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‧₊˚﹒♡﹗₊˚⊹❀𝓸𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓾𝓯𝓲𝓵𝓶𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝔀𝓲𝓷𝓰…‧₊˚﹒♡﹗₊˚⊹❀

cinnamon. toji.

𓊆ྀི warnings .ᐟ + word count— 14.7K, original!blackfemalecharacter, original!blackfemprekteacher, megumifushiguro implemented!, tojifushiguro!, southerncoded!toji, aggressive!toji, dadcoded!fushiguro, sweet!toji, dominant!toji, possessive!toji, pet names, dirtytalk!, rough!sex, unprotected!sex, nutting on face!, swallowing!, squirting!, creaming!, stand and carry position, riding, doggy style, pussy eating, dick sucking, minors are not welcome! 𓊇ྀི

メモ。— a lil’ late night post, will apologize for that. but hey, it’s me. had to post mine + apparently y’all’s favorite toji fic first, teehee. and bc i didn’t do it last time, will preface by saying the main characters name is asael, pronounced ah—sigh—yell, bc i think some of y’all were confused. anyways, here’s cinnamon remastered— cute, hot, sexy times combined into one fic ! love you, hope you enjoy.

ビジュアル。

DOODLES OF SPIDER-MAN WERE DRAWN ON THE RIGHT CORNER OF HIS PAPER, THE HANDWRITING EASILY RECOGNIZABLE TO HER SLENDER EYES. A small grin rises on her full lips, vision flickering up to search for her favorite student—there he was, bashful unintentionally, darkened hair and flushed cheeks hiding within his journal as usual.

Some children were like him, while some weren’t. She adored her career within education, a Pre-K teacher always being the walk of life she’d wanted for herself—it’s was their genuine giggles, their doe eyes curious with every question, their excitement of learning something new each and every day—if anything, it made her feel like the same superhero drawn upon the paper she currently graded. Speaking of that drawing, it belonged to a particular student of hers. Megumi.

She wasn’t supposed to have favorites, but he was hers.

Onyx hair that sprawled around his head, round deep blue irises that beamed when something caught his interest, to the shy giggle he gave when he found something entertaining. She never had any problems with Megumi—well, all but one.

Anti-social was an understatement. He would stay inside and draw rather than be outside during recess, and his refusal to participate in group activities didn’t make it any better. She respected her students and their personal space, but after a year of the same pattern? It was starting to become concerning.

They were all currently assigned to work stations, finding him in the Art corner of the room, of course. Doing a brief check of each station, she tip-toes over to a yellow table, the painted oak glowing an amber hue from the years of it being used.

“Hey, Meg. You okay?”

When she doesn’t receive an answer, she gives a warm smile to her other student at the table. Layla. Tawny brown skin beautifully complimented with her light brown pigtails, humming softly as she scribbles her own drawings on construction paper.

So she tries again, “Did you see what Layla drew?”

Megumi peers up at his teacher, face hidden underneath the veil of his messy bangs. As usual, his cheeks gain that familiar crimson color, and he nods. He didn’t mean to ignore her, he just had his focus on something—in this case, another Spider-Man drawing. At his teacher mentioning Layla—he leans over towards her paper with wide eyes. The drawing was of a family, a mom, dad, and their baby all sitting on a picnic blanket.

The only thing she receives is the smallest mumble of, “Pretty,” as he quickly goes back to his own craft.

She blows out a soft exhale.

“It is.”

At another attempt, she leans in closer—her fingers point to the little girl’s drawing, “Hey, Lala. That’s a pretty picture. Did you see Megumi’s drawing?”

Layla lifts her head and immediately smiles. The five year old loved to talk, which was the opposite of Megumi, a bundle of sunshine ready to explode next to the starry night that was her classmate.

“Mhm!”

Layla leans forward to get a better look, brown curls bouncing with her gasp, “That’s so cool!”

Megumi visibly preens at the compliment, eyes widening like a puppy would as they receive a treat. Being a more timid child, he wasn’t one to receive the attention of others too often, so when it happened? It was all the more special.

His round face beams, turning a darker shade of pink as he nods his head rapidly, “…I did it all by myself.”

“How about you show Layla the Spider-Girl you drew? Better yet, you can make her one to take home, yeah?”

“I love Spider-Girl!” Layla gasps, “Can III get one, Megumi?”

Megumi’s eyes light up like twinkling stars. The shy boy nods his head eagerly, happy to have someone interested in something he enjoyed, a slight smile now spreading across his small face.

“Mhm…”

He nods his head, going into his desk as he then says, “I can make you another Spider-girl one, this one’s for my dad, okay?”

A giggle escapes Layla, a nod in return as she bounces up and down in her chair, pigtails bobbing along with every move. Megumi starts to quickly draw another version of the super hero he so admired, but through this adorable interaction, he mentions something that does distract his teacher—his father.

Like Candyman or Bloody Mary, these were examples of ominous things that possibly existed, including her students' father. She’d attempted to contact him since the year started, Megumi’s nanny being the only person that dropped him off from the first day up until now. When she asked the nanny if there was any particular reason why he never showed up, it was always vague.

“He’s a busy man,” she’d say.

It wasn’t a teacher's business to pry, but she’d concluded something— The reason why Megumi clung to her so much? It was only because this attention was lacking at home. She proclaimed that whenever his father decided to make his grand entrance, she’d give him a piece of her mind.

She just didn’t know that day would be today.

“Hey, Ms. Honey.”

The familiar voice catches her attention—brown eyes flicker to the doorway of her classroom, seeing lavender overalls coated in colored handprints—Mrs. Emery, a teacher from across the hall that taught first grade.

“‘Afternoon, Mrs. Em.”

“I love your classroom—your kids are like the ultimate palate cleanser,” Mrs. Em grins, “Ready to get out of here?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Ms. Honey sighs, “What’s with the painted overalls? I hope you aren’t exploring a new sense of fashion.”

“Girl, no. My first graders got a little carried away during art time—You’d think they were Picasso.”

“You look like you’ve been vandalized.”

“I was.”

The first grade teacher scans over the room, taking notice of an unfamiliar sight; Megumi leans into his classmate, showing her the drawing he was in the process of completing for her.

Mrs. Em’s eyes go slightly wide as she whispers, “Is that Megumi—making friends?”

Ms. Honey giggles softly, “Trying to. I asked him to show Layla his drawing, I thought he was gonna faint.”

Mrs. Em grinned at her words, hands landing on her hips with a slight laugh, “He’s so shy, what a cutie.”

“I just wish he wouldn’t be so afraid to make friends, you know? Everyone in class always wants to talk to him—And his drawings? It’s nothing I’ve ever seen from a five year old. They’re phenomenal,” she crosses her arms, “You’d think he’d want the company since he’s an only child. I know how lonely that can be.”

“Speaking of home, any updates on Mysterious Daddy?” she raises a brow, “I still need the details on that.”

“Girl, if only there were details to give—I have to go through an interview just to have the nanny tell me he can’t talk—I’ve never spoken to the man directly. To make matters worse, she’s terrified of him.”

“No email?”

“Not even a letter from a bird,” Ms. Honey counters, “The nanny also said she only speaks with him when it’s close to Megumi’s bed time—She doesn’t know what he does for work, nor does she feel the need to ask.”

Mrs. Em leans her elbow on a bookshelf, raising a brow at the information she was given, “Sounds like a mob boss, if you ask me.”

Ms. Honey shoots her a look, shaking her head before saying, “If you ask me, he’s a lazy parent or doesn’t even want to be one. What man can’t talk to his child’s teacher about his own kid?”

Both women’s gaze fell towards Megumi once more, the little boy now showing the finished drawing to another classmate that peered over his shoulder with curiosity.

“At least he has you, Ms. Honey. You’re practically a Mommy.”

Ms. Honey sighs, a small smile at the notion, “I’m trying—But it’s not enough. I can tell he craves that one on one attention from a parent, and that’s not something I can fully give as his teacher.”

“Are you gonna give his father a piece of your mind if he ever comes up here?”

“A piece of it? No. My entire cranium? Absolutely.”

Mrs. Em grins widely at that, letting out a chuckle as she concludes, “Now that I’d pay to see.”

The two women continued their gossip for another minute or so—but this introduction needed no words to gain attention.

Cologne wafts at their nostrils, pulling their eyes in the direction of the classroom’s door frame.

A scar. Jagging across full, deep pink lips told Ms. Honey everything she needed to know. The scent of him was sharp and spicy—an epitome of masculinity, heavy boots made for the ground to quake with every step he took—eyes grey, but dark enough to appear almost black, like a raging storm in an unforgiving ocean beneath his equally onyx eyebrows and hair. His broad shoulders were camouflaged by a sable shirt, tight along his hard torso that almost pulled inwards—that’s just how built he was.

The two women went silent in their conversation, eyes widening at the presence that stood in the classroom’s doorway—He stood tall, so tall that both of the teachers had to look up from where they stood, their eyes scanning his body with clear intrigue. Tattoos, tattoos, tattoos. They cover his body like art, all the way up to where his neck ended and his jaw began—but the star of show was a skull seeping within the flesh of his throat on the left side, radiating an intimidation Ms. Honey never thought she’d engage with. He dropped the motorbike helmet and leather jacket he held within a vein covered palm, furrowed brows searching for something—or someone within the room.

"Who's that?”

Ms. Honey murmurs, “…I don’t know.”

The moment his stormy eyes lock onto hers, it’s like lightning striking twice—She could feel the crackle of tension in the air as his gaze rakes her frame. A rose blooms against the side of her neck, the wine red ink contrasting with her honey brown freckles and caramel complexion. His vision drags lower—taking in the curve of her waist, hips that sway even when she stands still, legs barely hidden beneath the flowing burgundy fabric of her skirt. The deep ginger of her curls are snatched into a ponytail to show the pure beauty of her face, edges curled along her forehead, spiraling down to her lower back.

