The weeks after Satoru fought Sukuna were absolute hell.
His fingers trembled at random times due from the abuse of his technique, his temporal lobe was damaged due to his abuse of reverse curse technique, and scars. So many scars all over his body acting as a mocking symbol in his eyes of everything he went through during the fight.
Satoru was cleared out of Shokos care after 2 weeks and finally was back at home. Seated on the couch shirt off - sunglasses on the tip of his nose, long legs sprawled out with his back slouched trying to dull the pain of the big jagged scar across his abs though nothing really dulled any of the pain throughout his body. except for you, You made his brain forget everything that happened.
“open up.” your tender voice rang through his ears making him turn his head back to the side, his lips part slowly allowing you to so gently bring the spoon to his lips feeding him another bite of the soft vanilla cake hoping that the sugar would stimulate his brain.
He chewed slower. wincing a bit here and there as he chewed and swallowed the small bite of cake.
“you must think i’m weak now,” he mumbled under his breath loud enough for you to hear the degrading words he thought of himself.
setting the plate down your hand gently goes to his cheek tracing the long scar painted on his soft skin your finger tip laced with love that he could sense.
“i don’t think that,” your soft reassurance didn’t really so any good for his insecurities. And of course you noticed, you always noticed the smallest details about him that sometimes it even scared him.
“i think your scars are so beautiful,” your finger trails down to the ones on his chest. Big ones - small ones, faded ones, along with bright angry red one that painted his chest. Your soft finger tip makes its way to a specific one that was red right above where his heart was beating, your finger tip could feel his soft heartbeat that secured some of your worries.
“this one is my favorite cause it reminds me where your heart is-,” your finger travels down to the big angry one across his abdomen. The one that would’ve cost him his entire life if it went all the way through. “i love this one the most. reminds me of just how precious you are,” his muscles tense under your finger tip. Your words were so sweet and tender making his eyes soften as he watch your finger tip continue to trace each scar on his abdomen and chest.
“i like to think of them as little pathways to the things i love most about you. like the scars on your chest are little pathways to your heart, and the ones of your cheeks are little pathways to your eyes.” you softly say as your finger tips continue to tenderly trace each scar, Satoru didn’t say anything. Your words struck him a little too much that it made the entire room silent.
His hand reaches out taking your hand that was tracing his scars you could feel the light tremble in his fingers as they interlocked with yours. lifting your head up meeting his gaze finally his eyes were soft and his once bull eyes now slightly dull. His other hand comes out gently cupping your cheek as he stared at you in silence, his dull blue eyes taking in every little detail on your face.
“Didn’t know my scars would turn my wife into a big sap for me,” his lips turning into a small tender smirk. making you let out a breathy giggle knowing in the back of your mind your reassurance worked on him.
“you’re like a tiger now,” you giggle looking at him with so much love. his finger brushed against your cheek his lips turning into a small smile as he let out his own soft chuckle.
“are you saying i look like an animal now?” he teased, his usual playfulness rekindling again after weeks of him being serious and closed off.
Your free hand comes out cupping his trembling hand. “maybe,” you teased back with a small giggle making Satoru rolls his eyes fondling.
You lean up on to your knees that were planted on the couch cushion beside his thick thigh, lips tenderly kissing the long scar on his cheek before pulling away looking into his eyes once more.
“now how about you finish your cake so your brain doesn’t go fuzzy on me, then we can take a nap together.” Satoru just nodded letting out a soft sigh watching you retrieve the plate that was safely on the coffee table.
He knew it would take a while for him to get use to his scars, to everything. But he also knew he had you right by his side nursing him back to his old self again.
Summary: You think Suguru isn't interested in anyone, but truth is he's so into you that he is completely unaware of how obvious it is that both of you are deeply in love with each other. Being roommates with him during Valentine's Day didn't seem like an enjoyable idea considering how equally oblivious you are about your mutual feelings. May these sillies in love notice reality for once, please.
Pairing: Roommate Geto Suguru x fem reader ┊ Word count: 2,110
Art creds to @/tomiokamon ┊ Dividers by @cursed-carmine & @strangergraphics
Suguru and you have been roommates ever since you graduated together. Your friendship grew incredibly close after all those win-or-die missions you were sent to, teaming up as an unstoppable duo. Through that time living together, you noticed that Suguru has never been the type of person to desperately search for a partner, he enjoys his own company, as well as his friend's.
His kind words and soft smile when rejecting the few people who took the risk and tried flirting with him only puzzled you and your emotions. It should be illegal to have such gentle amethyst orbs.
You tried. You really did. But brushing off the sparkle that appeared in your eyes, brightening up your whole face, whenever you looked at Suguru's way was impossible; to ignore and try to forget your deep feelings, even when his warm presence wouldn't fail to make you secretly melt; to neglect your despairing heart, which refused to fall for anyone else; to accept your reality, where he seemed to be meant to stay as a beautiful and foolish dream. All you were able to do was to quietly hold that ache inside your chest, inevitable tiredness at some point, but what hope could there be left in you if you were witness of how everyone else's attempt failed miserably?
Valentine's Day approached, and you opposed to the idea of spending your time pitying yourself once more, specially during this day. Mayhap the universe heard you this time; a coworker of yours invited you to have dinner together, and being honest, you only accepted in hopes of distracting yourself. You knew how selfish that was, but you just couldn't handle staying at home with Suguru the same way as you did last year — watching him eat all those chocolates he received, even having him to offer you some of them as he tried persuading you by saying he wouldn't eat them all anyways. No matter how sweet they may have been, the bitter taste you were dealing with was way stronger than sugar.
"Are you sure it's a good idea? You barely know him," Suguru said as you showed him a pair of heels, asking him if he thought they'd look cute with the dress you chose before.
"I know him, we work together, no need to worry, and besides that, what do you think?" you insisted while lightly shaking the heels, gaining a small huff from him before he spoke:
"Yeah, they're fine. They'll look good on you."
With softly curved lips, you thanked him and went back to your room, you grabbed the pretty dress that you left on your bed earlier and finally put it on.
If only you knew how bad he wanted you to be dolling up for him instead, how much he wanted to be your date. His blood boiled at the thought of you dressing up all beautiful just to meet another man, but what could he possibly say if you were only roommates? Good friends, of course, but nothing more. Maybe he was being a bit too pessimistic, or at least that's what he thought, trying to convince himself that things would end up working to his favor after all. Later on, he got to the conclusion that supporting you has always been the best he has ever done to keep you by his side, even with your stupid ideas like going out with somebody else in Valentine's Day. Ugh, what where you even thinking? He was sure you would get bored with that damned guy anyways.
The echoing sound of your heels when you were almost ready made Suguru lift his head to properly look at you as you stepped towards him one more time. His eyes reflected the burning sunset peeking through the window — calid love and blazing adoration. His lightly parted lips couldn't get any word said for a moment.
“You're beautiful," he tenderly whispered.
Rosiness arising on your cheeks as you smiled at him, both of your hearts drumming against your chests as if they were trying to fuse into one altogether.
For a brief moment, you forgot you were getting ready for a date. A date with someone else. Oh, how you hankered for him to be the man you were having dinner with. It felt so wrongly right to be trapped in that ethereal illusion for an instance, but that's all it was: a futile dream. You cleared your throat before hesitatingly voicing:
"Would you please help me with the back of my dress?" It hurt you like a poisoned arrow embedded in your chest. How could you be asking the man you loved to help you get ready to see the one that you didn't? It was ridiculous, but it too late as well.
His heart shrank as he silently nodded, giving you a small smile with closed eyes. You then turned around, and the view of your skin made him swallow hard, barely holding back from kissing the curve that connects your neck to your shoulders. The tips of his fingers brushed your spine before holding the zipper, looking at your bare back in an attempt to engrave it in his mind as he slowly moved his careful hand all the way up. Jealousy clenched his jaw momentarily, but your scent filling his nostrils made him breathe in deeply, tensed up shoulders falling back down with ease as he fell back on the dreamy cloud you sent him the moment he laid eyes upon you dressed like that.
"All done," he murmured near your earlobe, a faint taste of sorrow in between his lips.
"Thank you, Sugu," and once more, your smile made his helpless heart sting, just the same way yours did too.
Half an hour later, silence reigned all over the place, leaving Suguru and his thoughts alone as you already left. Every passing minute felt like an eternal torture for him, unstoppably spiraling into his own mind until he decided to get rid of the accumulated soreness on his body with a soothing bath.
Meanwhile, you were trying your best to focus on the person right in front of you, but it was clearly impossible with Suguru taking all over your mind. You couldn't stop mentally replaying that moment you had with him not so long ago; the way his fingers delicately touched you, as if you were the most fragile flower; the way his eyes looked at you, otherworldly beauty for him; and the way that, somehow, his voice sounded full of regret, as if he was hiding the most grief-struck secret of them all. Perhaps, someone he confessed to rejected him? He never talked about stuff like that, you hated it though you knew you wouldn't be able to handle the sight of him falling lovesick because of someone else.
The man sitting in front of you wouldn't stop talking, not that you cared enough to get mad about it. His voice emulating the sound of background noise, volume only just for you to hear it, but not to interrupt your daydreaming session about the charming man you were actually in love with. Suddenly, that hushed voice appeared again in your mind, reminding you how selfish you were acting. You interrupted your companion's nonstop rambling to excuse yourself from the table, walking towards the bathroom to have a moment of silence, to breathe and to clear your thoughts. You couldn't keep doing this, even if he was obviously not noticing how unfocused you were there and then, you felt bad about it, about the whole situation.
Time passed and the metallic clacking of keys against the door-lock gave you some sort of comfort after everything that had happened. You felt exhausted, both mentally and physically, the only thing you craved then was to lay on your bed and sleep the whole night. You were overwhelmed by your own decisions.
The tall figure standing right after the door took you by surprise the moment you opened it, making you almost crash onto Suguru's body. When his eyes met yours, a faint smile appeared on his lips, moving aside to let you in.
"Why were you standing there? You scared me," you said in a sigh that revealed the heavy tiredness you were dragging.
"I heard you and wanted to open the door for you."
A simple yet sweet action. He has always been like that with you, and it always makes your heart flutter. Him being the big gentleman he is didn't help you feel any better about the whole situation, 'cause how were you supposed shatter all the romantic attraction you had for him if he didn't help you not even the slightest?
"Seems like you didn't enjoy the date that much," Suguru added while carefully closing the door.
A part of him felt an unexplainable rush of joy and relief, while on the other hand, he also felt worried for you. He hates to see you feeling down, it breaks his heart. All he wishes for you is to have a life full of happiness, and if he is honored enough to be the reason behind of, at least, one of your smiles, then he will always do his best. He wants to take care of you, not because he thinks you're not able to do it by yourself, but because he truly cares, and even though he tries to be discreet, to maintain it all in a normal-friendship level, it' is unbelievable how unaware you still are about the immense importance of your presence in his life.
All you wanted now was to let him hold you in a big hug while you vent and let all your emotions flow through crystal-clear tears running down your cheeks. You didn't. It was, indeed, impossible to fall out of love with him, his name was already permanently tattooed on your heart, but doing as you desired would only lead to more hopeless tears.
"I don't wanna talk about this right now," you mumbled, not even having the courage to intertwine looks.
"Oh- well… I understand," he softly replied, "I'm here in case you change your mind."
The only response he got from you after that was a low hum, letting silence take over the place once again.
It wasn't that late, but you really needed to rest, your whole body was screaming for you to lay on bed already, hence the very first second your head touched the pillow, you fell asleep. A couple hours later, Suguru was ready to doze off too, but he didn't feel his eyelids heavy yet, he knew he'd stay awake that night, even against his will.
His quiet footsteps made his way to your room, the door was unlocked and almost closed, but the slight distance in between the doorframe and the door itself was just enough for him to vaguely see the inside. A tender curve appeared on his lips as his eyes met the one he would die to call his sleeping beauty right then. Oh, how he yearned for you to be sleeping on top of him — arms around your waist, breathes synced, slow strokes of his fingers on your hair, whispering sweet nothings as he kisses the top of your head and your forehead — his secret longing to have you forever, to have you in a way only he could. But all he did, was cautiously sit next to you, admiring the moonlit heavenishly illuminating your face with some lost strands of hair that he gently took care of, delighting himself with a clearer view of your peaceful expression.
He quietly adored your every feature, leaning in until he could sense your warmth on his lips, stopping only when there was barely a centimeter of distance.
He couldn't do it.
Not like that.
Suguru has been craving to kiss you, even if it wasn't on the lips, but he needed you both to remember. He constantly dreams about pressing his lips onto yours, but it wasn't the moment. Not yet, he wished, hoping that one day he'd be able to prove himself wrong whenever he used to think that maybe that moment would never happen. He brought a pair of fingers to his mouth, kissed them, and took them to your lips, stopping once again when he was about to touch your edges. His hand gently cupped your face instead, as he pressed his forehead lightly against yours. A shaky exhale escaped his lips after his pathetic impulses and withdrawn attempts of a closer skin-ship, same ones he promised to the moon at that moment that he would accomplish one day.
