ShyLand

⋆ ✩⋆afro-latina°｡ 𓆩𝓢𝓱𝔂𓆪 🕸 ✩19 ✩Philly ✩

[hoseoch]

“what are you gonna do, cry about it?” yes . the fuck

[officialspec]

this picture of my cat makes me feel like i woke up during an alien abduction

[blkkizzat]

PU$$Y GOT MORE M⛧RDERS THAN SHIBUYA.ᐟ 𝐌⛧𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑#𝟕 — 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐚, 𝐇𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢

⛧ 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡: nov 30th, 10:37pm ⛧ 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡: garters + assistant manager! reader + pleasure dom! higuruma+ cunnalingus + fingering + office sex + overworked!higuruma + creampie + shower sex + squirting + use of squirt as coffee creamer + public sex + standing sex + fluff + higuruma courts you like an old man jdfbhsdb + higuruma folds you like a pancake + reader is a bit delulu and spirals lol. ⛧ 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬: 6390 (~4.5K of it is pure smut lol)

𝐚𝐧: sorry this took so long! i ended up changing the theme a bit on this one cause using the same got so boring to me after a while, ya know? i dont think ill do that again for a series if its not the same story. art creds: both @/reaperpie

𝐧𝐧𝐧 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

If this goes on any longer, you're going to have to apply for flood insurance.

For your panties.

And for what? Simply standing beside Higuruma?

Yup, that'll do it.

Mere proximity to the man who once had you bent over the very desk he's chained to now.

You busy yourself at the file cabinet, fighting to keep your breathing even. But it doesn't stop your eyes from drifting to him—his pen moving and brow furrowed while fully consumed in drafting a judgment entry.

He won. Well, the case got dismissed.

Same difference.

You're just relieved it's finally over.

It's been over a month since this case consumed him and consequently also over a month since you last had his fingers buried inside you.

Shit.

You can still feel the phantom strokes of them curling deep enough to rearrange your guts and dragging out moans you didn't know could be made in pleasure. "There. Right there, babydoll. Let it all go for me."

And you did—skirt bunched, stockings torn and your slick dripping down his hand onto cuffs he hadn't bothered to roll back—

"Grab me the folder with the October 3rd case files, please, dear."

Higuruma's request snaps you out of your daydreams—body jerking as heat burns your cheeks.

"O-Of course!"

You know exactly where to go, at least. Every misplaced document, every obscure reference—you've long since mapped the chaos of Higuruma Hiromi's filing system.

Locating the folder within seconds, the brief contact of his fingers grazing yours as you hand it over makes you clench.

"Thank you, doll."

Higuruma doesn't look up, his eyes are already scanning the document. Clearly your touch doesn't stir anything in him.

Right.

You get it. You do. 

It's not cruelty—just a single-minded determination from a habitually overworked and underfucked attorney moonlighting as a sorcerer. 

Higuruma is well practiced in putting his own needs to the side for others, his entire life has been dedicated to it—you can't bear to fault him for that.

So you retreat. Back to the sofa in the corner of his office, the sting tucked behind a tired smile. Higuruma isn't the only one who knows how to compartmentalize.

Still, the thought lingers—is there even a point in staying?

He doesn't need you. Not really.

Higuruma managed for years as a public defender before the Culling Games. He's more than capable of grabbing his own files.

Besides, it's not like the jujutsu higher-ups assigned you here for your legal expertise. The "Executive Legal Assistant" line is just civilian window dressing— a polite way of saying leash.

Your real title? Assistant Manager of Jujutsu Tech.

A handler for a newly ranked special-grade sorcerer too stubborn to give up his day job entirely.

Higuruma compromised just enough to move to private practice, but still takes most cases pro bono after a reduced retainer.

He knows exactly why you're here—and he's never once made you feel lesser for it.

Which makes the guilt so much worse. He's buried in this case: a scholarship kid bullied into a false confession, parents who scraped together everything for his retainer.

Meanwhile, you're sulking because he won't touch you.

God, his noble to a fault principles make you damn near feral though.

Pouting from your spot on the sofa, you steal another glance at Higuruma.

You decided long ago it's enormously unfair for a man to wear exhaustion as well as he does. The warm glow of the desk lamp traces his profile—his sharp nose, strong jaw, the thick column of his throat and the strain visibly knotted across his broad shoulders. 

The same coiled tension he'd carried that night a month ago that obliterated all lines of professionalism.

It’d been straight off a mission. Higuruma dealt with dual first-grade curses, nasty work—and then went right back to his desk. But he was wound too tight and although determined to finish his work, could not keep his fingers from digging into the crook of his neck.

When you offered to help him, you were only being considerate.

A friendly massage. Honestly, that's all it was. 

Higuruma even tried to refuse you but one firm press into his stiff muscles and he groaned. The sound was purely guttural, vibrating through your palms and straight to your cunt.

Immediately all protests silenced as his head drooped forward, breath going ragged. His grunts continued and by the time you fully worked out the second knot, you were dripping.

It took everything in you to steady your hands, to hide how much his pleasure was affecting you. But then you slipped—and a soft, needy sound fumbled out of you, impossible to swallow back. Your breath fanned warm across his neck, scattering goosebumps along his nape.

Everything after that blurred together.

His hands hauling you into his lap.

His mouth devouring yours.

The expensive oak desk slamming against the wall as he drove into you like a man possessed, your name caught between his teeth like a prayer.

You don't remember how it ended—only that eventually, Higuruma untangled himself from you and led you wordlessly to the private shower attached to his office. One of the few perks of private practice he'd actually come to appreciate.

He washed you with reverence—slow, thorough, like you were something precious. And then he ruined that image entirely by dropping to his knees and lewdly slurping his cum out of your cunt like it was his last meal. Nose buried in your clit, tongue pushing deep, water pouring down his face. He was half-drowning—between the shower and your squirt—and couldn't have cared less.

Legs like goo, you still don't know how you remained standing through it all.

You were still catching your breath as you toweled off when he murmured something about feeding you, fingers tracing your hip.

Twenty minutes later: you were at an all-night izakaya, just the two of you. Your first date, technically. Confirmed by the way he slid into the booth beside you instead of across—his hand finding your thigh like it belonged there. It never left. Only crept higher, fingertips ghosting over your clit through thin silk while you pretended to study the menu. The owner lingered too long taking your order, teasing you for something as plain as eggs and furikake rice, his tone edging toward flirtation as he challenged if your date was too cheap to buy you a real meal. You stumbled over your defense of Higuruma as Higuruma's knuckle replaced his fingertips, grinding against your clit.

That's when you learned how possessive Higuruma Hiromi could be.

"That man is testing my patience," Higuruma murmured the second the owner turned away. His mouth barely moved against your ear, voice terrifyingly calm, knuckle still working slow circles through your folds. "Should I sit you right here in my lap? Let him watch you come undone, doll, hm?"

You were already plenty undone though—your slick leaking onto beat-up vinyl seat.  “Don’t worry, I won’t. This noisy girl attracts too much unnecessary attention—” Higuruma leans forward to shield you from view as more patrons walk in “—we don’t need a public indecency charge, hm?”  

He wasn't wrong. The slick click-click of your pussy squelches were already obscene—a few patrons' eyes flickered around, searching for the source—and it only got louder as he nudged past the lace, stroking you wider, fingertip dipping teasingly into your core.

“H-Hiro…”

With a sly quirk of his lip, he pulls back, reaching casually for his coffee before slipping the mug under the table.

“Alright, alright. At least allow me some of your cream for my coffee as a consolation, dear.”

He paid, of course. You tried to protest, but it's hard to argue when you can barely stand—legs still trembling from an hour of relentless teasing.

He'd ordered three cups of coffee total. Every single one required a fresh dollop of your cream.

By the time you reached his condo, you needed him desperately again. Engine off, keys still in the ignition—you climbed into the backseat and sank onto his cock. You rode him until dawn crept through the fogged glass and your legs gave out. 

He invited you to stay but you were possibly in enough trouble already if your family noticed you hadn’t returned. Working late was understandable—but there’d be hell if you missed breakfast without prior notice.

That was a Saturday.

Come Monday, this case landed on his desk, and he hadn't touched you since.

Instead?

Fresh flowers rotating through the vase on your desk.

The occasional delivery of white strawberries.

Macarons from the French bakery Higuruma pretended to overbuy when you knew he only bought them for you. The closest to real intimacy you got all month were stolen moments where he’d sweep your hand into his, lips brushing your knuckles when he was certain no one else could see.

Sure these breadcrumbs were enough to keep you hoping but not nearly enough to keep you sane. 

Who the hell courts you like a Regency novel heroine—after you’ve already spent a night all over each other fucking like rabbits?! 

You don't think even Elizabeth Bennet suffered this kind of agonizing tension—she certainly didn't have the memory of Mr. Darcy's tongue swirling in her cunt to keep her up at night.

But what could you do? You couldn't seem needy or immature—not to a man a decade your senior. Not if you wanted this to mean something.

You were doing fine. Keeping it together. Right up until last week.

Junior lawyers crowded the watercooler, loud and willfully oblivious to the fact that women also use the break room—braying about No Nut November like overgrown frat boys comparing notes. You kept your back to them, cursing the espresso machine to hurry the hell up.

Relief flooded you when Higuruma appeared in the doorway.

Finally, an escape.

Then he opened his mouth.

"Some of us don't find distractions quite so difficult to set aside when the work matters." His gaze swept over them. "I'd recommend you develop the same discipline, gentlemen."

Distractions.

You'd previously told yourself this case had forced you both into accidental celibacy. No Nut November participants by circumstance, not choice. But the way he'd said it—distractions—so cool, so clinical, like sexual urges were just clutter to tidy away.

You'd think a man who fucked you that desperately would be crawling back for more?!

But he hadn't.

And that distance made you wonder if you'd gotten it all wrong. Maybe the gifts weren't courtship—just consideration. The polite gestures of a man who'd used you and wanted to keep things friendly on the rare occasion he needed an indulgence.

Like a work wife with benefits.

The fact the office cleared out hours ago and he’s hardly looked at you for more than a few seconds convinces you of this more and more, the thoughts spiraling as—

"You know I hate to keep you late." The words yank you out of your head. Right. You're still here. He's still here. "If you need to leave, dove, I can manage."

Your stomach drops. Higuruma asked you to stay tonight, so you thought maybe—

"No, I'm fine. Really." Unconvincing, even to yourself.

"Mm." He nods—eyes already back on his files.

Dismissed in a syllable.

Trying to push aside the hurt, the files in your lap blur as you pretend to read them, legs crossing and uncrossing, the leather groaning beneath your restless shifting. Now on top of everything else, your feet are screaming—new stilettos, three inches higher than normal.

You'd dressed to kill all month hoping a part of him would be superficial enough notice.

Wincing, your arches are aching from your red-bottoms. You're starting to suspect it's less about the lacquer and more about the crime scene your heels will leave behind if your arches just so happen to split in two. Still, they make your legs look sinful—and you'll plead guilty to first-degree pick me-ism if it gets Higuruma to look up from his goddamn papers for more than a minute.

"Take them off.”

Flustered, your eyes snap up to see Higuruma appraising you over the document in his hands. 

When did he start watching you again?

"Your shoes, dove."

Higuruma follows up when you don’t respond, faint amusement lingering on his words.

"It's fine, really—" You wave off his concern, gesturing vaguely at your feet. "They're still new. Haven't broken them in quite yet."

"You've been wincing for the last twenty minutes." Higuruma’s voice is firm but not unkind as he regards you. His eyes linger on your legs long enough for you to notice this time. 

"Take them off."

"I don't want to be unprofessional—" 

"It's nearly midnight." The corner of his mouth twitches a sly smile. "And…I think we're well past professional civilities, don't you?"

Are we?

You swallow the retort as Higuruma examines another folder on his desk. Part of you wants to be a big brat about it—to punish him for ignoring you. You want to crawl onto his desk force his eyes onto you.

But the thought alone makes you shy away. You're much too proud for that.

So you ease the shoe off slowly, quietly, propping your stockinged foot on the sofa's edge to reach the second strap. Your wool skirt rides up your thighs in the process—but you're almost certain he's not watching anyway.

Except you hear papers fluttering and when you glance up, Higuruma's pen is frozen mid-stroke.

His gaze isn't on your feet.

It's fixed on your thighs, more specifically, the black lace of your garters clipped to stockings that have your soft flesh swelling over them.

His throat bobs as he white-knuckles the pen in his grasp.

For a long moment, he doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. Just looks at you as his eyes trail lower and the proof of how needy you've been for him all night is evident in the way your panties clinging to every fold.

Higuruma resembles a man who's been presented a ten-course meal after a strict fast.

Yet his next words still surprise you.

"You've been punishing yourself."

"What?"

"For my attention. You've been wearing new heels, every night this week." Higuruma’s tone is stripped of its usual composure although he's still clinical in his assessment. "You usually wear the round-toed black pair. Two inches, cushioned sole. These—" His gaze flicks to the discarded shoes, then back to you. "Your legs don't need the extra height, doll. Never did."

Heat floods your cheeks. He'd noticed?! 

This whole time, drowning in case files, barely sparing you a glance—

"The blouse is new too." Higuruma notes, almost to himself, like he’s reading off the facts in a case file. "Tuesday it was the silk one. Wednesday, the black skirt with the small slit at the back."

Your heart slams against your ribs as he continues to recall your outfits.

"I-I thought you weren't paying attention."

"I wasn't giving you any." Higuruma’s mouth twists—bitter and self-directed in his ire. "That's not the same thing."

"It's okay. You've been busy—"

"Don't." 

The word is soft but final as he rises from his desk walking over to you on the sofa.

"Don't make excuses for me—or I'll hate myself even more than I already do..."

Higuruma drags a hand down his face as he deflates with a tired exhale. "Watching you walk in every morning looking like that. Knowing exactly what sounds you make when I—"

He stops. You watch him swallow it down—whatever he was about to say, whatever he was about to do. His eyes have gone nearly black, looking like he may pounce on you at any moment.

"I couldn't only give you ten minutes between depositions. Couldn't touch you the way you deserve and then casually ask you to hand me a file or drive me to the next mission like nothing happened." 

Your head is spinning at the revelations, wanting to say something but you are at an utter loss. 

"So I kept my distance." He confesses. "Thought if I could just finish this case—I could give you a night where I could take my time with you. Take you apart properly, then put you back together after."

Higuruma is standing over you now, his presence like a physical weight. "Like a fool, I was so consumed with self-martyrdom I never stopped to consider if I was forcing yours."

You move to stand, to reach for him—

“Stay.”

It's less command than it is a contrite supplication.

"Stay right there, doll," Higuruma repeats—and the crack in his voice betrays him—as does the tent in his slacks.

The sound he makes when he catches you staring is barely human—a low, rumbling growl. You watch his cock twitch harder against his slacks.

You search for his eyes, but his focus is locked on your tongue sweeping across your lips.

Higuruma loosens his tie, slowly as his eyes begin their descent—down your throat, your breasts, your stomach—until it lands between your thighs and stays there. Fixed on the wet patch darkening your lace. 

He crouches before you, hands finding your calf. His thumb strokes the curve of the stocking covered muscle with reverence, he's memorizing the shape of you not only by sight but touch as well.

"Bring the other up." You've never heard him sound like this—barely holding on. "Y-Yes, just like that. Now lay back—hips forward."

Pulse hammering, you sink deeper into the cushions, propping your leg up as his hands find your hips, guiding them forward, bunching your skirt around your waist.

"Good girl."

Your pussy is fully on display now and Higuruma makes a wounded noise as his eyes rake over the panties that have given up pretending to hold in your swollen folds long ago.

"Christ." 

The word punches out of him. His fingers skim the lace edge—barely grazing—and still come back glistening with your slick.

Higuruma swallows hard. "It's criminal the way my girl's been hiding all this under those prim little suits."

His girl.

Higuruma lifts one of your legs, extending it slowly until your stockinged foot rests flat against his chest. His heart pounds beneath your arch, the beat syncing with the pulsating ache of your clit.

His hands work down your leg, firm and thorough, pressing into sore muscles until pleasure bleeds through the ache. Your head tilts back as you stifle a moan and his grip tightens in response.

"I know I don't deserve it, dove, but at least allow me to hear you while I worship you, my dear."

Simultaneously, his thumbs dig into the ball of your foot, and the tension you've been carrying all night unspools in a single, embarrassingly loud whimper.

From the devious look on his face, it's exactly what he wanted.

Higuruma presses a kiss to your Achilles—another apology—and you shiver. He sets your foot down gently, repeats the ritual on the other side. Just as slow. Just as thorough.

A knowing smirk tugs at his lips as he guides your legs up, stockinged feet sliding over his shoulders until you're spread open before him. He leans forward, nuzzling into the fold of your knee—and the scrape of his stubble makes your hips jerk.

“You know, at times I swore I could smell how badly she missed me.” He murmurs into your stockings. “Right through your pretty little skirts." 

Higuruma’s actions follow his words, tracing a slow path with his aquiline nose from your knee to your pussy. "Mmm. I was right. She's been weeping so sweetly through your panties like a needy little thing for weeks, hasn't she?"

Your whines answer for you.

"What about No Nut November?" you whisper, breathless, raising your hips to push his nose in deeper. "I wouldn't want to be a distraction..."

Higuruma inhales deeply, savoring your raw scent. "Never." He exhales breathlessly.

"Everything else has been a distraction from you." His voice drops to gravel, vibrating through you.

You haven’t even savored the admission properly before there's a sharp snap and his teeth bite through one of your garters, tugging the ruined elastic away with a growl before repeating the action.

"Please, Hiro—" You mewl, thighs trembling.

He looks up at you with those dark, knowing eyes. Exhausted and hungry in equal measure.

"This is part of my sentence, doll." His thumb strokes the crease of your thigh, maddeningly gentle. "Trust me—it's far more agonizing for me."

You doubt that.

But you don't dare contradict him—not when there's something sadistic lurking behind all that apology. Something that tells you a part of him would get off on deny you just a tiny bit longer.

His tongue drags flat over your panties, pressing wet fabric into your slit, sucking your slick through the lace like he's trying to wring every drop out.

"These are in my way." He doesn't bother with his teeth this time—just hooks his fingers in the lace and tears.

Riiiip.

You squeal as cool air hits your bare cunt for half a second before his mouth replaces it. The second his tongue splits your folds, every other thought dissolves.

Your head falls back against the cushions as his tongue drags through your folds with long, broad strokes. Like he's been dreaming about this exact taste for a month and finally, finally gets to indulge.

His lips seal over your clit and suck, hard enough that your hips buck off the sofa. His hands dig into the meat of your thighs, pinning you open, holding you still as they quake in his grasp.

"Told you to stay."

The command growled against your cunt, but your body isn’t listening, still squirming as he dips into your entrance, gathering your slick before dragging it back up to your clit—then he spits, letting your own arousal drip onto your swollen nub before his mouth descends again.

"H-Hiro!"

Higuruma doesn't answer.

He's much too occupied with his repentance. Tongue extended, his face is pulled back just enough so you can see the exact pattern being cruelly branded on your sensitive bud as he roughly flicks under your clitoral hood, pushing it back. It's methodical and devastatingly thorough—like he's building a case with his mouth and your orgasm is the verdict.

Though for a defense attorney, the way he's attacking your cunt feels suspiciously prosecutorial.

Your hips tilt up, desperate to ride his face, and he lets you—lips releasing your clit only to plunge his tongue straight into your core, rimming your entrance before fucking into you rapidly. Every thrust grinds his nose further into your clit. His hands find your ass, gripping soft flesh, spreading your cheeks as he lifts your hips to help you rock against his mouth.

This man would happily perish between your thighs.

You're certain of it now.

His own broken groans echo inside your cunt, high off the fact of simply giving you pleasure—and that's what sends you over. You cum hard, thighs clamping around his head, back arching off the sofa as the orgasm tears through you in waves, ecstasy coursing in your veins.

But he doesn't stop.

His tongue keeps working, lapping up your release, his face slick and shining with you. When you try to squirm away—oversensitive and trembling—his grip tightens on your thighs, dragging you back to his mouth.

"I'm not done with you yet, doll."

The words come out ragged, muffled against your puffy cunny as Higuruma's cheek rests against your inner thigh, lips swollen and spit-slick, still connected to your pussy by a thin string of your arousal. He's panting—actually panting—looking genuinely pained by the fact that he has to stop to breathe oxygen instead of burying himself deeper in your folds.

You don't think you could deny Higuruma anything like this.

"One more, Hiro." His breathing quickens at your permission. "T-Then fuck me. Please."

Higuruma doesn't bother with words. Just action—diving back into your depths like a man possessed.

One of his hands releases your thigh, finds your wrist and drags your fingers into his hair.

"Pull." The command is muffled but unmistakable.

You oblige—or rather, you're forced to when his teeth graze your clit and your nails dig into his scalp on instinct. Higuruma growls in pleasure, the sound rumbling through your core.

He has to be aching. Hard enough to hurt, trapped in those slacks. You can't see him from this angle, but you wouldn't be surprised if he's leaking through his slacks from the way he's moaning into your pussy, drunk on the taste of you. A pool of your creamy juices has already gathered on the leather beneath you, obscene and growing in size by the second.

Delirious words spill from his lips between licks—praise and filth whispered directly into your cunt like prayers.

"So sweet—"

A broad lick from entrance to clit.

"So pretty—"

His tongue fucks into you, curling.

"—my divine atonement—"

Your slick coats his chin, his cheeks, drips down his jaw, and he only gets hungrier. More desperate. More crazed. Every gush of arousal you give him is an aphrodisiac—he laps it up like a man dying of thirst, shows no signs of stopping, no signs this will be your last orgasm, only growing more feral as you unravel beneath him.

"P-Pleaseeeee ohh—!"

The second climax builds faster than the first—sharper, meaner, your whole body wound tight as a wire. His tongue relentlessly assaults your clit while two fingers sink into your cunt without warning, crooking against that spot inside you, and your vision whites out.

"That's my pretty girl."

Higuruma pulls back just enough to let you ride out the aftershocks, fingers still drawing merciless circles on your oversensitive clit.

Somewhere behind the roar of blood in your ears, you hear a belt click as fabric shifts. You force your eyes to focus—watching his slacks fall as he stands, his cock springing free—flushed and heavy, bobbing as his cockhead smeared with pre drips down the length of him.

Fuck. Somehow Higuruma looks even bigger than you remember, thick enough to make your whole body clench with want and fear in equal measure.

He kneels, dragging your hips to the edge. His hand wraps around himself, stroking, and you hold your breath—finally, finally—

But he just slaps his cock against your clit. Tap, tap, tap. Precum and spit and slick mixing obscenely

You squirm, clearly overstimmed which draws a smug chuckle from him.

"Is it terrible that I enjoy teasing you?"

"Hiro—" You whine, hips jerking toward him. You pout up at him sweetly—and watch his cock twitch in response. His resolve visibly cracking.

"Yes, doll. Say it again." Higuruma's cock notches at your entrance, pressing but not pushing. "Scream it this time, for me yes?"

You expect more teasing, more torture.

Instead, he snaps his hips forward in one brutal thrust—splitting you open until he's buried to the hilt.

You scream his name so loud you don't even hear it leave your throat.

You might have cum again—you only know because of the string of expletives spilling from Higuruma's mouth, his composure finally shattered.

"F-Fuck, dove—" He's panting, forehead pressed to yours. "She's choking me. You need to relax." A strained laugh escapes him. "She feels like a noose—and I'd prefer to avoid capital punishment tonight, if it's all the same to you."