Giving a comforting touch to Mrs. Em’s arm, she then makes her way over towards the door—a polite smile reaches her lips, “Good afternoon, um—I don’t think you have the right classroom, what teacher are you looking for?”

The man’s eyes never wavered from her form. He noticed a nervous habit as she tugged on her ponytail, anxious as she waited for a response. Her scent then wafts his nose—Cinnamon.

“Nah.”

His voice had a rasp, a deep baritone that crawled through her entire spine.

“I’m in the right place. ‘You Ms. Honey?”

Her eyebrows raise up.

She replies, “Um, I am. I just—I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you to be one of my students' parents,” she places her hands behind her back, his eyes dropping down to her physique, eyebrow twitching.

“I’m Megumi’s father, Toji Fushiguro.”

His words hit her like a ton of bricks. All that shit talking had gone out of the window, never expecting this to be the moment of their long awaited confrontation.

“Oh,” she murmurs out loud, turning back into the classroom’s direction, “Mrs. Emery, would you mind getting the kids started with dismissal?”

Her first grade colleague nods, “Alright—let’s gather all our things and get ready to leave for the day!”

Ms. Honey’s smile fades as she turns back in his direction—she exhales, “So, you’re Megumi’s father?”

“Yeah,” he grunts, “That’s what I just said.”

She blinks at that.

Reaching a hand out anyway, she smiles, “It’s finally nice to meet you! You’re the person I’ve been wanting to speak to, actually.”

A hand never comes out in return.

“You’re the one with concerns ‘bout how I’m raisin’ my kid.”

Okay, so he wasn’t the type to be passive aggressive. Just aggressive aggressive.

Ms. Honey places her tongue within her cheek—she laughs awkwardly in response, “Well, I just more so wanted a conversation to happen between us. You’re a very difficult man to get in contact with,” she attempts to joke, “Would you have time to talk?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, biceps bulging through the fabric of his shirt—Toji glared down at her with those unreadable, steely eyes.

“I’m listenin’.”

Her chin lifts slightly at the challenge in his tone. Sweet as honey she may be, that sunny disposition began to dissipate.

“Well, Megumi’s a brilliant child—but he's struggling socially,” She keeps her voice low, “He avoids group activities, has an issue making friends, and the only thing that keeps his interest is his school work and drawing.”

“You’re upset ‘cause the kid ain’t a social butterfly?”

Her eyes squint at him.

She pensively disagrees, “No. When I asked him who he’s drawing for, he said his father. He seems to be seeking your approval, Mr. Fushiguro. It’s not my place to give tips on your parental guidance, but I’d give the notion that if you were more of a figure in your child’s life, his participant skills would bloom just like a social butterfly.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw.

“You’ got kids?”

The question makes an etch of emotion flicker across her face.

It fades, her voice flat as she responds, “No, sir. I don’t.”

“Then who the fuck are you to tell me ‘bout raisin’ mine?”

There it is. Her nostrils flare, irritation now rising at his response.

“What I am is somebody tellin’ you to watch your mouth around my students. Quickly,” her voice goes lower to repeat, “What I am is someone who knows with enough love and attention to your son, we wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place, Mr. Fushiguro.”

“You think you know me?” His voice was equally low, dangerous—each syllable dripping with warning, “You don’t know shit.”

Ms. Honey doesn’t flinch—her back straightens and she holds her ground, eyes blazing right back up at him despite the obvious difference in height and intimidation factor.

“I never said I knew you,” she counters, “But I do know your son—and he deserves to feel like he matters to somebody.”

“You don’t think he matters to me?”

His voice carries, “Who do you think puts the clothes on his back, the food in his mouth, tucks him in bed at night? I don’t need some gentle parentin’ bullshit ‘bout how to raise my own son. ‘Know I’m not one of those other parents you’re used to—I’m your worst goddamn nightmare.”

She knocks her face back, raising an eyebrow. Was this motherfucker trying to scare her? Who in the goddamn hell was he talking to?

All of her professionalism went out the window.

She sneered, “Come find me in my sleep, then. I’d appreciate the effort of at least faking as if you’re committed to having a child, rather than clockin’ in and out when you don’t feel like being a father.”

“Maybe I ain’t one of those fathers that bakes sugar cookies with my kid and reads him a bedtime story, Ms. Honey, but I’m present. I don’t need your fuckin’ advice.”

“Then double it and pass it to the next person, Mr. Fushiguro. I literally don’t give a fuck!—“

“Ms. Honey, can I take this book home with me from your shelf?”

A sweet voice calls from below, the teacher's attention being pulled away by a pair of doe eyes. Green, round and curious as they lift The Hungry Caterpillar in her direction.

The mindless eyes of her student Rhylin brings her to reality. She takes a step back, pressing her fingers softly into the four year old’s cheek—“Of course, baby boy. Make sure to bring it back tomorrow, okay?”

Rhylin nods profusely, scurrying off into the flurry of other children with no awareness of the tension between the two adults.

Her warm voice, her gentle touch, her calmness—how easily his son could have been on the receiving end of such a gentle, motherly natured woman didn’t go unnoticed—Toji shoved his hands deep within his pockets, the veins along them protruding as large fingers curled tightly into the black material.

When she faced this man again, it also made her realize that she’d made a fool of herself. She allowed him to rile her up in a way that she’d never interacted with a parent.

Taking a deep breath, she leaves him with, “I’ll go get Megumi.”

She makes her way over to the art station—squatting down, her fingers rake back the tousled hair sprawled along the five year old’s cheeks, “Hey, handsome. Look who’s here for you.”

Megumi’s head snaps up at her words, his dark blue eyes lighting up like tiny fireworks when they land on his father. In an instant, the shy little boy transforms—his small legs carry him across the classroom in a flurry of excitement, nearly tripping over his own feet as he bounds toward Toji.

Similar to his son, Toji’s entire demeanor shifts—the moment those tiny arms wrap around his leg, all that gruff hostility melts away. His large hands scoop Megumi up effortlessly, settling him against his chest with a tenderness that stuns Ms. Honey where she stands. The way he cradles the back of Megumi’s head with one palm while pressing a firm kiss to those messy black bangs, it doesn't match the man who was just snarling at her seconds ago.

His native tongue naturally flows through the scar of his full lips, voice deep, “Daijōbudesuka? Kyō wa dōdeshita ka?”

No response escapes Megumi at first, his round face buried into his father’s chest as his tiny arms tighten around the man’s broad neck. Toji doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by the lack of words, stroking a callous palm down the back of his son’s head. Pressing his tiny face into his father’s neck, he then murmurs back in Japanese—quiet words that only his father could hear. The man hums in response, rubbing circles along the boy’s back with rough fingers that somehow handle him so carefully.

The contrast is jarring.

Ms. Honey can only stand there frozen, still squatted by the art station as a realization settles over her—She might’ve been wrong.

“You wanna take home your morning snacks, Meg?”

She tries to sound normal, but her embarrassment of the previous interaction has her awkwardly smoothing out her skirt as a distraction.

Megumi peeks at her from over Toji’s shoulder—his cheeks still pressed against his father's neck, but he nods shyly, “Yes.”

She manages a smile despite the tension in the air, moving to gather up his little paper bag of snacks. She somehow avoids her gaze along Toji when she drops the bag in his hand, taking a breath as she clasps her palms together, “I didn’t hear the clean up song while Mrs. Emery instructed dismissal time!”

The entire class began reciting the tune, collecting up their last bit of things into their backpacks. If only she’d noticed the way a pair of eyes dropped down to her ass, watching the flesh jiggling with every step she took around the classroom.

“Bye, Megumi—“

A shriek interrupts her sentence as he swiftly drops from his father, tightly wrapping his arms around her lower half.

Ms. Honey can’t help her small giggle, hugging him back as she speaks softly, “I’ll see you tomorrow, handsome. ‘Promise I’m not gonna run away.”

Megumi squeezes her middle even tighter, tiny fingers bunching up the fabric of her skirt as he buries his face against her hip. For someone so quiet, he sure knew how to make his affection loud—the sheer force of his hug nearly knocks the breath out of her.

She smooths a hand over his unruly black hair one last time before offering him that warm smile again, “I promise.”

With a final shy wave from Megumi, small fingers grasp onto Toji's much larger hand. His father gives their intertwined hands a gentle swing as they begin walking away—but not before those dark stormy eyes flicker back towards hers.

The weight of their gaze feels like lightning crackling between them—heavy and charged with something neither can name yet. Toji doesn't say another word though; just holds her in that silent stare for one heartbeat longer before turning on his heel, guiding Megumi out into the hallway.

When she turns back towards her classroom, her brown eyes go wide as saucers as she locks in with Mrs. Emery, who stands there with a hand pressed over her mouth to stifle laughter.

“How bad was that?”

Mrs. Em gives her an innocent shrug, hiding the slight grin on her lips with her hand.

“I definitely got my money’s worth.”

Yeah, it was bad.

Being left alone within the classroom gave her time to think as it was an hour after dismissal, wishing that conversation hadn’t gone so left. Crashing out on a parent could’ve gotten her fired.

She simmered on this thought as she sat at her desk going through her students homework, the buzz of a FaceTime call tugging her eyes in the direction of her phone.

Ezra.

She sighs, connecting the call in preparation to hear the rambles of her best friend.

“Yes, Ezra?”

Ezra groans dramatically as his face appears on her screen, brown skin and emerald green waves appearing through the camera. He draws out her first name, “Asael, I’m boooooreeeed.”

“Don’t you have that car show to go to later?” Asael looks over the camera, “Or have a little sneaky link to link with?”

