cw: daddy kink (not in an ageplay context), reader has daddy issues, mild choking
more like this | Gojo vers!
You wouldn’t exactly class yourself as ‘psychologically fucked up’, but you probably wouldn’t class yourself as totally normal either. Well, you would- in every category except the way you tend to think about your dad. You really don’t know what your problem is; you can take anything life throws at you, but the moment he narrows his eyes and makes a snarky comment you feel like a little girl hiding under a blanket again.
He’s just an asshole, you know that by now- years upon years of shouting and passive-aggressive insults have taught you that much, uncalled for words and slamming doors punctuated by long, uncomfortable amounts of intense, angry silence. Years of walking on eggshells, essentially. You’re independent because of it all, able to juggle your postgraduate job and living by yourself, cooking and washing and having your music on as loud as you want because there’s no angry man dictating the volume for you.
And then you met Toji, and it all crumbled embarrassingly quickly.
Because it turns out you possess a penchant for being cared for, a secret little need to be cradled in strong hands and kissed like you’re made of glass your older boyfriend would never dare to throw at anybody. He doesn’t exactly look it, if you’re going on appearances alone- talk and broad, dark green eyes and darker hair; he’s absolutely huge, really.
You’d met him by accidentally spilling the remnants of your third coffee of the day onto his chest, fizzling out the glow on the end of his cigarette as he slouched against a wall, his muscle probably about as solid as the brick. “Sorry, oh my god!” You’d gasped immediately in horror, “I’m so sorry-“
“It’s fine.” He’d chuckled, “cigarette was goin’ out anyway.” Toji eyed you up then, the business attire and the scared eyes set above cheeks warm from embarrassment. “Where are you goin’ so fast?”
He’d nodded slowly, before smirking with that scarred lip you love so much now and bending down to your eye level. “Not too busy to give me your number?”
Your lips part open in shock, no sound escaping. “You… how- how old are you?”
Once he tells you, casually, you shrink back a little. “That’s almost my dad’s age.”
Toji shrugs. “Is that a problem?”
You stare at him- his biceps under that black tshirt, the scars and calluses on his hands and thick fingers, the gorgeous eyes set into his face, and something within you quivers to life. Sparkling, excited, life. “Not at all.”
At first, you were a little skeptical. But, no, Toji was seriously great; he makes you coffee, lends you his shirts, kisses your forehead and lets you slump into his huge lap after a bad day, his arms swallowing you up comfortingly as he mutters sweet nothings into your hair. It's all you've been dreaming of for the last eight hours, really.
There’s tears stinging at your eyes as you worry your lip between your teeth, rain splashing at your shoes and hair as you trudge back to your apartment. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could make your day better, you’re convinced of it; your boss being annoying, your reports getting mixed up, the photocopier breaking twice. Etcetera etcetera.
"Hey, doll.” Comes Toji’s rough voice from your couch. "Missed you." But then he turns and sees your teary face, and his expression furrows like he's about to threaten whoever did this to his poor girl.
“I don’t w-wanna talk about it.” You sniffle quietly when you kick the door open. “Please.”
“Sure.” He says, naturally spreading his thighs wider and his arms dropping open for you to pathetically crawl onto his warm lap. Your much smaller arms wrap around his neck and you flutter your eyes closed against him as you curl up on his lap. You’ve never felt particularly tiny before, but somehow Toji makes you feel like it.
“S’okay, sweet girl.” Toji mutters, an absolutely ginormous hand coming up to cradle your head and gently stroke your hair. “I’m here, yeah?”
“I know.” You whisper into him, eyes growing heavy with fresh tears. “My day was s-so bad.” The best part about dating a man old enough to be your dad is probably the fact he knows exactly what to say to you, exactly how to coo to you and the little spark inside your chest you keep tightly closed off.
“It sounds it.” Toji sighs. “My sweet girl, they’re working you too hard, huh? They’ve got you cryin’ in my lap.”
You laugh wetly. “It’s a good place to cry.”
“Yeah,” he breathes, gently pressing his lips to your head. “It is. Let it all out, baby.”
You do, like you were still looking for permission. Sobs wrack your body for a full five minutes, violent tears that stain the cosy fabric of his shirt as you cry and cry and cry into the wall of warm muscle that is your boyfriend. Days like this happen sometimes, when you’ll collapse into his awaiting warm frame as his hands and shirt soak up your tears.
Although, that’s not how all of your evenings with Toji go, obviously. Because another thing about dating men who are old enough to be your dad- they’re reallyyyyy good at sex.
“Ah- fuck-“ you sob quietly, wrapping your legs around Toji’s waist. “That’ssss it,” he praises gruffly, “attagirl, taking me so well.” His hand strokes gently over your hip, thumb brushing the delicate skin.
You mewl and arch up into him, the slick evidence of your previous two orgasms dripping onto the sheets below you as he fucks into you, the patch of hair at his thick base scratching your clit deliciously with every thrust forward. “I can’t c-cum again,” you sob breathlessly, eyes rolling back as his tip drags over your sweet spot. “I can’t, Toji-“
He brings a hand to brush clammy hair away from your forehead. “You can, and you will. For me, yeah?” He grins lopsidedly, teeth gritting together as he fights not to moan too loudly, even when your cunt clamps up around him so softly like that.
“Oneeee more,” Toji pants, his rough fingers- so much bigger than your own- rub over your clit. You squeak like a mouse, twitching violently, and he laughs under his breath. “You’re so cute when you get all needy and sensitive like this- fuck, you like that?”
You moan in affirmation, body twitching helplessly as you’re caged to his broad chest, and then it accidentally slips out in a moment of drowsy pleasure. “Oh, daddy-!”
Toji pauses on your clit and you whine frustratedly, snapping your eyes open. You barely even realised you’d said anything, but oh god if the shit-eating look on his face didn’t give you a reminder. Your eyes widen. “I don’t- I d-didn’t mean to, Ji-“
He shuts you up by pressing his thumb into your mouth. “You’re gonna say that shit again while I’m still inside you,” he groans deeply, rolling his hips deeply just once. “Say it.”
“Ji…” you mumble tearfully around his thumb, your smaller hands grabbing at his arm pitifully.
“Nah,” he breathes, “s’not what you said. Say it again, pretty girl.”
Why should you bother fighting it when he’s literally inside you, when your orgasm is gently rippling at your abdomen?
“Daddy.” You moan shamelessly, head tipping back until your spine arches up with it, “oh, daddy, pleasepleasepleaseeee-“
You clench around him tightly, nails digging so hard into the heavily muscled ridges of his back you wouldn’t be surprised if he started bleeding, crimson pooling under your fingernails. “You.. like that?” He huffs disbelievingly. You nod, eyes glossed over, and then he does it.
One strong, strong hand snakes from your waist upwards. Thick digits trail dextrously over your skin, teasingly tweaking your nipple on the way, before wrapping around your throat. Not hard enough to restrict your air flow, not really, just hard enough to the point you’re aware of the pressure.
But, technically, he's choking you- his hand resting there over your skin, feeling your pulse jump wildly and thrum beneath his palm and fingers. Every time you say that word, that little honorific you apparently adore to let slip, the vibrations hum under his palm and he only groans louder, throws his hips into yours messier.
You’re aware of that innate control he has over you, his fingers pressing down onto your artery and shoving into the delicate skin spanning over your protruding oesophagus. “Fuck,” you gasp- or maybe choke would be the right word- “fuck, T-Toji.” You start producing even more slick than before, whimpering a mixture of his name and ‘daddy’ and various curses littered between them.
Toji’s eyes glaze over and he starts fucking into you harder than before, the slapping sounds embarrassingly lewd in your shared bedroom. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he grunts adoringly, “I didn’t know you were that fucked up.”
Your eyes swim with tears as you mewl loosely around his thumb, which pulls out of your mouth to drag down your soft lower lip and toy with the skin just to see if you’ll let him. Which you do, obviously. “I-I’m fucked up?” You say tearily, “you’re about to fucking cum in me because I called you daddy and I’m the one who has issues here!?”
“I didn’t say that, did I?” Toji laughs inbetween his little feral groans, “god, you make me so fucking hard, my sweet girl. You sweet, fucked-up girl,” he coos, bucking his hips so your thighs squeeze around his waist again and your nails dig in to his muscled back.
“My sweet, fucked-up girl.”
“I love you.” You hear yourself sobbing as he talks gently to you, your pussy seizing up as you orgasm, “I love you-“
“I- fuck- I love you too-“ he heaves. His hips still deep and stutter as he floods you, bending down to clash his lips against yours just as buckets of messy white spill inside your body. He holds you close for a few minutes in that awkward, Toji’s quiet version of aftercare way you adore, sweat drying up on your skin.
He braids your hair afterwards, and brings you a hot mug of tea, before letting you crawl up onto his chest and rest there. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” He says into your hair. “I love you, yeah?” You hum sleepily into his bare skin and fall asleep happily, his huge arms wrapped safely around your frame.
∙ 𝟏𝟖+ 𝒎𝒅𝒏𝒊 · Toji can't get enough of his pregnant wife.
𝓒𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 · ꒰ 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ⋮⋮ 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒋𝒊 ⋮⋮ mentions of pregnancy + childbirth ⋮⋮ reader dealing with post-partum ⋮⋮ p in v ⋮⋮ toji & his 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒌 ⋮⋮ lactating ⋮⋮ breast worship ⋮⋮ 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒕!milk drinking ⋮⋮ c-pied꒱
𝑩𝒂𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 : 𝒂𝒔𝒌
The baby had finally fallen asleep.
You could hear the soft even breaths from the crib across the room. Six weeks postpartum now, and the nights still felt fragile, but tonight, the house was quiet. Dinner dishes sat washed in the dishwrack. The soft glow from the lamp on the nightstand was the only light left on.
Toji had been touching you all evening.
It started at the table. His hand on your thigh under the cloth, thumb stroking slow circles while you ate. Then after, when you stood to clear the plates, he came up behind you and wrapped both arms around your middle, face buried in the curve of your neck.
“Pretty,” he murmured against your skin. “Missed this.”
You leaned back into him. His body, solid and warm. The hard line of his cock pressed against the small of your back almost immediately.
Pregnancy had changed him... well it changed you as well obviously, but for toji it made him all the more caring and attentive ¹⁰ fold.
You still remembered your early months. Morning sickness that left you shaky and pale. Toji would sit on the bathroom floor with you, one big hand rubbing slow circles over your back while the other held your hair up and when the worst of it passed he would help you stand, walk you back to bed, and pull you against his chest until the nausea faded.
“I got you,” he used to say. “Just breathe for me, Doll.”
His hands never left you for long after that. If your back ached, he would ease you onto the couch and knead the tight muscles until you melted. If your feet swelled, he would lift them into his lap and press his thumbs into the arches while you dozed. At night, he'd curl around you, one arm under your head, the other draped over the growing curve of your belly, palm resting there like he was already protecting what was inside.
And the cockwarming.
He would plead for it almost every night by the second trimester.
“Please baby,” he whispered against your ear, voice low and sincere. “I just need to feel you. Just like this. You don’t have to move.”
You always said yes. Sliding down onto his thick cock in the dark, letting him fill you while you both stayed still. The stretch helped the deep ache in your hips. The heat of him inside you made the rest of the world feel smaller. He held you close, one hand stroking your belly, the other cupping a heavy breast, and stay buried for hours in you if you let him.
Your breasts had been his other obsession.
Even before the milk came he loved them. Once they grew heavy and tender he could barely keep his mouth off them. He would tug your shirt up in the middle of the afternoon and suck slowly, tongue working over the sensitive peaks until your toes curled. After the baby arrived and the milk let down he treated it like a privilege. Some evenings he would settle you in his lap, unbutton your top, and nurse from you while the baby slept in the next room, eyes half-closed like he was the one being soothed.
“Always loved these,” he would murmur between long pulls. “Even before.”
You never minded. It felt natural. It felt like it was always meant for him.
Tonight was different.
Six weeks of healing and careful touches had left him utterly restless and needy for you, im more ways than one. The second the baby’s breathing evened out, he had steered you toward the bedroom with a hand at the small of your back. Now he had you on your side in the middle of the mattress, facing the crib, his chest pressed to your spine.
He kissed the side of your neck, soft and open-mouthed.
“Pretty,” he said again. “Missed being inside you like this.”
His cock was already hard and hot against the cleft of your ass. He had pushed your sleep shorts and panties down just enough. The fat head rubbed through the wetness that had gathered the moment he started kissing you. You were still tight. The doctor had cleared you only a few days ago. Everything felt sensitive and new.
Toji reached around and cupped your lower belly with one large hand. The soft skin there was still rounded from pregnancy. He held it carefully, almost reverently, while he lined himself up.
“Tell me if it’s too much.”
“It’s not,” you whispered.
He pushed in slow.
The stretch made you gasp. Your walls fluttered around the thick intrusion, still getting used to him again after the long wait. He groaned low against your neck and kept going until he was buried halfway.
“Fuck. Still so tight for me.”
He worked the rest of himself inside with careful rolls of his hips. When he finally bottomed out, he stayed still, breathing hard, the hand on your belly tightening just a little. The pressure of his palm against the soft curve felt grounding. You reached back and gripped his thigh.
“Missed this too,” you said.
He kissed the spot under your ear and started to move.
The thrusts were deep and measured at first. He kept you locked against him, chest to back, one arm under your neck, the other still wrapped around your middle. Every stroke dragged his thick cock along your walls. Slick sounds filled the quiet room. Your body opened for him the way it always had, wet and willing even after everything it had been through.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Take me. Just like that.”
He fucked you steadily, the bed shifting under the force of his hips. Your cunt clenched around him every time he sank deep. The hand on your belly never left. He held you there like he needed the reminder that you were still his, still soft and full of the life you had made together.
After a while he slowed again, almost to a stop, and just stayed buried.
“Can I stay like this a minute?” he asked, voice rough. “Please baby. I just need to feel you.”
You nodded. He exhaled against your shoulder and held you tighter. His cock throbbed inside your tight heat. The warm weight of him pressed against every sensitive place. You could feel the faint stickiness of precome already mixing with your slick.
Minutes passed. The baby slept on. Toji’s hand drifted up from your belly to cup one breast through the thin fabric of your top. He squeezed gently, thumb brushing the nipple until it beaded with a drop of milk.
“Still so full,” he said.
He tugged the neckline down and guided the heavy breast free. Then he leaned over your shoulder and took the peak into his mouth. The first long suck made your cunt flutter hard around his cock. He groaned and sucked deeper, tongue working, drawing milk while he stayed buried to the hilt.
You arched into him. The dual sensation was almost too much. His mouth on your tender breast. His thick cock stretching your still-sensitive cunt. The careful way he held your belly the entire time.
Nursing on your soft swollen breasts, switching sides when one side softened, all while his hips gave the smallest shallow thrusts that kept you full without overwhelming you. When he finally lifted his head, his lips were shiny.
“Taste like you,” he said. “Missed that too.”
He started fucking you again in earnest.
The careful rhythm gave way to deeper, harder strokes. He kept you pinned on your side, one leg hooked back over his thigh so he could sink even further. The wet slap of skin on skin grew louder. Your juices coated his shaft and dripped down onto the sheets. He kissed your neck between thrusts, murmuring soft praise against your skin.
“Love this cunt. Love how it squeezes me. Gonna fill you up again. Want you full of me.”
His hand stayed firm on your belly the whole time, holding the soft curve while he drove into you. The idea of it clearly worked on him. His breathing turned ragged. His cock swelled thicker inside you.
“Gonna make you a mommy again,” he growled against your ear. “Want another one. Want you round and soft and full of me.”
You came first.
The orgasm rolled through you in long waves, your cunt clamping down, tight around his thick shaft, milking him while you moaned into the pillow. He fucked you through it, never pulling out, chasing his own release with short hard thrusts until he buried himself as deep as he could and spilled.
Hot thick cum flooded you in heavy pulses. He held you through every one, hand still cupping your belly, mouth open against your neck as he groaned your name. When the last pulse faded he stayed locked inside, cock still twitching, the mess of both of you trapped deep.
He didn't pull out, he didn't need to.
Instead he adjusted you both until you were more comfortable on your sides, his chest still pressed to your back, his softening cock still nestled inside your pretty cunt. One hand roamed your body, stroking you tender and lovingly. The other came up to cradle the breast he had been nursing from.
“Stay like this,” he whispered. “Just for a while. Let me feel you.”
You reached back and laced your fingers through his where they rested on your stomach.
Outside the crib the baby shifted once and settled again. Inside the quiet bedroom Toji held you the same way he had through every month of the pregnancy: close, careful, and completely unwilling to let go.
His cock stayed warm inside you long into the night, and every so often he would press a soft kiss to your shoulder and murmur the same thing he had said a hundred times before.
"両面 宿儺 ✶ SUKUNA RYOMEN," ◦ ₊ㅤ ﹙ she's literally a princess and he's the devil. what the fuck. ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა artist credits: @/f_tality0 on insta reblog / like 2 support ⃘໋ׅ♡ 𝑤.𝑐: 1.1k ⁀ ˳ ⟡
♡⏝ ⸝⸝ 𝓦ARNINGS ˖ ❝ sfw fluff crack she/her pronouns satoru, nobara, itadori & megumi cameo reader is sweet and popular sweet/innocent!reader bully!sukuna 2006 timeline reader & sukuna are like 17 they're in high school only tooth rotting fluff no curses au 2006 Japan references sukuna & gojo besties 2nd person perspective ❞
── #⃝ MINA'S NOTES ( 💬 ) gojo ver. masterlist <3
SUKUNA RYOMEN was the devils incarnate. No, like literally that's what people whispered and believed.
"I saw horns on his head, and he was talking about killing a duck," 4 year old Nobara whispered and told 4 year old Megumi and Itadori. Nodding and pursing her lips as she had learnt from Gojo when he was gossiping with Geto and Shoko, mimicking his behaviour. Itadori widened his eyes before gasping and placing his hands on his cheeks, "HE WHAT? WHAT THE HECK!?," he looked distraught before huffing and pouting, as if the sun was exploding. He couldn’t believe his uncle, who was only around 13 years older than him, was so evil.
"She obviously didn't see that, idiot," Megumi looked at him in annoyance, curling his upper lip. "And stop copying how my babysitter acts!" he scoffed before tackling Yuuji.
The rumours didn't start and end with 4 year olds though, almost everyone in Jujutsu high believed that Sukuna was to be feared and that he would curse you if you stared too long. Almost everyone anyways, since there were two big exceptions. One being the most popular boy in school, the boy who was famous on Mixi and owned a Blackberry before anyone else in Japan did.
Satoru Gojo.
"Don't look," a girl whispered to her friend, holding her hand tightly and staring ahead into her dark locker, while heavy footsteps passed behind them.
She was pursing her lips, about to turn back to check before Gojo came up behind them both, resting his arms over their shoulders and smiling happily. "Who're we hiding from?" He beamed.
Her frozen expression didn't give much away, while her friend grew flustered and quickly looked over her other shoulder, locking eyes onto the only figure who wasn't in uniform. His pink hair standing out, hands shoved in his pockets, lolling his head back with a big sigh.
"Satoru, stop following me," he glared, turning back only to look at the white haired menace.
“But whyyyyy? You’re my best friend!” He whined, pouting and playing along, quickly tagging along behind him and chatting to him non-stop about the new game he was playing online and how they should go to an internet café again soon.
Other students walking by quickly changed their course of direction, looked away, or started to empty out their pockets in case Sukuna Ryomen decided that they were the ones who were going to pay for his next expense. Bullying? Sukuna's minions made haibara fear for his life until he transferred to a different school, which in turn caused Nanami to resent him.
All was changed when one of the students smelled the roses in the air, quickly smiling and looking towards the school entrance.
"It's Y/N!" One of the girls happily pointed, while another ran up to give you a hug. "Y/N-channnn! How was your weekend?"
Unlike Sukuna, your reputation was written in a fancy cursive and written in a sparkly pink gel pen. You were a breath of fresh air to many students there, not a single student had a negative energy towards you. Rumours about you sounded like they were out of a fairytale, which is why you were listed as "most likely to be a princess" in the yearbook in your last year of secondary school.
"She gave me her ice cream when she heard about my failed test," a second year boy sighed dreamily, before looking towards the entrance for a glimpse of you. "Is she singing?" His friend questioned, raising a confused eyebrow. You lived up to your name, skipping towards the entrance and humming, while squirrels, birds, raccoons, stray cats and some deers followed behind. A hummingbird even resting on your shoulder and tweeting along.
"Alright now, make sure you all get along and don't get hit by cars, okay?" You smiled and brushed off the bird, blowing a kiss in the direction that the animals scurried off before entering the school gates.
"Do you think I have a chance with her? I think she smiled at me like… more than usual yesterday," a first year boy named Haruto scratched the back of his neck. Flushing from his cheeks, and making quick glances towards your approaching figure. His friends looked unconvinced, all sharing the same look and one of them even holding onto his backpack so that he didn't do anything rash.
"She smiles at everyone, plus I heard she has a boyfriend," one of them shrugged, sighing and watching your figure. It was like all of them were communicating telepathically, trying to discern if you had a boyfriend from the way you walked.
Haruto was about to approach, "I don't think she has—" before freezing and clenching his jaw tightly when someone came up behind him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder tensely. His friends glancing over, only to take one look and be on their way, knowing there was nothing they could do.
"I'm pretty sure she has one." Sukuna mumbled, looking down at the younger boy with sharp eyes.
Haruto gulped, before nodding and looking up at the older boy shakily. "O-oh… sorry, I didn't know.." he mumbled, the air from his throat suddenly feeling like nails, increasingly hard to breathe in and out without sounding like a nervous wreck. "I'll g-go apologise to Gojo, sorry—"
"Gojo's not her boyfriend." Sukuna grumbled, tightening his grip on Haruto's shoulder, making the boy wince out. "I'm her boyfriend," he tsked down at him, narrowing his eyes, almost pouting before shoving the boy away and walking towards you.
People seeing what was happening were already pitying you and wishing that you'd stay safe.
Many people knew that you were dating Sukuna Ryomen, just as many people did not know. The reaction was always the same, whether they knew or not, whenever sukuna approached you. People looking at him in disdain, jealousy, anger, or even looking at you with pity.
"Poor girl, he's probably been manipulating her," whispers floated amongst the student body, people shaking their heads, teachers gossiping in their lounges. "She's too sweet for him, he doesn't deserve her!"
You knew the truth and Sukuna knew the truth.
"Hii!" You happily squealed, rushing up to him and hugging him. His body didn't stiffen or hesitate, as he'd gently wrap on arm around and pat your back, glancing back subtly so that no one saw him lose his edge. "…you're going to make me look like a softie," he whispered, flustered from seeing you, looking comically shy, trying to snarl down at you.
You blinked up at him curiously, tilting your head and playing dumb. "What edge? You're the cutest, most softest, sweetest and smartest guy I know!" You pinched his cheek, before humming and skipping past him, towards the steps of the entrance of the main building.
He paused, before pouting and quickly following after you.
✎ᝰ. CAN A COCKY NERD FIND LOVE ? — NERD!TOJI X READER
SYNOPSIS there's a cute nerd in your biology class, and you can't stop staring for the life of you. luckily for you, he becomes your lab partner and you can't stop running into him. after another run in, you confront what's been eating at you for the past two weeks, and turns out, the feeling's mutual. inspired by morning dew by beyoncé ⚛︎ .𖥔 ݁ ˖
CONTENT WARNINGS / TAGS fluff : smut : hurt to comfort : glasses stay on : toji cocky but what's new : piv : praise kink : afab!reader : they're both losers for each other : flirting : teasing : toji is nonchalant but he's really not : banter : toji is smitten : morning sex : creamipie : aftercare
ART CREDITS @syllysmot ◞⠀ @ youka.i ◞ @ F_tality
WORD COUNT 7k
As the days of the new semester grew, you got more and more curious about the cute nerd in your Biology 101 class. He had a scar on his lips, raven hair, and these adorable glasses that definitely didn’t fit. You’ve only heard him speak a few times. He only ever spoke in class when he was called on, and when he was, he answered correctly, exuding confidence. The professor constantly applauded him for his work and even asked him to help out during her office hours. You considered showing up just out of pure curiosity, but decided against it. You didn’t want to stare at him like an obsessive loser. But an opportunity to talk to him fell on your lap on a random Tuesday afternoon.
During the third week of class, your professor announced something: everyone would sit alphabetically in the class for the next few days as she got used to everyone's names. This earned a few groans from the people who wanted to sit next to their friends, but she assured them it would be temporary.
“Everyone, everyone,” the room quieted down at her voice, “It won’t last too long. We just have one lab to complete then I should have everyone’s names down a few days after that. I’ve been struggling these past two weeks.” She looked down at her clipboard and moved to the first pair of chairs. “Now, let's start. Does anyone know if…” She called names one by one to show them their temporary seats. You didn’t know anyone in the class to begin with so you weren’t too bothered. Though, you’ve never heard of a college class that had a seating chart. That was definitely a first. And by the sounds of it, no one else had either. How bad could her memory be?
Lost in thought, you didn’t even realize when she called your name to be seated next. You blinked in confusion before realizing that she was assigning you to a seat. You mumbled an apology under your breath before sitting down. You exhaled, slightly embarrassed at your delayed reaction. Zoning out at the worst times seemed to be your strong suit. As you pulled out your textbook, you didn’t listen to hear who would be your shoulder partner. You looked up to see Toji, aka the guy you’ve been staring at for two weeks from across the room instead of paying attention to lecture, sitting right beside you. You quickly averted your gaze to recover from your shock. It was pure luck really, getting to sit next to him for the next few days, even if it was by force. He gave you a small nod of acknowledgement and you gave him an awkward smile back before quickly turning your head away. Smooth, you thought to yourself, now he’ll think you’re creepy. Professor Nolan finished up the seating chart and brought up the upcoming lab.
“Our first lab will be tomorrow, and yes, your partner is who you’re sitting next to. It’s simple and it’s on everything we’ve covered this past week and a half. I’ll pass out the procedure.” She grabbed a stack of papers and started to give a small stack to each column. She handed Toji a stack and he handed you a packet. His hand brushed yours slightly, and your stomach lurched. His face remained neutral and he turned around to hand the rest of the lab procedures to the students behind you. You spent the rest of the lecture silently scolding yourself for getting so delusional over a guy that you didn’t know. The walk back to your car was one of shame. You hated how excited you got over things, especially since you got disappointed just as quickly. Sure, he was cute, but at the end of the day, he was just a guy. You reminded yourself of this and pushed it out of your mind. Tomorrow, you’d just focus on the first lab of the class. There was no need for unnecessary distractions.
You had spoken too soon. There was a need for distractions. They were very, very necessary. Especially if it entailed your cute lab partner walking you through the lab.
“You left your lab procedure on the desk. I tried to call after you, but you didn’t turn back.” He explained with a shrug. “No worries though, if you get stuck, I can try my best to explain it to you.”
You nodded, embarrassment creeping in. No way you were idiotic enough to leave your lab procedure behind. What a horrible first impression. “I’m so sorry, I’m not usually like this I—”
He shook his head and handed the packet to you. “No need to worry, I got you.”
You nodded again, shutting up this time. Your eyes scanned the page, taking in what you had missed the previous night. It seemed simple enough, but it was your first lab. It had already started off on not the best foot… you couldn’t mess up again. A wave of determination washed over you. If he wasn’t bothered by your small slip up, why should you? The two of you prepared your station in silence before starting. It was a human cheek microscopic lab where you scrape the inside of your cheek, smear the swab onto a glass slide, add a drop of methylene blue stain, and cover it with a slip. You then observe under the microscope and take note of the structures. Simple stuff, really. The only annoying part was extracting the sample.
The two of you got to work immediately. You scraped your cheek with the toothpick, and in the process, poked it. You yelped and pressed your tongue against the spot. A metallic taste soaked your tongue and you groaned softly. You don’t know what’s gotten into you. You were usually great at labs, always taking them on with intense focus. An easy one like this shouldn’t be tripping you up, but here you were. You shot a glance at Toji and found him laughing quietly to himself. You glared at him, narrowing your eyes.
“Not funny,” you mumbled, tongue still applying pressure to the area you accidentally punctured.
His grin grew even wider. “I dunno…it kind of is…How does one even achieve that?” He pressed his lips together to stop himself from laughing again. Your frown deepened at his reaction. He was actually laughing in your face. This was another level of obnoxious, this was plain mean. You went silent throughout the smearing and staining process, ego a little wounded at his blatant taunting. You didn’t know whether to feel embarrassed or annoyed. You went with being annoyed; he said he’d help you out, not make fun of you.
When it was time to observe under the microscope, you let him go first. You watched him closely, the different expressions he’d make, the notes he’d take, and the small sounds of content he’d let out. You found it all amusing. He acted all mysterious, but the whole time, he was really just a weirdo that got very pleased when things went as he predicted. His drawings were so accurate, it was scary. He moved away from the microscope and gave you a cocky smile. There was no way you were beating that. Not that it was a competition or anything. You snuck a glance at him. He was watching you carefully. Maybe it was a competition and you didn’t know it. You swallowed hard before adjusting the settings as needed. The cells looked cool: their irregular shapes were highlighted with a vibrant blue from the stain. You zoomed in more to be able to see the cell structures better. From there, you could start to sketch your observations. You grabbed your pencil and lightly glided your pencil across the paper, careful to write lightly enough so you could correct any mistakes. You fell into a comfortable rhythm, looking into the microscope, and pulling away to add to your paper. You felt Toji watching you like a hawk from the side, but you still took your time. Within a few minutes, you were done with your sketches. You checked your work and grinned. Not too bad.
You felt someone shift behind you. You looked over your shoulder and found Toji there, sneaking a peek at your paper. He had a bored expression on his face and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be perfect, it was a sketch after all. He muttered something unintelligible under his breath and you raised an eyebrow at him.
“Huh?”
“I said, ‘not bad.’” He repeated before grabbing his notebook and walking off to start cleanup. You furrowed your brows in confusion. He was being nice again? What happened to being obnoxious and annoying? You scoffed and joined him. The two of you cleaned up your station and went your separate ways. You took the long way to your car, still in need of processing that entire lab period. The reassurance in the beginning, laughing at you making a small mistake, and giving you a half assed compliment to top it all off. You decided he was too cocky for his own good. He knew he was smart, he knew that he was better, and he let it get to his head. Sort of. He was still somewhat nice. Whatever it was, you only had to deal with him for a few more days. The first and only lab was out of the way. In retrospect, the worst had already passed.
Your stomach rumbled and you stopped in your tracks. After fumbling around in your bag, you realized you forgot to pack lunch today. You muttered curses under your breath as you turned around and headed to the college cafe. You weren’t this scatterbrained. Before today, you can’t remember the last time you forgot anything, especially of great importance like your lunch or schoolwork.
You walked into the cafe and went to the counter to order your usual: a grilled cheese sandwich with sourdough bread and the juice of the day. Today’s juice of the day was mango, Paige, the barista informed you. You paid and looked for a place to sit. The cafe was pretty much empty except for a few students on their computers. One person in the corner caught your eye though. You could recognize those scarred lips anywhere. His eyes locked with yours and you froze, quickly looking away. You snuck another glance and he was still staring. He raised an eyebrow at you and gestured for you to join him. You pressed your lips in a firm line before slowly walking over. Dropping your bag on the ground, you took the seat across from him. You felt his eyes studying you carefully again like they had less than an hour ago, making your stomach twist in knots. Trying to figure him out made your head spin. Never in a million years would you have expected him to invite you over to sit with him…it just didn't work like that. At least, not in your head anyway.
“You’re everywhere,” he said simply, taking a sip of his drink. “Oh, by the way, it’s good. Fresh and all.”
You shot him a bewildered look. “What?”
He pointed to his drink with a slightly annoyed look on his face. “The juice of the day? That’s the drink you ordered, no?”
You blinked at him, his words barely processing in your head. How long had he been watching you for? You just noticed that he was here. You frowned and nodded slowly. “Yeah,” you responded flatly. You didn’t mean to be rude, but he was getting on your last nerves. That's what you got for putting a stranger on a pedestal, they’ll always end up not meeting your unrealistic expectations and disappointing you.
He sighed, deep green eyes boring into yours. “You know, for someone who stared at me for two weeks straight without saying a word, you sure don’t have a lot to say now that we’ve actually met.” Toji chuckled as you gaped at him, taking another sip of his juice. “But hey, to each their own.”
You were speechless. The entire first week, he was at one end of the room and you were in the opposite, in a corner at that. Same for the second. How he knew you’d look at him, you had no idea. His back was to you 99% of the time too…was he bluffing? No, that was way too specific and accurate to be a bluff. Maybe you weren't as subtle as you thought.
The barista called your name for your order and you shot up from your seat. You took your sweet time: making small talk with her again, checking to see if it was your name on it, if you got the right sandwich, and sipping your juice to see how it tasted. He was right—it was fresh, the tangy taste dancing on your tongue. You needed a second to mentally prepare yourself. Facing him after him confronting you and your staring problem made you want to puke. What do you even say to that? Do you just gaslight him until he believes you? You doubt he would though, he was way too arrogant to give you the benefit of the doubt or even just to let it go and move on. You slowly made your way back to your seat. He looked at you expectantly as you took another sip of your juice.
“It’s good, you were right.” You muttered, not meeting his eyes.
“I know,” he shrugged. You didn’t like this, not one bit. He was nothing like you had expected at all. Sure, it was counterproductive to fit people into boxes based on their appearances, but you've never met anyone that carried themselves like this. Though you hated to admit it, you were intrigued. Why did he call you over here? You were classmates, he had no obligation to invite you to sit with him. And you still didn’t know how he knew you would stare at him the first few weeks…
“You were staring at me too, weren’t you?” you blurted out. For the first time ever, Toji was stunned. He didn’t know how to respond to the question—or, better yet—the right answer to it. You watched as he struggled to approach your question. You could practically see the gears turning in his head.
“What makes you think that?” He finally decided on. Safe, yes, but playing dumb wasn’t always reliable.
“How else would you know I was staring at you?” You replied. Not your strongest point, you admit, but it was what was at the front of your mind.
“Well, for starters, you aren’t the most subtle person to grace this Earth,” he shot back. You narrowed your eyes at his deflection, but this only proved you were getting warmer.
“Aw, are you saying that my presence makes the Earth a better place ‘ji?” You asked sweetly, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Is that why you’ve been staring at me?” Your tone was so condescending you swore you saw his eye twitch.
“Don’t call me that,” he grumped. You giggled at his frustration and took a sip of your drink.
“Mmmmm,” you groaned dramatically. He glared at you from above his glasses. “Is this why you asked me to sit with you?” You stirred your juice with your straw, the ice cubes clinking together. His eyes followed the movement. Would he take the bait?
“...What do you mean?” He asked reluctantly. You could practically feel his discomfort. It loomed over his head, forcing him to engage in your shenanigans. It killed him to entertain your antics, but he couldn’t bear not knowing what you were going on about.
“You heard I ordered the same drink as you, so you called me over to sit with you.” You replied. Obviously, that’s not what you believed, but you had to point out how ridiculous all this was. All this game playing, and for what?
“No, of course not. Don't be stupid.” He said with a scowl, mouth turning into a frown, like just the idea alone personally offended him.
“So you have been staring at me too then? I didn’t even notice you were here until I was looking for a place to sit,” you challenged. You were regaining confidence now, determined to pull this confession out of him. He wasn’t going to get out of this. You felt like you were going crazy before, you were glad to know you weren’t alone.
“Does it even matter?” He sighed, failing to meet your eyes.
“Yes,” you insisted.
“Why?” He countered.
“Because.”
“Because?”
“Answer the damn question. Then I can tell you why it matters,” you hissed. You took a bite of your sandwich as he hesitated. You ate in silence, waiting for him to figure out what he was going to say. The sandwich was half gone and the glass of fresh mango juice completely empty by the time he finally cleared his throat.
“To put it simply, yes I was staring—when you weren't looking at least. That’s why I invited you to sit here. But—” He raised his hands up in surrender. “I swear I had nothing to do with us sitting together. That was pure luck.”
You laughed at how terrified he was. Like he actually believed you thought he blackmailed your strict professor or something to get you guys to sit together. This was ridiculous. You laughed over the stupidity of it all and he tilted his head at you in confusion.
“Well duh, I know that. It’s not like you built a time machine and changed my last name to be right next to yours on the roster.”
He let out a sigh of relief. “Okay good. I’m not a creep. It was just a coincidence. So was the cafe, I assume?” He asked, now putting you on the spot. “Or are you stalking me?”
It was now your turn to be stunned into silence. You really hoped he was joking. “Give me the same grace. It was a coincidence. I was hungry, so I stopped here for a quick bite to eat. If you hadn’t called me over, I’d have left by now.”
He narrowed his eyes at you, smirking at your bewildered state. Reality finally crashed down on you—you guys have been playing eye tag this whole time, but you kept missing each other. Even though he got on your nerves—slightly—this was the best case scenario. You were both losers with a staring problem.
“So what now?” you asked before you could stop yourself. You regretted it immediately, especially as you watched his curiosity pique. He was either going to tease you beyond belief, or be completely honest with you like he had before. It was a gamble you weren’t sure you were ready to take, but it was too late. He studied the grimace on your face and nodded.
“I mean—based on this conversation, it’s safe to say there’s a mutual interest here so…I think it would be appropriate to ask you out.”
You blinked at him. Did he just ask you out without asking you? He winced at your unamused expression and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Er, sorry, I mean…would you like to go out with me sometime?”
“We’re technically out together right now if you really think about it,” you replied, pressing your lips together to suppress the smile creeping on your face. You weren’t going to let him off the hook that easily. Who did you take you for?
“Well no shit, but like another time if you wa—”
“I’m just messing with you. Of course I would like that.”
He stopped his rambling and smiled at you, really smiled at you. It reached his eyes and you decided right then and there, you wanted to be on the receiving end of more smiles from this man. God knows they were scarce, but when they did come out, they made your heartbeat pound like a drum in your ears and caused butterflies to fill your stomach. You knew immediately that they didn’t show up for just anyone, and that alone confirmed any suspicion you had about him liking you too.
“Hey, you never explained why it mattered so much,” he said suddenly. Your eyes locked with him and you swore time stopped. The noise of the cafe faded in the background as the two of you held each other’s gaze. Blood rushed to your cheeks, the intensity of his gaze being too much. You were the one to break eye contact, twisting your hands in your lap nervously.
“Because,” you said pointedly, but there was no real bite in your voice. “The feeling’s mutual.”
There it was again. Another one of his rare smiles. Your eyes landed on his scar and you instinctively reached forward. He didn’t flinch or move away. He stilled as you traced it, fingertips ghosting over his skin.
“How did you get this?” You murmured softly. He avoided eye contact and grabbed your wrist gently.
“That’s a story for another time.” He said firmly, though, he didn’t remove your hand. “I’ll tell it to you though, I promise.” He swallowed hard and held your gaze. In the quiet of your own little bubble, you whispered to him softly, things only for his ears. The rest of the world faded away as the two of yours started to grow and blossom.
Your first real date was as soon as later that week after class. He walked you to your car and sent you an ominous text once you got home.
toji: I’ll pick you up at 4pm.
toji: It’ll be a little cold inside, so wear long sleeves.
toji: And pants.
You snorted at that text. Did he expect you to pull up half naked?
toji: As in long pants. Of course you’ll wear pants. Duh.
toji: Don’t laugh, you know what I mean. Shut up, stop laughing at me.
You laughed even harder. Underneath all of his cockiness and arrogance, Toji was really just a huge dork and it only came out in moments like these. Whenever you’d point it out, he’d get all grumpy and insist he’s not a dork—but if he was—that they are over hated. You always countered and said that that’s something a dork would say.
At 4pm at the dot, he picked you up in his white sedan. The inside of his car was very tidy. You wondered if it was always like this, or if he cleaned it up just because you’d be in it. You imagined a timid Toji, scrambling to make his car look presentable for a first date. The thought made you smile to yourself. Dork.
“What’re you smiling about? Like my car?” He asked, his tone a little hopeful. You were no expert on cars, but despite being very beat up on the outside, it looked nice. It was obvious he took good care of it. “Yes, I do,” you admitted. “It’s quite nice.”
“Thanks. I know,” he grinned at you, knowing that would piss you off. You poked his cheek and he pouted before putting the car in drive.
“So where is this mysterious location?” You asked casually. You were staring out the window, trying to make sense of where you were headed. It was the general direction of town, which only narrowed down the options slightly. He could be taking you anywhere from a fancy restaurant to Dick’s Sporting Goods. You hoped it wasn’t the latter, you didn’t pursue jocks for a reason…
“It’s a surprise. And if you nag me about it, I’ll just give you hints that are misleading.” He chuckled to himself, sneaking a glance at you. He was met with you glowering at him. Even after giving you basically nothing to work with in picking an outfit, he had the audacity to keep his lips sealed. You hated to admit it, but it was cute. The effort he was putting in was adorable and pushed your #TojiIsADork agenda even further.
Finding out on your own instead of being fed fabricated information sounded more appealing, so you shut up. Ten minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of an unfamiliar building. It was huge, you stared at the building in awe and Toji smiled, “It’s the new science museum. They have this one biology exhibit, I thought maybe we’d check it out?” He looked at you for approval, and that’s when you realized. He was nervous. The cocky guy you met was nowhere to be found. Instead, a slightly self conscious one stood before you. He kept stuffing his hands in his back pockets and removing them and you swore you saw him wipe his palms on his jeans. Interesting.
“This was thoughtful,” you said. His mood immediately posted at your praise, lips curving into a smile and even more confidence in his walk. He held open the door for you with a wink. “Ladies first.”
“Cornball,” you rolled your eyes, but slipped past him anyway. The guy at the front desk smiled as you walked up together.
“Tickets for two?”
Toji nodded and pushed up his glasses. “Does that include the new exhibit?”
“Yes it does.” He typed away on his computer. “That’ll be $19.18”
Toji fumbled for his wallet before handing over a $20 bill. He waved his hand for no change. The tickets printed out of a small machine and the worker handed them to you. “Enjoy!”
“Thank you,” Toji replied and the two of you entered the exhibit.
You had no idea such a cool place was in your city, and just right around the corner too. They had everything you could think of: dinosaur skeletons, glass cases with insects, human evolution halls, a whole planetarium, and so much more. You took it all in, glancing back at Toji to see how he reacted. He didn’t look nearly as impressed as you.
“I’ve been here so many times before already," he quickly explained.
“Oh, that makes sense.” You turned back to the exhibit and read the fun facts. After you exhausted every corner of the last exhibit, you headed for the one he was talking about.
It was centered around microbiology. The exhibit walked you through the different structures and explained their functions. Some of the things rang a bell and others didn’t. Either way, it was pretty cool to take what you’ve learned in class and apply it.
“This is way more in depth than what we’ve gone over in class, or in our lab together, but I wanted to show you since you seemed super intrigued in the lesson.” He explained. “Other than in me, of course.”
You scoffed, but you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Last time I checked, you were in the same boat.” You bumped him with your shoulder playfully.
“I still am, but I thought it was important to remind you of your roots. Your staring problem might be worse than mine,” he teased, bumping you back.
“I didn’t listen for your cafe order and then bring it up later to make a statement,” you pointed out. “Now who’s worse?”
“Hm,” he grunted. “I mean, I guess.”
“I’ll take that as accepting defeat,” you said triumphantly. He fought back a smile and took your hand. His large hand engulfed yours, squeezing it lightly before he guided you to that last part of the exhibit. The knots in your stomach only twisted more at his gesture.
“You mentioned during the first week that microbiology really interested you, so I saved the best for last.”
You blinked at him, a bit stunned he had remembered that. The two of you hadn’t even spoken then. It was a trivial comment you barely remembered making. Before you could fully process it, a video played on the screen. It was an animation detailing eukaryotic cells, specifically highlighting their functions in humans. The two of you watched in silence and listened intently. After it ended, he turned to face you.
“Isn’t it cool that under all these layers, we're just that.” He pointed to the nucleus of a small structure on the screen. “Humans are so complex. There’s so many things that are overlooked that are fundamental for us to function. Makes you appreciate the little things, you know?” He cleared his throat, eyes darting to the ground. “But yeah, uh, the video wasn’t too bad.”
He dropped his nonchalant act temporarily to connect with you, but you feel like you just missed your window yet again. His walls went up as quickly as they had gone down. You liked his take, it was very insightful. Plus, he’d remembered such a small detail about you and it meant a lot.
“The little things are overlooked often, you’re right,” you said quietly. Fear bubbled in your stomach, the weight of the conversation crashing down on you. Last time you checked, this wasn’t first date behavior. It was way too deep, way too soon. But you didn’t feel uncomfortable necessarily, you felt afraid of being judged. Being vulnerable, even if it was about biology cells, wasn’t your strong suit. Especially with someone you liked, you didn't want them to think less of you.
Toji nodded and inched closer. You looked up to look at him, really look at him. His hair was slightly mused, the polo he wore fitted him so perfectly it annoyed you, and his eyes. His green eyes were practically shining and you knew what was coming before it happened. He cupped your cheek before pressing his lips to yours. You kissed him back, fingers tangling in his hair. It was tender; he stroked your cheek with his thumb as he kissed you like you were his oxygen. His soft lips captured yours and it felt like the rest of the world melted away. You pulled away, flustered, heart ready to leap out of your chest.
“We’re in public,” you reminded him, slightly out of breath. The museum was pretty much empty, and no one else was in the exhibit room other than the two of you. You turned your back to him to compose yourself. You had realized he was going to kiss you right before it happened, and yet, nothing could have prepared you for that. The rate your heart was beating at was alarming. You wanted to do that again, except in the privacy of a room where you could do whatever you wa—
“You okay?” He asked, interrupting your thoughts.
You turned around and found him looking at you with a concerned look on his face. His glasses were slipping off his face, but he didn’t seem to notice. He walked up to you, but still left some space between him and you. “Was that too much?”
You shook your head. That wasn’t enough, but you couldn’t just say that. “No, it wasn’t. I’m sorry I—“ You paused to collect your thoughts. You liked him and it felt good to be here with him. But the pressure in your stomach wasn’t just butterflies. It was fear. You were scared of messing this up and it was eating you alive, preventing you from actually living in the moment.
“I think I’m just scared.”
Silence. Your confession, short and brutally honest, was finally out in the open. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted from your chest. You exhaled and met his eyes. They were sad. Droopy even. Was it from disappointment? Had you ruined the good thing before you even got to enjoy it?
“Me too.” His expression mirrored yours and his admission hung in the air as the two of you processed your mutual fear. It was ironic really—both of you were terrified of ruining a good thing with the other. You could pin yours to previous experiences causing you to have the doubt, but you wondered: what was his reason? The way Toji carried himself alone would make you believe otherwise…but the first thing you learned about him was to never judge a book by its cover.
“You look surprised.” He said it more like a statement than a question. You didn’t even realize you were letting your shock show on your face. You quickly made a neutral expression, but it was too late.
“Go ahead, ask me why that is. I know you want to.” You did want to, but part of you wasn’t sure if you should. Despite the obvious invitation, it felt like an invasion of privacy. Again, you reminded yourself, not first date behavior. But you were already way past trying to fit it into the box of how a first date should go.
“Why are you scared?” Your voice sounded smaller than you had anticipated. Still, you waited for an answer.
“I’m not good at this stuff. I struggled to pick a place for us to go out. I ultimately picked somewhere where I think would interest the both of us and where we could have fun, but I wasn't sure if that was the right choice I mean…” He sighed and his shoulder slacked. “I thought you’re supposed to have a fancy dinner. I wasn’t sure if you’d want that. And I doubt we could even afford it, us being broke college students and all—anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that I’m scared of doing this all wrong. It’s hard to pinpoint the balance between what I should do and what I want to do.” He was rambling at this point. It didn’t seem to bother him though. He seemed to be sorting through his thoughts verbally. “Is the expensive dinner the proper tone to set? Am I being a gentleman? Am I being too nice where it waters down our banter, but too rude where you think I might hate your guts? It’s a lot to wrap my head around.”
That was a lot to take in at once. You didn’t know he felt this way. He acted so carefree about it all that he really fooled you. “All I know is that I like you, and I want to see where this goes.” He shook his head. “Wow what a first date. Feels like a therapy session.”
Your nerves calmed down and your face broke into a smile. “I like you too. And you don’t need to worry about how you think you should act too much. Just be. I like you for how you are. You’re unapologetically your authentic self. That’s something I admire about you.”
He mirrored your smile. “Oh? Well I guess saying my piece was worth putting everything on the line for,” he joked. You rolled your eyes and laughed.
“Music to my ears.”
“Ugh,” you groaned. “Gross.”
“What? I can’t appreciate your laugh? And don’t say I’m being corny. Or a geek. I’m not a geek,” he argued.
“...That’s something a geek would say.”
The two of you left the room and bickered all the way out of the museum, to the car, and the ride home to your house. He kissed you goodbye and drove off once you got inside.
A few hours later, you received a text:
toji: Okay, on a scale of 1-10, how was the first date? I’m open to criticism, but let it be constructive. No “geek” or “dork” nonsense.
you: 10/10 for the geek-ery
toji: I hate you
you: you really don’t
toji: Shut it
You giggled and rolled over on your bed. You were really happy with how the date went. You were beyond nervous, but it all worked out in the end
you: on a real note, i had a good time. thank you for nerding out with me
toji: Same, thanks for agreeing to go out with me even though I said it wrong the first time.
toji: Also, the hell is “nerding out?”
you: the nerd … doesn't know what.. nerding out is …
toji: Wearing glasses doesn’t equate to me being a nerd dumbass
you: quickly, who can recite the entire marvel series in order from memory?
toji: I don’t know but they sound pretty cool to me ngl
you: Dork.
It took a few more dates to get fully comfortable with each other, but when you did, it was amazing. He kept it up with the nerdy date ideas, which you appreciated. You got to dabble in each other’s interests along with tapping into your shared ones. You kept things in your science lab locker from each date: ticket stubs, receipts, and photos... lots and lots of photos. The more you learned about him, the more you fell for him. It was impossible not to love him, you decided.
In class, you were eventually allowed to sit wherever, but of course neither of you budged. “These seats are lucky,” you declared one day. “We can’t move away.” Instead of teasing you, Toji agreed. There would be no seating changes since he was very happy with where he was at. He had said that last part pointedly and it made you grin.
Dating Toji was everything you’d imagined and more. He was attentive, noticing things you usually missed, and also kept you on your toes. He challenged you to try your hardest and be better. Whenever you needed help with school, he was the first person you went to. You couldn’t be more grateful.
And the sex was the best of your life. You remember your first time with Toji like it was yesterday:
It was early morning and he had spent the previous night watching movies with you. He spent the night and slept in your bed. You woke up with him hard, pressed up against your ass…and you, soaking through your flimsy sleep shorts.
Of course, knowing Toji, teasing you was his first course of action. He spread your thighs open, teased your entrance with his tip, smirking as you whined for him to just put it in already.
“Toji—” you whispered his name softly. His dark brows knitted together in mock concern. “Tojiii.”
“Yes?” He asked innocently. The smirk on his face told him he was anything but innocent, but you were so needy you didn’t want to stall any longer. You closed your legs slightly and glared at him. He gripped your thighs to force them apart and your stomach dipped in excitement.
“Stop teasing,” you pleaded. “Please.”
“Since you asked so nicely, I will. Give me a sec.” He took off his glasses and reached to put it on the nightstand, but you grabbed his wrist.
“No, keep them on,” you urged him.
He stared back at you for a moment before putting them back on. The look he gave you made the butterflies in your stomach swarm. You couldn’t resist that look and he knew it. You leaned forward and kissed him. He melted into the kiss, cupping your face gently, and groaning softly before finding his rightful place between your legs. You gasped as he entered you, arching your back. Each inch was more agonizing than the last. He was just too big to take all at once.
“S-slow down.”
He stilled and pushed your hair out of your face. “I’m sorry I got too excited, you wanna take it slow?”
You nodded eagerly and he rubbed small circles on your clit with his thumb. He tried again, except slower this time. You bit your lip as you attempted to take all of him again. “So tight baby—shit—That’s all of me,” he groaned as he bottomed out. He felt so good like this—thick cock stretching you out and burying you to the hilt. You moaned his name into the pillow underneath you softly.
“Mm don’t hide from me, I wanna hear you.” You lifted your head slightly at his words. He started to move his hips at a steady pace and you let out your broken moans this time. He groaned too, lost in the way your velvet walls hugged him tightly. For the first time having sex with him, he felt heavenly. You clawed at his back, whining as you took him.