You can't answer, tears streaming as you gasp from him filling you so completely. Higuruma leans down and licks them up too, tongue tracing the salt tracks on your skin. You're starting to think he's genuinely obsessed with your bodily fluids.

Higuruma pecks your lips gently, letting you adjust.

"Have you not been touching yourself?" His voice is softer now, curiously teasing as he admires the state simply sticking his cock in has reduced you to. "Have you been waiting for me all this time?"

"I w-wasn't g-gonna" You swallow, cunt fluttering around him. "B-But it wasn't enough. It wasn't y-you."

"'Wasn't gonna', huh?" He mocks you, his rich baritone tickling your senses as his thumb returns to your clit to flick over her languidly.

"Naughty girl." He kisses the corner of your mouth. "But I suppose I'll argue a plea deal in your defense this once. It was my fault after all for neglecting you."

Your thighs burn from being spread around his broad hips, the sheer weight of him pressing you into the sofa, his knees braced on the floor. When you finally loosen around him—walls relaxing, body surrendering to him—he slips his tongue into your mouth as his hips begin to move.

Small thrusts at first. Micro-movements. Like he can't bear to have even an inch of himself outside the warm embrace of your slick walls.

Then his hand presses down on your lower belly, and your eyelashes flutter as your eyes roll back.

"There it is." He groans, grinding deeper. "Can you feel how she makes room for me?"

Higuruma doesn't give you the chance to answer before he picks up the pace, hand staying pressed to your stomach, savoring every twitch of your muscles. The exact movement of your guts shifting around him—how your body so lovingly allows him to ruin her from the inside out.

His teeth find your bottom lip, biting down as his other hand slides up to your throat, fingers wrapping around the column of your neck. He squeezes lightly, rhythmically, matching the desperate clench of your pretty pussy around him.

Higuruma wants to cum with you. But he can feel you're already there—already tipping over the edge—

"Hiro... 'm gonna—"

"Oh?" He doesn't slow down. If anything, he fucks you harder. "Without me, dear? How inconsiderate." His thumb presses into the side of your throat. "Go ahead. But I won't be granting leniency. You cum now and then you're going to keep coming until I say stop."

"P-Pleaseeee, m-mercyyy—" You're babbling, desperate. The word slips out before you can stop it: "—Judge."

Higuruma almost cums right then and there, hips stuttering.

"Oh, you're pushing it now, princess."

Your doe eyes blink up at him, and somewhere beneath the desperation, you find the brat in you after all.

"What's wrong, your honor?" The words drip from your lips like honey, saccharine and deliberately provocative. "Did I say something I shouldn't have?"

Higuruma's grip tightens on your throat—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who's in control here. His hips still, cock buried deep, twitching inside you.

"Careful, dove."

You clench around him deliberately.

Something in him snaps. No more warnings.

Higuruma pulls out and you're immediately feeling the loss of him—but before you can protest, his hands are hooking under your thighs and hauling your ass up off the sofa.

Drenched in your combined mess, and his grip slips once before he adjusts, hoisting you higher. Your legs end up over his shoulders, folded nearly in half, and you have nothing—no wall behind you, no leverage, nothing to hold onto but the thick column of his neck.

Completely at Higuruma's mercy.

Your nails dig into his skin on instinct—the only anchor you have.

"There we go." He groans at the bite of pain, positioning his cock at your entrance. "Hold on tight, princess."

He slams you down onto him in one brutal drop.

You scream.

The angle is devastating—deeper than before, impossibly deep, his cock splitting you open while gravity does the rest. You have no control here. Can't set the pace, can't shift positions—can't do anything but cling to him and take it. Every thrust jolts through your entire body, punching the air from your lungs.

Your nails rake down his neck and he hisses, but his eyes roll back in pleasure, not pain.

"Harder." He commands. "Mark me up. I want to feel you for days."

You're too fucked-out to process it fully—is he sadistic or masochistic? Both? Does it matter when he's bouncing you on his cock like you weigh nothing, arms flexing as he lifts and drops you with terrifying ease? You're nothing but a vessel now, suspended and speared utterly for his pleasure.

"I'm going to take care of you, princess. Take care of this pretty pussy." His palms grip your ass, fingers digging in white-knuckled, desperate for leverage as he fucks up into you. "Going to make sure she never goes hungry again. Every morning. Every night. Whenever she asks for it."

"Hiro—" You're sobbing, pleasure cresting unbearably high, just gasps and moans punched out of you with every thrust. "Please, I need to—I can't—"

"Not yet." Higuruma's jaw clenches, fighting his own release. "Hold it."

"I-I c-c-can't—" Your walls are fluttering around him, clenching involuntarily, and you see stars at the edges of your vision. "P-Please, please, J-Judge, I'll do anythinggggg—"

"Anything?" His hips stutter at the title, cock kicking inside you. "Dangerous words, doll. I'll hold you to them."

His grip on your ass tightens, nails biting into the soft flesh now—mirroring what you're doing to his neck. The wet slap of skin echoes obscenely through the office, your slick dripping down his thighs, pooling on the hardwood beneath you.

"From now on—" He's losing rhythm, thrusts turning erratic. "—this pussy gets what she needs... you'll come to me? You'll tell me exactly what she needs?"

"Y-Yes—y-yes!!! Jusss p-pleaseeee—"

"Every ache—" A brutal thrust. "—every need—" Another. "—you bring it to me. Understood?"

You're babbling incoherent confirmations, head lolling back, eyes rolling into your skull.

"Cum, then. Give it to me, babydoll—"

The orgasm tears through you like a live wire—blinding, violent, your pussy clamping down so hard he chokes on a moan. Your nails draw blood on his neck and he growls, burying himself to the hilt—

And then you feel it.

The first hot pulse of him flooding your insides. His cock kicking against your walls, swelling impossibly thicker as he empties himself into you. Rope after rope of cum painting your clenching cunt, so deep you swear you feel the warmth in your throat.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. The noises of your breathing filling the space.

His cock is still buried inside you, softening but not quite soft, and you can feel his cum leaking out around the seal of your bodies—dripping down your thighs, onto the floor, adding to the mess you've already made of his office.

Higuruma's forehead drops to yours, hips grinding through the aftershocks, working every last drop into you. "You feel that? How much I saved for you, dove?"

You can only whimper in response. You do feel it—the obscene heat spreading through your core, the way his cum has nowhere to go with his cock still plugging you full. When he shifts his hips, grinding deeper, some of it squelches out around the seal of your bodies.

"Taking it so well—" His voice is shot, barely above a rasp. "Milking every drop—good girl—"

Your legs are shaking. Your whole body is shaking.

"Hiro..." You're slurring, drunk on him. "Can't... can't feel my legs..."

A breathless laugh rumbles through his chest. "Mm." He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the tear tracks still drying on your skin. Unbearably tender after everything he just did to you. "That's what happens when you taunt a man who's been starving for a month, doll." 

"Worth it," you giggle.

"Brat." But there's only fondness in his voice.

Slowly, carefully, he shifts his grip—one arm hooked under your ass, the other cradling your back as he finally lets your legs slide off his shoulders. You wince at the change in angle, cunt clenching involuntarily around him, and he groans.

"Easy." His voice is strained. "Keep doing that and we won't make it to the shower."

You're tempted to test him. But exhaustion wins out, your body going limp against his chest as he carries you toward the bathroom.

"Let's get you cleaned up." His lips brush your temple. "Then I'll take you home, hm?"

You pout. After everything—after a month of waiting, of longing, of convincing yourself you were nothing but a convenient release—you're not ready for this to end.

Not ready to go back to your empty apartment and pretend tonight didn't change everything.

Higuruma catches the look on your face and chuckles softly.

"I mean my home," he clarifies, nudging the bathroom door open with his shoulder. "We can clean up properly there. I'll cook you breakfast." He sets you down on the counter, and you shiver at the cold marble against your bare skin—but he doesn't pull out, not yet, his half-hard cock still nestled inside you like he can't bear the separation either. "Then I can worship you the way you deserve. Properly. Without a deadline or a case file waiting on my desk."

Your heart stutters. "You don't have to—"

"I want to." His hands cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones, and his eyes—god, his eyes are so soft now. Tired and tender and looking at you like you're something precious. "I should have done this a month ago. Should have made time. Should have told you what you are to me instead of assuming you'd wait."

"I would have." The admission slips out before you can stop it. "Waited, I mean. For you. I would have."

Something fractures in his expression. He doesn't say anything—just pulls you closer, pressing his lips to your forehead like he's trying to seal a promise there.

"You shouldn't have had to. No more waiting. No more silence. From now on, you tell me what you need—and I'll give it to you. Understood?"

"Understood, counselor."

His lips twitch. "Careful. You keep using titles and we'll never leave this bathroom."

You grin, exhausted and fucked-out and deliriously happy. "Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Both." He kisses you then—tongue gliding against yours, your taste still lingering. When he pulls back, his cock twitches inside you, thickening again.

"Definitely both."

"Mm." You pull back, pretending to consider. "I don't know. A month is a looooong time. I might need extensive compensation."

"Is that so?" Higuruma quirks a brow.

"Yup! Emotional damages. Pain and suffering." You tick them off on your fingers. "Loss of consortium—"

"You don't know what half those terms mean."

"I know what I want them to mean." you say slyly, clenching around him once more.

Realistically, you don't think either of you are leaving this office tonight.

His laugh rumbles against your lips.

"I'll allow it, counselor. Motion granted."

blkkizzat ©2023-2026 no ai, reposting, plagiarism nor translation allowed.

𝐚𝐧: ahhh i love writing higuruma as an EATERRRRRRRR. this one was a lil bit more angsty, well not really angsty, reader is just super horny and it's making her a delulu pick me cjksdbfkjvhsb. i mean the way he dicked her down tho, who could blame her? lol this one was a bit more cute endings than im used to writing. i feel like its a bit cheesy but w/e, we ball. im tired of editing it hfdjkvhbf. so also sorry for any errors or duplicate sentences as i reworked alot of this fbsdhbsd.

𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼? then please 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 or 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠! you can also join my gen. 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 or contribute to the 𝐛𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐨$𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐝.

[enfermizada]

Skipping the storyline and going straight into the fucking part..

[tojisteddy]

Simon Riley fucks you like he hates you.

And maybe a part of him does, because never in his 30 something years of life has he loved someone as much as he loves you.

What did you do to bewitch him like this? He’s scared to lose you, scared that one day that look in your eyes won’t be there. But he timidly stays with you, even thought you don’t realize it, hug you a little more, grumble into your shoulder something incoherent that he’ll miss you when you go to work. And he’s admitted it, in his head, yeah he’s admitted he loved you. He’s admitted defeat, waved that white flag in surrender.

But his actions are all out of whack, he’s not very good at this, he lives and breathes for you— so in turn— he’ll fuck you till he breaks you. How romantic

Presses your head into the bed with his foot, fucking you deep and swinging his hips into your ass, causing ripples to form with every thrust, angling right into your sweet spot that has you yelping into the mattress. You’re on your 4th orgasm already, overstimulated, tears and saliva wetting the bed while you mewl for him.

“Already fucked you stupid huh? Pretty bitch will take aaaanything I give ya, won’t you birdie?” He snickers at the state of you, harshly smacks your ass and rails into you. Stretching you out till you’ve taken all of him and it makes you hiccup. Doesn’t stop till you’ve cum atleast once.

And then it’s worse, he’ll let you bite into his forearm when he’s got you in a chokehold, barley able to breath, cunt clamping and pulling him like a vice because you can’t think, you can’t talk— all that’s on your mind, is ‘Simon, simon, Simon’

“Yeah, I’m alll you need luvie, all you ever wanted” he grunts, working himself in and out of your velvety walls, “Aww, said ya couldn’t take it but look at this honey,” and he rams up into you repeatedly, his mushroom tip bruising against your cervix. He shush’s you when you moan too loud, lets you hear the smack of his balls against your pussy and just how wet you are.

“Such a slutty fuckin pussy.”

Simon who has to top his loving making off with a Cherry, rubs your puffy clit with his thumb. You yell out a moan, trying to shove at his hand to move but he’s not stopping, circling his thumb around the bud till you hips buck, “Can’t- ‘s too much!—“ “—Bloody hell, shut the fuck up.” Cock slut, you cum just from that alone, eyes rolling to your skull, groaning while water squirts out of your cunt and onto the bed as your walls clench around Simon.

The blonde paints your walls, spurt after spurt filling you, bending you over while he makes you take every drop. Simon brushes your hair out of the way, kissing your back, patting your over stuffed tummy just before you pass out.

“My pretty fuckin girl, love you so much baby.”

[sacratiti]

ꨄ︎husband!nanami can't help but be a little mean after another shitty day at the office

everything is testing his patience today. he stubbed his toe on the bed frame getting up, took him two tries to put his tie on right, the coffee machine at work broke, he could go on and on. all he wanted was to come home and relax with his wife, maybe get his dick wet if he wasn't too exhausted.

instead, all you wanted to do was beg him for something he's refused many times in the past.

"plleeeease, just fuck me rough! i can handle it. i'm not glass," you pout. the vein above his left brow is bulging, a sure sign he's irritated. "no. i don't believe in hurting women. it's cruel." you swear you can hear his teeth grinding.

"what would i do anyway?" he asks. a mistake. "like, choke me, or slap me, call me something that can't be uttered again..." you trail off, waiting for his reaction. his eyes are rolling in their sockets.

"but nanamin! you're not hurting me. i want i-" "you're my wife. i'm not treating you like some reckless pervert on the street." his sturdy frame is now turned away from you in his chair. he's not even looking at you, face buried in some paperwork he had to take home. his word is final.

disappointed and horny, you mope off to bed. there's no point in trying to get him to change his mind. he's the gentle type, the kind of man that kisses your tears away as you complain that it won't fit. cruelty isn't in his nature.

it's not until your asleep that nanami fully considers your pleas. you have been a brat, and he can't lie that his cock is hardening, uncomfortably tight in his pants at the thought of you folded up for him. maybe he should finally indulge you.

ꨄ︎

ꨄ︎

"mm sorry, i'm sorry! i won't ask again!" the empty promises barely make it out of your lips. nanami's hand is gripping your jaw, pulling the pretty thing toward him. "thought this is what you wanted," he teases. it is, but being fucked so rough you can barely breathe wasn't your intention.

he's got you folded in mating press, knees to your ears and his chest pressed to yours. it's almost like his cock is in your lungs, knocking the air out of you with every thrust.

tears prick at your eyes when he hits your cervix. there's no way he's been this deep before. it's too different, too intoxicating the way his cock massages that spongy spot deep inside. all you can do is grab at the sheets, desperately try to crawl away from him.

"stop running." is all he says before he's grabbing your thighs, pulling you flush against him. now you're pelvis is grinding into his, unable to move with his grasp on you. he's unconsciously grinding down onto your clit, nearly sending you into your fourth orgasm of the night.

"stop ken! fuck, i'm gonna-hic-cum!" eyes rolling, your body writhes, too overwhelmed to do anything but take your husband's cock. it's filthy how you drool, ruining the expensive silk pillows he got you.

but he doesn't care. what he does care about is that you're not looking at him, not fucked out enough to be all whines and no words. you find yourself staring down at where your bodies connect, sticky and wet. the sinful heat is fogging up his glasses like steam.

his hand has found purchase in your hair, forcing your head down to look at the shared sloppy creation.

"can't take it, huh? don't ask for things you can't handle, sweetheart." if they weren't stuck up in your skull, you'd be rolling your eyes at him. his cruelty is showing, drunk off your submission. his thrusts are even more delicious, threatening to make you cream then and there. "be a good girl and cum for me. i know you can do it."

you're cumming around him before you realize it. toes curling, silent screaming, the whole nine yards because his dick is so fucking good. wetness runs down your thighs, connecting with nanami's brutal hips to make filthy plap plap plaps. "shit, you're so fucking wet," he groans, his own orgasm on the horizon.

your pussy is sucking him in, wringing him for all he's worth. relentless fucking through your high nearly pushes you into another. his pace is stuttering, body twitching at how good you feel.

he finishes with a thrust harder than all the rest, head of his cock pressed against your cervix. his glasses have fallen off now, probably broken somewhere under the sheets. you can feel his cock throbbing, pumping you with ropes of cum that are sure to go deep.

unlike normal, he crumples besides you, yet still not pulling out. there's a sudden ache in his lower back that wasn't there before, dull and irritating. "i'm exhausted," he pants. he says it as if he hasn't flattened you out on the mattress. neither of you are used to this level of exhaustion, but it aches so good.

silently, he brings you close. the familiar scent of his sweat and cologne envelop you. he's back to himself.

"ken?" you whisper. your husband grunts in reply, attempting to go to sleep. "will you do this again? pleasesayyespleasesayyes." "maybe. if you're good."

you blink in confusion. "but wasn't this a punishment?" "if it was a punishment, you wouldn't be talking right now." his lips ghost against your neck, clearly curling into a grin.

"oh," you mutter, "you're nasty."

[sadisticslut666]

Choso gets off to Toji fuckin’ you next door

cw: explicit, creampie, perv!choso listening to u get railed.

Cho is such a fucking perv. He’s pressed against the thin dorm wall like a fucking addict, one hand shoved down his sweatpants, the other braced flat against the cold plaster. The wall is so thin he can hear everything.

Because next door the wet squelch of your pussy echoing through the wall like it’s happening right in front of him. He can picture it so clearly it hurts. You on all fours, back arched, ass up while Toji grips your hips. “Fuck—Toji—right there—ahh—”

Choso’s cock twitches hard in his fist the second he hears you moan Fushiguro’s name again. His grip tightens, thumb smearing the steady leak of precum over the flushed head as he strokes faster, shame burning in his chest.

He knows he should stop. He knows this is pathetic. But he can’t. Not when he can hear your pretty little moans and whimpers from his room next door. “Shit… shit—” he whispers to himself, voice trembling.

He shouldn’t be getting off to this. He really, really shouldn’t.

But Toji’s next thrust must hit deep because your moan is exactly the way it used to when Choso first fucked you. Except this one is louder. “Oh! F-fuck—h-harder, p-please. Hnngh f-feels s-so good!” You whimpered as Choso strokes faster, his breaths turn into soft pants.

Toji bullys his cock faster into your wet cunt. “Yeah? You like that, baby? Taking my cock like a good girl—listen to how wet you are for me.”

Choso whimpers as his hips jerk forward into his own hand like he’s the one buried inside you, thick cock throbbing painfully as he pictures it: pussy wet and swollen, Toji’s hips snapping against your ass. Another moan from you, “Ji—nghh—harder—”

Choso’s eyes roll back as knees buckle a little and he has to lean more of his weight against the wall. His strokes turn sloppy, frantic and the wet schlick of his fist barely audible under the obscene sounds from next door.

He can hear the exact moment Toji changes angle—your gasp pitches up into a desperate cry, the bedframe banging harder against the shared wall. “Hnngh—fuck—yes—!” You moan so prettily it makes Choso’s balls draw up tight.

He’s leaking so much it’s dripping down his knuckles now, cock flushed dark and ready to come. Every time you moan for Toji, Choso’s hips twitch like he’s trying to fuck the wall, chasing the same rhythm.

He cums with a strangled, embarrassingly loud whine, thick ropes spilling over his fist and onto his stomach in messy pulses. His hips keep twitching, hand still working himself.

Through the wall he hears Toji groan satisfied, followed by your soft, fucked-out laugh and the wet sound of a lazy kiss. Choso stays slumped against the wall, chest heaving, cum cooling on his hand and the paint, face burning with humiliation and leftover pleasure. His spent cock gives one last weak twitch in his messy palm.

He’s such a fucking perv… and he already knows he’ll be right back here tomorrow night when Toji fucks you again.

a/n: perv Cho is my FAVORITEEE

[rip-cherrys-wrld]

NECK DEEP IN THE JUNGLE

summary: you're tired of having toji's pubes in your mouth, so your boyfriend offers to let you shave it off yourself. too bad he's so easily excited. warnings: 18+, MDNI, improper use of an electric razor, oral (m!receiving), cum swallowing, this is an unserious drabble a/n: art by @/hunnismokah. thank you to my pebus @venusins for beta reading and encouraging me ilysm. for the record, i'm a toji bush truther! i just thought this was funny. posting this to make up for the fact that i don't have nwte chapter 7 done yet. i should have it up this weekend :)

"Just stand in the tub, Toji," you sigh, already annoyed with your boyfriend.

"This is fuckin' ridiculous." Even as he mutters the words under his breath, he's already stepping into the bathtub.

"Take your pants off."

Toji's dark eyes slowly lift to meet yours, and he gives you an unimpressed look. "Are you propositioning me?"

"What the actual fuck is wrong with you?"

"Nothing. I'm not the one who demanded to be shaved. You asked to shave me."

Ugh…right. A few nights ago, you had gone down on Toji, only to spend the next half an hour picking his pubes out of your teeth. You still remember the conversation you'd had after.

"Toji, I'm really fucking tired of pulling your pubes out of my mouth," you had snapped, flicking a strand of coarse hair off your fingers.

He had just shrugged and leaned back against the couch. "You were eager a few minutes ago, baby. You want me shaved so bad? Do it yourself."

Of course, you weren't about to back down from such a blatant challenge. You had gone down the the store, bought a brand new electric trimmer—because let's be real…Toji's dick being bald might actually be worse than dealing with his bush—and now, two days later, you're ready to do the deed.

While you put the guard on the trimmer, Toji shimmies out of his sweats and boxers. The thick trail of dark hair starts at his belly button and follows down his midline, circling the base of his cock and dispersing out over the tops of his thighs. As hot as it looks, it's still a pain in the ass to deal with.

"Alright, Toji," you say as you sit down on the ledge of the bathtub. "Just a little off the top, 'kay?"

"If you nick me, I swear to—"

"Relax." Your left hand grabs him by the hip and anchors him in place while your right hand flicks on the trimmer. A soft buzzing fills the bathroom, and you adjust your grip on the tool. "It can't cut you."

Your boyfriend just grunts and watches on skeptically. Tough crowd.

The second the trimmer touches his v-line, Toji jumps. You immediately snatch your hand back and look up at him with a worried gaze. "Did I hurt you?"

Toji's throat bobs, and he shakes his head. "No, no. Go on."

You bring the trimmer back to his navel and begin methodically trimming back the hair just enough to make it more manageable. Little clumps of black hair get rinsed down the drain, and you're so focused on the task at hand that you don't notice Toji's cock twitching to life. The vibrations of the trimmer and the fact that your face is so close to his dick are driving him crazy. Fuck, he can feel every breath you take fanning over his skin.

"Almost done," you hum. "Just have to get the underside."

"Underside? Fuck…" Toji chokes back a pathetic sound as your left hand slides around to lift his cock up. Your fingers slip down the side of it, pinning it in place against his stomach. This time, the contact of the buzzing electric trimmer has him groaning. "Shit, baby."

He's fully hard in your hand now, cock heavy and hot, tip leaky and flushed red. You pretend not to notice, instead humming under your breath as you trace the shaver over his skin in careful strokes. You keep going until the veins running up the sides are bulging.

"Not so bad, right?" you tease.

The man above you is panting, hands planted flat on the smooth tile of the shower wall. His abs are clenched tight, and his cheeks are dusted a pretty, dusky pink. "I swear to fuck, if you don't—"

Toji's words cut off into a low moan as you give him a slow pump. "I was just about to say we should try it out, don't you think? See what kind of difference it makes…"

"Yeah. Yes, fuck yeah," he mutters breathlessly. "Anything you want, sugar."