Ezra rolls his eyes, “That last nigga was a lil’ hookup. Besides, you know I have a new boo—Cameron,” he dreamily sighs, “Speaking of, that’s actually what I called you for. The car show is tomorrow night—and you’re coming with me.”

“Says who?”

Ezra glares at her through the screen, a scowl falling across his flawless features.

“Says me. I need you there for moral support—what if all them’ country bama, Confederate flag loving niggas is out? I’m only going ‘cause my Cameron wants to show off his car. Or maybe, all the fine niggas will be out! You could find a sexy biker to swipe your little celibacy card,” he teases, ignoring the glare she sends back through the camera.

“It’s abstinence, smart ass.”

“A year of no dick is insane either way. You have a strong sense of mind and body,” Ezra hums.

“Anyways, I’m good. Not in the mood to watch a bunch of guys do donuts on the street for hours.”

Ezra pouts, his plump lips turning into a frown as he whines.

“Come on, it’s not gonna’ be just guys doing donuts. There’s going to be live music, food—hot guys, oh, and hot guys again! You know the fine niggas be on Bourbon Street.”

Asael thinks it over, tilting her head to the side.

“Hot guys, food, and hot guys with their cool cars? ‘Guess that doesn’t sound too bad.”

She finalizes, “I’ll come. I need a drink after the shitty day I’ve had.”

This piques Ezra’s interest.

“Do tell. Who pissed you off?”

“It’s not—“

She sighs, “Do you remember my student, Megumi?”

“The adorable little quiet one that draws all those Spiderman pictures? Of course I do—Wait,” Ezra gasps, pressing closer to the screen dramatically, “Did he get into a fight with another kid? Throw crayons at someone? Bite ‘em?!”

“Worse, I finally met his father. Ghostface ripped my ass to shreds. ‘Told me it wasn’t my business how he raised his son, that I needed to mind my own, and that I didn’t know what the fuck I was talking about.”

Ezra’s brows shoot up so high they almost disappear into his hair.

“Bitch, you’re lying.”

“Did I mention the bastard is the hottest fucker you’ve ever seen?” She adds on, seeing Ezra’s jaw drop down to the core of the earth.

Asael nods at his reaction, “The nigga could put a nun out of commission.”

“And he ate you up that bad?”

“‘Chewed me up and spit me out. I was ready to swing on his ass, but I’m starting to feel like that entire argument wasn’t my business to begin with. He seemed—comforted in Megumi’s presence.”

Asael then sighs, “But you know how I feel about his son, Ezra. I’m just afraid that the lack of attention will cause him to change.”

Ezra hums in thought, propping his chin on his palm.

“So let me get this straight—fine as hell, bad attitude, but then is all gentle with his kid?” he tilts his head, “‘Sounds like someone caught feelings after realizing he’s a good man.”

Asael scowls at him, “What? No. I just—”

“Aht,” Ezra cuts off , wagging a finger, “When men show softness like that? That’s how you know they got layers.”

“Whatever,” she huffs, “All I said was the nigga wasn’t wrong about me stepping out of line, I’m not tryna’ give him a bouquet of flowers. Now he hates me.”

"Don’t say that. You were just worried ‘bout baby boy, and that man knew it deep down."

Asael tugs at her pony tail once more—she parts a sigh from her lips once more, “I feel bad. I want to apologize—even if he was a dick.”

She leans back into her chair, rubbing a hand over her face as she groans, half covering her mouth as she quietly admits, “He had a fuckin’ neck tat, Ezra! I wanted to lick him.”

Ezra snickers, “‘Can’t believe you didn’t snap a picture with your eyes and mind transfer it to me,” he smacks his lips, “But seriously. If he comes to pick him up tomorrow, just take off your prideful panties and apologize! That’s all.”

“You think he’ll accept it?”

“You’re not apologizing for him to accept it.”

Asael grumbles, “Right. You’re annoying.”

“And also morally correct.”

She softly laughs, rolling her eyes as she finalizes, “I gotta finish these papers—meet me at my place by the time I’m off work tomorrow?”

“Noted. One more thing?”

“Yeah?”

“If you don’t want him, can I have Ghostface? I promise imma’ answer the phone.”

“Ezra, get the fuck off my phone.”

“Muah! Bye!”

When the next day comes, Asael becomes antsy; glad for it to be Friday, but not glad that she admittedly had some apologizing to do. She hoped that she’d receive an apology in return, but she wasn’t holding her breath on that one—especially when the person who picked up Megumi was the nanny and not Toji.

“Are you almost ready? Cameron said we’re gonna be late!”

Asael stands in front of her full length mirror, still lost in thought. Her burnt orange curls cascade wildly down her back and shoulders, framing that flawless caramel face with delicate freckles dusted across it. She smooths her hands down the black baby tee that hugs her chest—the outline of her nipples visible beneath the fabric, matching mini skirt barely covering the poke of her ass, riding high on thick thighs that taper down into toned calves.

The early 2000s vixen heels add an extra three inches to her already blessed height—but not even their fluffy fur trim could distract from the way she chews at her bottom lip.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, “I’m ready.”

The Bourbon Street Car Show had the usual energy of nightlife, a melting pot of people filling up the area as they admired all the custom vehicles. The air was thick with the smell of southern food, the sound of music and chatter, and the occasional squealing of tires. It was the perfect Friday night.

But Ezra was right about one thing. This would be a good night—she’d forced to be even if it killed her.

“Daddy!”

Ezra squeals as a tall, broad figure comes up behind him, wrapping thick arms around his waist from behind. The stranger spins him playfully before setting Ezra back down with a chuckle.

Cameron was dark-skinned and devastatingly handsome, sporting deep brown waves that glisten under the neon lights—strong jawline dusted with neatly trimmed stubble, lips curled into an easy smirk as he looked down at Ezra like he hung the stars.

"Damn," Cameron rumbles, pressing a kiss to Ezra’s temple while eyeing Asael appreciatively, "’This your girl?"

"Yep!" Ezra beams proudly, “This is Asael. Asael, this is Cameron—don’t let that pretty face fool you though, this nigga built like one of them Titans underneath all this!" He tugs teasingly at Cameron’s loose brown sweatshirt, hiding his massive shoulders.

Cameron grins sheepishly as he reaches out for her hand—his grip warm and calloused, “He’s tryna’ make me blush. But it’s nice t'meet you, Asael.”

Asael takes his hand with a warm smile, “Nice to meet you too. Ezra won’t shut up about you, so I feel like I already know half your life story.”

Cameron chuckles as Ezra dramatically slaps her arm—only for Cameron to reel him back in by the waist. The little moment between them makes Asael smile, happy her best friend had found someone who adored him this much.

“I hear Ezra had to drag you here. Not a big fan of car shows, huh?”

“Correct. ‘The thought of motorbikes and extremely loud cars is annoying, but they’re cool to look at. I’m just here for the ride—No pun intended.”

Cam grins, “By all means, you can always just chill by my car. It’s the ’79 Dodge Charger.”

The vehicle sits low and menacing—jet black with red pinstriping that gleams under the streetlights. The chrome detailing makes it glint like a blade, its thick tires hugging the pavement as if built to tear through asphalt. The whole thing exudes raw power, an unspoken promise of speed lurking beneath its glossy hood.

Ezra bounces excitedly on his toes before dragging her towards it—Asael raises her brows, “This is amazing, Cam. How much did you spend on all the work?”

Cameron flashes a proud smile, running his fingers across the glossy black hood as if caressing the very heart that beats beneath.

“It was fasho’ a splurge, but worth every penny. She purrs like a kitten when she's revved up."

Ezra leans onto the vehicle, “It purrs better than me?”

His boyfriend smirks, pulling Ezra flush against him with a possessive grip on his waist—he murmurs, “Nothin’ sounds better than you.”

Asael barely catches the way Ezra mewls before Cameron’s lips are on his, swallowing whatever flustered comeback he was about to throw out.

She rolls her eyes fondly, third wheeling as if it were a profession.

“I’m gonna’ go find a drink.”

Slipping away unnoticed, she weaves through the crowd towards the nearest drink stand. The scent of fried food and spiced rum hangs heavy in the air as she orders herself something strong enough to erase the past couple of days.

Two tequila shots and a margarita later? She starts to feel alive again. Music thumps from nearby speakers, bass rattling her ribs pleasantly as people dance between parked cars glowing under neon lights.

Asael strides down the street, hips swaying with an almost feline-like grace as she struts between the rows of gleaming cars, men pausing to look her way. A few of them even try to catch her attention with low wolf-whistles, only to be met with a roll from her eyes. Women carry a mixture of envy and suspicion, pulling their partners close with each step she takes.

She slows down her stride as she saunters past a slick red Porsche with a glossy hood—a brown skinned man leans into the engine, grease staining his strong, tattooed forearms as he works.

Maybe she was feeling a little overzealous.

Asael leans against the hood of a nearby car, stirring her drink idly as she watches the stranger adjust something beneath his Porsche’s open hood. The muscles in his back ripple through his thin white tank top—the sight enough to make her sip just a bit slower.

“So,” he drawls, “You gon’ tell me why you starin’, or I gotta guess?”

She takes another sip from her straw. Her curls sway as she tilts her head, “Just admiring your car.”

“Yeah, aight.”

His lips twitch upward slightly as he reaches for an open beer beside him, taking a swiping gulp before meeting her gaze again—smirk still intact.

"’My ride’ too nice for you to look away, or you really lookin’ at me?”

"’Could be both.”

"Mmm,” He licks beer foam off his bottom lip lazily, eyeing her over once more.

“Maybe I need a lil’ passenger princess.”

“Maybe you do.”

