the short end of the stick here.”
“Master manipulator,” you hiss, kissing him back, fingers tangling in his hair as soon he lets go of your wrists to grope your tit and ass.
“Whore,” he fires back.
Then the two of you smile, clutching each other tightly as you both rock into each other, nearing your mutual orgasm and riding the pleasure growing in your bodies. Fuck, he feels so good.
“We’re gonna be together forever and ever, aren’t we?” you ask.
summary: Toby's not been in a very good mood the past week, and it's not like his usual grumpiness, it's something worse.
note: this was requested after my last toby fic!
fem!reader x adult!toby
Toby sat in his truck, the door half open with his foot. He wasn't planning on going for a drive anywhere, but the mansion had been getting too overstimulating for him to stand to be in there anymore.
He had gone out for a smoke, to calm himself down. But as all his thoughts died down with the nicotine, one thought stayed in his mind.
Her.
You and your pretty face. You were so undeservingly kind to Toby, despite everything he's done and all the baggage Toby came with.
You knew Toby was a bad man who had done unspeakable things but you also knew that Toby was manipulated by Slenderman when he was only a teenager.
"Toby?" Your soft voice broke the silence Toby was sitting in.
"What are you doing out here?" Toby stomped out his cigarette with his boot.
"I should be asking you that!" You approached him.
"Well I came out to smoke, that answer your q-question?"
"Yeah, it does." You say. "I came out because I was worried about you."
"Well I'm fine, I don't need to be worried about."
"You haven't seemed 'fine,' all week.." You looked at him with a worried expression, and then gently cupped his face.
Toby tried not to nuzzle into your hand as best he could.
"Yeah.. fine." Toby admitted defeat. "I ain't fine."
"I knew you weren't fine," You said.
"Is it.." You paused. "Is it bipolar episodes again?"
"You know me too well."
".. Smoking isn't the right way to help with depression." You gently moved Toby's hand up to your mouth and blew out the cigarette he was holding between his cold, pale fingers.
"How do you think I should cope then?"
You didn't say anything, taking Toby's hand and walking towards the manor.
When you both arrived in the manor, you made your way to Toby's bedroom to retrieve his pyjamas. A plain old flannel pair shorts and some underwear.
"I'm a grown man, I don't need you to dress me, sweetheart.." Toby says, he thinks you're going to dress him.
"I'm gonna give you a bath." You give him a smile.
"What?" Toby felt his face go a little pink.
"We're not going to do anything else, I'm gonna give you a bath."
Toby and you walked to the bathroom and you turned the tap on.
"Sweetheart?" Toby called out. You turned around.
"Yes?"
"Can we have a shower instead?" You felt your heart flutter when Toby asked if both of you could shower.
"Of course," You say as you switch off the bath tap and move to the shower.
While the shower ran, Toby sat on the cold tile floors, and ran a hand over his face. He was tired, he probably had been having sleep issues.
"C'mon sweetheart, clothes off." You knelt down and began to help Toby out of his clothes. He didn't protest like he usually would.
Once both of you were naked, you helped Toby up and both of you entered the shower together.
You grabbed the loofa and some of your soap, lathering up the sponge and then lathering up Toby.
"You're' gonna feel much better after this." You say, giving Toby's exposed neck a gentle kiss.
Toby's hand rested on your lower back as you gently washed him.
After your shower, you and Toby changed into your pyjamas.
You went to grab Toby's water bottle and filled it with nice cold water, because when toby went into depressive episodes he didn't drink much water.
Once you got back into the shared bedroom between you and Toby, you switched the standing fan on and got into bed, sitting Toby's water bottle on the nightstand.
You laid back down in the bed, and Toby took the chance to nuzzle into you. His head resting on your chest and his arms wrapped around your waist.
"Mmm.. baby.." You stroke his hair, knowing that he needed comfort.
"Yes, Yes." You say. "I'm here."
"I lurvee you.." Toby drew shapes on your back with his finger.
"Do you wanna go to bed now?"
"Mmm.. yes." You felt Toby nod against you, his hair brushing against your stomach.
Toby looked back up at you, giving you puppy eyes. He clearly wanted a good night kiss.
You cupped his face, leaning in and giving him a gentle kiss.
You and Toby shared a gentle kiss, full of love and tenderness.
