✮ synopsis: leon's a very patient man. he lets you have your fun teasing him, but he knows where you'll be by the end of the night. he's confident in a way that goes without saying, and it doesn't take him long before he's got you wrapped around his thumb.
✮ warnings: fem. reader, heavy objectification, use of pet names, power dynamics/pwr. struggle, manhandling, hair pulling, language, explicit content, dirty talk, m. masturbation + facial, dumbification, pwp
✮ word count: 7k
truth be told, leon wasn't bothered by your sly little comments that were meant to rouse his temper. no, he was perfectly fine with you running your pretty little mouth, a few old mans here and there never bothered him much. he'd let you have your fun, give him that shit-eating little grin and teasing eye roll that never failed to make his mouth twitch up in a smile.
leon's quite patient and he humors you more than he probably should, but beneath his calm and composed exterior lies a man who's very aware of himself. perhaps when he was younger he might've felt a little dejected and maybe even taken comments like that to heart, but now that he's older— and more experienced (in more ways than one) he'd half a mind to start cracking jokes with you.
as much as leon loves to see how amused you seem to be teasing him like this, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't waiting to wipe that smug little grin off your face. luckily for you, leon's a good sport and doesn't take any of what you say to heart, mainly because he knows where you'll be by the end of the night.
leon isn't particularly cocky, but he's certainly not oblivious. he knows your true objective isn't to make him feel bad, but it's also not to tease him, either— no, he knows what you really want. leon sees that little sparkle in your eyes whenever he scoffs or groans at your teasing comments, or the way you smirk before pondering what to say next. your calculated, premeditative train of thought is something he is no stranger to, but he'll humor you— for now.
and so, he'll intentionally let those little comments accumulate right up until he decides he's had enough of you and your chatting.
"hey leon, don'cha think you should go see a chiropractor? your posture is... well," you chirp, eyes glazing over his figure sitting hunched over at the dining table, practically devouring the food you'd prepared for him after a long day of monotonous paper filing at the dso. leon has to hold back a snort at that, his mouth twitching up at the corners as he cuts the last bit of chicken breast into a bite-sized piece.
leon gulps down the small piece he'd been chewing, humming in satisfaction at the rather delicious meal you'd provided for him. it's a pity you couldn't hold your tongue while he enthusiastically cleaned his plate. at the very least you were entertaining him, so it's not as annoying as you hoped it'd be. "chicken's good," he says plainly, setting his knife and fork down atop the now clean plate before pushing up from the table. he stands with a low grunt, bones popping as he rolls his shoulders back slightly, making his way over to the sink to clean his dish. well damn, maybe he did need to see a chiro...
you pout slightly at his disregard for your earlier comment, eyes narrowing slightly as he walks past you to clean his dish. you scoff to yourself, hands crossing against your chest in disbelief. is he really ignoring you...? you shake your head in denial before turning on your heel, watching how his muscles flex as he rinses his plate. before you can even attempt to force out a retort, leon’s deep voice is already rumbling through your ears.
"what were you saying?" he starts, clearing his throat as he begins lathering soap in his hands. you raise a brow at his back in question, rolling your eyes in defiance at his flippant tone.
"are you that hard of hearing?" you replied sarcastically, a scoff escaping you as you lean your hip against the table behind you. you chuckle quietly, lips curling up into a smirk when he pauses his movements. leon exhales softly, resuming his actions as he realizes this will be yet another night of you playing with him. usually leon could handle your snide little comments and playful teasing, but he’d had a long fucking day in the office. despite this, leon is still a very patient, merciful man. he’ll give you the chance to stop while you’re ahead.
leon turns the faucet off slowly, twisting the handle with ease and reaching for the dish towel to dry his hands. he’s still for a moment, simply holding the towel in his hands before neatly folding it and setting it down. it’s a little eery just how composed he is; you almost feel nervous. leon was always very calm under pressure—not that you were much pressure to him, but you certainly knew how to push him. you bite your lip, tension filling the air around you with each passing second.
when leon finally turns to you, his gaze feels borderline oppressive. he’s not reactive, but his piercing blue eyes hold such a powerful weight that it’s like he’s already got you pinned in place. leon’s not a man of many words. he prefers to assert himself through his actions, and it’s surprising just how little he has to do to have you complacent for him. despite this, he knows it’s not that easy with you. it usually never is, but he certainly doesn’t mind it.
"no, i heard you," he starts softly, almost endearing, mirroring your stance and leaning against the counter with his arms loosely crossed over his chest as he watched you. "but i'll give you a chance to correct yourself." he warns, tilting his head slightly as he waits for your response. of course, leon knows you won't behave, he's already got you figured out. but what kind of partner would he be if he didn't at least offer you a chance at redemption?
like clockwork, you let out a tiny scoff at his peace offering, rolling your eyes so hard you're almost scared they might get stuck like that. leon raises a brow at you, adjusting himself on the counter while monitoring your every move.
"correct myself?" you repeat, your tone amused, almost in disbelief that he'd ask you such a question. leon's lips curve into a smirk, the kind of smirk that exudes confidence and promises consequences. he's actually quite glad you choose the hard way out every time, it was always satisfying to watch it all crumble down once he gets you to stop running that mouth of yours.
"need me to spell it out for you?" he says firmly, jaw tightening slightly as he observes the cocky smirk that graces your pretty features. he tilts his head slightly, biceps bulging deliciously against his chest where they're crossed. of course you're enjoying this, of course you want him to spell it out for you. leon's a patient man, but he's more than willing to dish out consequences for someone like you who insists on pushing his limits.
"dunno," you drawl, dragging the word out with that same teasing, amused lilt, "maybe you do," you tease, a quiet giggle escaping from your throat as you stare him down, biting your lip in anticipation when you see him exhale slowly. god, did you love riling him up. it did something sinful to you to see him go from composed to bothered by you.
unbeknowst to you, however, leon's not too keen on giving you that satisfaction; he'll do what he has to to keep you in order, but he'll stay just as composed as he was prior to all this.
"you’re a fuckin’ brat." he grits out, uncrossing his arms slowly to make his way over to you. you watch as he walks over with controlled, practiced steps, your eyes shamelessly raking over his broad form. you trail them down slowly, taking your time as he nears closer, scanning over the obvious bulge in his tactical pants, the strain of his too-shirt against his beefy biceps, and finally flitting back up to meet his intense gaze.
he's close, almost too close, hands on either side of the kitchen table as he towers over your frame. it's almost intimidating how big he is, how easy it is for him to overpower you, and perhaps that's what makes this game of cat and mouse all the more fun. your breath hitches with the way he's staring at you, his icy eyes tracking every one of your actions like you were his prey.
"say another word." he dares, getting in your face, leaning in as close as he could. you let out a shaky breath, a tiny smile pulling at your lips as you stare into his eyes with a hint of mischief present in their midst.
"another word," you challenge, raising a brow and pursing your lips teasingly while batting your lashes enticingly at him. he nods sardonically, almost pleased at your decision, a small smile tugging at his lips as he lets out a breathy chuckle. he moves down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, humming lowly as he inhales sharply, sending a shiver up your spine.
his head dips lower, lips ghosting over your neck as he presses more tiny, open-mouth kisses to the heated skin. you squeal a little bit, the sensation slightly tickling the skin of your neck as your hands slowly reach to grip the table behind you. something about leon's calmness was deeply unsettling, like he was a stick of dynamite that had just been lit and was slowly inching closer to exploding. you breathe out raggedly, heart thumping wildly in your chest as he pulls back to meet your gaze once more.
"mm. good one, baby," he starts, voice deceptively soft, almost affectionate. his hand comes up slowly, knuckles grazing the soft skin of your cheeks as he stares into your eyes like he's already got your fate mapped out for tonight. "but you should've held your tongue." he finishes, voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that always sends heat straight through you.
in an instant, leon's pushing you to the side, hand on your chest shoving you down on the floor. you stumble slightly, hand reaching out to steady yourself as his hands roughly grab ahold of your shoulders before adjusting you to his liking. it rips a surprised yelp from you, leaving you scrambling for a bit before you gather your bearings. despite the struggle, he finally has you on your knees before him, a steady hand on your shoulder as he stares down at you. you stare back defiantly, eyes shooting daggers at him for handling you so roughly. before you can even fix your lips to spit out another sassy remark, leon is quick to quiet you.
his large hand fists in your hair, pulling your head back roughly so that you have no choice but to fucking listen to him. he tuts, shaking his head at your insistent need to defy him, his eyes piercing into your wide ones below him. "shhh, let's be smart here, baby. you're a smart girl, aren't you?" he asks, his voice tender, almost affectionate, but you know deep down he means the exact opposite. your brows pull together, mouth wide in shock just from how quickly the tables turned on you. literally. you blink dumbly, eyes glossy from the hold he has on your hair.
his grip on your hair tightens at your silence, making you wince at the strain on your scalp. you whimper slightly, nodding in his grasp as best you could. he hums, hand leaving your hair in favor of grasping your jaw, rubbing soft circles into the heated skin. he doesn't bother asking for a verbal response, he already knows you're so fucked out for him that the only thing he needs you to focus on right now is shutting the hell up.
you're still dumbfounded, eyes hazy as you stare up at him in awe, lips parted and chest heaving at his change in demeanor. leon's thumb travels, the digit dragging across your bottom lip before slipping inside your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. you quickly obey him, wrapping your lips around the digit, eyes never leaving his as you suckle his thumb into your mouth.
leon’s gaze burns down at you, his gaze intimidatingly tender, the blue of his eyes almost completely swallowed by his dark pupils.
"'s a shame the only time you're quiet is when i put you on your fuckin' knees," he murmurs, voice thick with lust. he lets you keep sucking for a few more seconds, thumb pressing down on your tongue, before he finally pulls it free with a wet pop.
your breathing comes out a little more ragged, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you wait eagerly for his next move. leon just stares down at you, analyzing every little movement and micro expression on your face before he finally concludes that you love this. you're practically shaking with anticipation, you're giddy like your efforts have finally paid off from all those snide comments and teasing little smirks, and he finds it utterly infuriating. no, he won't give you what you want this easily, not without making you suffer a little bit.
"i see what's going on here," he starts, tilting his head as he observes you beneath him. your brows furrow, a small pout making its way onto your lips at his sudden change. it was starting to make you a little frustrated with how hot and cold he was being. "you're not nearly as smart as you think you are, baby," he declares, hands moving to unbuckle his belt. his eyes never leave yours, although yours are now transfixed on the way his deft hands easily guide the belt out of the loop.
your eyes trail back up to his, his piercing orbs already staring you down as he unbuttons his pants. "leon..." you murmur quietly, needy eyes silently pleading for him to get a move on. you shift impatiently on your heels, letting out a few exasperated breaths every now and then with how slow he was moving things along.
leon grunts in annoyance, hand reaching out to grasp your cheeks before leaning down to your level to whisper harshly, "behave." he commands, squishing your cheeks in his grip before giving you a long, stern glare that almost dares you to disobey him. you still, gulping slightly at how fucking intimidating he is. he's incredibly calm, too calm, but his movements are sharp and rough— a dizzying contrast that nearly gives you whiplash from how confusing it all is.
he huffs, hand leaving your jaw before rising to his feet once more. his hands return to the task at hand, finally shoving his pants down his thighs along with his boxers. his cock springs free, heavy and flushed dark at the tip, and your mouth actually waters at the sight. you instinctively reach for him, hand just short of gripping the base before leon grips your wrist tightly. you pause, eyes flitting up to his in confusion.
"uh-uh." he tsks, voice low and disapproving, pushing your hand back down to your side. "you don't get to touch. you lost that privilege right when you opened that pretty little mouth." he says, his own hand gripping his cock at the base before giving it a slow upward stroke. he exhales lowly, squeezing himself once his hand strokes over the sensitive part just below his aching tip. his hips buck slightly, hand twisting around his cock as he passes over the sticky head, smearing the precum that had collected there all over his shaft.
he groans shamelessly, eyes flitting back to yours that only stare up at him in utter disbelief of the situation right now. you look painfully needy, eyebrows threaded together and mouth deeply frowned from his complete disregard of you. your eyes are glassy as they stare into his, hands gripping the bottom of your shirt tightly in your grip as you try to calm yourself. his eyes light up briefly, a breathy chuckle leaving him as a new idea crosses his mind.
"leon—" you start, biting your lip in frustration when he interrupts you.
"i don't wanna hear it, sweetheart," he interrupts, voice dropping into that dangerous register that makes your stomach flip. "had your chance, didn't you?" he grips your jaw, thumb pressing against your lower lip, spreading your mouth open for him. he holds you like that, inspecting you, while his other hand gives a slow, deliberate stroke from base to tip. he groans lowly, gripping himself tighter as filthy, depraved thoughts begin to cloud his mind. god, he can't wait to see you crying for him.
"fuck... pretty thing," he says, tilting your head in his grip, eyes raking over your fucked-out face as he languidly strokes himself to you. leon doesn't rush, he takes his time savoring your pretty face, eyes traveling down your body as his grip tightens around his cock. his breathing stays even and controlled as he works himself with unhurried strokes.
he's studying you— examining you like you're an exhibit, like a work of art curated solely for his enjoyment. his thumb drags along your lower lip, dipping inside your mouth and pressing down on your tongue. you tried to suck his thumb again, but he just pulls it back out to smear your spit over your lips, watching the way it shines under the light.
your breath hitches at how dirty the situation feels, how he's using you as an object of his pleasure, like a muse to fulfill his own filthy desires. you almost feel like you should feel offended, but you can't help the way your cunt clenches at how little he cares for your pleasure right now. it's borderline sadistic, enjoying the way he ogles you so shamelessly, inspecting you like you're his personal form of pornography.
"why don't you pull that shirt up for me, baby?" he coaxes, voice soft yet firm, the question more a command than a request. he works himself a little faster now, thumb brushing over the slit of his leaking tip, moaning deeply at the sensation.
you hesitate, hands trembling at your sides, and he slows his strokes just enough to make you feel like you weren't doing it for him, humiliating you in a way that has you regretting every decision you'd made that led up to this. you hate that you want to please him, to be the object of his desire, but you quite literally have no choice but to do as he says. he's got you cornered, you'll admit it. even if you don't get anything out of it, you'll be equally as satisfied knowing leon used you as a visual for his own pleasure.
"leon, i— can we—" you try, nervously twiddling your fingers as you begin to feel a little embarrassed at his shamelessness. he's quick to shut you down, further breaking down your defenses as his deep, gravelly voice cuts through your small, shaky one.
"uh-uh, be quiet. come on, sweetheart," he murmurs, gentle and consistently patient despite your pushback. "let's see those tits," he commands casually, like he's simply asking you to do the most mundane task in the world. his thumb strokes your cheek, tender, doting— a stark contrast to how clipped his tone is with you. you know he's not asking, he's telling, almost daring you to defy him lest you drag this out any longer.
you gulp thickly, hands finally moving to raise your shirt up slowly, staring into his eyes that watch every movement of yours meticulously. he raises a brow when you pause, giving you a knowing glare that practically forces you to continue. with that, you finally pull your shirt up and over your chest, your tits bouncing softly when they're exposed from the thin material of your shirt.
leon's eyes immediately flicker down, his grip on your jaw loosening slightly while his hand closes around his cock tighter. he strokes your cheek softly, groaning deep in his throat when your nipples pebble from the cool air in the kitchen.
"fuck, that's better," he hums in approval, resuming his previous steady pace, his eyes drinking you in with something like wonder. "look at these tits..." he groans, eyes raking over your chest shamelessly as he tugs on his cock. his eyes flicker back up to your face, that same needy expression present on your features along with something that almost looks like... embarrassment? leon's cock twitches slightly in his grip, thumb working its way back to the corner of your mouth as he begins to stroke himself faster.
"my pretty thing," he sighs, voice warm despite the way he was so clearly talking down to you, "always did know how to make yourself useful when you want to," he hums, now steadily stroking his cock and twisting his wrist with every downstroke. his thumb returns to your mouth yet again, dipping inside and coaxing you to suck once more.
you oblige, humming around the digit as you swirl your tongue obscenely. leon groans deep in his chest, forcing his finger further into your mouth, making you gag slightly. he tsks lowly, pulling his thumb from your mouth once more. this time, leon’s gaze falls back to your chest where you’re still obediently holding your shirt up for him.
"fuck... just take it off, won't you, baby?" he asks sweetly, eyes fixated on your pretty tits that rise and fall with every short breath you take. you nod slowly, fingers trembling just a little as you tug the shirt the rest of the way up and off, letting it drop somewhere behind you on the kitchen floor.
the cool air kisses your top half, making your nipples tighten even more under his heavy gaze. leon’s eyes darken, pupils blown wide as he drinks in the sight of you bare from the waist up, kneeling obediently at his feet. your hands settle on the outside on your thighs, fingernails digging crescents into the soft skin as you stare up at him pleadingly.
"pretty fuckin' picture," he sucks in a breath at the sight, trailing his hand down to your left nipple that’s practically begging to be pinched. with the thumb that was previously in your mouth, he rubs small circles over your areola, the wetness of your own saliva coating the bud. you gasp sharply, the stimulation sending sparks straight to your core.
"god, sweetheart, if you could see yourself right now. shit, you're cute." he groans, continuing his ministrations on the sensitive flesh, smearing your spit across your nipple until the bud stiffens to a sharp peak beneath the wet pad of his finger. he tugs on the sensitive bud firmly, trapping it between his thumb and forefinger while pinching softly.
your back arches instinctively, pushing your chest closer to his hand like you can’t help it, and that only makes his cock twitch hard in his fist. you mewl, eyebrows threading together in pleasure from the electric feeling of his hands on your skin. you feel so pathetic under him, squirming from something as little as this.
you shift on your heels, the floor cold and unforgiving against your poor kneecaps, and the ghost of leon's thumb circling your nipple has you whimpering before you can stop yourself. your eyes flutter shut for a bit, trying to ground yourself despite how unforgiving he's toying with you right now. he tsks quietly, shaking his head in disappointment.
"eyes on me, baby," he commands softly. you open your eyes, your gaze settling back to his face. your lips part on a shaky exhale, and he coos at you softly when you obey him, finger still working your nipple slowly. suddenly, his thumb pinches your nipple harshly and you yelp, hips jerking forward involuntarily at the pleasurable, yet painful sensation.
"mmh-mh." he clicks his tongue, shaking his head at you in disapproval. "stay still for me." he finishes, soothing your bud with slow, languid strokes that only make the situation worse. you were nearly about to cry, you were so frustrated. you feel your slick soaking through your panties, the wet heat of it almost unbearable, and you'd give anything— literally, anything— to just touch him. you don't even care about your own pleasure anymore, all that was on your mind was leon and his cock. just as he had planned.
"leon, please—" you beg, eyes watering and bottom lip quivering slightly at his dismissal of your pleas. he tuts, stilling his movements for a brief second.
"what'd i say about you runnin' that mouth?" his hand abandons your breast to grip your chin again, tilting your face up at a sharper angle so you have no choice but to watch him. his other hand resumes its movements, slick sounds filling the quiet kitchen obscenely as you gaze up at him, eyes watery. "you just sit there and look pretty. that's all you gotta do. can you do that for me, sweetheart?" he asks, waiting for your pretty lips to form a response for him, if you even can. you feel so helpless, so small under him that all you can do is sigh in frustration.
you bite the inside of your cheek, hands clammy and panties uncomfortably wet, but you nod anyways despite the growing agitation in your veins. god only knows how long he'd drag this out if you dared to talk back to him now. he hums his approval, thumb stroking along your jaw like he's comforting a kicked puppy.
it feels as if you're just an object now—a little plaything for his pleasure, something whose sole purpose is to just get him off while you sit there and take it. despite your frustration, you couldn't deny how much it was turning you on, but you hate how much you're enjoying it— the way he shamelessly ogles you for his viewing pleasure, tilting your head as if he were inspecting a rare artifact. annoyed as you are, you almost feel like you were made for this. and perhaps that's exactly what leon wants you to feel right now.
leon's pace picks up a fraction, hand working his cock faster as he watches you struggle to stay still beneath him. stubborn as you are, leon's confident in you. he knows you'll do as he says, you've got no choice at this point. he chuckles lowly as you ogle his cock, almost looking dazed as he thumbs at the globs of precum glistening on his tip.
"yeah? you like watching me, baby? like seein' what your pretty mouth coulda earned if you knew how to fuckin' use it?" he says, his tone deceptively tender and sweet despite his harsh, teasing words that have your heart working overtime at how filthy he was being. a whine claws its way up your throat before you can stop it, and leon's mouth twitches into a satisfied smirk that has you cursing him out silently in your head.
"pretty little mess," he sighs, and the sigh is appreciative, almost reverent, like he's admiring his work—and technically, this was his doing. he's broken down all those layers of defiance and has reduced you to nothing but those tiny little whimpers and whines that show just how well he has you under his control. it's poetic, really— how easily he can strip away every ounce of resistance from you and leave you embarrassingly pathetic beneath him. he'd call this his favorite performance art.
"wanna know what i was thinking about all day?" he asks, conversational, like he's discussing something as simple as the weather, even as his voice has gotten a little ragged around the edges. his hand settles at the nape of your neck, fingers gingerly scratching against your scalp, a breathy exhale escaping you at his gentle touch. "sitting in that office, filing the same goddamn report for the third time 'cause sherry kept kicking it back, and you know what i kept thinkin' about?" he grits out, voice strained while he works his cock faster, the wet sound of it making your mouth water shamefully.
you shake your head, eyes wide and curious as you maintain heavy eye contact with him. you shift slightly, biting your lip at how fast he’s stroking himself now.