The sound of rowdy voices and engine roars has her attention pulled briefly in a different direction of the night, where a group of people have seemed to gather around one particularly loud and obnoxious street bike.

It wasn't hard to miss—no, he wasn’t hard to miss.

Standing tall amongst his entourage of groupies and admirers alike, his skull neck tattoo gleams beneath the neon glow. It’s as if the hairs on her body stand up; Asael instantly recognizes that aura from a mile away.

It was him.

The lights reflecting off chrome and polished paint do nothing to hide that familiar stance—shoulders wide, spine straight like he was carved from stone. The flicker of his lighter catches her eye first, illuminating the sharp angle of his jaw as he brings a cigarette between those scarred lips. He takes a slow drag before exhaling smoke into the thick air—his deep-set eyes scanning lazily over the crowd like some bored king observing peasants at his feet.

Then she sees it—the quick exchange between him and another man; money slipping into pockets with practiced ease before something small gets tucked away discreetly through their clasped palms.

Asael’s stomach twists. Once again, she could’ve minded her business. Should have. But she could blame this instance on the alcohol—her heels click sharply against pavement as she marches straight in that direction without hesitation, ready to blow up this entire car meet.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

It was her.

His gaze drifts from her face to the outfit that accentuates the natural curve of her figure, a mused twitch tugging at his scarred lips. His shoulders are more relaxed, voice calm and collected to her surprise.

"Evenin’, pretty girl.”

She bristles at the pet name; dark eyes narrowing slightly, a scowl marring the features of that pretty face. He takes another drag of his cigarette, blowing smoke away from her direction before flicking the butt to the ground.

“You look good as fuck,” he rasps, “Who you showin’ out for?”

That statement makes her mind go blank. She realizes once again that she’s outside of her job atmosphere, pulling at the mini mini skirt. The last person she expected to see was one of her students' parents, especially the one she’d just previously had beef with. To make matters worse? He was looking at her in a way she hadn’t felt before. She wanted to punch him. Or make out with him—no, she wanted to punch him.

“Are you serious, Toji?”

“Say that shit again. My name.”

Asael blinks.

“Bastard. What the hell are you doing here? What the fuck are you even doing?”

He actually does smirk—and it’s sexy—like her anger entertains him.

"Answer my shit first," Toji rumbles.

His voice drops lower, rough like gravel under tires as he murmurs, “Who got you lookin’ like that tonight?”

“Me. Wait—No, that’s not what we’re talking about! Answer my question!”

“I’m just showin’ off my bike like everybody else.”

“And the handoff I just saw? That part of the show too?”

A muscle twitches in his jaw—his casual amusement dims slightly, forcing her to crane her neck even more to hold his gaze.

That’s when the corner of his scarred mouth ticks up—Toji exhales sharply through his nose, grinning like a wolf as he tilts his head down at her.

“Donatin’ to charity.”

The irritation runs so deep, her own native language spouts—“Donating to charity. You tryna be funny, nigga? Ou soti isit la ap fè kaka estipid lè ou ta dwe enkyete sou pitit ou a—“

She halts, taking a deep breath. Another breath to calm herself, she then asks, “Where’s your child, Toji?”

Toji raises an eyebrow at her sudden change in language, seeing how riled up he could easily have her. But overhearing her question brings him a sense of reality.

“You think I’d have my son around this kinda environment? Don’t fuckin’ play with me.”

The sneer in his voice has her cross her arms, needing more information than that.

He then confirms, “I’m not a dumbass, woman. He’s with the nanny—her kid comes over durin’ the weekends to hang with Megumi. ‘Got some other shit you wanna scream ‘bout?”

“You act like I’m screaming for no reason. Actually, I can give you five more things I wanna scream about!—“

“I got your beer, Fushiguro.”

Before Asael can finish her sentence, a blonde in a crop top and ripped jeans appears—her freshly manicured fingers curl around the neck of an ice-cold beer as she hands it to Toji with an exaggerated sway of her hips.

Her eyes flick towards Asael—pale blue irises narrowing ever so slightly before she looks back at Toji, “Who’s this?”

He cracks the beer open with his teeth.

“Megumi’s teacher, Ms. Honey. ‘Ain’t nowhere near sweet, though.”

“Funny,” she sarcastically drawls, “It’s just Asael.”

The blonde giggles at Asael’s tone—high pitched and grating—before looking her up and down again.

"I wouldn't have guessed,” she leans closer to Toji's side like she's trying to stake some kind of claim, “Teachers don't usually dress like that.”

Was that shade?

Yup, had to be. Asael feels every muscle in her body tighten at once.

“Sorry I wasn’t able to please you,” she dryly counters, “Would a cardigan satisfy?”

The girl rolls her eyes, flicking a blonde curl from her face before wrapping a slender arm around Toji's bicep. He doesn't make an attempt to pull away, and she seems to take it as some sort of win—her fingers toying with the sleeve of his shirt with a smirk.

“No. But maybe a whole outfit that doesn’t beg for attention.”

The girl's insults are corny, not enough to actually entertain. Asael dismissively turns Toji—her tone a bit more serious as she exhales, “We need to talk.”

“Now?”

“Do you think I give a fuck about your play time with Barbie?” she narrows her eyes, “I don’t. Yes, now.”

The blonde snaps like a live wire, stepping forward with a scoff.

“Excuse me? Who are you calling Barbie?”

Asael blinks slowly at her—completely unfazed as she deadpans, “Would you rather play-thing?”

“I’m not a play-thing, bitch.”

Asael raises a brow, “Who are you calling a bitch, bitch?”

She steps forward, allowing the alcohol within her system to take control of her patience. She wasn’t exactly thinking, either.

The blonde scoffs, “What’s your problem?”

“Now you wanna ask what my problem is? You just called me out my name, now I’m on whatever type’ of time you on!”

Toji wasn’t the type of man to get into women's business. But this particular interaction has him irritatedly standing to prevent an escalation—his large frame steps between them in one fluid motion, a palm landing on Asael’s waist to firmly nudge her back before she could get any closer. His grip is ironclad, making sure she stays put despite the fire in her eyes.

"Chill,” he murmurs lowly.

The blonde huffs behind him, crossing her arms with a glare aimed at Asael.

“No one’s worried about her,” the girl sneers, "She's just acting like a typical New Orleans hoodrat.”

“Hoodrat?”

Asael lunges forward—she doesn’t even get a chance to swing before Toji locks an arm around her waist, hauling her back against his chest. The sudden press of his hard body against hers nearly knocks the wind out of her, but she’s too busy spitting fire to care.

"Say that shit again!" Asael snarls, “I dare you!”

The blonde actually flinches this time—taking a full step back under the weight of Asael's fury. Toji tightens his grip around her waist like steel bands—his chin brushing against the top of her head as he mutters low into her ear.

“Knock it the fuck off.”

His breath is warm on the shell of her ear; it sends an involuntary shiver down her spine despite how pissed she was—but it doesn't stop Asael from twisting in hold just enough to glare up at him.

"Let me go, Fushiguro.”

"’Can't do that."

She jerks in his hold, “You like bitches who throw slurs?! ’Fuck off me, bro. I’m not playing.”

He doesn't even blink at her struggling form, his scarred mouth twitching at that accusation.

"Calm your ass down. I’m not worried ‘bout nothin’ else but you right now.”

Asael frowns below his glare, “Don’t tell me to calm down! Tell yo’ hoes to watch they’ fuckin’ mouth! Talking ‘bout some hoodrat—you don’t even know me!”

She attempts to lunge once more, the girl flinching back again. Toji grips Asael even harder, now pissed off rather than being irritated.

"You ain’t listenin’. You're not gettin’ into a fight over this.“

He then turns towards the girl as he simply commands, “Go.”

“What?” She frowns, “Go?”

“You heard me. Fuck off.”

The girl looks dumbstruck, her pale face turning a scarlet red at his harsh tone. She looks ready to argue, but a subtle stare shuts her up. With a huff, she murmurs, “Whatever,” her blonde locks flying all over the place as she weaves through the crowd.

The moment she leaves, Asael still feels herself still shaking— she rips herself away from Toji as she sneers, “I didn’t need your goddamn help.”

He instantly tugs her back, “Yeah? Then why was your little ass about to start a fight in the damn parking lot?"

“You think I was gonna let some white girl call me a hoodrat? Have you lost your mind? Like I’m just actin’ out for no reason—“ she yanks herself back, a game of tug-o-war at this point.

Toji was now fully pissed off.

His voice was low, “Get in the car.”

She looks over to the nearest car being a Dodge Durango Hellcat—the engine hums, wrapped a shiny black with blood red headlights shining across and below the vehicle.

“What? I’m not getting in your fucking car.”

“Woman. Get in the goddamn car.”

Asael doesn’t budge an inch—she stands there, shoulders squared, chin tilted up at him in open defiance. The glow from the streetlights reflects off her burning glare, lips sneered as she holds her ground.

Toji spares her for a couple more seconds. He rolls his neck with a quiet crack, exhaling sharply through his nose. A humorless chuckle escapes him—Before Asael can react, his calloused fingers curl around the back of her neck—not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to make resistance futile, yanking her towards the car in one smooth motion. She squeaks at the sheer force behind it, having no time to scramble for balance as he’s manhandling her into the passenger seat with ease.

The leather creaks beneath Asael as she straightens up sharply, “The fuck is wrong with you!—“

Toji braces one massive forearm on the roof of the car, leaning in so close his breath fans across her lips—his voice is nothing but a rough growl, dark eyes flashing with something dangerous.

"I’m seconds away from handlin’ your ass in this backseat. Put your damn legs inside.”

The command leaves no room for argument—his patience hangs by a thread as she glares up at him through thick lashes. However, another chill runs through her spine. For once, Asael actually listens, tucking her legs into the car without another word. The second they clear the doorframe, he slams it shut with enough force to make the entire frame rattle—she jolts at the vibration.