“Holy shit you turn me on so much.” His glasses kept slipping slightly down his nose and he kept pushing them up, but he didn’t take them off. The lewd sounds of skin on skin filled the room as dawn settled in. The sun rising didn’t stop either or you. Everything you needed was right here inside front of you.
“You’re taking me so well,” he groaned, causing you to flutter around him. His glasses were slightly fogged by now, each stroke stripped him of his resolve. All of his focus was on chasing both of your highs. He snapped hips and picked up the pace. Your broken cries egged him on even further and he twitched inside of you at your pretty sounds.
“Feels s’good,” you choked out, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “I’m close.” Pleasure was building up in your stomach. You were so close you could practically taste it. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he turned his hips slightly. At this new angle, he drove even deeper inside your poor cunt, fucking you with purpose. The head of his cock kissed your cervix every time he bottomed out and you clenched around his length, eyes screwed shut.
“Yeah baby? You're close? Cum for me. I wanna feel you squeezing around me,” he breathed, “Give it to me. All of you.”
With one more thrust, you came, cunt squeezing his cock, milking him for everything he has, just like he asked. His name escaped your lips as your orgasm crashed over you and you shuddered at the overwhelming pleasure. He slowed down, thrusts becoming sloppier than the last, rigid before he came himself. His thick seed shot deep inside your aching cunt. You whined softly as he collapsed beside you with a low grunt.
The two of you laid there, chests heaving as you caught your breath.
“Toji…”
“'m sorry, I didn’t plan this either.”
You lifted your head to glare at him. “Oh, really? Who was humping me like a hormonal dog in their sleep last night?” You shot back.
“Fair point, let me make it up to you?” He folded almost immediately.
You perked up at this, curious to see what he had in store. “Making it up to you” entailed the best aftercare of your life, though he swore he always prioritized aftercare no matter the situation. Toji cleaned you up with a towel before taking you to the bathroom. He ran a hot bath with your favorite body wash and made sure the temperature was just right. He climbed in with you and handed you with care. Afterwards, you snuggled in bed together with you as the little spoon.
“Sometimes I wonder if I hadn’t forgotten my lunch that day. I wouldn’t have gone into the cafe,” you murmured.
Toji kissed your neck and sighed. “Yeah we wouldn’t have continued our little game.”
“I’m glad I did. I’m glad to be stuck with you.”
“Me too,” he murmured back, “I’ll always be right by your side.”
AUTHOR'S NOTE why is there nooo love for nerdji like guys plz
tojis sweet wife makes shiu a bit too jealous... ♡ (hubby toji x chubby!wife reader)
tojji is leaned back on the couch with one leg stretched out, elbow resting on the armrest like he owns the air in the room while shiu stands near the kitchen counter going through something on his phone with the expression of a man already regretting showing up.
"you really gonna sit there and tell me thats the cut," shiu says, not even looking up.
tojii clicks his tongue. "aint no tellin. it is the cut."
shiu sighs, already having had enough of toji. the damn guy was too stubborn. but before he can respond, the bedroom door opens.
you shuffle out first, all soft and sweet in your house clothes, smiling softly at both of the men. you spot toji immediately and your whole face changes, expression melting into something warm and familiar.
"..hello," you mumble quietly. your voice is quiet, sweet, still thick with sleep. tojis entire posture changes instantly like someone just reached over and rewired him.
"baby," he rasps.
his shoulders drop a fraction, jaw unclenching, eyes flicking over to you like youre the only thing in the apartment that matters. the scowl doesnt disappear completely, it never does, but it turns lazy.
"sleepin all day again," he mutters, but theres no real bite in it.
you ignore that completely and pad straight over, bare feet quiet against the floor, stopping right in front of him like its second nature. your hands come up immediately, smoothing down the front of his wrinkled t shirt.
after that, you lean up and press a quick kiss to his temple. toji exhales through his nose, something almost pleased passing over his face for half a second before he settles back again, letting you fuss over him without complaint.
tojis hand tightened at your waist immediately, and before you could step back he shifted in his chair, tilting his head slightly toward you as if deciding something without saying it. his grip guided you closer, and then he pulled you down and gave you one of those big fat kisses he loves.
he held you there between his hands while he kissed you properly, calm and heavy and entirely unconcerned with the fact that this was happening in front of an audience, his eyes flicked over to shiu, definetly showing off his wife, giving shiu a look that says 'yeah, look at her. thats my wife.'
when he finally pulled back, it was only by a fraction, your face still close, his thumb brushing once at your cheek like he was finishing something he started.
shiu watched all of this in silence, giving toji a flat look. you finally glance over at shiu, polite as ever even though you lowkey just made out with your husband in front of his best friend.
"hi," you say softly, and shiu nods once. "morning," he replies.
you stay there a second longer, then gently pat tojis chest like youre confirming hes still in one piece before shifting away again, drifting back toward the hallway.
"would you like some tea?" you ask, voice still gentle, shiu opens his mouth, but youre already gone again, disappearing toward the kitchen like you werent just the center of attention for a whole minute.
shiu slowly turns his head toward toji, and toji is still leaning back, looking way too comfortable for a man who was just arguing about money five seconds ago, one hand loosely hanging over the armrest like nothing in the world could possibly stress him out right now.
shiu stares at him for a beat longer and then exhales through his nose.
"youre a lucky bastard,” he mutters.
tojis mouth twitches like hes been waiting for that exact sentence his whole life.
"i know," he says simply, stretching slightly like hes got nowhere to be and all the time in the world. "aint she cute?"
When Ryomen 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 found a temple girl still on her knees after he had burned it to the ground, he thought you'd be perfect to take as his.
𝓒𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 · 𝟏𝟖+ 𝒎𝒅𝒏𝒊 · ꒰ 𝒇. 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ⋮⋮ 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎!𝒔𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒂 ⋮⋮ mentions of weapons (knife) ⋮⋮ reader at one point tries to take his life ⋮⋮ mention of blood ⋮⋮ 𝒗𝒊𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒏 reader ⋮⋮ p in v ⋮⋮ his two cks mentioned ⋮⋮ cervix kissing ⋮⋮ tummy bulges ⋮⋮ cum-flated ⋮⋮ c-pied ⋮⋮ 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒍 f. rec ⋮⋮ he eats you out under a pear tree ⋮⋮ bathtub 𝒔𝒆𝒙 ⋮⋮ dp ⋮⋮ nipple play ⋮⋮ mentions of pregnancy ꒱
The Heian era stretched long and bloody under skies that never quite cleared of smoke. Villages burned not for conquest alone, but because Ryomen Sukuna found the sight of flames prettier than the thatched roofs they devoured.
He moved like calamity given legs, four arms thick with corded muscle, tattoos crawling black across scarlet skin, eyes the color of fresh-spilled blood and just as hungry. They called him the King of Curses long before any true cursed spirit bore the name; humans feared him the way prey fears the open mouth of a tiger, and with good reason.
He slaughtered priests mid-chant, crushed shrine maidens beneath his geta, left offering bowls overturned and spilling rice across blood-slicked tatami. Faith irritated him. Devotion irritated him more. It was the only thing that ever made him pause long enough to really look at someone.
You were different in the way a single unbroken flower is different in a field turned to ash.
The temple sat modest on its hill, cedar beams darkened by centuries of incense. You had spent your life inside its walls. Sweeping stone paths at dawn, replacing withered chrysanthemums, murmuring sutras until your voice felt less like your own and more like something borrowed from the kami themselves.
Your hands were calloused only from scrubbing floors and carrying water; your body soft in the way of someone who had never known violence except as stories whispered after dark. When war finally clawed its way up the mountain road, you did not run. You knelt deeper. Forehead to the cool floor, palms pressed together, lips shaping the same prayer you had spoken every morning since childhood.
Sukuna found you like that.
The sliding doors exploded inward in a spray of splinters. Smoke curled around his silhouette as he stepped inside, two of his arms crossed, the other two loose at his sides. Blood still dripped from the knuckles of his rightmost hand; somewhere behind him a monk’s severed head rolled to a stop against a lantern post. He tilted his head, regarding you. You did not lift your gaze. You did not scream. You only whispered the next line of the sutra, voice trembling but unbroken.
He laughed once the sound of it came out low and rough, amused in a way that made the air feel heavier.
“Still praying,” he said, voice like gravel dragged over silk. “Even now.”
You swallowed. Tears slipped free, hot against your cheeks, but your hands stayed joined.
He crossed the prayer hall in three strides. One massive hand closed around the back of your neck. Not cruel yet, only possessive. He lifted you as though you weighed nothing, your knees scraping the floorboards before they left them entirely. Your prayer beads clattered to the ground. You reached instinctively for them; he caught your wrist mid-motion and pinned it behind you with casual strength.
“If I’m not there,” you managed, voice cracking on every word, “who will take care of the temple?”
He went still.
For one heartbeat the only sound was the crackle of distant fires and your own uneven breathing.
Then he leaned in until his mouth brushed the shell of your ear.
“That’s what I like about you already,” he murmured. “You think the gods still need you.”
He carried you out of the ruined temple slung over one shoulder like a prize of war. You beat uselessly at his back until your strength gave out; tears soaked the fabric stretched across his shoulder blades. The last thing you saw of your home was the torii gate tilting sideways, half-consumed by flame.
His fortress crouched against jagged black cliffs, more cavern than castle—rough-hewn stone corridors lit by flickering braziers, air thick with the smell of iron and cedar smoke. Servants scattered like leaves when he entered, heads bowed so low their foreheads nearly kissed the floor. Only one did not flinch: Uraume, pale and composed, white hair falling straight as a blade. They regarded you with cool interest as Sukuna dumped you unceremoniously onto the wide, low platform that served as his sleeping mat.
You scrambled backward until your spine hit the wall, kimono tangled around your knees, chest heaving. The room was vast, shadowed, dominated by his presence even when he turned away to shrug out of bloodied outer robes. No partition. No second mat. No door that closed between you and him.
You were his now.
He did not speak the words. He did not need to.
Uraume approached without being summoned, carrying a lacquered tray. Steaming rice, grilled fish, pickled vegetables arranged with meticulous care. A clay cup of water. They knelt before you, expression unreadable.
“Eat,” they said simply. “He does not tolerate weakness in what belongs to him.”
You stared at the food, stomach twisting with nausea and hunger in equal measure. Your fingers shook when you reached for the chopsticks.
Later, after the tray had been cleared away. Uraume returned with folded yukata of soft undyed silk and a wooden tub already filled with heated water scented faintly with yuzu. They gestured toward a screened alcove at the far side of the chamber.
“Wash,” they instructed. “He will want you clean.”
You obeyed because there was nothing else to do.
The water was almost too hot; it turned your skin pink as you sank into it, knees drawn to your chest. You scrubbed mechanically, arms and shoulders, the crook of your neck, until every trace of soot and temple incense had been erased. Your hair hung heavy and dripping when you finally stepped out. Uraume waited with a dry cloth and the yukata. They did not touch you; they simply watched until you had dressed, until the sash was tied neatly at your waist.
When you emerged from behind the screen, Sukuna was already reclining on the wide mat, one elbow propped beneath him, four eyes fixed on you with lazy predatory interest. The yukata clung slightly to still-damp skin. You felt naked beneath his gaze despite the layers.
He crooked two fingers.
You hesitated.
He crooked them again, but slower this time, deliberately.
You crossed the room on unsteady legs and sank to your knees at the edge of the mat, head bowed, hands folded in your lap the way you had been taught to approach superiors. The posture felt wrong here. Too reverent. Too much like prayer.
He reached out, caught your chin between thumb and forefinger, and tilted your face up.
“You still smell like incense,” he said, almost thoughtful. “I’ll have to fix that.”
His thumb dragged once across your lower lip rough and warm, a soft press.
Then he released you.
“Sleep,” he ordered, lying back and closing two of his eyes while the other two remained trained on you. “You’ll need your strength.”
There was no spare futon. No corner to curl into. Only the space beside him on the wide mat, close enough to feel the furnace heat rolling off his body.
You lay down carefully, on your side, facing away from him, every muscle rigid. Tears slipped silently into the thin pillow beneath your cheek.
Behind you, he let out a single exhale that sounded almost like a laugh.
“Good girl,” he murmured into the dark. “Faithful things last longer when they learn their place.”
The braziers guttered low. The fortress settled into uneasy quiet.
And you, stolen from the gods, lay awake listening to the slow, steady rhythm of the monster’s breathing at your back, knowing he had only begun to claim what he wanted.
The first days blurred into a haze of stone walls and flickering firelight. You kept to the edges of the chamber like a shadow trying to disappear into itself. Every time Sukuna moved, your body tensed up, waiting for the strike that never came. Not yet. He lounged on the wide mat most hours, sometimes sleeping with all four eyes closed (a rare vulnerability you noted and immediately regretted noticing), sometimes watching you with the lazy patience of a cat that has already cornered its mouse. Uraume appeared at regular intervals with trays of food you refused to touch. Rice cooled untouched. Fish grew dull-eyed on the lacquer. Pickles wilted. You told yourself it was defiance. You told yourself starvation was preferable to accepting anything from the thing that had burned your world down.
Hunger, though, was not impressed by principle.
Your stomach clawed itself hollow. Your limbs felt heavy, your head light. You sat with your back to the wall, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tight around them as though you could hold yourself together that way. Sukuna noticed. Of course he did. He noticed everything.
On the fourth evening or perhaps the fifth; time had begun to slip like sand. He rose from the mat abruptly. Uraume had just left another untouched meal on the low table. Sukuna crossed to it in two strides, picked up the bowl of rice still faintly warm, and carried it to where you sat.
You pressed harder against the stone.
He crouched before you. He was too close, always too close. Balancing the bowl on one massive palm. The other three hands rested loose at his sides, deceptively calm.
“Eat,” he said. Not an order this time. Almost conversational.
You stared at the floor between his knees. “No.”
A beat of silence. Then a low sound escaped from him, not quite a laugh, more like air pushed through teeth.
“You think starving yourself hurts me?” He tilted his head, studying the stubborn line of your jaw. “It only makes you weaker. And I don’t keep broken things.”
“I’m not yours to keep.”
The words came out quieter than you meant, cracked from disuse and thirst. Still, they hung between you like a thrown gauntlet.
He considered them. Then, without warning, one of his lower hands lifted in a slow and deliberate motion to cup the side of your face. Not rough. Not gentle either. Just there. Warm. The calluses on his thumb rasped once against your cheekbone.
“You will eat,” he said, softer now, almost amused. “Or I will make you.”
You jerked your head away. “I said no.”
His grip tightened, just enough to still you but not enough to bruise. The other hand, the one holding the rice moved closer. He scooped a small clump with two fingers, brought it to your lips.
You clamped your mouth shut. Turned your face aside.
He waited.
The seconds stretched. Your pulse hammered in your ears. Hunger roared louder than pride.
Then slowly, so slowly you hated yourself for it. Your lips parted. Just enough.
He pushed the rice inside.
You chewed mechanically, eyes stinging, hating the way your body betrayed you by swallowing. The grains were perfectly soft, faintly sweet from whatever subtle seasoning Uraume used. You hated that too.
Sukuna watched every motion. The way your throat worked. The way a single grain clung to the corner of your mouth until his thumb brushed it away.
“Good,” he murmured.
He fed you another bite. Then another. Never rushing. Never forcing more than you could take at once. One of his free hands settled at the small of your back, not pulling you closer. Just resting there, steadying you as though you might topple sideways from the effort of hating him while your body demanded to live.
You ate half the bowl before shame choked you again. You tried to turn your head.
He didn’t let you.
The last bite he held between his fingers longer than necessary, letting you feel the heat of his skin, the faint pulse beneath it. When you finally took it, your soft lips closing around the pads of his fingers for one humiliating second and then something flickered in his eyes. Not lust, not yet. Satisfaction. The quiet pleasure of something stubborn beginning to bend.
He set the empty bowl aside. His hand lingered on your cheek a moment longer before falling away.
“You’ll eat tomorrow,” he said, rising to his full height again. “And the day after. And every day I decide you’re still useful alive.”
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, glaring up at him through wet lashes. “I hate you.”
He gave a small and sharp smile that was entirely genuine, you feared.
“I know.”
He returned to the mat, stretched out on his side, and closed two eyes while the other two stayed fixed on you. You stayed where you were, back to the wall, knees still drawn tight, tasting rice and salt and the ghost of his fingers on your tongue.
Hunger sated. Defiance cracked, just a little.
And in the shadowed quiet of the fortress, the King of Curses watched his stolen faithful with the patience of someone who already knew how this story ended.
Days bled into one another until the rhythm of captivity began to feel less like chains and more like gravity was inescapable and constant. Wearing down edges you once thought sharp. You no longer pressed yourself to the farthest wall when he entered the chamber. You no longer flinched at every shift of his massive frame. Vigilance replaced panic; observation replaced despair.
....
You learned the fortress the way a prisoner learns the bars of a cage. The low wooden chest near the alcove held his smaller blades. A curved tanto with black-wrapped hilts, edges honed to split hairs. You watched him retrieve them once, twice, committing the latch’s soft click to memory. Uraume never lingered near it; Sukuna himself seemed to forget it existed most days, as though no one in this place would dare touch what was his.
You told yourself the knowledge was survival. You told yourself the plan forming in the quiet hours, when his breathing evened out beside you and the braziers burned low....was justice that you'd claim. The temple still haunted your dreams: splintered beams, overturned altars, the last prayer dying on your lips as he carried you away. Revenge felt righteous. Necessary.
And yet.
His body had become a fixture. Four arms that could crush stone now draped carelessly across the mat at night. One slung over your waist when he slept deepest, another curled beneath his own head, the remaining two loose at his sides. The heat of him seeped through silk and skin alike, a furnace you could no longer pretend to ignore. You hated how your muscles learned to relax against that warmth instead of locking in terror. Hated how, when he spoke in low commands, mocking observations and that your replies came edged but quieter now. Less venom. More resignation. Familiarity was its own slow poison.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
Sometimes his gaze lingered longer when you answered him. A faint curl at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. Something pleased. Something patient.
You waited for the right night.
It came without fanfare.
The moon hung thin and pale beyond the narrow window slits. Sukuna had returned late from whatever carnage called him away, reeking faintly of smoke and copper. His outer robes discarded carelessly near the entrance. He collapsed onto the mat with a grunt, eyes sliding shut faster than usual. Exhaustion, perhaps. Or arrogance. Two eyes closed completely; the other pair fluttered half-lidded for a moment before drifting shut as well.
You lay motionless beside him until his breathing deepened slowly, even pulls that lifted the wide plane of his chest. Minutes stretched. Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard you were certain he would wake from the sound alone.
He didn’t.
You moved.
Silent as temple shadow, you slipped from beneath the thin cover. Bare feet met cold stone. You crossed to the chest on trembling legs, fingers numb as they worked the latch. The blade came free easily, it was lighter than you expected, wicked curve glinting faintly in the dying ember light. You gripped it so tightly your knuckles ached.
Adrenaline sang in your veins. Fear. Fury. Something darker.
You returned to the mat.
Sukuna laid on his back, arms splayed, tattoos stark against scarlet skin. Vulnerable in sleep the way only predators can afford to be. You swallowed once hard, then swung one leg over his waist. The yukata rode up your thighs as you settled your weight astride him, knees bracketing his hips. He was massive beneath you; your thighs strained to accommodate the breadth of him. The heat of his body immediately soaked through the thin layers separating you.
You leaned forward.
One hand braced on his chest. Feeling the steady thud of a heart too strong, too steady while the other brought the blade to his throat. The edge kissed skin just below the sharp line of his jaw. A single bead of blood welled where steel met flesh, dark and sluggish.
You pressed.
Not deep. Not yet.
Just enough to feel resistance. Enough to imagine the rest.
Your breath came in shallow pants. Tears pricked your eyes. Not from fear now, but from the sheer weight of what you were about to do. What you had to do.
He didn’t stir.
Not yet.
But beneath you, his body registered the new pressure. A subtle shift of his muscles tightening minutely under your thighs, the slow rise of his chest hitching once as though some animal instinct registered weight, warmth, threat.
His four arms remained lax.
His eyes stayed closed.
The blade trembled in your grip.
And still he slept. Deep enough that the King of Curses had not yet woken to the faithful girl straddling his waist with death at his throat.
He felt you.
Not the weight of your body first, not the press of your thighs around his hips or the tremor in your knees but the cold kiss of steel against his throat. A single drop of blood had already slid down the side of his neck, dark against scarlet skin, before instinct finally pulled him from sleep.
His eyes opened slowly.
Two at first, then the other pair followed, crimson slits widening into lazy, unhurried focus. No jolt. No surge of violence. Just that deliberate unfurling of awareness, like a beast deciding whether the thing on its back was prey or amusement.
He tilted his head just enough that the blade bit a fraction deeper, another thin line of red welling up. His gaze locked on yours.
You froze.
The hand holding the tanto stayed firm, knuckles white, but the rest of you went still as temple stone. You had never been this close. Not really. Not like this. You had seen him bare-chested after baths, yukata slipping low on his shoulders, tattoos shifting over muscle as he moved. You had felt the furnace heat of him at night when one careless arm draped across your waist. But this, straddling the King of Curses, your thighs spread wide over the hard plane of his abdomen, faces inches apart, was different. Intimate in a way that made your pulse roar in your ears. His breath ghosted warm against your lips. His eyes held yours without blinking, pupils blown wide in the low light, drinking you in.
“You’re quite brave,” he murmured, voice rough from sleep, low enough that it vibrated through your joined bodies. “Finally took your chance.”
Your mouth opened. Closed. The words came anyway, cracked and furious and trembling all at once.
“You took everything from me,” you whispered. “You’ll take from others just like you did me.”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it. One corner of his mouth curled small, almost fond.
“I will,” he said simply. No apology. No justification. Just truth laid bare between you like an offering.
Then quieter, almost gentle: “You should follow through with something if you’ve made up your mind.”
The blade trembled. Your arm ached from holding it steady. This was it. The moment you had rehearsed in the dark, the righteous stroke that would end him, end the fear, end the slow unraveling of who you used to be.
You couldn’t.
The steel stayed pressed to his throat, but your fingers wouldn’t close. Wouldn’t push. Tears burned hot at the corners of your eyes; you hated them as much as you hated him.
His lower pair of hands moved first slow, carefully. Sliding up your arms until they settled on your shoulders. The grip was firm. Not bruising. Just enough to anchor you.
He shook you once—light, almost playful.
“Do it,” he said.
You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe right.
“If I don’t kill you,” you managed at last, voice breaking, “you’ll harm more.”
Something flickered in his eyes— amusement, maybe, or recognition. Then motion.
In one fluid roll he flipped you.
The world tilted. Stone mat rushed up to meet your back. Air punched out of your lungs. He loomed above you now. He was massive and unyielding, entirely caging you beneath the breadth of his chest and the weight of four arms. One hand braced beside your head. Another pinned your waist to the mat, your trembling fingers keeping the blade trapped between your palm and his throat. The edge still kissed skin; a fresh bead of blood slid down to drip onto your collarbone, warm and slow.
He didn’t pull away.
Didn’t disarm you.
He simply looked down at you, his eyes half-lidded, mouth curved in that same unreadable almost-smile.
You stared up at him, chest heaving, the tanto still clutched in your shaking fingers, steel pressed firm to the pulse at his neck.
Neither of you moved.
The braziers crackled faintly in the silence.
Blood dripped.
And in the shadowed space between your bodies. He was close enough for you to feel every rise and fall of his breath against your skin and you both simply looked at each other, suspended on the razor’s edge of what came next.
His lower arms moved first, slowly. Wide palms broad and warm as they settled around your waist. Fingers splayed wide, thumbs brushing the dip just above your hipbones. He held you firmer then, not trapping, not bruising, just claiming the shape of you as though measuring how perfectly you fit in his grasp. The pressure was steady. Inescapable. Your yukata was already loosened from the roll, it slid higher under the coaxing slide of his hands. Silk whispered against skin until cool air kissed the bare curve of your thighs, the soft swell of your hips, the vulnerable heat between them.
You were bare underneath.
He was bare too.
The realization hit like a struck bell: the hard, thickening length of him—two cocks, heavy and hot pressed flush against the slick seam of your cunt. No fabric between you now. Just skin on skin. The blunt heads nudged against your folds with every shallow breath he took, smearing warmth, promising stretch, promising ruin. Your body clenched on nothing; a shameful pulse of wet heat answered him before your mind could catch up.
It was too much.
Too aware.
Too close.
He never looked away.
Those four crimson eyes held yours, unblinking-unhurried— watching every flicker of defeat cross your face. Your lips parted on shallow pants. Tears clung to your lashes. The tanto still trembled in your grip, edge kissing the steady throb at his throat, but the fight had bled out of your arm. You looked small beneath him. Broken open. Waiting.
He leaned forward until his mouth hovered a breath from yours.
“Stupid girl,” he murmured, voice gravel-rough and almost tender.
Then he kissed you.
Slow.
Sweetly.
His lips caught yours with a gentleness that felt obscene coming from him a soft press, slow drag. His tongue tracing the seam of your mouth until you opened for him on instinct. He sucked at your lower lip, gentle pull that drew a broken sound from your throat. One of his upper hands cradled the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, tilting you deeper into the kiss while his lower hands pushed the yukata higher still, to bare the soft plane of your stomach, the undersides of your breasts, every inch of skin he could reach.
He moaned into your mouth low and hungry, it vibrated through your chest.
The blade slipped.
Your fingers loosened. The tanto fell from your grasp, clattering sharp against the stone floor somewhere to the side. Forgotten.
Then your now empty hand rose instead, hesitant and trembling and unsure, until your fingers found the nape of his neck. Tangled in the coarse silk of his hair. Pulled.
Not away.
Closer.
You arched beneath him without meaning to, breasts brushing the hard planes of his chest, cunt sliding slick against the underside of one thick cock. The friction dragged a whimper past your lips; he swallowed it, tongue stroking deeper, tasting the salt of your tears and the faint sweetness still lingering from the rice he’d fed you nights before.
His lower hands tightened on your waist, his thumbs stroking slow circles over your hipbones. Keeping you pinned, keeping you open, keeping you his.
He broke the kiss only long enough to drag his mouth along your jaw, down the column of your throat where his lips felt your pulse flutter against it. His tongue flicked over the skin there, tasting your defiance turned to surrender.
You shuddered.
Your fingers tightened in his hair.
And beneath him, bare and trembling, you stopped pretending you wanted anything else.
His lower hands tightened on your hips, thick fingers digging into soft flesh just enough to bruise tomorrow and he rocked you forward in a slow, steady grind. Your slick cunt dragged along the thick undersides of his cocks, parting around them, coating them in the shameful evidence of your want. The friction was obscene: hot, slippery, relentless. Every slide nudged the swollen heads against your clit before gliding back, teasing without entering, promising everything and giving nothing yet.
A raw and broken moan tore from your throat in an entirely involuntary rush. You couldn’t swallow it down. Couldn’t pretend it wasn’t there.
He exhaled against your skin, a low, pleased rumble that vibrated through your ribs.
“That’s it,” he murmured, voice thick with dark satisfaction. “So wet for me, doll… so wet already.”
The words landed like a brand. You swallowed hard, throat clicking, but your arms only wound tighter around his neck, your fingers knotting in his hair, nails scraping scalp as though you needed to anchor yourself to the very thing destroying you. Your thighs trembled where they bracketed his waist; your hips jerked once on their own, chasing the pressure before shame could catch up.
He kissed down the column of your throat, slow and open-mouthed, then lower still. His mouth found the soft swell of your breasts, tongue flicking once over one peaked nipple before he closed his lips around it. Sucked. Hard. The wet pull drew a sharp gasp from you; your back arched off the mat, offering more without meaning to. He switched to the other, teeth grazing just enough to sting before soothing with slow, languid licks. Your nipples throbbed under the attention, so sensitive and aching now flushed dark from his mouth.
One of his upper hands slid down the inside of your thigh, palm rough and warm, pushing your leg wider. Then the other was spreading you open until the cool air of the chamber kissed the slick heat between your thighs. Exposed. Vulnerable. His cocks slotted perfectly now, the thick lengths gliding through your folds, the blunt heads catching on your clit with every roll of his hips. Harder. Faster. The rhythm built until wet sounds filled the quiet room: your arousal, his low groans, the slick slide of skin on skin.
A high and helpless whimper escaped your lips, lifting your hips to meet him, cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for more than friction. Tears slipped free again, sliding down your temples into your hair, but they weren’t from fear this time. Not entirely.
He lifted his head just enough to watch your face, with eyes half-lidded, mouth wet and swollen from kissing you earlier. One hand came up to thumb away a tear, almost gentle.
“Look at you,” he rasped, rocking you harder against him, letting you feel every ridged inch of him glide over your clit. “Already dripping. Already begging without saying the word.”
Your breath hitched. Your fingers dug deeper into his shoulders.
He leaned in again, his mouth brushing yours, not quite kissing, just breathing you in.
“Say it,” he murmured against your lips. “Tell me what you want, little faithful. Or I’ll keep you right here teasing your eager cunt, until you cry for it.”
Your thighs shook. Your cunt pulsed. The heat between you was unbearable now so wet, achingly unbearable.
And still he waited with slow patients, rocking you slow and filthy along the length of him. Watching every flicker of surrender cross your face.
You broke first.
The words slipped out on a trembling exhale, soft and fractured that was barely louder than a whisper. “Please…”
It wasn’t surrender spoken in anger. It was need, raw and stripped bare, voice cracking on the single syllable like glass under pressure. Your thighs shook where they cradled his hips; your fingers clenched in his hair so tight it pulled at the roots. You were shaking apart beneath him, cunt fluttering uselessly against the slow, torturous glide of his cocks along your folds, and still he waited. Watching you succumb. Drinking in the way defeat looked on your face when it finally wore your pride thin.
His mouth curved against your temple, almost gentle.
“That’s it, sweet girl,” he murmured, voice low and thick with something darker than amusement. “I’ll fill you up.”
He shifted then in a slow and purposeful motion, aligning the thicker of his two cocks with your entrance. The blunt, leaking head nudged past your folds, parting slick lips that had never known anything but empty ache. You were untouched. Virgin. He could feel it in every instinctive clench, every flutter of your inner walls trying to decide whether to push him out or pull him deeper. Your body was too eager and too overwhelmed, tight untrained muscles fluttering wildly around the intrusion before he’d even breached you properly.
He kissed you again, deeper this time. His lips pressed more firmly, tongue sliding slow and possessive against yours, swallowing the small, helpless sounds that spilled from your throat as he began to press forward.
The fat tip breached you.
Your cunt squeezed hard, reflexive and impossibly tight around the sheer size of him. A sharp, startled cry muffled against his mouth. He groaned low in his chest at the resistance, at the velvet heat clamping down like it wanted to strangle him already. Precum smeared inside you, thick and hot, easing the way just enough that he could inch forward another fraction. Your walls fluttered desperately around the fat crown trying to accommodate the sheer size of it. Failing and trying desperately again. Too much. Too full already and he’d barely started.
He held your hips steady with his lower hands, thumbs stroking soothing circles over the sensitive skin just above your mound while one upper hand cradled the back of your neck, keeping your mouth locked to his. The other braced beside your head, caging you without crushing.
“Relax,” he rasped against your lips, voice rough with restraint. “Breathe for me, doll. You’re taking it so well already.”
Another slow push.
Your back arched off the mat, a sharp gasp tearing free as another inch sank in. The stretch burned sweet, aching and so overwhelming. Your cunt spasming around him, milking the thick head like it couldn’t decide if it hated or craved the invasion. Tears slipped hot down your cheeks; he licked them away without breaking the kiss, tasting salt and surrender.
He didn’t rush.
He rocked into you with tiny, shallow thrusts working the his fat tip deeper with every careful roll of his hips, letting your body adjust inch by torturous inch. Your nails raked down his shoulders; your thighs trembled wide around him. The second cock laid against your cunt, still hard and heavy, it dragged along your clit with every motion, smearing slick, keeping the pleasure sharp and constant even as the stretch threatened to undo you.
You whimpered into his mouth a high and broken but there was neediness layered in.
He swallowed it.
Pressed deeper.
Your cunt yielded another reluctant inch for him, your walls fluttering, squeezing then fluttering again, your walls clinged to him so tightly he had to grit his teeth against the urge to slam home. Not yet. Not when you were still trembling like this, still so sweetly overwhelmed, still giving him every fractured sound and shudder.
He broke the kiss only to drag his mouth to your ear.
“Good girl,” he breathed, voice wrecked with want. “Let me in. Let me fill that tight little cunt the way it’s begging to be filled.”
Another slow, relentless push.
Your body opened a little, just barely around the thickest part of him.
And still he kept going in slow patient amd mercilessly trusts, determined to bury every inch until you were stuffed full and weeping for more.
Too big.
The thought looped through your mind like a broken sutra, too big, too big, too big as the thick head of his cock sank deeper, stretching you beyond what felt possible. Your walls fluttered wildly around him, spasming in protest and pleasure both, forced to yield inch by merciless inch. He swelled inside you, filling you up up up until every shallow breath pushed your belly taut, until you could feel the blunt pressure of him high against the deepest place inside.
Your body had no choice but to mould itself around him.
Soft inner walls reshaped themselves to the heavy ridge of his cock, clenching desperately, fluttering around him trying to push him out and pull him deeper all at once. He pushed in again slowly and relentless, and your cunt gave another reluctant inch, the stretch burning sweet and sharp until tears spilled freely down your cheeks. He was rearranging you from the inside, carving space where there had been none, claiming every fluttering inch as his.
The fat head kissed your cervix properly then, it pressed harder. You gasped, high and startled, hips jerking uselessly beneath him. He didn’t stop. Another shallow thrust and the tight ring of muscle yielded fully opening for him like it had been waiting, like your body had always known it would bend to this. He bottomed out with a low groan that vibrated through your joined bodies, cock buried to the hilt, pulsing hot against the deepest part of you.
“So tight,” he rasped against your throat, voice wrecked with restraint. “Look at you… taking it all. Opening right up for me like a good little thing.”
You whimpered softly, overwhelmed by the feeling, your nails digging crescent moons into his shoulders. Your cunt clenched hard around him, milking the thick length instinctively, every spasm dragging a rough sound from his chest. He stayed still for a long moment, letting you feel every inch, every throb, every vein. Letting your body adjust to the brutal fullness.
His second cock was still hard, still leaking as it dragged heavy along your clit with every tiny shift of his hips, smearing precum and your slick in filthy streaks. He could imagine it: both cocks splitting you open, stretching your poor cunt until it gaped around him, until you sobbed from the overstimulation alone. The thought made his hips twitch forward once sharp and involuntary, bumping your cervix again and drawing a choked cry from your lips.
But not yet.
He wasn’t going to force it. Not tonight.
He wanted to work this tight little cunt open on one first, to train it to take him properly, to crave the stretch, to weep and flutter every time he sank in deep. He rolled his hips in slow, grinding circles. Keeping himself buried to the root while the blunt head rubbed insistently against that sensitive inner spot. Your thighs shook around his waist; your breath came in ragged little pants.
He kissed you again messy, open-mouthed. Swallowing every broken sound from your quivering lips as he began to move.
Shallow thrusts at first, barely pulling out before sliding back in, letting your walls cling desperately to every retreating inch. Then deeper. Harder. Each stroke dragged along your fluttering walls, bumping your cervix, forcing it to soften further under the relentless pressure until it kissed the tip of him like a welcome.
Your body trembled beneath him, you were sweat-slick, overstimulated and utterly full. Your cunt squeezed him like a vice wet and hot around him but greedy now, coating him in slick that dripped down to soak the mat beneath you.
He groaned low into your mouth.
“That’s it,” he murmured, hips snapping onc deeper, it felt punishing, made your back arch and your toes curl. “Let it open for me, doll. Let me ruin this pretty cunt until it only knows my shape.”
Another thrust, harder still. Your cervix yielding completely now, letting him grind against the deepest place inside you.
You sobbed against his lips, the pleasure and pain blurring into something white-hot and overwhelming.
And yet still he moved slow when you needed slow, hard when your body begged for it. Working you open, reshaping you, claiming you until there was nothing left but the slick slide of him inside you and the broken, needy sounds spilling from your throat.
Fuck, it was so sloppy.
The way your cunt finally gave in and opened wide and wet and greedy around the thick length of him, cunt making obscene, slick sounds with every slow withdrawal and deeper plunge. Your walls clung desperately, fluttering and spasming, coated in a thick sheen of your own arousal that dripped down his shaft, down your thighs, soaking the mat beneath you in dark, glistening patches. No resistance left. Just raw, yielding heat that swallowed him whole every time he sank back in.
He watched it happen.
Watched the way your soft belly began to bulge properly now, unmistakably every time he bottomed out. The fat head of his cock pressed high against your cervix, then higher still, stretching your insides until the outline of him showed beneath your skin. A slow, obscene swell that rose just below your navel, then receded slightly when he pulled back, only to bloom again with the next deep thrust. He could see it. Feel it. The way your body reshaped itself around him, forced to accommodate every ridged inch until the shape of his cock was etched into your flesh.
He was mesmerised.
One of his upper hands left the mat and slid down, his palm broad and warm. His hand settled right over that curious swell. Fingers splayed wide, pressing gently at first, then firmer, feeling the hard length of himself moving beneath the soft layer of your stomach. He groaned low in his throat with rough, reverence. Hips stuttering once at the sensation.
“Look at that,” he rasped, voice thick with dark wonder. “Look how full you are, doll. Look how your little cunt bulges for me.”
You whimpered high and helpless, your head tipping back against the mat, tears slipping sideways into your hair. The pressure of his hand only made it worse, made you feel every inch more vividly, every throb, every slow grind against that deep, sensitive place inside. Your walls clenched hard around him in response; slick gushed anew, coating him, easing the next brutal slide home.
He rocked deeper but deliberately now. Watching the swell rise and fall beneath his palm like he was mapping new territory. His thumb traced the outline once slow, it felt possessive, larger fingers following the exact ridge of his cock as it pressed outward. Another groan tore from him, low and wrecked.
“Fuck,” he breathed, almost to himself. “I could watch this forever. Watch you take me… watch this pretty belly swell every time I fill you up.”
He leaned down, his mouth finding yours again, messy and hungry, kissing you through the next deep thrust that made the bulge bloom higher. His lower hands gripped your hips tighter, angling you just right so every stroke dragged along that spot that made your thighs shake and your cunt flutter wildly.
You sobbed into his mouth overwhelmed and overstuffed on his cock, ruined in the sweetest way, your nails still raking down his back as your body surrendered completely.
He didn’t speed up.
He kept it slow, torturously slow. Savoring every sloppy, wet slide, every visible proof of how thoroughly he was claiming you. Hand still pressed to your belly. Eyes fixed on the swell. Mesmerised by the sight of his own cock reshaping you from the inside out.
And still he moved against you deeper. Watching and feeling you. Owning every trembling inch of the faithful girl who had once held a blade to his throat.
Now you only held him. Deep you felt him, tummy bulging with how big he is, you felt full. Claimed and utterly his in this moment.
The wet noises filled the chamber were filthy and unmistakable. Every deep plunge of his cock dragged slick sounds from your stretched cunt: the lewd squelch of your walls clinging desperately to him, the wet slap of skin meeting skin, the obscene drip of your arousal coating his shaft and pooling beneath you. No hiding it. No pretending this wasn’t happening. Your body sang for him in every sloppy, soaked rhythm.
He fucked deeper into you now, faster. His lower hands locked around your waist like iron bands, holding you steady while he pulled you down hard onto every thick inch. The force of it jolted through you: cervix kissed roughly with each snap of his hips, the bulge in your belly rising sharp and obscene every time he bottomed out. Your thighs trembled uselessly around him; your nails raked red lines down his back. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe right. Only felt full, stretched and utterly claimed.
His second cock, still untouched against you dragged heavy and hot along your clit with every brutal thrust. The fat, leaking tip slid over the swollen bud in perfect, relentless friction: up when he pulled back, down when he slammed home. Edging you mercilessly. Building the pressure until your whole body wound tight, thighs shaking, cunt fluttering wildly around the cock already buried to the hilt.
“Fuuuck, look at you,” he growled against your throat, voice wrecked and reverent. “Taking it so deep… dripping everywhere… gonna cum for me, aren’t you, doll?”
You couldn’t answer. Only whimpered high, broken and needy, as the dual assault pushed you higher. The thick length inside you grinding against every sensitive spot; the second cock rubbing filthy circles over your clit until sparks burst behind your eyes.
Then it hit.
Hard.
Your cunt clamped down like a vice. Cunt spasming wildly and milking him in violent waves as you came undone around the fat cock splitting you open. A sob tore from your throat; your back arched off the mat, hips jerking uncontrollably as pleasure ripped through you in white-hot pulses. Slick gushed around him hot and messily coated his shaft, dripping down to slick the second cock still teasing your oversensitive clit. Your walls fluttered and squeezed, greedy and relentless, trying to pull him deeper even as your body shook apart.
He groaned low, almost sounding pained. His hips stuttering once at the sudden, brutal grip of your orgasm. His fingers dug harder into your waist, holding you pinned as he fucked you through it: short, punishing thrusts that dragged every last tremor from your cunt, making the bulge in your belly pulse with every slam.
“That’s it,” he rasped, mouth brushing your ear, voice thick with dark satisfaction. “Cum all over my cock… make it sloppy… make it yours.”
You shuddered, the aftershocks rolling through you. Hot tears now slipping down your cheeks as your cunt kept fluttering around him, still so full, still so stretched, still weeping slick with every slow grind he gave you now.
He didn’t stop moving.
Didn’t pull out.
Just kept you impaled deep on him, steadily watching your face with half-lidded eyes as your body trembled in the aftermath, the second cock still dragging lazy, teasing strokes over your throbbing clit.
Ready.
Patient.
Waiting to see how much more his sweet, ruined faithful could take.
He fucked into your creaming cunt with purpose now, his deep, punishing strokes that slapped wet and filthy against your thighs every time he bottomed out. Your slick had turned thick and white around his shaft, frothing at the base with every brutal plunge, coating him in creamy evidence of how thoroughly your body had surrendered. The bulge in your belly pulsed visibly with each thrust, rising sharp when he buried himself to the hilt, receding only to bloom again as he dragged back and slammed forward. Your walls fluttered helplessly around him, milking greedily, still spasming from the orgasm that had ripped through you moments before.
He groaned low, his voice was wrecked and ragged, his hips now snapping harder with speed. Chasing the tight, wet heat that gripped him like it never wanted to let go.
“Fuuuck look at this messy little pussy,” he rasped, one hand still pressed to the swell of your stomach, feeling himself move beneath your skin. “Creaming all over my cock… taking it so deep… gonna fill you up, doll. Gonna stuff this cunt so full you’ll feel me for days.”
Your head thrashed against the mat, fat tears streaming down, your mouth opened on broken moans you couldn’t swallow down. Your nails dug into his shoulders; your thighs trembled wide and useless around his waist. Every thrust knocked the air from your lungs, bumped your cervix, ground the fat head against that spot inside until stars burst behind your eyes again.
He was close.
You could feel it, the way his cocks throbbed heavier inside and against you, the way his rhythm stuttered, the low growl building in his chest. His lower hands clamped down on your hips, bruising and possessive. Sukuna yanked you down hard onto every upward snap as he fucked his way toward release.
Then it hit him.
A rough, guttural sound tore from his throat. Half growl, half moan as he slammed in one final time, burying himself to the root. His cock pulsed violently inside you, swelling thicker still, and then he came..hot and it felt endless inside of you.
Rope after thick rope flooded your fluttering pussy, his hot cum spurting deep against your cervix, filling you so fast, so much, that your walls couldn’t contain it all. Your cunt clenched reflexively around the invasion, milking him greedily, but there was too much. It leaked out around his shaft in creamy white streaks, dripping down to soak the mat, yet still he kept pumping his cum deeper. His hips grinding in slow, deep circles now, forcing every last drop higher inside you.
Your belly swelled visibly, bloating with the sheer volume of his release. The bulge that had once only shown his cock now rounded softer, fuller, stretching your skin taut as cum packed your womb and pussy full. You whimpered overstimulated, overwhelmed. Feeling the obscene pressure build inside, the heavy slosh of it every time he shifted even slightly.
He stayed buried deep, his cock still twitching, still leaking the last weak spurts inside you, while one hand slid up to cup the new, soft swell of your lower belly. Fingers splayed wide, pressing gently, feeling the warmth and fullness he’d forced into you.
“Fuck,” he breathed, voice low and reverent, eyes fixed on the way your cunt bulged around him, lips stretched tight, creamy cum seeping out in slow, thick rivulets. “Look at you… stuffed so full… bloating with my cum like a perfect little vessel.”
You shuddered beneath him, body trembling, your cunt still fluttering weakly around the thick length keeping you plugged with his cum. Tears slipped hot down your cheeks; your breath came in shallow, hiccuping pants.
He leaned down, mouth brushing your ear, voice dark and satisfied.
“You’re mine now,” he murmured, hips giving one last lazy roll that made more cum leak out around him. “Every inch… every drop… every swell. All mine.”
And still he didn’t pull out.
Just stayed seated deep letting you feel the heavy, warm weight of him inside, the obscene bloat of your belly, the slow drip of his seed claiming you from the inside out while the braziers flickered low and the fortress held its breath around the ruined faithful girl who had finally, completely, fallen.
The chamber settled into a heavy, humid quiet.
Only the low crackle of dying braziers and the uneven rhythm of your shared breathing remained. Your body felt foreign. Softened, swollen, reshaped from the inside out. His cock still rested deep inside you, softening slowly but not withdrawing, keeping every thick drop of his release plugged tight where it belonged. The obscene bloat in your lower belly had settled into a warm, heavy fullness that shifted with every shallow inhale. When you moved even slightly, you could feel the slow, lazy slosh of cum deep within you. It was thick, warm and still too much to be contained.
A faint trickle escaped anyway, creamy white slipping from where your stretched lips clung to the base of his shaft, sliding down the cleft of your ass to pool beneath you on the already ruined mat. The scent of it filled the air: musky, salty, unmistakably him. Mixed with the sharp tang of your own release. It clung to your thighs, your skin, your hair. There was no escaping it.
You lay limp beneath him, your limbs heavy and trembling faintly in aftershocks. Your cunt throbbed around the softening length still buried inside, fluttering weakly every few heartbeats like it couldn’t decide whether to mourn the stretch or beg for more. Tears had dried on your cheeks, leaving salty tracks; your lips felt swollen from his kisses, bruised and tingling.
He hadn’t moved much.
One lower hand stayed splayed over the soft swell of your abdomen, his palm warm. One thick thumb tracing idle, slow circles over the place where his cum had bloated you full. The other lower hand rested at the small of your back, holding you arched just enough to keep him seated deep. His upper arms braced on either side of your head, caging without crushing, while his face hovered close, his breath warm against your temple.
He watched you.
Not with hunger now. Not with that predatory gleam. Something quieter. Almost contemplative.
His thumb pressed once, gently against the rounded curve of your belly. You whimpered at the pressure; more cum leaked out in a slow, warm trickle. He exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh.
“Still leaking,” he murmured, voice low and rough from exertion. “Even plugged like this… your greedy little cunt can’t hold it all.”
You swallowed. Throat raw. No words came.
He shifted up slow, pulling back just enough that the fat head dragged along your oversensitive walls. You gasped sharp, startled as another thick gush of cum followed the motion, spilling free in a messy rush. Your thighs trembled; your hips jerked involuntarily.
He stilled again. Didn’t pull out completely.
Just watched the way your body reacted, how your cunt clenched around nothing now that he’d eased back an inch, how more of his seed dripped out in slow, obscene rivulets.
One hand slid up and cupped your cheek. Thumb brushing away the last damp track of tears.
“You took it well,” he said. Simple. Almost soft. “Took every drop. Look at you… all swollen and full. Marked inside and out.”
Your breath hitched.
He leaned down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. Not demanding. Not claiming. Just there.
Then he finally began to ease out.
Inch by torturous inch.
Your walls fluttered desperately around the retreating length clinging and fluttering, trying to keep him inside even now. When the head finally slipped free with a wet pop, a fresh flood followed thick and hot, pouring from your gaping cunt in a slow, creamy cascade. It soaked your thighs, the mat, everything beneath you. Your belly deflated slightly as the pressure eased, but the fullness lingered: a deep, aching warmth that pulsed with every heartbeat.
You whimpered again, the sound even more small and broken, legs falling open wider on instinct as your body tried to adjust to the sudden emptiness.
He stayed above you, watching silently.
One hand dipped between your thighs, then two thick fingers sliding easily through the mess, gathering the slick mix of cum and your release before pushing back inside. Slow. Deep. Plugging you again with just his fingers while the rest continued to leak around them.
“Shh,” he murmured when you shuddered. “Keep it in. Let it settle.”
His fingers curled once to press against that spot inside that made your hips twitch again, then they stilled.
He withdrew them slowly. Brought them to his mouth. Licked them clean with deliberate swipes of his tongue, his eyes never leaving yours.
Then he gathered you.
Four arms moved at once, lifting you effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as though you weighed nothing. Your head lolled against his shoulder; your legs draped limp over one arm. Cum still dripped from between your thighs, warm trails sliding down his skin now too.
He carried you to the alcove where the wooden tub still waited, water long cooled but clean. Uraume had prepared it earlier, before everything unraveled.
He lowered you into it carefully.
The water stung at first, cool against fever-hot skin, then it soothed. He knelt at the edge, one hand supporting your neck so your head rested against the rim, the other dipping beneath the surface to cup water and rinse the mess from your thighs, your folds, your belly.
Gentle.
Methodical.
He washed you like something precious. Something his.
When the water turned cloudy with the evidence of what he’d done, he lifted you out again and wrapped you in a thick, dry cloth, carried you back to the mat (a fresh one already laid out; Uraume was nothing if not efficient).
He laid you down. Pulled the thin cover over your trembling body.
Then he stretched out beside you. Close always close, with one arm draped over your waist, palm settling once more over the soft, lingering swell of your lower belly.
“Sleep,” he said against your hair. Voice low. Quiet. “You’ll need it.”
Your eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion crashing over you like a wave.
The last thing you felt was the steady rise and fall of his chest at your back, the warmth of his hand cradling the place he had filled, claimed, ruined, and somehow kept.
The flood had passed.
But the aftermath lingered, with you. You'd never been this close to being worshiped, oh how the roles were reversed and he would always keep you tethering between God and him.
Waking up felt entirely new after being so thoroughly claimed.
Your body no longer belonged only to you. Every slow breath reminded you of the night before in vivid, aching detail. Between your thighs your pussy throbbed with a deep, sweet pain that radiated outward from the very center of your cunt all the way into your womb.
The soft folds were swollen and tender, still slick with the remnants of everything he had pumped into you. Your inner walls felt stretched and sensitive, fluttering around nothing yet remembering exactly how it had felt to be split open and filled beyond capacity.
Your stomach carried a lingering heaviness, a warm fullness that made your lower belly feel softly rounded and claimed, as if his cum still sat heavy inside you even after the slow leak that had happened during the night.
You awoke first.
The chamber was dim, lit only by the faint glow of embers that had burned low through the hours. Cool morning air drifted in through the narrow slits high in the stone walls. Ryomen Sukuna lay asleep beside you, his massive frame taking up most of the wide mat.
One of his lower arms was still draped heavily across your waist, palm resting possessively over the gentle swell of your abdomen where he had pressed so many times the night before. His breathing was deep and even, chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm that you could feel against your back. Two of his eyes were closed in true sleep while the other pair remained half lidded in that strange way of his, as though even unconscious he refused to be entirely vulnerable.
You could not sleep any longer.
The intensity of every sensation kept your mind spinning. You wanted to push him off, to scramble away from the heat of his body and the weight of his claim, to reclaim some small piece of the girl who had once knelt quietly in a temple.
Your hands twitched with the urge. Yet when you shifted slightly, the solid warmth of him pressed closer instead of repelling you. His arm felt strangely comforting in the quiet dawn, heavy and steady like an anchor keeping you from drifting into panic. The scent of him clung to your skin, musk and smoke and something darker that made your pulse flutter even as shame burned in your cheeks.
Instead of shoving his hand away you reached down slowly and wrapped your fingers around his much larger one. You lifted it carefully and pressed his palm flat against your chest, right over the frantic racing of your heart. The contact was warm, rough, grounding.