You both fell asleep, tangled up in each other's arms.
she asked, kneeling between your legs—tongue deep, fingers deeper.
your skirt bunched at your hips, your control long gone.
and when you came on her mouth, sobbing her name,
hanji just smiled and whispered,
“addicted. and so am i.”
cw: sex addiction themes, therapist/patient dynamic, explicit oral (f receiving), power imbalance, manipulation, obsession, fingering, unprofessional behavior, dom!hanji, mild degradation, consent-checked but ethically messy.
—
Therapy Office – 4:08 PM
Hanji Zoe’s Legs Are Crossed. Again.
“You’re not writing anything down today,” Hanji says, voice casual.
You glance up from your notepad — blank, indeed. A fact you hadn’t even noticed until she said it.
She notices everything.
Her glasses are fogged slightly from the rain outside. Her brown hair’s tied up messily, yet somehow perfectly. She’s lounged on the couch like it’s her own bed — legs long, skirt riding a little too high, one foot dangling. And her eyes?
Locked on you.
“I’m listening,” you say, keeping your voice measured. Calm. Not reactive.
“You’re distracted,” she replies, tilting her head. “That’s unprofessional, doctor.”
You ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “Tell me about the last time you relapsed.”
She smiles.
There’s something wolfish about it — soft and dangerous. Like she enjoys making you uncomfortable. Like it’s part of the treatment.
“I touched myself… yesterday when I got back home.” she says easily, like she’s describing what she had for lunch. “After a meeting. I couldn’t stop thinking about someone.”
You keep your face neutral. “Who?”
“I won’t say.”
You wait.
She leans in, eyes narrowing.
“But if you’re trying to make me feel ashamed, it won’t work. I’ve been this way longer than you’ve been licensed.”
“Shame isn’t the goal,” you reply quietly.
“No? What is the goal?” she purrs. “To ‘fix’ me? Cure me of craving? Or is the goal to keep me just sick enough that I come back? Keep talking. Keep undressing in front of you… emotionally, of course.”
You hold her gaze. Your stomach knots.
Hanji smiles again — slow. Knowing.
“You’re the only one who’s ever made me want to behave.”
Your fingers tighten around the pen.
But you say nothing.
She watches you — carefully, slowly — and then sits back again, satisfied.
“See?” she whispers. “I say things like that, and you still don’t throw me out.”
You exhale slowly.
Session five. And she’s already rearranged the power dynamic like it’s chess and you never learned the rules.
The Next Day
Therapy Office – 4:04 PM
She’s Early This Time.
She walked in like she owned the place.
No knock. No hesitation. Just that usual Hanji confidence — messy hair, oversized coat barely hanging off her shoulder, combat boots untied. Her glasses slid slightly down her nose, and she didn’t fix them.
She didn’t need to.
“Afternoon, doc,” she greeted, like you were old friends instead of her therapist.
You didn’t answer right away. Just watched her. She didn’t sit on the couch this time — she dropped into your armchair, your chair, like it was some kind of test.
You closed the door slowly. Sat across from her.
“You’re in my seat,” you said.
She smirked. “Is that a boundary?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t move. “You planning to enforce it?”
Your silence said enough.
Hanji’s smile deepened. “Didn’t think so.”
You opened your notepad — already prepared this time. Already braced for whatever chaos she’d bring into the room like perfume on her coat.
“How are you feeling today?”
“Riled up.”
“Be more specific.”
She leaned back. Legs wide. Arms draped over the chair like she was holding court.
“I had a dream about you last night.”
You didn’t look up. “Dreams aren’t always rooted in meaning.”
“This one was.” Her voice dipped. “You had me pinned to the desk. Your mouth was—well. Never mind. You said you weren’t into shame.”
Your pen paused for half a second.
Just enough for her to notice.
“You like when I say things like that,” she whispered. “Don’t you?”
“No,” you lied.
She sat up. Slowly. Bracing her elbows on her knees.
“You shouldn’t be my therapist,” she said, voice low. “You’re too soft with me.”
“I haven’t been soft.”
“You let me flirt with you.”
“That’s not—”
“You let me stay.”
You swallowed hard. “Do you want me to refer you to someone else?”
Hanji’s eyes narrowed.
“No,” she said. “I want you to admit you’ve thought about it too.”