His shadow looms through tinted windows for another moment before stalking around toward the driver’s side—he falls into the seat, reclining back with a sigh—his body relaxed as he reaches into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes.

With a practiced ease, he plucks one to his lips before searching for a lighter, finding it tucked into the center console. He flicks the flame to life and brings it to the tip of the cigarette, inhaling deeply as he exhales through the window. Grey smoke curls out into the humid air, the smell of nicotine clinging to the interior.

He takes his time as he glances at Asael, dark eyes scanning over her tense form.

“You’ good now?”

“I’m fine.”

"Like hell. You nearly got into a fight over some dumbass words,” he mutters, exhaling smoke from his nostrils.

She turns her head.

“Do I need to repeat why I was initially upset? I don’t give a fuck about that hoe. I’m mad about what she said.”

He flicks ash out the window, unfazed.

“And you thought scrappin’ was gonna’ solve it? ‘Fuck you think that would’ve done?”

She bristles at that, looking away from him to stubbornly stare down at her heels—her body is still rigid as she murmurs, “It’s just the principle of it all.”

Toji lowers his brows.

He then says, “You gotta’ let stupid shit roll off the tongue, baby.”

She glares at him, but she stays quiet.

He exhales another stream of smoke, leaning back in the seat as he watches her from the corner of his eye, “Don’t give strangers the time of day. It ain’t ever that deep.”

He flicks his cig out the window as he continues, “You give them that kind of attention, shits gonna’ keep goin’. You’ll be wastin’ all your energy on people who don't matter, ‘stead of focusing on the ones who do.”

“So what— I’m just supposed to let people say whatever they want to me? Just like you don’t need my advice, I don’t need yours. Fuck off.”

“You always gettin’ this pissed off?”

“No. Probably that damn Tequila I drank. I don’t know,” she murmurs, the alcohol within her system feeling like two cups of coffee. Her knee immensely shakes as she feels more and more frustrated.

He watches her leg bounce up and down, feeling the entire seat vibrate with her. With an annoyed click of his tongue, Toji reaches out—his large hand grips the flesh of her thigh firmly, holding it still with ease.

“Quit doin’ that. You’re ‘bout to shake the goddamn car apart.”

The size difference is stark; his hand could circle her entire leg—Asael tenses at the contact, immediately stopping.

To her horror, he starts to rub his thumb over her skin. Soft circles over and over, almost comforting—almost hypnotic.

Toji glances back at the crowd outside, leaving Asael fighting off several thoughts all at once. She could blame her flushed cheeks on the alcohol, too.

God, why was this touch rushing all the way to her clit?

She gives it a couple more seconds.

Asael then mutters, “My bad.”

"That's all I get?”

“I’m not apologizing for nearly giving that bitch a hands on tonsil removal. But I didn’t mean to make a scene,” she mutters, making that her version of an apology, “But don’t sit here and act like if some dickhead came up to you talkin’ shit, you wouldn’t have had his heart placed within his prostate. Don’t even lie.”

Toji actually chuckles at that—it was deep and raspy, tightening his grip on her thigh.

“Nah. I can’t lie to you,” He admits, “Difference is, people don’t run their fuckin’ mouths ‘round me unless they’re lookin’ for a problem.”

“So people are scared of you,” she concludes, “Don’t you think that’s a little hypocritical?”

His thumb stops rubbing—he exhales sharply through his nose, pinning her with a heavy look.

"Fear ain’t the same as respect. I don’t want folks shakin’ when I walk past—just means they know better than to try me,” his voice drops lower, “But you? You ain't scared of nothin’."

Oh, how wrong he was. Asael didn't know it, but her heart was beating at a thousand miles a minute—his every touch had a way of setting her nerves on fire, the rough callouses of his hands creating a delicious friction against her heated skin. His palm practically dwarfs her in size—She swallows, shifting in her seat as she murmurs, "Maybe I just don't always have a sense of self-preservation."

“Mm.”

His thumb drags down a bit, coming within her inner thigh. Asael watches. She can feel her nipples tearing through the fabric of her shirt, hornier than she’d ever been in a while. She imagines herself stroking her tongue against his, tugging his fingers further into her—

“You said you wanted to talk?”

She hears his voice, but she can’t look at him.

She tries to remember the question.

“I did,” she swallowed, “About what happened on Thursday.”

Toji hums, deep and slow—his fingers graze higher up her inner thigh, dangerously close to the damp heat of her now soaked panties.

The thought of spreading them wider torments her—begging him silently to drag those fingers across where she aches most.

"Thursday, huh?”

And then it happens—his thumb hooks under the lace now, just barely dipping beneath it to skim over the coated flesh of her folds.

Hell, maybe she was scared of something.

It’s as if that one moment sobered her up—she jumps out of the seat as she bleats, “We can talk another time!”, slamming the door as she flurries through the crowd of people to find that Dodge Charger.

When she does, she finds Ezra seated atop of Cameron’s vehicle, wrapped up under his lap as they cuddle like no one’s watching. He catches sight of a flustered Asael, eyebrow raised instantly in worry.

“What the hell happened to you?!”

“Summary—saw Toji, almost punched him in his face—almost got into a fight with some hoe callin’ me a hoodrat, almost got my coochie touched by Toji!”

Ezra stares with wide eyes, Cameron burying his face within his boyfriend's shoulder to mask his laugh.

“Oh, friend.”

She could’ve cried on the spot.

Asael was unsuccessful in all of the promises to herself—talking to Toji about Megumi, or even getting that hot guy's number. All she wanted to do was ball up in a corner and disappear at this point. But instead, she sat atop of Cameron’s car, watching as people swerved around the street with their own vehicles.

An hour had passed as it was now time for the annual motorbike show, large custom bikes revving loudly as they began flying past parked automobiles. Asael’s burnt orange curls fly back at the haste of wind—But of course, one roars louder than the others.

The thunder of an engine cuts through the cacophony—a sleek, black motorcycle rolls up with an effortless glide, its chrome accents catching the lights like a blade. The rider towers over most of the bikes around him, muscular frame encased in that tight fitting black tee that strains against his shoulders, tattoos snaking down his thick arms.

She watches as the helmet tugs to release his onyx tresses—scarred lip twitching as he grunts, “Get on.”

“I’m not getting on that.”

Ezra’s eyes could’ve popped out of his head.

“This is Toji?”

“Ezra.”

A boot sinks into the gravel of the concrete—Toji winks in Ezra’s direction, “Your friend’s been avoidin’ me.”

The wink makes Ezra’s jaw drop—he grins, “Shame on you. Asael. You’ve been holding out on me.”

"I haven't been doing anything!"

Ezra gasps dramatically, clutching invisible pearls as he turns to Toji with exaggerated sympathy in his eyes—like they were suddenly co-conspirators.

"Poor guy," he teases shamelessly, "My friend here can be such a handful."

“Really? I’m standing right here!”

Toji chuckles deeply at their antics—he brings his attention back towards her, “I ain’t askin’. Get on.”

Asael doesn’t budge—standing there with her arms crossed, her refusal couldn’t be clearer.

“You need me to come get you?”

Asael sneers, “You wouldn’t—“

He swings his leg off the bike in one fluid motion, boots hitting the pavement with a heavy thud. The second he takes another step forward—Asael squeaks, scrambling towards the motorcycle before he can reach her.

Ezra and Cam cackle in the background as she awkwardly tries to climb onto the seat, nearly flashing half of the South when her skirt rides atop of her ass, showing off the black thong she wears—Toji reaches over without hesitation, yanking the material over the tremble of her ass.

"Damn near givin’ motherfucker’s their money’s worth,” he grunts.

She shoots him an incredulous look over his shoulder—pointing at herself, “Me? What’ I do?”

When he doesn’t respond, a small pout comes to her face. Her eyes narrow as she questions, “Do I need a helmet? It’s gonna ruin my hair.”

Toji just looks at her—deadpan, expression flat as he swings a leg back over the bike, “Then pray we don’t crash and your head explodes.”

Asael’s eyes go wide, “What? Toji!”

"You gon' trust me or not?”

“You’re scaring me!” she whines, hiding her face within his back, “What am I gonna tell my students when I die?”

The way she hides into his back is sweet; he can practically feel the heat radiating off of her skin through his shirt. Her face burrows deeper in between his shoulder blades, hands gripping the front of his shirt as she clings on for dear life.

“Please don’t kill me.”

"We’d both die if you wanna be technical.”

Asael closes her eyes at the thought, whimpering into his back.

Toji feels the way she trembles against him—not the playful, flustered kind from earlier. This is real fear—her fingers digging into his shirt like she’s preparing for impact. His smirk falters, brow furrowing as he reaches down with one hand, covering both of hers where they grip him tightly.

"Hey.”

His voice drops low—gruff but unexpectedly gentle.

"Ain't nobody dyin’ tonight,” he murmurs over his shoulder, giving her hands a firm squeeze before letting go to adjust something on the handlebars, “Relax, baby. You’re good.”

“You promise?”

“Damned if I’m not.”

A voice calls, “C’mon, Fushiguro! I ain’t put five bands on this race for muhfucka’s to play around!”

Asael peeks up from his back, eyes blown wide at the line of bikes waiting for the green light. The noise is almost deafening, dozens of engines revving to life along with them—her heart hammers against her sternum.

When she loosened her death grip, that was all he needed.

With a final rev of the engine that vibrates through both of them, Toji kicks off—the bike lurches forward with enough force to make Asael screech, arms locking around his waist like steel bands as they shoot into the neon-lit night.

Toji’s voice is heard over the noise, "You good back there?”