You've got half a mind to tease him for folding so fast, but you don't think he can stand to lose any more of his dignity. The room goes silent as you flick the shaver off and set it down with a clink against the tub's porcelain. Toji's breath hitches when you finally lean in to drag your lips along the side of his cock, swirling your tongue against his frenulum before sucking his tip into your mouth.

The first inch you take has him groaning in bliss and throwing his head back against the wall. The line of his throat and the firm bob of his adam's apple are a sight to behold, and you can't help the way your eyes meet his. If he was a weaker man, he'd have blown his load right then and there.

Thankfully, he's able to stave off his orgasm by thinking about the time he had to hide in a dumpster on a particularly eventful job. How romantic.

He's only able to keep his mind among discarded pizza boxes and old banana peels for so long when you start bobbing your head up and down, taking his cock as far down your throat as you can manage. It's messy and sloppy, just how he likes it. You always know just what he likes. Maybe he just likes you.

He really fucking loves your throat, anyway. He loves the fact that he can feel you swallowing him down, feel the way his tip notches against the slightest resistance with every bob of your head before you're able to work him down all over again.

Why the fuck was he thinking about pizza boxes?

Toji's soft groans and the wet sound of your throat working itself open around his thick cock echo off the tiled walls. Toji knows better than to look down at you. You've probably got tears streaming down your cheek, drool smeared across your chin, and your hair's probably messy enough to make him wish he'd been holding it for you this whole time.

Call him Orpheus with the way he looks back anyway. One glance at your fucked out face has him shooting his load down your throat without warning. His fingers flex against the tile like he's debating ripping the wall apart himself. "Fuck, fuck, just like that…always take me so fucking well, good girl…mhm…"

You pop off him with a gasp and a thick swallow. As annoyed as you are about him cumming so abruptly, you're much too happy to dwell on it.

Why, you ask?

There's no hair lingering in your mouth.

"I tamed your jungle, Toji. How's it feel?"

"Never say that again, and I'll let you keep shaving me."

"Deal!"

all written content belongs to @cherrys-wrld. i do not own the original characters or the art used above. do not feed my work into ai, repost, translate, or copy it.

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[iridreams]

Pt.2 to This Smut 18+, squirting, fuck machine

You should have known something was off when the discreet package was delivered to you. Heavy, large. Adressed to S. Riley. You're just about to ask him what it was and if he wanted you to open it, for him to beat you to it. Gift for you. Send some videos later, love.

To say you felt an embarassing heat wash over you was an understatement. You and Simon had no aversions to toys but this was different. The metalic frame of the fuckmachine was sleek, unsuspecting until you see all the dildos it came with and just how fast that thing could go.

A barrage of soft vibration in his pocket and Simon knew to call it a day. The recruits were almost falling over in exhaustion, unknowingly saved by whatever filthy clips you sent your boyfriend. A quick cooldown and he's off to his room, locking the door, making sure he had all the sweet time in the world.

The first one is just you prepping yourself. Legs spread, facing the camera, working in a smaller silicone cock into your hole. The one you used before getting together with him. You're naked already, probably just as eager as he had expected.

"Miss you, baby."

Your soft voice could be heard.

"Wish this was you."

His blood rushes south. The malleable material slides in your cunt with ease and you switch to a bigger one. Thick, veiny. Not as long as Simon's but more than sizeable and maybe without your knowledge was a replica of a certain Scotsman. It stretches you right, an adorably content expression on your face. A slow few minutes of just you letting out soft noises, getting your walls used to the size, the dildo covered in a slick sheen whenever you pulled it out. The clip ends after seven minutes.

The next one is you playing with the cock now mounted onto the machine. It isn't turned on yet and you just have some fun with it, licking and kissing the tip while looking at the camera. It's his replica now, the one you have yet to manage to take down your throat because it's just that big. When you pull away there are strings of saliva stuck to it. You squeeze a hefty amount of lube onto it, massaging it in with your hands. Such a pretty thing.

Your set up is almost complete. You positioned the machine so you could lie over the edge of the bed, legs dangling and spread, camera angled from behind so Simon could see the way his thickness disappeared into your pussy. A vibrator laid besode you incase the dildo wasn't enough. You turn, throw him a kiss with a sweet giggle, then slide yourself onto his length. Your back arches unwillingly from the sheer thickness, toes curling, a quiver running along your thighs. The masochistic side of you always loved when the stretch bordered on too much.

With a little buzz the machine came to life. Leisure strokes that pulled out entirely only to fuck back in, pushing the entire length into you until the pink rim of your cunt was pulled apart and Simon just knows the tip was kissing your cervix. Your reaction says it all; a whiny moan, as your hips keep on rolling on their own. Needy little thing.

You eagerly pump up the speed, the whirring becoming aggressive. He can see the way you suddenly tense up. The strokes stay just as deep, though now they were way quicker. Gliding along your wet cunt with a burst of speed, the lube starting to froth a bit around the base.

The noises pulled from you were obscene. Little cut off moans as you completely melt. This was exactly what you have been craving for weeks, the delicious stretch as Simon pounded you from above, the neverending stamina he had wrecking your hole, leaving you dripping for days as your legs would give out from under you. You spread your legs further out of habit, letting the machine just go at it. A quick glance to the remote told you you weren't even at halfway point of the maximum output.

The last clip started playing. A lot of time must have passed between this and the previous one because now your body was covered in sweat. Your hands were clawing at the sheets and your legs looked absolutely useless, dangling. Whimpers bubbled from your chest and he could hear that there were tears forming in your eyes. Poor thing.

Your thighs were drenched, the toy drowning in slick, now pounding into you even quicker. Scarily fast, even. How could your tight cunt even take him? Body convulsing, your muscles twitching as if you were long at mercy of the machine.

"S-Si-...'s n-not you-..."

Almsot incoherent, but he can make out the little worlds.

"Ah-...f-feels good-...but-..."

The words get muffled. A gushing, loud squirt suddenly sprays out of you, covering rug, ground and the thickness fucking into you. You scream, flailing your legs in an attempt to heave yourself off with no success.

A few seconds of loud struggeling and more gushes being drawn out of you untilt he toy finally slipped out. Time and time again Simon wondered how that thing fit inside you. You try to reach for the remote but the still thrusting tip bumps right into your clit, your arm frozen in its motion. With no intent of stopping it starting rubbing against your swollen nub, every stroke setting your body on fire. Everything was drenched, easing the swift motion.

With a gargled out moan you cum again mere thirty second later. You manage to get the remote and turn it off. Every limb was exhausted, heavy. There was slick dribbling out of you and the video stops.

Replaying the last one, Simon pulls his cock out, leaing back as his thick member drools pre out of the tip.

[sadisticslut666]

Choso whimpers so loud

It’s embarrassing, really. The walls in the dorms at Jujutsu High are thin as hell, and everyone knows it. You told him to keep it down tonight even pressed your palm over his mouth the first time he started whimpering. But the second you sank down on his cock, all that self-control evaporated.

Choso’s eyes roll back that instant, “F-fuck—ngh— ahh—!” His hips twitch up involuntarily as your walls clench around him. He’s so deep like this, thick cock stretching you open.

You lean down, lips brushing his ear. “Choso, baby… quieter,” you whisper, even as you roll your hips again,

He shakes his head frantically, black hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. “C-can’t—ahh—you feel too good—nghh!” The moan that follows is downright pornographic, loud enough that you’re pretty sure Satoru’s room is right down the hall and he’s definitely hearing every single second of this.

Choso’s face is flushed dark red, eyes half-lidded and glassy, tears already clinging to his lashes. Every time you clench around his thick cock he lets out another whimper. “Shit—Choso—Shut up,” you whisper as you slap a hand over his mouth, but he just moans louder against your palm.

His hips jerk up involuntarily, fucking into you with shallow, needy thrusts that make the bed creak. “Mmmph—please—don’t stop—” he mumbles against your fingers, voice muffled but still way too loud. You feel his cock throb hard inside you, already leaking, already so close even though you’ve barely started.

You ride him harder, grinding down in tight circles, trying to keep your own moans quiet while you shush him. “Shh—shh, baby, quiet—fuck, you gotta be quiet—” But it’s useless. The whimper that comes out of him this time is even louder, cracking high and pretty as his thrusts meet yours

You pry one hand off his mouth just long enough to grab a pillow and shove it over his face. “Bite this,” you whisper urgently, bouncing faster, the wet slap of skin on skin still echoing way too clearly in the tiny room. “Come on, Choso, muffle it—”

He obeys for half a second—teeth sinking into the fabric with a desperate groan—but then you clench around him again and the pillow does nothing. “Ahh—nghh—can’t—too good—hah—!”

His thighs tremble underneath you, hips snapping up harder as he gets closer. You can feel him pulsing, “Choso—quiet—fuck, they’re gonna hear you—”

Too late.

Choso’s whole body seizes, back arching hard as he cums so loud the pillow is fuckin’ useless. He keeps whimpering through every pulse with little “ah—ah—ah—” sounds that get louder instead of quieter as his hips jerk up in sloppy thrusts.

You finally lift the pillow from his mouth and he immediately lets out one last weak, satisfied whine, nuzzling into your neck

You were both so fucked.

Choso whimpers so loud… and the whole damn dorm probably just heard exactly how good you make him feel.

a/n: hnghh I feel like a horny slut on my period damnnit

[nuskiiiiix]

Why was this so yummy omg

[an9els]

❥ 𝓗OW TO BAG A HOT DILF: 5-STEP BEGINNER’S GUIDE !

𝓼ummary: the hot, grumpy dad next door won’t give you the time of day? here’s how to make him fuck you stupid anyway. warning: side effects may include pregnancy.

pairing: dilf!toji fushiguro x f!reader genre/tags: smut with (some) plot, kinda slow burn tension, neighbor romance, crack comedy, age gap, manipulative flirting, implied daddy issues, light angst, dom!toji, corruption kink, praise + slight degradation, breeding kink, rough sex, slight jealousy, daddy kink, possessiveness, manhandling, overstim, multiple orgasms, fingering, oral (f. rec), creampie, fluffy ending <3

word count: 8.1k (idk, my hands slipped)

❥ STEP 1 — commit to the bit (and the bit is wanting him SO bad you’re willing to risk federal charges)

you don’t believe in love at first sight. you’re not that kind of girl.

but lust at first sight?

yeah. that one had you in a chokehold the second you saw him hauling a case of bottled water into his apartment, dressed in nothing but grey sweatpants and a faded black tank top— one that clung to the broad curve of his back like it owed you something. like it knew what it was doing.

he didn’t even look at you. not really. just grunted out a soft “hey” when you passed, voice low and rough like he hadn’t spoken to anyone in days, and disappeared into the dark crack of his doorway with a hand scrubbing at the back of his neck, muscles flexing under golden skin and black ink.

you’ve been down so fucking bad ever since.

toji fushiguro.

your across-the-hall neighbor. father of one. age: probably late thirties. height: unfair. attitude: uninterested.

the kind of man who walks around the building shirtless at night with a beer in hand, who leaves his door cracked open when he’s working out in the living room, who definitely has a “don’t talk to me” aura and the look of someone who’s been burned by love and never really recovered from it.

and of course, of course, that’s exactly your type.

(but in your defense, it’s not like this came out of nowhere. you’ve always had a thing for older men. it’s the deep voice, the scars, the rough hands and emotional unavailability. it’s the way they look at you like they’ve lived five lives and none of them ended well. also? your dad never called you back after your high school graduation. so. connect the dots.)

it wasn’t supposed to be like this. you were just supposed to move in.

fresh start. new city. small apartment, low rent, okay view. the listing said “quiet neighborhood” and you said “sure, whatever” because all you needed was a clean kitchen and decent lighting. you didn’t ask for a brooding, musclebound dilf living directly across the hall like some kind of cruel test of character.

but now?

you’ve memorized the exact time he leaves in the morning. you know which beer he drinks. you know the sound of his shower turning on. you’ve adjusted your hallway appearances to “casually hot girl next door” levels and tried every combination of crop top and pajama shorts known to man.

and the worst part?

he hasn’t made a single move. not one. no smirk. no side-eye. not even the classic “didn’t know girls like you lived around here” line. he’s just… normal. silent. borderline rude. polite only when necessary, otherwise acts like you barely exist.

you wave when you see him— he nods.

you held the elevator door once and he told you, “don’t worry about it,” like he was doing you a favor by taking the stairs.

you’ve walked past him in tight leggings, skimpy pajama shorts, cute little tank tops with no bra underneath, but still, nothing.

not even a flicker of interest. not even a glance.

at first, you thought maybe he wasn’t into it. maybe he had a secret wife. maybe he was— god forbid— celibate.

but then you caught him on the balcony one night. shirtless. sweaty. cigarette between his fingers, hair pushed back, staring off into the distance like he was thinking about his tragic backstory. and when you stepped out to water your plants, leaned just slightly over the railing in your tiniest shorts—

his eyes dropped.

slow. deliberate.

right to your thighs.

then back up to the skyline like nothing happened.

and that’s when you knew.

he’s not blind. he’s just resisting.

which brings you to now.

standing in front of his door like a fucking maniac, heart pounding like you’re about to ring the bell at the gates of horny hell, holding a suspiciously clean, never-before-touched envelope you pulled from the depths of your junk drawer ten minutes ago.

it’s addressed to his unit, obviously.

but it’s been in your apartment the entire time.

because you’re a liar.

and you’re going to get your neighbor’s attention if it kills you.

the door opens faster than you expect. no warning creak, no slow reveal— just a single click and then bam, it’s open, and there he is.

up close. full resolution. shirtless again. grey sweats again. taller than he looked in the hallway. and staring down at you like he’s trying to figure out whether you’re here to sell something or commit a crime.

his hair is messy— fresh out the shower messy, strands curling a little at the ends, pushed back and damp like he towel-dried and gave up halfway. a faint scratch trails down his collarbone. there’s a tattoo peeking from under his left pec. you are not okay.

“…yeah?” he asks, voice still that same low, unbothered gravel. like he was just in the middle of something. like you interrupted him.

you blink once. then twice. and hand him the envelope as if it’s some kind of peace offering.

“this was in my mailbox,” you say, a little too fast. “but it’s for your unit.”

he glances down. doesn’t take it yet. his brow furrows.

“…you live in 402, right?”

your heart drops. you manage a nod. “yeah.”

he looks back at the envelope, then back at you, and cocks his head a little. “this says 404.”

“right,” you nod again, smiling like a liar. “which is your unit.”

there’s a pause. a long one.

toji squints slightly, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to decide whether you’re stupid or suspicious. then— finally— he sighs, takes the envelope from your hand with two fingers, and mutters, “thanks.”

and then. then. a small voice behind him:

“who’s at the door?”

you peek past him instinctively—

and there he is. a kid. dark-haired, serious-looking, big eyes and bigger pout. tiny arms crossed over a cartoon t-shirt like he pays rent. he clocks you immediately, gaze traveling from your face to your outfit and back again, like he’s judging you in 4K.

toji looks over his shoulder. “just the neighbor. ‘gumi, go back inside.”

“you said we could watch something,” the kid says, very clearly not moving. very clearly invested.

“yeah, and i will,” toji sighs, the kind of sigh that sounds like he’s already used to negotiating with a tiny lawyer. “in a minute.”

you’re standing here braless, in a crop top and fluffy socks, trying to flirt with a dilf, and his child— his ten-year-old child— is right there in the background watching this all go down like it’s an episode of Love Is Blind: Divorce Court Edition.

you panic. you smile. you crouch slightly like a Girl Who Is Good With Kids™ and wave.

“hi! i’m your new neighbor.”

megumi blinks once. totally unimpressed. “i know.”

you die a little. “right.”

“you were singing in the stairwell yesterday,” he adds, like he’s filing a noise complaint.

toji exhales through his nose, clearly already tired. “alright,” he mutters, shifting his weight as if he’s trying to end this conversation with his entire body. “thanks for dropping this off.”

you panic again. you’re spiraling. this is not going to plan. you were supposed to be effortlessly hot, a little mysterious, maybe get invited in for a drink. instead you’re sweating through your tank top, getting stared down by a ten-year-old and dismissed like some door-to-door scam.

abort mission. regroup.

you nod, stepping back quickly. “no problem! anytime.”

he doesn’t respond. just closes the door halfway and disappears, voice fading as he calls back to megumi— “pick a movie that isn’t garbage this time” —before the door clicks shut behind him.

silence.

the hallway feels colder now.

you stand there for a second. maybe two. then turn on your heel and march straight back to your apartment, locking the door behind you with a little more force than necessary and collapsing onto your couch with a dramatic, miserable groan.

okay. so maybe the fake-mail delivery thing was a bust. maybe you didn’t make the strongest first impression. maybe megumi’s gonna go to school on monday and tell his friends he saw a thirsty neighbor try to seduce his dad and fail in real time.

but you’re not giving up!

because toji fushiguro isn’t oblivious. he looked. you know he looked.

he’s just being difficult. reserved. nonchalant. you love that shit. it’s practically a challenge.

which brings you to:

❥ STEP 2 — establish neighborly rapport (aka: force more interactions)

you’ve already had contact. now it’s time for consistency. eye contact. hallway banter. the illusion of familiarity. you’re gonna bump into him enough that he has no choice but to acknowledge your existence— and then? then you’ll break him down. slowly. methodically. emotionally.

you have a plan.

a little awkward start isn’t gonna stop you. not when he looks like that with wet hair and lazy sweatpants. not when his voice sounds like it could ruin your entire sense of self-worth with a single sentence.

step two starts tomorrow.

or tonight, depending on how bold you feel. your package is supposed to arrive soon— you could just happen to be outside when it gets delivered. or drop something near his door again. or, worst case scenario, start a small fire and see if he comes running.

you’re in too deep to turn back now.

besides— if megumi’s already seen you at your worst, there’s nowhere to go but up.

you start running into him a lot more.

not in a weird way. you’re not, like, stalking. you’re just… situationally strategic.

like this morning— how coincidentally, you happened to take your trash out the exact moment he left for a run. and when he walked past you in those same criminally low-hanging sweatpants, headphones in, shirt clinging to his chest like it wanted you dead? yeah. totally natural timing.

you smiled. waved. gave a little “morning!”

he gave you a nod and kept jogging.

progress.

and yesterday? you timed your laundry schedule to line up with his, based purely on auditory research (aka: eavesdropping through the vents), and when he came down to switch out his load, you were already bent over the dryer in your tiny shorts like a good little trap.

he walked in. saw you. paused.

you straightened up way too fast and bumped your elbow, trying to look breezy while hiding the way your heart rate doubled on sight. “oh- hey! laundry day?”

toji looked at you. then at the dryer. then back at you. “…yeah.”

another pause.

god, he’s so fucking impossible.

you gave him your brightest smile and added, “mine too! small world.”

“…we live in the same building,” he said, completely deadpan, before opening the washer and pulling out a fistful of dark clothes like you weren’t trying to orchestrate a meet-cute over tide pods. he moved with the exhausted efficiency of a man who hated small talk and suspected you might be trying to sell him essential oils.

you wanted to scream. you smiled instead.

“right,” you laughed. “duh. neighbors.”

he didn’t answer. just shoved his clothes into the dryer, grabbed his detergent, and left the room like it was a hostage negotiation and you were the threat. didn’t even look back. but you saw it.

the twitch in his jaw when you bent over again. the extra second of eye contact before he left. the little crack in his silence when you giggled at your own joke and his mouth twitched— barely, but it did. you’re starting to learn his tells.

like tonight— when you caught him coming back from the grocery store, arms full of bags, and offered to hold the elevator door open for him again.

“you don’t have to,” he said, almost automatically.

but this time you didn’t let him off so easily.

you flashed a cheeky smile, cocked your head to the side, and replied, “well i want to. unless you wanna take the stairs and pretend you’re not tired.”

that got you a look. brief. amused. his lips pressed into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but not nothing either.

he stepped in and stood beside you, towering and silent and pretending he wasn’t eyeing your legs in the reflective elevator wall. you leaned against the side and grinned to yourself like a lunatic.

“what floor?” you asked, already knowing the answer. playing dumb. living your sitcom fantasy.

“…same as yours,” he muttered, setting the bags down for a second. “you know that.”

you beamed. “just making conversation.”

he sighed. quiet. tired. maybe even a little fond, but you couldn’t tell.

and then, just as the doors opened, a sleepy voice echoed from down the hall— “dad?”

toji blinked. glanced up.

megumi stood outside their apartment in socks and Spider-Man pajamas, squinting at the two of you like he was already judging this moment for future therapy sessions.

“you took forever,” he said. “i thought you died.”

“well i didn’t,” toji grunted, picking up the bags again. “get inside.”

you waved. again. because apparently, this is your life now. it’s not enough to get embarrassed in front of your crush— his preteen son also has to witness your descent into neighborhood whore madness.

megumi stared. then looked at his dad. then back at you.

“…hi.”

victory.

you’re three days into operation ‘establish rapport’ and you swear it’s working. slowly. he’s still playing it cool— gruff, quiet, annoyingly unaffected— but you’re catching those little cracks. the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention. the tiny pauses before he responds. the way his eyes always drop to your mouth when you smile too wide. the way he takes just a little too long to look away.

he’s slipping.

and you’re gonna be right there to catch him.

❥ STEP 3 — engineered domestic proximity (create a situation where he owes you and then emotionally blackmail him with kindness!)

it starts with a fake injury.

not like, hospital fake. just a little casual suffering. something light and flirty and “damn she might be unwell” coded.

you pick a thursday. the hallway’s quiet. you hear his door open— the soft clink of keys, the slow creak of the hinge— and then you strike.

toji turns the corner just in time to see you slumped against your apartment door, barefoot, hair a mess, hoodie slipping off your shoulder, clutching your ankle like a romcom extra who’s about to fall in love with the first man who offers her an ice pack. you even let out a pitiful little “ugh,” as though gravity personally attacked you.

he stops. eyes narrow.

“…what the hell happened to you?”

you wince, voice trembling perfectly as you look up at him with wide eyes and say, “i tripped on the stairs.”

technically true. you did, in fact, trip. you just made sure it was today. and loud enough for him to hear.

“you didn’t even leave your apartment,” he deadpans, looking absolutely done.

“…gravity’s everywhere.”

he sighs like you’re the world’s most annoying problem. runs a hand over his face. and then crouches down.

you try not to short-circuit.

his hand wraps around your ankle— casually, confidently, like he’s done this a hundred times before, and his thumb brushes over your skin, rough and warm and way too distracting. he presses, checks the joint, and you flinch very dramatically.

he doesn’t react. “it’s not broken.”

you pout. “still hurts.”

toji gives you a long, tired look. then rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath, probably something that sounds suspiciously like “fucking drama queen,” but reaches out anyway. big hands slide under your legs and back, and suddenly you’re being lifted. literally carried.

you make a noise that is not normal.

“jesus,” he grunts, shifting you in his arms. “what the hell do you eat?”

“excuse me??”

“relax,” he says, toeing open your apartment door. “you’re light.”

you are going to die here.

he carries you across the threshold like a goddamn bride and sets you down gently on the couch, muttering something about “needy neighbors” as he tosses your throw blanket over your lap. then pauses. stares at you for a second too long. his brows draw together like he’s thinking something he shouldn’t be.

“…don’t move,” he says finally. “i’ll get an ice pack.”

he disappears into your kitchen— uninvited, completely aware of where your freezer is— and you clutch the blanket to your chest like it’s holy protection from your own bad decisions and whisper:

“oh my god.”

step three is officially a success.

after that, things shift.

slow. subtle. like the hallway air is warmer now. like he doesn’t avoid you anymore.

the next time you make too much pasta (on purpose), you knock on his door and offer leftovers. “just in case,” you say with a smile. he raises an eyebrow, gives you a long look, but takes the container anyway.