You looked up. The air between you was thick, quiet. A stand-off.
She reached up, slowly, and pulled the elastic from her hair. Curls fell wild over her face.
“I want to get better,” she said softly. “I do.”
You studied her face — flushed, guarded, but honest.
“But I can’t stop unless you tell me to,” she added. “And mean it.”
You didn’t say anything.
You couldn’t.
Because you didn’t mean it.
10:47 PM – Your Apartment
Your Phone Buzzes. You Already Know It’s Her.
You shouldn’t have answered.
You told yourself that earlier tonight — standing in the shower, scrubbing away the heat in your chest that hadn’t gone away since Session Six. You even left your work phone on the counter. But when it buzzed — again — something inside you said:
It’s her.
And you were right.
Hanji’s voice came through the speaker with that same ragged breathlessness you’ve started dreaming about.
“Sorry,” she murmured. “I know I’m not supposed to call you outside of hours.”
You swallowed, sitting on the edge of your bed. “Is this an emergency?”
She paused.
Then said, so quietly:
“Yes.”
You said nothing.
Just listened.
“I didn’t want to bother anyone else,” she continued, voice fraying at the edge. “You’re the only one who knows what it feels like. This… ache. Like I’m going to crawl out of my skin.”
You shifted, thighs pressing together subconsciously.
“It’s worse at night,” she whispered. “You know that, right?”
“Hanji—”
“I tried everything. Breathing. Pacing. Cold shower. I even—”
A pause. A sharp inhale.
“I touched myself. It didn’t help. I kept seeing you.”
Your breath hitched.
“Your mouth,” she said softly. “The way you talk to me. The way your eyes flick away when I say something dirty. Like you’re pretending you don’t want to throw your chair across the room and pin me against the floor.”
You clenched your eyes shut. “This isn’t appropriate.”
“I know.”
“I’m your therapist.”
“I know.”
And yet she kept going.
“I want you to say it,” she breathed. “Just once. Say you think about it too.”
You hung up.
You didn’t mean to — but your thumb hit the red button before your mouth could betray you.
Silence.
You stared at the phone like it might ring again. It didn’t.
But your body was already on fire.
Your hand slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts before you could stop it, shame and arousal coiling together so tight it made your breath catch.
You thought about her voice.
The crack in it.
Her glasses fogged from breath. Her mouth saying your name.
I touched myself. I kept seeing you.
You moaned — soft, desperate — fingers circling your clit as your mind betrayed you completely. You imagined her hands instead of yours. Her mouth instead of the pillow muffling your gasps.
Your back arched as you came — quiet, fast, sinful — her name caught between your teeth.
And when the high faded, you just lay there…
Hand still between your legs.
Phone screen still lit.
Heart still racing.
You didn’t call her back.
But you didn’t delete her number either.
Therapy Office – 3:58 PM
You Regret Answering That Call. You Regret Hanging Up More.
She’s early. Again.
You hear the elevator ding just before four, and you already know it’s her.
There’s a beat of hesitation in your step before opening the door, smoothing your expression into something passable. Professional. Calm.
Hanji’s sitting there when you enter. Legs crossed. Notebook on her lap. Her glasses are pushed up, lips parted slightly like she’d been mid-thought.
Like she was waiting.
“You look tired,” she says.
You close the door quietly. “Rough night.”
“Me too.”
Her voice is innocent, but the glint in her eye says otherwise.
Your body tenses as you take your seat — your seat — not hers. Not this time.
You open your notepad. “Let’s begin.”
She tilts her head. “You sure you don’t want to talk about the call?”
You keep your face still. “That call was inappropriate.”
“I noticed you didn’t say unnecessary.”
You don’t respond.
Hanji smiles — slow, almost lazy. She’s not pushing it yet. Not really. But her eyes keep drifting to your mouth. Every time you speak. Every time you press your lips together. Every time you breathe too deep.
She’s studying you.
Like a craving she’s trying not to taste.
And it’s driving you insane.
“Have you considered we’re making progress?” she asks suddenly, like she hasn’t been eye-fucking you for the past five minutes. “I haven’t had sex in over a week.”
“You called me at nearly eleven to tell me you couldn’t stop touching yourself.”
“I didn’t say I succeeded at progress. Just that I’m thinking about it more.”