She shakes her head. Her eyes are still tightly closed as she squeals, feeling as the bike increases in speed. It swerves through the streets, snapping past other bikes, gas within her nostrils as engines plummet and roar within her ears.

One eye cracks open—just a sliver—and the sight steals her breath all over again. Lights blur past them, the wind whipping her curls wild as they carve through traffic like a blade. Toji leans into each turn with effortless control, his body moving with the machine beneath them as other bikes struggle to keep up behind.

It’s soft, but noticeable. A giggle bubbles up in her chest when she feels that familiar lurch of weightlessness—the same feeling she’d get at the peak of a rollercoaster drop—her stomach flipping as they zip down the street. Yam by Yeat plays through the speakers, a curse yelling out from a couple bikers beside them as they flurry past like lightning.

Toji feels her arms relax slightly, her body responding to the movement of every turn. A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips when he actually hears her giggles.

"You gettin’ used to it?”

She nods her head, softly replying within his ear, “I’m okay.”

Toji’s smirk turns wicked—he reaches the front of the pack as the street opens up—the moment he gives the throttle a twist, the front tire suddenly lifts off the pavement with a sharp jerk, balancing on just the back wheel as they continue speeding down the street.

Asael squeals, arms tightening around him again—but this time, there’s laughter mixed in with her panic.

Other bikers holler from beside them, their own front tires lifting into the air in response—women clinging onto their men with equal parts terror and exhilaration echoing through their voices. The entire pack of bikes becomes a moving spectacle of chrome and noise under flickering streetlights.

“Still scared?”

She doesn't give him an immediate answer, her voice swallowed by the rush of wind. When he feels her head shake against his back, Toji’s smirk spreads into a complete smile.

He can't shake the way her laughter vibrates against him—how her arms cling, the warmth of her pressed along his back, firm and soft all at once. The racing adrenaline shifts into something else entirely, something thick and heady curling low in his gut. Animalistic, almost.

The finish line is a blur of flashing lights and cheering people. Tires screech as they reach the end with a final snake, skidding around the corner before Toji hits the brakes—The moment they cross it first, he throws his head back with a deep howl, one hand letting go of the handlebars just long enough to grip Asael’s thigh possessively.

"That’s five grand on me, bitch!”

Cheers erupt around them as bikes screech to a stop behind them in varying placements—riders cursing or laughing while their passengers catch their breath.

Asael peeks up from where she was plastered against him earlier, cheeks flushed pink from windburn and exhilaration alike. Her ginger curls messily fly around her caramel skin, freckles bright under the moonlight.

She pants, “I look okay?”

She looked more than okay. Toji can't help the way his gaze lingers over her flushed skin, her lips, the freckles across her nose, the messy curls sticking to her neck. Her face is glowing—she looked good all dolled up, but she looked just as good like this, too.

He takes in a slow, measured breath—then grins, flashing his signature set of straight teeth, “Never better, baby. Damn good, actually.”

Her body still shakes, an excited jitter as her round eyes return to a slender—they graze his entire body as she lifts her arms, “You gonna’ help me off?”

"Nah—”

Toji’s palms grip under the backs of her still-shaking thighs, hauling her off the bike in one effortless motion—One arm hooks under her ass, hoisting her up higher—a squeak of surprise leaving her as she grabs onto his shoulders on instinct. Asael giggles, wrapping both legs around his hips instinctively, arms looping over his broad shoulders as they nearly collide face-to-face.

Their eyes lock—something hungry flashes in Toji’s arrogant grin, lingering on the plush curve of her mouth before dragging back up.

"Still shakin’, huh?”

Asael barely has time to respond—Ezra bounds over—slapping a hand on Toji’s shoulder with an exaggerated gasp.

“Damn. You really know how to show a girl a good time,” he teases, eyeing their position with raised brows before turning to Asael excitedly, “Bitch! I had no idea you were into freaky shit like this. Did you have fun?”

Asael giggles again—the sound coming out more breathless, shaky and awkward. Not to mention, Toji’s dark eyes hold something feral, something that makes her stomach swoop.

She squirms until he reluctantly lets go—her feet hit the pavement with a soft scuff, his fingers trailing down the back of her legs just a little too slowly before he finally pulls away.

"I had fun," she admits, “It was cool, ‘can’t even lie.”

Ezra waggles his eyebrows suggestively—but thankfully doesn’t press further, Cam coming up behind him with car keys jingling in hand.

“Babe—we gotta roll,” Cam murmurs lazily, “‘A nigga ready to hit the bed.”

Ezra pouts but relents, “You ready to go?”

Asael exhales, smoothing her wrinkled skirt—she smiles up at Ezra before shaking her head, “I still gotta talk to him about something. You go ahead.”

“Oh? Talk about what?”

“Ez,” Cam deadpans, wrapping a heavy arm around Ezra’s waist from behind—he gives a respectful nod at Toji, "Let them be.”

Ezra huffs, dramatically draping himself over Cam as he glares, “Fine. But I better get a text when you get home,” he says pointedly at Asael, shifting that same look onto Toji—his tone drops into actual seriousness for once, “And you? Keep her safe or I'll hunt your ass down myself.”

Toji doesn't even flinch—just gives him a lazy smirk in response as he pulls another cigarette out from seemingly nowhere, “Ain't nowhere safer than when she's with me.”

“Go be with your pretty little boyfriend, hm?” Asael pinches Ezra’s cheeks, “You love me?”

“Of course I do! And he ain't little.”

"C’mon. You can show me off another night—let the adults talk,” Cam chuckles, “Be safe, aight?”

"I hate you," Ezra whines, sticking his tongue out before letting Cam tug on his arm towards the car, "Bye, babe. Stay safe, please."

"Love you too, drama queen."

She watches as they disappear into the crowd—only then does she turn back to Toji, suddenly hyper aware of how alone they are now in the midst of all this chaos.

“We really need to talk about Megumi.”

Toji exhales smoke through his nose—considering her for a long moment before stubbing the cigarette out under his boot. He nods towards the bike without another word, holding a hand out for her.

“I know. C’mon, I wanna show you somethin’ anyway.”

She raises a brow, “I have pepper spray, gorilla.”

That earns her a raspy chuckle—his calloused fingers twitch in silent demand until she finally takes it, “Wouldn’t expect nothin’ less from you."

This ride on his bike was particularly more calm—the engine growls beneath them as they weave back through crowded streets—this time slower, steadier with no races to win. Soon enough, Toji pulls up to what looks like an old mechanic's garage—a rusty sign barely hanging on by its hinges above a chipped red door.

Asael frowned.

“I’m serious, Fushiguro. I do have pepper spray—where are you taking me?”

He chuckles, tossing one long leg over the side and grabbing her waist—effortlessly lifting her off the bike once more, “Keep tellin’ you to trust me, woman.”

Toji punches in a code—the garage door rattles as it lifts, revealing what definitely isn’t a mechanic’s shop.

Inside is more like an artist's loft. One half of the space is a sprawling studio with canvases stacked against walls, jars of brushes on tables, sketches pinned haphazardly over every available surface.

The other side? A lived-in bedroom—low-lit with a projector casting black-and-white movie scenes against the far wall.

But nothing made Asael go more stiff when she continued walking forward—a wall, every single drawing Megumi had ever brought home from her class. Even Thursday's artwork is there—carefully preserved among all the others.

She takes one trembling step forward, fingertips ghosting over them. Drawings of Megumi and his father, drawings of his Ms. Honey.

Toji leans along the wall beneath the vent to smoke the rest of his cigarette, his expression unreadable under dim lighting—yet, his shoulders are tense.

"Kid talks 'bout you nonstop.”

Asael swallows hard—suddenly feeling ten times worse for jumping to conclusions; Megumi hadn't been neglected at all.

“You weren't supposed to make me feel bad about this."

"Wasn't tryin' to. Just wanted you to see.”

He pushes off the wall, taking slow steps toward her—each one deliberate and measured—until he’s close enough for her to catch that familiar scent of smoke and leather mingling with something distinctly him. The calloused pad of his thumb brushes nearly against the side of her neck—right where Megumi’s latest drawing hangs— a family with crayon-scrawled letters at the bottom: MS. HONEY AND ME.

“‘Kid don’t draw me shit unless it matters,” he murmurs, “You matter to him.”

Her heart aches.

“I feel really bad about the first conversation we had,” she admits.

"You mean the one where you called me a bad father?”

Asael’s arms drop, eyes narrowing as she says, “You know that’s not what I said, Fushiguro.”

Toji's expression remains stoic, his eyes fixed on hers. He leans onto the wall nearest of him, “Potentially bad father," he corrects, his voice heavy with derision.

She blows out a breath—her arms throw themselves up as she huffs a seat onto the edge of the bed, “What was I supposed to think, Toji? I mean—I’d never met you. You ignored my emails, my phone calls, my

notes home? What was I supposed to think?”

“So the first thing to assume is that he’s neglected? That I don’t want to spend time with my own damn kid?”

He sees the guilt on her face. Toji exhales sharply through his nose—his jaw clenches visibly, eyes narrowing as he also considers her words.

“You think I want to miss shit?” His voice is low, rough—like gravel dragged over pavement, “Every time you sent something home, every fuckin’ note—”

For a man who looks so unbreakable standing there like this—muscles taut under ink and scars—there’s something unexpectedly raw in his gaze when it meets hers again.

“I ain’t built like other people,” he admits, “My shit has always been on survival mode.”

His throat works—his voice drops to almost nothing, rough and hollow.

"I grew up in Tokyo before I came down here," he explains, fingers flexing around nothing at his side—like they're still fighting ghosts from years ago, “Ain't exactly had my folks holdin' my hand through life. Megumi’s mom? She's gone. And the shit I do for work—the way I gotta move?" His dark eyes lock onto Asael's with brutal honesty, "’Ain't safe. My kid can’t be anywhere near that."