"i kept thinking about how badly you need somethin' to shut you up." his voice drops to almost a whisper, lips parting as a soft groan interrupts him. "kept thinking about coming home and finding some reason to get you down on your fuckin' knees for me," he admits shamelessly, and you can just feel how hot your cheeks are. it’s embarrassing to think about, knowing that his thoughts about you aren’t the sweet, lovey-dovey ones—but instead they’re filthy, almost degrading—and your stomach swirls uncomfortably at the realization.
"mm, but you, sweet thing?" he says condescendingly, a breathy laugh escaping him. "you handed it right to me on a goddamn silver platter." he goads, and ironic as it is, after literally preparing his dinner and handing him a plate, that wasn’t the first or last thing you handed to him. your dignity was the second tonight.
he pushes his hips forward slightly, just enough that the tip of his cock is nearly grazing your cheek, the heat of him radiating against your skin. you can feel the wetness leaking from him, almost but not quite smearing against the corner of your mouth, and your tongue darts out instinctively to chase it.
leon catches the movement and tsks, pulling his hips back just out of reach. your whine is immediate, pathetic, your hands fisting at your sides where they're balled against your thighs. "uh-uh." he shakes his head, the corners of his lips curling up in a cruel smirk. "you didn't earn that, baby." he chides, massaging your scalp with soft little scratches that have your thoughts all muddled and conflicted. he's driving you insane, and yet you still find yourself seeking his validation, yearning for his approval. the mind-numbingly addictive mix of him doting on you while degrading you in the same sentence is enough to drive you up a fucking wall.
"please—" the word rips out of you before you can stop it, hoarse and wrecked and humiliating in how needy it sounds. "leon, please, i—i'll be good, i swear—" you plead, tears welling in your eyes from his cruelty. leon's stare is intense, overbearing as he ogles your pathetic form beneath him.
his hand tightens in your hair at your mindless begging, tugging at the strands harshly and forcing a soft whimper from you. that gets a reaction—his jaw clenches, his fist falters around himself for the briefest second, and his cock visibly twitches in his grip, leaking another fat pearl that rolls slow down the underside.
"oh, now you want to be good," his voice is wrecked, lower, gravelly, the calm fraying at the seams. he's close, each tug on his cock pushing him further towards the edge and slowly breaking away at his composure. "now that i've got my cock out and you're crying on my kitchen floor. now you want to be good for me?" he asks, brows raised as if he was offended you even dared to beg him for forgiveness.
you nod frantically, tears finally spilling over and rolling hot down your cheeks. "i'll be good, leon, i—i'll be so good, please, please just—" you beg, eyes glossy and voice raspy from how tight your throat feels. you're crying, actually crying from how frustrated you are, biting your lip painfully hard to stop any more tears from escaping.
"shhh," he shushes, cooing at you softly as he takes in the look of desperation on your face. his thumb catches one of the tears, wiping away the salty stream and smearing it over your cheekbone, almost as if he was marking you. "i know, baby. i know you will. you always do, once we get to this part." his fist resumes its pace, his wrist working faster and in tight little twists at the head that have his breath catching audibly.
his stomach muscles tense where you can see the sliver of skin through the bottom of his shirt, the dark trail of hair leading down from his abdomen slick with sweat. his thighs flex, the veins corded along the beefy flesh bulging beneath the bunched fabric of his pants where they've fallen mid-thigh. he's right on the edge, his breaths coming out sharp and groans growing more frequent with each passing second.
"open." he commands, voice ragged. "mouth open, tongue out. and don't you fuckin' move." leon’s hand moves faster along his slick cock, the wet, filthy sound of it filling the kitchen. his other hand stays buried in your hair, holding you perfectly still exactly where he wants you.
you obey instantly, jaw dropping wide, tongue lolling out enthusiastically. a fresh wave of humiliation washes over you at how eager you must look, at how shamelessly you're offering yourself up, but the moment your tongue is out his groan is guttural, deep in his chest, and you feel your aching cunt clench at the heavenly sound. any humiliation you felt was quickly replaced with determination, the need to please, and ultimately, the desire to taste his cum on your tongue.
"fuck. fuckin' look at you." his eyes are locked on your open mouth, his fist a blur with how fast he's stroking himself now, the wet sound of it filthy in the quiet kitchen. "mm-hm, knew you needed to be used like this. knew it the second you opened that fuckin’ mouth. should've done this ages ago." he spits, hand tugging at your hair slightly, angling your head back so that he's got the perfect angle when he shoots his load all over your pretty face.
he steps closer, the tip of his cock now hovering just above your tongue, close enough that you can literally almost taste him if you moved forward even an inch. your jaw aches from holding it open, drool pooling at the corners of your lips, but you don't dare close it, forcing yourself to keep your mouth open and ready for his load.
"fuck, gonna give you somethin'—shit—real nice, baby," he pants, hand fisting tight at the crown of your skull. "fuck, baby—gonna paint that pretty fuckin' face. you want that? want my cum all over you?" he asks, hips bucking into his hand with each fast, slick stroke.
a desperate, garbled sound leaves your open mouth, as close as you can get it to a 'yes' without closing your mouth. tears are streaming freely down your cheeks now, your nipples are aching, your cunt is throbbing, and you have never, ever, wanted anything as badly as you want leon to cum on your face right now.
leon's hips stutter, a sharp, ragged groan punching out of him. "yeah— fuck, yeah… that's it, mm-hm, just like that—stick that fuckin' tongue out for me—" his fist works frantically now, the head of his cock a deep, angry red, his balls drawing up tight. you watch his abs clench, watch the veins in his neck strain, watch his eyes go almost black with lust as he stares down at you with the kind of hunger that makes you feel utterly devoured.
"shit— shit, baby, fuck,—" he moans, head lolling back as the first few knots in his lower abdomen begin to uncoil.
he comes with a low, broken groan that he doesn't even try to muffle, and the first thick rope of it landing hot across your cheek and the bridge of your nose. you flinch instinctively but his hand in your hair holds you steady, his hips jerking, his fist milking himself through it as the second spurt paints your lips and tongue, the third striping down your chin and dripping warm onto your collarbone.
his cock pulses in his fist, his cum thick, heavy, and hot as it drips down your face, painting you in stripes that he watches with hooded, hungry eyes. some of it catches on your eyelashes, some pools in the crevice of your collarbone, and the rest drips slowly down the swell of your breasts—his cum glistening on your skin like a signature across his newly finished masterpiece.
"fuck. fuck, look at that. look at you," he breathes, his voice almost reverent now, nearly broken from the intensity of his orgasm. his fist slows, milking the last few drops out onto your tongue, and you instinctively close your lips around the head when he presses it against your lips, suckling soft and obedient just like he taught you to.
he hisses through his teeth, hips twitching at the oversensitivity, but he lets you. lets you suck him clean, your tongue gently lapping at the slit until there's nothing left, until he's finally softening against your tongue. when he finally pulls free, the head of his cock leaves a wet, glistening smear across your bottom lip. his thumb is there immediately, dragging through the mess on your chin, gathering it up, and pressing it back between your lips for you to take.
"swallow it. all of it. don't you waste a fuckin' drop, sweetheart." he commands, forcing his finger into your mouth, humming in satisfaction when you eagerly take the cum-covered digit. you swallow around his thumb, eyes locked on his and tears drying on your cheeks. you feel his cum drying on your chest, feel it sticky on your face, and you have never felt more claimed than you do right now.
leon's chest is heaving, his hair stuck damp to his forehead, jaw slack, eyes blown wide, and soft, satisfied hums leave his as lips as he watches you swallow his load. god, it's something you want to commit to your memory for the rest of your life.
"good fuckin' girl," he praises, his breathing steadying out as he finally catches his breath from his orgasm. his thumb drags out of your mouth, slides through the cum on your cheek, and presses it back between your lips one more time just to watch you suck it clean. "my fucking girl. there she is." he says, affectionate, and you hum appreciatively around the digit, something warm swelling in your chest from how sweetly he was praising you.
his hand smooths down from your hair to cup your cheek, and his eyes finally soften, thumb stroking soft little circles into the skin despite the now dried cum that rests there like a brand. "you with me, baby?" he murmurs, thumb stroking through the mess on your cheek almost tenderly. "you okay?" he asks sincerely, eyes searching yours for any form of discomfort that could've been present.
you nod, dazed, blinking up at him through wet lashes. your voice, albeit tiny and ragged, finally manages a small, "i'm okay," and leon exhales in relief, his hand reaching up to stroke your hair tenderly.
"yeah?" the smile he gives you is fond, caring, the kind that makes your heart swell with adoration. you nod in response, leaning into his touch instinctively. "yeah, you did so good for me. so good, baby," he leans down, presses a soft kiss to your forehead despite the mess, lingering there for a moment. "let's get you cleaned up, sweet girl. c'mon."
he straightens up, tucks himself back into his boxers and lazily zips his pants up as he turns to the sink. you sit there, eyes red and puffy as you stare into nowhere for a bit, hands folded in your lap as you replay the scene in your head. you hear water running, the soft tear of a paper towel, and a moment later he's crouching back down in front of you, the warm, damp towel in his hand.
he cleans your face with slow, careful strokes. the cum on your cheek, the streak across your nose, the sticky mess on your chin, lips, and collarbone. he's so gentle now, so patient, the same hands that pulled your hair roughly when you wouldn't listen, now delicately smoothing the cloth across your skin like you're something precious.
you stare at him in awe as he continues, mouth gaped open dumbly as you absentmindedly palm your poor knees. he pulls back when he's finished, scanning your form meticulously as if he were searching for any injuries. "knees hurt, baby?" he asks when he sees you soothing them, hand blanketing yours as he strokes the skin softly.
you nod, eyes glossy as you meet his gaze, his stare softening as he reflects on his rough handling in the beginning. he grasps your hand, pressing a firm, sweet kiss to the skin apologetically.
"c'mere." he tosses the cloth into the trash, then bends and scoops you up under your knees and back in one easy motion, lifting you off the floor like you weigh nothing. your arms loop around his neck instinctively, face tucking into the warm crook between his jaw and shoulder, and you feel him exhale into your hair.
"let me make it up to you baby," he says, voice deep and sultry against your temple, and your heart pounds at the suggestion. finally, he's going to give you something, you think. you felt like you could've exploded down there on your knees, at his mercy and with no ground to stand on. "you still owe me for that mouth, though, baby. i haven't forgotten that easily." he muses, turning to press a firm kiss to your forehead as he walks in the direction of the stairs.
he carries you toward the stairs, the soft pad of his feet on the hardwood the only sound now besides your soft breaths against his neck. the light from the kitchen spills into the hallway, casting dark shadows up the stairwell, and his arms tighten around you as he guides you both to the bedroom.
nier’s note 🗒️: mean!leon back by popular demand! took some inspo from the lyrics of 15 minutes by sabrina carpenter w/this, i love her sm. i fucking nutted writing this holy shit, like this might be my favorite fic ive written. made him vv condescending this time + a little meaner than needed but its definitelyyy what i needed...! making this a two-parter for those who are curiousss, wanted to get this first part out because im impulsive and excited... enjoy!! final pt coming soon xx
You’d been with the 141 long enough that the team felt like home—Price’s cigars, Soap’s endless jokes, Gaz’s easy laugh, and Ghost… well, Ghost was Ghost. Silent, broad-shouldered, always layered in black long sleeves and that damn mask. You’d never seen an inch of skin. Not once.
Well, until today.
You’d caught him in the gym, sleeves pushed up while he wiped down equipment. And oh God—Ink. A full sleeve on his left arm—dark, intricate, covered from wrist to bicep—maybe even higher— in sharp lines and shadows. Skulls, barbed wire, something that looked like a grim reaper. It suited him perfectly, and the sight hit you low in the gut.
You couldn’t stop staring. When he noticed, he tilted his head, that masked stare pinning you.
“Something wrong, love?”
You swallowed. “Your arm. I didn’t know you had any tattoos. They’re… really fucking cool.”
Ghost paused. “You want a closer look?” His voice dropped, low and rough, a warning but.. you didn’t catch it. “Might not be able to unsee it.”
You nodded without hesitation. “Yeah. I want to see.”
You not catching that warning was more blessing than curse— now you’re in his quarters, door locked, the only light a sad lamp casting shadows across the room. Your back is pressed to his chest, legs spread over his thighs as he fucks up into you from behind—slow, deep, relentless. The thick, tattooed arm hooked around you, and he’s got three fingers shoved deep in your mouth, stretching your lips, pressing down on your tongue, keeping you quiet.
You can see every inch of the ink.
The sleeve is even more detailed up close—black and gray, textured, the designs shifting with every flex of his forearm as he works his fingers in and out of your mouth in time with his cock. Saliva slicks his fingers, dripping down your chin, but you don’t care. You moan around them, eyes locked on the tattoos, on the way his muscles move, on how hot the contrast is between the deadly ink and the way he’s using that hand to keep you quiet and full.
“Fuckin’ asked if you were sure..” he growls against your ear, accent thick, breath hot through the mask he won’t remove. “Now look at you. Mouth stuffed with my fingers, cunt clenching every time you see somethin’ new. Dirty girl.”
He thrusts harder, hips snapping up, the wet sounds were obscene. His tattooed arm stays exactly where you can see it—fingers hooked in your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip as he makes you take them deeper. You gag softly and he chuckles, low and dark, never slowing.
“That’s it. Keep your eyes on it while I ruin you.”
Your hands grip his forearm, fingers tracing the lines of the tattoos as your orgasm builds fast and sharp. Ghost doesn’t let up—he fucks you through it, fingers muffling your cries, the full sleeve on display just for you like he promised.
When he finally pulls his fingers free, strings of spit connecting them to your lips, he drags the wet digits down your throat, over your chest, and presses the tattooed palm flat against your stomach so you can feel every inch of him still buried inside.
“Next time..” he murmurs, voice wrecked, “you’ll trace every line while I’m balls deep. Yeah?”
୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧
A/N: ….I’ve been going feral since the sleeve reveal guys..
this came to me when i was watching the newest euphoria episode and realized how hot one of the bouncers at rue's club was lol
wc: 1,528 | art credits: tevenmei on pinterest | ship: choso x reader
cw: smut, fluff, substance abuse, harassment, reader is a sw/stripper
bouncer!choso, who's been working at the sketchy strip club in the middle of the big city for as long as he can remember... he's seen countless dancers come and go over the years, come to know the faces of the regular customers and the big tippers, and is both trusted and well equipped to handle the most rowdy of clientele. he's big, he's built, and he has that quiet, 'takes no shit' broodiness about him that leaves people afraid to cross him- which is exactly why he's survived so long working in this rough scene...
bouncer!choso, who never grows tired of the neon lights and the pounding music, because they distract him during the quieter nights, especially when there's no bar fights to break up or stiffers to kick out... that is, until the first night that you step onto that stage- a fresh, unfamilar face that still manages to captivate an entire audience- and he realizes what it actually means to be distracted.
bouncer!choso, who can't tear his eyes away from you as you twirl around the pole mounted on the centre stage, mesmerized by the way that the light catches your smooth skin that he can only imagine feels unbelievably soft, captivated by your eyes fluttering below your lashes, focused on the audience and yet, simultaneously spacing out as you twirl around the pole in the skimpiest outfit (if you can even call an expensive looking bra top, a fancy thong, and a pair of pleasers an outfit...)
bouncer!choso, who feels his cheeks burning and his pants growing tighter by the second as you dance on stage to some slow, sensual song with a bass line that vibrates through his chest. he stands at the back door with his large arms folded over his chest, looking huge and terrifying- but when your half-lidded eyes survey the crowd in a quick sweep and find his, he feels his heart physically flutter beneath his ribcage. he wonders if you can tell that he's fighting for his life right now, because, by some cruel twist of fate... you hold the eye contact through the remainder of your set.
bouncer!choso, who's spent every night since your debut waiting for your set, barely paying attention to what's going on around him as he counts down the minutes until you're on... and winds up getting in major shit with his boss when a stiffer manages to run out of the club on his watch. but he can't be blamed- he's just been too busy staring at you as your thighs cling around the tall, silver pole, your head tipping backward and your spine arching deliciously, hands running up your torso so slowly that it becomes hard for choso not to imagine that it's his hands running up and down your body...
bouncer!choso, who can't seem to stop himself from straying from his position each night when your set finishes... and instead of keeping his post by one of the doors, he finds himself standing watch outside of the girls' locker room, ears tuned in your direction, his stomach flipping with butterflies anytime he catches the end of your laughter with one of the other girls or the sound of you facetiming your roommate after your dance to discuss how much money you've managed to procure.
bouncer!choso, who wants to vomit the first time you start doing private dances... not because the idea of you doing that makes him sick, but because the idea of you not doing that to him makes him feel as if he's a man starved, deprived of the most basic essentials to maintaining life. every time he watches you disappear behind the beaded curtains into the lowly lit private rooms is torture... you, kneeling down to bring a rolled-up dollar bill toward the white lines cut across the table with some guy staring at you with nothing more than hunger.
bouncer!choso, who manages to catch you after a private, on your way back to the locker room, taking immediate note of your tear-pricked eyes and puffy lips... and he knows exactly why you look this way. his heart doubles in pace when he realizes that there's small, quiet sniffles coming from your lips, and when he asks you if you're okay and you hesitate on your answer, he's seeing red and is expeditiously kicking the guy who make you cry out of the club... snapping his license in two on his way out (just for good measure).
bouncer!choso, who takes pride in his ability to protect you. you don't ask him to, but after that first kick-out, he's a man on a mission. someone staring too hard during your dances without throwing a single dollar? gone. someone getting a little too handsy during a private, causing you to flinch or bite your lip in discomfort? banned. and if anyone dares to speak down to you, even when you're too coked out to realize? choso's dragging them out by the collar whilst repeating every kind thing you deserve to hear about yourself in his mind.
bouncer!choso, who feels himself about to cum in his pants the night you finally notice everything he's been doing, and in turn, begin to flirt with him... because how can't you? this guy is huge, handsome, and he seems to care about you, even if you've barely spoken to one another. so when your fingertips graze his bicep and you stand in front of him in practically nothing, staring up at him with those fluttering doe eyes? he's weak in the knees, stumbling over his words, completely butchering any tough guy show he's been putting on.
bouncer!choso, who can't help himself when you finally lead him to a private room after the club closes and the patrons leave. the other girls are gone, and you've been taking suspiciously long to count your bills before you call it a night... so when choso comes to check on you in the dressing room and you beckon him toward those same beaded curtains with the curl of a finger, even if he knows he shouldn't do it, he follows.
bouncer!choso, who has to bite down on his lower lip to keep himself from moaning aloud when you push him down into the patron chair and begin giving him a lap dance- slow, sensual, each grind of your hips leaving him squirming. his hands are hungry, more than content to finally feel how soft your skin truly is as they roam your half-naked body... but you can't help but notice how different his touch feels to every other half-drunk, sweaty man who throws bills at you in exchange for blowjobs and lap dances- his is special.
bouncer!choso, who, despite seeming quiet and, honestly, kind of shy- turns into an entirely different man when he's inside of you. even if you're on top, riding him on that filthy fucking chair, he's praising you in ways that feel better than any coke high or jackpot night whilst his hands stay on your waist, helping to lift you up and down as he thrusts up into you, meeting you halfway. "you like ridin' me like that, don't you, pretty girl?" "aw, you gettin' tired, baby? i know you got more than that in you." "takin' this dick so well, ma. like it was made just for you."
bouncer!choso, who has a jealous streak that seems to truly come out when he has you bent over the table that you're normally sniffing coke off of- praising you with sweet words laced with a possessive undertone as he drills into you relentlessly, drawing whines and moans of pleasure from your lips. "look at that perfect fuckin' ass, baby. bounce that shit back, ma." "where you runnin', huh? you got it, angel. i know you can take it f'me." "bet none of those guys have you creamin' all over their fuckin' dicks, do they, pretty girl? mhm... that's what i thought, baby."
bouncer!choso, who, despite being rough in the best way, gives you proper aftercare. he wipes your tears, kisses your aching skin, cleans you up with movements so soft that you wonder if this is the same guy who just had you hiccuping out your words and clawing at his skin from the sheer amount of pleasure. he waits with you as you change and collect your things, and walks you to your car when you finally decide to head home.
bouncer!choso, who's watchful gaze is much more noticeable each night after he fucked you silly in the private room. he watches you like you're the most sought-after piece of art in the world- and every time you grind your hips back against the metal pole or arch your back during your floor work, your eyes find his- meeting his gaze and holding it through the remainder of your set... because you both know that once the patrons are gone, the lights are dimmed, and the music fades out, he'll be right back inside of you, making you feel better than any high or amount of money ever could.
here's to hoping that neither of you quits your job.
if you read, thank you! if you don't think my writing stinks, i currently have a longer form plug!choso fic out on wattpad called 'million dollar man' by aftercares <3 -levisvixen
toji fushiguro has your body naked in front of the mirror and his warm hands groping your hips. he lets his pinky slide up your puffy, wet slit—just a graze, just over your clit—and he doesn’t let your eyes leave the mirror as he draws back his pinky dripping with your slick.