𓊆ྀི warnings .ᐟ + word count—5.0K, ORIGINAL!BLACK!FEM!READER! southern domestic vibes!, husband!toji, shyblack!femreader, blackwife!reader, ranchmen!toji, gritty!toji, southerncoded!femreader, southerncoded!toji, aggressive!toji, dominant!toji, gruff!toji, sweet!toji, size kink!, pet names!baby!love!, pussy eating!, face slapping!, 69!, riding!, sex after work!toji, aggressive sex!, dick sucking!, squirting!, creaming, condomless sex, minors aren’t welcome! 𓊇ྀི
メモ。— been in a deep depression + ‘was missin’ my number one, my man, my lover, my only in another lifetime. this was inspired by a lil’ tik tok made by @scrumptious_chowder—i can’t seem to find the specific link for the video i saw, i think she might’ve deleted it? but if you see this, babe. this one’s for you. love your content + all the nasty thoughts in your head. @chrollohearttags ? love you baby. teehee. enjoy.
IT WAS ONE OF THOSE DAYS.
One where talking your husband off the verge of a crash out wasn’t enough—but fucking it out of him made it all complete. Sweeter, somehow.
The evening sun spills honey gold through lace trimmed windows, casting delicate shadows across the yellow bricked backsplash of your kitchen—your sanctuary.
The air smells like yeast and the faint citrus of lemons piled in your farmhouse sink—natural light streaming in soft, golden pools across the Tuscany checkered floors. Your fingers, dusted with flour, press into the supple dough, kneading with practiced rhythm, the marquise cut pale gold band on your left hand catching the warmth with every movement. French tips glint against the raw, pillowy mass, your wedding ring a quiet testament to the life you’ve built here—far from the noise of New Orleans, in a house he built for you with his own calloused hands.
The vintage radio hums low, crackling with updates between New Orleans and Mississippi, the announcer’s voice a distant murmur beneath the rustle of your Persian kitten—Yumi’s—fur as she nudges the radio with her tiny, impatient head. You glance up, dark lashes fluttering, and reach over to twist the volume knob down.
“Too loud, baby?”
Yumi answers by leaping gracefully onto the vintage dining table behind you, stretching her fluffy body into a perfect arch before collapsing into a loaf, her purrs filling the quiet kitchen like a melody.
“…I guess so,” you hum softly.
Your kitchen was made with more love than his proposal, more intention than the ring itself. The single bowl sink overflows with lemons, limes, and a single stray peach, their vibrant colors bleeding into the muted tones of your oasis.
The curtains flutter, carrying the scent of distant rain and turning earth—his scent, soon. The house breathes around you, every nail driven by his hands, every brick laid with the weight of his promise.
“Ain’t gonna let nothin’ touch you ‘cept me.”
You and Yumi share the same untamed spirit—both of you all flickering tails and sharp, watchful eyes.
Your face, sultry as a fox, intense as a panther mid hunt, holds the kind of beauty that makes men pray before they dare to speak to you. Slender eyes, naturally dark waterline like you were born with kohl rimming them, framed by full, wispy lashes that give you an air of mischief—almost wicked, even when your soul is nothing but sugar. Deep pink lips, their edges kissed by a natural brown halo, part just slightly as you exhale, your large, arched brows lifting in amusement at your feline counterpart.
That wild mane of yours—deep copper melting into cinnamon, black balayage curling like tendrils of smoke—is tossed messily over your head, a single stubborn curl swaying against your forehead. A constellation of dark freckles dusts the bridge of your wide nose, the warmth of your ochre complexion glowing beneath the golden kitchen light.
“You’ll look no different in pregnancy," his voice rumbles in your mind, "Glowin’. Red. Fuckin’ perfect.”
You narrow those eyes at Yumi, who chirps at you like she’s got a whole argument prepared.
“Daddy’ll be home soon," you murmur, thumb stroking the edge of your sourdough loaf before setting it aside to rise—“…You think he’ll like dinner?"
The scent of New Orleans hangs heavy in the air—shrimp and andouille sizzling in a spiced roux, red beans simmering with a bay leaf tucked between them, and buttery cornbread waiting to be pulled from the oven. His favorites. The kind of meal that’ll soothe every ache in his body, warm.
Yumi answers by rolling dramatically onto her back, paws curled, tail flicking.
“Yeah—you’re no help."
The soft hum of the radio wraps around you as you lose yourself in the rhythm of cooking again, fingers dancing over ingredients with practiced ease. The music plays just a hair louder now—enough for Yumi to shoot you a withering glare from her perch, her tail flicking in disapproval. You ignore her with a little smile, your voice a gentle murmur as you hum along to the tune, the melody curling around the warm, spice laced air.
Then—the growl.
The deep, guttural rumble of his pickup truck tearing through the gravel drive is a warning, a proclamation—he’s home. Your spine straightens before you even realize it, ears attuned to the familiar sequence of his arrival—the creak of the screen door, the slam, the heavy thud of boots being kicked off near the welcome mat.
Except today—silence.
No boots. No pause. Just the hurried, uneven thud of his footsteps, heavier than usual, more urgent. A shiver races down your spine, instinct flaring before you can even turn—
And then him.
Big. Encompassing. Swallowing you whole.
His heat presses into your back, rough hands gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. You don’t need to look up to know his expression—you feel it. The tension coiled in his muscles, impatient huffs against the curve of your throat.
“You scared me,” you whisper, voice trembling just slightly as your fingers lift, clawing back into the wild strands of his hair—midnight black, nearly blue in the dim light. It’s longer now, unruly, a messy tangle between a wolf cut and a short mullet, the front nearly falling into his eyes. Your nails scratch lightly at his scalp, and he exhales sharply through his nose, his apology a low, graveled grunt against your skin.
“‘Couldn’t get to you fast enough."
You know him.
His anger, his irritation, the frustration clings to him like a second skin. It seeps into you like ink in water, dark and suffocating, a storm barely contained beneath the surface. Your body responds before your mind can catch up—arching back into him, your pulse fluttering beneath his touch.
That’s when your hands shift, turning you just enough in his grasp to catch his gaze—and the moment you do, the world narrows.
Those eyes.
Deep gray, like storm clouds rolling in over the pasture, narrowed and restless beneath the weight of his scowl. His brows—thick, dark, almost severe—are knit together, tension carved into the space between them. At thirty two years old to your twenty nine? The years have only sharpened him, etching his features with an intensity that makes your breath catch. A full blooded Japanese man raised in the heart of the South, he’s a walking contradiction—heritage and home clashing in the best ways.
And today, every inch of him shows it.
Dust clings to him like a second skin, ground into the fabric of his filthy wifebeater, streaked across the navy and black flannel rolled up to his forearms. His tattoos—a sprawling canvas of ink swallowing his egregiously broad frame—peek out from beneath the dirt, the edges of them smudged with the day’s labor.
Head ranchmen. Raising livestock. Wrestling miles of fencing. Hauling hay, operating machinery, fighting with the land and the heat and the men under him who can’t keep up—it’s all written across the stars. His muscles are still coiled tight, his jaw working as if the frustration hasn’t fully left his bones.
And yet, god, he’s yours.
The scent of him—sweat, leather, and something wild washes over you, a pheromone laden reminder of exactly who you belong to.
You reach up, thumb smoothing gently between his furrowed brows.
“You okay?”
He exhales sharply, "M’alright. Always doin’ this, woman. Thinkin’ I’m about to cry."
A laugh bubbles in your chest, but you press closer instead, fingers trailing down to cup his jaw.
“My soul’s with yours," you remind him, tilting your chin up despite the height difference—“I know when you’re sick before you do—"
He grunts at that, but there’s no real irritation behind it. Instead, he ducks his head, nudging his nose against yours in a rare moment of tenderness, the gesture contradicting every rough edge he wears so well.
Toji’s head dips low, those storm gray eyes scanning you with the kind of focus that makes your pulse flutter.
You stand there in white fuzzy socks, swallowed whole by the oversized replica of his flannel—the deep blue of it sharp against your caramel skin, sleeves slipping past your wrists, the hem hanging dangerously high on your thighs.
And as your husband, he knows what’s beneath.
The way your waist cinches in like a damn hourglass, unnaturally narrow compared to the flare of your hips—so wide, so heavy it looks like you’ve carried a child before. The ass that fills his palms perfectly, fat, jiggling with every step. And those tits—full, heavy, sitting high like they belong on a sultry pin up poster. His name—Fushiguro—in tiny cursive beneath the curve of your left breast, a claim he never gets tired of seeing.
Your fingers drag gently through the hair at his nape, nails scratching lightly as you murmur, “Yumi missed you.”
His thumb swipes over your bottom lip, calloused and rough—“‘Momma missed me too?”
You nod, just slightly, tilting your head with those fox eyes of yours—narrowed, knowing, stripping him bare of any lie he could try to spin.
“Tell me what happened at work.”
His brow twitches, “You tellin’ me?”
You don’t argue. Just raise your brows, waiting.
A beat. Then, with a sharp exhale, it spills—
“Men actin’ like goddamn children. Argued with me ‘bout the fence line—then one of ‘em nearly flipped the ATV ‘cause he wasn’t payin’ attention. ‘Whole damn day wasted fixin’ other people’s—” His voice deepens, slipping into sharp edged Japanese, “…Nande kon'na baka-domo to issho ni hatarakanakya naranē nda? Mattaku, kuso jikan'nomudada.”
Why the hell do these idiots work for me? Total waste of fuckin’ time.
You stand on your tiptoes, pressing your thumb between his brows again, smoothing the crease there as you answer him—fluent, just like he taught you.
“Son'nani ikatteiru to, fukeru no ga hayamarimasu yo.”
You’ll age faster being so angry.
He pauses, nostrils flaring—before he lets out a sharp exhale, forehead dropping against yours.
"...Goddamn, woman. ‘Always knowin’ how to shut me up.”
You hum, pressing closer.
“So that’s why you keep me around?”
“Nah. Keep you ‘cause you’re mine.”
You hum, fingertips tracing the corded muscle below his neck, your touch featherlight.
“Did talking about it help?"
His jaw flexes, “You want me to lie?"
“I’d rather you be honest, Fushiguro.”
A rough exhale escapes him, “I’m on the news tomorrow? ‘Know I killed one of those bastards."
You know he doesn’t mean it—but the frustration is real, simmering beneath his skin like an untamed storm. So you tease just a little, trying to loosen the tension coiling in his shoulders—“Fussier than a baby, ‘swear."
That gets you a glare—"Nowhere near a damn child."
You react before he can pull away, fingers tangling in the dark strands of his hair, holding him just firm enough to ground him.
“Hey," you murmur, voice softening, “I was just pokin’, love. Yeah?"
He stares down at you, that perpetual scrawl of his features more habit than anger now. After a beat, he nods.
You press on, voice a gentle lull.
“Rough days are inevitable…but there’s your favorite meal to look forward to. And cuddles from me an’ Yumi."
His expression doesn’t change.
"Or," you offer, tilting your head, “I could rub your ear ‘like you like?”
Something shifts in his gaze then—dark, heavy. He looks at you—really looks. That sweet, sultry face he’s seen crumble beneath him, twist in pleasure, pout in frustration. It all hits him at once, a wave of something possessive and hungry that makes his fingers flex against your waist.
And in response?
“Yeah."
A single word. Deceptively simple.
Because you did rub his ear, sure—but what you didn’t expect?
Was ending up bouncing stupidly on his cock in the process.
Now, here you are—hair a mess of copper, cinnamon, and black curls, wild like a halo around your flushed face, the flannel hanging open, barely clinging to your shoulders. The fabric dips, revealing the sinful swell of your tits, the heavy weight of them barely contained by the parted material. Your fuzzy socks—adorable, ridiculous in contrast to the filth of this moment—curl helplessly into the bedsheets as you struggle to steady yourself.
Your thighs ache, burning from the relentless pace he’s set, but you barely feel it. Not when he’s got his hands wrapped around your waist, his fingers so big they nearly touch when he grips you—effortlessly hauling you up, then slamming you back down, forcing you to take every inch of him.
“F—Fushiguro—!"
You choke on his name as he pulls you all the way up, the slick length of him just about to slip free before he yanks you back down, letting his dick carve straight into your g-spot with every punishing thrust.
And the worst part?
He hasn’t even undressed.
Leaned back against the vintage headboard, still in his dirt-streaked wifebeater—tugged halfway up to reveal the hard planes of his abs, ink-dark tattoos trailing down the cut of his V-line. The roughness of his pubic hair grinds against your clit with every brutal snap of your hips, the friction almost too much, threatening to push you over the edge before he even lets you.
And his face—
Dark brows pulled low, storm gray eyes locked on you with an intensity that borders on cruel. He watches you with that same scowl, like you mean nothing to him in this moment—just a warm, trembling hole for him to use, fucking you with ruthless precision.
He leans back, the muscles in his arms flexing as he lifts you again, dragging you down onto his cock with a sharp snap of his hips.
“C’mon," he growls, voice rough with restraint—“Keep fuckin’ feelin’ me.”
You’re silent—trying to be—but your pussy isn’t.