“it’s good,” he mutters a few days later, passing you in the hall.

you blink. “what?”

“the pasta. wasn’t bad.”

you nearly trip over your own shoes.

when you run into him carrying groceries, you casually ask if he needs anything next time you go. he grunts something about paper towels. the next day, you drop off a pack at his door with a sticky note that says ‘paper-towel princess strikes again >:)’ and you swear you hear him laugh. just once. low. barely there.

and megumi? megumi is your new little buddy.

you “accidentally” bump into them on the stairs one weekend and ask him about school— next thing you know, you’re helping him with a science project at your dining table, glitter on your shirt and glue in your hair, and he actually smiles at you when it lights up. his eyes go wide. he looks proud. you melt.

toji shows up to get him an hour later.

he stops in the doorway, arms crossed. eyes flick between you and megumi on the couch, surrounded by worksheets and snacks and a movie playing softly in the background.

“…you don’t have to babysit, y’know.”

you glance up, then nudge megumi with your shoulder. “he’s cool. we’re having fun.”

toji stares. unreadable. his jaw works like he’s chewing on something he won’t say. and then he nods. once. slow.

“…yeah. he’s good.”

he leaves with megumi five minutes later, and you spend the rest of the night curled into your couch like a girl who just got emotionally married in the hallway.

a few days pass.

and then— he knocks on your door.

you open it and nearly fall over, because he’s standing there in a black t-shirt, holding a plastic container full of something that smells like soy sauce and heaven. his hair’s messy. his jaw’s tight. he doesn’t look like he wants to be here. but he is.

“we made too much,” he says. pauses. adds, almost begrudgingly, “me and ‘gumi.”

your brain goes static.

you accept it like it’s a holy relic. your hand brushes his. it’s fine. you’re normal.

“thank you,” you breathe, like it’s something sacred.

you eat together on the steps between your units that night. plastic forks. beer for him, water bottle for you. megumi’s inside watching something with way too much volume. the hallway buzzes with soft domestic noise.

he chuckles— an actual, real chuckle— when you tell him about your failed ankle stunt getting you out of gym class in high school. it sounds like it surprises him. like it doesn’t happen often. you want to bottle the sound and save it for winter.

and then, as you’re wiping sauce from the corner of your mouth, he gives you this long, unreadable look. his eyes flick to your mouth. linger.

“you’re trouble, aren’t you?”

you almost pass out.

“yeah,” you say, smiling slow. “but i’m cute about it.”

he laughs again. soft. huffed. the kind that makes your stomach flutter in the worst/best way.

note to self: a chuckle = an emotional orgasm in dilf language.

❥ STEP 4 — desperate times, horny measures (blur the line between “friendly neighbor” and “would let you hit raw if you asked nicely”)

you’ve played the long game. you’ve laid the groundwork. you’ve smiled, cooked, lingered in doorways and memorized his hallway habits. you helped his child with a diorama. you have earned your place in this man’s orbit. and now, you’re upping the ante.

tight tank tops with no bra? daily.

asking if he needs help lifting shit? always.

bending down in front of him for no reason whatsoever? the moment requires it.

you’ve “accidentally” dropped your keys outside his door. twice.

you’ve complimented his cologne when he wasn’t wearing any.

you’ve said the phrase “you must’ve been crazy hot in your twenties” with a completely straight face and full eye contact— just to watch his eyebrow twitch like he was deciding whether to argue or kiss you.

and toji?

toji has looked.

slow. restrained. but it’s there.

the way his gaze drops and lingers. the way his hand flexes when you laugh too hard. the way he sometimes says your name like it annoys him to have it on his tongue, like he’s chewing on it instead of swallowing. you’re getting to him. you know you are.

especially tonight.

it’s late. you’re bored. your hair looks good and your shorts are criminal. and you know he’s home because you heard the clink of a beer bottle hit his counter through your shared wall. so naturally, you text him:

you up?

no response…

you try again:

i’m making cookies and need a taste tester. u down?

there’s a pause. long enough to make you regret it. then finally:

don’t burn your kitchen down.

which— okay. rude. but also? not a no.

you show up at his door with a plate of warm cookies and the dumbest smile imaginable, leaning against the doorframe like a horny little housewife in denial, praying your lip gloss doesn’t smudge when you inevitably start smiling too hard.

the door swings open. and there he is.

shirtless, because of course. low sweatpants, towel around his neck, hair still damp. a vein in his bicep flexing like it’s personally here to ruin you. he raises an eyebrow when he sees you.

“you actually baked something?”

you pout. “don’t sound so shocked.”

he huffs. not quite a laugh. steps aside and lets you in. silent permission. another small victory.

you sit on the couch, drop the plate between you. he takes a cookie. you take a risk.

“so…” you say, crossing your legs slowly, letting your voice dip soft and sweet. “what do i get if they’re good?”

toji chews. swallows. side-eyes you. “…you want a prize for not poisoning me?”

you tilt your head, smile like trouble. lean a little closer, so your thigh brushes his.

“i want something,” you murmur.

he watches you. unreadable.

your heart’s racing. your leg’s touching his. the tension is so thick it could suffocate a small village. he’s quiet. too quiet. and for a second— a single, traitorous second— you believe. believe he’s going to touch you. say something filthy. kiss you.

and then— he stands up.

you freeze.

no.

he walks to the door.

absolutely not.

he opens it.

“go home, sweetheart.”

you blink. “…what?”

he doesn’t look at you. doesn’t even flinch.

“you’ve had your fun,” he mutters, voice low. final. “time to go.”

the plate of cookies is still on the table. your lip gloss is still perfect. and this man— this walking thirst trap of a dilf— just opened the door and told you to leave as if you were an inconvenience.

you stand there for five full seconds. staring at the wood grain like it personally wronged you. your mouth opens. closes. no words come out.

no explanation. no thank you. not even a cookie to-go.

you take the hint.

you walk home— five steps that feel like a funeral march— let yourself back into your apartment with hands that won’t stop shaking, and close the door behind you like it might collapse if you don’t hold it up. then you crawl into bed, pull the blanket over your head, and try very, very hard not to cry over a man who never asked you to try this hard in the first place.

❥ STEP 5 — let him come to you (the part of the spiral where you stop trying, and he starts breaking)

you’ve stopped trying.

no more cookies. no fake run-ins or conveniently timed errands. you’re done bending over near his door like some desperate domestic goddess waiting to be claimed. no more lingering glances, no flirty texts, no smiles he could possibly mistake for an invitation

you go cold. polite. distant.

“hey,” he mutters in the hallway one morning, voice a little rough from sleep.

“morning,” you reply. clipped. unreadable. no smile.

you don’t linger. don’t wait for anything in return. you catch him glancing over when you pass, but you don’t look back. just keep walking like you’ve got better things to do than pine for a man who slams doors in your face.

when megumi finds you on the stairs the following weekend and asks if you want to help with another project, you smile softly, press a hand to the top of his head, and say, “not this week, bud. busy.” he frowns a little. you ruffle his hair, and walk away without looking up.

you start going out more.

wearing new outfits. dresses you hadn’t felt bold enough to wear before. lip gloss that makes your mouth look mean. you let strangers hold the door for you. let them compliment you. you let them linger.

you laugh too loud outside your apartment one night, on purpose, after coming back from a date with someone who isn’t him. your heels click against the floor. your voice drips with honey. you lean against your door while someone says something into your ear and you throw your head back like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.

you know he’s listening.

you feel his eyes on you like a bruise forming slow.

and then the shift begins.

it’s subtle, at first.

he starts speaking more.

“mornin’,” he grunts one day, voice thicker now. rougher.

you nod, toss him a quiet “hey.”

“new dress?” he says one night when you pass in the hallway.

you glance down at it, fingers brushing your hip. nod again. “yeah.”

he stares a second too long.

you keep walking.

the next week, he holds the elevator for you. for the first time.

you step inside without looking at him, lean against the mirrored wall, arms crossed. he stands beside you, silent for a second too long.

“…got plans tonight?” he asks.

you glance at him. his hand’s on the railing. his eyes are on your legs. the heat between you is palpable.

“maybe,” you shrug. “why? you wanna know if i’m free?”

he doesn’t answer. just scoffs. looks away.

but his jaw tightens. you see it.

and you smile to yourself when the elevator dings.

you don’t stop. you don’t wait.

and then— one night. late.

a knock at your door.

you weren’t expecting it. you’re in your tank top and sleep shorts, hair still a little messy, face clean of makeup. for a second you debate not opening it at all.

but then you do.

he’s there.

black t-shirt. low voice. tension rolling off him like heat. his eyes sweep over you once— bare legs, bare face, bare everything— and settle on your mouth.

you open your lips to say something but nothing comes out. for a second, he doesn’t speak. just stares. like he’s trying to remember why this was a bad idea.

“you done with your little game?” he asks finally, voice rough, jaw set.

you blink. tilt your head. heart stuttering.

“why?” you say. “you jealous?”

he exhales slow. like he’s holding something in. then steps forward, just once. close enough that his chest nearly brushes yours. the hallway hums with silence. you can feel it thickening between you—every breath, every second, every inch of space closing.

he looks down at you, jaw clenched. his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them. his gaze drops to your mouth. lingers.

“you think i haven’t thought about fucking you since the first day you moved in?”

jackpot.

you smile. slow. wicked.

“well,” you murmur, stepping back just enough to tug him inside, “what are you waiting for?”

❥ STEP 5.1 — fuck the dilf. repeatedly!! (aka: daddy finally breaks, and so does your spine)

the door isn’t even fully closed before he’s got you pinned against it, one hand slamming it shut behind you while the other grips your jaw hard enough to tilt your head back. his mouth crashes into yours— hot, hungry, furious— like he’s trying to erase every other man who’s ever looked at you, every laugh you gave someone else, every second you weren’t his.

his hands are everywhere. gripping your waist, your throat, your jaw. rough. greedy. like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you through sheer force, like he doesn’t trust himself to stop once he starts. his fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave marks, dragging you closer, forcing your body flush against his so you can feel him— hard, heavy, pressing insistently between you.

“this what you wanted, sweetheart?” he growls, dragging his mouth down your neck, teeth scraping just enough to make you shiver. “walkin’ around like that every damn day- no bra, tiny little shorts, always smilin’ at me like a fuckin’ tease—”

you gasp when he shoves his thigh between yours, grinding hard, forcing your hips to rock against him. your pussy’s already soaked— soaked enough that the friction makes your head spin, a broken little whimper slipping out before you can stop it. he feels it. of course he does.

“fuck,” he mutters, voice dropping lower, eyes darkening as he watches your face fall apart. “already wet. knew it. knew you were walkin’ around like that for me.”

“you shouldn’t be here,” you breathe, even as your hands clutch at his shirt, dragging him closer, nails digging into his back like you’re scared he’ll disappear and you’d rather die than have him pull away now.

“don’t fuckin’ care,” he snarls, cupping your pussy through your panties, pressing just enough to make your knees buckle. his thumb drags over you, feeling how drenched you are through the thin fabric. “been thinkin’ about this cunt for weeks.”

you moan— full body, spine-arching, dignity-leaving moan— as he yanks your panties to the side and sinks two fingers into you without hesitation. nothing stops him. your body takes him easily, molded for him, as though his hands belong there and they’ve always known exactly where to go.

you’re so wet it’s obscene. it squelches. it gives around him immediately, your walls fluttering, clenching like they recognize him, like they’ve been waiting.

“shit,” he hisses, pumping his fingers slow just to feel it, watching the way your face twists. “tight little thing. messy already. all that attitude just ‘cause you needed a cock in you, huh?”

you nod, crying out, grinding against his palm like a bitch in heat, chasing the friction, chasing him, hips moving on instinct, your body no longer yours to command.

he slaps your cunt. hard. you jerk, a broken sob ripping out of you.

“use your words.”

“yes, fuck, yes, i wanted this, wanted you, please- needed you so bad- been thinking about you too—”

“yeah?” he mocks, curling his fingers just right, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, your knees give out. “needed daddy’s cock that bad? all that work just to get it, huh?”

he pulls his fingers out and licks them clean, making eye contact while his tongue drags over his knuckles— savoring you, devouring every trace with the hunger of a man who’s finally getting what he’s craved.

you feel your face burn. your thighs tremble. your body aches.

“needy lil thing,” he mutters. “so desperate for daddy’s cock you made friends with my kid to get it.”

your mouth drops open.

“fuck,” you whisper, humiliated, horny, heart beating out of your chest. “i-i didn’t—”

“yeah, you did,” he cuts you off, voice low and certain, already tugging his sweats down. “i saw right through you. every little look. everytime you bent over in front of me like you were askin’ for it.”

his cock springs free— massive, thick, veiny, heavy against your stomach, already leaking. it twitches when he drags it through your folds, smearing your wetness all over himself, groaning under his breath at the feeling.

“watchin’ me, droppin shit in the hallway, showin’ up all cute with cookies—” he continues, voice roughening. “all so i’d fuck you like this.”

he grabs your hips. lifts you like it’s easy.

you wrap your legs around him on instinct, clinging, desperate, your ankles locking behind his back.

he slams you against the wall and shoves in deep.

you scream.

it burns for half a second— then it’s just full. overwhelming. he stretches you open, every inch fitting so perfectly it feels intentional, inevitable— your body made to take him, built around the shape of him alone.

“this what you wanted?” he growls, already moving, already setting a brutal pace, hips snapping hard into yours. “wanted daddy to stuff this sloppy little cunt so full you can’t think?”

you’re crying already. sobbing into his shoulder, nails clawing at him, dragging down his back hard enough to leave lines. “yesyes- oh my god- yes please- don’t stop, don’t stop—”

he doesn’t. he can’t.

he fucks you hard. no mercy. no build-up. just punishing, deep, filthy strokes that slam into you over and over, your tits bouncing with every thrust, your body jostling against the wall, the wet sound of it echoing in the room— proof of how wrecked you are for him.

“listen to that,” he grunts, one hand coming down to grab your ass, spreading you open, forcing himself even deeper. “fuckin’ soaked. takin’ me so easy.”

“toji—”

“nah,” he snaps, grabbing your jaw again, forcing you to look at him, eyes blown wide, mouth open, completely ruined. “say it right.”

“daddy—” you choke.

his hips stutter for half a second. then he loses it.

“yeah,” he groans, fucking into you harder, deeper, pace turning reckless. “that’s it. say it again.”

“daddy, fuck, daddy please- please don’t stop—”

“good girl,” he breathes, voice wrecked now, forehead pressing against yours. “knew you’d sound pretty sayin’ it.”

he keeps going until your legs shake so hard you can’t hold yourself up, until your body goes limp in his arms, until you’re nothing but weight and noise and need. then he drags you away from the wall, carries you like you weigh nothing, and drops you onto the couch.

your shirt’s gone in seconds. your tits spill free, bouncing when he grabs them, squeezing hard, biting one, then the other, tongue dragging over the marks he leaves, teeth sinking in just enough to make you cry out.

you whine, arching into him, completely gone, hips lifting even though you can barely move.

“look at you,” he mutters, almost to himself. “fuckin’ ruined already.”

he spits on your chest. spreads it with his thumb. then shoves you back, spreading your legs open, staring at your dripping cunt like it’s dinner, like he could spend hours there.

“not done with you yet,” he mutters.

then he dives in.

he eats you out starving— insatiable, greedy, nothing held back. hasn’t touched anyone in years, and now he’s buried in you, treating your pussy like a lifeline. his tongue moves everywhere— flicking, sucking, pushing deep, groaning into the mess he’s making, matching your desperation, needing this with the same feverish hunger you do.

“taste so fuckin’ good,” he mumbles against you, nose brushing your clit, making you jerk violently. “all for me, huh? all this just for me?”

you’re shaking. crying. your hands in his hair, grinding down onto his face, desperate, greedy, nasty.

“yes- fuck- yes—”

he hums, pleased, and the vibration sends you over immediately.

you cum once. then twice. he doesn’t stop. he eats you through it, moaning into your pussy while you scream and sob and claw at the cushions like a feral bitch, your thighs clamping around his head, back arching off the couch.

“too much, too much—”

“nah,” he mutters, holding you down, hands gripping your thighs so hard they’ll bruise. “you can take it.”

and you do. you take it until your body gives out and you’re nothing but a twitching, whimpering mess under him, tears streaking your face, chest heaving.

when he finally pulls back, his face is soaked. his chin’s messy. his pupils are blown so wide he looks dangerous.

he strokes his cock over your twitching cunt, dragging it through your folds, tapping your clit just to make you jolt, smearing your wetness back over you.

“you want daddy to put a baby in you next?” he growls.

your brain breaks. completely.

you whimper, nodding frantically, tears still clinging to your lashes. “yes please”

he grins. dark. cocky. dangerous.

“fuckin’ knew it.”

and then he slams back in and fucks you like he means it— like he’s trying to knock you up, ruin you, break you down and rebuild you around his dick. your body takes it, greedily, desperately, your walls clenching around him like you don’t want to let him go, like you want to keep him there.

“gonna fill you up,” he groans, thrusts getting sloppy now, deeper somehow, grinding into you. “gonna keep you full of me.”

you’re sobbing. babbling. “pleasepleaseplease—”

he finishes deep. thick. hot. doesn’t pull out. just buries himself as far as he can go and groans into your neck, hips stuttering while you feel it— feel him— filling you, spilling inside you, too much, too warm, your body fluttering around him.

he stays there. holds you. keeps you plugged with his cock while your body trembles and leaks around him.

you’re drooling. whimpering. completely, utterly spent.

“good girl,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek, softer now but still possessive. “took me so well.”

his hand slides down your stomach. presses there. like he’s already imagining it.

“you’re mine now.”

you barely come back to yourself before he’s moving again.

you’re still shaking. still sensitive. your cunt is pulsing, aching and full and leaking around him, your thighs sticky, your body limp and boneless against the couch. every nerve feels raw, like your skin’s been turned inside out.

and he’s still inside you.

still hard.

you let out a weak, broken sound when he shifts his hips, cock dragging inside you— slow, deliberate— he’s reminding you exactly where he is.

“toji—” you whimper, voice wrecked, barely there.

his hand tightens on your hip immediately.

“what’d i tell you?” he mutters, low and sharp.

you choke on a breath. “d-daddy—”

“yeah,” he exhales, satisfied, rolling his hips again, slower this time, savoring it. “that’s better.”

you feel everything now. every inch. every drag. the way he stretches you again even though you’re already so fucked out it hurts. your walls flutter around him uncontrollably, oversensitive, and he groans at it— deep, filthy.

“fuck,” he hisses. “still squeezin’ me like that? after all that?”

“too much,” you whimper, pushing weakly at his chest, even as your hips betray you, rocking up into him. “i can’t—”

“you can,” he cuts you off, already pulling out halfway just to slam back in. you sob.

“you will.”

your body jerks with it, your tits bouncing weakly with each thrust, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto. everything feels too intense— too deep, too full, too good.

“s-sensitive—” you gasp, nails digging into his arms.

“i know,” he mutters, almost mean about it, dragging his cock against that spot again on purpose. “that’s the point.”

you cry out, back arching hard, your whole body trembling as he starts fucking you again— slower than before, but somehow worse. deeper. more intentional. every thrust aimed to make you feel it, to drag it out of you.

“so fucked out already,” he murmurs, grabbing your chin and forcing your head up so you have to meet his eyes. “can’t even think anymore, huh?”

you shake your head, tears slipping down your temples. “no—”

“all that attitude gone,” he continues, voice low, almost mocking, thumb brushing your lip. “all that mouth, and now you’re just- what?”

you swallow, breath hitching. “yours—”

his grip tightens.

“say it again.”

“yours,” you sob, louder this time. “i’m yours—”

“yeah you are,” he groans, pace picking up just a little, just enough to make your head spin again. “fuckin’ made for me, aren’t you? takin’ me like this, still beggin’ for more—”

“i’m not—” you try, voice breaking, but your hips roll into him again, chasing it, proving him right.

he laughs. low. mean.

“yeah,” he breathes. “that’s what i thought.”

his hand slides down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit— already swollen, oversensitive, aching.

you jolt hard.

“nono, please- s’too much—”

he circles it anyway.

slow.

you squeal.

your body spasms instantly, thighs clamping around him, back arching so hard it almost hurts. it hits you out of nowhere— another orgasm ripping through you before you can even process it, your cunt clenching down on him so tight he curses.

“fuuuckk,” he groans, thrust stuttering. “that’s it, there it is—”

you’re sobbing now. full-on crying. your body shaking uncontrollably as he keeps moving, keeps rubbing, using you through it.

“can’t take it- can’t—” you gasp, voice dissolving into broken sounds.

“you are takin’ it,” he says, not slowing down, not stopping, cock dragging in and out of your fluttering, oversensitive cunt while your body keeps spasming around him. “look at you. still squeezin’ me. still want it.”

you don’t even know if that’s true anymore. you just know you can’t stop reacting, can’t stop feeling.

he shifts suddenly— grabs your hips, flips you over like it’s nothing.

you yelp, barely catching yourself before your face hits the couch.

“stay,” he mutters, pressing you down, one hand between your shoulder blades, the other guiding himself back in.

you whine the second he pushes back inside— somehow deeper like this, your body folding around him differently, more exposed, more helpless.

“shit,” he breathes, gripping your hips tight. “yeah. this is better.”

and then he starts again.

hard.

faster this time.

your body jolts forward with every thrust, your cheek pressed into the cushions, your fingers clawing at the fabric as the sounds get louder, wet and messy.

“daddy—!” you cry, voice muffled, broken.

“that’s it,” he groans behind you, hand sliding up your back, gripping your neck— not choking, just holding. controlling. “say it louder.”

he fucks you deeper with every word.

“who’s pussy is this?”

“yours—!” you sob.

“who you doin’ all that shit for, huh?” he snaps, pace turning relentless again. “all that dressin’ up, all that flirtin’—”

“you—! just you—!”

“damn right.”

his hand slides down your back, grabs your ass, spreading you open again so he can watch himself disappear inside you, over and over, your cunt clinging to him like it doesn’t want to let go.

“fuckin’ made a mess of you,” he mutters, almost impressed. “can’t even keep it in.”

you can’t. it’s leaking. every thrust pushes more of him out, slick and messy, your body too full, too used.

you’re gone. completely.

he leans over you, chest pressed to your back, mouth at your ear.

“one more,” he murmurs, voice low, dangerous. “gimme one more.”

you shake your head weakly. “can’t—”

“yes you can.”

his hand finds your clit again.

you break.

your whole body locks up, a scream tearing out of you as another orgasm crashes through, sharper this time, almost painful in how intense it is, your cunt clenching so tight around him it drags him over the edge with you.