“go on, princess,” he rasps into your neck. “m’listening.”
but he’s not just listening. your boyfriend is still in his boxers—unfair, really, because you’re clad in nothing & the room is too warm & your thighs are trembling from both the heat and the pressure. he wraps himself around you and slides his hands up to your tits. he gropes your breast once and lets his hands fall away.
your mouth dries. “i can’t.”
but your hips are bucking into him. rolling against his clothed cockhead as your pussy drools from the anticipation. toji laughs, chest warm against your back as he pinches your clit, forcing your hips to stutter & a whine to leave your lips. “y’got a pretty mouth, dollface. wanna hear you use it.”
in the mirror your thighs are still aching, chest heaving, and toji fushiguro has slipped his cock out of his shorts. you’re not sure you heard his waistband snap but his cock is there, flushed and swollen and dripping with precum.
"you see that ?" he murmurs, breath hot against your neck as he pumps himself in his fist all heavy & slow. "see what you do to me, sweetheart? standing there all pretty and wet?”
he lets the soaked head tap against your ass—once, twice—before dragging it lower between your thighs, letting it slip through your slick folds without pushing inside. your pussy flutters at the teasing, & toji watches your chest heave in the mirror through bleary eyes.
"you want this?" he murmurs, cockhead nudging your throbbing folds from behind. "want my cock in this pussy, baby?” he lets his precum smear over the folds. “start talking.”
you swallow, eyes glazed with lust and hips stuttering as you force the courage to speak. “i…i have nice tits.”
“breasts,” toji growls into your neck. “breasts, dollface. say it properly.”
your thighs squeeze. your eyes are teary when you look in the mirror, face flushed, tits heaving. "i have nice breasts."
"mmh," toji slides a palm up your side. he lets his thumb brush against your aching nipple, before twisting and stretching the pebbled peak between his fingers. you arch into him on instinct. "so nice, dollface. and what else? look at this pussy in the mirror, baby. tell me all about it."
his thumb presses into your clit. but then he slides it away.
you moan, loud, slick dripping down your thighs. toji’s cock twitches against your ass, but clearly he’s got the self control of a god.
your lashes are tear rimmed. “i have—i have a pretty pussy!”
“so pretty,” he murmurs, tugging your clit before pressing his thumb against it, rubbing slow circles over the bud. “prettiest pussy i’ve ever fucking seen. so wet and noisy for me. tell me more, sweetheart.”
“my pussy is so tight,” you rasp, breathless and hips twitching as toji rubs his thumb against the sensitive bud. “hnngh—so tight and wet for you, toji.”
"yeah?" he murmurs against your ear. his cock nudges your slick folds, pulsing and throbbing at the entrance. "love this fucking pussy, you know that?"
you can only whimper in response.
"love how puffy it is," he continues, dragging his swollen cockhead up your slit, only to drag it down again. "love how it tries to swallow me. see that, baby? see how it slobbers all over my cock?” he pushes his swollen head in as your cunt flutters around him. “fucking perfect.”
“toji—“ you gasp, “please—“
“please what?” he growls, pushing his hips into you. his thick cock swells between your folds, pulsing and stretching your puffy cunt. “want me to play with this pussy, baby? fuck you so hard your tits bounce in the mirror?”
“mhm—“
“words, sweetheart.”
“want you to fuck me,” you gasp out, hips bucking back to chase his cockhead and push him deeper into your folds. “want you to play with my pussy and fuck me till i’m dripping—“
“fuck,” toji groans, slamming into you, hard. “thaaaat’s my fucking girl. see how easy it is to please me?”
warnings ~ 18+ !!! MDNI! pwp, brat tamer higuruma, brat reader, implied age gap, office romance, power imbalance, oral se (m. rec), face fucking, deepthroat, piv, unprotected sex, power play, dom/sub, dom higuruma, lowkey degradation, praise kink, brat taming, hair pulling, rough sex, spit kink, choking, bbbbbbackshots, office sex
a/n ~ this request has been sitting in my drafts heeheh. need dada.
in most workplaces, there are rules. rules like, don’t touch confidential files. don’t sit on confidential files.
don’t sit on confidential files while making eye contact with your boss and smiling.
you were not 'most workplaces', and you were definitely not most employees. higuruma learned that early.
unfortunately, he also learned something worse. you were consistent.
case one (of many). or: the incident with the quarterly reports.
his office smells like coffee and printer ink and the faint expensive scent of his cologne lingering in the air conditioning. inside is chaos. specifically you.
you’re sitting directly on top of a stack of confidential paperwork despite the fact higuruma had very clearly told you not to touch anything on his desk. pencil skirt riding up your thighs, glossy lips wrapped around pink gum, one heel dangling lazily from your foot as his ergonomic desk chair creaks beneath your spinning.
“you finished the reports?” he asks without looking up from his laptop.
“mhm.”
a lie. he knows it’s a lie because the reports are currently underneath your ass. the gum snaps loudly between your teeth. higuruma finally lifts his eyes.
you swear something microscopic twitches in his jaw. “move.”
“make me.”
when your words are followed by silence, you only grin wider. higuruma closes his laptop with precise care. “you know,” he says calmly, “most employees try to remain employed.”
“most employees are boring.”
“you submitted a file yesterday named ‘finalfinalFINAL - all caps - 2.’”
“yeah, cause it was my final draft. final 2.”
his stare could cut glass. you blow another bubble, it pops. his eyes flicker briefly to your mouth.
interesting.
very interesting.
“you’re impossible,” he says.
“and yet,” you hum, leaning back against his desk like you own the place, “you keep letting me into your office. you could just fire me, you know.”
higuruma stares into your eyes for a long moment before flicking his attention to some scattered papers across his desk. he pushes his laptop to the side and starts to read over them.
you smile.
case two (of many). or: the elevator incident.
“you did that on purpose.”
the elevator hums softly as it crawls between floors, with just you and higuruma inside after an eleven-hour shift neither of you wanted. you lean lazily against the mirrored wall. “did what?”
“that.”
“what is ‘that’ exactly?”
his gaze drops to your blouse. specifically to the top two buttons you left undone after claiming the office was “too hot to think properly.” you’d bent over his desk twenty minutes later asking for a stapler you definitely did not need.
higuruma presses two fingers briefly against his temple like he’s warding off a migraine. “you’re aware HR policies exist, correct?”
“are you gonna arrest me, counselor?”
“you’re not funny.”
“you looked though.”
his expression hardens instantly. moments later the elevator dings, but…doesn’t open. it’s stalled. for one long second, neither of you move, then you laugh.
“oh my god,” you say delightedly. “this is literally every terrible fanfiction setup ever.”
higuruma exhales sharply through his nose. “you read fanfiction?”
“you don’t?”
“no.”
“liar.”
“i assure you, i have better things to do.”
“mhm.” you step closer just enough to watch his shoulders tense. “so,” you murmur sweetly, “which part upset you more? the fanfiction comment or the fact you looked?”
his eyes lower to yours slowly. “why do you enjoy provoking people?”
“i only like provoking the pretty ones.”
the elevator jolts back to life, doors opening immediately. higuruma walks out first, but not before adjusting his tie with a sharp pull, expression irritated.
case three (the final straw). or: the night everything finally snaps.
it’s past midnight. the office is quiet. just you, fluorescent lights, and higuruma sitting behind his desk trying very hardly not to look at the problem he already knows is there.
you, of course, are the problem.
spinning around in your chair, glancing at the empty excel spreadsheet open on your laptop every few minutes. mostly looking over at your boss and smiling.
“you’re not working,” he says.
“i am working.”
“you’re spinning in an office chair and humming to yourself.”
you blink innocently. “multitasking.”
higuruma pushes his papers to the side. “stand up,” he says.
you tilt your head. “or what?”
that does it, like something in him finally decides it’s done negotiating. he stands, chair rolling back slightly behind him. the room suddenly feels smaller as if the air itself is watching.
“you’ve been doing this for weeks,” he says quietly.
“doing what?”
“testing limits. ignoring instructions. turning my office into your personal playground.”
you smile wider, but it’s starting to wobble at the edges now. “and yet you let me.”
his eyes lock onto yours. “yes,” he says. “i did.”
he says it with patience that you’re realizing has been running out. he steps closer and you don’t move back fast enough. hand catches your wrist mid-motion, not harsh, just final, pulling you up in one controlled tug. your feet hit the ground and you’re right in front of him, too close.
your breath catches, but you try to recover it with attitude anyway. “okay, wow. boss finally grows a spine—”
he kisses you.
it cuts your sentence clean in half, stealing it mid-breath, mid-thought, mid-defense. his hand slides from your wrist to your waist, anchoring you there.
your eyes flutter shut and when you start kissing him, too, he pulls back just enough to speak. “still funny?” he asks quietly.
your lips part. nothing comes out. his hand’s still cupping your jaw when you make the mistake of rolling your eyes.
“still testing me?” he asks softly.
you force a shrug even though your pulse is fluttering wildly. “maybe you’re easy to rile up after all.”
a lie. you know he’s not.
his gaze holds yours for a long moment before he turns you around. the movement is smooth, effortless, and suddenly your palms are against the desk, his chest warm behind you.
your stomach drops.
“higuruma—”
“you should learn,” he says calmly, “when to stop being difficult.”
you can hear the faint rustle of his sleeves as he adjusts his grip on your waist. then a sharp smack lands across your ass.
you gasp. not even from pain, from shock, heat blooming instantly beneath your skin.
“there,” he says quietly behind you. “now you’re listening.”
your fingers curl against the desk edge. “you’re such an asshole.”
another smack, firmer this time, the sound echoing embarrassingly loud through the empty office. “and you,” he replies evenly, “have spent the last month provoking your boss like you wanted consequences.”
you hate how your thighs press together automatically. you hate it even more when he notices, because a how hum leaves him. thoughtful, almost pleased.
“see?” he murmurs near your ear. “pretty little brat.”
you turn your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder, but it lacks all bite now. your expression is flushed, breathing uneven. ruined already.
higuruma’s hand slides over the sore warmth he’s created, slow and possessive. “that attitude disappears quickly when you’re handled properly.”
another slap. you jerk forward with a sharp inhale. “count,” he says.
your pride flares instantly. “no.”
his fingers tighten at your hip before another smack lands, harder again. you bite back a sound. “count.”
“…three,” you mutter bitterly.
he chuckles softly. “wrong. that was four.”
your face burns. god, you wanted to wipe that calm look off his face. instead you whisper, “i hate you.”
“no, you don’t.”
another slap, though not as hard this time. almost teasing.
“five.”
his hand soothes over the sting afterward, and the contrast makes your head spin. “you know what your problem is?” he asks quietly.
you refuse to answer.
“you want someone to take control,” he continues, voice smooth as velvet, “but you insist on fighting every step of the way.”
his palm rubs gently over the aching heat again. “and the second someone finally puts you in your place…” he leans down close enough that his lips nearly brush your ear. “…you melt.”
your breath shakes.
humiliatingly softly, he says, “good girl.”
your entire body goes still. higuruma notices that too, of course. a quiet laugh leaves him as his hand rests against your hip possessively. “there it is,” he murmurs. “that’s what finally gets you obedient.”
“shut up,” you grumble, but you barely get the words out before his palm lands sharp against your ass again. your forehead drops to the desk and you bite your lower lip, eyes squeezing shut. it’s embarrassing, that you’re aroused from this, but…
“got nothing to say now?” higuruma says, voice low, a rasp against your ear. “thought your smart mouth would run all night long.”
“i got plenty of uses for my smart mouth, sir,” you bite, smirking now, and it deepens when you feel higuruma’s hands tighten at your waist before he turns you around, looking down at you with an unreadable expression.
unreadable except for the faint tensing of his jaw, the way his pupils dilate just a fraction. “what’re you implying?”
“you know what i’m implying,” you respond just as quickly, gaze darting between his eyes and flickering down to his lips.
higuruma goes still. his hand is on your waist, still holding, and your words hang between you both.
“you know what i’m implying,” you say again, softer this time, but no less dangerous. his gaze flicks to your mouth, then back to your eyes. something in his jaw tightens again.
“say it properly,” he says.
your breath catches slightly. “or what?” you challenge, but it doesn’t land the same anymore. your voice wavers slightly at the edges.
higuruma leans in just slightly. “that mouth of yours,” he says quietly, “has been the problem all night.”
your pulse is loud in your ears. “i’m just being honest,” you murmur, though it comes out less confident than before.
his hand shifts at your waist, firm and controlled. “honest,” he repeats, like he’s tasting the word for patience. “show me, then.”
you pause, biting back a smirk. “what’re you implying?”
“you know what i’m implying,” higuruma responds. when you gently move your hands to his belt, he says nothing.
when you drop to your knees, a low sound gets caught in his throat, and he tilts his head up to the ceiling while you work at pulling his slacks down. “is this what you meant?” you whisper, looking up at him through your lashes once you get his pants down his legs, his erection evident and straining against the grey fabric of his boxers.
“yes, it’s what i meant,” higuruma hisses, voice tinged with irritation as you languidly drag a finger across his bulge. slowly, you pull his briefs down, his cock springing free an inch from your excited face, the tip already oozing precum.
the head’s a pretty blush pink, curved up just a notch, the rest of him flushed and hard and craving your attention. you run your finger up the base, punctuating its path with a tap across the slit. higuruma shudders when you lean down, kitten licking all of the precum you can get, holding back a giggle as one of his hands drops to your hair and tightens its grip there.
“get on with it, then,” he mumbles, pushing his hips forward just slightly, and your sly smile deepens. this, naturally, only inclines you further to tease him, your touches feather light and fleeting along his shaft, tongue still tracing little circles along his slit.
“what’s that?” you lilt, voice saccharine sweet, and higuruma scoffs, cheeks pinking when you gently suckle his tip.
“suck my cock properly,” he says, fingers tightening in your hair as he pushes his hips forward slightly, cock gently slapping your cheek.
“i am.” you twist your hand up and up, slowly, tilting your head to the side, fluttering your lashes so innocently up to your boss. “ ‘s not good enough?”
“suck my cock properly,” he says through gritted teeth, “and i’ll consider rewarding you.”
you perk up immediately, the twinkle in your eyes betraying your attempt at casual ease. “reward?”
“if you behave.” higuruma strokes your hair softly, tilting your chin up ever-so-slightly, and his thumb brushes over your bottom lip absentmindedly, parting them. when you open your mouth, he spits - his saliva mixing with yours before you bring his cock back to your lips.
“what’s the reward?” you ask, sticking your tongue out and licking a long stripe up the base, relishing in how higuruma shudders again, jaw twitching.
“i get to cum down your pretty little throat, and you get to swallow it all.” he delivers the line bluntly, as if he were speaking to a client and not his paralegal on her knees for him. the dullness of his tone sends a delightful little thrill down your spine, and as determined as ever, you bring his cock into your mouth - properly - bobbing your head halfway down the shaft until he’s jutting up against the back of your throat. your eyes water as drool dribbles from the corners of your mouth, coating his length as you take him deeper, deeper still, tongue tracing over the pulsing veins.
higuruma grunts, the sound spurring you on, and he starts to guide your head further down his cock, clearly holding on to every figment of self-restraint he’s got left in his body. when he starts to rock his hips with more of a pace, you pull your lips off, resorting back to teasing kitten licks.
“darling,” he says, voice dark. “don’t–”
“i’m being so good, sir,” you say, smiling - a smile that quickly fades off your face when higuruma tugs your hair, pushing you back onto his cock with a sharp grunt.
“properly,” he repeats, strained when you start to suck with more enthusiasm, twisting your hand along the part you can’t reach.or rather, the part you can’t reach yet - higuruma seemed set on having you swallow his whole cock down your throat, until your air was cut off. and that he did, guiding you down and down his length until your nose is hitting the trimmed hair at his base. until you’re gagging, nails digging into his legs, into his chest, and he’s making low, wrecked sounds, thrusting with abandon.
he moans.
a rumble that tears through his throat, brows pinched as he holds your head firmly against him, your nose brushing his stomach. you choke as he cums, hot spurts shooting down your throat in steady pumps until your tongue’s working his slit, lapping up all of his release that you can.
“open,” he says quietly when you pull your lips off him, and you open your mouth to present him with no traces of his cum.
higuruma smirks, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip as he pulls you up off your knees, stroking your cheek reverently. “good girl,” he mutters, dragging his hand down your blouse, prompting you to undo the buttons with haste. he watches you with dark eyes, loosening his own tie further as you finally get to shrug your top open. you shrink under his gaze - hungry as he looks you over. looks you over in that pretty pink satin bra you’re wearing, and how it catches the low light of the office.
“beautiful,” he whispers, lowering his mouth to yours and kissing you deeply, his tongue pushing into your mouth, his hands busy at your waist, kneading all the flesh there. he hums into the kiss, pulling you closer, and your hands claw at his shoulders, steadying yourself because your knees suddenly feel weak and all that confident energy you’d been bubbling earlier has dissipated and –
and higuruma’s got his lips just under your ear now, sucking softly, just hard enough to make you gasp, then he’s bruising little marks down your neck, down the valley of your breasts, and above the swell of each. your hands busy themselves in his hair, pleasure building slow and steady as he continues to attack your skin. before you know it he’s sliding your bra down just enough to free your tits, and his lips are soon there, too, sucking the sensitive skin so hard you could’ve sworn he’s actually trying to eat you.
“keep making those pretty noises, darling,” he murmurs, looking at you with those hooded, lust blown eyes. the sight alone makes your thighs clench together again, the slick between the apex of them unmistakable.
“you feeling needy?” higuruma brings his hand to the hem of your pencil skirt, hiking it up until it’s all bunched up around your waist. he trails a finger to the side of your panties, snapping tugging the fabric and letting it go with a snap.
your stomach flutters when he brings his cock to your panties, sliding it through the slick cotton, the subtle friction making his head drop to your shoulders. his hand grips your waist tighter and he slowwwwly ruts against you, kissing you through every tiny moan that squeaks through your lips.
“you gonna put it in, or is this the most you’re going tonight?” you say breathlessly, grinning cheekily when higuruma grunts. when you feel his his hand move up to cup your face again, forcing it to face him, to look him in the eye.
“stop being a brat.”
higuruma flips you around, bare chest pressed against the cool mahogany wood desk, and he tugs your panties to the side, his cock sliding between your folds teasingly slow.
“oh, i didn’t think you enjoyed it this much,” he taunts, his hand dipping down to smear your slick along his length, bringing his fingers to his lips after. you watch, head turned, as he sucks his fingers coated in your arousal, and how his eyes roll back.
Fuck.
“and you taste sweet,” he says appreciatively, pushing his cock into you just a half inch. the pressure’s got you gripping the desk, pussy already clenching, because he’s big. you knew so having his dick in your mouth, but now, with your boss’s cock slowly pushing into your core, the thought shakes you even harder.
“tight,” he whispers into your ear once he finally bottoms out, marking his sentence with a quiet grunt. “squeezing me so good. like such a good girl.”
“hurry up and fuck me,” you whine, though it lacks all bite. higuruma chuckles, smoothing his hand over your ass before landing it sharply across your skin again, the sting making you moan against the desk.
“didn’t i say to stop being a brat?” he rumbles, brows pinched together with effort. you’re so tight and warm, and it’s taking everything in him not to just…
but no. a brat’s a brat, and you clearly need your lesson.
so, just to push his buttons that much more, you deliberately clench around him harder. you know it’s got an effect because you can feel his cock twitch inside you, feel his hands grab onto your ass harder.
“such a tease,” he manages through gritted teeth. “anyone ever tell you that?”
“men tell me allll the time,” you taunt.
you make the mistake of turning your head back, because higuruma’s got his face tilted towards the ceiling, adam’s apple bobbing, and it’s seconds before he pulls his cock out and ramming it back in. fast.
the pace is so quick, so rough, so deep - it catches you off guard and you moan every time his pelvis meets your ass, back arching up when his hand lands against your ass with every other thrust.
“brat,” he grunts, roping his arm forward and locking it around your neck, forcing your head back as he puts you in a chokehold, the pressure building up. you grab at his forearm, babbling out incoherently, and higuruma seems to enjoy that because he pummels into you faster, his free hand kneading your ass.
he loves your moans. loves hearing you like this, begging him to keep going, asking in that pretty little voice of yours that he ‘don’t stop - please, sir, don’t stop.’ he loves feeling you clench around him, and loves that little whimper you let out between desperate cries when he rolls your nipples between his fingers.
most of all, he loves the look on your face when you whine that you’re going to cum, and he…stops moving. pulls out altogether, and though his cock throbs, embarrassingly close to an orgasm of his own, the way your pretty features scrunch up and tears well, fat and wet, at your waterline, make it allll worth it.
“please,” you beg, and when he sees your hand dip between your legs - perhaps to get you to that orgasm, yourself - he grabs your wrists, pulling them taut behind your back. you sob against the desk, calling him all sorts of colourful names, begging, just begging, that he let you cum.
you say you’ll do anything.
“anything?” higuruma rasps, kissing the back of your neck softly, and placing a few more to your shoulders.“anything,” you confirm brokenly, hands straining under his grip. “please, sir, ‘need it. need it so bad.”
case closed. or: higuruma's got his favourite brat wrapped around his finger.
I love being a loser girl like yesss!!! omg go stay in your bedroom all day and listen to music, watch movies, read fan fiction, ughh this is the life!!
𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥 : 𝟙𝟠+ ⋆ 𝕞𝕕𝕟𝕚 ⋆ smut ⋆ bully!satosugu again ⋆ dubcon voyeurism ⋆ piv sex ⋆ degrading ⋆ humiliation ⋆ slight jealousy ⋆ voyeur!choso ⋆ creampie ⋆ cunnilingus if you squint ⋆
𝕨𝕔 ⋆ 2.5k
choso. sweet, kind, funny, shy choso. your lab partner with an obvious crush on you choso. standing frozen in the doorway to your dorm room, blocked by satoru as he watches suguru rock you back and forth on his cock from below.
you didn’t even hear the door open, you don’t know how long he’s been standing there watching your pussy gush around suguru’s cock, listening to your gasps of his name, only alerted to his presence when suguru pressed his mouth to your ear and told you, “look up, gorgeous.”
your eyes widen when they lock on his, the airy feeling in your head faltering, making you crash back to earth, mortified. you’re not surprised to see satoru behind him, a sinister smile on his face as he watches the horror spread across yours.
you can’t even try to regain a bit of modesty, suguru’s single hand holding both your wrists behind you, back arched, nipples peaked and shiny with suguru’s saliva. he doesn’t stop either, seeming to get rougher, forcing you to keep taking it despite the scene playing out.
“sugu—suguru w-wait—what is—why—oh fuck—“
your eyes roll, trying to flutter shut when suguru grinds you harder against him but you keep them open just enough to see satoru prevent choso from turning around and leaving, shoving him so hard into the room he stumbles before the door clicks shut and locks behind them.
he slings an arm around choso’s cowering form, shooting you an award winning smile while you try to throw him a pleading look through lidded eyes. you stifle your whines as suguru’s cock glides so sweetly along your walls, trying to tug your wrists free from his grip.
“why—why is—suguru, please, shit—“ you try to ask, but any attempt at speaking is stopped by suguru pressing his cock deep enough into your pussy to make your breath catch in your throat.
“what was that?” satoru shakes choso’s shoulders, throwing a malicious glance his way. “we can’t hear you, isn’t that right, choso?”
choso doesn’t respond, his gaze stuck on the floor. but it doesn’t hide the pink tint to his cheeks, the tremble of his shoulders as he inhales shakily, or the fidget of his hands conveniently in front of the tent on his pants.
“don’t—‘toru, don’t do this, please—ah!”
suguru’s unoccupied hand moved silently while you were trying to speak, starting to rub at the swollen pink nub between your spread thighs, shutting you up once more. your mouth hangs open, keening despite your best efforts, choso tensing. you try to catch his eye, to paint a sorrowful expression on your face in apology, but he won’t look at you.
“can’t speak, huh? suguru, do you know what she’s trying to say?”
you can feel his hum, the vibration steady against your back as he pretends to mull over satoru’s question. his chin finds its way to your shoulder, his hair tickling your bare skin as he finally stops rocking your hips, your cunt clenching furiously around his cock, overwhelmed with the fullness.
“well,” his finger has stopped swirling around your clit, now tapping a steady, wet rhythm on it and you twitch each time, not going unnoticed by the three men occupying the room. “i think she wants to know why we have an audience, ‘toru.”
mock realization covers satoru’s face, his mouth forming an ‘o’ shape. he lightly punches choso in the arm, the man jerking violently at the touch.
“this, is choso kamo. you know him right, pretty?”
“yes, i know him,” your teeth grind together as you speak through them, still wiggling your wrists despite suguru’s firm hold. “why is he here? what are you—“
“you know he likes you right?” gojo interrupts, tongue trailing his bottom lip cockily as he pushes choso forward, closer to you, the later hanging his head in embarrassment. “a big fat crush, suguru. didn't even have to tell me. could see it from a mile away.”
“oh?” the soft sound brushes the side of your face, a fake sound of surprise, because you know they both knew. when satoru cornered him earlier this week, you should’ve known. when they kept asking you about him, you should’ve known they were up to no good. “i’m assuming she knew?”
“probably not, you know our girl isn’t that smart outside of class,” satoru hums, ignoring your indignant cry of not being theirs. he takes two long steps to be at choso’s side again, nudging the man with his shoulder. “but anyway. i decided to offer him some friendly advice. let him know what our girl likes. give him some pointers.”
you scoff, trying ease the tension in the room but your body is still on display for all to see. but your voice holds steady when you speak to satoru. “bringing him here—now—isn’t offering advice, you idiot—“
“but then i was thinking,” he talks loudly over you, closing the distance, gripping your chin between his fingers and craning your face up as he leans down, the tip of his nose brushing yours. “we can show him better than we can tell him, right, pretty?”
you feel the blood drain from your face as your eyes dart back and forth between satoru and choso behind him, still intently staring at the floor. suguru huffs out a breath of amusement behind you, his finger running absentmindedly up and down your slit, catching on your still full hole.
“always one for stupid ideas, satoru.”
“oh, please,” satoru stands up straight, bright eyes roaming over the disheveled state of you and suguru. “you told me to bring him here 20 minutes ago, so i did. don’t pin it all on me.”
your head whips around to throw suguru a sour look, but he just grins.
“you two are sick,” your voice shakes with embarrassment, ignoring the heat coursing through your body. “choso, you can leave. you don’t have to stay.”
“i-i don’t—“ his voice is just barely a whisper, but satoru cuts him off.
“but he doesn’t want to leave, does he?” satoru turns and walks the short distance back to choso, standing in front of him, forcing the man to finally bring his gaze up. “he can stay and we can show him exactly what you like. suguru?”
suguru releases your wrists as if on command, but before you can retaliate he’s gripped you underneath your knees, the press of his chest leaving your back as he lies down behind you and your eyes widen, grabbing at his arms.
“you gotta relax. consider it doing him a favor.” you crane your neck, seeing the smile that was clear in suguru’s voice as you take in the spread of hair across the pillow, his mischievous eyes looking over to where satoru is staring a shocked choso down in silence.
“hurry up and decide, i don’t care.” both satoru and choso look to suguru as he speaks, but you’re preoccupied with suguru pulling you to lay on his chest and bending his knees, pulling his cock almost completely from your entrance slowly, your cunt spasming as it tries to keep him in.
“suguru, hold on—“
“i suggest you take the opportunity, choso, because you’ll never get another one like this again.”
choso’s mouth drops open at the same time as yours, a whistle passing through satoru’s pursed lips when suguru buries himself to the hilt inside you, making you exhale sharply. he sets a quick pace instantly, any retort dying in your mouth.
the slight taste of iron paints your tongue as you bite your bottom lip in an effort to keep a pathetic expression off your face, fingernails digging crescents into suguru’s skin so roughly he hisses underneath you. you shut your eyes in concentration as suguru fucks you how he wants, but satoru decides to speak, forcing your gaze to him.
“see, this is my favorite position to have her in.” he speaks like he’s talking about the weather. you would think he’s kept his composure through it all if the bright blue irises of his eyes weren’t reduced to a thin line due to his pupils. “easy access for me from the front if suguru’s behind or vice versa, you know.”
tears brim your eyes, clouding your vision but it’s still clear that you now have choso’s undivided attention. his mouth closed but his breath is just as heavy as yours, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. satoru seems amused by the reaction, sparing him the occasional glance.
“sat-satoru—why are y-you so d-damn—fuckfuckfuck—“
your head falls back on suguru’s shoulder with a silent cry and satoru actually laughs out loud. the mocking sound mixed with the slap of your and suguru’s skin as well as the ragged groans coming from behind you makes your eyes roll, giving into the pleasure—
“she cries really pretty when we fuck her like this, gets real needy too,” satoru’s lewd stage whisper makes your head swim. choso swallows hard, not blinking as he takes in the view and satoru’s words. “but suguru can’t do it on his own so you won’t be able to see it. shame.”
suguru grunts and adjusts his grip on you, plunging his cock deeper. you struggle to catch your breath, still restraining yourself despite suguru’s effort, his annoyance bleeding through his thrusts.
“she’s holding—shit—holding b-back, genius.” he stutters as your cunt flutters around him, getting impossibly tighter as your stomach twists, aroused by the embarrassment. “you want her to put on a good show? come over here.”
satoru beams, blue eyes shining, taking the few steps to be back at your side, dragging choso with him. you shake your head, sick pleasure and guilt battling inside as you watch choso focus his attention on your cunt and the way satoru slides his fingers through the slick mess.
“'m not gonna put my mouth on you, pretty, not this time. hope that’s ok.”
you fight to fill your lungs as his finger swirls small circles on your puffy clit, eyes finally falling shut completely as you accept defeat. a soft cry of satoru’s name passes through your lips as you release suguru’s arm to grab at his wrist, keeping his hand between your legs.
“hear that? so sweet when she lets herself feel it,” satoru coos. shaky moans continue to fall from your mouth between hiccups and gasps of breath, your body now completely pliant and growing more sensitive between their touches.
“fuck, keep doing that,” suguru groans darkly directly into your ear, the sound sending a shock down your spine. “there you go, gorgeous. squeeze—ah—around me just like that.”
“don’t apologize to him, you probably just made his whole year,” satoru laughs, looking over his shoulder to see choso murmuring swears under his breath before he turns back to you. “she’s just dripping down here, suguru. do you hear her? think she’s gonna cum soon.”
a tear falls from the corner of your eye as suguru starts driving his cock into that spongy spot that makes you melt against him, toes curling as he chases your orgasm more desperately than his own. satoru brings his other hand to fondle at your breasts, tweaking your nipples between his fingertips.
“our friend here is really eager to see it, isn’t he gorgeous?”
your soft cries have turned obscene, intensifying as your orgasm creeps up on you. you almost forget where you are, who’s here until he’s moving closer, choso’s glassy eyes unblinking as they roam over your writhing form.
“can you blame him? she looks so good when she’s crying for us,” satoru bites his lip, restraint waning as you back bends away from suguru’s chest. “wish i could feel it, suguru. fuck, how does it feel, pretty?”
you don’t answer—can’t—babbling incoherently with the occasional gasps of their names as white creeps up the corners of your vision. you can’t deny the jolt of electricity as you barely catch choso’s eye, the previously unwanted attention pushing you faster to your release.
“c-close—fuck, ‘m gonna—“
“say his name, gorgeous,” suguru rasps from behind, satoru and choso sharing equal expressions of shock at his words. you hardly register them as your orgasm hits you. “give him something speacial to remember.”
you shatter around suguru’s cock, spilling so much that satoru gasps. your eyes fall shut and a wail of choso’s name escapes you unconsciously, choso’s strangled gasp of “holy shit,” drowned out by the sound. your head is fuzzy, emptied of all thoughts while you try your best to grind down on suguru’s cock.
“suguru, i’m gonna fucking kill you,” satoru’s voice is strained, finger still working your clit furiously. “that’s it, baby, ride it out. she’s fucking soaking you, suguru, oh my god. fill her up, i wanna see, c’mon.”
suguru’s hips jerk erratically, rhythm faltering as satoru’s words wash over him. his fingers press bruises into your skin, his cock throbbing inside you before warmth floods your cunt in separate waves, a dark groan accompanying suguru’s release.
“satoru you gotta stop saying shit like that,” suguru whispers breathlessly, still easing his cock in and out of you, pushing both of you past the point of sensitivity. he stills with his cock just barely inside, letting his release drip out of your cunt around his shaft to satoru’s obvious pleasure.
suguru catches his breath against your ear as satoru swipes a finger up his messy cock, gathering his cum and pushing it just past suguru’s cock and back inside you. whining, you fumble to push his hand away, the press of his searching fingers against your walls to much to bear.
“and she loves it when we cum inside her,” satoru explains, taking suguru’s softening cock in hand and slapping it back against your entrance. “it gets so messy and then i get to—hey, where’d he go?”
it takes all your strength to open your eyes to find the space choso had just occupied a minute ago vacant, the door cracked just slightly where he didn’t shut it completely in his escape.
“think he came in his pants when she said his name and ran while we were distracted,” suguru explains, slowly straightening your legs to ease the ache he knows will come.
“oh. oh, well. hopefully he got the hint!”
the guilt from the situation comes back full force as you regain your ability to think clearly and your stomach falls. “how the fuck am i gonna face him now, you two?” you groan, trying to twist your tired body away from the two of them.
satotu tuts and holds you still against suguru’s chest, opening your legs again, hungry eyes trained on your cunt as he climbs on your bed.
“not our problem, is it?” he asks. you glare at him, faltering when he flicks your sensitive clit. “now be still, gonna clean you guys up, ok?”
“satoru, no—my fucking god,” your thighs tremble around his head as he flattens his tongue on your entrance, dragging it upwards, eyes closed with satisfaction at the combined taste of you and suguru.
“at least close the door, satoru,” comes suguru’s tired murmur, arms wrapped around your stomach, holding you close while satoru finally has his way with you.
“no, i’m good right here,” he says into your folds, lips already shiny with your arousal. “let someone else come in and i’ll show them how to make you cum on my tongue, ok pretty?”
Tutor!Suguru spanking you everytime you get a question wrong.
18+ MDNI
Warnings: degradation, Suguru is mean, obvi spanking, slapping, crying kink. You two get no work done in actuality.
He hates to do it but he has to, the pain is very necessary for your stupid little brain to get it. How could you not know this? Is your brain fried from being so lazy all the time? Are you dumb?
Suguru was pissed. This man was not having any of your shit tonight, he didn’t want to end up studying with you just for you to not know anything. It started with just mean cold glares then he was starting to get irritated with you. But, it’s not your fault that you didn’t get these things as easily as he did.
His hand slaps you again then he grabs your jaw forcing you to look him in the eyes—all you can feel was his utter fury boiling beneath his skin. “Look at the damn computer.”
Your shoulders tense and you look at the screen trying to solve the equation. You can just feel his piercing gaze through you. Your pussy was throbbing just from his insults and hard stares. Your heart beats in your chest with adrenaline. “I’m sorry….” You whisper looking down at your lap. “Yeah right.” He hisses back at you.
He shuts the computer, grabs you out of your seat and carries you to your bed. He sat at the edge of the bed and bends you over his lap and lifts your uniform skirt. He lifts his hand and you whip your head around but as you do he slams his palm against your fat ass. “Aaahhh!!!” You wail out in response—he leans down a bit to your ear. “You’re such a stupid girl. You don’t know anything do you?” You felt so humiliated.
You whimper out of frustration and pain—tears already coming down your pretty face. You choke out his name. “Suguru!” He slaps your ass again—not even soothing it after, he would just let his hand sit on your lower back. “Stop begging for mercy. No one’s coming to save you.” He slaps your ass again and ten times more powerful than the last—but this time, he doesn’t stop.
You continue whimpering and crying while your body begins to shake after he slaps your ass over and over again. “Stop!!” You cry out but he still doesn’t relent—even as your ass cheeks grow red and warm. He didn’t stop until you were sobbing from the stinging. Your body shakes helplessly in his lap as he stops his torture.
You lay in his lap limp for a few seconds after your trembling calms down. “You’re such a dumb brat. That was so much of my time wasted, now I have to do your work for you.” He leans further in your ear—gritting his teeth, lacing his tone with venom.
“Get the fuck out of my lap before I ruin you and show you a real reason to cry.”
Mean!Choso who everyone assumed was such a sweetie. Ask anybody on campus about him and always, without fail, they'd describe him as quiet, distant, and weird but never unkind— partially due to the fact that every day, with the time he had allotted for lunch, he'd go out on the groomed green grass of the quad and eat with his younger brother, Yuji. The girls in his courses found it so endearing, always singing things like "They’re so cute!" and “Maybe nice guys do exist!"
And maybe they did, but Choso wasn't one of them.
Mean!Choso who, for one, deliberately tortured you by fucking you in public where you couldn't risk making too much noise. With a rough hand, he held you down against a solid plastic door in the lecture halls bathroom. "Shit- I thought I told you to be fucking quiet." Your face was squished against the door as his fingers thrusted into you and stretched your crying walls. You whined, muffled slightly, "M'tryin! Promise, Cho-" He scoffed, a hand slapping over your mouth, "Tch, clearly not hard enough."
Mean!Choso who would also get you all riled up in public just to refuse you at home, knowing he was aching too. While you begged and rubbed your thighs against he each other, he adjusted himself and relieved his buldge from over his pants. Tears swelled up in your eyes as you watched, and he continued to rub himself against his hand while looking down at you crying on your knees over his dick.
Mean!Choso who used his size to his advantage. He smothered you with his heavy tons of muscle as he pinned you against the mattress. "Pussy suckin' me in so good, baby." He used one of his large hands to force your thighs open further, "Need ya' to spread a lil' wider for me- okay, pretty?" You nodded and his other hand shoved your face further in the pillow to quiet the noises you made when he pushed deeper and deeper inside of you. When one of your hands flew behind your back to get him to let up a bit, he smacked it away harshly and scolded, "Keep 'em clawing at the sheets."
Mean!Choso who needed to see your face everytime he came or was making you do the same. You had a little habit of hiding your face in his neck or the sheets when you started to feel overwhelmed by pleasure. He just pulled your head back by your scalp and gave you a light couple of taps on the cheek, "No. Need to see you." His hips knocked against yours particularly hard to emphasize his point. His tongue captured those salty tears that leaked from your eyes, which he was so desperate to see.
Mean!Choso who always maneuvered you into the craziest positions. He was particularly a fan of those in which he had almost total control over your body. His hands dug into the sweaty meat of your legs as he held you up and plunged into you in a filthy full nelson. His lips ghosted over your neck and glued wet kisses to your burning hot skin, "Heh- think she likes this one..." While still having you hoisted in the air, his index and ring teased your throbbing little clit. You squirmed and he tightened his grip, "Stay still, pretty. Don't wanna drop you." A mocking chuckle left him and he slowed his fast, offensive thrusts, focusing on getting deeper instead. The way he grazed your walls was so hot and addictive, you couldn't do anything but moan and wiggle your legs in the air.
Mean!Choso whose mouth was the filthiest part about him, both his words and his tongue. He always used two fingers to spread your folds open before licking a slow, long stripe from your pearl, which he lifted the hood to expose, down to the edge of your desperate hole. "Fuckin' greedy pussy...always wanting me touchin' her." He swirled his tongue around your clit in circular motions before pressing two fingers against your hole and sheaths them in uncharacteristically slow. "So sweet- hah. 'gonna die here, my baby." The wet friction of his tongue against your bud and delicious probing of his fingers had your back arching off the surface beneath you. When you threw your head back and bit your forearm, he planted a harsh slap on your cunt, "Nuh uh, keep your eyes on me."
Mean!Choso who loved to overstimulate you. Watching your face as you begged and cried out for him to slow down or give you a moment to breathe, his already thick length grew so much bigger and he got more rough in his actions. And when those holy drops of your tears spilled from your glossy eyes and leaked down your skin, he swore he was in the clouds. Your nails scratched at his skin and created thin, shallow valleys of scars, "C-Choso- ngh! P-Please..." His heaving chest, blooming with sweat, pressed to your own and kept you in place. "Shut up. You can take it." He silenced you with a rushed kiss to your lips.
Mean!Choso who also loved his gf very much and was a completely different person outside of intimacy! As soon as you routinely collapsed against the sheets, he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek and got up to grab a glass to pour water in after getting out the shower, which he turned on next. He had grew accustomed to moving you while you slept, picking you up and sitting you on the toilet while he found a towel and change of clothes. After you were all clean and hydrated, he spooned behind you under fresh sheets with his nose pressed to your strawberry scented hair. He fell asleep, just as any other night, surrounded by your love and warmth.
a/n: ayyee first fic posted😛
lwk very self indulgent 😓😓 oh wait also there’s another version of this where there’s like an actual plot 😭 so lmk
Simon never thought he'd love someone's mouth on his cock, ever. Just the thought of being so intimate with someone has him shuddering, sure he doesn't hate it. His past hookups were decent enough, he never went down on them because that wasn't really his thing and he never forced them to do the same either but when a few of them insisted, he gave in. But ofcourse it didn't really get him going.
So when you came along and sink down on your knees for the first time, blinking up at him with those pretty eyes, simon can't help but caress your hair. You unbuckled his cargo, pulling down the zipper as you stared at the prominent bulge straining against his boxers. You eagerly pulled them down, just enough to reveal his massive throbbing cock, "woah.. it's big" you whispered in awe. Your hands gently took the bulge in your palm, feeling it twitch to life in your hold.
He bit back a groan as you rubbed your small thumb on his swollen tip, the bead of precum smearing on your fingers as you let out a giggle and pulled away, bringing the finger to your mouth as you licked it clean, making simon grunt, "Fuck, don' do that luv." But you couldn't help but smirk as you looked up at him and while maintaining eye contact, you pushed his cock down your throat in one go.
Simon couldn't stop the groan that slipped as his large hand gripped your hair tightly, "Fuckin' hell", you choked around him, your spit dribbling past your mouth as you tried to hollow your cheeks but just the sheer girth of it has the inside of your cheeks stretched wide as you gagged. You could barely breath as he quite literally had blocked your windpipe, your hands fisted into simon's jeans as tears burned in your eyes. You pulled back before trying to take more of him but you just couldn't! He was just too big!!
You fully pulled back now, sputtering as you tried to catch your breath but simon groaned in frustration, "Bloody hell!" His hips bucked, chasing your warm mouth, "can't sii, you're so biiig!" You coughed as his tip poked your cheek but simon's hazel eyes looked down at you, wide with new found obsession, "ya can take it." He muttered before gripping your hair and thrusting his cock in.
He let out a grunt, pushing your head deeper onto his cock, not caring if you gagged or cried. Would it be sadistic if he happened to like the sounds you made as you struggled to take his cock down your throat, it did hurt him seeing your poor jaw slacked open as you tried your best to take him but he's make sure to kiss your face better, his poor dovie. Your cheeks sucked on his girthy length while your hands travelled to his heavy balls, squeezing them as he bucked his hips in sudden excessive pleasure.
