𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐅𝐔𝐋 | toji fushiguro
૮₍´˶• . • ⑅ ₎ა warnings . . . ࿐ ♡ ˚ . fem reader, black coded reader, soff’ dom toji, cockwarming, facefucking, masturbation ( f ), daddy kink, pet name usage ( ex. shortstuff, pretty ), hints of a size kink.
word count . . . approx. 2.2k
“an oral fixation,” you had told him while cutely rising up on your tip toes then plopping back down. your hands were interlocked behind your back, and every inch of skin shown underneath your tight, thin strapped, mid-thigh length sundress shimmered with sweet, melon scented lotion. “i read about it. supposedly it, uh . . it sprouts from infancy . . . when,” your eyes avert down to the white french tip neatly swiped along the edges of your pretty toenails. “when oral needs aren’t met . . it’s why i’m always chewing gum and . . nibbling on things, toji.”
toji knows he’s getting up there when regarding his age. he knows he’s a little . . out of the loop with social media, these new electric cars, wireless earbuds, and that nintendo switch hand-held gaming console you love playing while burrowed underneath a pillow fort. but he thinks this, this new . . revelation, really slaps a label on things – on him, to be more specific, labeled ‘old man’ in thick, red letters. he’s never heard of this before. an oral fixation?
it’s why i’m always chewing gum and nibbling on things, toji.
you do like nibbling on things, yes that’s true. from inedible pen caps, hoodie drawstrings, christ, you could barely even sleep if you weren’t suckling on the skin of his bicep, collarbone, or forearm as if he were nothing but a piece of meat you got to sink your little teeth into whenever you wanted . . the random hickies there can prove that much. then there were the edible things such as dual watermelon and strawberry flavored ring pops, popsicles, stretchy bubblegum, and ice cubes. seventy five percent of the time throughout the day there was something occupying that little mouth of yours. toji had thought it was just an absentminded thing you do, like the way he pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek when he was trying to focus or how he made small clicking sounds with it when he’s struggling to remember something.
finding out that you don’t nip at the sleeves of your shirts just for the fun of it is a bit . . jarring. when he asks you if it’s a disorder, you want to burst into laughter at his overly concerned expression. “no, not really,” you giggle while shaking your head, causing your freshly washed curls to brush against the apples of your risen cheeks. “it’s just . . it’s like — a self-stimulatory . . . habit.”
he’s rubbing a wide hand across the short, dark haired stubble growing along his jaw, seemingly processing this and you let him. “but, uhm,” you twist your big toe into the carpeted floor beneath you. “i’m telling you this for a reason.” a reason that you’ve been too timid to approach him with for too many months. but toji, while physically intimidating with a stature of six feet and two and a half inches, broad shoulders, and a decade old scar running vertically down the right corner of his plush, soft lips, there is and always will be a certain . . . delicateness he maintains with you.
you know that if you were to tell him the reason why he wouldn’t look at you in shock or disgust or with hostility; that just isn’t him. forcing yourself to keep that in mind, that’s what has you shyly telling him that you’d like to sit between his legs, open up your pretty, little mouth, and cockwarm him. “you don’t . . well duh, you don’t have to like, say yes. i know this is weird and,” you’re rambling now, something you do when you feel embarrassed. “and maybe not . . normal.”
toji’s staring at you with a lazy smirk on his face, arms folded across his big chest, and legs manspreaded wide. it’s often you get shy, but still, he finds it cute. “relax, shortstuff,” he gruffs out, cutting your clumsy ramblings to a halt. “i’ll let you . . i, uh, i give my consent.”
“you do?” the way your eyes light up is striking. it’s like you hadn’t thought he’d say yes which is more confusing in and of itself because why wouldn’t he? “t-thank you,” your voice is tiny again and you’re taking these small, short steps over so that you can stand between his legs. “thank you, toji.”
you’re fucking adorable. he lifts himself up from the settee so that he can stand and when lengthened to his full height, your head barely meets his pectorals. “anythin’,” he has to lift your chin up with one of his hands so that he can look down into your wide, doe eyes. “and i mean anythin’ i will do for you.”
and so he does. he grabs himself a beer, flicks the football game onto the television, plops a thick pillow down between his feet so that you don’t bruise your little knees, and gets comfortable.
you’re excited, he can tell by the way your fingers shake as you hook them into his sweats and tug them down just enough so that his softened cock is exposed, laying across his fat, swollen balls. you tuck the fabric underneath them, taking one look up at toji to see his eyes focused on the screen of the tv as he took a sip of cold beer. you thank him once more, because only the heavens know how long you’ve wanted to do this. the sheer weight of him on your tongue has always made you go sated and completely brainless and nothing in this world compares. you’ve tried to satiate yourself with objects and food close to his girth and length but nothing comes close.
a warm sigh of contentment can’t stay contained when about half of him is in your mouth and knowing you got to just sit here this time, has you closing your eyes and plopping the side of your face against a thick, muscled thigh. you’re happy.
toji pats your head softly, “you okay?”
for him, it’s a new feeling — hot, wet warmth just hugged around his cock but, in a way, he supposes that this is also comforting to him, too. because he has you close, albeit between his legs, it’s almost as if you both are silently bonding. he looks down at you again, at your lashes fanned out across the soft peaks of your cheeks, the cute smoosh of the one laid against his thigh, the tight, frizzed coils of your hair, your glossed lips wrapped around him.
it’s maybe thirty minutes in before he realizes you fell asleep.
he knows it because you start to suckle on him very gently, the same way you do his forearm at night. “lil minx,” he utters, gulping down the last of his beer before he’s resting the bottle down on the coffee table. and at the slightest sound of glass meeting glass, you startle just the tiniest bit awake, sleepy eyes opening so that you can look up at him. he shushes you quietly, apologizing for the sound, leaving you to turn and lay the other side of your face on his opposite thigh. you sigh again, before you’re practically melting where you sit, and closing your eyes once more.