“fuck—” he groans, biting into your shoulder as he finishes again, hips stuttering hard against you, spilling deep, grinding into you as he rides it out.

you collapse under him completely.

he stays there for a second. breathing heavy. still inside you. still holding you down.

then, softer this time— just a little—

“told you,” he mutters against your skin. “you could take it.”

you don’t respond. you physically can’t.

you’re just… gone.

and he sounds way too pleased about it.

you wake up sore. sore in ways you didn’t even know were possible. your thighs ache, your hips feel bruised, your legs do not work. your pussy’s twitching— puffy, overstimulated, and leaking. there’s cum literally dripping out of you, sticky between your thighs, cooling against the sheets.

and toji’s still there.

sprawled across your bed like he owns it, like you’re his bed now, arm heavy over your waist, breathing slow against the back of your neck. his chest rises and falls steady, the heat of his body sinking into yours. it’s warm. safe. a little filthy. you can feel his cock pressed to your ass— soft, but still there, like a threat.

you’re not sure if he’s awake. you’re not sure if you’re awake. your whole body feels broken in. chewed up. worshipped. wrecked. you blink blearily at the sunlight slanting through your blinds, brain swimming in the slow syrup of morning-after haze, and shift slightly beneath the weight of him.

he moves with you. groans low, deep in his chest, like the stretch of his limbs aches. then, voice gravel-thick and sleep-rough:

“fuck. you made me pull a muscle.”

you try to laugh, but it comes out cracked. “good.”

he snorts, lazy and fond, burying his face in your shoulder and muttering, “brat.”

you hum, cheek pressed into the pillow, toes curling under the sheets. you don’t move. don’t want to. his arm tightens around your waist just enough to remind you it’s still there.

you’re quiet for a second. breathing in the moment. then— soft, teasing, and only half joking:

“so… what are we now?”

he goes still. just for a beat. long enough for your stomach to drop a little. you tense, suddenly hyperaware of how real this feels, how easy it would be to ruin it. your heart thumps like you’re asking him to raise a child. (which. maybe you are. unknowingly. oops.)

he exhales.

then, low. rough. certain.

“mine.”

you short-circuit. go quiet.

he doesn’t say it again. doesn’t need to. just grabs your thigh, still sore, and drags you back against his chest like he thinks you might try to leave— even though you physically can’t. you melt into the mattress with a broken little sigh, breath catching when his cock shifts against your ass, not quite hard, but heavy and possessive all the same.

you stay there. warm. stupidly happy. still full of his cum.

his fingers trail over your waist lazily, absent-minded, like he’s petting you. like you’re his. like this is normal now. you close your eyes, let yourself float in it, wondering how the hell you went from faking ankle injuries to getting bred in your own hallway by the hottest dilf alive.

and when megumi knocks on the door half an hour later and yells, “dad, i’m hungry,”

toji groans like a man betrayed. buries his face in your neck, kisses your skin as if it’s your fault he has responsibilities.

“you’re makin’ breakfast,” he mutters.

you turn your head, blinking at him. “me?!”

“you want me to limp in there with my back blown out?”

“…you blew my back out.”

“exactly,” he grins against your throat. “teamwork.”

you roll your eyes. groan. try to wiggle away, but he doesn’t let you. just holds you tighter and mumbles something about five more minutes before letting you go— barely.

you’re smiling as you get up. your legs are still jelly. your thighs stick when you move. you’re sore and used and leaking, and you’ve never felt so fucking good.

i rlly spent the whole night editing/finishing this osmgdkkdks, i’m lowk experimenting and thought i’d try smth different so i hope u guys like thissss >.<

🏷️: @tojibunnyy @chewiebee @tohru-tales @iheartanzai @satorusoul @x0tw0d57 @megumiessmile @fysalia @valberryboos @margo-lalam @thehuntresswolf @binkblg @crowfishie25 @raging-rose54 @sadlovergirlhere @littlelilies @ancientunikorn @drinkingtojisperiodblood @thatprettymofo @kimu-aoi @rameniodles @sweetcherrydreams @chosos-prettyprincess @luvmeholdme @bwunniibell @hawtens @so-soaked @milothechemical @a-hidden-gem @zorozoros @emoney4life @minijellyfish7 @icebearcucumber @yummidumplingss @screechizdabestcat @lullulluna @sirkamilathegreat @sugurusdaydream @honeykatsu @unicornfarts903 @pookkayy @chosolovesyou @chuuchuumii @angelsugxr

[seoyue]

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊ ─── it’s bulking season and ur boyfriend ryomen sukuna comes home from the gym looking thicc

mdni | warnings: smut, fem reader, massive size kink, post-gym sukuna, muscle/bulk worship, couch sex, mating press, praise-degradation mix, creampie, exhausted but feral sukuna

The door SLAMS and the whole apartment feels it.

Sukuna doesn’t even kick his shoes off. He’s wrecked after three brutal hours of squats, deadlifts, and whatever else he’s been forcing down his throat to feed this insane bulk. He just drops onto the couch like a goddamn mountain giving up. The frame creaks loud under all that new mass. Tank top soaked black with sweat and clinging to every thick slab of his chest. Sweat dripping down the column of his neck. Those gray sweats stretched in an obscene way over thighs that have doubled in size, heavy and veined and still pumped from the session. Shoulders so wide they swallow half the damn couch. Traps eating his neck. Quads bulging so thick the cushions sink deep beneath him.

He throws his head back, eyes half-lidded, chest heaving.

“Fuck… long day, brat. Don’t start with the attitude.”

But you’re already staring, eyes glued to him like you physically can’t look away. Your mouth goes dry. Heat coils tight and insistent low in your belly.

God, when did he get this big?

The thought hits you like a slap. You’ve seen him every day, felt him every night, but somehow you never really clocked it—the way the bulk has crept up on him over the last few months, slow and relentless. Every extra pound of muscle he’s shoved down his throat has turned him into this solid, immovable wall of a man. And now, sprawled out like this, exhausted and heavy, chest still rising and falling in deep pulls, radiating that sharp, clean post-gym heat… it’s like seeing him for the first time. The sheer size of him hits different. Shoulders swallowing half the couch. Thighs spread so wide they force space around him. Everything about him feels bigger, denser, more.

It short circuits your brain completely.

You move before the thought even finishes forming.

You slide between his spread thighs, knees sinking into the carpet, hands gliding up the thick, sweat-hot muscle under the gray fabric. The density under your palms makes your breath hitch. Solid, unyielding, like touching warm stone carved into the shape of a man.

Sukuna’s eyes crack open slowly, heavy-lidded. One dark brow lifts.

“Brat?”

“I want it,” you breathe against his thigh, fingers already hooking into the waistband of his sweats and tugging downward. “Please… let me suck you off. You look so fucking big right now”

Sukuna lets out a low, rough sound, half laugh, half groan, the exhaustion in it doing nothing to dull the filthy edge. “Look at you,” he mutters, voice gravelly and wrecked. “So fucking greedy you can’t even let me breathe first.”

His fingers slide into your hair, not pulling yet, just holding, grounding, while you yank the fabric down far enough. His cock springs free—thick, heavy, flushed dark, already half-hard and twitching from the lingering pump. You make a soft, desperate noise in your throat and lean in, lips parting wide to take the head, tongue swirling slow and wet.

Even if the gym didn’t change this part of him, the sheer size of everything else, the wide shoulders, the dense slabs of muscle, the way those tree-trunk thighs tense under your palms, makes it feel like too much. You push forward anyway, choking yourself on him, spit slicking your chin as you bob, hollowing your cheeks, taking him deeper until your nose brushes the soft skin above the base.

Those massive quads flex hard under your hands, still hot and twitching from the workout, pure bulk and power radiating through the fabric you haven’t even fully pulled down.

“Fuck,” Sukuna rasps, head tipping back against the couch, hips giving the tiniest involuntary roll. “That’s it. Suck your man while he’s still pumped and filthy from the gym. Good little thing.”

You lose yourself in it. Messy, eager, throat working around him, drool dripping, the wet sounds loud in the quiet room. Until his grip tightens in your hair and his patience finally cracks.

Two big hands grip your ass and haul you up in one smooth motion.

Right there on the same couch he just sank into, he flips you onto your back, folds you in half so fast your knees press tight to your shoulders in a deep, ruthless mating press. The cushions dip hard under the combined weight, your hips right on the edge, legs splayed wide, pussy completely bare and dripping for him.

He lines up and pushes in slow. One long, unrelenting slide that doesn’t stop until he’s buried balls-deep.

The stretch feels different now, heavier, fuller. All that new bulk presses down on you like a living wall: thick, sweat-slick pecs crushing against your tits, carved abs grinding slow and hard into your stomach, those massive thighs locking your legs back so tight you can’t twitch. His quads are so huge they swallow the backs of your thighs completely, pinning you open and helpless right there on the worn cushions.

“Fuck,” he rasps, voice low and wrecked as he bottoms out. “Still so goddamn tight even under all this extra mass. Look at you taking every pound I’ve put on.”

He doesn’t ease up. He just fucks. Deep, heavy strokes that drive home with the full weight of his frame behind every thrust. The couch groans and creaks beneath you both. Wet slaps fill the room, skin on skin, relentless. Sweat rolls from his neck and drips onto your cheek, your collarbone. One hand clamps around the back of your knee, keeping you folded. The other slides up to wrap loosely around your throat. Not squeezing, just holding, grounding, letting him lever even deeper.

“You feel that?” he pants, hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles so every new inch of bulk presses you deeper into the cushions. “ Gonna keep you folded exactly like this every damn day after the gym. Right here on this couch until your pussy remembers exactly how big I’ve gotten.”

You’re shaking, nails scraping uselessly down the hard planes of his back, legs trembling in his unyielding grip. The constant grind of his pelvis against your clit is merciless. His sheer size pins you flat, chest crushing yours, breath stolen with every roll of his hips until there’s nothing left but the wet heat and the overwhelming pressure of him.

“Come on,” he growls, voice rough and frayed at the edges even as exhaustion bleeds through. His pace turns brutal, hips snapping forward so hard the couch frame protests with every thrust. “Come for me, brat. Show me how much you love your man getting big.”

You break with a shattered cry, walls fluttering and clamping down around him so tight his rhythm falters for a second. A low, guttural groan rips out of him as he follows—hot, thick spurts flooding you deep, so much it spills out around his cock even while he stays buried inside, still twitching under the weight of his own bulk.

He doesn’t pull out.

He just stays there, folded over you, sweat-slick skin sticking to yours, heavy chest rising and falling against your own. A living wall of muscle keeping you pinned to the ruined cushions.

After a long, hazy moment he leans down and presses a slow, filthy kiss to your mouth, tongue lazy and claiming. Then he rolls his hips once—just once—enough to drag a broken whimper out of you.

“Shower,” he murmurs against your lips, voice wrecked and low. “Then round two.”

a/n: idk if u can tell but i'm gonna be posting about him A LOT

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

I Got That Good D*ck, Girl, You Didn’t Know?

Pairing: Escort!Toji x Fem!Reader (Roommates to FWBs/Lovers)

Synopsis: Your asshole roommate and his interesting yet effective occupation are starting to keep you up at night...mostly because of how horny you are hearing him fuck his clients through your paper-thin walls. Lucky for you, your roomie knows just what to do to apologize for keeping his favorite working girl up and make you understand why so many people put in big bills for him and his business.

Warnings: 18+ (MDNI); Voyeurism; Masturbation (Alone & Mutual); Pervy!Reader; Sexual Tension; Coercion; Dubcon/R*pe; Cocky, Mean MDom!Toji x fsub!Reader; Toji Got a Big Ol' Dick; Sex Toy; Oral (Giving & Receiving); Spit on Pussy; Facefucking; Multiple Positions (Mating Press & Doggy); Feet on the Bed; LOUD Sex; Reader Cums 2x; Cum on Ass; Some Aftercare

Word Count: 11.4k

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you! 

Writer's Note: A bitch has been SO busy with work & school plus commissions, but I hope y'all enjoy this lil something about Toji's toxic, big dick havin' ass. I was listening to the Biggie song down below & started thinking about Toji lmaoo so this came to be. Enjoy! -Jazz

One More Chance (2005 Remaster) by The Notorious B.I.G. on Apple Music

Song · 1994 · Duration 4:43

"OH, TOJI, YES! HARDER!"

The woman's piercing voice drifts through your bedroom wall right above your head, accompanied by the annoying banging of the headboard repeatedly hitting the wall. Luckily, your head is in your pillow so you can't feel any of the wood pounding against your skull.

But damn, if this lady's shrill moans and screams aren't starting to give you a headache. You tired stare up at the ceiling to your bedroom as you have been for the past hour now since this stranger arrived at your shared apartment and ventured with your roommate to his bedroom that happens to be right next to yours.

You knew what the drill was. You always have. Your year-long roommate, Toji, is known for having "lady callers" blowing up his phone and coming at random hours of the night to "spend time with him".

Whether these ladies are clients or just partners for the evening, you have no idea. But you don't care either. None of that matters when all of them are loud as fuck and disturbing your sleep cycle.

"Yeah?" Toji teasingly asks, his deep, rasped voice drifting through your thin bedroom walls. "You like it like this, ya little slut?"

"No," you groan in a response. The mystery lady, whom you only know from her previous giggles when Toji was chatting her up with wine and extensive, colorful vocabulary when he was eating her pussy earlier, only mews in response.

This is enough to make Toji pound her faster, making the bedsprings creak and the headboard pound harder against the wall. The woman's moans and shrieks of pleasure grow louder, no doubt waking the neighbors on your apartment floor.

You can physically feel the bags under your eyes grow as you stare your alarm clock sitting beside you. 2:34 AM. You have to be up at 6 AM to get to work by 8 for a meeting tomorrow.

Not that Toji cares. He never cares. No matter how many times you complain about the noise and his clients, he always gives you a crooked smile, a sweet apology, and a promise to never do it again...but then he does. Over and over again.

You have known Toji for over a year now since you put out an ad online for a possible roommate to help you with rent and expenses that began piling up. Toji met up with you that week at a coffee shop where he not only revealed himself as a fine ass single daddy who was looking for a new place after his got roaches, but he also revealed his "jack of all trades" identity.

"I do plumbing, I fix furniture, I have experience in construction," he explained, taking a sip of his cold brew. "And..." He paused, chuckling to himself and rubbing his chin. "I'm also a sex worker," he finished, waiting for your reaction as if you would be disgusted. "Is that cool with you?"

You had said no, but only after you were sure that he would keep his cliental separate from you and the rest of your home. And it isn't like Toji is a bad roommate. He pays rent on time, he fixes the toilet and pipes when they shut down, and he keeps the crib clean.

The only thing is the damn loud sex. Some nights, Toji meets his clients outside of your home, but other nights, when he is sure you're asleep, he has them come to his room and takes his appointments there. There are a few times you have awakened to one of his ladies using the bathroom or happened across massage oil that he accidentally left out on the sink.

All of that you can deal with....but not these loud ass women. Crying for more from "Daddy". Begging for more dick. Screaming for the heavens to hear. Every time it happens, you can't help but wonder: "Damn...is he THAT good?'

Finally, the pounding stops and the bedsprings squeak as Toji finally stops fucking his lady for the evening. You sigh, hoping to God that this is it and she has finally came. You pray for silence and sweet dreams.

But you're not gonna get it tonight. "Want it doggystyle this time, boo?" he asks. The lady giggles her high-pitched, fucked-out giggle. "Y-Yeah," she purrs.

You have never been more heated in your entire life. Your anger only grows when Toji finally gets his client on all fours and begins fucking her from behind, causing her squeal, scream, and wail as his dick drives into her. "OH, GOD, YES! HARDER! FASTER!"

'This bitch,' you think. At this point, you don't know if you're referring to the lady currently getting her guts rearranged or Toji. "Put your hands on the wall," he demands through his grunts and groans as he drives himself into her.

Your mouth falls agape and you glare at the wall as if he is staring right back at you through the plaster. 'This asshole!' you think, enraged. The lady does as she is told and suddenly, she grows louder than before as the headboard knocks harder against your wall, knock-knock-knocking in a loud pattern that begins to drive you nuts.

No amount of stuffing your pillows over your ears or music will do. Now you will have to do what you were dreading: knock on his door. You toss your duvet off of you, shove your Sanrio slippers on, and storm out of your bedroom.

Toji's bedroom is only a couple inches from yours, so it takes no time to get there. You stand there outside his door in your oversized sweatshirt and slippers, fuming and trying to ignore the sounds of sex through the wood.

Knock, knock, knock. Your fist raps against the wood, quick and firm. The bed stops creaking and the lady's moans die down to mere pants and whines. "Aw, shit," you hear Toji huff, frustrated. "Hold up, stay there." The lady groans in annoyance and impatience, needing more of her nighttime hit.

After a few short seconds of waiting and your arms crossed over your chest, the door finally opens. Toji stands there, looming over you at six-foot-something shirtless and in his sweats. Those damn sweats.

Your eyes graze up his big, toned, tatted form to his snakebites, black hair in disarray, and grey eyes looking down at you. He gives you that crooked smile that never fails to make your stomach flip. He truly is a handsome man. "Hey, roomie," he greets.

He cocks his head to the side, his smile fading and his eyebrow raised. "What's goin' on? Why are you up?" You do your best to keep your composure. "Why do you think I'm up, Toji?" you say, unable to keep the bite out of your tone.

Your six-foot roommate doesn't seem to catch onto your tone, and if he does, he doesn't make it known. He places a hip against the door, causing his sweats to slip a bit down his waist and reveal a sliver of his V-line. "Uh...I dunno...is it your time of the month or somethin'?"

You ignore his answer, instead diving into your quickly-planned speech about respecting your time and your sleep. "Listen, I know you've got an 'appointment' tonight and I'm not gonna knock your hustle, but could you please try to keep her down? I have to get up at 6 tomorrow."

Toji blinks at you, confused at first, and then pinches the bridge of his nose. "Oh, shit, your job," he groans. "Sorry, babes. I'll keep it down for ya so you can sleep, I promise." He flashes you a Colgate smile then and nods back at his bed. "But I can't promise she will."

Over his shoulder, you can see the woman lying there on her stomach, her red toes hanging off the bed and her dress laying on the floor. You feel your body flush. You shouldn't be seeing this.

"Please try, Toji," you sigh, already stepping away from the intimate scene. "This is the fourth time this month you've had a loud client. My dark circles can't get any darker." No amount of concealer, caffeine, or eye cream has been able to help. You have been tossing and turning for so many nights because of Toji's work interrupting your dreams.

And deep down, you know that it's also because you've been envisioning yourself with him. Underneath him. On top of him. Against him. Feeling his muscles against your body. Feeling his cock deep in your-

"Well, you know," Toji says, pulling you out of your dirty thoughts, "some good sex always helps with that." He gives you a mischievous look as he leans against the doorframe, his lips curling into a crude smirk.

You glare at him, disgusted (and also secretly aroused). "Fuck you, Toji."

He gives you a wink. "Only if you pay me, doll. You won't regret it."

You have no time to wonder if he is just playing with you or if he is deadass because his client begins to moan and groan about her complaints. "Tojiiiiii!" the lady whines from the bed. "Where'd you goooo? I'm still so wet for yooooou!"

You both look from her to each other and you place your hands on your hips, your lips pressed tight together. Toji throws up his hands in defense and places one big hand on his heart. "Alright, you have my word. Now get that fine ass to bed before I put it to bed." Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion, hoping that wasn't a sex joke. Your roomie just laughs, giving you a wink. "You know what I mean."

With a huff, you step away from the door as he shuts it and trek back to your bedroom to hopefully get some much-needed sleep. When you do, to your surprise, Toji and his client are surprisingly quieter than earlier. You hear the occasional giggle and bed creaks, but other than that, there are no explosive, annoying sex sounds.

You sigh, feeling your eyes flutter shut and your brain begin to shut down...until you hear Toji start fucking again. Unfortunately, you can still hear the whines and whimpers of Toji's nightly partner drifting through the walls: "Oh, yes, Toji, like that! Fuck me harder, please..."

And as usual when you hear Toji going at it with someone, you find a way to join them instead of beating them, all thanks to your trusty rose. You have no time to be angry or tired once your favorite body-warming lube is coating your pussy once you apply it to your fingers and then the pleasurable buzzing and vibrations of your rose are against your clit.

You softly moan in the darkness surrounding you as your ears strain to hear the creaking bed as Toji thrusts into his woman for the night. His deep, ragged moans and hushed gasps reach your eardrums, making your pussy slicker and more open to allow something inside. You allow one finger on one of your hands to slip into your sobbing hole as you use your other hand to hold your rose against your clit.

"Get those fuckin' legs up," Toji growls and you almost do as he says. Your mind is so dizzy and clouded from the pleasure that you almost believe that he is here, forcing your tired body into different positions for deep dick.

You hear the client give a yelp before her moans are suddenly muffled, possibly by Toji's hand...oh, God, that's hot. You picture him above you now, his handsome face eclipsing your ceiling fan, his body pushing into yours as his veiny hands grip your thighs. You imagine your finger is thicker and longer, filling you up the way his cock would, plunging in and out of you and hitting your G-spot every time he pushes in.

"God, you're fuckin' good," he grunts through your walls. "Does it feel good for you too, baby?"

“Oh, fuck,” you whisper, your voice soft and high as you answer him. You suddenly hear a pause through the walls-no moans, no whines, no bedsprings-and your heart thunders in fear. Did he hear you?

But then, blessedly and luckily, you hear the bedsprings creaking in a faster pattern as Toji speeds up his thrusts, driving his dick into the client as she whines and screams into his palm. "Take it," he demands. "Fuckin' take that shit."

You have to bite your lip to avoid moaning out as your finger drags in and out of you faster, your rose slipping against your clit as it becomes wetter with every passing second. You begin to feel that familiar clench in your core of an approaching orgasm building inside of you, egged on by the toy and Toji's luscious, porn-worthy moans.“You cummin’ for me?” he gruffly asks.

Deliriously, you nod, your eyes fluttering shut. You see his face there, flushed and pretty. “Yeah,” you gasp. “Yes.”

“Cum for me,” he demands. “Cum on that dick, you pretty little slut. Do it.”

You hear the client let out a muffled scream as she finally cums around Toji's cock the way you would if you were with him. You feel your walls clench around your finger as you finally meet your end, the vibrations from the toy rocking you to the core. "Ah!" you gasp, your orgasm crashing over you.

You have to turn your head to muffle your moans into the pillow as you cum around your finger, leaving an embarrassing puddle on your bedspread. In the fog of your pleasure, you hear Toji's erratic breathing and soft grunting as he fucks the client's pussy into the bed to chase his high.

"Cummin'!" he suddenly gasps. "I'm fuckin' cummin'!" In an effort to keep quiet, you hear his moans become muffled as he cums. 'Where', you wonder? Inside of the woman? On her tits? Her ass? Her thighs? How would his cum look on your skin?

Finally, his moans die down to sighs and a tired laugh while the client giggles. "Definitely worth the $250," she comments. And before sleep takes you before your humiliation can, you wonder briefly just what his sex is like for that much money.

—The Next Day—

You damn near sleep through your meeting.

Actually, you damn near sleep through all of work. It's bad enough to nearly missed your alarm because you didn't hear it during your deep sleep and you had to rush to toss your cum-stained bedspread into the washer machine before getting dressed and heading out the door.

Thank God you never ran into Toji before you left. You couldn't stand the thought of seeing him this morning after last night. You feel such embarrassment and humiliation for getting off to him yet again, like some voyeur pervert. You may as well steal his boxers too!

But when you get home shortly after 3PM after bumbling through work, operating on two cups of coffee and caffeine-induced iced tea, you know you'll have to face the Devil when you see him leaning against the kitchen counter in sweats and a black tee that his waaaay too tight on him. Toji turns to you from making a ham sandwich with chips on the side, chewing some.

He gives you a crooked smile as you drag yourself into the apartment. “Good afternoon,” he chirps. You slam the door shut and walk by without even looking at him, heading straight for the fridge. “What’s so good about it?” you grumble.

Toji gives you a strange look as you yank open the fridge and fish a water bottle out. You need water. “Well, damn, someone shit in your cereal this mornin'. Least you look cute.” His smile widens as his eyes roam over your sweater, loafers, and work skirt that you pulled out of your drawer. Nothing matches. “Dark circles and all.”