Loud. Obscene. Creaming around him in thick, slippery pulses, gushing with every brutal snap of his hips. The sound of it—wet, filthy, shameful—fills the space between your ragged breaths. Your lips stay pressed together, but your expression betrays you—eyebrows pinched, a cute little frown twisting your face as pleasure burns through you, sharp and unforgiving.
Discomfort. Overstimulation. The kind of pleasure that hurts, that makes your toes curl and your stomach clench. Because god, the way he stretches you—thick, unrelenting, carving into you like he was made to ruin you.
The worst part? He knows.
Knows that in places where you’re soft, silent, observant—here, like this? You’re a mouthy little thing when he gets you there. Which is exactly why he cocks his hand back, fingers tangling in the back of your flannel, yanking you down harder on his cock before—
SMACK.
The sharp, stinging crack of his palm against your ass echoes through the room, your flesh jiggling from the impact, the heat of it blooming fast.
“Ain't hearin’ shit from you," he growls.
“C’mon. Gimme’ somethin’.”
The rough clap of your thighs against his hips—hard, frantic, skin slapping skin—does something to you. Your eyes flutter shut, your fingers sinking into his forearms, claws digging in as a whiny little cry punches out of you.
It’s a domino effect afterwards. A whimper slips free, trembling, desperate, and then another—another, slurring into heavier, broken whines, like you’re trying to swallow them back every time they threaten to escape. But you can’t. Not when he’s like this—when his thighs are so thick, his grip so bruising, when he makes you fuck him like he hates you.
“There it is,” he grunts, fingers tightening around your waist, hauling you down harder, heavier.
“‘Know my wife more than anyone in this fuckin’ world.”
You're an eye-rolling, pouting, mess.
His mess. Your pussy keeps gushing, clenching forcefully around the thick swell of his cock, kicking off a series of unfinished, half-shattered orgasms that leave you spiraling—dizzy, overwhelmed, ruined.
Tears brim your dark, pretty eyes, lashes sticking together as broken little whimpers spill from your lips.
“I'm—‘M cumming.”
But Toji? He doesn’t stop.
His grip tightens, digging into the softness of your hips as he finds a devastating new rhythm. Slower now, but heavier. Louder. Each deep, punishing thrust drags a wet, filthy sound from where you’re stretched around him, the slap of skin echoing through the room.
And the scent of him—god.
Woodsmoke, leather, the erotic musk of a hard day’s work still clinging to his clothes, swallowing you whole even as he lounges beneath you, lazily using your body to chase his own pleasure.
“Wanted me to feel better, ‘ain’t you?"
His palm lands against your ass again—hard—the sharp crack reverberating through your bones before he spreads you open with that same rough hand, exposing your flushed, dripping cunt as he starts fucking up into you with renewed force.
“Gonna fuck you ‘til every nut makes me less angry," he grunts, fingers biting into your flesh—“Had a hard fuckin’ day, remember?"
You lean forward, sniffling pathetically, nodding in meek submission—like you’ve lost a game you never even meant to play.
“Okay," you squeak, voice surrendering, small.
His teeth flash in a wicked grin.
“Atta fuckin’ girl."
And then he takes—pounding up into you with a brutal pace that has you muffling trembling little moans into the crook of your arm, body jolting with every deep, claiming thrust.
Toji slides his broad palm against the top of your head, fingers threading through your curls as he tilts your face up to meet his heavy-lidded gaze.
“You here with me?"
You nod, and that's all he needs before he tugs you forward by your hair, sealing your mouth with his in a deep, tongue-filled kiss. It's filthy, possessive, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip before he pulls back just as swiftly.
And then—SMACK.
His palm meets your cheek with enough force to make your breath hitch, just sharp enough to snap you back into focus.
“Fill your fuckin' mouth up.”
You sink down instantly, taking him between your lips with breathless little whimpers, your lashes fluttering as you suck him in deep. You pull back just enough to kitten lick along his length, teasing the flushed tip before swirling your tongue around it. Then lower—sucking his heavy balls into your mouth, your fingers lightly jerking the base of him.
It's adorable in the most pathetic way—how easily you obey when you're usually all quiet fire and defiance. But like this? You're truly his.
Toji watches as you work him over—his cock glistening with your spit, your lips stretched around him. Then he takes himself in hand, slapping his length against your flushed cheek, dragging it over your lips with a filthy, wet sound.
“Look at you," he grunts, voice rough with satisfaction.
And he does look—drinking in the sight of your dark, caramel skin flushed raw, your pretty eyes swollen with tears, your lips parted and trembling. It makes him crave more.
“C'mere," he growls suddenly, gripping your waist before flipping you both in one swift motion—your back now pressed to his chest, his thighs bracketing your head as he maneuvers you into a 69.
The second you're settled, he buries his face between your thighs with a groan, his tongue devouring you. You gasp, trying to refocus, wrapping your lips around his cock again—but it's impossible to concentrate when he's sucking on your clit like he's starved, his tongue dragging hot and wet through your folds, slurping obscenely. Your hips jerk, back arching as pleasure zings through you, your forehead dropping against his hip as you whimper around him.
“Focus, baby.”
He mutters this against your cunt—right before his hand comes down on your ass again, the sharp SMACK making you jolt. A broken moan slips past your lips, and then you're bobbing your head faster, hollowing your cheeks as you suck him back into your mouth with desperate, sloppy devotion.
And Toji?
He just feasts—grunting, licking, taking—his fingers digging into your hips as he fucks his tongue inside you, making sure you feel every second of it.
You don’t stand a chance.
The air is thick with the sound of skin on skin, your breath ragged and wet as you lose yourself in the rhythm of him. You move without thought, drunk on the taste of him, the weight of him on your tongue—both palms wrapped tight around the base of his cock, jerking him from root to tip in slow, filthy strokes. Your tits bounce with every movement, swaying heavy and lewd as you work him over in a way that’s downright pornographic, your body moving like it was made just for this.
Toji’s hips twitch, his breath catching when you suddenly take just the head of him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the swollen tip while your small hands take care of the rest. His head knocks back against the headboard with a low groan, his voice rough, strained, as he mutters something under his breath—half curse, half praise—before his hand comes down again, another sharp SMACK landing on your ass.
“Edge of the bed. Now.”
You crawl there on shaky knees, face pressing into the blankets, ass up—presented, waiting—and before you can even brace yourself, he’s sinking into you, stretching you open in a way that punches a muffled whine from your throat. His fingers tangle in the nape of your hair, tugging just enough to make your back arch as he yanks you back onto him, filling you to the hilt with a single brutal thrust. Your face stays buried in the blankets, lips pouting, muffling little whimpers and breathless complaints—but they’re weak, half-hearted, lost in the haze of pleasure as he starts moving, fucking into you with rough, measured strokes.
“Fussin’ just like Yumi," he growls, voice thick as you tuck your face deeper into the sheets, hiding the way your cheeks burn.
“Tch—feet closer to your chest.”
He rasps this, voice gravel-scraped and impatient. You whimper but obey, knees pressing tight to your body, hips lifted higher—exposed, helpless. Then, in Japanese, sharp and commanding—
“Jibun no handan de ugoite kudasai.”
Move on your own.
And you do.
At first, it's slow—tentative—your hips rocking back and forth in small, uncertain motions, your body arching as you try to find the right angle. The sight of you like this—spread open, trembling, taking him—is obscene. Erotic in the rawest sense.
His fingers snap once, sharply. Another order, another growled phrase—“Head up.”
You just obey, lifting your face from the sheets, breath ragged as you look back over your shoulder at him.
“If you don’t move, I’ll show you how I wanna’ be fucked.”
You pout—lips trembling, eyes wet—but then you start moving again.
Little bounces at first, your ass clapping lightly against his hips—gentle, testing. Then deeper. Faster. More. Until you’re fully fucking yourself on him, your body taking over, driven by instinct, by the need to please. His fingers tighten in your hair, holding you in place as you pant, as you whimper—
“…M’sorry, baby."
It slips out without thought, weak and breathless.
Toji only grunts, “Yeah?”
You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for. But you say it again, lips quivering.
“M’sorry—"
You’re squirting.
A hot, sudden gush, spilling around him without warning, your body convulsing as pleasure rips through you. The words turn into something else—deep, shuddering sobs, your voice breaking as you keep repeating it, "M’sorry, m’sorryyy...”
Your husband? He could care less.
Toji fucks you through it. His grip on your hair tightens, his hips snapping up to meet yours as you sob, as you tremble, as you fall apart.
Because this? This is how he takes his anger out.
The world narrows to nothing but the brutal snap of his hips, the sound of skin meeting skin in sharp, wet slaps. Toji yanks your legs out from under you, planting your feet flat on the floor—forcing your spine into a deep arch, your ass tilted up just right for him to sink into you even deeper, each thrust punching the air from your lungs.
You can’t help the noises that tear out of you—loud, broken, punched out moans that rise higher with every merciless drive of his cock. His fist tightens in your hair so everlasting, wrenching your head back as he growls above you, the sound rough and satisfied—because nothing pleases him more than hearing you unravel, your voice frayed beyond coherency.
Your fingers clutch at the sheets, knuckles white—until he tsks, a single sharp sound of disapproval that has you scrambling to correct yourself before he can fuss. Arms straight back, wrists together, like you know what he wants without him even saying it. His free hand wraps around both your wrists in one brutal grip, pinning them against the small of your back as he drives you into the mattress, fucking you so deep you squeal, high and desperate, your body jerking beneath him.
“Fuckkkk…!”
It’s a shriek, really—raw and guttural, your cunt gushing around him as he pistons in and out, his grunts syncing with your cries in a filthy, primal rhythm. He’s not gentle. Not close. Every snap of his hips is punishing, claiming, his cock dragging against that sweet spot inside you until you’re keening, your thighs shaking, your mind gone beneath the sheer intensity of it.
And then—
His rhythm stutters.
A deep, guttural growl rips from his throat, his fingers tightening hard in your hair as he buries himself to the hilt, spilling inside you in thick, pulsing ropes. Your sounds drown his—whimpers, choked cries, the way your body clenches around him as if trying to milk every last drop.
For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of heavy breathing—his, yours—both ragged and uneven.
Then he slowly pulls out, leaving you limp beneath him, your lower body trembling, your nerves still alight with aftershocks. Toji catches his breath for a beat—just one—before he leans down over you, his voice rough but soft now, murmured against your ear in Japanese.
“Daijōbudesuka?”
You alright?
His hand cups your throat from behind, tilting your face toward his. And then—kisses. Tiny, chaste pecks against your swollen lips, one after another, as if checking that you’re still with him.
You let out a breathless little giggle, your lashes fluttering.
“Mmm...legs feel numb."
He hums.
“They should.”
The moment his hands twist you around, your breath catches—but it melts into another light giggle as he scoops you up effortlessly, depositing you onto the bed like something precious. The sheets are cool against your overheated skin, a stark contrast to the burning imprint of his body still lingering on yours.
And then he looks at you.
His fingers slide through your hair again, slower this time, almost reverent, before his mouth finds yours in a kiss that’s startlingly gentle. You nudge your nose against his, affectionate, lingering, before you pull back just enough to murmur—
“…‘Gonna have a better day at work tomorrow?"
Sweet. Hopeful.
Toji rumbles, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as he presses a kiss to your forehead—“Already havin’ a better day now."
Your eyes dilate at that, lashes fluttering as you whisper—"Really?"
“Murder’s still in question for ‘them employees, though.”
Your face falls immediately, lips pressing into a pout as you sigh, long suffering. Before you can protest, his palm lands on your thigh—a light, teasing smack—and then he’s pushing off the bed, leaving you sprawled there. You scramble to grab his discarded flannel, draping it over yourself like a makeshift shield before flipping your hair back with an exaggerated huff.
“You’re hardheaded!”
“Got a hard head, baby.”
You suck your teeth.
But then? he reappears in the doorway, Yumi cradled in his big arms.
The whiplash of it nearly gives you an actual headache. One second, he’s got you bent over the bed, fucking you like you owe him money, and the next? He’s holding that Persian kitten like it’s spun glass, cooing at her in a voice three octaves higher than you’ve ever heard come out of his mouth.
You roll your eyes so hard you swear you see your own brain.
“You don’t talk to me like that.”
Toji ignores you, of course. Because why would he ever acknowledge the way your metaphorical tail is swishing back and forth in irritation? He’s too busy booping Yumi’s tiny pink nose, murmuring, “Momma’s the fussy one, isn’t she? Yeah?"
“Boy, please. I don’t win the hot head award. You’re an overachiever for that score."
He just smirks—smirks!—as he sets Yumi down on the bed, watching with that stupid, smug expression as she prances toward the headboard like the little princess she is, tail held high as she lets out a dignified Mrrow.
One second you’re lounging there, all sass and post coital glow—the next, he’s on you, knocking you flat onto your back in the sheets with a oomph that dissolves into breathless giggles as you shove at his chest.
“Go away!"
He doesn’t.
“You know how much I love you?"
You tilt your head, pretending to think.
“Not sure."