seeing you so docile and soft has toji wondering how long you’ve wanted this.
the way you sit so quiet and complacent has him thinking it’s been for a while. he moves his leg in the slightest and you just move along with him, allowing him to bend and shape you any way he wants. you make him huff a small chuckle out of shock as he asks once more, “you doin’ okay down there, doll?”
as much as you want to ignore it though, you can feel the seat of your panties sticking to your needy cunt with your dripping slick. you feel upset. you didn’t want this. this was supposed to be . . innocent — sinless. and in your mind it is, but your body . . . it’s a betrayer. it’s accustomed to toji, so even if you wanted to just guiltlessly cockwarm your boyfriend for a couple hours, your greedy pussy wanted more.
toji hears you huff an angry breath through your nose which has him breaking eye contact with the television once again to look down at you. your threaded brows were pulled taut to mimic an expression of agitation. “aye, what’s wrong?” he asks, concerned.
you don’t answer. instead, you lift your head, straighten up your spine, then drop your mouth down to bury the rest of his cock inside your throat. toji’s thighs twitch beside your head and he’s adjusting his posture with a slight hiss.
just one time, you tell yourself.
you’ll indulge yourself just this once.
when you start to bob your head is when toji speaks up, voice thin and quiet, “what . . what happened to jus’ us sittin’ here, doll?”
you let his cock, fat and throbbing, slip from your mouth with a small ‘pop’ so that you can pout and adjust yourself on your knees to widen them. “i don’t . . . i don’t know,” you feel oddly embarrassed. “can i . . do this too, though?”
you look up into his eyes beneath your lashes. toji has both his arms thrown over the back of the couch now. there’s a hint of a smirk starting to lift the corner of his lips where his scar resides at the sight of your doughy cheeks and pretty pout. “mhm,” with no hands, he makes his cock give a soft jump which always makes you scrunch your nose and smile at how silly it looked. “go ahead.”
your tongue, small and warm, drags a line up to his drooly tip from his balls then back down to where you suckle one in your mouth. your eyes close at the feel and taste of him, firm and malleable over soft, musk-tainted skin. you moan. you roll one of his heavy balls over your tongue, suckling hard until your cheeks hallowed then popping it out to give attention to the other.
toji’s cursing softly above you, starting to stroke his cock and pulls it towards his abdomen to give you more room to work with. “jus’ fuckin’ filthy, aren’t you?” he hums.
you can’t help it. you’ve always had a fascination with toji’s sac that you never wanted to really delve into. all you know is that when you feel them, heavy and swelled with his semen, smacking loudly against the pucker of your asshole while he has you folded with your knees by your ears, ankles clutched in one of his big hands, you go absolutely stupid. when you can practically see them swaying through those thin basketball shorts he liked to wear to bed sometimes, your mouth waters. it’s plain out perverted.
“mmf — good,” you murmur when you’re pulling your throat free from his cock to gape for air and look up at him.
the surface of your eyes are polished with unshed tears and you’re scrunching your nose to cutely sniffle some snot back into your nose. “taste . . s’good, toji.”
his eyes scroll back into his head upon lifting his hips to bury himself to the hilt inside of your mouth. what was once gentle sucks morphs into him grabbing the sides of your face to blatantly use it. “so fuckin’,” his jaw clicks when he clenches it. “disgusting.”
you’re making a mess — foamy, thick lines of spit that dribbles past the stretched corners of your lips and down his shaft to a mat of trimmed pubes. warm tears drip across plush cheeks and your little fingers twitch and wriggle where they grip toji’s muscled thighs, dying to slip down between your opened legs where your pussy ached and pulsed for attention. during moments like these, you’re thankful that your boyfriend knows you so well because with his granted permission, a low groan of, “go ahead. daddy knows it hurts, rub your pretty, lil’ clit f’me.” you’re doing your best to gurgle your sweet thank yous with a mouthful of cock before you’re slipping your fingers underneath your tight sundress, into your little thong, and maneuvering tiny circles along your thumping clit.
you do your absolute best to keep your mouth tight around toji while doing so and lift your blurry eyes to watch him tilt his head back, showing off the thick column of his neck where a silver chain hangs off of it that dangles your first name’s initial.
it’s only right that your orgasm creeps on you so suddenly at the blatant symbol of possession — of knowing he was all yours and he enjoyed letting everyone know.
you choke around him, your throat spasms as a gush of wetness leaks out of you to wet your fingers, panties, and drip down the insides of your thighs. toji is not far off. the clench of your throat around his sensitive tip has his body locking up before it relaxes again in spasming intervals as shot after shot of thick, runny, pearly white cum pulses into your mouth. “mhm, mhm . . jus’ — jus like that, d-damnit,” he hisses, eyebrows pinched close and fists slowly loosening in your hair with each passing second until he’s all worn lax.
you’re swallowing his seed without needing to lift your head to do so. what’s heard throughout the living room are both of your hard pants and the sound of a referee calling a fumble from the television. “fuck,” you hear him chuckle before he’s brushing some curls off of your forehead to get a good look at you. “you okay, pretty?”
your nod is small. “mhm.”
with your closed eyes comes a new bout of relaxation. tuckered out and bleary-eyed, you plop the side of your face back on his thigh, lolling yourself to sleep with the feel of his calloused fingers massaging your scalp.
your nod is small. “mhm.”
with your closed eyes comes a new bout of relaxation. tuckered out and bleary-eyed, you plop the side of your face back on his thigh, lolling yourself to sleep with the feel of his calloused fingers massaging your scalp.
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