Your heart hammered harder beneath his touch, wild and unsteady, begging for something you could not name. You wanted it to stop, wanted the frantic beat to quiet so you could think clearly again, so you could remember how to hate him properly.
He stirred.
Not fully awake yet, but aware enough. His fingers flexed once against your skin, then pressed harder, spreading wide so the heel of his palm rested firmly over your racing heart while his fingertips brushed the upper swell of your breast. The increased pressure stole your breath. A soft gasp slipped from your lips as the weight of his hand grounded the frantic flutter inside your chest.
He opened his eyes the rest of the way, crimson gaze settling on your face in the dim light. His voice came low and rough with sleep, rumbling through the quiet space between you.
“Does that feel better?”
You could only nod, small and shaky, unable to form words. Fresh tears slipped free from the corners of your eyes, sliding silently down your temples and into your hair. They were not from pain or fear this time, but from the overwhelming tangle of sensations and emotions you could no longer separate. The sweet ache between your thighs, the heavy fullness low in your belly, the comforting press of his hand over your heart, the way his body still curved protectively around yours even in half sleep. Everything felt too much and somehow not enough all at once.
He didn't pull away.
Instead he kept his palm exactly where you had placed it, pressing with steady, reassuring strength while his thumb brushed once, almost tenderly, along the curve of your collarbone. His other arms remained relaxed around you, one still cradling your waist, the rest loose but close.
You lay there in the quiet morning light, heart still racing beneath his touch, tears slipping free, pussy throbbing with the intimate memory of how deeply he had claimed you, stomach full and warm with the evidence of his release. And for the first time since he had carried you from the burning temple you did not try to run from the monster who held you.
You simply held his hand tighter to your chest and let the tears fall.
As the tears continued to fall your breathing slowly evened out once more. Exhaustion pulled you under again, your body surrendering to sleep despite the lingering ache and the storm of feelings swirling inside your chest. Your lashes fluttered once then stilled, cheeks still damp, lips slightly parted on a soft exhale.
The morning light filtering through the narrow slits in the stone walls painted gentle shadows across your face, highlighting the faint redness around your eyes and the way your brows had relaxed in unconscious rest.
Sukuna remained awake, propped on one elbow, four eyes fixed on you with an unusual stillness. He never wondered how he made anyone feel. Pain was something he understood perfectly well, something he could cause with casual ease and never lose sleep over. He had spilled rivers of blood without a second thought, had watched villages burn and priests scream and never once asked himself if his victims hated him in their final moments. Their pain simply existed because he decided it should.
Yet now he found himself watching the slow rise and fall of your chest and wondering.
Were you in pain because of him?
Not the sweet ache between your thighs or the heavy fullness still settled low in your belly, those he expected and even took quiet pride in. But something deeper. Did you hate him now, truly hate him, after he had taken you so completely? After he had spread you open beneath the monster who had ripped you from everything you once held sacred? After he had flooded your untouched cunt until your stomach swelled with his cum and your voice broke on moans you could not hold back?
His fingers moved without conscious thought, the rough pad of one thumb tracing the glistening path of a tear that had slipped down your temple. The skin there was soft, still warm from sleep and emotion. You looked tired in a way that went beyond the night’s exertions. A little more delicate, perhaps, the faithful servant girl who had once knelt in prayer now lying claimed and tear-streaked in the bed of the King of Curses.
And yet.
He remembered how you had pulled him closer.
When the blade had clattered to the floor your hand had risen not to push him away but to tangle in his hair and tug him down into the kiss. You had arched beneath him, thighs spreading wider, cunt clenching greedily around the thick cock that split you open. Even at the height of your surrender you had chosen to draw him in rather than shove him out.
That had to mean something.
If you had truly wanted him gone you would have pushed when the knife dropped. You would have fought when he rolled you beneath him. Instead you had whimpered into his mouth, nails raking down his back, hips lifting to meet every deep thrust until you came hard around him and then again when he flooded you full.
His thumb brushed another tear away, slower this time, almost careful.
He studied the relaxed lines of your face, the way your lashes cast faint shadows on your cheeks, the subtle parting of your lips. The hand you had pressed to your own chest still rested beneath his palm, your heartbeat steadier now in sleep but still quick enough that he could feel it. He did not move his hand. The weight seemed to comfort you even unconscious, and for reasons he did not bother examining he found he liked keeping it there.
Sukuna shifted slightly closer, careful not to wake you, letting the heat of his body wrap around yours once more. One of his lower arms remained draped across your waist, palm resting lightly over the soft swell of your belly where his claim still lingered warm and heavy inside you.
He watched you sleep for a long time, tracing idle patterns along your tear-damp cheek with the gentlest touch he had ever allowed himself. The questions lingered in the back of his mind, unfamiliar and strangely persistent.
Pain?
Hate?
Or something else entirely that had made a temple girl pull a monster closer instead of driving him away?
For the first time in his long, bloody existence Ryomen Sukuna did not have an immediate answer.
And so he simply lay there, holding you, watching the slow rhythm of your breathing, wondering quietly what it meant that you had chosen to keep his hand against your racing heart instead of pushing it away.
Daylight brought no mercy.
When you woke the second time the chamber was brighter, pale morning light spilling through the high slits and painting long stripes across the stone floor. Your body ached in ways you had never imagined possible. Every small movement sent fresh waves of soreness through your core. Sitting up hurt. The simple act of shifting your weight made the tender muscles between your thighs protest sharply, a deep, dull throb that radiated outward from your swollen pussy all the way into your womb. Your lower belly still carried that heavy, warm fullness, a constant reminder of how thoroughly he had flooded you. Even the soft silk of the yukata brushing against your skin felt too much against the sensitive folds that had been stretched and used so relentlessly the night before.
You moved slowly, carefully, wincing as you rose from the mat. Standing hurt. Walking hurt. The ache pulsed with every step, a sweet, shameful reminder that your body had been claimed and reshaped by the King of Curses. Shame burned hot in your cheeks. You felt weak for the way your cunt still fluttered faintly at the memory, for the way a fresh trickle of his dried cum clung to your inner thighs when you moved. You told yourself it was only pain. Only the aftermath of violence. Yet your mind kept drifting back to the heat of his hands, the low rumble of his voice, the way he had held you afterward.
Sukuna did not crowd you.
He sat across the chamber on the wide ledge by the window, one knee drawn up, four arms resting loosely. He watched you but did not rise. Did not approach. Did not speak. There was deliberate space between you now, an invisible line he refused to cross. He wanted you to come to him if you needed anything. He wanted you to choose, even in this small thing. After taking everything else he could at least grant you the right to decide when you sought his presence. He would not rob you of that last fragile scrap of agency.
You felt the absence of him immediately.
At first you told yourself it was relief. You busied your hands folding the thin cover on the mat, smoothing wrinkles that did not exist, avoiding his gaze. But the longer the silence stretched the more your body betrayed you. A quiet longing bloomed beneath the shame and the pain. You missed the solid heat of his frame behind you. Missed the weight of his arm across your waist. Missed the strange comfort of his palm pressed over your racing heart. The realization made fresh shame flood your chest. How could you want the monster who had burned your temple and stolen you away? How could you crave the very hands that had spread you open and filled you until you bulged with his release?
You felt too weak for wanting him.
When it came time to dress you turned your back to him completely. Your fingers trembled as you slipped out of the night yukata and into a fresh one, trying to hide the marks he had left on your skin, the faint bruises on your hips where his fingers had gripped, the soft swell of your belly that had not yet returned to its usual flatness. You kept your shoulders hunched, arms crossed over your chest, shrinking into yourself as though you could disappear from his sight if you made yourself small enough.
He saw every motion.
He saw the way you hid yourself from his gaze, the deliberate angle of your body, the nervous hunch of your shoulders. Something tight and unpleasant twisted in his chest at the sight. He did not like it. Not one bit. The faithful girl who had once met his eyes with trembling defiance now curled away from him like a wounded animal. But he made no comment. He did not rise. He did not reach for you. He simply watched in silence, jaw tight, four eyes narrowed with an emotion he refused to name.
The distance stretched between you, heavy and unspoken.
You finished tying the sash with shaking hands and stood there, back still turned, heart hammering against your ribs. Pain pulsed between your thighs with every heartbeat. Shame burned in your veins. And beneath it all, quiet and insistent, the growing need to cross the chamber and seek the very monster who had caused it all.
Sukuna waited.
Patient.
Silent.
Wondering how long it would take before the girl who had pulled him closer in the dark would choose to come to him again in the daylight.
The days that followed carried the same heavy ache between your thighs, a constant, throbbing reminder that refused to fade.
When you bathed alone in the wooden tub, the warm water only made everything more obvious. Your pussy had become a terrible, swollen mess. The outer lips were puffy and sensitive, the inner folds still slick with an unusual, persistent wetness that had nothing to do with the bath. Your fingers slipped between your thighs almost without permission, parting the tender flesh to inspect the damage. Heat bloomed instantly at the lightest touch. Thick, creamy remnants of his cum still clung inside you, mixing with your own fresh slick until everything felt glossy and overheated. Every gentle press made your cunt flutter and leak a little more, the slickness coating your fingertips in a shameful sheen.
You hated how aware your body had become.
Your eyes kept drifting to him whenever he was near. You told yourself you were only looking, only noticing. But the stares lingered. Over the sharp lines of his face, the powerful set of his four arms, the broad expanse of his tattooed chest, the hard ridges of his abdomen. Then lower. Always lower. The heavy, intimidating weight between his thighs that you now knew so intimately. Your imagination supplied every detail without mercy: the thick veins, the way both cocks had throbbed against you, the brutal stretch, the endless flood that had left you bloated and dripping.
Your cunt clenched hard at the memory, another rush of slick slipping free to trail down your inner thigh. Shame burned so fiercely you had to turn away and press your forehead to the cool stone wall until the feeling passed. Your body knew exactly what it wanted now. Your pussy knew what it craved. The knowledge made you feel impossibly dirty, impossibly weak. You pushed the thoughts aside with gritted teeth and forced yourself to finish bathing.
Eventually the longing for the outside world grew stronger than the shame.
One quiet afternoon you finally gathered the courage to approach him. He was lounging on the wide ledge again, watching the horizon through the window slit. You kept your gaze lowered, voice small and hesitant.
“May I… go outside? Just for a little while. I miss the feel of grass beneath my feet. Sunlight on my skin. Fresh air.”
He studied you for a long moment, crimson eyes unreadable. Then he gave a single nod.
“I will take you.”
He did not make you walk far. He carried you most of the way, one set of arms cradling you against his chest while the others remained free. The journey ended at a secluded lakeside not far from the fortress cliffs. Tall reeds swayed gently at the water’s edge. Smooth rocks lined the shore, warmed by the sun. The air smelled of pine and clear water. Sunlight glittered across the lake’s surface like scattered jewels.
You had not asked for the lake specifically, but Sukuna had chosen it anyway, thinking the open view and soft grass might please you. He set you down on a broad, flat rock near the water and stepped back, giving you space once more.
At first it was perfect.
You closed your eyes, tilted your face toward the sun, and let the warmth sink into your skin. Bare feet pressed into cool grass. Fresh air filled your lungs. For a few blissful moments the constant ache between your thighs faded into the background.
Then you sat.
The moment your weight settled on the rock the soreness flared again. Your swollen pussy lips spread slightly against the smooth stone through the thin layers of your yukata. The unusual slickness that had been building all morning could no longer be contained. A warm trickle escaped, then another. You felt the wet heat seep out of you in slow, shameful pulses. Your cunt clenched uselessly around nothing, leaking more with every flutter. Within moments a small, glistening puddle had formed beneath you on the dark rock, catching the sunlight in a blatant, shiny evidence of your body’s betrayal.
You froze.
Heat flooded your face. You pressed your thighs together tightly, but the damage was already done. The puddle shimmered between your legs, unmistakable.
Sukuna noticed immediately.
He had been standing a few paces away, arms crossed, scanning the treeline out of habit. His gaze dropped to the rock beneath you. Four eyes narrowed, then darkened with recognition. The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile but something far more dangerous. He took one slow step closer, then another, until he loomed over you.
His voice came low, rough, and far too knowing.
“Look at that.”
He crouched, bringing himself eye level with the evidence. One large hand reached out, fingers hovering just above the glistening puddle without touching it.
“Still leaking for me, even out here in the sunlight. Your greedy little cunt doesn’t care where we are, does it?”
You couldn’t speak. Could only sit there burning with shame, the warm slick still slowly dripping from your swollen folds onto the rock while he watched every shameful drop with open, hungry fascination.
The lake sparkled innocently behind you.
The sun continued to shine.
But the ache between your thighs had just become impossible to ignore.
You stuttered the moment his words landed, voice cracking like thin ice.
“It is not… I did not mean…”
The denial died on your tongue. Heat crawled up your neck until your entire face burned. You swallowed once, twice, then forced the truth out in a trembling whisper.
“I have been… wetter there. Since that night. It will not stop.”
Sukuna’s smile widened, slow and wicked, four eyes gleaming with dark delight. He stayed crouched in front of you, one hand still hovering near the glistening puddle on the rock.
“Yes,” he drawled, voice low and teasing. “Why did you not tell me about that specifically earlier? I could have helped.”
You stared at him as though he had begun speaking in some ancient, forgotten tongue. Your mind refused to process the casual way he offered to fix the mess he had made between your thighs. The sheer audacity of it stole every thought from your head.
Tell him.
Tell the King of Curses that your pussy was a leaking, swollen, dripping mess because of him.
The words would not come. Humiliation crashed over you so violently that you twisted away, turning your back to him completely. Your shoulders hunched, arms wrapping tight around your middle as if you could hide the evidence of your body’s betrayal. Fresh tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. Your face felt scalding hot.
Behind you, Sukuna let out a soft, amused huff.
A big hand settled on your shoulder, warm and surprisingly gentle. The weight steadied you even as your heart hammered wildly. His fingers brushed upward, threading carefully through your hair, stroking slow and soothing from crown to nape.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he murmured, voice quieter now, almost tender. “Do not cry.”
You were mortified anyway. Tears slipped free despite his words, sliding down your flushed cheeks. Your swollen cunt continued to leak in slow, warm pulses, the slickness soaking through the thin fabric of your yukata and making the rock beneath you even wetter. Every tiny shift reminded you of the mess, of how your body refused to forget the way he had stretched and filled you.
Sukuna’s hand slid from your hair to cup your jaw, turning your face back toward him with careful insistence. His thumb brushed a tear away.
“Come on,” he said, the words rough but coaxing. “I can make it all better.”
He glanced around once, scanning the quiet lakeside until his gaze settled on a nice, soft patch of grass beneath a large pear tree. The branches hung heavy with white blossoms and early green fruit, casting dappled shade over the thick carpet of clover and soft earth. Sunlight filtered through the leaves in gentle golden patches. It looked peaceful. Private.
Without waiting for permission he scooped you up, four arms cradling you against his chest as though you weighed nothing. You gasped at the sudden movement, the ache between your thighs flaring sharply, another rush of slick escaping to smear warm and wet against his skin.
“Sukuna, what are you doing?” Your voice came out high and shaky. “Put me down!”
You had no idea what crazy idea had taken root in his head. Your heart hammered wildly as he carried you the short distance toward the pear tree. One of his upper hands came up to cup the back of your head, thumb stroking slow and soothing along your scalp.
“Do not make a fuss,” he said, low and calm, the words rumbling through his chest into yours.
Then you saw the tree.
He carried you beneath its wide, blossoming branches and lowered you carefully onto the soft grass. The ground was cool and yielding beneath your back, blades tickling your bare calves where the yukata had ridden up. Sukuna settled himself on the grass beside you, massive frame casting you in cool shadow. His big fingers brushed along your thigh, gentle but possessive, tracing the sensitive skin just below the hem of your robe.
You squirmed under his gaze, heat flooding every inch of you. He looked at you for a long moment, eyes dark and intent.
“You do trust me, right?”
The question caught you off guard. You nodded shyly, barely able to meet his eyes. The heat was unbearable now. Being held so close in his arms had stirred something deep and needy inside you. Whatever he was about to offer, your body already wanted it.
Sukuna knelt between your parted knees, his massive frame blocking out the sky. One of his lower hands rested on your thigh, thumb stroking slow, lazy circles over the tender flesh. His eyes never left your face.
“Lie back,” he told you, voice dropping into that low, commanding timbre that made your stomach flutter and your cunt clench. “Let me see how much of a leaking mess this pretty cunt has become for me.”
Your breath caught hard in your throat. Shame and desperate want twisted together so tightly you could barely breathe. But the gentle pressure of his hand, the patient way he waited, and the memory of how good his touch had felt even through the pain chipped away at your resistance until nothing remained.
Slowly, trembling all over, you leaned back onto the soft grass beneath the pear tree. Your cheeks still burned crimson. Tears still clung to your lashes.
Sukuna’s smile returned, darker this time, full of wicked promise.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “Now open your legs for me. Let me take care of what belongs to me.”
You obeyed.
Your thighs parted wider on the grass, yukata pooling around your hips. The moment the cool air touched your exposed pussy a fresh gush of slick slipped free. Your cunt was soaked, puffy and glistening, inner lips swollen and shiny with the constant leak that had tormented you for days. Creamy strands of his earlier release mixed with your own arousal, making everything look obscenely wet and needy.
Sukuna’s eyes darkened further at the sight. He leaned in slowly, lowering his head between your spread thighs. His breath ghosted hot over your dripping folds.
“So needy,” he growled softly. “This cunt is dripping and aching so much. All this slick just for me.”
He spread you open with two thick fingers, parting your swollen lips so he could see every glistening inch. Then he gave you the first slow, broad lick from the bottom of your slit all the way up to your clit.
The moan that tore from your throat was loud and broken. His tongue was hot and rough, dragging through your creamy mess with deliberate hunger. He licked again, slower, savoring the taste of you mixed with the remnants of his own cum. A low, appreciative groan vibrated against your pussy.
“Relax,” he murmured against your folds, the word warm and wet. “All this mess… you should have told me sooner.”
He licked deeper, tongue pushing inside your fluttering entrance to scoop out more of the creamy slick. Your hips jerked involuntarily. Another moan spilled from you, high and helpless.
“How could you keep this from me?” he continued, voice rough with something close to anger, though his tongue never stopped its slow, thorough exploration. “I would have licked this pretty cunt the moment I knew it was leaking for me. Would have buried my face between your thighs and cleaned every drop until you stopped aching.”
He sucked gently on your swollen clit, then licked back down to push his tongue inside you again, fucking you with slow, wet strokes. Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling tight as pleasure crashed through the soreness. Your cunt fluttered and leaked even more onto his tongue, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet shade of the pear tree.
Sukuna growled against your pussy, clearly enjoying the taste, the mess, the way you trembled and moaned beneath his mouth.
“Never hide this from me again,” he ordered between long, hungry licks. “This cunt is mine. If it aches, if it leaks, if it needs to be eaten until you cry… you tell me.”
He sealed his mouth over you once more, sucking and licking with renewed intensity, determined to devour every drop of the slick, creamy mess he had created.
And beneath the pear tree, in the warm daylight, Sukuna feasted on your dripping cunt like a starving man who had finally been given exactly what he craved.
He was greedy for it.
Ryomen Sukuna lapped at your cunt with shameless hunger, broad tongue dragging slow and heavy through your soaked folds again and again. He could still taste himself from that night, the thick, musky flavor of his cum mixed with the sweet, slippery heat of your arousal. The combination made him groan low against your pussy, the sound vibrating straight through your swollen clit and deep into your core.
His large tongue tunneled inside you without mercy, thick and hot, working your tight walls open with every wet push. Your cunt fluttered desperately around the intrusion, trying to clench and pull him deeper at the same time. One of your hands flew to his hair, fingers clutching tight in the coarse strands as you unconsciously fed his tongue even deeper into your leaking heat.
Deeper.
Deeper.
His saliva mixed with your slick and the remnants of his earlier release, turning everything into a messy, creamy glide. He fucked his tongue into you in slow, deliberate strokes, curling the tip to press against that sensitive spot inside that made your thighs shake violently. Then he pulled back only to seal his lips around your fat, aching clit. He sucked hard, tongue flicking rapidly over the swollen bud while two of his fingers spread your pussy lips wider, exposing every dripping inch to the warm daylight filtering through the leaves.
The pleasure was overwhelming.
Patches of golden light sparked across your skin as the breeze moved the branches above, warm little spots dancing over your bare thighs and heaving chest. The grass beneath your back was soft and cool, blades tickling your spine every time your body arched. In the distance the lake lapped gently against the shore, a soft, rhythmic hush that blended with the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth devouring your cunt.
It all felt too surreal.
Too good.
You moaned loudly, the sound breaking into a whimper as he sucked your clit harder, tongue still thrusting deep inside you. Your hips rolled up against his face without shame now, chasing the relentless pleasure. Slick poured from you in fresh waves, coating his chin, his lips, dripping down to soak the grass beneath your ass. Every greedy lap of his tongue pushed more of his saliva into your fluttering hole, mixing everything into a warm, slippery mess that made your cunt feel even more open, even more sensitive.
Sukuna growled against your folds, the vibration sending sparks shooting up your spine.
“Look at you,” he rasped between long, filthy licks, voice thick with lust. “Soaking my tongue like a good girl. This cunt was made to be eaten. Made to leak for me.”
He spread you even wider with his fingers, thumbs pressing firmly on either side of your clit while his tongue drove back inside, fucking you deeper, harder, faster. Your hand tightened in his hair, nails scraping his scalp as your back bowed off the grass. The ache that had tormented you for days melted into liquid heat under his mouth. Every suck, every thrust of his tongue, every wet slurp dragged you closer to the edge.
The pear blossoms continued to drift down around you like soft white snow.
Golden sunlight danced across your trembling body.
The lake whispered in the background.
Sukuna was still buried face-first between your spread thighs, your cunt pulsed and leaked and fluttered around his greedy tongue while pleasure built higher and higher, threatening to drown you completely in the most surreal, overwhelming bliss you had ever known.
He was getting hard from your scent alone.
The sweet, musky smell of your dripping cunt filled his lungs with every greedy inhale, thick and heady, making both of his cocks twitch and swell heavy between his thighs. They hung thick and full, the fat heads already glistening with beads of precum that dripped slowly onto the soft grass beneath him. The more he tasted you, the harder they throbbed, veins standing out sharply along the thick shafts, the second cock brushing against the first with every slight shift of his hips. Yet Sukuna refused to touch himself. Not yet.
He wanted you to cum on his tongue first.
His large tongue kept tunneling deep inside your fluttering cunt, fucking in and out with wet, obscene strokes while his lips sealed tight around your swollen clit. He sucked harder, tongue curling and pressing against that sensitive spot inside you until your thighs trembled violently around his head. Your hand clutched desperately at his hair, fingers twisting tight as you fed him deeper, hips rolling up to meet every thrust of his mouth.
“Fuck… that’s it,” he growled against your soaked folds, voice muffled and rough. “Let me taste how much this greedy little cunt needs me.”
He spread you wider with two thick fingers, thumbs holding your puffy lips open so he could bury his face even deeper. His tongue plunged in again, long and hot, licking up every creamy drop of slick and leftover cum. He drank you down like he was starving, saliva mixing with your mess until everything was sloppy and shining. Then he pulled back just enough to suck your fat, aching clit into his mouth again, tongue flicking rapidly over the swollen bud while two fingers replaced his tongue inside you, curling hard against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.
Your moans grew louder, broken and desperate, echoing softly under the pear tree. The golden patches of sunlight danced across your arched body, highlighting the way your breasts heaved with every panting breath, the way your stomach tensed and quivered. The grass felt cool and soft against your back, blades sticking to your damp skin as you writhed beneath his relentless mouth.
Sukuna’s cocks leaked harder, thick strings of precum stretching from the tips to the ground, but he ignored them completely. His focus remained entirely on you, on the way your cunt clenched and fluttered around his fingers, on the sweet, slick taste flooding his tongue.
He sucked your clit harder, tongue lashing fast and firm, fingers thrusting deep and steady.
“Come on, doll,” he rasped against your pussy, voice dark and commanding. “Cum for me. Cum on my tongue like a good girl. Let me feel this pretty cunt squeeze and flood my mouth.”
Your whole body tightened, thighs clamping around his head, back bowing sharply off the grass. The pressure built unbearably fast, the wet sounds of his mouth and fingers filling the quiet air beneath the tree. The lake whispered in the distance, blossoms continued to drift down like gentle snow, but all you could feel was the hot, greedy pull of his lips and tongue dragging you right to the edge.
Sukuna groaned deeply, the vibration shooting straight through your clit as he sucked harder, fingers curling relentlessly inside you.
He was not going to stop until you came undone on his tongue.
He kept licking you with long, greedy strokes of his tongue, lapping deep into your fluttering cunt while one thick finger circled your swollen clit in slow, firm spirals. The dual sensation was relentless. His hot, wet tongue fucked into you in steady thrusts, curling and dragging along your inner walls, while that single finger pressed and rubbed your clit with perfect, merciless pressure.
Your legs shook violently.
Sukuna noticed. With a low growl he shoved your thighs wider apart, spreading you obscenely open on the soft grass. Two of his hands gripped the backs of your knees, pinning them down and outward so nothing could stop the building storm inside you. The position left your dripping pussy completely exposed to his hungry mouth and the warm daylight filtering through the leaves.
It built fast. Too fast.
A strange, overwhelming pressure coiled low in your belly, heavy and urgent, completely different from the orgasms he had already forced from you. Your cunt clenched hard around his thrusting tongue, walls fluttering wildly as slick poured out in thick, continuous streams. Your hips tried to twist away, but his grip held you firmly in place.
“No… Sukuna…” you gasped, voice high and broken. “It feels weird… feels like you’ll make a mess…”
He did not stop.
If anything, your desperate little plea only made him hungrier. He shoved his tongue deeper, fucking it into you harder, faster, while his finger rubbed tight, relentless circles over your clit. His saliva mixed with your slick, making everything wetter, sloppier, louder. The obscene squelching sounds of his mouth devouring your cunt filled the quiet shade beneath the pear tree.
“It is going to feel good,” he growled against your folds, the words vibrating straight through your oversensitive clit. “Let it happen. Do not fight it.”
You whimpered, head thrashing side to side on the grass. The pressure kept building, sharp and terrifying and impossibly intense. Your stomach tightened, thighs trembling uncontrollably in his iron grip. Every lick, every circle of his finger pushed you closer to something you had never felt before. Your pussy felt too full, too hot, too ready to burst.
“I… I’m gonna…” Your voice cracked into a sob. “It feels like I’m going to make a mess… Sukuna, please…”
He sucked hard on your clit, tongue still thrusting deep inside you, finger rubbing faster. His crimson eyes flicked up to watch your face, dark with lust and wicked satisfaction.
“Then make a mess for me, doll,” he rasped, voice rough and commanding. “Squirt all over my tongue. Flood my mouth like the needy little thing you are. I want every drop.”
The words pushed you over the edge.
The intense pressure suddenly snapped. Your entire body seized, back arching sharply off the grass as a broken, keening cry tore from your throat. Your cunt spasmed violently around his tongue, walls clamping down hard before releasing in powerful, rhythmic pulses. A hot, clear gush of fluid burst from you, squirting hard against his tongue and chin, soaking his face and dripping down onto the grass beneath you.
You kept squirting, wave after wave, unable to stop as he continued licking and sucking through it all, greedily drinking down every drop while his finger never stopped circling your throbbing clit. The orgasm crashed through you harder than anything you had ever felt, leaving you shaking and sobbing, pussy gushing messily all over his mouth and the soft ground.
Sukuna groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through your oversensitive folds as he lapped up every bit of your release, refusing to pull away even as you trembled and whimpered beneath him.
Now you were ready.
Your body had gone completely limp on the soft grass, every muscle loose and trembling in the aftermath of that shattering release. Sukuna could feel how thoroughly he had wrung you out. Your cunt still fluttered weakly, puffy and glistening, but the desperate, aching need had finally eased into a deep, hazy satisfaction. He pressed one last slow, reverent kiss to your swollen pussy, lips brushing tenderly over the oversensitive folds. His tongue gave a few final, gentle laps, licking up the last of your slick with lazy indulgence, savoring every creamy drop. His chin was shiny and wet, glistening with your release and his own saliva.
He eased your trembling legs down carefully, letting them rest on the cool grass instead of holding them pinned wide. Then he shifted, stretching his massive frame out beside you on the soft ground. One of his lower arms slid beneath your shoulders, pulling you close until your face tucked into the warm curve of his neck. His skin smelled of smoke and salt and something darker, masculine, grounding. The other three arms settled around you, one hand gently threading through your hair, stroking slow, soothing pets from crown to nape. His fingers were careful, almost tender, as they combed through the strands damp with sweat and grass.
You felt weightless.
The warm sunlight filtered through the pear leaves above, painting shifting golden patterns across your skin. The faint sound of the lake lapping at the shore blended with the soft rustle of blossoms drifting down. Your body melted against his, boneless and heavy with exhaustion and pleasure. You could feel how hard he still was. Both thick cocks pressed hot and heavy against your thigh, leaking steadily, the blunt heads smearing warm precum across your skin with every subtle shift. Yet he made no move to take you. He simply held you close, petting your hair in slow, rhythmic strokes while his chest rose and fell steadily beneath your cheek.
You closed your eyes.
The world narrowed to the warmth of his body, the gentle drag of his fingers through your hair, the heavy, comforting weight of his arms wrapped around you. For the first time since he had stolen you from the temple, the ache between your thighs felt soothed rather than tormenting. Shame still lingered somewhere distant, but it could not reach you here, not while he held you like this.
Sukuna’s voice rumbled low against your ear, rough but quiet, laced with quiet satisfaction.
“See?” he murmured, lips brushing the top of your head. “Didn’t I help?”
You did not answer with words. You simply pressed your face deeper into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent, letting the steady beat of his heart lull you further into the soft, floating haze. His hand continued its slow, comforting strokes through your hair. His cocks remained hard and leaking against your thigh, patient for now.
Beneath the pear tree, in the warm daylight and drifting blossoms, Sukuna held his stolen faithful close, content to let you rest against him while the evidence of your messy release dried on his chin and the grass beneath you both.
You fell asleep on the way back, cradled securely in his arms.
The walk from the lakeside to the fortress was not long, but the warm afternoon sun, the soft sway of his steps, and the deep exhaustion that had settled into your bones after everything beneath the pear tree pulled you under almost immediately. Your cheek rested against the broad plane of his chest, one hand loosely curled into the fabric of his robe. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the faint heat rolling off his skin lulled you deeper into sleep, safe and heavy in his hold.
Sukuna carried you without effort, two arms supporting your body while the other two remained free. In one of those free hands he held a small cluster of ripe pears he had plucked from the tree before leaving. Their smooth, golden-green skins caught the light as he walked, stems still bearing a few delicate white blossoms. He did not eat them. He simply carried them, turning one slowly between his fingers every so often, as though the simple act of holding something soft and sweet pleased him.
The fortress loomed ahead, stone walls dark against the bright sky. Servants scattered at the sight of their lord returning with the sleeping girl tucked against his chest, but no one dared speak. Uraume stood waiting at the entrance, pale eyes flicking once over your relaxed form and the pears before offering a small, knowing bow and stepping aside without a word.
Sukuna moved through the familiar corridors in silence, careful not to jostle you. When he reached the chamber he lowered you gently onto the wide mat, arranging your limbs with surprising care so you lay on your side, facing inward. The yukata had slipped slightly during the journey, baring one shoulder and the soft curve of your breast, but he did not adjust it. Instead he set the cluster of pears on the low table beside the mat, their faint sweet scent already beginning to fill the room.
He stretched out beside you, close enough that the heat of his body wrapped around yours once more. One arm draped possessively over your waist, palm settling lightly over the lingering softness of your lower belly. The other three hands found their places, one beneath his own head, the others resting near enough to touch if he wished.
You remained asleep, breathing slow and even, lashes dark against your cheeks, lips slightly parted. The faint marks of grass and blossoms still clung to your hair. A small smear of dried slick still glistened on the inside of one thigh, a quiet reminder of how thoroughly he had taken care of you by the lake.
Sukuna watched you for a long time in the quiet of the chamber.
He did not wake you.
He simply lay there, the stolen pears resting nearby, their sweetness mixing with the heavier scent of sex and skin that still clung to both of you. One of his fingers idly traced the curve of your shoulder while his mind turned over the strange, unfamiliar feeling of carrying something fragile and warm back to his den instead of leaving it broken behind him.
Outside the narrow windows the daylight slowly began to soften into evening.
Inside, the King of Curses kept his faithful close, pears and all, letting you sleep undisturbed in the circle of his arms.
You woke up dazed, the world soft and hazy around the edges.
For a long moment you could not remember the walk back. The lake, the pear tree, the overwhelming rush of pleasure beneath its branches, all of it felt like a fever dream that had slipped between your fingers. Your body was still coming down from the high, heavy and languid, every limb weighted with sweet exhaustion. A faint fever lingered beneath your skin, a warm flush that made your cheeks glow and your breathing slow and shallow. Between your thighs your pussy still throbbed gently, swollen and tender, the constant low ache now mixed with a deep, satisfied warmth that refused to fade.
The chamber was quiet, lit by the golden haze of late afternoon light slipping through the narrow windows. The faint sweet scent of ripe pear filled the air.
Sukuna was already awake, propped on one elbow beside you. In two of his hands he held the cluster of pears he had carried back. With the third he used the small, curved tanto to slice one open with precise, unhurried movements. The same blade you had once pressed trembling to his throat now moved steadily through the soft fruit, juice glistening along the edge as he cut neat, crescent-shaped slices.
He noticed the moment your eyes opened.
Without a word he brought a fresh slice to your lips, holding it between two thick fingers. The sweet, juicy flesh brushed against your lower lip, cool and sticky.
You stared at the knife for a heartbeat, then at the slice, then up at his face. A slow roll of your eyes was the only protest you could manage in your dazed state. Still, your mouth opened obediently. You took the piece of pear from his fingers, lips closing around the pads of his fingertips for a brief, intimate second as you accepted the offering. The fruit was perfectly ripe, bursting with cool sweetness that soothed your dry throat and made your fever-flushed cheeks feel a little less warm.
Sukuna watched you chew with dark, half-lidded eyes, the corner of his mouth curving in quiet satisfaction. He cut another slice, juice dripping slowly down the blade, and brought it to your mouth again. This time you did not roll your eyes. You simply parted your lips and let him feed you, the sticky sweetness coating your tongue while his fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary.
He fed you piece after piece in silence, the ironies of the moment hanging thick between you. The same knife that had once promised death now delivered something gentle and sweet. The monster who had stolen you from your temple now sat patiently slicing fruit and pressing each slice to your lips with careful fingers. Your body still hummed with the memory of his tongue between your thighs, yet here you were, drowsy and fever-warm, accepting every offering like it was the most natural thing in the world.
When the pear was nearly gone he set the core aside and wiped his fingers on the edge of the cloth nearby. One large hand returned to your hair, stroking slowly through the strands while another rested possessively over the soft swell of your lower belly.
“Better?” he asked, voice low and rough, but quieter than usual.
You swallowed the last sweet bite, the fever making your thoughts slow and heavy. Instead of answering with words you simply turned your face into his palm, pressing a small, tired kiss to the center of it.
Sukuna’s eyes darkened further at the gesture. He did not speak again. He only continued to pet your hair in slow, steady strokes, letting you drift in the warm, hazy space between sleep and waking while the faint scent of pear and the lingering taste of sweetness stayed on your tongue.
The blade lay forgotten on the low table beside the empty core, its edge still faintly sticky with juice.
And in the quiet chamber, he kept feeding his stolen girl small, sweet pieces of fruit, watching every flutter of your lashes with something dangerously close to tenderness.
Later that evening the air in the fortress had grown cooler, the faint scent of cedar smoke drifting through the corridors as braziers were lit for the night.
Sukuna had risen from the mat without a word, shedding his outer robes as he moved toward the private bathing chamber attached to the main room. You watched him from beneath half-closed lashes, still drowsy and warm from the pear and the long rest. Then you noticed.
His two thick cocks were fully hard, heavy and flushed dark, the fat heads glistening with steady beads of precum that dripped in slow, shiny trails down the veined lengths. They bobbed slightly with each step he took, leaking openly, untouched since the lake. He had given you everything beneath the pear tree and taken nothing for himself.
Something hot and liquid stirred low in your belly.
You crept after him on silent feet, heart hammering, the fever still lingering in your cheeks. The ache between your thighs had returned, softer now but insistent, your pussy growing slick and warm again at the mere sight of him. When he stepped into the bathing chamber you followed, hovering just outside the doorway, hidden in shadow.
He stood beside the large wooden tub already filled with steaming water. One of his lower hands reached down, wrapping loosely around both cocks at the base. He gave a slow, firm stroke from root to tip, smearing the leaking precum over the heads with his thumb. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he palmed himself, thick fingers barely able to circle both shafts together. The motion was lazy, almost absent, like he was simply easing an ache rather than truly seeking release.
Your breath caught.
He looked beautiful like this, massive frame backlit by the flickering lanterns, tattoos stark against scarlet skin, four arms moving with powerful grace. And those two leaking cocks… heavy, dripping, untouched because he had spent the entire afternoon taking care of you instead.
Your pussy clenched hard, fresh slick coating your folds and beginning to trickle down your inner thigh. Shame and desire twisted together until you could no longer stay still.
You slipped out of your yukata without a sound, letting the silk pool at your feet until you stood completely naked. Cool air kissed your fever-warm skin, making your nipples tighten and your swollen cunt throb. Heart racing, you stepped forward and pushed the sliding door wider, the soft wooden sound announcing your presence.
Sukuna turned his head slowly.
Four crimson eyes locked onto you immediately, taking in every inch of your bare body, the way your thighs pressed together, the faint sheen of wetness already visible on your skin. His hand stilled on his cocks, still gripping both thick lengths, the heads flushed and glistening.
For a long moment neither of you spoke.
Then his voice came low and rough, laced with dark hunger and something almost surprised.
“Look at you,” he murmured, gaze dragging slowly down to the slick glistening between your legs. “Coming to me naked and wet again. Did watching me stroke myself make that greedy little pussy leak for me?”
You stood there in the doorway, completely exposed, chest rising and falling quickly, the ache between your thighs growing unbearable. Your eyes kept flicking down to where his hand still held those two heavy, leaking cocks, precum still dripping steadily from the tips.
Sukuna’s lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. He gave himself one more lazy stroke, eyes never leaving yours.
“Well?” he asked, voice dropping even lower. “Are you just going to stand there… or are you going to come here and help me with this?”
Steam rose from the bath behind him.
Lantern light flickered across his skin...
You stepped inside.
Shy, but eager.
Your bare feet padded across the warm stone floor until you stood right in front of him. Sukuna’s four arms opened for you without hesitation, the gesture surprisingly gentle. He reached down, large hands sliding beneath your thighs, and lifted you effortlessly into the air. The moment your body left the ground you felt weightless again, cradled against his broad chest as he stepped into the large wooden tub with you.
The water was warm, almost hot, fragrant with yuzu and something faintly herbal that Uraume must have added. Steam curled up around you both as he lowered himself slowly, settling against the back of the tub and pulling you with him. He pressed you flush to his front first, your soft breasts squishing against the hard planes of his chest, your legs automatically parting to straddle his hips. The heat of the bath seeped into your skin, soothing the lingering ache between your thighs even as fresh slick continued to gather.
He leaned in and kissed your cheek, slow and surprisingly sweet, lips lingering against the flushed skin. The contrast between that tenderness and the heavy, leaking cocks trapped between your bodies made your head spin.
You settled fully against him, thighs spread wide over his lap. The sight of the large, grinning mouth on his stomach made your breath hitch. The moment your belly pressed against it, the thick pink tongue flicked out, dragging a wet, playful stripe across your soft skin. It curled lazily, tasting the faint sheen of sweat and the sweetness still clinging to you from the pear. One of Sukuna’s big hands settled on your lower back, holding you close while his thumb stroked slow circles over your spine.
He teased you then, voice low and rough against your ear.
“Your eager little pussy is still greedy for more, hm?”
You looked up at him with wide, glassy eyes, heat flooding your face. You could not hold his gaze. Your eyes dropped instead, lashes fluttering as you watched your own finger trace the seam of the stomach mouth. The moment your fingertip brushed the soft lips, the large tongue flicked out again, wrapping playfully around your finger and sucking gently before letting go with a wet pop.
You swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper.
“I… I shouldn’t have all the pleasure.”
The guilt was quiet but real. He had taken nothing for himself earlier, only given and given until you shattered on his tongue. The thought made your chest tight.
Sukuna stilled for a moment, studying your downcast face. Then understanding softened the edge of his smirk.
“Guess we really should stop keeping secrets from each other then,” he murmured.
He tilted your chin up with one gentle finger, forcing your eyes to meet his again. Before you could look away he leaned in and kissed you, slow and deep and thorough. His tongue slid against yours, tasting of pear and your own slick, claiming your mouth with the same lazy hunger he had shown between your thighs.
You melted into the kiss, arms winding around his neck as you settled fully against him. His two thick cocks pressed hot and slick between your bodies, trapped against your soft belly and the dripping seam of your cunt. They throbbed heavily with every beat of his heart, leaking steadily, the precum mixing with the bathwater and your own fresh arousal until everything felt slippery and warm.
His stomach mouth continued to lick lazily at your skin, tongue dragging slow stripes across your abdomen while his hand on your back kept you pressed close. The other three arms held you securely, one cradling the back of your head, another resting possessively on your hip, the last stroking gently along your thigh.
He broke the kiss just enough to speak against your lips, voice dark and rough with want.
“No more secrets tonight, little one. Tell me what you want… and I will give it to you.”
The steam rose thick around you both.
The fragrant water lapped gently at your joined bodies.
And in the warm bath, straddling him, his leaking cocks pressed slick against your greedy pussy, you felt the last fragile wall between you begin to crumble.
“Please…”
The word slipped from your lips, soft and trembling against his own. “Need you.”
Sukuna’s mouth curved into a slow, wicked smile against yours. He did not answer with words at first. Instead one of his lower hands slid down between your bodies, gripping the thicker of his two leaking cocks at the base. He dragged the fat, precum-slick head slowly through your folds, teasing the blunt tip up and down your dripping slit. The heat of him was searing, the sheer size of just one cock already making your pussy flutter in anticipation and nerves.
Your slick coated him instantly, mixing with the steady leak of his precum until the glide became obscenely wet. Every slow pass nudged against your swollen clit, then dipped lower to kiss your entrance, spreading your puffy lips around the wide head before pulling back again. The teasing made your thighs tremble on either side of his hips.
He kissed you once more, slow and deep, then pulled back just enough to speak against your mouth, voice low and rough with hunger.
“Let’s just start with one tonight then,” he murmured. “Let’s see how good you’ll stretch for me.”
He lined the thick head up with your entrance and began to push.
The stretch was immediate and overwhelming. Even after everything he had done to you earlier, your cunt still had to open wide around the fat crown. A broken whimper escaped you as the head popped inside, your walls fluttering desperately around the intrusion. He was so thick, so hot, the veins along his shaft dragging against your sensitive inner walls as he slowly fed you the first few inches.
Sukuna groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating through both of you.
“Fuck… still so tight,” he rasped, one hand gripping your hip to hold you steady while the other kept guiding his cock deeper. “Look at this greedy little pussy swallowing me up. Taking it so well already.”
He rocked his hips in shallow thrusts, working himself in inch by inch, letting your body adjust to the brutal girth. Your slick and his precum made the slide easier, but the stretch still burned sweetly, forcing your cunt to mould around every thick ridge. When he was halfway buried he paused, letting you feel the heavy throb of him inside you, the way your belly already began to bulge faintly from just one cock.
His stomach mouth licked a slow, wet stripe across your abdomen, tongue flicking playfully over the small swell as if tasting the place he was claiming from within.
You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into scarlet skin, forehead pressed to his as you panted against his lips. The water lapped gently around your joined bodies, steam curling thick in the air.
Sukuna’s eyes stayed locked on your face, watching every flutter of your lashes, every little gasp.
“That’s it,” he whispered, voice dark and coaxing. “Take all of me tonight. Let me feel how deep this pretty cunt can take one cock before I decide whether you’re ready for both.”
He rolled his hips again, sinking another thick inch inside you, stretching you open with slow, deliberate patience while the bathwater rippled around you both.
And in the fragrant steam, you gave yourself to him once more, soft pleas and broken moans spilling from your lips as the King of Curses began to fill you all over again.
You felt him immediately.
The thick head pushed past your entrance and the stretch bloomed all over again, sharp and sweet and overwhelming. Your cunt had to open wide once more, soft walls yielding around the heavy girth as he sank deeper. Every slow inch forced your body to remember him, to take his exact shape again until the blunt head kissed high inside you and the thick veins dragged along every sensitive spot. Your belly swelled faintly beneath the water, the faint outline of his cock visible just under your skin.
Sukuna let out a low, satisfied groan, eyes half-lidded as he watched your face.
“Looks like your cunt didn’t forget me after all,” he murmured, voice rough and pleased. “Still so tight… still sucking me in like it missed being full.”
Your hands pressed flat against his broad chest, fingers splaying over the dark tattoos as you tried to steady yourself. The water lapped gently around your hips with every tiny movement. He kept one large hand on your lower back, holding you close, while the other guided your hips down to meet his slow upward thrusts.
He fucked up into you with unhurried strokes, deep and deliberate, letting you feel every thick inch slide out until only the fat head remained inside, then pressing back in until he bottomed out again. Each thrust made your breasts bounce softly against his chest and sent ripples across the fragrant bathwater.
You were trembling.
The stretch felt so good it bordered on too much, but your body craved more. The empty ache where his second cock should be became impossible to ignore. Your pussy clenched hard around the one already buried inside you, leaking fresh slick around his shaft as the need built higher.
“Please…” you whispered, voice small and breathless against his neck. “The second one… I want both…”
Sukuna stilled for a moment, buried to the hilt. Then a dark, amused chuckle rumbled through his chest.
“Fuck… you’re eager,” he said, the words warm against your ear. One of his hands slid up to cup the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. “Already begging for both after I’ve barely given you one. Greedy little thing.”
He rocked up into you again, slower this time, grinding the thick head against that deep spot inside while the second heavy cock rested hot and leaking against your lower belly, trapped between your bodies.
“You sure?” he asked, voice dropping even lower, teasing but edged with hunger. “You want me to stretch this pretty cunt even wider tonight? Fill you so full you can barely breathe?”
You nodded frantically, cheeks burning, eyes glassy with need. Your hips rolled down to meet his next thrust, taking him deeper as you whimpered.
“Yes… please… both…”
Sukuna’s smile turned sharp and satisfied. He tightened his grip on your hips with two hands while the other two cradled your face and back, holding you steady as he began to shift beneath you.
“Alright then,” he growled softly, pressing a slow kiss to your swollen lips. “Since you’re asking so nicely… let’s see how well this tight little pussy takes both my cocks tonight.”
He kept the first one buried deep inside you, holding still for a moment while the fat, leaking head of the second cock nudged insistently against your already stretched entrance, sliding through the mess of your slick and his precum.
The water steamed around you both.
Your hands clutched tighter at his chest.
He worked the second cock in slowly.
The thick, leaking head pressed firmly against your already stretched entrance, nudging beside the first one that was buried deep inside you. The stretch was immediate and brutal. Your cunt had to open wider than it ever had, soft walls straining around two heavy girths at once. You clenched up instinctively, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat as the second cock forced its way in inch by slow, relentless inch.
“Oh fuck—”
The curse slipped out before you could stop it, raw and broken. The temple girl who once spent her days murmuring sutras had never spoken such a word in her life. Sukuna’s eyes flashed with dark delight at the sound.
“Oh?” he teased, voice low and rough even as he fought to keep his composure. “The temple girl’s first swear. Committing so many sins tonight, aren’t you?”
Your cunt was impossibly tight around both cocks, fluttering and squeezing in panicked little pulses that made sweat bead along his temples. He could feel every ripple, every desperate clench as your body struggled to accept him. It hurt for you too. The burn was fierce, stretching you to your limit, tears already gathering at the corners of your eyes and spilling down your flushed cheeks.
Sukuna kept one big hand stroking slowly up and down your back, never stopping the gentle, soothing motion. His palm was warm and steady against your spine, thumb tracing comforting circles while he held perfectly still inside you, giving your body time to adjust.
“No, pretty girl,” he murmured, voice gentler now, lips brushing your temple. “Relax for me. Breathe.”
You whimpered, forehead pressed to his shoulder, nails digging into his chest. The stretch felt like too much and not enough all at once. Both cocks throbbed heavily inside your overstuffed cunt, leaking steadily, the dual pressure making your belly bulge noticeably even through the bathwater.
“You said you wanted both,” he reminded you softly, pressing a slow kiss to your wet cheek. “Don’t fight me, sweetheart. Let me in. Let this greedy little cunt take everything I give it.”
His hand kept stroking your back in that same soothing rhythm, slow and patient, while the other three arms held you close, one cradling the back of your head, another gripping your hip to keep you steady. He rocked up into you with the tiniest movements, just enough to ease the second cock deeper, letting your walls flutter and slowly loosen around the impossible fullness.
Tears kept slipping down your face, but the pain was already beginning to melt into something hotter, something deeper. Your cunt clenched again, this time less in resistance and more in desperate need.
Sukuna groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours.
“That’s it,” he whispered against your ear, still stroking your back with steady reassurance. “Good girl. Just relax and let me fill you completely. You’re doing so well for me.”
Both thick cocks pulsed inside your stretched, dripping cunt as he waited for you to open up fully, the warm bathwater rippling gently around your joined bodies while he coaxed you through the overwhelming stretch with patience and dark, hungry praise.
Your cunt kept stretching.
It hurt, it burned, it felt impossible, but it took him.
More and more. Inch by thick, veined inch, both of his heavy cocks sank deeper into your fluttering heat until the stretch became something else entirely. Something overwhelming and perfect. Your walls yielded slowly, clenching and fluttering around the brutal double invasion, molding themselves around his shape like they had been waiting for this exact moment.
The way your tummy bulged was obscene.
You could feel it, see it, the soft skin of your lower belly rounding outward, the clear outline of both cocks pressing up from inside you. Every shallow breath made the swell shift and move. Deeper and deeper he pushed, until the fat heads nudged against your cervix and then beyond, forcing the tight ring to open for him, letting him claim space no one had ever touched.
Your eyes slid shut, lashes wet with fresh tears. A broken little sound escaped your trembling lips.
Sukuna cupped your face in two large hands, thumbs brushing away the tears as they fell. He pressed his forehead to yours, breath mingling with yours in the steamy air.
“Look at you,” he whispered, voice rough and awed. “Taking both my cocks so deep. Your pretty cunt is opening so well for me.”
He kissed your tears one by one, slow and tender, lips brushing over your closed eyelids, the corners of your eyes, the salty trails on your cheeks. When he finally reached your mouth he kissed you deeply, swallowing the soft whimper that left you as your cunt gave one last fluttering pulse and took the rest of him.
He was fully seated.
Both thick cocks buried to the hilt inside your overstuffed pussy, stretching you wider than you had ever been, your belly swollen and round with the proof of it. Your walls clenched helplessly around him, rippling and squeezing in waves, trying to adjust to the impossible fullness.
Sukuna held perfectly still, forehead still pressed to yours, hands cradling your face like something precious.
“There you go,” he murmured against your lips, voice low and soothing. “That’s my good girl. You did it. You took all of me.”
Your lips trembled. Another tear slipped free and he caught it with his thumb, then leaned in to kiss it away again.
The bathwater lapped gently around your joined bodies. Steam curled thick and fragrant between you. Your hands stayed pressed to his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your palms.
He stayed buried deep, letting you feel every throb, every pulse of both cocks stretching you open, while he continued to kiss your face softly, patiently, giving your ruined little cunt time to settle around the overwhelming fullness he had given you.
“You feel that?” he whispered, one hand sliding down to rest over the swollen curve of your belly. “That’s me. All the way inside you. No more secrets. No more holding back.”
Your cunt fluttered hard around him at his words, another rush of slick leaking out around the tight seal of your stretched lips.
Sukuna smiled against your mouth, dark and satisfied.
“Good girl,” he breathed. “Now breathe for me… and let me feel how well this greedy cunt is going to take everything I give it tonight.”