That’s all he offers—but it’s enough to paint a picture—A man raised by wolves, who learned too young that love was conditional if it existed at all. A father trying like hell not to repeat cycles he barely escaped from himself.

Asael winces, looking away—she feels the weight of his stare bearing into her when she admits,“I get it. I do, okay? I understand how badly I messed up. And I'm sorry, Toji. I just—“

She pauses, swallowing around a lump in her throat. She wasn’t trying to be vulnerable, she just didn’t know how else to express why she made the choices she did. Her fingers twist into the hem of her skirt—knuckles white with tension. The words come out in a whisper, like ripping off a bandage she’d kept pressed over an old wound.

“I can’t have kids of my own.”

The confession hangs between them—raw and aching. She forces herself to meet his gaze, her brown eyes glistening with something fragile.

“So when I see those babies every day? It’s not just teaching for me,” she continues hoarsely, “They’re all I get.”

Toji doesn’t react at first. His face stays unreadable, but something flickers in his dark eyes. He takes a step closer—then another—until he's standing over her where she sits on the edge of the bed.

"Then stop feelin' guilty for givin' a fuck."

The words are gruff, but not unkind.

"You did what you thought was right," he murmurs lowly, "Ain't no shame in that."

His words hit her more than she expected them to. She can feel her eyes desperately wanting to water, but she refuses to cry. She exhales heavily as she gives a soft smile, “Say something that doesn’t make me wanna cry, please.”

“Shit, uh—“

Toji grunts—dragging a calloused palm down his face before scratching at the back of his neck.

"’Kid's got way too many socks," he mutters, “They’re all ugly as hell, too.”

It works—a surprised laugh bubbles out of her immediately, shoulders shaking as she wipes hastily at her eyes.

"I knew he was the one picking them out,” She giggles, "The dinosaur ones with the googly eyes he always comes to class with? Terrify me.”

He smirks, “‘Said they're good luck. I ain't got the heart to tell him they’re a fashion crime.”

Asael smiles, rubbing her palms across her face to brush the last of her developing tears away.

Her heart is thudding again, but from something else this time. Toji stands so close to her now—still and imposing like a pillar of muscle and scars—close enough she can smell him.

“You know, I’m still waiting for my apology.”

"For?”

"Um? The way you spoke to me at the school," she says simply, "You were an asshole."

Toji huffs—the closest thing to laughter he seems capable of. He then admits, “Heard that too many times.”

She rolls her eyes, “Can’t even kiss my feet, act like you’re sorry?”

Toji’s expression darkens.

“A kiss, huh?”

His eyes graze over the flushed skin of her face and down her throat, the curve of her shoulders, even to her legs. Her miniskirt rides up as she sits, revealing the silk of her thong, just barely covering the puffy pink of her folds. Taking another step forward, his hands come up to slide between her knees, fingers gripping the underside of her thighs as he forces them apart—her back hits the mattress with a soft gasp—he begins to unlace her heels, sucking his lips against the arch of her foot when they find contact with his mouth.

“Like that, huh?”

She giggles breathlessly, “Mhm.”

He raises an eyebrow.

His gruff voice calls, “Yeah?”

The giggling she does comes from still being slightly tipsy, nodding her head as she musingly stutters, “T—that’s a start.”

“Now I got you’ stutterin’.”

Toji removes the other heel, connecting his mouth back to her flesh—He sucks at the skin of her ankles, now giving both legs attention—from gentle pecks to harsher kisses, he latches the skin into his mouth with a popping sound. Her giggling subsides with each release of his full lips, as this causes her hips to raise a bit.

Within all this, she’s even more nervous. She clears her throat as she dumbly asks, “Um—did that hurt?”

She refers to the tattoo along his neck.

She feels him grin against her ankle—his tongue swipes lazily over his bottom lip before he answers, voice thick and rough.

“Nah. ‘Ain’t hurt too bad.”

“Mine’s hurt.”

She distractedly refers to her own, pointing at the rose as if he couldn’t see it. But to be truthful, she was really trying to keep up the conversation as she felt herself trembling—why was she trembling? Has it really been this long?

"’Tell me where else you got’ ink.”

He keeps her talking to hear the shake in her voice, looming his muscular frame above hers, slowly placing both ankles upon each of his shoulders.

“S—Something on my hip…little drunk ideas at the time,” she slurs, her mouth barely able to find the words.

Yup, he definitely was a bastard. The moment her eyes lock within his, the tips of his fingers gently graze upon her inner thigh— it halts right over the thin material of her panties, Asael’s mouth slightly parting as he places his forehead along hers.

In an instant, she rests her hands along his shoulders—Asael grips his shirt to stop her hands from shaking. He leans forward more, allowing their lips to just barely touch.

His index and middle finger press at the cloth, dragging against the fabric down to her opening—he hears just how wet she is, dropping his eyes down as he grunts, “Ooh, fuck.”

Toji's low, raspy growl vibrates against her mouth—the sound sends another electric pulse straight between her legs. He doesn't hesitate—his fingers hook into the silk, peeling it aside to expose her glistening heat. The sight of her was ethereal—already wet, gummy and pink.

"Fuckin' pretty.”

She frowns along his mouth, spreading her thighs in the way she wanted to hours before—her voice is low as she begs, “Want em’ in me.”

He grunts, “Slow?”

“Slow, please.”

He can hear the wreckage in her voice. He sinks them in slowly, sucking her mouth within a kiss to swallow her whimper—her thighs tremble with every knuckle that buries into her, pumping out with a squelch of her pussy.

“Fuccck, baby.”

Her moan drags the words, “That felt so good.”

“You’re so wet,” he groans in return, stroking his tongue against her own, swirling her mouth into a filthy kiss.

He spreads his fingers wider—filling her up with every push of his hand. She gasps, chest rising and falling against him at the overwhelming stretch. She moans helplessly into a kiss, pulling him lower to drag her tongue against his own. Toji sucks her bottom lip between his teeth, growling through their make out.

Her voice is broken, pouty on his lips, “I’m gonna cum already. S—Stop, Fushiguro.”

“Pussy keep pullin’ my fingers in, baby—‘Tight as hell, ‘how long since you been fucked?”

“Don’t ask that,” she whimpers, pressing her forehead against his, “Please.”

“‘M sorry,” he rumbles, “S’all you, baby,” he groans in her ear, sucking that soft lobe in between rough, hot kisses, “You need this shit. Open up f’me.”

Her body hadn’t felt this much pleasure in so long, it nearly aches. As his fingers pound into her, a gasp tugs from her mouth once more—she drenches his palm, Asael's body shuddering and shaking, releasing all her pent up frustration in hot, messy streams.

“That’s it, good fuckin’ girl.”

His voice is low, gruff against her ear, deep breaths against her neck, “Drenchin’ all over my fingers, baby’s got so much built up.”

Her chest rises and falls, whimpering as she kisses him again. She’s tugging her hands on his shirt, “I want you so bad.”

“I’m right here.”

He drags her to the end of the bed, tongue already dropping on her clit—he’s widening her legs, shaking his head side to side as he spreads her opening with his jaw. His tongue laps at her wet folds hungrily, teasing her clit with strokes of his tongue—her thighs quiver, raking her fingers through his hair, already too sensitive at this point.

“You taste good as fuck,” he moans against her—she squirms again, whining—the grip in his hair tightens more as he sucks her clit between his lips in return.

Asael’s panting, whimpering. Every single sound is just adding fuel to the fire, pulling her tighter against his tongue as he begins to lick up and down her folds like a meal.

“‘Need you to make a mess like this on my dick.”

She nods her head, begging with her eyes nonetheless, but unsure if she even trusted her own body to hold out.

“‘Know you will,” he grunts, “‘Shit’s gonna’ look so fuckin’ good.”

His palm slides down to clutch a hold of her hip, using it for leverage as he starts to rock her hips forward—he’s driving his tongue in and out with relentless drag, face and nose drenched within her.

She’s just moaning, and it’s like music to his ears.

“‘Gonna cum, baby.”

“Nah’, next time you cum it’ll be cause’ I’m fuckin’ you stupid,” he corrects her, “Better wait for me.”

He’s lifting her within the air as if she weighs nothing—her legs are thrown over his shoulders, her arms locking around his neck—she exhales, trying to catch her breath as she locks their lips together with another moan.

It’s all chaotic, but in the best way. His large palms hold the skin of her ass with long fingers, spanking the flesh as it’s hot under his skin—His tip is full, fat—it smushes along her folds as if to tease her body more.

“C’mon, Toji.”

“I’m comin’.”

But maybe she wasn’t as ready as she thought. Her mouth goes from parting lightly to dropping open, feeling as he slowly sinks her onto the heaviness of his dick—a sense of discomfort ruptures through her spine as it’d been so long—but it overrides by a pleasure that nearly causes her to black out.

Toji’s silent, except for the low groan against her mouth. He just wants to hear her reaction, wants to listen.

Asael’s eyes roll back—and then, her thighs tremble as she shockingly squirts along his abdomen, body shuddering as she groans from the unexpected orgasm.

He’s relentless, his palm connecting with her cheek, “Look at you—cummin’ from me just putting my shit in.”

His hands squeeze at the back of her legs, spreading her open even wider. There was no warning as he began tugging her onto his dick, sliding in and out of her at a pace that was slow, but harsh.

Tears begin to fill her vision, gasping mercilessly against him. Her body hasn’t subsided from her orgasm as he bounces her down, skin clapping together—Asael can only sob, “Oh my god, fuck.”

"Tearin’ your shit up so good, baby. You feel that?”

He’s as sinister as he looks, continuously dropping her up and down on his length, gradually increasing the intensity of their movements, battering her walls while maintaining eye contact with her tear-streaked face.