The air between you shifts—just for a heartbeat—from playful to something deeper, something heavier. His rough fingers catch yours, and he brings your hand up, pressing a slow, almost reverent kiss to the gold band on your finger. Against the metal, he murmurs something low and raw—something that sounds suspiciously like—“Mines forever."
You sigh, but it's a warm sound, your fingers curling around his, intertwining like they were made to fit there. Playfully, you squeeze.
“Hungry?"
He exhales through his nose, “Been thinkin' about those red beans all day."
You bat your lashes, feigning innocence.
“I wasn't part of the meal plan?"
His thumb drags over your pulse point as he leans in, breath hot against your ear, “You were the meal plan."
Then, just like that, he's hauling you up—one arm under your thighs, the other bracing your back as he tosses you halfway over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. You yelp, but your legs lock around his waist instinctively, arms looping his neck as he starts moving.
“C'mon. I'm starvin'."
You press your lips to his jaw, nipping just to feel him tense—“You're starvin’, and you love me?"
He grunts—but for him? It’s not a denial. It’s yes, a thousand times over.
And just like that, the scene fades—into the quiet hum of domesticity, into love and passion and marriage with all its rough edges and sweet, stolen moments.
bakugou and the very specific type of condoms that he uses.
non-latex, ultra-thin, lubricated and extra large condoms, preferably a pack of 24, something he can keep stashed away in his drawer for later.
another specification, is the particular brand he buys, they can't be just any non-latex, ultra-thin, lubricated and extra large condoms, they have to be kanpeki's non-latex, ultra-thin, lubricated and extra large condoms.
the same brand of condoms that's sold in particular stores of Tokyo, hours away from your humble abode.
they don't even ship online.
that's why he prefers bigger packs. ugh.
you love him, you really do, you love his peculiar habits too—you really do, but the 2.5 hour ride you are currently on because the box of condoms in your bedside table is empty.
"babe, we could get the regular ones." you eyed the rows of latex and non-latex, patiently waiting for him to get snacks for the impromptu road trip, "it's just one night, we'll get them tomorro—"
"it is already tomorrow," he turned to you, palm flat against your lower back, head tilting towards the giant digital clock on the wall of the store, 02:34 am, 34 minutes ago you almost came.
instead of stars twinkling in your vision, they are littered in the night sky outside the store.
"really contemplating getting implant now." you groaned in faux annoyance, arms full of good you planned on devouring before you even hit the halfway point, "do you know how ridiculous this is, we are going to Tokyo, for condoms, coNDOMS!"
you turned to him, expecting the familiar, endeared-cum-exhausted look he had whenever you tweaked upon facing mildly inconvenience, instead you were met with sheer horror painting his face.
and you knew.
you didn't have to turn around to know you'd quite loudly disclosed your very personal business to an unassuming bystander.
he took mercy on you, nodding his slightly towards whoever was behind you before the grabbed your arm and pulled you towards the counter, you were done shopping anyways.
the walk back to the car was full of silence and shame and second hand embarrassment.
you both wordlessly got in the car, snacks tossed onto the backseat, both quiet, both contemplating.
"I didn't mean to—"
"you did, you did mean to," bakugou interrupted you, eyes on the empty parking lot, "I still love you though." he sighed, turning towards you, lips curled into a grimace, "even though you traumatized an old man."
"i didn't mean to!" you groaned, head cradled in your hands, "I didn't mean to announce our personal endeavours, I just thought it's crazy we are going to another city for condoms."
"I know, I know," he started the car, smoothly getting back on the main road, "I'll figure out how to get them shipped monthly."
Dividers by: @/diviniyae 💖✨
a/n: lowkey I don't like how this fic turned out, I feel like lately my work hasn't been the best, I find something many things wrong with this fic agh! College has been busy I have exams soon and it's been difficult to find motivation to write, also i feel like I am bakugou too ooc in this fic smh, alas enjoy, hopefully it'll be better soon.
♯ ⋮ 𝄞 your pussy isn’t made for him? satoru will make it ༉ .ᐟ ★
⋮ ⌗ ┆mdni. p in v, size kink, r sex !
You weren’t made for Satoru Gojo’s cock. Not even close.
He was too big—stupidly, obscenely big. Too long. The kind of thick, veined monstrosity that belonged in filthy fantasies, not inside a girl like you. You’d barely taken half of him before your body started screaming in protest, walls fluttering and clenching too tight around the fat head of his dick like your pussy was trying to push him out. But Satoru only grinned down at you with that wicked, knowing smirk, blindfold long discarded so those piercing blue eyes could drink in every desperate twitch of your face.
“Shh, princess,” he murmured, voice low and rough like gravel wrapped in silk. His large hands pinned your hips to the bed, thumbs pressing bruises into your skin as he held you open for him. “I know it’s a lot. Fuck, you’re so tiny down here… but don’t worry. I’ll make it fit. I’ll make this pretty little cunt remember me—reshape it just for my cock.”
You whimpered, thighs trembling around his waist as he rocked forward another inch. The stretch burned, a sharp, overwhelming pressure that made your back arch off the mattress. He was barely halfway in and already you felt so full, like he was rearranging your insides, bullying your walls apart with that relentless girth. Your fingers scrabbled at his shoulders, nails digging crescent moons into his pale skin.
“S-Satoru—it’s too much,” you gasped, voice cracking. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but your body betrayed you, slick dripping down his shaft and soaking the sheets beneath you. Your pussy fluttered wildly around him, trying to adjust, trying to take.
He chuckled darkly, leaning down to drag his tongue along the shell of your ear. “Too much? Baby, we’ve only just started. Look at you—already creaming all over me and I’m not even balls-deep yet.” One of his hands slid between your bodies, thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing slow, maddening circles that sent sparks shooting up your spine. The pleasure mixed with the ache, turning it into something molten and addictive. “Breathe for me. Relax that tight little hole. Let me in.”
He pushed again—slow, deliberate, inexorable. Another thick inch sank into your heat, forcing your walls to stretch obscenely around him. You cried out, the sound raw and broken, but Satoru swallowed it with a deep, filthy kiss. His tongue fucked into your mouth in time with the shallow thrusts of his hips, coaxing you open everywhere at once. When he pulled back, a string of saliva connected your lips, and his eyes were glowing with dark hunger.
“Fuck, feel that?” he groaned, rolling his hips in a small circle that made the head of his cock grind against a spot so deep inside you it stole your breath. “Your pussy’s fighting me… but she’s sucking me in too. Greedy girl. This cunt was made to be trained by me.”
You shook your head weakly, but your legs wrapped tighter around him anyway, heels digging into the small of his back like your body had already decided it belonged to him. Satoru noticed—of course he did. He laughed softly against your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point as he finally, finally bottomed out.
The fullness was devastating. You swore you could feel him in your throat, the thick length of him pulsing hot and heavy against your cervix, stretching you so wide you could barely think. Your belly bulged slightly where his cock sat inside you, and Satoru pressed a hand over the bump with a possessive growl.
“Look at that… all the way in. Good fucking girl. I knew you’d take me. Had to work for it, but now this pussy’s molded to my shape.” He stayed buried deep for a long moment, letting you adjust, letting your walls spasm and flutter around every ridge and vein. His cock twitched inside you, leaking precum that only made you wetter.
Then he started moving.
Slow at first—long, dragging strokes that pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in, forcing your body to accept him over and over. Each thrust punched the air from your lungs. The wet, obscene sound of your pussy taking his cock filled the room, slick squelching loudly with every plunge. Your tits bounced with the force of it, nipples hard and aching.
“Satoru—ahh—fuck, you’re so deep,” you moaned, head tossing against the pillow. The burn had melted into white-hot pleasure, every drag of his massive cock lighting up nerves you didn’t even know existed. He was hitting spots so far inside you that your vision blurred, toes curling as he ground against your cervix on every thrust.
“Yeah? Too big for you, princess?” He smirked, grabbing your thighs and folding you nearly in half, pressing your knees to your chest so he could watch his cock disappear inside your stretched hole. “Too long? Too thick? Too much for this tight little cunt?” His pace picked up, hips snapping harder, the slap of skin on skin growing louder. “Don’t lie—I can feel how you’re creaming all over me. You’re gonna cum just from being split open on my dick.”
He was relentless. One hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks as he pounded into you. Deep, brutal strokes that made your whole body jolt. Your pussy clenched around him like a vice, trying to milk him, trying to adjust to the impossible stretch, but he only fucked you harder for it.
“Atta girl… squeezing me so fucking good. This pussy’s learning, isn’t it? Learning to take every inch like it was made for me.” He leaned down, biting at your collarbone as he changed the angle and drove even deeper. Stars burst behind your eyes. You screamed his name, back bowing off the bed as the orgasm crashed over you without warning—hard and shattering, walls convulsing wildly around his pistoning cock.
Satoru groaned, hips stuttering for a moment as your pussy fluttered and gushed around him. “Fuck yes—cum on it. Soak my cock, baby. That’s it… good girl.” But he didn’t stop. If anything, he fucked you through it even harder, chasing his own pleasure now, using your spasming heat like it was his personal toy.
He pulled out suddenly, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. You whined at the loss, but before you could protest he flipped you over onto your stomach, yanking your hips up so your ass was high in the air and your face pressed into the sheets. The new position let him sink even deeper, and you sobbed into the mattress as he slammed back in to the hilt in one brutal thrust.
“Perfect,” he growled, one hand fisting in your hair to arch your back while the other smacked your ass hard enough to sting. “Now I can really fuck you like you deserve.”
He set a punishing rhythm—long, powerful strokes that had his heavy balls slapping against your clit with every thrust. The head of his cock kissed your cervix over and over, bullying that sensitive spot until you were a drooling, moaning mess. Your pussy was so wet it dripped down your thighs, coating his shaft and making the slide even filthier.
“You’re taking me so well now,” Satoru praised, voice ragged with lust. He reached around to rub your clit again, fast and firm. “See? I told you I’d make it fit. This cunt’s mine now—stretched out and shaped just for my big cock. No one else is ever gonna fill you like this.”
You could only moan helplessly, pushing back against him as another orgasm built fast and vicious. He felt it, felt your walls start to tighten again, and doubled down—fucking you harder, faster, the wet slap of his hips against your ass echoing obscenely.
“Cum for me again, princess. Let me feel this pussy milk my dick while I ruin you.” His voice dropped to a dark whisper right against your ear. “Gonna fill you up so deep you’ll feel me for days.”
The second climax ripped through you even harder than the first, vision whiting out as you screamed into the sheets. Your pussy clamped down on him like a vice, fluttering and gushing, and Satoru cursed loudly, hips snapping erratically as he chased his own release.
“Fuck—take it all—” He buried himself to the hilt one last time, cock pulsing as thick ropes of cum flooded your overstuffed cunt. He kept grinding deep, forcing every drop into you, marking you from the inside out.
You collapsed boneless beneath him, trembling and utterly spent, pussy still weakly clenching around his softening length. Satoru stayed buried inside you for a long moment, pressing lazy kisses along your spine as he caught his breath.
“Such a good girl,” he murmured, voice warm with satisfaction. “Told you I’d make it fit… and look at you now. Perfectly made for me.”
He finally pulled out slowly, watching with dark fascination as his cum leaked from your ruined, gaping hole—proof that he’d claimed and reshaped what wasn’t meant for him.
And you knew, even as you drifted in exhausted bliss, that he’d do it again. And again. Until your body knew no other shape but his.
૮(◞ ‸ ◟ )ა ;; your husband, satoru gojo, who can’t help but pout at the fact that his newborn baby girl sobs whenever she’s placed into his arms! ── ✦⋆🍼.˚
it’s been weeks of this — weeks of satoru tenderly trying to lift your frail newborn daughter from your arms, his tall frame hunched over her and his touch agonisingly gentle, only for her to burst out into tears. he just can’t comprehend it!
“it isn’t fair,” he mumbles, slumped over on the couch after yet another failed attempt at picking her up. “i mean, she has my eyes! in fact, she has all my genes, yet she won’t let me pick her up!”
his tone is scandalised, a hint of betrayal seeping into it; but beyond the usual dramatics, there’s a subtle sense of vulnerability in it too. it’s barely there, hidden behind the light-heartedness of his voice so that you almost miss it.
that’s the kind of skill that satoru has mastered by now: being able to feign confidence in the form of borderline obnoxious mock-arrogance. or rather, being able to divert any concerns you may have with a kind of ease and fluidity that’s got to be at least a little bit concerning.
but you don’t miss it this time. not with the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he stares at the floor, lost in thought. not when he looks so worn down, eroded of his usual playful demeanour, an unfamiliar tiredness written all over his body.
you can see the way his shoulders are lowered a fraction in exhaustion from the situation, and even despite his joking demeanour, you both seem to have noticed the way his voice lacked its usual charm earlier.
“hey, toru..” you murmur, sliding onto the couch next to him. your daughter is still clinging to your shirt, having only just been lulled to sleep by you. she’s finally finished bawling her eyes out at the sight of her own father. “don’t be like that…it’s nothing. she’ll grow out of it.”