Your cunt was sucking and pulling at both of his cocks with every tiny movement.
The slightest shift of his hips made your walls flutter and clench desperately around the thick double intrusion, greedy and overwhelmed all at once. Any little motion sent sparks of too-much pleasure shooting through you. The stretch was constant, burning and perfect, your swollen folds stretched shiny and tight around the bases of both cocks. Your belly bulged obscenely, the rounded swell rising and falling with every shallow breath you took.
Sukuna watched your face with dark, hooded eyes, one hand still cradling your cheek while the other rested possessively over the swollen curve of your stomach.
“You’ve already done the impossible,” he murmured, voice low and rough with restraint. “Taking both my cocks all the way inside this tight little cunt. Such a good girl.”
He could feel every ripple, every helpless suck of your walls trying to milk him. But he insisted on doing the work now.
“You’ve done enough,” he told you softly. “Just let me take care of you.”
When he asked if you wanted him to move, you could only nod, lips trembling, eyes glassy with overwhelming sensation.
That was all the permission he needed.
Sukuna lifted you sweetly with two strong arms beneath your thighs, raising you just enough that several thick inches of both cocks slid out of your dripping heat. The drag was slow and devastating, your cunt clinging wetly to every veined inch as he withdrew. Then he rocked you back down, sinking both cocks deep again in one smooth, controlled motion.
A broken moan tore from your throat.
He set a slow, steady rhythm, lifting and lowering you on his lap with careful strength. Each time he pulled you up, your cunt fluttered and sucked around him, trying to keep him inside. Each time he rocked you back down, both cocks plunged deep, bumping your cervix and pressing against that spot that made your toes curl in the warm water.
The bath rippled around you with every gentle rock, fragrant steam curling thicker in the air. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into scarlet skin as he fucked you on his cocks with slow, deliberate strokes.
“That’s it,” he praised quietly, forehead still pressed to yours. “Just let me move you. Feel how deep you’re taking me, sweetheart. Feel how full you are.”
Your belly bulged visibly with every downward rock, the obscene swell pressing against his stomach mouth. The large pink tongue flicked out lazily, licking across the rounded curve as if tasting how thoroughly he had stuffed you.
You whimpered helplessly, eyes fluttering, tears still clinging to your lashes. Every rock sent waves of overwhelming pleasure crashing through you. Your cunt kept sucking and pulling at both thick cocks, greedy despite how impossibly full you already were.
Sukuna kept rocking you sweetly on his lap, never rushing, letting you feel every inch, every throb, every slow slide as he filled you completely again and again.
His voice stayed low and soothing against your ear between soft kisses to your temple.
“Good girl… such a good girl for me. Just keep taking it. Let me rock this pretty, stretched cunt on both until you can’t think of anything else.”
The water lapped gently around your joined bodies.
Your swollen belly rose and fell with every controlled thrust.
And in the warm, steamy bath, you were held close and rocked slowly on both of his thick cocks, letting your greedy, ruined little pussy suck and flutter around him while he took perfect care of you.
Huge.
That was all you could think as Sukuna rocked you on both of his thick lengths.
Your pussy stretched impossibly wide around the twin girths, soft walls squishing and clinging, milking him in messy, greedy pulses with every slow lift and drop. Wet, filthy sounds filled the steamy bath each time he moved you, slick and precum mixing together until everything between your bodies was slippery and obscene.
He pressed one large hand firmly against the swollen bulge under your tummy, feeling the way both cocks moved inside you, the heavy ridge of them shifting beneath your skin with every rock. The pressure made you whimper, made your cunt flutter harder around him, sucking desperately at the thick lengths as if trying to pull him even deeper.
One of his lower hands settled on your waist, holding you steady while he began to fuck up into you with more purpose. The thrusts stayed controlled but deeper now, lifting his hips to meet every downward rock, driving both cocks into your overstuffed cunt with wet, heavy strokes. Your belly bulged more noticeably with each upward thrust, the rounded swell pressing against his palm.
His other lower hand slipped lower, palming the soft curve of your ass, fingers digging into the flesh to spread you open even wider. He used the grip to help guide you, lifting and lowering you onto his cocks while he fucked up harder, the head of both lengths kissing your cervix with every deep plunge.
You were a trembling, moaning mess in his lap, forehead pressed to his, lips parted on broken little sounds. Your pussy kept milking him greedily, fluttering and clenching, leaking fresh slick around the tight seal of your stretched folds. The water sloshed gently around you both with every thrust, fragrant steam curling thick in the air.
Sukuna groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating through you as he pressed harder against the bulge in your belly.
“Feel that?” he rasped against your mouth, voice dark and rough. “Feel how deep both are? Your greedy little cunt is sucking me in so messily… taking me so deep like it never wants to let go.”
His hand on your ass squeezed tighter, spreading you wider as he fucked up into you with slow, powerful strokes. The other hand stayed pressed to your swollen tummy, feeling every movement of his cocks inside you while he rocked you on his lap.
You could only moan helplessly, eyes glassy, body trembling as he took you apart so sweetly and thoroughly in the warm bath. Your pussy continued to milk him in wet, greedy pulses, stretched and full and completely his.
Sukuna kissed your trembling lips, then your tear-damp cheek, never stopping the slow, deep rhythm of his hips.
“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, palming your ass and pressing against your bulging belly at the same time. “Keep me in just like that. Let me feel how much this pretty cunt loves being stuffed full.”
Every slow rock of his hips made both thick cocks rub deep inside your pussy, dragging heavily along your fluttering walls in a constant, filthy grind. Your swollen clit caught and rubbed against the dark, coarse hair of his happy trail with every downward motion, sending sharp sparks of pleasure shooting through you. The friction was relentless, perfect, turning every thrust into something overwhelming.
You were creaming on his cocks.
Thick, white rings of your arousal coated both shafts, frothing messily at the stretched entrance of your cunt with every deep plunge. The wet, squelching sounds grew louder, echoing softly off the stone walls of the bathing chamber as your pussy milked him greedily, sucking and fluttering around the double intrusion.
Sukuna groaned low, one hand still pressed firmly to the bulging swell of your tummy while the other palmed your ass, spreading you wider so he could fuck up into you just a little harder. His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, firm circles over the swollen bud while he kept rocking you on his cocks.
“That’s it,” he murmured against your ear, voice dark and coaxing. “Make a mess all over both my cocks like a good girl. Let me feel how much you want it, how much you pretty pussy will take.”
The added pressure on your clit was too much. Pleasure coiled tight and hot in your belly, sharper and sweeter than before. Your thighs trembled violently around his hips, your cunt clenching hard around both cocks as the orgasm crashed through you.
You moaned, high and broken, body seizing in his lap as sweet, pulsing waves rolled through you. Your pussy gushed around him, fresh slick mixing with the creamy mess already coating his shafts. Sukuna kept rubbing your clit through it all, drawing the orgasm out until your vision blurred and your moans turned into soft, helpless whimpers.
When the peak finally began to ebb you collapsed forward into his chest, face buried in the crook of his neck, trembling and panting against his skin. Your arms wound weakly around his shoulders, body limp and spent in his hold.
Sukuna did not stop moving.
He kept fucking you deeper now, hips snapping up with more force, driving both cocks into your creaming, fluttering cunt with steady, powerful thrusts. The water sloshed harder around you, splashing against the sides of the tub as he used the grip on your ass and waist to pull you down onto him again and again.
His breathing grew rougher, chest rising and falling heavily beneath your cheek. You could feel his cocks swelling even thicker inside you, throbbing with his building release.
He pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your temple, voice wrecked and low.
“Fuck that's it! He said sharply.“Good girl… such a good girl for me… let me give you every drop, let me fill your cunt full.”
His thrusts grew deeper, harder, chasing his own pleasure while he held your limp, trembling body close, fucking up into your messy, overstuffed cunt with raw, building need. Your pussy continued to milk him greedily, squirting and fluttering around him as he drove closer and closer to the edge, determined to flood you full once more.
His cocks throbbed with heavy, insistent pressure deep in his abdomen.
The stomach mouth on his torso had its jaw locked tight, lips pressed into a thin line as if even that part of him was fighting to hold back. Both thick lengths swelled impossibly larger inside your already overstuffed cunt, stretching you even wider, the veins pulsing strongly against your fluttering walls. The first cock twitched hard, swelling thicker at the base, the fat head pressing flush against your cervix.
Sukuna’s breath hitched, a low growl rumbling through his chest as he fucked up into you with deeper, more urgent strokes. His hands gripped your ass tighter, spreading you open while he drove both cocks as far as they could go.
Then the first one came.
Hard.
Thick ropes of hot cum erupted straight into your womb, flooding you in heavy, pulsing spurts. The force of it made your belly swell even more, the rounded bulge growing visibly as he pumped you full. Your cunt clenched violently around him, milking every drop while creamy white seed leaked out around the tight seal of your stretched lips, mixing with your own slick in the bathwater.
Before the first cock even finished pulsing, the second one followed.
It swelled even thicker, stretching you to the absolute limit as it began to cum deep inside you. Another powerful flood joined the first, hot and endless, filling your womb until you felt impossibly bloated, stuffed beyond reason. Both cocks throbbed in tandem now, pumping load after thick load into your greedy, creaming cunt while your walls fluttered and sucked desperately around them.
You moaned weakly against his neck, body trembling, tears slipping down your cheeks again from the sheer intensity of being filled so completely. Your belly rounded out heavily between your bodies, the soft skin taut from the sheer volume of cum he was forcing into you.
Sukuna held you close, one hand still pressed firmly over the swollen curve of your tummy, feeling every powerful spurt as it filled you. His forehead rested against yours, breath ragged, voice rough and wrecked with pleasure.
“Take it all,” he growled softly, still rocking you slowly on his cocks even as he came. “Every drop. Let me fill this pretty cunt until you’re dripping with me for days.”
His stomach mouth finally relaxed, the large tongue slipping out to lick lazily across your bulging belly, tasting the evidence of how thoroughly he had claimed you from the inside.
You stayed collapsed against his chest, limp and shaking, your pussy still milking both throbbing cocks as they continued to empty into you, flooding your womb with thick, hot cum while the warm bathwater rippled around your joined bodies.
Sukuna kissed your temple, then your tear-streaked cheek, murmuring low praises against your skin as he kept you impaled deep on both of his cocks, letting the last heavy spurts pulse into your overstuffed, creaming cunt.
You had never felt so full.
So claimed.
So completely his.
Twin loads poured into you, thick and heavy, flooding your womb in endless, pulsing waves.
Sukuna kept fucking them deeper, hips rolling up in slow, deliberate thrusts even as he came, pushing every thick spurt further inside you. The obscene wet sounds of his cocks churning through the mess echoed in the steamy bath, cum and slick mixing together until your overstuffed cunt could barely contain it all. Creamy white seed leaked out around the tight stretch of both shafts, floating in cloudy ribbons through the water, but he refused to let any of it escape without effort. He rocked you down harder, grinding both cocks as deep as they would go, forcing the heavy loads back into your womb with every thrust.
He was sure it would take.
So much cum. More than your body had any right to hold. Your belly was already swollen and round, taut beneath his palm, and still he kept pumping more into you. He imagined it so clearly, his eyes sliding shut as pleasure and something darker, more possessive rolled through him. In weeks or months to come you would still be swollen, but not just with his cum. He pictured you utterly round and heavy with his babies, belly stretched tight, breasts full, cunt still greedy and leaking for him even while carrying his heirs.
A low, guttural groan left his throat.
His hand pressed firmer against the swollen curve of your stomach, fingers splaying wide as if he could will it to happen by touch alone. He pushed gently, feeling the way your belly gave under the pressure, feeling the obscene slosh of cum inside you as he fucked it even deeper.
“Take it,” he rasped against your ear, voice thick and wrecked. “All of it. Let it settle deep. Let it take root.”
Your cunt fluttered weakly around both cocks, still milking him through the last heavy spurts. You whimpered softly into his neck, body limp and trembling, completely overwhelmed by the sheer volume he had pumped into you. Your belly felt impossibly full, heavy and warm, the skin stretched tight over the twin loads he refused to let leak out.
Sukuna kept his hand there, palm pressed possessively over the swell, thumb stroking slow circles as if soothing the place he had just flooded. His other arms held you close, one cradling the back of your head, another wrapped around your waist, keeping you impaled deep on both cocks while the last thick pulses emptied into your womb.
He stayed buried inside you long after the last spurt, breathing hard against your hair, eyes still closed as the fantasy lingered behind his lids. You, swollen and glowing, carrying his children. The thought made his cocks twitch again inside you, another small leak of cum escaping despite how tightly he filled you.
He kissed your temple, then your cheek, voice low and dark with satisfaction.
“You’re going to look so beautiful like this… all round and full with what I put in you.”
The bathwater had gone cloudy around you both, thick with the evidence of his release. Your belly rose and fell heavily with every shallow breath, swollen and claimed, while Sukuna held you close, hand never leaving the soft, rounded swell he had created, already imagining how much more he would fill you in the nights to come.
After you took both his cocks, he held you like something breakable.
The water had gone thick and cloudy with his cum, the fragrant scent of yuzu now drowned beneath the heavy musk of sex. Sukuna felt a flicker of something close to guilt when he looked at the mess he had made of you, but it was quickly swallowed by the deeper satisfaction of seeing you so thoroughly claimed. Still, he needed to clean you. He could not leave you like this, leaking and trembling and swollen.
When he finally began to slip free, both cocks sliding out of your ruined cunt with a wet, obscene sound, you cried.
A soft, broken sob left your lips the moment the thick heads popped free. Immediately a flood of creamy white poured from your stretched hole, thick ropes of his cum gushing out in heavy pulses, sliding down your thighs and swirling into the already filthy water. Your poor pussy gaped for a moment, puffy and red, unable to close after taking both of his cocks so deep. More cum kept leaking, slow and endless, as if your body refused to let go of what he had given it.
You did not let him go.
The moment he tried to shift you, your arms locked tight around his neck, legs wrapping around his torso with surprising strength. You clung to him like a vine, face buried in the crook of his neck, eyes squeezed shut. Tired as you were, every ounce of remaining energy seemed to have gathered in your limbs. You would not release him, not even for a second.
Sukuna exhaled softly, one large hand cradling the back of your head while the other supported your ass, holding you securely against his chest even as cum continued to drip from your cunt onto his skin.
“It’s okay, pretty girl,” he cooed, voice low and soothing against your ear. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”
He shifted carefully in the cloudy water, you still attached to him like a second skin, legs locked tight around his waist, arms wound around his neck. With one free hand he grabbed a clean cloth from the side of the tub. With another he reached over and unplugged the drain, letting the filthy, cum-laden water begin to swirl away. Fresh warm water poured in from the spout, clear and steaming, slowly refilling the tub around your joined bodies.
He held you the entire time, rocking you gently, pressing soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. Every time a fresh sob slipped from you, every time more cum leaked out of your swollen pussy and trickled down his abdomen, he murmured quiet reassurances.
“Shh… I know, sweetheart. I know it feels like too much. But I’m not going anywhere. Just let me clean you up.”
He dipped the cloth into the fresh water and began to wipe you gently, starting with your thighs, then carefully between your legs. The warm cloth soothed the tender, puffy folds, but every pass still made you whimper and cling tighter. More thick white continued to spill from your cunt no matter how carefully he cleaned, as if your body was determined to keep every drop he had pumped into you.
Sukuna did not mind.
He simply held you closer, kissing your closed eyelids, stroking your back with slow, steady hands while the clean water rose around you both. Your legs stayed locked around his torso, arms tight around his neck, face hidden against his skin as you trembled and leaked and refused to let go.
“It’s okay,” he whispered again, pressing another kiss to your hair. “I’m right here, pretty girl. I’ve got you. Let it all out. I’ll take care of everything.”
The bath slowly filled with fresh, steaming water.
Your cunt continued to leak his cum in slow, creamy pulses.
And Sukuna held you through it all, cooing soft praises and gentle reassurances while you clung to him with every bit of strength left in your tired body, safe and claimed in the arms of the monster who had ruined you so sweetly.
When he had you mostly cleaned, Sukuna gathered you up once more.
You were still latched onto him, arms locked tight around his neck, legs wrapped firmly around his torso as though letting go might make the world disappear. Even in your exhaustion your body refused to release its hold. He did not mind. He simply rose from the tub with you attached, water streaming off both of you in rivulets, and stepped out onto the cool stone floor.
One of his large hands petted your hair in slow, soothing strokes, fingers combing through the damp strands while he murmured quiet words against your temple.
“I’ve got you. Just keep holding on, pretty girl.”
He reached for a thick, soft towel and dried you as best he could while you remained clung to his chest. He wiped your back, your shoulders, the curve of your ass, moving carefully around the places where your bodies pressed together. The towel came away damp with bathwater and the last traces of his cum that still leaked slowly from your swollen cunt. Every gentle pass made you whimper softly, but you only tightened your grip, face buried deeper into the crook of his neck.
Sukuna carried you like that all the way back to the main chamber, your legs locked around his waist, your arms wound tight around his neck. He moved slowly, deliberately, one hand supporting your weight beneath your ass while the other continued to pet your hair in steady, comforting rhythms.
When he reached the wide mat he lowered himself down carefully, keeping you cradled against his chest the entire time. Only then did he try to coax you into drinking.
He reached for the clay cup of water Uraume had left on the low table, bringing it to your lips with gentle insistence.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and patient. “Just a little. You need it.”
You turned your face away at first, eyes still closed, too tired and overwhelmed to do anything but cling. Sukuna did not push. He simply waited, stroking your back, pressing soft kisses to your hair until you finally parted your lips. He tilted the cup slowly, letting you take small, careful sips. Cool water slid down your throat, soothing the dryness left from all your moaning and crying. You drank in tiny mouthfuls, swallowing obediently each time he encouraged you with quiet praise.
“Good girl… that’s it. Just a little more.”
When you had taken enough he set the cup aside and wrapped both arms around you again, holding you close against his warm body. Your legs stayed wrapped around his torso, your arms locked around his neck, your face tucked safely into the curve of his shoulder. Fresh tears slipped from your closed eyes, but they were softer now, exhaustion winning over everything else.
Sukuna continued to pet your hair, slow and steady, his other hands resting possessively along your back and the curve of your ass. He could still feel the occasional warm trickle of his cum leaking from your cunt onto his skin, but he made no move to clean it further. He simply held you, letting you cling as tightly as you needed.
“Sleep now,” he whispered against your hair, pressing one last gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I’m right here. I’m not letting go.”
You stayed latched onto him, trembling faintly, body heavy with fatigue and the deep, lingering fullness he had left inside you. The chamber was quiet except for the soft sound of your breathing and the steady rhythm of his hand stroking through your hair.
And Sukuna held you through it all, content to let his stolen faithful remain wrapped around him like you never wanted to be anywhere else.
He eventually pulled your tired arms away from his neck.
It took gentle coaxing, his fingers carefully unwinding your grip until your limbs fell limp and heavy against his chest. Even in sleep your body protested the loss of contact, a small, unconscious whimper slipping past your lips. Sukuna gathered you closer, all four arms cradling you against him like something infinitely precious. One pair supported your back and thighs, another rested along your sides, keeping you secure in the wide span of his hold. His massive frame curled protectively around your much smaller one on the wide mat.
He looked at you.
Really looked.
This small woman who had taken all of him so eagerly, who had cried and begged and still opened wider when he asked. He had put you through so much. From the burning temple to the blade at his throat, from the first brutal claiming to the bath where he had stretched you beyond reason and flooded you until your belly swelled. The memory of your tears, your broken moans, your desperate clinging lingered in his chest like an unfamiliar weight.
Guilt, quiet and unfamiliar, settled deep inside him.
One large hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing slowly across your cheek. Your lashes were still damp, lips slightly parted in exhausted sleep. So delicate. So human. And yet you had taken the King of Curses into your body twice tonight and held him there like you never wanted him to leave.
His gaze drifted lower.
His hand slid down to rest over the soft, swollen curve of your tummy. The skin was warm and taut beneath his palm, still rounded from the sheer volume of cum he had pumped into you. He caressed it gently, fingers tracing slow circles over the place where his seed now rested deep inside your womb. The thought of it taking root sent a strange ripple through him.
He had never cared for heirs.
Rulers did not need bloodlines. Conquest was eternal. Legacy was written in blood and fear, not in small hands and soft cries. It was such a human thing.
But then he remembered the lake earlier that day.
You beneath the pear tree, sunlight dancing across your skin, blossoms drifting down while you came apart so sweetly on his tongue. The image shifted in his mind, unbidden, and suddenly he saw you again, months from now, belly round and heavy with his child, glowing, soft, still looking at him with those wide, trusting eyes.
It was not such a bad sight.
In fact, it felt… right.
The realization clicked into place with surprising clarity.
He would only want that with you.
Not with any trembling village girl or fearful shrine maiden he could have taken on a whim. Only with the faithful one he had stolen, the one who had once held a knife to his throat and then pulled him closer instead. The one whose body had learned to crave him, whose heart still raced beneath his palm even in sleep.
Sharing a life with you suddenly seemed possible.
Not just possession. Not just claiming. Something quieter. Something that looked like mornings with pears and evenings in the bath and nights where you clung to him even after he had ruined you.
Sukuna’s hand stayed cupped over your swollen belly, thumb stroking slow, almost reverent circles. His other arms tightened around you, pulling you closer until your cheek rested against his chest and your legs draped over his hip.
He pressed a single, lingering kiss to the top of your head.
“Sleep, little one,” he whispered into your hair, voice barely audible. “I will take care of you now. Whatever comes… I will take care of you.”
The guilt still lingered, but it was softened by something warmer, something dangerously close to tenderness. He kept his hand on your belly, feeling the faint flutter of your breathing, imagining the day it might flutter with something more.
For the first time in his long, bloody existence, Ryomen Sukuna allowed himself to picture a future that was not only conquest and fear, but one that included you, soft and full and his in every possible way.
He closed his eyes, still cradling you close, and let the quiet thought settle deep inside him.
You.
His.
Perhaps even carrying his child.
The King of Curses held his stolen faithful through the night, one hand never leaving the gentle swell of your belly, already wondering how soon he could make that vision real.
You laid on your back in the cool hush of his chamber, the thick bedding Sukuna had carefully arranged around you cradling your body like a nest. The night air was still, carrying only the faint crackle of a low brazier and the soft rhythm of your breathing. From across the room Sukuna stood watching for a long moment, four crimson eyes fixed on the peaceful sight of you.
Your eyes were closed in deep sleep, lashes resting against your cheeks, lips slightly parted. The thick layers of bedding he had swaddled you in kept you warm, but every time you shifted even the smallest amount the weight of your growing swell became more and more apparent. The soft curve of your belly rose gently beneath the covers, rounder now, heavier, undeniably full with the life he had planted inside you. The sight held him transfixed, something ancient and possessive stirring low in his chest as he stared at the proof of what you had taken from him and made your own.
You were pregnant.
The knowledge still felt new, strange, and yet utterly right.
The moment you began to shift again, a small furrow appeared between your brows. Your hands moved restlessly beneath the bedding, fingers clutching at the empty space beside you, searching, reaching for the solid warmth that was no longer there. A quiet, distressed sound slipped from your throat, barely more than a breath.
Sukuna was already moving.
He crossed the chamber in three silent strides, sliding onto the wide mat beside you before your hands could grasp at nothing again. His large palms found yours immediately, fingers threading through your smaller ones, pulling your hands against his chest. He drew you close with all four arms, carefully turning you onto your side so your swollen belly rested safely against the hard planes of his body. One arm slipped beneath your head as a pillow, another curled around your back, the third settled protectively over the curve of your tummy, and the last stroked slow, soothing lines along your spine.
The moment he had you tucked against him your breathing settled. The tension melted from your shoulders, your face relaxing once more into peaceful sleep. You nuzzled closer, cheek pressing to his collarbone, one leg instinctively draping over his hip as if even unconscious you needed to be as close as possible. A soft, contented sigh left your lips.
You had found utter comfort in Sukuna now, even more so since the pregnancy had begun to show. The fear that once lived in your eyes had long since softened into something warmer, something that sought him out in sleep and in waking. He had become your safety, your anchor, the only place where the weight of your changing body felt bearable.
Sukuna kept his hand splayed wide over the swell of your belly, feeling the faint, steady pressure beneath his palm. He could sense the life growing there, the subtle movements that had only just started to become noticeable. His thumb traced slow circles over the taut skin, reverent and quiet.
He had never imagined he would want this.
Yet here you were, swollen with his child, clinging to him even in dreams, trusting him completely with the fragile new life you carried. The guilt he had once felt had faded into something deeper, something that made him hold you a little tighter every night.
He pressed a slow kiss to the top of your head, lips lingering in your hair as he whispered against the strands, voice barely audible in the quiet chamber.
“I’m here, little one. I’ve got you both.”
Your fingers tightened faintly around his in sleep, as if answering him. Your breathing stayed even and deep, your body heavy and warm against his, the swell of your belly pressed safely between you.
Sukuna closed his eyes, but he did not sleep.
He simply held you, one hand never leaving the gentle curve where his child grew, listening to the soft sounds of your breathing and feeling the quiet wonder of how completely you had changed everything.
The King of Curses laid awake in the cool darkness, cradling his pregnant faithful close, already certain that he would burn the world again if it meant keeping this peace intact.
In the quiet dark of the chamber, with you safely tucked against his chest and the soft swell of your belly pressed between your bodies, Sukuna let his mind drift back.
He remembered the first time you had started craving fruit.
It began with pears, ironically enough. You would wake in the middle of the night and ask for them in that small, shy voice, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He had laughed low and fetched them himself, slicing the sweet golden flesh with the same blade that had once rested against his throat. You ate them with such quiet greed, juice running down your chin, eyes fluttering in simple pleasure. He had thought nothing of it then, only that his stolen girl had developed a taste for something soft and sweet.
Then the sickness came.
Mornings where you would suddenly turn pale and rush to the basin, retching until there was nothing left. He had frowned and blamed the pears at first, muttering that perhaps they had been too ripe, too cold, too much. He brought you warmer broth instead, held your hair back, and told you to stop eating so many. You had only shaken your head weakly and asked for another pear once the nausea passed.
Then your body began to change.
Your breasts grew heavier, more sensitive. Your hips softened. And your belly… your belly started to round in the gentlest way. At first he told himself it was only the constant fullness he kept pumping into you every night, the thick loads he refused to let you waste. But the rounding stayed even on the rare days he did not fill you.
The truth finally struck him one evening after you had bathed.
You were still wet and naked, skin glistening, towel having slipped from your fingers to pool on the floor. You bent to retrieve it, back arching, the curve of your spine leading down to the plush swell of your ass. Sukuna had been behind you in an instant, drawn by the sight like a moth to flame.
He stepped close, chest brushing your back, and slid one large hand around to cup the front of your tummy. The moment his palm settled over the gentle curve, something clicked into place. The weight felt different. Warmer. Alive.
His voice had come out low, almost hesitant, each word measured and slow as if he were testing the shape of something dangerous and beautiful.
“…It is not the pears,” he had murmured against the damp skin of your shoulder, fingers spreading wider over your belly. “I think… something else has taken root here.”
He paused, letting the silence stretch, letting you feel the weight of his hand and the weight of his meaning.
“Life,” he said at last, voice dropping even lower, almost reverent, “is growing inside you.”
Your breath had stilled completely.
Your smaller hands flew to cover his where it rested on your tummy. You exhaled shakily, the sound trembling in the quiet room.
“Pregnant…” The word left your lips in a stunned whisper. Then again, softer, disbelieving, “I’m pregnant.”
It sounded surreal even to your own ears.
Sukuna had pulled you back against his chest immediately, both arms wrapping around you from behind, holding you tighter than he ever had. No discussions had come before this moment. You had both known the possibility was there, after all the countless nights he had come deep inside you again and again, flooding your womb until it overflowed. Yet hearing it spoken aloud made the truth settle heavy and wonderful between you.
You looked down at your own tummy, watching the way his large hand cradled the gentle swell, and a soft, overwhelmed laugh bubbled up through your tears.
Sukuna’s chin rested on top of your head. His voice rumbled through you, low and teasing, but warm.
“What was that just now?” He gave the slightest roll of his hips, pressing the heavy line of his cocks against the curve of your ass. “Having lewd thoughts about how I filled you so well that it took?”
Your face burned, but you could not deny the fresh slick that had gathered between your thighs at his words. You nodded shyly, biting your lip, still staring down at the place where his hand protected the new life growing inside you.
He chuckled softly, pressing a slow kiss to the side of your neck.
“Good,” he murmured, hand gently rubbing circles over your belly. “Because I plan to keep you this full for a very long time.”
Back in the present, lying together in the cool chamber, Sukuna’s hand remained exactly where it had been that day, splayed protectively over the now much rounder swell of your pregnant belly. He felt the faint, fluttering movements beneath his palm and smiled into your hair.
The pears had only been the beginning.
Now you carried his child, and every night he held you just like this, quietly marveling at how completely one stolen faithful girl had rewritten his world.
“uh-huh,” he groaned, one hand firmly planted on the small of your back and pushing it down to make it arch for him. god, he fucking missed the sight of that. the shape of you squirming underneath him as he shoved his cock inside your soaked cunt. “tell me just how much you hate me, baby.”
“i can’t fucking stand you,” you whined, like your walls weren’t clamping down around him at just the sound of his low chuckle.
he wasn’t much better.
not when every sharp retort that left your glossy lips and every glimpse of you biting into his pillow to brace yourself made his cock throb. veins pulsing as he resisted the urge to cum inside you, craving his climax and choking it out at the same time - refusing to finish first.
"don't think your pussy agrees," he snickered, sliding his palm over your back until he found the back of your neck, fingers closing tight around your throat as you let out a moan loud enough for the man upstairs to hear. you must have thought the same thing judging by the way a shudder rolled through your body. "she's squeezing me real tight."
"you're disgusting," you moaned with none of your vitriol and all of your desire, hips wiggling while he dragged his swollen tip right below your cervix.
"and you're the one letting my disgusting dick fuck you from behind," he sarcastically reminded you.
"i didn't say your dick was disgusting," you argued, huffing as you tried to crane your neck around to glare at him. "i said you-"
but he snuck his free hand around to find that cute clit of yours, pressing down hard enough to draw a pretty little whimper from your throat.
"you said what?" he wryly mocked, fucking you faster into his mattress, not giving a shit how much the bed creaked beneath your combined weight, his hips snapping down into your ass as his abs preemptively tensed.
"i hate you," you whined, but he heard it all before.
for you, hate wasn't all that far off from love. for sukuna, he didn't mind either as long as it meant your attention was all on him.
and right now, it seemed like the only thing you were capable of remembering was his name, gasping it in shuddered breaths as he rubbed familiar circles over your sensitive bud, making you cum and cry it out before you could break things off again.
on another day, he probably would've pulled out.
splattered his cum across your back and then spelled his name out with it.
but not today. not now.
no, he was cumming deep inside you, stalling mid-thrust as he felt warm, thick ropes of it start to spill out, his fingers refusing to stop coaxing you through your own climax as he hissed your name.
"you love me as much as i love you," he accusingly muttered, jaw locked tight as he froze over you, staring down at your sweat-slick skin, the smell of sex and your perfume heavy in the air while you caught your breath.
"whatever," you huffed.
that wasn't a no.
he hadn't even fully pulled out when the pounding started at his front door, which, uh, was still not fully on its hinges, a familiar voice shouting his name and swearing to beat his ass on the other.
your boyfriend must've realized you never really belonged to him, huh?
"he's probably gonna evict me," sukuna muttered, carefully brushing your hair back to press a soft kiss to a love bite he left earlier as he slipped his cock out of you, glancing down to see his cum slowly starting to leak down your thighs.
you groaned, rolling over and lazily wrapping your wrists around his neck once you were facing him.
"i guess you can come live with me," you sighed, lashes fluttering as you let him continue to dot kisses down your face to your breasts, greedily wrapping his lips around your breast to suck softly.
"you sure?" he mumbled, busy dragging his tongue across your peaked nipple to care about the incessant banging on the door after he already banged you.
"i might still set your clothes on fire if you piss me off," you warned, drawing what he suspected was a heart with the tip of your finger on his back.
"i don't mind being naked."
a/n: toji alternate ending up next <3 div by @/tsumiinum
mdni. when you realised your bf.ᐟtoji has a biting kink.
cw: explicit sexual content. ib this headcanon i saw on tt.
when you first started dating, you didn’t really think much of it. everybody has their own little habits.
you remember when you started going out seriously—you had your first kiss together as he dropped you off at your apartment. it was raining, and you were still looking up to him even with the height advantage of your doorstep. he’d smiled softly, and when he leaned in, droplets of water fell from the soaked tips of his hair.
his kiss was a tender slide of his lips against yours; pushing into the hair at the base of your head with one hand and tilting your chin up with the other for better access. his tongue had licked at your lips, and then pushed past when you parted them. you gripped his shirt at the sides as he kissed you deeper, both hands holding your face.
when he pulled away, it was with your bottom lip between his teeth. you barely processed the sting because he sucked on it straight after. soothed it, then pecked you once more for good measure before taking a step back. you didn’t acknowledge it until later when you were lying in bed, running your tongue along the split skin.
you thought maybe it had been an accident. maybe he’d been caught up in the moment. but when you made out in his car the next week, he reopened the same wound. when you pulled away, you saw traces of your blood on his lips.
“m’sorry, doll. did i hurt you?” he said, voice sincere, but his eyes sparkled with satisfaction.
you shook your head no.
then there was the first time you had sex. you were used to your permanently sore lips at that point. the more than occasional nip of your earlobe, or graze of his teeth against the pulse point at your neck.
he caught you studying his mouth once, checking for extra sharp canines.
“what’re you lookin’ at?” he’d said, not even turning his attention away from the tv whilst you poked and pulled at his lips, fingering the curves of his teeth.
you tilted your head. “are you a vampire, fushiguro?” you’d asked.
he scoffed out a laugh as he gathered your wrists in his hands and tugged you, forward. you fell onto his lap with a squeal, and then you were laying on your back looking up at him.
“why?” he asked. he held your eyes whilst he turned your wrist over in his hand and held it to his mouth. “would’you still date me if i was?”
he brushed his lips against the thin, sensitive skin of your inner wrist, then opened mouth as if he were about to bite. your breath hitched in your throat as you watched in anticipation.
“yeah, i would,” you said quietly.
toji’s lips twitched upwards ever so slightly. and then he bit down on the meatier part of your forearm hard enough to leave prominent teeth marks for days afterwards.
you hadn’t realised at the time that your answer had indirectly given away the fact that you were into it—that you enjoyed being marked by toji—until the biting became an inevitable part of your intimate moments.
he loved to bite you in places that only he could see. sometimes in places a little more obvious. often, he’d only bite hard enough to bruise. sometimes hard enough to break skin. but every time you felt his breath against the spot he was about to mark next, it made your entire body prick with heat.
he slings one of your legs over his broad shoulder now as he grinds into you, the sound of your whimpering voice, his low grunts, and your skin slapping together as he fucks you, all melting into one.
you’re throbbing everywhere, skin sore in every place he’s visited; your lips, your inner thigh, the soft flesh of your breast. you know you’ll be bruised and red tomorrow. the thought is what turns you on the most.
toji drops his head back when he groans, curses beneath his breath, thick fingers wrapped around your ankle and thrusts transitioning into slow, intentional rolls of his hips that cause every part of his cock to drag against your walls.
“i ever tell you— fuck, how much i love this pussy, y/n?” he says, voice low, gaze boring into yours while he turns his head, mouth brushing over your calf.
you nod, lips parted as you look up at him beneath your lashes.
“so perfect,” he continues, punctuating his words with a kiss to your leg. “you don’t know how good you feel, angel.”
when toji sinks his teeth into your leg and adds another mark to your body, a pathetic sound spills from your lips. you subconsciously clench around his length and watch as he pulls his lower lip between his teeth, reaching down to press his thumb against your clit.
“this pussy will be the death of me, y/n,” he pants, eyes rolling in his head. “y’re gonna kill me, baby.”
he dips his head down to another part of your thigh and bites again, hips jerking forward. it’s almost carnal, the way his eyes glaze over. the way he bites you like he just can’t help himself.
your lips part, a whiny moan replacing what would’ve been words had toji not pressed his thumb harder against your sensitive nerves.
the array of sensations pulsing through your body, pain mixing with pleasure, makes your vision swim despite your best effort to keep your eyes on him. “oh my god, toji fuh— harder, please.”
a low hum vibrates through him as he leans down until his body is pressing yours into the mattress and your knee is almost brushing your ear. toji buries his face in your neck as he ruts into you, traces his lips against your collarbone, kisses the soft spot where your pulse beats. you know he’s close by the way his hands desperately explore every part of your body, grasping hard, stroking softly. his panted breaths warm your neck, and you wrap your arms around his. squeeze your eyes shut tight.
you roll your hips up to meet his as you begin to cum, moans caught in your throat, nails digging crescent into the muscles of his back. toji grips your ass with both hands, spreading you obscenely as he slams into you over, and over again.
he curses, low and hot against your jaw as his hips slow to a stuttered pace. you feel his readily parted lips against your skin, and you see stars behind your eyelids. you feel him bite down on the curve of your shoulder as he starts to spill into you, and you’re coming all over again.
when you finally catch your breath, toji’s kissing the skin he’s just damaged, thumb tenderly stroking your hip, cock still hard inside of you.
“m’sorry, princess,” he mumbles between peppered kisses. “i made you bleed again.”
you weren’t sure what was more sick: your boyfriend biting the fuck out of you like an excitable puppy, or the fact that your lips twitch upwards at the thought of seeing another mark on your body tomorrow morning.
a/n: guys genuinely i miss you all so much please free me from employment so i can come home to you 😔 i’ll come back this weekend so i can spend some time together fr okay??? ❤️🩹 also why am i highkirk so into this
𝜗ৎ mommies taglist (welcome my new pretty princess angels xo):
┃your brother would kill you if he knew how dirty you get with his best friend.
──────────────────────────────
"Shut up. It's like you want to get caught."
his mouth is clamped on your face, trying to contain the moans escaping your mouth but his hand could only do so much. You're straddling his giant quads while he thrusts up into you from below.
It's 2am. You're supposed to be sleeping but instead, you're getting fucked by your brother's best friend. Your brother is sleeping a couple rooms down, completely unaware.
"Get off." he demands.
"Wha— why?"
"You don't know how to shut the fuck up."
He's lifting you off, but you clutch on to his shoulders, gluing yourself to him.
"I-I'm sorry, I'll shut up, please don't stop." you're so close to unraveling but it's just so, so hard to keep quiet. He reaches over to the foot of the bed and grab the panties he ripped off of you moments ago.
"Open."
You open your mouth and feel your own panties being shoved in your mouth. You look at him with wide, clueless eyes that ask him, "why?", but he thrusts up into you harshly, telling you to deal with it.
squelch squelch squelch
is all you hear right now, and the occasional groan from Toji. His hands hold your arms behind your back, leaving you helpless.
He's thrusting inside your warm cunt, fast and hard, chasing his own high. His mouth is slightly open, and his breath hits your shoulder blade, making you shiver.
"You're just gonna' let me use you like this? Huh?"
His hands move down to your ass, spreading you wide open so you can take all of him. You want to tell him it's too much, but you don't dare take the cloth out of your mouth; you know how mean he could be.
You resort to slapping him harshly on his chest, but he only slaps you right across the face. You whine loudly, arching your back in pain.
"Too much? Poor baby. Too bad you can't talk, huh?" he coos.
You love it. You love it so, so much. The way he's so much bigger than you made the sex 10x better, and he's so strong, putting you in whatever position he wanted you in.
"Can I fill you up, baby? Make you all mine?" how can you say no when he's asking so nicely?
You bob your head up and down, pleading him with your watery eyes. He comes so hard inside of you that his body is twitching aggressively in pleasure; his groans turned into soft moans, making you come all over him soon after. You both stay there, still dazed.
You take your panties out of your mouth, "Asshole," but you only earn a sharp slap to your ass.
knock knock knock
"Hey, is everything alright in there? Have you seen Toji?"
I guess the panties weren't as effective as Toji thought.
PREMISE : sukuna ryomen is the university's undefeated boxing star, but his reputation might cost him the career he's been fighting for. you’re just a student trying to write the article that could make your name, until he offers you a deal : fake date him.
he gets the image he needs. you get the story of a lifetime.
it's supposed to be temporary. just an arrangement. just for appearances. but when the season ends and the cameras are gone... what happens when they have to figure out what's real?
PAIRING : boxing!sukuna ryomen x fem!reader
GENRES / TAGS / WARNINGS : modern college au, athlete!sukuna, boxer!sukuna, fake dating, senior sukuna, slow burn, enemies to lovers, banter, fluff, angst, smut, lots of jealousy, mutual pining, smau with written chapters, emotionally constipated sukuna, reader who talks back, competitive tension, campus drama
series masterlist
a/n : i've been obsessed with offcampus lately + the frat sukuna fics were driving me nuts, i had to write this sksk
the credit to the instagram post art is @/neverisa on instagram
synopsis: what's better to be than sukuna's crazy girlfriend? his crazy ex-girlfriend? when it comes to making up, breaking up, and everything in between, it seems sukuna's got your heart in his hands - and has no intention of letting it go. for better or worse. but probably worse.
pairing: boyfriend!sukuna x toxic!reader x landlord!toji
content: mdni. fluff and angst. porn with plot. crack treated seriously. reader and sukuna are both toxic and crazy. do NOT be like these idiots. jealousy. possessiveness. throwing shit. insecure and anxious behavior. oral sex. piv sex. rebounds. breaking up and making up.
art cr: @bitem4rked sparkle gif div cr: @pixopix div cr: @miyzluv
locking him out after boys night
sukuna eating a pudding cup goes viral
making him jealous out clubbing
hooking up with his landlord after a bad breakup
sukuna attempts to sabotage your new relationship
you both know where home is.
bonus: their first breakup
this whole mini series is inspired by the incredibly talented @yenayaps hehe :3
pairing : mechanic! toji fushiguro x college student! reader
summary. From 30-second flop to 4-hour fuck-fest in a single night—proof that things escalate fast when your mechanic neighbor answers the tow call and the bedroom door.
trigger/warning. extremely explicit, graphic, and consensual depictions of rough adult sex between an older man and a younger woman, including intense degradation, verbal humiliation (especially toward a third party), choking with a belt used as a collar, breath play, slapping (face, breasts, pussy, thighs), spanking, biting (collarbone and other areas leaving bruises), spitting (in mouth and on body), hair-pulling, overstimulation, forced eye contact, impact play on sensitive areas, squirting, multiple forced orgasms, cum play (smearing, licking, creampie retention), possessive marking (bites, hickeys, verbal ownership), manhandling/size-difference play, light public-adjacent risk (sex in a parked car in a driveway), age-gap/power-imbalance dynamics, mocking of premature ejaculation and sexual inadequacy, and emotionally charged post-sex intimacy that includes possessive aftercare laced with continued degradation. The narrative features vulgar, crude, deranged humor, heavy dirty talk, and unfiltered language throughout. It may be disturbing or triggering for readers sensitive to any of these elements, particularly degradation, humiliation, or intense physical/psychological domination. Reader discretion is very strongly advised.
tug
the weight of his body comes crashing down on you all at once, a solid, sweaty collapse that pins you flat against the rumpled sheets of his bed, the mattress dipping deeper under the combined pressure as his chest heaves against yours in a long, satisfied breath that reeks of the cheap beer he’d been drinking earlier and the faint metallic tang of whatever cologne he’d sprayed on too heavily before you showed up at his door.
you lie there completely motionless, your limbs heavy and unresponsive like they’ve been carved from stone, your eyes locked on the cracked ceiling above his apartment where a single water stain spreads out in the shape of something vaguely obscene, the faint hum of the old ceiling fan spinning lazily overhead doing nothing to cut through the thick, humid air that clings to your skin like a second layer of regret.
his cock, which had been so insistently hard just moments ago, pushing and thrusting with all the grace of a jackhammer, is already softening against the inside of your thigh, the warmth of it fading so quickly you barely register the shift from rigid pressure to this limp, sticky weight that leaves a trail of cooling fluid across your skin, the sensation so abrupt and disappointing that it feels almost comical if it weren’t so infuriatingly real.
you can feel the slickness between your legs, but it’s not from you, not even close, just the remnants of whatever lube he’d half-assedly applied before shoving himself inside without so much as a proper touch or a whispered word that might have made this feel like anything other than a transaction gone wrong.
the room smells like him, like unwashed laundry piled in the corner by the dresser and the faint, stale cigarette smoke that lingers on the curtains even though he swears he quit, mixed now with the sharp, intimate musk of sweat and sex that hangs heavy in the air, making your stomach twist in a way that has nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with the growing knot of embarrassment and annoyance tightening in your chest.
your heart is still pounding, but it’s not from the thrill of it all, it’s from the sheer disbelief that this is how it’s ending, your legs still spread awkwardly beneath him, the fabric of your skirt bunched up around your waist like some forgotten afterthought, your shirt twisted and half-unbuttoned so that the cool draft from the window brushes against the exposed skin of your breasts in a way that feels more exposing than seductive.
you clear your throat, the sound rough and dry in the quiet of the room, your voice coming out smaller than you want it to as you finally manage to push the words past your lips. “that’s it?” you ask, the question hanging there between you like a challenge, your eyes still fixed on that damn ceiling stain because looking at him right now feels like it might make the whole thing even more pathetic than it already is. “did you… did you cum?”
he shifts then, his head lifting slowly from where it had been buried in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and damp against your collarbone as he pulls back enough for you to finally meet his gaze. and there he is, naoya fucking zenin, with that sharp, angular face of his all flushed and smug, his pale green eyes gleaming with a self-satisfaction that makes your blood boil even before he opens his mouth. his hair is a mess, dark strands sticking to his forehead from the sweat, and that smirk curls across his lips like he’s just won some grand prize, like he thinks he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to your body when all you feel is a profound, aching emptiness where something—anything—should have been building.
“oh, baby,” he drawls, his voice low and laced with that arrogant drawl that always makes him sound like he’s doing you a favor just by existing in the same room as you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek in a way that’s supposed to be tender but feels more like a claim, his fingers slightly clammy against your skin as he strokes his thumb along your jawline.
“that was incredible. the best, right? i knew you’d feel like that around me. you were so fucking tight, squeezing me just right. women always say i ruin them for anyone else after one night, and now you get it. this is what you’ve been missing, huh? best night of your life, i bet.”
his words keep spilling out, a steady stream of bullshit that fills the space between you as he props himself up on one elbow, still half-draped over your body, his free hand trailing down your side in what he probably thinks is a sexy caress but just makes your skin crawl with irritation.
he’s going on about how he could tell from the way you looked at him at that party last weekend that you wanted this, how he’s been thinking about fucking you since he first saw you moving into the building next door, how his cock has never felt better than when it was buried inside you, and all the while that smirk never leaves his face, his eyes half-lidded like he’s reliving every second of his thirty-second performance in his head and coming out the hero.
the fan keeps spinning, the blades cutting through the air with a soft whoosh that does nothing to drown out his voice, and you can feel the heat of his body radiating against yours, the stickiness where your thighs press together, the way your own pulse is thrumming in your ears now, louder and louder as the seconds stretch out and his monologue drags on.
you frown, the expression deepening with every word that tumbles from his mouth, your brows knitting together so tightly it almost hurts, the annoyance bubbling up from somewhere deep in your gut like a slow-building storm that’s been gathering since the moment he’d pulled you into his apartment with that cocky grin and a half-empty bottle of whiskey.
the sheets beneath you are damp and twisted, clinging to your back in uncomfortable patches, and the faint taste of his mouth from the sloppy kisses earlier lingers on your tongue, bitter and unfulfilling. you can hear the distant sounds of the city outside his window, car horns blaring faintly through the thin glass, the occasional creak of the old building settling, but inside this room it’s just his voice, his arrogance wrapping around you like a noose that’s getting tighter with every self-congratulatory sentence.
finally, you can’t take it anymore. your hands come up, palms flat against his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat under your fingers, the slick sheen of sweat making your skin slide against his as you shove with all the strength you can muster.
he topples back onto the bed with a surprised grunt, landing on his back beside you, the mattress bouncing once from the impact as he stares up at you with wide eyes, confusion flickering across his features before it twists into something offended, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. the sudden absence of his weight leaves you feeling strangely exposed, the cool air of the room hitting your bare skin all at once, raising goosebumps along your arms and thighs as you sit up abruptly, the world tilting for a second from the rush of blood to your head.
you tug your skirt down roughly, the fabric catching on your hips as you yank it into place with jerky movements, grumbling curses under your breath that come out in a low, heated mutter, “fucking hell, what a waste, this asshole thinks he’s god’s gift.”
your face burning hot now, a deep flush creeping up your neck and across your cheeks that could be from embarrassment or pure annoyance, you’re not even sure anymore. the material of the skirt feels cheap and rumpled against your thighs, still slightly damp from where his release had smeared, and you can feel the faint sting of friction where he’d been, a reminder that’s more irritating than arousing. you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the wooden floor cold against your bare feet as you stand up, your knees a little unsteady but holding as you plant your hands on your hips, staring down at him with a glare that could cut glass.
he’s sitting up now, propped against the headboard, his frown deepening as he looks at you, his naked body sprawled out like he still thinks this is some kind of victory lap, his cock soft and glistening against his thigh in a way that makes you want to look anywhere else. “what the fuck is your problem?” he snaps, his voice losing some of that smooth arrogance and edging into defensiveness, his eyes narrowing as he crosses his arms over his chest like that’ll protect his bruised ego.
you don’t answer right away, instead reaching for your shirt that’s tangled at the foot of the bed, pulling it over your head and smoothing it down with sharp, precise movements, your fingers fumbling slightly with the buttons as you fix them one by one, the cotton soft but feeling restrictive now against your still-sensitive skin.
you throw him a few sharp glares over your shoulder, each one laced with the growing fire in your chest, and then the words burst out of you, loud and unfiltered, echoing off the walls of his small apartment. “you didn’t even last sixty fucking seconds!” you scream, your voice cracking a little at the edges from the sheer volume, the frustration pouring out like a dam breaking. “sixty seconds, naoya! i could’ve counted them on one hand and still had time left over!”
he opens his mouth to retort, something about how it’s not his fault you’re so hot or whatever bullshit he’s about to spew, but you’re already moving, grabbing a tissue from the nightstand and wiping between your legs with quick, efficient swipes that do little to erase the dryness, the lack of any real arousal making the whole cleanup feel clinical and humiliating.
“my pussy isn’t even wet yet,” you continue, your tone biting as you toss the tissue aside and adjust your clothes one last time, the words coming faster now, fueled by the heat in your face and the way your hands are shaking just a little from the adrenaline. “like, not even close to dripping wet. that was the worst sex i’ve ever had in my life. no foreplay, nothing—just you shoving your dick in like it was some kind of prize and expecting me to thank you for it. i’m not even sure that counted as sex. it was over before it started.”
naoya’s face twists then, the offense hitting him like a slap, his cheeks flushing a deeper red as he scrambles to sit up straighter, his mouth opening in a string of indignant protests. “what the hell are you talking about? you were moaning, i heard you, don’t act like you didn’t want it, you little—” but you’re done listening, the sound of his voice grating against your ears like nails on a chalkboard as you snatch your bag from the floor, the strap digging into your shoulder as you sling it on, the weight of your phone and keys inside it a familiar comfort in the chaos of the moment.
you don’t give him a chance to finish, turning on your heel and storming toward the door, your footsteps heavy on the creaky floorboards, the faint scent of his apartment clinging to your clothes as you yank the handle open with a sharp twist. the cool air of the hallway hits you like a wave, fresher and less suffocating than the thick atmosphere inside, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead in that cheap, institutional way that makes the narrow corridor feel even longer and more isolating. the carpet under your shoes is worn and slightly sticky in places, the distant murmur of a television from another apartment drifting down the hall, and you pull the door shut behind you with a decisive click that echoes softly, leaving naoya’s offended sputtering cut off on the other side.
the hallway light flickers once above your head, a weak, buzzing pulse that makes the shadows jump along the peeling wallpaper, and you’re still standing there with your back pressed to naoya’s door like you’re waiting for the wood to swallow you whole or for him to yank it open and drag this nightmare back into round two. your chest rises and falls too fast, breaths sharp and shallow, the taste of his mouth still sour on your tongue even though you’ve already swallowed three times trying to wash it away. the strap of your bag digs into your shoulder hard enough to bruise, but you don’t move to adjust it; moving feels like admitting defeat, like letting the embarrassment win.
then the door flies open behind you with enough force that the knob bangs against the stopper and rattles the whole frame.