Irritated, you nearly break your wrist trying to yank the cap off of the bottle, so you opt for the butterknife method and pry it open that way. “Don’t laugh at me, asshole. I’m not in the mood.” Then you angrily gulp down the cold water, grateful for it because you feel yourself becoming hot with rage. Your roomie is perturbed and put off by your attitude, narrowing his brows at you. “Jeez, okay. What’s your problem?”

“You!” you snap, finally turning to face him. “You’re my fucking problem! I almost missed my meeting because of you and that bitch last night after I told you to keep it down!”

Toji turns toward you fully, his big, toned body facing you. “Whoa, whoa, babes, relax," he says as if calming a rapid animal. "You’re grippin’ that butterknife awfully tight.” His grey eyes flicker down to the knife that you're holding towards him. You quickly put it down on the counter, disturbed by your rage. "Sorry," you mutter. "I'm just tired. And stressed. And extremely sleep-deprived."

You turn away to continue drinking your water and stand at a good distance from the knife. You don't need to accidentally stab your roommate and catch a case. "And dick-deprived too, it seems like," Toji adds.

You nearly choke on your water and cough into your fist. "What?!" you exclaim, shocked at his bluntness. You twist around to face him, gobsmacked, while Toji stares blankly at you as he tosses another chip into his mouth. "What? Do you not go that way or somethin'?"

You scoff, shook by his gull. "Toji, my sex life AND my sexual orientation has nothing to do with your ass. You need to mind your business." Quickly, you storm out of the kitchen, not wanting to be around him any longer.

But Toji follows just like the asshole he is. "Well, shit, roomie," he huffs. "I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean it like that, c'mon." You feel his hand grab yours, but you push him off. "Don't," you snap, narrowing your eyes at him. "I don't make your sex life my business," you growl. "So you shouldn't make mine yours."

Then Toji's eyes raise and you know he is about to be on some BS. "Uh, technically, you are makin' my sex life your business, babes," he argues. "You complaining about my clients and makin' my job a problem are-"

"Are nothing," you interrupt. "And the reason I'm complaining is because your clients are too fuckin' loud! I need to sleep!"

Toji just stares at you, silent, observing you closely. It is making you deeply uncomfortable. Is he going to say something? Finally, he cocks his head to the side as if sizing you up and his gaze softens. "You sure this is just about the noise?" he asks. "Or is somethin' else? Was I really wrong to assume that you're dick-deprived, babes?"

Suddenly, your anger subsides and you're left with fear twisting in your gut. "W-What do you mean?" you find yourself stammering.

You're so afraid that you let Toji take your water from you and place it on a nearby table. "C'mon, babes," he sighs. "Unless I'm just not privy to it, you don't got many male callers comin' in here."

He comes closer, his scent of ocean-scented body wash and cologne invading your nostrils. "I don't know why because I'd be all over a girl as pretty as you and knockin' down that door to get you naked."

You stand there, your brain moving too slow to process this. The air is tense and charged with a dangerous current now. You can feel it the closer Toji gets to you. Instinctively, you back up, but end up walking right into your coffee table. "Toji," you exhale. "W-Why are you-"

"Sayin' this?" he finishes. One big palm moves to take your hand, pulling you closer to him. "'Cause I'm so fuckin' attracted to you and I know the feeling is mutual. Why else would you play with yourself listenin' to me fuck my clients?"

If this were a movie, a record would definitely scratch somewhere. Your eyes widen as big as saucers and you feel as if you're about to faint. There is no way he knows...but he does. He smirks at you, knowing and teasing. "What?" he chuckles. "You think I couldn't hear you last night? That toy you got is loud, honey, 'specially with them thin ass walls."

Oh, God, he knows! This is beyond humiliating. You could just about die right now. "Don't be embarrassed about it, cutie," he coos, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles. "I thought it was cute. The whole time I was with client, I kept thinkin' about you."

He grips you to his body, forcing you to feel every inch of him against you. You place your hands on him to push him away, but his arm snakes around your waist, holding you in place. "Don't," you gasp.

"Why not?" he whispers, staring you down. Hot. Lustful. "I can show you why I get so many customers. Plus, I can show you how sorry I am for keepin' my favorite roomie up so late."

You dare to peek up at him and regret it instantly. His grey eyes, molten hot, and his dark lashes mesmerize you as if he is a siren and you are the sailor being drawn to him in your ship. "No charge," he murmurs. "All you have to do is cum for me. What d'ya say, babes?"

His hand moves to cup your chin, one finger gliding across your cheek to trail down to your lips. Between his touch and his naughty words holding forbidden promises, you don't know what to say. "I...I..." Your words are caught in your throat. Language ceases to exist for you.

"Just nod your head for me," Toji gently orders. Your body, shaky and warm, betrays you and you give a jerky nod. You can't deny the throbbing between your legs or the warmth in your belly any longer. Toji grins, wolfish and proud. Asshole. “Good girl,” he coos. “Now fuckin’ kiss me.”

Suddenly, his lips, soft, luscious, and addicting, are on yours. Every bad thought you had about him being a cocky asshole and a jerk and an obscene dickhead are gone, zapped away by the way his hand firmly holds your chin and the way his lips move against yours. His tongue gently swipes along your bottom lip and you gently pry your lips apart to allow him access.

As he cups your face in his hand, all you can think about is how fucking good of a kisser he is.

'Good' isn't even a proper word for how Toji kisses you. He is the best kisser you have had the pleasure of kissing by far in your life.

He pulls away with a soft 'pop!' as your lips disconnect, and he places his mouth on your neck. “Y’know, I don’t usually kiss my clients," he murmurs, "but you, pretty baby, aren’t a client. So I can make an exception for you.”

His wet kisses trail down your neck to your throat, making you feel hotter and hotter in your work clothes. Your hands clutch his big, broad shoulders, your fingers digging into his shirt as your inner thighs quiver from each heated kiss. “Toji,” you whimper. “Touch me.”

He doesn't make you elaborate on what you want to be touched. He already knows. But he does, however, make you beg. Asshole. “What’s the magic word?” He pulls away to stare into your eyes, drawing your desperation out of you with one steamy look. Your lips quiver with the six-lettered word, vulnerable and needy: “Please.”

That one word and the soft, breathy tone of your voice that the three syllabled word drips from somehow works for Toji. You see his eyes become hooded and darken to a stormy grey that makes your stomach flip-flop. In an instant, he is hiking you up onto his waist by securely gripping your thighs underneath your ass, forcing you to latch yourself onto him.

“Upstairs we go then. Hang onto me.” You do as told, interacting your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders as he walks to the steps, carrying you over to them. You messily, sloppily kiss as he slowly ventures up the steps with you in tow, your tongues twirling and swirling together. The kissing only makes you wetter and by the time you're in his bedroom, your panties are just about stuck to your pussy lips.

Toji tosses you down onto the bed, laughing as you squeak and bounce on the mattress for a few seconds. He descends upon you immediately, tugging at your blouse. You watch as he expertly unbuttons each pearly button, your breath labored and hot. “Let’s get this shit off,” he growls. “You’re wearin’ too fuckin’ much.”

The blouse comes off and then comes the skirt that he tugs down your nylon-covered legs. The more he undresses you, the more you can see Toji is getting hard. His cock chubs against his jeans, creating an obscenely obvious print in his pants.

"You always look so good in these goddamn skirts," he huffs, suddenly turning you over with ease. As you're recovering from his stretch, he forces you to bend your knees and toot your ass in the air so he can fully see your ass and hot pink panties poking through the nylon fabric.

"Nice panties, babes," he chuckles. "What's the occasion?" SMACK! His hand suddenly comes down against your butt, the sound of it colliding with your cheeks echoing throughout the room. The moan that escapes you is one that shocks you.

Toji laughs, giving your ass a pinch. "I knew you liked gettin' spanked, ya little slut." He then loops his thick, calloused fingers underneath the waistband of your stockings and pulls them down, groaning at the sight of your perfect, plump ass in those tight, little pink panties.

His kisses and light nibbles that he gives your ass and thighs are damn near torture. They make you grip the sheets and moan into the soft, cotton-scented fabric, his soft lips turning you into a fiend. You need to feel his soft lips somewhere else.

Toji seems to know it too because he purposely keeps skipping your pussy as he moves between biting your ass and kissing your legs despite the throbbing, soaked cunt right in front of his face. Fuck your pride. You need him too much. “Toji!” you beg. “Lower, please!”

Your roommate stares at you over the hill of your ass, giving you another smack that travels right to your cunt. “Patience, baby. You ever heard of foreplay before?” His chuckle is straight out of a horror movie, sinister and mean, as he goes back to kissing along your spine as his hands massage your ass.

Finally, his patience thins and he forces you to roll over onto your back. You stare up at him, your arousal peaking, as he strips off his hoodie in front of you. Though you've seen him shirtless plenty of times before (and have secretly gotten off to the image of him at night), it is something else to see each defined muscle, vein, and tattoo up close.

Your eyes graze over his lickable six-pack; his big, juicy pecs; his prominent, brown, pierced nipples; his happy trail; his well-defined V-line with a snake tattoo leading down underneath his sweats; his big arms that you want to feel wrapped around you and holding you tight. You understand now why so many women flock to him, other than his obvious charm and kissing skills.

He ducks down between your legs, opening them wider for him as his eyes pierce into yours, pinning you to the spot. “Look at me while I do this.” You couldn't look away even if you wanted to. The sharply-linked spinal tattoo hypnotized you as he ducks between your legs, sighing at the sight of your glistening, sobbing wet pussy. “Little slut. Bet you’ve been wantin’ this for a long time.”

With the way the man begins kissing, licking, and sucking on your pussy, you start to think that he's wanted this for a long time too. Toji knows exactly how to treat a woman, alternating between quick tongue flicks and long, slow drags of his tongue up to your clit. You buck under his hands pinning your thighs to the bed, forcing your body to take all that he gives you. “T-Toji!” you moan, your voice ricocheting off of the bedroom walls. “Oh, fuck, yes!”

Your roomie's gray eyes trail up to admire your pretty face etched in ecstasy as he wetly pulls his tongue away from your gorgeous cunt to tease you. “Now look who’s loud. But it’s so fuckin’ hot.” He then puckers his lips and hocks a copious amount of saliva onto your cunt, loving how it drips down to your asscrack.

Excitedly, his eyes widen at the sight of your pussy twitch and his ears perk at the sound of your sweet, weak whimper. “And you like spit on your pussy?" he cackles. "You little freak!” He gives your outer thigh a little smack before he dives back in, slurping his spit back up into his mouth as he takes a mouthful of your pussy.

You learn very quickly that Toji likes to French kiss, noticing how his lips and tongue move so gracefully against your pussy lips and clit all buzzing and twitching with pleasure from his talented ministrations. He is talker too, murmuring "such a pretty lil' pussy" and "fuck, so good" into your hole as he greedily eats you out, joyously taking everything you give him.

You're enjoying everything he gives you too. He is certified munch which you're 100% sure is somewhere on his ad. You now understand why you always hear his clients squeal, whine, and scream as he goes down on them, often making them cum rather quickly or making them beg for multiple rounds. Toji is incredible.

“Where’s your toy?” he suddenly asks. He is staring dead at you, his lips coated in spit and your juices. You blink wildly at him, the edges of your vision fuzzy from the pleasure. “H-Huh?" you stammer. He wastes no time repeating himself: "Your favorite sex toy. Where's it at?"

You blink at him again, wondering if he is serious. Judging by the clench in his jaw and the wild look in his eye, he is DEADASS. "In my room, second drawer next to my bed." You swallow hard, wondering what he is planning as he gives your clit a peck before jetting off to your room.

Seconds later, he returns with your rose, a bottle of your favorite lube, and a wicked smile on his face. He directs you to sit up on your elbows and props a pillow up behind your back to better help you. You watch as he kneels on the bed beside you, his groin right in your face, his cock pulsing beneath his pants. “What are you doing?” you breathlessly ask.

Toji applies a bit of lube to his thick fingers before applying it to your pussy, gently circling your clit as he does. You moan at the contact, your head lulling back against the pillow. “About to make you fuckin’ scream. Show me how you played with yourself last night.”

Bzzzzz goes your rose when he switches it on. He grins wider as he hands you your toy, trusting you to know what to do with it. "C'mon, baby doll, don't be shy now. It's too late for that." With his other hand, he palms himself through his sweats, watching you intensely.

You stare at him and then the buzzing rose, your pussy oozing and twitching for release. Reluctantly, you begin pressing the rose against your needy, desperate clit. The instant you do, Toji's eyes widen an inch at the sight of your body responding to the low yet impactful setting that the rose is on as it buzzes against your clit.

"Oh, shit," you gasp, your eyes fluttering closed from all of the stimulation: the vibrations from the toy; the head radiating from Toji's body; the scent of his body wash and cologne. "Fuck, baby," he groans. "Look at what you did to me."

Your eyes open and then widen at the sight of his cock suddenly in front of you. Long. Thick. Curved. Two-stoned, the shaft a darker tan while his head is a light pink. And the very real, very obvious silver hoop dangling from his dickhead. He chuckles at your cute reaction, a cocky smile on his face. "You ain't the first to react like that," he laughs. "It was a dare from a friend."

As if teasing you, he wraps a hand around his shaft and begins slowly stroking himself to the sight of you. He leans back a bit, jutting his hips forward so his cock nestles against your cheek. You swear it's by accident, but your cheek nuzzles against the throbbing, hot sensation of his dick against your face and a slight moan slips out.

"Oh, shit, you little slut!" he laughs, his dick twitching at the sight underneath him. "So you're one of them girls that likes this?" He takes his cock and gently slaps it against your chin and cheeks, laughing lightly at your little pout. "S-Stop," you stutter.

Toji raises a brow down at you, one hand curling in your hair. "Stop what? I'm not doin' anythin' but givin' you whatcha want, honey." He pauses, pulling his long, throbbing dick away from you. "But do you really want me to stop?"

It's like dangling a bone in front of a panting dog. Biting your lip as your toes curl at the rose's vibrations, you shake your head. "I thought not. Just shut up and let yourself feel good, Y/N." He then pours some lube into his hand and rubs it along his cock, making it slick and shiny. You're hypnotized by the lewd scene before you, noticing how firmly he holds himself, stroking up and down.

"Just look at me," he murmurs. "Look at what you've done. What you've been doin' to me." His eyes are hooded and his bottom lip peels back to settle between his teeth as his fisting becomes a little faster and a little more urgent.

You love watching him jack off in front of you. Oh, how you wish his hand was your mouth or your cunt, stretching around him, feeling him fill you. A loud, choked moan escapes you, bubbling up out of your chest, making Toji groan. "Bet this is how you were last night, screamin' into a fuckin' pillow when you came for me."

He takes two fingers and curls them under your chin. "Tell me, babydoll: did ya like hearin' me fuck that lady? Do you love listenin' to me make those girls scream?" His hand then wraps around your throat, firmly squeezing it. "Don't lie," he growls.

You can't deny it. Not when your toy is so persuasive against your pussy, making you drip all over the bed. "Y-Yes," you confess. "You're just really loud." Your roommate smirks down at you, knowing and being very cocky about it. "And you're about to be loud too."

He then takes his cock and gently slaps it against your glossy, sticky lips, making them stickier from his pre-cum and the lube. Knowing what he wants, you pry your lips open, allowing him to slowly slide against your tongue. “That’s it, open your mouth,” he murmurs. “You got this dick now. So take it, babes.”

Toji keeps a firm hand on the back of your head as he pushes further in your mouth, moaning when he bottoms out at the back of your throat. You have to widen your jaw to accommodate him, opening your throat to avoid choking. All you can see is his V-line and stomach, cut from years of sit-ups, pushing into your face as he fucks your mouth as if it were a fleshlight. “Nice mouth. Probably the best I’ve ever had.”

You feel your hand wobble, nearly dropping your toy. He softly chuckles, gently stroking your hair. "Don't worry, baby; I gotchu. Just focus on that cock, alright?" He then shows you what he means by replacing your hand on your toy and pressing it against your clit, rubbing it up, down, and around the sloppy, wet lips of your pussy.

This freedom allows you to wrap one hand around Toji's cock, giving yourself some leverage to sucking on him. "Goddamn, you're good at this!" he hisses, sliding himself deeper, making you gag wetly along his shaft. "That's a good lil' cocksucker. Maybe I shoulda been fuckin' you instead of them other girls, huh?"

You feel that familiar urge to cum building and begin to moan loudly around his cock. He pulls away, allowing you to breathe and warn him of your oncoming orgasm. "Oh, fuck!" you bellow, desperate and close, your hips jutting forward into the toy. "Toji, I'm gonna-"

And then he stops. But just for a moment. "Not yet," he growls, quickly crawling down towards your pussy and tossing your legs over his shoulders. "You cum in my mouth. Nowhere else."

Between his hot, wet tongue in your pussy and the buzzing of the rose against your clit, you have no choice but to cum. With a choked moan of "O-O-Oh, f-fuck!", you feel pleasure wash over you and come undone in Toji's mouth, your thighs twitching and muscles tensing as your orgasm rocks you to your core.

Your eyes roll, your back arches, and everything in the world seems nice and good in those split seconds as you cum all over your toy and your roommate's magical tongue. Toji groans as your taste floods his mouth, soaking his chin and his sheets. He licks and suckles on you until you're nothing more than tired breaths and soft whimpers, your body twitching from the intensity.

Finally, Toji pulls away and turns your toy off, but sucks your juices off of it before tossing it aside. You lay there before him, winded and spent, coming down from your high and in need of a breather...but Toji doesn't give a fuck. He never gives a fuck. "Don't tell me you're tired now, baby," he tuts. "We haven't even started yet."

He gives you a wolfish, evil grin before he takes you by the ankles and spreads your legs apart for him. He takes his cock and gently slides it against your overly-sensitive, twitching, soaked cunt, focusing on your clit. You both moan at the contact, every slight touch worth a thousand. "Good, baby?" he asks. "You want this?"

You stare up wordlessly into his eyes, unable to move your lips or heavy tongue to form your words. All you can do is nod. But Toji isn't happy with that. He gives your pussy a firm slap with his hand, making a high-pitched squeak escape you. "Uh-uh," he firmly says. "Use your words. Tell me what you want."

You should tell him no. Tell him to stop. That you need a break. Some space to recover. But despite the twitching and tremors in your pussy, you can also feel that you desperately need more of him. "I-I want...you," you manage you gasp out. "I need you, 'Ji. Please."

You can't express how full you feel when his cock is finally inside of you, inch by inch stretching out the wet walls of your pussy. Your mouth falls open on a silent moan as your hands grip his shoulders, desperate to grasp something. Toji stares down at your face and pretty body all stretched open for him, wanting so desperately to fuck you dumb.

And he does. Once he has some slow, shallow strokes in to allow you to get used to him, nothing is stopping him from absolutely fucking your shit up. He grips your hips and proceeds to thrust his hips forward and back, drilling his dick into your cunt as he sucks on his fingers and uses them to rub your clit with each thrust.

"Now you see," he grunts. "Now you know why bitches come flockin' to me. Now you know why I always get calls. Now you get it...dontcha, babes?" The only thing you can respond with is "Ahhh, fuck, fuck, oh, my God, oh, oh!" as he proceeds to fuck you absolutely stupid.

You can't keep quiet. Your response to the pleasure you're feeling fly out of you, bouncing off of the walls, echoing throughout the apartment. His dick is so persuasive, drawing so much out of you in such little time.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM, the wall behind the headboard goes. Toji grins at the plaster, using one of his big hands to slam against the wall, basically telling your neighbor 'Fuck you!'

"Whoops," he chuckles. "Guess we got an audience." He gives you a wink, making you low-key afraid of what could possibly come next. "Let's give 'em somethin' to really be mad about, hm?"

He then proceeds to prop his feet up on the mattress and firmly grasp your ass from underneath, pinning your thighs up and apart, before drilling himself down to pound your pussy into the mattress. Again and again and again.

You are in a whole other world. Another universe. Nothing exists but Toji and the explosive pleasure he is serving you on a silver platter. He then stops, drops your legs, and takes his dripping cock out of you. "Stick out your tongue for me." Silently, you do as told, letting your wet tongue hang out of your plump lips. Tap-tap-tap. "You made a mess," he murmurs. "Now you need to clean it up."

He watches you intently as he swirls his cock around in your mouth and you diligently suck all of your juices off of him, even sucking on his balls. You have turned into a complete mindless slut for him, desperate to please and to be pleased. "Ya like the taste, babe?" he chuckles. "You taste good, right?"

He groans as he slides his cock out of your luscious mouth and presses a hot kiss against your sticky lips. Nice an' sweet, just like you."

Before you can even think of a response or to even take a breath, he is flipping you over onto your stomach. SMACK! "Ass up, baby girl," he demands, his voice breathless and full of lust. Though your limbs feel like jelly, you get on all fours and firmly push your knees and elbows into the mattress.

"That's a good roomie," Toji mutters before slapping his cock up against your pussy, emitting soft moans and mews of desperation out of you. Then, finally, again, he is inside of you and proceeds to fucking your cunt like it's about to go out of style.

One hand on your throat, the other on your clit, and one foot propped up on the bed, Toji fucks you in doggy, making the bed rock and the neighbors bang harder as your shared moans grow louder. "Good, baby?" he pants, a cocky smile in his voice.

Your head is digging into the bed, your makeup fucked and drool spilling from your mouth. "Yes!" you sob into the sheets. Toji yanks you up off of the mattress, forcing you to come back to reality. "Sorry, hon, I couldn't hear you. Say it again real loud for me."

"Yes!" you yell, but it sounds more like "Ye-e-e-essss!" because of the force, breathtaking thrusts, and deep dicking that Toji is giving you right now. He nods in encouragement, pleased with your answer and your body and your everything. "That's my good baby girl. So obedient for me."

He leans in, pressing his lips to your ear and gently nibbling on the flesh. "Don't let this go to that pretty head," he whispers, "but you're the best fuck I've had by far." Embarrassingly enough, the comment makes you fold completely.

Or maybe that's just because of his dick filling you up and plunging in and out of you, somehow better with each passing second. You now understand why so many throw their hard-earned dollars at Toji to get a fuck. He is the best fuck you've ever had. His sex is your kryptonite. Your weakness. The very thing that will keep you addicted to him.

And when you feel a second orgasm coming on, you know that you are hooked on your roommate and nothing (and no one) else will compare. "Toji, m'gonna cum!" you warn him. "I'm so close!" His calloused fingers slip and slide across your slippery clit, getting you closer and closer as his dick works with his fingers to get you to your end.

"Daaamn, roomie, again?" he cackles. "Tell me somethin' first." He takes his hand off of your throat and pushes your cheek to face him over your shoulder.

"W-What?" you mew. You'll just about say anything he wants at this point.

"Tell me you're a filthy fuckin' pervert who loves listenin' to her roommate cum and fuck his clients."

You swear that you thought you just hallucinated what he said, but his steely eyes tell you different. "W-WHAT?!" you exclaim. "But-"

SMACK!

He takes his hand and slaps your ass hard, leaving it stinging and your eyes wet with unshed tears. "Is that a no?" he pants in your face. "I guess you don't wanna cum then." He slows his thrusts to an agonizing halt, still pulsing inside of you. He pauses from rubbing your clit as well, leaving you in purgatory.

"No, no, please!" you nearly cry. "I'll say it, Daddy! I promise!" You've never felt such desperation. It aches in your core, your body desperate to be relieved. Your roommate grins in your face, enjoying your anguish. "Then say it."

Your mind is screaming at you to not do it...but inevitably, Toji wins. You lick your lips and nearly cringe at the horribly embarrassing and lewd words that pass them: "I-I'm a filthy fuckin' pervert who loves to hear her roommate cum and fuck his clients," you softly announce.