“no, you don’t get it sweets! she must know something…” he grumbles, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “i mean, whenever she looks at me with those huge blue eyes, it’s like she’s staring right through me. she must know something i don’t!” with that, he drops his head into his hands with a groan.
you’d laugh at the irony of his words if it weren’t for the defeated look on his face. of all things, you’d never expected to hear satoru gojo complaining about the unsettling nature of the piercing-blue eyes that she’d inherited from him. nonetheless, you gently move your free hand to stroke his back, your voice soft as you rub soothing circles.
“hey, no…she’ll come around soon enough.”
“but what if she doesn’t?” he looks up, pouting once more. “what if i’ve done something wrong? maybe i messed up my first impression or something!”
“…toru, don’t be silly, i don’t think newborns care about first impressions.”
he sits up slowly, assessing your words as his eyes fall once more upon the baby in your arms. her snowy eyelashes flutter slightly as she snoozes, tiny hands curled up against her body. one of her chubby cheeks rests against you as she snores, her tiny chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale she takes. tentatively, satoru brings a hand to run over her small leg, fingers running over the soft fabric of the fluffy bear socks on her feet courtesy of his impulse buying.
he snorts sadly at that, remembering the way he had been so excited to spoil her. he’d ran around, desperate to find only the very best for his sweet daughter: bags of baby toys, soft socks, cute baby outfits and pacifiers. he’d spent hours researching the quality of each, scrolling through reviews, diligently ensuring that his daughter would receive only the best — only for her to sob at the mere sight of his face.
it’s a kind of irony satoru can’t bear. because ultimately, in the eyes of the newborn in your arms, he’s no longer satoru gojo. he’s simply…nothing. stripped of being the strongest, stripped of his usual defence mechanism of feigned-confidence, stripped of his ability to win her over with expensive toys and clothes. he’s left vulnerable, stuck with the discomfort of it all. maybe he isn’t cut out for this. maybe he isn’t cut out for fatherhood.
you study his face, frowning at the way his brows are pinched and his features have melted into something much more vulnerable, tired. he looks deep in thought, barely registering the fact that one of his legs is tapping anxiously. he just stays sat there, eyes absentmindedly resting upon your daughter, zoned out.
your heart aches a little. it’s a strange sight, to see your usually-bold husband reduced to this unfamiliar state, hands tensed in his lap like he’s not sure what to do with himself.
so, you decide to take action yourself.
tenderly, you lift your daughter and quietly place her into satoru’s arms, silently willing her not to wake just yet. you’re not quite sure how you or your poor husband will cope if she does — and the idea of having to lull her back to sleep whilst simultaneously looking into satoru’s face of pure disappointment is one you’re not particularly fond of.
the second the baby is in his arms, satoru tenses up, thrown off-guard for a moment at the sudden action. however he then slowly begins to pull her closer to his chest, arms cradling her more securely now. it’s a bit awkward at first, because for once your poor husband hasn’t had a chance to prepare himself to hold her: no half an hour pep talk in the mirror as usual, no rubbing vanilla baby lotion into his hands before attempting to hold her — after all, apparently the scent of vanilla is soothing to young babies. hours of extensive research and a couple of youtube tutorials on how not to make your newborn daughter cry have taught him that much, at least.
much to his surprise, though, despite his total lack of preparation this time around, she seems to warm up to his touch immediately. despite being fast asleep, she nuzzles her tiny cheek against his chest a little, angling her head just a fraction inwards towards his warmth.
sure, maybe they’re just baby steps, if you can even call them that. but for the first time since his sweet daughter was born, satoru has actually been able to hold her without being subjected to sobs and screams. he tries to fight a tiny smile, and your heart flutters at the sight.
he stays stood there in silence, eyes crinkled in fondness as he peers down at the sleeping girl in his arms, cradling her like she’s precious. and after a few minutes of standing like that, a single, tiny tear begins to form in the corner of his eye, not quite falling yet. it stays there for a few seconds, clinging to soft dove-white lashes before the salty water finally rolls down his face, just barely brushing over the edge of his cheek.
with a tiny sniff, gojo quickly manages to recover his composure, letting his typical confident grin return back onto his features and simultaneously trying to pretend that his eyes aren’t currently going blurry with the threat of fresh, brand-new tears.
“ah— i knew it, so you do like me..!” he chokes out a weak laugh as he addresses the sleeping newborn, his voice half-subdued in a poor attempt at being quiet so as not to wake her. he dramatically crooks his head downwards, his ear right up next to your daughter’s face as though trying to ensure he can hear her better before he speaks up again. “…soo, this means that i’m the favourite parent, right??”
the nerve of him!
a/n: filler post sorry if the writing quality is poor i just wanted to post something💔
the idea came to me thanks to a dad sukuna fic i saw so creds to them!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)
taglist: @nonchalantfiend @mochiakun @rielovesphel @yujismissingfingers @megumigooner @vanillaascented @megumisrighttoe @catgvrl @hearts2vivi @mariisagb @renrenrenren17 @bowiesprettieststar2 @733164 @palanggaaa @megssleepygirl @rengoatku @hangenism @yujisdreamgirl @nonamedreams @ivankinnieclatter @sugerfilled @silverstar111 @dreamyreadinglover @v4mp1r3b4tzz @dev1lw4arsprada @megantheestallionswife @magicalpeenpoo @qrxswan @silverwfern @luvhza @rozzaa0scentzz1 @azizxxxah @eyayur @strawberrychansora @qrxswan + join!
divider creds @/dividers-are-us and @/cursed-carmine!
Nanami is the type of husband who doesn’t like to text. He’ll call on his lunch break just to hear your voice for a few minutes. He’ll literally call you just because you texted a simple “hi.”
Nanami is the type of husband who makes sure how to perfect your favorite type of coffee or tea; so when you wake up in the morning it’s already there waiting for you.
Nanami is the type of husband who always wanted to get married, so when he did, it became somewhat of a badge of honor.
Nanami is the type of husband who can communicate his feelings very well and will help you communicate with your own better as well.
Nanami is the type of husband who (I believe) isn’t big on public affection except for the constant hand holding or occasional back rub.
Nanami is the type of husband who wants babies. He always knew deep down he wanted to be a father but pushed the feelings aside because of his job (that was until he met you, of course).
Nanami is the type of husband who rarely calls you by your actual name. He much prefers to call you “darling” or “my love” because that’s what you truly are to him.
Nanami is the type of husband who usually always wakes up early but now slows down in the morning so he can lie with you for a little while longer.
Nanami is the type of husband who needs a vacation more than he would like to admit. Luckily, he has you to surprise plan vacations for the both of you, for whenever you notice him coming back home a little more exhausted than usual.
Nanami is the type of husband who loves to cuddle. He’ll randomly grab a good book and your hand to go out to cuddle in the hammock in your shared backyard.
Nanami is the type of husband who loves giving you what you want. You want those nasty chips with an unhealthy amount of red 40? Go grab a bag baby. You want to stay up all night watching movies when you know you have to get your mom from the airport early in the morning? He’ll go get the blankets and popcorn because he'll go get your mother in the morning so you can sleep in.
Nanami is the type of husband who is oblivious to how adorable he is. He’ll do the most adorable things during the day and when you bring it up to him later, he’ll just go, “Oh?”
Nanami is the type of husband who you’ll hear in the next room bragging about how “smart and amazing my wife is.” To Satoru and he’ll just be eating it up because even he knows Nanami is adorable.
Nanami is the type of husband whose love language is physical touch and not just in the sexual way. He always has his hands on your hips when he’s speaking to you. If you stand over him while he’s sitting, his head is most definitely pressed against your tummy and he loves hugging you.
Nanami is the type of husband who loves to learn from you. He’s so used to being the teacher figure in everyone’s life, so something as simple as you deciding to teach him how to make cinnamon rolls in a new way makes him fall in love all over again.
Nanami is the type of husband who is very simple and doesn’t want or asks for much, so when you first got into a relationship you were so excited to surprise Kento with little gifts here and there because he really never expects it and his blushing, surprised face was to die for.
Nanami is the type of husband who’s really a big love bug and just as much as he loves giving you love, he loves receiving it from only you. He loves getting those bedtime kisses on his nose, he loves the big warm hugs where you squeeze him just enough, he loves the intimacy of sharing a warm drink on a cold winter's weekend. He just loves everything when it comes to you.
Surprise kento update.♡
Ty so much for reading, and I’d love if you’d consider rebloging AND give me some character requests.
𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 Gojo Satoru ゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ being touchy and super gentle during your pregnancy .✦ ݁˖
The late afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, casting long, golden slats of light across the bedroom floor. You were propped up against a mountain of pillows, trying to find a comfortable angle for your aching lower back, when the door clicked open.
Satoru slipped into the room, unusually quiet. The moment his blindfold was pulled down around his neck, his bright blue eyes locked onto you, softening instantly. He didn't say a word as he shed his black jacket, tossing it carelessly onto a chair, and crossed the room with his signature, lazy stride.
Before you could even greet him, the mattress dipped significantly. Satoru crawled up the bed, maneuvering his long limbs with an unexpected fluidity until he was practically draped over you. He tucked his head into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, his white hair tickling your jaw.
“Welcome home, baby,” you murmured, running a hand through the soft strands of his hair. “Rough day?”
“Immensely,” he groaned, his voice muffled against your skin. “Everyone was loud. Everyone was annoying. And I wasn't here.”
He shifted, lifting his head to look down at you. Without his glasses or blindfold, his gaze was completely unguarded—full of a raw, heavy tenderness that still took your breath away. His large, calloused hand slid down your ribcage, moving with agonizing slowness until it rested flat against the prominent curve of your stomach.
The contrast was always striking. His hand was massive, easily covering a huge portion of your bump, yet the pressure he applied was lighter than a feather. For a man who could level cities with a flick of his fingers, he handled you as if you were made of spun glass.
“How’s my little bean doing today?” Satoru whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss right next to his thumb. Did they let Mom sleep?”
“A little,” you smiled, leaning back into the pillows as his thumb began tracing slow, rhythmic circles over your clothes. “They've been kicking quite a bit this afternoon, though.”
Satoru’s eyes widened slightly, a bright, boyish grin breaking across his face. He immediately shifted lower on the bed, sliding down until he was kneeling on the floor beside the mattress, bringing him eye-level with your stomach. He gathered the hem of your oversized shirt and gently lifted it, exposing the round warmth of your bare skin.
“Is that right?” he murmured, leaning in close.
He didn't hesitate.
He pressed his cheek directly against your bump, his long silver lashes brushing against your skin as he closed his eyes. He stayed perfectly still, holding his breath, just listening.
As if on cue, a sharp, sudden thump rippled against his cheek.
Satoru let out a soft, breathy laugh, his hand instantly cupping the side of your belly to anchor himself.
“Whoa. Yeah, that’s a strong one. It definitely takes after me.” He kissed the spot where the kick had landed, his lips warm and lingering. “Keep growing big and strong in there, okay? Daddy's waiting.”
He looked up at you, his eyes shimmering in the dimming light of the room.
There was a quiet, profound reverence in his expression that made your chest ache with warmth. He reached up, his long fingers gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear before his hand came to rest on your cheek, his thumb wiping away a stray tear you hadn't realized had fallen.
“Hey,” he murmured, his voice incredibly soft, a stark contrast to the loud persona he wore outside these walls. “What's this for? Are you hurting anywhere?”
“No,” you whispered, placing your hand over his. “Just happy. You're going to be a wonderful father, Satoru.”
Satoru stared at you for a long moment, the corners of his mouth lifting into a gentle, genuine smile. He leaned up, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips.
“Only because I have you to show me how,” he whispered against your mouth, before drawing you into a slow, deep, and impossibly tender kiss. For the rest of the evening, he didn't move from your side, his hands never leaving you, keeping you wrapped safely in his own quiet world.
bf!satoru seeing his girlfriend in a bikini for the first time
satoru had seen you in oversized hoodies, pajamas, his shirts that practically swallowed your frame whole.
a bikini, however, was entirely a new territory.
the moment you took of your shirt and shorts, on the beach, adjusting the straps of the bikini top, like it was no big deal, satoru forgot how to function.
"..oh." he mumbles. that was akk the so called strongest sorcerer in the world could manage.
you blinked, "oh?"
his face was already turning pink. "no, I-...you just-". the words died somewhere in his throat, he couldn't even think.
you stared for a second before smiling. "toru.. are you blushing?"
"what? no.."
he absolutely was. the tips of his ears were pink. whole face red. and he couldn't seem to decide whether he wanted to look at you or literally anywhere else.
a sweet laugh slipped frm your lips. he looked away immediately.
"you are blushing."
"i'm not..." he whines.
you took a step closer. "satoru."
his breath caught. the strongest sorcerer in the world had fought curses, survived impssible battles, and stared death in the face more times thn he could count.
yet somehow this was worse. his eyes found yours again. for a moment, he just stared. then his face turned even redder.