“And what are you thinking now?”
She leans forward.
Eyes locked to your lips.
“That if you tell me to behave one more time with that mouth—”
You cut her off, voice tight: “You’re deflecting.”
She blinks, lips twitching. “So are you.”
There’s a silence between you. Tense. Breathing.
Her fingers twitch against the arm of the chair. Her knees part slightly. You pretend not to notice. She knows you noticed.
“I liked hearing you breathe last night,” she says. “Right before you hung up. You were shaking.”
You grip the pen harder.
This session’s going nowhere.
Except it’s going exactly where she wants.
“You’re staring again,” you say softly, breath shaky.
Hanji’s smile is slow. Wide. Dangerous.
She’s already across the room before you can stand — before you can do anything.
And then?
She’s in your lap.
One knee braced between your legs, hands on your shoulders, eyes sharp as scalpels. Her breath ghosts over your lips as she murmurs:
“If you want me to stop, tell me now.”
You don’t.
You can’t.
Because the ache between your legs has been building for weeks. Because every word she’s said has rewired your body into hers. Because you stopped being her therapist the moment you imagined her mouth on you.
So you whisper:
“Close the blinds.”
She doesn’t.
Instead, she kisses you — hard — tongue sliding in like she owns your mouth, hips rolling into yours, making you feel how soaked she already is. You gasp, and Hanji smirks into the kiss.
“God, you’re soft,” she breathes, pulling your blouse open. “You dress like a professional, but under here… you’re so fucking easy.”
Her hands slip under your bra — teasing, circling — and your hips jerk forward involuntarily.
She hums. “Already losing control, doctor?”
You try to answer. You do. But then her mouth is on your neck — teeth dragging, tongue licking up the racing pulse in your throat. Her hands push your skirt up, sliding your underwear down without care.
“Let me taste how stressed I make you,” she growls.
You shudder.
And then she drops to her knees between your legs.
Ripping your thighs apart. Gripping them so tight you whimper. Her breath is hot against your soaked center — and then her mouth descends.
“Holy—Hanji—”
She moans into you, like your pussy is her favorite drug — licking slow and messy, tongue pressing into your clit just right, until you’re trembling in your chair, gasping her name like a prayer.
“You taste like sin,” she mumbles between licks. “Like guilt and God and everything I shouldn’t have.”
Her fingers slide inside you — deep, curved perfectly — and you scream, hips jerking up into her mouth.
Your hand flies to her hair, yanking, grounding — and she loves it.
“That’s it,” she whispers. “Come on my tongue, baby.”
You do.
You break.
Shaking, crying out, thighs clamped around her head as you come harder than you ever have — because it’s wrong. Because it’s her. Because she made you.
When it’s over, she stays there.
Breathing you in.
Then she looks up — mouth slick, lips swollen — and says, so sweetly:
“What’s my diagnosis, doctor?”
You pull her up by the collar of her shirt, dragging her into a messy, fucked-out kiss.
“Addicted,” you whisper. “And so am I.”
—
SOMEBODYY SAYYY AAAYYYEEE WE WANT SOME PUSSAYYYY. I wanna write my female anime character x readers but I don't know who.
anon, i hope you know i took this VERY seriously. i dont play bout Sally 🫶🏿🩷
So I wrote this because I had a pretty bad migraine and wanted some comfort. MAJOR TW FOR MIGRAINES!!!! Reader is having a retinal migraine WITH an ocular aura. Very descriptive detailing of symptoms.
Your legs were draped across Sal's lap, his thumbs gently smoothing over your thighs while a slasher movie played on the TV. His piercing blue eyes occasionally dart over to you, sensing your unease, though he can't figure out what's got you so distracted. You don't seem to be scared of the movie or nervous from his closeness, just mentally elsewhere.
Meanwhile, the eye-floater in your peripheral vision began to grow in size, slowly inching its way to the center of your vision. Normally an eye-floater would disappear after a few seconds, but this one had been growing and distorting your vision to the point that it looked like TV static whenever you tried to look at something.
"I'm having an Aura. I'm gonna have a migraine," you state abruptly, rising up from the sofa and heading to your bedroom in a panic. "I have to leave, Sal, I'm sorry."