Toji swoops in and presses a hot, passionate, deep kiss onto your lips that steals the air from your lungs. "Good girl," he coos against your lips. "And when good girls listen, good girls get rewards."

Then it's back to fucking. Back to moaning. Back to chasing that high and letting every sound explode from your chest along with the creaking of the bedsprings underneath you. It only gets louder and more frequent when Toji fucks you faster, his hips pistoning against your ass that bounces and shakes against his pelvis every time he slams himself into you.

"Fuckin' cum for me, slut," he demands. "M'close too, so you'd better cum now." He grips your throat tight and nuzzles his nose into your sweet-smelling air. "You're mine now, baby. Nobody will ever be able to fuck you as good as me."

No way. No possible way. And you know that the minute that your second orgasm crests and washes over you. You cannot stop the loud, unabashed wail that escapes you as pleasure crackles beneath your fingertips, toes, and deep within your core: "I-I-I'M CUMMING!"

Your pussy damn near clenches Toji for dear life, tighter than a vice, as he watches you cum around his cock. Your swirling hips and bucking body ignites a fire in him that causes him to fuck the absolute shit out of you, pushing you down into the bed and hiking your ass up. "Stay there," he groans. "Stay right fuckin' there and take this shit."

You do as told, but you couldn't fight him off even if you tried to. He fucks you through your orgasm, making your limbs turn to jelly and your pussy melt like ice cream, wet and slippery. Toji's grunts and groans grow louder until he pulls out of you, strokes himself to completion against the soft globes of your ass, and finally cums with a loud "FUCK!" that echoes throughout the bedroom.

You weakly gasp as you feel warm, wet droplets of his spunk coat your ass and back, creating a nice pearly necklace for your waist and asscheeks. His loud, guttural moans finally die down into soft groans and sighs as his high fades and all that is left is the soft ache of exhaustion. "Now that's a pretty sight: all my cum on this fuckin' ass."

SMACK!

He hits your ass again, hard, but all you can do is flinch. You can barely lift your head. You feel as if you have just been put through the wringer. You are soaked head to toe in sweat and your inner thighs feel sticky with your cum...and maybe his as well?

You don't know, but you find yourself not caring. Not when the thick fog of after-sex exhaustion looms over you...just like Toji is doing. He hovers above your back and comes down, each hand on either side of your head. You feel his lips at your ear, making the hairs on your neck stand on end.

"Like I said: no charge," he whispers. "I hope you enjoyed yourself, roomie." He swoops down to give you a kiss on the cheek and it is like putting a cherry on a sundae.

Oh, yes, you enjoyed it-and him-very much. And who knows? Maybe you'll be a regular client of his from now on.

THE END.

[powerhayakawaa]

when you're trying to find a good fanfic to read but your tumblr fyp is genuinly shit

[nuskiiiiix]

Soooo real like pls not rn

[satoyesha]

three times you and toji almost get caught fūcking + the half time you get caught! warnings : public sēx. pet names. firefighter!toji. corporate worker!reader. @satoyesha

i. ON THE FIREFIGHTER'S 30 MIN LUNCH!

"a-ah, shit—gotta be quiet, ma."

toji's got your back flushed against the wall, plush thighs hooked over his arms. your covered ample titties were flushed against his, arms are wrapped around his neck, fingers digging into his hair and pulling it everytime his mean and thick tip hits that sweet spot so good.

the both of you were in the dark and barely-lit storage closet of his station's lunchroom, another fifteen minutes into an already late thirty-minute break. toji's uniform is halfway off—suspenders at his hips, compressed black shirt still intact and big dark boots still on. and you—you were still in your corporate uniform after sneaking into his station's lunchroom more than half an hour ago.

"n-ngh—how can i be fu-fuckin' quiet when—oh!" you could barely finish your sentence, head lulling back into the wall, gasping when toji rolls his hips ever so slightly while speeding up and elongating his strokes.

you really were trying your best to be quiet—concealing your moans by biting your bottom lip on occasion or hiding your face into the crook of his neck. and toji wanted you to be quiet too as he scandalized his very crucial position in his workplace—but he relished in your moans and cries, so much that he can barely conceal his own, each borderlining on whimpers and minimizing on soft grunts.

"gotta—hngh—gotta find a way, then," yet his strokes contradict, smiling feraly as he bullies his fat and glistening cock into your abused cunt. "don't wan' us t'get caught, mama. gonna miiiss this pretty fuckin' pussy."

his words only spur you on, your fucked-out smile turning into feral cries as toji licks a long stripe up your neck, dragging open-mouthed sloppy kisses to the line of your jaw and finally falling upon your lips. the knot in your stomach tied fast and was building with speed, with toji quickening his pace, his angry tip kissing your cervix and with you clenching around him, coating his base with a ring of your spend, and before any of you knew it—

"o-ooh fuck!"

you're wailing as the wave finally hits you, with toji trailing in just behind you, filling you so much and painting your gummy walls white with his cum. he pistons into you for just a few more seconds before stopping and holding you close, the both of you breathing heavily.

and just as it ebbs, you're hearing heavy footsteps tread along the floors, and very faint callings of toji's last name.

and the firefighter just chuckles, dropping you slowly onto your feet. "you almost got us caught."

you could barely see him from there being barely any light in the closet, yet you slapped his chest hard, lips balling up as you whisper, "yeah, well maybe we shouldn't be fucking in your work's closet!"

"doesn't change the fact that you're fuckin' loud."

you were about to hit him again when one of his coworkers came calling.

"where the fuck's fushiguro? fushiguro!"

ii. IN YOUR CAR… THAT'S BESIDE YOUR BOSSES CAR!

"why the fuck would you park h-here?"

he could barely get the words out with you absolutely taking his soul with your kiss, nearly shoving your tongue down his throat, pussy clenching wet around his thick cock, dripping with lust and need.

you're riding him with everything you've got in the passenger seat, thick hips jumping up and slamming down on his. he's wearing casual clothes—(this being because you dragged him to your workplace on his day off)—while you, again, were stuck in your tight corporate uniform, with your skirt hiked up and your shirt unbuttoned at your tits. you've got no care for the outer-world, mind broken on the sheer determination of making sure you cum, and while doing so, you take toji's soul.

"sh-shut—" you kiss him once more, feverishly biting his lip, "the fuck up."

toji just smirks against your mouth, placing both his big hands at your waist, gripping the flesh before he begins to move you up and down on him as if you were a fleshlight. his head hits the chair with each damning stroke, nearly whimpering as you purposefully clench around him, a ring of cream and cum coating his shaft and your entrance.

and just as you forcefully turn his head, exposing the pale skin on his neck to lick a fat stripe up on it, your eyes open and latch onto the next car through the slightly tinted glass window.

and that's when you realize—you're right beside your boss's car.

your boss’s fucking car. and you couldn’t even tell if he was inside or not.

any minute now, he could either go into his car or come out, and his eyes could immediately locate you and your husband, who were both in an. . . indecent predicament. and he won't say anything of it to your face—he never does, to you or anyone for no reason specified—but he'd shade you for days before calling a meeting with HR.

and you would think, with this revelation, it'd make you wanna stop, immediately get off your husband's fat and maddening dick, and never show your face again. but it all just made you. . . even more scandalous and turned-on.

and, again, before you know it, you're cumming around toji's cock for the second time in that same car.

iii. WHILE ON THE PHONE WITH YOUR CO-WORKER…

"y-yes. . . fu—mm! yes! exactly!"

this was the second time you've forgot you were on the phone. especially with someone you're required to hold in a high regard (even though you could barely give a fuck about that woman) it wasn't hard to forget you were on it, notably when your husband's on his knees eating you out for his pleasure and his only.

you're sitting on your comfortable and at-home work chair, legs spread open and ample thighs thrown over his shoulders and encased around his head. you're trying your absolute best to conceal your moans—occasionally hitting the mute button on your phone, or when it's cutting too close in time you'd bite your lip or cover your mouth.

but the way toji's eating it—tongue abusing your entrance as his nose indulges deeper into your puffy and sensitive clit, the tip of his tongue dipping in and out, savouring in your sweet juices—it's entirely impossible.

"yes! exactly, that's what i'm saying—you can't only fucking refer to me as your 'casual friend' but then sleep with me under the covers. . . so not cool!" the woman in your ear rambles off, forgetting the actual importance of the call and the reason she dialed your number.

toji chuckles, and the sound vibrates in your pussy, sending you closer to the edge.

"h-hah—" you shudder, "r-right! right—yeah, he shouldn't h-have done that. sh-shit's not fair, y'know?"

toji looks up at you through his eyelids, tongue licking a long stripe up your pussy before latching onto your clit, sucking and catching it between his teeth softly, making you go cross-eyed from the feeling alone.

you wanna slap him for putting you through this torment. you wanna beat his ass—but all you can do is open your legs wider, grind your pussy against his face and pull at his hair everytime he eats it good.

gosh, you hate your husband.

"yeah. . ." the woman trails off, voice sounding as if she's caught on to you, "you okay girl? your voice is shaking, and you sound scared."

your eyes widen, and you try to slightly lift his head from between your legs but he wouldn't budge. "n-no yeah! yeaah i'm okay! i'm just. . . waxing."

the call goes silent for a beat. "waxing?"

you give a sheepish smile to toji, who's already staring at you, holding in his laugh. "yes, waxing! i'm tryin' out this new—um. . . whatever you call it—and it's working good! s-so. . fuckin' good."

"yeah. . . okay! well you gotta send me some! my legs are soooo hairy, and—"

"o-oh! just—gimme just one second, 'k-kay? be r-right back!"

and soon you're abusing the buttons on your phone. you wish you could hear her out, but the knot in your stomach is growing at an excessive rate, and you're clawing at toji's head at an attempt to slow him down but he wouldn't budge. it was almost like he knew you were about to cum, and so you did.

toji laps at your cream, gutturally moaning as your hole clenches around his tongue. you cry his name, sun-kissed thighs closing around his head.

and when it ebbs, your phone nearly escapes your grasp, but you catch it as soon as you gather yourself back into the shape of you, chest heaving and legs twitching, quivering pussy hit with the cool air as toji sits back and stares at his work.

"you're fuckin' crazy, toji." you smile at him, and he sticks his tongue out at you.

he leans forward, slapping your leg softly. "you married me, didn't ya?"

and just as you tapped on your phone, expecting your screen to brighten up and show the your co-worker's caller ID, you notice something.

you never pressed mute.

the call's still going on, but it's silent. and you, poor you—your eyes are shot wide and your jaw's reaching the earth's core, heart palpitating aggressively. and that's when you hear it.

"girl. . . what the fuck just happened?"

this was horrible omg 😭😭😭 sickness got in the way of this but i needed to write sum of toji so… 👅

[nuskiiiiix]

YUMMY!

[stressedand-obsessed]

satoru gojo fucking his cute little girlfriend but it’s simply too much!

satoru gojo, who’s fucking you in missionary with his hand on your clit as you claw at his forearm, you just can’t handle both at once!

“wait, wait, wait!” you exclaim as you try to wiggle away from his relentless hips, “feels…”

“i know honey, where are you going?” he coos as his free hand moves to yank you back into place. it really is too much though! you try to warn him, pressing against his abs with your hands and looking at him with pleading eyes.

“satoru! stop!” you pull back just enough for his dick to slip out but not for his thumb to leave your clit. you throw your head back as you squirt all over his hand, yours still weakly trying to push him away. he lets out a huff in i disbelief as you still try to scramble away. his thumb on your clit doesn’t stop though, shoving you into overstimulation.

“please! just-” you try to plead with him. it’s no use. he pins you up against the head board and shoves his dick back inside with one quick thrust. your legs shake from where they’ve landed on his shoulders as your eyes roll back into your head.

“oh no baby, we aren’t stopping until you do that again for me”

[nuskiiiiix]

Ou Lala

[tojiswaifu]

The Wolf's Claim

Synopsis. Your heat drives you to Toji Fushiguro, a legendary alpha at Elysian Fields. Desperate for relief, you pay his exorbitant fee—only to face his cocky alpha dominance and a 2-hour breeding session. As his knot locks you together, your craving for relief becomes a terrifying surrender to his primal command.

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI. A/B/O dynamics, fem!reader, omega!reader, alpha!Toji, age gap, dirty talk, daddy kink, oraI (fem rec.), rough missionary, choking, tummy buIge, pushing down, BREEDING, KNOTTING, pregnancy talk

Word Count. 7.7k

The heat was a living thing, a beast coiled in the pit of your stomach, radiating through your veins like a poison. For three days, you had fought it. Three days of dousing yourself in cold water, of swallowing suppressants that made your head swim and your stomach churn, of pressing ice packs to the inside of your thighs until your skin was raw and numb. But nature, in its infinite and cruel wisdom, always won. You were an omega, and your body was screaming for an alpha. Not just any alpha. You were past the point of desperation where a random, decent-smelling beta might suffice. You needed a prime specimen, a dominant force capable of taming the fire raging within you, of quenching a thirst that felt bottomless.

That was how you found yourself here, sitting in the sterile, hushed lobby of the ‘Elysian Fields Breeding Clinic’. The name was a joke, a sanitized, corporate euphemism for what was essentially a high-end brothel for the biologically desperate. The air smelled of lemon-scented cleaner and something else, something musky and primal that clung to the plush velvet chairs and the polished marble floors. It was the scent of satisfied omegas and potent alphas, a ghost of pleasure that did nothing to soothe your own frantic need. Every shift in your seat sent a fresh wave of slick dampening your panties, a humiliating, constant reminder of your body's betrayal.

Your fingers, trembling slightly, clenched around the expensive leather of your handbag. The cost of this single consultation could have paid a semester of your tuition. But you were wealthy, a fact you usually tried to downplay, but right now, it was your only salvation. If being knotted, being thoroughly and brutally bred by a top-tier alpha was the only thing that would silence the agonizing cramps and the feverish delirium, then you would pay. You would pay anything.

A woman with a sharp, tailored suit and a beta’s bland, unassuming scent approached you. "Miss?" This was a balm, a sign that this interminable waiting was over.

You stood, your legs feeling unsteady. "Yes."

"Please, come with me." The beta, whose name tag read 'Shoko', led you down a hallway that was somehow even quieter than the lobby. The walls were a soft, calming grey, and the lighting was dim and indirect. It was designed to be soothing, but to you, it felt like the muted atmosphere of a mortuary. "We have your file. You've requested a specific partner."

"Yes," you breathed, the name tasting like a prayer on your tongue. "Toji Fushiguro."

Shoko’s professional mask didn’t so much as flicker, but you imagined you heard a faint sigh of understanding. Of course. Everyone wanted Toji. He was a legend in these circles, a primal force of nature. Whispers of his prowess, of his sheer size and insatiable appetite, were the stuff of omega fantasies. More importantly, he was potent. The clinic’s discreet records boasted an astonishingly high success rate. He had impregnated more omegas than you could count, a fact that should have terrified you but instead sent a dark, thrilling shiver down your spine. Your heat-addled brain didn't see a risk; it saw a guarantee. A guarantee of relief, of being filled so completely that the ache would finally, finally stop.

"He is… available," Shoko said, her tone carefully neutral. "However, his fee is substantial. Even for our premium clients."

"I'll pay it," you said, your voice firm, surprising yourself with its conviction. You weren’t just some naive college girl; you were a woman on a mission. And besides, there was a cold, practical calculus to it. If this resulted in a pregnancy, you knew Toji Fushiguro was a man of means. He wouldn't abandon his offspring. He would provide. It was a twisted, backward form of security, but in your current state, it was the only logic you could grasp.

Shoko nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Very well. The terms are a two-hour encounter, in one of our private suites. All amenities are provided. You will not be disturbed. He has been briefed on your… condition and your specific request."

Your heart hammered against your ribs. Two full hours. The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating. You imagined his hands, his mouth, his… everything. The sheer, overwhelming presence of an alpha in his prime, an alpha known for his rough handling and his love of breeding. The heat inside you flared, a gush of warmth soaking through the thin fabric of your dress. You bit back a whimper.

You stopped before a door that was identical to all the others, but this one felt different. It was heavier, more imposing. The air around it seemed to hum with a low, thrumming energy, the unmistakable signature of a powerful alpha. Toji. He was already in there. The knowledge made your knees weak.

"Once you enter, the door will be secured for the duration of your session," Shoko explained, handing you a small, sleek keycard. "This is for your peace of mind. No one will enter. No one will leave. When your time is up, the door will unlock automatically. If you have a medical emergency, press the red panel on the wall, but be aware that doing so will terminate the session immediately with no refund."

You took the card, your fingers brushing against Shoko’s cool, dry ones. "I understand."

"Good luck, Miss," Shoko said, and for the first time, a sliver of something like genuine sympathy entered her eyes. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

With that, she turned and walked away, her sensible shoes making no sound on the thick carpet. You were left alone, facing the door. You could smell him now, even through the thick wood. It was a rich, dark, intoxicating scent. Pine and earth and clean sweat, with a sharp, metallic undercurrent that spoke of pure, unadulterated testosterone. It was the scent of danger and strength, and your omega body was singing for it, every cell screaming mine, mine, mine.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, you slid the keycard into the slot. The light blinked green, and a heavy lock disengaged with a solid thunk. You pushed the door open and stepped inside, your heart in your throat.

The room was not what you expected. It wasn't a sterile, clinical space. It was a suite, done in deep, jewel-toned colors. A massive bed, covered in dark silk sheets, dominated the far wall. There was a sitting area with a plush couch and armchairs, a well-stocked bar, and a door that likely led to a luxurious bathroom. The lighting was low and warm, casting long, seductive shadows. It was a den, a nest designed for one purpose: rutting.

And he was there.

He wasn't on the bed. He was standing by the large window, looking out at the city lights, his back to you. But you would have known him anywhere. He was even bigger than the rumors suggested. His shoulders were absurdly broad, tapering to a lean, powerful waist. The simple black t-shirt he wore was stretched tight across a muscular back that looked like it was carved from granite, and his long legs were encased in dark denim that hugged thick, powerful thighs. His black hair was a messy, textured crown, and even from behind, he radiated an aura of arrogant confidence that was both intimidating and deeply, deeply attractive.

As the door clicked shut behind you, he turned slowly. The air in the room seemed to crackle and thicken. His eyes, piercing green, locked onto yours, and the world narrowed to just the two of you. He was older than you, his face handsome but weathered, with a faint scar that cut through the corner of his lips, giving him a permanent, cynical smirk. It was a face that had seen things, a face that knew exactly what it wanted and how to take it.

His gaze swept over you, a slow, deliberate perusal that was more intimate than a touch. He took in your flushed face, the way your chest heaved with each ragged breath, the way your hands were clenched into fists at your sides. His nostrils flared slightly as he inhaled, and a low, rumbling sound vibrated in his chest. He could smell your heat. He could smell the desperate, slick need pouring off you in waves.

"So," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated right through your core. "You're the little omega who paid a fortune for a piece of me."

Your mouth went dry. You had imagined this moment a hundred times, but his raw, physical presence was overwhelming. He was an apex predator, and you were the wounded prey who had stumbled willingly into his den. "I… I am," you managed to stammer out.

He took a step towards you, and then another, his movements fluid and predatory. He didn't stop until he was standing right in front of you, so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body. He was so much taller than you, a mountain of muscle and raw alpha power. You had to tilt your head back to meet his intense, unwavering gaze.

He reached out, his fingers calloused and rough, and traced the line of your jaw. The touch was electric, sending a jolt of pure, unadulterated lust straight to your clit. You let out a soft, helpless gasp.

"Toji Fushiguro," he said, his name a statement of fact. "But you already knew that, didn't you? You came here looking for me."

"Yes," you whispered, your voice trembling. "I did."

A slow, arrogant smirk spread across his lips, the scar pulling taut. "Rich little thing like you, desperate enough to come to a place like this. Your suppressants finally fail you?"

You flinched at the accuracy of his words, but there was no malice in his tone, only a kind of blunt, masculine curiosity. "I couldn't… I couldn't take it anymore. The pain."

"The pain," he repeated, his voice dropping to a low growl. He leaned in closer, his face just inches from yours, his scent flooding your senses. "I know all about that. The rut. The heat. The fucking ache that feels like it's going to burn you alive from the inside out."

His other hand came up to rest on your hip, his grip firm and possessive. He pulled you flush against him, and you felt it. Oh, god, you felt it. Through the layers of your clothes, you could feel the hard, thick length of his cock, already half-hard and pressing insistently against your stomach. The rumors were true. He was huge. A fresh gush of slick soaked your panties, and you knew he could smell it, the sharp, sweet scent of your arousal mingling with his own dominant musk.

"Tell me what you want, little omega," he commanded, his voice a dark, seductive whisper against your ear. "You paid for the best. Tell me what you came here for."

He was toying with you, enjoying your desperation, his alpha ego preening at the sight of a willing, fertile omega practically melting in his hands. You should have been scared, maybe even offended by his arrogance, but all you could feel was a spiraling, all-consuming need. The heat was clawing at you, demanding satisfaction.

"I want you to knot me," you breathed out, the words a shameful, desperate confession. "I want you to… to breed me."

A low, guttural groan rumbled in his chest, a sound of pure, primal satisfaction. "Yeah," he gritted out, his hands tightening on your body. "That's what I like to hear. A little omega who knows her place."

His hands moved, one sliding up your back to fist in your hair, the other gripping your ass, pulling you even tighter against his now fully erect cock. He claimed your mouth in a brutal, possessive kiss. It wasn't gentle or sweet. It was a punishment and a promise, a searing, claiming kiss that was all teeth and tongue and raw, unbridled dominance. He devoured you, his tongue thrusting into your mouth, tasting you, claiming every inch of you. You moaned into his mouth, your body going limp against his, your hands coming up to clutch at his broad shoulders for support.

He broke the kiss as suddenly as he’d started it, leaving you panting and dazed, your lips swollen and bruised. His green eyes were blazing with a dark, feral light. His rut was kicking in, fueled by the potent scent of your heat.

"Get on the bed," he ordered, his voice rough with command. "Now."

You scrambled to obey, your legs so weak you almost stumbled. You moved to the large bed, your hands shaking as you reached for the hem of your simple summer dress. You pulled it over your head, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. You stood before him in just your soaked panties and a lacy bra, your curvy body flushed and trembling with anticipation.

Toji watched you, his gaze hot and heavy, a predator watching its meal. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans and peeled them down his legs, kicking them aside. He wasn't wearing underwear. His cock sprang free, and your breath hitched in your throat. It was magnificent. Long, thick, and heavily veined, with a broad, flared head that was already leaking a clear, pearly bead of precum. It was a weapon, a tool made for one thing, and it was all for you.

"Like what you see?" he asked, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. He wrapped a hand around his thick shaft, giving it a slow, leisurely stroke. "Don't worry, you'll get to know it real well."

He grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and yanked it over his head, revealing the full, glorious expanse of his chest and abdomen. His body was a masterpiece of masculine power, thick slabs of muscle covering his frame, his skin tanned and scarred in places. He was a man who lived a hard, physical life, and it showed in every delicious inch of him.

"On your back. Spread your legs," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

You complied, scrambling onto the cool silk sheets. You lay back, your heart pounding against your ribs, and spread your legs wide, a blatant invitation. Your panties were drenched, the fabric clinging to the swollen lips of your pussy, and you knew he could see everything.

Toji stalked towards the bed, his powerful body moving with a grace that belied his size. He knelt on the mattress between your splayed thighs, his eyes fixed on the soaking wet scrap of lace between your legs. He reached out, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. Instead of pulling them off, he simply ripped them. The delicate fabric tore with a sharp sound, leaving you completely exposed to his hungry gaze.