“you’re not seriously walking away after saying that shit,” naoya’s voice slices through the stale corridor air, low and dangerous now, all the post-orgasm smugness stripped down to raw, wounded pride. he’s pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants—hastily, crooked at the waistband—and nothing else, skin still flushed and gleaming under the fluorescent glare, dark hair falling into his eyes as he steps halfway into the hall, one hand braced on the doorframe like he’s physically holding himself back from grabbing you.
you don’t turn around right away. you let the silence stretch, let him feel how small the hallway suddenly is with both of you in it. when you finally pivot on your heel your expression is flat, almost bored, even though your pulse is hammering so hard you can feel it in your fingertips.
“i already said what i said,” you tell him, voice quieter than before but no less cutting. “you want me to repeat it slower?”
his jaw flexes. he takes another step forward, bare feet silent on the threadbare carpet, close enough now that you can smell him again—that mix of sweat, sex, and the faint cedar of whatever body wash he uses that suddenly makes your stomach lurch. “you’re acting like i forced you in here,” he says, each word bitten off. “like i didn’t feel you grinding back against me the second my hands were on your hips. don’t play the victim now just because your ego can’t handle that i finished first.”
you actually laugh—a short, ugly sound that bounces off the walls and makes the couple down the hall probably pause their late-night drama. “my ego?” you repeat, stepping toward him instead of away, closing the gap until you have to tilt your head back to hold his stare. “you think this is about ego? you shoved inside me dry, naoya. dry. no fingers, no tongue, no nothing—just your dick and thirty seconds of jackhammering like you were trying to win a race. and then you collapse on me like you just climbed mount fucking everest and tell me it was the best night of my life.” your voice stays level but every syllable is soaked in acid. “that’s not ego. that’s basic fucking anatomy. you didn’t even get me close.”
his nostrils flare. for a second you think he might actually yell, but instead he leans in, voice dropping so low it’s almost intimate, the kind of whisper that’s meant to bruise. “you were wet enough for me to slide in, princess. don’t lie to yourself. i felt it. tight little cunt gripping me the second i bottomed out. you can act all high and mighty now, but your body was begging for it.”
the words hit exactly where he wants them to—low, humiliating, meant to make you second-guess yourself. and for half a heartbeat they do. your thighs press together on instinct, the faint sticky reminder of him still there, cooling, and you hate how part of you wonders if he’s right, if maybe you were—
no.
you shove the doubt down hard.
“you felt what you wanted to feel,” you say, slow, deliberate. “because the second you pushed in i went dry again from how much it fucking hurt. you think a little natural lubrication at the start means i was dripping for you? that’s not arousal, that’s biology. you skipped every step that actually matters and then acted shocked when i didn’t come. newsflash: women aren’t vending machines. you don’t just insert tab a into slot b and expect fireworks.”
he scoffs, but the sound is thinner now, less certain. “you’re unbelievable. most girls would kill for five minutes with me, let alone—”
“most girls probably lie to your face so you’ll leave them alone faster,” you cut in. “because the alternative is standing in a hallway at one in the morning arguing with a guy who can’t last long enough to make eye contact while he’s inside them.”
that one lands. his eyes narrow to slits, green gone almost black under the shitty lighting. he takes another step, crowding you back until your shoulders hit the opposite wall, the cool plaster a shock against your shoulder blades through your thin shirt.
“say that again,” he murmurs, voice velvet-wrapped razor. “go on. tell me i’m shit in bed one more time. see what happens.”
you don’t flinch. you tilt your chin up instead, close enough now that you can count the faint freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose, see the way his pupils are blown wide—not from lust anymore, but from the same furious adrenaline that’s making your own hands tremble at your sides.
“you’re shit in bed,” you say, each word slow and clear, like you’re reading it off a flashcard. “you fuck like a frat boy who just discovered porn. fast, sloppy, zero finesse, and then you have the nerve to act like i should be grateful you bothered to show up. you didn’t even ask if it felt good. you just assumed. that’s the part that pisses me off most—you didn’t even care enough to check.”
you didn’t wait for respones, heels clicking against the linoleum as you head for the stairwell instead of the elevator. behind you, naoya doesn’t follow. he just stands there—frozen, breathing hard, pride in tatters—while the fluorescent light keeps buzzing overhead like it’s laughing at both of you.
you don’t look back.
not once.
the stairwell door clangs shut behind you and the sound rings in your ears all the way down to the ground floor, each step louder than the last, carrying you away from his apartment, away from the sticky sheets, away from the man who still thinks he’s the best you’ll ever have.
and for the first time all night, your legs feel steady.
the stairwell door slams shut behind you with a metallic clang that reverberates down the concrete steps like a gunshot in an empty warehouse, the sound chasing you as you descend, heels clicking unevenly against each worn tread because your legs still feel rubbery, unsteady, the faint ache between your thighs a constant, nagging reminder of how little naoya actually managed to accomplish.
the air in the stairwell is colder than the hallway, carrying that institutional chill of old concrete and faint traces of industrial cleaner mixed with the ghost of cigarette smoke from someone who probably sneaks down here on smoke breaks, and every breath you take feels sharper, cleaner, like it’s finally washing some of his scent off your skin even though you can still feel the tacky residue of him drying between your legs, the cotton of your underwear clinging uncomfortably where it’s damp in all the wrong ways.
by the time you push through the heavy fire door at the bottom and step into the underground parking garage, the fluorescent tubes overhead are buzzing louder, harsher, painting everything in a sickly yellow-green wash that makes the concrete look even more stained and the rows of parked cars look like sleeping beasts. your own little hatchback sits where you left it—third row from the entrance, under the flickering exit sign—paint chipped along the driver’s side door from that one time you misjudged the pole too close, and right now it looks like the only safe place left in the entire city. you fish your keys out of your bag with shaking fingers, the metal cold and biting against your palm, and when the locks chirp open you practically throw yourself inside, slamming the driver’s door so hard the whole frame shudders.
the interior still smells faintly of the vanilla air freshener you hung from the rearview mirror last month, sweet and artificial, clashing horribly with the musky, salty remnants of naoya that cling to your clothes, your hair, your skin. you toss your bag into the backseat with enough force that it bounces once against the upholstery before sliding to the floor, then you drop your forehead against the steering wheel, the cool plastic pressing into your skin as a long, guttural scream rips out of your throat—raw, frustrated, embarrassingly loud in the confined space of the car. the sound bounces off the windows, muffled only slightly by the closed doors, and you keep screaming until your lungs burn and your throat feels scraped, until the noise dissolves into a series of shorter, angrier shouts that end in a choked sob-laugh hybrid you immediately hate yourself for making.
your hands fly up to your hair, fingers tangling in the strands you’d spent forty-five minutes curling earlier tonight, the soft waves now frizzing from the humidity of his apartment and the sweat of disappointment. you rake through them viciously, pulling hard enough that your scalp stings, messing the whole style into a chaotic halo as if ruining your appearance will somehow punish the night for turning out this way. “fucking naoya,” you hiss through clenched teeth, the words wet and venomous. “fucking arrogant piece of shit zen’in spawn who can’t even last long enough to make it worth taking my panties off properly.”
you lean back in the seat, head thumping against the headrest, eyes squeezed shut so tightly that white spots dance behind your lids. memories flash in rapid, humiliating succession: the way he’d smirked when he opened the door shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his narrow hips like he’d already won before the game even started; the sloppy, too-hard kisses that tasted like cheap whiskey and entitlement; the way he’d pushed your skirt up without preamble, without even sliding a hand between your thighs to feel if you were ready, just assuming—always assuming—that his mere presence was enough to get you soaked. you can still feel the blunt stretch of him forcing his way in, the brief burn that turned into nothing but friction because there was no slick, no build-up, no care, just him chasing his own finish like you were an afterthought with a pulse.
you groan again, long and low, the sound vibrating in your chest as you slump further down in the seat until your knees bump the underside of the dash. the dashboard clock glows 1:47 a.m. in dull green numerals, mocking you with how little time has actually passed since you walked into his apartment thinking—hoping—that tonight would finally live up to the hype he’d built for months.
you’d showered twice before coming over, shaved everything, picked out the pretty black lace set that makes your tits look obscene, spritzed that expensive jasmine-and-amber perfume you only use on nights you actually want to feel desired. you’d even painted your nails a deep, glossy red because you thought maybe he’d notice, maybe he’d take his time peeling the polish off with his teeth or something equally filthy and romantic in that delusional way you sometimes let yourself imagine when you’re alone in bed.
instead you’re here, in your car that still smells faintly of yesterday’s coffee spill, makeup smudged under your eyes, underwear damp with his cum and none of your own arousal, hair wrecked, pride in shreds. “goddamn it,” you whisper, voice breaking again. you reach over and twist the key in the ignition; the engine coughs to life with a familiar, comforting rumble that vibrates up through the seat and into your bones. the heater kicks on automatically—too warm, too fast—and the vents blast dry air that smells like dust and old rubber, but you don’t turn it down. you need the noise, the motion, something to drown out the loop of humiliation playing in your head.
“even that albino freak from art major is better than him,” you mutter, half to yourself, half like you’re confessing it to the dashboard. gojo satoru—tall, lanky, always wearing those stupid round sunglasses indoors, always doodling dicks and cats on the margins of his sketchbooks during lectures—had somehow managed, in one fumbling, tipsy hookup behind the campus art building last semester, to make you come so hard your vision whited out and your thighs shook for twenty minutes afterward.
he’d taken his time, tongue first, fingers second, whispering filthy praise against your clit until you were crying actual tears and clawing at his stupid white hair. and his dick—god, that pretty, flushed, perfectly proportioned cock that curved just right and hit places you didn’t even know you had—had looked almost delicate compared to naoya’s aggressive shove-and-grunt routine. a nerd. a goddamn art-nerd with paint-stained fingers had out-fucked naoya zenin without even trying.
you laugh again, bitter and short, the sound swallowed by the low hum of the engine as you merge onto the wider boulevard. streetlights flash past in rhythmic pulses, illuminating your reflection in fractured glimpses: mascara tracks on your cheeks, lips swollen from too much kissing and not enough pleasure, eyes glassy with frustration and leftover adrenaline. your hands are so tight on the wheel that your wrists ache, but you don’t loosen your grip. loosening anything right now feels dangerous, like the anger might spill out and drown you.
“all i’ve got left is my vibrator,” you grumble, voice thick with disgust—at naoya, at yourself, at the whole stupid night. “at least that stupid pink thing knows how to make me come. doesn’t talk shit, doesn’t smirk like it invented sex, doesn’t finish in thirty seconds and then tell me it was the best i’ll ever have.” you flick the turn signal even though there’s no one else on the road at this hour, the clicking sound oddly soothing in the quiet cabin. “i got all pretty for nothing. smelled like a fucking dessert for nothing. wasted thirty minutes on eyeliner wings that are probably raccoon-level smudged now. for nothing.”
the city slides past in slow, neon-streaked silence—convenience stores glowing like aquariums, shuttered ramen shops with their red lanterns swaying gently in the night breeze, the occasional taxi cruising by with its roof light off. you keep driving, away from his building, away from the sticky sheets, away from the memory of his smug face when he thought he’d ruined you for anyone else. the heater is finally warming the car properly now, the air thick and almost cozy despite everything, and you crack the window an inch just to feel the cold bite of february air against your flushed cheeks.
you’re still pissed.
you’re still embarrassed.
the road stretches out ahead, dark and empty, and for now that’s enough.
you keep driving.
the boulevard is quiet at this hour, almost unnaturally so for tokyo, the usual late-night hum of delivery scooters and distant karaoke spilling out of izakayas replaced by the low, steady thrum of your engine and the occasional soft whoosh of wind slipping through the cracked window.
streetlights slide across the dashboard in slow golden arcs, painting fleeting stripes of light over your knuckles where they grip the steering wheel too tightly, the leather warm now from your palms and faintly sticky with the nervous sweat that hasn’t quite dried since you left naoya’s building. the heater is still blasting, too hot against your bare thighs where the skirt rides up again from all the shifting in your seat, but you don’t turn it down because the warmth is the only thing keeping the cold knot of frustration in your chest from spreading further.
you’re maybe ten minutes from home, the familiar turn toward ebara just a few blocks ahead, when the first warning comes.
it starts small, almost easy to ignore: a faint stutter in the rhythm of the engine, like someone tapped the accelerator pedal once and let go too quickly. you frown, ease off the gas a fraction, then press it again—smooth, normal, nothing. you tell yourself it’s nothing, just the old car complaining about the cold february night, the way it always does when the temperature drops below ten degrees.
but then it happens again, sharper this time, a hiccup that makes the whole chassis tremble for half a second before settling. your heart gives a single hard thud against your ribs. you glance at the dashboard: fuel gauge half full, temperature needle sitting pretty in the middle, oil light dark. everything looks fine. everything should be fine.
“come on,” you mutter under your breath, voice barely louder than the music. “don’t do this to me tonight. not tonight.”
you ease into the right lane anyway, just in case, fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against the wheel. the next stutter is worse—longer, rougher, the engine coughing like it’s choking on something thick and wet. the rpms drop suddenly, the car lurching forward once before the power cuts completely.
the steering wheel goes heavy under your hands, the power assist vanishing in an instant, forcing you to brace your arms and wrestle it straight as the vehicle coasts, momentum bleeding away faster than you expect. the engine is silent now, eerily so; only the faint whistle of tires on asphalt and the soft ticking of cooling metal fill the cabin. warning lights bloom across the dash like christmas ornaments gone wrong—check engine blinking yellow, battery icon glowing red, some vague exclamation point you’ve never bothered to memorize.
“no, no, no, fuck—no—” the words spill out in a panicked rush as you guide the dead weight of the car toward the shoulder, the curb coming up too fast, gravel crunching under the tires with a gritty scrape that sets your teeth on edge. you manage to pull mostly off the road, the front wheels dipping into the shallow gutter, the whole car listing slightly to the right so that your body slides against the seatbelt. when it finally rolls to a complete stop the silence is deafening, broken only by your own ragged breathing and the distant hiss of traffic on the overpass a block away.
you sit there for a long moment, hands still locked around the wheel, staring at the dark stretch of road ahead where the streetlights thin out into pools of orange before disappearing entirely. the heater has died with the engine; already the warmth is leaching out of the cabin, replaced by the creeping february chill that seeps through the seals around the windows and makes the hair on your arms stand up. outside, the wind picks up, rattling a discarded plastic bag against the chain-link fence that borders the empty lot to your left, the sound sharp and lonely.
“perfect,” you whisper, the word bitter and small. “absolutely fucking perfect.”
you twist the key in the ignition once, twice, three times—each attempt met with the same dull click-click-click of the starter solenoid trying and failing to engage. nothing. not even a cough from the engine. you let your head fall forward until your forehead rests against the wheel again, the plastic cool now, grounding. a laugh bubbles up, dry and humorless.
“of course. of course the night ends like this. get humiliated by naoya zenin, scream in your car like a lunatic, and now the piece-of-shit honda decides it’s had enough too.” you drag both hands down your face, smearing what’s left of your mascara even further, not caring. “happy valentine’s day to me, i guess.”
you sit up straighter, force yourself to breathe slower, deeper. the air inside the car is already starting to feel stale, heavy with the scent of cooling electronics and the faint chemical tang of whatever fluid is probably leaking somewhere under the hood. you pop the hood release anyway—habit more than hope—and shove the driver’s door open.
the cold hits like a slap. february air in tokyo at two in the morning is sharp, almost metallic, carrying the faint diesel stink of distant trucks and the clean bite of frost that hasn’t quite settled yet. your skirt is too short for this, your legs bare and immediately goosebumped, the thin straps of your heels sinking slightly into the gravel shoulder as you step out. you hug your arms around yourself, shivering once, hard, then walk around to the front of the car.
the hood groans when you lift it, the prop rod cold and greasy under your fingers as you jam it into place. in the weak glow of the streetlight you can see steam—thin, ghostly wisps—curling up from around the edges of the engine block, smelling faintly sweet and wrong, like burnt sugar mixed with hot metal. you don’t know enough about cars to diagnose anything beyond “this is bad” but even you can see the problem: a thin, dark ribbon of fluid dripping steadily from somewhere near the bottom of the radiator, pooling on the asphalt in a slow, spreading stain that catches the light like spilled ink.
“radiator,” you mutter, because naming it makes it feel less overwhelming. “great. radiator. because why not add coolant everywhere to this shitshow.”
you step back, gravel crunching under your shoes, and pull your phone out of your bag with numb fingers. the screen lights up your face—1:58 a.m., battery at twenty-three percent, no new messages because of course there aren’t. you open the maps app anyway, zoom in on your location: a long stretch of industrial backroad between ebara and the next major intersection, no convenience stores, no gas stations, no twenty-four-hour anything for at least a kilometer in either direction. the nearest train station is a thirty-minute walk, and you’re in heels, in february, after the worst lay of your life.
you lean against the side of the car, the metal already losing heat, cold seeping through your shirt and into your spine. the wind tugs at your hair again, whipping strands across your cheek, and you don’t bother pushing them away. somewhere far off a dog barks twice, sharp and lonely, then falls silent. a single car passes on the main road—headlights sweeping across the trees, taillights fading red—without slowing.
you close your eyes for a second, just breathing, letting the cold burn your lungs until it hurts. when you open them again the world looks exactly the same: broken car, dead engine, ruined night, you standing alone on the side of the road in clothes that suddenly feel too small, too thin, too everything.
“okay,” you say aloud, voice steadier than you feel. “okay. roadside assistance. tow truck. whatever. just… get home. shower. vibrator. sleep. tomorrow this will be funny. or at least less pathetic.”
you unlock your phone again, thumb hovering over the call button for your insurance’s emergency line, but your eyes catch on the battery percentage again—twenty-one percent now—and something in your chest twists tighter.
you’re not crying.
you’re not.
but the cold is making your eyes water anyway, and the wind is loud enough to cover the small, frustrated sound that escapes your throat as you slide down to sit on the curb, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around your shins, skirt tugged down as far as it will go.
the night stretches on around you, indifferent, endless, the broken car ticking softly as it cools beside you like it’s sighing in agreement.
you wait.
and wait.
and the road stays empty.
the curb is cold and unforgiving beneath you, concrete rough against the bare skin of your thighs where your skirt has ridden up again despite your best efforts to tug it down, small pebbles pressing sharp divots into your palms as you brace yourself and stare at the cracked screen of your phone.
the battery icon in the top right corner is a mocking red sliver now—nineteen percent—and the time reads 2:04 a.m., each glowing numeral feeling like another minute stolen from whatever scrap of dignity the night hasn’t already taken. wind snakes under the hem of your shirt, chilling the damp patches of sweat that still cling to the small of your back, and every few seconds a distant truck rumbles past on the overpass, the low vibration traveling through the ground and up into your bones like a reminder that the city is still moving while you’re stuck here, motionless, useless.
you scroll through your contacts with numb, clumsy thumbs, the names blurring together in the dim light—mom (do not call after midnight), dad (same), best friend miwa (probably passed out after her shift), roadside assistance (wait time estimated forty-five minutes and climbing according to the website you checked earlier). your finger hovers over the insurance hotline again, but the thought of explaining this whole disaster to a bored operator in a call center somewhere makes your stomach twist tighter. then your gaze snags on a name you added only last month, simple and unadorned in your list: toji.
toji fushiguro. the mechanic who lives in the narrow two-story house right next to yours, the one with the perpetually oil-stained driveway and the chain-link fence that sags in the middle like it’s tired of standing up straight. the man who’d fixed your dad’s ancient corolla last month when the alternator died in the middle of a rainstorm—had come out in the downpour without a word of complaint, black hair plastered to his forehead, broad shoulders blocking most of the streetlight as he worked under the hood with steady, economical movements.
he’d barely spoken then, just grunted acknowledgments when your dad thanked him and accepted the cash with a curt nod before disappearing back into his garage without so much as a goodbye. scary-looking, undeniably—scar slicing through one dark eyebrow, eyes the color of wet concrete, built like he could bench-press the car he was repairing if he felt like it—but he hadn’t charged extra for the after-hours work, hadn’t leered when you’d brought him a towel and a bottle of water, hadn’t made you feel small or stupid for hovering awkwardly while he worked.
you stare at his name on the screen, thumb frozen half an inch above the call button.
it’s two in the morning. he’s probably asleep. deep asleep, sprawled across whatever bed he owns, maybe shirtless because the man always seems to run hot even in winter, sheets kicked to the foot of the mattress, one thick arm thrown over his eyes to block the streetlight that sneaks through his blinds.
if you call now he’ll wake up groggy, irritated, maybe angry—might answer with a rough “what” or “this better be fucking important” growled low enough to make your stomach drop. he might curse you out for waking him, might tell you to handle your own shit, might hang up before you can even explain. the thought makes heat crawl up your neck despite the cold, embarrassment mixing with the leftover frustration from naoya until your chest feels too tight.
but the alternative is sitting here until dawn freezes your ass to the curb, or walking the kilometer-and-a-half home in these stupid heels with no coat, skirt too short, phone about to die, every shadow on the empty road looking longer and darker than it should. you swallow hard, the taste of old lipstick and regret bitter on your tongue.
“fuck it,” you whisper to the night air, voice cracking on the second word. “one way to find out what kind of man he really is.”
your thumb presses down before you can talk yourself out of it again. the screen lights up brighter for a second, then the call connects with a soft electronic trill that sounds obscenely loud in the quiet. you lift the phone to your ear, heart slamming against your ribs so hard you’re sure he’ll hear it through the line. one ring. two. three. each one stretches longer than the last, the silence between them thick with dread. you’re already preparing the apology you’ll leave on his voicemail—sorry it’s so late, car broke down, i didn’t know who else to—
click.
a beat of nothing.
then his voice, rough with sleep and gravel, cuts through the speaker like a blade.
“who the fuck is this?”
you flinch even though he can’t see it, the words hitting exactly as hard as you’d feared. his tone is low, edged with irritation, the kind that comes from being yanked out of deep rest without warning. you can picture him—propped on one elbow in the dark, hair a mess, scar pulling tight as he frowns at the phone, maybe already reaching to hang up.
“it’s—it’s me,” you stammer, hating how small your voice sounds. “your neighbor. from next door. the—the girl whose dad’s car you fixed last month.”
silence again, longer this time. you can hear him exhale through his nose, slow and deliberate, like he’s deciding whether you’re worth the energy it’ll take to stay awake.
“...yeah?” he finally says, still gruff but the sharpness has dulled a fraction, replaced by something closer to wary curiosity. “what happened?”
you swallow again, throat dry and clicking. the wind picks up, tugging at your hair, carrying the faint metallic scent of impending rain. headlights flash in the distance—another car passing without stopping—and you hunch your shoulders against the sudden gust.
“my car broke down,” you say, forcing the words out in a rush before you lose your nerve. “radiator, i think. it just… died on me. i’m on the side of the road maybe a kilometer from the turn to ebara. it’s late, i know, i’m sorry, i just—my phone’s dying and there’s no one else and i didn’t want to wait for a tow that might take hours and—”
you cut yourself off, realizing you’re rambling, the cold making your teeth chatter on the last few syllables.
another long breath from his end. you hear sheets rustle, the faint creak of a mattress as he sits up, maybe swings his legs over the side of the bed. the mental image is so clear it’s almost embarrassing—bare feet hitting the floorboards, the low grunt he probably makes when his back protests the sudden movement.
“you alone?” he asks, voice quieter now, more focused.
“yeah. just me.”
“you warm enough?”
the question catches you off guard. it’s practical, not soft, but there’s no mockery in it. you glance down at your bare legs, goosebumps risen in tight rows, the chill settling deeper into your joints.
“not really,” you admit, quieter. “it’s… pretty cold out here.”
a pause. then the sound of him moving—fabric shifting, keys jingling somewhere close, the soft thud of boots hitting the floor.
“stay put,” he says, the words clipped but not unkind. “don’t wander off. i’m comin’.”
“you don’t have to—”
“i said stay put.” his tone brooks no argument, but it’s not angry anymore—just firm, decisive, like he’s already made up his mind and the conversation is over. “five minutes. maybe less if the roads are empty.”
before you can thank him or apologize again the line goes dead, the abrupt click leaving your ear ringing in the sudden quiet.
you lower the phone slowly, screen dimming as the call ends. nineteen percent becomes eighteen. you lock the screen, hug your knees tighter to your chest, and stare at the dark stretch of road ahead where the first faint glow of headlights is already appearing in the distance—steady, approaching, growing brighter second by second.
the wind dies down for a moment, leaving only the soft ticking of your cooling engine and the rapid thud of your own heartbeat.
you exhale a shaky breath that clouds white in the cold air.
and wait.
the cold has settled deeper into your bones now, a persistent ache that starts in your toes where the thin straps of your heels have rubbed raw spots against your skin and creeps upward until even your teeth feel chilled when they clack together. sitting on the curb stopped helping minutes ago—the concrete leeches heat faster than it gives any back—so you push yourself up with stiff, protesting joints, brush the grit from your palms, and retreat back inside the car, pulling the driver’s door shut behind you with a dull thunk that echoes too loudly in the empty night.
the interior is no longer warm; it’s merely less frigid than outside, the trapped air still carrying the faint vanilla ghost of your air freshener mixed with the sour undercurrent of your own disappointment and the lingering musk of naoya that clings to your clothes like an unwanted guest. you pull your knees up onto the seat, skirt bunching uncomfortably around your hips, wrap both arms around your shins, and press your forehead to the cool curve of your kneecaps, trying to conserve whatever scraps of body heat remain. the dashboard clock glows 2:09 a.m. in dull green; every second feels heavier than the last.
you close your eyes and count your breaths—slow in through the nose, slow out through the mouth—until the shivering eases into something manageable, until the sound of your own pulse in your ears becomes louder than the distant city hum. the windows have started to fog from your breathing, small patches of mist blooming and receding with each exhale, blurring the dark world outside into soft, watercolor smears of orange streetlight and black asphalt.
you don’t dare turn on the interior light; the battery is already dying and you’re not sure the alternator will even let the dome bulb flicker anymore. so you sit in the dim, cocooned in semi-darkness, listening to the occasional tick of cooling metal under the hood and the soft whistle of wind finding gaps around the weatherstripping.
true to his word—almost unnervingly so—the first sign of him comes exactly five minutes later.
twin beams slice through the fogged windshield, bright enough that you flinch and squint even through closed lids. headlights, high and steady, sweep across the empty lanes before settling on your crippled car like twin spotlights. the jeep’s engine has a deeper, throatier growl than your little hatchback ever managed, a low rumble that vibrates through the ground and up into your seat as it slows, then stops perhaps ten meters ahead, nose pointed toward you. the high beams flick down to regular, then flash once—brief, deliberate—before the engine cuts with a final soft cough. silence rushes back in, broken only by the faint metallic pop of a cooling exhaust somewhere under the jeep’s hood.
you hesitate for half a heartbeat, heart suddenly loud again, then shove the door open and step out into the bite of the night once more. gravel crunches under your heels as you round the front of your car, arms crossed tight over your chest, trying to look less like a shivering, half-dressed disaster and more like someone who has any semblance of control over this situation.
toji fushiguro unfolds himself from the driver’s seat with the same economical grace you remember from last month—long legs first, then the rest of him rising to his full, intimidating height. he’s wearing faded dark jeans that sit low on narrow hips and a plain white t-shirt stretched across the broad planes of his chest and shoulders, sleeves pushed up to mid-forearm despite the cold.
no jacket. no hesitation about the temperature. in his left hand swings a battered black toolbox, metal catching faint orange glints from the streetlight overhead. his dark hair is sleep-mussed, longer strands falling across his forehead, and the scar that bisects his left eyebrow pulls slightly as he glances your way—once, assessingly—before his gaze slides past you to the open hood of your car.
he doesn’t smile. doesn’t frown either. just looks bored, like being dragged out at two in the morning to rescue a neighbor is mildly annoying but not worth getting worked up over.
you stand frozen for a second, suddenly hyper-aware of how you must look: mascara smudged into faint raccoon rings, hair wrecked from angry fingers earlier, skirt too short for february, legs bare and goosebumped, heels sinking into soft shoulder gravel. he walks past you without a word, boots scuffing quietly, and stops at the open hood you hadn’t bothered to close earlier. the prop rod is still wedged in place; thin wisps of steam have mostly dissipated now, leaving only the sharp, chemical-sweet scent of antifreeze hanging in the air.
he sets the toolbox down with a muted clank, pulls a small flashlight from his back pocket, clicks it on—bright white beam cutting through the dark—and leans over the engine bay without preamble. you shuffle closer, stopping a respectful step behind his right shoulder, close enough to see the play of light across rusted metal and rubber hoses, close enough to catch his scent when the wind shifts.
and it stops you cold.
he smells… good. unexpectedly, unfairly good. not like motor oil or garage grime or the stale sweat you’d braced yourself for. he smells like clean cotton warmed by skin, like the faint sweetness of laundry detergent—something simple, maybe lavender or eucalyptus—layered over the deeper, sleep-heavy musk of a man who was in bed less than ten minutes ago. no trace of the acrid bite of solvents, no black crescents of grease under his nails when the flashlight beam catches his hands.
his fingers are long, knuckles scarred in places but clean, nails clipped short and pink at the edges. even his forearms, dusted with dark hair, look freshly scrubbed. he must have washed up quickly before leaving the house. the realization makes something warm and confusing flicker low in your stomach, cutting through the cold and the embarrassment for one disorienting second.
he doesn’t acknowledge you staring. just keeps working—methodical, unhurried—probing hoses with careful fingers, shining the light along seams and fittings, occasionally grunting low in his throat when something displeases him.
“when’d it start actin’ up?” he asks without looking at you, voice still rough from sleep but calmer now, focused.
you swallow, throat dry. “maybe… ten minutes ago? it stuttered first, like it couldn’t catch its breath, then just… died. no warning lights before that. well—not really. check engine came on right at the end.”
he hums, noncommittal, and reaches deeper into the engine bay, thick fingers tracing a coolant line until he finds the split you’d seen earlier. the flashlight beam lingers on the dark ribbon of fluid still dripping slowly onto the asphalt.
“radiator’s toast,” he mutters, more to himself than you. “cracked right along the seam. probably been weepin’ for weeks, you just didn’t notice till it gave up.”
you nod even though he isn’t looking. “i… haven’t really checked fluids in a while. dad usually does that.”
another grunt. he straightens slightly, plays the light across the rest of the engine—belts, battery terminals, alternator—then clicks the flashlight off and slips it back into his pocket.
“can’t fix it here,” he says finally, turning his head just enough to meet your eyes. his are dark, unreadable in the low light, but there’s no mockery there, no irritation anymore. just fact. “need to tow it back to my place. got the lift, the parts bin, the proper clamps. this roadside patch job’ll just leak again in an hour.”
you look up at him—really look—taking in the way he towers without trying, shoulders blocking most of the streetlight behind him, casting you in his shadow. the white t-shirt clings slightly where he’s started to sweat from leaning over the warm engine, outlining the hard lines of his chest and the faint dip of his sternum. you have to tilt your head back to hold his gaze.
“can’t you… get the tools now?” the question comes out smaller than you intend, almost hopeful. “i mean—if it’s just a couple things—”
he studies you then. slowly. deliberately. his eyes drag from the top of your messy hair down over your smudged makeup, your crossed arms trying to hide how badly you’re shivering, the too-short skirt, the bare legs trembling in the cold, the ridiculous heels sinking into gravel. the appraisal isn’t leering; it’s thorough, clinical, like he’s cataloging damage the same way he cataloged the cracked radiator. when his gaze returns to your face there’s the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth—not quite a smile, more like the ghost of one.
“nah,” he says, voice low, almost gentle in its finality. “your ancient little shitbox is gonna need more than a quick patch. new radiator, flush the system, pressure test the hoses, maybe new thermostat while i’m in there. that’s hours, sweetheart. not fixin’ it on the side of the road at two in the mornin’.”
the endearment lands soft, casual, like he didn’t even mean to say it. your face heats anyway, a sudden rush of blood that has nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the way his voice wraps around the word—gravel-rough and warm at the edges.
he reaches past you, close enough that his arm brushes your shoulder, close enough that you catch another clean-cotton breath of him before he steps back. he closes your hood with one firm push; the latch catches with a metallic clunk.
“i’ll tow it,” he says, already turning toward his jeep. “you ride with me. warmer in the cab than waitin’ out here for a tow truck that’ll charge you triple for the hour.”
you hesitate—only for a second—then nod, arms still wrapped tight around yourself.
“okay,” you whisper. “thank you.”
he doesn’t answer. just jerks his chin toward his jeep, then heads back to his toolbox, leaving you standing there in the cold, heart thudding too loud, the promise of heat and the faint, clean scent of him lingering in the air long after he’s walked away.
you snatch your bag from the backseat in a single frantic tug, the zipper catching on the seat fabric for a split second before you wrench it free, the canvas slapping against your hip as you kick the door shut with your heel. the lock beeps twice—feeble, almost defeated—and you don’t wait to confirm it took; you’re already half-running, half-stumbling after him, bare thighs flashing cold in the february bite, heels sinking and catching on loose gravel with every hurried step until you’re close enough to smell diesel and warm rubber radiating off the jeep’s undercarriage.
toji doesn’t acknowledge your approach at first. he’s already crouched at the rear bumper, thick fingers feeding the flat black tow strap under your car’s front crossmember with the same calm economy he used last month on your dad’s corolla. the nylon whispers against asphalt as he pulls it taut, metal hook clinking once when he seats it, then again when he gives the whole length a single, testing yank—hard enough that your dead hatchback rocks forward an inch on its flat tires before settling.
satisfied, he straightens to his full height in one fluid motion, shoulders rolling under the thin white cotton of his t-shirt, the fabric pulling tight across the slabs of his back for a heartbeat before he turns and walks to the driver’s side without a word. the jeep’s door opens with a heavy, metallic groan; he slides in, long legs folding into the footwell, toolbox thudding onto the rear bench seat behind him.
you scramble around to the passenger side, yank the handle, and climb up—the step is higher than your little car’s, forcing you to brace one hand on the warm leather seat and haul yourself in. the cab envelops you instantly: heated air thick with the clean, sun-dried-cotton scent that clings to him, undercut now by faint traces of motor oil on his skin and the sharp bite of antifreeze still hanging in your clothes from earlier. the door thunks shut, sealing the world outside into a dull murmur.
he twists the key. the engine catches with a deep, throaty bark that vibrates up through the floorboards and into your ass, settling low in your pelvis like a second heartbeat. the tow strap tightens with a soft whine of stretching nylon; your car jerks once behind you, then follows docilely as he eases off the clutch and pulls onto the empty boulevard.
“thanks again,” you say, voice still scraped raw from the cold and the earlier screaming. “i mean it. i was about ready to sleep on the curb.”
he glances over—slow, deliberate—the dashboard lights carving green and amber across the hard planes of his face, catching on the scar that splits his left brow and the faint stubble shadowing his jaw. that same half-smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“hm,” he rumbles, the sound vibrating low in his throat. “shoulda called before you froze your pretty ass off. next time don’t wait till you’re blue.”
you huff a small, tired laugh and sink deeper into the seat, letting the heater vents blast warm air across your goosebumped thighs until the shivering finally eases into faint trembles. the ride settles into a surprisingly easy quiet—not tense, not heavy, just… present. the jeep eats distance with steady confidence, tires humming over expansion joints in soft, rhythmic thumps, the occasional flash of sodium streetlight sliding across the windshield and painting liquid gold streaks over toji’s forearm where it rests on the gearshift.
you keep your eyes forward, mostly, pretending to watch the dark storefronts slide past, but you feel him looking. subtle at first—peripheral glances that linger a beat too long on the way your skirt has ridden up again, exposing the soft inner curve of your thigh, the faint red indentations where your heel straps have bitten into skin. his gaze traces the line of your bare legs, slow and unhurried, then flicks back to the road like he never deviated. he doesn’t comment. doesn’t leer. just watches. and the silence grows thicker, warmer, charged with the unspoken weight of every stolen glance.
several blocks pass before he speaks again, voice low and casual, like he’s asking about the weather.
“so what were you doin’ out this late anyway?”
the question hits like a cold finger dragged down your spine. naoya’s smug, post-come grin flashes behind your eyes—the limp weight of him collapsing on top of you, the arrogant drawl of “best night of your life, huh?”—and you groan, loud and theatrical, dropping your head back against the headrest until it thumps.
“god, why now?” you mutter, dragging both hands down your face hard enough to smear what’s left of your mascara. “i was finally starting to forget that disaster of a night and you just yanked it right back into my head.”
toji chuckles—deep, rough, the sound rolling through the cab like gravel under boots. “that bad?” he asks, smugness curling the edges of every syllable. “what happened—some kid break your heart, princess?”
you roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts, twisting in the seat to face him fully, arms crossing tight under your chest so the motion pushes your tits up against the thin fabric of your shirt.
“more like someone almost broke my pussy trying to ram his dick in like it owed him money,” you snap, words spilling out uncensored and bitter. “hooked up with this arrogant fuck who’s spent months talking like his cock was gonna rearrange my guts, make me scream for god and see the entire fucking galaxy in one thrust. i finally caved—got pretty, smelled like sex and dessert, the whole performance—and what do i get? thirty seconds of dry, jackhammer bullshit. no foreplay, no clit, no nothing. he comes before i’m even wet, collapses on me bragging about how i’ll never forget it, and i’m lying there staring at the ceiling wondering if that even counted as sex.”
silence for two heartbeats. then toji exhales through his nose—sharp, amused—and the corner of his mouth lifts higher.
“poor fucker,” he mutters, voice dark with laughter. “all that big talk and he can’t even last past the warm-up. that’s what’s wrong with you kids now—mouth writes checks the dick can’t cash. don’t know the first thing about treatin’ a woman right.”
you raise both brows, arms still crossed, body angled toward him now so your knee brushes the center console and your skirt rides even higher. heat prickles under your skin—not embarrassment anymore, but something sharper, hungrier. you tilt your head, letting your gaze drag deliberately down the line of his throat, over the broad stretch of his shoulders, the way his t-shirt clings to the hard ridges of his chest when he breathes.
“oh yeah?” you say, voice dropping softer, teasing, testing. “and you’ve got it all figured out, huh? go on then—tell me. what would toji fushiguro do to treat a woman right? because it sounds like you think you could do better.”
he doesn’t answer immediately. his jaw flexes once, the muscle jumping under stubble, and his fingers tighten around the steering wheel until the leather creaks. the jeep slows for a yellow light, then rolls to a full stop, engine idling low and steady beneath you. he turns his head—slow, deliberate—and meets your eyes dead-on. the dashboard glow turns his irises almost black, pupils blown wide in the dimness, and the smirk is gone now, replaced by something heavier, hungrier, that makes your cunt clench on nothing.
“first,” he says, voice gravel-rough and unhurried, “i wouldn’t shove my cock in dry like some horny teenager who just discovered porn. i’d take my fuckin’ time. spread those pretty thighs wide, pin ’em open with my shoulders so you can’t close ’em even if you wanted to. lick that little clit slow—long, flat strokes till you’re dripping down my chin, till you’re shaking and whining and trying to grind on my face. only when you’re soaked, when you’re begging for it, would i even think about sliding in.”
your breath hitches. you can feel the heat pooling low in your belly, the dampness starting to slick the gusset of your panties despite everything. you shift again—deliberately this time—letting your knee press firmer against the console, letting the skirt ride up another inch so the lace edge of your underwear peeks out.
“and then?” you whisper, barely audible over the engine.
his gaze drops—openly now—to the exposed skin, to the way your thighs press together like you’re trying to trap the ache. when he looks back up, the hunger in his eyes is unmistakable.
“then i’d fuck you deep,” he says, each word measured, filthy. “slow at first—let you feel every thick inch stretching that tight little cunt open, let you feel how much bigger i am, how much deeper i can go. i’d grind right against your cervix, roll my hips so my pelvis catches your clit on every thrust. make you come once like that—clenching and crying around my cock—before i flip you over, yank your hips up, and pound you from behind till the headboard dents the wall. rough. hard. till your legs give out and you’re drooling into the sheets and all you can say is my name.”
the light turns green. he doesn’t move right away. just holds your stare, lets the promise hang thick between you.
you swallow hard, throat clicking. your nipples are tight against the fabric of your bra, aching, and the damp spot between your legs is growing impossible to ignore.
“big talk,” you manage, voice unsteady but still teasing, still pushing. “you sure you can back it up?”
he smirks again—slow, dangerous—and finally eases off the brake. the jeep rolls forward, smooth and predatory.
“keep runnin’ that mouth when we get home,” he says quietly, eyes back on the road but voice low enough to vibrate through your bones, “and you’ll find out exactly how well i back it up.”
the rest of the drive is silent again.
but this time the silence crackles.
you blink once, hard, like the words physically smacked against the inside of your skull and rattled everything loose. your mind goes flat-line blank for a full second—nothing but white noise and the sudden, obscene pulse that kicks low in your cunt, so sharp and immediate it feels like your clit just throbbed once in warning that it might decide to squirt right here on his heated leather seat if you don’t get a grip.
heat floods your face, your chest, the backs of your thighs where they press against the warm upholstery; your nipples pebble so tight against the lace of your bra that every breath drags the fabric across them like sandpaper.
the mental image he just painted is too vivid, too filthy, too perfectly tailored: his broad shoulders pinning your thighs open, rough stubble scraping the tender skin of your inner thighs while his tongue drags slow, deliberate stripes up your slit; the stretch of him sinking in deep, inch by thick inch, grinding until your cervix feels bruised and your clit is mashed against his pelvis on every heavy roll; flipping you over, yanking your hips high, pounding so hard the headboard dents drywall and your knees give out and you’re drooling into cotton sheets that smell like him—clean laundry and motor oil and raw male sweat.
he said “you.” not “her.” not “a woman.” you. every single time. like he was describing exactly what he’d do if you spread your legs for him tonight. like he was already picturing your wrists pinned above your head, your back arched off his mattress, your cunt clenching around the fat head of his cock while he tells you to take it deeper, louder, wetter. the realization hits like a second pulse between your legs—hotter, wetter, more insistent—and you feel the slick gather suddenly, soaking the gusset of your panties until the lace clings uncomfortably to swollen folds.
you choose to laugh.
it comes out awkward, breathy, cracking at the edges like you’re trying to force air through a throat that’s suddenly too tight. the sound bounces off the jeep’s interior—too high, too shaky, ending on a little gasp when your thighs press together on instinct and trap the ache. “you’re… so funny,” you manage, sarcasm dripping but thin, barely covering the way your voice trembles. you turn your face forward again, fast, staring at the dark ribbon of road ahead where streetlights slide past in long golden smears, sulking hard now because the fantasy is already rooting itself behind your eyes and you know—bone-deep know—that you will never get fucked like that by him.
not tonight. not ever. he’s your neighbor. older. scary-looking. the kind of man who fixes cars and minds his own business and probably has women half your age throwing themselves at him without you ever needing to ask. you’re just the college girl next door who called him at two a.m. because her shitty hatchback died and she was too proud to admit she was scared and cold and still sticky from the worst thirty seconds of her life.
toji chuckles again—low, rough, almost fond—like he can read every single spiraling thought you’re trying to bury. the sound vibrates through the seat, through your spine, settles warm and heavy in your lower belly. he doesn’t push. doesn’t tease further. doesn’t say another goddamn word. just lets the silence stretch, thick and deliberate, lets you stew in it.
and you do.
you stew hard.
the rest of the drive is torture wrapped in quiet. the heater hums softly, blowing warm air that smells faintly of him—cotton warmed by skin, the barest trace of clean sweat from when he leaned over your engine earlier—across your bare legs until the goosebumps smooth out but the heat between them only builds.
every time the jeep hits a small dip or expansion joint the seat shifts under you, pressing the damp lace of your panties harder against your swollen clit, sending little shocks of pleasure-pain up your spine that make your breath hitch. you keep your arms crossed tight over your chest, nails digging half-moons into your biceps, trying to focus on the rhythm of the tires, the occasional flash of headlights from oncoming cars, the faint ticking of the cooling tow hitch behind you. anything but the man beside you.
but he’s impossible to ignore.
his presence fills the cab like smoke—broad shoulders taking up space, thick forearm resting on the gearshift so close you can feel the heat radiating off his skin, the slow flex of his fingers when he downshifts around a corner. every so often his gaze flicks sideways—not obvious, not leering, just… checking.
tracing the line of your throat where your pulse is jumping, the way your chest rises and falls too fast, the way your thighs keep pressing together like you’re trying to smother the ache he put there with nothing but words. he doesn’t comment. doesn’t smirk again. just watches, lets you feel the weight of his attention, lets you imagine what those big, scarred hands would feel like wrapped around your hips, yanking you back onto his cock while he growls low in your ear that you’re taking him so fucking well, that your tight little cunt was made for this, for him.
by the time the familiar street comes into view—narrow, lined with squat two-story houses, his chain-link fence sagging in the middle, your own porch light flickering weakly—the silence has turned syrupy, electric, almost unbearable. he pulls into his driveway slow, gravel crunching under the tires, the towed car rolling to a gentle stop behind you with a final metallic sigh.
the jeep rolls to a final, gentle stop in the narrow driveway, gravel crunching one last time under the tires before the whole vehicle settles with a soft metallic sigh. your towed car rocks once behind it, then stills, the tow strap going slack between the bumpers like a cut leash. toji reaches for the key and twists—engine dying with a low, reluctant growl that fades into thick silence broken only by the faint ticking of cooling metal and the distant bark of some neighborhood dog too far away to matter.
the headlights stay on for another three seconds, washing the front of his house in pale yellow, painting long shadows across the sagging chain-link fence and the oil-stained concrete slab that serves as his garage apron. then he kills them too. darkness rushes back in, softer now, lit only by the weak orange glow of the streetlamp two houses down and the faint blue-white flicker of your own porch light next door.
he doesn’t move to get out.
instead he shifts in the driver’s seat—broad shoulders turning just enough to face you, one thick forearm braced casually on the top of the steering wheel, the other resting loose on his thigh. the position opens his body toward you, chest wide, legs spread comfortably in the footwell, the white t-shirt stretched tight across his pecs rising and falling slow and steady.
he watches you. not blinking. not smiling at first. just looking—dark eyes steady, unhurried, taking in the way you’re still hugging your arms across your chest like armor, the way your bare thighs press together on the warm leather, the way your breath keeps coming a little too fast, a little too shallow.
then the corner of his mouth lifts. slow. deliberate. that same dangerous half-smirk from earlier curling higher.
“still sulkin’?” he asks, voice low and rough like he dragged it up from somewhere deep in his chest.
you snap your head toward him instantly, eyes narrowing even as heat crawls up your neck again. “i’m not sulking.”
he hums—long, skeptical, the sound vibrating through the quiet cab. the smirk deepens, tugging at the scarred corner of his lip. “sure you’re not.”
three pounding heartbeats pass. three seconds where the air between you thickens until it feels like you’re breathing through honey. three seconds where the fantasy he planted earlier flares back to full, obscene life behind your eyes: his tongue flat and hot against your clit, lapping slow until your thighs shake around his head; the blunt head of his cock nudging your entrance, stretching you open inch by thick, unrelenting inch while he growls low in your ear that you’re so fucking tight, so wet for him, gonna take every goddamn bit.
his fist twisting in your hair, yanking your head back so he can watch your face while he slams into you from behind, hips snapping hard enough to bruise, cockhead kissing your cervix on every thrust until you’re sobbing his name into the pillow and your cunt is clenching so hard it milks him dry. the images hit so vivid, so sudden, that your clit throbs once—sharp, needy—and a fresh gush of slick soaks the already-drenched lace between your legs.
he sees it. maybe not the thoughts themselves, but the way your pupils blow, the way your lips part on a silent gasp, the way your thighs clench tighter like you’re trying to trap the ache he caused.
“you curious?” he asks, quieter now, voice dropping into something darker, more intimate.
your eyebrows lift before you can stop them. “about what?”
he doesn’t answer right away. just keeps watching—steady, patient, predatory—while irritation starts to flicker in your chest because he’s dragging this out, making you wait, making you squirm without even touching you yet. seconds stretch. your pulse hammers in your ears, loud enough that you’re sure he can hear it. finally he leans in a fraction closer, forearm still braced on the wheel, close enough that you catch the clean cotton-and-warm-skin scent of him again, undercut now by the faint salt of anticipation.
“about my cock,” he says simply. filthy. matter-of-fact. like he’s asking if you want sugar in your coffee.
you gulp. audibly. the sound loud in the quiet cab. heat explodes across your cheeks, down your throat, pooling low and molten between your legs until your clit feels swollen and oversensitive against the sticky lace. a nervous chuckle bubbles up—high, shaky, cracking at the edges—but before you can force out a sarcastic retort or deflect or do anything to regain control, his hand moves.
fast. sure.
long fingers wrap around your bare forearm—not hard, not bruising, just firm enough that the heat of his palm sears through your chilled skin. he pats his own thigh once—twice—thick muscle flexing under faded denim—and tugs.
your body obeys before your brain catches up.
horny, traitorous thing that it is.
you crawl over the center console in one awkward, eager scramble—knee catching on the gearshift, skirt riding up to your hips, bag tumbling forgotten to the footwell—until you’re straddling the space between his spread thighs. he guides you with that same steady grip until your back thumps softly against the passenger door, legs draped sideways across his lap, ass settled against the hard ridge of his zipper. the position leaves you half-turned toward him, chest rising fast, skirt bunched around your waist so the damp lace of your panties is pressed right against the rough denim covering his thigh.
his left hand stays on your bare leg—palm flat against the inside of your knee, fingers splayed wide enough to span most of your thigh, thumb brushing slow, absent circles over the sensitive skin just below where your skirt ends. the other hand lifts to your cheek—calloused fingertips rough against your flushed face, thumb dragging once along the corner of your mouth, then higher to trace the arch of your cheekbone. he tilts your face toward him with the gentlest pressure, forcing you to meet his eyes.
deep green. almost black in the low light, but when the streetlamp flickers through the windshield you see it—forest dark, moss and pine and shadowed earth, pupils blown so wide there’s barely any iris left. the scar slicing through his lip pulls when he breathes out slow, the point of his nose sharp enough to cast its own small shadow across his cheek in the dimness.
stubble shadows his jaw, darker along the throat where his pulse beats steady and strong under tanned skin. up close he smells even better—clean cotton warmed by body heat, the faint bite of soap, the underlying musk of a man who was asleep thirty minutes ago and is wide awake now because of you.
he doesn’t speak right away. just looks. lets you look back. lets the silence stretch until it’s thick with everything unsaid, everything he already promised, everything your cunt is already aching for.
your breath shudders out—shaky, needy—and his thumb presses firmer against your cheek, holding you there.
“still think i’m just talkin’ big?” he murmurs, voice gravel-low, lips barely moving. “or you finally gonna let me show you how a real man fucks?”
the words land like a fist to the gut—dirty, direct, dripping with intent. your thighs clench on instinct, slick sliding hot and messy against the denim under your ass. you can feel him now—thick, heavy ridge of his cock pressing up through his jeans, already hard, already straining against the zipper like it’s trying to get to you.
you open your mouth. nothing comes out at first.
then, barely a whisper, “…maybe i am curious.”
his smirk returns—slow, victorious, filthy.