"Whoa whoa whoa, hey, hold on," he calls to you in a gentle voice, palms raised in an attempt to put you at ease as he approaches you. You try at look at him, but half his face- ironically enough- is engulfed in your Aura, rendering him nearly invisible.
Once his hands are gently resting on your shoulders, he whispers, "You told me before that you usually have about 20 minutes before the pain starts, right?" You nod. "So let's use that time to get you comfortable so you can sleep it off. That's the only thing that helps, isn't it?"
It's true. The pain is unbearable when it sets it, leaving nauseous and dizzy. You become sensitive to sounds, smells, light, even temperature. It's miserable.
Sal's voice is hushed and calming when he speaks to you, easing you down the hallway and into his bedroom where he pulls back the blanket for you. "You just focus on getting comfortable, okay? I'll go get some melatonin for you."
Once he's done tucking you in, he leaves the room for a bit longer than you had anticipated, only to return with a handful of freezing cold towels, some ice water, and a little white pill. "How'd you get those towels so cold so fast?" You ask, quickly taking the melatonin before settling back into Sal's blanket.
"You told me that putting a cold towel over your eyes is soothing when you have migraines, so I started keeping towels in sandwich bags in my freezer. Just in case."
You told him that forever ago.
Sal clicks off the light and shuffles into bed beside you, making sure to give you enough space and not overwhelm you with physical contact in your current state. "Oh, and I dropped the temperature to 60 degrees. I know it helps you feel better when it's cold."
Fuck, you loved that man.
Your eyes flutter shut as the sound of the air conditioner powering on lulls you to sleep. "Thank you," you whisper quietly, gripping onto Sal's sweater with just your thumb and index.
"Don't worry about it," he answers softly, "just get some rest, baby."
Hours later, you languidly rise in bed, hair slightly disheveled and eyes half-lidded. When you turn your head, you see him there, unmasked, tapping away at his Gear Boy. The sound of you stirring in bed makes him toss his game into the nightstand, cyan locks swishing as he quickly turns his head to face you. He's stunned to see you already staring daggers into his blue eyes.
Without a word, you crash your lips into his, throwing your arms around his broad shoulders as you ease your thigh over his lap. He rests his hands on your hips, slowly running them along your thighs as you straddle him, warm thighs locking him in place. He's a bit awkward at kissing, given his split lips and scars, but damn if he doesn't try. Oh, how he consumes you.
The gasp he lets out when you roll your hips down into him only coaxes one from your lips right after. And the music of your rapturous gasps triggers more sweet music from him. Back and forth, you exchange blissful melodies between hungry mouths. Sal grabs a fistful of your band tee and lifts his hips to meet yours. A slight change, but a drastic one. Through your black and red striped panties, your blooming clit slides up perfectly against him.
With his other hand, he grabs onto your hair to tug your head to the side and expose your pretty brown skin for his ravenous teeth. You suck in a sharp breath through your own teeth as Sal sinks his sharp ones further into that perfect spot right where your shoulder meets the base of your neck. "Baby," you whimper as you tangle your fingers in his messy hair.
"Do it faster," he chokes out, slowly dragging his tongue up your throat, stopping at your ear, and then nibbling on the shell of it. You squeal with delight upon having your weakness exploited so deliciously, pulling Sal into a tight hug as you hump against his dick at a desperate pace. He clings to you just as tightly, falling back onto the mattress with you in his arms. "Baby, I'm gonna cum!" You mewl into his neck, nails digging into his flesh as your ruthless hips writhe on top of him.
"Mhm," he answers, chasing his own release right with you. "Fuckin' cumming," he growls as his hands find your ass, gripping tightly as he ruts up into you.
You're the first to surrender, your hips spasming on top of him as you sing your pleasures into his neck. The feeling of your slippery tongue sliding all over his throat makes him give in right after, painting the inside of his sweatpants with his bliss as his hands struggle to settle on which part of your body to grab onto to for anchorage.
It takes quite a bit for the two of you to come down from your highs, offering each other sweet kisses and soft touches as your chests rise and fall together.
"Sal," you start breathlessly, "you make me feel seen," you admit shyly, thinking back on all he did to comfort you without even having to be asked.