"Jesus!" Simon's hand gripped your hair as his stomach scrunched and he came right down your throat, making you gag as you pulled back. His cum flowing down the side of your mouth as you coughed, sniffling as tears and snot ran down your face. It was such a mess and honestly as simon stared down at you, there was just hearts missing in his eyes, this had just become his new favourite view. "Ya were amazin', luv."
recently rewatched secretary and …. oh lord all i could think about was simon.
simon meets you at least a month after you had already settled in, weren’t even his secretary; you were price’s. that put you all under price, working with him and following his lead. so why did it still feel so shameful even looking at you?
starts off with small glances, noticing the way you pull your skirt down lower even though it was well below your knees. how clumsy you were, always finding a way to pick up something after you; just to steal a proper glance up close. but that was all he could ever get himself to do.
it also wasn’t long until he noticed all the odd scares on your body that were so poorly hidden. most of them were on your legs, others just on your wrist— on the little blank spot of skin that your sleeves didn’t reach. it made him uncomfortable.
not because seeing scars made him disturbed, far from it. he just didn’t understand how a pretty girl like you could find a need to do such a thing.
and simon, who truly believes he always knows what a woman needs, starts his little act on you. the quick glances suddenly became long, heavy stares from across rooms. simon, who used to practically run out of the room to avoid alone time with you, was now lingering.
staying with you quietly in the waiting room was a new routine, listening to you tapping away on the typewriter while he opened up the newspaper. didn’t read it most of the time; nothing he really cared about. but he loved to look at you from over the page, watching the way you stretched out after a long typing session— considered himself lucky when he caught your tongue swiping over your bottom lip. teeth occasionally biting down hard, so hard that even simon grew concerned at times.
eventually; your errors began to stick out. price would complain that you were too slow of a worker, too timid to even answer the phones— and couldn’t stand even a change in voice tone. johnny couldn’t help but laugh and poke fun, “a timid little thing, ain’t she? makes you wonder what goes on at home— or how she got a job here”
didn’t make simon feel any better, thinking about what went on in your private life to make you look so sad; but it gave price the bright idea to make him be the one to confront you about your work ethic. maybe if the scariest of them finally said something, you’d finally snap out of it.
that’s how it lead up to you being bent over price’s desk, looking at the paper in front of you with curious eyes. simon had said there was something wrong with the report, you scanned your eyes across it multiple times to no avail, and simon was getting impatient.
“read it again. slower, this time. use your head, know that might be difficult..” that last part was said just above a whisper, blood rushing through your head too fast for you to even hear it.
probably why you had such a hard time focusing. your skirt kept riding up, and simon was so, so close. you could feel the heat of his body on the back of your thighs, see his arm leaning on the desk in the corner of your eye. again, you looked over the short report.
there! you finally noticed it, a spelling mistake. “i see it! it’s just a spelling mistake, i could’ve went over it with whiteout if you had asked”
“shouldn’t have to ask, should the captain? he expects only the best.” his hand disappeared from your view, “i want you to keep looking, spread out your palms on the desk, and then tell me how many mistakes there are.”
you did as you were told, not thinking twice about following simon’s directions. something inside of you buzzed whenever that happened. “i saw, there’s just one-”
you couldn’t finish your sentence without jostling forward and letting out a pathetic whine. simon had landed a very firm slap to the side of your ass, hand curling up in a fast afterwards to stop himself from grabbing you next.
“lieutenant—” he didn’t let you finish your question, his hand came down even rougher than the first time. your skirt only continued to ride up, soon leaving the skin on your thighs vulnerable to his slaps.
“you obviously can’t follow directions, like being told what to do so much but you can’t even spell properly?” the shame started to fill your face, becoming all flustered and embarrassed. but the pain that spread through your skin whenever simon’s hand found its mark… it was enough to make you wanna lean into his hand; purposely mess up more to feel that sharp sting.
“two, sir.” another slap, this time on the other side, making you lose balance on your heels ever so slightly. you refused to mess this up, so you planted your heels to the ground, back straightening out.
“didn’t see the third one?” after a couple more slaps, he had to switch hands.
“no!” you broke out finally, gasping around each spank as quietly as you could. people were outside the office. when you tried to apologize, simon just shushed you with another slap of his hand.
“then surely you’ll go out there, quietly,” he emphasized with a spank that was lower, nearing your thinly covered cunt “sit like the pretty girl we know you can be, and work.”
it was over before you could fully process it. simon’s hand rested on your lower back for a moment, fighting the urge to press the forming bulge in the front of his pants against you. would’ve been so easy to slip his cock out and ease it into you, didn’t matter how wet you were; he’d make himself fit.
instead he just brushed his hands down the front of his shirt, grabbing your skirt until it was taut in his fingers, and pulled down until you were all covered again.
“go, i want you to come back here with every newly typed copy until we get this right. then we’ll show price together.”
synopsis: You ran from your arranged marriage in a torn white wedding dress, desperate to escape the cruel lord your family sold you to. By midnight, you’re on your knees in front of the village butcher, begging for shelter.
Toji Fushiguro doesn’t help runaways.
But when you blurt out that he’s your husband in front of the biggest gossips in town, suddenly the whole village believes you’re his. Now you’re trapped in a fake marriage with the terrifying butcher — a massive, rough, possessive man who has decided that if you’re going to call yourself his wife… he’s going to make it very, very real.
pairing: butcher!toji fushiguro x runaway bride!reader
mdni | warnings: smut, first time, size kink, breeding kink, creampie, cum play, rough sex, possessive/jealous Toji, dirty talk, spanking, manhandling, strength kink, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), fingering, spitting, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, fake marriage
word count: 14.8k
a/n: im kinda obsessed with this ngl... also lmk if your enjoying these longer fics!
The great hall of your family estate felt more like a tomb than a place of celebration.
Thick beams of dark oak loomed overhead, and the air was heavy with the greasy smell of over-roasted venison, spilled sour wine, and your father’s desperation. Two massive iron chandeliers flickered with dying candles, casting long, distorted shadows that danced across the walls. Servants had long since been dismissed, leaving only the three of you: your father, Lord Kato, and you — the silent prize being traded away.
Your father slumped in his carved high-backed chair, cheeks bloated and flushed deep red from too much drink. His once-fine tunic was stained with grease and wine. With a trembling hand, he slid the sealed parchment across the table. The wax bore your family’s broken crest.
“She’s untouched,” he slurred, trying and failing to sound proud. “Barely nineteen summers. Fertile. She’ll give you strong sons, I swear it. Obedient when properly disciplined. This marriage settles every debt between our houses — the gold, the eastern lands, the failed harvests… all of it wiped clean.”
Lord Kato sat across from him like a spider in human skin. Tall and unnaturally pale, with sharp cheekbones and eyes the color of frozen ink. His lips curled into a thin, cruel smile as he let his gaze crawl over your body without shame. He studied the swell of your breasts beneath your gown, the narrow dip of your waist, the way your hands clenched into fists at your sides. The way you trembled.
He took a slow sip of wine, then spoke, voice smooth and cold as winter steel.
“She’ll do nicely. The ceremony will take place tomorrow night at my estate. I expect her delivered in the finest white lace and silk… and nothing beneath it.” His smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed too sharp. “I want easy access the moment the guests leave. I’ve waited long enough for my new bride.”
You stood motionless in the center of the hall, heart pounding so violently you could hear it in your ears. Your skin crawled as if his eyes were already peeling the gown from your body. Nausea twisted in your stomach. This man had already buried three wives. Whispers spoke of bruises, broken bones, and screams that echoed through his halls at night. And now your own father was selling you to him for coin and land.
No one asked if you agreed.
No one asked what you wanted.
No one ever had.
You kept your face blank, eyes lowered like the obedient daughter they expected, while inside your mind screamed.
Later that night, when the household finally fell into drunken slumber and the torches burned low, you moved.
You had planned this in secret for weeks. A plain dark wool cloak stolen from the stables. A small bundle of hard bread, dried cheese, and a waterskin. Soft leather shoes you hoped would last. But the most valuable thing you owned was the wedding gown itself. You had decided to wear the half-finished white dress during your escape — the expensive satin and delicate lace might fetch enough coins in a distant village to buy you passage far away from here. It was risky, but you had nothing else of real value.
You slipped out through the narrow servant’s entrance at the back of the kitchens, the heavy door groaning softly behind you like a warning. The moment your feet touched the cold, dew-soaked grass, terror and fragile hope surged through you in equal measure.
You ran.
The forest swallowed you whole.
Ancient trees loomed like silent judges, their branches clawing at your white gown as if trying to drag you back. The delicate satin — still only half-finished, with pins and loose threads — snagged mercilessly on thorns. You heard fabric tearing again and again: sharp rips that sounded far too loud in the darkness. The long lace veil caught on a low limb and nearly yanked you off your feet; you tore it free with shaking hands, leaving half of it fluttering behind you like a surrendered flag. Mud and wet leaves caked your bare feet. Sharp stones and roots sliced into your soles until every step left bloody prints in the dirt. The cold night air burned your lungs. Sweat soaked your back and chest despite the chill, making the torn gown cling obscenely to your skin. Your legs screamed with exhaustion after only an hour, but fear kept you moving. Behind you, distant shouts echoed through the trees — your father’s guards, torches flickering like angry fireflies. Dogs barked. They were coming.
You pushed harder.
Branches whipped your face, leaving stinging cuts across your cheeks. Your hair fell loose from its elegant pins, wild and tangled. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with blood and dirt. Every shadow looked like a man ready to grab you. Every snap of a twig made your heart seize. You ran until your vision blurred and your chest felt like it would burst. You ran until the shouts grew fainter and the trees finally began to thin.
Hours had passed. The moon hung high and merciless overhead, bathing the world in cold silver light. Your legs trembled violently as you stumbled out of the treeline onto a wide, muddy road. In the distance, warm golden lantern light glowed between clusters of simple wooden buildings. A village.
You nearly collapsed with relief.
The main street was deserted, shutters closed tight against the night. Only one building still showed signs of life. Warm light spilled from its open front door onto the dirt road, carrying with it the thick, metallic scent of fresh blood and raw meat. A weathered wooden sign creaked overhead in the cold breeze:
Fushiguro Meat Co.
You limped toward it, every cut and bruise screaming.
A massive man stood under the wooden awning, illuminated by the lantern light. He was enormous — broad as a barn door, easily over six feet tall, with shoulders and arms so thick with muscle they looked carved from stone. He wore a blood-streaked leather apron tied low on his narrow hips. Beneath it, a simple white tank clung to his sweat-slicked chest, the thin fabric molded to heavy slabs of muscle and dark, scattered scars. His black hair was damp and messy, strands falling across his forehead. A deep, jagged scar twisted the corner of his mouth, giving his face a permanent, dangerous smirk even when he wasn’t smiling.
Thick veins stood out on his forearms as he slowly wiped a long, wicked boning knife clean on the edge of his apron. The blade gleamed.
He looked like violence given human shape — raw, brutal, and utterly terrifying.
You didn’t know his name. You didn’t know anything about him except that he was the only soul still awake, and you were completely out of options.
Your legs gave out the final few steps. You dropped hard to your knees in the cold dirt right in front of him, the torn white satin of your ruined wedding gown pooling around you like spilled milk mixed with blood and mud. Your chest heaved. Fresh tears cut clean tracks down your filthy cheeks.
“Please—” Your voice came out cracked and hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “Hide me. Just for one night. My family… they sold me to Lord Kato to settle their debts. He’s going to break me. Hurt me in ways I can’t even speak of. I’ll do anything you ask — scrub floors until my hands bleed, haul carcasses, sleep in the cold room with the meat, be your servant, your cleaner… anything. Just please… don’t let them take me back.”
You bowed your head, trembling, and clutched desperately at the bloody hem of his apron with both hands, staining your fingers red.
The man stopped moving. He looked down at you slowly, sharp green eyes narrowing as they took in every detail: your torn and filthy wedding dress, the cuts on your face and feet, the desperate tears, the way you knelt before him like a supplicant before a god of slaughter.
He flicked the long knife shut with a loud, metallic click that echoed in the quiet street.
“Not my problem, princess,” he rumbled. His voice was deep, low, and rough — like gravel being dragged across stone. There was no pity in it. “I don’t hide runaways. Go beg somewhere else before you bring trouble to my shop.”
You stayed on your knees, fingers still twisted tight in the bloody hem of his apron. Tears kept falling, mixing with the dirt on your cheeks. “Please… I have nowhere else. They’ll find me by morning. Lord Kato will—”
Footsteps. Soft, quick, coming from the narrow alley beside the butcher shop.
Three women emerged into the lantern light, their shawls pulled tight against the night chill, each carrying a small lantern. They stopped short at the sight of you kneeling in your ruined white gown in front of the massive butcher.
“Gods above,” the tallest one gasped. “Is that a wedding dress? Child, what in the world happened to you?”
The women hurried closer, lanterns swinging. Warm golden light spilled over your torn satin, the mud-caked hem, the blood from his apron smeared across your bodice and hands. One of the younger women pressed a hand to her mouth. “She’s bleeding… and look at her feet!”
You looked down at yourself — the once-beautiful dress now filthy and shredded — then up at the stranger towering over you. His green eyes were narrowed in clear irritation, jaw clenched like he was seconds away from shoving you into the street and bolting the door.
A wild, desperate plan came to your mind.
You pushed yourself up on shaky legs, ignoring the sharp pain in your cut feet. Before he could step away, you grabbed his large, calloused hand with both of yours, clinging desperately. His palm was warm, rough, and still faintly sticky with dried blood.
Turning to the three women with the most exhausted yet radiant smile you could force, you announced clearly:
“This is my husband.”
The words rang in the quiet night air.
The women froze.
You kept going, voice trembling but determined. “We were married in secret this evening. My family didn’t approve — they tried to sell me off to a cruel lord to settle their debts. So I ran away through the forest to reach him. The dress… it got ruined on the way, but I’m here now. I’m exactly where I belong.”
Silence stretched for a heartbeat.
Then the women erupted.
“The butcher got married?!” the tallest one exclaimed, eyes wide. “Toji Fushiguro actually took a wife? I never thought I’d live to see the day!”
One of the younger women clapped her hands together, beaming. “Look at her, even all torn up she’s lovely! Brave thing, running through the woods in the middle of the night just to get to her husband.”
The third woman laughed warmly. “We’ll bring fresh bread and some stew first thing in the morning for you newlyweds. Can’t have Toji’s new wife going hungry on her first day here!”
Toji.
So that was his name. Toji Fushiguro.
You felt the man — Toji — stiffen beside you. His massive hand twitched hard in your grip, muscles flexing like he was fighting the urge to rip free and deny everything. His sharp green eyes burned into the side of your face, dark with fury and silent threat. But the women were watching excitedly. The whole village would know the story by sunrise if he contradicted you now.
You squeezed his hand tighter, nails digging into his skin in a silent, desperate plea. Please. Just play along.
Toji’s scarred jaw flexed. A low, dangerous growl rumbled deep in his chest. For one terrifying second you thought he might expose you.
Then, in the flattest, most reluctant voice you had ever heard, he grunted:
“…Yeah. She’s mine now. Wife.”
The women squealed with delight. They offered more congratulations, promised gifts for the “newlyweds,” and finally bustled away down the dark street, lanterns bobbing and their voices already carrying the juicy news.
The moment their footsteps faded, Toji’s grip turned bruising. He yanked you forward so hard you stumbled against his broad, solid chest, then dragged you roughly through the open door of the butcher shop. The heavy oak door slammed shut behind you with a resounding thud that rattled the walls.
Inside, the air was thick and heavy — cold iron, raw meat, woodsmoke, and the faint metallic tang of fresh blood. A single lantern burned low on the wooden counter, casting long, flickering shadows over heavy chopping blocks, hanging meat hooks, and rows of sharp knives.
Toji spun you around and shoved your back against the closed door. One thick, powerful forearm braced beside your head, completely caging you in. His massive body loomed over yours, heat rolling off him in waves. The scent of blood, sweat, and raw masculinity filled your lungs.
His green eyes were dark with fury… and something much darker, much hungrier.
“What the fuck was that?” he snarled, voice low and lethal. “You just told half the goddamn village you’re my wife. You got any idea what you’ve done, little runaway?”
Your heart slammed against your ribs. You could feel the hard press of his chest against yours, the sheer size of him making you feel tiny and trapped.
“It was the only way,” you whispered, breathing fast. “They would’ve dragged me back to Lord Kato by morning if they knew the truth. Now they think I belong to you. No one will question it. Please… just let me stay the night. I’ll disappear at dawn, I swear it.”
Toji stared down at you for a long, heavy moment. His scarred mouth twisted into a slow, dangerous smirk. His free hand came up and gripped your chin firmly, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his intense green eyes.
“Disappear?” he growled, thumb pressing hard into your jaw. “Too late for that, princess. You just tied yourself to me in front of witnesses.”
He leaned in closer, so close his breath ghosted hot across your lips. His voice dropped even lower, rough and full of promise.
“You owe me now. Big time.”
His gaze dragged slowly down your body — over the torn white lace barely clinging to your curves, the bloodstains, the way your chest heaved with fear and adrenaline. He just held you there, pinned against the door, letting the heavy tension coil tighter and tighter between you.
“Upstairs,” he finally ordered, voice like gravel. “Now. We’re gonna have a long talk about what you just got yourself into.”
Toji didn’t give you time to argue.
His massive hand clamped around your upper arm like a steel band and he hauled you away from the door. You stumbled after him on aching, bleeding feet as he dragged you through the back of the shop. The scent of raw meat grew thicker near the cold room, but he turned toward a narrow wooden staircase tucked behind a heavy curtain.
“Move,” he growled when you hesitated at the bottom step.
You climbed. Each step sent fresh pain shooting up your legs, but you bit your lip and kept going. Toji followed close behind, his heavy boots loud on the old wood, one hand still gripping your arm so you couldn’t possibly run.
The stairs opened directly into a small, sparse apartment above the butcher shop. It was surprisingly clean for a man who spent his days covered in blood. A single main room served as both living space and kitchen — a sturdy wooden table with two chairs, a stone hearth with dying embers, a few shelves holding jars of preserved meat and dried herbs. A narrow hallway led to what you assumed were the bedroom and washroom. Moonlight spilled through two small windows, painting everything in cool silver.
Toji kicked the door at the top of the stairs shut behind him and finally released your arm. You immediately backed up a few steps, the torn hem of your wedding dress whispering across the floorboards.
He folded his thick arms across his broad chest, blood-stained apron still tied around his waist, and stared at you like you were a problem he was deciding how to carve up.
“Start talking,” he said flatly. “And don’t leave anything out. Who the fuck are you, why is a lord hunting you, and why the hell did you decide to drag me into your mess?”
You swallowed hard, still catching your breath. You introduced yourself by name, then continued quietly, “My family is in debt. Deep debt. They sold me to Lord Kato yesterday to settle it. He’s a cruel man. Three wives before me, and none of them lasted long. He told my father in front of me what he plans to do on our wedding night.” Your voice cracked. “I couldn’t stay. I ran in the only thing of value I had — this dress. I thought maybe I could sell it in a village for enough coin to disappear.”
Toji’s green eyes flicked over the ruined white lace clinging to your body — torn, muddy, bloodstained. He let out a low, humorless snort.
“And instead of keeping your mouth shut and hiding somewhere quiet, you decided the best plan was to announce to the biggest gossips in the village that you’re married to the local butcher.” He took one heavy step closer. “You realize what you’ve done?”
You nodded quickly. “They won’t hand me over now. Not if they think I belong to you. The whole village will protect the butcher’s wife… right?”
Toji laughed — a short, dark sound that sent a shiver down your spine.
“Protect?” He shook his head. “You just painted a target on my back too, princess. Lord Kato isn’t the type to let his property run off. When he comes looking — and he will come looking — he’s going to hear all about how the village butcher stole his bride.”
He dragged a large hand down his face, clearly pissed off, but there was something else in his expression now. A glint of dark amusement. Maybe even reluctant interest.
“You’re either the bravest idiot I’ve ever met… or the most cunning.”
You stood there trembling in the middle of his living room, arms wrapped around yourself. The torn bodice of the dress had slipped dangerously low on your shoulders, but you didn’t dare fix it.
“I’ll leave at first light,” you promised again, softer this time. “I won’t cause you any more trouble. Just… let me stay until sunrise. Please, Toji.”
Hearing his name from your lips made his eyes narrow.
“Don’t,” he warned. “You don’t get to say my name like we’re actually married.”
He turned away from you and walked over to the small hearth. He crouched down, added two fresh logs, and stoked the fire back to life with practiced efficiency. The warm orange glow slowly filled the room, chasing away some of the chill.
When he stood again, he looked even bigger in the firelight — shoulders impossibly wide, muscles shifting under the thin tank top, the scar at his mouth pulling as he scowled.
“Sit,” he ordered, nodding toward one of the wooden chairs at the table. “You’re bleeding all over my floor.”
You obeyed, lowering yourself carefully onto the chair. The moment you sat, exhaustion crashed into you like a wave. Your feet throbbed. Every cut and bruise ached. You were filthy, terrified, and running on nothing but fear and adrenaline.
Toji disappeared down the short hallway and returned a minute later with a metal basin, a clean rag, and a small jar. He set the basin on the floor in front of you, then dropped into the chair across the table, watching you with those sharp green eyes.
“Clean your feet,” he said gruffly. “I’m not carrying you around if they get infected.”
You dipped the rag into the water and started wiping away the mud and blood as carefully as you could. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. The fire crackled. Outside, the village was completely quiet.