"you look... so beautiful, baby." he says, focused on just you.
your smile softened instantly. "thank you, toru."
satoru swallowed. he wanted to say more. tell you that he thought you were beautiful everyday, that the sight of you still managed to take his breath away.
but nothing came out. his brain had compleyely given up.
your smile softened. you stepped closer, slipping your hand into his. a quiet smile tugged at his lips as he squeezed it gently.
maybe he didn’t need to say anything else.
the warmth in his chest, the blush on his cheeks, and the way he couldn’t seem to look away from you said enough.
hi guys! i got the will to write again LMAO. i promise i'm not ignoring anyone or disappearing into the nether, i'm getting to my comments, messages + asks and plan to work on reqs in the coming weeks!
you cannot convince me satoru gojo wouldn't be a yearner if he were someone's ex. in fact, it's why he keeps coming back. he always finds another way into your life.
so far, you're on number 4.
he knocked on your door because he "needed" flour.
you called bullshit.
and still let him in.
"since when do you bake?" you snort, rummaging through the cabinets for the ingredient you're not even sure you have.
"i found a cookie recipe," he shrugs, leaning against the drawer next to you.
"there's a grocery store downstairs."
"and?"
he only smiles.
silence. you pause, cabinet door still hanging open.
"satoru."
"yes?" he asks, folding his arms and looking up at you. the way he looks at you makes your stomach turn. he glances at the counter behind you and glances back up with a shit-eating grin.
"what?" you ask, defensive. you whip your head around.
your laptop was still propped up there, right where you just finished cooking. love island still playing silently in the background.
"you watch love island?" he laughs.
"what does it look like, satoru?" you sigh, still digging through the cabinet. the sooner you can find it, the sooner he can stop standing in your kitchen while you try to watch complicated couples make out with each other.
it's almost ironic.
"if you haven't found it," he smiles, nodding towards the laptop again. "it may not be there."
before you can think of something smart to say, he leans in.
his lips brush your chin.
soft.
absentmindedly.
like he hadn't thought about it since the last time he'd seen you.
he wanders out the kitchen.
and then pokes his head back in.
"he doesn't even like her, by the way," satoru says. you look back at the screen again.
you roll your eyes and grab the bag.
"go!" you huff, handing it to him.
he takes it.
walks to the door, opens it.
and stands in the doorway.
"no kiss this time?" he pouts.
you walk towards him, fists balling his shirt as you pull him down to you. your lips meet his. one big palm meets the side of your face, fingers curling at the back of your neck.
you melt into the kiss, pulling him closer until the door shuts behind you both. he drops the flour as his back hits the wooden frame.
his other arm snakes around your waist.
"there," you mock, pulling back. "you got your kiss."
"don't start," he mumbles against your lips.
you chuckle, kissing him again – deeper this time. a whimper leaves his throat. his grip shifts and one hand slides beneath your thigh.
then the other, lifting you with ease.
the kitchen light disappears behind you. it's kinda embarrassing how naturally he still knows his way around.
he carries you straight through the hallway, backing up enough to get a good look in the mirror.
he glances down, smile widening.
"these are new," he laughs. "don't tell me i'm special!"
when you catch your reflection, you finally see it. the pink lace of your panties peeks out from under your robe.
"you wish," you snicker, as you press a kiss under his jaw.
a cloudy white splotch haunts you in the corner of your vision.
that fucking bag.
"did you actually need flour?"
satoru pauses, turning to look back at the door. he sees the stupid zipped baggy and closes his eyes, trying not to laugh.
in hindsight, you probably shouldn’t have asked a question you didn’t want the answer to.
"soo… how many women have you even slept with?" you ask, slipping it into conversation since you were on the topic. you’ve been with toji for over two years now, you know about his past, you know he’s no saint — especially when it comes to women.
but you find yourself wondering far too often how many women your boyfriend has satisfied, how many women he’s had moaning his name whilst he fucks them stupid. the past is the past, you know that.
you just didn’t want to wonder anymore.
“you ain’t gonna like the answer,” toji responds, one arm around you as you sit curled up together on the couch in front of the TV.
you feel your stomach drop, heart beating faster in your chest. the thought of him with another woman makes you sick to your stomach — never mind possibly hundreds of them.
you begin to understand the saying "curiosity killed the cat.”
"…can you just give me a number?" you ask gingerly, unknowingly holding your breath as you await his answer. “didn’t know it mattered to you," he responds gruffly, eyes glued to the TV like this was some casual conversation.
you remove his hand from your shoulder, shuffling away a few inches with a faint pout on your face. you knew this was slightly unfair to him. he can’t change his past, but why wouldn’t he just tell you the number?
you finally catch his attention, hearing him huff as he turns to look at you. "cmon, doll. y’just askin’ shit you don’t wanna know." he pulls you closer again, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
you move away again, still frustrated, digging yourself into a deeper hole. "but why can’t you just tell me?"
your older boyfriend sighs again, not so much in irritation, mainly because he knew any answer he gave you would upset you in some way.
“i don’t have a number to give you. not like i counted," toji says, pausing the TV to give you his full attention. he pats his lap invitingly, "cmere."
you hesitantly climb into his lap. two large hands find your hips, securing you there like you might run away. “don’t work y’self up over it. you’re the one who matters to me. not them."
you nod, leaning in and burying your face in toji’s neck, melting into his lap. he rubs your back reassuringly, kissing your temple.
you stay like that for a moment, safe in his arms, reminding yourself that you are the woman he loves — his past was practically meaningless. "m’sorry for getting jealous," you say quietly, breaking the silence.
"you’re hot when you’re jealous," he purrs, threading his fingers through your soft hair. "s’okay. gonna remind my pretty girl how much i love her," he adds, cock hardening beneath you.
a needy whine escapes you, two hands fisting the collar of his shirt. "please…"
he’ll fuck you until your intrusive thoughts were long gone — until you had no coherent thoughts left at all.
satoru loved kissing you, whether it was your lips or your cheeks, shoulders or stomach. he’d press a kiss to the tip of your nose because he thought you were cute, your hand whenever it happened to be close enough.
he just couldn’t resist you, ever. he kisses you right after you wake up and right before you go to sleep. he says he won’t have a good nights sleep if he doesn’t kiss you.
“mmf- toru… stop!” you giggle between his kisses. you had just gotten home from mall with your friends. satoru missed you dearly. and immediately when you walked through the door, he basically pounced on you. taking you in his arms and walking to the bedroom whilst kissing you everywhere.
“not a chance, sweets.” he mumbles against your collarbone. he puts you gently on the bed, kissing you from your cheeks, to your nose, your chin, your jaw. moving down to your neck and shoulders.
he goes lower and lower, while sliding off your dress, you help him, lifting your hips. he reaches your thighs, gently kissing down your knee, to your calf. he takes off your shoes and looks at you.
“i missed you so much, y’know.” he frowns, putting your dress neatly on the bed beside your body. he admires your half naked body and smiles softly.
“come here, baby.” you say softly, your arms wide open for him.
he wastes no time in getting on top of you, and holding you close to him. breathing in your scent from your neck. your arms comfortably settled around him. one hand in his hair, caressing and playing with the soft locks.
“don’t ever go anywhere without me…” he mumbles against your neck, kissing softly.
“my big baby.” you smile and kiss him. he melts instantly, smiles against your lips and kisses harder.
shortly after, you both fall asleep, in each others arms.
a/n: ou shi this is short sorry.. also tysmtysmtysm for 145 followers😭❤️ beyond grateful for u guys
satoru loved teasing you. it was something he enjoyed doing the most. whether it was stealing food from your plate, poking your cheek nonstop, when you tried to focus, or saying the most ridiculous things in public just to watch you get red from embarrassment.
he lived for your reactions. and tonight was no different.
"you know," satoru started, resting his chin in his hand, "i think the waitress likes me."
you didn't even look up from the menu.
"mhm."
"i'm serious." he pouts childishly.
"of course you are."
"she smiled at me." he says, grinning.
"she's a waitress, satoru. that's her job." you say, getting kind of irritated at his words.
he clicked his tongue. "wow. someone's jealous."
finally, you looked up. "satoru."
his grin widened. there it is. the reaction he wanted. a few minutes later, the waitress approached your table.
"are you ready to order?" she asks and smiles at you, then satoru.
you nodded and told her your order. then the waitress turned to satoru. before he could say anything, you casually looked over and said-
"my husband will have the same."
satoru choked on the water he was drinking. the waitress nodded and walked away.
silence.
satoru didn't move. he simply stared at you. his ears turning red, and his cheeks even redder. his smile, usually so effortless, twitched into something much softer.
you tried to hide your own smile. "you okay, toru?"
"you-..," the words died in his throat but he spoke anyway, "you can't just call me that and expect me to be okay."
you grin at that. "thought you liked getting reactions out of me."
he lets out a quiet groan, dropping his head back. "i deserved that..."
you hum. "you've been teasing me and whatnot nonstop lately." you say, defending yourself.
he looks away. "i know.." he says, ashamed.
"telling me the waitress likes you?"
he winced.
"calling me jealous?"
he looks guilty, a frown showing up on his pretty face.
"it's only fair for me to tease you a bit too."
"by calling me your husband?"
"it worked, didn't it?"
"...a little too well." he looks at you. "i'm sorry, i didn't mean to keep pushing."
"it's okay, just maybe only focus on teasing, not making me jealous." you say, taking his hand in yours.
"whatever you say, wife."
a/n: sorry this is so bad... i freaking love him tho
[𝜗℘] :: a (not-so) relaxing day at the beach with dad!toji and little megumi’s shenanigans :: tags. wife!reader, fluff.
the beach is a beautiful place to rest after a tough week. toji lays on the towel beside yours, bulky arms resting behind his head as he enjoys the gentle breeze.
however, the peace is quickly disturbed when he feels a small fist claw at his mouth.
“‘gumi, don’t feed papa sand,” your muffled laughter echoes through the busy beach. you watch your husband attempt to fight off megumi’s tiny hands as they pry his lips apart.
toji grunts and moves his head multiple times, but the toddler is determined to get what he wants. “wait, brat—”
he scoffs before his hands wrap around megumi’s torso, lifting the little boy in the air as his final resort, “what’s this all ‘bout? wanna kill y’r daddy or sum?”
your son pouts and furrows his brows, “no, made papa food. burger,” he defends himself and kicks his legs while being held up at arms length.
megumi’s tiny fist full of sand manages to reach his father’s lips again, “now papa eat!”
toji lifts megumi up higher, as far away from his face as possible. he takes a second before realising that he indeed had made a request for a burger just moments ago, when his son asked him what he should make out of the sand.
toji totally forgot to play along with megumi’s pretend restaurant game, thinking the boy would halfway forget about it anyway. children’s attention spans are short after all.
seems like his kid is an exception.
“i ain’t eatin’ shit, boy,” toji grunts and turns megumi away, putting the boy back down in the sand between the two beach towels.
you’re about to reprimand your husband for his behaviour before your child interrupts.
“this not poo poo!” megumi jabs a chubby finger at his father’s chest, his voice a bit louder. he’s taken great offence to the comment about his imaginary burger, which is now just a cluster of sand particles.
toji snorts and gently flicks megumi’s hand away, “yeah, it is. bet it tastes like ‘poo poo’ too.”
“no! not poo poo!” megumi’s voice rings out before a frustrated whine leaves his lips.
his little hands land on toji’s abs, physically punishing him for saying mean things about his hard handiwork.
your husband sticks his tongue out childishly at his sulking son, “‘yes! yes ‘tis poo poo!’ keheh,” toji mocks megumi’s high voice, snorting as he laughs at his own joke.
the father-son duo bicker for a few more seconds before you sigh and speak up.
“can you two just get along for once now? we’re in public, so behave,” you scold them as their voices seemed to get louder. you then glare at your immature husband.
he can be such a man-child when it comes to arguing with his son, “and you—you’re an adult, so act like one.”
the two of them instantly shut up and their heads turn towards you, their hands that were wrestling with each other also stopping mid-air. megumi pouts and stops attacking his father with his tiny fists. the little boy knows better than not listen to his mother.
in turn, toji huffs and grumbles something under his breath before grabbing his son to make it up to him.
neither does he dare to defy his wife’s demands.
“yeah, yeah. c’mere, son,” toji responds and places the toddler on his chest, letting the kid rest against him.
megumi surprisingly doesn’t pull away and instead curls up in toji’s warm embrace. as much as the two love to (playfully) fight, they also get along extremely well.
you smile and relax back on the palms of your hands. “much better,” you hum in content.
your heart swells with affection for your two favorite people on earth. megumi is a carbon copy of his father and it’s the cutest little thing ever.
they both have that subtle pout on their lips as they accommodate to being close and cozy with each other again.
toji runs his callused fingers through megumi’s hair, sighing as he closes his eyes. he doesn’t admit it out loud, but he cares for his kid. if he had to make a choice between either saving his own life or megumi’s, toji’d draw his last breath without hesitation.
“he’s still a brat,” your husband grumbles to you, sharp eyes watching the way you coddle and coo over the toddler.
megumi’s chubby cheek is smushed against toji’s chest and it was an adorable sight. you giggle and capture it on your phone.
toji scoffs, but can’t help the grin tugging at the corner of his scarred lips. he gently rubs the child’s cheek with his knuckles before continuing, “but he’s my brat. ain’t that right, boy?”
megumi lets out a small, soft grunt at his father’s words. the kid is completely silent, content with the way things had played out. perhaps this is what he secretly searched for as well— to receive toji’s attention and a glimpse of his affection.