"Then let my eyes feast on you." Sal wastes no time rolling you onto your back, holding your gaze as he crawls down your body and spreads your soft thighs to expose your wetness. It's seeping through your panties, sticking to the fabric as Sal rolls them down past your ankles, and he cant help the way he drinks you in with his eyes. You're still sensitive when he begins to drink you, his mouth closing around your entire pussy, slowly closing around your clit and pulling away with a lewd slurp. Your thighs twitch around his face as he gorges himself on your essence.
You grab onto his hair as you begin to thrash wildly underneath him, still dangerously sensitive from your last orgasm. A needy whine escapes your lips when you feel him hooking his arms underneath your legs and holding them in place over his shoulders, his fingertips deep in the tops of your thighs. "Too much, t-too fuckin' much, I'm gonna cum!" Your eyes roll back in your head as your body tenses up from pleasure, your second orgasm wracking through your core as you try and fail to thrash your way out of Sal's devious grasp.
When you finally come to, Sal is already there, kissing his way up your heaving body as you gently drag your nails all over his skin until they reach his chest. His hands drag all over your hips as he kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. "Let me know when you're ready for a bath, okay?" He asks sweetly, his gently knuckles caressing along your cheek and jaw as he watches you breathe.
He's going to have to write a song about this as soon you're asleep.
the fandom may be dead, but my love for Sal is eternal
Jealous!Sal Fisher x reader
Something about that guy just made Sal's fucking blood boil. The way he nudged you on the shoulder when he made you laugh, the way he'd talk about your hobbies and interests as if Sal didn't already know you like the back of his hand. He hated the way that asshole dangled his friendship with you right in front of his face, like he was taunting Sal with the idea of being close with you. And most of all, he fucking hated the way you didn't seem to notice. Always laughing off his dumb little antics under the excuse of "that's just how he is."
"I don't like the way he talks to you," Sal blurted out one evening as he lazily strummed at his guitar, keeping his eyes locked on the strings rather than on you. You looked up from your sketchbook, head tilted in confusion. "Who?"
"You know who. I don't like all those weird jokes he's always making when I'm around." Earlier that morning, you'd all decided to grab coffee together when your "childhood friend" covered your part of the bill, and no one else's, arm draped around your shoulders as he "jokingly" declared how a man must always provide for his woman. Sal had been strangely silent after that, to the point that even Larry called him on it and asked if he wanted to go home instead.
Sal sighed to himself and continued strumming away at his guitar, filling the air with sad, melancholic melodies to soothe his aching heart. "Oh, come on," you teased, "he's like that with everyone! Even with Larry!"
"Not with me."
You giggle. "What, are you jealous or something?"
"Big time," he admitted bluntly, cyan eyes still glued to his guitar. You started to fire up a round of your usual playful banter, but something seemed off this time. That silly little glint in his eye was long gone. His voice was monotonous, serious. You've never seen him so hardened before and it worried you. You slowly crawl towards him on the carpet, making him lift his gaze for just a second before returning his attention to his music. Music was always his go-to escape, and you loved that about him.
"Sal," you call quietly, but doesn't look up this time. He seems a bit embarrassed, shy even. He doesn't meet your gaze, even as you're sitting on your knees right in front of him. You lift your hands and place your fingers on his knees, gently caressing his skin with your thumbs as you whisper, "I'm sorry."
Finally, his eyes meet with yours. He stares expectantly, making your heart dance in your chest. "I really am. I guess I'm just so used to him acting that way that I didn't realize how much of a jerk he was being."
"Shouldn't be friends with jerks," he murmurs, then strums another slow, sad melody on his guitar. You sigh. "You're absolutely right, Sal. You're my boyfriend, not him. I should have told him to lay off a long time ago."
"And you should have let me cover the bill."
Sal's eyes dart back at you as you let out a loud, hearty laugh, making him smile underneath his prosthetic. Your laughter echoes, even after the notes from his guitar have faded. He's always loved that about you. "Yes, Sally Baby, I should have let you cover my bill." He always loved it when you called him that. For once, he thanked the stars for his prosthetic, for concealing the deepening blush on his cheeks. But even with it, his reddening ears are still a dead giveaway. You lean forward and kiss him on his cheek, leaving a black lipstick stain on his prosthetic. "Forgive me?"
When you hear a romantic, sensual melody easy its way from Sal's guitar, you know you've been forgiven.
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