Asael’s nails scratch his back, leaving half-moon indents on her track upward as they reach his shoulders— he grabs her by the roots of her curls, forcing her to look him in the eye again.

“You hearin’ me?” This is what you wanted, huh?”

His tongue trails against her earlobe, sucking along the reddened flesh.

“All you’ been thinkin’ about.”

Asael just nods her head, her eyes falling down to watch the way his dick nearly splits her in half.

She nods, “Uh huh.”

The way he moves her body was almost effortless—the spank he gives her ass makes her mewl softly, an almost irritation along her face from how good it all felt.

“Fuck, baby. Fuck.”

“That’s all you got now?”

She drags her palm against her lips to cover her mouth, unable to stop herself from the broken moan she releases—she shudders, “Fuckkk, my god. Stop it.”

He’s snapping his hip up to meet hers, taking her mouth all in one rough, deep motion. She’s so small in his hands, practically a toy almost. He continues to slam her down, over and over.

“You takin’ it so good.”

She can’t control the way her legs tighten around him—her hands clenching onto his shoulders for dear life, nails dragging along his skin again.

“I’m gonna’ cum again.”

“Thought you wanted me to stop, huh?”

His mouth sucks against hers—she whimpers as he starts to bounce her up and down even harsher on his tip, “You lyin’ now?”

Her eyes roll as she moans against his mouth, clutching her fingers within the nape of his hair once more—she mewls, “‘Didn’t mean it.”

He grunts in return, “’Know you didn’t.”

Each time he slams her down onto his dick, her pussy grips tightly around him, releasing harsh waves of pleasure that seem to radiate throughout both their bodies. It’s like an unrelenting ocean.

“Pussy’s talkin’ to me baby.”

“Ugh—mhmmmm.”

She holds the side of his face, giving another nod of her head—she begs, “Don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop?”

His fingers sink into the flesh of her ass, grinding her onto his abdomen, arousal dripping down his pelvis each time their bodies connect.

“Don’t, Toji.”

She’s starting to feel like he’s punishing her for the mouth she had before they ended up here. Now here she was—broken and needing him, attitude nowhere in sight.

“Reckless ass fuckin’ mouth. Now look at you.”

“Ughn, baby. Please.”

“‘Keep callin’ me,” he growls, “Don’t even know what for.”

The back of her thighs clap against his hips, coating her arousal along his length in white cream. It has her breathlessly whimpering, “Sorry.”

“I’m knowin’.”

A peevish whine leaves her lips, dragging her tongue along his jaw until it reaches his lips as she weakly repeats, “Need you so bad.”

A gruff chuckle vibrates against her forehead, Toji’s hands slide down to cup her ass, spanking her cheek again and again—his tongue licks along her neck again, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its path as he repeats, “I know.”

The room is lewd, filled with the sounds of their bodies connecting, the sounds of pleasure they’re both making.

"’Never heard pussy talk the way yours talkin’ to me. You want this shit bad.”

She nearly whines like a brat when he pulls out of her, carrying her over to the bed as he lays himself against the sheets. He’s tugging Asael by her fiery curls, gripping his tip within his other hand, slapping it along her tongue.

And Asael just moans, opening her mouth wider, sticking out her tongue in return.

His free palm rakes into her curls, bobbing her mouth up and down that it creates a schluck, schluck, sound— her eyes roll back, clit throbbing at the sound of his low voice echoing within her ears. She’d never expect herself to be this indulged or submissive in a man’s words—but it made her even hornier.

“I’m so wet.”

She admits this as she draws her mouth away from his tip, rotating her palm against the base of his dick, coating it with her saliva.

“Yeah?”

He’s growling, “Show me that shit.”

Asael crawls up his body, straddling his waist—her hands grab palms, guiding his fingers to the damp heat between her legs. A feral groan echoes in her ear as his hands grab both cheeks of her ass, spreading the messy folds as his thumb rolls against her clit, “So fuckin’ nasty.”

She leans her head against his shoulder, mewling, "See.”

He’s guiding her over the fat of his tip once more—she’s sinking down onto it, her walls hugging his length as Toji growls against her mouth, “Keep goin’. Take my shit all the way.”

It’s slow, inch after inch—filling every empty space she trembles, “Ooh,” all while he grumbles in return, “‘She missed me.”

He’s propping her up to have her feet along the bed, placing her in an almost squatting position— his muscular arms go beneath her thighs, tugging her by the thick flesh of her ass to slam her down. Cream coats through the separation of their skin, Asael gasping deeply at the sound it makes, painting his dick like her own canvas.

“Spread your pussy. Gonna’ go deeper.”

He guides her hands, pulling her folds apart from one another even more. Asael mewls defeatedly, feeling her eyes brimming with tears once more—pleasure is all she feels.

“Nuh-Uh. Don’t be cryin’ now.”

"Fuuuuuck, baby.”

“Keep goin’ with all that whinin’ shit you were doin’ earlier,” he grunts to her, a shockwave being sent along her body as he’s back to spanking her with both palms.

Asael spreads herself even more from behind—she whines lowly against his lips, “You’re so fucking deep, baby.”

“In your stomach?”

She just nods.

"Pussy tuggin’ my dick,” he groans breathlessly, “Like you were made for me," he prods, his voice rough with each word, “Just needed to be fucked.”

“Toji.”

“Just needed to cum, huh?”

“Yeahhh.”

“Yeah?” He arrogantly grunts, thrusting his hips up into her.

“Uhhhh—ugh, fuck. Yeah.”

The sounds are wet again, Toji’s balls slapping against her clit.

“That’s it—you whinin’ for me?”

She just nods once more, desperate and exhausted—she can hardly moan anymore, whining each time his tip disappears.

“I’m gonna’ cu—uhhhh.”

His voice lowered, deeper, darker, “You got it, baby. Need you to make a fuckin’ mess.”

Maybe this was all to break her. Asael’s mind flickers with that thought as he swiftly throws her within another position, her stomach pressed against the sheets, hips arched up within the air.

She hopes—prays he tires himself out. One palm wraps around her throat from behind, the other holding the flesh of her hip as he grinds down, tip sliding across her folds eagerly.

His lips began sucking at her throat, “Pretty ass tattoo, looks like the shit hurt.”

Her eyes clasp shut as he’s making out with her flesh, squirming beneath him as he grunts into her skin, “Lemme’ kiss that shit.”

He’s sopping it down with a growl, dragging his tongue along the flushed ink. His mouth is like molten lava, a slow burn spreading up her body to warm every pore with anticipation.

“Didn’t hurt as bad as you’d think,” she whispers; her voice is soft and shaky, feeling him tease her entrance from behind, “But—fuck.”

Then—he’s dipping his tip at her opening, quickly tugging it back out. He doesn’t stop. He just keeps doing that. It has her hips trying to catch him, whimpering softly as she can’t.

“Gonna cum. S—so close, put it back in.”

“You’ need it?”

“Need it.”

Her body trembles and shakes, only receiving the drag of his hips in return.

“Please.”

“Pussy tryna’ have me fall in love,” he grunts, spreading her apart with his own hand, seeing her opening throbbing, gummy pink walls pulling themselves inward as they need his connection.

“You wanna cum?”

“Mhmm.”

“Say that shit, then. Mean it.”

“Wanna cum all over your dick, baby. Can’t wait.”

Toji rumbles a deep chuckle against her body, pulling her hair into his fist as he twists the tresses into a ponytail, other hand spreading her opening farther as he shoves his dick back inside—he’s yanking her hips back, an angle to hit directly to her g-spot.

Asael feels elated, a high-pitched giggle leaving her lips as she whines, eyes rolled to the back of her head—she’s squirting again, nearly pushing his tip out by the strength of pleasure, face shoved into the pillow as she releases wildly, moaning in chaotic shouts.

He jerks her head up as he grunts, still keeping his hips plummeting into her, “Nah. Fuck all that. Cum. Shit feels good, doesn’t it?”

She can’t even speak in words anymore, crying out, “Uhhhh—oh my god, Toji. I’m cumming. I’m cumming,” she whimpers in high pitched repetitions, turning her face towards him as she begs, “Kiss me.”

He’s releasing his grip over her hair, leaning down to kiss her messily, more teeth than anything. Her body was shaking almost as if in a fever, feeling him begin to pound her again, squeezing his mouth roughly against hers. He’s growling like an animal, the pleasure now consuming his body too.

She pulls her mouth back from his just centimeters apart—her voice is wrecked as she softly begs, “Cum, baby. ‘Want you to cum with me.”

That voice of hers is all he needs. His face is buried alongside her neck, groaning as his hands grip her hips rougher, a fire building within the pit of his stomach, spreading throughout his core as he buries his tip in her deep.

The chaos of the moment drives him to a brink of insanity. To hear the suction of air spouting from her opening, Asael defeatedly gasping, head turning as her mascara ridden face tiredly moans, its euphoria.

His hips tremble as he pulls out with a moan—Asael turns her body, lowering herself to allow the warmth of his cum to spread across her face. Her hands wrapped around the base of his length as she sticks her tongue out, catching the rest within her mouth.

Toji glares.

“Shit,” he grunts, “‘Must’ve been wrong as hell. You are sweet.”

She giggles.

Asael runs her tongue along her lips, “‘Could just be one of my better moods.”

“Better? You’re not in the fuckin’ heavens after I just tore your ass up?”

She shrugs, “Maybe. Maybe not.”

As she continues to giggle, Toji locks in on her. She must’ve forgotten who he was just that quickly.

But she’s about to be reminded, a gasp falling from her lips as he twists her hair into his fingers, tugging her eyes up to meet him so she can hear every word.

“Nah, fuck that. Turn over.”

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