Toji leaned back in his chair, arms crossed again, studying you like livestock.
“You really think this marriage story is gonna hold?” he asked after a long minute. “Village folk love to talk. By noon tomorrow everyone’s gonna want to meet my mysterious bride.”
You kept your eyes on your injured feet. “I just need a day or two to figure out where to go next. I can… I can work. I’m not useless. I can clean, cook, help in the shop—”
Toji’s low chuckle cut you off.
“You? Working in a butcher shop?” He shook his head. “You look like you’ve never touched anything bloodier than a sewing needle in your life.”
He watched you struggle to clean a deep cut on your sole for another moment before he made an irritated sound and leaned forward.
“Give me your foot.”
You hesitated.
“Now,” he growled.
You slowly lifted your leg. Toji took your ankle in his huge, rough hand — surprisingly gentle despite the calluses and dried blood on his fingers. He pulled the basin closer and started cleaning your wounds himself with careful, efficient movements.
The contrast was jarring: this terrifying mountain of a man, covered in someone else’s blood, carefully tending to your torn-up feet.
“You’re staying the night,” he said quietly, not looking up from his work. “Not because I’m kind. Because if I throw you out now, those three hens will ask questions I don’t feel like answering. Tomorrow we figure out what the hell to do with you.”
He finished cleaning one foot and moved to the other. His thumb brushed accidentally over a sensitive spot and you hissed softly.
Toji’s eyes flicked up to your face for a second, something unreadable flashing across his expression.
“After that…” He set your foot down carefully and leaned back again, voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble. “You’re gonna start paying off the trouble you just caused me.”
He didn’t explain what that meant.
But the way he was looking at you — slow, heavy, possessive — made heat crawl up your neck despite the fear.
Toji held your gaze for another long moment before he finally released your ankle. He pushed the basin aside with his boot and stood, towering over you once more. The firelight danced across the hard lines of his face, catching on the jagged scar at the corner of his mouth.
“Stay there,” he muttered.
He disappeared into the back room again. You heard the sound of water splashing, then heavy footsteps returning. When he came back, he carried a thick wool blanket and a tin cup. He set the cup in front of you — it was filled with cool water — and dropped the blanket over the back of your chair.
“Drink,” he ordered. “You look half-dead.”
You obeyed without thinking, your hands still trembling slightly as you lifted the cup. The water was clean and cold, soothing your raw throat. Toji watched you drink the entire thing, arms crossed, before he spoke again.
You lowered the empty cup. “Thank you… for the water. And for cleaning my feet.”
He made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat, like thanks made him uncomfortable. Then he leaned against the edge of the table, close enough that his thigh nearly brushed your arm.
“You really thought this through?” he asked, voice low. “Running in a fancy white dress, announcing yourself as my wife in front of the nosiest women in the village… What’s your actual plan once the sun comes up?”
You stared down at your bandaged feet. “I didn’t have time for a real plan. I just knew I couldn’t let them marry me off to that monster. I thought if I could get far enough away, maybe sell the dress, I could buy passage on a cart or a boat. Start over somewhere no one knows me.”
Toji exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh but darker. “Selling that dress would’ve gotten you robbed or worse before you even reached the next town. You’re lucky you only made it as far as my doorstep.”
Silence settled again, broken only by the crackling fire. You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, suddenly aware of how exposed you still were — the torn bodice of the wedding gown hanging loosely, the lace ripped in several places, dirt and dried blood streaked across your skin.
Toji’s eyes drifted over you again, slower this time. They lingered on the curve of your shoulder where the dress had slipped, the rise and fall of your chest, the way the white fabric clung to your thighs.
“You look ridiculous,” he said bluntly. “Like a bride who lost a fight with a pack of wolves.”
Despite everything, a tiny, tired smile tugged at your lips. “That’s… not far from the truth.”
He pushed off the table and walked over to a wooden chest in the corner. He rummaged inside and pulled out a large, worn linen shirt — clearly one of his. It looked big enough to reach your knees.
“Here.” He tossed it to you. “Can’t have you walking around my place looking like that. Change. There’s a washroom down the hall if you want to clean up more.”
You clutched the shirt to your chest. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he warned. “You’re still in my house. Still wearing that damn dress that’s going to bring trouble to my door.”
He turned his back to give you a moment of privacy, busying himself by adding another log to the fire. You quickly stood, wincing at the pain in your feet, and slipped behind the partial wall that separated the washroom. You peeled off the ruined wedding dress with shaking hands, letting the torn fabric pool at your feet. The cool air kissed your bare skin as you pulled Toji’s shirt over your head. It smelled faintly of smoke, soap, and something unmistakably masculine. The hem fell halfway down your thighs.
When you stepped back out, Toji turned around. His eyes darkened the moment they landed on you in his shirt.
“Better,” he grunted, though his voice sounded rougher than before.
He gestured toward the narrow hallway. “Bedroom’s at the end. Only one bed. You take it tonight. I’ll sleep out here.”
You hesitated. “I can sleep on the floor. I’ve already caused enough—”
“Don’t argue,” he cut you off. “My house, my rules. Get some sleep. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
You walked carefully down the short hall, every step still painful. The bedroom was small and simple like the rest of the apartment — a large wooden bed with thick blankets, a single chair, and a window overlooking the dark village street. You climbed onto the bed, pulling the covers over yourself.
Toji appeared in the doorway a minute later, leaning one broad shoulder against the frame. The firelight from the main room silhouetted his massive form.
“Door stays open,” he said. “And don’t even think about sneaking out in the middle of the night. If I have to chase you down, I won’t be in a generous mood.”
You nodded, sinking deeper into the mattress. Exhaustion was pulling at you hard now, but sleep still felt far away with him standing there watching you.
“Toji…” you whispered.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Thank you,” you said again, softer. “For not throwing me out.”
His expression didn’t soften, but something in his eyes shifted. He pushed off the doorframe and turned to leave.
“Get some sleep, runaway,” he muttered. “You’re gonna need it.”
He left the door wide open. You heard him moving around in the main room — the creak of the wooden chair as he sat down, the quiet clink of a cup. The fire continued to crackle.
You lay there in his bed, wrapped in his shirt, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on you. The fake marriage. The village women who now believed you were his wife. Lord Kato still out there searching. And the terrifying, strangely careful butcher who had just tended to your wounds and given you his bed.
Sleep finally claimed you, but even in your dreams you could still feel the heavy weight of Toji’s gaze on your skin.
You woke to the sound of knocking.
It was loud, cheerful, and relentless — three sharp raps on the shop door downstairs, followed by muffled feminine voices. Sunlight streamed through the small bedroom window, warm and golden. For a brief, disoriented moment you forgot where you were. Then everything crashed back: the forest, the blood-stained butcher, the lie you’d told.
You sat up quickly. Toji’s oversized linen shirt had ridden up your thighs during the night. Your feet still ached, but the bandages held firm. You heard heavy footsteps downstairs, then Toji’s low, irritated growl as he opened the door.
“Morning!” a cheerful woman’s voice called up. “We brought breakfast for the newlyweds! Fresh bread, stew, and honey cakes. Don’t tell us you’re still in bed on your wedding night!”
Another woman giggled. “We’re dying to meet your bride properly!”
Toji’s heavy footsteps came up the stairs. He appeared in the bedroom doorway, looking imposing in the daylight. He wore a clean black tunic stretched tight across his chest, the same blood-stained apron tied around his waist. His hair was messy, jaw set with clear annoyance.
“They’re here,” he said flatly. “Three of them. Loaded with food.”
Your stomach twisted. “What do we do?”
Toji’s green eyes dragged over you — bare legs, wearing nothing but his shirt. Something dark flickered across his face.
“You sold us as newlyweds,” he reminded you, voice low. “So act like it. Smile. Look happy. Keep the story straight.”
He stepped closer and tugged the hem of the shirt down your thighs possessively. “There’s a spare skirt and blouse in the chest. Change. Quickly.”
You moved fast, wincing at the pain in your feet. Toji turned his back while you dressed in the simple dark green skirt and cream blouse. They were a little loose but far more practical.
When you were ready, Toji gave you one last look and jerked his head toward the stairs. “Downstairs. Remember — you’re my wife.”
The three women had already let themselves into the front of the shop. They had laid out a generous spread on the wooden counter: warm bread, a pot of hearty stew, honey cakes, and spiced cider. The moment you appeared behind Toji, their faces lit up.
“Oh, here she is!” the tallest, round-faced woman exclaimed. “Look at you, dear. Much better than last night. I’m Mrs. Sato, by the way! My husband runs the bakery just down the street.” She gestured to the other two. “This is Mira and little Hana.”
The younger women smiled warmly.
“You clean up beautifully,” Mira said. “You already have that newlywed glow!”
You felt heat rise in your cheeks. Toji’s large hand settled heavily on your lower back, warm and claiming.
“Thank you,” you said, offering a shy smile. “You’re all so kind. I’m sorry for how I looked last night… the journey through the forest was harder than I expected.”
Mrs. Sato waved her hand. “No apologies needed! Running away from a bad match to be with the man you love? It’s the most romantic thing to happen in this village in years.”
Toji grunted, his thumb slowly stroking your spine. “Wasn’t exactly planned,” he said dryly. “But here we are.”
The women laughed and chattered while you helped serve the food. They asked how you met, how long you’d been secretly courting, and whether you planned to stay in the village. You answered carefully, sticking close to the story. Toji added short, gruff confirmations, never moving far from your side.
Just as the women were gathering their empty baskets to leave, a loud, sharp knock echoed through the shop.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
This knock was different — heavy, authoritative, and impatient.
Toji’s hand tensed on your back. His expression hardened instantly.
Mrs. Sato glanced toward the door, curious. “Are you expecting more visitors already?”
Toji didn’t answer. He moved toward the door, positioning himself so his broad frame blocked most of the view inside. You stayed behind the counter, heart suddenly hammering.
He opened the door.
Two armed men stood outside, wearing the dark crimson and gold colors of Lord Kato’s household. Swords hung at their hips. Their eyes scanned the interior of the shop coldly.
“We’re searching for a missing girl,” the taller guard announced. “Runaway bride. White wedding dress. She fled the lord’s estate last night. Anyone matching that description come through here?”
The air in the shop grew thick. Mrs. Sato and the other two women turned to look at you with wide eyes, then back at the guards.
Toji’s voice was calm but ice-cold. “No one like that here.”
The second guard tried to peer past him. “Mind if we take a look inside?”
You stayed frozen behind the counter, heart hammering. Before Toji could answer, Mrs. Sato stepped forward with the confidence of someone who had gossiped through every scandal the village had ever seen.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said brightly, waving a hand. “You boys are wasting your time. That right there is Toji Fushiguro — our butcher for the last fifteen years. We’ve known him since he was a surly teenager dragging whole pigs through these doors!”
Mira immediately jumped in, nodding eagerly. “And he has a wife! They’ve been happily married for two whole years now. We were at their quiet little wedding ourselves. Very romantic.”
Hana clapped her hands together dramatically. “Yes! They’re the sweetest couple. Toji can barely keep his hands off her even when he’s covered in blood. Always canoodling right outside the shop like they’re still courting!”
Mrs. Sato leaned toward the guards like she was sharing precious village lore. “Honestly, if some runaway noble girl in a fancy white dress had shown up here last night, the entire village would’ve known before sunrise. This dear girl has been living above the shop for ages. Helps Toji with the accounts and everything. She’s no fugitive — she’s the butcher’s wife, plain and simple.”
Toji finally moved. He reached back with one thick arm, caught you around the waist, and pulled you forward against his side in one smooth motion. His grip was firm and possessive, his large hand resting heavily on your hip as he held you close.
The guards blinked, clearly thrown by the united front.
The taller one squinted at you. “But the missing girl was wearing a white wedding dress…”
Mira let out a theatrical laugh. “Plenty of white dresses in the world! Our girl here has been wearing plain village clothes for years. Look at her — does she look like some pampered noble who ran away last night?”
Hana nodded vigorously. “Exactly! She even makes the best meat pies in the village. We’d know if she was some lord’s bride.”
The two guards exchanged uncertain glances. Between Toji’s intimidating size, the three women’s absolute certainty, and the perfectly domestic scene in front of them, their suspicion melted away.
The shorter guard cleared his throat. “Seems like a false lead, then. Sorry to bother you folks.”
The taller one gave a reluctant nod. “Apologies for the intrusion. If you hear anything about a girl in a white dress, send word to the lord’s estate.”
Mrs. Sato smiled sweetly. “Of course, dears. Safe travels back!”
The guards turned and walked off down the street without another word.
The moment the door clicked shut, Mrs. Sato burst into laughter and fanned herself. “Well! That was more excitement than we usually get before noon.”
Mira winked at you. “Don’t worry, love. We’ve got your back. No one’s taking the butcher’s wife anywhere.”
Hana grinned. “We’ll spread the word. The whole village will keep an eye out.”
Toji gave them a short, gruff nod. “Appreciate it.”
The women gathered their empty baskets, still buzzing, and finally left with more promises of future visits and gifts.
The shop fell quiet again, morning sunlight streaming peacefully through the windows.
Toji slowly turned to face you. His hand was still on your waist, heavy and warm. For a long moment he just studied you, green eyes dark and intense.
“You’re damn lucky those three are the nosiest women alive,” he muttered. “They just sold that story better than we could’ve.”
He stepped closer, backing you gently against the counter. His voice dropped low, rough around the edges.
“So the whole village’s got our back it seems.” His thumb brushed slowly over your hip bone. “This lie keeps growing. Whole village thinks you’re mine now.”
His gaze dropped to your lips for a heartbeat before returning to your eyes.
“So tell me, runaway… how long do you plan on playing my wife? And how far are you willing to go to make everyone believe it?”
You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close he was. The counter pressed into your lower back, and Toji’s broad body blocked out most of the morning light. His hand remained heavy on your hip, thumb still tracing slow, absent circles that made your skin prickle beneath the thin blouse.
“I… I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think past getting away from Lord Kato. I just wanted to survive the night.”
Toji hummed, low and thoughtful. He tilted his head slightly, studying your face like he was trying to decide whether you were worth the growing headache you’d brought him.
“Surviving isn’t enough anymore,” he said. “Not after this morning. Those guards will report back. When they don’t find you, Kato will send more men. Maybe even come himself.” His fingers flexed on your hip. “And the whole village now believes you’re mine. If the story breaks, they’ll look like fools. They won’t forgive that easily.”
You met his eyes, heart thudding. “Then what do we do?”
For a moment he didn’t answer. Instead he reached up with his free hand and brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture surprisingly gentle for someone so rough-looking. His calloused fingertips lingered against the side of your neck.
“We lean into it,” he finally said. “Hard. You stay. You act like my wife in public — every smile, every touch, every time someone knocks on that door. No slipping up. No running off when it gets hard.”
He leaned in a fraction closer, voice dropping. “And in private… we figure out the real terms.”
Your breath caught. “Real terms?”
Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, dangerous half-smirk. “You cost me peace and quiet, runaway. You cost me the simple life where nobody bothered me. So you’re going to start paying me back.”
He didn’t elaborate, but the heat in his green eyes made it very clear what kind of payment he had in mind.
“I won’t force you,” he continued, surprising you. “Door’s right there. You can still walk out and take your chances on the road. But if you stay…” His hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. “Then you’re mine until this blows over. Or longer. Depends how good you are at pretending.”
The solid wall of his chest pressed against you, warm and unyielding. You could smell faint traces of smoke, soap, and the metallic hint of blood that never quite left him. Your hands came up instinctively, resting lightly on his abdomen.
“I’m not pretending right now,” you whispered.
Toji’s eyes darkened. For a second you thought he might kiss you — really kiss you — but he held back, letting the tension stretch until it was almost unbearable.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because the village expects a devoted wife. They’ll be watching. Bringing food. Asking questions. Asking when we’re going to have little butchers running around.”
Your face burned. Toji chuckled, deep and rough, clearly enjoying your reaction.
“Don’t worry. We’ll give them a good show.” He finally stepped back, giving you room to breathe again, though his hand lingered on your waist a moment longer. “For now, help me open the shop. Act natural. If anyone else comes asking, you know what to say.”
You nodded, still flushed.
As he turned to start his morning routine — sharpening knives, hanging fresh cuts, preparing the counter — you moved to help where you could. Every time you passed near him, his hand would brush your lower back or arm — small, deliberate touches that looked casual to anyone watching but felt heavy with intent.
By midday, a few villagers had already stopped by “just to say hello” and congratulate the newlyweds. Each time, Toji played his part perfectly — gruff, possessive, pulling you close with an ease that made the performance feel dangerously real.
An older man dropped off a small basket of eggs and clapped Toji on the back. “Didn’t think I’d live to see you settle down, Fushiguro. She must be something special.”
Toji’s arm tightened around your waist as he gave a low grunt. “She is.” His fingers flexed against your side, warm through the fabric of your blouse. You leaned into him instinctively, playing along, and felt the solid wall of muscle beneath his tunic.
A young mother came next with her toddler in tow, offering a jar of preserved berries. She smiled at you brightly. “You two look so good together. How long have you been hiding her from us, Toji?”
“Long enough,” he answered, voice rough but carrying a hint of smugness. He pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the top of your head right in front of her. The casual affection made your stomach flutter.
By early afternoon the steady trickle of visitors finally slowed. Toji flipped the shop sign to “Closed for the Day” and locked the front door with a heavy click. The sudden silence felt louder than all the chatter combined.
You let out a shaky breath and leaned against the counter, arms wrapped around yourself. “They really believe it. All of them.”
Toji wiped his hands on a rag, watching you from across the room. He tossed the rag aside and stalked toward you, slow and deliberate.
Gods, he was huge.
Up close like this, in the quiet afternoon light, the sheer size of him hit you all over again. Broad shoulders that seemed to stretch the fabric of his black tunic, thick arms corded with muscle from years of hauling heavy carcasses, a powerful chest that rose and fell steadily. The jagged scar at the corner of his mouth only made him more striking — dangerous, rough, and strangely, undeniably attractive. Those sharp green eyes pinned you in place, intimidating as ever, yet there was something magnetic about the way he moved. Like a predator who knew exactly how much power he held and chose not to use it… yet.
He stopped right in front of you, so close you had to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. One large hand came up to cup your chin, thumb brushing along your jaw.
“You’re handling this better than I expected,” he said quietly.
You felt your pulse quicken under his touch. “I feel like I’m going to faint every time someone looks at me.”
His thumb stroked slowly over your skin. “You’re not fainting. You’re standing here in my shop, wearing my clothes, letting me touch you like you belong to me.” His voice dropped lower. “Looks pretty convincing from where I’m standing.”
The air between you thickened. You could smell the faint mix of blood, woodsmoke, and clean sweat that clung to him. His sheer physical presence was overwhelming — the heat rolling off his massive frame, the way his broad chest nearly brushed against you with every breath.
“What happens when the guards come back?” you asked, voice softer than you intended.
Toji’s expression darkened. “Then we give them the same show. Or I handle it my way.” His hand slid from your chin to the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your hair. “But right now? Shop’s closed. No more visitors. No more pretending for a little while.”
He didn’t move away. Neither did you.
Instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch, exhaustion and adrenaline twisting into something warmer, heavier. Your hands rose to rest on his chest, feeling the hard, solid muscle beneath your palms.
“Toji…” you started, unsure what you even wanted to say.
He cut you off with a low sound. “Careful. You keep saying my name like that and I might start believing this marriage is real myself.”
His grip on the back of your neck tightened just slightly — not painful, but enough to remind you how easily he could pull you in. His green eyes dropped to your mouth, lingering this time, dark with hunger.
“You still haven’t answered my question from earlier,” he murmured. “How far are you willing to go, runaway?”
The shop was quiet except for the distant sounds of village life outside. No one was watching now. It was just the two of you, the weight of the lie, and the growing, electric heat between you.
You wet your lips, heart racing.
“I’m still here,” you whispered. “That should tell you something.”
Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, hungry smirk.
“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “It does.”
The silence that followed felt heavier than before. The shop was quiet now, the afternoon light cutting sharp lines across the wooden floor and the rows of knives hanging on the wall. Toji didn’t step back. He stayed right there, towering over you, one hand still gripping the back of your neck while the other rested heavy on your hip.
He really was massive up close.
Broad shoulders that strained his tunic, thick arms veined and scarred from years of brutal work, a chest so solid it looked like it could take a hit from a horse and keep going. The scar at the corner of his mouth gave his face a permanent edge, dangerous and rough. Yet there was something about the way he looked at you — intense green eyes, half-lidded, focused — that made your stomach tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
Toji noticed you staring.
“Eyes up here,” he muttered, but the corner of his scarred mouth twitched like he was amused. “You keep looking at me like that and I’m gonna get the wrong idea.”
You swallowed. “I’ve never been this close to someone like you.”
“Someone like me,” he repeated, almost mocking. He leaned in a little more, voice dropping low. “Big, ugly butcher covered in blood half the time?”
You shook your head. “Not ugly.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them. Toji paused, eyes narrowing slightly like he was trying to decide if you were lying. Then he let out a short, rough breath.
His thumb brushed slowly along the side of your neck, calloused and warm. You could feel the strength in his hand, how easily he could tighten his grip if he wanted. The contrast between that raw power and the way he was holding back made the air feel thick.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said quietly. His gaze dropped to your mouth for a second before flicking back up. “I’m not a patient man, runaway. And I’m definitely not a gentle one.”
Your hands were still pressed against his chest. Under your palms, his muscles were firm and warm, shifting slightly with each breath. You didn’t pull away.