“aww, how cute!” your smile is beaming as you snap another picture of your family.
toji’s soft look is perfectly captured on your phone, with him gently touching megumi’s chubby cheek as the boy laid on his bare chest. pure domestic bliss.
you sigh and look away for one second to change the lockscreen on your phone. humming, you go to your settings and instantly put the picture of your husband and son as your wallpaper on nearly everything.
you tilt your head back only to find toji grinning from ear to ear now, going from gently rubbing megumi’s cheek to full out squishing them between both his hands, amused at the way the fat moves.
“kehehe, look at ‘em,” he chuckles.
the little toddler eventually gets fed up with it after squirming and grunting. megumi brings his little fist up—the same one that still had some sand stored from before—and lets the content fly all over toji’s face.
megumi giggles and scrambles off toji’s lap with a victorious grin. he points at his father who’s struggling with getting the sand off his face, the man sputtering and grumbling.
he sticks his tongue out, “tha’s papa’s burger.”
you watch as your son waddles over to you and hides into your arms, muffled laughter echoing in your ears. seems like megumi won the battle in the end; successfully holding onto the sand he was planning to feed his dad one way or another.
toji spits out a bit of sand that flew into his mouth from the kid’s surprise attack, “you little shit—”
Summary. A kind man helps and takes you in for the night, as you're stranded because it's raining cats and dogs, whilst your car needed some fixing.
contents. gentle toji, dad!toji, age gap(toji is 30, reader is 23) light fluff, masturbating(both), toji taunting, dominant toji, oral sex(both), spitting, couch sex, teasing, praising, degrading, aftercare <3
wc. 4.3k
art creds : @moonlightengel
It's summer break at last. One more year then you'll be freed from hell (college). You're driving on the way home from your dormitory. You had to run some errands earlier, so here you are... driving at 8pm.
You absolutely love summer. Going to the beach, having picnics at the park, wearing bikinis and sundresses, but most especially, the summer break. Although, summer is not all fun and sunshine. It also means that if it rains... oh boy. It's gonna rain pretty fucking heavy.
Your favorite song is blasting on the aux. There were no signs of thunderstorms or heavy rain when you left the dorms. You didn't even check the weather app.
Fast forward... the brutal drops of rain hit your car. Your music earlier? Turned off. You're just trying so hard to focus on driving. The dim roads didn't help either. Yet, you still have to drive for another two hours before you reach home.
Thud.
The car suddenly stopped, "what the fucking fuckkkk?!!" you jumped from your seat. You turned the engine on and off, in hopes that it'll run again. "No no noooo" you slammed your forehead on the steering wheel. Then you remembered that your roommate had told you to change your goddamn tire. You do have a spare tire, but not the tools.
You screamed in frustration. "How can I be so dumb arghhhh." You grabbed your phone and tried calling your parents, siblings, friends, basically everyone at this point. But to no fucking luck, yet again, it kept saying "no signal"
You looked around the place to see if you have any idea where you might be. It looked like a suburb. Your eyes squinted hard, vision unclear because of the rain. Then you spotted a house with lights on, on the porch.
It's either you sleep in the car, and wait till morning cus this shitass rain won't be stopping anytime soon, that you can tell. Or you go to the house and ask to borrow some tools. You'll just have to figure out how to change a tire later on. You bit your fingernail, thinking hard. Then, you finally decided.
"Ask for some help it is." you opened your compartment and scrambled through, hoping to find your umbrella. But right now, you might just be the unluckiest person in the world. "Of fucking course I left my umbrella" you sighed in annoyance.
You got out of the car, body shivering from the cold water. You ran towards the house.
Ding— no response.
Ding— no response.
Your index finger was about to press that button again, when— "What is itttt??!" a little boy, probably 6 years old, greeted you. His face scrunched and is holding a big ass ipad with both of his hands. He looked up, "Ohhh a pretty lady!" he suddenly shrieked once he got a proper view of you. You smiled awkwardly.
"Umm hi.. Is your mommy home?"
"I have no mommy," the boy said, sounding unbothered.
"How about your daddy? Is he home?" you ask, as you look around the house.
"Yep, my papa's here. Are you one of his pretty ladies? It's been a while since a pretty lady came to our house." he said, tilting his head.
"Uhh no, I don't think I know your papa. Can you call him for me? I need some help" you said, then introduced yourself.
"Papa!!! Someone's here!!!" he shouted with all his might. Then his head turned towards you. "My name is Megumi," he said, still unbothered, tapping away on his ipad.
You wrapped your arms around your shaking body, your lips slightly quivering. You turned around to look at your car.
"Gumi, what did I tell you about opening the door on strangers?" A deep voice entered the scene. You quickly turned around and were faced with a tall, jaw-dropping, one hell of a man, scratching his head. Making his shirt ride up, revealing his toned abs underneath. His sweat pants rest dangerously low on his hip. You're starstruck. You blink a few times before proper words come out of your mouth.
"Oh I'm so sorry for disturbing you. It wasn't his fault! I kept on ringing the doorbell. I really really need some help" you rambled, pressing your hands together, showing an apologetic look.
"But it's a pretty lady, papa. You love pretty ladie—" the boy's words got cut off when his dad shut him up with his big hand, covering the poor Megumi's whole face. After struggling from the big man's hold, Megumi ran away. You couldn't help but giggle.
The man shifts his attention to you. "You're soaking wet. What 'ya need help for?" he asked.
"I was on my way home, but my tire got busted. Do you have some tools I can borrow?" you say shyly, forcing a smile.
"Do I have some tools? Sweetheart, I am the tool." He said, chuckling. The scar on his lip moving as he speaks, "I'm a mechanic. Toji." his hand reaches out. You took it and shook each other's hands, while introducing yourself.
"Where's your car?"
You pointed out outside, just a few walks away from their house. "There". He hummed in response.
"Do you even know how to change your wheel?" Toji questioned, putting his hands in his pockets.
"Nope" you pursed your lips together forming a line. He nodded his head as a response.
"Okay then, I'll help you fix it. You should dry up first. Hold on." he walked away. Then came back with a fluffy towel, handing it to you.
"Thank you, Mr. Toji" you say, beaming a smile.
"Come in." he tilts his head to the side once, gesturing you to come inside.
After wrapping your body with the provided towel, and removing your slippers, you finally stepped inside. Your eyes scan the surroundings. It looks clean and tidy. Almost everything is in muted colors, mostly black. Decorated with minimalist furniture and a bunch of Megumi's picture frames on the wall, displayed on the foyer. You stare in awe.
You stopped in front of a big picture frame of both Toji and Megumi. "You have a lovely home, Mr. Toji"
"Thanks. The kid really does his part in making it a home. Despite his unusual personality, sometimes. And drop the mister. Do I look that old? Just call me Toji" he said, scratching the back of his head.
"Of course not! You look whatever your age is, probably even younger" your words flattered him.
"How old are you?"
"23, what about you?" you replied, still looking at the pictures.
He clicked his tongue. "30. Anyway, you hungry? We still have some leftovers from dinner." he asks, you look at him.
"Oh not at all. I ate some snacks in the car haha. No worries, thanks for asking anyway" you wave your hands. Remember the bad luck from earlier? Yeah... it came back. Because your stomach grumbled louder than the thunderstorm. Your eyes widen.
Toji laughed at you. "Come on, I'll fix you up a plate" he gestures you into the kitchen.
He sat you on the table as he heats up the food. After a while, you are now presented with mouth-watering food. You looked up to the man from your seat. "Thank you so much, it looks really good!"
"Eat up. I'll go find you some clothes to change into. Might catch a cold" Before turning his heel to walk away, Megumi popped out of nowhere and sat beside you. "Hey Gumi, don't give the pretty lady a hard time now, would 'ya" he teases.
"I won't. I'm not annoying like you, papa" You can feel Toji fume with rage right now, as you try your best not to laugh. But he takes a deep breath and walks away.
Now, you're left alone with Megumi. "How old are you, Gumi?" you ask, whilst cutting the meat on your plate.
"I'm 5 years old" he bluntly answered, while playing with his wolf stuffed toy.
"You're a smart 5-year-old"
"Really??" his eyes glowed at your remark.
You smiled at him. "Yes! Like really really smart!" you couldn't help but pinch his chubby cheeks.
"Am I handsome? Papa says I look like a sea urchin because of my hair" his lips pout and he crosses his arms. You giggled at him.
"Well of course you're a handsome little lad" you playfully elbow him. "You look exactly like your papa"
"Oh so you think my papa's handsome??" Your smile faded at his words.
"That's not what I meant, I just think you're handsome and you look like your papa" you say, trying to convince him to think otherwise. Toji came back holding a pair of shorts and a shirt.
Then Megumi opens his mouth, "Papa, she thinks you're handsome" he says to the man as he places the clothes on the table. You tried to cover his mouth but he talked too fast.
"Does she, now" Toji coos
"Hey! That's not what I said! I said, you're the handsome one, Gumi" you face Megumi, giving him a playful glare.
"So you think I'm ugly, then?" Toji crosses his arms over his chest. The muscles on his forearm flex, you stare for a good five seconds. "Eyes up here" he said, pointing to his eyes.
You gulped. "W-well that's not what I meant either. It's just that Gumi was asking if he's handsome and then he said that you said that— fine. You're both handsome" you sighed in defeat.
"See, papa. The pretty lady likes you!" Megumi adds another fuel to the fire. Toji cackled at his son's once-in-a-while playfulness.
"It's late, Gumi. Bed time" he directs the kid to his room. Megumi didn't fight his dad and obliged.
Then Toji sits on your opposite side of the table, facing you. "Sorry for that. I just played along 'cus he's rarely like that" he said, shaking his head, still laughing.
"It's okay, he's such a cutie. And he's really smart for his age. What're you feeding him, my goodness" you replied, as you finished up your plate.
"Hmmm well I only feed him real food. No junk food shit. I guess that helps" you nodded, agreeing with his words.
"The food's absolutely amazing, did you cook this?"
"Yeah. I'm a great cook, even greater at eating." You nearly died choking on the water you were drinking. "God damn. Slow down" he approaches you and pats your back. After a few coughs you wave your hand at him.
"I'm okay" you say, giving him a thumbs up.
"I don't think I'll be able to fix your car while it's raining this hard. You can just stay here for the night. We have a guest room, you're more than welcome to spend the night" Toji said, now leaning on the kitchen counter. You were taken back at his words, "what a kind gentleman" you thought.
"Thank you so so much. You're being so kind, I don't know how to make it up to you. But if you need any help with Megumi's assignments or a babysitter, I'll be here!" you stood up from your seat, giving him a salute. He snorted at your action.
"C'mon now. It's nothing, just trying to keep 'ya safe. Can't have you sleeping outside. The guest room has a bathroom as well. You can freshen up before changing" you nodded at him. Then, you went to the sink in an attempt to wash the plate. But he was quick to get it from your hands.
His massive figure hovered yours. "No guest of mine washes the dishes" he said, looking down at you. You took a step back and laughed nervously.
"Ohh my bad. I'll go ahead and take a shower then. Thanks again, Toji" you say, trying to avert the tension into a light one.
You set the water to the perfect temperature before going in the shower. As the warm water runs down your body, you can't help but think of the man who ever so kindly took you in for the night.
You squeezed your legs together, feeling more heated remembering the way he looked at you. That smitten look even when you were outside his door. Your hand moved on its own.
"Mmh— aah" a breathy moan escapes your lips, as your middle finger rubs your clit. Toji's face kept flashing in your mind. His big arms, those juicy pecs, his toned abs, that goddamn sexy face. Your finger rubs your nub faster. You leaned on the shower wall, trying to get your high.
"O-ohh fuckk, ahhh Toji" you moaned, imagining him finger you. You grinded against your hand, the other grabbing one of your breasts. You squeezed your tit, then a few more circles on your clit, and you orgasmed. "S-shittt Toji— ahh don't stop" you pant.
Once you calm down, "What the fuck am I doing" you shook your head at your actions. Then proceed to wash yourself up. After a good 15-minute scrubbing, and a whole ton of songs, you stepped out and grabbed a clean towel.
You dried yourself up, as you're about to change— "Fuck, I left the clothes on the table" you face palmed yourself.
Towel wrapped around your damp body, you sneakily go out to go to the kitchen. As you're about to walk past the living room, you heard something.
No, someone.
Along with the faint sound of the tv, there's heavy breathing, grunts, and... wet squelches?
You peaked on the wall, your eyes almost popped out of your eye sockets. Behold, the most erotic thing you've ever witnessed your whole life. Toji was seated, legs spread wide, his head resting on the back of the couch, as his right hand went up and down his gigantic cock. The light on the tv flickering on him. When a bright color popped on the tv, his cock was basically begging to be looked at.
Long and girthy. It even looks heavy, his mushroom tip stands out as his hand goes down to pump himself. Veins wrapping around, almost popping from the looks of it. He went faster, and you can see how he tightened his fist around his dick. He bit his lip, trying to suppress his moans.