“good girl,” he says.
and his hand on your thigh slides higher.
you don’t know who moves first—whether it’s the slow tilt of your chin into his palm or the way his thumb drags once more across your lower lip, parting it just enough that your breath hitches and your tongue flicks out to taste the salt of his skin—but suddenly your mouths crash together in the dim cab of the jeep, messy and hungry and inevitable.
his lips are firm, warm, tasting faintly of mint toothpaste and the lingering bitterness of sleep, and the moment your tongue slips past the seam of his mouth he meets it with his own—thick, slow, deliberate—coiling around yours in a wet, sliding fight for control that has your head spinning. you moan into him without meaning to, the sound swallowed by the heat of his mouth, and your arms come up on instinct, wrapping tight around the thick column of his neck, fingers sinking into the dark, slightly damp strands at his nape, tugging hard enough to make him growl low in his throat.
the kiss deepens—teeth grazing, tongues tangling, saliva slicking the corners of your mouths—until you’re both breathing ragged through your noses, chests heaving against each other. he breaks first, but only to drag his lips along the line of your cheek, teeth catching the soft swell of the apple and biting down—not hard enough to break skin, just enough to sting sweetly—and you gasp, sharp and surprised, the sound turning into a shaky whimper when he soothes the bite with a slow, flat swipe of his tongue.
his mouth moves lower, mapping the sharp edge of your jaw with open-mouthed kisses, sucking gently at the sensitive spot just below your ear until your head tips back against the cool glass of the passenger window, exposing more throat for him to claim. he follows the invitation without hesitation—lips trailing hot and wet down the column of your neck, teeth scraping lightly over your pulse point before he latches on, sucking hard enough to pull blood to the surface in a blooming hickey that throbs in time with your racing heart.
you push your chest up into him without thinking, tits straining against the thin fabric of your shirt, nipples so hard they ache every time the cotton drags across them. he doesn’t miss it—his free hand slides up your side, rough palm skimming the curve of your waist, then higher until his thumb brushes the underside of your breast, teasing the stiff peak through layers of lace and cotton until you arch harder, chasing the friction.
his mouth keeps moving—kissing, biting, licking a slow path down the center of your chest until he reaches the dip of your sternum, tongue dipping into the hollow there while his teeth graze the delicate skin above your cleavage. every small bite sends sparks racing down your spine, makes your hips twitch forward against the hard ridge of his thigh, grinding your soaked pussy against denim in desperate little circles.
“fuck, listen to you,” he murmurs against your skin, voice gravel-rough and thick with want, breath hot where it fans over the wet marks he’s left. “sound so goddamn pretty whining for me already. bet you’re dripping through those little panties, huh?”
you can only whimper in answer—high, needy, embarrassing—and he chuckles low, the vibration rumbling through his chest into yours. his hand on your thigh finally moves—slow, torturously slow—fingers walking up the soft inside until they reach the lace edge of your underwear. he doesn’t push the fabric aside. doesn’t rip it off. just cups your pussy through the thin black material, palm hot and broad, the heel of his hand pressing firm against your clit while two thick fingers trace the outline of your swollen lips through the soaked lace.
you gasp—loud, broken—hips jerking up into his touch on instinct. the pressure is perfect and nowhere near enough, the lace dragging rough against your oversensitive clit every time he flexes his fingers, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that make your thighs tremble and your breath hitch in short, desperate pants.
“toji—” his name spills out like a plea, cracked and breathless, and the sound seems to please him because he hums deep in approval, the vibration traveling straight to your core.
“that’s it, baby,” he praises, voice low and filthy against your throat. “say my name just like that again. love how fuckin’ needy you sound when you’re humping my hand like a little slut who hasn’t been properly touched in forever.”
he doesn’t rush. doesn’t tear the panties off or shove his fingers inside you like you half-expect, half-crave. instead he keeps the pace agonizingly slow—rubbing the flat of his palm in lazy circles over your clit, letting the lace soak up more of your slick until the fabric clings transparently to every fold, outlining the puffy shape of your lips and the hard nub of your clit beneath. every drag of rough cotton against swollen flesh sends jolts of pleasure-pain up your spine, makes your toes curl inside your heels, makes your fingers tighten in his hair until you’re pulling hard enough to sting.
“look at you,” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear now, hot breath making you shiver. “so wet i can feel it through the denim. bet if i pulled these panties to the side you’d be dripping down my wrist, huh? all messy and swollen from just my mouth and my hand. poor little cunt’s been neglected so long it’s crying for attention.”
you whimper again—louder this time—hips rolling up into his palm in helpless little thrusts, chasing more pressure, more friction, more of anything he’ll give you. the wet spot on his jeans is growing under your ass, slick seeping through lace and denim alike, and the obscene sound of fabric sliding against soaked fabric fills the cab every time you grind down.
“please,” you gasp, voice cracking on the word. “toji—please—”
he nips your earlobe, teeth sharp, then soothes it with his tongue. “please what, sweetheart? use your words. tell me exactly what this greedy pussy needs.”
his fingers press harder—still over the lace, still torturing you with the barrier—and you cry out softly, back arching off the door, tits pushing into his chest.
“need—need you to touch me,” you manage, words tumbling out in a rush. “inside, please—fuck, just—stop teasing.”
he chuckles again—dark, pleased—and finally hooks one finger under the edge of your panties, dragging the soaked lace to the side with agonizing slowness until cool air hits your dripping folds and makes you shudder.
but he still doesn’t push inside.
just lets the pad of his middle finger trace the length of your slit—once, twice—collecting your slick until his finger glistens in the faint streetlight glow coming through the windshield.
“so fuckin’ wet,” he murmurs, almost reverent. “this all for me? after one bad fuck you’re this desperate for a real cock?”
you can only nod—frantic, needy—hips chasing his finger when he pulls it away just enough to make you whine.
“good girl,” he says again, voice thick with approval. “keep making those pretty sounds. gonna take my time with you tonight. gonna make you come so many times you forget anyone else ever touched this cunt.”
and then—finally—his finger circles your clit once, bare skin on bare skin, slow and slick and perfect.
your whole body jerks like you’ve been shocked.
and he smiles against your throat—slow, predatory, victorious—because he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.
and he’s only just getting started.
his finger is right there—barely a breath away from sliding between your slick folds, the pad of it already grazing the sensitive outer edge of your entrance where everything is swollen and dripping and aching for more—when your hand shoots down on instinct, fingers wrapping tight around his thick wrist and halting him mid-motion. the sudden stop makes your whole body jolt, clit throbbing angrily at the denial, a half-whine-half-gasp spilling from your lips before you can swallow it back.
toji freezes. his deep green eyes snap to yours, brows knitting into a deep frown that pulls the scar on his lip taut. the hand still cupping your cheek tightens just a fraction—not painful, just enough to remind you he could pin you if he wanted—while the other stays trapped between your thighs, heat radiating off his palm like a brand against your soaked cunt.
“what the fuck are you doin’?” he growls, voice low and edged with frustration, the rumble vibrating straight through your chest where you’re still pressed against him. “thought you wanted this. thought that greedy little pussy was finally gonna get what it’s been crying for.”
you swallow hard, chest heaving, trying to steady your breathing even as your hips twitch once—traitorous—against his unmoving hand. “calm the fuck down, you big impatient bastard,” you snap back, the insult coming out breathy and ruined but still sharp enough to make his eyes narrow further. “i do want it. i want it so bad i’m shaking. but not like this.”
he exhales through his nose—sharp, annoyed—the sound almost a snort. “not like this,” he repeats slowly, mocking, thumb flexing once against your cheek like he’s debating whether to squeeze or stroke. “then how, princess? spell it out before i lose my fuckin’ patience.”
you meet his glare head-on, chin lifting even as your thighs tremble around his wrist. “grab the wet tissues from my bag,” you say, voice steadier now, demanding in a way that surprises even you. “they’re in the side pocket. now.”
toji stares at you for a long beat—jaw ticking, nostrils flaring—then lets out a low, muttered curse under his breath. “un-fucking-believable,” he grumbles, but he leans anyway, long arm stretching across the console to fish through your bag on the floor.
the movement makes his thigh flex under your ass, the hard length of his cock shifting against your hip through denim, reminding you exactly what’s waiting once this little detour is over. he finds the small pack of wet wipes, yanks it free with more force than necessary, and drops back into the seat with a grunt, holding the packet up between two fingers like it personally offended him.
“happy now?” he asks, sarcasm thick enough to cut.
you snatch the packet from him, tear it open with your teeth—plastic crinkling loudly in the quiet cab—then press one damp cloth into his palm. “wipe me,” you order, voice dropping lower, more serious. “i don’t want any trace of that other guy on me when i finally feel your cock. not a single fucking drop. i’m too disgusted to let it stay.”
his eyes darken instantly—pupils swallowing the green until they’re almost black—and for a second you think he might actually growl. instead he just glares, hard and unblinking, the muscle in his jaw jumping like he’s chewing glass.
you can’t help it—you chuckle, soft and a little mean, leaning in until your lips brush the shell of his ear. “what? you wanna eat my pussy with someone else’s cum still leaking out of it? that your kink, toji? tasting another man’s load while you tongue-fuck me clean?”
he makes a rough, disgusted sound in the back of his throat—half growl, half scoff—and slaps your pussy once, open-palmed and sharp enough to make you yelp and jolt forward against his chest. the wet smack echoes in the cab, stinging sweetly across your swollen clit, sending a fresh gush of slick down your thighs.
“fuck no,” he snaps, voice gravel-rough and pissed. “i don’t share. not even leftovers.”
you laugh again—breathless, delighted—while he hooks two fingers into the crotch of your black lace panties and yanks them down your legs in one impatient tug. the fabric drags over your skin, soaked and clinging, until he pulls them free of your ankles and tosses them onto the dashboard with a wet slap. they land in a crumpled heap right in front of the windshield, dark patch visible even in the low light, obscene proof of how turned on you’ve been all night.
he unfolds the wipe—cool, alcohol-scented, slightly medicinal—and presses it between your thighs without preamble. the first swipe is firm, clinical almost, dragging from your entrance up over your clit in one long, slow pass that makes your hips buck and a broken moan tear from your throat. he doesn’t linger, doesn’t tease; just methodically wipes every inch—outer lips, inner folds, the sticky trails that have already started drying on your inner thighs—until the cloth comes away glistening but no longer carrying anyone else’s scent.
“better?” he asks, voice flat, sarcastic, but his eyes are locked on your cunt like he’s cataloging every twitch, every fresh bead of your own arousal that wells up the second he pulls the wipe away.
you nod, biting your lip hard enough to taste copper. “much better. now i’m only dripping for you.”
he tosses the used wipe into the footwell without looking, then grabs a fresh one and finishes the job—wiping the crease of your thighs, the sensitive skin where leg meets hip—until you’re clean, glistening, and shivering from the cool air and the way his knuckles keep brushing your oversensitive clit with every pass.
when he’s done he balls the wipe up, throws it after the first, and finally looks back at you—eyes dark, hungry, the earlier irritation melted into something hotter, more dangerous.
“there,” he says, voice low and rough again, thumb dragging once along your freshly cleaned slit just to watch you shudder. “no one else’s mess. just this tight, needy little cunt waiting for my cock.”
his fingers flex against your thigh—spreading you wider across his lap—while his other hand slides up to fist gently in your hair, tilting your head back so he can see every flicker of want on your face.
“now,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours, breath hot and mint-sharp, “you gonna keep making demands, or you gonna let me fuck you stupid like i promised?”
your cunt clenches hard on nothing at the words—empty, aching, ready.
you whisper against his mouth, voice wrecked:
“fuck me stupid, toji. please.”
he smiles then—slow, predatory, victorious—and the hand in your hair tightens.
“atta girl.”
the moment the last damp wipe hits the footwell with a soft, wet thud, toji’s hand returns—slow, deliberate, no more hesitation—cupping your freshly cleaned pussy like he’s claiming territory he’s already mapped out in his head. his palm is hot, rough from years of wrench grips and calluses, the heat of it searing straight through your bare skin and making your clit jump under the lightest brush of his thumb.
he doesn’t push inside yet; instead he drags the flat pad of his middle finger along your slit in one long, languid sweep—gathering the fresh flood of your arousal that’s been building since he first whispered those filthy promises—coating his skin until his finger glistens in the faint orange streetlight bleeding through the windshield.
you shift instinctively, thighs falling open wider, skirt bunched uselessly around your waist like a forgotten belt. the new angle spreads you completely—lips parting on their own, clit peeking out swollen and flushed, entrance fluttering around nothing—and toji lets out a low, approving hum that vibrates straight into your chest where you’re still half-pressed against him.
“that’s it,” he murmurs, voice gravel-thick and pleased. “open wide for me, baby. let me see how pretty this cunt looks when it’s begging. good girl—fuck, look at you dripping already.”
he taps your pussy three times—light, sharp little smacks right over your clit that make your hips jerk and a soft, startled gasp spill from your lips each time. the wet slap of skin on skin echoes faintly in the cab, obscene and intimate, and every impact sends bright sparks racing up your spine until your toes curl hard inside your heels. then he pulls his hand away completely—leaving you clenching on nothing, aching, empty—and lifts those two slick fingers to your mouth.
“open,” he orders, low and commanding, thumb pressing gently but firmly against your lower lip until you part for him.
you obey without a second thought—lips wrapping eagerly around his middle and ring fingers, tongue swirling instinctively to taste yourself: salty-sweet, musky, unmistakably you. the flavor coats your mouth, warm and slick, and you suck harder—hollowing your cheeks, swirling your tongue between the digits like you’re trying to clean every drop—eyes fluttering half-shut as you moan softly around the intrusion.
toji watches with dark, hooded eyes, the scarred corner of his mouth twitching upward. “fuck yes—suck like you mean it. taste how wet you are for me. that’s all you, baby. only you.”
he lets you work for a few long seconds—lets you bob your head shallowly, lets your tongue drag along the underside of his fingers—before he slowly pulls them free with a wet pop. a thin string of saliva connects your lips to his fingertips for a heartbeat before it snaps; he doesn’t wipe it away. instead he brings those same fingers to his own mouth—slides them past his lips, sucks once, deep and deliberate—eyes locked on yours the whole time so you see the way his throat works, the way his tongue curls around his own digits to taste what you left behind.
then he drops his hand again.
“watch,” he whispers, voice rough and intimate against the shell of your ear. “watch my fingers disappear inside this tight little hole.”
your right arm drapes over his broad shoulder—fingers sinking back into the dark strands at his nape, tugging lightly just to feel him grunt—while your right arm stretches back, hand gripping the top of the steering wheel for leverage, knuckles whitening as you brace yourself. you force your eyes down—watching, mesmerized—as two thick fingers part your folds again, sliding slow and slick along your entrance before pressing in.
the stretch is immediate—perfect, burning sweetly—your walls fluttering around the intrusion as he sinks knuckle-deep in one smooth, unhurried glide. you moan—long, broken, the sound catching in your throat—and bite down hard on your lower lip to muffle it, teeth sinking into soft flesh until you taste copper.
the jeep is still parked right in his driveway; your house is literally next door, porch light still flickering weakly, your parents probably asleep but close enough that a scream could carry on the cold night air. the thought makes your cunt clench harder around his fingers—shame and thrill twisting together until you’re trembling.
“shhh,” he breathes against your throat, lips brushing the fresh hickey he left earlier. “not too loud, sweetheart. don’t want mommy and daddy hearing how their little girl’s getting finger-fucked in the neighbor’s truck like a needy slut.”
his fingers curl—slow, deliberate—pressing up against that spongy spot inside that makes your vision white out for a second. you choke on another moan, thighs shaking, hips rocking forward to meet every shallow thrust he gives you. he doesn’t speed up; just keeps that torturous rhythm—curl, drag, curl, drag—letting you feel every ridge of his knuckles, every callus scraping your sensitive walls, every time your own slick coats his palm and drips down his wrist.
“fuck, listen to her,” he mutters, almost to himself, free hand sliding up to palm your tit through your shirt, thumb circling your nipple until it’s a hard, aching point. “this pussy’s sucking me in so greedy. bet you’d take three fingers just as easy, huh? bet you’d cry so pretty if i stretched you wide enough for my cock.”
you whimper—muffled against his shoulder now, teeth grazing the cotton of his t-shirt—hips canting up in helpless little rolls, chasing the pressure, the fullness, the slow-building heat that’s coiling tighter and tighter in your belly.
“toji—” his name comes out wrecked, barely audible, but he hears it.
he presses deeper—fingers scissoring just enough to make you feel the burn—then pulls back only to thrust in again, slow and deep, thumb finding your clit and rubbing messy, firm circles over the swollen bud.
“yeah?” he whispers, lips brushing your temple. “you close already? gonna come all over my hand right here in my driveway? go on—let me feel it. squeeze those pretty walls and soak my fingers. show me how bad you needed this.”
your back arches—head thumping softly against the passenger window—eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure spikes sharp and bright, so close you can taste it.
and he just keeps going—slow, relentless, filthy—murmuring praise and degradation in equal measure against your skin until you’re shaking apart in his lap, biting your own arm to keep quiet, coming so hard your vision blurs and your cunt pulses around his fingers like it’s trying to pull him deeper forever.
he doesn’t let you come.
his fingers stay buried deep—two thick digits curled just right against that swollen, spongy patch inside you that makes your toes curl and your breath hitch every time he presses—but he keeps the rhythm maddeningly slow, deliberate, almost reverent. every thrust is measured: in to the third knuckle, twist, drag out until only the tips remain, then sink back in with the same unhurried patience, letting your walls flutter and clutch around him like they’re trying to pull him deeper, keep him there forever.
the wet, obscene sound of your slick coating his hand fills the cab every time he moves—soft, sticky schlick-schlick that would be embarrassing if it didn’t feel so fucking good, if it didn’t make your hips roll up in helpless little circles chasing more even though he won’t give it to you.
you’re trembling in his lap—one hand fisted in the dark hair at his nape, the other braced white-knuckled on the steering wheel—thighs spread so wide your muscles burn, skirt rucked up around your waist like a belt you forgot to take off, heels scraping uselessly against the floor mat every time your body jerks. the cool glass of the window presses against your shoulder blades through your thin shirt.
the heater vents still blow warm air across your bare legs, carrying the clean-cotton scent of him mixed now with the sharp, intimate musk of your own arousal and the faint metallic bite of the night outside. every slow curl of his fingers drags a fresh gush of slick down his wrist, dripping onto the leather seat beneath you until there’s a dark, wet patch spreading under your ass, warm and sticky against your skin.
“that’s it,” he murmurs against your throat, lips brushing the fresh bruise he sucked there earlier, voice so low it vibrates straight through your chest. “just feel it, baby. feel how deep i’m in you. no rush. no need to chase. let me treat this pretty cunt like it deserves—like it’s the only thing that matters right now.”
you whimper—soft, broken, muffled against his shoulder because you’re still terrified your parents might hear if you get too loud, even though the windows are fogging now from your combined breathing and the jeep is parked far enough from their bedroom window that maybe, just maybe, you’re safe. but the fear only makes it hotter—makes your walls flutter harder around his fingers, makes your clit throb every time his palm grinds against it on the downstroke.
he shifts his wrist angle—barely—and the next thrust hits that spot dead-on, slow and firm, holding there for a long second while his thumb circles your clit in lazy, feather-light strokes that keep you hovering right on the edge without ever letting you tip over. your whole body locks up—back bowing, thighs shaking, a choked sob catching in your throat—and he just hums in approval, free hand sliding up under your shirt to palm your breast, rolling your nipple between rough fingers until it’s so hard it hurts sweetly.
“look at you,” he breathes, lips dragging along your jaw until he can nip the soft skin under your ear. “fuckin’ goddess in my lap—spread open, dripping, taking my fingers so perfect. you were made for this, weren’t you? made to be fucked slow and deep until you forget your own name.”
you nod frantically—teeth sinking into your lower lip again to keep quiet—hips rocking in tiny, desperate circles that match his rhythm, grinding down every time he pushes in, trying to take him deeper even though he’s already so far inside you can feel him against your cervix on every slow plunge. the stretch is perfect—burning just enough to remind you how thick his fingers are, how much fuller his cock will feel later—and every drag out leaves you clenching around nothing, aching, empty, only for him to fill you again with that same torturous patience.
“toji—” his name comes out wrecked, barely a whisper, cracked on the edges from how hard you’re biting back moans.
“yeah, baby?” he answers, voice rough and warm against your skin. “tell me how it feels. tell me how much better this is than anything you’ve had before.”
“s-so good,” you gasp, head falling back against the window with a soft thump. “so full—fuck—your fingers are so thick, stretching me just right—please don’t stop.”
“not stopping,” he promises, curling again—slow, deliberate—holding the pressure until your eyes roll back and a fresh wave of slick coats his hand. “gonna keep you right here—right on this edge—until you’re shaking so hard you can’t think. until this pussy’s so sensitive even breathing on it makes you come. you’re my little sex goddess tonight, sweetheart. gonna worship you slow until you’re crying for my cock.”
his thumb presses firmer against your clit now—not rubbing, just holding steady pressure while his fingers keep that deep, lazy rhythm—curl, drag, curl, drag—building the heat in your belly higher and higher without ever letting it crest.
your thighs tremble violently around his wrist; your nails dig into his scalp hard enough to sting; your other hand grips the steering wheel so tight the leather creaks under your palm. every nerve ending feels lit up—clit throbbing in time with your heartbeat, walls fluttering helplessly around his fingers, slick dripping down his wrist and onto his jeans in warm little rivulets.
he leans in—lips brushing yours in the softest, filthiest kiss—tongue tracing the seam of your mouth until you open for him, letting him lick inside slow and deep while his fingers never falter.
“you’re doing so good,” he whispers against your lips, breath hot and mint-sharp. “taking it so pretty. gonna keep you like this all night if i want—slow, deep, making you feel every goddamn inch until you’re begging me to ruin you.”
you sob quietly—muffled against his mouth—hips grinding down harder, chasing the impossible edge he refuses to give you yet.
and he just smiles—slow, predatory, utterly in control—fingers curling again, thumb pressing just a little firmer, keeping you suspended in that perfect, torturous pleasure where you’re worshipped, adored, fucked like something sacred and filthy all at once.
“that’s my girl,” he breathes. “let me take care of you.”
his fingers never lose that slow, deliberate rhythm even as your body starts to betray how close you are—walls fluttering faster around the thick intrusion of his middle and ring fingers, slick gushing in fresh, warm pulses every time he drags them out only to sink them back in knuckle-deep with the same patient cruelty.
the jeep cab feels smaller now, air thick and humid with the mingled scents of your arousal, his clean cotton skin, the faint metallic bite of cooling engine parts outside, and the sharp, intimate musk rising between your spread thighs. every slow curl of his digits presses the callused pads right against that swollen, spongy ridge inside you—the spot that makes your vision flicker white at the edges and your breath hitch into tiny, desperate gasps you can’t quite muffle against his shoulder.
your hips roll in helpless little circles now, grinding down to meet every measured thrust, chasing the pressure even though he’s controlling the pace, controlling everything. the wet, obscene schlick-schlick of your cunt swallowing his fingers fills the quiet space between your ragged breaths; slick coats his palm, drips in slow, warm trails down the inside of his wrist, soaks into the denim stretched tight over his thigh until the dark patch under your ass grows wider, warmer, stickier against your bare skin.
your clit throbs angrily under the steady, unhurried pressure of his thumb—still not rubbing, just holding firm, letting the heat and the slight friction of his callus keep you teetering right on that razor edge without ever letting you fall.
then he curls again—deeper this time, slower, deliberate—fingers hooking just right, pressing hard and unyielding against that perfect spot while the heel of his hand grinds forward at the same moment, mashing your clit against the rough pad of his thumb.
your whole body locks.
a broken, trembling whimper spills out of you before you can stop it—high and cracked and so needy it embarrasses you even as it makes your cunt clench violently around his knuckles. your thighs shake hard around his wrist; your nails rake down the back of his neck hard enough to leave red trails under the dark strands; your head tips back against the fogged passenger window with a dull thump, mouth falling open on a silent scream because if you let the sound out it’ll carry straight through the thin walls of the house next door.
“toji—” the word comes out wrecked, barely a whisper, trembling on every syllable. “i’m—fuck—i’m gonna cum—i’m so close—please. . .”
he doesn’t answer with words at first.
instead his thumb finally moves.
not slow anymore.
fast.
hard.
tight little circles over your swollen clit—relentless, precise, the rough pad of his thumb dragging wet friction across the oversensitive bud in rapid, merciless strokes that match the sudden quickening of his fingers inside you—still deep, still curling, but now pumping faster, slick sounds turning louder, wetter, filthier as your cunt gushes around him in frantic little spasms.
“that’s it,” he growls low against your throat, voice thick with dark satisfaction, lips brushing the racing pulse under your jaw. “let it happen, baby. come all over my fuckin’ hand—make a mess on my lap like the greedy little slut you are. i wanna feel this tight cunt squeeze me while you squirt. go on—give it to me.”
your legs start shaking violently—muscles jumping and twitching uncontrollably, heels scraping uselessly against the floor mat, thighs trying to snap closed around his wrist even as he forces them wider with the sheer strength of his forearm braced between them. your head jerks forward on instinct—forehead colliding with his in a clumsy, desperate bump, noses brushing, breaths mingling hot and ragged between your open mouths—and you can’t hold it back anymore.
the first wave hits like a fist to the gut.
your cunt clamps down hard around his fingers—walls spasming, fluttering, pulsing in violent, rhythmic contractions—and then you’re squirting.
hot.
messy.
uncontrollable.
clear fluid gushes out around his knuckles in forceful, rhythmic spurts—splashing against his palm, soaking his wrist, drenching the front of his jeans in warm, sticky pulses that keep coming as long as he keeps rubbing your clit in those fast, punishing circles and keeps curling his fingers against that spot inside you. your voice cracks into a shaking, high-pitched cry you try to muffle against his mouth—half sob, half moan—legs trembling so violently they jerk against his thighs, heels kicking once, twice, uselessly against the dash.
“fuck yes—look at that,” he groans, voice rough and reverent, thick with filthy pride. “squirtin’ so pretty for me—fuckin’ drenchin’ me, baby. . . good girl, such a good fuckin’ girl—soakin’ my jeans like you can’t stop. keep goin’. . . ride it out—let every drop spill.”
he doesn’t stop.
his thumb keeps circling—faster now, slick with your release, dragging obscene wet sounds from your overstimulated clit—while his fingers pump through every pulsing contraction, coaxing more and more out of you until the squirt turns into weaker, shuddering little sprays that still soak his hand, still drip in warm rivulets down his forearm and pool on the leather beneath you.
then he pulls his fingers free with a wet, filthy pop—your cunt clenching desperately around nothing—and delivers three sharp, open-palmed slaps right over your spasming pussy.
smack.
smack.
smack.
each one lands wet and loud—palm connecting with your swollen, sensitive folds, sending bright shocks of pleasure-pain racing up your spine, making your hips jerk and another weak spurt of squirt spray free, arcing briefly before splattering against his wrist, his jeans, the seat. the sting blooms sweet and hot across your clit; your whole body convulses—back bowing hard against the door, head knocking back against the window again, a broken, shaking sob tearing from your throat as the overstimulation crashes through you like a second orgasm layered right on top of the first.
“there she is,” he murmurs, voice dark and pleased, rough palm rubbing slow, soothing circles over your dripping cunt now—spreading the mess, smearing your release across your folds, your clit, your inner thighs. “fuckin’ perfect. look at this sloppy little mess you made—all over my hand, all over my lap. such a good girl—comin’ so hard you squirted like a fuckin’ fountain. proud of you, baby. so fuckin’ proud.”
your legs won’t stop shaking—violent little tremors that make your heels rattle against the floor mat, thighs quivering around his wrist where he’s still cupping you possessively, palm hot and slick and grounding.
your chest heaves—breaths coming in short, ragged pants—tears of overstimulation prickling at the corners of your eyes, smudging what’s left of your mascara into dark streaks down your cheeks. you can’t speak—only whimper softly, wrecked and trembling, forehead pressed to his again, noses brushing, lips trembling against his as aftershocks ripple through your core.
he kisses you then—slow, deep, filthy—tongue sliding into your mouth to taste the salt of your tears, the faint copper of your bitten lip, the lingering sweetness of your own arousal still on his fingers from earlier. when he pulls back his eyes are almost black with hunger, pupils blown, scar pulling tight as his mouth curves into that slow, dangerous smirk.
“breathe,” he whispers against your lips, thumb brushing a tear track from your cheek. “you did so good. took it so pretty. now catch your breath—’cause i’m not done with you yet.”
his hand stays between your thighs—cupping, soothing, possessive—while the other slides up to cradle the back of your neck, keeping your forehead pressed to his, keeping you close, keeping you his.
your eyes meet his in the dim, fogged glow of the jeep’s interior—his dark green irises blown wide and glassy with hunger, yours glassy too, still shimmering with the aftershocks of that brutal, gushing orgasm that left your thighs trembling and your cunt still pulsing weakly against the cool air.
between one ragged breath and the next a laugh bubbles up out of you—high, shaky, almost delirious, the sound cracking at the edges like thin ice under too much weight. you’re high on it, high on him, high on the filthy wet mess you made all over his lap and the way he’s still cupping your oversensitive pussy like it’s something precious and filthy at the same time.
“let’s move to the back,” you whisper against his mouth, voice wrecked and breathy, lips brushing his as you speak. “please—more room—wanna feel you properly.”
toji hums low in his throat, the sound vibrating straight through your chest where you’re still pressed to him. it’s not quite agreement, more like dark amusement laced with promise. “yeah?” he murmurs, scarred lip curling just enough to show teeth.
“greedy little thing. already want more after squirting all over my jeans like that?” his thumb drags once—slow, deliberate—through the slick mess between your folds, making your hips jerk and a soft, broken whimper slip out before he pulls his hand away completely. “alright, baby. back it is.”
he doesn’t ask twice.
one thick arm hooks under your thighs, the other banding tight around your lower back, and he lifts you like you weigh nothing—effortless, possessive—your bare ass leaving a sticky smear of your own release on the leather as he maneuvers you both out of the passenger seat. cold february air rushes in the second he shoulders the driver’s door open.
it bites at your flushed skin, makes your nipples tighten painfully against the thin fabric of your shirt, but you barely register it because his body heat is wrapped around you like a furnace. he steps out into the gravel driveway, boots crunching once, twice, then carries you around to the rear passenger door like you’re something he’s claiming right there in the open night air next to your parents’ sleeping house.
the door slams shut behind him with a heavy, metallic thud that echoes too loud in the quiet street—he doesn’t care, doesn’t even glance toward your porch light flickering weakly twenty feet away. instead he drops you carefully but firmly onto the wide leather bench seat in the back, your back hitting the cushion with a soft bounce, skirt still rucked around your waist, thighs slick and trembling, heels dangling uselessly off the edge.
the cabin smells like sex now—your release, his clean cotton skin, the faint leather-and-diesel musk of the jeep itself—and it’s thicker back here, more enclosed, more private even though anyone could walk by and see the fogged windows rocking gently.
before you can even catch your breath he reaches between the front seats, thick fingers finding the lever under the passenger headrest. one hard yank and the seatback collapses forward with a mechanical clunk, folding flat to join the rear bench and create one long, makeshift bed that stretches from the tailgate almost to the dashboard. more room. dark, intimate space. perfect.
you don’t wait.
your hands are already moving—palms sliding up the hard, warm planes of his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat under the thin white cotton, the faint ridges of old scars beneath the fabric, the heat pouring off him like he’s running a fever. you lean in slow, deliberate, lips brushing the side of his throat first—soft, open-mouthed kisses along the thick tendon there, tasting clean sweat and skin and the faint trace of soap he must have used before he came to get you.
higher. you drag your tongue along the sharp line of his jaw, then behind his ear, where the skin is softer, warmer, more sensitive. your teeth catch the lobe—gentle at first, then harder—biting down just enough to make him hiss through his teeth and his big hands flex hard on your hips.
“dirty old man,” you whisper right against the shell of his ear, voice low and teasing, still shaky from coming so hard. your breath fans hot over damp skin. “fucking a girl half your age right next to her house… in your car… like some filthy secret. what would my parents think if they knew?” your hand slides lower—slow, taunting—fingers tracing the hard ridges of his abdomen through the t-shirt before dipping to palm the thick, straining bulge in his jeans.
he’s so hard it makes your cunt clench again—hot, heavy, throbbing under denim like it’s trying to punch through. you squeeze once—firm, deliberate—feeling the fat length twitch and swell even more in your grip. “what if they walked out right now and saw you with your hand between my legs earlier? saw me squirting all over your lap like a desperate little slut? bet you’d love that—bet it’d make you even harder.”
his breath stutters—just once—but it’s enough. a low, rough growl rumbles out of his chest, vibrating against your lips where they’re still pressed to his neck.
“keep talkin’ like that,” he mutters, voice gravel-thick and dangerous, “and i’ll fuck you so hard the whole house hears the jeep rockin’. won’t even care who knows.”
you laugh again—soft, breathless, wicked—and your fingers move to his belt. the metal buckle clinks quietly in the dark cab as you work it open, leather sliding through loops with a slow, deliberate rasp. button next—pop—then the zipper, teeth parting one by one until you can finally slip your hand inside.
no underwear.
just hot, velvety skin stretched tight over steel.
your palm wraps around him and you gasp—sharp, genuine—right into his ear.
he’s thick.
thicker than you expected, even after feeling him through denim. your fingers can’t quite meet around the base; the shaft pulses hot and heavy in your grip, veins ridged and prominent under silky skin, the fat head already slick with pre-cum that smears sticky against your palm when you give one slow, experimental stroke upward. he’s burning—fever-hot—and so hard it feels almost violent, like he’s been aching for this since the second you called him at two in the morning.
“fuck—” the word slips out of you on a shaky exhale, lips brushing the sensitive spot behind his ear again. “you’re so big… so fucking hard… been like this the whole drive?”
he grunts—low, strained—hips flexing once into your hand before he catches himself, forcing stillness.
“since you climbed in lookin’ like that,” he rasps, voice rougher than gravel. “short skirt, no coat, mascara smudged, smellin’ like sex and bad decisions. been fightin’ not to bend you over the hood the second i saw you shiverin’ on that curb.”
you stroke again—slow, deliberate—thumb dragging over the slick slit at the tip, spreading pre-cum in lazy circles until he hisses and his fingers dig harder into your hips. you keep your grip loose but firm, sliding from base to head and back again, feeling every thick vein, every twitch, every time his cock jumps in your palm like it’s trying to fuck into your fist.
“dirty old man,” you whisper again, teasing, lips grazing his earlobe before you nip it once more. “gonna ruin me with this fat cock right here? gonna stretch me open until i can’t walk tomorrow? or you just gonna let me play with it… feel how much you want me… while i tease you until you’re begging?”
he laughs—dark, dangerous, the sound rolling through his chest and into yours.
“keep your hand right there, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and filthy against your temple. “play all you want. stroke it slow. feel how hard you got me. but when i finally get inside you—” his hand slides up to fist gently in your hair, tilting your head back so he can look down at you, eyes black with hunger, “—you’re gonna take every thick inch, and you’re gonna thank me for it while you’re cryin’ on my cock.”
your cunt clenches hard at the words—empty, aching, dripping fresh slick down your thighs even after coming so hard—and you squeeze him again, thumb circling the sensitive head, spreading more pre-cum until your palm is slick and shining.
“promise?” you breathe, voice trembling with want, lips brushing his jaw.
he leans in—mouth hovering over yours, breath hot and mint-sharp.
“promise.”
and he lets you keep playing—slow, torturous strokes under the open fly of his jeans—while his hands roam your body like he’s memorizing every inch he’s about to claim.
your cheek presses warm and soft against the hard plane of his chest, right over the steady, heavy thud of his heartbeat that feels like it’s trying to punch through cotton and skin to reach you. the fabric of his t-shirt is slightly damp now—your breath, his sweat, the lingering heat of everything that’s happened in this cab—and it clings faintly to your flushed face as you nuzzle closer, inhaling the clean, warm scent of him mixed with the sharp, intimate tang of your own release still drying on his jeans and your thighs.
your fingers are already wrapped around the thick base of his cock, still hidden inside the open fly of his jeans, but you don’t want it trapped anymore. slowly—deliberately—you tug downward, easing the heavy length free until it springs out into the cool air of the cab. the sudden exposure makes it twitch hard in your grip; the fat head is flushed dark, glistening with a thick bead of pre-cum that wells up at the slit and slowly starts to drip, stringing down the underside of the shaft in a slow, obscene trail.
you curse under your breath—soft, reverent, almost shocked.
“fuck… toji.”
it’s thicker than your hand can fully encircle, veins prominent and pulsing under velvety skin, the weight of it so substantial that it feels almost unfair, like nature gave him too much and forgot to balance the scales. the shaft curves just slightly upward, heavy and proud, the head broad and blunt, already slick enough that your palm glides smooth when you give one slow, testing stroke from root to tip.
a breathless chuckle spills out of you—high, a little delirious—as you tilt your head back just enough to meet his eyes again.
“stupid question,” you murmur, voice still wrecked from coming so hard, “but… is this heavy? like—walking around with a cock this big all day? doesn’t it just… drag you down?”
he lets out a low, rough hum that vibrates straight through his chest and into your cheek. the corner of his scarred mouth twitches—half amusement, half dark promise.
“feel it yourself,” he rasps, voice gravel-thick and low enough to make your cunt clench again on nothing. “maybe on your tongue. see how much it weighs when it’s sittin’ on that pretty mouth.”
before you can answer he moves—efficient, unhurried. one big hand reaches down, unbuckles the belt the rest of the way with a soft metallic clink, then yanks it free of the loops in one smooth pull. the leather whispers against denim as he shoves jeans and boxers down his thick thighs in the same motion—far enough that his cock bobs free completely, heavy balls hanging low, the whole length now exposed and throbbing in the dim cabin light filtering through the fogged windows.
he doesn’t bother kicking the jeans off all the way; they bunch around his knees, forgotten.
then he shifts—knees planting on either side of your hips, the leather creaking under his weight as he climbs over you. he doesn’t drop down, doesn’t crush you under his bulk; he balances on his knees, caging you in with the sheer size of him, thighs bracketing your waist, forearms braced on either side of your head so his face hovers inches above yours. your back sinks deeper into the flattened seat, head resting against the cool curve of the passenger door, hair fanning out messy across black leather.
his eyes never leave yours—dark, unblinking, pupils blown so wide the green is almost gone.
he reaches for the belt still dangling from his hand. slow. deliberate. he loops the worn leather around your throat—not tight, not choking, just snug enough that you feel the weight of it, the faint scrape of the buckle against your collarbone when he fastens it like a makeshift collar. the end dangles between your breasts, cool against heated skin.
“better?” he asks, voice low and playful, thumb brushing once along the edge of the leather where it kisses your pulse. “your night not entirely ruined now?”
the reminder of naoya hits like cold water for half a second—his smug collapse, the thirty-second disaster, the hallway screaming—but it dissolves instantly under the heat of toji’s gaze, under the heavy, throbbing weight of his cock resting hot against your lower belly, smearing pre-cum in a sticky line across your skin.
you swallow—feel the belt shift with the motion—and your voice comes out soft, honest, still trembling at the edges.
“so much better,” you whisper, eyes locked on his, never wavering. “god—this is so much better. i should’ve just… shown up at your door instead. should’ve knocked and begged you to fuck me. should’ve let you ruin me months ago instead of wasting my night on that arrogant piece of shit.”
his mouth curves—slow, predatory, pleased.
“yeah?” he murmurs, leaning down until his lips brush the shell of your ear, breath hot and mint-sharp. “should’ve come crawlin’ to me with that short skirt and those pretty tears in your eyes. i’d have had you spread out on my bed the first time you walked by in those little shorts, watchin’ me work in the driveway. would’ve fucked you slow and deep until you forgot how to say anyone else’s name.”
his cock twitches against your stomach—hot, heavy, leaking more pre-cum that pools in the dip of your navel—and you can’t help it; your hand finds him again, wrapping around the thick shaft, stroking slow and firm from base to tip, feeling every vein, every pulse, every time he throbs harder in your grip.
“still playin’?” he asks, voice darker now, hips flexing once into your fist like he can’t help it.
you nod—small, needy—thumb circling the slick head, spreading the mess until your palm glides smooth and wet.
“just feelin’ you,” you breathe, lips brushing his jaw. “feelin’ how hard you are… how thick… how much you want this.”
he groans—low, rough, the sound vibrating through both of you—and his forehead drops to rest against yours again, eyes half-lidded, watching your hand work him with slow, torturous strokes.
“keep goin’,” he mutters, voice strained but still in control. “stroke it nice and slow. get it nice and wet. ’cause when i finally slide inside you, baby… you’re gonna feel every goddamn inch.”
your cunt flutters at the promise—empty, aching, dripping fresh slick onto the leather beneath you—and you keep your hand moving, slow and deliberate, savoring the weight, the heat, the way he throbs and leaks for you like he’s been waiting just as long as you have.
the night is far from ruined.
it’s only just beginning.
toji shifts higher—slow, deliberate, the leather creaking under his knees as he repositions himself until his thick thighs bracket your ribcage, caging your chest without dropping his full weight. his knees press into the flattened seat on either side of your ribs. the heavy length of his cock hovers right above your sternum now, flushed dark and glistening, the fat head brushing feather-light against the swell of your cleavage with every slow breath he takes. he’s close enough that you can feel the radiant heat pouring off him, the faint musk of clean skin and pre-cum filling the narrow space between your faces.
he reaches down with one scarred hand, fingers curling around the dangling end of the belt still looped snug around your throat. the leather creaks softly when he tugs—once, firm but controlled—pulling your neck up just enough that your head lifts off the door, forcing your gaze to lock with his. your lips part on a shaky inhale; the collar tightens fractionally against your pulse, not choking, just reminding, possessive.
his other hand wraps around the base of his cock—thick fingers barely meeting around the girth—and he guides the swollen head forward until it taps once, twice, against your lower lip. wet. hot. heavy. the slick bead of pre-cum smears across your mouth like gloss, salty and warm, stringing between your lips and the blunt tip when he pulls back an inch.
“open,” he orders, voice low and rough, gravel dragged over velvet. “suck. be a good little slut for me.”
the words hit like a spark straight to your clit—your cunt clenches hard on nothing, fresh slick leaking out to pool beneath your ass on the already-soaked leather. you don’t hesitate. your lips part wider, tongue flicking out first to taste the salty slit, swirling slow around the broad head before you lean up as far as the belt allows and take him in.
the stretch is immediate—jaw aching sweetly as you work the thick crown past your lips, tongue flattening along the underside to cradle the pulsing vein that runs the length of him. he’s so heavy on your tongue, so thick you can feel every ridge, every throb, the way the head nudges the roof of your mouth and presses against the back of your throat before you’ve even taken half.
pre-cum coats your tongue in thick, salty bursts; you swallow around him instinctively, throat fluttering, and the low, guttural groan that rips out of his chest makes your nipples tighten painfully against your bra.
“fuck—there you go,” he rasps, hips flexing just enough to push another inch deeper, careful not to choke you yet but making sure you feel every bit of him claiming your mouth. “look at you—pretty little mouth stretched wide around my cock like you were made for it. good girl. suck harder. make it messy.”
the belt tugs again—sharper this time—guiding your head up and forward so you take more, so the head nudges deeper until your eyes water and your throat spasms around him. drool spills from the corners of your mouth, slick and warm, dripping down your chin and onto your chest where it soaks into the fabric clinging to your breasts. you hollow your cheeks, tongue swirling messy circles around the sensitive underside, sucking with wet, obscene pulls that make filthy, slurping sounds fill the cab.
his free hand slides into your hair—fingers twisting at the roots, holding you steady while he rocks shallowly, fucking your mouth in slow, controlled thrusts. not deep enough to gag you yet, just enough to let you feel the weight, the heat, the way his cock throbs and leaks more pre-cum every time your tongue drags along the slit.
“that’s it,” he growls, voice strained, hips rolling in tiny, torturous circles. “take it like the greedy slut you are. bet this cunt’s dripping again just from havin’ my dick in your mouth. bet you’re clenchin’ around nothing right now, wishin’ it was your throat i was stretchin’ instead.”
you moan around him—vibrating down his length—and the sound makes him curse under his breath, fingers tightening in your hair until your scalp stings sweetly. your hands—still trapped at your sides—flex uselessly, nails digging into your own palms because you want to grab his hips, pull him deeper, make him lose that iron control he’s clinging to.
he tugs the belt again—gentle but insistent—pulling you off his cock with a wet pop. a thick string of saliva connects your swollen lips to the glistening head; it snaps when he guides himself to slap the heavy length against your tongue once, twice, leaving shiny streaks across your mouth.
“look at me,” he murmurs, voice darker now, rougher. “eyes up. let me see how fucked-out you already look just from suckin’ me off.”
your lashes flutter up—eyes glassy, tears clinging to the corners from the stretch, lips shiny and swollen—and whatever he sees there makes his cock jump hard against your tongue.
“fuck,” he breathes, almost reverent. “perfect. now open wider, baby. gonna feed you more. gonna make sure you taste every inch before i finally slide into that tight little cunt and ruin you for good.”
the belt stays taut in his fist—keeping your neck arched, keeping you exactly where he wants you—as he guides the head back between your lips, slow and deliberate, letting you feel every thick centimeter as he sinks deeper again.
and you take him.
greedy.
messy.
like the good little slut he told you to be.
toji’s hips pull back slow—deliberate—until the thick head slips free from your lips with a wet, obscene pop. a thick rope of saliva stretches between your swollen mouth and the glistening tip before snapping, dripping down your chin in warm, sticky trails that soak into the collar of your shirt and pool in the hollow of your throat.
he doesn’t give you time to catch your breath; his scarred hand wraps around the base of his cock—fingers barely meeting around the girth—and he starts stroking himself right above your face. slow, firm pulls from root to tip, the slick sound of pre-cum and your spit filling the cab every time his fist glides over the swollen head.
“look at me,” he growls low, voice rough with restraint. “eyes up, baby. watch how hard you got me.”
your gaze is already locked on his—glassy, unfocused, pupils blown wide like you’ve been drugged on the taste and weight of him. your cheeks are streaked with tears from earlier gags and the sting of overstimulation, mascara smudged into dark, messy rings under your eyes, lips puffy and shining with spit and pre-cum. you look wrecked. cockdrunk. exactly where you want to be.
your attention drops to the heavy, full balls hanging low between his thighs—skin taut, dusted with dark hair, flushed darker from how swollen they are. you lean forward as far as the belt around your throat allows, tongue flicking out first to trace the seam where they meet his body, then flattening to lap slow, broad strokes along the underside of one, then the other.
the skin is hot, velvety, tasting faintly of clean sweat and musk and him. you suck one into your mouth—gentle at first, then harder—hollowing your cheeks, tongue swirling lazy circles while you keep your eyes lifted, never breaking contact with his dark, hooded stare.
he groans—deep, guttural—the sound rolling through his chest and vibrating straight down to where your cunt is still throbbing and empty. his free hand twists tighter in your hair, fingers knotting at the roots, and he yanks—hard enough that your head snaps back and thumps against the passenger door with a dull thud. the impact jars through your skull, but the haze you’re floating in is so thick, so syrupy with want, that it barely registers as pain. just pressure. just another spark that makes your thighs twitch and your clit pulse.
“fuck—look at you,” he mutters, stroking himself faster now, the wet schlick-schlick of his fist echoing in the tight space. “suckin’ my balls like they’re the only thing that matters. greedy little mouth. keep goin’. lick ’em clean.”
you obey—tongue dragging slow, filthy paths over every inch, sucking the other one into your mouth until your cheeks hollow again, eyes never leaving his. tears spill fresh down your cheeks—not from discomfort, but from how full your senses are, how completely consumed you feel by the taste, the scent, the sheer heaviness of him.
he tugs the belt again—sharper—pulling your head forward until your lips brush the base of his cock.
“open wider,” he orders, voice dark and low. “gonna feed you all of it this time.”
your jaw drops—aching, stretched—and he doesn’t ease in slow. he pushes—firm, relentless—until the thick head breaches the back of your throat and keeps going. your nose presses flush against the coarse dark hair at his groin; the musky scent of him floods your senses, overwhelming, intoxicating.
you gag hard—throat convulsing around the fat head buried deep, eyes watering instantly, fresh tears spilling over—but he doesn’t pull back. he holds you there, hips locked, cock throbbing against the tight, spasming walls of your throat.
“fuck—yes,” he groans, the sound raw and ragged, head tipping back for a second before his gaze snaps back down to you. “feel that? throat squeezin’ me so tight—fuckin’ perfect. breathe through your nose, baby. little sluts like you know how to be good cocksuckers. show me.”
you struggle—chest heaving, nostrils flaring as you force air in shallow, desperate pulls through your nose. every inhale drags more of his scent into your lungs; every exhale makes your throat flutter around him, milking the head in rhythmic spasms. drool spills from the corners of your mouth in thick rivulets, dripping down your chin, soaking the belt, pooling on your chest. your hands—still pinned at your sides—flex uselessly, nails digging into your palms.
he keeps himself buried—letting you adjust, letting you choke and flutter around him—while his thumb brushes a tear track from your cheek almost tenderly.
“good girl,” he praises, voice low and thick with pride. “takin’ me so deep. breathin’ through it like I told you. such a perfect little throat. bet you’ve never had anyone this heavy on your tongue before, huh?”
you can’t answer—can’t speak around the thick length stuffing your mouth—but your eyes stay locked on his, glassy and pleading and utterly wrecked. you manage the tiniest nod, throat working around him in a swallow that makes him hiss and his hips twitch forward another fraction.
“yeah,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek with the back of his knuckles while he stays buried to the hilt. “you feel it now, don’t you? how fuckin’ heavy I am. how full your mouth is. how much I’m stretchin’ you just with my cock sittin’ on your tongue.”
another slow, deliberate flex of his hips—shallow, just enough to nudge deeper—and you gag again, throat spasming hard, tears streaming freely now. but you don’t pull away. you don’t tap out. you just keep breathing—shallow, ragged pulls through your nose—keep staring up at him with those cockdrunk, glassy eyes, keep letting him use your throat like it was made for him.
“that’s it,” he breathes, voice strained but reverent. “stay right there. let me feel you choke on it a little longer. my good little slut—takin’ every inch like you were born for it.”
the belt stays taut in his fist.
his cock stays buried deep.
and you stay exactly where you want to be—full, used, worshipped, ruined—while he praises you in that low, filthy voice until your whole world narrows to the weight on your tongue and the dark green eyes staring down at you like you’re the only thing that exists.
your arms slide up the backs of his thick thighs, palms gliding over dense, corded muscle that flexes hard under your touch every time his hips give the tiniest involuntary twitch. the skin there is hot, slightly damp with sweat now, the coarse hair tickling your wrists as you wrap both hands around the undersides of his ass—firm, rounded, powerful—and squeeze once, hard enough to dig your nails in just a little, anchoring yourself like he’s the only solid thing left in the spinning, hazy world of the jeep cab.
toji groans low at the grip—rough, approving—the sound vibrating straight down his cock and into your stuffed throat. your fingers knead once, twice, possessive little pulls that make his glutes clench under your palms, make his hips rock forward another shallow fraction even though he’s already buried to the hilt.
every second he stays lodged deep your airway is blocked—lungs burning, chest heaving in shallow, frantic pulls through your nose that do almost nothing to ease the ache. your throat spasms rhythmically around the fat head, milking him in helpless, fluttering contractions; tears stream freely down your cheeks, mixing with the drool that spills from the corners of your stretched lips in thick, glistening rivulets.
you don’t fight it.
you don’t tap out.
you just hold on—fingers digging harder into the meat of his ass, nails leaving faint crescent marks—while your glassy, unfocused eyes stay locked on his, wide and wet and utterly wrecked, pupils blown so huge there’s barely any color left. mascara tracks carve black rivers down your face; your cheeks are flushed dark, lips swollen and shining, chin slick with spit that drips in slow, obscene strings onto your chest, soaking through the thin fabric until it clings transparently to the hard peaks of your nipples.
toji watches every second of it—dark green eyes hooded, scarred mouth parted on ragged breaths, the muscle in his jaw jumping like he’s fighting not to lose control right there. his fist in your hair tightens—painful now, grounding—and he finally—finally—pulls back.
slow at first.
then all at once.
the thick length slides free in one long, wet drag—veins dragging against your tongue, head popping past your lips with a filthy, sucking sound—and you immediately cough, harsh and wet, chest heaving as air rushes back into your starved lungs. saliva strings from your swollen mouth to the glistening head of his cock in thick, glistening webs; one particularly heavy rope snaps and falls onto your collarbone, warm and sticky, sliding down between your breasts. you gasp—ragged, broken—coughing again around the burn in your throat, eyes streaming fresh tears, but you never look away from him. not once.
“fuck—look at you,” he rasps, voice thick with raw awe and hunger. his hand leaves your hair only to cup your jaw—thumb dragging roughly across your slick lower lip, smearing the mess of spit and pre-cum even further. “messy little thing. chokin’ on my cock like it’s the only air you need. droolin’ all over yourself. perfect.”
you cough once more—smaller this time—then manage a shaky, breathless laugh that cracks at the edges. your voice is wrecked—hoarse, scraped raw—but the words still come out soft, teasing, reverent.