“I know,” you whispered.
Toji’s jaw flexed. For a moment his control looked strained — shoulders tense, fingers pressing harder into your skin. He leaned down until his face was inches from yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath.
“If you stay,” he said, voice low and deliberate, “this stops being fake whenever I say it does. Behind this door, you won’t be playing a role. You’ll be in my bed. Under me. Taking what I give you.” His thumb dragged across your lower lip. “And you’ll moan my name like you mean it.”
Your breath caught.
Toji held your gaze for another long second, then slowly released you. He stepped back, rolling one shoulder like he needed to shake off the tension. The sudden space felt colder than it should have.
“But not right now,” he added gruffly. “You’re still half-dead on your feet and I’ve got work to finish before the meat spoils.”
He turned toward the back counter and picked up his sharpening stone. The steady scrape of metal filled the shop as he worked on one of his larger knives. You stayed by the front counter, watching the way his back and arms moved — powerful, efficient, every motion reminding you exactly what kind of man had just offered to claim you.
Every so often he glanced over at you, eyes dark and unreadable.
The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged. Heavy with everything neither of you was saying out loud.
After a while, Toji spoke without looking up from his work.
“You hungry?”
You blinked, surprised by the sudden normal question. “A little.”
He jerked his head toward the stairs. “There’s leftover stew from this morning in the pot upstairs. Heat it up if you want. Or stay down here. Doesn’t matter to me.”
You hesitated, then moved to help him organize the counter instead. Every time you passed close by, his arm would brush yours — deliberate, not accidental. Small reminders that the tension hadn’t gone anywhere.
The afternoon stretched on like that. Quiet work. Occasional glances. The weight of his presence never really leaving you.
By the time the sun had fully set and the village outside grew dark and quiet, the tension between you had only thickened. Lanterns flickered in distant windows, but inside the butcher shop everything felt hushed and intimate.
Toji locked the front door with a heavy click and killed most of the lanterns, leaving only a single low one burning near the stairs. The warm glow followed you both upstairs, casting long shadows across the wooden beams.
He grabbed a spare blanket from the chest and headed for the worn couch against the far wall without a word. The piece of furniture looked comically small beneath his massive frame as he tossed the blanket over it. Then he reached back and pulled his tunic off in one smooth motion.
Your mouth went dry.
Firelight danced over his bare back and shoulders — thick slabs of muscle shifting under scarred skin, powerful arms flexing as he folded the tunic. His waist tapered into a sharp V, disappearing beneath the waistband of his trousers. Every inch of him looked hard, battle-worn, and undeniably masculine. The sight made something low in your belly tighten.
You stood frozen in the bedroom doorway.
“Wait,” you said, voice barely louder than a whisper.
Toji glanced over his shoulder, one dark brow raised. The movement made the muscles in his chest and abdomen flex visibly.
You twisted your fingers in the hem of your blouse, cheeks already burning.
“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” you offered shyly. “The bed is… big enough for both of us. I don’t mind sharing.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Toji slowly turned around to face you fully. The low firelight carved deep shadows across his torso, highlighting every ridge of muscle, every old scar, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing into his trousers. He looked even bigger like this — raw power barely contained, green eyes locked on you with dangerous intensity.
He took one slow step closer, then another.
“Careful what you offer me, runaway,” he said, voice low and gravel-rough. “I’m not the type to hold back.”
You swallowed hard but didn’t back away.
“I just… it doesn’t feel right making you sleep on that tiny thing after everything,” you murmured, eyes flicking involuntarily down his bare chest before snapping back up. “We’re supposed to be married. At least to everyone else.”
Toji stopped just inches away from you. The heat radiating from his body wrapped around you like a cloak. You could smell him — smoke, clean sweat, and that faint metallic trace that always clung to his skin. His sheer size made you feel small and fragile in comparison.
He tilted his head, studying you like prey.
“You offering to share my bed isn’t about being polite,” he murmured. “If I get in that bed with you, I’m not staying on my side. I’ll pull you against me. I’ll have my hands all over that soft little body. And if you keep looking at me with those wide, needy eyes…”
He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke.
“I won’t be able to stop myself from spreading those pretty thighs and finding out exactly how wet pretending to be my wife has made you.”
Your breath hitched sharply. Heat flooded your face and pooled between your legs. You pressed your thighs together instinctively, but Toji noticed — of course he did. A dark, satisfied sound rumbled in his chest.
He pulled back just enough to look at your face again, eyes heavy-lidded and hungry.
“I’m not gentle,” he continued, voice dropping even lower. “I fuck hard. I take what I want. And right now, I want to ruin that shy little runaway who dropped to her knees at my door and turned my whole life upside down.”
His hand came up, knuckles lightly dragging down the side of your neck, over your racing pulse, then lower until they brushed the neckline of your blouse. Not quite touching skin, but close enough to make you shiver.
“So think very carefully before you offer again,” he warned. “Because once I’m in that bed, the only pretending left will be how long you can keep quiet while I’m buried inside you.”
The air felt too thick to breathe.
Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, predatory smirk as he watched the effect his words had on you.
“Still want to share a bed with me… wife?”
Toji’s words hung heavy in the air.
You didn’t answer with words.
You looked up at him, heart hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat, and gave a small, shy nod.
That was all it took.
Toji’s control snapped. A low, almost feral sound rumbled in his chest as he moved. In one fluid motion he scooped you up, one thick arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you like you weighed nothing. Your breath caught at how easily he carried you — his biceps flexing hard against your body, the heat of his bare chest pressing into your side.
He carried you the few steps to the bed and laid you down on your back with surprising care, but the look in his eyes was anything but gentle. The mattress dipped deeply under his weight as he climbed over you, caging you in completely with his massive frame. His broad shoulders blocked out most of the firelight, leaving you in shadow beneath him.
“You a virgin?” he asked, voice low and rough, green eyes searching yours like he was looking for any hesitation.
You nodded again, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“Fuck,” he breathed, the word almost reverent. His gaze darkened as it dragged slowly down your body. “Gonna have to take my time with you then. Can’t wreck this tight little virgin cunt on the first thrust.”
He kissed you deeply, tongue claiming your mouth in slow, filthy strokes while his rough hands explored every inch of you. He took his time peeling your clothes off — first tugging your blouse over your head, then sliding your skirt down your legs, and finally hooking his fingers into your soaked panties and dragging them off. When you were completely naked beneath him, he sat back on his heels and just stared, drinking in every inch of your exposed body like a man who’d been starving for weeks.
“So fucking small,” he muttered, almost to himself. His large hands ran up your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin on the inside, then spread your legs wide open. “Look at this pretty virgin pussy… already glistening and I’ve barely touched you.”
The cool air hit your wet folds and you shivered. Toji’s eyes were locked between your legs, dark and hungry, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
He lowered himself between your spread thighs like a man on a mission. The first slow, hot drag of his tongue from your entrance all the way up to your clit made your entire body jolt. Toji groaned deeply at your taste, the sound vibrating straight through you.
“Sweet as hell,” he rasped, voice thick with lust. “Could eat this pussy for hours.”
Then he devoured you.
His tongue worked in slow, broad strokes, licking every inch of your soaked folds before focusing on your swollen clit. He sucked the sensitive bud into his hot mouth, flicking it rapidly with the tip of his tongue while two thick fingers teased your entrance, circling and pressing but not pushing in yet. When you started whimpering and rolling your hips, he finally pushed one thick finger inside you — careful, but relentless.
“So goddamn tight,” he growled against your pussy, the vibration making your toes curl. “This little hole is gonna fight my cock the whole way in.”
He curled his finger slowly, searching, until he found that spongy spot that made your back arch. He rubbed it firmly while sucking harder on your clit. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth and fingers filled the quiet bedroom — slick, filthy, and loud. Your thighs started trembling around his head as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly.
“Toji— oh gods—”
He didn’t let up. He ate you out like he was starving for it — messy, hungry, and completely focused on pulling every sound out of you. He added a second finger, stretching you open carefully, scissoring them while his tongue flicked fast and firm over your clit. The pressure built unbearably fast.
Your orgasm crashed over you without warning. Your back arched clean off the bed as you came hard on his face with a broken, sobbing cry of his name. Your walls clamped down around his fingers, pulsing wildly.
Toji licked you through every wave, slow and thorough, drawing out every last tremor until you were twitching and oversensitive, whimpering softly. Only then did he pull back. His chin and lips were shiny with your slick. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and satisfied as he looked up at your flushed, panting face.
Then he shoved his trousers down.
His cock sprang free — thick, heavy, veined, and longer than anything you’d ever imagined. The flushed head was already leaking steadily.
“See this?” he said, stroking himself slowly. “This is gonna stretch you wide open, baby. But I’ll make it fit.”
He climbed back over you, pushing your legs up and folding your knees toward your chest. The position left you completely exposed. He rubbed the fat head of his cock up and down your drenched folds, coating himself in your wetness, teasing your clit with every pass.
“Deep breaths,” he warned. “Gonna go slow.”
He pushed in.
The stretch was intense. You gasped sharply, a high-pitched whimper escaping you as just the thick head popped inside. “Ah—! Toji… it’s so big…”
Toji groaned, jaw clenched tight as he fought the urge to slam forward. “Fuck— so tight,” he hissed. “Relax for me, baby. Let me in.”
You whimpered softly, fingers clutching at his shoulders. “It burns… but— ah— don’t stop…”
He worked himself in inch by slow, careful inch. Every time you tensed, he stopped, leaning down to kiss your neck or suck on your tits until you loosened again. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the restraint.
Halfway in, you let out a shaky moan, eyes fluttering. “Oh gods… I can feel you so deep already…”
Toji looked down at the bulge already forming in your lower belly. “Shit… look at that,” he groaned, pressing a big hand over the swell. “My cock’s barely halfway and I can already see it inside you.”
When he finally bottomed out, hips flush against your ass, you felt so full you could barely breathe. A broken whimper left your lips. “T-Toji… you’re all the way in… I feel so full…”
Toji stayed still, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust while he kissed you slow and deep. “Good girl,” he praised, voice strained. “Taking every inch of my cock on your first time. Such a perfect little wife.”
When your whimpers turned into soft, needy moans, he started moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips at first. The wet drag of his thick cock against your walls made you cry out.
“Feel that?” he growled. “Feel how deep I am? Gonna breed this cunt so full tonight.”
“Ah—! Yes… I feel it,” you moaned, voice trembling. “It’s so deep… Toji—!”
His pace gradually picked up. The bed started creaking rhythmically as he fucked you harder, deeper. Your tits bounced with every thrust. You couldn’t stop the desperate sounds spilling from your mouth.
“Gonna fill you up,” he panted. “Pump this tight womb full of my cum until it takes. Want you walking around the village with my kid growing inside you. Everyone’s gonna know exactly who fucked you first.”
The filthy words sent you spiraling. “Please— Toji— I’m gonna—!” You came hard around his cock, walls fluttering and squeezing him like a vice as you screamed his name, “Toji—! Ahh—!”
Toji snarled and fucked you through it, pace turning brutal. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed loudly.
“Fuck— gonna cum,” he groaned. “Gonna breed you— take it all—”
You whimpered and moaned beneath him, voice hoarse, “Cum inside me… please— fill me up—!”
He slammed in deep one final time and came with a long, guttural moan. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pussy, pulse after heavy pulse. There was so much it leaked out around his cock despite how tightly you were stretched around him. Toji kept grinding deep, pushing every drop into your womb, hand pressing down on the bulge in your belly like he wanted to keep it all inside you.
You let out a soft, overwhelmed whimper at the feeling of being so full of him.
He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, chest heaving against yours, both of you slick with sweat.
Then he leaned down, kissed you slow and possessive, and murmured against your lips:
“This cunt belongs to me.”
Toji stayed inside you for a while longer, gently grinding and kissing your neck, before he finally pulled out with a low groan. A thick trickle of his cum leaked from your abused hole onto the sheets. He looked down at the mess with dark satisfaction, then rolled onto his back and pulled you against his chest.
“Rest now,” he said quietly, voice rough but surprisingly gentle as he wrapped a heavy arm around you. “You’ve had a long day, runaway. Close your eyes.”
He pressed one last kiss to the top of your head, his large hand resting possessively on your lower belly.
“Go to sleep.”
-
You woke up to warmth.
A heavy, solid arm was draped across your waist, pinning you to a broad chest. Toji’s body was curled around yours from behind, one thick thigh wedged between your legs. His breathing was slow and deep, but the moment you shifted even slightly, his grip tightened possessively.
The room was still dim, early morning light just beginning to creep through the small window. Your body ached — a deep, satisfying soreness between your thighs, faint bruises on your hips from his fingers, and the unmistakable sticky warmth of his cum still leaking out of you.
You tried to move again, but Toji’s low, sleepy growl stopped you.
“Stay,” he muttered against the back of your neck, voice rough with sleep. His hand slid down to cup your lower belly, pressing lightly. “Not done holding you yet.”
Heat rushed to your face. You stayed still, letting him pull you tighter against him. His cock — already half-hard again — rested heavy against your ass.
After a few quiet minutes, Toji sighed and finally loosened his grip. He rolled you onto your back so he could look down at you. His hair was messy, eyes still heavy-lidded, but the smirk on his scarred mouth was fully awake.
“Morning,” he said, voice gravelly. His hand stayed on your stomach, thumb stroking slow circles. “How’re you feeling?”
You shifted, wincing a little at the soreness. “Full… and sore,” you admitted softly.
Toji’s smirk widened into something darker, more satisfied. He leaned down and kissed you — slow and lazy at first, then deeper, tongue sliding against yours. When he pulled back, he dragged his hand lower, fingers brushing through the mess between your thighs.
“Still leaking my cum,” he murmured, almost proud. “Good.”
He pushed two thick fingers back inside you, slow and careful, fucking his dried cum deeper. You whimpered, hips twitching.
“Toji—”
“Shh,” he soothed, kissing your temple. “Not fucking you again right now. You’re too sore.” He kept his fingers inside you anyway, lazy and possessive. “Just keeping you full.”
You stayed like that for a while — his fingers buried inside you, his mouth brushing lazy kisses along your neck and shoulder. The morning was quiet except for the occasional creak of the bed and your soft sounds.
Eventually he pulled his fingers out, brought them to his mouth, and licked them clean while watching your face.
“Breakfast,” he said simply. “Then we open the shop.”
He got up first, completely naked and shameless. You couldn’t stop yourself from staring at the powerful lines of his back, the flex of his ass and thighs as he moved. He caught you looking and chuckled.
“Keep staring like that and I will bend you over the table downstairs,” he warned.
You quickly looked away, cheeks burning.
He tossed you one of his clean shirts and a fresh skirt. While you dressed, he pulled on his usual trousers and tank top, tying his blood-stained apron around his waist.
Before you left the bedroom, he caught your wrist and pulled you close one more time. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip.
“Last night wasn’t pretend,” he said quietly, eyes serious. “Not for me. You’re mine. Understand?”
You swallowed and whispered, “I understand.”
He kissed you again — hard, claiming — then rested his forehead against yours for a second.
“Good.”
He led you downstairs, his hand firm on your lower back the entire way.
The village was waking up outside. And for the first time since you’d run away, you didn’t feel like running anymore.
Toji unlocked the front door and flipped the sign while you tied on a clean apron. The morning air carried the smell of fresh bread from Mrs. Sato’s bakery and the distant clang of the blacksmith’s hammer. A few early customers began drifting toward the shop.
The first hour passed in a surprisingly calm rhythm. You helped weigh portions, wrap cuts of meat in clean paper, and hand them over with a shy smile. Toji stayed close the whole time — sometimes reaching past you for a knife, sometimes resting a hand on your waist as he moved behind you. Every touch felt deliberate, like he was marking his territory even when no one was watching.
Then the bell above the door rang again.
A tall, sun-tanned man with kind eyes and an easy, friendly smile stepped inside. He looked to be in his late twenties, with the strong build of someone who spent his days working the fields. He greeted Toji with a familiar nod.
“Morning, Fushiguro. The usual shoulder cut, please.” His gaze shifted to you behind the counter and softened with genuine interest. “You must be the new wife everyone’s been talking about. I’m Haru. I run the big farm past the mill.”
You returned his smile politely. “Nice to meet you, Haru.”
He watched as you carefully wrapped his order, your hands still a little clumsy with the butcher paper. “It’s good to see a new face around here,” he said warmly. “You seem really kind. Gentle. The kind of person who makes a place feel brighter just by being in it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, almost shyly. “If you ever need anything — extra vegetables from the farm, help carrying something heavy, or just someone to talk to when things get quiet — my door’s always open. Wouldn’t want you feeling lonely so soon after moving in.”
You tilted your head, completely oblivious to any hidden meaning, and gave him a grateful smile. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Before you could say anything else, the air behind you changed.
Toji’s large hand settled heavily on your hip, fingers digging in with clear possession as he pulled you back firmly against his chest. His other arm slid around your waist, locking you in place.
“She won’t be needing anything,” Toji said, his voice low and dangerously even. “I take care of my wife.”
Haru blinked, the friendly smile faltering as he finally registered the tension rolling off the butcher. “Of course. I was just… being neighborly.”
Toji’s grip on your hip tightened. “Neighborly is saying hello. The rest sounded like something else.”
The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable. Haru swallowed hard, quickly paid for his meat, and muttered a polite goodbye before leaving without another word. The door swung shut behind him with a soft jingle.
The second he was gone, Toji spun you around and backed you against the counter. His green eyes were dark, jaw clenched tight with barely-contained jealousy. One big hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb pressing lightly against your bottom lip.
“You really didn’t notice?” he muttered, voice rough.
You shook your head, genuinely confused. “He was just being nice…”
Toji let out a short, irritated breath and leaned in closer, forehead almost touching yours. “He wasn’t just being nice. He was testing the waters. Seeing if my wife might be open to something else. Offering you a soft place to land if you ever got tired of me.”
His other hand slid under your skirt, fingers brushing between your thighs and finding you still slick from the night before. You gasped softly as he pushed two thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them slowly.
“Toji—”
“Mine,” he growled quietly against your ear, pumping his fingers in a lazy rhythm. “This pussy is mine. You are mine. I don’t want you smiling so sweetly at other men. Understand?”
You whimpered, clutching his shoulders as pleasure sparked through your still-sensitive body. “I understand…”
He kissed you then — hard, possessive, and hungry — while his fingers continued their slow, deliberate strokes. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were still dark with jealousy.
“Next time someone talks to you like that,” he said, voice low, “you let me handle it.”
He reluctantly withdrew his fingers, straightened your skirt, and stepped back like nothing had happened. But the tension in his shoulders and the dark look in his eyes remained.
“Back to work,” he said gruffly, still clearly worked up.
You nodded, legs shaky, heart racing, and turned back to the counter.
The rest of the morning passed with Toji staying even closer than before — a constant, heavy, possessive presence at your side. Every time another customer entered, his hand found your waist or lower back, silently reminding everyone (and you) exactly who you belonged to.
The rest of the morning dragged on with the same heavy tension.
Every time a male customer stepped through the door, Toji’s demeanor shifted. His hand would find your waist, your hip, or the small of your back — a silent, unmistakable claim. He answered questions in short, clipped tones and watched the men with sharp, warning eyes. You tried to focus on wrapping orders and smiling politely, but the constant possessiveness was becoming impossible to ignore.
By early afternoon, when the shop finally quieted again, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.
You turned to him while he was wiping down the counter.
“Toji,” you said softly, “you’re being too much.”
He paused, setting the rag down slowly. When he looked at you, his green eyes had gone dark.
“Too much?” he repeated, voice low and deceptively calm.
You swallowed but stood your ground. “Yes. The constant touching, the glaring at every man who even looks at me... They’re just customers.”
Toji stared at you for a long, heavy beat. Then he slowly walked around the counter, backing you up until your hips hit the edge. He caged you in with his massive frame, one hand braced beside you on the wood, the other coming up to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.
“You think I’m being too possessive?” he murmured, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Tell me something, wife… What kind of husband would I be if I let other men think they can have access to what’s mine?”
His voice was rough, low, and dangerous. “If I smiled and stepped aside while they flirted with you? While they offered you help and soft words like they had any right to you?”
He leaned in closer, breath hot against your ear. “I’d be a fucking joke. A weak man who doesn’t know how to protect what belongs to him. And I’m not weak.”
His free hand slid under your skirt without warning, fingers pushing between your thighs. You were bare underneath. The moment his calloused fingertips brushed your folds, he groaned softly — low and rough — when he found you already wet again.
“Already soaked,” he muttered, voice thick with satisfaction. “Complaining about me being too possessive, but your pussy is dripping the second I touch you.”
“Toji—” you whimpered, hips twitching as two thick fingers pushed inside you in one smooth motion. The stretch made you gasp, your walls still tender and sensitive from the night before.
He curled his fingers slowly, deliberately, stroking that spongy spot deep inside you while his thumb found your swollen clit and rubbed tight, firm circles. His mouth latched onto your neck, sucking hard enough to leave another mark, teeth grazing your skin as he worked you open.
You moaned, loud and broken, clutching desperately at his broad shoulders. Your legs trembled around his wrist as pleasure sparked hot and fast through your body.
“You can tell me I’m too much,” he growled against your throat, biting down lightly before soothing the sting with his tongue. “But we both know the truth. You like it when I act like this. You like knowing no one else can touch you. You like being mine.”
His fingers pumped faster, curling with every thrust, the wet, obscene sounds of your arousal filling the quiet shop. Your hips rolled against his hand instinctively, chasing the pleasure even as your thighs shook.