"Fuck," he growled, his eyes darkening as he stared at your glistening, pink folds. "Look at that pretty little pussy. All wet and ready for me."

He leaned down, his face hovering just above your cunt. He inhaled deeply, a look of pure bliss on his face. "Smells fucking incredible. Sweet like honey, hot like sin."

You whimpered, your hips arching off the bed, a silent plea for more. You were so empty, so achingly empty. You needed his mouth, his fingers, his cock. You needed him.

He chuckled, a low, dark sound. "Greedy little thing, aren't you?" He blew a stream of cool air over your sensitive flesh, and you cried out, your whole body trembling. "Don't worry. Daddy's gonna give you everything you need."

The word 'Daddy' sent a jolt through you, a dark, forbidden thrill that made you even wetter. It was a kink you hadn't known you had, but coming from him, it felt right. It felt natural.

He finally lowered his head, and the first touch of his tongue against your clit was like a lightning strike. He didn't tease. He went straight for the heart of your pleasure, his tongue flat and wide, lapping at you with long, slow strokes. He ate your pussy like he was starving, like your taste was the only thing that could sustain him. He was messy and rough, his stubble scraping against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, his mouth devouring you.

Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the messy, black strands as you held him against you. You ground your hips against his face, chasing the pleasure he was so expertly giving you. He growled against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your entire system. He slid one thick finger inside you, then another, pumping them in and out of your tight, clenching hole in a rhythm that matched his tongue.

"That's it, baby girl," he rasped, his voice muffled by your flesh. "Ride my face. Take what you need."

He curled his fingers, finding that spongy, sensitive spot deep inside you, and pressed down hard. You screamed, your back arching off the bed as a blinding, explosive orgasm tore through you. It was unlike anything you had ever experienced, a tidal wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure that left you shaking and breathless. Your pussy clamped down on his fingers, gushing a wave of slick that coated his hand and face.

Toji didn't stop. He lapped up your juices, his tongue working you through the aftershocks, drawing out your pleasure until you were a whimpering, boneless mess. Only then did he pull back, his face glistening with your cum, a triumphant, feral grin on his lips.

"Tastes even better than I imagined," he said, his voice thick with satisfaction. "And we're just getting started."

He crawled up your body, his heavy, muscular frame covering yours. He kissed you again, and you could taste yourself on his lips and tongue, a heady, intimate flavor that made your head spin. He reached between you, aligning the thick, blunt head of his cock with your still-throbbing entrance.

"Last chance to back out, little omega," he murmured, his green eyes burning into yours. "Once I start, I'm not gonna stop until I've filled this tight little pussy with my cum. Until I've knotted you so deep you'll feel me for a week."

You shook your head, your eyes wide with a mixture of fear and desperate need. "Don't stop," you pleaded. "Please, Toji. Fuck me. Breed me."

That was all the encouragement he needed. With a guttural groan, he pushed forward, sinking his massive cock into your tight, wet heat. The stretch was incredible, a sharp, burning pleasure that stole your breath. He was so big, so thick, filling you completely, stretching you to your absolute limits. He gave you a moment to adjust, his forehead resting against yours, his breath coming in harsh pants.

"Fuck, you're tight," he gritted out. "So fucking tight and wet. Made for my cock."

Then he began to move. He started with slow, deep thrusts, each one a deliberate, powerful stroke that seated him to the hilt inside you. He was hitting places you didn't even know existed, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you with every movement. His hands were everywhere, gripping your hips, kneading your breasts, pinching your nipples until they were peaks of aching sensation.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice rough. "I want to see those pretty eyes when I fuck you."

You forced your eyes open, locking your gaze with his. The intensity in his eyes was terrifying, his possessiveness a palpable force. He was claiming you, marking you as his, and in that moment, you wanted to be his. You wanted to be owned by this powerful, dominant alpha.

He picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder, faster. The sound of your bodies slapping together filled the room, a wet, rhythmic percussion that was the most erotic thing you had ever heard. The bed creaked and groaned under the force of his fucking, his powerful body driving into yours again and again.

"You like that, baby?" he panted, his voice a low growl. "You like Daddy's big cock stretching your little pussy?"

"Yes!" you cried out, your nails digging into his back. "Oh, god, yes!"

He shifted his angle, and suddenly his cock was hitting your clit with every thrust. The stimulation was too much, too intense. Another orgasm built rapidly, coiling in your stomach like a spring.

"That's it," he urged, his voice strained with his own impending release. "Come for me again. Come all over my cock."

His words were your undoing. With a shattered cry, you came again, your pussy convulsing around his thick shaft, your body trembling uncontrollably. The feel of you clenching around him sent him over the edge.

"Fuck!" he roared, his hips slamming into yours one last time. He buried himself deep inside you, and you felt it. The base of his cock began to swell, stretching you even further as his knot formed, locking you together. A moment later, he erupted, his hot, thick cum pumping into you in powerful, endless spurts. The feeling of being so completely filled, of being tied to him and bred by him, was the most profound, soul-shattering pleasure you had ever known. He collapsed on top of you, his heavy body pinning you to the bed, his face buried in the crook of your neck as you both struggled to catch your breath.

You stayed like that for a long time, locked together, your bodies still joined. His knot held you fast, a physical manifestation of your union. You felt a sense of peace settle over you, the agonizing fire of your heat finally banked, replaced by a warm, sated glow. You felt safe, protected, claimed.

Toji shifted, propping himself up on his elbows to look down at you. The feral intensity in his eyes had softened, replaced by something else, something more complex. He reached out and gently brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.

You nodded, a contented sigh escaping your lips. "More than okay."

He smirked, the familiar arrogance returning. "Told you I was the best."

You couldn't help but smile. "You're very confident."

"When you're me, you have a right to be," he said, his gaze dropping to where you were still joined. "We're gonna be like this for a while. My knot doesn't go down quick."

Your eyes widened slightly. "How long?"

"An hour. Maybe more," he said, a glint in his eye. "Gives us plenty of time to get to know each other better."

He leaned down and captured your lips in a softer, more exploratory kiss. This time, there was no desperation, no raw hunger, just a slow, deep intimacy that was just as potent. He kissed you for a long time, his tongue tangling with yours, his hands stroking your sides, your hips, your hair.

When he finally pulled back, his expression was serious. "You're on birth control, right?"

The question, so practical and mundane in the midst of all this primal intensity, caught you off guard. "No," you admitted softly.

He stared at you, his green eyes unreadable. He didn't look angry or upset, just… thoughtful. He was still inside you, his knot a thick, warm presence, his cum a potent reminder of what you had just done. What you were still doing.

"No?" he repeated, his voice quiet.

"I… I couldn't," you whispered. "The suppressants were enough. I never thought… I never planned for this."

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze searching your face as though he might find some hidden answer there. He seemed to be weighing his options, considering the implications of your confession. The air in the room grew thick with unspoken questions. He was a man who prized his freedom, a lone wolf. A child, especially with a woman half his age, was a complication he didn't need.

It wasn’t as though pregnancy itself was unheard of around him. Over the years, he had impregnated enough other women, but those situations had been different. Most of them had been closer to his age and had spent years struggling with fertility issues, trying without success to conceive with the alphas they already had at home. When it happened with him, it had always been treated less like scandal and more like a solution, an answer to a problem they hadn’t been able to fix otherwise.

That distance had made it easier. The women had their own lives, their own partners, their own homes waiting for them. He had never been expected to stay, never been asked to carry the weight of what came after. 

But then, something shifted in his eyes. A flicker of possessiveness, of dark, primal satisfaction. He was an alpha. He had just bred a fertile omega. His body, his instincts, were roaring in triumph. The logical, rational part of his brain might be screaming complication, but the primal part was preening.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "Well," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that sent a fresh shiver of desire through you. "If my seed takes, you're mine. You understand that? You and the baby. You'll belong to me."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact. A declaration of ownership. And you loved it.

A profound, bone-deep bliss settled over you, a warmth that started from where your bodies were locked and radiated out to the tips of your fingers and toes. The desperate, clawing heat that had tormented you for days, the feverish ache that had driven you to this place, was gone. It was extinguished, utterly and completely, by the overwhelming presence of the alpha still buried inside you. In its place was a needy, adoring haze, a drunkenness that had nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with the massive knot still throbbing within your cunt. It pulsed with a slow, heavy rhythm, a living anchor of pleasure that periodically sent another thick, hot spurt of his cum deep into your core. You felt utterly full, utterly claimed, and utterly satisfied in a way you had never dreamed possible.

Your body hummed with a new kind of energy, one driven by pure, unadulterated omega hormones. Toji’s scent, a potent mix of clean sweat, sharp sex, and something dark and uniquely him, filled your lungs and made your head spin. It was the scent of a prime alpha who had just successfully fucked his omega into submission, and your own body responded in kind, releasing pheromones of deep, sated contentment. You could almost feel his pride, a palpable wave of masculine satisfaction that washed over you, and it made you preen, a primal part of you glowing from his approval. You smelled so good to him, and knowing that made you feel powerful.

Lost in this hormonal fog, you felt a surge of confidence you’d never known. Your rational mind, the part that worried about tuition deadlines and the crushing weight of student loans, was silenced by the primal, joyful voice screaming Mine! He’s mine! You became bold, your hands, which had been limp and pliant at your sides, beginning to move with a new, exploratory purpose. You roamed them over the expanse of his chest, your fingers tracing the hard, sculpted ridges of his pectoral muscles, the valley between them, the solid wall of his abdomen that was still damp with your combined sweat. He was so perfectly sculpted, so undeniably strong. Every inch of him was pure, condensed power, and it was all focused on you.

“You’re… you’re incredible,” you breathed, your voice a soft, awed whisper that was almost swallowed by the sound of your heavy breathing. You looked up at him, your eyes hazy with adoration, your pupils blown wide. “Your body… God, Toji… the way you feel inside me… it’s like I was made for you.” You bit your bottom lip, a slow, flirtatious giggle escaping you. The sound was light, airy, completely at odds with the raw, filthy act you had just committed, and it made his chest vibrate with a low chuckle.

Toji watched you, a slow, confident smirk spreading across his lips. The thin scar at the corner twisted with the expression, making him look even more dangerous and handsome. He could smell the shift in your scent, from the sharp tang of desperate heat to a flirtatious, possessive contentment. He liked it. He liked it a lot. He let you explore, his body a landscape for you to discover and claim with your touch.

Encouraged by his silence and the dark amusement in his eyes, you continued, your hands drifting lower to rest flat on his stomach. You could feel the hard muscle tensing slightly beneath your palm. “I’m almost jealous,”you breathed out, the words coming out in a rush of hormone-fueled honesty you couldn’t have stopped if you tried. “Thinking of you claiming other omegas like this.”

The moment the words left your lips, Toji shifted his weight just slightly. It was a minimal movement, a mere flex of his hips, but inside you, it was seismic. His knot, already an impressive, unyielding bulge, dragged against your ultra-sensitive walls, and you whimpered, a high-pitched sound of pure, unadulterated satisfaction. The friction sent a fresh jolt of pleasure straight to your clit, making your entire body clench.

“Oh yeah?” Toji’s voice was a low, dangerous rumble, right against your ear. He leaned in, his hot breath fanning across your cheek and neck, making the fine hairs there stand on end. He dragged his tongue in a slow, possessive stripe from your jawline up to your temple, tasting the salt of your sweat and the sweetness of your skin. The gesture was proprietary, a claiming, a reminder that he was the one in control.

The sudden, intense reality of your own words crashed down on you. The image of him with another omega, of him giving this feeling, this fullness, this rightness, to someone else, was suddenly, painfully unbearable. A wave of emotion, sharp and visceral, seized you. Your eyes welled with hot, stupid tears, and your lip began to tremble. It was the hormones, you knew, but it felt real. It felt like your heart was being ripped in two.

“I… I don’t want another alpha,” you mumbled, the confession thick with unshed tears. You were hyper-aware of every point of contact between you. The way his thick cock was still seated impossibly deep, the way his knot continued to erupt with small, intermittent spurts of cum, painting your insides again and again with his seed. You looked down at your own belly and could see it, a faint but distinct distension where his massive girth pressed against you from the inside. The physical proof of his possession. It sent a violent shudder down your spine, a mixture of awe and terror and a dark, thrilling possessiveness.

“What nonsense are we babbling about another alpha?” Toji’s voice was soft, almost a purr, but it held an undercurrent of steel that vibrated through your entire body. One of his large hands moved with deliberate slowness, wrapping around your throat. He didn’t squeeze, not yet. He just held you, his thumb resting against your frantic pulse point, a silent, terrifying promise of his power. His other hand pressed down firmly on your belly, right over the bulge of his knot.

The dual sensation was electrifying. The pressure on your neck made you gasp for air that suddenly seemed too thin, and the pressure on your stomach, pressing his knot even deeper against your most sensitive inner spot, made a new gush of slick flood your already-soaked core. Your body betrayed you completely, responding to his dominance with an overwhelming wave of fresh arousal.

“You’re my Daddy,” you breathed, the words a sacred vow, a desperate plea. The title felt right, natural. The only word that could encompass the raw power, the protection, and the soul-shattering pleasure he gave you. You began to grind against him, a slow, desperate roll of your hips that was made clumsy and desperate by the tie. You whimpered as the movement tugged at the base of his cock. “Daddy, daddy, daddy…” you chanted, the name a prayer on your lips, a mantra of complete and utter surrender.

Toji groaned, a deep, guttural sound of pure male victory that seemed to shake the very bed. Your complete, utter submission was the most intoxicating thing he had ever experienced. The feel of you grinding against him, the sound of you chanting his new title, sent a jolt straight to his cock. His knot, which he thought had reached its maximum size, seemed to swell impossibly larger, stretching you to your absolute limit, blurring the line between pleasure and a sweet, aching pain.

The sudden, intense expansion was all it took. Your back arched off the bed, a silent scream tearing from your throat as another orgasm, more powerful than the last, ripped through you. It wasn't a sharp peak but a long, rolling wave of pleasure that seemed to go on forever. Your cunt clenched and spasmed around his knot, milking him for all he was worth, your inner walls fluttering and gripping him like a velvet fist. Toji watched you, his eyes drinking in the sight of you coming completely undone for him, your face a mask of pure ecstasy. He kept his hand on your throat, a firm, grounding pressure, and his other hand pressed on your stomach, intensifying every contraction.

Your scent changed again, thickening into an overwhelming bouquet of satisfaction, submission, and absolute bliss. It was the most potent aphrodisiac he had ever smelled. He felt drunk on you, pussydrunk and utterly lost to the primal need to own you, to possess every part of you.

“God,” he slurred, his own voice thick with a haze of lust. “I could be buried in your pussy 24/7 and it wouldn’t nearly be enough.” The admission was raw, unfiltered, a testament to how thoroughly you had captivated him. As if to prove his point, his knot twitched, and a fresh surge of hot cum painted your walls, another thick, warm mark of his claim.

His chest was heaving, his breath coming in ragged pants. He finally released the pressure on your throat, his hand moving to cup your cheek instead. You blinked your eyes open, your vision fuzzy and swimming with tears of pleasure. You looked up at him, and your breath hitched. His eyes, which had been a piercing, intelligent green, were now completely black, the pupils so fully dilated they swallowed any hint of color. He looked primal, feral, a god of sex and domination.

He licked his lips, a slow, predatory gesture, and then leaned down. His mouth bypassed your lips, heading straight for your breasts. He latched onto one peaked nipple, his mouth hot and demanding. He wasn’t gentle. He kneaded the soft flesh with one hand, squeezing and tugging while his mouth worked you over. He bit down, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to leave a clear, possessive bruise in the shape of his teeth. He sucked hard, then soothed the sting with his tongue, leaving the skin red and swollen. He gave the other breast the same treatment, marking them both as his territory, his property.

You moaned, your hands flying to his hair, your fingers tangling in the messy black strands. You held him to you, arching your back to offer him more, to give him everything. The feeling was exquisite, a perfect mix of pleasure and pain that only heightened your arousal, a constant reminder of who was in charge.

After he was satisfied with your tits, he grabbed your wrists, pinning your arms effortlessly over your head with one of his large hands. He leaned down, his face burying in the hollow of your armpit. Your eyes went wide in shock and a deep, mortifying blush flooded your cheeks. But Toji didn’t hesitate. He inhaled deeply, a guttural sound of appreciation rumbling in his chest. “God, your smell, your taste,” he growled against your skin before eagerly lapping at the sensitive skin there. The act was so dirty, so intimate, so utterly possessive that it made your head spin. He wasn’t just fucking you; he was consuming you.

He paid the same attention to your other pit, marking you with his saliva and his scent before moving on. His mouth was on your throat next, sucking hard over your pulse point, leaving a huge, dark hickey that would be impossible to hide. He was a predator, and he was scent-marking his kill, his mate. Finally, he pulled back, his black eyes locking onto your dazed ones. His face was serious, his expression leaving no room for argument.

“You’re mine,” he asserted, his voice a low, possessive growl. “No other alpha gets to touch you.” He paused, letting the weight of his declaration sink in. “Book me at least once a week. You won’t have to pay.”

The offer hung in the air between you, heavy with implication. It wasn’t just about sex anymore. It was about ownership, about a regular, scheduled claiming. It was a promise and a threat all in one. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a chaotic mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through you. You were his, well and truly, and the thought was the most terrifying and thrilling thing you had ever known.

Just as you opened your mouth to respond, to agree to anything he wanted, a soft chime echoed through the room, followed by a calm, synthesized voice. “Session time has expired. Mr. Fushiguro, your next appointment is scheduled to arrive in fifteen minutes. Please prepare the suite.”

The voice was a splash of ice water on the fire of your shared passion. Toji’s head snapped up, his black eyes narrowing at the ceiling speaker in annoyance. You froze beneath him, the reality of your situation crashing down on you. This was a service. A transaction. And your time was up. A fresh wave of panic, cold and sharp, cut through the post-coital bliss. He was still knotted inside you. You were tied together. How could this possibly end?

Toji seemed to read your mind, or perhaps he just felt the sudden, panicked clench of your cunt around his knot. He looked back down at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before a flicker of something—annoyance, possessiveness—crossed his features. He shifted again, and this time, the movement wasn't for pleasure. It was a deliberate, powerful flex of his internal muscles, a signal to his own body. You felt the base of his cock begin to soften, the immense pressure of the knot slowly, gradually receding. It was a strange, almost painful sensation, the feeling of so much space being created inside you so suddenly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he grumbled, his voice still rough with lust. “Not like I can fucking control it.” He waited a few more agonizing seconds before, with a final, slow pull, he withdrew from you. The sensation of his thick length sliding out of you, followed by the rush of warm, thick cum that gushed out of your gaping pussy, was obscene. It felt like a part of you was being ripped away, leaving you feeling suddenly empty and cold.

He rolled off you, his large body landing on the bed beside you with a soft thud. For a moment, you just lay there, breathing heavily in the sudden silence. You felt the wetness spreading beneath you on the silk sheets, a sticky, messy reminder of what you had done. You felt sore, used, and more thoroughly satisfied than you had ever been in your entire life.

You finally dared to look at him. He was propped up on one elbow, watching you. His black eyes had started to recede, flecks of that startling green reappearing around the edges of his pupils. He looked smug, sated, and utterly in control. He reached out with his free hand, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip, smearing the cum that was still leaking from you.

“You’re a mess,” he said, but there was no judgment in his tone, only a deep, masculine satisfaction. “A fucking beautiful, sticky mess.”

You blushed, pulling the sheet up to cover your nakedness, though it was a futile gesture. He had seen and owned every inch of you. “I… what about…?” you stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“The offer stands,” he said, cutting you off. His hand moved from your hip to your thigh, his grip firm. “Once a week. Same suite. My private time. No charge.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. “I’ll even let you pick the day. But you belong to me. Understand?”

You could only nod, your throat too tight to speak. The sheer audacity of it, the possessiveness, was terrifying. But the thought of not seeing him again, of never feeling this way again, was far more terrifying.

“Good.” He gave your thigh a final squeeze before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing up. You couldn’t help but watch him. He was magnificent. His back was a landscape of muscle and old scars, his ass tight and powerful, his long legs thick with strength. He moved with an easy, predatory grace that was utterly captivating.

He walked into the adjoining bathroom, and you heard the sound of the shower starting. A few moments later, he returned, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. He had already washed the sweat and sex from his body, and he looked every bit the professional again, except for the faint, red marks you had left on his shoulders and the dark, possessive look in his eyes.

He started to get dressed, pulling on a pair of black, expensive-looking trousers and a crisp, dark grey shirt. He moved with an unhurried efficiency, completely comfortable in his own skin and in your presence. You felt a pang of something like insecurity. You were still lying in the wet spot, covered in his cum, smelling like a well-fucked omega, while he was already preparing for his next client.

As if sensing your thoughts, he paused in the middle of buttoning his shirt. He turned to look at you, his gaze sweeping over your disheveled form. “Get up,” he ordered, his voice soft but firm. “Go take a shower. Use the one in there.” He gestured toward another door, one you hadn’t noticed before. “The staff will bring you a change of clothes. And something to… clean you out.”

Your blush deepened. The thought of a stranger coming in here, seeing the state of the room, of you, was mortifying. But his tone left no room for argument. “Go,” he said again, a hint of impatience in his voice. “Before I decide to bend you over this desk and fuck you again, consequences be damned.”

The threat sent a fresh jolt of arousal through your tired body. You scrambled out of the bed, your legs shaky and unsteady. A fresh trickle of cum ran down your inner thigh as you stood, and you felt a fresh wave of embarrassment. You grabbed the top sheet, wrapping it around yourself as you scurried toward the door he had indicated, not daring to look back at him.

The bathroom was as luxurious as the main suite, all marble and polished chrome. You locked the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment and trying to catch your breath. You could still smell him on your skin, taste him in your mouth. You looked at your reflection in the large mirror over the vanity. Your hair was a tangled mess, your lips were swollen and bruised, and your skin was flushed a deep pink. There was a huge, dark purple hickey blooming on your neck, just above your collarbone. His marks were all over you.

You stepped into the large, glass-walled shower, turning the water on as hot as you could stand it. The spray stung your sensitive skin, but you welcomed the pain. You washed your body furiously, trying to scrub away the evidence of your encounter, but you knew it was useless. He had marked you on a level far deeper than your skin. He had claimed your soul.

When you emerged, wrapped in a plush, fluffy towel, you found a neat pile of clothes waiting for you on the vanity. A simple, black cotton dress, a new pair of panties, and a small, discreet box. You opened the box to find a douche and a tube of soothing, scent-neutralizing cream. A fresh wave of humiliation washed over you, but you used them anyway, your hands trembling as you followed the instructions. You wanted to be clean for him, even if he wasn’t here to see it.

You dressed quickly, the soft fabric of the dress a welcome comfort against your sensitive skin. When you finally felt presentable, you took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door.

The suite was empty. The bed had been stripped, the soiled sheets gone. The air smelled faintly of lemon and cleaning products, a sterile scent that was a stark contrast to the raw, musky atmosphere from before. Toji was gone. There was no sign he had ever been there, except for the faint marks on your own body and the lingering ache between your legs.

On the small table by the door was a single, white business card. You picked it up. It was thick, expensive stock. There was only a name and a phone number printed on it in elegant, black font.

Toji Fushiguro.

And underneath, in a smaller, spikier script that was clearly his own handwriting, were two words.

Call me.

You clutched the card in your hand, your heart pounding. The session was over. The transaction was complete. But something told you this was only the beginning.

art creds: @hunnismokah

Post by @hunnismokah · 3 images

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