“felt… so heavy,” you whisper, tongue darting out to lick the salty residue from your lips. “couldn’t—couldn’t breathe—but i didn’t wanna stop.”
his cock jumps hard at your words—twitching inches from your face, another thick bead of pre-cum welling up at the slit and slowly starting to drip. he strokes himself once—slow, firm—spreading the slick mess down the shaft while his other hand keeps your jaw tilted up, forcing you to keep looking at him.
“yeah?” he murmurs, thumb pressing into the soft inside of your cheek, opening your mouth again just enough to let another string of saliva drip free. “you like bein’ my good little cocksucker? like feelin’ me stretch your throat until you’re cryin’?”
you nod—small, eager—your hands still gripping his ass, fingers flexing like you’re afraid to let go.
“loved it,” you breathe, voice trembling. “want more. want all of it.”
he groans—deep, guttural—and leans down until his forehead rests against yours, breath hot and ragged against your tear-streaked face.
“gonna give you all of it,” he promises, voice low and dangerous. “every thick fuckin’ inch. but first—”
he guides the head back to your lips—slow this time, letting you feel the weight settle on your tongue again, letting you taste the fresh pre-cum that’s leaking steadily now.
“—clean me up, baby. lick every drop. then i’m takin’ you fuckin’ you until the sun comes up.”
your tongue flicks out—eager, obedient—lapping at the underside of the head, swirling around the slit to collect every salty bead while your glassy eyes stay locked on his.
the belt around your throat shifts with every swallow.
your hands squeeze his ass harder—anchoring, claiming.
and the night stretches on—dark, filthy, endless—while you worship him exactly the way he wants.
toji shifts—slow at first, then with purpose—easing his weight back down your body until his knees settle between your spread thighs again. the leather creaks under the redistributed pressure; your legs fall open wider on instinct, bare and still trembling from earlier, slick inner thighs catching the faint glow from the streetlamp bleeding through the fogged windows.
he’s still half-dressed—jeans bunched around his knees, cock heavy and glistening between you, brushing hot against your lower belly with every small movement he makes. the belt around your throat stays snug, the leather warm now from your skin, the buckle resting cool against your collarbone like a quiet claim.
his hands move to the hem of your shirt—fingers curling under the thin fabric at your ribs—and without warning he yanks.
the sound is sharp, violent: threads snapping, cotton tearing straight up the front in one brutal rip. cool air rushes against your suddenly bare stomach, your chest, the black lace bra doing nothing to hide how hard your nipples are, how fast your heart is hammering beneath the delicate cups. you shriek—high, startled, half-laugh half-protest—hands flying up to shove at his thick forearm.
“toji—fuck! my shirt!”
you smack his arm again—harder this time—palm connecting with solid muscle that barely gives. “that was one of my favorites, you asshole—”
he chuckles—low, dark, rumbling straight through his chest into yours—completely unbothered. the torn edges of your shirt hang open like ruined wings, framing the black lace and the flushed skin beneath. he leans down slow, deliberate, scarred mouth hovering over one breast before he closes his teeth around the hard peak still trapped behind lace. he bites—not gentle—teeth scraping through the thin fabric, tugging just enough to make your back bow off the seat and a sharp, needy gasp tear from your throat.
“ow—shit—”
he soothes it immediately—flat tongue dragging hot and wet over the bitten nipple through the lace, then up, up, kissing a slow, open-mouthed path along the curve of your breast, the dip of your sternum, the fragile line of your collarbone where the belt sits. his lips find your cheek next—soft, almost tender—before he murmurs right against your skin, breath hot and mint-sharp.
“i’ll buy you a new one,” he promises, voice gravel-rough and amused. “or ten more. whatever you want.” another kiss, this one lingering at the corner of your mouth. “hell—i’ll fuck you in the changin’ room while you try ’em on. watch you in the mirror, skirt hiked up, tryin’ to stay quiet while i’m buried deep. sound good?”
you groan—long, dramatic, half-embarrassed half-turned-on—then dissolve into a breathless giggle that shakes your whole body under him. “you’re so fucking dirty,” you mutter, but there’s no heat in it, only delight. your hands slide up to cup his face—thumbs brushing the scar that splits his lip—and you pull him down into a kiss.
it’s messy at first—teeth clacking, tongues sliding, tasting the salt of your tears and the faint musk of him still lingering on your mouth—but it softens fast, turns slow and deep, lips moving like you’ve got all night even though the windows are fogged and your parents’ house is twenty feet away. you moan softly into his mouth; he answers with a low growl, hips rocking once so his cock drags hot and slick along your folds without pushing in.
when he finally breaks the kiss—both of you breathing hard, foreheads pressed together—he reaches down between you. his fingers hook into the waistband of your already-rucked-up skirt and yank—once, hard. the zipper protests for half a second before giving; fabric slides down your hips, over your thighs, past your knees until he can tug it free of your ankles and toss it somewhere toward the front seats. it lands with a soft thump against the folded-down passenger backrest.
now you’re completely naked—skin flushed and goosebumped in the cool cab air, black lace bra the only thing left clinging to you, though the cups are soaked through from spit and the way your nipples strain against them. your thighs tremble where they bracket his hips; slick shines high on your inner legs, pooling beneath your ass on the leather in a dark, sticky patch. the belt around your throat shifts with every quick breath you take, leather creaking faintly.
toji sits back on his heels just enough to look—really look—eyes dragging slow and hungry from your tear-streaked face down the length of your body: heaving chest, lace-covered tits, soft stomach, spread thighs, the glistening mess between them. his cock twitches hard against your lower belly, leaving another smear of pre-cum.
“fuck,” he breathes, almost reverent. “look at you. all bare and wet and mine.” one big hand slides up your thigh—rough palm dragging over sensitive skin—until his thumb brushes the edge of your swollen folds, parting them just enough to watch fresh slick well up. “no more hidin’. no more waitin’. just you, spread open on my seat, ready to take every inch.”
you shiver—whole body trembling under his stare—and your hands reach for him again, fingers curling around his biceps, nails digging in.
“then take me,” you whisper, voice hoarse from his cock and thick with want. “please—toji—fuck me already.”
his mouth curves—slow, dangerous, victorious.
“oh, i will,” he promises, leaning down until his lips brush yours again. “gonna fuck you slow first—let you feel every thick inch stretchin’ this pretty cunt open. then i’m gonna ruin you. hard. deep. until you’re screamin’ my name and forgettin’ anyone else ever touched you.”
he shifts his hips—lines the fat head up with your entrance—nudging just enough that you feel the blunt pressure, the promise of stretch, the heat of him right there.
“ready, baby?”
your breath hitches.
your cunt flutters around nothing.
you nod—frantic, needy—eyes locked on his.
“yes—fuck—please—”
and he starts to push in.
toji’s hips settle deeper between your thighs, the blunt head of his cock nudging right back against your entrance—hot, slick, insistent—pressing just enough to part your folds without breaching yet. the stretch is already there, a delicious, burning promise that makes your cunt flutter helplessly around nothing, fresh slick leaking out to coat the fat tip every time he rocks forward a fraction of an inch and then pulls back again.
he’s torturing you both now—slow, deliberate grinds that let you feel every thick vein dragging along your swollen lips, every pulse of pre-cum smearing sticky heat across your clit without ever giving you the full slide inside.
your legs tremble violently around his waist—heels scraping uselessly against the leather, thighs shaking from the overstimulation still lingering in your nerves and the new, aching emptiness that begs to be filled. the torn remnants of your shirt hang open like ragged curtains, black lace bra clinging damp to your heaving breasts, nipples so hard they ache every time the fabric shifts against them. the belt around your throat rises and falls with your ragged breaths; the leather has warmed completely to your skin, the buckle pressing a faint, cool imprint just below your collarbone like a brand.
he leans down—slow, predatory—until his forearms bracket your head again, caging you completely under the sheer bulk of him without crushing you. his chest brushes your lace-covered tits with every inhale; you can feel the rapid thud of his heart hammering against yours, the faint tremor in his biceps that betrays how tightly he’s holding himself back. his scarred mouth hovers an inch above yours—close enough that every exhale fans hot across your swollen lips, tasting faintly of mint and the salt of your earlier tears.
“feel that?” he murmurs, voice so low it vibrates through your bones. “feel how fuckin’ hard I am just from watchin’ you fall apart? how thick the head is already stretchin’ your little hole open?” he rolls his hips again—agonizingly slow—letting the broad crown sink in half an inch, then another, then stills. your walls clamp down instantly around the intrusion, fluttering, greedy, trying to pull him deeper, but he doesn’t let you have it. “not yet, baby. gonna make you feel every centimeter. gonna make this tight cunt remember exactly who’s ruinin’ it tonight.”
you whimper—high, broken, the sound catching in your throat—and your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging into solid muscle, trying to yank him closer. “toji—please—stop teasing.”
the chuckles—dark, rough, the sound rolling straight down your spine and settling hot between your legs. “teasin’? nah.” another shallow rock forward—another inch disappearing inside you—stretching you wider, burning sweeter, making your back bow off the seat and a choked sob tear from your lips.
“this is worship. this is me takin’ my fuckin’ time with the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. you squirted all over my hand earlier—drenched my jeans like you couldn’t stop—and now you’re gonna take my cock the same way. slow. deep. until you’re cryin’ again, but this time it’s ’cause you’re comin’ so hard you forget how to breathe.”
he pulls back—almost all the way out—until only the head remains nestled inside, throbbing, stretching your entrance in a cruel, delicious ring. your hips chase him instinctively—lifting off the leather, thighs trembling harder—desperate for more, but he pins you down with one big hand splayed across your lower stomach, thumb brushing the sensitive skin just above your clit.
“stay still,” he orders, voice dropping into something darker, more commanding. “let me feel how much you want it. let me feel this greedy little cunt try to suck me back in every time I pull out.”
you obey—shaking, whimpering, but still—muscles locked, thighs quivering around his hips as he sinks back in—another torturously slow inch, then another—until half his length is buried and you’re already gasping, walls spasming around the thick invasion. the stretch is overwhelming—burning so good it borders on too much—every vein dragging against your sensitive inner walls, every pulse of him making your clit throb in time with your racing heart.
“fuck—look at you takin’ me,” he breathes, eyes locked on where you’re stretched wide around him, slick coating his shaft in glossy sheen every time he rocks shallowly. “so fuckin’ tight—squeezin’ me like you never wanna let go. bet that other asshole never even got close to fillin’ you like this, huh? never made you shake just from the first few inches.”
you shake your head frantically—tears pricking fresh at the corners of your eyes—not from pain, but from the overwhelming fullness, the slow-building pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your belly with every measured thrust.
“n-no. never—only you. . .” the words come out fractured, voice hoarse and trembling. “please, toji. . . deeper—need all of it.”
he groans—low, guttural—hips flexing once, hard, burying another thick inch until you’re gasping, back arching, nails raking down his shoulders hard enough to leave red trails. he stills again—letting you feel the burn, the stretch, the way your cunt flutters and clenches around him like it’s trying to pull him the rest of the way in.
“almost there,” he murmurs against your mouth, lips brushing yours in the softest, filthiest kiss. “gonna give you the rest soon. but first—tell me how it feels. tell me how full you are. tell me how much better this is than anything that pathetic fuck ever gave you.”
your breath shudders out—chest heaving, tits straining against the soaked lace—and you whisper against his lips, voice wrecked and reverent: “so full. so fucking full—stretching me so good. . . better than anything, pleaseeee, ruin me—need you to ruin me.”
his control finally cracks—just a fraction.
he surges forward—slow but unyielding—sinking the last thick inches until his hips meet yours with a wet, obscene slap. the stretch is blinding—burning sweet and perfect—his cock seated so deep you swear you can feel him in your stomach, the fat head kissing your cervix on the first full thrust.
you cry out, sharp, broken—nails digging harder into his back, legs locking around his waist like you’ll never let go. he doesn’t move yet. just stays buried to the hilt, letting you adjust, letting you feel every throbbing inch claiming you completely.
“there,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours, voice rough with strain and satisfaction. “all the way in. feel that? that’s me—every thick fuckin’ inch—fillin’ you up like you were made for it.”
your cunt clenches hard around him—spasming, fluttering, dripping fresh slick down where you’re joined—and he groans like he’s dying.
“now,” he whispers, hips pulling back just enough to drag every ridge along your walls before snapping forward again—slow, deep, punishing. “i’m gonna fuck you until you can’t remember your own name. until the only thing left in that pretty head is how good my cock feels ruinin’ this perfect little cunt.”
and then he starts to move—slow at first, deliberate, every thrust measured to let you feel the drag, the stretch, the fullness—building the fire higher, hotter, until you’re shaking beneath him, moaning his name like a prayer, completely lost to the slow, devastating rhythm he’s setting.
the jeep rocks gently with every roll of his hips.
the windows stay fogged.
and the night stretches on. dark, endless, filthy. while he takes you apart inch by torturous inch. toji’s hips roll once, slow, deep, deliberate—burying himself to the hilt again and holding there, letting you feel the full, unrelenting stretch of him seated so deep your cervix flutters against the blunt head with every heartbeat.
your walls clamp down hard around the thick intrusion, spasming helplessly, slick dripping down where you’re joined in warm, obscene rivulets that soak the leather beneath your ass and the base of his cock. the jeep rocks gently with the motion; the fogged windows muffle the outside world until it’s just the wet, filthy sounds of your bodies, your ragged breaths, and the low, guttural groans he can’t quite swallow.
he leans down further—chest brushing your lace-covered breasts, nipples scraping painfully sweet against soaked fabric—until his scarred mouth finds the delicate ridge of your collarbone. his lips press there first—soft, almost reverent—then part. teeth graze the thin skin, testing, teasing, before he bites.
not gentle.
sharp.
possessive.
his incisors sink in just enough to sting, to bloom a bright flash of heat-pain that races straight to your clit and makes your cunt clench violently around him. you cry out—high, fractured—back arching off the seat, hands flying to his shoulders, nails raking red lines down sweat-slick muscle. he doesn’t let up; he sucks hard over the bite, tongue laving the fresh mark until it throbs in time with your racing pulse, until the skin blooms dark red under his mouth and the belt around your throat shifts with every shuddering breath you take.
“fuck—there,” he growls against your skin, voice thick and wrecked. “markin’ you right where everyone can see. gonna bruise so pretty tomorrow—everyone’ll know this throat belongs to me.”
you whimper—shaky, needy—hips twitching under him, trying to grind down for more friction, more depth, anything to ease the aching fullness that’s bordering on too much and still not enough. “toji—please—”
he pulls back just enough to meet your glassy eyes—his own dark, blown, pupils swallowing the green until they’re almost black. one big hand slides up, fingers wrapping around the belt again—once, twice—coiling the leather tight in his fist until the collar pulls snug against your throat, not choking, just reminding, just claiming. the buckle digs faintly into your skin; the end dangles between your breasts like a leash he’s holding.
then he moves.
he hooks his free arm under one of your knees—thick forearm braced behind your thigh—and pushes your leg up, folding you open wider, deeper. your knee presses toward your chest; the angle shifts everything—makes him sink impossibly deeper when he rolls forward again, cockhead kissing your cervix with bruising precision. you gasp—sharp, breathless—walls fluttering hard around him as the new position stretches you in ways that make stars burst behind your eyelids.
“keep ’em up,” he orders, voice low and rough, guiding your other leg until both knees are pressed high against your tits, thighs bracketed by his broad shoulders. the belt stays wrapped in his fist—taut, controlling—keeping your neck arched just enough that every swallow makes the leather shift against your pulse. “gonna fuck you like this—deep, slow, lettin’ you feel every goddamn inch while I watch your face fall apart.”
he pulls back—agonizingly slow—until only the head remains nestled inside, stretching your entrance in a cruel, burning ring. your cunt clenches desperately around the loss, slick gushing out to coat his shaft in glossy sheen. then he thrusts forward again—measured, punishing—burying himself to the hilt in one long, smooth glide that makes your toes curl and a broken moan tear from your throat.
“fuck—look at you takin’ me,” he rasps, eyes locked on where you’re stretched wide and glistening around him. “so fuckin’ tight—squeezin’ me like you’re tryin’ to keep me forever. feel how deep I am? feel how full your little cunt is right now?”
you can only nod—frantic, trembling—tears spilling fresh down your cheeks, not from pain but from the overwhelming pressure, the slow-building coil tightening low in your belly with every deliberate thrust. your hands clutch at his biceps—nails digging in, leaving half-moons—trying to anchor yourself as he starts a rhythm: slow drags out, hard snaps in, every stroke dragging every thick vein along your sensitive walls, every withdrawal leaving you clenching around nothing before he fills you again.
the belt tugs gently—once, twice—guiding your gaze back to his when your eyes threaten to flutter shut.
“eyes on me,” he murmurs, voice dark and reverent. “wanna see every second this pretty face changes when I hit that spot just right.”
he angles his hips—subtle shift—and the next thrust nails that swollen, spongy ridge inside you dead-on. your whole body jerks—back bowing, thighs shaking, a choked sob catching in your throat as pleasure spikes sharp and bright.
“there it is,” he breathes, holding deep for a long second, letting you feel the throb of him against that perfect place. “gonna keep hittin’ it—slow, deep—until you’re shakin’ so hard you can’t think. until this cunt’s cryin’ for me to never stop.”
he rolls again—slow, torturous—pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in with devastating precision. the wet, filthy sound of your bodies meeting fills the cab; the jeep rocks harder now, suspension creaking faintly with every measured thrust. your collarbone throbs under the fresh bite mark—dark, blooming, possessive—while the belt stays wrapped in his fist, keeping you arched, keeping you his.
“tell me,” he growls against your mouth, lips brushing yours between thrusts. “tell me how much better this feels. tell me how full you are. tell me you’re mine.”
your voice cracks—hoarse, trembling, wrecked: “so full. so fucking full. better than anything. . . yours, only yours. pleaseee, don’t stop.”
he groans—deep, guttural—hips snapping forward harder once, twice, before settling back into that slow, punishing rhythm that keeps you hovering right on the edge without letting you fall.
“good girl,” he praises, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “keep takin’ me like this. keep clenchin’ around my cock. we’ve got all night—and I’m nowhere near done ruinin’ you.”
the belt stays taut.
his mouth finds your collarbone again—teeth grazing the bruise he left—while he fucks you slow and deep and devastating, building the fire higher, hotter, until every nerve is screaming for release that he refuses to give just yet.
the night is thick, endless, filthy.
and he’s only getting started.
toji’s hips slow—agonizingly, deliberately—each thrust dragging longer, deeper, until the rhythm fractures into lazy, shallow rocks that barely stir the thick length buried inside you. the sudden loss of momentum makes your whole body seize; your cunt clenches hard around him in frantic, protesting spasms, trying to drag him back into that punishing pace he’d been building. a high, desperate whine tears out of your throat before you can swallow it—raw, needy, embarrassing—and your nails rake down his back, clawing at sweat-slick skin, leaving angry red trails that bloom instantly under your fingertips.
“toji, fuck—don’t stop, please. . .”
he pulls his upper body away completely—breaking the cage of his arms around your head—until only his hips stay locked to yours, cock still seated deep but motionless. the sudden space between your chests makes cool air rush against your flushed, spit-damp skin; the torn shirt flaps uselessly at your sides, black lace bra still clinging wet to your aching tits. your legs—still folded high against your chest—tremble violently around his waist; heels dig uselessly into the small of his back, trying to force him closer, deeper, faster.
he chuckles—low, dark, dangerous—the sound vibrating straight through where you’re joined.
“shut up,” he murmurs, voice gravel-rough and edged with amusement. one scarred hand slides up, fingers wrapping around the belt again—once, twice—coiling the warm leather tight in his fist. he tugs upward—sharp, controlled—until the collar pulls your neck off the seat just enough that your shoulders lift, spine arching in a helpless curve. the buckle digs faintly into the underside of your jaw; your head tips back, throat exposed, pulse hammering visibly under the thin skin.
his other hand moves—fast, possessive—thick fingers wrapping around the front of your throat, not over the belt but beneath it, palm hot and rough against your racing pulse. he squeezes—just enough to make your breath hitch, just enough to make your vision sparkle at the edges—then leans down until his scarred mouth hovers an inch above yours.
“open,” he orders, low and filthy.
your lips part instantly—jaw trembling, tongue already out, waiting.
he gathers spit—slow, deliberate—then lets it fall: a thick, warm string that lands heavy on your tongue. you swallow without hesitation—throat working visibly under his grip, the taste of him salty and intimate sliding down—and a fresh wave of slick gushes out around his cock, dripping down your ass and pooling warm on the leather.
“fuck—good little slut,” he praises, voice thick with dark satisfaction. “swallowin’ my spit like it’s candy. such a perfect, obedient thing.” his thumb strokes once along the edge of your jaw—almost tender—before his hand leaves your throat and moves to the black lace still clinging to your chest.
he hooks two fingers under the center gore of the bra—rough tug—and yanks upward. the cups shove up and over your tits in one motion; the underwire digs briefly into soft flesh before your breasts spill free—flushed, nipples already swollen and tight from earlier bites and the constant drag of soaked fabric. cool air hits them like a slap; they pebble harder instantly, aching.
his palm cracks across the left one—sharp, open-handed, making the soft mound jiggle and bloom pink. you gasp, all high, startled, back bowing harder against the tug of the belt. he pinches the nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling and twisting until it’s throbbing, until tears prick fresh at your lashes. then another slap, harder, right across the same breast, the wet smack echoing in the tight cab.
“look at these pretty tits bouncin’ for me,” he mutters, voice rough with hunger. “all swollen and sensitive—fuckin’ beggin’ to be played with.”
his cock moves again, slow, torturous rolls of his hips that barely pulling out before sinking back in, letting you feel every thick inch drag along your walls without ever giving you the speed you’re dying for. the friction is maddening—perfect pressure everywhere except where you need it most—and the overstimulation from earlier crashes back in waves, making your thighs shake harder, making fresh tears spill down your cheeks in hot, silent tracks.
“toji, please—” your voice cracks, hoarse and trembling. “faster, need it faster. fuck me harder, please.”
he stills completely—cock buried to the hilt, throbbing against your cervix—and leans down until his mouth brushes the shell of your ear. “you want faster?” he whispers, voice dark and teasing. “greedy little thing. alright—i’ll give you faster.”
both hands move—fast, sure. the one wrapped around the belt stays taut, keeping your neck arched. the other slides to the back of your head—thick fingers knotting in your hair at the roots—then yanks upward, folding you further. your chin tucks toward your chest; your folded legs press tighter against your tits, squeezing them together until the soft mounds bulge obscenely between your arms.
the new angle crushes your lungs just enough that every breath comes shallow, ragged; his cock shifts impossibly deeper inside you, pressing hard against that swollen ridge that makes your vision white out at the edges.
you cry out—sharp, broken—tears streaming freely now, not from pain but from the overwhelming fullness, the brutal precision of every slow grind he gives you in this folded position. your cunt flutters violently around him—clenching, spasming, dripping so much slick it sounds wet and filthy every time he rocks forward.
“there,” he growls against your temple, lips brushing sweat-damp hair. “feel that? feel how deep I am when you’re folded up like this? feel how your little cunt’s cryin’ for me?” another slow, punishing roll—dragging every ridge along that perfect spot until your thighs quake and your toes curl hard against his back. “this is what faster gets you—me takin’ my time ruinin’ you exactly how I want.”
you sob, high and helpless while nails digging into his shoulders, body trembling under the slow, devastating rhythm he refuses to break.
“toji, please. . . i can’t, need more—”
he tugs the belt again—sharper—making your head tip back further until your throat is stretched taut under his palm.
“you’ll take what I give you,” he murmurs, voice low and filthy against your ear. “and you’ll thank me for it while you’re shakin’ apart. now—tell me how good it feels. tell me how full your greedy cunt is right now.”
your voice comes out fractured—barely more than a whimper—tears slipping into your hairline, “so fu—stretching me so good. hurts so perfect, don’t stop, please don’t stop.”
he groans—deep, guttural—hips rolling again in that same torturous rhythm: slow out, hard in, every thrust measured to keep you hovering right on the razor edge without letting you fall.
“good girl,” he praises, mouth finding the fresh bite on your collarbone again—teeth grazing the bruise until it throbs anew. “keep cryin’ for me. keep clenchin’. we’re nowhere near done.”
the belt stays coiled in his fist.
his cock stays buried deep.
and he keeps fucking you slow, devastatingly slow—until every nerve is screaming, every breath is a sob, and the only thing left in your head is him: thick, relentless, owning every trembling inch of you.
toji pulls his face away from yours until the humid heat of his breath no longer fans across your tear-streaked cheeks. he rises just enough that the dim orange streetlight bleeding through the fogged windows catches the sharp planes of his face: scar pulling tight across his lip, dark green eyes blown so wide they look almost black, pupils swallowing every trace of color as he stares down at you.
you’re folded in half beneath him—knees crushed high against your tits, thighs trembling violently where they bracket his broad shoulders, spine arched off the leather in a helpless, quivering curve. the belt around your throat keeps your neck extended, chin tucked tight against the soft swell of your own chest, forcing every shallow, ragged breath to push your sweat-slick breasts higher, nipples swollen and dark against the shoved-up lace that now frames them like obscene decoration.
sweat beads along your hairline, trickles down your temples, pools in the hollow of your throat where the leather collar sits warm and unyielding. your skin glistens everywhere—chest, stomach, the insides of your thighs—shiny and flushed from exertion, from the slow, devastating grind of his cock still buried to the hilt inside you.
your eyes are the worst part.
hazy.
unfocused.
glassy and distant, pupils blown so wide the irises are thin rings of color lost in black. tears cling to your lashes in fat, trembling drops; every slow blink sends fresh ones spilling sideways, carving clean tracks through the sweat and ruined mascara on your cheeks. your mouth hangs open—lips swollen, slick with spit and pre-cum, trembling on every fractured exhale—too cock-drunk to close, too overwhelmed to form anything more coherent than soft, broken whimpers that catch in your throat every time he shifts even a millimeter inside you.
he watches it all—every detail—like he’s memorizing the exact moment you broke for him.
“fuck,” he breathes, voice low and reverent, almost disbelieving. “look at you.”
one scarred hand leaves the belt—lets the leather stay coiled loosely around your throat—and cups your jaw instead, thumb dragging roughly across your lower lip, parting it wider so he can see the way your tongue rests heavy and slack against your teeth.
“all folded up and shakin’—sweatin’ like you just ran a marathon just from takin’ my cock slow.” his hips give the tiniest roll—barely an inch in, barely an inch out—and your whole body jerks like you’ve been electrocuted, cunt clamping down so hard around him that his breath stutters. “eyes all glassy and empty. can’t even focus on me anymore, can you? just floatin’ there, cock-drunk and droolin’ for more.”
you try to answer—really try—but all that comes out is a soft, wrecked sound: half sob, half moan, vibrating through your chest where your chin is still tucked tight against it. fresh tears spill; one rolls down the side of your nose and drips onto the leather beside your ear.
he chuckles—dark, rough, satisfied—then leans down again, just enough that his mouth hovers over yours without touching.
“still with me, baby?” he murmurs, thumb stroking once along your cheekbone, smearing a tear into your skin. “or did I already fuck the thoughts right outta that pretty head?”
your lashes flutter—slow, heavy—trying to bring him into focus, but everything stays soft at the edges, hazy and warm and liquid. you manage the smallest nod, then a trembling whisper that barely carries:
“‘m here… jus’… so full… so good… don’t stop…”
his grin is slow—feral—scar pulling tight as his eyes darken further.
“good girl,” he praises, voice thick with pride and hunger. “stay right there—folded open, cryin’, takin’ every inch like you were born for it.” his free hand slides down your side—rough palm dragging over sweat-slick ribs, over the soft dip of your waist—until it grips the back of your thigh again, pushing your knee even higher, folding you tighter until your own tits press hard against your chin and every breath squeezes them together obscenely.
the new angle makes him sink impossibly deeper—cockhead kissing your cervix with bruising insistence—and your eyes roll back for a heartbeat before snapping open again, still hazy, still unfocused, still locked on his face like it’s the only thing tethering you to the world.
“look at those eyes,” he mutters, almost to himself, hips giving another slow, torturous grind that drags every thick vein along that swollen ridge inside you until your thighs quake and a fresh sob catches in your throat. “so fuckin’ gone already. all hazy and pretty and mine. bet you couldn’t even tell me your own name right now if I asked.”
he doesn’t ask.
instead he rolls again—slow out, devastatingly slow in—letting you feel the drag, the stretch, the fullness in excruciating detail while he watches your face crumple with every measured thrust.
“keep lookin’ at me,” he orders softly, thumb brushing another tear away. “wanna see every second you fall apart a little more. wanna watch those pretty eyes stay empty while I ruin you slow.”
your fingers, still clutching his shoulders dig harder, nails biting into muscle as another slow grind sends sparks racing up your spine. you’re crying openly now all soft with continuous tears, body trembling, cunt fluttering helplessly around him, every nerve lit up and screaming for more even as he refuses to give it.
he leans down—mouth brushing the shell of your ear—voice dropping to a dark, velvet whisper, “you’re doin’ so good, baby. so fuckin’ good. just stay folded for me. stay hazy. let me keep takin’ you apart until there’s nothing left but this cock and how good it feels stretchin’ you open.”
his hips keep that same torturous rhythm—slow, deep, relentless—while he watches you unravel beneath him, eyes never leaving your glassy, unfocused gaze.
the belt stays loose around your throat.
your tears keep falling.
and he keeps going—slow, devastating, worshipping—drawing the night out until every breath, every whimper, every flutter of your cunt feels like it belongs to him alone.
toji finally eases back—slow, torturous—until his cock slips free with a wet, obscene sound that makes your cunt clench around nothing and a fresh gush of slick drip down your thighs. the sudden emptiness hits like a punch; your walls flutter helplessly, aching, greedy, still pulsing from the slow, devastating rhythm he’d kept you trapped in for what feels like hours. a broken, needy whine spills from your lips before you can stop it—high and trembling—your folded body shaking as he releases the belt and lets your head drop back against the seat with a soft thump.
he doesn’t give you time to mourn the loss.
strong hands grip your hips—fingers digging into soft flesh—and he flips you in one smooth, effortless motion. your knees hit the leather first; then your palms brace against the folded-down front seatback as he maneuvers you until you’re straddling backward, ass facing him, thighs spread wide over his lap.
reverse cowgirl. the position leaves you exposed—completely—back arched, tits hanging heavy and swaying slightly with every ragged breath, the shoved-up bra still bunched uselessly under them like a forgotten accessory. the belt dangles loose around your throat now, leather warm and slightly sticky from sweat, the buckle brushing the top of your spine every time you tremble.
toji settles behind you, knees planted wide on the bench, thick thighs bracketing your hips and his hands slide up the backs of your thighs, rough palms dragging slow over sweat-slick skin until they cup the undersides of your ass. he spreads you open, thumbs parting your folds with deliberate care, making your cunt flutters and leaks, still swollen and glistening from everything he’s already done to you.
“fuck—look at this pretty mess,” he mutters, voice low and reverent, thumbs stroking once along the slick, puffy lips before spreading you wider. “drippin’ down your thighs, clenchin’ on air like you can’t stand bein’ empty for even a second. you miss my cock already, don’t you?”
you nod frantic and wordless, chin tucked toward your chest, forehead almost touching the seatback as another tremor runs through you. your arms shake where they brace; sweat beads along your spine, trickles down the small of your back, pools in the dimples above your ass. every inch of you feels fever-hot, oversensitive, like your skin is one live wire and he’s holding the other end.
he doesn’t tease long.
one hand leaves your ass—wraps around the base of his cock—and he guides the fat head back to your entrance. he doesn’t push in yet; just lets the blunt tip nudge against you—hot, slick, throbbing—parting your folds without breaching, letting you feel the stretch of the crown alone as he rocks forward in tiny, maddening increments.
“reach back,” he orders, voice rough. “spread yourself for me. show me how bad you want it.”
your arms tremble as you obey—palms sliding back, fingers hooking under the soft curves of your ass, spreading yourself open wider. the position makes your back arch deeper, tits swaying forward, nipples brushing the cool leather with every shaky breath. you feel obscene—folded forward, ass up, cunt on full display—and the humiliation only makes you wetter, makes another bead of slick drip down to coat his cockhead.
“good girl,” he praises, thumb brushing once over your spread folds before he finally—finally—starts to push in.
slow.
so fucking slow.
the stretch is different in this position—deeper, fuller, the angle letting him sink straight down until the head nudges your cervix again and keeps going. inch by thick inch he fills you, veins dragging along every sensitive ridge inside, until his hips meet your ass with a soft, wet slap and he’s buried to the hilt once more.
you cry out—sharp, broken—forehead dropping to rest against the seatback, arms shaking as you hold yourself open for him. the fullness is overwhelming—stretching you wide, pressing everywhere at once—and your cunt flutters hard around him, walls spasming in helpless little contractions that make him groan low in his throat.
“fuck—feel that?” he rasps, hands sliding up to grip your waist—fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. “how deep I am like this? how your greedy little cunt’s suckin’ me in like it never wants to let go?”
he doesn’t move yet—just stays seated deep, letting you adjust to the new angle, letting you feel every thick pulse of him against your cervix, every throb that makes your clit jump untouched. your thighs quake; sweat drips down the backs of your knees; the belt shifts against your throat with every frantic swallow.
then he rolls his hips—slow, deliberate—pulling out halfway before sinking back in with devastating precision. the drag is exquisite—every ridge, every vein scraping along that swollen spot inside you—and your arms nearly give out, elbows buckling as a fresh sob tears from your throat.
“keep those hands there,” he growls, one palm cracking once—sharp—across your ass, the sting blooming hot and sweet. “keep spreadin’ yourself for me. wanna watch this pretty pussy take every inch while you cry and shake.”
you obey—fingers digging harder into your own flesh, spreading wider—even as tears stream freely down your cheeks, pooling on the leather beneath your face. your vision blurs; everything narrows to the slow, punishing rhythm he sets: long drags out, hard snaps in, every thrust measured to keep you teetering on that razor edge without letting you tip over.
“toji, please. . .” your voice cracks, hoarse and trembling. “faster, need it faster. can’t—can’t take it slow anymore.”
he chuckles, hips rolling again in that same torturous pace. “i told you’ll take it how I give it,” he murmurs, leaning forward until his chest presses hot against your back, one hand sliding up to wrap around the belt again—tugging just enough to arch your neck back. “slow and deep until you’re sobbin’ for me to ruin you. until this cunt’s so sensitive even breathin’ on it makes you come.”
another slow grind—deep, grinding—his pelvis catching your clit on the downstroke and holding there for a long second until your thighs shake violently and a fresh wave of slick gushes around him.
“that’s it,” he breathes against your ear, teeth grazing the shell. “cry for me. shake for me. let me feel how close you are without lettin’ you fall yet.”
your whole body trembles—sweat dripping, cunt fluttering, tears falling—folded forward, spread open, impaled on his cock while he fucks you slow and devastating and relentless.
the jeep rocks gently with every measured thrust.
the windows stay fogged.
and he keeps going. drawing it out, building it higher until every nerve is screaming, every breath is a sob, and the only thing anchoring you is the thick, unyielding stretch of him inside you and the low, filthy praise rumbling against your skin.
“good girl,” he whispers, hips rolling again—slow, deep, punishing. “keep takin’ it. we’ve got all night.”
toji’s hands slide from your hips to the backs of your thighs, fingers digging in hard enough to leave faint bruises and he lifts you off his cock in one smooth, controlled motion. the sudden emptiness makes your cunt clench violently around nothing; a broken, keening whimper spills from your throat as slick drips in thick, warm strands down your inner thighs and onto his lap. your arms shake where they’re braced against the seatback; your whole body trembles, sweat-slick, fever-hot, every nerve screaming from the slow, relentless edging he’s kept you on for what feels like forever.
he doesn’t speak at first—just maneuvers you with that effortless strength, turning your body until you’re facing him again. your knees plant on either side of his hips; the leather creaks under the shift in weight as he guides you down until you’re straddling his lap properly, thighs spread wide over his thick ones. his cock—still rock-hard, glistening with your slick—stands flushed and heavy between you, the fat head brushing the soft skin of your lower belly with every shaky breath you take.
“c’mere,” he murmurs, voice low and gravel-rough, one hand sliding up your spine to cradle the back of your neck while the other grips your hip, steadying you. “ride me. face me. wanna see every second this pretty face falls apart when you finally come.”
your arms move on instinct—wrapping tight around his neck, fingers sinking into the dark, sweat-damp strands at his nape. you press close, chest flush to his, lace-covered tits squished against the hard planes of his pecs through his t-shirt until your lips find his cheek. you don’t kiss yet; just rest there, mouth open against the rough stubble, breathing hot and ragged against his skin as fresh tears slip down your face and drip onto his shoulder.
he reaches between you. thick fingers wrapping around his base and notches the head at your entrance again. no teasing this time. he pulls you down, slow at first, letting you feel the stretch all over again as the broad crown parts you, sinks in, fills you inch by thick inch until your ass meets his thighs with a soft, wet slap and he’s buried to the hilt once more.
you cry out sharp, trembling forehead dropping to his shoulder, arms tightening around his neck like he’s the only thing keeping you from floating away. the new angle is devastating: he’s so deep like this, pressing right against that swollen ridge inside you, the fat head kissing your cervix with every tiny shift of your hips. your clit grinds against the coarse hair at his base; every breath drags the sensitive bud along his pelvis in maddening friction.
“that’s it,” he breathes against your temple, one hand sliding up to fist gently in your hair while the other grips your ass, guiding you into a slow, rolling rhythm. “ride me, baby. take what you need. use my cock like it’s yours.”
you start moving that small, shaky rolls at first, lifting just enough to feel the drag of every vein along your walls before sinking back down, taking him deep again and again. the wet, filthy sound of your cunt swallowing him fills the cab; slick coats his thighs, drips down his balls, soaks into the leather beneath him.
your thighs burn from the effort; your arms cling tighter around his neck, fingers knotting in his hair as you press open-mouthed kisses along his cheek, his jaw, the sharp line of his scar—messy, desperate, tasting salt and sweat and him.
“toji. . .” your voice cracks, hoarse and trembling against his skin. “so deep, fuck—so full. can’t—can’t think.”
he groans low, guttural. hips starting to meet your rolls with shallow, controlled thrusts that drive him even deeper. “yeah? feel me right here?” one hand slides to your lower belly, palm pressing firm just below your navel letting you feel the faint bulge of him inside you every time you sink down. “feel how deep I am? how thick? this cunt’s grippin’ me so tight—fuck—milkin’ me like you never wanna let go.”
your pace quickens, hips grinding faster, harder chasing that perfect friction against your clit, that brutal press against your g-spot. tears stream freely now; you’re sobbing softly against his cheek, lips trembling, breath hitching every time he bottoms out. the coil in your belly pulls tighter, hotter, every roll of your hips winding it higher until your thighs shake violently and your arms lock around his neck like you’ll fall apart if you let go.
“close,” you gasp, voice breaking. “toji, i’m—i’m so close. . . please.”
he feels it—the way your walls flutter faster, the way your clit throbs against his pelvis, the way your whole body starts to seize—and his grip tightens. one arm bands around your lower back, holding you flush to him; the other slides up to cradle the back of your head, fingers knotting in your hair as he pulls your face tighter against his cheek.
“come for me,” he growls against your ear, voice thick with strain and hunger. “let go, baby. soak my cock. scream my name. give it all to me—right now.”
toji’s hands clamp harder on your hips—fingers bruising into soft flesh—as your slow, trembling rolls turn frantic, desperate. every downward grind now slams you fully onto his cock, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing louder in the tight cab, slick dripping in thick, obscene rivulets down his shaft, coating his balls, soaking the leather beneath him until it glistens dark under the faint streetlight glow seeping through the fogged windows.
your arms are locked so tight around his neck your elbows dig into his shoulders; your face is buried against his cheek, lips parted on broken, gasping sobs that fog his skin with every ragged exhale. tears stream continuously—hot, salty—sliding down your face to drip onto his collarbone, mixing with the sweat already beading there. your cunt is a vice around him—fluttering, spasming, clenching so hard with every lift and drop that his breath stutters, low growls rumbling from his chest straight into yours.
“fuck—look at you ridin’ me like you’re tryin’ to break us both,” he rasps against your temple, voice shredded with strain. one hand leaves your hip, slides up your sweat-slick spine, fingers knotting in your hair at the roots before yanking your head back just enough to force your eyes to meet his. “eyes on me. wanna see ’em roll back when you come. wanna watch this pretty face shatter.”
your lashes are clumped with tears; your gaze is glassy, unfocused, pupils blown so wide there’s almost no iris left. every downward slam makes your tits bounce against his chest, nipples scraping painfully sweet through the shoved-up lace, every lift drags his thick veins along that swollen ridge inside you until sparks explode behind your eyelids. the coil in your belly is wound so tight it hurts. burning, throbbing, ready to snap—and you’re sobbing openly now, high-pitched, fractured sounds that mix with the wet schlick-schlick of your cunt swallowing him over and over.
“toji. toji—i can’t. i’m—fuck—i’m gonna. . .”
“yeah you are,” he growls, hips snapping up to meet your next drop, hard, sudden, driving so deep the head bruises your cervix and your whole body seizes. “come on my cock—right fuckin’ now. soak me. scream for me. let it all go.”
his free hand slides between you, thumb finding your clit as he rubbing fast, merciless circles over the swollen, oversensitive bud while he keeps pounding up into you with short, brutal thrusts that match the frantic rhythm you’ve set. the dual assault shatters what little control you had left.
your back bows, spine arching so hard your tits press painfully against his chest, arms locking tighter around his neck as your thighs lock and tremble violently around his hips. the first wave hits like lightning, white-hot, blinding. your cunt clamping down around him in violent, rhythmic spasms that milk every thick inch buried inside you. slick gushes out in hot, messy pulses, drenching his lap, his balls, the seat beneath him, while your whole body convulses, hips grinding down hard one last time to take him impossibly deeper as the orgasm rips through you.
you scream, raw, shattered, his name tearing from your throat in broken syllables, “toji, toji, fuck—!” voice cracking into high, keening sobs that bounce off the jeep’s interior. tears flood your eyes; your vision whites out at the edges; every muscle locks and releases in helpless waves. your cunt flutters wildly around him, spasming and squeezing and pulsing so hard it drags a guttural groan from deep in his chest.
pleasure crashes over you in relentless surges—each contraction stronger than the last until your thighs give out completely and you collapse forward against him, trembling, shaking, sobbing into the crook of his neck while aftershocks ripple through your core.
he doesn’t stop moving—keeps rolling his hips up into your spasming cunt with slow, deep grinds that prolong every wave, drawing out the climax until you’re whimpering, oversensitive, every brush of his pelvis against your clit making you jerk and cry harder against his skin.
“there, fuckkk, there she is,” he groans, voice thick with raw satisfaction, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other grips your ass, holding you down so you stay impaled deep through every fluttering contraction. “comin’ so hard,—squirmin’ and cryin’ on my cock. fuckin’ perfect. soak me, baby—give me every drop.”
your sobs turn softer, shuddering and hiccuping while your face buried against his neck, lips trembling against sweat-slick skin as the last waves ebb, leaving you limp, boneless, still wrapped tight around his neck, still trembling in his lap with his cock buried to the hilt inside your twitching, oversensitive cunt.
he strokes slow circles up your spina, gentle now, while his hips stay pressed flush to yours, letting you feel the slow throb of him still rock-hard and aching inside you. “good girl,” he whispers against your temple, lips brushing the sweat-damp hair there. “so fuckin’ good. came so pretty for me.”
you can only whimper—soft, wrecked—arms still locked around his neck, face hidden against his shoulder as aftershocks continue to ripple through you.(here)
he doesn’t pull out.
he doesn’t move.
just holds you close—cock still buried deep—while your breathing slowly steadies against his skin.
“breathe,” he murmurs, kissing the fresh bruise on your collarbone. “just breathe. we’re not done yet.”
the jeep is quiet except for your soft, hiccuping breaths and the faint creak of leather.
the windows stay fogged.
and he keeps you wrapped around him—still full, still trembling—while the night stretches on, dark and endless and filthy, promising more.
toji’s hips keep that slow, punishing rhythm even after your climax has left you trembling and boneless in his lap—long, deliberate drags out until only the swollen head stretches your entrance, then deep, grinding rolls back in that make your oversensitive walls flutter and your breath hitch in soft, hiccuping gasps.
every thrust is measured, controlled, letting you feel the thick drag of every vein, the blunt press of the head against your cervix, the way your slick coats him so thoroughly it drips in warm, sticky trails down his shaft and pools on his thighs beneath you. the jeep rocks gently with each motion; the leather beneath you is soaked, slippery, clinging to your skin every time you shift.
your arms stay wrapped tight around his neck, fingers knotted in damp hair at his nape, face still buried against the side of his throat where you can taste salt and heat and the faint musk of his sweat. your lips brush his pulse point with every shaky exhale; tears still cling to your lashes, drying in salty tracks down your cheeks.
your cunt is so sensitive now that even the slow slide of him inside you borders on too much—pleasure-pain sparking bright every time he bottoms out—but you can’t stop rocking with him, can’t stop chasing the lingering aftershocks that ripple through your core.
after a long minute of that torturous pace—deep, slow, relentless—you lift your head just enough to meet his eyes. your voice comes out hoarse, cracked, barely above a whisper against his jaw.
“toji…” you breathe, lips trembling. “are you… are you close?”
his breath stutters—just once—but it’s enough. his hands flex hard on your hips, fingers digging deeper into soft flesh like he’s anchoring himself.
“yeah,” he rasps, voice thick and strained, gravel dragged over velvet. “fuck—yeah, baby. been holdin’ back since you started ridin’ me like that. this tight little cunt’s been squeezin’ me so good—gonna come soon if you keep clenchin’ like that.”
the confession makes your walls flutter again—helpless, greedy—and he groans low in his throat, hips stuttering once in that slow rhythm before he forces himself still.
you don’t wait.
you lift—slow, deliberate—until his cock slides free with a wet, sucking sound that makes both of you whine in unison. the emptiness hits hard; your cunt clenches around nothing, aching, dripping fresh slick down your thighs as the thick head pops free and slaps wetly against his lower stomach. he hisses through his teeth—hips jerking up instinctively—while you whimper at the sudden loss, thighs trembling violently around his.
“fuck—” he growls, voice wrecked. “don’t—don’t tease.”
you don’t answer with words.
instead you settle back, lower this time until your ass rests on his thick thighs instead of taking him inside. your knees bracket his hips; your dripping cunt hovers just above his lap, close enough that every tiny shift drags your swollen clit along the slick length of his shaft without letting him sink back in. your hand wraps around him—fingers barely meeting around the girth—palm slick with your combined mess as you start stroking.
slow at first, firm, twisting pulls from base to tip, thumb dragging over the sensitive slit to collect the thick beads of pre-cum that well up steadily now. his cock jumps hard in your grip, hot, throbbing, veins pulsing under your fingers, and he groans deep, head tipping back against the seat for a heartbeat before snapping forward again to watch your hand work him.
“shit, baby. . .” his voice cracks, rough and desperate. “just like that, fuck—stroke it nice and slow. feel how close I am? feel how fuckin’ hard you got me?”
you nod small and eager, leaning forward until your forehead rests against his again, lips brushing his cheek as your hand keeps moving. long, slick glides up and down his length; every upstroke twists gently around the head, every downstroke squeezes tighter at the base until his hips jerk up into your fist and a low, guttural sound rumbles from his chest.
your other arm stays wrapped around his neck, holding him close while you stroke him with slow, deliberate focus. slick coats your palm, drips down his shaft, makes every glide wetter, louder, filthier. his breathing turns ragged, short, harsh exhales against your temple, hips twitching every time your thumb circles the sensitive underside of the head.
“gonna come—” he warns, voice strained, almost broken. “fuck—gonna come all over your hand if you keep—keep doin’ that.”
you don’t stop.
instead you lean in closer, lips brushing the corner of his mouth, breath hot against his skin and whisper, voice trembling with aftershocks and want, “then come for me, toji. please. . . wanna feel it—wanna see you fall apart like you made me.”
his groan is raw, almost pained, hips bucking up hard into your grip as his cock throbs violently in your hand. thick ropes of cum spill over your fingers, hot, messy, pulsing out in heavy spurts that coat your palm, drip down his shaft, splatter across your lower belly and his t-shirt in sticky streaks. he shakes through it, whole body tensing, then shuddering, low, guttural curses falling from his lips as you stroke him through every wave, milking every last drop until his hips jerk one final time and he slumps back against the seat, chest heaving.
he exhales a long, shaky breath then lifts his head to meet your eyes. his gaze is dark, wrecked, but soft at the edges.
“fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, voice hoarse. one hand comes up, thumb brushing a tear track from your cheek, then cups your jaw, tilting your face so he can kiss you slow, deep, tasting salt and want and everything you just gave him.
when he pulls back, forehead pressed to yours, he murmurs against your lips, “good girl. so fuckin’ good.”
your arm, stay wrapped around his neck, holding him close, while your breathing slowly syncs with his, bodies still tangled, still trembling, the night outside the jeep dark and quiet and endless.
your hand, still wrapped loosely around his softening cock, slows to gentle, lazy strokes, milking the last weak pulses of cum from him until nothing more spills. thick, warm ropes coat your palm, fingers, the inside of your wrist; some has already dripped in heavy, pearly streaks across your lower belly and the tops of your thighs. the scent of it fills the humid cab, salty, musky, unmistakably him, mixing with sweat and sex and the faint leather smell of the seats.
you lift your hand slowly, watching the way the cum strings between your fingers in glistening webs, then bring it to your chest. deliberately. teasingly.
you smear it across your tits in slow, filthy circles, palm gliding over one swollen nipple, then the other, leaving shiny, sticky trails that catch the dim streetlight glow seeping through the fogged windows. the cum is still hot, thick, clinging to your skin; it glistens wetly over the peaks, drips in slow rivulets down the soft undersides of your breasts, pools in the valley between them. your nipples tighten harder under the slick warmth, aching sweetly from the earlier slaps and bites, and a soft, breathless giggle bubbles out of you at how obscene it feels—how shameless, how perfect.
toji watches every second—dark green eyes hooded, pupils still blown wide, scarred mouth parted on heavy breaths. his chest rises and falls fast; his cock twitches once against your thigh even though he’s spent, like the sight alone is enough to stir him again.
then he moves.
he leans down with slow, predatory glance, broad shoulders blocking the faint light as his mouth finds your chest. his tongue flicks out first, flat, hot, lapping a long, deliberate stripe up the underside of your left breast, collecting the sticky trail in one slow drag. the sensation makes you gasps, then dissolve into another fit of soft, trembling giggles as he closes his lips around your nipple and sucks.
hard.
the wet pull is obscene, loud in the quiet cab, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak, tasting himself on you, tasting you mixed with him. he groans low against your skin, vibration rumbling straight through your tit and down to your still-twitching cunt, then switches to the other breast, licking broad stripes across the smeared cum before sucking that nipple deep into his mouth too.
“fuckin’ filthy,” he mutters between pulls, voice rough and thick with satisfaction, lips shiny with spit and his own release. “smearin’ my cum all over these pretty tits like you want me to eat it off you. greedy little thing.”
you giggle again, that high, breathless, giddy, head tipping back as your fingers slide into his dark hair, holding him there while he works. every suck, every slow lap of his tongue sends fresh sparks racing down your spine; your thighs tremble around his hips, cunt fluttering weakly around nothing, still oversensitive from coming so hard.
“toji. . .” you half-laugh, half-moan, hips twitching forward on instinct. “you’re, fuck—you’re licking it all up.”
he hums against your skin, pleased, hungry, then drags his tongue in one final, slow stripe from the valley between your breasts up to your collarbone, cleaning every last trace. when he finally pulls back his lips are glossy, chin shining; he meets your glassy eyes and smirks—slow, dangerous, utterly satisfied.