"Fuckkk" he moaned as he oozed his cum on his stomach. Then you hear him clearly breath out your name. "You like the show, pretty?" he said, turning to look at you, lurking on the wall. His eyes hooded, still feeling his post-orgasm bliss.
Your eyes widen, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to. I was just gonna get the clothes" you retorted, shifting your body to reveal yourself from stupidly trying to hide.
"Hmmm I was gonna put it in your room, but you were busy doing other things than showering. Thought you'd just have to get it yourself" his hand, still stroking his cock.
"You heard me??" you ask, finally looking up at him.
He snickered. "Oh I definitely didn't. I absolutely didn't hear you moaning my name in my shower— Ahh Toji" he said, taunting you. Mocking your shameless moans from earlier.
You nibbled on your lower lip from embarrassment. "I apologize for doing that, after being so kind to me—"
"C'mere" his voice came out deep. You don't know what possessed you, but your feet are moving your body towards him. Once you stand in front of him, "Kneel" Your eyes are glued on the floor.
You looked at him with confusion, still processing the current events. "Fix what you started. On your knees" he points his finger to the space between his legs.
And you fucking did.
"Now that's a good girl. You want my cock, huh?" you bit your lip. Doe eyes staring at him, you nodded your head. Eagerly. "Then take it. Suck me good and proper. Would 'ya now, sweetheart?"
Your hand slowly reaches for his cock. You gulp as you feel him twitch at your touch. He hissed when your thumb ran along the slit of his wet tip. Toji grabbed your hair, "Don't fucking tease me. Get that slutty mouth of yours to work" he said, forcing you to look at him, making you whimper.
You stick your tongue out and licked his precum, then sucked his tip. "Mmmhh" Toji's grasp on your hair loosened as his head tilted back, eyes closed.
Your hand tries to wrap around his dick, but it's just too fucking thick. You bring your other hand and wrap around the rest. You let go of his tip with a sounding—pop. Then, he looks down at you. "Spit on it" you spit on his cock, he chuckles at your obedience.
After coating him, you begin to mouth him— inch by inch. Until he hits the back of your throat, making you gag a little. The remaining length of his cock being taken care of by your hands. Your jaw almost locks by how big he is.
You're bobbing your head up and down, you looked at him. His eyes are already devouring yours. He grins at you, his hand putting away your still-wet hair from your face. Suddenly, you hollowed your cheeks and sucked him good. He let out a guttural moan. "A-ahhh fuuu-uckk" His hip jolted upwards. You continue to work your mouth, your eyes filling with tears by how his tip brushes the back of your throat.
"S-shiiit babyy. Keep going—hahh" he desperately reaches for his orgasm. You give him what he wants. You bobbed your head faster and wrapped around him tighter. He grabs your head and helps you move up and down. You feel him shiver and his cock twitches— Toji shoots his cum in your mouth. "Mnghh fuckk" he rolled your name in his tongue so sweetly. The tears in your eyes, finally roll down your cheeks. He's warm, thick and salty.
You lick the remnants of his cum that dripped out of your mouth, as he catches his breath. Toji cups your face and brings you closer to him. He crashes his lips into yours, tasting his own fluid still in your mouth. "Mhhhmp" you moan in his mouth.
He let go and reclined his position on the couch. He stared you down, while licking his lips. Then, he yanked your towel. You felt goosebumps, being exposed to the cold air— and him. "Oh fuck" he admires your bare body.
Then, he slides down to sit on the ground. His head laid on the seat of the couch. You stare in utter confusion. "Sit on my face, baby" he says, smirking. His hands rubbing on your bare thighs. He guided you, your thighs on the sides of his face, you used the back of the couch for support.
Toji holds the plush of your hips. "You're already so wet. Be a good girl and fill me up good, hmm?" he mumbles to your pussy. He then forces you down to his face.
"A-ahhh y-yess feels so— mmnghh" you blabber as he plays with your pussy with his tongue. You grind your hips on his face, making him grunt. The vibration sends shivers down your spine. His tongue continues to bully your pussy as he eats you so good and messy.
The flat of his tongue melting perfectly at your cunt. Then— he inserts it inside you. Your head snapped to your back, eyes rolling and mouth wide open. You shake on top of his face. The lewd sounds of him licking and sucking you overpowering the ones from the neglected tv, and the sound of the rain hitting the windows. You grab his hair and look between your legs. His eyes are closed and brows are knitted together.
He's eating you out as if he hasn't been fed for years. You feel your tummy twist when he pushes his mouth harder on your clit. "T-tojiii 'm gonna c-cuummm" you moan, grinding and matching his rhythm.
Your legs squeezed his head and your juices gushed out into his mouth. He slurps and licks every drop you give him. Your legs start to shake from the pleasure. He then held your thigh and prompted you to let go of his face.
Toji sits back on the couch, a satisfied grin displayed on his face, the lower glistening from your juices. "You taste so fucking sweet" you straddle him this time.
You both moan when your dripping pussy brushes past his painfully-hard cock. You leaned in and kissed him, tasting yourself. "Clean my face up. Lick yourself away from my face" your mouth moved to his jaw and licked away your traces.
Once you're done, his right holds onto your nape. You tilt your head back a little. "Your car's not the only thing that needs my help, huh?" he says, as his left hand smacks your ass, making you yelp and arch your back.
"Nghh— Y-yess. Need you so bad"
"What do you need, baby? Tell me properly" his left hand shifts to your pussy. He inserts two fingers in. You gasp, holding onto his shoulders.
"N-need your cock— ahhh in m-me" He curls his digits faster into you.
"I can't understand when you stutter like that. C'mon, speak properly" he taunts you.
You bit your lip and tried your best to speak, despite the way his fingers bully your insides. "Mmmhh I want— cockkk. Toji, please fuck me" he snickers.
"Good fucking girl. Shall I give 'ya what you deserve now, hmm?" you quickly nodded.
He lifts you up, positioning his length to your pussy. Then you start to take him, you moan with just his tip. "Fuck. nice and easy, baby" he says as he caresses your back.
You mustered all your courage and smack all the way down. The both of you moaned. Then you moved up and down. You feel every vein on his dick cling to your walls as it goes in and out. Your pussy taking him soooo easy cus of how wet you are.
Your tits bounce along at your pace. Toji hungrily dives into your boobs. Moving his face side to side, giving them equal treatment. "Ahhh- Fuck! T-toji" you mumble as he sucks on one of your nipples. You pump your pussy faster on his dick.
"Good fucking god. You do know how to ride properly— hah y-yeah just like that, baby" he closes his eyes in pure bliss, grunting, while you're a moaning mess on top of him.
Your pace becomes sloppy as you feel your tummy twisting again. Unsatisfied, his hips thrusts upward to meet your hips as you go down. "A-ahh!" you writhe. He continues to fuck you from below, his hands on your hips. You stare at each other. Both of your faces forming a silent o, brows furrowed, and beads of sweat forming on your foreheads.
You catch his lips and he moans in your mouth. After a while, you feel him twitch inside you, again. You pull away from the kiss.
"S-shit. 'M gonna cum, baby. you close?" He asks you, breathing uneven.
"Y-yes just k-keep going like—ohhhh Tojii!" you cry out as you orgasm. Not longer, he became undone as well. He grunts and moans your name as he fills you up with his warm cum.
His head rests on your shoulder. "God damn. That's the best pussy I've ever felt. You're so perfect f'me" he mumbles, breathing heavily. You just hum in return, brain scrambled. He rubs circles on your thighs.
"Toji, 'm tired" you blurt out, head dropping on the crook of his neck. Then, you feel him lift you and pull his dick out, making you whimper a little. He stands up and walks to his room. You're basically half-passed out at this point. But, you're well aware of how gentle he's being. He laid you down and you gave in to your sleepiness.
________________________________________
Your eyes open as you hear birds chirping. You look out the window and the sunshine's finally come to bless you after that storm yesterday. "Fuck" you quickly remembered what happened last night...
You look down on the blanket and you're wearing the shirt and shorts Toji had offered you. You also don't feel sticky or gross. You smile at the thought of him cleaning you up and dressing you.
You headed to his bathroom, washed your face, and grabbed a new toothbrush from his drawer. Then, as you walked down the stairs, your nose was engulfed by the smell of pancakes.
"Papa, I want wolf pancakes!" Gumi's voice filled the kitchen. You smile as you watch the two. Megumi turns his head upon noticing you. "Good morning!!" he squealed
"Wowww. Someone's in a good mood— Morning, gumi!" you return the excitement to the cut boy as you walk towards him to pinch his cheeks.
Toni turns off the stove and faces you. Your heart dropped to your stomach. You gulped. "Morning, Toji" you say, your cheeks burning red. He puts the pancake on Megumi's plate and drizzles syrup.
"Hmm morning. How's sleep? You rest well?" a smirk slowly crept on his gorgeous sexy face. He steps and closes the distance. "Do ‘ya feel sore or anything?" Toji whispers in your ear, being mindful of his son. Although, he's currently busy, not giving a single care to the world as he digs into his pancake.
"A little. But I'm fine" you say, nibbling on your lip. He hums in response.
"Want some tea to relax your senses?" he teases you, moving away. You glare at him. He cackles a laugh.
"Oh. By the way, your car's all fixed. Hate to say this, but I need to collect service fee"
"Oh really? Thanks! How much??"
"Hmm let's see.. It did take me a while. So... How about a date?"
want more?
>𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙
________________________________________
I should do some fluff cleanse after this. Love me some mechanic!toji😩
thanks for reading! hope you liked it <3
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a/n: pretend satoru hasn’t learnt rct yet okay you have to be soft with me he was just a kid himself :( also pretend you didn't see this earlier
“ow!” satoru winces, muttering under his breath, cursing the pot that’s boiling on the stove. “fu-- damn stove, i’d burn you but you’d probably like that.”
that’s the first thing you hear when you wake up from your nap. you’re splayed out on the sofa where you fell asleep by accident, only to wake up to the sound of satoru speaking to himself. well, the stove.
you sigh, eyes still bleary with sleep. sitting up with a yawn, you stretch your arms over your head before you get up to join satoru in the kitchen.
he turns to look at the doorway of the kitchen before you even take a step inside. and he’s pouting, rubbing his index finger with his thumb to soothe it.
the strongest sorcerer, by the way. an eighteen-year-old boy who was taught how to utilise his powers and train them, but was never taught basic life skills like cooking.
“baby,” he whines, “the pot tried to kill me. the stove is its accomplice.”
you can’t help the snort that escapes you, shaking your head at his dramatic antics that never end. you walk over to him and gently take his hand in yours, examining his finger. his finger right next to the one that has a digimon plaster wrapped around it because he accidentally cut himself with a knife the other day.
“you’ll be okay. run it under cool water.”
satoru lets you hold his hand under the running tap. in fact, he hopes that you never let go of his hand. maybe he should burn himself more often.
“i could’ve cooked, you know. you just came back from back-to-back missions,” you say, your tone slightly scolding. but your face softens when you notice his tired gaze drag down to the floorboards of the kitchen, a pout still on his lips, shoulders hunched like something is weighing them down.
“you were sleeping,” he mumbles, more solemn now. “and i wanted to make sure that there’s food ready before we go pick megumi and tsumiki up from school.”
“satoru,” you say softly, waiting for his eyes to meet yours before you continue, “the responsibility isn’t all yours. i’m here. i always am. even if i’m sleeping. we’re doing this together.”
he sighs, shoulders relaxing slightly. “i know.”
you turn the tap off and gingerly pat his hand clean with a kitchen towel, and he watches you every second. even as you let go of his hand for a few moments to reach for the first-aid kit in one of the cabinets, taking out a gauze to protect his finger.
“i think i’m going to have to keep reminding you, though,” you say, knowing how stubborn satoru can be when it comes to sharing responsibilities, no matter how big or small. “i’ll finish cooking, we’ll get the kids, and then you’re going to bed.”
your tone leaves no room for argument, but of course satoru always finds a way to sneak one in.
“but i wanna spend time with you, i missed you so much these past few days. who even needs sleep?”
you look up at him with a raised eyebrow, and he grins down at you, snowy eyelashes fluttering like they do when he wants his way (it works 70% of the time).
“you’re going to sleep. you haven’t rested properly in almost a week.”
“i’ll rest with you. you’re like my little power bank.”
“i hate you.”
“no you don’t. we have kids together--”
“you randomly brought them home one day.”
“-- you take care of me.”
“because you whine and that doesn’t help anyone.”
“aaaand you love me,” he beams, a smile that makes your heart melt in a way that you can’t ignore.
that’s when you don’t say anything; you only stare at satoru and he’s still smiling because he already knows. he never needs you to say it even if he professes his love to you everyday.
he knows it in the way you always take care of him, physically and emotionally, being the safe space he’s never had. in the way you’ve stuck by him no matter what, no matter how hard things have gotten. and a lifetime isn’t enough for him to express his gratitude.
“so it’s decided. we’ll finish cooking, go pick them up, then spend time together.”