“Ah— Toji… please—” you moaned, voice cracking. Your head fell back, exposing more of your neck to him. He took full advantage, sucking and biting along your skin while his fingers drove deeper, faster.
You were right there — teetering on the edge, muscles tightening around his thick fingers — when he suddenly pulled his hand away completely.
You let out a desperate, needy whine, hips chasing his fingers uselessly. Your core throbbed, aching and empty.
“Toji…!” you whimpered, voice hoarse and frustrated, eyes glassy with unshed tears of need. “Please— I was so close…”
Toji smirked, dark and satisfied, eyes gleaming with lust as he watched you squirm. He brought his glistening fingers up between you, holding them in front of your face so you could see how wet they were — coated in your slick right up to his knuckles.
“Open,” he ordered, voice low and commanding.
You obeyed instantly, parting your lips. He pushed his fingers into your mouth, letting you taste yourself as you sucked them clean, tongue swirling around them obediently. His green eyes darkened further, pupils blown wide as he watched you.
“Good girl,” he murmured, voice rough with arousal. “Look at you… so fucking eager. Whining because I stopped, sucking my fingers like you’d do anything for my cock right now.”
He pulled his fingers free with a wet pop and leaned in, kissing you deeply, tasting you on your own tongue. When he pulled back, his breath was ragged.
“You can complain about me being possessive all you want,” he said, voice dark and low, “but your body doesn’t lie. This pussy knows exactly who it belongs to.”
He suddenly lifted you onto the counter with ease, as if you weighed nothing. The wood was cool against the backs of your thighs as he shoved your skirt all the way up to your waist in one rough motion, baring your dripping pussy completely. He stepped between your spread thighs, his broad body forcing your legs wider apart until your knees were nearly touching your shoulders.
His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, fingers digging deep into your soft flesh with unmistakable ownership. With his other hand, he freed his cock — thick, heavy, and already throbbing. The veined shaft glistened as he stroked himself once, slowly, eyes locked on your exposed, glistening cunt.
“Since you think I’m too possessive,” he said, voice rough and dangerous, “I’m going to remind you exactly why I am.”
He rubbed the fat, leaking head of his cock up and down your soaked folds, coating every thick inch in your slick. He teased your swollen clit with every slow pass, tapping it lightly until your hips jerked and you let out a needy whimper.
“Toji… please—”
Without another word, he pushed in with one deep, powerful thrust.
You cried out sharply, back arching hard off the counter as the thick head forced its way inside, stretching you wide open. The sudden, overwhelming fullness stole your breath. Toji groaned deeply, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth stroke, his hips flush against your ass.
“Fuck… still so tight,” he growled, voice strained with pleasure. “Even after I filled you last night. This greedy little cunt keeps sucking me in like it doesn’t want to let go.”
He didn’t give you any time to adjust. He started fucking you hard and deep, the heavy wooden counter creaking loudly under the force of every brutal thrust. Your moans echoed shamelessly through the empty shop as he claimed you right there in the middle of the day.
“Mine,” he snarled against your neck, biting down hard enough to leave another dark mark. “Say it.”
“I’m yours— ah— Toji—!” you moaned, voice breaking as your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, heels digging into his lower back.
He fucked you even harder, hips snapping forward with powerful, punishing strokes. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room, loud and filthy. One of his big hands reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing fast, tight circles.
“That’s right,” he panted, breath hot against your ear. “My wife. My pussy. No one else gets to look at you the way I do. No one else gets to touch you. No one else even gets to fucking think about you.”
Your moans grew louder and more desperate, your walls fluttering around his thick cock with every deep thrust. The counter shook beneath you. Your tits bounced wildly inside your blouse with the force of his movements.
He suddenly leaned back slightly, gripping your thighs and spreading you even wider as he drove into you. The new angle made him hit even deeper, the bulge in your lower belly becoming visible with every thrust.
“Look at that,” he groaned, eyes fixed on the spot where his cock disappeared inside you. “You’re taking me so fucking deep. This tight cunt was made for my cock.”
You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you. “Toji—! It’s too deep— ahh—!”
“You can take it,” he growled, fucking you harder. “You’re going to take everything I give you.”
Your orgasm crashed over you without warning — fast, violent, and overwhelming. Your walls clenched hard around his cock, fluttering and squeezing as waves of intense pleasure tore through your body. You screamed his name, thighs shaking violently around his waist.
Toji snarled like a beast, his rhythm turning erratic and savage as he fucked you through your climax. He kept pounding into you, chasing his own release, hips slamming against yours with wet, filthy sounds.
But he didn’t cum.
Instead, he suddenly slowed his thrusts, grinding deep and slow, keeping you right on the edge of overstimulation. His breathing was ragged, sweat glistening on his chest and neck.
He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy, possessive kiss while still buried deep inside you.
“You’re not done yet,” he murmured against your lips, voice dark and full of promise. “We’re nowhere near finished.”
Before you could catch your breath, Toji pulled out of you with a wet, obscene sound. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, your pussy clenching around nothing, already missing the thick stretch of him. But he didn’t give you any time to protest.
In one swift, powerful motion, he flipped you over onto your stomach across the counter. Your chest pressed against the cool, smooth surface, your cheek resting on the wood as he yanked your hips back and up, forcing your ass high in the air. Your skirt was still bunched uselessly around your waist, leaving you completely exposed — bent over like a whore in the middle of his shop.
Toji kicked your legs wider apart with his foot, then pressed one large hand firmly between your shoulder blades, pinning you down hard against the counter.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, voice thick with raw lust. “Bent over my counter like a proper little wife. Ass up, pussy dripping for me.”
He spread your ass cheeks wide with both hands, exposing your swollen, abused pussy completely. Without any warning, he spat directly onto your folds — a thick, warm glob of saliva landing right on your clit and dripping down. You gasped sharply at the filthy sensation, your hips twitching.
Toji groaned at the sight and used two thick fingers to rub his spit into your pussy, mixing it with your own slick, pushing it inside you. Then he brought his palm down hard on your ass with a loud, resounding smack.
The sharp sting bloomed hot across your skin. You cried out, jolting forward on the counter.
“Stay still,” he ordered, voice rough. He smacked the other cheek even harder, watching the way your flesh jiggled and turned pink under his hand. “This ass is mine too. Every fucking inch of you is mine.”
You moaned helplessly, pushing back against him despite the sting. Toji lined up the thick head of his cock again and thrust back inside you in one brutal, deep stroke.
The new angle made him feel impossibly bigger, reaching even deeper. You moaned loudly, fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth wooden counter as he immediately started fucking you hard and fast.
The counter creaked loudly under the force of his powerful thrusts. Each snap of his hips drove his thick cock impossibly deep, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing through the empty shop. Toji’s hands gripped your hips in a bruising hold, pulling you back onto his cock with every stroke like he was using you.
“Fuck— this pussy feels even better like this,” he groaned, voice rough and strained. He smacked your ass again, harder this time, watching the way your flesh rippled red under his palm. “So fucking wet. You like being bent over and used like this, don’t you?”
“Yes— ah— Toji—!” you moaned, cheek pressed against the cool counter, eyes fluttering shut. Every brutal thrust made your breasts press harder into the wood, your sensitive nipples dragging against it.
Toji reached forward and fisted a hand in your hair, pulling your head back slightly as he fucked you even harder. His hips slammed against your ass with wet, filthy sounds. He spat on your pussy again, right where his thick cock was stretching you open, and used his thumb to rub the saliva into your swollen clit.
“Such a messy little wife,” he panted, smacking your ass repeatedly between thrusts — sharp, stinging slaps that made you clench tighter around him. “Dripping all over my counter. Taking my cock so deep like you were made for it. Look at this greedy cunt swallowing every inch.”
Your moans turned into broken sobs of pleasure. The combination of his brutal pace, the stinging heat on your ass, and the filthy words pushed you right to the edge again.
Toji leaned over you, his broad chest pressing against your back, his breath hot and ragged against your ear as he kept pounding into you without mercy.
“Tell me who this pussy belongs to,” he growled, smacking your ass one more time, hard enough to make you yelp.
“You—! It belongs to you— Toji—!” you cried out, voice hoarse and desperate.
He snarled in satisfaction and fucked you even harder, the counter shaking beneath you. His hand slipped between your legs again, rubbing your clit fast and rough.
You came with a broken scream, your walls clamping down hard around his thick cock, thighs shaking violently as intense pleasure tore through you.
Toji groaned loudly as your orgasm triggered his own. He slammed in deep one final time and came hard, flooding your pussy with thick, hot spurts of cum. He kept grinding into you slowly, pushing every drop as deep as possible, his hips pressed tight against your reddened ass.
For a long moment, the only sounds in the shop were your heavy breathing and the faint drip of his cum leaking out of you onto the floor.
Toji stayed buried inside you, leaning over your back and kissing the back of your neck possessively.
“Still think I’m being too possessive?” he murmured against your skin, voice dark and satisfied.
You could only whimper in response, too overwhelmed to form words. Your body was trembling, pressed against the counter, pussy still fluttering weakly around his thick cock. Every small shift made you feel the mess he’d left inside you — warm, sticky, and so full it was leaking down your thighs.
Toji let out a low, rumbling sound of approval. He stayed deep for a long moment, grinding slow and lazy, pushing his cum even deeper as if he couldn’t stand the thought of any of it escaping. His large hand smoothed over the reddened skin of your ass where he’d spanked you, almost soothing now, before giving one last firm squeeze.
“Answer me,” he said quietly, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“…No,” you breathed, voice hoarse and shaky. “I don’t.”
He hummed, clearly pleased. He finally pulled out slowly, watching with dark eyes as a thick trail of his cum dripped from your abused hole onto the floor. The sight made him groan softly.
“Fuck, that’s a pretty sight,” he muttered. He used two fingers to push some of the leaking cum back inside you, then straightened your skirt with surprising care.
Toji helped you stand on shaky legs, turning you to face him. He cupped your jaw with one hand, thumb brushing your flushed cheek as he studied your expression — eyes glassy, lips swollen, hair messy.
“You’re going to feel me for the rest of the day,” he said, voice low. “Every step. Every time you move. I want you thinking about who fucked you over this counter.”
He leaned in and kissed you — slower this time, but still deep and possessive. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a brief second.
“Clean yourself up a little,” he told you, pressing one last kiss to your temple. “We’ve still got half a day left.”
Toji stepped back, tucking himself away and adjusting his apron like nothing had happened, though the dark, satisfied glint in his eyes remained.
You stood there on unsteady legs, heart still racing, feeling the unmistakable warmth of his cum slowly leaking down your inner thighs.
And somehow, you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain.
a/n: aren't the old hags kinda iconic? lmk what you think and if you'd be interested in a part two! likes and reblogs appreciated!!
contains; boot humping, humiliation, degradation mixed with praise
You love teasing Ghost while he's at work on your days off—sending him filthy messages, describing exactly how your fingers slid through your slick folds, how you imagined his cock filling you. You knew exactly what you were doing. And fuck do you regret it now.
The rough polyester of his uniform trousers scratches against your cheek as you while you look up at him with teary eyes, searching for any scrap of mercy. The scent of him—gunpowder, sweat, that sharp masculine musk that clings to his skin after a long shift—fills your lungs with every desperate breath. Your knees ache against the hardwood floor, the pressure a dull throb that punctuates each frantic rock of your hips. His boot is slick with your arousal now, the black leather darkened and glistening where you've been riding it like a desperate animal in heat—the need is a living thing inside you, clawing at your insides, demanding release.
Simon's eyes are dark pools of amusement as he watches you descend into ruin. He's tilted back in his chair, legs spread wide, the outline of his cock straining against the metal zipper of his trousers. You can see the damp spot where precum has beaded at the tip, darkening the fabric. He's hard—so fucking hard—but he shows no sign of easing your torment. His hand rests on your head, fingers threading through your hair with a gentleness that belies his cruelty.
"Si... please” the words tear from your throat, ragged and broken. Tears blur your vision, hot tracks carving paths down your flushed cheeks. Some drip from your chin, splattering onto the leather of his boot. You're a mess—makeup ruined, hair a tangled disaster, body shaking uncontrollably.
"Is it too much?" The question drips with faux sympathy, his voice a low purr that vibrates through your skull as his thumb brushes a tear away with mock tenderness. You nod frantically, more tears spilling free, your lips parting to beg again—
"Good. Keep going."
The command drops an octave, deep and final. The sound of it settles in your bones like a warning. A whine escapes you, high and pathetic, as your hips stutter against his boot. You're so close. So fucking close. The edge is a razor's breadth away, a precipice you've been dangling over for what feels like hours. Every time you think you'll tip over, the pressure shifts, the angle changes, and the wave recedes, leaving you gasping and empty.
"I can't," you sob, your movements halting completely. Your arms wrap around his calf, hugging it like a lifeline, your forehead pressing against his knee. "Please, I can't—"
His fingers find the nape of your neck, grip tightening on your hair, and he yanks your head back with brutal precision. Your spine arches, a gasp punched from your lungs. Through tear-blurred eyes, you meet his gaze—those cold, calculating eyes that see right through you. "Should've thought about that before being a fucking tease." His voice is a low growl, vibrating with restrained dominance. "Sending me those texts, huh? Thinking you could wind me up and I'd forget about it when I got home?"
You can't respond. Your throat is too tight, your breath coming in ragged pants. The tears flow freely now, a silent admission of guilt. Sensing your need, your submission, he tilts his boot upward. The leather toe catches your clit through the soaked fabric, a sharp, deliberate tap that sends a jolt of electricity straight through your pelvis. Your body convulses, a broken moan tearing from your chest. The sensation is too much and not enough all at once.
"Move," he orders.
Your whimper of protest is swallowed by instinct. Your hips roll forward, grinding desperately against the boot, chasing that spark of pleasure-pain. You hate yourself for how easily you obey, how your body responds before your mind can catch up. But the need is overwhelming, a primal force that strips away all dignity.
Simon watches with hungry satisfaction. Your fucked-out, tear-streaked, utterly broken face, how you look up at him with those glossy, hazy eyes. The way you hug his calf, fingers digging into the fabric of his trousers, as you hump his foot like a bitch in heat—only his to admire, to humiliate.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his hand moving from your hair to cup your jaw. He tilts your face up, forcing you to maintain eye contact as you continue your frantic movements. "Fucking desperate. Is this what you wanted?" He squeezes your cheeks, forcing your lips into a pout. "To be begging for permission to come on my boot?"
A sob escapes you, but you can't answer. Your hips only move faster, your breath coming in sharp, frantic gasps. The pressure is building again, that coiled heat in your belly tightening, threatening to snap. But you know he won't let you. Not yet. Not until he's extracted every ounce of punishment for your earlier teasing.
His thumb traces your lower lip, pressing inside, and you instinctively suck, tasting the salt of your own tears mingled with his skin. "Good. That's it," he praises, the words a venomous caress. "Show me how sorry you are." And you do. Because there's nothing else you can do. Because this is exactly where he wants you—on your knees, shattered and desperate, your pleasure dangling just out of reach, his to give or withhold as he sees fit. And as you continue to grind against his boot, you know that it's going to be a long night.
"Open that fuckin' mouth wider, slut—gonna ram my cock down your throat till you choke on it," Toji growled, his massive hand fisting your hair tight at the roots, yanking your head back so your lips parted on a gasp, eyes watering already from the brutal pull.
He loomed over you on his knees, scarred chest heaving, veins bulging along his thick forearms as he slapped the heavy weight of his cock against your cheek—hot, veined length smearing pre-cum across your skin in sticky trails, the musky scent filling your nose while his balls hung low and full, brushing your chin with every degrading tap.
You whimpered, tongue darting out instinctively to lick the salty bead from his slit, and he laughed dark and mean, free hand cracking across your face—not hard enough to bruise, but sharp enough to sting and make your pussy clench empty between your thighs.
"That's right, greedy little whore, drool for it. You live for this fat dick stretchin' your holes, don't ya? Beggin' to be used like the cumdump you are."
Your hands scrambled up his thighs, nails digging into the hard muscle there, feeling the twitch of power under sweat-slick skin as you nodded frantically, mouth stretching wide around the fat head when he shoved forward without mercy—lips sealing tight, tongue flattening under the girth invading your mouth, ridges dragging over every ridge of your teeth until he hit the back of your throat in one brutal thrust.
Gags ripped from your chest immediately, wet and choked, saliva bubbling at the corners of your lips as your throat convulsed around him, trying to push him out but only sucking him deeper instead.
Toji didn't give you time to adjust; his hips snapped forward again, fucking your face with short, vicious pumps that made your nose mash against his coarse pubes, balls slapping your chin rhythmically—plap, plap, plap—while tears streamed down your cheeks, mixing with the drool cascading down your neck and soaking your tits.
"Fuck yeah, gag on it—feel that? Your throat's milkin' my cock like a tight pussy. Nasty slut, takin' it all. Deeper, swallow every inch or I'll slap those tits raw."
He yanked your hair harder, forcing your head to bob faster, guiding you like a fleshlight as his other hand wrapped around your throat from the front, fingers squeezing just enough to feel his own cock bulging inside, the pressure making your vision spot and your cunt throb desperately, juices leaking down your inner thighs onto the sheets below.
You hollowed your cheeks, sucking sloppy and desperate, tongue swirling the underside vein that pulsed hot against it, and he groaned low and filthy, abs clenching as pre-cum flooded your mouth—bitter and thick, coating your tastebuds while you swallowed convulsively around the obstruction.
Spit flew with every withdraw, strings connecting your swollen lips to his glistening shaft, and when he pulled out fully to let you gasp for air, he backhanded your cheek lightly again, smirking at the mark blooming.
"Look at you, face fucked stupid already. Pussy drippin' on the bed—bet you're achin' to get wrecked. Turn around, ass up, face down. Gonna spank that ass before I breed it."
You scrambled to obey, knees spreading wide on the mattress, ass high and presented like an offering, pussy lips puffy and parted to show the slick hole clenching on nothing, clit swollen and begging.
Toji's palm came down first—crack!—right on the fullest curve of your cheek, the impact jolting through you like fire, skin blooming hot and stinging as he gripped your hip with bruising force to hold you steady. "Count 'em, Mama. Thank me for markin' what's mine."
Another smack landed harder, then another, alternating cheeks so your ass jiggled with each strike, flesh rippling under the assault while you yelped the numbers out—"One, thank you! Two, thank you, Toji!"—voice breaking on sobs of pain-laced pleasure, the heat spreading straight to your core where arousal gushed freer, dripping audibly now.
He paused to spread your cheeks wide with both thumbs, exposing everything—pussy weeping, tight pucker winking above it—and spat directly onto your asshole, watching the glob slide down to mix with your cunt juices. "Filthy holes, both beggin' for it. Gonna finger that ass while I pound your pussy—make you cum like the anal slut you are."
His thick fingers—two at once—probed your rim without warning, pushing past the ring with a burn that had you arching and screaming, the stretch obscene as he scissored inside, knuckle-deep, curling to massage your walls while his other hand fisted your hair again, pulling your head back until your spine bowed.
Then his cock slammed home into your pussy—no prep, just the fat head breaching your folds and burying balls-deep in one savage thrust, walls ripping around the invasion, fluttering wildly as he bottomed out against your cervix.
"Fuck—tight as a virgin every time, squeezin' me like you wanna keep my load forever. Take it, princess—gonna choke you out while I ruin this cunt."
His hand snaked around, clamping your throat from behind now, squeezing rhythmic with his hips as he started railing you—long, punishing strokes that punched the air from your lungs, cockhead battering your deepest spots while his fingers twisted deeper into your ass, thumbing your clit on the outstroke to force sparks up your spine.
The room filled with the wet squelch of your pussy devouring him, skin slapping skin in brutal rhythm, his grunts mixing with your muffled cries as he yanked your hair like reins, spanking your already raw ass between thrusts—each impact making you clench harder around his pistoning length.
"That's it, cream on my dick—first orgasm's comin', I feel it. Milk me dry, ma." Pressure built relentless, coil snapping as you shattered—walls convulsing in waves, squirting around his cock in hot gushes that soaked his balls and thighs, body shaking violently under the onslaught while he laughed through gritted teeth, never slowing.
"Good girl—cumming so hard you're floodin' the sheets. But we're not done. Gonna fill this pussy up, then flip you for round two."
He pulled out abruptly, cock slick and shining with your cream, and flipped you onto your back like you weighed nothing—legs shoved over his shoulders, folding you in half as he plunged back in deeper than before, the angle letting him grind vicious on your g-spot with every snap.
Hand back on your throat, choking harder now, stars bursting behind your eyes as oxygen deprivation amped every sensation—his free hand slapping your tits alternately, nipples pinched and twisted until they throbbed. "Look at me while I breed you—eyes on mine, slut. Feel that? Balls tightenin', gonna pump you full of cum till it leaks for days."
You came again midway through, harder, nails raking bloody trails down his back as your pussy spasmed, vision whiting out—but he fucked through it, pace fracturing only when his own release hit, roaring as ropes of thick, hot cum erupted deep inside, painting your walls white, overflowing around his base in creamy rivulets with each final grind.
Panting, he collapsed half on you, cock still twitching buried deep, plugging his load in as aftershocks milked him. But his smirk returned quick, hand sliding down to scoop cum from your stretched pussy, shoving it toward your mouth.
"Clean it up—taste how I marked you. Then ass next time, promise." You sucked his fingers eagerly, body limp and sated, already craving the next brutal round.
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