“couldn’t let it go to waste,” he murmurs, thumb brushing a stray tear from your cheek before leaning in to kiss you. that deep, filthy kiss, letting you taste him on his tongue, taste yourself, taste everything you’ve done together tonight.
you melt into it, both arms now wrapped around his neck, body limp and trembling in his lap—giggling softly against his mouth between kisses while his hands roam slow and possessive over your sweat-slick skin.
the jeep stays quiet except for your shared breaths and the occasional soft, wet sound of lips meeting.
the windows stay fogged.
and he keeps you close—still tasting himself on your tits, still buried in the afterglow—while the night outside stretches on, dark and endless and filthy, with no sign of ending anytime soon.
you don’t know how long it’s been.
time dissolved somewhere between the last trembling aftershocks and the moment he finally eased out of you, both of you gasping, slick and spent and sticky everywhere. the jeep is still warm—too warm—the heater long since kicked off but the air thick with sex, sweat, and the faint metallic bite of february night that sneaks through the cracked window. your skin feels hypersensitive, every brush of leather against your back and thighs making you shiver even though you’re no longer cold.
he found a blanket somewhere—thick, dark fleece that smells like motor oil and cedar laundry detergent—and draped it over both of you without a word. it’s bunched around your waists now, barely covering anything important, but it’s soft against your bare skin and it makes the small space feel safer, more private, even though anyone could walk past the driveway and see the fogged windows rocking faintly minutes ago.
you’re lying on your side facing him, cheek pillowed on the thick muscle of his bicep. his arm is curled under your head like it’s the most natural thing in the world; his other hand rests loose on your hip beneath the blanket, thumb tracing absent, slow circles over the soft skin there. your legs are tangled with his—thigh pressed to thigh, calf hooked over his shin—and every small shift makes your still-sensitive cunt brush against his softening cock where it rests heavy against your lower belly. neither of you moves to separate.
his breathing has slowed to something deep and even, but his eyes are still open, dark green and heavy-lidded in the faint orange glow that leaks through the windshield. he’s watching you—not predatory anymore, not hungry—just soft in a way that makes your chest ache strangely. his scar pulls a little when he exhales through his nose, lips parting like he’s about to speak, then closing again.
finally he does.
“you wanna go inside?” his voice is low, gravel-rough from everything he’s growled and groaned tonight, but quieter now. almost careful. “got a bed that doesn’t smell like car sex and bad decisions.”
you let out a small, tired laugh that vibrates against his arm.
your fingers—still shaky—trace the ridge of his collarbone, following the faint red mark you left with your teeth earlier. “not yet,” you whisper, voice hoarse and soft. “just… stay here for a while. like this.”
he hums—long, low, the sound rumbling straight through his chest into yours. his hand on your hip slides up your side—slow, unhurried—until his palm cups the back of your neck, thumb brushing the edge of the belt still loosely draped around your throat. he doesn’t tug it. just holds.
“yeah?” he murmurs, forehead tipping forward until it rests gently against yours. “you like bein’ naked in my shitty jeep with my cum still dryin’ on your tits?”
you giggle again—breathless, giddy, the sound muffled against his shoulder. “maybe i do.” your nose brushes his. “feels… safe. weirdly. like the world’s still out there but it can’t get in here yet.”
his thumb strokes once along your jaw—rough pad catching on your lower lip—before he leans in and kisses you. not hungry this time. slow. soft. lips moving like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth, tasting the salt of your earlier tears and the faint sweetness that lingers from whatever lip balm you wore hours ago. when he pulls back his eyes are still on yours—close enough that you can see the faint flecks of gold in the green even in the dark.
“you’re shakin’,” he says quietly, concern threading through the roughness. his hand leaves your neck to slide down your arm, then back up, warm palm smoothing over goosebumped skin. “cold?”
“a little,” you admit, curling tighter against him. your thigh slides higher over his hip; his cock—soft now, warm and heavy—nestles against the crease of your leg. “but mostly just… overwhelmed. in a good way.”
he exhales through his nose—almost a laugh—and pulls the blanket higher, tucking it around your shoulders until only your head and his are visible above the dark fleece. then he wraps both arms around you—thick, solid, enveloping—until you’re pressed chest-to-chest, heartbeat to heartbeat.
“you’re safe,” he says against your temple, lips brushing damp hair. simple. matter-of-fact. like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “no one’s comin’ in here. no one’s takin’ this from you. just us.”
your fingers curl against his chest—nails grazing the cotton of his t-shirt that’s still half-on, rumpled and sweat-damp. “promise?”
“promise.”
silence settles again—comfortable, heavy with afterglow. outside, somewhere far off, a dog barks twice. a car passes on the main road, headlights sweeping briefly across the fogged windows in pale streaks before fading. inside the jeep it’s just your breathing, his breathing, the faint creak of cooling metal, the soft rustle of the blanket every time one of you shifts.
after a while you speak again—voice small, almost shy.
“i didn’t think tonight would end like this.”
he snorts softly—amused. “yeah? what’d you think—i’d fix your radiator, send you home with a pat on the ass and a ‘see ya later’?”
you laugh—quiet, tired—nose nuzzling his collarbone. “something like that. or… i don’t know. maybe you’d be an asshole about it. most guys would.”
his hand slides up your back—slow, soothing—fingers threading through your tangled hair. “i’m not most guys.”
“no,” you whisper, lips brushing his skin. “you’re not.”
another long beat of quiet. his heartbeat thuds steady under your ear; yours slowly matches it.
“you hungry?” he asks eventually, voice rumbling through his chest.
“starving,” you admit. “but i don’t wanna move yet.”
“then we don’t move.” his arms tighten fractionally. “got snacks in the glovebox. granola bars, some shitty protein shit. can reach ’em without lettin’ you go.”
you giggle again—soft, sleepy. “romantic.”
“i’m a classy motherfucker,” he deadpans, but there’s a smile in his voice. his lips press to your forehead—lingering. “stay here. i got you.”
your eyes flutter closed; exhaustion crashes in slow, warm waves. “i know.”
he doesn’t move to get the snacks yet. just holds you—naked, tangled, wrapped in fleece and each other—while your breathing evens out against his throat.
outside the jeep, the night keeps moving.
inside, time has stopped.
and for now, that’s exactly where you want to be.
toji’s thumb pauses mid-circle on your hip when another hard shiver rolls through you—stronger this time, teeth clacking faintly even though you try to swallow the sound. your skin is pebbled everywhere the blanket doesn’t cover; the post-sex glow has worn thin and february is finally winning, seeping through the jeep’s seals like icy fingers.
he exhales sharply through his nose—half sigh, half decision—then mutters against your hairline, voice low and rough.
“fuck it. let’s go inside.”
you make a sleepy, protesting noise—half whine, half mumble—already curling tighter against his chest like you can absorb his body heat and stay cocooned in the fleece forever.
he huffs a quiet laugh, lips brushing your temple. “c’mon, baby. you’re shakin’ too hard. let’s cuddle.” his palm smooths up your spine—warm, steady—fingers threading through your tangled hair. “i know young girls like you love to cuddle after gettin’ ruined. bed’s warmer. got real pillows. won’t let you freeze your pretty tits off out here.”
that pulls a tired giggle out of you—soft, cracked, muffled against his collarbone. your fingers curl lazily into the front of his t-shirt, tugging once. “how many young girls have you fucked, then?” you ask, playful but sleepy, voice raspy from screaming his name earlier. “got this whole routine down, huh? ruin ’em in the jeep, carry ’em inside, cuddle ’em to sleep like a pro?”
he laughs—low, rough, genuine—the sound vibrating straight through his chest into yours. “more than you’re gonna like hearin’ about,” he deadpans, but there’s no real edge to it, just amused warmth. “none of ’em looked at me the way you do, though. none of ’em asked me to stay in the damn car after i fucked their brains out.”
before you can tease back he’s already moving.
“hold on,” he mutters, shifting under you. one thick arm bands around your lower back; the other hooks under your thighs. he sits up—blanket sliding off in a dark heap—then stands, lifting you with him like you weigh nothing. cold air slams into both of you the second he shoulders the driver’s door open; you yelp, arms flying around his neck, legs locking tight around his waist. you’re both still completely naked—skin flushed and sticky, his softening cock pressed warm against your inner thigh, your breasts squished against his chest, nipples dragging against damp cotton every time he breathes.
he doesn’t bother with his jeans. doesn’t even glance at them where they’re still bunched around one ankle on the floor mat. just steps out into the driveway—gravel biting into his bare feet—and starts moving.
“fuck—freezin’ my dick off,” he grumbles, already breaking into a half-jog, long strides eating up the short distance between jeep and front porch. the chain-link fence rattles as he shoulders past it; you bury your face in his neck—giggling helplessly against his skin—arms locked tight around his shoulders, thighs squeezing his waist like you’re afraid he’ll drop you (he won’t). february wind slices across your bare back and ass, stinging your cheeks and hardening your nipples to painful points against his chest, but his body heat wraps around you like a furnace, blocking most of it.
he kicks the front door open—no key, no lock, just a hard shove—and the warmth of the house rushes over you: faint coffee grounds, motor oil, clean laundry, the low hum of a heater running somewhere deeper inside. he doesn’t stop—climbs the narrow staircase two steps at a time, boots thumping heavy on wood, carrying you like you’re weightless.
second floor. short hallway. door at the end already cracked open.
he shoulders it wider, steps inside, and finally lowers you both onto the bed—mattress dipping hard under his weight as he lays you down first, then follows, rolling so you’re tucked against his side again. sheets are cool against your overheated skin; pillows smell like him—cedar, faint sweat, motor oil. he drags the comforter up over both of you—thick, heavy, trapping heat—and pulls you flush to his chest, one thick arm banded around your waist, the other sliding under your head like before.
you sigh—long, shaky, content—nose nuzzling the hollow of his throat.
then your eyes catch the digital clock on the nightstand.
7:04 a.m.
soft red numbers glowing in the dim room.
you blink—once, twice—then lift your head just enough to look at him.
“toji…” your voice is still hoarse, cracked from screaming and sobbing his name for hours. “it’s almost seven.”
he cracks one eye open—lazy, amused—then glances at the clock himself.
“yeah,” he rumbles, hand sliding up your back in a slow, soothing stroke. “your point?”
you giggle—soft, disbelieving—forehead dropping back to his shoulder. “i remember it was almost three when you showed up at the breakdown spot. how long were we…?”
he snorts—quiet, smug—lips brushing your hairline.
“four hours, give or take,” he mutters, fingers tracing the curve of your spine. “you kept beggin’ for more. hard to say no when you’re cryin’ on my cock like that.”
your face heats—fresh embarrassment mixing with the warm afterglow—and you hide it against his neck, giggling again.
“four hours,” you repeat, voice muffled. “jesus. no wonder i can’t feel my legs.”
he laughs—low, rough, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours.
“you’ll feel ’em later,” he promises, hand sliding down to squeeze your ass once—gentle but possessive. “when i fuck you again in the shower. or on the kitchen counter. wherever you want.”
you groan—half protest, half delighted shiver—already curling tighter into him.
“you’re insatiable.”
“says the girl who smeared my cum on her tits and giggled while i licked it off.”
you laugh—breathless, sleepy—nuzzling closer until your lips brush the underside of his jaw.
“shut up,” you mumble, already drifting again. “cuddle me more.”
his arms tighten—warm, solid, safe.
“yes ma’am,” he murmurs against your temple, kissing the spot softly. “all mornin’. all day. however long you want.”
you hum—content, boneless—eyes fluttering closed as exhaustion finally pulls you under.
outside, the first gray light of dawn creeps across the windows.
inside, it’s just warmth.
just his heartbeat under your cheek.
just the slow rise and fall of his chest against yours.
and for the first time in hours, you’re not shivering anymore.
just held.
just his.
it’s almost two in the afternoon when your eyes finally crack open.
sunlight cuts through the half-closed blinds in sharp, lazy bars across the bed, painting gold stripes over the tangled sheets and the deep indent where toji’s body was. the room smells like him—cedar laundry detergent soaked into the pillows, faint motor oil that clings to everything he touches, sex that’s dried sticky on your inner thighs and between your breasts. your whole body feels heavy, deliciously used: core tender and swollen, thighs still trembling when you shift, every muscle complaining in that good-hurt way that reminds you exactly how many hours he spent ruining you.
toji’s side of the bed is empty but still warm, sheets twisted like he just left. you hear voices drifting up from downstairs—his low, rough drawl, easy and unbothered, and another one, sharper, younger, laced with irritation. you don’t clock it yet. your brain is still syrup-slow, post-sex fog clinging to every thought.
you roll onto your side—groan softly when your sore cunt brushes the mattress—and push yourself up on shaky arms. it takes three tries to swing your legs over the edge; your thighs shake like they’ve forgotten how to work. “fuck,” you mutter, voice cracked and hoarse from screaming his name half the night. “this is ridiculous.”
his white t-shirt is crumpled on the floor where he tossed it last night. you drag it over your head—too big, hem hitting mid-thigh, sleeves swallowing your hands, neckline slipping off one shoulder to expose the dark bruise he sucked into your collarbone. it smells like him: clean cotton warmed by skin, faint sweat, you. you tug it down like it’ll cover more, but it doesn’t really matter.
standing takes effort. your legs feel like they’re made of wet noodles; you brace one hand on the wall, wobble once, then start shuffling toward the door. every step makes your core ache in the sweetest way—reminder of how deep he was, how long he stayed there, how many times you came until you were sobbing and boneless.
“toji?” you call, voice still rough, playful complaint already bubbling up as you reach the hallway. “i’m serious—i can’t walk right. this isn’t funny. my legs are literally jelly, you broke me, i’m gonna fall down the stairs and it’s gonna be your fault—”
you round the corner into the kitchen.
and freeze.
toji’s sitting at the small dining table—shirtless, gray sweatpants slung low on his narrow hips, one tattooed arm slung over the back of the chair, coffee mug in his other hand. he’s already smirking, like he knew exactly when you’d stumble in looking like this.
across from him—leaning against the counter with arms crossed, expensive coat still on, face twisted in disbelief—is naoya zenin.
the same naoya zenin who collapsed on top of you in thirty seconds last night, who told you you’d never have better, who you screamed at in a hallway before storming out barefoot and furious.
his pale green eyes widen when he sees you—really sees you.
hair a wrecked halo, lips swollen and bitten, mascara tracks long dried into faint black streaks down your cheeks, neck covered in fresh hickeys and a faint red ring from the belt, legs shaky and bowed, walking like you’ve been fucked senseless for hours (because you have), drowning in toji’s too-big t-shirt that barely covers your ass and shows the dark bruises blooming on your thighs.
naoya’s mouth opens. closes. opens again.
“what the actual fuck,” he finally chokes out, voice cracking on the last word.
you groan—long, dramatic, exhausted—and ignore him completely. you shuffle straight toward toji, bare feet padding slow on the tile, one hand braced on the wall for balance.
“i’m not kidding,” you complain, voice cracking again. “my pussy hurts, my legs don’t work, i feel like i ran a marathon with a jackhammer up my—”
toji’s smirk widens—slow, smug, victorious. he sets the coffee down, spreads his thighs wider, and pats his lap once.
“c’mere, baby.”
you don’t hesitate. you climb into his lap—awkward, thighs still trembling—straddling one thick leg, ass settling against his crotch. his arm immediately bands around your waist, pulling you flush to his bare chest; his free hand slides up your bare thigh under the shirt, palm warm and possessive on your hip, thumb brushing the sensitive skin where thigh meets ass.
naoya makes a strangled, furious noise.
“why the fuck,” he starts, voice rising sharp and incredulous, “are you fucking my uncle?”
you blink—once, twice—then slowly turn your head to look at toji.
“uncle?” you repeat, voice small, disbelieving.
toji’s chest rumbles under you with a low laugh. he presses a lazy kiss to your temple, hand squeezing your hip.
“yeah,” he says casually, like he’s discussing the weather. “naoya’s my nephew. zenin clan bullshit. don’t worry about it.”
your mouth drops open. you look back at naoya—whose face is rapidly turning an impressive shade of red-purple—and then at toji again.
toji tilts his head, eyes flicking between you and naoya, realization dawning slow and delighted.
“wait,” he says, grin spreading wider. “you know him?”
you nod—still processing—then point one shaky finger at naoya.
“he’s the guy,” you say flatly. “the thirty-second disaster from last night. the one i screamed at in the hallway. the one who told me i’d never have better after he came before i was even wet.”
toji stares at naoya for one long beat.
then he throws his head back and laughs—loud, rough, genuine—the sound bouncing off the kitchen walls.
“oh my god,” he wheezes, arm tightening around your waist. “you’re tellin’ me this little shit had four hours to fuck you right and he lasted thirty seconds? dry? no foreplay? jackhammer bullshit and then told you you’d never have better?” he snorts—mocking, delighted. “kid, i’m twice your age and i just fucked her for four straight hours until she couldn’t walk. had her squirting in my jeep, cryin’ on my cock, beggin’ for more. and you’re out here actin’ shocked she ended up in my bed?”
naoya’s face twists—fury, humiliation, disbelief all at once.
“you—you fucking shameless old bastard,” he spits, voice shaking. “fucking a girl half your age—my sloppy seconds—and you’re proud of it?”
toji doesn’t even flinch. his hand slides higher under the shirt—cups your bare ass possessively—while he looks naoya dead in the eye.
“sloppy seconds?” he repeats, slow and mocking. “nah. you barely got the tip wet. i had to clean her up myself before i even touched her. and yeah—i’m proud. she came to me after you failed. screamed my name for hours. so yeah, i’m shameless. now get the fuck out of my house. tell the clan whatever you want. tell ’em your uncle’s got better dick game than their precious heir. tell ’em she chose me. and stay the hell away from her.”
naoya opens his mouth—closes it—then spins on his heel and storms out, front door slamming so hard the windows rattle.
silence rings in the kitchen for two heartbeats.
then you snort—soft, disbelieving—still perched in toji’s lap.
“pussy,” you mutter, shaking your head. “can’t believe he’s really your nephew. guy’s got no skill, no stamina, no nothing. thirty seconds and he thought he ruined me for life.”
toji laughs again—low, warm—arm tightening around your waist as he presses a kiss to your shoulder where the shirt has slipped.
“he’s my sister’s kid,” he says, voice dry. “zenin blood runs thin sometimes. lucky for you it skipped me.”
you giggle—tired, happy—then lean sideways to kiss his cheek, slow and soft, lips lingering against the rough stubble.
“very lucky,” you murmur against his skin. “best decision i ever made was walking out on him and calling you.”
he turns his head—catches your mouth in a lazy, deep kiss—tasting like coffee and smug satisfaction.
“damn right,” he whispers when he pulls back, forehead resting against yours. “now—coffee, food, or back to bed?”
you hum—already nuzzling into his neck again.
“all three,” you mumble. “but carry me. legs still don’t work.”
he snorts—soft, fond—then stands, lifting you with him like you weigh nothing.
“yes ma’am,” he says, already heading toward the stairs again. “anything for my favorite disaster recovery.”
you laugh—quiet, sleepy—arms looping around his neck as he carries you back upstairs.
the house is quiet now.
just you.
just him.
and the promise of more—slow mornings, lazy afternoons, nights that stretch until dawn—stretching out ahead like the best kind of ruin.
every time you’re ovulating, everything about toji feels amplified. he comes out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel through his damp hair, and you notice it first. the sharp line of his jaw is softened by a dark shadow. "you stopped shaving," you murmur, more an observation than a question. he just grunts, a low sound that rumbles right through you, and you feel a distinct pull low in your belly.
later, when he stretches on the couch, his shirt rides up. your eyes catch on that dark, happy trail leading from his navel down into his sweatpants. it’s not a jungle, just a perfect, masculine line that makes your mouth water. "like what you see?" he asks, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. you just nod, unable to form words, your body humming with a need that feels primal.
in bed, his scent is everywhere. he hasn’t shaved anywhere, and when he moves over you, the musk from his pits hits you like a drug. it’s pure toji, sweat and skin and something uniquely him. you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. "you smell so good," you whisper, and he lets out a low chuckle, his stubble scratching your temple. "ovulating again, huh?" he knows. of course he knows.
your face is buried between his legs, and the musky scent of his cock is overwhelming. the coarse hair at the base tickles your nose, and you don’t mind one bit. it’s animalistic and raw. "fuck, you’re really into this," he groans, his hands tangling in your hair. you can only hum in response, too lost in the sensation and the smell to care about anything else.
kissing your way up his stomach, your lips brush over the light sprinkling of hair on his chest. it’s not thick, just enough to feel like a man. you linger there, listening to his heartbeat quicken. "tickles," he rumbles, his voice rough with sleep or arousal, maybe both. you love that you can affect him like this, that your obsession is a two-way street.
he pins you down, his body a heavy, welcome weight. the rough texture of his stubble scratches your inner thighs as he moves lower, and you gasp. "so sensitive," he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot. you can only writhe, every nerve ending on fire, your ovulation making every touch feel like a live wire. "please, toji," is all you can manage.
afterwards, you’re draped over him, your head on his chest. your fingers idly trace the happy trail you love so much. he’s sticky and sweaty and completely unashamed. "you’re gonna be like this all week, aren’t you?" he asks, his voice laced with amusement. you just smile against his skin. "probably," you admit. "you’re just… really hot like this."
he turns to face you, his dark eyes glinting in the low light. the stubble, the scent, the sheer masculinity of him makes you want to go again already. "my little beast," he teases, pulling you closer. you sink into his embrace, surrounded by his hair, his musk, him. it’s nasty and perfect, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
ghostface!bfsukuna/ ghostface!stalkertoji x f!reader (mdni 18+)
cw/ themes: horror, ghostface, gore, stalking, obsession, yandere, smut, dub-con, degrädation, praise, knïfeplay, bōndage, threesōme (kinda), handjob, established relationship, p in v, unprotected séx, fear play, slapping, choking wc: ~4.9k
Normally, you would’ve waited till Halloween to propose such a wicked idea to your 4-year-long boyfriend, Sukuna, who was a big proponent of devoting special days for…special freaktivities. Sure, you both weren’t exactly vanilla in bed. Still, it was more of devoted, romantic love-making that very rarely needed any extraordinary kinks to get you both there (unless we’re counting choking, spanking, and scratching).
The most recent ‘adventurous’ thing you’d both done was have sex in public; but technically, it was in the middle of a deserted snowy winter day, at the public restroom near your holiday ski lodge. So imagine Sukuna’s surprise when, on a random July evening, you made his jaw drop with a bizarre request.
“Kuna?” You asked, slouching into the couch next to him, one of your legs resting in his lap as he massaged your foot.
“Mmm?” He replied, watching the Scream movie, unfazed by the red splatters. You’d watched it together about 10 times now, so you weren’t really surprised by his stoic expressions.
“You know what my favourite movie genre is, right?” You asked, inching closer to him so that you could study his face closely in the dim glow of the TV screen.
“Horror.” He answered plainly, his hands stopping the massage. “Are you going to do the how-well-do-you-know-me Q&A again, brat?” he asked, clearly used to your habit of always needing reassurance about his attention towards you.
“Yes. And what if I told you… this brat has…always found Skeet Ulrich hot in the movie?” You said, stuttering over your words, trying to keep an innocent smile on your face.
“And…” He urged, impatiently.
“And what if I say… that I noticed it wasn’t his face that was hot, but when he had his Ghostface mask on?”
He dropped the TV remote and suddenly tilted his face to look at you with a slight glint in his eyes.
“You’re ovulating?”
“Maybe.”
“What if my Kuna makes me happy by roleplaying with me?” You asked, “As ghostface?”
“That’s it? Just wear a mask? I thought you’d ask something more bizarre by how you’re stuttering.”
“Well, I am… about to. Haven’t finished my ask.”
“Hmm?”
“I was thinking, you use a real knife… and chase me. At any time of your choice. It’s a mystery when, and we do a pact now so we have a safe word and all that stuff. “ You continued, your smile widening a bit too much now, “And if you find me… you can tie me up and do whatever you like.”
Sukuna’s face visibly altered into a confused and then shocked expression, jaw hung open as he took in your ask.
“I didn’t know you were into that, woman.” His mouth curved into a smirk. “Could’ve asked me earlier.”
“I feel safe with you, you know, despite all that happened before…”
—
A lot had happened before. In your final year of university, the very year you’d met Sukuna, you’d also unfortunately found yourself an obsessed stalker who had given you immense trauma, and eventually made you take safer choices in every aspect of your life. Sukuna knew that, and never pushed your boundaries after the experience.
You’d come back to your dorm room filled with handwritten love confessional notes in red ink, the sender promising that they were actually from his veins. Notes admiring your nose, your eye color, your figure, and how much he wanted to put his cock inside of you. You’d thrown them all out, but they never stopped, despite your constant complaints to the RA.
The notes had turned into pictures. Photographs of you that were way too intimate. Of you in your room at night, of Sukuna making love to you, and glimpses of your naked silhouette as you changed your clothes…
You’d initially suspected your roommate of trying to prank you. Her bed was on the side of the room with windows, and the photographs seemed to have been taken from that side. But when you confronted her, her shock amounted to as much as yours. So much so that she initiated installing black-out blinds the same day, and removing all mirrors around the room to protect the privacy of you both.
You’d lock yourself in Sukuna’s dorm room, crying to him every night like a pathetic loser, and he’d do his best to support you. He’d tried everything he could. He’d talked to his friends who had cop parents to seriously look into the matter, but with all the haphazard evidence and poor leads, it had gone nowhere. Your campus and dorms were situated in secluded parts of the town, and that made it worse. Your poor friends eventually decided to accompany you everywhere to ensure your safety, and Sukuna decided to install a security cam outside your dorm room door too.
During the last week of your finals, you were ecstatic to finally leave that shitty, creepy situation in that dorm room. There had been no resolutions with the constant harassment from your stalker. Strangely, no unknown person was captured on the cams either. The notes knew scary personal details about you. What your favourite childhood pet’s name was, how many moles and birthmarks you had, and even the colour of underwear you’d wear that day. None of these details were available on your socials (which you’d long deleted out of fear), and even Sukuna, who was new to knowing you, didn’t.
Sometimes, you’d find it endearing. That someone could be as obsessed with you, but you’d try to quickly brush those intrusive thoughts aside. Occasionally, your mind would drift to daydreaming about who he was, what he looked like, and if he’d really satisfy you the way he promised to. But all that dissolved into anger once you’d be reminded of how difficult life had become trying to avoid this man. It was odd – as if the person was someone already known to you. But you had no close male figures you associated with, so it always left you confused.
—
You were taken by surprise when the dorm room telephone rang at 3 am before your second-to-last final. You weren’t really a deep sleeper, and the anxiety with finals made you even more aware of the shrilling ring filling your ears. To make matters worse, your roommate, who had already finished her finals and left the morning to drive back home. The telephone rarely rang. Only if there were emergency announcements that failed to go through the speakers to students, or if there was a family emergency which you needed to be informed about, or if another student rang you from another dorm room in the same building.
You reluctantly picked it up, heart thumping, waiting for bad news:
“Hello?”
Silence. There was no one on the line. Or so you thought, because straining your ears made you aware of a soft breathing coming through the other line.
“Umm, anybody there?” You asked, still slightly groggy, trying to absorb what was happening.
“Hey, dollface.” A deep, husky voice answered, with a slightly amused tone.
You froze.
It couldn’t be. Is it… who I think it is?
“Who the fuck is this?” You answered, looking around to grab your phone in the meantime.
“Baby. Did I interrupt your beauty sleep?” He spoke in a gentler tone now, “I’m sorry. I’ll let you go after this call.”
You stayed silent, unsure whether you should disconnect the call or convince the voice to finally reveal their identity.
It’d help with the investigation. You lied to yourself.
“I thought I’d help my doll satisfy herself. I know how stressed you are with finals, sweetheart.” The low voice groaned.
“Shut up. You know you could go to jail for this, right? With all the shit you’ve been doing to me?”
“Is that a threat, my love?” He chuckled, “Or a lie you’re telling yourself as you stay on the line with me? Admit it. You like how I sound.”
In fact, you did. And you hated yourself for it. Hated yourself for finally getting a glimpse of your stalker, all to find out he sounds like those voice actors people swoon over. Hated yourself for feeling your cunt throb from this strange interaction.
“It’s a good change, I know. Now you can finally touch yourself to my voice instead of the filthy letters I write to you.”
How does he know, fuck.
“I know. You’re thinking how I know that you’ve touched yourself to my written confessionals of how good I’d fuck you, and how much your stupid boyfriend didn’t please you enough?” he whispered, sending a shiver down your spine.
“Fuck off. He pleases me just fine.” You said, looking around your room to try to figure out where he was seeing you from.
“Oh, don’t look around like a sheep caught in a fence. It was quite some work to install that camera in the fire alarm.”
Oh my god. How stupid was I? Of course there was a hidden camera somewhere *inside*. He’s been watching me all along.
“If you’re so obsessed with me, why haven’t you revealed yourself to me yet? Scared I’ll reject you or scared I’ll report you?”
“Reject me? I wish you could see how I looked, baby. I know for a fact that even the pink-haired son of a bitch would cream a little if he saw how I looked.”
Before your mouth could keep up with your brain, the sentence poured out like vomit:
“What do you look like?”
Why the fuck did I ask that?
“Oh my, my. Curiosity indeed killed the cat.” he chuckled loudly this time, “Have you seen Skeet Ulrich? Now imagine him buff. Like 10x buff with a Dorito build, large deltoids and emerald green eyes. Got abs too. That’s how the friends describe me.”
“You have friends? Do your friends know what the fuck you do?” you answered, trying to ignore the growing heat in your core from the physical description of himself.
“Of course they don’t, sweetheart. Like the same way your boyfriend doesn’t know how wet you are from me talking to you right now. Look how soaked your panties are, doll.”
Fuck.
You were wet. Soaking wet. And your night uniform of an oversized shirt and transparent, pink cotton undies now seemed like a terrible choice you’d made.
“I can see the outline of your filthy cunt and how perked up your nipples are for me. Practically begging to be taken. Now be a good girl and touch yourself for me—”
You clanked the telephone receiver down, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. A normal person would’ve felt sick and disconnected the call immediately, but you hated how your body acted completely irrationally.
You couldn’t tell Sukuna about the call. Nor could you ask the RA to investigate the call. They’d know the filthy details about your not-so-distant relationship with your stalker. And you’d be the villain in this situation.
So you turned off the lights, going under the blankets to cover yourself from the pinhole camera in the fire alarm, letting your fingers drift between your legs, moaning and pleasuring yourself from the built-up sensation, completely oblivious to the fact that the camera also had a microphone that your stalker could hear you cum from.
—
“Pineapple. How’d that be?”
“Yeah. Sure. But you’re 100% certain you want to do this, baby?” Sukuna asked, squeezing your hand for confirmation.
You nodded.
“Unless you don’t want to… I’m fine with that too–”
“No, brat. I want to. Now don’t be surprised if I follow the script, though. I can be mean if I want to, you know that?”
“Mhm.”
“Just say the safe word when it’s too much, okay?”
—
It had been a couple of days since your conversation with Sukuna. You’d insisted on him surprising you, but every single passing day of said surprise made you giddy with anticipation. You’d been wearing the most scandalous matching sets you owned for a week straight now, and you were kind of upset with how much laundry you had been doing to keep up. Giving up on him fulfilling your wish anytime soon, you settled on a simple pink, cotton pair of boyshorts and a mismatched old, white lace bra. He wouldn’t care if you wore something un-sexy either way.
But just as fate had it, as you were scrolling through your phone for an easy one-pot dinner recipe, the lights in your apartment went out.
Ummm. Did I forget to pay my electricity bill?
You walked up to slowly navigate through the darkness, waving your phone flashlight, only to realize your phone battery was at 2%.
Well. Shit.
You quickly sent a text to Sukuna before heading to your desk where your fully-charged laptop could connect your mobile to power it up. Scrambling to see around you in the dark, you heard a loud thud at your window.
Did a fucking tree fall over? Because what the fuck.
You slowly drew the curtains to see a black figure with a ghostface mask standing on your guest room balcony, leading you to scream at the top of your lungs.
“Sukuna! You scared me.”
He didn’t speak a word, moving his fingers to his mouth to shush you up.
“Did you disconnect the power?”
He nodded, wordlessly. Then he turned his phone screen to show his Notes:
“Hi baby. Missed me?”
You giggled, nodding at how sweet he was even in this role that was supposed to be cruel.
“Run before I catch you, now!”
He scrolled down to show you a timer he had going on. And you had exactly 3 minutes to hide.
You drew the curtains back before you sprinted to scout an inconspicuous hiding spot that was not too inconspicuous. Sure, if this was a real-life scenario, you’d probably already be fleeing away from your apartment, but this was a completely different moment. Something you’d willingly signed up for.
The bathroom? No, too obvious. The closet? That isn’t going to fit me. The bed? Oh, how convenient. Under the bed it is. Keeping the mood alive by fucking right after Kuna finds me. How romantic.
You slid under the bed, avoiding the little dust that had accumulated from your long impending deep-clean, and slowed your breathing to hear your surroundings. You could hear the faint picking of the balcony door, so you took the time to grab the storage boxes and surround yourself with them. You’d figured you’d make it a bit hard for him, since that’d make you both hornier from the wait.
Did he forget our keys? He could’ve just unlocked the balcony door with them. You wondered.
All the overthinking was soon replaced with heavy combat boots that made the wooden floors of your apartment reverberate. Your heartbeat picked up pace, and you started sweating with the anticipation of his arrival in the bedroom.
He really prepared for this, huh. Combat boots too?
You could hear the figure shuffling around the living room, opening the larger cabinets, the storage pantry, moving the couch.
And then the bedroom latch turned slowly.
“You in there, sweetheart?” The voice was muffled and didn’t really sound like Sukuna. It was the mask altering his voice, you thought.
You stayed quiet, pressing your hand against your mouth to contain the sudden humour that took over you. You had a habit of laughing at the most inappropriate moments, and it clearly got you today, too.
You saw his feet circle the room to expectantly open the closet that was filled with clothes. Not finding you in there, he went into the connected washroom.
A sound of the shower curtains sliding with one swift motion, then silence. And then a ‘tsk’. “You’re being such a bad, bad girl,” he muttered, making you let out a giggle.
Oops. Busted.
Sooner or later he’d find you anyway. The feet walked towards the bed, and suddenly, he dropped to his knees to take a peek below the bed.
“Found you. Brat.” And before you could say anything, the figure circled to the other side of the bed and yanked you out by your feet.
“Ouch!” You shrieked, pretending not to like the force he grabbed you with.
Fuck, does he look hot. He was wearing a tight compression t-shirt with a black jacket and cargo pants, sluttily covering every inch of his body, leaving everything to your imagination. And that mask. Fuck. It was so scary, it made you leak a little.
He grabbed your hair and gently tugged at it to seat you on the edge of the bed, which you followed, obligingly.
“Now that I’ve caught you… do you know what’s going to happen?” The voice echoed.
You feigned innocence, shaking your head no, biting your lower lip in excitement.
“Oh. Too bad. Stand up and turn around for me, filthy girl.”
He never used that before. But why does it sound so familiar?
He yanked your wrists behind you, tightly tying them up in a thick rope that was less rough than you’d imagined. Of course he doesn’t want to hurt me even in playing this role.
"So, you got a boyfriend?" he asked, sliding to grab your ass and squeeze and knead your cheeks with his gloved hands.
"Why? You wanna ask me out?" you whispered, enjoying his calming touch on your body.
"Maybe. Do you have a boyfriend?" his hands slowly raked up to your waist, stopping at the hem of your oversized tee.
"No," you lied, following the movie script, giggling a little and pushing your butt against his hard, clothed cock.
“I never told you my name."
Um. Did he forget the lines? That’s not how the dialogue goes.
“Uh….”
"Don’t you want to know who you’re grinding up on? He chuckled, pushing his torso against your tied hands and ass.
Kuna would be such a bad actor. You thought. Fine, impromptu it is.
“Maybe?”
“Fine, dollface."
You froze. That word was exclusively used by someone you’d long left in the past, and you thought you were imagining and mishearing things. The figure pushed you onto the bed, while you were unable to lift yourself to look at him, as he stood behind you.
“Kuna? It’s you… right?”
“Oh god. I can’t believe you’re still with that bastard.”
Oh no no. It can’t be–
With one flip, the figure turned your body over so that you’d face him now, back arching from the restricted arms behind you.
“It’s you, you psycho!” you shrieked, realization dawning upon you.
“Love. Don’t call me psycho. It’s Toji.”
Toji? Shit, wasn’t he the guy who was on Sukuna’s hockey team?
You’d met Toji a handful of times during Sukuna’s parties, where he’d always make you a drink. He was certainly an attractive, charming man, but with his reputation for hating commitment, you’d never given him much thought, especially because of how well Sukuna treated you.
He yanked his mask off, black, raven hair falling on his face, slightly wet from the humidity of the visage. Even in the dark, you could see his glistening, green-emerald eyes that shone under the moonlight. His face was chiseled, angled just like Kuna’s, but that scar on his lip made him look so… handsome. And those lips turned to smirk at you, as he noticed your eyes drifting up and down to study his face.
“Like what you see, doll?” He asked, tapping his boots against the floor.
“I…how did you get in? Where’s Kuna…” You asked, trembling, trying to look away with your flushed face.
“You didn’t answer my question, baby.”
“I…No. I’m already in love with Kuna.”
“Liar. I’ll give you another chance.” He said, drawing out a knife from his jacket.
Fear overtook you as you tried to wriggle out of your constraints. “No! Pls! Don’t hurt me!”
“Nobody’s going to hurt you. I thought you wanted knifeplay?” his smirk widened.
“Remember when you fucked yourself to my voice that night? After you disconnected the call?” he said, whispering your name, forcing you to return to the moment you’d buried somewhere far in your memory, knife inches away from your neck.
You shook your head no, unable to speak out words with the tightness growing in your throat.
“Another lie.” He frowned, removing his outer jacket, tossing it on the ground to reveal his big, beefy arms that crossed in annoyance.
“I’m not…”
“You are, doll. Admit it. Admit how when you’re home alone and Sukuna’s in another city, you still touch yourself to my letters you’ve kept hidden.”
Tears were streaming down your cheeks in sheer guilt and humiliation. Yes, you had a bizarre fascination for Toji. You’d hated it every single second. It felt like cheating on Sukuna. But it wasn’t relationship-breaking because you hadn’t actually sought him out to physically and emotionally cheat.
“Shhhh, don’t cry.” Toji’s face dropped, with a pitiful expression forming as he tugged you up to hug you tight.
You stood there, crying into his chest as he engulfed you in his embrace – the smell of cedar and teakwood filling your nostrils. It felt comforting when it shouldn’t. And the drowning smell in your nostrils, with the plush pectorals squeezing your face, made your thighs weak.
“I missed you, baby. It’s been so long since I talked to you.” He smiled, wiping down your tear-stained face and runny nose.
“I hated it. Hated when Sukuna was too quick to ask you out on that first date. It should’ve been me. Nobody knows you better than me. Not even him.”
Maybe, he was right. Right about the fact that he knew you better than anybody. Everything you liked or disliked, you had to teach Sukuna step-by-step. It was tiring – to teach him everything because you were his first girlfriend, first everything. You always told yourself that love was supposed to be slow and gentle, even if you were opposites. But with those letters Toji endlessly wrote you, it seemed that the fucking stalker knew you better than yourself. Your darkest secrets, even what you fucking desired in bed.
Emotions and vulnerability took over you, and you found yourself tiptoeing to plant a kiss on his lips, as you barely reached his height. Toji’s eyes widened from the sudden peck, and he hungrily grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against his chest as he slouched to kiss you deeply this time.
He tasted fucking amazing, like something you’d wished for your entire life. Sweet like honey. Intoxicating like whiskey. His kisses were slow, deep, as they suddenly turned into animalistic desire, his tongue sliding into your mouth, French-kissing you while his hands travelled up behind your shirt to feel your prickly skin.
“Fuck…” you moaned, your guilt long gone from your body now.
“Mmm,” he moaned, withdrawing from your lips for a moment to look at your dazed eyes now.
You don’t know anything about who this man really is. Nor do you have any emotional attachment to him. But you were too fucking horny to care right now, so all you worried about was how he made you feel.
His hand slowly lifted your oversized T-shirt, Kuna’s T-shirt, which fell and gathered against the roped restraints on your wrists behind you, his eyes blown out from staring at your perked nipples through the lacy bra. Your breath hitched as he slowly traced the outline of your sloped breast, and your stomach, and your plush thighs.
“Do you want this, baby?” He asked, stopping mere inches from your soaked boyshorts as his fingers rested on your inner thighs.
You nodded yes.
“Speak up.”
“Ye–yes…” you stuttered, nodding your head again.
With a harsh tug at your bra band, he pulled it down to let your tits spill out of the fabric, leaving the fabric clasped. He pushed his hard cock against you again, the friction from his cargos making your cunt ache with desire. His mouth travelled to your neck, then your collarbone and decolletage, placing peppercorn kisses, revering every single part of your body, worshipping you.
Your hands still tied, you ached to touch his body. Toji noticed, and untied the constraints, only to tie them back up again, but now in front of you so it wouldn’t be as painful.
“Sorry, baby. I’m going to have to punish you with these for denying me all those years.”
Your tied hands slowly began touching him, beginning with the scar at his lips, your right thumb slowly pulling down his lower lip.
“How’d you get this?”
“Abused as a child, doll.”
“I’m..I’m sorry…”
“Don’t be.” He stuck out his tongue to slowly capture your thumb and gently suck on it, leaving the vacuumed sensation on your thumb to make you feel some type of way.
He paused to unzip his pants and yank off his cargos in a rush, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes drift down towards the humongous tent in his grey boxers.
“Think you can help me?” He asked, looking down to meet your blurry vision.
Your tied hands slowly, collectively grazing down his stiff length, and he winced from the sudden touch. You pulled on his waistband, his angry and turgid cock springing out free, rigid against his abdomen. It made you drool a little, as your tiny hands barely could wrap around, given how thick he was. Up and down, you traced the single, swollen vein that ran along the side. His breath became labored, and he let out guttural groans, letting one of your hands cup his balls, making his grip on your neck firmer.
“Good girl,” he complimented, now kneading your left breast while pinching the other, making you feel more confident as you quickened your rhythm with your restricted hands.
Suddenly, you heard the door creak open, only to find another ghostface masked entity standing in your doorway, making small, slow, deliberate claps with his hands.
“I hope you enjoyed your gift,” He said.
Sukuna?!
In your dazed moment of focus on Toji, you completely forgot about Sukuna, who was the one to accept the ghostface roleplay to begin with.
“What are you…” You mumbled, trying to steady your focus, withdrawing your hands from Toji’s precum-slick cock.
Sukuna slowly walked towards you as you hurried to pull down your shirt. But Toji just stood there with a smirk across his face, cock out.
“You know, when you proposed the roleplay idea, I was not at all surprised, princess.” He was now dangerously close to you, and it was only now he realized how much taller and stronger he was than both you and Toji.
“Four years back when I met you – it was no coincidence, brat. My buddy and I had a bet over who you’d fall for first. He’d insisted that you’d choose the red flag that he was, so imagine my surprise when you fell for sweet, innocent me?”
He looked at Toji, smiling. “The issue was, buddy here continued obsessing over you and disrespected the fact that I’d won you. Bet or not, I loved you. And he fucking hated that. So, I challenged him. Challenged him that if he’d be able to make you change your mind, he could have you.” His hand raised to cup your cheek, his thumb drawing slow, loving circles. “But didn’t know you’d fall for him four fucking years later, baby,” he slapped the very same cheek he was loving a second before, sending a stinging sensation down your face.
“Sukuna… I’m sorry… I–”
“Shhh. Darling, I knew how much you liked getting stalked by him. He’d sent me all the footage of you touching yourself to him.”
You were speechless. Shocked. This was the last thing you’d imagined your sweet, loving boyfriend would do.
“You fucking conspired to ruin me?” Your voice trembled.
“No, baby. That’s what you chose. You wanted to get fucked by both him and me. And now you’ll have it, my greedy princess.” He chuckled, his hand fisting the strands behind Toji’s head as he groaned in pain.
“I know how kinky you are, baby. So this night was planned well in advance. Toji will do with you what I ask of him to.”
He grabbed Toji’s face with his other hand and sloppily kissed his lips to express his frustration with his friend you didn’t even know was your stalker until moments ago.
God. But the sight of them hungrily tasting each other made your cunt throb with excitement.
Sukuna’s red eyes were focused on yours, but they weren’t the teasing eyes of your gentle boyfriend anymore. They were darker red, colder and terrifyingly focused on your expressions as he continued tonguing Toji’s mouth.
He walked over to push you onto the bed, gripping your thighs. His fingers dipped into your flesh with enough pressure to leave angry, red streaks of blood. His breathing had drastically changed now; it was fast, like he’d just discovered his prey in the wild.
“Sukuna,” you repeated, savouring and hating the pain, the name suddenly tasting like poison on your tongue. He leaned in until his lips were almost touching yours, but there was no tenderness in the gesture anymore. His breath was hot against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.
“Not so soon now, brat. You wanted the knife? To be chased through the dark? Terrified that you’d actually be caught?” A slow, predatory smirk spread across his face, but his eyes remained scarily cold. They remained fixed on every faltering expression, dissecting every micro-twitch of anxiety.
“You’ve asked for a monster.” His thumb pressed hard against your lower lip, roughly forcing it down with his black manicured nail. The ‘roleplay’ you’d proposed was no longer a fantasy; it was a horrid challenge.
“See how she looks at you, Toji? Even when I’m speaking to her,” Sukuna purred, voice dropping to condescension as he glanced at Toji. “She’s terrified, and she’s fucking desperate. She needs two hands to keep her satisfied.”
“What’s the play?” Toji asked, his voice rumbled low. His emerald eyes were fixed on Sukuna, waiting for the command. He didn’t care about your history with Sukuna anymore; he only cared about finally having the hunt he’d waited for all these years.
“Start by reminding her who owns her body now”, Sukuna chuckled. “Use those hands. I want to see her tits bounce while you fuck her senseless, but I want her to feel every inch of contempt for you.
Toji obeyed with no hesitation. His rough hands moved to your breasts, pinching and kneading the sensitive flesh without any ounce of tenderness. He leaned down, leaving bites along your collarbone now, as if branding you as his.
Sukuna moved to the foot of your bed, unbuckling his belt with deliberate slowness as he met your eyes. “Now. Spread her. I want to watch you slide into that pretty cunt while I watch her. And Toji? She doesn’t like gentle. I want her screaming so loud that the neighbours call the cops.”
Toji grabbed your thighs, spreading them apart with little care, exposing you completely. His thick and demanding cock filled the animalistic hunger inside you, while you surrendered yourself to Sukuna’s face that was frowning in pleasure, fisting himself.
Sukuna’s grip was punishingly rough. His fingers sat tight around his base, as if he were testing his own limits of constraint. Fast and aggressive strokes, his thumb pressing hard against the underside of his cock. The sound of his strokes alongside Toji’s fading breaths echoed in the room, making you reach the edge sooner than you’d wanted. You could feel the tension in your body building, and when Sukuna could tell you were close, his free hand gripped the edge of the bed, as his hips bucked involuntarily.
“Fuck you’re still so tight,” Toji growled, his voice thick with lust.
“Don’t talk, just fuck her!” Sukuna commanded, his grip tightening on the bed wood as he watched your body collide with Toji’s.
The climax was unlike anything you’ve ever had. You let a moan so loud, so primal, as you came all over his cock inside you, while he rubbed against your clit with deliberate, slow movements. But before Toji could chase his own release, Sukuna grabbed his hair, yanking his head back and pushing him off the bed.
“Nice try, Toji,” Sukuna muttered while his eyes didn’t leave yours. “Now watch how she really wants to be pleased.”
Without warning, Sukuna grabbed your hips, hauling you upright despite your burned-out state. He didn’t bother with foreplay – had watched your arousal build through Toji making you climax. He positioned himself at your sore, swollen entrance, and drove himself inside you with a devastating thrust that made you shriek in pain.
Your back arched off the bed, a strangled cry escaping when you realized how much bigger and demanding Sukuna’s cock was compared to Toji’s. It sought out every inch inside your belly that Toji had missed. And he fucked you unlike he ever has. Cruelly, rhythmically, each thrust reminding you of his claim over you.
“Look at you, princess.” Sukuna hissed in your warm nipping your earlobe. “Trembling like a fucking deer caught in headlights. You’re pathetic, yeah? You know that?”
“Say it.”
“I’m pathetic!” You screamed.
“And?”
“And I’m yours. And I love it.”
“Good. You-thrust-belong-thrust-to-thrust-me” As he groaned, spilling himself inside you, choking you to constrict you from your already rapid breathing. In a complete, unexpected moment, he pulled away from your climaxing body and pivoted toward Toji with the knife on the bed.
Toji’s reflexes would’ve kicked in if he knew, but Sukuna didn’t play a fair fight – ever. Like the way he made you choose him. Love him. Not Toji. He moved with speed, the blade catching the dim moonlight, and the steel finding its place on Toji’s neck.
A wet, tearing sound filled the room as the blade sliced through Toji' s throat, cutting through the muscle with terrifying ease. Blood splattered across the bedsheets, your naked body, and your eyes widened in shock.
Toji stumbled back to the floor, his hand flying to his neck in a futile attempt to stop the crimson pouring out between his fingers. His emerald eyes slowly losing its dim.
As you cried in fear, shaking uncontrollably, Sukuna leaned down to lick a drop of crimson off your body, his smile widening into something truly demonic.
“Now, dollface,” Sukuna whispered, stroking your cheek with his stained fingers. “It’s just you and me, and I have just begun.”
a/n: i have officially reached level 290404949 of freakiness by posting one of my most secretive fics from a while back i'd left half-written
and what better way to improve the plot then to involve our glorious green-eyed king to fuck with reader's brain?
DAUGHTER im actually scared of yandere kuna omg
art by: gunkachan (?) found on Pinterest tbf and made into an edit by me
divider by: @pixopix
18+ turns out, your roommate sukuna isn't as invisible as you think he is.
you had spent months consumed by one specific tumblr blog. their content was poetic enough, but it was the descriptions that piqued your interest like no other. the shameless details of a cock, the placement of thick veins, and the vivid, flushed colour of swollen flesh whenever it hardened.
it was so graphic that you would spend half your night clutching your phone under the covers with a burning face while reading the exact same paragraph over and over. you just could not stop wondering what sort of person possessed such a filthy language, or who on earth they were using as a reference.
in ridiculous contrast, your actual domestic life was a total dead end. your roommate sukuna was a shadowy guy who spent almost every waking hour walled up inside his bedroom. whenever you tried to carve out some sort of normal rapport, he would just grunt, scowl, and retreat deep into his room like a sullen dog.
it was super infuriating, mostly because he owned the broad shoulders, bulky form, and lethal face that belonged on the cover of the very stories you drooled over. he was the walking, breathing blueprint of every fictional character you got off to. only if he weren't so dense when it came to romance...
---
getting back to the dorm an hour earlier than ordinary, you padded quietly down the hall, quickly noticing the narrow gap in your roommate's door as a soft line of light spilled out. under normal circumstances, you would have marched straight to your room; sukuna was the type to bite your head off for merely existing in his line of sight, and you really didn't need another round of his sharp, contemptuous glares.
but curiosity was a stubborn thing. shifting your heels carefully so the wood beneath your socks would not creak, you pressed close to the wall, tilting your head until your vision lined up with the crack. it took a second for your eyes to focus through the sliver, and the sight waiting inside made your eyes snap wide with pure disbelief.
sukuna was sitting on his bed, trackpants dragged down past his knees, naked from the waist down. his ruby eyes were locked downward in intense concentration, studying his own fully erect cock as it stood thick between his meaty thighs.
he gave it a languid stroke, softly brushing his thumb against the red, puffy tip as he lightly tickled the sensitive flesh to register how the skin moved, fathoming every miniscule sensation. then, without faltering his tempo, his free hand reached for his laptop to type feverishly into an open document.
a tiny manoeuvre from him brought the monitor your view, and there it was. the distinct dark theme, the header image, and the exact layout of your favourite blog sitting right on his screen. the literary god you lusted over late at night was the same brooding dickhead who would not even answer your texts. as the shock settled, you gradually pulled back to act like this never happened, but the floorboards betrayed you by giving a teensy creak under your feet.
at the subtle sound, the rapid clatter of his keyboard came to a halt. yet, sukuna didn't panic or scramble to pull up his trousers. instead, his head cocked toward the crack in the door, watching you with that intense gaze as you struggled to draw even a proper breath.
"you've been watching?"
rather than shutting the laptop, he hooked his pointer finger in a silent gesture, beckoning you into the room while his other hand slowly stroked himself once more.
yousharknotpass
prguitarman
izzy806
theartofmadeline
snowghoul
titsay
vaporwave
discoholicmusic
areudirty
ellievsbear
